Mortal Danger (The Immortal Game) Read Online Free PDF

burying a collection of plays by Samuel Beckett. At the bottom of the pile lay a science fiction novel, too dry to hold my interest.
    On my desk, I still had the DNA model I’d built for biology. A + work. Other signs of my nerdery dotted the room: a laptop, a bag of dice, a replica of the Starship Enterprise , a Tardis that lit up when you put coins in the slot on top, and some half-painted miniatures. There might be tons of people like me all over the world, but from what I could tell, they didn’t go to Blackbriar. If they did, they hid the signs better than I ever had.
    I took the rocks out of my pockets and put them in a crate in my closet. On autopilot, I put on pajamas and brushed my teeth. Though I didn’t expect to sleep, the nap claimed me quickly and I didn’t dream. Well, nothing I remembered anyway, but when I woke, I was oddly stiff and sore, as if the experience had changed me from the inside out. I raised my arms over my head and the marks were still on my wrists. Yet I felt oddly superstitious, like I might be hallucinating.
    Coma dream? Dead girl walking? If so, this was the freakiest afterlife ever.
    Coming up on my knees, I fought a burst of hysteria and peered at the marks in the mirror on the back of my door: Left wrist, ownership character that looked like a kanji; right wrist, infinity sign with a hash mark across the top. The reflection showed them backward, like they should be. Apart from these symbols and a number in my contacts, I had no proof Kian existed. I rolled out of bed and ran to where my phone was plugged into my laptop, charging. My hands shook as I scrolled through my contacts to the Ks.
    You have to be there. I’m not crazy. I’m not.
    Then I found it, pushing out a relieved sigh. Kian. And his number. Closing my eyes, I pushed out an unsteady breath. Though I had no idea how it was possible, he’d transported me to a mountaintop in Tibet, then brought me back like it was nothing. I might not understand his mojo, but …
    It’s real. It happened. He’s coming back.
    Or maybe you’re dreaming, doped up in a psych ward, while doctors write stuff in your chart like, “Unresponsive to reality,” “Becomes agitated when the sedatives wear off.” Oddly, that possibility made it easier to move forward, like doing a high-wire act without a net, certain only that you wouldn’t get hurt if you fell.
    Reassured, I showered and dressed, then put together an impressive package of false documentation using my laptop, the Internet, Photoshop, and my excellent printer. I felt slightly guilty because my parents wouldn’t look too hard at these documents. Why? They trusted me. But this part of the plan hinged on a strong sales pitch, and I had to prove I’d earned a scholarship to the university summer science program.
    Just before I left my room, I shrugged into a hoodie to hide my wrists, though the day was warm enough for air-conditioning, if we’d had it. Since it was past noon, my parents were home. Soon, the conference circuit would begin, where they presented research to their colleagues. Once I turned twelve, I’d traveled with them because they didn’t mind leaving me in a hotel room while they did their thing, but when I was younger, I stayed with Great-Aunt Edith, who called me her namesake and made me walk her Pomeranian.
    “Hello, Edith.” Dad looked up from his paper with an absent smile, peering at me down the rims of his spectacles. He’d missed part of his jaw in shaving, so it prickled with graying whiskers. That sort of thing was common.
    My mother made a noise to acknowledge my existence, but she didn’t look up from scratching on a yellow legal pad. Bowls of half-eaten gruel congealed in the middle of the table, even though they’d presumably gotten home late enough to eat lunch instead, one of my mom’s quirks. She worshiped at the altar of steel-cut oats.
    Showtime. I set my papers on the table and pulled out a chair. By joining them, I did something odd