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us.”
    Taylor got up and walked toward me. “Michael, what happened?” she asked again.
    â€œSome loser threw a beer bottle at me.”
    She looked at me with a peculiar gaze. “I meant to your arms.”
    I looked down. “What the . . .” There was a strange reddish fern-leaf-like pattern on my arms.
    â€œHoly moly,” Ostin said. “Those are Lichtenberg figures.”
    â€œThey’re what?” Taylor asked.
    I tried to wipe the marks off with my towel, but they appeared to be permanent. Like tattoos. “What is it?”
    â€œThey’re called Lichtenberg figures or lightning trees. They appear with extremely high voltages. I’ve seen pictures of scars like that on lightning strike victims.”
    â€œWill they come off?” Taylor asked.
    â€œNo,” Ostin said. “They’re scars. Michael, did you just have a super-big surge?”
    â€œYes. When the gang attacked me. It was like I had become an electric ball.”
    â€œGang?” Taylor said. “What gang?”
    Ostin walked over to examine my markings. “Wow. They look kind of cool.”
    â€œDo they hurt?” Taylor asked.
    â€œNo. I didn’t even feel it happen.”
    After a moment Taylor said, “Well, I’m sure your jaw hurts. It’s swelling up. We need to get some ice on it. Ostin, there’s an ice machine at the end of the hall. Would you fill up that bucket?”
    â€œOn it.” Ostin grabbed the ice bucket from the dresser and leftthe room, while Taylor soaked a washcloth in cold water from the sink. I just stared at my arms. Was this really permanent?
    When Ostin returned, Taylor dumped some of the ice onto the towel and rolled it up. As she held the cloth to my face, she suddenly closed her eyes and grimaced. “Oh, my . . .” She was watching the replay of my attack. She looked into my eyes. “Did any of them die?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said.
    â€œYou know they’re going to tell others,” Ostin said.
    â€œI don’t care,” I said.
    He frowned. “You will when they come after us.”
    â€œI pity anyone who comes after us,” I said angrily. “I’ll take down this whole country if I have to.”
    â€œMichael,” Taylor said. “You need to calm down. You’re really upset.”
    â€œI wonder why,” I said sardonically. “Maybe because I was just attacked by a gang that was planning to stab me to death.”
    â€œYou have every reason to be upset for that, but that’s not why you’re upset.” She looked me in the eyes. “They didn’t kill your mother.”
    â€œI don’t care.”
    â€œYou need to care. You need to stay in control.” She pulled back the blood-soaked cloth to examine my wound. “It’s not that deep. Ostin, go down to the front desk and see if you can find a bandage.”
    â€œYou got it.” He walked back out.
    Taylor rinsed the blood from the washcloth, put more ice in it, and held it against my jaw. I just kept looking at my arms.
    Ostin returned a few minutes later with a box of off-brand Band-Aids. “This is all they had.”
    â€œIt will take a few of them,” Taylor said. She dabbed the cloth around my wound again, then applied three different bandages. Then she got a fresh washcloth and soaked it in water, wrapped it around more ice, and gave it to me. “Keep this on your face. Now you better get some sleep. We have to leave in two hours.” She kissed me on my other cheek. “I’m going back to my room. Get some rest.”
    â€œThank you,” I said. After she left, I took the switchblade out of my pocket and tossed it on the floor. I turned out the lights and got back into bed, holding the cloth against my cheek.
    â€œAre you okay?” Ostin asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYeah, me neither,” he said. “Good