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Dad pulled Reggie into a hug and held her tightly.

“Oh, Reggie. Don’t you know that I’ll help you fight?”

They stayed like that for a bit, and Reggie felt like she was five years old again, running to her father after waking from
a nightmare. This nightmare wasn’t over, she knew, but maybe they could all make it through it, together.

EPILOGUE

Reggie slept the entire day. Dad had helped her up to bed and checked on her throughout the day, and finally near dusk brought
a tray of food up to her room. The sight of his daughter lying there, so scarred and ravaged, nearly broke him. He sat down
on her bed, and Reggie’s eyes fluttered open.

“Hey, kiddo. I thought you should eat something. I brought you some soup.”

Reggie smiled at him and sat up, taking the tray. The comforting aroma of steaming chicken noodle soup filled her nostrils.

“Did you get a good sleep?” Dad asked.

Reggie nodded. “Where’s Henry?”

“He’s playing at a friend’s.” Dad fell silent, though it looked like there was more he wanted to say.

“Dad, what is it?”

“Reggie, I’m just—I’m just so sorry. This is all my fault. I had no idea what was going on.”

“No, it’s not your fault. You can’t feel bad—the Vours have most people fooled.”

Dad kneaded his hands together.

“I don’t want you to worry. We’re going to get you the help you need.”

Reggie took a bite of soup and stared at him questioningly.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you took my sleeping pills, Reg,” Dad said, taking her hand. “And, God, look at your wrists. You’ve been cutting yourself.
And this thing with your hair. You’ve been mutilating yourself to get my attention. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it earlier,
Reggie. I was so preoccupied with Henry, no wonder you acted out.”

Reggie pulled her hand away from her father.

“Dad, no, I told you. Those pills were for Quinn. And my wrists—that’s from the cord that Dr. Unger tied them with. The Vours
are real! Daddy, you have to believe me!”

“I believe that you believe it,” Dad said. “We’re going to get you better, Reggie, trust me.”

He glanced at the door, and Reggie followed his gaze. A man and a woman in Thornwood uniforms stood just outside her bedroom.
They smiled pleasantly, and Reggie felt her insides churn.

“No! No!” She jumped up, spilling the soup all over the bed. Her father got hold of her in his strong arms and held her close.

“It’s going to be okay, baby girl. It’s going to be okay. I told you, I’m going to help you fight this.”

Reggie bucked and thrashed against him, and the hospital staffers came forward. The woman held out a syringe.

“This will calm you down, dear.” As Dad held Reggie, the woman plunged the needle into her arm.

Reggie felt the medicine surge through her and her limbs became numb. She looked searchingly at her father.

“Please don’t do this.”

“I know you’ll hate me for a while, but we need to get you healthy,” said Dad. His voice sounded like it was coming from another
room.

Reggie went limp as the orderlies got her downstairs and onto a stretcher. They rolled her out to an ambulance parked in the
driveway. She moaned and screamed incoherently, her cries disturbing the quiet evening street. A neighbor out for a jog eyed
them suspiciously, and a homeless-looking man with ripped clothing and whitish blond hair stumbled down the sidewalk toward
them.

“Don’t worry, she’s okay,” Dad called to the neighbor. He peered at the homeless man as he staggered by. He wore a strange
look of horror on his face, and Dad saw that he had a red gash across his throat. “She’s fine, buddy. Keep moving.”

Reggie’s unfocused eyes fell on the man. She knew him. How did she know him? Then it hit her.

“Help me!” she groaned. “Mach—”

But before she could say any more, they loaded her inside the ambulance. Her father kissed her, and they slammed the doors
shut. Tinted windows lit the ambulance with steely gray light, and an IV bag swayed over her head as they backed out onto
the road. Through the window she thought she saw the man pull out a cell phone; he stared anxiously after the ambulance as
it drove away.

“The Tracers,” Reggie rasped with the last of her energy. “They know. Machen knows. Aaron will know. They’ll come for me.”

“Try to relax,” the man said. He bent over her with another syringe. Reggie fought to keep her eyes open and saw him empty
a hypodermic filled with swirling black liquid into her arm. It felt cold and filthy in her veins.

Somebody help me!
her mind screamed, but her lips wouldn’t form the words.

“There, there,” cooed the woman. “It’s just a little shot. What are you afraid of?”

The fear continues in
BOOK 3
of

THE DEVOURING