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out to take his pulse. His shoulders slumped. “Gone.”
    He leapt to his feet, stalked a few feet away, then screamed curses at the sky. Ramirez, the POW survivor, the stoic one, the guy with the steadiest head, came completely unglued in front of fifty men and three other wielders. But he’d been closer to Parker than the rest of us. For a horrible second, I imagined Parker was Will. I would’ve done more than scream at the sky. I would’ve raged against the universe as a whole.
    Now, though, I felt empty. All this death, and for what? We’d lost another wielder but we were no closer to ending this war, and now we had the blood of hundreds of civilians on our hands, too. People who simply had the misfortune of being here when disaster struck.
    “Where’s Parker’s knife?” I asked.
    Will put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll go search for it. You stay with Parker.”
    Jorge squatted next to me. The rest of the soldiers moved around us, picking up the pieces and clearing the battlefield. He sighed long and deep. “He was a good man.”
    “Yeah. Probably the nicest one of us. Always polite, which is pretty rare in this outfit,” I said. “His mother is a manners coach at a school for rich girls.”
    Jorge’s smile was quick. “He told me.”
    “So what now?” I asked. “Do we have to search for a new wielder?”
    “The knives seem to find the wielders for us.” Jorge glanced downrange.
    True, and one problem I wouldn’t have to solve. “My girlfriend is out here somewhere. And Will’s.”
    “I’m sure they’re safe, but I’ll ask one of the men to call your support team and have them locate the girls for you.” Jorge pointed downrange. “William found the missing blade.”
    I looked up in time to see him stoop and reach for something. A moment later, he jumped backward, shaking his hand.
    “I think he needs your assistance,” Jorge said. “Go. I’ll stay here.”
    Too tired to ask why Will would need my help, I weaved my way through the devastation that used to be West Potomac Park. Ramirez beat me there.
    “What do you mean, you can’t touch it?” he asked Will.
    Will shrugged. “It burned me, sir.”
    He held up his hand, and red marks scored his fingers. Nothing serious, but like when you accidentally touched the stove. Ramirez frowned and squatted down to pick up the knife. Its blade was driven into the dirt so that only the handle stuck up.
    The major reached for it, but as soon as his fingers touched the handle, he snatched his hand back. “What the hell? It’s red hot.”
    Maybe you should get that , Tink said, sounding both tired and coy. An odd combination, and one that made me suspicious.
    “Why?”
    Because you can .
    Sighing, I bent and wrapped my fingers around the handle, expecting to be burned, too.
    Instead, a quiet male voice said, Take me to my new wielder, please. You’re the only one who can help.
    Then a picture of Uncle Mike’s house flashed through my mind.
     
     

Chapter Six
     
     
    “You okay?” Will asked as Murphy drove the four wielders back to the Rayburn building in one of the few operable Humvees. Ramirez had insisted that his man bring us back, and I understood why. Alone, with only Murphy as witness, we could slowly fall apart like we always did in the wake of a huge fight. Despite his hardass nature and pinched expression, this was a man who would give us the space we needed. Aside from telling me that my support team had gone to search for Ella and Penn, Murphy remained quiet as the four of us slumped in the back seat.
    I didn’t answer Will, so full of questions and concern I didn’t know where to start. Mike, a wielder again? Did any of the news cameras catch me flying? I’d been too wound up to even think about what I might’ve done. What was showing on CNN right now?
    Then there was the fact that Parker’s knife would only come to me. So far, I was the only wielder who could wield two blades. But was there more to this? Was it because