Looking out at the sun setting behind the glass skyscrapers, I couldn’t help but think of home. There weren’t too many differences between Seattle and Boston that I could see. Both cities were big and by the water, giving the air a permanent car-exhaust-infused moisture no matter the temperature. Both were a hodge-podge of ancient and new buildings placed almost as afterthoughts along winding streets. Seattle did have a lot more homeless people though. Somehow it still felt safer than Boston. I thought of the gang and suppressed a shudder, absently rubbing my shoulder.
Getting the tattoo had been my initiation all those years ago. Two fiery bird wings were customary, but I’d opted for a single wing across my left shoulder blade. It had been one of the most painful things I’d ever experienced, short of dating Marty.
I killed the minuscule cigarette butt and flicked it into the grass somewhere far below.
Despite it all, there were perks to being banished here.
◆◆◆
I strutted down the aisle between easels, toward Charlie. Today I wore a deep V-neck shirt under a leather jacket with studded leggings and boots. I looked like a badass. What snide comment could he come up with about my clothes today?
I slid into the seat beside him. “Hey. Glad you could make it.”
Charlie leaned back, his mouth quirking in amusement. “Am I the only good thing about your day, or what?”
I clapped a hand over my mouth and widened my eyes, going for the surprised doe look. “Is it that obvious?”
“Were you trying to be discreet?”
I tucked my messenger bag under my chair, chuckling. “Nah, I was just looking for a way to bring up your ditching yesterday. What excuse did you use? Maybe it’ll work for me.”
He ran a hand down the length of paper fixed to his easel. “It won’t work for you.”
“Why not?”
Sizing me up out of the corner of his eye, he said, “Because my sister is mentally disturbed and everyone knows it. So when I say she’s having another episode and my uncle needs help getting her to stop screaming, teachers tend to believe me and give me a free pass.”
I blinked at him, all playfulness gone. “Wow. Sorry, man. I didn’t know.”
“How could you have known?” he said, shrugging my apology away. “You’re new.”
“So how’d your family’s dirty laundry become public knowledge?”
Charlie nodded at the teacher, who was starting her lecture. I turned my attention to the front of the class somewhat grudgingly.
Damaged kid: just my type. The thought was sarcastic, but in truth, all I was really feeling at this point was sympathy. It had to be stressful as hell living with someone like that. Could he ever just cut loose? I was tempted to offer him my last few cigarettes and maybe volunteer to steal some beer for him, but thought better of it. He probably had friends who could do that for him.
Why did I care so much anyway? I hardly knew the guy.
I gave myself a shake and tried to pay attention to the fascinating lecture about the differences between watercolors and oil pastels. It didn’t work. I was still curious. When the time came to experiment with watercolors, I picked up where we’d left off.
“Did your sister have a public episode? Is that why everyone knows?”
Charlie studiously selected the colors he wanted to work with and dipped his brush into one of them. “My sister’s psychic gift is what drives her crazy. She goes with my uncle to crime scenes and helps him solve murders. The media loves her.” He met my skeptic gaze with a frown. “Go ahead and Google it if you don’t believe me. My uncle’s Detective Victor Campbell. He’s closed the highest number of cases in the county thanks to Jasmine.”
“Wicked,” I said once I’d recovered from my shock.
He started doodling along the edges of his paper. Apparently, the conversation was over.
I dabbed my paintbrush in a random color and drew streaks across my paper. Trying to sound less freaked than I actually was, I said, “That must make your home life kinda rough.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“So you live with your uncle, right? Are your parents…?”
Charlie gave a short, bitter laugh. “No, they’re alive. They couldn’t handle Jasmine’s condition so they shipped us here when we were little.”
I flinched. Ouch.
“Yup, I’m the whole package.” He cocked his head and gave me a maniacal grin.
I laughed when it dawned on me. “You’re trying to scare me. It ain’t gonna work.”
His smile vanished. “Why not?”
I put my paintbrush down and shoved the sleeve of my jacket up to my elbow, exposing a jagged scar along my forearm. “See this? I got it in a knife fight against some bitch from a rival gang. I won, by the way.” I tugged at the loose neck of my shirt, exposing my collarbone and the spear-shaped burn mark I had there. “My ex used my straightening iron to give me this because I dared to talk back to him once.” I released my shirt and flattened the hair around my ear to expose the crescent-shaped scar along the base. “My stepdad gave me this the last time I was arrested. He threw a can opener at my head.”
Charlie stared at me, his mouth agape. Clearly, we’d misjudged each other.
I smirked. “Let’s just say I don’t scare easily.”
Chapter 4
Jasmine
I dipped my hand into the bucket and sprinkled bird seed beside me as I walked. The birds left their branches and perches to assault the ground where the seeds landed.
The birdhouse was huge—it took up half of the precinct’s roof—and was constructed of double paned glass. Several trees had been planted inside along with flowers and different kinds of bushes. The occasional fountain sprung up from the green and a little pond sat
