Free The Blade of Shattered Hope (The 13th Reality #3) by James Dashner

“She’s right. Now’s not the time!”
    “Tick, pull it back before you kill yourself!” Sofia yelled.
    The others shouted similar words at him. Master George pulled what looked like an ordinary pen from his pocket. But Tick couldn’t stop. He couldn’t let Jane do anything to harm his friends and family.
    He turned his attention back to her, focusing again on the burning power within him, holding onto it in a way he could’ve never described to anyone. Then he threw it at Jane. Screaming, he leaned forward and threw the power at her, pushing it away from him in a rush of energy and invisible flame.
    A thunderclap shook the room as Jane stumbled backward, fiery sparks exploding all around her. Boxes tumbled, people fell to the ground. There was shouting and yelling. Somewhere, glass shattered. Another thunderclap, a thump of booming sound, shook the whole house. Streaks of orange mist swirled throughout the basement like ribbons of sunset, slashing this way and that. Tick felt as if lava flowed in his veins and thought his head might explode from the pressure.
    Still, he kept pushing, kept aiming every bit of his strength at Jane.
    She didn’t fall. She planted her feet against the onslaught. Her red mask raged. Thunder continued to blast the air in repeated bursts, filling the world full of noise. A loud, piercing, terrible noise that only fed Tick’s fire.
    But then, somehow, through all that sound, he heard Jane’s voice, as crystal clear as if she’d spoken directly into his ear in a silent room. It took a moment for her words to register, for him to comprehend exactly what she was saying, but when it clicked, when he realized what he was jeopardizing, what he was risking, he immediately pulled it all back, all of it. He had no idea how he did it, but in an instant the power vanished, sucked back into him and quenched like a candle in a rainstorm.
    Jane had said four words.
    “I have your sisters.”

Chapter
11
    ~

Latitude and Longitude
    Frazier Gunn walked through the thick forest, trying his hardest to ignore the humidity that tried to suck the life out of him and fill his lungs with heavy water. Every breath seemed an effort, and every inch of clothing clung to his skin. He was miserably uncomfortable.
    And then there were the insects: almost microscopic gnats that swarmed in small packs around his nose and eyes, tiny dragonflies that appeared to love the darkness and warmth of the human inner ear—at least that’s where they kept trying to get to, wasps and bees. But the mosquitoes were the worst—big as moths and drinking up his blood like miniature vampires. With his free hand, he swatted the latest one to land on his neck, then looked at the greasy dark smear on his palm. Disgusting.
    His other hand was occupied, gripping a makeshift handle on the end of a thick rope, which dangled away behind him to its other end, tied loosely around the neck of a woman. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t have her running away, either. Her long, black hair was matted against her face and head, and her clothes were soaked with sweat, but she kept Frazier’s pace, never uttering a word of complaint.
    Yes, she was a criminal, but she was also an Alterant of Mistress Jane. She looked just like her except for the long mane of hair. But it was the same face, the same—
    Frazier faltered in his steps, almost tripping over a big root. He’d forgotten—just for the barest of moments—that his boss no longer had the beauty and grace that had distinguished her for so many years. She’d yet to show him her face, but he’d seen enough—just her hands were enough—to know that the Higginbottom kid had done something truly horrific to her body. The poor woman Frazier dragged along behind him was a goddess compared to Mistress Jane now.
    The thought saddened and angered him in equal parts, and when they rounded a massively thick oak tree, he accidentally jerked on the rope. The Alterant yelped behind him