the doorway at the other end of the room, his six shooter, back in his possession after she’d borrowed it days ago, sitting carefully across his lap. She wasn’t sure what he expected to kill with that thing. It could barely injure a gargoyle, and nothing based in the human world could harm an angel.
Except for this weird illness.
Stiles had suffered from the angel illness. She had no clue until he showed up, his body covered in lesions, a fever leaving him too weak to speak to her, to warn her that the Redcoats had found them. It was the same thing that was killing Lily. The same thing that Lily needed Dylan to vanquish for her. Dylan had seen a vision of the horrible implements the angels planned to use to tear her body into pieces to save Lily. But she was able to heal Stiles with a touch.
She wondered what would happen if Lily learned it was that easy.
At the same time, she found herself wondering why Lily’s illness seemed to be progressing so slowly. Joanna had the same illness, but some sort of vaccine created using the blood of a girl like Dylan had stopped its progress. Was Lily doing something like that? Was she using the blood—or something more—of innocent children to slow the progression of her illness? If so, why had it stopped working? And she knew it must have. Stiles had shown him Lily as she was now, the illness destroying what little was left of her human form. And Lily herself had told her she only had two days to decide what to do. Her two days would be up in the morning.
Dylan lay back, using her hands as a pillow. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on Davida. It wasn’t something she wanted to do, and she had been putting it off for hours. But she needed to know where Davida was. The last thing they needed now was another confrontation, another unexpected turn of events.
Stiles would be back with Sam soon. She had to do this now.
That sense of floating overtook her almost immediately. Like most of her gifts, once she had used them a few times, it became easier and easier to begin the process. She didn’t even have to think about healing herself now. She didn’t have to think very hard to move into her ethereal form. And now…she only had to think about the person she wanted to find and her mind immediately went there.
Davida.
She was still in the amusement park. A group of Redcoats surrounded her. Her and Ellie. Ellie was standing beside her, a look of anger on her pretty face. But the Redcoats weren’t hostile. They weren’t holding them. Davida was clearly in charge.
“You should have found her by now,” Davida was saying. “They couldn’t have gone far.”
“The other one went back for the boy. Do you want us to follow him?”
Davida rolled her eyes. “No, there’s no way in the world he would lead you back to them, is there?” She shoved a finger into the offending Redcoat’s chest. “Of course you should follow him. How else are you going to find her?”
And then, as though referring to Dylan, even in that vague sort of way, made Davida more aware of her, she turned toward the place where Dylan’s consciousness watched.
Where are you?
The words blasted so loudly through Dylan’s mind that she fell roughly back into her own body. She sat up, grabbed the sides of her head, and fought back a scream. She didn’t think she had made a noise, but Wyatt must have heard something. He was immediately at her side, his hands on the side of her head. Immediately that sense of pleasure that often accompanied Wyatt’s touch began to seep into her skull. She closed her eyes and sighed as she felt the pain break up and ease away. She reached up and ran her hands over his.
“Thanks.”
“What happened?”
She dropped her hands into her lap. “I needed to find Davida, to know where she is.”
“You did that thing—”
“She has Redcoats watching Stiles and Sam.”
“Great.” Wyatt started to stand up, but Dylan grabbed his wrist.
“Wait a minute,” she
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley