Hell Fire

for the last four hundred years.”

“Like anyone would believe it wasn’t fake.”

The girl had a point. I listened to them bicker for a bit before I remembered the scrap of paper that had been in the Bible, marking the verse numbers Farrell had haphazardly painted over on his front door. So I flipped to that page. Chance was watching me, and I think he knew what I intended, but he seemed resigned to letting me take all manner of risks.

After scanning the poem penned in Mr. McGee’s crabbed handwriting, I sealed my hand atop the page. Pain shot through my palm and up to my elbow. I moaned, but the scene tore through my barriers, so I had no time to prepare—I was simply yanked in headfirst, whereupon I once more became Curtis Farrell. His immense shame and anger slammed through me. He and Mr. McGee were arguing about something.

They stood in the basement of the library, though what the gas station clerk would’ve been doing down there, I had no idea. He slammed something down on the workbench and shook his fist at Mr. McGee. The old man didn’t back down; he had the air of a man chastising somebody who deserved it.

I focused on his lips. Don’t be an idiot, boy. You could get out of here. I wasn’t sure about all of that, but I knew I’d gotten the first bit right, because McGee exaggerated his mouth movements as if he was, in fact, talking to an idiot. And that was all.

My palm throbbed, matching the pain in my other hand. Great. Nothing like a matched set. I exhaled in a shuddering sigh and opened my eyes. The others were staring at me in alarmed silence. I had no idea why until I glanced down.

The paper had burnt to ash beneath my fingers.

“That’s too much power,” Jesse said uneasily.

A hard tremor rocked through me, and I thought I might be sick. It took all of my self-control to battle it down. I knew Jesse suffered everything I did when I handled, and I felt bad for inflicting that on him. At the same time, it was also comforting to know I wasn’t totally alone with it, even if I didn’t choose to talk about it. It almost seemed like he was beside me on the path.

“Did you get anything helpful?” Chance asked quietly.

“I’m not sure. Shannon, did Curtis Farrell have any kind of personal connection to Mr. McGee?”

“I have no idea. I didn’t know him that well, really. But I can find out.”

I nodded. “If you don’t mind, it might be helpful.” In a few words, I summed up what I’d gleaned, which wasn’t much when you got right down to it.

More than we had before. My fingers stirred in the ashes and gray motes twirled on the kitchen table. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Like Chance, I was wondering where it would stop. My gift had taken a decidedly dark turn.

“No problem,” she said.

The others let me fill the silence—or not. I did, by telling them all about the girl I’d glimpsed in the attic and how I thought she’d been Gifted too. They all appeared thoughtful when I finished.

“Kilmer has been producing Gifted for a long time,” Jesse murmured. “I don’t know what to make of that. It usually runs in family lines.”

I nodded. “From what you said, it’s more genetic, and it shouldn’t just randomly appear in different families who have never known the likes before.”

“Maybe it just skipped a generation or two,” Shannon offered. “Like a recessive gene or something.”

Chance drew a complex pattern on the kitchen table. “Could be. But that’s probably not the whole answer.”

“I’m sure,” I agreed. “But we won’t solve it tonight. We should get some rest.”

Shannon slipped from her chair and peered at my hands. A little shiver went through her. “No offense, but I’m glad I don’t do what you do.”

“Me too.” I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even somebody I didn’t like.

“G’night.”

Her exit sparked the rest of us into motion. The guys cleared the table, and I made my way down the hall to what had been Chance’s room. Since he’d offered it to me, I wasn’t going to argue. He could sleep on the couch. I’d done it at Chuch’s place, after all.

Crap, that reminded me I’d meant to call the mechanic about Shannon’s gift and see if he had any advice. It was too late now. In the morning.

Jesse caught up with me before I reached my door. “You can take my room. Chance and I are switching off on the couch, and it’s my turn.”

Such gentlemen. But I just gave a weary nod and turned my steps in that direction. To my surprise, he followed me. When I turned, I saw he had the salve; it was good he remembered, or I would have paid for it in the morning.

Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, I offered my hands palms up, as if he were trying to arrest me. Amusement flickered in his dark eyes, but he merely knelt and started tending my wounds. His ministrations stung like a bitch, but I bore them with stoicism. This wasn’t my first time, after all.

“You are such a bulldog,” he murmured, tawny-streaked head bent.

“Wow, that’s uncommonly sweet talk, even for you.”

He offered me a wry half smile. “I meant once you lock your jaws into something, you just don’t turn loose. I admire it. If you didn’t hate cops so much, you’d make a heck of an investigator.”

“I don’t hate you,” I said softly. “It means a lot that you came all this way.”

“Yeah?” Jesse skated a thumb down the curve of my cheek to my jaw. The touch sparked gently, and I was starting to see that tiny blue flicker as a sign of connection. It meant after so many years of searching, I’d found somebody like me. “I’d love to pull you up against me until we both stop hurting.”

“But you won’t.”

He shook his head. “I promised Chance I’d back off if he did.”

“Like I told him . . . thanks.”

“God, Corine, you’ve put me through more in a few days than Heather did in a whole year—and she was half crazy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

After Jesse left, sleep didn’t come easy, and I dreamed of laughing demons with hands full of fire.

Potluck

I woke up with both hands shiny with salve. The blisters around the brand on my left palm had gone away entirely, leaving the smooth imprint of the flower pentacle. For a while, I lay there savoring the peace and the softness of the mattress beneath me.

Even minor creature comforts impressed me these days. I’d driven myself long and hard, and I desperately needed a break. But I couldn’t relax until we’d finished there. Then I’d go home and ease back into my old routine at the pawnshop. I’d take Shannon with me, if she wanted to come. I even had a spare bedroom. Otherwise, I’d help her get wherever she wanted to go.

Butch bounded in, made the short leap to join me, and curled up beside me. “What do you think?” I asked him. “Do we do more legwork today?”

He yapped in the negative. It seemed he’d had enough of crawling around in the woods. Sadly, he was probably smarter than the rest of us put together.

That day we listened to the dog and didn’t move much. To my amusement, the other three joined forces to keep me under house arrest. They didn’t want me doing anything more strenuous than sitting on the couch.

For the most part, we passed the time talking with Shannon about the Gifted community. She had a number of questions about the kinds of powers other people had. We explained the way Chance’s ability usually worked. I was glad of the quiet, for all it reminded me of the calm before the storm.

In the afternoon, I called Booke to thank him for saving me—and to confirm I wasn’t losing my mind. He