The Rising by Kelley Armstrong Page A

handle it. But I couldn’t. Not this. So I dropped my cheek to the rough bark, closed my eyes, and listened to the ceremony.
    Listening wasn’t easy, either. It was surreal when you knew that the kids they were reminiscing about were still alive. It was like hearing speeches at a wedding or a graduation, talking about someone’s life, the best of their life, but instead of joy and laughter, each new recollection brought a sob or cry of grief.
    When my dad got up to speak, I plugged my ears. I knew I had to. One crack in his voice and I’d have leaped from that tree, running to the stage, shouting, “I’m here, Daddy. I’m still here.” So I plugged my ears and I squeezed my eyes shut until Ash reached over and tapped my arm.
    When I took my fingers from my ears, he caught my hand and I looked over to tell him not to worry, that I wasn’t going to do anything stupid, but he only gave my hand a squeeze—a quick one—before letting it fall.

THIRTEEN

    T HE SERVICE ENDED AFTER that. It wasn’t until it did, and people started filing back to the cars, that I realized what had happened. Nothing. Not a single parent had wandered from the service for a few minutes of solace. How could they? They were all trapped in the front row. They couldn’t have slipped away even if they had wanted to.
    When the service ended, ushers surrounded our parents and escorted them directly to their vehicles, just as they’d escorted them in.
    â€œThey’re not letting them stop for nothing,” Ash said. “Not even a piss break. They have to hold it until they get them someplace safe.”
    I kept watching. Kept hoping. But Chief Carling and Travis climbed in their car. So did Daniel’s family and Mrs. Tillson and the Morrises. My parents and Grandma lingered. They didn’t get up and talk to anyone, just sat in their seats as if they hadn’t realized it was over. Two more ushers came over and finally got them into the car.
    â€œNo one left,” I whispered. “No one at all.”
    â€œCould have told you that,” Ash said.
    I glared over at him.
    â€œWhat? I could have. Cabals are geniuses at this kind of thing. They’ve been around since the Inquisition. That’s hundreds of years of experience acting like good corporate citizens while they do stuff that would make the Mafia take notes. They’ll cover up your deaths and they’ll hold your parents prisoner until they’ve rounded you all up. And the beauty of it? Your parents won’t even realize they were prisoners. They’ll just think the St. Clouds were being really, really helpful.”
    He eased back on his branch. “I knew they’d never let you near them.”
    â€œThen why didn’t you say so?”
    â€œYou wouldn’t have listened.”
    There was no response to that, so I lay on the branch, staring down, sifting through the remaining friends and families for someone left that we could contact. Maybe. If we were careful. And desperate. When I saw Brendan Hajek over by the washrooms I turned my attention to him. He started heading in the opposite direction—away from the service area. I glanced back to see his mother, the local veterinarian, helping remove the posters from the stage.
    So Dr. Hajek had volunteered for clean-up duty and Brendan was using the break to wander off for a bit. Alone.
    â€œI need to talk to Daniel,” I said. “I’m going down. Can you cover me?”
    â€œWhat?”
    Ash had been peering at something and jumped when I spoke. I had to repeat myself.
    â€œNo, we need to stay here.”
    â€œThere’s no one around. I can dash—”
    â€œYou need to stay here, Maya, until those guys are gone.” He pointed to a cluster of strangers beside the stage.
    â€œYou know them?” I said.
    â€œNo, but they’re obviously Cabal goons.”
    They looked like normal mourners to me. The two guys