“Who’s that?” DeSean asks coolly.

I don’t answer as more people surround Arek on the playground. Their faces are familiar, too.

“What in the world?” I breathe out. The couple from BART, the boy from the supermarket, and the couple with the white Aston Martin are there.

“Who are they?” DeSean asks again.

My voice comes out harsher than I expect. “Grab your backpacks. You’re going to the library for the last few minutes.” Every child rejoices loudly, except DeSean.

Across the hall the librarian is cleaning up as the kids march in. She looks at me with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry Sue . . . please help me. I’m not feeling well.”

DeSean cocks his head to the side, “You need help, Miss Willow?”

I give a forced smile. “No, thank you, DeSean.”

The door nearly hits me in the heels as I rush out.

CHAPTER NINE

The winding staircases and slick aging tiles of the old schoolhouse aren’t easy to navigate. After descending two floors in my clumsy version of a sprint, someone collides with me, coming the opposite direction. The impact jars my teeth as my hip hits the hard floor.

I gather myself and finally look up. Instantly my body goes cold and my fingers numb. The angry man from the other night stares at me. A familiar race of my heart warns me.

Get away, I tell myself. I don’t even try to stand but crawl back, my palms cold against the floor. Yet he follows with clear advantage. His lips move as if speaking under his breath and just as before, my chest constricts. An immediate headache makes me close my eyes and fall back in pain. I groan.

He seems to control the raging fire in my head—no amount of burning or pressure I have ever felt could emulate the same torture. His boots stomp close to my head as I beg him to stop.

Instead, his strong tourniquet-like fingers wrap around my arm and cut off the blood flow. “Welcome back,” he growls. His voice creates a fog in my brain that makes it difficult to react. My eyes roll uncontrollably back in my head. Only when he stops talking am I able to pull away. The more I pull, the tighter his grip becomes on my arm and, despite my best effort, my skin feels as though it will tear, or my bones might break. Someone shows up behind him, which at first gives me hope, until his face comes into view. My world suddenly spins out of control.

The old man. His arthritic fingers bouncing like he has a tick. White hair just touches his jaundiced eyes.

“What . . .” I cry out, but soon my eyes roll back again with pain so severe my body convulses.

“Rapit, bye te sen,” the old man says in a different language.

Years of my life he has intruded upon my dreams. I fear him. Loathe him. Yet I know nothing about him.

When he steps closer, my body writhes more.

“Al e dine noru, Japha,” the younger man tells the old man in an almost irritated tone. Was that the old man’s name—Japha?

“Noru!” the old man growls back.

They stop talking for a moment, allowing me to gather myself as he pulls me to my feet. My shoes screech across the smooth marble floor when he drags me toward the nearest exit as though I weigh nothing. My struggle to get away is fleeting. He freezes when he hears someone running up the old schoolhouse stairs. Japha rushes forward but stops when he sees Arek.

For just a moment, I am relieved.

Arek comes to an abrupt stop when he sees us and swiftly surveys the third-floor hall. His eyes dip in anger and his jaw tenses as veins pulse up and down his neck. More men run up the stairs and swiftly stop behind Arek. The man with long locks from the white Aston Martin, angrily shakes his head at the sight.

“Japha!” he yells and tries to run forward, but Arek stops him with an arm across his chest.

This makes the old man smile sadistically.

“Let her go, Navin,” Arek calls out. He takes the final step from the stairs. “Ete ella gari, Navin.”

“Ellan suela gari,” Navin slurs. Once again, just as before, my eyes roll back. Whatever poison he fills me with is toxic. It seems to follow in the same order, my temples to my chest, and convulsions. “Al me, Arek,” the man named Navin warns.

Arek takes angry steps forward, belting out in his deep voice, “Navin! Let her go.”

“No, Arek. I get what I want.”

Arek makes a choice to push forward, but Japha steps toward him with a raised hand. Despite neither man touching each other, Japha and Arek both fly back in opposite directions. My eyes widen. What in the hell? Arek slams into the others and they tumble down the stairwell while Japha screeches across the floor. These things have no explanation and my heart stings with panic. Every man tries to be the fastest to their feet; once they are up, Arek and his men try to rush forward but stop abruptly as though there’s an invisible barrier.

“Sine rus me keprin,” Arek and the other man repeat again and again. Each word comes out a bit stronger. Their steps accrue strength.

Navin rakes me across the floor, clearly wanting nothing to do with Arek and the other men. I can hear struggling behind me, possibly fighting, but even though I try to see, Navin’s body is in the way and his hand tethers me tightly. Suddenly we are falling—Navin on top of me onto the hard ground. My bones crumple beneath his two hundred or more pounds, and a rush of breath squeezes from his lungs.

Struggling to turn, Navin roughly pushes against me in order to face Arek, who is slowly but aggressively walking our way. Navin scrambles to his feet, and when he has his footing he tries to push back. Nothing explains the strange energy between them.

The man with long dreads joins Arek and they keep their gaze directly on Navin. Yet something is different. They drop their chins and stare intently, seeming to speak under their breath just as Navin has done before. Navin’s shoes squeak across the tiles, which makes me look down. How is this happening? No matter what Navin does, his staggered boots are pushed back one centimeter at a time. His body presses forward, as he tries to work against them, but to no avail. Black marks from his tread are left on the tile in front of his toes.

Navin’s hand begins to weaken around my arm. They push harder, never losing a concentrated stare. He growls as his muscles pulse under the pressure. Yet finally, after several minutes pass, his body weakens.

Behind Arek, a desperate struggle continues between Japha and three men. His arthritic hands and spotted skin say nothing about his strength as he defeats the fresh skinned, thirty something men.

When it is too much, Navin lets go as he falls.

They rush to my side and Arek takes my arm as though they are racing for time. “Go!” Arek commands.

“Arek!” A yell fills the halls behind us as we run. When I look back, the three young men are lying lifeless as Japha gives chase.

“Don’t look at him,” Arek commands. “Just go, Kilon!” he tells the long-haired man.

We scale a series of stairs and pony walls faster than I’ve ever moved. Meanwhile, Arek stays just a bit behind and places his phone to his ear. “We have eight minutes to clear it up,” Arek tells whoever answers. “Send them through the back, Navin and Japha are following.”

We reach the bottom of the stairs. “There!” I point to the last door on the left. When I throw it open, a man lunges at me. Arek latches his leg around the back of the attacker’s knee and sends him to the ground with an arm across his chest. It takes only seconds.

“Go!” Kilon says.

As Kilon presses a knee to the man’s chest, his jacket flies up to reveal two neatly tucked guns and a long knife sheath on his side. Arek pushes me on, leaving Kilon to take care of all that follows. Just then the bell rings and immediately the kids begin to break out of the classrooms.

We slow down, as sweat pours from our skin. Arek keeps a hold on my arm, while surveying the short crowd.

“We can just hide,” I mention.

“Keep going.”

“I know places they won’t find.”