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Kane drove west for about two hours, the other van and Artan’s SUV following us closely.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I asked again. He was probably tired of my nagging, but I was curious.
“We’re almost there,” he said, his eyes on the road.
I glanced at my phone. It was almost midnight, we had a full van: half were soulless tziganes, the other half was so tired that they resembled wax dolls, too. Despite some warriors getting hurt during the battle when revenants and red alchemists invaded the enclave, like Rye and Tomas, there was no one critically wounded. But all the tziganes now sported rope burn marks around their wrists. Ryane and Darcy and Sheila, who were in the back of the van, were already working on healing those marks.
During the drive, my mother told
