Traveling in tow with the beautiful people is awe-inspiring. Jet at your beck and call? Check. Physical person? Also check. Checked…whatever. Airport security strips any preconceived notions I had about special treatment based on appearance or stature. Small concession: the end of tourist season makes for a reduced audience when I’m being patted down. Still awkward.

From Manaus, we rent a boat, sans tour guide, and start up the Amazon River. Aside from the obvious scenery change, the biggest difference is the absolute implosion of color. Ceobhránach Cove is seasonally green but pales compared to this rainforest rainbow. Tally would hate it. Point to Amazonia.

I affix my eyes to the natural breaks separating the forest layers. The forest floor is dark, the canopy and understory layers impenetrable from the sun. The emergent layer, closest to the sky, exposes trees easily reaching two hundred feet in height. They seem to be stretching toward the light. I, for once, am shying away from it.

The climate is problematic. Thick, moist air sticks to my lungs like I’ve stuck my head in the river and tried to inhale. No, I’m not tempted to actually do that. The elongated shadows in residence keep me from dangling even a finger over the boat’s edge. No Sheyla cake for you today, Crocodiles.

The humidity is causing my hair to frizz even more than normal, and I have to wipe constantly at the sweat pouring down my neck. Suffice it to say, my clothing is extra damp. I could probably wring it out.

“Feel free to strip if you like,” Barry suggests unhelpfully, earning some stink-eye from an uncharacteristically quiet Derry. Not sure why he’s brooding. He’s getting his way. Apparently, he’s into being a sore winner. Not hot. Bright side: Tally’s continued avoidance isn’t impacting Barry’s joyous spirit. Dim side: that joyous spirit isn’t infectious. I’m busy running disaster scenarios in my head, which doesn’t bode well for my mood.

We pass villages along the way, void of evidential technology. There are no vehicles. No bridges or roads for traffic to venture. No hum from electrical lines. Aside from nature’s chorus, there’s no hustle-bustle associated with life. Generally speaking, the 1.7 billion acres of rainforest are uninhabitable. If not for the soft sound of the boat motor, the picturesque scene would boast complete tranquility.

As evening advances, the temperature easily drops fifteen degrees, protecting me from the heated nerves threatening to tempt my over-boarding impulse. If my travel companions sense my anxiety, they’ve been kind enough not to mention it. Derry, specifically, has no clue. He can’t hear a single thought in my head. I glower at him each time he tries, unsuccessfully, to march his ants. It’s like sitting outside in the summer with a bug buzzing consistently in your ear. Freaking annoying.

“Do they know we’re coming?”

Ryan ties the boat to a rickety dock. “They knew shortly after our flight landed.”

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My eye twitches.

Brody stands guard next to me. “What’s wrong?”

Derry presses into my other side. Even sandwiched between them, I don’t feel safe. I feel exposed. In terms of food chain placement, I’m right at the lower level with my human counterparts. I’ve never felt so vulnerable. I point to the trees, swallowing down a nervous lump. “We’re not alone.”

Can I protect myself? My friends? Fight or flight? Hah. Fight? Me? Nah. I’m a flight for life girl. Problem is, the sleek felines hiding just beyond the tree line will eat me either way. If I fight, they’ll chew through my throat before I produce a single fireball. If I run, they’ll catch me. Still dinner. Not looking good. Not at all. Hmm. Will I give them heartburn?

Brody grins. “I’ve wanted to stretch my legs since the plane ride. I could chase them off for you.”

“Our friends wouldn’t appreciate that,” Ryan discourages him.

“Bah, they’re outnumbered,” Brody states confidently.

“Are there four of them? In the Amazon Coterie, I mean.” I’m hoping out loud. Ryan explained there are four Solathairs in a standard group. One per element: air, earth, fire, and water.

“There were four the last time,” Ryan hedges. He isn’t doing much to ease my reservations.

“You think there are more now?” I squeak while Derry rubs circles on my back.

Declan whistles low. “If there are, it means they’ve already picked which side of this war they want to be on, and those pretty kitties waiting patiently for mealtime will be the least of our troubles.”

There’s a war brewing, supposedly, and our motley crew contains Sumairs and Solathairs. Will that spark unnecessary conflict? Have my friends anticipated that or, like me, did they focus solely on the prospect of reuniting Ryan and Mel?

I fidget uneasily, causing Derry to cringe. Did he know we were potentially headed for a fight? Is that why he made me practice my finger fireworks? Was he teaching me to defensively use my ability for this moment? If so, it would’ve been nice for him to mention that garbage while my feet were still planted safely on CC soil.

Kiley shoves Derry away, wrapping her tiny arm around my waist. Her Coreopsis and Bottle Rockets overpower his Morning Glories and Sunshine. Girl packs a lot of punch for being such a slight thing. “I’m not afraid,” Kiley offers resolutely. “You shouldn’t be, either.”

“I’m not exactly afraid of them. It’s how they live, what they”—I cough lightly—“eat.”

No technology means no siphoning energy without direct access to a source. I understand not all Solathairs choose the Keane path to utilize extracted blood to refuel instead of slurping the essence they need straight from humans. Can I look past the nature of the Amazonians we’re seeking out? Do I want to try? While I’m positive energy intake will be discreet, and it might not even be required in the short extent of our stay, it’s wrong. And gross.

I’m trying hard not to judge my friends. It’s not my place to pick their friends, regardless how difficult the concept is to digest. Really, though, how can they be friends with people like that? What does it say about their morality to turn a blind eye?

Declan rubs his chin. “Solid point.”

“They live peacefully,” Ryan informs us.

Clear as mud, Ryan. Peacefully, like they put sick people out of their misery? Quick and clean kills? I need more. Or less. Definitely less. “Maybe we should just go,” I whisper.

The trip won’t be for nothing if we vacate the premises. Matthew is still a viable option, and his city location in Buenos Aires would presumably give me a sense of security this vast expanse can’t provide.

“Too late,” Brody whispers back, cracking his knuckles.

A rather animalesque figure steps through the tree line. I’m looking into the eyes of a killer. I just know it.