Vaguely, I wondered when I’d turned into such a wuss. I had cried after the accident, Dad’s death, and my own dying stuff, but I thought I’d used up a lifetime’s worth of tears. But losing Adam was just as painful—ripping open old wounds, creating new ones. I eventually caved to exhaustion.
My eyelids drifted shut and when I opened them again, Olivia was gone.
Crying always left my head feeling like a drummer had taken up residence inside my skull. I pushed off the covers and swung my feet off the bed.
Soft light from the bedside lamp cut away at the darkness. I found my way to the bathroom and washed away what remained of my tear-fest. Then I pulled off my hoodie and tossed it back into the bedroom. I refused to look in the mirror after that. With my current drama-induced freak-out, I would probably throw myself on the floor after one glimpse of my scars.
Unable to fall back to sleep, I sat down at the desk and booted up the computer. Hope sparked alive when I checked my email. There were old messages from Adam, proving that he had known me once upon a time, and the one Dad had forwarded to me before the accident, but nothing new.
I don’t even know what I was thinking.
Out of boredom and a sort of desperate need to think about anything else, I Googled: “Gifted.” Results were so not what I was looking for. Then I searched “special powers.” Wikipedia brought the giggles, but since I didn’t think I was dealing with the X-Men, I hit the backspace button.
Finally, I came across a website dedicated to real accounts of superpowers. Taking a deep breath, I clicked on the link and started reading. Things like clairvoyance, precognition, the ability to look into the past, rapid learning, super-speed, telekinesis, telepathy, pyrokinetics, memory removal, dream manipulation, and on and on. There was nothing on bringing back the dead or a “toxic touch” syndrome. All these years I’d never really considered the idea of Olivia having “superpowers,” but there was no doubt she was gifted, and so were the other people in the house.
Me? I was cursed.
Yawning, I scanned the rest of the page. Curiosity got the best of me and I typed in “The Facility.” After several pages of nonsense, I gave up. I don’t know why I’d thought some crazy research-slash-kid-stealing institute would have a website.
Weary, I turned the computer off and picked up my sketchpad. Several attempts at drawing ended in failure. Everything came across wrong, uneven. I ripped the pages off one by one and tossed them to the floor. All the while my brain kept spitting out questions that had no answers. Tossing the pad on the desk, I stood and glanced around the room. The drapes covering the balcony doors stirred as the air kicked on.
The flimsy material billowed out further. I reached out and caught the drapes. Outside, thick clouds rolled through the night sky. Only a fine sliver of moonlight hit the balcony, casting shadows of the nearby trees. But something looked strange about the shadows near the balcony door. Frowning, I leaned closer and peered through the glass.
One of the shadows appeared way too thick, too solid—and way too tall.
My fingers slid away from the curtain. Then the shadow moved.
I jerked back from the door, tripping over the chair I’d been sitting in. I caught myself on the edge of the bed, eyes glued to the door.
By the time I found the courage to look again, there was nothing on the other side of the door or anyone on the balcony. I double-checked that the door was locked—a pointless precaution, but it made me feel better. I climbed into bed and lay down on my side, clutching the blankets to my chin. My eyes stayed on the balcony doors.
It was a long time before my heart would calm down enough so I could fall back asleep.
Chapter 9
I felt like a ghost.
Gabe, the blond guy who’d thrown me across the room telekinetically, left the room if I walked in. The twins, Phoebe and Parker, just flat out refused to acknowledge my existence. Never in my life had I felt more like a loser—and that was saying something. By the time Cromwell basically ordered me to the kitchen, I was grateful. At least someone wanted to talk to me.
Once there, I found myself sitting in the same spot I had two days ago, but this time Hayden was with us. He wasn’t talking much since he was busy shoving a foot-long sub in his mouth.
“I wanted to discuss the school situation. You’re already registered and set to go tomorrow,” Cromwell said.
I watched Hayden. He ate amazingly fast, and he was sloppier than Olivia. Pieces of tomato and turkey fell to the plate, along with globs of mayonnaise and mustard.
“At no time are you allowed to discuss any of our gifts with the outsiders.”
“Yeah, I think I already know what will happen if I do,” I snapped.
Cromwell sighed. “Ember, I’m sorry about what happened to your friend. However, you left me with no other option.”
“Adam didn’t know anything,” I said for the hundredth time.
Cromwell folded his arms on the table. “I will not continue to discuss this with you, Ember. But do understand—if I think you have told any outsider about us, I will do the same. Again.”
“Or you could just ship me off.”
He took a deep breath, visibly struggling for patience. “Yes, that is always an option. Do you understand, Ember?”
Hayden stopped eating long enough to hear my answer. “Yes. I understand.”
“Good,” Cromwell said. “I have some questions for you.” I stared at him until his smile strained.
“May I ask how many times Olivia has used her gift? Besides the time she used it with you.”
I thought about lying. “Only a few times since: a cat, a pigeon, and Squeaky. I’ve gotten her to understand not to do it, but I can’t promise you that she won’t if she sees a dead animal.” I glanced over at Hayden. The sub was gone. Now he stared at me. “Olivia has a soft spot for animals.”
“Squeaky? The hamster upstairs?” Cromwell asked.
I got a twisted amount of pleasure from seeing Cromwell’s eyes widen with surprise. “Yep. Squeaky died. I buried him. Olivia dug him up. I woke up the next day with the thing sitting on my chest.”
Cromwell blinked. “Oh. Okay. Well, most children her age usually don’t attend public school until they have a strong grasp on their gifts. Over the past few days, I have seen no reason to believe that Olivia will be a risk in public school.”
“What about the kids who do pose a risk?” I cut in. “Do they go to the Facility?”
“Someone has been listening to our conversations.” Cromwell glanced at his son. “Yes. Children who could benefit from a more specialized school would attend there. Hayden went there for several years. He was taught to control his gift.”
I stole another quick peek at him. “From what I overheard, it doesn’t sound like a fun time.”
Hayden’s lips slipped into the half-smile, but he said nothing. Cromwell ignored me. “As I said, Olivia will do fine among outsiders. She is such a bright child. She has an old—”
“An old soul,” I finished for him.
Cromwell’s smile was real this time. “And that brings me to you, Ember. There are some reservations.”
“Naturally,” I muttered.
He ignored that, too. “Your inability to control it is a concern of mine.”
“You know, I’ve lived two years with this.” I started tapping my fingers on the table. “It’s not like I run around and touch people. What happened with… Dustin will never happen again.”
“That may be true, but there have been several situations of you losing your temper since you arrived here,” Cromwell said. “That’s a concern.”
I snorted and continued to tap my fingers. I could tell by the way Hayden stared at my fingers it was annoying the crap out of him. “That should probably tell you something.”
“It has told me quite a bit. When you’re frightened or confused, you react violently. Unstably, even. Throwing you into a new school with new people may provoke the same reaction from you.”
My fingers froze over the wood.
Cromwell’s smile turned smug. Just for a second, but I saw it. “I know you would never want to hurt someone innocent, but I fear you just may not be able to control yourself.”
I returned to tapping my fingers. I had no problem with Cromwell thinking that. Whatever. His opinion—
Hayden placed his hand on my arm. I shot him a dirty look, but when he released my arm, I didn’t start back up with the tapping.
“That’s why you need to do everything in your power to control yourself, Ember. I want to keep you with your sister, but if something happens I will have no choice.”
“But she won’t do anything. Will you?” Hayden asked, speaking to me for the first time since, well, yesterday. We’d crossed paths a couple of times today, but he’d ignored me, too.
“Um, I’m going to go with no.”
“Then I’m relieved to hear that. You already have one strike against you, and I’m not playing baseball,” Cromwell said. “You won’t get three strikes with me.”
It took everything for me not to roll my eyes—or laugh in his face. I doubted he’d appreciate either.
Cromwell stood and pushed his chair back in. “I’m glad we’ve had this conversation.”
I slid Hayden a wary look as Cromwell clapped him on the shoulder before leaving the room. Alone, Hayden and I stared at each other. Growing uncomfortable with the awkward silence, I started to stand.
Hayden leaned across the table.
I jerked back, but he flashed me a lazy grin and wrapped his hands around a thick, brown candle. Immediately, the candle collapsed in on itself. The scent of maple and cinnamon permeated the air.
“Well, aren’t you just special,” I said dryly.
“Not as special as you.” He leaned back. “Why are you so argumentative?”
“Were you on the balcony last night?” I asked instead.
Hayden draped his arm over the back of his chair. “No.” His eyes dropped to where I fiddled with the button on my sweater. “But I was in your room last night.”
It took me a minute to respond. “Look, I don’t want you following me around anymore. Or whatever it was you were doing in… my bedroom.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “I wasn’t doing anything in your room, Ember. Liz was looking for Olivia. I checked your room and found her.”
“Oh.” My cheeks flushed.
“Why do you ask if I was on the balcony?”
I shrugged. “I thought I saw someone.”
“Well, did you?”
“I guess I was seeing things.”
He made some sort of affirmative sound and I looked up. His dark eyes were narrowed on the wall, the lines of his face tense.
I cleared my throat. “So, yeah, thanks for… um, getting Olivia.”
His dark eyes swiveled back to me. Strands of hair fell across his forehead. “I think you can control your gift.”
“It’s not a gift,” I blurted out. “It’s nothing like you or Olivia. I’m just screwed up. That happens when you die, I guess.”
