was in a really deep sleep, he could be dreaming-and there was a chance he could be dreaming about his recent experiences. And if he was really, truly unconscious, maybe he wouldn't be able to block her efforts to read his mind.
Having never tried to read the mind of a sleeping person, she wasn't sure if it would work. But it turned out to be even easier than reading a mind that was completely awake and alert. She didn't even have to concentrate very hard-an image formed almost immediately.
It was a house-a large house that looked old and abandoned. Windows were boarded up, and a door that had once been red was covered with graffiti. There was something vaguely familiar about the scene.
'Excuse me, young lady!' A very irate nurse stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. 'What's going on? There was no explosion upstairs! And what are you doing in here with my patient?'
'Gosh, I thought I heard something. It must have been my imagination. Sorry!' Jenna slipped past the nurse and scurried out of the infirmary.
She had to share this news with someone who would care. First she ran up to room 209, but Madame wasn't there. Then she remembered Charles talking about the basketball game. Had Ken said he was going, too?
Outside the gym, she could hear yelling and cheering. When she pushed the door open, it was practically deafening.
Not according to the scoreboard though. Under the heading 'Home,' the number was 110. Under 'Visitors,' the score read 0. Jenna vaguely recalled Ken saying they were playing some super duper team today. It certainly didn't look that way to her.
But Jenna wasn't really interested, and she didn't waste any more time thinking about the score. She scanned the bleachers for Ken. Finally she spotted him, way up on the top level.
'Excuse me, sorry, excuse me,' she chanted while squeezing by the cheering fans. When she reached the top, she practically pushed some guy off the stands in order to plant herself down next to Ken.
Ken glanced at her, but his eyes went back to the game immediately. 'Can you believe this?' he exclaimed. 'I don't know what happened to these guys, but they're playing brilliantly! It's not just Mike-they're all making baskets. And St. Mark's can't even score! They can't even get the ball near the net.'
'Who cares?' Jenna asked impatiently. 'Ken, listen, I read Carter's mind!'
That tore his attention away from the court. 'What did you find out?'
'Just the image of a house. But that could be where he was being held, and where the others are now.'
'Where's the house?'
'I don't know,' Jenna admitted. 'But I've got this feeling I've seen it before. I just need to remember …' 'Oh, forget about it!'
Jenna was taken aback by Ken's reaction. Then she realized that he wasn't responding to her-his eyes had strayed back to the basketball court. A boy, one of the guys Ken knew, stood at one end of the court and held a ball. He was looking at the hoop at the other end of the court.
'I can't believe Mike's going to try that,' Ken said. 'Why doesn't he toss it to another player? There's no way he can make a basket from that distance.'
Looking at Mike's position on the court, Jenna had to agree. She knew nothing about basketball, but she couldn't imagine any normal person being able to throw a ball that far and actually meet a target. Then she realized that something far from normal was going on.
'Ken, look!' She pointed at Charles, whose wheelchair was parked at the bottom of the opposite bleachers. He was staring at the basketball with an expression that was very familiar. And when the ball left the hands of the player, it flew the length of the court and fell right into the basket, so neatly that the net didn't even rustle.
A roar went up from the crowd. But even with all the noise, Jenna didn't miss the groan that came from Ken.
'I can't believe it!' He smacked the side of his head. 'Charles is moving the ball for them!'
'Do you think the team knows he's doing it?' Jenna wondered.
'I doubt it,' Ken said. 'They don't know about his gift-nobody at school does, except for us. 'Then he frowned. 'But Mike was asking me about him earlier. He called Charles spooky.'
Spooky. .The word ignited something deep in her memory. Back when she was hanging with the low-life types and staying out all night, they were always looking for shelters when the weather was bad.
She drew in her breath so sharply that Ken looked at her in alarm. 'Are you okay?'
'I just remembered,' she said. 'I know where that house is.'
Chapter Nine
EARLIER THAT SAME afternoon, Emily sat with Amanda-Sarah on a sofa facing the big flat-screen TV Amanda had chosen the DVD they were watching, a romantic comedy. It didn't matter to Emily, though, since she wasn't actually watching it. She was more interested in trying to drum up a vision.
More than ever before, she needed to see the future. She had to know what they were about to face so they could prepare themselves-to fight? To escape? How could she help them if she didn't know what was in store for them?
It was easy to zone out in front of the movie because she'd already seen it and hadn't really enjoyed the first time. Amanda was totally engrossed in it and wouldn't interrupt her. Martin was playing a video game-either saving or destroying the world-and the last time she'd looked, Tracey had been reading. She was in a decent environment for receiving visions.
And the visions came, one after another. The only problem was, they didn't make any sense to her. She saw Martin lifting the very sofa she was sitting on and leaning back to throw it across the room. She saw Tracey disappearing and reappearing, blinking on and off like a light on a Christmas tree. She saw Charles breaking down a door with his mind … Wait a minute. Charles? He wasn't even here! Maybe someday, somewhere, Charles might break down a door, but what did that have to do with their own immediate future? It wasn't like he'd break down
Frustrated, she shook her head violently in the hope that this might clear her mind. What was it Madame had said about her visions? She had to interpret, to look for clues that would give the visions meaning.
If Martin threw the sofa really hard, and if he threw it at the door, there was a good chance the sofa would break it down. Then they could get out. Even if only one of them made it through, that one person could get help for them all. But would Martin throw the sofa toward the door? She needed to conjure up the vision again and see exactly where the sofa would go. She could be standing by the door when Martin lifted the sofa, ready to escape and run for help. Or maybe Tracey should be there instead. She could disappear-and be much harder to catch if Clare and the others went after her as she ran away.
She looked over to where she'd last seen Tracey. They needed to talk about this and get a plan organized.
Tracey wasn't there.
Emily went over to Martin, who was still playing his
Martin didn't take his eyes off the screen. 'I don't know.'
'Did you see her leave the room?' 'No. Whoa, did you see that? We just destroyed France!'
'Congratulations,' Emily murmured.
Martin turned to her. 'Hey, you know what? It's not so bad here. My mother won't let me play violent games like this. The food's better here, too, and there's lots to do. And the people aren't mean.'
'Not
But Tracey wasn't in the bathroom or the bedroom. Had she gone invisible to do some snooping? Emily went back to the living room.
'Tracey?' she called softly.
To her relief, Tracey suddenly reappeared. 'I was looking around,' she began, and then stopped. From behind her, Emily could hear the sound of someone clapping. She turned to see Clare standing there.
