Copper Veins(45)

“Don’t want to miss a field trip,” Jerome said when I gave him a look. Since spending quality time with Jerome was not on my to-do list, I passed the time by watching the trees. How was it possible that no matter where I went in the Mundane world I couldn’t find a single fricken’ oak?

After about an hour of driving, Lopez squeezed the truck through a copse of trees and parked. Once we had all exited the truck, he and Aregonda pulled two ropes that hung from the branches above, and just like a stage curtain, a camouflage net fell onto the truck. It was the most impressive thing either of them had done yet.

“This way,” Lopez muttered, and we hiked uphill for a time. Once we reached the crest of the hill, we followed his lead by dropping to our bellies and crawling forward on our elbows, then looked down into the valley. What we saw turned my heart to ice.

Below us was a facility the size of an airfield, maybe even larger, that was fenced off into five distinct areas. Just like we Elementals were divided into five groups—metal, earth, fire, water, and air. Lopez said nothing, but then he didn’t have to. This was the training camp for Mike Armstrong’s army.

“Are they real Elementals, or people he’s worked on?” I asked.

“A little of both,” Lopez replied. “Some are Elementals he captured, others he paid off. Not all elements translate well into Mundane bodies.”

I shuddered, wondering what kind of payout those traitors got to betray their families. “Which elements?”

“Well, if you try to put water into a Mundane, they drown from the inside out,” he explained. “No water recipient has ever survived.”

Max touched my arm, then indicated the closest of the practice yards. It was dominated by a large pool, and it did have the smallest number of people milling about. My gaze drifted across the entire facility, and I pointed at another yard. It was packed, with easily twice as many people as the next most crowded. “Which element is that?”

“Metal,” Lopez replied. “Lucky for us, metal is most easily donated.”

“Donated?” Sadie asked. “You mean, they have to find an Elemental willing to part with some?”

“They put the metal they want to donate in the presence of that Elemental for a few days,” Max replied, stone-faced. “Then, once the metal has soaked up some magic, they scratch it into the recipient’s skin, like those old-time tattoos that were done with a needle and hammer.” He didn’t look at us as he spoke, his gaze trained on the metal yard. I wondered how many times he’d had a hunk of regular old copper placed near him for just that purpose.

“These fabricated Elementals aren’t as powerful as born Elementals,” Lopez continued. “But they’re strong enough to make things difficult.”

“So this is what he always wanted,” I murmured. “Mike was so jealous of us and our abilities, he Frankensteined an army.” I looked at the other three yards, determining which were fire, air, and earth. The fire area held the second-largest amount of people, which couldn’t have been a good sign. “Besides water, is there anything else he can’t replicate?” I asked. What Lopez said next terrified me to my core.

“Armstrong’s ultimate goal is to make himself a Dreamwalker,” he replied. “Word is, he’s almost done it.”

I shuddered, the implications of Lopez’s words spiraling out before me. If he had an army of Dreamwalkers, he could spy on anyone at any time. He could waltz up right next to me and hear me spill my deepest, darkest secrets, and my wakeful form wouldn’t even know he was there. I mean, an awake Dreamwalker could sense a dreaming one that they had ties to, like Micah and me, but a stranger could pass by—or through—them unnoticed. Worse, the most powerful of Dreamwalkers can invade others’ minds.

With an army of Peacekeepers, assorted Elementals, and Dreamwalkers at his back, Mike wouldn’t just be powerful. He’d be unstoppable.

“We have got to stop this,” I whispered to Max.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Max replied.



The ride back to the camp was just as quiet as the ride out to the training facility, but for different reasons. My head was swirling with questions—when was Mike planning to unleash this army? How strong were these newly made Elementals? Could Mike really make himself a Dreamwalker? But one unanswered question overrode the rest.

“How do we know which Elementals are real?” I’d posed that question earlier, when we’d first seen Mike’s nightmare army.

“We don’t,” Aregonda had replied. “To the naked eye, it is impossible to discern a made Elemental from a born one.”