The breeze picked up, scattering the dull brown and yellow leaves across the porch. They came to a rest around my sneakers. My mind wandered away from Hayden, right back to another string of thoughts that started a low burn in my stomach.
There wasn’t a part of me that doubted that someone in this house had something to do with the “gifts” in my locker. Pressure built in my chest when I thought about the possibility I could be living with the person responsible for the accident.
I stopped drawing, pushing back a wayward curl as I stared down at my sketch. The marks were unmistakable.
Parker.
He stopped at the top of the steps and turned, his gaze settling on me. Sunlight sliced across his face, but it didn’t warm his expression.
I tucked the pencil inside the sketchpad and started to stand, but what was I trying to run from? Parker knew everything.
He let out a sigh as he glanced down at the keys in his hand. “I’m sorry about that night in the cabin.”
Struck dumb, I simply stared. Parker never talked to me. Ever.
Clenching the keys in his hand, he inched away from the steps and stopped a good six feet from me.
“Sometimes when I read people, I get sucked in. I can’t stop.” He stared off into the woods while he spoke. “And you were especially hard to read. There’s a lot going on in your head.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Should I apologize? But that didn’t seem right, so I said nothing.
Parker appeared okay with that. “It’s hard to block people like you out. People whose brains are always working at something, their emotions always on broadcast.” He paused, finally looking at me.
“Phoebe told me you saw.”
“Oh,” I said, knowing he meant the cuts Phoebe had made along her thighs.
“It’s hard for her to block you out, to block out Hayden. It gets to her.”
Somehow, I knew Parker was apologizing for Phoebe’s behavior, explaining why she hurt herself. “I understand it’s hard for her, but she shouldn’t be hurting herself. Someone should do something. Get her help.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Phoebe’s fine.”
“People who are fine don’t cut themselves.”
“Most people don’t believe they’re soulless,” Parker raised his brows. “Nor do they believe they actually want to hurt people. Do you think you’re fine?”
My jaw hit the floor.
“Isn’t that how you deal with your gift? You believe you can’t help it, that your touch is beyond your control. So you’ve convinced yourself that you are soulless, evil. In a way, it takes the responsibility off you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Phoebe cuts to distract herself from other people’s emotions. I stay away from people so I’m not tempted to get in their heads.” Almost like he needed to prove his words, he took a step back. “Gabe is the lucky one; he doesn’t have to deal like we do.”
“What about Hayden?” I asked before I could stop myself.
A cynical smile twisted his lips. “Hayden’s learned to be comfortable with his gifts. Out of all of us, he knew how to deal. He did deal.”
“You say that like he doesn’t deal anymore. I don’t believe that. He’s so… strong.”
Parker shook his head. “Hayden shows you what he wants you to see. You don’t know Hayden. He’s never in control, not when he’s around you.”
.
With my sketchpad and lukewarm mug of hot chocolate in hand, I went back inside after Parker left. I shivered in spite of the toasty warmth of the house. Why was I even thinking about Hayden? We weren’t even friends anymore. And besides, according to Phoebe, he had a thing for lost and broken people.
That didn’t flatter me.
I didn’t need him to help me get control of my touch. I didn’t need him to believe that his father had anything to do with the accident. But what about all the other stuff—the things we shared that had nothing to do with my touch or the accident? His friendship, the way he could get me to talk about almost anything? Or the way he looked at me, the way I felt around him?
Coming to a stop in the foyer, I wanted to kick myself. I hadn’t needed any of that stuff for two years.
Surely, I didn’t need it now. What I needed to do was forget about Hayden, because right now, he wasn’t important. Finding out who’d been behind the car crash was.
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered why someone would want Olivia badly enough to kill. And come on, kill me, too? When I’d been just a kid? Or maybe they’d planned to wipe my mind—
erase all of our memories of Olivia—but when she brought me back with a new “gift,” they changed their plans. Maybe they wanted to see what I could do, see how I progressed on my own.
I just couldn’t figure out the “why” behind it all.
Tucking my sketchpad under my arm, I rubbed my temples. Ugh. Lack of sleep mixed in with learning someone might’ve wanted me dead could cause one hell of a headache.
I headed into the kitchen to dump my hot chocolate and found Cromwell at the table, several newspapers spread in front of him. I couldn’t make a hasty retreat before his gaze flicked up from the papers.
“Hello, Ember.”
“Hey.” I ambled over to the sink and dumped the mug, feeling his heavy stare on my back the whole time. It took everything in me to not fling accusations at him. When I turned around, Cromwell leaned back in the chair. “Can I ask you something?”
He nodded. “You can ask me anything.”
“Is it possible my parents knew about Olivia’s gift? Before she did anything?”
Cromwell glanced down at one of the papers. “It’s possible, especially if Olivia wasn’t the first one in the family to have a gift.”
“You’re saying someone else could’ve had the gift? In my family?”
“The ability to have gifts hasn’t been proven to be hereditary, but there’ve been several instances in which more than one member of a family has shown a gift. Just like Phoebe and Parker.”
“No way,” I murmured. “Mom and Dad were super-boring and ordinary.”
“Not your parents, but perhaps your grandparents, an aunt, or a cousin?”
My entire family was boring. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I admit I had looked into your family tree a bit when we first brought you here. Mostly for my own curiosity.”
I came closer to where he sat. “Did you find anything?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Are you sure?” I asked quietly, finding it hard to maintain eye contact with him.
Cromwell smiled evenly. My insides went cold. “I’m a hundred percent sure.”
Beyond a doubt, I knew he’d lied. He’d found something—something he didn’t want to share. Cold crept over my skin, leaving little goose bumps behind.
He stood. “Can you follow me, please?”
I was more willing to walk off a cliff, but I didn’t have much of a choice. “Sure.”
Cromwell gave me a look like he knew what I thought, and I’d swear his lips curved into a real smile for just a second or two.
I ended up following Cromwell to his home office clear on the other side of the house. Located in the right wing, a part of the mansion I rarely ventured to, the study seemed sterile and lifeless.
Cromwell went behind his desk while I hovered in the middle of the room, unwilling to get any closer. I couldn’t help it. When I looked at him, I saw my dad smiling at me before he hit the gas and crossed the intersection. A shudder of revulsion crawled over me.
