 
### Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Echo Across Time Bonus Material

Echo Into Darkness, Book 2 in The Echo Saga

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Echo Into Darkness Playlist

Excerpt from Echo Into Light, Book 3 in The Echo Saga

About the Author

Echo Across Time

Book 1 in the Echo Saga

Skye Genaro

Also by Skye Genaro

Echo Into Darkness, Book 2 in The Echo Saga

Echo Into Light, Book 3 in The Echo Saga

Echo Rising, Book 4 in The Echo Saga

Four First Kisses, an Echo Across Time short story

After the Dance, an Echo Across Time short story

Anything She Wants

Supernatural Summer

Copyright © 2013 by Skye Genaro

In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at skyegenarobooks@gmail.com, or http://skyegenaro.com.

Thank you for your support of the author's rights.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

This book is also available as a print book.

Book bundle December 21, 2018

V.1 Bundle

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Echo Across Time summary

Fall in love with the achingly beautiful story of Echo and Connor, supernaturally gifted teens, as they fight to live out their destiny together.

Echo had it all--she lived in a mansion in the wealthiest neighborhood and was a member of the Partychicks, the elite high school clique. But her enviable life was ripped apart when a bullying incident put her in a coma. When Echo wakes up, she's gained paranormal powers that she can't control.

Objects magically fly through the air. Lights flicker. Trees snap in half. These strange abilities wreak havoc on Echo's life, and she will do just about anything to get rid of them. Even if it means sharing her secret with Connor, the gorgeous, frightening stranger who appears out of thin air and possesses shocking supernatural abilities. He promises to teach her things beyond her wildest imagination--if Echo has the courage to trust him.

Soon, she is pulled into a world of mystical possibility and starts falling hard for the enigmatic Connor. As Echo uncovers the truth about him, she discovers a dark secret brewing within her city: people with paranormal gifts are being kidnapped and murdered. Escaping with Connor would keep Echo alive, but at a high cost to him and to the future they both believe in. Echo must choose between her love for Connor and her own safety, but she can't have both.

For Chuck, my real life prince,

who is there to tuck me in every night.

*****

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.

They're in each other all along.

-Rumi
Chapter 1

Mr. King slapped my physics test face down on my desk. I didn't need to flip it over to know that studying had been a waste of time. I sensed, from the surge of disappointment coming off my teacher, that my grade was awful. I kept my head down, letting my long chestnut hair fall around my face, and debated whether it was safe to look at the test result.

All around me, my classmates were having normal reactions to their grades. They winced and slumped or smiled and fist pumped. Others sat quiet and smug. I knew all of this without looking because I felt each of their emotions just as surely as if they'd blasted me with a fire hose.

"What'd you get?" Becca nudged my elbow and stuffed her test into her backpack. She'd done well. I could tell by the warm, bubbly feeling radiating off her.

"I'm afraid to look." My forehead just above my eyebrows started to tingle, and the tips of my fingers prickled. This was not a good sign.

"Come on, Echo, don't be shy," a voice taunted me from behind. A smooth hand adorned with a diamond ring reached over my shoulder and grabbed my test.

"Back off, Raquelle," I hissed. I tried to swat her away, but I was too slow. Raquelle flipped the pages over. My test had so much red on it, it looked like a victim of a violent crime.

"Oooo, you got a C minus. Aren't you a smarty," Raquelle mocked. Her arrogant laughter rippled through the air and landed hot and sticky, on my skin.

I wanted to make a snappy comeback, but Mr. King started talking. Instead, I lashed my arms across my chest, crossed my legs, and wished that my ability to feel other people's emotions was the worst of my problems. As my irritation rose, the air grew staticky, like the room could spontaneously combust at any moment.

Mr. King pulled down the projector screen and turned off the lights. Raquelle unwrapped a piece of gum and threw the crumpled wrapper at the back of my head.

I clenched my fists, and the tingling on my forehead intensified. If I squeezed my eyes closed and focused on calm thoughts, maybe I could hold back the outburst. Maybe if I just--

The screen at the front of the room rolled up with a loud snap. The fluorescent lights flickered, and the projector light bulb shattered.

"The ghost returns!" some kid yelled. Another kid hummed a creepy tune.

This wasn't the first time we'd had this kind of disruption in class, and more than one person had suggested that the room was haunted. It's not, though. It's me. Not only do I feel others' emotions, mine cause objects to move.

I took a few deep breaths, and the room returned to normal.

"Everybody calm down," said Mr. King.

He turned on the lights and the kids around me giggled. The contents of my book bag were strewn across the floor. Notebooks, pencils, and some personal items I'd just as soon not mention, had all gotten caught in my energetic outburst.

The bell rang, and Becca helped me clean up the mess. Side by side, we don't look much alike except we're both small and lacking in curves. We used to raid each other's closets before she took to wearing all black, like the midnight Converse and charcoal lace top that she wore today. Becca kept her fawn-colored hair short and spiky. My chestnut hair grew well past my shoulders. Her natural, year-round tan made my fair skin appear washed out by comparison.

"This room is seriously possessed," she said.

"Right? It's like the second time this week." And a third eruption was boiling up. I had to get out of there.

"The weird thing is this stuff always happens when you and I are in the same place," she said.

"That settles it. You're the one who's possessed, not the room," I joked, knowing she'd probably be thrilled to have some ridiculous ability she couldn't control. I zipped my bag closed. "I've got to pee. I'll meet you in the lunchroom, 'kay?"

I practically ran out of Physics class, then raced past the girls' bathroom and out the nearest exit. I skirted the corner of the building and pressed my back against the cold brick. Out here, under Oregon's stormy October sky, I could relax. Wind whipped through the school courtyard. Gray clouds billowed over Portland's skyline. This was the perfect cover for what I was about to do.

The insistent buzzing that I loathed pulsed in the center of my forehead. A prickly sensation ran up the backs of my legs and spine. "Just breathe through it and let it go," I coached myself.

I inhaled, and let the air out slowly. Invisible waves of energy exploded off me and unfurled in the courtyard, scattering garbage and leaves. It upended one of the wooden benches and sent it tumbling toward the parking lot. A loud snap punctuated the air. Above me, a fresh crack cut through a window on the second floor.

My buildup had been worse than I thought. Now the tension was gone from my body and my near-constant headache was gone. The next few hours were precious ones, before the next outburst gathered under my skin and threatened to spill over in public. Until then, I'd feel like my normal self, the way I was before the accident, when my life was a boring set of routines set in days that washed into one another. I wanted so badly to be that girl again.

*****

I weaved through the cafeteria, past the jocks and stoners, the math geeks and royalty, to the table where Becca and I usually sat alone. Today, Becca held court with a coven of customers.

Becca's presence feels light and airy, which is one of the reasons I like her. Although she doesn't know about my telekinetic chaos, she's probably the only person I could tell who wouldn't faint dead away. That's because Becca is hardcore Wiccan. She practices spell-making whenever she needs to resolve a problem, and believes that every person has an abundance of hidden secret powers.

She spends her lunch hour doling out potions and spell recipes to the lovelorn, forlorn and those hungry for power. Most of Becca's customers insist on meeting her in the bathroom between classes. A few are brave enough to cross the invisible lines between cliques and do business openly, in the cafeteria. I suspect that, like Becca, they don't care what anyone thinks. I admire Becca's courage.

I sat next to her and watched her in action.

"This spell can only be used for good intentions, you understand?" Becca asked. A girl I recognized from History class nodded.

"Clairvoyant ability is nothing to take lightly," Becca continued.

"Uh-huh. So this'll work, right?"

"Follow these instructions exactly and your mystical third eye will open." Becca tapped the center of her forehead. "It's the gateway to all supersensory ability."

My hand floated to my own forehead. The idea that some sort of gateway had recently opened there unsettled me. Becca gave the girl a slip of paper and waited while she skimmed the directions.

The girl twisted her face. "Where am I supposed to get dragon's blood?"

"Use raw hamburger. It's close enough," Becca answered.

The girl considered this, paid Becca a few dollars, and left. Finally, Becca's last client ambled across the cafeteria with a potion recipe in hand.

"Does that stuff really work?" I asked with a rawness I hadn't intended.

"Of course. Why do you think all these people come to me for help?"

"That's not what I meant."

Becca sucked in her cheeks. Her wicked witch look. "I know exactly what you meant. That I'm delusional, and none of us really has any power. It's all right, I've heard it all before. I expected better from my best friend, though."

"I mean, do they ever tell you how it turns out?"

"Sometimes," she shrugged.

"And they're happy with the results?"

Becca plunked her elbows on the table. "Am I on trial here? Because you missed the Inquisition by a few hundred years."

"Okay," I started over. "What if someone wanted to get rid of their ability? Say someone could, I dunno, move stuff just by looking at it."

"You mean telekinesis? Like anyone would want to get rid of that," she snorted.

"They might if they couldn't control it or if it was getting in the way of, you know, normal life."

"I wouldn't, not ever. Just imagine it, Echo: if we could move stuff with our minds, we'd make a ton of money on the talk show circuit. We'd have our own reality show!"

I winced. The psychics on television were regularly blasted as con artists. And a telekinesis show? Just shoot me now.

"People would call you a liar and always try to prove you were tricking them," I said.

Her eyes widened. "Maybe I could mix up a brew to give you telekinetic ability. Then you'd see how cool it is."

"No!" I said.

"A potion to make you see auras?"

"Auras?"

"It's the invisible energy field around a person. It radiates their emotions, and a person who can feel auras is called an empath."

I gave her a startled look. So that's why I was able to feel other peoples' happiness and crankiness and everything in between. I was an empath. Oh, happy day. I let out a frustrated grunt.

"Fine," Becca huffed. "You want to know if I can expel a power. I could probably find a reversal potion."

I finished lunch while Becca talked about the websites she used to search out Wiccan recipes. I silently thunked my knuckles on my forehead. What was I thinking? Becca's belief in magic only existed to fill a gaping hole in her life.

Becca's parents and older siblings treated her like a baby. They didn't allow her to drive and chauffeured her everywhere, even though she'd gotten her learner's permit the same time I did. If Becca had any real power, she'd have cast a spell over her parents to make them buy her a sporty little car and take her to the DMV for her driver's test.

*****

The final bell rang, and Becca and I cut across the school parking lot to the secondhand BMW that my dad bought me. I'd asked for a car more my style, like the rusted-out Volkswagen Beetle we owned in Seattle, but he was trying so hard to make up for uprooting me that I finally gave in to the super cute, light blue convertible with a black roll-down top.

"Ewwww!" Becca said when she saw my car. Green slime dripped down my windshield. "Raquelle needs to get a life. I can't believe she's still harassing you. Did you report her to the principal yet?"

"I told them Raquelle was the one who glued my locker shut, but I can't prove it was her, so there's nothing they can do." I threw my book bag onto the back seat.

"She acts like it was your fault she got suspended, but she's the reason you fell off the banister. You went into a coma because of her. You could have been killed," Becca said as the windshield wipers cleaned off most of the slimy mess.

Sometimes, I wondered if that would have been better. Ever since I woke up from the coma, I was plagued with these new abilities. And there was more. While I was unconscious, I'd had a vision--or was it a dream?--and it was coming back to me in disturbing flashes of light and pictures. I shoved these images out of my mind before they cloaked me in their feeling of impending doom.

The sun came out so I rolled down the convertible top for the drive home. West Vista, Portland's richest neighborhood, is perched on a hill overlooking the city. My stepmom, Kimber, won her beautiful, three-story white house in a divorce settlement. When my dad married her over the summer, we'd relocated here from Seattle. My dad travels the world for his company, Bennett Global Imports. While I'm glad business is booming, I miss him terribly.

As I wound my car up the slope, I couldn't help but be taken in by the view. Portland spread across the valley below and then continued on the other side of the Willamette River. White clouds brushed the handful of skyscrapers downtown. On the far edge of the horizon, the glacier-covered Mount Hood jutted eleven thousand feet into the sky.

"You want to come over for homework?" Becca asked.

"Nah, I've got a... research project to do." Truth was, I needed time alone, to unwind from the stress of hiding my ability from the public. I'd nearly reached my tipping point, my nerves wearing thin with the possibility that someone would find out about the tele-chaosing. I called it tele-chaosing because it was like telekinesis, except I didn't have any control over the things that flew across the room, or the blinking lights, or any of it.

I dropped Becca at her driveway and drove across the street to my house. I let myself in. The front door closed, sending an echo through the broad entryway and into the rest of the enormous house. Nobody stirred inside. No one called out to see if it was me who'd come in or if I'd had a good day at school. My dad was in Asia--or was it Europe? I lost track--and Kimber usually didn't wander home until after dinner.

My head pounded with the need to talk to someone about what was happening in my life. Becca had her mom to talk to, and I was her sounding board when life got really rough. The list of people I could confide in about my paranormal nightmare came to exactly zero. Living on the edge, expecting my greatest secret to come screaming out at the worst possible moment, made me want to cry.

I dropped onto the couch, the six magnetic bracelets that I wore rattling on my wrists. I'd read that magnetic fields could disrupt energy fluctuations, so I'd bought the bracelets online. At first, they kept my tele-chaosing in check. But now, either the bracelets were wearing out, or--and this was the part that kept me awake at night--my energy was getting too strong for them.

I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. The vision I'd had while I was unconscious in the hospital shoved into the forefront of my mind.

I stood on a grassy hillside overlooking low buildings made of crystalline rock that reflected the intense sunlight. On the horizon, a mountain soared above foothills. I had an overwhelming sense that this was my home, and yet it wasn't my city.

"Echo," a male voice said, and his hand closed around mine.

"Yes?" I answered, but when I turned to look, I was blinded by the glaring sunlight behind him. I squinted but could only make out a pair of intense green eyes. These, too, felt eerily familiar. As the presence came closer, a spasm of fear shot up my spine. I tried to pull my hand away, and his grip tightened. Then a bloodcurdling scream--my scream, tore through the silence.

My eyes snapped open and I sat bolt upright. I've heard that the dreams you have when you're knocked unconscious are a window into your soul, into your deepest fears and desires, that they reveal truths about yourself that you refuse to embrace. Based on what I'd felt in that vision, I wanted to keep this part of me in the dark. And I sensed it was tied to my new abilities.
Chapter 2

"Stare at yourself much?" Raquelle sniped.

Just moments ago, as I walked past the school office window, I caught a glimpse of someone watching me. But when I turned to look, they were gone. I must have stood there a full minute, gaping at my own reflection, when Raquelle walked by.

"Freak," she said and sauntered down the hallway.

The past few days had been so blissful. Ever since the outburst after Mr. King's class, I'd hardly gotten any headaches. I'd kept my energy under control so well, I even dared to hope the tele-chaosing was going away.

Now this. Each time I walked past a mirror or a window, I got this eerie feeling I was being spied on. Out of the corner of my eye, I'd see a face staring at me. It always disappeared before I could see it full on. The little hairs rose on the back of my neck, and paranoia was setting in. I hurried to Physics looking like a demented hobbit, my shoulders hunched, my eyes darting at every shadow.

That uneasiness got ten times worse when I walked into the classroom. The air felt heavy and dark, like a storm cloud was about to dump on us, and the short walk to my desk was as hard as a slog through wet sand.

I looked around, wondering at the source. Mr. King shared a joke with a student. Raquelle gossiped, and Becca was an island of calm. The rest of my classmates looked bored. I took out my notebook and tried to ignore my growing discomfort.

Half way through class, a glimmer in the window caught my eye. The glass was wavering as though it had dissolved into liquid. I elbowed Becca. "Look at the window," I whispered.

She craned her neck, then shrugged.

"You don't see it?" I asked.

"See what?"

Mr. King shot us a look. I focused on my textbook until he turned his back, and then looked at the window again. The watery edges rippled and swam and took shape. A phantom reflection hovered above the sill. I blinked hard, sure this was a delusion, but the image became clearer. I made out sharp facial features, and a pair of piercing green eyes.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, it dissolved.

"You look like you're going to hurl," Becca whispered.

Prickling bristled in my fingers and I made a fist to stave it off. The image could have been caused by a million things, right? Light playing off wet glass. An illusion created by Mr. King's reflection. I was willing to tell myself any number of lies to stay calm. None of them worked.

As if on cue, cell phones around the room rang in a chorus of discordant tones. My textbook quivered and flipped open. I smacked my hand down on the riffling pages.

"What is going in here? I want everybody's cell phones turned off now." Mr. King's mouth turned down in irritation. "Echo, you seem to know the material so well that you don't need to pay attention. So please solve this equation for us."

"Right. Sure," I mumbled.

Something was going on at the window again. I ached to steal a glance, but glued my eyes to the whiteboard. "D equals, um, velocity times time? Plus point five..."

The air next to Mr. King began to shimmer. My voice trailed off and I gawked at the form taking shape. First, a pair of jeans. Then a long-sleeved black t-shirt. They floated there for a moment, without a body to hold them up. Nobody saw this except me.

Fear is not a polite emotion. All the blood whooshed right out of my brain and icy dread filled my chest. I moved my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Just when I thought I'd reached the peak of panic, the chilling scream that I remembered from my dream in the hospital rang through my head.

"Miss Bennett, is everything all right?"

I managed a nod. Next to my teacher, a fuzzy human image filled the shimmering clothing. Olive skin on hands and arms. Black hair. Green eyes.

It was the guy from my dream.

The translucent phantom scanned my classmates, searching each face with cold intent. Calmly, methodically, his gazed traced up one row and down the other.

"Can you finish the problem?" Mr. King followed my stare to the space next to him, but he saw nothing. My classmates snickered. No one noticed the thing next to my teacher.

"Um," I stuttered. At the sound of my voice, the phantom's eyes locked on me. He raised his chin slightly. Drilled me with his glare. Assessing. Scrutinizing.

"Thirty-six. Just say thirty-six," Becca whispered.

"Miss Bennett?"

I glanced between Mr. King and the apparition.

"Thirty-ssssix," I stuttered.

"Is there something else you'd rather be doing, Ms. Bennett?"

"Uhm..."

The bell rang and I slapped my textbook closed. I leaned down to grab my bag and when I dared to look up again, the phantom was gone.

Becca caught up to me in the hallway. "I hate to crush your vibe, but you're starting to steal my reputation as the school freak. What happened back there?"

"I feel sick. I'm going to the nurse's office." I left Becca outside the cafeteria and hurried down the corridor leading to the office. I cupped my hand next to my eyes to avoid seeing anything that might be reflected in the office window. Or maybe to keep him from seeing me.

I dropped onto the bench outside the nurse's station next to three other girls. My panic diminished to a dull stomachache. There had to be a rational explanation for what I thought I'd witnessed: the high cheekbones forming above a harsh jawline. Veins prominent on forearms. Probing eyes that made me want to flee. This had to be a figment of my imagination. But if he wasn't real, why was my reaction so visceral?

I rested my fingers on my temples. Surely this was a side effect of the coma. Maybe I'd developed a brain tumor from the fall, and that dark mass was cutting off the blood supply and causing hallucinations. This gave me a glimmer of hope. I wasn't going insane. It was just a brain tumor!

While that theory worked to calm me down, I doubted it would hold any sway with the nurse. I tuned into the girls sitting next to me to find out their stories. Right away, I could tell they were faking their illnesses. Their auras were clean and reminded me of diving into a swimming pool. Crisp. Clean. Effortless. The kid who just exited the office was a different story. His aura clogged the hallway with its dense, depressing weight. A cold, I guessed, or maybe the flu.

The girls whispered their strategies for getting sick notes so they could go home early, going with a migraine, a sore throat, and a stomachache. Migraine Faker caught me listening and flashed me a death ray look. "You got a problem?"

I gave her a squinty smirk, and she looked away.

Before I could settle on my own fake symptom, I realized I had another dilemma. If the nurse set me free, one of my parents was supposed to pick me up. My dad was away on business and Kimber would be at the Rose Club, lunching and getting a massage. If she found out I was sick, she'd break land speed records to get here. Then she'd hover over me with noodle soup and a thermometer and search WebMD until she attributed my symptoms to either schizophrenia or pneumonia.

I dragged myself off the nurse's bench, choosing phantom hallucinations over an overbearing stepmother.

*****

On our way to the parking lot after class, Becca pulled a glass vial from her backpack and chucked it in the garbage can.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Failed potion. HunkaLove Number Two. I've been wearing it all day, and not one guy talked to me. The next batch, though, that'll be the one. Help me out and try it when it's ready?"

Just thinking about going on a date made me feel so... normal, but dating wasn't a luxury I could afford as long as my aura broadcasted my every emotion.

I shifted my backpack uneasily and tossed it in my car. "Guys are too much hassle."

"Roger that, but one I can't live without."

When I pulled to the curb in front of my house, Becca took one look at my front porch and her voice rose an octave. "Who is that?"

I followed her stare, past the iron fence and the perfect lawn to the guy leaning against the porch column. Black t-shirt. Dark hair. It was the phantom from Physics.

"You can see him?"

My question sounded comical, but Becca just lifted her sunglasses to get a better look. "Can I ever."

He was far enough away that he couldn't hear us, but near enough to spark my instinct to flee. His t-shirt stretched across a sinewy, muscular chest. Aggressive green eyes stood out against olive skin. His stance was guarded. A cowlick of dark hair curled across his forehead, a soft touch that did nothing to ease my anxiety.

Becca summed up his impact pretty well. "He's so gorgeous, he could make a nun give up the convent. Thankfully, I'm not a nun." She climbed out and strode up the walkway to the house.

I parked the car and ran after her. "We don't know anything about this guy," I said in a low voice.

"He seems to know you. Look at the way he's staring."

"Well, he doesn't." But a voice inside my head whispered "yes."

My street smarts, that calculating edge that kept me safe when we lived in dangerous neighborhoods in Seattle, told me to get back in my car and stay at Becca's until Kimber came home. And yet, I was magnetically pulled toward him.

I followed Becca to the porch. "Can we help you?" she asked.

He ignored her and locked eyes with me. A shock wave rippled down my spine and, against my will, my defenses started to peel away. The corners of his mouth curved into a tiny smile.

Becca held out her hand to shake his. Instead of meeting her halfway, he took a step back. There was something unsettling in his manner, a rigidity in his expression that made me think he was as wary of us as I was of him.

"My family might be moving in around the corner and my dad's inspecting a house. Do you have a flashlight he can borrow? He wants to take a look at the attic." His voice was deep and disturbingly alluring. I couldn't get an energy read on this stranger, but my B.S. meter was throwing up red flags.

"Oh, really. Which house exactly?" My voice quivered with sarcasm.

Becca nudged in front of me. "Pardon my friend, she was just released from a mental institution and is readjusting to civilization."

He smiled at this. "I'm Connor. Connor McCabe."

"Hellooooo, Connor. I'm Becca. I live across the street. See that house? The blue one with the Mercedes in the driveway?"

We all turned to admire the house overlooking the city.

"I bet you have a great view," he said.

"It's even better from the pool. Come on, I'll show you."

"Maybe some other time." He turned to me. "And you are?"

My energy swirled. The shrub flanking the stairway shook. Next to it, a stem from the potted vine strained to touch my arm. Great. Here I was shaking with fear and yet my aura was pulsing with attraction.

I stepped away from the plants. Narrowed my eyes and lifted my chin. "Echo Bennett," I said, and I swear, relief crossed his face.

"It's nice to meet you, Echo." Under his piercing gaze, I dropped my eyes and shuffled my feet. How could a guy be so intoxicating and unnerving at the same time?

"Where are you moving from?" Becca asked.

"South of here. Califor... nia," he stumbled over the word.

"L.A.?"

"Yes."

"So, you'll be going to Lincoln High?"

"As a senior," he said.

While Becca flirted, Connor stole long glances at me, like he was soaking in my every detail. I checked him out, too. He looked familiar, like someone I'd seen in a movie, or a student I passed every day but barely noticed. His tennis shoes were a brand I wasn't familiar with. My chest fluttered at the way his faded jeans skimmed along his strong thighs. My eyes drew upward and my jaw dropped.

Where he'd appeared solid before, parts of him were fading. I gaped at his hand.

I could see right through it. 
Chapter 3

Connor followed my gaze to his transparent hand. He blinked with momentary alarm and shoved both hands deep into his pockets.

Becca didn't notice. She was rambling on about the personal tour she'd give him on his first day of school.

"I need to be getting back," he said, cutting Becca off.

"What about that flashlight? We've got one," she offered.

Caught in his lie, Connor took a second to recover. "I think we've got one in my dad's trunk. Thanks anyway."

"So, we'll see you around." Becca batted her lashes.

"Yes." Connor's eyes lingered on mine before he crossed our lawn in long strides.

"Dontcha just want to sink your teeth into him?" Becca drooled when he got to the sidewalk.

As his otherworldly presence crossed the street, Becca dove into her backpack for her cell phone, ready to text the world about the new guy in town.

I took my eyes off Connor just long enough to give Becca a weak smile. When I looked for him again, he was gone.

*****

Inside the house, I pressed my back against the door and dug the heels of my hands into my lids. My life was turning into a science fiction novel.

After Becca left, I'd stared at the spot where we'd last seen Connor. In the span of two seconds, he had simply disappeared. Normal human beings didn't just evaporate into nothingness. Nor did their body parts fade in and out. I stretched my shaking hand up to the light, fingers spread wide. The half moons of my fingernails let the light through, but my fingers, hand, and wrist were solid flesh and bone. Unlike Connor.

What would have happened if I'd tried to touch him? Would I have grasped muscle and tendon? Or a gelatinous, non-human substance? Or would I have passed right through him? No, I decided, Connor was no apparition. Too many things gave him away. The faint sheen of sweat on his cheeks when Becca's questions became too personal. His uncompromising stance. The flicker of relief when I told him my name.

I'd felt it, too. That's what bothered me most about this boy. More than his sudden arrival, more than his obvious lies. The instant I told him my name, I'd felt it. Deep in my chest, in a place left vacant since the accident, a sense of connection bloomed.

As if I had no self-control whatsoever, my memory shifted to the way his shirt had clung to his biceps.

"No! Absolutely not going there! He could be a murderer, he could be a maniac!" I shoved all thoughts of him aside. I had more important issues to contend with than conflicting emotions about Connor McCabe.

My skin prickled, and pent-up stress from the encounter nagged me to release it. I was pretty sure Kimber wasn't home, but I didn't want to take any chances. I ran up the stairs to my third-floor bedroom.

When we moved into Kimber's house, my dad tried to make me feel welcome by loading up my bedroom with anything he thought would make a teenage girl happy: a television, an iPod dock and speakers, a laptop, and a landline telephone that I never used. He called my room the "penthouse suite" because of the gigantic attached bathroom and the view of Mount Hood.

I closed the door and yanked off my bracelets. My emotion avalanched into the room, hurling books off their shelves and slamming them into the walls. Pages fluttered and books dropped like downed birds. Dresser drawers opened, and my clothes tumbled onto the floor. My iPod turned on by itself and static blared from the speakers. As quickly as it started, the telekinetic temper tantrum stopped. In less than a minute, my room had become disaster central.

I flopped onto my mattress. In times like these, what I wanted most was to return to my old life. Not just pre-accident, but before that, even. Before my dad's business took off and the two of us lived in a tiny, two-room apartment. There, I fell asleep to the sound of gunfire and police sirens. My dad drove me to school past graffiti and rundown residences seeping with aggression. I'd been surrounded by violence and poverty but I never felt so powerless as I did now.

A soft, rhythmic banging from somewhere in the house broke my daydream. For once, I wasn't the source of the erratic noise. I got up and followed it to the second floor to Dad and Kimber's bedroom. The door was closed. I knew what was on the other side.

I opened the door, and six pounds of frantic Chihuahua bounded into my arms.

"Tito! You poor thing. She didn't take you with her today?"

Tito answered with a tiny sneeze. He'd spent hours pouting on his elaborate doggie bed, waiting for someone to come to his rescue. I hugged him close and giggled while he slathered kisses across my cheek. Then I scratched his favorite spot, right at the base of his tail. His back leg twitched spastically.

I set Tito on the floor, and he ran to the top of the stairs, panting and dancing to tell me how dangerously full his bladder was.

Down in the kitchen, I let Tito out the back door and he ran into the bushes to do his doggie business. Even though I had no cause to feel unsafe in my own backyard, the little hairs on my arms stood on end. I scanned the area, looking for Connor. My body ran hot and cold with mixed signals.

I whistled for Tito. "Come on, boy, time to go in."

Tito gave me a sidelong glance and trotted in the opposite direction. I couldn't help but laugh a little. He and I had a lot in common. He rustled into the hedge that divided the patio from the front yard and disappeared.

"Hey, get back here."

I squeezed through the shrubs in time to see him trot to the middle of the wide front lawn. He pressed his nose into the turf, sniffed, and sneezed. Then he rolled onto his back and twisted his fur into the grass, stubby legs flailing, growling with pleasure. I caught up to him in a few short strides and leaned down to scoop him up. He skirted out of reach.

"That's enough, Tito. Come here."

His whiskers twitched at a shadow near the sidewalk. A black and white blur darted from the corner of our yard, across the street, and onto Becca's porch. My heart nearly jumped into my throat until I recognized Becca's cat, now curled on the welcome mat and giving Tito the stink eye.

Tito took off across our yard. I yelled for him, but it was no use. He was a Chihuahua with a Napoleon complex, in a longtime battle with Becca's oversized cat. I sprinted to catch him before he got to the street.

As Tito stepped off the curb, the rumble of a car engine stopped my heart. He was in the middle of the road when the SUV rounded the bend and barreled into his path. The little dog skidded to a halt just in time to miss the front wheels, but his momentum pushed him beneath the vehicle. The back wheels crushed Tito's body and flung him to the curb.

"Nooooo! Tito!" I ran to the street. The driver kept going. I doubt he even saw the dog's tiny form intersecting with his vehicle. I fell to my knees next to Tito.

"Oh God, oh no..." His hind legs were crushed and he panted rapidly. Blood seeped onto his fur from a gash in his abdomen.

I broke into sobs. His legs were so mangled, I was sure that moving him would only make things worse. Tito whimpered. His pupils glossed over. He was dying.

I had to get him to an emergency vet. I was too shaken to do a search on my phone, so I forced my quaking hand to dial information. "I need an emergency vet near West Vista!" I inhaled ragged breaths, waiting for an answer. And finally, "Yes, connect me!"

From up the street, the slapping of footsteps against pavement grew nearer. I gaped when I saw Connor clearing the last few yards between us.

"Hang up the phone," he said.

"He got hit by a car. I'm taking him to a vet!" I tried to yell, but my voice was hoarse.

"He'll never make it. Echo, please listen to me."

"But I have to take him..." Connor was right, though. It was too late to save him. I reached out to stroke Tito's fur.

"Don't touch him. Move back to the curb." Connor's voice was smooth and insistent.

I shook my head. My tears dripped onto Tito's coat. The vet's voice beckoned me through my phone.

"Echo, you have to move away from him."

"Why? This is none of your business! Why are you even here?" My crazed expression would have caused any normal person to back off. It had no impact on Connor. His voice never wavered. His tone never changed. Yet his presence caused more uncertainty and confusion than I could manage.

"I can help him, but you have to listen to me," Connor said. "Give me a chance."

Tito's breathing became shallow. His life was slowly slipping away. Reluctantly, I hung up on the vet.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"Go stand on the grass. No matter what happens, do not move from that spot."

"But what..."

"Do it. Now."

I stumbled to the grass. Connor lay his hands a few inches above Tito. The sides of his palms glowed and became encased in white light. Beneath them, Tito's body convulsed. I clamped my hand over my mouth to hold back a scream. What in the world was I doing? First, I let Tito get hit by a car, and now I was allowing a stranger to hurt him.

Tito yelped, and I lunged toward him, but an invisible force hit me in the chest, hard. Air punched out of my lungs. I fell backward onto the sidewalk.

When I looked at Tito again, I went pale with shock. The dog looked at Connor with bright, clear eyes and rolled onto his little feet. He stood up, shook himself out and sneezed. Then Tito took one sniff of Connor's hand, growled, and ran onto my lap.

Connor laughed. "That's the thanks I get?"

"Omigod!" I squished the wriggling Chihuahua into me and kissed him wildly on his neck, his ears, his nose. I fingered his paws and hindquarters. Every inch of him was healed. The blood was gone from his fur. I rubbed the heel of my hand across my wet cheeks and rose on shaky legs.

Connor watched me carefully, keeping his distance. "He might be a little sore the rest of the day, but otherwise, he's as good as new."

"Uh-huh." I stared at Connor, dumbfounded.

Connor ran his tongue across his upper lip and looked away. He seemed to be debating something. I suddenly wished that if I had to have an unnatural skill, it would be the ability to read this boy's mind.

"How did you do it?" Despite my best effort, the question came out like an accusation.

His eyebrows raised and he twisted his lips, as though any explanation he offered would be way over my head. "Can we go somewhere and talk?" he finally asked.

Around us, lights flicked on in houses. Daylight faded and the sinking sun left a bitter chill.

"We can talk right here," I answered.

"I thought maybe we could get something to eat."

There in the dusk, my eyes wide with awe and my weight balanced on the balls of my feet, I must have looked like a gazelle ready to flee. Surely he didn't expect me to say yes. Just hours ago, he'd vaporized into my classroom, looking as menacing as a serial killer. He'd stood on my porch and lied to me. He'd disappeared into thin air. When I'd tried to stop him from working on Tito, a mysterious force had thrown me to the ground. If that wasn't terrifying enough, at that moment, the bloodcurdling scream from my dream rang through my head.

"This afternoon, you told my best friend that you're moving here. You're not, are you? You lied to us."

"You'll forgive me once you get to know me," Connor smiled shyly.

His power both thrilled and terrified me. Maybe if I'd been able to read his aura, that would have been enough to quell my distrust. As I debated my next move, I was all at once marveling at the perfect curve of his back, the soft blush of his lips. And that cowlick. He brushed it off his forehead, and it swung back over his eyebrow.

Phantom or not, I knew my place on the attraction hierarchy. Guys like this didn't ask girls like me out to dinner. They went after the Tiffanys and Vanessas with their short skirts and push-up bras. All of this compounded my paranoia.

"No thanks." I started up the driveway with Tito in my arms.

"Echo, I can help you."

"But you don't know anything about me," I said, not unkindly.

"You spend your days trying to fit in and your nights knowing you never can. You hate your loneliness, but think you don't have any other choice. Am I right?"

He'd listed my most private fears like he was reading my mind, and that disturbed me beyond all else.

"You've got the wrong girl," I lied and I ran the full length of the driveway and into the house. 
Chapter 4

I lay awake long past midnight, searching for a rational explanation for what happened that afternoon. Maybe, in my panic, I'd overreacted about Tito. Was it possible that I'd overdramatized his condition? When adrenaline courses through a person's body, they often misjudge what they see and a dozen people will argue about how an event unfolded, even though they were all watching the very same scene.

No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that Tito's legs had not been mangled and that I'd only imagined blood on his fur, there was one simple truth that I couldn't dismiss. Before Connor showed up, I knew Tito was going to die. I could feel his energy waning just as sure as I could feel the panic pounding in my chest.

I tossed my blanket aside and opened the window. The best part about my bedroom was the flat portico roof that doubled as a private deck, held in place by the columns that rose from the front porch three stories below. I swung my legs onto the roof and sat on the window ledge and pulled a pillow to my chest to counter the chill. The cloudless night was still and the cold air cleared my head, providing some much-needed perspective.

What the heck had I been thinking when I turned Connor down? Here was a guy with amazing abilities who offered to help. But help with what? I'd been so out of sorts, I hadn't even been tempted to ask. He'd come to my rescue, performed a miracle, and I reacted by freaking out and running away. I wanted to kick myself.

For all his strength, there was a vulnerability coursing beneath the surface. I'd seen it in the way he looked at me, in his hesitant manner, as though he feared that one misstep, one wrong move, and he'd lose me forever.

I needed to find him. Maybe he'd understand my reluctance and give me another chance. At the very least, I needed to thank him for saving Tito's life.

*****

The next morning, Tito met me in the kitchen, his usual spastic self. I shook my head in wonder and gave him an extra hard hug.

As usual, Kimber was at the gym and had probably burned a thousand calories before I rolled out of bed. Kimber was a pharmaceutical-powered force of nature, a society woman with no domestic capacity whatsoever, but who did her darnedest to feed me the way she thought a good mother should. Which is why I found a glass filled with brown viscous liquid waiting for me on the counter. Next to it, a note:

Enjoy breakfast! We need to talk after school.

She'd dotted the i in her name with a smiley face. The last time she'd signed her name like that, she'd dragged me to a baby shower for one of her friends. I shuddered to think what she had in store.

The brown stuff smelled awful. I dipped a finger in and held the concoction out to Tito. He took one lick and his eyes bugged in ecstasy. This didn't necessarily mean it tasted good. He'd eat the poop straight out of Becca's cat if we let him. I poured the rest down the drain, grabbed a bagel, and headed out the door.

By the time I got to school, the lot was full and I had to park on the street. I ran full speed to make it to my first class before the final bell.

One step in my History classroom told me something big was happening. The energy rose off my classmates like a freshly opened soda--foamy and light. Girls giggled and passed their cell phones around. Smatterings of conversation, "Check him out," and "hottie-licious," jumbled together in a flurry of lustful voices.

I sat next to Becca. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Connor is what."

A girl who'd never spoken to me before thrust her cell phone at me. "Check this out," she said.

Connor's face looked back at me from the tiny photo. He had that same look of longing I'd left him with the night before.

"Where did you get that?" I asked.

The girl pointed at Becca.

"Dude. Do you ever check email?" Becca teased.

I pulled out my phone. I must have switched it off when I hung up on the vet.

"Photo credit goes right here, baby." Becca pointed a thumb at herself and kicked back in her chair. Mr. Higgins came in, and the room quieted a bit.

"How'd you get that picture?" I whispered.

"Better question: what the heck happened between you two last night? I saw you run up your driveway, and he looked like you'd just offed his best friend."

"Nothing, he just saw me with Tito."

"Well, you must have left an impression because he hung outside your house like a sexy stalker. I snapped a picture before he left."

My eyes narrowed. "What do you mean he 'left?'"

Becca snorted. "Walked home. Whaddaya think he'd do, fly?"

The thought had crossed my mind.

All morning, I sought out Connor's face among the horde of students pushing through the hall. I forced myself to sneak a peek at the window reflections every chance I got. On the upside, I wasn't startled by a pair of disembodied green eyes. On the downside, the rest of Connor was nowhere in sight, either.

By lunchtime, my heart sinking, I gave up. At our lunch table, the crowd waiting to talk to Becca was three girls deep. I figured she was launching a new pheromone potion to attract guys, but the topic of conversation wasn't Wiccan. It was Connor. Girls peppered Becca with questions and wove their own theories.

"He looks like the son of that movie star, what's-his-name? The one in the action flick."

"If he's moving to West Vista, he's got bucks."

"Does he drive a Jeep? BMW?"

"That boy's got Jaguar written all over him."

"We totes need his last name so we can Google him," said Trisha, a girl from my English class.

"McCabe," I said. All heads snapped toward me.

"How would you know?" Trisha snarled.

"We met him," Becca cut in.

"He stopped by my house," I said, jockeying for their attention.

The girls looked amused.

"Your house? Why?" Trisha stifled a laugh, and I remembered how nice she used to be when we were in the same elite clique, the Partychicks. That was before Raquelle kicked me out.

There's an intoxicating power that comes with being super popular, when everyone looks up to you and you can get away with pretty much anything and people are constantly trying to look like you, be with you, talk to you. I missed that power. I wanted that power back.

"He's moving into my neighborhood," I answered. "Wanted to borrow my flashlight."

And just like that, their sunny, gleeful auras slipped away from Becca and onto me. I sucked in a breath, surprised by the buoyant energy. Oh, how I missed this feeling. Across the table, Becca frowned.

Now that they knew his last name, every girl had her cell phone out and began the great Connor McCabe investigation. Good luck with that, I thought. I ripped the top off my yogurt and dipped my spoon in, but kept one ear tuned, wanting to know what they'd learn. I was pretty sure he didn't have a regular postal address.

The girls hounded every social network, people-finder, and movie site.

"Are you sure that's his last name?" Trisha asked when they came up empty handed.

"Unless he was lying, but why would he do that?" It was meant as a joke but my audience stared blankly, so I added, "He said he'd be around, so I'll get all the gory details for you. 'kay?"

This sent the girls into a texting frenzy. A flurry of electronic pings, and a dozen social network invites landed in my inbox. These same girls, mind you, made a point of ignoring me a hundred times a day.

"You really know how to make a splash," Becca said when they left. Her aura was unusually dense.

"Me? You're the one who broadcast his picture all over Portland."

She fidgeted in her seat. "You know they're only talking to us because of Connor."

"So? You still loved it." I lifted a shoulder, guilty of the same offense.

"Yeah, well, they can kiss my Wiccan butt before I'd ever join one of their cliques again." Becca would never admit it, but she missed being part of a group, too. She reveled in the popularity that her weirdness offered, but at the end of the day, she was still a freaky chick who got left off all the invite lists.

*****

When my aura gets erratic, it's not too hard to pinpoint the cause. That afternoon, though, lights faltered and books fluttered, and I had no idea why. What I wanted was to go home and shove my head under a pillow. What I got was a massive build-up that threatened to blow the roof off the school.

Before my next class, I dodged into the auditorium and yanked off my bracelets. My aura went redneck, whipping the curtains and tipping over props. A couple minutes later, it was still boomeranging off the walls. I didn't understand it. My aura should have calmed by then.

The bell rang. I swore to myself, shoved the bracelets into place and ran to gym class.

Mr. Kipner said one word to me when I got to the gymnasium: "Detention."

"It wasn't my fault," I pleaded. "I got... stuck somewhere?"

"It's your third offense and it's getting out of control."

"Tell me about it," I mumbled.

"So I want you back here after final bell."

"Detention's supposed to be in the library."

"Not today, it's not." Standing next to Mr. Kipner felt like pressing against a brick wall, and not just because he's an ex-football player. More whining would only work against me. I gritted my teeth and got in line to practice running drills.

At the end of the day, I returned to the gym. Confetti covered the floor. Cans and snack wrappers littered the bleachers. Mr. Kipner handed me a broom.

"Freshman pep rally got a little out of hand. We're going to kick some Northside butt!" His eyes gleamed at an expected football victory.

I gave him the full attitude head roll. "I'm not cleaning this up. This is unfair. It's unconscionable!"

"I'm here until seven, so you take all the time you need." Mr. Kipner left, and the metal door clanked closed behind him.

"This. Frigging. Sucks!" I stomped through the gym, shoving the broom through heaps of garbage. With every pass, my anger rose. No matter what I did, I could not catch a break. I hated my life. I hated what I had become. I hated that there was no end to this living nightmare. I shoved a load of litter into a mound.

"I hate my life!" I yelled.

With a loud poof, the pile exploded into the air. It hung there, swaying low and then lifting again, as though deciding whether or not to honor gravity. Apparently it decided not to because the massive, multi-colored cloud of garbage shot toward the ceiling, twenty feet out of reach.

"Aaaagh! This is impossible!" I threw the broom down and slumped onto the bleachers. I shoved my fingertips into my forehead. Mr. Kipner could come back at any second. How was I supposed to explain this?

My head still hanging, I sensed another presence in the gym. I braced for trouble, but I was alone.

Overhead, the cloud of confetti and wrappers took on a life of its own, swirled into a funnel, and dropped into the trashcan. Next, empty soda bottles and snack wrappers tumbled out of the bleachers and followed suit.

In jerky movements, I looked from the ceiling to the garbage can to the now-clean gymnasium. How the heck had I done that?

"I can teach you how to control your telekinesis." The voice came from the far end of the bleachers. I spun, startled. It was Connor. 
Chapter 5

Heat seeped up the back of my neck and I knew I was about to turn bright red. How long had Connor been standing in the gym? How much had he'd seen? I crossed my arms over my chest.

"It's easier than you think," he said, "making objects move the way you want." He crossed to me and sat, leaving a generous arm's length between us. Still, I picked out the flecks of blue that dotted his green irises. The overall effect was that of a tropical lagoon.

"How long were you watching me?" I asked.

"Long enough to know you'll never make it as a janitor." The corners of his mouth twitched.

So, I wasn't the one who corralled the cloud of debris, after all. "I could have handled this."

"You had a plan?"

"Yes. I was going to leave it up there and maybe nobody would notice?" I smiled in spite of myself.

"It would have hit the floor again as soon as you left. Or as soon as your emotion shifted."

This left me momentarily speechless. "How do you know this?"

"Experience."

Connor picked up the broom and focused on the wooden handle with hawk-like intensity. The wood bent in half as though made of thin wire. Then it straightened again. My lips parted in disbelief.

"Would you like to try?" He held the handle out for me.

This was an insane question, and I couldn't decide if he was loony or making fun of me. I shook my head.

"I can help you, Echo."

"I doubt that very much."

"Give me a chance? It paid off yesterday." There was a lilt in his words, suggesting hope that I'd say yes.

True, he'd accomplished a miracle with Tito, and he had the ability to pop up in places unexpectedly, so he clearly knew more about paranormal stuff than I did. This sparked an idea, and in the space of two seconds, my attitude changed. My eyes locked onto his. "Help me get rid of this. Forever."

"Your ability? I can't do that."

"But you have to. If anyone finds out about me..." No way would I tell him he was right about my not fitting in, or how the tele-chaosing was pushing me further to the fringe. I tried the flattery angle. "Look at all the cool things you just did. And you healed Tito. I don't know how you did it, and I don't care. You've got some crazy magicky voodoo thing going, and I know you can show me how to be normal again. Please."

Connor said something under his breath.

"What?"

His expression hardened. "I said this society is a disgrace. You shouldn't have to live like this, hiding your gift."

"Gift. That's a good one. So, can you fix me or not?"

"Your ability isn't something you switch on and off, Echo." His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking his authority on the subject.

Not until he said that did I realize how desperate I was for help, how overwhelmingly powerless I felt as the tele-chaosing began to dictate where I could go, what I could do. My stomach hit bottom. "I'm really stuck with this."

"Try not to look at it like that."

"I look at it the way it is. That's why you keep showing up? To tell me..." I began to hyperventilate. "I can't ever... get rid... of it?" I gulped air.

"Breathe, Echo."

What was with this guy? He claimed he'd help me but clearly had no intention of doing so. I didn't appreciate being manipulated. My breathing relaxed, and I pulled myself together.

"Well, then." I lifted my chin and stood. "Connor McCabe, or whatever your name really is, thanks for nothing and goodbye." My fingers pricked like mad. I needed to get out of there before my aura made a fool of me again. I dragged the garbage can to the edge of the gym.

"I didn't come here to clean up... what do you call this? Detention?" he asked.

"Then why did you?"

"To teach you, and I won't be able to do that until you trust me."

I shoved the can against the wall. "How do you even know about me? Or this, this, thing that I have to deal with?"

"Your power? You'll have to trust me on that, too. At least for a little while."

"So, just out of the blue, you show up to help?"

"Obviously, you need it," he said. He might not have intended it, but the insult stung. "Didn't you just say you were afraid someone might find out what you can do? I assume you meant your family or friends. At the very least, I can teach you some control. But I'd like to teach you how to protect yourself."

I laughed. "From what? The telekinesis police?"

Connor frowned. "There are bigger forces at work, Echo. People who would love nothing more than to use your power for their own gain."

This got my attention. It was tough to believe my situation could get any worse. "Who would ever hurt me?"

Connor shook his head. "We don't have time to get into that. Your teacher will be checking on you soon."

I mulled my options. Spend a few more minutes with this intensely hot stranger and see what he had to offer or... Well, no other better choice came to mind.

"Teach me something, then," I said, regretting the curiosity that crept into my voice. I'd been going for defiant.

"Hold out your hand like this," he said, maintaining that same space between us.

I mirrored his outstretched palm. He pulled what appeared to be an arcade token from his pocket and set it on his open hand. The token rose into the air, one inch, two, going higher until it hovered above my head.

My mouth hung open as the token lowered into my palm. Given the strange things I'd been doing over the past two weeks, you'd think this would have seemed run-of-the-mill. Yet here I was, giddy. I silently admitted that Connor's proximity had something to do with this.

"Now you try," he said. "Focus on where you want it to go." He held his index finger a foot above my palm. "Imagine it's already floating up here."

That should have been easy, right? Every day, I moved objects without even trying. I held the token the way he did and stared at it. Nothing happened. I concentrated until I thought steam would come out my ears. I willed the token to move, even quietly threatened it.

"I can't."

"You're too worried that you'll fail."

"What, you're psychic, too?"

"No. You're practically breaking a sweat, you're trying so hard."

I tried again. This time, I focused on where I wanted it to go while trying not to care if I succeeded. It was almost an impossible task, and yet the coin rose.

"You've got it," Connor encouraged.

My heart did a nervous flip and right then, I wanted nothing more than to impress him. The token wobbled out of control, zipped across the gym, and ricocheted off the far wall. I cringed.

"That was good. That was really good." His green eyes met mine. "I want to show you more. Can you meet me tonight? Downtown?"

"Um, where?"

He thought a moment. "Twenty-Fourth and Vaughn Street, six o'clock sharp. I know a place where we'll have privacy."

"That's not downtown. That's the industrial district." The industrial district was all but vacant after sundown. Endless rows of low, blocky buildings crowded unlit, potholed streets. If you were looking for a setting for a horror movie, you may as well start there.

The gym doors clattered open and Mr. Kipner marched in. He stormed across the basketball court, eyeing Connor from head to toe. "Did I give you detention?"

"No, sir."

"Then you don't belong here." Mr. Kipner was in a worse mood than when I started.

"Yes, sir." Connor glanced at me as he left, his upper lip pulling into a smile.

"I'm finished, so can I go?" I asked my teacher.

Mr. Kipner scanned the floor. He inspected the bleachers, eyes narrowing. "How'd you clean this up so fast?"

I tamped down the mix of worry and boy-crush rising to the surface. The last thing I needed was for the garbage can to pull a Mount St Helen's and erupt all over the floor.

"I had to. I've got a ton of homework."

"Fine," he finally grunted. "Get out of here."

I ran to my locker and grabbed my backpack. I still hadn't decided what to do with Connor's offer. He wanted me to venture to a spooky part of town after dark. His brief lesson had been fun, but who was I kidding? I'd never control this so-called gift. My primary objective remained. I had to get rid of it.

Scratch that. My primary objective was to spend time with Connor. Drop-dead-intoxicating Connor. So what if he wanted to try and teach me a few things? There was no harm in that. Once he realized just how pointless it all was, then maybe he'd expel my supernatural curse. I was certain he knew how.

I raced through the hallway, the cheerleading banners overhead telegraphing my new crush. One of them peeled off the wall and sailed to the floor. I laughed and jumped over it.

Outside, Connor waited next to my car. He wasn't alone.

"Oh, no." I hurried out.

Raquelle had pulled her red convertible behind mine. She vogued in her cheerleading outfit, one hip thrust to the side, her pompons splayed on the trunk of her Mercedes. Connor must have said something amusing because she laughed as though his every word delighted her. And it wasn't just any laugh. This was her predator laugh, the one she used when she tagged a guy for her Hit List.

That list was the reason Raquelle dumped me from her social group. On the first day of school, I was flirting with an incredibly hot guy. Little did I know, Raquelle had put that same guy on her Hit List, meaning she intended to sleep with him. I'd stepped between Raquelle and her prey, and I'd paid dearly.

Now, she had her sights on Connor. Raquelle stretched her chin into the air and swung her shoulder at him, imitating a pose from a fast food commercial, where the actress can't believe her great fortune at finding such a delicious taco salad. She tongued the sharp point of her incisor, practically daring me to interfere.

"Thank you for saving Tito," I called to Connor from my car.

"It was my honor." His head tipped to the side, still waiting for my answer. His eyes tracked my every movement, possessively, like we belonged to each other. Like we always had. I met his gaze. In it, I found a reflection of my own hope.

"Six o'clock," I nodded, and his smile nearly crushed me.
Chapter 6

I dashed through my homework. My mind kept wandering to Connor--his astounding abilities and the secrets that he held; the fullness of his lower lip and the peaks that shaped the upper one. I had to redo my physics problems five times just to get them right.

At five o'clock, I slammed my books closed and cleaned up. I waded through the clothing in my walk-in closet, mounds of designer brands from Kimber that didn't match my overly casual style. But tonight, I put on jeans with no holes and squeezed into a stylish tee that Raquelle would probably wear. Not that I cared.

I bounded downstairs and nearly ran into Kimber as she came in the front door.

"I'm glad you're home. We need to leave in a few minutes." She scanned my outfit. "Love the tee, but we need something a little more cocktail hour and less skateboard park." She shuffled toward the kitchen. I wrinkled my nose in confusion and jogged to catch up.

"I'm meeting a friend tonight," I said.

"Didn't you see my note this morning?" She pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and struggled to open it without damaging her fresh manicure. I twisted off the cap and handed the bottle back to her.

"It only said we needed to talk."

"I'm sorry, hon, we've got dinner plans with the Cranes, and we need to leave now-ish." She flicked her fingers in the air to show her inability to grasp the exact time.

"But..."

"I know, I know. I should have put that in the note. I thought you'd be excited to spend time with Raquelle and her family. Anyway, Mr. Crane keeps asking about you and your recovery. He was the only one of our friends who came to the hospital after your accident."

"I know, but..." I wondered with a touch of desperation how to fix this.

"I promised your dad we'd go."

There they were, the magic words that could change the course of my entire evening. This was important to my dad. "Is he in town? Is he coming?"

"It's just you and me tonight and it's very important..."

"I know, I know, for my dad," I cut in.

Kimber and I battled often. The first few months of living together, we'd had our share of catfights. When my dad confided in me how much this hurt him, I put my inner drama queen in check and pledged to be a peacemaker.

But still.

"Kimber, there's this guy..." I began.

Kimber's lashes fluttered. "Why didn't you say so? Tell you what: join us for dinner and meet up with this guy a little later, and I'll extend your curfew."

"I don't have a curfew," I said.

"Oh. Well. I assumed that's why you were always in bed early."

I grit my teeth at this unintentional dig and ran back upstairs to change. A few minutes later, we were in the car, driving the four blocks to the Cranes'. The dashboard clock ticked closer to six. I wondered at the likelihood that Connor would wait for me if I was a half-hour late.

The engine sputtered.

"What's that sound? I was just at the mechanic last week," Kimber said.

The engine faltered and nearly stopped. Out of reflex, I reeled in my aura. The car quieted, but I was tired of giving in to my step-mother. Kimber's whimsy and disorganization bugged me, and I wished I'd flat-out refused to come and just dealt with the backlash.

I let loose and the engine rattled. Kimber squirmed, sure the car was about to die.

Take that, I thought.

A valet took our car at the Crane's house and a butler escorted us into an expansive living room. Everything in the house screamed super-sophistication. Kimber's aura turned sharp and competitive. She leaned in and whispered, "Please take off those godawful bracelets."

"They go with the dress," I said.

She snapped her fingers and held out her hand.

Fine, I thought, but it's all on you. I handed them over. She tucked them in her purse just as Mr. and Mrs. Crane walked in the room.

Mrs. Crane hugged us both. Mr. Crane kissed Kimber on each cheek. Then he took my hands and peered into my eyes. His mannerisms were too personal, and in his presence, I always felt like I was doing something wrong.

Mr. Crane owned a busy psychiatry practice, but on the side, he worked with the Portland police on criminal cases. He'd taken a particular interest in my well-being after my accident.

"How are we healing up here?" He tapped my forehead with a clammy index finger.

"Just fine," I replied, resisting the urge to swat his hand away. Ever since my accident he always stood a little too close.

"Raquelle is going out for the night," Mrs. Crane said. "So you're stuck with us adults!"

That was the best news I'd heard so far. I concentrated on an exit strategy and glanced at the clock. Five after six! My anxiety rocked a vase on a pedestal. I discreetly steadied it on my way by.

At the dining table, I rolled the stem of my fork between my fingers, impatient. When a woman in a server's uniform set out plates of salad, I muffled a groan. The Cranes were going all out and serving a bunch of separate courses, which meant I wouldn't be able to bust through dinner.

Since I was the only non-adult, the conversation naturally turned to topics that made my eyes glaze over. I ate my salad and fidgeted while the adults took their sweet time.

"Much like what Echo experienced," Mr. Crane said.

"What's that?" I asked as the server placed a bowl of tomato bisque in front of me. I spooned a mouthful too quickly and spattered bisque on my dress. Shoot.

"The unusual brain activity after your head injury. I'm studying the short-term effects of brain trauma on subjects, but I'm not as far along on the project as I'd like, due to extra work coming in from the police department."

"Don is working on a murder case," Mrs. Crane said.

Kimber got a gleam in her eye. "How exciting! Are they very grisly or your run-of-the-mill murders?"

Mrs. Crane cast an accusing look at her husband. "Don won't tell me a thing. A bloodthirsty maniac could be wandering the city, and we wouldn't have any clue what to watch out for."

"As long as you're not a psychic, you have nothing to worry about," he said.

"Someone is killing psychics?" Kimber exchanged a giddy look with Mrs. Crane.

"I never said that, did I, ladies? And I'd better not hear any gossip about it at the country club," he said with a self-satisfied smile.

"My lips are sealed," Kimber assured him.

"You too, Echo."

I stopped eating long enough to nod. The server swooped in and replaced the soup bowl with a plate of trout. I swore under my breath. No matter how fish is prepared I think it smells like algae, and cannot get past the fact that it was recently covered in its own slime.

Another minute ticked into oblivion. I shoved a forkful of translucent white flesh in my mouth and the candelabra centerpiece shifted ever so slightly. I swallowed and grimaced at the taste.

"As I was saying, I need a few more subjects for my brain trauma study," Mr. Crane said to me. "I thought Echo would be a perfect candidate. Your injury was fairly recent and you've healed well."

"You think so?" I asked, letting the sarcasm drip. My head injury was compliments of his lovely daughter, Raquelle. Remember that guy I flirted with on the first day of school? The one she wanted for her Hit List? Raquelle thought it would be cute to compete for him.

"Tell you what," Raquelle had said. "I'll race you down the banister and whoever wins can have him."

She'd slid her butt onto the third floor wooden rail near my locker. I don't know why, but I thought the perfect, mini-skirt-wearing Raquelle was serious. So I hopped on the other railing. Quick as a serpent, she got behind me and gave me a hard shove. The last thing I remember was the sting of humiliation before I lost my balance and then a brief moment of panic as I tipped backward over the railing onto the marble steps below.

When I opened my eyes again, wires ran from my scalp to a bank of hospital machines. The EEG was showing strange brain activity, and the doctors feared I'd slip back into a coma. When my brain leveled out again, the wave pattern was different than usual. Nothing to worry about, they said.

Yeah, right. Shortly after that, the tele-chaosing had started.

"I still get bad headaches," I said.

"It won't interfere with the data. I'll have our receptionist schedule a time for you."

"Wait a minute, I didn't mean I'd volunteer. I've got, like, tons of papers to write."

"It only involves a few cognitive tests, nothing too intense. I do all my testing on Saturdays," he said.

Like I had any interest in wasting my Saturday in a shrink's office.

"As long as it won't interfere with school, why not help out with his project?" Kimber pressed.

I stabbed at the last of the fish. With each bite, the candelabra jerked until one by one, each of the four flames snuffed itself out. The entire table shook. Silverware rattled against plates and wine sloshed onto the pale tablecloth.

"Hang on everyone. This feels like a 3.0," Mr. Crane said. Earthquakes weren't uncommon in the Pacific Northwest. However, no one noticed that the table was the only thing in the room that was shaking.

I kicked my chair back. "Kimber, can I be excused?"

"Go ahead. Would you like a ride back to the house?" she asked over the noise.

The 'earthquake' stopped abruptly. "I'll walk. Thank you for a nice evening." I nodded to the Cranes and hurried out of the room before my auric energy caused any more disruption.

While I searched the hallway closets for my coat, I calculated how long it would take to get to Connor's meeting place at the corner of 24th and Vaughn. It was downhill all the way home, so I could clear the four blocks in no time, even in a dress. Rush hour was over, so all told, I'd catch up with him just forty-five minutes late. If he was still there.

I found my jacket and shrugged into it. Raquelle clipped down the winding staircase in an off-the-shoulder turquoise dress that showed off her tan.

"Hand me that clutch, would you?" She nodded at the purse on the side table.

"Get it yourself," I said.

"You've got a mean streak, Echo. Did anyone ever tell you that? Sometimes I can't believe I ever let you join the Partychicks."

"You want to see mean, keep messing with my car." I scowled. "I know you're the one who put that gunk on my windshield."

Raquelle applied lip gloss in the foyer mirror and smacked her lips together. "How do I look?"

The dress clung to her curves, and her silver earrings dipped onto her golden shoulders. Her makeup accentuated her feline eyes. I'd heard rumors that Raquelle gave guys whatever they wanted. The girls called her a slut. The guys just kept calling her.

"Going out to spread your disease?"

"I always use a condom. Not that you'd know anything about those." She tossed her hair and opened the front door. She spoke to someone on the porch. "Do you want to come in?"

"No thanks," a guy answered, his back to us.

Even before I heard his voice, I recognized the dark hair curled at the base of his neck and the jeans that hung seductively low on his hips.

Connor.

He spun and appraised Raquelle from head to toe. One corner of his mouth arched ever so slightly. Then he saw me. He held my gaze before Raquelle stepped between us and slammed the door.

My heart squashed between my ribs, and I couldn't inhale. I waited until I heard Raquelle's convertible leave, and then I walked home.

So, that was it. My chance at the new guy had glittered in front of me like an exotic jewel one moment, and then slipped through my fingers into Raquelle's claws. I thought about her Hit List, and the way she slunk next to Connor like a greedy cat that begged to be pet, and my stomach fell.

Back in my room, I kicked off my low heels, sick at what Connor might be doing with Raquelle. Pissed that he wasn't with me, helping me wipe away my telekinetic misery.

I dug a quarter out of my backpack and set it in my palm. "If it floats, I can figure this out myself and don't need Connor and I forget about him. If it doesn't, then I suck it up and beg for his help."

I collected the fragments of my pride and focused every bit of intent on the coin. It lay there, lifeless. I tried again. I may as well have been trying to lift a semi truck.

I flopped on the bed. With no idea where Connor came from or where he went when he left, how was I supposed to ask for help? Why didn't I think to get his phone number? Something told me he didn't have one.

"Connor," I called into still air, "if you can hear me, give me a sign." I scrunched my face at how dumb this sounded. "All right, let's just say you're hearing this. I'm sorry I didn't meet you, but I need your help!" My voice rang vacant against the walls.

Of course, the air in front of my closet did not waver and an exotic, dark-haired hottie did not materialize like a genie ready to grant my every wish. I shoved a pillow over my head, feeling like a complete dork.

*****

When I woke, a cheery sun blazed into my warm, stuffy bedroom. The alarm had failed to go off. Class started in twenty minutes. My head throbbed. As an extra bonus, my room was a tele-chaotic mess. Apparently, I was now moving objects in my sleep. Lovely. Just lovely.

My eyes landed on the coin I'd tried to levitate last night. Except the quarter was gone and Connor's arcade token from yesterday was in its place. I didn't remember bringing it home, and it certainly wasn't the coin I'd held while I begged for his help. Despite the warmth in the room, goose bumps rose on my forearms. A glance around the room assured me I was alone, my door was closed, and the windows were locked.

I brought the coin to eye level. It looked exactly like a quarter, except it was made of a different metal, brass maybe. An odd number was stamped on the back, near the bottom: 2173. I set it on the nightstand and contemplated what to do with my day. I hated to miss more school. I could knock out the headache with a couple of Advil, but the truth was, I just plain didn't want to go.

I found Kimber in her room and told her I was sick. It was just a white lie. My stomach still curdled from seeing Connor with Raquelle, and that counted, right? Kimber pressed her wrist against my forehead, testing for fever, and offered to cancel her tee time to stay home with me.

"Really, I just need to rest," I said.

She gave me back my bracelets, called the school, and left with her golf clubs.

A shower eased the headache a bit. I towel dried my hair and pulled jeans and a t-shirt from the piles on my floor. The fall breeze wafting through my bedroom smelled of pine and autumn leaves. I took an invigorating breath, and my spirits lifted. I dropped my robe to the floor.

As the breeze hit my bare skin, a jolt of distress charged up my back. When I'd gone into the shower, my windows had been locked. Now the curtains fluttered from the draft.

I inhaled sharply. There on the portico, Connor reclined on my lounge chair in the morning sun, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his eyes closed. I yanked my robe around me.

"Go ahead and get dressed. I'm not looking," he called.

"Most people use the front door, you know," I scolded. Secretly, I was thrilled to see him.

I dressed and climbed onto the windowsill. Connor was the picture of peace, his lean body in repose, every well-defined muscle relaxed. Watching him made my pulse hum, but I shut down any trace of a possible crush. He had, after all, spent the evening with Raquelle. There was a good chance he made it onto her Hit List.

"You missed our meeting last night," he said without opening his eyes.

"My stepmom wrangled me into a dinner invite with her friends."

"How was dinner?"

"Not great. How was Raquelle?" Right away, I wanted to take those words back. They sounded catty, and there was the off chance he might answer the question.

Connor opened his eyes. The sunlight played off them, intensifying their color. He gazed at my face for what seemed like an eternity, absorbing every contour, every freckle. I fidgeted under his scrutiny. Heat rose to my cheeks.

His lips parted to speak, but he must have thought better of it. He blinked away his intention, straddled the lounge chair and stood, his six-foot frame towering over me.

"My offer still stands, if you're willing to meet after school."

My heart pressed hard against my chest. "I can't. I called in sick. I'm kind of playing hooky."

"Hooky?"

"Avoiding school."

"Why?"

"I kind of have a headache," I dodged, but I drew my fingers to my lips, too embarrassed to admit that I was also running away from my obligations. Mortified that my ability was so out of control.

"Echo," he said, his voice as gentle as the breeze that carried it. "Spend the day with me, and I'll show you things you never dreamed possible."
Chapter 7

Connor told me to meet him at the same place--the corner of 24th and Vaughn. I offered to give him a ride, but he declined. When I pulled the curtain aside for him to climb into my room, he was gone. I don't know why I'd expected him to follow. It was obvious he didn't get on the portico roof the same way I did.

He was waiting for me when I parked downtown. Without a word, he turned on his heels and crossed Vaughn Street diagonally, ignoring the traffic bearing down on him. Drivers honked and slammed on their brakes, but Connor continued, unperturbed. I jogged to catch up, each footfall driving a shard of pain into my head.

In the middle of the block, Connor slipped down an alley between two buildings. The lack of sunlight submerged the alley in shade. A dumpster hung open at the end. When he reached the dumpster he followed a dogleg to the right.

I balked at the mouth of the alley. My instincts needled me about how little I knew about him. The sound of traffic drowned out Connor's footsteps; if I followed and had to call for help, nobody would hear me. But if Connor intended to harm me, he'd had ample opportunity to do so. Instead, he'd come to my rescue, twice. That wasn't exactly a game plan for a serial killer, but as I walked the dim length of the alley, I mentally kicked myself for not replacing the can of pepper spray I'd lost in the move.

Around the corner, I found a door propped open.

"Close the door behind you," Connor called from inside.

I stuck my head into the space. It was dark except for the shaft of daylight that crept in with me. A light switch sat just out of reach. I released my grip on the handle, took a tentative step inside, and flicked the switch on. Nothing happened. The door slammed closed, the latch reverberating like a prison cell. I was plunged into blackness.

"Connor?" I squeaked.

"This is your first lesson." Connor's voice came out of nowhere and everywhere.

It didn't matter how smooth and nonthreatening his tone, my chest iced with fear. I reached behind me for the exit. My hand fell on hard concrete. Panic sparked. I scraped against the wall, searching for an escape. Where was the door?

The lights flicked on. I spun, needing to know how close he was, and if I was in danger. I was alone. The darkness had so disoriented me that I'd missed the door, only a few feet away. My pulse dropped below stroke level, and I took in my surroundings.

Rows of shelves and metal racking towered over a concrete floor. Headless mannequins crowded into a corner, their smooth, wigless heads stacked on a nearby shelf. I was in a storage warehouse. Something nagged me to look up.

The fluorescent bulbs were unlit, yet the expansive space was bathed in light. I gaped at the open sky where the ceiling seemed to be peeled back to let the natural light in. The light fixtures that should have been anchored to the ceiling appeared affixed to the clouds.

A blur dropped into my line of vision, and Connor appeared in front of me.

"Where did you... come... from?" I asked.

"Lesson number one. Never assume something is impossible, especially where your gift is concerned. Got it?"

I glanced at the sky. Confusion etched my face, but I nodded.

"Everything is possible," I said slowly, without conviction.

"Good. Now take off those ridiculous bracelets."

"I need them."

"They're blocking your body's energy flow. That's why you wear them, isn't it?"

I squared my shoulders. "And they work really well." In reality, they had failed me time and again, but he didn't need to know that.

"The stronger you get, the less effective they'll be. We're not here to suppress your gift. I want to see it grow."

My palms flew up between us. "No way. Absolutely not. You have to help me get rid of this before it destroys my life."

Connor dug his fingers into the back of his neck.

"You can, right? I know you said you can't, but really, you can," I pressed.

"I told you the truth, Echo."

I watched him for a full minute. Looked again at the clouds and the sunlight streaming in from overhead.

"Yes, I can do all that. But as for your gift..." he shook his head.

I read the sincerity in his eyes, and this time, I believed him. The air gushed from my lungs, and along with it, every bit of hope.

"That's the only reason you agreed to meet me?" he asked.

"Mostly," I confessed.

He sighed and shook his head. "Take the bracelets off."

His tone plucked at my resistance, and his assumption that I'd easily comply irked me. But his manner suggested that he knew I was bound to the life of an outcast, and that he alone held the key to my freedom. My days had become a string of painful risks. What was one more?

I set the bracelets on the floor, and then I felt it: a warm glow, reassuring and soft as feather strokes against my skin. So subtle, if I dared flinch, the faint heat would slip away like wisps of smoke. This was Connor's aura.

Connor walked to the wall of the warehouse. "Watch closely." He closed his hand into a fist and rapped firmly on the cement block. "You think this wall is impenetrable because your whole life, that's what you've been told. You've been taught boundaries that aren't true."

Then he opened his hand and thrust his fingers right. Through. Concrete.

My eyes bulged. Involuntarily, I took a step back. "That's some sort of illusion, right?" I sputtered.

He pulled his fingers out of the wall, and the concrete melted over the open holes his fingers left.

"Now you," he said.

I muffled a snort. "You're insane! I can't shove my hand into a wall! Come on, really, how did you do that?"

He swiped his entire arm through the wall, as easy as a knife through butter.

"I, I don't understand," I said.

"Just give it a try, and I'll give you back your bracelets."

Somehow, I knew they were no longer on the floor next to me but I checked just the same. He pulled the bracelets out of his pocket and taunted me with a crooked smile.

"All I have to do is try?"

"Yep."

"Fine." I pressed my hand against the cold cement. It was solid and unyielding. "See? Nothing. Big surprise there."

"You're not taking this seriously," he said.

"Of course not. What you did is impossible. All of this... this... none of it makes any sense... but even if... I mean... okay, first of all?" I untangled my tongue. "How do I know you're not the only one who can do this? You, you materialized out of thin air..."

"I materialized out of energy," he corrected.

"Whatever. You're like a ghost and I'm no expert, but I know they can pass through solid objects."

"So you think I'm a ghost."

I wasn't sure what I thought. "All I know is that you and I are not the same. So it's not fair to tell me to do this."

"I'm trying to make your life better." Impatience tensed his voice.

"Then please, can you show me something useful? Like, how do I stop stuff from flying out of control?"

Connor let out an exasperated sigh. "That's exactly what I'm trying to do." His eyes fell on the space next to me. A minute ago, it had been empty. Now, a pile of office furniture rested there, streaked with dust.

"Where did that come from?" I asked.

"It was here the entire time but I altered it so it existed at a different level of energetic vibration." One look at my suspicious stare and some of the patience drained from his tone. "Every atom, every particle, vibrates at a certain speed. It's all quantum physics."

"I hate physics."

"Then think of it like listening to the radio. If you're tuned into a station, you can only hear the music they play, right? So if you want to listen to different music, you need to change the station, tune into a different frequency. You've been tuned into one frequency your whole life, so before you walked in, I altered the furniture, and you were blind to it. Wheel one of those chairs over here," he said.

Great. First a physics lesson and now I'm slave labor. I wanted my bracelets back, and I wanted to go home. I trudged to the corner and reached for a chair... and my fingers passed right through it.

I gasped and jerked my hands to my chest. Did that really happen? Cautiously, I reached to touch the fabric. Again, my fingers drifted through it. I leaned in for a closer look. The chair appeared just as solid, just as real as I was, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not grab hold of it. Pleasure surged through me.

"How did I do that?"

"Now try the desk," Connor said. "Think of it as a pool of water and imagine your hand slicing right through it."

I set my palm on the cool oak top. Felt the wood grain beneath my fingers.

"Go slowly," Connor coaxed.

I pressed downward, and my hand disappeared into the wood. Panicked, I pulled out. I pushed into the wood again, this time through the thin part, where a laptop would sit. My hand disappeared up to my wrist.

Then I bent over and looked under the desk. My arm poked out underneath. I wiggled my fingers. It was the creepiest thing I had ever seen and absolutely, positively, the coolest.

I pulled my arm straight toward me, and the desk surface rippled as it made way for my flesh. At the edge, my arm met slight resistance. I pulled a little harder, and the wood released it with a pop.

My heart did an unexpected flip, and I was filled with a boundless sense of possibility.

"Well?" he asked with an enigmatic smile.

"Teach me everything you know," I breathed.

For the next hour, Connor had me thrust my hands through every available solid surface. When we ran out of mannequins and shelves and furniture to play with, he led me into the alley and pointed to the building next door. "Now through that brick wall."

Each time he presented me with a new challenge, I had to ward off a wave of uncertainty. I bolstered my courage and plunged my hand into the brick.

A woman inside the building let out a bloodcurdling scream. I yanked my hand out and squealed with delight. We ran back in the warehouse. Tears of laughter rolled down my cheeks and I had to gasp for breath. I looked at Connor through damp eyes. Maybe I was mistaken, but I thought something like pride played on his face.

"Nice work. Now I want you to do it all again." Connor nodded at the office chair, indicating where I had started.

"Can't we try something else? This is cool, but what else have you got in your bag of tricks?"

He crossed his arms and shook his head. "They're not tricks. Do another round, then we can move on."

"Fine." I was easily bored by repetition, even the paranormal type. I pressed my hand against the desk, and then the chair, but now my fingers barely penetrated their surface.

"What's going on?"

"I've returned everything to their natural solid form."

"So, this whole time, you were making it easy for me?"

"It opened your confidence, and that's ninety percent of any challenge, don't you think?"

That totally sucked. Here I thought I was becoming a bona fide wizard. I tried again and failed. My fingers grew tender from shoving them against solid objects, and my concentration fizzled. I dropped my arms to my side.

"I need a break," I said.

Connor rested his fingers on his chin. "I want to do one more thing." He stepped toward me, closing that cushion of space he always maintained, until we were near enough to touch.

My senses sparked back to life. I watched his chest rise and fall with his breath. My eyes shifted to the tendons on his forearms as they flexed. Then to his bicep, full and round. Any doubts I had about his humanness left in a hurry. This was no ghost. This was a pure flesh-and-blood male, radiant and very much alive.

Even this close, Connor's aura was little more than gentle tendrils against my skin, sweeping lightly through my hair, down my cheek. Was it my imagination, or was his aura exploring me? Soft heat brushed my throat, then my collarbone; swept light and silky across my lips. My lids closed, and a glow curled up my spine. Then the feeling receded, and I was left with the impression I'd been kissed.

Connor cleared his throat and I opened my eyes. He smiled self-consciously. "We're going to center your energy now, so when we walk out of here, you're less likely to lose control."

The warmth of his closeness overrode my focus. My throat parched. I couldn't find my voice, so I nodded.

"Close your eyes. Feel your heart. Find its soft, rhythmic beat."

I closed my eyes. Finding my heartbeat was simple because my pulse had jumped with each step he came nearer. I didn't know why, but for once, I had control over my rising emotion.

"Put your hand over your heart," he said.

I settled my palm on my breastbone and tried to block out the sound of his breathing.

"Imagine all of your energy, your emotion, settling into that space beneath your hand. Center it there." He paused, and then he whispered, so close, the sultriness of his words left moisture on my ear. "Can you feel it? The heat building in your chest?"

Oh, could I ever. I opened my eyes. His palm rested in the valley between solid pectoral muscles. I had to know, right then, his warmth, his aliveness. I lifted my hand away from my heart and reached for his.

Connor's eyes snapped open. He stepped out of reach and raised a hand to deflect me.

"No, Echo."

His words were as harsh as a slap in the face. Shame flooded my cheeks. "Sorry," I stuttered. "I need a break, 'kay?" I hurried out the door.
Chapter 8

I broke into a run outside the warehouse. The control I struggled to maintain while Connor trained me snapped, and my energy whipped wildly. Cardboard boxes tumbled down the alley. Flotsam twirled out of the dumpster and scattered into the city.

I left the industrial district behind and slowed to a walk, my head ringing with embarrassment and confusion. I didn't understand what unspoken boundary I'd crossed, only that his sudden retreat left me feeling like a leper.

Being around Connor was overwhelming in so many ways. He made me aware of every ping, every voluntary and reflexive motion in my body. My awareness of the external world heightened, too. When I'd held my breath just so I wouldn't lose the sensation of his aura, I knew I was hooked. But hooked on who, exactly? Who was this boy with raven hair that kept flopping over one eye, who bossed me around--who I let boss me--and who seemed so close to opening up that my heart cracked a little bit when he didn't? I did not know, and this odd relationship teetered ever more in his favor. He had all the power; I had none. I needed to put distance between us.

But there, at the end of the block, somehow, Connor waited.

"Stop doing that!" I shouted and ducked into a café.

I took a table near the rear, with my back to the door. Lifted a menu and pretended to read.

Footsteps padded across the tile and stopped at my table. "Mind if I join you?"

"Do what you like," I said through the menu.

Connor took the seat across from me and slid my bracelets across the table. A truce. I ignored them.

"I think this would be a good time for a few ground rules," he said.

I slapped the menu down and looked at him in disbelief. "You do? Great, I'll start. First, stop popping in and out of places like, like a sci-fi transporter. If you're going to be spending time here from--where are you even from? Never mind, rule one: No creepy popping in and out of places. Rule two..."

But I had no other rules, because everything was in his control. When I saw him. Where we met. Whether or not I had the privilege of touching him.

"Would you believe me if I told you it was for your own good?" he asked.

I let out a sharp huff. "If you're repulsed by me, just say so. I'd rather know up front than have you turn into Mr. Freeze whenever I cross one of your invisible boundaries."

My aura began playing with the napkin holder, making the paper flutter. Self-consciously, I grabbed the bracelets and put them on. The disruption ceased.

The waitress stopped at our table, a petite girl with fuchsia streaks in her straw-colored hair. "Know what you'd like?" she asked me.

"Yeah, a turkey sandwich and a glass of water."

"And you, what can I get you?" Her smile broadened and she gave Connor the once over. Make that the twice over.

"I'll have the same, with potato salad. And do you have," he hesitated as if drawing the word from his memory. "Chili?"

"Sure do."

"Can you put some of that on the sandwich?"

"That sounds tasty! So, what's your name?"

I rolled my eyes while she openly flirted with the guy who could very well be my boyfriend. Except she sensed that he was fair game.

"Connor," he answered.

"Turkey sandwich with chili. The Connor Special. Maybe we should start offering it on the menu. I bet it would be a big hit."

She tilted her head and reached out to touch him on the arm. Her hand stopped a few inches from him as though encountering a barrier. Her expression shifted to concern. She withdrew her hand. Blinked a few times. "I'll get this order up."

"Thank you." The smile never wavered from Conner's face. The waitress retreated to the counter.

I sat bolt upright. "Right there. What was that all about?"

He chose his words carefully, considered how best to answer the complex question coming from the naïve creature across from him. "My energy field is very intense. Protective, is a better way to put it. It keeps me safe while I'm here."

There it was again, the suggestion that he was from another place. But I was more obsessed about why the waitress couldn't touch him. Why I couldn't.

"That's why you weren't afraid to walk in front of traffic. You knew the drivers couldn't hit you," I said.

"Yes."

A new perspective dawned on me. "And it protects you from us." I waved my hand to indicate all the people in the café. The waitress. Me.

"In a way," he said.

If this was true, then maybe Raquelle hadn't gotten very far with him. That was some consolation.

"So, I'll get hurt if I touch you?"

His jawline tightened. "I'd never let that happen."

"Well, that answers that." I looked for the waitress so I could tell her to bag up my order to go.

"I meant I'd never let you get hurt. I overreacted in the warehouse."

"I'll say," I said, not willing to forgive him an inch.

Connor turned to the small, decorative lamp sitting between the condiment holder and salt and pepper shakers. He turned the lamp on and unplugged it. Then he held the plug's metal prongs between his fingers. With his other hand, he picked up his fork and before I could yell "stop!" he plunged the fork into the outlet.

My chest jolted from near cardiac arrest. I froze, in total shock, as electricity coursed through Connor and into the table lamp. The bulb lit up, and Connor, encompassed by a brilliant light, glowed. He removed the fork and set it on the table. I picked it up. The metal was hot and the prongs were charred and contorted.

"This is what would happen if I touched you?"

Connor looked horrified. "How could you even think such a thing? I did this to make a point. Everyone feels my barrier and without knowing why, they are subconsciously repelled. Everyone except you. You don't seem to feel it at all, and if you reach through it and catch me off guard, you'll get a pretty harsh shock."

I gave this time to settle. "What if you knew I was going to touch you?"

He held his answer, just long enough for me to wonder if I'd crossed another boundary.

"I can hold back, but you'd still feel a shock."

Like a moth to a flame, I leaned closer. "Can I try?"

He hesitated, then rested his hand on the table in front of me. "Slowly," he said.

Foolishly giddy, I inched my hand toward his. When I was nearly touching him, the tips of my fingers encountered a subtle, staticky resistance. It was Connor's barrier. He was right. Unless he'd told me, I'd have missed it.

I suppressed a giggle. Then I laid my hand over his. I lasted only a second. An electric current snapped, and I yanked my hand away.

"Oh!" I said and pulled my fingertips to my mouth. A few heads turned our way, wondering at the sharp noise.

"Are you okay?"

"I think it's burned." I inspected my finger.

Worry crossed his face. "Let me see."

"No, I'm fine." Just feeling a little silly, was all. His eyes lingered on my hand.

"Would the same thing happen if you touched me?" I asked.

Connor's smile was wistful. "If we spent enough time together, our energies might find some equilibrium. Until then, yes."

That longing expression he'd had outside my house returned, and my mind tripped back to the warehouse, where I was sure he'd explored me with his aura. Something wasn't adding up.

"Are you really here just to teach me how to protect myself?"

"Yes," he said, but I caught uncertainty in those blue-flecked eyes.

The waitress couldn't have picked a worse time to deliver our orders.

"Oh, what happened to your fork?" she asked. "I'll get you another one."

I slid my silverware across the table. "It's okay, he can use mine."

We ate in silence. I stole long stares at Connor, and the questions piled up. When we finished, he pulled out a few bills and left them on the table.

As we walked outside, I noticed Connor's fingers flicker. In the brilliant sunshine, they resembled light bulbs on the verge of burning out.

"Um, you're kind of fading," I said.

He tucked his hands in his pockets. His shoulders drooped. He set the pace at a slow walk, visibly fatigued. He flashed a knowing smile. "Go ahead."

"What?"

"You want to ask me something."

"I do have a question or two." Or ten. Or a thousand.

I blew out a puff of air. Where to start? "When we were in the gym, you said people would try to hurt me. Why?"

"Let me ask you something. Have you noticed the number of psychics--crystal ball readers and Tarot readers--setting up shop lately?"

I thought about this. Before I moved from Seattle, my favorite coffee shop had been turned into a psychic den. Not far away, someone else advertised medium powers, whatever that was. More notable, though, was Becca, who confided an interest in becoming a turban-wearing-psychic if the Wiccan thing didn't work out. Until recently, I hadn't taken any of this seriously.

"I guess," I shrugged. "But they all seem pretty flakey."

"Some of them are scamming, but many of them are very gifted. There are countless numbers of men and women who can see the future, read other people's energy, and heal with their hands."

"Like you did with Tito."

"Yes. This region is safer than most for gifted people. In other parts of the country, they don't fare so well."

We reached a corner, and he proceeded into the intersection without looking. I stopped to let the cars whiz past. "It's kind of rude to walk out in front of drivers," I said.

"We'll do it your way, then." He waited next to me and continued. "A girl wakes up in a small town in Missouri and for reasons she cannot explain, she's suddenly able to see auras--the colored energy field around people. She tries to tell her family, good people who love their daughter very much, but they fear she's going crazy. The girl is shuttled from one psychiatrist to another. She stands by her claim and eventually she is institutionalized, 'for her own good.' She's put on a strong regimen of drugs to make her easier to deal with. Eventually, her ability fades. Maybe she's released from the hospital or maybe she's stuck there for the rest of her life."

Connor saw my fascination, and continued. "A man in Iowa survives a car crash but discovers he now has the ability to predict the future of every person he touches. It's an extraordinary gift, but his friends fall away when they learn he can't deliver just good news. He feels obligated to tell them the bad news, too--that they're about to lose their jobs or their wives will cheat on them, or their child will become fatally ill. After a time, his family refuses to speak to him, and he's rejected by those he loves most. His next car crash is fatal, because he hates himself so deeply that he drives into an oncoming semi."

I let out a gasp. This story touched a nerve, because I could relate to this man's pain.

"These tragedies, they're happening every day. You're all going through a great awakening. So many of you are coming into your power." Anger flared in his eyes. "But instead of thriving, this world crushes you."

"Did you try to help these people?" I asked.

"We're not allowed."

"What do you mean 'we'?"

He shook his head. "One thing at a time."

"Okay. So, there are a lot of people out there going through this, right?"

"Countless individuals."

"And you're not allowed to help them."

Connor was still.

"And yet you're here with me," I continued.

I thought I felt heat flicker between us. He looked away. "You said yourself that your ability was overtaking your life. I want you to learn how to..."

"Yeah, I know, manage it and protect myself. But why me?"

He stopped and turned to face me. "Echo, there are factions that hunt down and enslave gifted ones like you. Their loved ones report them missing, but they're never seen again, alive or dead."

"What happens to them?"

His eyes darkened. "Just promise me you'll keep your auric energy under control, and you'll be okay."

A tremble of alarm crossed my face. Connor reached as though to console me, caught himself, and pulled back. Sadness darkened his green eyes. Then his attention pulled inward. He dipped his head to the side like he was listening to a voice only he could hear. A moment later, his focus returned.

He sighed, clearly frustrated. "I have to go."

"Now?"

"My coming here constitutes a serious breach of authority. If I don't leave now, I risk getting caught."

"But, wait, are you coming back?"

"As soon as I can. You'll practice what I taught you, right?" His voice was urgent. His upper body grew transparent.

I was flustered beyond coherency. "Um, sure, but..."

Sparks filled his body, he fizzled, and he was gone. I stared at the empty sidewalk. "That is so cool!" 
Chapter 9

When I got home, I bounded up the stairs to my room and flung the window open to see if, by any chance, Connor had decided to return to the portico roof. An ache filled my chest when I found the empty lawn chair.

The idea that he risked punishment to spend time with me was so romantic, so... sexy. And even though he insisted he came here just to teach me, I detected hints of something else lurking behind his cool façade. I wanted to know what it was that he wasn't telling me.

The notion hit that he might never return. If he was caught traveling back, what would happen to him? I couldn't allow myself to think about that.

I was busting to tell someone about my mind-boggling day. How Connor pushed the boundaries of everything I knew to be true, challenged the way I thought about myself. How my headache eased when I'd learned to control the fluctuations in my energy.

I grabbed my cell phone and pecked out a text to Becca. When I finished, the words glared back at me. Supernatural. Quantum physics. Higher vibration. My thumb hung over the Send button. Becca could take my text one of two ways. Either she'd dismiss it and think I'd gone loony, or be all over it and pressure me to show her what I could do. How much was I willing to share? Once she knew the real me, would she look at me the same way, or as a weirdo? I decided her friendship could bridge the fantasy between her Wiccan ability and the reality of my ever-growing freak show. But could she keep my ability a secret?

Reluctantly, I hit Delete. Then I rescued Tito from Kimber's room and took him for a walk. I told him about my day and although his ears perked when I mentioned Connor's name, he didn't seem impressed. Who could blame him? After listening to myself, I could hardly believe any of it.

A quick scan around my West Vista neighborhood told me nobody was within eyesight. I pulled a quarter out of my pocket and, as we walked, tried to levitate it above my palm. I'd gone only a few steps before it twitched and rose.

"Tito, check it out!"

Tito looked up. I pushed the coin higher and walked the entire length of the block with it floating a foot above my palm.

"Echo!"

I flinched. The coin dropped to the pavement. We were at the top of the hill, in front of the Cranes' house. Mr. Crane stood at the top of his driveway, talking on his phone. He flagged me to come closer. When I balked, his waving became insistent. Oh. Crap walked toward him.

Mentally, I scrambled for answers to his inevitable question. I'd tell him the floating coin was a magic trick. No, then he might want to see it up close. Better to say I tossed the coin and he only thought he saw it float. Tell him he was mistaken. Play dumb.

"I'm tired of excuses," Mr. Crane yelled into the phone. "I needed answers yesterday."

Even though I wasn't the subject of his anger, my body keyed up and went on the defensive. My forehead buzzed, and I watched evidence of my tele-chaosing spring to life. The shrubbery reached toward me. The porch swing swayed faster and faster. Mr. Crane's back was turned to all of this, but the chains on the swing started to creak.

"Check it now," he sputtered into the phone. "Yes, I'll hold." Mr. Crane covered the mouthpiece and looked fixedly at me, his neck ruddy from aggravation, unaware of the swing taking itself for a ride.

"Have you heard from my office?" he asked.

"Um, what?"

"The research appointment. We talked about this at dinner."

Oh, right, the dreaded Saturday research study. "No one's called that I know of."

"Kimber has the number. Call in and set a time. I can pay you a hundred dollars."

"I thought it was all volunteer."

"Some of our subjects... dropped out." The red on his neck deepened. "We're now offering compensation." He finally heard the ungodly squeaking behind him, and when he turned to look, he did a double take at the ghostly swing.

The person on the phone came back on the line and I hightailed it out of there.

"You'll never get away with this," Mr. Crane shouted, and though I was pretty sure he wasn't talking to me, his hostility bore a hole into my back.

Tito had to trot to keep pace with me on the way home. I swore I wouldn't do any more tricks in public.

I thought about how I'd deflect Mr. Crane's offer. A hundred dollars for a few hours on a Saturday was a tempting deal--until you factored in the personal questions that were bound to come up, and the scrutiny as he ran me through who-knew-what-kind of tests. There was no guarantee I could hold myself together through all of it. I hadn't even made it through dinner with him.

When Tito and I got to our house, Becca stuck her head out her door. "Didn't I see you driving through town? I thought you were sick."

"I was home, mostly," I said.

"You are such a bad liar. UPS dropped a box here because nobody answered at your house. My mom signed for it."

I lifted a shoulder, guilty.

Minutes later, Becca delivered the box and helped me haul it upstairs. The packing tape was yellowed, and the faded black writing across the top designated the contents for Echo's Room. I unceremoniously dropped it in my closet.

"Aren't you curious what's inside?" she asked.

"It's been in storage for over a year, so whatever it is, I probably don't need it."

"Then dibs on anything black," Becca said and ripped open the flaps. She reached in and pulled out a few outdated shirts. Beneath these, handfuls of blue and red award ribbons. "What have we here?"

My face lit up. "I thought those got thrown out."

"Best in Show," she read on one of them. "Best in Category."

"Art shows," I said, taking one from her. "I got into oil painting when I was in elementary school. I was pretty good."

"Understatement of the year." Becca unloaded more first and second place ribbons. "Why'd you quit?"

"I dunno. I guess I lost interest."

We dove into the box. Clothing, old report cards, and souvenir trinkets emerged like old friends. Lying at the bottom, mottled with dust and lint, a painting. I pulled it out, and my hand flew to my mouth.

"That's Connor!" Becca said.

We looked at each other and then back at the painting.

"I thought you just met him the other day," she said.

"I did." I studied the dark hair that curled above his ears. The cowlick falling across his forehead. Those-ever present piercing green eyes. A sense of knowing tickled my brow. This was definitely him. Except for one thing.

"I don't remember Connor having a scar," Becca said.

Because he doesn't, I wanted to say. Instead, I said, "Me neither."

"What's his picture doing at the bottom of this box?"

I wasn't sure how to answer that. When I'd painted the portrait, I was ten years old, the youngest member of a special art session held at the high school. I'd begged my dad to let me attend. One day, the instructor directed our attention to a man sitting at the front of the room. The lesson was realism, and our task was to paint the subject exactly as he appeared.

The next thing I knew, the timer went off and my instructor was inspecting our canvasses. I took one look at my work and knew I was in trouble. The man at the front of the room, our subject, was old, and had a gray goatee and glasses. I'd painted a young, dark-haired Adonis.

"Why didn't you paint the man up there?" my instructor had demanded.

"I don't know." The past few hours had slipped away. I couldn't remember painting anything at all.

"If we were grading I'd have to give you a D, " she'd scolded. "Your painting is very lifelike, but it's the wrong life."

Seven years later, her words took on a whole new meaning. As much to convince myself as Becca, I said, "You know what? This looks a lot like my old neighbor."

If I appraised it from a distance and squinted real hard.

"Yeah?"

"Sure. He had a scar like that. Same place." I pressed my lips together and reinforced my conclusion with a firm nod. "What a crazy coincidence, hey?"

"If he wasn't so hunkalicious, I'd be totally freaked. Even that cowlick is the same. Dude must have a doppelganger," Becca said.

Those blue-flecked eyes stared back with lifelike intensity. My teacher's words hummed through my veins. They haunted me the rest of the night.

­­­*****

The next morning, as Becca and I hurried between classes, my phone beeped. I read the news flash, and a moan escaped.

"I know that sound," Becca said. "What did Raquelle do now?"

"Connor. Maybe. They went out the other night."

Becca grabbed my phone to read for herself. "She posted the pics on Instagram."

"Yup." I took the phone back. Raquelle had never dropped me from her friends list. Probably so I could view the horrible things she wrote about me. Which I never did. Much.

I surfed to her page and scrolled through the pictures from the night I'd missed my meeting with Connor: Raquelle and Connor standing on her doorstep, in a restaurant, in a club. One great shot after another. Raquelle had gone on the hunt, gotten the guy, and posted her trophy pictures.

"I so thought I had a shot at him," Becca moped. "I had the perfect potion, too." She quirked an eyebrow at me. "Why are you smiling?"

My grin verged on nasty as I flipped through the pictures. "Because that skank doesn't have a chance with him."

Becca interpreted my scheming look. "You're going after Connor? No offense, but you'll need a wicked strong potion for that."

"Offense taken." But I couldn't stop smiling because I spotted the one thing she hadn't: space. No matter how many people were in each photo, everyone kept at least an arm's length away from Connor. Even Raquelle was left posing solo, leaning toward him but never touching. If he'd let his barrier down long enough for her to nestle up to him, she'd have posted that picture front and center.

All day long I looked at my world differently. I wanted to challenge it--push my entire arm into my closed locker and pull out a textbook; float the markers away from Mr. King when he tried to write something on the white board; see if I could make people's cell phones chirp disruptively during a quiz.

It wasn't like I decided to accept the freakish things I could do, I just didn't hate them at the moment. I was like a prisoner let out into a courtyard on a sunny day, sucked in by the smell of fresh air. I'd be dragged back into my cell soon enough, so why not enjoy it?

Part of what fueled this change was the way Connor had looked at me when I did these impossible things, like I was part of a secret tribe, one where he and I were the only members. I'd never known a single person to take up so much space in my head. When I rolled over in bed to turn off my alarm, the image of his gorgeous face faded, like I'd been dreaming of him. All day, I relived the scene in the café when he let me touch him, holding back his power so he wouldn't hurt me.

I was replaying this in my head for the thousandth time when I found Becca in the lunch line, waiting to pay for her sandwich and apple. I grabbed a yogurt and gave her a gentle hip-check. The apple nearly rolled off her tray. She said something but I was imagining that part in the café where Connor stuck a fork in the outlet, so I didn't hear her.

Raquelle and Trisha shoved in front of us.

"Hey, no cutting," Becca said.

"Who are you, the line police?" Raquelle stuck her butt out, forcing us to read her signature moniker, Partychick, emblazoned across the seat of her sweatpants.

"When he's in town again, I'm taking him to the Rose Club," Raquelle said to Trisha.

"Omigod, you have to get the VIP Room. It's way private, and you can lock the door from the inside."

"Done and done," Raquelle said.

"I've been fantasizing about those lips since day one," Trisha swooned.

"That's all you'll be doing, bee-otch. When I'm finished with Connor, no other girl will ever measure up."

Hearing this from Raquelle infuriated me. "You're not even Connor's type," I snapped.

"Tall, blonde, hot, and rich? Baby, I'm every man's type." She and Trisha snickered. Then Raquelle casually reached back with her elbow and brought it down on my yogurt, sending it to the floor.

"Oops." They sauntered to their table.

"God, I hate her," Becca said.

I picked up my yogurt. A harsh buzz danced above the bridge of my nose. The fact that I was powerless to fight back the way I wanted made my blood boil. Nix that. It was the way she talked about Connor, the assumption that he was putty in her dirty hands that sent hateful, black energy into my aura.

Ultimately, it was none of my business what he did. I thought he liked me, but he'd practically said he was training me out of a sense of obligation. For all I knew, the two of them hung out on days that I didn't see him. There it was, the crappy truth.

Becca's apple shot off the table and hit Raquelle in the back. She spun, her lips twisted like she just tasted something sour, and gave us the finger. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Whoops.

"What the--" Becca gaped at the apple, now rolling under a table. She shot me an accusing glance, like I'd picked it up and thrown it.

"Don't look at me, I never touched it," I said.

Becca's face lit up like she'd won the lottery. I didn't get why, but my thoughts were elsewhere. That exuberance I'd felt all day was wearing off, soiled by the thought of Raquelle locked in a private clubroom with Connor.
Chapter 10

Coin levitation. Centering. School. Centering. Centering. Centering.

Every day after school, I locked myself in my room, using homework as my excuse. I devoted every spare minute to practicing what Connor taught me. I gave up trying to slide my hand through solid objects. A few minutes of banging my fingers against the wall proved that trick had been a one-time deal.

Coin levitation seemed to be my thing, and I navigated Connor's token around my bedroom with ease. I turned it into a game, jiggling the token in front of Tito until he snapped at it, and then zipping it out of his reach. None of this was easy. Sometimes, I concentrated so hard, my teeth ground together.

After each little telekinetic victory, I rewarded myself with a full on, Connor-infused fantasy. If I kept the token afloat for a full minute, I imagined brushing that cowlick from his forehead. If the token circled the entire room without bumping into anything, I closed my eyes and drifted into his kiss.

Days passed without any sign of him. I worried my cuticles down to the last layer, consumed with the possibility that he'd disappeared for good.

At the end of the week I flopped on my bed, too disheartened to practice and convinced it didn't matter one iota. My control was dwindling and little annoyances at school were triggering outbursts again.

I gazed at Connor's portrait leaning against the cardboard box. I wished I'd asked more questions when I had the opportunity. Like where he went when he faded into the ether, and what his family was like and whether they accepted his ability.

I wondered who supported him and his gifts. He'd talked about people here, like the girl who saw auras, and the man who could tell the future after enduring brain trauma in a car accident. Did this sort of thing occur where he lived? Were gifted people a part of his life?

More to the point, why weren't they a part of mine? If Connor was right, thousands of us struggled in this unaccepting world. I had to find them. They understood what I was going through. They were my tribe.

I grabbed my phone and sat cross-legged on my bed. A few web searches told me what I already knew. Portland was home to psychics galore. I found clairvoyants by the dozen, and people who could speak to the dead. These were cool abilities, but compared to what I was experiencing, they were relatively commonplace. I wanted to find the weirdest of the weird, the true freaks. Those people whose abilities had turned their lives upside down.

I sifted through countless websites. The most interesting one listed people who claimed to have gained abilities after accidents, illnesses, or even being hit by lightning. There was the guy who survived a brain tumor and found that he could sketch intricate scenes from memory; the woman who woke from a coma and lost her ability to speak but had become a math genius; the woman who survived a fall and claimed to be able to set things on fire with her mind.

The last one got my hopes up, but she turned out to be a fraud. She'd invited paranormal investigators to her house so they could test her claim. She started fires, all right. The flames got so out of control, the house burned down. When the fire marshal sifted through the rubble, he found well-placed combustible chemicals. Apparently, she'd planted these throughout her house and set them off during the interview.

I tossed my phone aside. Finding my tribe wasn't going to be easy. Further, with so many fakes in the world, who would take me seriously? According to Connor, the ones with a real interest in me were dangerous. His warning rang through my head:

"There are factions that hunt down and enslave gifted ones like you. Their loved ones report them missing, but they're never seen again."

I dropped my head into my hands, unable to see a future where I was embraced by my own kind, a future where I wasn't constantly on guard.

A knock sounded on my door.

"It's open," I said weakly.

The door cracked open and a familiar voice spoke. "Can I come in, honey?"

"Dad!" I jumped out of my chair and into his arms. He dropped his briefcase and lifted me off the floor. This was a compromise after so many years of being swung in a circle. I was too big and too old for that now, but age and size didn't diminish the joy that rolled off his aura and into mine. Quick as flicking a switch, my pain lifted.

"The London meetings ended early, and I caught the next flight home," he said. My dad pulled up a chair, and we caught up. I grumbled when he told me his company was growing faster than expected and he'd be on the road more this year. I didn't see enough of him as it was. Lately, he'd been importing some sort of computer part from Asia to sell in the States, and his new clients were sucking up a lot of his time.

We settled into a comfortable routine.

"School?" he asked.

"Hanging in there."

"Grades?"

"Physics is killing me."

"Staying out of jail?"

"As far as you know," I smirked.

"No cult activities, drugs, or pregnancies?"

I rolled my eyes at the last reference. "Way to sneak that in there, Dad."

"Just doing my job. Where's Kimber tonight? You haven't kicked her out, have you?"

"She keeps the fridge full and we don't fight much anymore, so I thought I'd keep her."

"Very thoughtful of you."

"Yeah, well, you went and married her, so it's the least I could do." I exhaled a dramatic sigh.

He patted my knee. "My girl, ever the diplomat."

I wanted to tell him about my tele-chaosing, but that was one of the few secrets I kept. I didn't want to give him a heart attack.

Dad spotted the painting of Connor. His face lit, and he and picked it up.

"I remember the day you brought this home. You were so mad at the teacher, you threw it out. I fished it from the garbage when you weren't looking. Are you thinking of starting again?"

"Nah. I'm trying to remember who it is." I had to have seen someone that looked like Connor, right? I mean, I didn't just make him up. "Does it look like anyone we knew from Seattle?"

"No one comes to mind." My dad gave the painting all his attention. "You sure had a thing for green eyes," he finally said.

"What makes you say that?"

"Everything you drew in elementary school had big green eyes. Dogs, cats, made-up animals, trees, houses. It got kind of weird, there, for a while."

I had no memory of this. "Where are these drawings? Did you keep any of them?"

"I never thought you'd want them."

"Aww, Dad."

"Sorry, honey." He saw the disappointment on my face and his cheer fell a notch.

"It's okay. That was a whole different lifetime ago." I startled myself with the phrase. "I never even missed them." Until now. I had no reason to believe that revisiting my early childhood artwork would lend clues about Connor, but if the green eyes were a prominent theme, who knows what else I might have drawn? I had to accept that I'd never know, but all night long, those eyes permeated my dreams.

*****

On the way to school, Becca surfed the social networks, catching up on any news we'd missed overnight.

"Oooo, Trisha and Raquelle's Homecoming party is officially on our calendar."

"We're invited?"

"Not exactly, but we're aware and that's, like, practically invited, right?"

"Unless they block us at the door." It had happened before.

"I want to go. I've been eyeing this guy in Civics class. The party is the perfect environment to cast my spell over him."

"Becca," I warned.

"Not literally. I was referring to my feminine wiles, but while we're on the topic of magical influence, I gotta ask you something. You know the weird things that happened in Physics class, and then the other day, the way my apple just flew off my tray?"

Uh-oh, I thought.

Becca bit the inside of her cheek and gave me an odd look. "You have to promise not to laugh."

Easy enough. I knew what was coming, and my sense of humor went into duck-and-cover mode. "I promise."

"Here goes. I'm just going to come right out and say it. I think I'm becoming telekinetic."

A sharp laugh punctuated the air. A second passed before I realized it was mine. Becca looked at me, appalled.

"Oh, no, Becca, I didn't mean that. I'm just so relieved. I thought you were going to say you were sick or had bad news or something."

"Liar. You don't believe me. You think I'm an idiot for even suggesting it." She crossed her legs and her foot bounced in irritation.

"It's not that. Seriously, if anyone believes in telekinesis, it's me."

"Oh, so now you're a big believer. I never should have said anything, but I'm beginning to see a pattern. I'm writing it all down in my Wiccan diary, for posterity. If I can figure out how to move things with my mind whenever I want, maybe I can cash in on it."

"That's really exciting," I forced myself to say. "I can't wait to hear how it turns out."

Unconvinced, her foot took on a sharper rhythm.

"So, about that party, I think we should go," I said, but only to make amends.

"You don't. You're just saying that because I'm mad at you."

"Not at all. I'm totally in. We're going."

"Last time you were 'all in', we missed the party of the century."

"I got sick that day." In truth, my tele-chaosing had just started and I was terrified to step outside my bedroom. Becca couldn't find a last-minute ride and was mad at me for days.

"And the time before that..."

"I know, I made us late for the Wiccan full moon party at the beach and bailed on the camping trip." I leaned in and dropped my voice. "I happen to know that Trisha's bedroom door opens to the patio. We'll sneak in and mix into the crowd before anyone sees us."

Becca gave me a hard look. "Yeah. All right, but you better not flake out this time."

"You can count on me."
Chapter 11

Maybe it was the conversation on the way to school, maybe it was the practice quiz in History, but my aura was out of whack all day long. In Physics, I gripped my bracelets, willing the lights to stop flickering. Next to me, Becca watched the odd activity around us and held back a hopeful smile. I just shook my head. Be careful what you wish for, I wanted to say. But of course, I couldn't.

I snuck into the auditorium after lunch and let loose. Fixtures swung dangerously overhead, and the tall velvet stage curtains whipped like they were caught in a wind storm. This release helped, but even with all the training my tele-chaosing was getting more and more out of control. Panic settled into my belly. I did not know what to do or who to turn to, and I wasn't going to be able to hold onto this secret for much longer.

After final bell, Becca and I headed to the parking lot.

"What's that all about?" She nodded at the cluster of upper-clique girls milling by my car. We hung on the fringe of the crowd, unable to move beyond them.

"With these elbows, you will flee. Nasty girls, away from me!" Becca called out the hex and jabbed a girl in the ribs. Nobody budged. Someone pushed back.

"Mooove iiit!" Becca yelled, and the girls parted just enough for us to get through.

As I inched toward my car, my eyes landed on a pair of worn tennis shoes sporting an odd logo. My gaze moved to the jeans hanging on masculine hips, hips that leaned against the hood of my car. A dark t-shirt filled out by well-muscled arms. I lifted my chin and met Connor's gaze. A thrill pulsed through every nerve ending in my body.

"Hey," I said and tossed him a cool nod. My legs wobbled.

"There you are. It's good to see you." He flashed a smile.

A tingle rushed to my belly and lust threatened to bubble into my aura. "It's good to see you, too." The crazy intensity I felt was enough to flip my car on its side. I clenched my fist in an effort to keep control.

All around me, the cloud of girls' auras vibrated with astonishment. I didn't have to turn to see the jaws hanging open or the eyes narrowing in disdain. Then the crowd shifted and Raquelle swayed to the front. She placed her body directly in front of mine like I didn't exist, and locked her attention on Connor.

"There you are, you bad boy. You've been gone too long. I've been thinking about you constantly," she cooed.

"You don't say," he responded indifferently.

Raquelle sashayed closer to him. Then her weight shifted to her heels and she stopped. Her lashes fluttered in brief confusion. I muffled a laugh. She'd just bumped into Connor's barrier.

Undaunted, Raquelle angled her elbow at him, inviting him to link arms. "Why don't you walk me to my car?" she offered.

"Maybe some other time. Echo and I have plans."

"Huh?" her voice cracked.

I stepped around her. "You heard him."

A collective gasp came from the other girls. I could practically hear Raquelle's claws come out, ready to rip me to shreds. But she'd never lose her cool in front of a guy she wanted on her Hit List.

Raquelle recovered with a sultry smile. "Call me tonight. I made rezzies for us at the Rose Club. The VIP room. Guaranteed privacy." She mouthed the last words and strutted to her car. The rest of the girls scattered, gossiping and texting the latest drama. Becca waved at me from across the parking lot, signaling that she'd find her way home.

Connor turned his attention to me. "Rezzies?"

"Reservations. She wants to get you drunk and take advantage of you. It's her usual modus operandi."

"Why would I go with her?"

"Well, you went out with her last week." I sounded jealous and wished I could take it back.

He looked at me, quizzically. "I'm not interested in Raquelle. I came here to steal you away," he smiled. "That is, if you're up for another metaphysical lesson. I don't want to bring on more than you can handle."

My heart pressed against my chest, and warmth shot into my energy field. He lifted an eyebrow. Shoot, he'd felt that. The best I could do was run with it.

"Is that a challenge? Oh, bring it on," I said.

"Let's go, then. Would you like me to drive?"

"Do they even have cars where you come from?" I teased.

I dangled the keys in front of him. In response, he rapped his knuckle on the passenger side door, and the interior locks popped up. He opened the door and motioned that I get in.

Connor climbed into the driver's seat. He pressed two fingers onto the ignition, and the engine turned over. The car reversed out of the parking spot, then rolled onto the street and into traffic. He never touched the steering wheel. I shook my head in awe.

"I did a bit of research and taught myself how to drive," he said.

"I guess. Don't they teach you this in school?" I baited him so he'd have to either tell me about himself or shut me out again.

His jaw worked and he bit his lower lip, as though wrestling with an internal debate.

"West Region, where I live, doesn't have vehicles like this anymore," he finally said. "East Region still uses them, but of course, no one in their right mind lives in East Region voluntarily. So I researched old books to learn how to drive."

West Region? East Region?

"And where exactly is West Region?"

"Right here. Portland is the capitol of West Region. In the year 2173."

My eyebrows hit my hairline. "Are you freaking kidding me?"

"I was afraid you'd react like that," he said.

"What did you expect? You just told me you've traveled..." I tried to do a quick mental calculation. I sucked at math, so I subtracted what I could and rounded down. "You came from 150 years in the future?"

"Closer to 160 years."

"How did you expect me to react?"

He considered this. "If I'm honest, this is about right."

In my state of shock, I hadn't realized that Connor's full attention had been on me. He had yet to look out the windshield. A car cut in front of us.

"Holy cow, watch where we're going!" I yelled.

He glimpsed at the other vehicle, unperturbed. "Calm down. Your car will deliver us where I want it to go."

"You said back in, wherever, you learned how to drive."

"West Region. Yes, but I didn't say I liked it. You've got all these panels and pedals and buttons."

I couldn't tell you what expression was on my face, but it made Connor laugh.

"It's much more natural to use my mind to control devices. I promise, you are perfectly safe."

My car stopped at a red light and idled, all on its own. I crossed my arms, unable to accept this transition. "Please? At least make it look like you're in control?"

"Really, Echo. You pushed your hand through a metal partition last week, and this bothers you?"

"Old habits die hard?" I gave him a sheepish smile.

He took the wheel and faced forward.

"Where are we going?"

"Back to the warehouse. Unless you know of a better place?"

I shook my head. There might have been, but I couldn't think at all. "What's it like? A hundred and sixty years from now?" I stuttered.

"Depends on where you live. A lot of horrible things happen between your lifetime and mine. Luckily, neither of us has to live through it." He dismissed an entire century and a half with a shrug, but I caught the hint of sadness in his voice.

"You're holding back again. You start telling me something and then stop. I don't want partial answers anymore."

He assessed me tenderly. "All right. A series of natural disasters destabilize the world economy. Civil war breaks out in many countries, including the U.S. Millions of people die and eventually, the country is split in two. Each side rebuilds into their ideal version of a functioning statehood. My family is lucky. We live in West Region and have done very well there. East Region, the other half of the country, struggles under a dictatorship.

"The rest of the world is spotty. Some of it has evolved like West Region, some remains like the East. Much of it is still decimated from the Collapse. By the time I was born, most of the world you know is gone."

My mind reeled. Outside the car, my city flashed by. Though I'd driven this route countless times, I couldn't take my eyes off the bridges, the fountains, the people bustling across the red paver bricks at Portland Square. I don't know what I expected to happen in the future. Certainly not total devastation.

"It's all gone?" I whispered.

"That's how events have played out," Connor said carefully. "I know it's a lot to take in. I didn't want to upset you."

We drove in silence while I tried to absorb this. I couldn't. The idea that my beloved world would one day fall to destruction horrified me, but I couldn't let it consume me. Not now, after I'd waited so long for Connor to come back.

"So, West Region. Does everyone wear silver spandex and drive a flying saucer?" I asked.

"Spandex?"

"It's a stretchy fabric that always shows up in futuristic movies. Along with laser guns and robots."

A sideways glance at me.

"What?" I asked.

"I just told you I transported across time and you want to know about our current fashion?"

"Well, pardon me, but I'm kind of in shock, here."

"No to the spandex and the flying saucers. Laser guns and robots? Maybe before the Collapse. We do have a portal, though. That's how I move back and forth between my time and yours. Travel is strictly monitored and limited. And it's dangerous. Not everyone makes it through safely."

The quiver in his voice caught my attention. "Was it scary? The traveling part?"

He stayed focused on the road, but he swallowed hard. "Yes. The first couple of times I tried to come here didn't work out the way I planned."

"Like when Becca and I met you at my house and your skin got transparent?"

Connor's eyebrows arched. "So you did see that."

"Just in your hands."

"What about Becca?"

"I think she was too bowled over by your looks to notice."

His hands tightened on the wheel. Tiny muscles in his jaw flexed. "If I'm going to continue to move back and forth, there can't be any question about my humanness. My first day here, I was hesitant to approach you at all. I could feel parts of me flickering in and out."

"It wasn't as bad as when you showed up in my classroom."

His eyes went wide. "You weren't supposed to see me. Not yet."

"You were pretty hard to ignore. I thought I was losing my mind."

"What about the other students?"

I shook my head. "I was the only one." I thought about how I knew this. The change in emotion would have been unmistakable. Disbelief. Awe. Primal fear. None of which are that common in Physics class outside of midterms and finals week. "I would have felt their reaction," I said.

Connor relaxed. "So, your friend thinks I'm attractive?" He tilted his head back. "Come to think of it, she is kind of cute. Is she single?"

A tiny huff escaped.

"Are you jealous?" It was Connor's turn to tease.

I jerked a casual shrug. "It's none of my business what you do here. For all I know, this could be like spring break for you. All fun and chasing girls."

"I promise, I have more important things to do," he said.

Connor parked my car at the entrance to the alley. Our doors popped open. We slid out, and the doors magically closed. I dug in my bag for my keys.

"Hang on, I want to lock up," I said.

He was already deep into the alley. "Nobody will touch your car, Echo."

I hesitated. Car thefts were a daily reality. If mine was stolen, I'd be in huge trouble. I twirled the keys, anxious, and dropped them back into my bag. 
Chapter 12

At the end of the alley, I slipped inside the open warehouse door. Today, the roof was in place, with no sign of the open sky. Dust motes drifted lazily through shafts of sunlight coming in through high windows. Connor waited in the sun, arms crossed. His finger tapped a nervous rhythm on his arm. When the door closed behind me, he relaxed.

"You thought I wasn't coming?" I asked.

"When a guy tells a girl he jumps time through portals, it's hard to know how she'll react. I keep waiting for you to run screaming in the opposite direction."

"I guess one of your talents isn't predicting the future."

"Sadly, no. We have oracles who do that."

Oracles. Portals. The Collapse. I pressed my fingers into my eyelids. "Okay, I gotta ask. This whole time travel thing. Aren't you messing up the future by traveling to my time?"

"The portal won't deliver me to a place where I could cause a negative impact on time. We don't know how or why this works but the fact that I've arrived means it's okay for me to be here," Connor replied.

"Or maybe that you're supposed to be here?"

"That I don't know."

"I have another question," I said.

"Only one?"

"Thinking beyond that makes me dizzy."

"One more. Then we get to work."

"You live more than a century into the future. How did you even know about me?"

"I'm not sure how or why, but something changed in your nervous system, and that affected your entire energy field. You might have felt it around your third eye." He pointed to the center of his forehead.

I nodded. "I was in an accident. I had a pretty bad head injury and the doctors said my brainwaves changed."

Connor thought about this. "That must have affected your aura. I'd guess that your aura became so powerful, it acted like a beacon across time. The impact hit me like an explosion. I didn't know why, exactly, but I knew I needed to find you, so I went to the portal and begged them to let me travel."

"And so you hopped in the portal and voila, you showed up here." I snapped my fingers, still not believing he'd so easily come to the aid of a complete stranger.

"No. Twice I ended up... I don't know where. Other dimensions, other realities, places that seemed overtaken by Hell. Philip and Jaxon, the portal workers, were barely able to pull me back. They tried to talk me out of leaving again, but your energy, I couldn't shake it. I didn't want to. I... required them to let me try again. I finally understood that all I had to do was focus my full attention on you, no matter where you were. If I could hold that focus, the portal would deliver me there. After doing this a few times, I've left a sort of a trail, so now it's easier to move between worlds."

As I watched the uncertainty, fear, and determination cross his beautiful face, I finally understood. I wasn't an obligation. Connor had felt me, felt for me, and found me.

Inside, I was staggering. I sensed my aura melting around him. Instead of stepping toward me, as I craved for him to do, sadness flitted across his face and he turned his back.

"Let's get to work," he said.

What was with this guy? His sudden aloofness only made me want to probe more.

"There's something you're not telling me," I said.

"Now you're psychic?"

If only. Then maybe I'd know why his portrait was sitting in my bedroom. Asking about this directly would only sound weird.

"Have we met before?" I asked.

"The only way you'll know is if you master the next task."

"Say what?"

"When you learn it, I'll answer your question. Where's your communication device?"

"It's called a cell phone." I dug it from my bag and set it on the floor in front of Connor. He picked it up. "Take a minute to center your energy the way I taught you last time."

I did, and my aura condensed around my body in a powerful cocoon. Confidence flowed into me, and my chest flared with heat.

"Now take all that energy and focus it into your left palm."

I set my jaw in concentration. My hand became warm and prickly.

"Point your palm at the phone and move it out of my hand and straight at that chair, as though the phone is a laser beam and the chair is your worst enemy."

"Oh, no problem there." I conjured up Raquelle's face and zing, the phone shot across the warehouse, tapped the back of the chair, and landed on the seat.

"You've been practicing." Darned if he didn't sound impressed.

"Yep. Now, have we met before?"

"Nope. This time, take the phone and..."

"Wait a minute, that's it? Nope?"

"You want me to lie?"

"You've never been to Seattle or Portland, not ever before?"

"No, no, and no. Now I want you to repeat the exercise a few more times."

"No, no, and no." I propped my hands on my hips. Connor's eyebrow arched. "This is too easy," I said. "The phone thing is just a mock exercise. What is it you really want me to learn?"

"To use your energy to blast a hole through that chair."

"Oh." Not what I expected. "Why?"

"So you can defend yourself against the faction, should you ever be attacked by one of their soldiers. You gather every bit of your energy, focus it into a singular beam and impale your enemy with it." His eyes blazed.

"Wait a second, back up. You're saying I'll have to kill someone?"

"Echo, I don't know what the future holds for you. The best I can do is make sure you're prepared for the very worst."

This struck me as odd. "But you live in the future. Can't you go look up what happens to me?"

"If those records ever existed, they were probably lost in the Collapse."

Some of my excitement washed away. I didn't want to hurt anyone. Except Raquelle, and impalement was just wishful thinking where she was concerned. "Isn't there another way to protect myself? I'm not crazy about shooting anyone with a laser beamy thing."

"You need to know this."

I took a deep breath. Connor hadn't let me down so far. I stared at the chair and pointed my palm at it until the skin turned an angry red.

"This can't be normal," I said.

"Does it hurt?"

It was starting to, but I shook my head.

"Keep going."

I did. The redness traveled into my wrist and up to my elbow. Heat consumed my arm. I squeezed my eyes closed.

"Open your eyes. Never lose sight of your target."

I wrenched my lids open, let out a yelp, and a blue-white light flashed from my palm and hit the back of the chair. The chair bucked and tipped over.

I threw my fist in the air and shook out my burning hand. "Yeah! That totally sucked, but I did it! Now I get to ask you another question, right?"

"Go ahead."

The whole enemy faction thing probably should have weighed heavy on my mind, but I was relentless where Connor's personal life was concerned. "You said if you're caught using the portal, you'll get in trouble. What will happen to you?"

"I'll be cut off from coming here."

"You mean we'd never see each other again?"

"I can almost guarantee it." His expression turned sardonic.

"The portal workers would stop you?"

He shook his head. "My father. He'd shut down the portal in a second if he had any clue what I was doing."

A kindred bond filled my chest. "He doesn't know you're gifted, does he?"

"Of course he does. It runs in our family. West Region is a haven for gifteds, but he has no idea I come here because I'm not allowed to travel. Philip, Jaxon, drop them in the portal, sure, but not me. Portal travel is too dangerous, conflicts with my responsibilities." From the way he deepened his voice, I figured he was mimicking his father.

His cheeks flushed faintly. "I'm ranting."

"It's okay. Families can be a gigantic hassle. Can I ask why your dad is so protective?"

"Sure. Just as soon as you put a hole through those." He pointed to two heavy oak desks, his tone telling me I was capable of doing what he asked, with his guidance. I was certain of it, too, but my moral pendulum swung wildly. Sure I wanted to protect myself, but what he was proposing represented the kind of violence I abhorred. No way could I do this to another person, no matter how dangerous they were.

Also, my arm ached as if all the tendons had been overstretched. I shook it out.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I showed him the enormous blister forming on my palm. He grimaced. "Ew, that looks painful."

"Game over? How about we get something to eat? Or go for a walk?" I was tired from a full day of school, and learning to punch holes in imaginary people didn't exactly top my wish list.

"Okay, but one more thing, first," he said.

"Ungh."

"Hands out to the side."

"What are we going to do?"

"You'll find out. Hands up." The corner of his mouth lifted, like he was about to pull a rabbit out of a hat, except it wouldn't be a rabbit; it would be a two-headed talking fairy or some other supernatural oddity that would rock my world. Fun as that sounded, I had slipped out of order-taking mode and wasn't going back.

"Like this?" I raised my hands and bent my wrists, jazz dance style. Thrust my hip out. Smirked.

Connor tapped an impatient rhythm on his leg.

"Or this?" I linked my fingers above my head and spun like a ballerina. "Hmm. Something's missing. Oh, I know."

I began to hum. I pirouetted in circles around him. Then I leapt across the warehouse, ballet style. "I get that I need to be on the defensive, but if I can hide this annoying telekinetic ability, then I'm not in danger, right? I'm pretty good at that already. So let's go do something fun. All we do is hang out in this dusty building."

I danced my way back. Tossed my head and spun on one leg. My hair twirled into my face. I lost my balance and dropped my foot, but it didn't find the floor.

I looked left, then right. Then down. I was floating above Connor's head.

"What's happening? Get me down from here!" Blood pulsed behind my eardrums.

With a slight rotation of his hand, Connor eased me down.

"You made me float?" I panted from a mix of phobia and exhilaration.

"It improved your dancing," he jabbed.

A big grin swept across my cheeks. "Do it again! Please? But not so high."

"No will do."

"Because you only reward bad behavior?"

"Because the next one's on you."

The next one? "You're going to teach me how to levitate?"

"Then we can quit and we'll do whatever you want. Deal?"

I snapped to attention in front of him. Stretched my arms out to the side. Couldn't help but flick my wrists, just a little bit. "Now what?"

"Come on, you need to take this seriously."

"Are we going to do this or what?"

"Arms out," he sighed.

"They are."

"Further. Really reach. Palms flat."

"Checkity-check."

"Now think back to what you did to the chair. The way you concentrated your energy and directed it into the hard surface."

"Like a laser."

"This time, direct that laser toward the ground."

I closed my eyes. I pushed every ounce of concentration into the concrete beneath my feet. I opened one eye. I hadn't moved.

"It's hard, but you can do it. Really push the floor away from you."

I stayed in that position for what seemed like an eternity, eyes closed, intently focused, shooting imaginary laser beams into the floor. My arms ached, my hands had fallen asleep and my brain was fried.

Then it happened.

First my heels, then my toes lifted, until I was suspended on a cushion of air. Slowly, so as not to break my concentration, I propped open one lid. A thrill sparked through my entire body. I'd done it! I was airborne! And I was way, way too high off the floor. Panic hit. A boom echoed through the building, and I lost my buoyancy. I dropped and hit the floor hard, twisting my foot underneath me.

"Ow!" I winced and grabbed my ankle, but I was laughing, too. I couldn't help it. I'd risen at most a couple of feet in the air. Still, I was so exhilarated, it made up for the sharp spasms running through my foot.

"Did you see me? I did it! I got up there!" No answer. "Connor?" I looked around the warehouse. "Um, hello?" My voice bounced off the walls and disappeared down the cavernous rows. He'd left me here.

"Are you freaking kidding me?"

I pulled myself to my feet and limped to the chair. Clenched my teeth while I rolled my foot side to side, then in circles. My ankle was sore, but not broken. I swept away the impulse to panic at being left behind and redirected it into burgeoning irritation. I'd followed Connor onto private property, and he'd left me, alone, with my eyes closed for who knows how long. What if the owner had walked in? Or one of those so-called faction people?

Next to me, my phone levitated off the desk. I made a grab for it, but it rose out of reach. I hopped on one leg and lunged, but the phone spiraled upward.

"Get back here!" I commanded. Of course, the anger rippling off me just carried it higher, like a seagull riding the crest of an ocean wave.

Then my phone shot toward the ceiling, clanked against a metal fixture, and clattered to the concrete, shattering to pieces. An eerie hiss from above told me it was time to get the heck out of there. I grabbed my bag and limp-jogged to the door. I made it a few yards before the water hit me. A squeal lodged in my throat and I realized my phone had activated the warehouse sprinkler system.

Crap. My phone. I limped back, scooped up the evidence that I'd been trespassing, and got out just as the fire alarm sounded.

A door to the adjacent building opened and a worker stuck his head out to check on the noise. I slipped into a dusky shadow and waited until he went back inside. Then I squished to the street and into the front seat of my car, ill-tempered as a flea-dipped cat. A heat blister covered my left palm, forcing me to drive home with one hand.

Girls have done some pretty ridiculous things for their crushes--pretended to like video games, acted ditzy so the guy could be the smart one, used gasoline to spell out his name on the school lawn. Clearly, I'd crossed into lunacy where Connor was concerned. Not in the gasoline-scripting way; more along the intergalactic, ain't gonna happen in a-hundred-sixty-years kind of way.

Entranced by the mystery that was Connor McCabe, I'd flung reality, not to mention all common sense, to the side. We lived in different worlds. He had a bizarre barrier that kept anyone from getting close to him. He came and went as he pleased without even the common courtesy of finding out what I wanted or needed.

I'd be hard-pressed to find a guy more emotionally unavailable. So of course, I had practically flung myself at him. What was wrong with me?

"No more," I said to the windshield wipers, their blades swinging back and forth like a pair of shaming fingers. "From here on out, it's all business." I spent the rest of the drive detangling myself from the notion that Connor was anything more than a short-lived mentor.

Once home, I went straight to my room, changed into dry clothes and dried my hair. When I came out, the doorbell was ringing and Tito was barking manically.

I opened the door and slapped my arms across my chest at who I saw. 
Chapter 13

Connor stood on the porch, his nonchalant posture provoking my already short fuse. "What happened? I got back to the warehouse and it was overrun with people in uniforms," he said.

"How could you just leave me there? I was, like, all Zenned out, with my eyes closed, and you decide to take off?" Tito stiffened at my elevated voice and growled.

"Sic 'em, Tito," I egged.

Tito nipped at Connor's heels. I teetered on my sore ankle.

"You're hurt," he said.

"I can manage just fine, thank you."

I limped back upstairs and plopped on my bed. Pulled my legs to my chest and whistled. Tito hopped up and curled at my feet.

Connor waited in my doorway. He might have walked there, he might have leaped to the third floor in a single bound. I didn't know, and I didn't care.

"You could have given me some warning," I scowled.

His eyes never left mine. "It was completely out of my control. Jaxon pulled me back when he found out my father was looking for me." He held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "I was this close to getting caught. What happened at the warehouse?"

"I dunno. Something set the sprinklers off. It doesn't matter what. I'm done."

Anxiety creased his face. "You mean you're done with me?"

"No. I don't know." I shrugged, not sure what I expected from him. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "You appear and disappear unexpectedly. One day, you'll leave and not come back. I've had enough of that in my life to know I don't need any more."

Connor paced to the window and stared out at the night-lit city. He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he turned to me, his expression open, defenseless.

"When I'm not here, I'm thinking about you, hoping that the next time I slip through the portal, you haven't changed your mind about seeing me. I'm always afraid it will be my last time with you."

I wasn't prepared for the softer side of Connor, and his declaration made me uncomfortable. I wanted to say "Me, too," but I dug my fingers into Tito's fur to blunt the desire.

"Yeah, well, that really sucks for both of us." A sliver of yearning dulled the edge in my words.

"That might not be enough, but for now, it's all I can give you."

My grand decision to keep him at arm's length melted. He was as afraid of losing me as I was of losing him. I longed to touch him, put my hand in his jet-black hair, stroke his cheek, anything. My aura rippled this message across the room.

Connor ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes for a heartbeat, like he was taking in my unspoken desire for us to connect physically. He looked at me, the cheek I wanted to touch dipped half in shadow. The ache in his eyes mirrored my longing, and my heart nearly cracked in two.

I swallowed, hard. It was time to shift gears. "Do you like it there? In West Region?"

His face brightened a little. "It's magnificent. The main city is beautiful. The people are gifted and always wanting to learn more."

"And nobody thinks they're freaks."

"Times are changing in your world, Echo. In a few decades, your ability will be admired."

"A few decades?" A snort escaped. I'd be an old lady by then. I'd have to hide this ability most of my life, and then what? The president would pin a medal on me and declare my birthday a national holiday? Right.

I looked Connor square in the eye. "Take me to West Region. I want to see this place where people like me live."

"The portal is too dangerous. I won't risk it."

"More dangerous than here? I can't even be honest with my dad about who I am, and from the sounds of it, society won't be embracing me any time soon. And the best part? Some psychotic faction might want to kidnap me, all because of this despicable..."

"Gift. You have to remember that you are incredibly gifted, and that your place is here, with your family."

Two floors below, the front door slammed. Tito dove off the bed and raced to meet my dad and Kimber. I jumped up and closed my bedroom door.

"I don't know how my dad would feel about me having company in my room while he's gone."

"I feel terrible about what happened this afternoon. Let me make it up to you," Connor said.

"Would this involve more physics?" I let the sarcasm flow.

"Maybe, but I'll do all the work."

I studied an errant cuticle. The word yes clung to my lips, held back by the slow burn of reality: no matter how much he wanted to be with me, he might never come back.

"Please, Echo. Spend Saturday with me. You won't regret it." He smiled when he said my name, making his cheek dimple in an oh-so-kissable way.

Mentally, I groaned at my weakening resolve. "Okay. You win. But you have to go!"

I heard Tito race up the stairs, followed by heavier footsteps.

"I'll see myself out." He shared a devilish grin, and then his image fizzled into sparks.

The air in my room still crackled with electricity when my dad came in to tell me he'd caught a string of fish at the cabin. Then he said he had to leave for Japan first thing in the morning.

We stayed up late, talking. After he went to bed, I pulled out Connor's painting and tried to reconcile the portrait with the guy who I'd just promised to spend more time with. I hardly knew Connor, but the painting provoked a longing I couldn't explain, like I'd already possessed, and then lost, a soulmate. Like I'd never fully recovered from it.

Some day in the near future he would leave for good--how could he not, for Godsakes?--and the rope of tiny hopes knotted together in my belly would unravel and I would come crashing down. The century's worth of stars stretched between us meant I was forbidden to fall for him. This was a battle I was slowly losing.

*****

The next morning, my dad left for a conference in Tokyo, I drove Becca to school, and my life droned back to its grey, Connorless void. Aside from that, I felt pretty good. For the first time since the accident, my world clicked into place. Thanks to Connor's training, I hadn't had a headache since our first session, and the tele-chaosing was mostly under control.

Passing through the halls between classes, I noticed my classmates were watching me. Not just one or two, but the whole lot of them gave me a sly glance or an odd smile. Half the school had seen me leave with Connor and apparently, speculation was churning about what we'd done together. I liked being the subject of hot gossip. It was a nice change from being ignored.

By lunchtime, I was forced to reconsider my theory. A cluster of girls nudged each other and pointed at me. Smiles changed from friendly to pitiful. When I set my lunch down across from Becca, her clients scattered.

"You must have heard," she said.

"Have I been walking through school with dirty toilet paper hanging off my shoe?"

Becca pulled out her phone. "Oh, boy. Before I show you, I just want you to know I would have stopped this if I could."

"What?"

Becca showed me the screen. It was Raquelle's Instagram page.

I read the last entry: Guess who spent time in a mental hospital. Can't say who but her initials are...

Instead of initials, Raquelle had inserted a photo of me, obviously altered to look like I'd spent a month snorting prescription drugs.

I gaped at the screen. "She's telling everyone I'm crazy?"

"If by 'everyone' you mean all of Lincoln High plus every other school in Portland, then yes."

"You know I'm not insane, right? She's just getting revenge because I left with Connor." Becca had grilled me about Connor all morning. I'd told her what I could, which wasn't much.

"I know it's a lie but what if he sees this? This could be part of her master plan to get in his pants," Becca said.

Becca had a point. What if he... wait a minute. Connor and Raquelle didn't surf the same social networks, but I couldn't explain this to her. "He's not into Raquelle. It'll be easy to clear up."

"Wow, you must have really cast a spell over him. Figuratively speaking, of course."

Across the room, Raquelle ate lunch with her clique. Trisha glanced up from her diet soda and saw me watching them. She said something to Raquelle, who turned and waved at me with her pinky. When she turned back, the entire table broke into laughter.

Right then and there, I wanted to take off my bracelets, draw my aura into a tight fist, and whack Raquelle's perky little ponytail into the next dimension. Sadly, that wasn't an option. My ability grew with each training session, but my control? I may as well try juggling blindfolded.

"She's mad enough about you and Connor, it could kill our chance of getting into the party," Becca said.

"Don't worry. I've got it covered."

Rumors blew through the school like wildfire. I had to explain to a few caring teachers that I wasn't on the verge of a breakdown, nor was I suicidal. Even the new teacher managed to hint that I might need special attention.

Just outside physics, Becca and I stopped short of the classroom. A new teacher stood in the entryway, arms crossed. Vacant eyes followed each student as he or she entered the room. He whistled an odd, unfamiliar tune, harsh and discordant. Every so often, while watching a student, his whistling tapered off. Then it picked up again.

"What a perv," Becca said.

We walked into class, Becca eyeballing the man as she stepped across the threshold. The teacher's tune never altered. In a protective gesture that had become second nature, I blocked his aura and tucked mine in tight.

After the bell, he introduced himself as Mr. Solomon and told us Mr. King was out sick for at least a week. Right away, some of the girls in the back started talking loudly. Another boy threw a wad of paper across the room.

A lot of substitute teachers would have yelled to get control of their class. Not Mr. Solomon. He stood at the front, patiently rubbing his thumb and index finger together. Waiting. Watching.

In less than a minute, everyone quieted down. They looked to the front of the room, uneasy, as though our substitute had, in fact, raised his voice. Next to me, Becca squirmed in her seat.

We'd all felt Mr. Solomon's itchy, impatient aura as it whisked through the room, but this was the first time I'd ever seen my classmates react so decisively to someone's energy. I smiled and flipped open my book, wondering if he had any idea how much his aura had affected a rambunctious bunch of high schoolers.

"Thank you," Mr. Solomon said when he had everyone's attention. "I know your midterms are coming up and I'd hate for anyone to fall behind just because Mr. King is absent. Please work on the questions at the end of chapter eight while I meet with you individually."

Becca pretended to gag herself with her ballpoint pen. Substitutes who took their job too seriously were such a pain.

One by one, Mr. Solomon called us to the front of the room. Then it was my turn. Solomon was what Becca called an uggo. His complexion was blotchy and pitted and tinged with pink in places. Permanently raised eyebrows gave him a constant look of astonishment, like he couldn't believe he was stuck teaching physics to a bunch of disinterested delinquents.

I knew he was reviewing grades and I didn't want my uneasiness to show. So I anchored my aura and dove in.

"I already know I'm getting a C-. I'm studying harder," I said.

"Have you considered getting a tutor?" Mr. Solomon looked me up and down. Ugh.

I suppressed a smile as I thought about Connor. "I just started with one."

Solomon nodded curtly. "Good. Let me know if I can help in any way."

I turned on my heels and he added, "Any support at all," in a tone that told me he'd heard about the asylum rumors.

"I'm all good," I said, and rolled my pupils so far back that Becca snorted.
Chapter 14

In my dream I stood still, struggling to maintain balance. Maybe I was in the school cafeteria or outside during gym class, I didn't know, because everything around me was spinning at a dizzying speed, faster and faster until my stomach pitched. My eyes found and settled on two dots of green, the only stationary objects amid the nauseating rush of color. I knew I was looking into Connor's eyes, though the rest of him blurred beyond recognition. I lost myself in them, transfixed, and the world slowed to a stop.

A noise stirred me out of a deep sleep. My eyelids slit open. A silhouette shifted next to my bed in the nearly pitch black room. I stuffed my face into my pillow. It was too early to get up. Too early for guests.

Guests?

"Don't fall back to sleep," a smooth voice beckoned. My eyes snapped open. Connor looked down at me from the edge of my bed.

"What are you doing here?" I mumbled and peered at the clock. "It's not even six o'clock."

"We're starting our day. It's Saturday, remember?" He sounded wide-awake.

I groaned and pulled my pillow over my head. Of course I remembered, but who in their right mind started a date before sunrise? Not that this was a date. Whatever it was we were doing, he'd just have to come back later.

"We have to hurry." He jiggled the bed, probably to prove he could be bossy at any hour of the day.

I was drifting back to sleep when he lifted the side of the mattress, sending me rolling toward the floor.

"All right, all right." I threw the covers off and rubbed my eyes. The dim light turned everything into gray and black blots. "I gotta..." I pointed to the bathroom and stumbled toward it. I splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth. Shoved my hair into a ponytail. There was a knock on the door.

"We're going to be late," he called.

I opened the door. "Not. A morning. Person," I warned.

"Good. Then you'll really want to see this." His smile was a set of white teeth glowing in the gray light. Connor waited on the portico roof while I changed into jeans and a t-shirt. Then he said he'd meet me at my car, so I grabbed my keys and crept out the front door. My car idled in the driveway with Connor in the front seat. I wondered why I carried keys at all anymore.

We wove through the city, toward the industrial district.

"Are we going back to the warehouse? 'Cause I'm going to go all mutiny on you if you try to make me work this early."

"I wouldn't think of it. This is the fastest way to where we're going," he responded. "Or was."

One block ahead, red and blue lights pierced the soft gray dawn. Yellow crime tape cordoned off the street and stretched across a wide perimeter. A squad of police cars blocked our progress, and a cop directed us around the mayhem. Connor slowed to let a group of policemen cross in front of us. One of the men was out of uniform. Connor recognized him before I did.

"Isn't that Raquelle's dad?"

"Yeah, it is," I answered.

"I thought he was a psychiatrist," he said dryly. His finger tapped on the steering wheel. The motion was aggressive and picked up speed as he glared at Mr. Crane.

Mr. Crane must have felt us watching because his head snapped around to us. I gave him a small wave. He did not wave back. He slid beneath the crime tape and disappeared into a crowd of blue uniforms.

"He works with the police sometimes. I think he profiles criminals for them," I said, and unexpectedly shuddered.

Connor eyed the rearview mirror until the scene was well behind us. A few blocks later, he turned back toward my house.

"I thought we were going into the industrial area," I said.

"Change of plan." He drove to the waterfront, where the Willamette River chugged through town and parked next to a trio of condo towers.

The streets were empty except for a guy getting his morning coffee. When he rounded the corner out of sight, Connor stepped up to one of the skyscrapers. He stood so close to the glass exterior, I thought he was checking out his reflection.

"Ready for an adventure?" The peaks of his upper lip twitched like he was trying not to smile.

I stifled a yawn. "Sure."

He held out a black metal rod about two feet long. "Stand next to me and grab hold of this insulator."

"You mean this stick thingy?" I grabbed the opposite end and an intense, uncomfortable current surged into my arm. I tried to let go. I couldn't. I was more than a little freaked out by this. "Um, Connor--"

"No matter what happens, try not to scream," he said.

"Why would I want to... omigod!" My feet lifted off the ground. Connor and I soared upward, inches from the skyscraper, as though we were in our own personal elevator. I clenched my jaw and squealed. Connor flashed a maverick grin.

We zipped past individual condo units, and I snatched glimpses of their sleepy inhabitants. Residents wandered in their bathrobes. Some read the newspaper. One woman was applying lipstick in her bedroom mirror. She caught sight of me in the reflection, but by the time she did a double-take, we were gone.

We landed on the roof. The strange black rod released my grip. I sat down, light-headed from the ascent.

"Um, wow, that was interesting," I said, trying to sound grateful for the experience.

"Come on, the good part's about to start." He walked to the eastern corner and sat with his legs dangling over the ledge. Tentatively, I gathered my legs beneath me. When I called on my feet to move, they stayed glued in place.

"Are you coming?" he asked.

"Is it just me, or is the building swaying?" My internal organs bottomed out.

Connor ran to my side.

"I just need a few minutes to adjust." My empty stomach churned.

"Echo, are you afraid of heights?"

In response, all the blood drained from my face. "Oh boy... "

"What about the rooftop outside your window? You like to go out there," he said.

"I sit on the windowsill. Becca uses the lounger. How far up are we?"

"Maybe three hundred feet?"

"Oh man." My legs gave out and I plopped onto my butt. I gulped air, but it only pitched between the back of my throat and the top of my lungs. Lightheadedness set in.

"Breath slowly. You're hyperventilating."

I sucked a deep breath. A few more, and my color warmed.

"You know I'd never let you fall," he said.

"I hear you say that, but my brain's too busy freaking out for it to register. All I can think about is the time I was eight and I fell out of a third-story window. I nearly died." I lay back and did that staccato labor breathing I'd seen in movies.

Connor jumped to his feet. "Echo, watch this."

I turned my head so I could see him without sitting up. The air next to him shimmered like heat waves coming off pavement.

"Portland," he said, and then he sidestepped into the shimmery mirage and disappeared. "West Region!" I heard him shout from somewhere in the portal.

He stepped back into view. "Your crazy world." Disappeared into the portal again. "The super awesome future!"

Here . "Spandex." Gone. "Levitation!"

He made a bug-eyed face. "Clueless population." He disappeared again. "Schools for the gifted!"

I laughed so hard, I clutched my stomach. "That's not fair, you just made me want to move to West Region. Please take me away from this insanity!"

Connor cleared the portal connection and sat next to me. "It's far from perfect here, but I'm glad I came. You're nothing like I imagined. Sailing through the portal that first time, I had no idea what to expect."

"Disappointed?" I said with a half-smile. I sat up, feeling much better.

"Far from it."

"What were you expecting?"

"I'm not really sure." His eyes flicked away. "You're more beautiful than I imagined."

My cheeks went pink. If I tried to sum up how gorgeous I thought he was, I would make a fool of myself. In any case, if he was as good at reading auras as he was at everything else, he knew exactly how he affected me. "The first time I saw you, I had this feeling we'd already known each other for a long time."

"We haven't. No past lives or any of that, if that's what you're thinking." A firmness in his answer shut down further questioning. No way was I going to ask him about the painting now. "No past lives," he repeated, almost to himself.

"Well, I guess the only way to go is forward." I don't know why I said it. The future didn't look good for us.

Indecision flickered in his eyes. Then his gaze landed on a point beyond me. "Turn around."

On the eastern horizon, the gray silhouette of Mount Hood basked against a backdrop of pink and orange. Puffy clouds hung next to the peak, their underbellies chalky yellow from the rising sun. A brilliant orb finally spilled over the horizon, softening everything to watercolors.

The scene was ripe with newness, and I wondered if that was why Connor brought me up here. I stole a glance at him through my lashes, curious to see what his expression held. He wasn't watching the sunrise. He was watching me.

Pink blossomed on my cheeks again. "What?"

"I came all this way and hardly know you at all. You asked a lot of questions but I never got the chance to ask any."

"You seemed to know a lot the day we met."

"Just what I picked up off your aura."

I cringed. I'd been such a wreck that day. Talk about bad first impressions.

"So, in the spirit of equality, today I get to ask all the questions."

"Go right ahead," I mumbled, my words drowned by a yawn. The bright sunlight made it hard to keep my eyes open.

"We'll save it for later." He stood and held the rod out to me again, signaling it was time for us to leave.

The ride down to the ground was no party. I clenched my teeth, squished my eyes closed, and focused on not dry heaving. When my feet touched the sidewalk, I actually hugged the side of the building.

A short drive later--for me, a catnap later--Connor walked us to the front porch.

"You get some sleep. I've got a meeting scheduled with my dad, but I'll come back after," he said.

"That sounds very formal."

"It always is. The man never takes a day off, and he doesn't think anyone else needs one either." A small eye roll. Dimples dented his cheeks, and he fizzled into the ether.

I passed out before I hit the pillow. Hours later, I was jerked half awake by the sensation that I was flying. Sweat dampened my cheeks and my fists twisted handfuls of covers; my pulse whooshed in my ears. Choppy memories of early morning escapades filled my cottony head, and in a snap, I was fully awake.

I rolled out of bed and looked for Connor on the portico roof. The lounge chair sat empty. My heart sank. Then my nose picked up the scent of bacon. Eggs. And... pancakes? Kimber couldn't boil an egg if her life depended on it. My dad was in Tokyo. Who, then, was creating the heavenly smells?

I threw on my clothes and padded into the kitchen. Connor looked up from a celebrity magazine. "You're not going to believe this, but we're still listening to this Bieber guy's music."

"Justin Bieber survived the Collapse? Who'd a thunk it? Is that bacon I smell?"

"Kimber left hours ago, so I took over your kitchen. I wasn't sure what you like, so I took a chance on a few things." He moved to the pans on the stovetop and scooped pancakes, eggs, and bacon onto a plate. He set this in front of me.

"You cook," I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. I took a bite of eggs. A strange, smoky flavor assaulted my tongue. "Interesting," I said and moved to the pancakes. They were heavy and undercooked. I held my breath in an effort not to laugh.

Connor winced. "That bad? Our servants prepare most of the meals, so I don't get much practice."

I nibbled a piece of bacon. Hard to ruin bacon. "Mmm, yummy. So, it must be nice to have servants. Tell me more, Connor McCabe."

"Well, I live on the family compound."

"Brothers or sisters?"

"I've got one brother who's three years older than me. He's at the university, where I'll go when I graduate." He stuck a fork into the pan of eggs and took a bite. His eyes widened and he spit them in the sink. "I am so sorry about that."

I laughed. "It's nice you tried. What about your mom? Does she know you come here?"

"She died when I was six." He raised his palm, anticipating my reaction. "It was an accident, and it happened a long time ago."

"Sorry," I said, anyway.

"You should be. You're cutting into my question time."

Reflexively, I glanced at the clock. "Holy cow. How'd it get to be so late?"

"You needed the sleep. I think your body overloaded from the charge running through the insulator when we flew up to the roof this morning."

"You mean the black stick thingy?"

Connor sighed, ever patient. "Yes."

I grabbed more bacon and headed for the door. "I'm good to go. Where to next?" 
Chapter 15

Connor drove us down the winding hill and into downtown. It was one of those glorious fall days that prompted every Portland resident to get outside and soak up the sun before rain clouds overtook the valley until spring. The leaves were turning red-yellow on the trees, and white clouds wisped across a sapphire sky.

He quizzed me relentlessly, wanting to know where I was born, what kind of music I liked, what I did for fun, what my dad did for a living. Being in the hot seat wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

"Did you have telekinesis before the accident?" he asked.

"Nope, I wasn't blessed with any gifts until... "

My thoughts dropped away, and went back to the months before Raquelle shoved me down the banister. There had been a couple of odd incidents after we moved into Kimber's house. A table shifted on its legs as soon as Kimber walked in the room. A book was in one place and then suddenly in another.

Picturing these incidents now, they didn't feel like a part of my own history. The images were too distant and dreamlike. They were definitely my memories, though. The doctor said I might have trouble recalling some things from my past, but eventually everything would come back. How much more had I forgotten?

I told Connor this. "I used to joke to the Partychicks that Kimber was a witch. Do you think that was really me?"

"I never picked up any other special energy at your house. So, yeah, you probably had some telekinetic ability before the accident."

I felt a little sick knowing the ability had been festering inside me like some sort of pox. Clubbing with the Partychicks, making new friends at Lincoln High, I'd reveled in being part of the popular crowd. I'd been a freak then, too, and didn't even know it.

"What about your biological mom? These things are genetic a lot of the time," he said.

"It's not like I'll ever know. And I don't care, either." My arms lashed across my chest. He'd opened up an ugly, squirming can of worms that was about to spill into our nice day.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

I considered leaving it at that, or flippantly changing the subject, but Connor risked so much to be here, it seemed rude to brush him off.

I puffed out a lungful of air. "I was born on a Tuesday morning. On Tuesday night, my birth mother snuck out of the hospital. Without me."

"She left you there." It was a gentle clarification, devoid of accusation.

"That's about the size of it." I'd never met the woman, and by every indication, I was better off with my dad, but I had to force the vitriol out of my tone before I continued. "She left while I slept in the bassinet next to her hospital bed. At least she had the decency to pin a phone number to my blanket. When nobody came to collect me, the nurses called the number on the note. That's how my dad learned he had a daughter. So, if this woman has telekinesis or an extra arm or snakes for hair, I would not know."

She'd never even tried to contact me, and I rarely gave her any thought. For all I knew, she could be remarried with a soccer van full of snot-nosed rugrats. Or she could be dead. I was pretty sure I didn't care either way.

Connor picked up the jagged edges in my energy field and abandoned the subject. "How about hobbies or hidden talents?" he asked.

"Hmm. I used to be a really good painter." I let that hang between us. When it didn't attract a reply, one that I could tie back to the painting, I continued, "Never played an instrument, avoided sports at all cost, and can't carry a tune. I'm really not that talented."

Connor broke into a laugh. "You know how ludicrous that sounds."

"I've got no talents I can use to pass the time with my friends on a Friday night. As far as I'm concerned, this ability still causes more trouble than it's worth."

He pulled into a parking place along the curb. "But without it, I never would have found you." His eyes traced their way from my eyes to my lips. There was no mistaking the desire in that look.

Involuntarily, I pressed my back against the door. My aura constricted. My stomach fluttered. I stiffened against conflicting feelings.

"Where do you see this going? Us, I mean. We really don't have a future together, do we? So..." I turned my palms up and shrugged, letting my body language communicate what I wasn't strong enough to say: Stop looking at me like that because I'm trying not to fall for you.

Connor's expression didn't cool this time. "The future is the big question, isn't it?" He climbed out of the car.

I met him on the sidewalk. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know what's going to happen, do you?"

"Not a clue."

"Then let's just live for today."

*****

Connor had never been to a mall before. Apparently, they were one of the many casualties of The Collapse and were never rebuilt. So I didn't feel bad when I dragged him into the behemoth downtown extravaganza, Pioneer Mall. I needed to replace my cell phone, and what better way for him to get a taste of current-day Portland?

We dodged the city train as it screeched to a stop in front of the mall, and pushed open the glass doors to the building. One step into the stew of strangers' auras and I decided I'd made a huge mistake. I winced at the sensation of a hundred tiny fists pummeling me, and the intensity grew when the crowd thickened.

My head swirled. "Whoa. Phenomenally bad idea." I backed toward the exit. Held the door handle for balance.

"Echo, you have to learn how to handle these situations."

He had a point. I couldn't go the rest of my life without stepping foot in a mall. God forbid.

"Walk next to me and I'll ease you into it," he said.

A group of kids swished through my aura. My stomach swam. "This is way worse than being in school," I said.

"That's because you've acclimated to your classmates. There might be a thousand people in your school, but you walk the same pattern and pass all the same people every day. You've gotten used to them."

With practice, I'd learned to sense Connor's barrier. Now I closed in on him until his barrier pressed back, a couple feet from his body. I leaned into it. It gave a little, the way firm muscle yields when you squeeze it. A soothing calm flowed over me.

My attention turned to the task at hand. Pioneer Mall was a circular, three-story mall, capped by an enormous skylight. We stood in the middle of the mall atrium. I pointed to the escalators rising up the center.

"First stop, the AT&T store on the third floor," I said.

He led the way, with me tight next to him. The crowd thinned on the top floor, and only a few people were in the store. I took a few cautious steps away from Connor, didn't feel like throwing up, and took off on my own.

He studied the displays, picked up a phone and turned it on. "So simplistic," he said with derision.

"What do you guys do, just talk to each other telepathically?"

He smiled. "Maybe in another thousand years. We have a telecom system, just different devices. Far more advanced."

"Can I see yours?"

"I left it behind. Wouldn't do me any good here and I didn't want to lose it."

He picked up a slick, high-end phone loaded with the latest software. "This is the one for you."

I'd seen ads for this phone. It was the most expensive one on the market. "Um, no. I don't need anything that sophisticated. The one I broke is over here."

"If you're going to be stuck in this backward place in time, you should at least have the best technology." Leave it to Connor to remind me how much I was missing out on. I checked out the phone's features. It was very cool, but just not my style.

"I'm just going to replace my old one," I said and grabbed a cheaper model from the display.

Connor got to the counter one step ahead of me and pulled out his wallet to pay.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Buying you a phone."

"I was the one who broke it." I glanced at the salesgirl who patiently waited out our debate. I dropped my voice. "That's what set the sprinklers off in the warehouse."

A tiny smile. "This mysterious out-of-control-phone, it didn't have anything to do with my leaving you alone in the warehouse, did it?"

"Everything, actually."

Connor slid cash across the counter to the sales girl. Put his wallet back in his jeans. Then he handed me the plastic shopping bag.

"Thank you," I said. All the while, something nagged at me. He'd bought me a phone, like a boyfriend might. That wasn't what bothered me. I was enjoying his company, certainly more than I should. That wasn't it, either.

And then my internal alarm bells went off. "You didn't just give her money from 2173, did you? 'Cause if you did, we need to run before she calls security."

"Of course not," he laughed. "It's perfectly legal tender."

My eyes widened. "Don't tell me you can magically create money. I bet you can. Teach me how to do that!"

"Oh, now you love your ability. Is that what I'm hearing?"

"I tolerate it, but this would definitely push me to full-on like."

"Hate to disappoint you, but I'm not gifted that way. You know that night you and I were supposed to meet, but you had to go to dinner at the Crane's?"

That was the night he went out with Raquelle. "What about it?"

"Raquelle took me to a club and some of the guys there were playing... darts? It was easy to learn and easier to win. After she went home I stayed at the club and played for money. The guys kept betting they could beat me."

I knew the club he was talking about. Teens from the wealthiest part of West Vista hung out there. They thought nothing of gambling a few hundred bucks, especially if they thought they could take advantage of the new guy in town. Connor probably had fun, making the darts go exactly where he wanted to and collecting their money, game after game.

As we strolled, I marveled at the way people skirted Connor's barrier, even when they looked like they might want to cross into his space. And unless it was my imagination, that barrier was getting thinner. A woman nearly bumped into him as she passed. Out of curiosity, I inched closer to Connor. The two-foot pressure between us never relented.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was making a concerted effort to keep me at arm's length.

Before the accident, I could spend an entire day at the mall. Now, exhaustion set in after a short visit. "Let's get out of here. It's too crowded," I said.

Connor steered us toward an exit, but before he pushed through the doors, he skidded to a stop at a store entrance. Behind the glass, a jewelry display glittered. Connor peered at the necklaces shimmering like pirate's booty.

"Come with me." He went inside. By the time I caught up, a saleslady was holding out a necklace for Connor's inspection. A beautiful twist of sapphires dripped from a silver chain.

"Would the young lady like to try it on?" the saleslady asked.

"She would," Connor said before I realized they were referring to me.

The rich blue stones reflected light in every direction. The silver chain glistened. The tiny price tag read four hundred dollars. I opened my mouth to decline.

"Don't you like it?" Connor asked.

"It's stunning. It's just too much."

"I want to get you something. What about these plain gold chains?"

"You already got me the phone."

"I mean something that lasts longer..." His eyes dropped to the shopping bag I carried, but it didn't take a leap of logic to know he wasn't referring to the phone. He, too, wrestled with the fact that one day, he would have to stop using the portal. He wanted me to remember him then.

Like I'd ever forget.

As his green eyes found mine, we both knew there wasn't a necklace on the planet that equaled the connection pulsing between us. At that moment, my energy crossed onto his, and a full body tingle robbed my power to speak.

There was only one object so infused with meaning that I'd kept it close since the day it mysteriously appeared on my bed stand. I reached in my pocket and pulled out the coin he'd given to me, the one from 2173. I handed this to the saleslady.

"Could you put this on a chain for me?"

The breath that escaped from Connor told me he was touched by my choice. He nodded at the saleslady and ushered me toward the door. "I'll be out in a few minutes. I'm going to pick out a chain."

"What, are you afraid I'll veto your choice?" I joked.

"You're the queen of vetoing today, and I'm trying to do something nice for you."

"Pick out something simple, okay? You already bought me the phone." I'd never had a guy spend so much money on me, and it made me uncomfortable.

Connor motioned me toward the mall exit and went back to the counter.
Chapter 16

I waited just outside the mall entrance while Connor finished in the jewelry store. I was happy to leave because I seriously needed some fresh air. Forget my clogged aura, it was Connor who had me reeling now.

At the very beginning, I'd doubted his feelings for me, then dared to think there was something between us, and then raised my defenses and swore resistance to them. That was a fine plan, up until a minute ago, when our energies merged and for a fleeting second, I'd been unable to tell us apart. The tingle rushed down the full length of my body again. I savored it.

Without warning, someone shoulder-slammed me from behind, and I stumbled face-first into a group of guys from my school. My aura crackled and ran loose.

"Way to go, mental case," the she-devil sang.

I spun to face Raquelle. Trisha and a couple other Partychick disciples snickered.

"Knock it off with the psycho rumors," I said between clenched teeth.

"Why so hostile, Echo? Has Connor moved on already?"

"Connor's inside. Buying me a gift."

The shock coming off her aura made me laugh. Raquelle's full lips smiled, but her eyes were switchblades. "Obviously, it's a farewell gift. It's just a matter of time before he comes to his senses." The four of them swished into a store across the street.

Raquelle's comment hit me where it really hurt. Maybe this was Connor's idea of a parting gift. A moment later, he joined me on the sidewalk. One look at my face and he knew.

"Ah, Raquelle," he said. "I saw her leave."

"It was nothing. Let's just go." I hated that Raquelle had such an obvious effect on me.

"The necklace won't be ready for a few minutes."

"Then let's walk." I stormed down the sidewalk, weaving through passengers as they exited the latest train. The passengers gave Connor a wide berth as he kept pace with me.

"What did she say this time?" he asked.

I waved my hand dramatically. "It's hardly worth repeating." But my hatred boiled to the surface.

"I can't stand her! It's like, she's got this ability to show up at the perfect moment and make my life unbearable. No matter where I go, she finds a way to get in my face!" I rounded the corner and my eyes landed on the car parked at the curb: a hot red convertible, the logo "Partychick" hand painted next to the license plate. Raquelle's car.

"Aaack!" I screeched.

Connor laughed.

"This is so not funny," I said.

"I think the gods of revenge are trying to tell us something." He raised his brows in a conspiratorial way. He stepped into an alcove and motioned me to join him.

"What are you going to do?" I asked, but he only smiled and scanned the sidewalk running up and down the quiet side street. He waited while a truck cruised by and a couple of shoppers ambled past. Then the street was empty, except for us.

Connor raised his hands about waist-high. He pointed his fingers at Raquelle's car and latched onto it with his gaze. Ever so slightly, the convertible began to move, first rising a few inches off the pavement and then drifting up and over the curb. He spun the car so that it faced the opposite direction. The convertible creaked under its own weight as it settled into its new location, smack in the middle of the sidewalk.

My eyes jumped between Connor and the convertible. His hands had become slightly transparent during the maneuver but otherwise, he made it look effortless.

I covered my mouth in astonishment. "I can't believe you did that. Used your superpower on a Muggle."

"Muggle?"

"Never mind. That was the coolest. Thing. Ever."

"It's worth seeing you smile again, even if I did break a few rules. Technically, I'm not supposed to use my power for evil." He wiggled his eyebrows and laughed.

We walked back to the jewelry store. The jeweler had soldered a bail loop to the coin and attached the simple silver chain that Connor picked out. The saleslady held it out to Connor so that he could put it on me, but I knew better. I took it from her and clasped it around my neck. I fingered the coin and looked in the mirror on the counter. It was perfect.

Actually, the whole day was turning out to be perfect. We stepped outside just as Raquelle and her entourage streamed out of the store across the street. Connor and I exchanged a look and followed them. From a hidden spot on the corner, we watched Raquelle walk toward her car, so busy yammering to Trisha that she remained oblivious until she nearly walked into its bumper.

"Three, two, one," Connor said and, right on cue, Raquelle shrieked.

"What the..." She took a cautious sidestep and checked the license plate. Her neck jutted and her eyes bulged. Yep, it was her convertible.

"Who did this to my car?" she screamed. She shot looks in every direction, looking for the prankster. Connor and I pulled out of sight until her back was turned.

That alone was priceless, but it got even better. A police officer was jotting down her license plate, in the process of giving her a ticket. Raquelle cursed up a storm. She waved her arms and yelled, trying to convince the officer that she hadn't parked her car backward, in the middle of the sidewalk. Maybe it was Raquelle's offensive tirade, maybe it was her aggressive posture, but the officer never stopped writing. He ripped the ticket off his pad and shoved it at her.

By now, I was laughing so hard, tears rolled down my cheeks. Through wet lashes, I saw Connor's wide smile. He was enjoying this as much as I was.

"We should probably go before she sees us," I said.

I wiped my sleeve across my face and stepped off the curb.

The next few seconds were a catastrophe of sensations. The loud blast of the train horn screamed in my ears. Metal screeched against metal as the grooved wheels locked and skidded on their tracks. The train's conductor gaped at me through his windshield, horror-stricken, willing the train to stop. And my body, hit from behind, was thrown beyond the tracks and away from the oncoming train.

I crashed onto the pavement, hard, and all the oxygen was punched out of my lungs. Slowly, so slowly, I became aware of an arm wrapped tightly around my waist. A hand cupped my head, protecting it from the asphalt; a gentle, electric sensation ran along my skin where another body pressed against mine; and a voice, quaking with fear, called my name.

"Echo. Oh, no. Echo. Are you all right?"

I nodded stiffly. The arms slowly released me. I pushed myself onto my knees and turned to the person who had saved my life. It was Connor.

His gaze dropped to his hand resting on my arm. Slowly and deliberately, he pulled away. His eyes, raw with an emotion I could not read, avoided mine.

A crowd hovered over us. Train passengers circled and asked if we were hurt. The conductor stood on the sidewalk, ghostly pale and trembling. The policeman who gave Raquelle a ticket pushed through the onlookers and came to my aid.

"I'm all right. Everything's fine." I was unhurt, but my voice shook because everything was definitely not fine.

Nobody was convinced that I was okay, so I straggled to my feet. I made a brave gesture of brushing the dirt from my pants. "See? There's nothing wrong with me. There's not a scratch on me."

The officer found this as hard to believe as I did. My elbow and hip should have been bruised from crashing onto the street. My face should have been scraped because it had slid about a foot across the pavement. But it wasn't, because when Connor knocked me out of the train's path, he'd also cushioned every bit of me. The only evidence of the near disaster was scorch marks that arced across his jeans above his knees.

The officer helped Connor to his feet and praised him for his fast thinking. Someone led the conductor to the curb and insisted that he sit down. Out of all of us, he was taking this near-collision the worst.

Soon, everyone dispersed. Shadows shrouded the city as the sun dropped behind the hills. I drifted away from the crowd, stunned by my proximity to death and a new, startling truth. I walked without any destination in mind, vaguely aware of Connor following a short distance behind. He called my name once or twice. When his footsteps grew close, I picked up my pace.

A tempest whirled in the space behind my eyes. Questions, always the wrong ones, danced there. I was so tired of these questions, always having to draw out the answers from Connor, speck by speck. I wished he would just take all his secrets and leave.

Connor's sole scuffed the sidewalk, and I stopped and faced him.

"How long have you known?" I accused in a hoarse whisper.

He leaned in to brush a strand of hair out of my eyes. I jerked beyond his reach.

"How. Long?"

"It's been a few days."

"Were you ever going to tell me that you could touch me?"

He glanced at me and then into the cold city. He seemed to sink into a place deep inside himself. Away from me.

"I'll take that as a no." My chin quivered and I pressed my fingernails into my palm. No way would I allow one tear to drop. Wind swelled off the river and tore down the street. I shivered.

"Echo, you're freezing." He opened his arms toward me. I lashed my arms across my chest and shook my head. Connor took one step closer, unsure what to do. When I didn't turn away, he took another. This time, I let him close the gap between us. He wrapped his arms around me.
Chapter 17

It was pointless trying to hold on to my anger because resting against Connor was the most remarkable sensation I had ever experienced. His hand swept beneath my hair and found the back of my neck, and I felt a faint electric tingle where his skin met mine. His warmth permeated me, recharged my energy, like the effect of a sugar rush. His scent was infatuating, all spice and heat.

"I didn't know if I should tell you that the barrier was gone. I wanted to, but everything is so uncertain. I figured it would be best if I didn't. Best for both of us," he said.

"I understand." That barrier not only prevented us from touching, it had served to keep us safe from unrealistic expectations. Now, our new closeness sprung with tenuous hope, bringing with it the illusion of a future together. One that, any way I colored it, was doomed.

So I retreated, allowing my lips to brush across his throat as I leaned away. They buzzed with an exquisite electric sensation where our flesh touched. It took every ounce of discipline to press my hands against his chest and push myself away. I needed distance because the moment I discovered he'd been holding himself back was the very same moment I gave in to him. Utterly, totally, deeply.

"I need to go home. I need time to think," I said.

His expression was fierce. He slid his fingers down my arm, enveloping my hand in his. "No. I can't let you leave like this. I promised myself I wouldn't let this happen. The plan was to come here, train you and go, and I've completely failed us. I was honest with you about the barrier. It protected me physically, the first few times I came here. Eventually, I didn't need it."

"I'm not mad at you."

"I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know." I pooled strength I didn't know I had. "I think we should end this. Now, before it's too late."

He laughed, deep and aching. "It was too late the moment I saw you." The angle of his jawline cast shadows onto his throat, like a private place where his secrets dared to surface. One of them revealed itself, then, coming straight from the dark hollow that rose and fell when he spoke. It was as clear as if he'd held my face in his hands and whispered it in my ear.

"You love me," I said.

He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the inside of my wrist. "Yes."

"I love you, too." It was the first time I'd ever said that to a guy. My entire body felt wide-awake and weightless, like I could defy gravity and float above the city. Connor held my hand, grounding both of us. The thrill was nearly unbearable, in the best possible way--and the worst. I exhaled, deep and heavy.

The portal. His father. The time difference.

Now what?

Connor put his finger to my lips in an effort to silence my thoughts. He traced my cheekbone with his thumb.

"Everything is possible," he said.

The night drew colder, and Connor flagged a horse-drawn carriage. We curled into the seat, and he snaked his arm around me. It was one thing to lust after Connor McCabe from a distance. Everything changed when we touched. There was something addicting about the electric tingle that remained after his fingers left my skin. An unfamiliar craving bloomed as he caressed my back, leaving me to wonder where his fingers would go next.

I brought his hand to my cheek so I could feel the electricity coursing just beneath his skin. When I laid my hand on his chest, the feeling was nearly lost beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. I palmed his chin and found the sensation running strong. He took my face in his hands, then dropped his cheek to mine. I jumped at the slight shock.

"Sorry about that," he said. "It must be left over from all the traveling I'm doing through the portal."

"I like it. A lot."

His lips glided onto mine. The gentle sensation of electricity tickled my lips, then my tongue. Every nerve ending in my body lit up.

The carriage swayed gently down the quiet city streets. A cool breeze swept through the valley of skyscrapers, and goose bumps dotted my arms. Connor pulled my legs across his lap, and I nuzzled my face into his chest. We were so tightly nested together I could feel a pulse beating where our bodies touched. Could have been his, might have been mine.

"When did you know?" I asked.

"That I was crazy about you? Probably the time you showed me you could be a stubborn, independent... what's the phrase you guys use? Pain in the butt?" He gave me a squeeze.

I giggled. "That covers a lot of time."

"All right, then, I knew from the very beginning."

I turned to look at him. "The first time you saw me? Are you serious? You didn't even know me." Connor was quiet, and I decided to let well enough alone. Love at first sight happened to people. None that I knew personally, until now. It was a dizzying thought, that I had that much power over someone.

"What about you?" he asked.

"The first time or the tenth? Because I've talked myself out of falling for you about that many times."

"Sounds familiar."

I settled back into him. "I've never been in a long-distance relationship before." I cast my eyes at the carriage driver, thinking I should keep my voice low, but who was I kidding? Nobody would believe that my boyfriend had to commute 160 years just to go on a date.

"Me neither." Connor ran his hand down my hair in even strokes. "I'm so glad this is one promise I couldn't keep."

"I made the same promise, but who was I kidding? You were hard enough to resist when your barrier was up. Then you had to go and save me."

"You'd rather get crushed by the train?"

I pretended to consider this alternative. "Nah."

My mind jumped back to that instant after Connor had saved me, and the burn marks I'd seen on his jeans. Now I ran my fingers over the scorched fabric, and over the solid muscle beneath. He flinched.

"The train really did hit you! Why didn't you say something?"

"It didn't. Remember how I taught you to push your hand through solid objects? I allowed the train wheels to pass through me. There wasn't time to worry about my jeans."

"What about your legs?"

"The one is a little sore, but trust me, there isn't a mark on me. I can show you if you want." He made like he was going to roll up his jeans to prove it.

"Okay, I get it. You're invincible."

The driver dropped us at my car, and Connor drove me home. We stood under the soft porch light, and I swam in his emerald eyes for a couple of heartbeats. I looked down at our hands, where mine was cocooned inside his.

"I can see right through your fingers," I said, not even trying to cover the panic in my voice.

He let out a heavy sigh. "It's been a long day and I need to get back." He dropped his mouth onto mine and pressed his tongue between my lips. My tongue slid beneath his, tasting salt and sweet, and a spark went off deep in my belly. He released me and kissed me on the forehead.

"Sleep well," he said. As his image faded, warmth lingered where, just seconds ago, his fingers caressed my face.

I went inside and leaned against the door. In a long, luxurious exhale, I released my energy into the entryway. It swept into the adjacent room and up the stairs. Caught the globe light overhead and sent it swinging. Then it curled back and settled around me, delicate as gossamer, soft as a silken cape.

*****

Becca had been out of town all weekend, so on the way to school, she grilled me about my day with Connor. By the time I told her about how he'd saved me, she was bouncing in her seat like her butt was on fire.

"No way! No freaking way!" She slapped the dashboard and fanned herself with her hands.

I fixed my stare on the windshield.

"There's more," she said. "There's something you're not telling me."

"Nope, that's everything." I wanted to keep the intimate details to myself, partly because I preferred privacy but also because I didn't want to diminish the memory by talking about it.

"Omigod, you did the dirty deed."

"Geez, Becca. No."

"You kissed him!"

"Did I ever." There was nothing chaste about my grin.

"What was it like? Spill it. Now. You must tell me everything."

"You've kissed guys before."

"'Course I have but he's, like, superhumanly hot." Becca would hound me to the ends of the earth if I didn't feed her some little tidbit.

"He's good," I said.

"That's it? Good?"

"More like really, really, really..." I dragged out each word.

"Oh come on!" She hit a high note.

I shook my head in wonder. "He is absolutely surreal."

Turns out, that was a perfect description for the entire day. On the way to our first class, we saw a pair of policemen entering the principal's office. Leading them was none other than Mr. Crane.

"What's that all about?" Becca asked.

A kid who had his locker near mine overheard her. "Ryan Hoffman's disappeared."

"You mean like kidnapped?"

The kid lifted a shoulder. "Who knows? He was at the mall on Saturday night and never went home."

"Wait, which mall?" I asked.

"Pioneer."

"Hey, you were there. Did you see Ryan?" Becca asked me.

I shook my head. "He's a sophomore, right?"

"Walks around talking to himself. It's probably why Crane is here."

"Why is that?"

"Crane was his shrink. Don't look so surprised. Ryan and I went to middle school together and he wasn't exactly shy about sharing his private life," Becca said.

I thought back to the group of boys Raquelle had shoved me into. "Is he the guy who always wears an Army jacket?"

"Since eighth grade."

Then I had slammed into Ryan at the mall. He was one of those kids who was easy to forget. Always quiet. Always looked like he carried the burden of the world on his shoulders. I couldn't tell you if he was in any of my classes.

In Physics, Solomon handed me the result of my latest pop quiz. I'd gotten a B! Mr. Solomon said something, but I was doing a mental happy dance. "I'm sorry, what?" I asked him.

"I said I heard you had an exciting weekend."

"Me? Not really. I fell in front of a train and someone pulled me out of the way." It didn't seem appropriate to go on about it considering all of the concern about Ryan.

"That sounds like a heroic feat. Was this someone from Lincoln?" Solomon hovered.

"You wouldn't know him." My flippant response had the intended effect. Solomon continued down the row, handing out graded quizzes.

At lunch, I took a seat at our usual spot and scanned the room for Becca, expecting to see her leaning over a table, writing out a curse or delivering a potion. I spotted her, and my jaw dropped. My little Wiccan friend with her spiky hair was nestled between Raquelle and Trisha as though they'd been best friends since birth. Becca waved for me to join them.

I crinkled my nose and shook my head. Becca said something to Raquelle, got up, and hurried to our table. "You have to come over," she said. "Raquelle wants to apologize for all the rumors."

"Right. And then she's going to join the Peace Corps and devote her life to saving war-torn orphans."

"Come on," she begged. "Raquelle's trying to be nice. It's like watching a snake try to swallow an entire pig."

Reluctantly, I followed Becca to the Partychick's table. I plopped down next to her and stared at Raquelle, waiting.

"Yes. Well. All of that stuff about you being psycho? Joking," she sang.

Trisha stifled a giggle. Raquelle nudged her.

Becca spoke up. "I was just telling them about how Connor saved you, but everyone wants to know what it was like."

"Yes, Echo, why don't you tell us your side of the story?" There it was, the real reason we were invited to sit with the Partychicks. Raquelle rested her elbows on the table and angled in. She was all bleached teeth and glamor, but tense energy vibrated off her. Tendons showed on her elegant neck.

I was used to Raquelle's placating tone and outright arrogance but today, her essence felt completely foreign. Then I pegged it. She was wary of me.

"Whatever Becca said, that's how it played out," I answered.

"We can't wait to hear Connor tell it. He'll be here this weekend, won't he?" Trisha asked. "Because he's totally invited to the party. You, too, of course."

She gave Becca and I a perfunctory nod and voila, the two of us rose from the muck pile of outcasts and into the warm embrace of Raquelle's clique. Except it felt anything but warm.

"If you won't tell us about the heroic rescue, I'll have to ask Connor myself. Just make sure you bring him," Raquelle purred.

"Oh, we will," said Becca. She grinned at me and sipped her soda. I didn't have the heart to point out that they were only using me to get to Connor. Becca looked so content, I let it go.

Chapter 18

Back at my locker, I dug out books for my last classes when an intense throb banged against my back. I turned to find Raquelle glaring at me. She probably thought she was smiling: her mouth was curved upward, showing a sliver of white teeth, but her eyes were cold and grey.

"Oh, Echo, there you are." She leaned against the neighboring locker, trying hard to be casual. "So, Connor. He's a pretty amazing guy, huh?"

"Um, yeah." I grabbed my books and slammed my locker.

"He's got this, I dunno, almost magical quality about him. Don't you think?"

I stiffened. Her tongue poked at the gum in her mouth. She blew a bubble and popped it.

"So, you are going to think I am, like, out of my mind," she continued, "but I have to ask because if anyone would know, you would. When Connor and I went out, he did something with his hand. Like, made it disappear. At first, I thought it was a magic trick or something? But he did it again. I never told anyone because nobody would ever believe me, right? But you understand. You know what I'm talking about."

This stopped me cold. Instinct told me to deny what she said and make a rude comment about her needing to be institutionalized. There was another possibility. If she knew about his transparency, she might know about his other gifts. She seemed genuinely intrigued. Raquelle would have kept this information to herself because, let's face it, talking about transparent guys could seriously damage a girl's popularity. That required a lot of restraint, especially for a gossip queen like Raquelle.

For a fleeting second, the weight of my secret lifted. Maybe I should tell her what I saw and experienced. Maybe this was her way of asking to be friends again.

A rush of satisfaction swirled off Raquelle, mixed with a sense of need, helplessness, and--wait a minute. Wait one bleeping minute. What was that I was picking up?

Deceit. That little bee-otch was lying.

"Nice try, Raquelle." I sidestepped her and hurried down the hall. Her long, delicate legs strode once for every two of mine.

"I saw the train run over Connor's legs," Raquelle hissed.

I screeched to a halt. "What?"

"Don't play dumb with me. I saw it happen. And the marks on his jeans where the train hit him."

My intestines knotted. I thought, fast. "And you called me psycho?" I twirled my index finger in circles next to my temple.

"You know exactly what happened. There's something seriously weird about him and you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I was busy getting rescued. It's all a blur to me," I said.

"Bull. I saw the look on your face after he tackled you. You knew he got hit. I saw the sparks when the train ran over his legs. He should have been killed but he wasn't, and you know why."

"Give it up, Raquelle. Nobody else saw anything." As I said this, my world spun. What if I was wrong?

"Don't screw with me, Echo. Whatever you're hiding, I will find out."

There it was. Not we will find out, just I, and she didn't contradict me when I said she was the only witness. The knots in my belly relaxed.

Students filed into class just seconds before the bell. Raquelle blocked the doorway with her arm.

"Tell me now or when I figure it out, I'll drag you so far to the bottom, they'll never find you, you freak."

I lifted my chin. Waited a beat. "You're right, Raquelle, there is something you don't know." I licked my lips, leaned into her ear, and whispered, "Connor is a magnificent kisser." I ducked under her arm and went to class.

*****

After school, Becca met me at my car, phone in hand, on the verge of exploding with news.

"You'll never guess who's going to the party on Friday! Go on, guess!"

"Taylor Lautner!" I teased.

"Oooo, funny." She gave me a sideways glance. "Not for real, right?"

I shook my head. She bounced into the passenger seat. "Lucas from the basketball team! We talked in Civics. The topic, naturally, was Ryan at first, but then I found out he's definitely going to Trisha's party."

On the drive home, Becca told me how she'd always thought Lucas was hot but they never talked even though they sat next to each other in three classes, how she was going to casually bump into him at the party, and the various possible ways this could all work out for her.

"I've got this incantation called Sexy Moon Spell. You recite a special chant under the full moon, right? And it practically guarantees a steamy hook-up. I'm doing one for me and Lucas. Want me to do one for you and Connor?"

"We're good," I said, remembering the intense heat on the carriage ride.

"Oooo, we're going to have so much fun Friday night."

I grimaced. "They might not let us in, you know. Raquelle and I got into it after lunch again."

"We can do anything, as long as you bring Connor. Which you will do, right?"

It bothered me she was so willing to use Connor like that, but I let it slide. "What ever happened to 'they can kiss my Wiccan butt before I'd join their clique?'"

Becca shrugged and set her phone on her lap. Then she held her hands over it and hummed a single, dreary note.

"What in the world are you doing?" I asked.

"Practicing my telekinesis."

"Oh. How's it working out?"

"Nothing's happened since the apple went flying," she grumbled.

I glued my hands to the steering wheel so I wouldn't be tempted to thunk some sense into her. Wishing for telekinesis was like wishing for a pet unicorn. It sounds like fun until it poops on your favorite shoes and someone gets their eye poked out by the horn.

I dropped Becca off and drove to my house. When I walked in the front door a wave of heat and expectation prickled down my back.

"Surprise," I heard, and Connor appeared from the ether.

I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. I marveled at how solid he felt, even though just seconds ago, his body had been little more than a shimmery vapor. I took his hand and led him up to my room.

Connor sat on my bed with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched in front of him. I sat on his lap and coiled an arm around his neck, enjoying the odd sensation where our skin touched. I rested my head in that space between his collarbone and chin and listened to the soft rush of his heartbeat.

"I'm so glad you came," I said.

"I got out of class early and wanted to see you." In the time I'd known Connor, I'd never pictured him in school. It struck me as odd that this incredibly gifted person was shackled to the same routine I was.

"Don't you have homework?"

He gave me a puzzled look. "What's that?"

"A huge time suck that teachers load on students to make sure we don't have a social life away from school. You know, endless studying."

He laughed. "Of course we do. Tons of it. Never seems to end. I'll do it later tonight."

"For what classes?"

"Physics--though I suspect it's way different from what you're learning. Calculus. Literature."

"I love lit class. What are you reading?" I asked.

"Pioneering writers of the twenty-second century. I don't think any of them have been born here yet."

I shook my head. "Every once in a while, our relationship feels so normal, and then you go and say something like that."

I wanted to hear more about Connor's life, but other issues pressed. I told him about Raquelle. When I finished, he was the picture of calm.

"She's the only one who saw," he said.

"You knew about this?"

"I did an energy scan after it happened. I would have picked up on anyone else."

"How did I miss that? She wasn't that far from us," I said.

"You hit the ground hard. I'm just glad you got up in one piece."

"So what do we do about her?"

He shook his head. "How many people do you think she'll tell?"

Was I imagining things, or was Connor trying not to laugh? Then I got his unspoken joke. "She's the alpha of her herd. She won't do anything that would threaten her reign over her clique," I said.

"Not exactly how I'd put it, but yes." He turned somber. "Moving her car was a bad idea, and I shouldn't have done it. No more tricks in public, from either of us."

"Until you go home. You can do anything you want there." I was imagining Connor's world, where he and his friends probably flew everywhere instead of walking and showed off their skills in public, just because they could.

"You're jealous," he said.

"Yeah, so?"

"So, you've finally come around. You like your gift. Admit it. You're glad I didn't take it away from you."

"All right, yeah, it's kinda cool. It just sucks that I can't have any fun with it. People respect you for your gift. You have no idea how lucky you are."

He gave me a squeeze and rolled off my bed. "I have to get back. I've got a metaphysics lab to practice for tomorrow. I'm supposed to be able to read a page out of a book with my eyes closed, and I haven't even started the lesson yet."

"See? Even your homework is way cooler."

He planted small kisses along my jawline and made his way to my lips and stayed there.

"Mmm, are you sure you have to go?" My fingers played with the belt loop at his hip.

"I'll stay longer next time, okay?" A peck on the cheek and he took a couple of steps back. A faint glow washed over his skin. The air around him shimmered.

To this day, I don't know what possessed me to do it, but in the split second before Connor flashed out of sight, I grabbed his hand. 
Chapter 19

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

A scream ripped through a great cavernous void, hit something deep in the dark unknown, bounced back, and banged into my eardrums. I recognized it as my own voice. I was encased in blackness, hanging motionless, and in severe pain. I clung to consciousness despite the inexplicable horrors happening to my body.

A million razors scraped at my skin, tore at my hair and eyelids. My insides felt like they were being stretched in opposite directions by a medieval torture machine. My lungs expanded far beyond their capacity and just when I thought I would pass out from pain, the agony eased.

Warmth surged into the top of my head and traveled the length of my body into the bottoms of my feet. The heat morphed into a bright spectrum of color that I sensed rather than saw. The soothing cool of blue washed my throat, healing green light filled my chest cavity, tangy orange suffused my stomach. I was vaguely aware of panic around me. Hurried footsteps. Hostile voices.

I willed my eyes to open, but they wouldn't respond. My mouth was wrenched open and an object was shoved down my throat. I tried to bat this away, but my arm lay dead at my side. I knew, then, that I had stopped breathing.

Connor's voice, plagued with anguish, cut through the chaos. His exact words were lost, but I knew if I didn't inhale in the next few seconds, I'd never hear that voice again.

All at once, my eyes snapped open and I took an enormous breath. My heart jackhammered and blood flooded my brain. I was lying on a floor. Sharp light penetrated the ashen fog shrouding my vision.

Some of the grittiness cleared and I made out blurry shapes staring down at me. Handheld devices scanned my limbs. When I reached to remove the object from my throat, I found nothing there. A pair of gentle hands slid beneath my shoulder blades and lifted me to a seated position. Someone handed me a cup with a straw and indicated I should drink. The liquid was syrupy sweet to the point of being offensive, but it soothed my throat and revitalized me. In two blinks, my vision cleared.

Connor knelt next to me, pale as a ghost. He took my hands in both of his and pressed them to his lips.

"I almost lost you. Out there, I almost lost hold of your hand." The terror in his eyes told me everything he was unable to say, that his touch had been my lifeline between worlds. I sensed that even in my deepest agony, I had only experienced the knife tip of the force that would have ripped me to shreds.

The person who had handed me the drink had a full head of gray hair, thin lips and patient blue eyes. The sleeves on his white smock cuffed neatly above his elbows. The name 'Philip' was sewn onto his chest pocket in elegant script. He surveyed my joints--elbows, wrists, vertebrae--and nodded, satisfied.

He turned to Connor. "Is this what she should look like?"

Connor's eyes never left mine. "Yes." His voice shook.

Philip regarded me with calm intelligence, like a country doctor shuttling a frightened newborn into the world. "Well, young lady, you got very, very lucky. Welcome to Portland, year 2173."

He addressed a scowling young guy standing next to a control panel. "Run her through the CKS to make sure her organs are intact and get the incident in the transport log."

The guy answered with a single nod. He wore the same white smock and pants as his older co-worker. He was a good-looking guy, chocolate brown hair cut short, dark eyes a shade off black. He was shorter than Connor by a few inches and looked to be my age.

Philip put a wrinkled hand on Connor's shoulder. "We will talk about this later." He exited through a set of double doors that swished open and closed.

The young guy stepped forward and hooked a rough arm under mine. Connor took my other side, and I staggered to my feet.

"Thanks, Jaxon, I've got her from here," Connor said. I caught the unmistakable curl of disdain on Jaxon's mouth as he walked back to his station.

Connor slinked his arm around my waist, practically carrying me across the lab. We bypassed three control panels with clear glass monitors in front of them and machines that looked like they belonged in a hospital room. He set me at the entrance of a vertical glass cylinder the size of my bathroom shower.

"This won't hurt a bit," he said.

I guided my shaky legs onto a set of footprints on the center of the floor.

"Like this?" I asked.

"Isn't she a smart one," Jaxon sniped.

"Knock it off," Connor told him. "Just run the test so we can get out of here."

A door sealed the entrance, locking me inside the tube. The full impact of what I'd done was setting in. A knot of anxiety and embarrassment swelled in the pit of my stomach, and the space between my eyebrows buzzed to the point of burning. The glass enclosure quivered.

Jaxon made no effort to hide his disgust. "Collect yourself, or we can't run the test."

"Echo," Connor said softly from just outside the glass, "take a moment to center yourself."

I nodded and forced deep breaths. The tube stopped quivering. Jaxon tapped on the keypad, his attention shifting between me and the clear glass screen in front of him. Looking at the back of his glass screen, I watched numbers and graphs scroll from the top, turn into holographs, and disappear.

He navigated the control panel with a confidence that I found intimidating. Okay, everything about him intimidated me, from his short tone to his obvious contempt for my presence. I couldn't fault him for that. I'm sure I was the last thing he expected to see beamed into his workspace.

The machine whirred and changed pitch. Then the door whisked open. I went to Connor's side, and he and Jaxon assessed the data output.

"No internal damage," Connor said and kissed me on the cheek.

Jaxon's eyes narrowed at Connor's affection. "I recommend assimilating her for a max of one hour. You should probably keep her in the Northwest sector, seeing as how this is way outside of protocol. And I'd advise that you take her out the back entrance."

"I don't want my dad to know about this, alright, Jaxon?"

"Yessir."

Sir?

Jaxon left through the swishing doors, and Connor and I were the only ones in the lab. His hand was so firm on my shoulder it could have been permanently fused there. I couldn't force myself to look at him.

The potential consequences of my impulsive action were hitting hard. Without permission--and against Connor's warnings--I'd traveled 160 years into the future. I had secretly harbored dreams of coming here ever since he told me about West Region. Now I was terrified I'd never see my dad again.

My chin trembled. "Can I ever go back?"

"Of course you can, but we need to give your body time to recover. We also don't want to keep you here longer than your body can handle." He tapped his finger on his thigh, thinking. "We don't want to wander too far from the Harden Center, so, hmmm. I know where to take you."

He took my hand and moved toward the door. My feet refused to budge. Next to me, the glass CKS tube vibrated.

"Connor, wait. I am so, so sorry I did this to you. It wasn't something I planned, I swear. I, I don't know what I was thinking."

"Echo, it's okay."

"I heard people arguing when I was waking up. I know I screwed up royally. If your dad finds out that's it for us, isn't it?"

Connor pulled me to him. His t-shirt drew the salty dampness from my lashes. My aura mellowed and stopped wreaking havoc with the machinery.

"Jaxon threatened to report you when you materialized. The things he was saying about you made me want to thrash him. Luckily, Philip was here. He's the lab director. He knew what to do."

From his easy expression, you'd think we were in the middle of an afternoon stroll back in Portland. I was sure I looked quite the opposite.

"Philip was intrigued by your arrival. I'll have a lot of questions to answer, but that will be the worst of it."

"He's not going to tell your dad?"

"No." I picked up an unspoken agreement between him and Philip.

Connor led me out of the lab and down a corridor. The walls on either side of us weren't solid. Instead, sheets of water flowed from openings in the ceiling and disappeared into stone-covered grates in the floor. The overall effect was that of walking between a set of waterfalls. The rooms on the other side appeared warped by the water, but I could make out offices and more laboratories. I reeled in the impulse to reach into the water, to see if it felt any different from home. As though reading my mind, Conner dipped his fingers in, and let them trail as we walked. I did the same. The water was surprisingly warm.

We passed what appeared to be a meeting room and then a lunchroom where about a dozen people sat at a handful of tables. The gentle sound of trickling water muffled our footsteps, yet everyone in the lunchroom snapped to attention when we walked by.

When I glanced over my shoulder, a dozen curious heads watched us from a doorway that had parted in the liquid. A tall girl with short brown hair offered a cautious wave. I waved back, and Connor led me outside.

Post-Collapse Portland was nothing like I'd expected. Even though Connor's descriptions made it sound nice, I'd envisioned a dreary, concrete city littered with rubble, but as soon as we stepped outside, we were surrounded by fir trees. Red stone paths wound through the forest, some of them leading to clusters of brick buildings obscured behind thick brush. On one side of the path, the foliage was so dense, I couldn't see beyond a few feet.

Rain clouds hung overhead, fat with the threat of rain. Connor cloaked me beneath his arm to ward off the light drizzle. We continued down a path a ways and stopped.

"Want to guess where we are?" The playful glint in his eye let slip this was a trick question.

I lifted a shoulder. "Some kind of park?"

"We're about a mile from your house, at the bottom of the hill. You know the warehouse where we practiced? Well, we're standing about where it used to be."

My eyes narrowed in confusion. This part of the city should be crosscut with streets and parking lots. Art galleries and restaurants had started to open in some of the unused warehouses along the edge of the industrial district.

"It's all gone? The art galleries? And that café we went to?" The café where I'd tried to escape from Connor held special meaning.

"Remember, an earthquake took out much of the city. Everyone had to start from scratch. Some of it was never rebuilt but there are parts you'd recognize. That condo tower where we watched the sun rise? Somehow, that survived."

"Can we go there?" I was having a hard time believing that I was standing in my city. I needed a familiar sight to anchor me, to help me make sense of this place that wasn't Portland, but still was.

"Taking you through town would cause too much of a scene. You saw what happened when we left the lab. They know you're not from here."

"How would they know? Does everyone wear a uniform or something?"

Connor laughed. "Your aura gives you away."

Hearing him talk so pointedly about my weakness made my cheeks flush. My aura thinned and waned like it was determined to make a bigger fool out of me, and I was overcome with dizziness. I slumped onto a bench. Connor rested his fingers along the side of my neck, checking my pulse. He rolled one of my fingers in his, presumably testing to see if I was losing solidness, becoming transparent.

"You're feeling side effects from the trip. Maybe this isn't a good idea. We should go back to the lab."

"No! I want to keep going." I rose off the bench and started down the path. I'd never admit it, but each time Connor talked about West Region, I pictured myself living here--going to school, making friends--all within a community that embraced my freakishness, free from the threat of factions and social banishment. This was my chance, possibly my only chance, to find out what West Region was really like.

Connor watched me, concerned.

"I feel better already. If I start to fade out, then we'll go back. Are you sure we can't go into town?"

"I'm going to have a hard enough time getting all the lab employees to keep quiet about this."

"Oh no. Your dad. Will they tell him?"

"Not once I talk to them. I'll make up some story about you visiting from another part of the region, and how my dad doesn't approve. They might not believe me, but they'll keep quite." Considering how much was at stake, he seemed relaxed about the whole matter.

I gave him a quizzical look, but he didn't elaborate. He steered us down the path away from the populated area. We veered into the densest part of the forest, brushing foliage away as the trail narrowed. It ended at an iridescent gate. Like the coin I wore around my neck, the gate appeared made of metal, but not any kind I'd ever seen. It melted into the foliage on either side, giving the impression that we could walk around it. Unfamiliar symbols covered the top half of its surface.

Connor waved his hand in a half circle, and the gate swung open. The scene on the other side took my breath away. 
Chapter 20

Connor and I stepped through the open gate. Palm trees dotted a sandy landscape. Trunks gave support to tropical vines, their enormous leaves shading the orchids growing beneath them. A trail dipped into a valley and ran along the base of soaring, green undulating cliffs. At their base, a turquoise lagoon sparkled.

Humidity leached away my chill. The sweet scent of exotic life perfumed the air. I looked back at the cool pathway lined with fir trees, at the cloudy sky and rain hitting the brick path.

I puckered my brow, wondering how the heck a city in the northwestern part of the United States could look like a picture postcard of Hawaii. A pair of toucans landed on a low branch. Their brilliant orange and green heads twitched side to side, and they studied me with flat black eyes. They seemed to say, "You aren't from around here." Which is exactly what I was thinking about them.

I shook my head in astonishment. "This is definitely not Portland."

"You're sure?"

"I give up. Is this, like, a side effect of global warming?"

Connor gave me a wide grin. "Hardly. We're in The Reserve. It's a simulated geography, or simulography for short. It's the future of physics as you know it. Right now, you have holographs, and those are the building blocks for this technology."

A shocking possibility gripped me. "Do I end up inventing this?" A long shot, no doubt, but my physics grades were improving.

Connor laughed. "No, you're meant to do bigger things."

"I am, am I?" I raised an eyebrow, waiting to hear why he sounded so certain.

"Well, you've got a gift, right? So you've got the opportunity to do great things, if you wanted."

I huffed air. If I lived in West Region? Sure. In my time? Doubtful. "If anyone is destined for greatness, it'd be you. You're the one who's crazy talented." My statement was heartfelt, but Connor's eyebrows rose and he shook his head.

"What? Did I say something wrong?" I asked.

"No. Thanks for the compliment. This," he motioned to the strange world around us, "is what I want to learn to do. I want to be a master physicist so I can build simulographies all over West Region. Ones with mountains and desert and more beaches."

"Why don't you?"

His lips tightened. "If I have my way, I will. Here, take my hand."

Connor followed a shallow stream that sloped into the valley. He hopped from one smooth rock to the next. I teetered, nearly falling into the stream.

"This is why I avoid sports," I said, not wanting him to know that time jumping through the portal had affected my coordination. The dizziness was back, just a little, and my legs felt like they did when I ran track for gym class: heavy and loose all at the same time.

The bird chatter grew louder, and somewhere up ahead was the sound of water gushing into a pool.

"Tell me about the people here, like who gets which gift. Does everyone get the same abilities as their parents? What if you can only do certain things? Does anyone care?"

On the fringe of those questions were the ones that I couldn't speak: Is anyone considered a freak? An outcast? Are they shunned?

"I'd say about eighty percent of West Regioners have at least one gift. Some are rare, like the telepaths. So it's not like everyone runs around reading everybody's thoughts. Manifestors are really rare. I only know of one."

Connor helped me down a steep incline. At the bottom, a waterfall cascaded into a shallow pool. We sat on warm, flat rocks. I shook my head, in awe of the blue-green water tumbling over the cliff, the foreign birdcalls that trilled from the treetops.

"What's a manifestor?"

"Someone who can harness the power of quantum energy to create, well, anything, as long as he has a sample of it or can picture it in his mind. The way it's explained to me is everything already exists in the metaphysical sense. A manifestor can bring it to life, so to speak. Create something out of thin air."

"And you've seen someone do this?"

"Lots of times. As for the people without any gift, they seem happy enough. Some of them get tutored and find they have a hidden talent. Others just don't care."

I marveled at this sense of inclusion. It was cruel, really, to be saddled with a gift and not live in West Region. My head wagged in disbelief. "I feel like I was born in the wrong time."

Connor took my hand, and his current trailed into my fingers. "It's a time of evolution, the hundred years that exist between us." He swept a lock of my hair behind my ear and kissed me on the forehead.

Then he lay back on the rocks and closed his eyes. I rested my hand along his breastbone, watched his chest rise and fall. His heart beat soft and steady. It was the one thing that seemed true and real in this outrageous world, and I anchored myself to its rhythm. If it weren't for that beat, I surely would have thought I was dreaming.

My breathing slowed until each inhale, each exhale, was on pace with his heart. I pressed against the firm muscle of his chest. My breath quickened, and so did his heart, until they meshed again. The synchronicity sent a rush into my belly. Connor opened his eyes and took my hand. He kissed the inside of my palm and then my wrist. He sat up, and his lips reached for mine.

My whole body heated, sending a flush of warmth racing down my spine. I was full into the kiss when Connor stopped and pulled back. His lids rose half-mast, and then his eyes widened at something just over my shoulder.

"Don't. Move."

His low tone froze me in place. I felt a dainty pressure testing the top of my shoulder. Something was crawling on me. A faint flutter against my hair nearly sent me into convulsions. All I could think of was spider, and it felt huge. I tensed, waiting for Connor to smack it off me. Instead, he gently scooped the thing in his hand and brought it around for me to see.

I stared in awe at the largest butterfly I had ever seen. Each wing was as big as my hand and colored in iridescent blues and greens. No, wait, the wings were amber and blue. My brain tripped over itself until it registered what I was seeing.

"It's got two sets of wings!"

"Nobody knows where they originated from, but the Hecate butterfly has been around since the end of our civil war with East Region. That's when we were finally free to use our paranormal ability without persecution. The Hecate became our Region's symbol. The first set of wings reminds us of the losses we endured seeking freedom to use our gifts. The second set reminds us to use our ability to preserve and spread peace."

He coaxed the creature onto my forearm. It flexed its wings, fearless.

"That's it, I'm never going back," I said. "I'm going to live right here, in this simul-thingy place forever. Care to join me?"

Connor frowned. Not the sort of reaction a girl's looking for when she asks a guy to live with her, even if she is half-joking.

"Wouldn't that be nice, to live here free of worry, blissfully ever after? Nothing would make me happier," he said. The butterfly took flight and rode the air current across the lagoon. Connor picked up a handful of small stones and tossed them at the waterfall, one by one.

"You'll think I'm crazy, but the truth is, I envy your life," he said.

"You've got to be kidding."

"West Region is amazing, don't get me wrong. But my role in it?" His gaze drifted deep into the pool and stayed there. When he continued, he sounded far away, like he was trying to detach himself from the truth. "The civil war ended decades ago, but West Region is locked in constant tension with East Region. They'll do anything to take us over, oppress our citizens and use our abilities against us. We're forever on guard against attack."

"That's terrible." I couldn't imagine living under that kind of pressure.

"And I'm expected to lead West Region in a few years."

I didn't think I'd heard right. "Wait a minute. Wait. One. Minute. You mean, like, be the president?"

Connor nodded, lost in that infinite pool.

"But you're so young. And what ever happened to elections? Don't people get to choose who's in charge?"

"They do, but our family is one of the most..." He searched for the right word. "Powerful is what people like to say, but really, we're just very gifted. We're trusted and respected for our gifts. My grandfather made the region what it is today, a haven for those with paranormal abilities. Not long after, my father was voted into office. There have been a few other leaders, but my family has a history of stewardship. The citizens trust us because we have the most to lose. Energetically, we're able to do things that nobody else can, no matter how hard they train."

With this, he directed his palm toward the waterfall and the water stopped flowing. He flipped his wrist and water ran backward out of the pool and up the cliff. He snapped his fingers again, and the water plunged back down as nature intended.

To say I was blown away was an understatement, but the pain on Connor's face overshadowed my astonishment.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Technically, I have the choice whether or not to lead the region. Realistically, I don't. It's part of our family honor, to use our ability and our knowledge to serve. I was born into the position."

"What about your brother?"

"He could do the job, but he's one of the twenty percent. No gift whatsoever. The region wants me." He whipped a stone against a far boulder with such force it ricocheted toward my head. He redirected it with a flick of his hand.

"Leading the region means I forfeit any chance at having a normal life. I can count on one hand the number of times I've met with my father outside the boardroom." Off my look, he added. "That's an exaggeration, but not by much."

Something like a freight train slammed me out of my Utopian stupor. Here I was, innocently dreaming about living with Connor in West Region, like I was gallivanting off to Disneyland during summer vacation. I was so deep into this fantasy that my head practically danced with pixies.

But West Region was a real country with dangerous enemies and complex problems, and the guy I'd fallen for had some serious decisions to make about his future. Decisions that I might be clouding.

In the lab, I'd noticed I was unable to read Jaxon's or Philip's auras. My aura, however, wasted no time throwing a public tantrum. These small details added to the stack of reasons why I shouldn't be here. Color it any way I wanted, I really had no business in West Region. Even if Connor chose not to follow in his father's footsteps, West Region was still his life. He belonged here. I did not.

The unspoken truth lay splayed between us, raw as a fresh scrape. There was no solution to our little problem. No matter what he had said, everything most certainly was not possible.

I sat back on my heels and pushed the pain down deep. There was no way I'd let this show, not while we were side-by-side in this island of paradise. I linked my arm through Connor's while he tossed the remaining pebbles into the stream. One by one, they hit the water, sent shock waves rippling toward the bank, and sank to the bottom.

The sun was low on the horizon when Connor led me back up the trail and toward the Harden Center, where the portal awaited. The temperature had dropped, and Connor held me close. We walked in the greyness, in silence.

The trip was taking a toll on me, more emotional than physical. I felt like I'd been gone a very, very long time and worried that Kimber would notice I wasn't in my bedroom. My bedroom. One hundred and sixty years in the past.

"How much time has gone by... back home?" I asked.

"The same amount as here. Time runs parallel for us, but we just live in a different year." He nudged me, trying to lighten the mood. "So, if you were going to ask me to go back to the mall and do something worse to Raquelle's car, I couldn't. That moment has already passed."

When we reached the Harden Center, I stopped. My fresh heartache was now layered with dread. I'd nearly died on the trip here. If something went wrong on the way back, I'd be without Philip or Jaxon or their advanced medical tools. I swallowed hard. "Is the portal trip going to be like last time?"

"Echo, do you think I'd let you go if I thought anything would happen to you? I'm taking you back myself."

My shoulders dropped from relief. When we got to the lab, the girl who had waved to me on the way out was standing at the control panel with Jaxon. She was tall, with a narrow face and big, soft eyes. Thin wrists poked out of her white smock. She took one look at me and smiled.

"See? She looks great. Like she's recovered completely," she said to Jaxon.

Jaxon scowled and busied himself at the panel. The girl came forward and held out her hand.

"I'm Carina. I help run the portal and keep Jaxon in line."

He grumbled while I shook Carina's hand. In one long look, she took me in. Then she smiled and arched a knowing brow at Connor. "Now I understand why you're making so many trips back." If someone had that reaction back home, they would have been commenting on my looks, because that's what everyone's preoccupied with. But in West Region? Maybe Carina was talking about my aura or some other non-visible feature.

Carina removed a device from her pocket and held it to the side of my neck. I held still through the series of toned beeps, and she studied the device's readout. "I heard you arrived barely intact, but everything looks fine now. Did you have fun while you were here?"

I smiled. "This place is amazing."

"I took her to The Reserve," Connor said.

"Good. You rested. Well, you are approved for departure." Carina retreated to her spot next to Jaxon and nodded at Connor. "Any time you're ready."

My pulse raced. Little black dots danced in front of my eyes.

Connor squeezed my hand. "Everything will be all right. You'll be wrapped in my field the entire time."

I forced a nod. A metal door slid open next to us, and we stepped into a well-lit space the size of a walk-in closet. The walls were metallic and vibrated in a high-pitched hum. The floor, though, was solid rock. In the center, a roundish pit about five feet in diameter gaped, black and ominous. It throbbed with an energy all its own.

"This is the portal." He nodded at the hole.

"That's it?" I was expecting some sort of time machine chamber complete with cushioned seats and rotating lights.

"It's a natural portal, so it's been here for probably thousands of years." He led me to the edge of the cavern. I averted my eyes from the opening and forced myself to breathe normally.

"Wrap your arms around me," he said. I embraced Connor in a death grip. He didn't seem to mind. "Now, all you have to do is relax."

"Piece of cake." My voice wavered. "Then what?"

"Enjoy the ride!" With that, Connor lifted me off my feet and stepped into the portal.

I shoved my face into his chest. "Omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod!" I screamed into his t-shirt until his voice broke through.

"Echo. Sshhh. Keep your voice down." He gently shook my shoulder. Tentatively, I opened one eye, then the other. We were in my room.

"We're back?" I asked. "So fast?"

"I told you it would be easy."

I swayed. Connor grabbed my elbows and sat me down. My arms and legs went noodly, like I'd just stepped off a roller-coaster, and I was light-headed, without a care in the world. A part of me longed to stay there, in that groggy, dreamlike state where I floated between worlds. Intuitively, I knew I was safe there, far away from a dilemma, a problem that cursed me. Connor shook me again. The bliss trickled away and just like that, I was mired in predicament.

What would I do about this boy who had outrageous life decisions ahead of him, who was so kind and giving, and seemed determined to overlook our little time-jumping problem? What could I say to this boy who I loved like I had known him for a thousand years?

My wiser self said it was time to set him free. It wasn't fair to string him along, ignoring the inevitable separation coming at us like a freight train. I had to cut him free. Now.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Connor cut me off. "I hate to reward bad behavior so I probably shouldn't say this, but I loved that you came with me today."

The current running from his fingers into my bare neck bumped up a notch. My wiser self knew where this was headed and raised her arms in alarm, warning me of unbearable heartache if I didn't release him now. He was expected to lead an entire nation, for crying out loud.

"I loved it, too," I said, and a vice-like anxiety gripped my chest.

"I think I can come back at the end of the week."

I searched for an excuse as to why that wouldn't work.

"Echo?"

My wiser self rallied forces against my heart. Attacked it with logic, assailed it with rationale. Threatened it with full-on destruction. But it was no use. The heart knows what it wants.

"It's a date," I said. I laced my fingers into his hair and kissed him.
Chapter 21

Before he fizzled back to the twenty-second century, Connor asked me to look for a new place for us to train. Since I already had a stash of skills that I had to keep hidden, I balked. What was the point of learning more? But Connor insisted. I only had four days; he was coming back on Friday when my school was out for teacher inservice.

The new place had to be spacious, he'd said, somewhere we could make noise. Most important, we needed privacy. He wouldn't tell me what he had planned but promised it was a big step and that we'd have fun.

A private place where we could make noise? My heart flipped and I tried not to let my imagination run away with me.

The next morning, while I got ready for school, I racked my brains for such a place. The school property was huge, with outbuildings and little-used back rooms, but it was public and anybody could walk in on us at any time. An unused warehouse was the best choice, but how would I find one? We couldn't return to the old one. If someone saw us there, they'd know for sure we were responsible for the damage caused by the sprinkler system.

I clasped the coin necklace around my neck and centered my energy. Slid the bracelets onto my wrists and swung through the kitchen for something to eat before picking up Becca.

Kimber's phone lay on the counter. She wasn't up yet, so she must have left it there overnight. Still pressed to find a place to practice, I flipped through her calendar to Friday. Her day was packed. Extra bonus, Kimber planned to be out of town. That settled it. Connor and I would spend the day upstairs, in my bedroom. If Kimber came home unexpectedly, he'd have time to disappear before she climbed to the third floor.

So began the long countdown to the end of the week. All the internal conflict I'd felt in The Reserve was quashed beneath my eagerness to see my supernaturally sexy boyfriend. He hadn't been gone more than twelve hours and already, I was distracted beyond sensibility. I nearly ran a stoplight on the way to school; I slammed my sleeve in my locker and had to open it again to set myself free. And that wise voice that had tried to steer me in a different direction? She was missing Connor as much as the rest of me.

I buried myself in homework to make the days pass faster. By mid-week, I was three chapters ahead in Literature, and I'd made a real friend in Solomon by asking for a bunch of extra credit.

With just twenty-four hours to go, a startling concern took center stage in my thoughts. What if my unauthorized trip to West Region had serious consequences? Philip had seemed nice enough while I was there, but he'd said he wanted to talk to Connor after I left. What if I'd gotten Connor banned from the portal? This set my head spinning.

Thursday classes came and went, and when I looked at the hours stretching between Thursday night and Friday morning, I thought I'd crack. Becca was busy with her family, Tito was with Kimber, and when I tried to watch television, I nibbled my cuticles raw during any scenes that were remotely romantic. Finally, I grabbed my book bag and headed to the library. I had a research paper due in Social Sciences and figured I may as well get a start on it. Talk about desperate for distraction.

I drove to the downtown library and, once inside, dropped my bag on a table in the most remote spot I could find. If I was going to spend a non-school night surrounded by twelve-foot stacks of books, I darned well better get some work done. No noise, no other students, just a wall against my back and a long row of bookshelves on either side of me.

I searched for the texts I needed for my research--material my teacher had suggested--and dropped them on my table. I checked the clock. Forty-five minutes had ticked by; I would chain my attention to the books for one hour. No daydreaming, no bathroom breaks, no spacing out.

Some time later, deep into my research, I absentmindedly swiped at a lock of hair tickling my forehead. A few seconds later, the feeling was back, more of an annoying scratch this time. With both hands, I swept my hair away from my face and kept reading. But like a loose lash that you just can't seem to fish out of your eye, the annoyance persisted. It was more of a friction now, right on the skin between my brows. I rubbed the spot, expecting to feel the start of a big zit. Just my luck, with Connor coming the next day.

That's when my aura picked up another presence. Malignant and dark. Close. I looked down the row. I was alone, but as I scanned past the shelves, I caught a pair of eyes peering at me from between two books. The atmosphere swelled with harshness. Thoroughly unnerved, I slammed my book shut.

"Hey. You. Get lost or I'm going to report you," I said. The downtown library occasionally attracted weirdos. Security did a good job of keeping the place safe and trespassers were usually harmless, but even after the face retreated, the dark energy didn't. This bothered me enough to want to find this person and report him, or her, to the front desk.

I jogged to the end of the row, each step echoing intrusively against the silence. There wasn't anyone in the row next to me, nor did I catch sight of anyone racing out of there. Whoever it was had gotten out fast and, come to think of it, they'd done so without making a sound. It was like they were there, and then they weren't.

I went back to my books and picked up where I'd left off, but my concentration was gone. So I checked the books out and lugged them home.

When I pulled in to my driveway, a car I didn't recognize sat in front of our garage. Inside the house, voices murmured in conversation.

"Echo, is that you?" Kimber called. At least I thought it was her.

I found Kimber on the couch with her legs curled beneath her. Her arm wrapped tightly around Tito, and her other fingers clutched the hem of her skirt, twisting and pulling the fabric into wrinkles. Her face was splotchy, like she'd been crying.

Next to Kimber, Mr. Crane sat in an armchair, still in his coat, his keys dangling from his hand.

"I just got back from the library. Hi, Mr. Crane." He smiled at me, just barely.

The air was dense and oily. I did not want to spend another second there, so I turned to leave.

"Echo, Don tells me he saw you in the industrial area last weekend before dawn. What were you doing up that early?" Kimber's voice was croaky.

"Oh, Connor and I got up to see the sunrise," I said.

"Connor?"

"The boy that Raquelle's been dating," Mr. Crane answered.

Little darts of irritation threatened to pierce through my aura. "Connor is my boyfriend now."

Mr. Crane's eyebrow piqued with interest.

"I didn't know you were dating anyone," Kimber said.

"For a few weeks. He's a really nice guy." I waited a beat, then said, "I'm going to my room."

"The industrial area is a strange place to watch the sunrise," Mr. Crane said.

"We went to the waterfront. Connor drove and he took a shortcut, I guess. What happened down there?" I asked, remembering the squad cars and crime tape.

Kimber clenched her skirt. Tito writhed out of her arms and trotted to me. I scooped him up.

Mr. Crane cleared his throat. "A young woman was killed early that morning."

"Two of them," Kimber whispered.

"There, there," Mr. Crane said, and he patted Kimber's knee. "Kimber knew one of the women."

"She was so talented. She's the one who advised me to marry Echo's father."

"Both the women claimed they were psychic," Mr. Crane explained.

My first reaction was you needed a psychic to tell you to marry my dad? But I let it go.

"And there was another girl, from two weeks ago," Kimber added.

"Three deaths in as many weeks. Though the first woman claimed to be a medium, and not a psychic." Mr. Crane nodded. Kimber sniffled. I reeled in shock.

"Do you think they were being targeted?" I heard myself ask.

"For what?" Mr. Crane asked.

"Idunno. Maybe because of their gifts?"

He looked at me, long and hard. "That's an interesting theory, Echo."

I involuntarily took a step back because for a split second, I thought I caught a smidgeon of dark energy coming off him. It reminded me of the loser who was spying on me at the library. It receded as quickly as it came.

"The poor, poor girls." Kimber wiped a tear from her cheek. "I don't want you in that area anymore, Echo. Especially when it's dark."

I forced a shaky nod. Mr. Crane, the ever-vigilant head shrink, picked up on my unease.

"Is something the matter?" There was something I'd learned about Mr. Crane--maybe all shrinks were like this, I didn't know--but he would never let you know how much he really knew. He would ask questions he already had the answers to, stuff like that. It was hard to like a man who made me feel like a lab animal under scrutiny.

"I'm just shocked by the news," I answered. "I won't go down there."

Satisfied, they let me go. I took the stairs two at a time. On my bed, I pulled Tito close, trying to sort out what I'd felt in Mr. Crane's presence.

Auric energy is like a fingerprint, and though I wasn't a good enough reader to identify people with my eyes closed, I was starting to notice subtle differences between auras. Becca's might condense when she's feeling insecure, for instance, but it still feels bubbly. Kimber's scrapes at me no matter what kind of mood she's in. And until that night, I had never felt anything as repulsive as the presence in the library. Now, I'd felt it again, coming off Mr. Crane. Or thought I had.

The conclusion that my mind raced toward was absurd. Ridiculous. Mr. Crane, in the downtown library, spying on me? That was too sick for words. Besides, he was here consoling Kimber.

But how long had he been here? He hadn't taken off his jacket and his keys were still in his hand. On a quiet night, the drive from the library to my house was just a few minutes.

Tito yelped, and I realized I'd been tugging at his ear.

"Sorry, boy." I let him go, along with my ludicrous accusation.

Curiosity about the murders drove me to do a search on my phone. I surfed to a Portland news website that blared the headline New Deaths Haunt Warehouse District. The names of the victims had been released. I was relieved that I didn't know any of them. The article said all three were in their early twenties, but it didn't provide any details about the crimes.

The fact that all the victims claimed to have a paranormal gift shook me. I wanted to know how they died or a theory as to why, but all the news sites repeated the information that Mr. Crane had shared.

That was enough bad news for one night. I turned off the light. Tito curled up next to me on my pillow. I didn't fall asleep until I heard Mr. Crane leave. 
Chapter 22

In the light of morning, shock from the recent deaths wore off. The warehouse district wasn't exactly crime central, but I'd gladly avoid it. As for all the victims having some paranormal gift or another, I had to chalk it up to coincidence. If I allowed myself to jump to conclusions about the deaths being connected--that people with paranormal gifts were being targeted--I would have stayed hunkered under my comforter.

There was no telling when Connor would show, so I grabbed a quick shower and pulled my hair into a ponytail. I ate breakfast in front of the television, and numbed my brain with game shows.

A couple of hours passed, and still no sign of him. My phone rang and I answered it in record speed, forgetting for a moment that he wouldn't be calling me. Sometimes, the odd barriers in our relationship were beyond my grasp.

"Want to watch the Wiccan Warrior trilogy with me?" Becca asked.

Thank goodness I had plans because if I had to watch the Wiccan Warrior movies again, I was going to hurl in my mouth.

"Connor and I are hanging out today. Did you forget?"

She squeeeeed so loud, I pulled the phone away from my ear. "Totally spaced it. Come help me decide what to wear to the party before you go."

A few seconds later, I left the house, secure in knowing that Connor's innate ability to track me across time would lead him to Becca's room. Not so long ago, I'd found this ability downright disturbing. Now, I took comfort in it.

Becca had eight different outfits draped across her bed, combinations of jeans paired with a variety of black tops. She sported new ear jewelry, too. The girl had a penchant for do-it-yourself piercings and a pain tolerance that I envied. An ornate pewter dragon slithered along the rim of her ear, anchored in place by two new holes that she'd punched into the cartilage. Becca's multi-punctured ear gave me the skeevies.

When I was ten, I begged my dad to get my ears pierced. I passed out when the gun punched a single tiny hole in my lobe. I didn't have the guts to do the other one and eventually let the one close up.

"Is this too much?" Becca held up a dark shirt dotted with pink and yellow skulls.

"You're going back to Goth?"

"I don't want to hit Lucas with the Wiccan stuff just yet. I'm not even sure he knows."

I rolled my eyes just a little. "The word is out, Becca. Everyone knows you're Wiccan."

She agonized over the decision. You'd think the future of mankind depended on what she wore. I looked out her window at my house for a sign of Connor. She held up another outfit. I shook my head. She debated the next one, her index finger lodged between her teeth.

"Do you ever get the feeling you and Connor are soulmates?" she asked.

"Yeah, kind of." Or at least I used to, before our talk in The Reserve. Now, I didn't know what I thought.

"Lucas and I are, I just know it." She turned to me, her face ruddy with happiness. "We just figured out that we used to go to the same elementary school, and his parents used to hang out with mine. And, we both went to the same speech therapist in kindergarten. We both had lisps. It's like the universe has been trying to bring us together."

"I know exactly what you mean," I said, thinking back to the familiar feeling that tugged at me since the first day I'd met Connor, and the way his portrait called to me. "Except I don't know where I know him from."

"Did you ask him about the painting?"

I gave her a blank look.

"Pul-ease. That lie about it being a picture of your old neighbor? I so never believed you. On some deep soul level, you knew about Connor when you painted it. Aren't you dying to find out if he knew about you?"

"But what if he didn't? And the guy in the painting has a scar. Connor doesn't. I risk looking like a fool if I ask him."

"Not if you set things up right." Becca went to her dresser. She held her palms in front of the top drawer and stayed there, frozen in place.

"Um, Becca?" I asked, wondering what she was doing.

She huffed out a sigh. "Forget it." She pulled the drawer open.

Oh, right, Becca still thought she had telekinesis. She pulled out a tiny glass vial. "Boiled rosemary and juniper berries, with a pinch of my hair. It's like a pheromone. It'll draw our guys to us like flies."

I squinched my face.

"Flies that we're hot for," she corrected. "You can ask Connor anything, and he'll be so into you that he won't care. Not that he isn't already, but if you're nervous about asking him..."

Hmmm. Connor and I didn't need any help heating up our relationship, but if a simple potion could block out the absurdity of my question... I was dying to know the answer.

"It smells good, too." Becca waved the vial under my nose.

My gag reflex kicked in.

"Too much hair?" she asked.

I fanned the stink away from my face. "You can't wear that. Lucas won't get within ten feet of you."

Becca pursed her lips. Sad witch.

I stole another glance out the window.

"Why don't you just text Connor and tell him you're at my house?"

"Um, his phone is broken?" Becca was right. I was a bad liar.

Becca signaled whatever with her palm. "Just go."

I jumped up and hugged her. "Wear the black and blue shirt with jeans. I'll pick you up at eight," I said.

"Eight," she repeated.

"I'll be here."

She arched her eyebrows.

"I know, it's your big chance with Lucas. I won't be late."

"We're, like, soulmates."

"I promise," I assured her.

"You're sure it's a no on the potion?"

"Uh, yeah." I ran out the door.

On the way up the driveway I saw the air shimmering on the porch. By the time I cleared the last step, Connor had sparked into full form. I leaped into his familiar, electric embrace. He took the full impact of my weight without budging. After a moment, he broke our hug.

"Is anything the matter?" he asked.

"I'm just relieved Philip let you come back."

"He was more concerned than angry. I convinced him that the data they collected from you was worth breaking protocol."

"So I'm a lab rat," I shrugged. "Fine with me. What about your dad?"

"He still doesn't know."

I swept the cowlick off his forehead with my fingertips. It flopped to its natural spot again.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

"I have great news. Kimber's gone all day, so we can practice here." I opened the door. Remnants of my stepmother's piercing energy tumbled into us. Connor jerked back, like he'd been slapped in the face.

"It's always like that in here," I said, apologizing for Kimber's auric presence. "It'll be nicer in my room."

He glanced at the neighboring houses and up and down the street. "Who else is inside?" he whispered.

"Nobody. The house is empty."

He grabbed my arm, hard, and pulled me next to him. "Are you absolutely sure?" he whispered. He eased the front half of his body into the house, scanning, listening, and keeping me nestled tightly behind him.

"Connor, you're scaring me."

"Sshhh." He pulled me inside and crept down the hallway, blocking me protectively the entire way. When he reached the living room, his green eyes grew fierce.

"Someone was here earlier. Who?"

"Um, just me. Mr. Crane came over last night to talk to Kimber."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

His tone dropped to near primal. "Let's go." With his hand on my lower back, he ushered me toward the door.

I skidded to a halt. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on."

A faint violet light effused his silhouette. "What did Crane want?"

"He had some bad news for Kimber. Maybe that's what you're picking up."

Connor tilted his head at me, waiting not-so-patiently. So I told him about the night's conversation. About the murders.

Connor's jaw tensed as his molars ground together. The violet light intensified. "We're getting out of here. Now."

His tone scared me enough that I let him drag me out of there. I snagged my car keys and a jacket on the way out the door.

*****

Minutes later, we sat at a traffic light on a main boulevard in the heart of the city. The eerie violet light around Connor had faded. I nibbled a cuticle and sat with my legs crossed, my top foot jiggling an anxious rhythm.

"I had a good reason for dragging you out like that," he said.

I shot him a look that said I was waiting to hear why.

"I picked up faction energy in your house."

"What?"

"I've felt it before on terrorists from East Region. It was disgusting, and I'll never forget it. When I sensed that same vileness in your living room..." Violet tinted his aura again. "You didn't sense anything strange when you talked to Mr. Crane?"

"I'm not sure." My foot took on a new, guilty bounce. "Something happened at the library last night." I told him about the auric blast I'd felt, and how maybe, just maybe, I'd gotten a whiff of the same from Mr. Crane.

Connor dropped his head to the steering wheel. "Echo."

"Well, how should I know it was this bad? The guy at the library was probably just some gross loser stalking girls. I was freaked out enough that maybe I misread Mr. Crane when I got home."

"Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. The light changed to green and he continued down the boulevard.

"Wait a minute. Why would Mr. Crane have the same energy as someone from East Region?" I asked.

"The factions in your time are just a precursor to the ones that run East Region a hundred sixty years from now. Same psychopathic profile, same vicious methods, except more advanced. The people in the factions all have similar energetic profiles."

"And you know this why?"

He gave me a deadpan look. "I'm the next leader of West Region. It's my job."

"Right."

"By the time I'm born the factions run East Region. But here, in your time, they work behind the scenes, fighting for power. Faction members appear to lead very normal lives. They blend into society, hold regular jobs, drive their kids to school. There's even a hierarchy. The leaders are usually executives for private companies where they funnel huge amounts of money into the cause.

"Members at lower levels could be anybody that you know, anyone you meet as you go about your life. You'd never suspect that their one goal in life is to rise up the faction hierarchy. They're the ones who hunt down gifted people. Hand over enough gifteds to faction leaders, you get promoted."

We stopped at another intersection.

"We're going in circles," I said. "Go left and take the onramp."

Connor did. He tapped a finger on the steering wheel, lost in thought. "Crane's got the perfect cover," he finally said.

"He's a psychologist."

"Who works with the police. Again, the perfect cover."

Connor let the accusation hang. I latched on and yanked it back into believable territory. "Listen, I don't like Mr. Crane, either. He's annoying and presumptuous and his daughter is my own personal nightmare, but no way did he kill those girls. Maybe his aura feels weird because, Idunno, maybe he's got a big secret or something. Like maybe he's having an affair with the pool boy."

"Why aren't you taking this seriously?" he asked.

"You're asking me to make a gargantuan leap."

Connor was completely out of patience. "Whoever owns the energy I picked up in your house has the capacity to hurt you."

"I get that, but you're suggesting he'd murder me."

"If it came down to it, Echo, I would prefer he murdered you."

I spun on Connor. "What?"

"You heard me."

My mouth went dry. I glared at him, caught between demanding he take me home and waiting for an explanation. My forehead stung and my fingertips numbed. I didn't try to stop it. I peppered him with pellets of outrage.

He winced and swiped at the air between us. "Stop doing that. Do you want me to explain or not?"

I crossed my arms. "I've got time."

Chapter 23

Connor waited until we were on the highway headed east before he spoke again. "The factions were first formed by governments looking for ways to win the World Wars. You know, the ones that happened before you were born. Tanks and bombs didn't always get the world leaders what they wanted. They needed a weapon that was so different, so unexpected, that their success was guaranteed. The leaders started looking closely at military personnel because all of them go through psychiatric evaluation. Someone--I think his name was Englemen--realized that some of the personnel had psychic gifts. He then set out to see if these soldiers could develop even more ability. Englemen succeeded, but it wasn't easy. Sometimes a soldier was reluctant. Sometimes he wasn't interested. So Englemen found ways to make him cooperate.

"Englemen discovered that the more he tortured a gifted person, the further the soldier would push his gift. Threaten a supernaturally talented soldier with shock treatment and he would develop his ability until he could move objects."

"Telekinesis."

"Yes. Threaten to kill him, and the soldier would force himself to learn how to move his hand through concrete. Threaten to kill his family, and the soldier would do anything you told him to, even develop his psychic gift to stop another man's heart. Imagine the power you'd have if your soldiers could kill the leader of another country with their minds. Or set off a nuclear bomb by sending an energy trail halfway around the world. You'd have an army of psychic assassins. The perfect weapon."

I stared at Connor with my mouth open.

"Eventually, Englemen ran out of gifted military people to experiment on, so he searched for them elsewhere. Orphanages. Psychiatric wards. As the factions expanded, the leaders kidnapped gifted ones off the streets."

"Why didn't someone go to the police or something?"

"You've learned how to keep secrets, haven't you? And nobody's even threatened to hurt your family. Terror is a powerful tool."

My stomach did a slow roll.

"You are a goldmine of supernatural gifts, Echo. The things they would do to you..."

"Okay, okay, I get it." My hands flew to my ears. This was too much to wrap my head around. The notion of danger had seemed vague up to this point and vague worked just fine where torture was concerned. I didn't care to hear any of the details.

No matter what Connor said about Mr. Crane, though, I just could not picture him doing any of these things. He treated Raquelle like a queen. His wife was nice. He'd gotten some award last month for his contribution to the police department.

These rational thoughts steadied me. My stomach settled. The only way I could ever assign such a horrible profile to someone I knew was if he was arrested for it, or if I felt the dark energy myself. I was shaken enough when I left the library that my flustered reading of Mr. Crane could hardly be called evidence.

I turned to the changing landscape outside my window. We'd left the city far behind, and traffic thinned. Now, rolling, tree-covered foothills surrounded us and Mount Hood towered ahead.

"You need to take this exit and turn right," I said. "Then go to the end of the road and take another right."

"Where are we going?"

"Kimber's cabin."

The turn signal clicked into action even though Connor never touched it. The rapid clicking struck a discordant beat against the quick pace of my heart.

"I want you to stay clear of Raquelle and her father. The less they know about you, the better," he said.

"If it were up to me, I'd avoid them both for the rest of my life. But Raquelle is in most of my classes and I promised Becca I'd meet her at Trisha's party tonight, where of course, Raquelle will be. Dodging Mr. Crane should be easy, though."

Connor couldn't talk me out of the party, so he agreed to go long enough to drop off Becca and make sure she met up with Lucas. Then he got very quiet. I slumped in my seat and watched the forest grow thicker around us. The fir trees towered a hundred feet and the one-lane, potholed road seemed narrower than ever. The car felt claustrophobic. I rolled down the window. The scent of pine needles, usually so sweet, left an acrid taste at the back of my throat.

"How much further?" he asked.

I recognized the driveway as we sped past it. "Oh, go back. It's this house right here."

Connor hit the brakes. He peered through the trees at the shuttered, two-story house that filled two spacious lots. "I thought cabins were small versions of houses."

"Kimber doesn't do anything small."

He surveyed the cabin, or more precisely, the plot of land in front of it. His mouth curled into a mischievous grin. "Time to lighten things up," he said, and cranked the steering wheel sharply to the right and hit the accelerator. The car lurched off the road and across a shallow culvert into the woody grove that separated the house from the street. Even with my seatbelt in place, I tossed wildly in my seat.

"Hey, watch out for those trees." I pointed at a small grove right in our path.

"Echo, remember what I taught you?" He steered us directly toward the thicket of saplings.

I braced my hands against the dashboard. "What are you doing? You're going to crash us!"

"Think back to the warehouse."

"What? Which thing?" All the lessons came back in a jumble.

"Everything..." Connor prompted.

"Everything is possi- aaagh!"

Connor aimed my car at a six-foot pine tree and hit the gas. I threw myself to the side as the center of the car's grill slid right through the tree. Its branches swept right between us. I screamed and laughed and squeezed myself into the door.

"Take this next one!" he said, just as a low shrub disappeared into the front quarter panel. I only had a moment to prepare before it passed through my body. Each branch and twig entered my skin and burrowed a path through my organs on its way out the other side.

"Aaagh! That was so gross! That was so cool! Do it again!"

Connor veered left so that the low branches on another sapling whipped through my ribcage and out my back, knocking the wind out of me. When I recovered, I was grinning ear to ear.

As we passed an ancient fir tree, Connor stuck his arm out the window. His hand sliced right through the trunk. "Yeah!" he yelled. And then, "Whoa!" He jerked the steering wheel to strategically position me away from the next tree. It was huge, nearly as wide as the car. As we pushed through it, I heard a soft whoosh. Connor disappeared into the hardwood and emerged out the other side.

We bumped our way over exposed roots and divots and came to a halt on the driveway.

"Oh man, that was more fun than a roller-coaster," I said.

"Roller-coaster?"

I laughed. "Never mind. Thanks for taking that big one. I don't think I could have handled it."

He bowed slightly. "Any time, m'lady." 
Chapter 24

The first floor of Kimber's cabin was one big wide-open space, with no walls between the kitchen, dining area, or living room. The vaulted ceiling made the room look even bigger and reminded me of the warehouse we'd practiced in. The back wall was all windows and looked out over a small lake.

"This is the place. What was it you wanted to show me?" I asked.

Connor reached for my wrist. "Is your hand healed?"

I figured he was talking about the burn I'd gotten from our last training session. The redness was gone, but the blister formed by the intense heat hadn't fully healed. He ran his fingers across my palm, and I winced.

"Too much too fast," he said, half to himself.

I took this to mean I was off the hook where lasers were concerned. That was fine by me. Based on our conversation in the car, the next logical step would be Connor telling me to blast a hole in Mr. Crane. Like I was even capable of such a thing. Sure, if he tried to hurt me and that dark, malignant energy came off him, then maybe I'd consider such a drastic measure, but not before.

"If you're ever attacked, I want you to disable your assailant. We can't work on that until your hands are fully healed. So if you can't fight, you'll need to flee," Connor said.

"That's my usual response, but I'm not much of a runner."

"Remember the day I taught you how to levitate?"

Did I ever. That was the day I was concentrating so hard, I swear I heard smoke coming out of my ears. The day I'd twisted my ankle when I slammed back to the cement. The day Connor left without so much as a goodbye.

"Vaguely," I said.

He smiled. Arched one brow.

"Oh I do not like what I think you're thinking. Are you going to teach me to fly? Because I'll pass, thanks."

The look on Connor's face said pretty much what any other rational human being would be thinking: Did you not hear what I said about the factions?

"I'm terrified of heights, remember? As in, if I had to choose between floating ten feet off the ground or facing a charging lion, I'd take my chances with the cat."

Connor dug his fingers into the back of his neck, probably wondering why I had to be such a pain.

"What about reading minds? If I can do that, I'll be one step ahead of everyone," I said.

"I can't teach you to read minds. You'll either develop it or you won't. Besides, you can already tap into auras, which is just as valuable if you use it right. For now, I'm teaching you how to fly. If you master it, you'll be able to get out of most dangerous situations, and learning to fly can be a gateway to much greater power."

The last bit sounded intriguing, but the part about my feet leaving the ground? I squeezed my eyes closed and gritted my teeth.

"You're going to be all right, Echo. I haven't lost a student yet."

I let out a long sigh. I knew when I was beat.

With a wave of his hand, the couch skidded across the floor until it rested against the far wall. The tables, floor lamps, and large potted palm magically did the same, leaving the center of the room empty.

"Same drill as last time," he said. "Arms out--"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember." I extended my arms out to the side. Pushed my fingertips toward the cabin's walls and imagined all my auric energy surging into the floor.

To my shock, I rose a few inches. "Connor! Look!" I whisper-shouted, as though any loud sound would send me crashing to the tile.

"That's it. Keep going. Just a little more," he coaxed. Out the corner of my eye, I saw him, arms stretched, ready to catch me.

I held my concentration and pushed higher. My feet rose level with Connor's head. I didn't feel light and airy, like I expected. My limbs coursed with raw energy. My neck tendons strained from uncertainty.

"How are you doing? Can you go higher?"

I answered with a single nod. As long as he was acting as my safety net, I was willing to try. I aimed my intention at the thick beams bolted to the ceiling, rose another foot or so, and looked down. For a minute, all I saw was Connor smiling at me, his tongue wetting his lips before it slipped out of sight. Then I thought wow, he is really, really, far down there. The floor seemed to move in undulating waves and everything went fuzzy. An electric snap echoed off the walls and I dropped like a lead pigeon.

"Aaack!" Next thing I knew, I was sprawled in Connor's arms. He'd never admit it, but he looked as startled as I did. One quick kiss on my forehead, and he set me on the floor.

"That was kind of fun." I was thrilled at what I'd accomplished.

"Before we leave today I want you to be comfortable doing somersaults at ceiling level."

"Oh no. I could never go that high. I just tried and came crashing down. Do you have any idea how exhausting this is? I feel like I just ran a marathon."

He responded by holding his arms out in front of him, palms up. "Lay on my hands, on your stomach."

I tilted my head. "Are you sure you can hold me?" I lacked even an ounce of faith that he could. I don't know why. I had yet to find his weakness.

"Starting this way will be easier for you."

I leaned onto his outstretched hands. Cautiously, I lifted one foot off the floor, testing his ability to hold my weight. His strength held, so I lifted my other foot. I had to stretch my arms straight out in front to hold the position. My t-shirt slid up a few inches, and my bare belly pressed against one of Connor's hands. His finger rested under my waistband. The warm, tingling sensation was almost more than I could stand. I held my breath to keep my mind from wandering.

Connor got the wrong impression. "Breathe, Echo. This is no time to be nervous. Fear only cuts off your power."

I didn't bother explaining.

"Now, try again." His electric touch was trickling below my waistband, traveling south of my belly button. This was not exactly an incentive to fly--why would I want to push myself away from this feeling?

"Echo?"

"Huh? Oh, right." I trained my eyes on the floor and gave it everything I had, hoping I'd fail and be stuck there.

"It's not working," I said when I hadn't moved an inch.

"You don't think so?" Connor had stepped to the side. His hands were no longer under me, but the delicious tingling lingered on my skin. He was right about one thing: levitating in that position was a lot easier. Moving? Not so much. I tried to rise, and my body tilted sharply.

"Whoa, this way is way harder," I said.

He took a step toward me.

"No, I can do it." My energy field had created a dense cushion between me and the tile floor. I pushed into it, and this time, when it tilted unexpectedly, I leaned and righted myself. Yes, I've got this. I rose a few inches and stopped. This position required more concentration than anything I'd ever done. Everything went fuzzy again. I knew I needed to put my feet down before I lost control, but my limbs froze.

My elbows hit the tile first, and then my knees. Pain shot through my funny and not-at-all-funny bones. I moaned and rolled to a sitting position.

Connor knelt next to me. "Are you all right?"

I pushed up my sleeves to see if I'd started to bruise. I might have dark hair and eyes, but my fair skin was about as sturdy as porcelain. Red welts rose off my elbows. My lips formed an o when I tried to rub the sting out of my skin.

"I'll try again," I said. "I just need a minute." A minute passed. Then five. Finally, I clenched my jaw and straightened my aching knees. "All right, let's do this."

Connor registered the hesitation on my face and came to a silent conclusion. He marched to the French doors and threw them open, taking in the expanse of lawn leading to the narrow strip of beach.

"What's that red thing down by the lake?"

I followed his gaze. "That would be a canoe." I drew the words out, mocking his question, just a little.

"Show me how it works."

"Really?"

"Unless you'd rather practice?"

I was out the door in an instant. My red canoe rested upside down on cement blocks. I flipped it over and handed him a paddle.

He studied it a moment before he asked, "The wide end goes into the water, right?"

"Oh, this is going to be fun." Now I got to be boss for a while.

Paddling a canoe is easy work, though, and he picked it up before we reached deep water. We paddled past the only other house--empty this time of the year--and then to the far side, where the lake gave over to marshland and the water was shallow and murky and dotted with cattails gone to seed. Ever the scientist, Connor touched and studied everything. I let my brain click out of learning mode, content to listen to the water lap against the side of the boat.

We steered the canoe along the shore toward a small lagoon and disrupted a pair of great blue herons. Connor watched them fly out of sight, and then we paddled to the middle of the lake.

There, we let the canoe drift. I tilted my face to the sky. Inhaled deeply. The day was crisp, the sunlight was warm, and the only sound came from a hawk screeching far overhead.

The boat shifted side to side, and when I looked to the front, my eyebrows hit my hairline. A tiny smile crept to the corners of my mouth. Connor had taken off his shirt. His upper body was a chiseled work of art. Though I couldn't imagine him spending time at a gym, his arms and chest were as defined as any weightlifter. His abdomen rippled with muscle. His skin glowed with a hint of tan.

I uttered a small whimper. He heard this and smiled without looking at me. He began pulling off his jeans. I tried not to gawk, tried to act like it was perfectly normal for a gorgeous, magical guy to be stripping down, right there in my canoe.

And just for the record, I can say for sure because I've seen it myself, guys still wear boxers in the year 2173.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Going for a swim."

"But the water's freezing."

Connor leaned over the side of the canoe and stuck his hand in the water. Stroked the surface so that the water rippled between his fingers and pulled back out. "Warm enough for you?"

I dipped my fingers in. It was the same temperature as our heated pool. And then I bit my lip, hard, not because of the cool trick, but because I hoped he would decide to go skinny-dipping.

No such luck. He dove in wearing boxers. He resurfaced and shook the water from his hair. "Coming in?"

I pulled off my jeans, left my t-shirt on, and jumped in. The temperature was perfect, as soothing as a Mediterranean sea. I glided underwater, dove deep, and then kicked my way to the surface.

"You're a good swimmer," he said.

"I love the water. I'd live in the ocean if I could." I breast-stroked to him, and he set his hands around my waist so I didn't have to tread water. He didn't seem to be exerting any energy. I had no idea how he was staying afloat.

Water glistened on his face, and his dark cowlick dripped down his forehead. I put my hands on his shoulders and flutter kicked until I was high enough to plant a kiss on his lips.

"I have an idea," he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Mmm. Do tell." The water intensified the current running from his skin onto mine. My imagination conjured up new fantasies. Uncharted territories. But then, Connor released my waist and stretched his arms in front of him, the way he had in the living room.

"Ungh. Really?" I asked.

"You have to admit, it's the perfect place. We're the only ones on the lake and if you fall, well, you love water, right?"

He left me without reason to argue, so I floated onto his hands. A familiar calm settled over me, as though my body had been primed for this exercise, which, in a way, it had.

Within seconds, I rose off the surface. When I got a few feet up, and that feeling like I was about to freak out hit, I tucked into a cannonball and splashed into the water. I came up laughing.

"Oh, that was so fun! Put your hands out again."

The rest of the afternoon whizzed by while I played my new favorite sport: fly diving. At first, the breeze blowing across the lake made it hard to keep my body in the right position, but I figured out how to steer into it. I never got more than a few feet off the water's surface, but every inch I crept upward sent a thrill to the marrow of my bones.

"Now try a somersault," Connor called as I hung above him.

I curled forward and tucked my head to my knees, rolled and regained my balance.

"Wahoo!" I shouted. I did a series of them until dizziness set in. When I stopped, he flew to my side. In one easy swoop, he soared over my head, into the water, and back out again. Then he did a bigger loop, flying upside down like a daredevil airplane pilot, bending backwards and soaring into the water as gracefully as anything I'd ever seen. When he came up, I was clapping wildly.

With his index finger, Connor beckoned me to come closer. I flew to him, but when I tried to wrap my arms around him, he slipped out of reach.

"Hey!"

"Think you can catch me?" he taunted.

I slapped my hands on my hips. "Guys are supposed to do the chasing," I said, and I took off across the lake. I flew as fast as I could, skimming just above the surface. My heart was slamming in my chest, partly from the speed, partly because I knew I was no match for him. The rush of knowing he was going to catch up, grab me, made my breath come short.

Connor blew past me in a tan blur and cut me off. I squealed and veered sharply to keep from hitting him. Before I could escape, he snagged the back of my t-shirt and reeled me in. He pressed our wet bodies together.

"I made it too easy for you," I said.

Connor laughed. "Easy is not a word I'd use to describe you."

I gave him a look of mock irritation.

"Okay, okay, you win. You made it easy for me," he said.

"Really? What do I win?"

"What do you want?"

A blush warmed my cheeks. Connor took my face in his hands and kissed me so deeply, I felt it right down to my toes. My concentration broke, but the moment it looked like I'd fall, he wrapped his arm tight around my waist.

"I've got you," he said.

Yeah, you do.
Chapter 25

The sun had disappeared behind the trees when Connor and I got back to the cabin. We dropped our wet clothes in the dryer and wrapped ourselves in thick robes that Kimber kept in the guest rooms. A fire blazed in the fireplace, and we raided the cupboards. It wasn't long before the food and exercise took their toll and we fell sound asleep.

I woke up shivering. The fire was out and the room was pitch dark. I wrapped the robe around me and padded to the laundry room. My shirt lay folded on the dryer. Connor's clothes were gone. I groaned. He must have gotten yanked back to West Region.

I jumped when a moth banged against the screen door, trying to reach the laundry room light. Then I flicked on every light in the cabin, remembering Connor's story about the factions. No wonder I was twitching at every little sound and flutter. His story stuck in my head like a haunting fairy tale that parents read to kids when they're too young process myths and their monsters. I wished what he'd told me was one of those fabricated tales. I trusted him enough to know it was not.

I tugged my shirt over my head. My hair swept into my face and I took in the lingering scent of lake water. Visions of racing--flying--over the lake filled my head. I'd never gotten very high, but I'd done things I'd never dreamed possible. The fear of heights still rattled inside me like a pile of loose bricks, but I was in a better position to take care of myself.

My jeans lay in a pile next to the dryer. When I pulled them on, I reached for my phone in the back pocket. The clock showed it was after eleven. I had four texts from Becca:

You're coming, right?

Dude. My soulmate is waiting!

Where are you??!!

And finally:

Found a ride. You. Suck.

"Oh, nooooo." I dialed Becca's number, but my call went straight to voicemail. I texted her an apology and waited. Nothing, not a word from her.

I snagged my jacket and went out the front door. Thank goodness I'd brought keys because Connor wasn't around to magically start my car.

Behind me, a twig snapped. My chest jolted from a near coronary. I spun with my fists raised and strained to see into the dark. A deer, no less startled than me, froze and then bounded from the shadows and into the woods.

I dropped into the driver's seat, shaking. In the safety of my vehicle, I wondered how I would have responded if that deer had been a person from the faction, someone who wanted to hurt me. I wondered whether I would have frozen up or flown away.

*****

My dashboard clock read midnight when I pulled up to Trisha's house. Chances were that Becca had gone home already, but I felt so bad about bailing on her for the fourth time in our friendship that I was on a mission to find her and apologize as soon as possible.

The front door hung open. Inside, the lights were low, and the floor and couches were covered with teenagers who were passed out, zombied out, or making out. I followed voices to the kitchen.

"Heeyyyy," a bulky form trudged down the dark hallway toward me. Definitely drunk. Definitely not Becca.

"Heeeeeyyy," it said when it got closer. One of the football players, soaking wet and reeking of beer, slapped a soggy hand on my arm.

"Ewww. Get off." No telling if he understood English at this point, but he teetered into the wall and stumbled past.

I stepped into the kitchen, which was actually two large rooms. The seating area off the eating bar was sunk in darkness, probably packed full of more drunken couples. A keg of beer sat in the middle of the kitchen floor. A few kids clustered around it and though they were very drunk, I deemed them alert enough to answer a simple question.

"Has anyone seen Becca?"

Bloodshot eyes turned in my direction.

"What are you, her mom?" Trisha wobbled from the dark seating area and steadied herself against the keg.

"Is she here or not?" I repeated.

This bought me vacant stares. I may as well have been talking to a herd of cows. I turned to leave, figuring I'd be better off searching the house myself.

"I don't want you in my house. You stole Raquelle's boyfriend." Trisha clutched another girl's sleeve and swayed. "Raquelle and Connor were like this," Trisha told her and tried to cross her two fingers, "and then she promised him psycho sex. And then he broke Raquelle's heart."

"You know how completely moronic you sound, right?" I asked.

Two of Trisha's friends laughed so hard, their legs gave out. They fell onto their butts behind the keg. The girl attached to Trisha directed her glassy eyes at me.

"Slut." She slurred so heavily, it came out as "schlut."

"For your information, Connor was never into Raquelle," I hissed. "And he's way too good for her. You can tell her I said so."

A flash went off. Trisha had taken my picture with her cell phone, right in the middle of my rant. "Hey Lincolnites," she slurred as she texted, "the rabid mental girl crashed my party."

My temper rose. "Knock it off, Trisha."

"Knock it off, Trisha," someone mocked.

"If U R awake, please text me how 2 make it leave," Trisha thumbed her message.

The girls' voices squealed. I knew I needed to be the bigger person, and that it was a total waste of time to argue with a bunch of drunks, but the disgust on their faces stung.

"It's mad," someone said.

"It's frothing at the mouth," Trisha texted.

"I said stop it!" I yelled and swept my arm in a wide arc at the counter behind me. My fury seized the wooden knife block and hurled it across the room. It smashed into the cupboard, and knives clattered to the floor.

Everybody froze.

Trisha and her friend stared at me, jaws dangling, horror in their eyes. The friend's face went white and she passed out. Trisha knelt to revive her. I ran for my car.

I was quaking from head to toe by the time I got home. It had been a long time since I'd lost control but even at my worst, I'd never done anything like that. Since Connor came into my life, my auric outbursts were practically non-existent. Now I'd let my guard down and opened myself to disaster. My only hope was that Trisha and her friends were too drunk to remember what I'd done.

For hours afterward, I monitored all my classmates' social sites. No news was the best news of my life. I fell asleep with my phone in my hand.

*****

On Saturday, I texted Becca a few times, but she never replied. From my window, I saw a lamp flicker to life in her bedroom. I ran across the street and knocked on the door. Nobody answered.

Fine. I deserved the silent treatment. I gave Becca the rest of the weekend to cool off and continued to obsessively check the Internet for signs of my mistake. The social sites were lit up with pictures of Raquelle and her latest conquest-turned-boyfriend, but nobody was talking about the psychotic girl at Trisha's party. It was as though my careless flare-up never happened.

Monday morning, I waited outside Becca's house, reciting ways to apologize. None of my tries came out right, sounding either defensive or lame. My efforts were moot, though, because Becca never came ambling out her front door like she did every other school day.

She didn't meet me at my locker after Chemistry, either, so I went to Physics without her. When I walked in, Solomon waved me to his desk. I waited while he dug into a stack of papers. He handed me the extra credit I'd turned in. I'd gotten an A.

"Yes!" I said. My bracelets--once again a permanent part of my outfit--clattered when I shook my fist in victory.

"You've taken a liking to physics?" Solomon asked.

"It's not so bad." Especially when your boyfriend teaches you how to defy all the laws of physics. I smirked at my private joke.

"If you really want to boost your grade, you should come in for extra lab time." Solomon's jagged smile revealed a set of yellow teeth.

"Thanks, I'll think about it." I lifted an indecisive shoulder, even though I had no intention of spending one-on-one time with him. He was nice, but he was always offering his help, and he plain skeeved me out. Not because of anything he'd done; he just gave off this sense of neediness. I was starting to think the guy was looking for a friend.

Raquelle was absent, so the air was fresher than usual. At the last second, Becca flounced in. Yes, my typically low-key Wiccan BFF practically tap-danced across the floor. She saw me sitting in my usual spot, crossed the room, and took an open seat three rows away.

Well. How about that.

When class ended, she avoided eye contact and hurried out before I even closed my textbook. Now I was really hurt. All I wanted to do was apologize for Friday night, and she was cutting me out. I went to our table in the lunchroom. There was no sight of her, but Raquelle was back, and she and Trisha were in heightened, snotty form. Their glare carried an uncharacteristic viciousness. Even from my spot at the far end of the lunchroom, their burning malice was unmistakable.

The rest of the Partychicks swung their heads to see who had Raquelle's undivided attention. When they saw me, they turned away with bored expressions--except McKyla, the girl who had passed out next to Trisha Friday night. I remembered her name while I was obsessing over the weekend.

McKyla watched me with hard, cold fear and hunkered out of view behind Trisha. Then Raquelle said something to Trisha, and whatever it was caused a flurry of conversation between the three of them. Trisha kept her jaw set and her eyes down. Every few seconds, Raquelle shot black glances at me.

"I said no!" Trisha's voice rose above the lunchroom clamor. Raquelle jerked upright. Mere groupies did not speak to Raquelle like that. Something big was going down.

It wasn't hard to figure out. Alcohol had not blurred their memories, as I'd so desperately hoped. The girls knew what they saw, had compared notes, and were spreading the word. I was, to put it lightly, screwed.
Chapter 26

"What kind of energy depends on mass and speed?" I asked Connor. I lounged on my couch and worked on my physics assignment. Connor looked up from his super-advanced physics textbook. He sat at the other end of the couch, legs stretched across the cushions and resting against mine.

"Kinetic." His eyes dropped back to his book.

"Oh, yeah, right." I jotted down the answer.

In the days since the cabin, Connor and I had gotten into a routine where he'd meet me in the parking lot at school and we'd do homework at my house until dinner.

I never told him about the incident at the party, partly because after the argument in the cafeteria, the issue never came up again. All week, I'd braced myself for Raquelle's backlash, but the expected confrontation never happened. Instead, Raquelle and Trisha took to ignoring me completely, and I started to relax. I must have jumped to the wrong conclusion about their argument in the cafeteria because if Raquelle had gotten word about my late night magic act, she would have been in my face.

The overriding reason I kept this to myself was the reaction I'd get from Connor. He'd likely be angry with me, what with the warnings he'd dished out and instructions to steer clear of Raquelle. That, I could handle, but with it would come sheer disappointment in me that he may or may not be able to hide.

"When is a bosonic string theory most unstable?" Connor asked.

"Um, X minus Y divided by the square root of how-the-heck-should-I-know?"

He laughed. "Just kidding. I have no idea, either."

I closed my book and leaned into the couch, sick of homework. My attention drifted to the room's high ceilings. I imagined the two of us floating up, up to the crossbeams, twenty feet above, and flipping somersaults. How we'd try to outdo each other's acrobatics. He guessed what I was thinking.

"Go ahead, fly around for a while. I'll watch for Kimber."

"Nah." I still didn't trust myself more than a few feet off the ground, so it wasn't much fun unless we did it together and Connor wasn't exactly Mr. Fun lately.

Ever since he warned me about Mr. Crane, he was more watchful than ever. When he met me at school, he scrutinized anyone who came within a few feet of us. On the drive home, vigilant eyes circled from me to the rearview mirror, to the vehicles around us, and back again.

Hard intent seemed permanently stationed behind his eyes. I recognized that look. I'd seen it the day he materialized in my physics classroom. He was searching for somebody. When I asked him about it, he just said he was only being cautious. I felt safe when he was around, but when he went home at night, I couldn't shake the edginess that set in.

Kimber bustled into the house smelling of expensive lotion and hair spray. She set Tito on the floor, and the dog leaped into Connor's lap.

"Why is he wearing a bow?" Connor poked at the oversized, glittery pink ribbon tied around Tito's neck.

"Probably to match Kimber's nails. I think it she took him to her spa."

Sure enough, Kimber and her glittery pink fingernails paraded into the living room. When she first met Connor, she'd giggled like a high school girl when he shook her hand. Then she'd mouthed "Wow" to me when he wasn't looking.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" she asked him. He said he would, and we ordered a pizza.

A little while later and still on the couch, Connor and I munched a Thick Crust Special. Kimber brought in her microwaved diet dinner and turned on the television. The volume was low.

"How are you settling into your new school?" she asked Connor.

"School's fine," he said.

"It's too bad the sale fell through on the house in our neighborhood. How do your parents like the east side of town?"

"It's all working out, I guess," he said casually. He hated these conversations where he had to pretend he had a life here. His answers were always closer to half-truths than lies.

"We'll have to have your parents over for dinner when Echo's dad is home."

Connor smiled politely and said nothing. An image on television stole Kimber's attention.

"Shh! Shh!" Kimber turned up the television volume. The local newscast filled the screen and a picture of crime scene tape slashed across the upper corner.

The news anchor's voice blared into the living room. "...making no headway into the murder investigation of three Portland women. Though the police won't reveal details of the deaths, they have confirmed that all three victims died from head trauma. Police have ruled out theft, saying that no money or personal belongings appeared to have been stolen. Anyone having information about these crimes is asked to contact..." Kimber clicked the television off. She let out a strangled whimper.

"Kimber, are you okay?" I asked.

She nodded, quick and hard. Her jaw was slack, the color draining from her cheeks. Connor and I exchanged a look.

"Mrs. Bennett, can I get you anything?"

Kimber shook her head and set down her dinner.

"She knew one of the victims," I whispered to Connor.

"How terrible for you," he said to her.

"They have to find out who did this atrocious thing. Jenifer was so beautiful. How could anyone... do that kind of damage to a person?"

Again, Connor and I exchanged a look.

"Do what, Mrs. Bennett?"

Kimber plucked at her lower lip. "It's not public information yet. Don--Mr. Crane--thought they'd announce it today. He wanted me to hear it from him first."

Kimber's thick, viscous energy poured into the room, as though warding off an incoming blow. That was enough to tell me I didn't want to know more, but since it involved Mr. Crane, I had to ask. "Announce what?"

"About the case. It's... so horrible."

Kimber waved us off, but she was desperate to unload whatever he had told her. Her eyes flicked frantically around the room, as though searching for someone who could speak for her, or some way she could tell what she knew without betraying Mr. Crane's trust.

Connor leaned in, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees. "Whatever Mr. Crane told you, it must have been hard to hear."

Kimber focused on Connor. "It's awful."

"I'm sure you'll want to talk to him about it, but until then, we're here to listen."

Relief softened her downturned lips. "You know, Connor, you're very wise for someone your age." She wrung her hands and I suppressed the urge to shake the story out of her.

"He didn't just hurt them. He maimed them. Right here." Kimber touched her index finger to the space just above and between her eyebrows. "It was like he hit them with a big hammer. Just crushed the girls, right in the..." Kimber broke into tears.

I hurried to Kimber's side and put my arm around her. She bawled into her hands. I muttered soothing things in a voice that seemed detached from the rest of me. What she'd said imprinted grotesque images in my mind.

Connor didn't take the news well. The muscles in his jaw flexed in and out. A magenta halo surrounded his body.

"Connor," I whispered and nodded toward his hand. His face piqued. Then he centered himself and the halo dissolved.

Kimber sniffled and excused herself from the room. Connor still sat with his arms on his knees, motionless.

"It's them," he finally said.

"The faction?"

He nodded.

"How do you know? Is it the way they..." I couldn't finish the sentence with the hard lump forming in my throat. Kimber's description was so graphic, the same spot between my brows began to pulse.

"The third eye sits at the center of the forehead," Connor said.

I nodded. "The seat of paranormal ability."

"They crushed the victims' third eye. It's the mark of the faction. They're rounding up gifted ones, but these women fought back."

"Are you sure that's what happened?" My own third eye buzzed madly. My fingers flew to my forehead, as though I could stop its mystical energy from flowing into my aura.

"If the women hadn't fought, they would have been kidnapped. They might have sensed they were in danger, but faction soldiers work fast. Those women never had a chance."

I held my arms tight across my chest so he couldn't see me shaking. Connor's attention turned inward. Then, without looking at me, he asked, "Do you think Kimber would let me stay here tonight?"

This caught me completely off guard. "Maybe in the guest room. Wouldn't your dad come looking for you, though?" I was sure that would be the end of us. This wasn't a trade-off I was willing to make.

He dug his fingers into the back of his neck, torn. "The faction is on the hunt. If they pick up the energy coming off your aura, they could track you to here," he argued.

A shiver ripped up my spine. "They won't. I'll recenter while I'm at school. I won't give myself away, not even a little bit."

"Wear the bracelets, that will help."

"I already do whenever you're not around."

I hated that he was so worked up about Kimber's news. It brought my fears into the light, fears that I'd been able to sweep into that place where I locked away unreasonable worries: my dad dying in a plane crash, failing a grade and not graduating, things like that. Since the night at the cabin, I'd been able to pretend the whole faction thing was too far off to affect me. It was easy, when the so-called enemy didn't have a face or a name--and no, Mr. Crane wasn't on my list of bad guys. Now, Connor was freaking me out.

"I'll meet you after school tomorrow. Don't leave without me, okay?" he said.

"I thought you had to do stuff with your dad."

He groaned. "I completely forgot. I might not be able to come back for a few days."

I forced a smile. I didn't want him to sense how scared I was.

"Practice," he said.

"I will."

"Don't go anywhere by yourself. Mix in with the regular auras, like your classmates. You'll be harder to pick out."

"I'm on it."

He kissed me, and then he was gone. The walls seemed to close in. I wanted to go outside and let the night air clear my head but unspeakable dangers lurked beyond the safety of my house. I went upstairs, grabbed my comforter, and opened the window leading to the portico. I sat on the sill and filled my lungs. Blew a long stream of white air into the night.

In the valley below, countless shimmering lights glowed across the city. Headlights. Bedroom lights. Store lights. All brightening the way for millions of people going about their lives. Sometimes, looking out over the skyline cheered me, made me feel like I was a part of something bigger. Not tonight.

Just a few weeks ago, I was sure all I needed to be happy was to find and befriend other paranormal freaks like me. My tribe would be fun, special, and we'd keep each other safe. They'd be there to fill the agonizing chasm created when Connor left, which he eventually would. But I could no longer find strength in numbers. Alone, my energy was like a bullhorn calling to the faction. The more of us who got together, the louder our energy would broadcast.

Wind shook pine cones from the nearby tree, and they peppered the portico roof like buckshot. My skin felt papery thin, hanging loose over my bones and barely strong enough to protect me from the icy breeze. I pulled the comforter over my head and peered through a gap in the fabric. It was no defense against the loneliness chilling me from the inside.
Chapter 27

The next morning, I went to school at the peak time, making sure to park in the busiest part of the lot and blend in with kids as we made our way inside. I clung to the crowd between classes. In physics, I plopped into my chair, already worn by the effort.

Raquelle sauntered in, so focused on the screen on her phone that she smacked into the desk at the end of our row. It tipped over and slammed to the floor. I laughed, loud and sharp.

Raquelle shot a hateful glare in the direction of my laugh. When she saw it was me, her pinched expression slackened and her mouth parted slightly. Slowly, she looked back at her phone, and then quickly dropped it into her bag.

Her eyes never left the back wall as she took her seat behind me. Metal legs scraped against the floor. From the diminished stink of her aura, I guessed she'd moved her desk back a few feet.

Raquelle had been acting very unqueenly as of late. She'd cooled her bullying in favor of ignoring me all together. Where Trisha and McKyla were openly frightened of me, Raquelle had become strangely reserved.

"Echo," Solomon said, "show your work for yesterday's assignment on the board."

"Again?" I protested. This was the third time in a week. Mr. King had always asked for volunteers before he made people show their work.

"Did you finish it?"

"Yes."

"I'm sure you got it right, so go on up," he said.

I jotted the problem on the board. When I finished, I took a step back to check my work. A warm channel pushed into my aura and I had the sensation that Solomon's hand rested on my back. The feeling continued, like he was probing me with his fingers, checking me from head to toe, all without laying a hand on me. I resisted the urge to shoot him a dirty look and hurried back to my seat. There was something about Solomon lately that made him weirder than usual. A sense that he was holding something back. Like the way someone with body odor keeps their armpits clamped shut because they know they stink and don't want anyone else to smell them. It was like that. He was hiding something, and by the way he gawked at the students I was beginning to think he really was a pervert.

"Nice work, Echo," Solomon said with too much warmth. I mouthed "Thanks" and pretended to write in my notebook.

When I pulled into our driveway after school, I slammed my brakes at the sight of Mr. Crane's BMW parked in front of our garage.

I sat there, debating what to do next. Mr. Crane was about the last person I wanted to talk to and sometimes he stayed for hours. I slipped through the side door and dashed up the stairs, two at a time. On the second floor, I nearly smacked into Kimber and Mr. Crane.

"You're home early," Kimber smiled.

"I always get home now," I replied.

Mr. Crane carried an armload of books that I assumed were from my dad's library. Prickles danced on my neck. I reminded myself that, despite Connor's accusations, Mr. Crane wasn't guilty of anything until I had solid evidence to link him to the peeper in the library. So that's what I needed. Evidence.

"Hi, Mr. Crane." I locked down my aura and homed in on his. Smooth and cool as ice.

"We were just talking about you," he said. "The research study is coming to a close and I very much want to include you in it."

Kimber opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

"What kinds of tests do you do, exactly?" I adopted a snotty tone.

"A variety, but cognitive, mostly."

"Like what? I mean, you expect me to come in on a Saturday. Is this going to be fun or like sitting in detention all day?"

"Echo," Kimber scolded.

Mr. Crane gave me a thin smile. "Tests that measure decision making. Judgment." He waited a beat. "Controlling impulses."

My pulse skipped at this last item.

"Activities that most teenagers struggle with. Who knows, you might learn something about yourself," he answered evenly.

I couldn't tell if he was gaming me or being patient. The tingling in my fingers grew. I wasn't getting what I wanted, but my own paranormal impulses were starting to peak. I had to hurry.

"I heard Ryan Hoffman was part of the study," I lied. I'd heard no such thing. "But he's gone missing, so I'm not sure I'm comfortable getting involved."

Kimber drew a sharp breath at my audacity. My stomach knotted at my rudeness, but the air had changed. Cancerous energy punctured the façade behind Mr. Crane's smile. Like a hypodermic needle, it was so fine in its structure it almost went unnoticed. He recovered too quickly. Maybe he was the one in the library, but I couldn't get a match.

Mr. Crane searched my face, impassive. "I can't share any information about clients or cases I'm working on. You should know that."

"Right, confidentiality. Well, I'm going to pass. Too many tests coming up."

Kimber touched Mr. Crane's arm in apology. Then she said, "I've already made an appointment for us, Echo. I'm helping with the study, too."

Um, what??

"Oh, I see," I muttered, out of snappy comebacks and on the verge of letting my anxiety clatter uncontrolled into the hallway. I pushed past Kimber and ran up the last flight. I locked the door behind me and went to the window. My third eye burned. I shoved the heel of my hand over it and held it there. If Mr. Crane was one of them, one of those faction people, would he feel my energy building in the house? Feel the walls tremor, ready to purge themselves of pictures and books?

For the next hour, I stared down at the BMW in our driveway. My fingers grew numb and a killer headache set in, but I kept it together until Mr. Crane got in his car and disappeared up the hill.

Then I slumped in a chair while the resulting outburst turned my room into a shambles.

*****

In the school parking lot, me and a handful of stragglers pounded the pavement to beat the bell. Someone stood behind the door and held it open for my classmates. When I got to the entrance, though, the door practically slammed shut in my face.

"Hey, watch it! " I scowled.

"And good morning to you," Connor said. He stepped out from behind the door.

I grabbed him in a rib-busting hug. "I hate when you stay away so long," I said into his t-shirt. I inhaled his spicy, exotic scent.

"Me, too."

The bell rang, and I was officially late for class. Great. If I hurried, I might be able to talk my History teacher out of handing me detention. Then I remembered why I was running late in the first place.

"Mr. Crane was at my house yesterday." I raised a defensive hand before Connor bit off a reply. To his credit, he listened quietly while I filled him in on my sleuthing. When I finished, he looked at me like my brains were leaking out of my ears.

"I told you to stay away from him and this is what you do?"

"Connor, you need to level with me. Is it possible that you're wrong about Mr. Crane? I mean, isn't there the tiniest possibility that you overreacted when you picked up that bad vibe at my house?"

"No."

I waited for him to expound. Just when I thought that was the end of it, he said, "I know what I sensed. If Crane and Kimber were the only ones in your house that night, then you tell me your conclusion."

"It's not Kimber," I said.

"Definitely not."

"All right. I don't know, but I can't talk about this anymore. I've got to get to class."

"No. We're getting out of town today."

I looped my fingers into the waistband of his jeans. "I can't leave. I've got a quiz in Chemistry and a paper due in English. Can you meet me here after?" I reached for the door, expecting he'd say yes.

"Absolutely not." The sternness in his voice caused me to do a double-take. This protective role was getting to be a bit much. If I skipped school every time he thought I was in danger, I'd never graduate. But he held down a smile that showed off his dimples. His eyes glimmered. He looked... playful. "I've got a big day planned."

I groaned. "Really, I don't have time to train. And school's perfectly safe."

"Call in sick."

"But my quiz..."

"Voluntarily or involuntarily, you're coming with me."

"So, you're kidnapping me?" I laughed.

"You'll thank me for it later."

I fidgeted, truly torn. That mischievous grin practically guaranteed a fun-filled day. "Aaagh, I shouldn't. I can't." I bobbed my head in weak protest.

Connor shrugged. "All right. You had your chance." He stretched his arms out for a hug.

"Great, then I'll see you after school." I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. He clasped my waist and kissed my forehead at my hairline. I moved to pull away, but he tightened his embrace. His skin felt unusually hot, and the gentle electric current coursing through him grew stronger. Connor's body had felt like this once before, not so long ago, when he promised I'd be safe as long as I held him tight. My subconscious mind began arranging puzzle pieces from the past, trying to grasp what was happening. Then it came back to me.

"Hey!" I pushed against him, but his grip was firm.

"Involuntarily it is," he said, and we fizzled into the ether. 
Chapter 28

I was so startled to find myself hurling through the portal that I didn't have the chance to be frightened. My eyes stayed open, and I was glad they did. Gold and white clusters of stars streaked past us. The pinks and blues of celestial nebulae hung in the distance: stunning, real-life versions of the Hubble telescope pictures hanging on the walls in physics class. Red fireworks exploded in a beautiful arc across the black background.

Our bodies zipped and turned at an unthinkable speed. My stomach flipped, and everything went dark. A moment later, we were bathed in light. My feet found a solid surface and I recognized a high-pitched hum. We were in West Region, standing next to the portal hole.

The metal doors swished open. Jaxon stood at the panel with his arms crossed. He wore a black sateen tunic that fell to just below the waist. It was tailored to his swimmer's build and brought out the deep chocolate color of his eyes. It seemed kind of dressy for working in a lab, but what did I know? He held the same disdainful scowl from my previous visit.

"You're late." Jaxon cast an accusing glance at me.

"I'll take it from here," Connor said, and Jaxon breezed out of the lab.

"What a treat to see him in such a good mood," I muttered.

"Be nice. Today's a holiday, and I asked him to come in as a special favor." Connor ushered me into the CKS tube.

"Is that why you made me come here today? For the holiday?" I asked while the tube checked me over.

"Made you? I thought you liked it here."

"I do. It's just, the timing's not that great." Already, in my head, I was testing out various excuses I'd use to explain my absence from school. The CKS finished its scan. Connor studied the results with an impassive expression. Then he took out a pen-like device.

"Hold still," he said. He touched the pen to different points down the center of my body. His jaw tightened while he read the digital display. I leaned in to look.

"Is something wrong?"

The device beeped, and he relaxed. "All your vitals look great. How do you feel?"

"I feel great," I said. I bounced on my toes. "Are we going back to the Reserve?"

Connor tossed the pen thingy on a desk and took my hand. "Nope. Today is the Region's biggest celebration of the year. I want you to see why I love West Region so much, and what better time to show it off?"

"I get to see the city? Finally!"

We ran down the empty hallway to the front doors. When we stepped outside the Harden Center, my jaw dropped and my eyes got ridiculously huge. The building's domed roof and pillars sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight. Statues lined a glimmering walkway. If the Greek temples had been carved out of crystal, they probably would have looked like the Harden Center.

The fountain in front of the building completely mystified me. Instead of water coming up out of the ground, it plunged downward from an invisible source two stories above us, and spilled into a crystalline bowl that levitated overhead.

Ahead, a plaza bustled with people. Like Jaxon, the guys were dressed in sateen tunics. The women wore brightly colored flowing gowns. Even the kids were dressed up. Classical music filled the air. Everyone was in a festive mood.

Connor and I swung into the crowd. Faces lit up at the sight of him, and they nodded in a sort of reverence. When they saw my fingers linked through his, their expressions turned to puzzlement. After they passed, I sensed their eyes were still fixed on me. I squirmed, but Connor stood tall, and the exuberant smile never left his face.

"Still doing okay?" he asked.

"Fantastic." Truth was, I felt deathly out of place. "Where are we going?"

"To my house."

Finally, I thought.

"And to introduce you to my father."

I flinched. "Now? Today?"

He squeezed my hand. "No time like the present. Isn't that a saying you use?"

"Yeah, but without the irony." I pulled my hand away and wiped my sweaty palm on my jeans.

"I told my father about my trips back to your time, and about you." Connor dismissed the shock on my face. "He knew I was up to something, the way I kept disappearing every chance I got. He found out I wasn't with my friends, and nobody knew where I went all the time. He finally asked me. So I told him."

"What... did... he... say?" I asked.

"Well, at first, he was furious. He told me I had to stop. Forbid me to visit you anymore, and all of that. He was going to demand that Philip shut the portal to all non-scientific travel. Then we argued about that for a while and he threatened to ship me to university early so I'd have no way to get to you."

Something the size of a boulder dropped into my belly.

"When he cooled down, I told him how talented you are, and how dangerous it is for you." Connor smirked. "And you know what? He actually confessed that he'd traveled to Portland, long ago. Back before you were born. So he knows what your world is like."

This was all good news, but there was only one answer I cared about. "He's still letting you use the portal?"

His brow wrinkled. "Yes."

"But?"

He dug his fingers into the back of his neck. "I asked for two more weeks."

"Two weeks!"

"I was afraid he'd ban me altogether if I didn't at least start negotiating. But he'll meet you today. He'll see why I want to be with you. I'll come up with some sort of plan, some way to get his permission to make this work long-term. Then everything will be easier for us."

"How can you be so sure?" I did a fair job of hiding the dread in my voice.

"Even if he said 'no,' I'd find a way to get to you." He sounded so confident, but the pressure was on. I had to shine in this introduction. Connor led me deeper into the city. "How do you like West Region City so far?"

"It's got wow factor, I'll say that much."

We'd crossed the plaza and continued down a wide walkway between rows of buildings. Overall, it still looked like the Portland I knew, but only if we were to let fruiting vines grow up the sides of the buildings and plant vegetable gardens where there used to be roads. People levitated next to the buildings and harvested ripe fruit. Others filled overflowing baskets with late season tomatoes, squash, and some vegetables I didn't recognize.

"No cars?" I asked.

"We're in the old city. Everyone walks. Or flies." As he said this, a group of elementary grade kids floated by, pushing and prodding like any kids would, except they were ten feet in the air. "Across the river, in the new city, most people ride trains or community vehicles."

Connor motioned to a series of low buildings with glass fronts. "This is one of the metaphysical schools my dad built. Kids learn the same things I'm teaching you. If you were here, this is probably where you'd go to school. Pretty cool, huh?"

"If I were here?"

"Well, you know, if you lived here."

My heart rate tripled. Where had that come from? I squashed the urge to speculate. It would be foolish to read into such a casual statement.

We turned onto a residential street where modest houses sat tucked between more trees and stopped in front of an expansive park.

"Well, this is it," he said.

"What?"

"My family compound."

"You live here?"

Far back from the walkway, beyond sculpted gardens and a line of fountains, sat a cross between a mansion and a castle. It was three or four times bigger than Kimber's house, and regal right down to the stone turrets rising at each corner. When Connor used the word compound to describe where he lived, I'd pictured a fortress-like structure surrounded by razor wire.

"My father keeps building on to accommodate the refugees escaping from East Region. They stay with us for a while and work here before finding their own place to live."

I stared at Connor. So that's what he meant when he talked about the "servants" who worked for his family. His father was starting to sound like a saint, instead of the frightening, portal-banning despot I'd imagined. We rounded the mansion to the back of the property. Red, orange, and blue banners filled the sky, creating a colorful, fluttery awning. Gold trimmed the quartz stone walkways. The grounds were ornately decorated and teeming with people busy setting up for an event.

The refugee-servants directed lines of chairs into place with a simple wave of their hands. They arranged a stage the same way, magically and effortlessly. Connor addressed each servant by name, and even though they were rushing to set up, each one watched me for a moment longer than necessary.

"Is there going to be some kind of party?" I asked.

"Yesterday was the anniversary of my father's rule and today, a few hundred of his closest friends are coming to celebrate." Connor turned to face me and braced himself. "And you are my guest."

"This holiday is for your dad?" What had Connor gotten me into? I glanced at my faded sweater and holey jeans. Worried at my windblown hair. Even the refugee workers were dressed better. "Can't I at least go home and change?" I sounded shallow but there was a lot riding on this introduction, not to mention that, as Connor's guest, I'd be the center of attention.

"I'm afraid there's no time." He linked his arm through mine and shuttled me inside. We walked into a massive entryway and beneath the largest chandelier I'd ever seen. Then he whisked me through the mansion, past a ballroom, and past two rooms that must have been kitchens, based on the heavenly smells coming from them. The rooms took up more space than my school's gymnasium and looked more like the portal lab than a kitchen, except for the endless platters of food stretched across every surface.

Our footsteps echoed on stone tile as we made our way down a long hallway. At the base of a staircase that spiraled four stories, we doglegged right into another wing. Just outside an open doorway, Connor pulled up short. He thrust his shoulders back and nodded at me, his green eyes bright with certainty.

So this was it, our big moment, my one and only chance at the perfect first impression. My adrenaline spiked.

"Wait. What do I call your dad? President McCabe? Mr. President?"

"He's not your president. Just call him Mr. McCabe. Or Unrelenting Dictator of My Life." Connor rolled his eyes and smiled at his sort-of joke.

We stepped into a large office lined with dark wood shelves. Sunlight glinted off plaques and awards that covered an entire wall. At the center of the room, a man stood with his back to us, studying a 3D hologram of a city. As we crossed toward him, I stumbled on the plush carpeting. Connor cleared his throat.

"Yes, Connor?"

"Sir, I'd like you to meet--"

Without turning around, the man interrupted. "It's obvious who she is."

Mr. McCabe turned and fixed Connor with a stony glare. He didn't resemble his son at all. He had lighter hair and complexion, a longer face, and deep-set, guarded eyes. He loomed over us with military poise.

"So this is what you've been doing this morning. You might have told me your plans." He examined me with the same interest he might give a hand grenade. "I take it you're my son's guest today."

"It's nice to finally meet you," I stuttered. My neck heated and I prayed that my bracelets were strong enough to extinguish the insecurity rolling off me.

Mr. McCabe let out a short huff of distaste. Then he turned to Connor. "I assume your next stop is Manny's studio. Drop her with him and return to my office at once."

And that was it. No handshake. No "Welcome to West Region."

Connor led me out of the office and down the hall. Electricity raced through his palm and he looked straight ahead.

"He had no idea I was coming," I said to myself.

"It was better this way."

I shot him a look of disbelief. We'd ambushed his dad on the man's own personal holiday. How could this be a good thing?

"Trust me, this is the best time to introduce you. All of us will be together during the entire celebration, and by the end of the night, things will be different."

"I should go home," I said. "I'm intruding, and your dad is really pissed."

Connor pulled me to him. "Please, don't go. Having you here means so much to me."

I shifted uncomfortably. "Your dad hates me."

"He doesn't. He hates how much I care about you."

The furrow between my brows grew deep. He cupped my face.

"He knew I wanted to introduce you eventually. When I told him how much you've been able to achieve with your gift, he was impressed."

"He said that?" I asked.

Connor tilted his head and squinted. "He'd never admit it. That would only encourage me. But he recognizes that you're very special. Please stay."

I couldn't undo what had already happened, and I didn't really want to go home, not yet.

"Okay, I'll stay. So, who's this Manny guy?"
Chapter 29

I stood on a pedestal in a bright room while Connor leaned against the doorway, smiling and twirling my coin necklace on his finger. Moments ago, he had introduced me to Manny, "the most extraordinary tailor in the Regions," and instructed him to fit me for a dress. Manny's face had lit up when he helped me onto the pedestal. Now he scrutinized me from every angle.

Manny was all of five feet tall and nearly as round. His face pouched at the jowls and his left lid drooped. He held his hands in front of him, palms touching, and tapped the pads of his fingers together.

"Step down, please," Manny directed me. He latched a hand under my elbow as I clomped down the few steps to the floor. He circled me again, this time periodically swiping his fingers across my body. He ran his index finger across my back from shoulder to shoulder, and then circled my waist with his pinkie. He did the same thing ankle to hip, shoulder to wrist, and around my rib cage.

Connor read the confusion on my face. "Measurements," was all he said.

"Did you have anything specific in mind?" Manny asked Connor.

"Surprise me."

"Do you prefer floor length or a skirt that ends at the knee? And what do you think about a jewel color to contrast her skin?" Manny asked him.

Connor's eyes found mine. "She looks beautiful in anything."

I propped a hand on my hip and cocked my head in mock offense. "Um, hello, do I have a say in this?"

"If you specialize in the celebratory couture for the year 2173, then yes, share your ideas freely," Manny answered.

"She did mention something about spandex," Connor offered.

"Is that the name of a designer?" Manny asked.

I fired Connor a look. "No," I said, "I'm sure whatever you have will be fine."

"We'll get started then. And you, dear boy, need to return to your father's office before he paces a hole in the floor. And while it is none of my business, you got what you deserved by springing this visit on your father. However, you should have had more consideration for your lovely guest."

Connor grumbled, apparently accustomed to Manny's scolding.

"News travels fast here," I said. Connor hadn't said a word about his father since our discussion in the hallway, in the far wing of the mansion. I imagined the servants catching wind of the argument and the chain of gossip reaching Manny before we did.

"Sure does," Connor said with sarcasm, and he disappeared into the hallway.

Manny swung open a set of double doors and entered a walk-in closet. The shelves were empty except for four white dress boxes stacked on top of each other. Manny tapped his fingertips together and seemed to deliberate over his choices.

In the room where I waited, there wasn't a sewing machine or dress mannequin in sight. No bolts of cloth or unfinished sewing projects, either. The room was sparsely decorated with a sofa along one wall, a low table, and the pedestal. There wasn't nearly enough time to design and sew a dress from scratch, so whatever I was going to wear must be in that closet.

Manny finally settled on a box and placed it on the pedestal. "Open it." He pulled his hands to his chest like an eager child.

His excitement was contagious. Full of anticipation, I lifted the lid. "This one's empty," I said, feeling a little foolish.

Manny nodded emphatically. "Back on, please."

I replaced the lid. He laid his hands on the box for a few seconds and then stepped away.

"Again," he said.

Perplexed, I lifted the lid. I gasped. Inside lay the most beautiful ball gown I had ever seen. It was a rich shade of red and had silky, delicate straps. I looked from the dress to Manny, unable to decide if I was more amazed at his trick or the stunning creation that awaited me.

"Yes, yes. Try it on." He pointed behind me, where a privacy screen had appeared. I changed into the dress. It fit perfectly, as did the shoes that came with it. I came out from behind the screen, feeling like a princess. I curtsied, and he clapped his hands.

"Oh yes! Exceptional! Bellisima!"

Manny examined every inch of fabric. He smoothed the silk around my hips.

"I wonder," he said, tapping his fingertips together. He placed his hands on the box and repeated his quick meditation. "Again!" He grinned ear to ear.

I bit my tongue to keep from giggling and lifted the lid. This time, I found a stunning black sheath with a jeweled neckline.

"Oh, Manny!" The shoes were no less spectacular, with thin, jeweled straps that crisscrossed their way up my calf, from ankle to knee.

Manny liked the black dress on me the best, but I'd fallen in love with the red one. When I told him this, he tsked at me.

"Don't pick favorites yet, Butterfly, we've only just started." He pointed to the box and this time, I pulled out a purple ball gown with a flowing tulle skirt.

And so it went, until I had pulled out, and tried on, over a dozen gowns, each worthy of a spot on a Hollywood Red Carpet. Then Manny attacked the rest of me, using normal everyday spritzers and combs plus a bit of magic. When he presented me with a full-length mirror, I hardly recognized myself. My dark hair was brushed to a silky sheen and fell in soft waves over the dress's straps. My fair skin glowed. I was drop-dead gorgeous.

"What do you think, Butterfly?"

"Wow. And wow. Thank you for all of this." I was still taking in the transformation when I asked, "Why do you keep calling me Butterfly?"

"It's the symbol of metamorphosis, is it not?"

"It sure is." I collapsed on the couch, wearing the first red gown, exhausted and bewildered by the whole experience. Connor hadn't returned yet. I was debating whether to ask about his whereabouts when Manny said, "He's helping prepare for the event. He'll be back soon enough."

Early in my dress-up adventure, I'd realized that Manny was one of those rare and special individuals in West Region who could read people's thoughts. This hadn't bothered me while I was trying on clothes. I'd loved every one of his creations. Now, though, my mind kept flitting to Connor and how angry his dad had been when I showed up. I was dying to know what they were talking about while I was with Manny. If Manny would just give me a hint...

"You'll know soon enough how their discussion affects you," Manny said.

I slumped. "I have a pretty good idea. You should have seen the look on Mr. McCabe's face when I showed up in his office. My aura was all over the place. I came off like a total rookie. Which I guess I am, compared to everyone here."

Manny patted my hand. He'd convinced me to stuff my bracelets in my backpack, claiming they didn't compliment any of the gowns, but he knew I was using them to hide a part of myself. Trying to hide behind them was silly, really. The people here were so astute, they knew I was different even when the bracelets mellowed my energy. If anything, wearing them highlighted my weaknesses, and if I truly wanted a chance with Mr. McCabe, I had to show him my authentic self, flaws and all.

"But can you at least tell me if I have a chance?" I pressed.

"What President McCabe has to say about you and Connor's future together means less than you think."

"How is that even possible? He could shut down the portal or send Connor away."

"There are many, many factors at play. One man's opinion cannot change the course of fate. He may redirect it, he may delay it, but your relationship with Connor will happen the way it was meant to be. That much I know."

That was another oddity about Manny. He had suggested more than once that he knew about events before they happened.

The door to the studio opened and a young, blond woman brought us a lunch tray. She set it on the table in front of us, handed me a plate, and poured me a cup of golden liquid from a gilded pot. She studied me out of the corner of her eye.

My stomach growled, so I picked up a sandwich. I nibbled at the bread crust and told myself to be brave so I could ask the one question that had haunted me since I'd met Connor. At the same time, I stuffed the question below my conscious mind, wanting to keep it from Manny until I was ready to hear the answer. I washed down the sandwich with tea, trying to loosen the lump that had formed in my throat.

"You can see the future, can't you?" I asked.

"A person's aura carries hints about his past and future. Not everything is revealed to me, but yes, I know many things that haven't happened yet."

I spit the next words out, fearing if I didn't, I'd forever lose my chance to ask. "Then you know if Connor and I are meant to be together."

Manny gave me a curious look, like I should know the answer to this already. "Why do you think he went through all the trouble to find you? He's been searching for you his entire life, even before he was old enough to understand why he felt incomplete. I saw this the day he came into the world. He was born looking for you."

My heart raced. Manny continued. "His innate sense told him you didn't exist in this time, but he wasn't satisfied with that. He was just ten years old when he asked me for guidance. I told him that one day you would find each other."

Once Manny said this, I knew: Connor had always been there, inside me, around me, of me. He was my twin soul, entangled and inseparable, until we were ripped apart and flung in different directions on a timeline that stretched for eons. Time had acted like a thick membrane, our sense of connection passing through like fluid, but never allowing us to meet. Until he had come crashing through.

"It's true, then. We are meant to be together." Joy flooded me and I laughed softly before I realized I'd cut Manny off. I was expecting him to share in my happiness, but found his troubled gaze.

"Yes. And no," he answered.

Distress wasted no time crushing the joy right out of me. "Well, which is it? Are we supposed to be together or not?"

"You are." Manny's expression was dark, and his tone pushed me to find the right conclusion.

Suddenly, I understood. I'd probably known it all along but hadn't been willing to listen to my inner voice as it wove the tapestry of dissatisfying truths. I'd only seen the black-and-white possibilities. Clarity came to me then. I wasn't prepared for the answer I encountered.

"But not now," I said. "We weren't supposed to find each other now."

Manny leaned in and fiddled with the strap on my dress, then smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from my lap. "Connor didn't know how to tell you. So I will. The time-space continuum has been very cruel to you. If the workings of the universe were fair, you and Connor would have been born during the same time, in the same city, and been allowed to live out your destiny together. But it wasn't meant to happen in this lifetime, you see? Perhaps the next one."

My sandwich dropped to the plate. "But you just said..."

"Please understand that your and Connor's auras are so entwined, it's nearly impossible for me to tell when and how you will be together. I only know that you will share a life and that your bond will be inseparable."

I grabbed Manny's arm. "But we found each other now. There are a hundred and sixty years between us, and that couldn't keep us apart. That has to count for something."

"True, you've already done the impossible. I've never seen such a strong connection between two people."

"But what else do you see? Do we get to live in Portland together? Or West Region? Can you see us getting old together? Do I lose him? Does he fall in love with someone else? What do you see?"

Manny gently removed my grip and pressed my hand between both of his. "I see all of that and more. Echo, the two of you have so defied the odds that not even I can see the true outcome. In all reality, it is unlikely that your relationship will survive much longer. You were never meant to be in West Region. We were never meant to have this conversation."

My heart was dangerously close to crashing. I grasped at the one remaining thread of possibility.

"There's still a chance," I said, "that it could work out in this lifetime."

"Chances are slim, but yes, it may happen."

I wanted to scream with frustration, or cry, or both. Manny would have none of it. He tilted my chin with his knuckle until we were eye to eye. "In the absence of our dream, we must live for today."

"Connor said that, too. Live for today." Now I understood the pain I'd seen on his face when he'd said it. 
Chapter 30

With the pads of my fingers, I dabbed the dampness from the corners of my eyes.

Manny slapped the crumbs off his lap. "Now, Butterfly, we still haven't decided on a dress."

He took one look at me and said, "Yes, I know you have decided, but I can't very well send you to the ceremony wearing red. So we'll find a way to make everyone happy. Stand, please."

I took Manny's hand and rose to my feet. Red fabric cascaded around my ankles.

"You will wear deep green for the ceremony, black for dinner, and red for dancing."

I brightened. "I get to wear three dresses?"

"You will use your power to change the color and style of your dress between events."

"Me? I don't know how to do that."

"It's quite simple."

He ran me through the exercise, with my eyes closed and my focus drawing to a single point. When that pinpoint of light filled my vision, I pictured my dress as it was and then pictured it as the one I wanted it to be. I opened my eyes, looked down, and saw myself sheathed in the black, jeweled dress. I threw my fists in the air.

"Yes! This is the kind of trick a girl can use. If Connor would have taught me this up front, I would have listened to him better."

The blonde-haired servant slinked in and picked up the tray, again avoiding my eyes. As she headed for the door, she snuck a glance at me. I wanted to ask Manny what this was about, but he had a faraway look, like he was in mid-conversation with someone only he could see.

"I'm needed on the first floor," he said. "Connor will be up shortly to collect you, but first, a few final instructions. You can change your dress in the privacy of the lady's lounge, or make a fabulous entrance and do it as you step into the Grand Hall. Wherever you're most comfortable. Just please remember to alter the shoes, too, yes? We don't want any fashion disasters."

My palms dampened at the thought of showing off my ability among a crowd of onlookers. "Nobody's going to look at me weird if my dress suddenly changes color?"

Manny looked at me with adoration. "This is West Region, Echo. Enjoy your power. You are so very gifted."

Manny's words were like gold. My power wasn't a detriment here, it was an expectation. Darn right I was going to use it in public. While I waited for Connor, I practiced shifting the dress from one color and style to another until I could make the change in a matter of a few strides. The shoes were harder for some reason, but I eventually got the hang of it.

Now I waited, alone. I thought about what Manny said about Connor and me, and was fully obsessing over what "a slim chance" really meant. I caught myself chewing on a cuticle and laced my hands in my lap. Waiting was driving me crazy. I decided to look for a bathroom. Manny's studio didn't have one, so I trekked down the hall in the direction Connor brought me. I searched the long corridor, but no luck. Cut down another hallway, and then another, doubling back and forth until I finally found what I was looking for.

When I came out, I stopped at the threshold, uncertain how to get back to the studio. All the hallways looked the same. I took a left and hoped for the best. In the quiet of the mansion, my worries crept up on me again. I fixated on the circumstances that acted for and against our "slim chance." I wished I had some inkling of what Mr. McCabe had said to Connor. I wished for a sign to tell me what direction Connor and I were headed. Very funny, I thought, I can't even figure out which direction will take me back to Manny's studio.

I'd ended up in an abandoned section of the mansion. Doorways on either side of the corridor opened to one empty room after another. Where the hallway dead-ended, I peered into the very last room, expecting it to be vacant. Instead, I found an unmade bed and guy's shoes scattered on the floor. Clothing, familiar in their color and style, was tossed over the back of a chair. Textbooks teetered in a messy stack on a crumpled comforter. I made out one of the titles, "Pioneering Writers of the 22nd Century."

This was Connor's room, and I'd discovered one of his secrets: my polished, precise, super-talented boyfriend was a slob. I thought back to our first training sessions, when I'd been so intimidated by his sternness. He wasn't so perfect after all and boy, would I have fun teasing him about it later.

My eyes landed on the far wall. "What the--"

Hanging above his desk was a painting of a ten-year-old girl with wild brown hair and sad brown eyes. It was a portrait of me.

I high-stepped over the pile of shoes and took a closer look at the picture. Whoever had painted it had captured every detail accurately, right down to the purple hoodie I'd gotten for Christmas and the three freckles on each cheek. I'd worn that hoodie nearly every day, including to the advanced painting class at the high school that winter. There, I'd painted Connor's portrait without ever knowing about him.

Or had I? Did I, like Connor, struggle with a longing for someone I'd never met and transfer that pain onto the canvas? The girl in the picture was so foreign to me now that it was impossible to connect with her, to remember what she thought or cared about. I only recognized the distant look she carried, the one I still wore when my classmates ignored me. Which was often.

"How did you get all the way down here?" Connor said from behind me.

"Went to the bathroom. Got lost." My eyes never left the portrait. Connor put his hands on my bare arms.

"I used to paint a lot," he said by way of explanation. "One night, I had a dream that was so vivid, when I woke up I couldn't believe it wasn't real. I painted the only thing I remembered clearly."

"It's me."

"I know. I should have told you about it."

"It's okay. I've got one of you, too. When I was that age, I painted you as you are now, except I added a scar on your forehead."

"I've never had a scar there."

My mind reeled back in time, to the class, to the vision that prompted the painting. Had I made that part up? I shook my head in confusion.

"I don't get any of this. It's like somehow I knew you were part of my future." I paused and said carefully, "The way you've known about me since you were born."

Connor breathed into my hair. "Manny told you everything."

"I wish you would have told me."

"It didn't seem fair to, when I didn't know how it would all work out. Why didn't you tell me about your painting?"

"I thought it would sound crazy."

Connor rested his forearm across my collarbone so that his current ran across my bare throat. He pressed his chest against my back. "So, I was wondering something," he said.

"Yeah?"

"What do you think about..." he paused. "Would you like to spend more time in West Region?"

My heart simultaneously swelled and pinched with uncertainty. When I'd found the painting on his wall, I'd taken it as the positive sign I'd been looking for. But this sudden invitation felt burdened with a condition.

"Your dad is letting me come back?" I asked, cautious. Maybe Connor had talked him into extending the two-week limit.

"No, he got pulled into a meeting before we could talk. This whole time, I was busy helping the crew set up the pavilion."

Oh great. His dad was going to flip if I began showing up without his permission.

When I didn't answer, Connor asked, "Don't you like it here?"

"Of course I do."

"I thought some days after school, we'd hang out at your house and some days, we'd come here."

"But what about your dad?" I asked. "And the two-week time frame?"

Connor's body tensed. "You know what? If I'm going to be the next leader of this region, then I should get to choose who I spend time with. So, what do you say?"

"I say yes!" I spun to face him and green silk rustled around my ankles.

Connor's lips curled in a wicked smile. He took a step back to get the full effect of me in the green dress.

"You like?" I asked.

"It'll do." He sunk his lips into mine.

*****

The noise in the back garden was deafening. Hundreds of people were already seated and more were filing in. I craned my neck to look down the front row because surely we'd have the best seats in the house, right? Then, as Connor coaxed me toward a short set of stairs, I realized that our seats were on the stage.

"Seriously?" It was all I could utter.

"Everyone will be watching my father speak. They'll hardly even notice us." Which was the biggest fib I'd ever heard because as soon as we mounted those steps, we became the center of attention. From the pointing and stares coming from the crowd, you'd think we were royalty. Connor was, in a way.

I set my shoulders and carefully placed one high heel in front of the other until we got to a table where two empty chairs awaited us. Mr. McCabe was already seated next to a glass podium. He watched our arrival with hard eyes. I nodded to him. It was the only act of deference I could think of aside from curtsying. Mr. McCabe did not nod back.

When the crowd's reaction to Connor and I didn't wane, Mr. McCabe hastily signaled for the host to proceed with the event.

Connor clasped my hand under the table, and I relaxed enough to take in the setting. Earlier in the day, the garden had been thick with shrubs and flowers. Now, stadium seating replaced them and people sat on thick cushions that hovered overhead without support. I had no doubt that once the people cleared out, the seating would disappear and the garden would be restored back to its natural state, probably with the snap of a finger.

The host stepped to the podium. He talked about how it was a great honor to celebrate the anniversary of their leader's command, how the McCabe family had devoted themselves to providing the region with decades of security and integrity, and how if it pleased the people, the region would continue to thrive under the watch of President McCabe and his successor.

At this, the host motioned to Connor and the crowd cheered. Mr. McCabe smiled at his son with deep warmth. Pride thrummed through my chest as Connor rose and waved to his people.

Mr. McCabe took his place at the podium. He thanked the crowd and joked with them. I didn't understand most of what he was talking about, but he had everyone laughing so hard, tears streamed down their cheeks. Then his tone sobered and he spoke about the challenges they faced with East Region. How it was his life's mission to bring peace to the people of the East and re-unify the country. When Mr. McCabe finished, the crowd jumped to their feet and applauded with such fervor, the vibration rattled my bones. I was clapping as hard as anyone, beaming with hope and pride as though I'd lived in West Region all my life.

With that, everyone pooled toward the Great Hall. Every few steps, Connor had to stop to shake someone's hand. His other hand rested firmly on my waist. The women smiled warmly and the men lightly kissed my fingers. More than once, I caught them glance at one another when we parted.

We were about to cross the threshold into the Hall when I pulled Connor out of the flow.

"What's going on?" he asked.

I inhaled deeply. Took a moment to prepare. Then I tugged my perplexed boyfriend back toward the entrance. "All right, let's do this," I said.

"What exactly are we-"

I hopped over the threshold. Quick as a spark, my gown transformed into the elegant black sheath. Guests who caught my magic act clapped and smiled. Connor's cheeks dimpled.

"Remind me to thank Manny," he whispered in my ear. " You look even more stunning in this dress." 
Chapter 31

Connor continued to be the center of attention long after we took our seat in the Great Hall. I was so mesmerized by the way he interacted with the citizens of his region that I hardly noticed my dinner. Everything about him captivated me, as if it were the first time we'd met: the way his mouth moved when he spoke to the guests; how his eyes flitted from my face to my plate, a gentle signal that I was to eat and enjoy; the feather-light kiss on my earlobe. Connor's affection won me a toxic gaze from Mr. McCabe, but not even this could stamp out my happiness.

During dinner, everyone's attention turned upward to watch a troupe of airborne acrobats. This being West Region, the performers flipped and spun overhead without a trapeze or net. One particularly daring acrobat dove in and stole the wineglass right out of Mr. McCabe's hand. Mr. McCabe's deep laugh formed crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and I got a glimpse of a man who didn't terrify me. I tried to keep that man in mind because I needed to talk to him, to convince him how much I cared about Connor and charm him into giving us more than just two weeks together.

Getting a private moment wouldn't be easy. Mr. McCabe was constantly surrounded by guests or distracted by the entertainment. Now, one of the acrobats was performing on our table. The man, hardly bigger than a twelve-year-old boy, did a series of handsprings and twisting somersaults across the surface. I clapped ridiculously loudly.

Then he bowed to me and kissed my hand. "And who is this lovely creature with the face of a princess? Are you from the East?"

The table went quiet and all eyes were on me. Now my stomach was doing handsprings.

"Oh, um, no. I, uh..."

Connor rose swiftly from his seat. "May I have this dance?"

"Allow me," Mr. McCabe said, and he strode to my side.

Connor stiffened.

"That would be lovely," I said.

Mr. McCabe grasped my elbow and steered me toward the ballroom floor. When we found a place among the other dancers, my confidence took a turn. I would have been out of my element in a regular ballroom, but here, couples floated across the floor--literally. They levitated elegantly, their feet moving on a cushion of air. Why hadn't Manny prepared me for this? Panic skittered along my spine and I wondered if I should just wing it and try to levitate under pressure.

But Mr. McCabe didn't question my limitations, he assumed them. He placed one hand firmly on my waist, took my hand in his, and we shuffled across the floor. I moved rigidly to the orchestra music.

"Loosen your arms and follow my lead," he said, picking up on my obvious lack of ballroom training.

I tried to relax and keep pace with him. I lifted my chin and smiled. "I think it's wonderful how you take care of the refugees," I said in my most adult voice. "Connor told me that you house them on the compound until they're ready to start over on their own."

"We take care of people here in a way your culture can't even conceive. The citizens are well aware of their good fortune and nothing is taken for granted."

"It really shows. I've never seen anything like West Region." I cringed at how naïve this sounded. "Of course I wouldn't. It doesn't exist yet. It's just that we don't have any place where people can use their power. West Region is like an oasis. I'm so honored to be here."

I tried to maintain eye contact, but Mr. McCabe nodded and smiled at the other dancers. I was beginning to wonder if he'd even heard me. I took his aloofness as a challenge.

"Mr. McCabe, sir. I want to apologize for intruding on your celebration. If I had any say, I would have asked Connor to introduce us on a quieter day."

His knuckles pressed into my back. "Connor does have a way of pushing people. Too often, his willfulness works against him. Take you, for instance. He violated lab protocol just for the sake of giving you a few training sessions, or so he claims. He could have finished without my ever knowing about it and resumed his life in West Region. Instead, he makes excuses as to why he must continue to travel through the portal."

Static built in my fingers. "Well, he's still showing me how to use my ability. I would have been lost without him. We also care for each other a lot."

"Yes, he's told me how he rescued you from certain self-destruction. It's a very enchanting story, but Connor is not a fairytale prince; he is the next leader of a very complex region. He seems to have you convinced that you have a future together."

My composure shriveled and my errant energy swirled around us. Couples threw an odd look our way and gave us space. Mr. McCabe faked a chuckle, like my wacky energy was our private joke. I didn't join in.

"Your son means everything to me. Nothing will change that," I said with more nerve than I had.

"Now, there is something we have in common. What do your parents think about your relationship with my son?"

"Um, well, they don't know about us."

"Ah. Why doesn't that surprise me? And if you and Connor were to become serious--" he hissed the last word, "how do you think your parents would react to this unusual arrangement?"

"We're pretty serious already," I said. "And I don't know how my parents would take it, but I'd do anything to be with Connor."

"So you're the kind of girl who would abandon your family and, let's say for the sake of example, move to another city or country for someone you hardly know?"

"Well, no, but..."

"But you expect Connor to do that for you?"

"I, I guess we haven't really..."

"No, I'm sure you haven't." Mr. McCabe said sharper than he must have intended because he eased his grip on me and cleared his throat. "I do understand your dilemma. You've found a place where you can use your ability without repercussion. You've fallen for my son. I can't blame you for wanting to be here. West Region must seem like utopia."

Mr. McCabe danced us to the middle of the floor. I stumbled to catch up and stepped not-so-lightly on his foot. He winced. I opened my mouth to apologize, but he broke in.

"Did you enjoy your time with Manny?"

I nodded just as Manny twirled by with his dance partner. They floated across the floor, as delicate as rose petals on water.

"Manny was one of the first to escape from East Region. He's been with our family for more than a generation. After the Imperators took over East Region's Statehouse, we saw a huge influx of refugees. Conditions in the East were always abominable, but the Imperators caused mass atrocities. They starved and executed their paranormally gifted citizens in an effort to eliminate any possible attempts at rebellion."

I didn't understand why Mr. McCabe wanted to talk about Manny or the Imperators, but I desperately needed to steer the conversation back to Connor. Just as I was about to, a man floated past, staring at me with curiosity. Mr. McCabe felt the defensiveness in my aura.

"The citizens are trying to figure out where you're from," he explained. "Nobody can quite pin down the odd sensation they get from the girl who is wandering the compound with my son. You're clearly not from West Region, everyone can sense that. Only a select few of us are aware of Connor's escapades through time." His tone was clipped now. "Fewer know that he has fallen for a girl from another world, and who would ever guess that he would disobey his father's directive and bring her here? Adding to the confusion, they sense your deeply repressed power. It's astonishingly similar to refugees from the East."

"Would it be a problem if I were?" I asked, confused.

My reaction tripped Mr. McCabe's fuse. "Of course not. The citizens in the East are respected here. You would know that if you had any idea what they endured. The Imperators enslave an individual's power and use it for their own purposes. They slaughter and terrorize their citizens to keep them under control."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"The Imperators want nothing more than to do the same thing in West Region. We devote ourselves to protecting our beloved territory. This is the world we live in, Echo, the world that Connor wakes up to every morning, and the challenges he will face as our next leader. He doesn't need any distractions. I've made my feelings clear to Connor. It's best if your relationship is severed immediately."

My body went numb. "Connor would never agree to that. If he's going to be in charge, doesn't he have some say in who he gets to be with?"

"You underestimate how persuasive I can be." His mouth bent into a confident smile and his eyes settled on a couple dancing at the end of the ballroom. It was Connor and a girl who'd been sitting at our table. She'd been seated two down from Mr. McCabe and had graced Connor with an occasional flirtatious smile. She'd also taken my seat as soon as Mr. McCabe whisked me to the dance floor. Now they leaned into one another, their levitated steps in synch, laughing easily.

"They make a striking couple, don't you think? Both born and raised in West Region. They dated for a while, before he went on his wild trek to find you."

With that, Mr. McCabe delivered me back to my chair. I sat, motionless. The Great Hall seemed to spin around me, like I was caught in the center of an out-of-control merry-go-round. Light and color ran together, and noises warped. I closed my eyes to ward off the rising nausea.

Someone touched my elbow and I vaguely heard, "Are you all right?"

It wasn't Connor's voice, so I only nodded.
Chapter 32

I stayed in my chair at the dinner table and tried to forget the horrible picture Mr. McCabe had imprinted in my mind. I watched the acrobats flying overhead and pretended to be enthralled by their tumbling act.

Warm, electric fingers trailed along my neck.

"Any chance I can still get that dance?" Connor asked.

It's funny how the sound of one voice can melt away the turmoil writhing inside a person. While nothing could make me forget Mr. McCabe's ugly words, Connor's voice was something of an anti-venom. In that moment, I could almost have asked him to blindly jump through the portal with me and land in some unknown destination, light years away from both our worlds. We'd start over, together, and defy the "slim chance" imposed on us by a heartless universe.

I took Connor's hand, and he led me to the dance floor. I wrapped my arms around his neck and we swayed in unison, my feet finding purchase on the solid floor. I pressed my ear against his chest. Let the steady beating of his heart carry me away from my growing fear.

As we swayed gently from side to side, my feet left the floor. We were floating. Probably through Connor's power because I felt sapped of mine.

"No transparency," he said as he studied my hand. "You're adapting better than I ever imagined. So, do you want to come back this weekend?"

"Maybe it's better if we stay in Portland." Away from his father, who would never warm up to me, no matter how hard I tried. And away from that girl.

"But it's safer here, at least until they find out who killed those people in Portland. And West Region is a lot more fun." By the lilt in his voice, I got the impression he was trying to cheer me. "It's my father, isn't it? What did he say to you?"

If I told him the truth, I risked saying something horrible about his dad. If I mentioned the girl, I'd lose it for sure.

"Not now, okay? Let's just dance."

I peered up from my sanctuary against his chest. Connor scowled across the crowd. Up until Mr. McCabe's assault on my plans, this had been the best night of my life. I didn't want it to end on a downturn. Then I remembered the one last trick I had saved up.

"Twirl me," I said.

Connor released my waist and circled my arm over my head. As I spun, my dress swirled into a brilliant red. The skirt cascaded around my hips in a crimson wave. The sensation of twirling without touching the floor was breathtaking.

"You are amazing." Connor pulled me back in and held me tight against him.

The party was still going strong when we decided I should head back. When we stepped outside the Great Hall, I expected to see a pitch-black sky. It wasn't as late as I thought, though. The sun was just about to disappear on the horizon.

Carina, the girl who worked with Jaxon at the lab, met us on the walkway, sweat shining on her cheeks, busting a few ballroom moves. The party had been so big, I never even saw her in the Hall.

She smiled, all gap-toothed, when she saw me. "How are you holding up? Are you experiencing any molecular instability?"

I gave my body a quick once over. "Everything seems to be in place."

"Great," she nodded earnestly. "I love your dress!" She turned to Connor. "I'll take Echo to the lab and get set up. Your dad wants to see you in his office."

"Now? Did he say why?"

She shook her head. "Just that he needed to see you right away."

"I'll try to be quick." He jogged toward the mansion.

Carina and I walked to the Harden Center in the fading light. It seemed everyone who wasn't at the party was celebrating in the plaza. Torches burning colored flames lined the walkways, and lanterns decorated the sky. People sang, danced, flew, shape-shifted and challenged each other in friendly contests to show off their talents.

When we reached the quiet path to the Harden Center, I took a long look behind me, sad to be leaving such a cool place and wondering if I'd ever be back. Connor and his dad were probably arguing about that right now. The very idea made my blood boil. I was so sick of feeling caught in the middle.

Then why didn't I take a firmer stand? Until Mr. McCabe forbade it, I should spend every possible moment in West Region, proving to him that I was worthy of his son and showing him just how gifted I was. Also, digging up dirt on that girl Connor had danced with. But first things first.

"Carina, how long do you think I could stay here before my body..." I didn't know how to finish the sentence because I couldn't fathom the consequences.

"Before your molecular integrity begins to fail and your structure disintegrates?"

"Uh, yeah, that."

"Hmm. That's a good question. As far as I know, the longest anyone's successfully traveled through the portal is a little over forty-eight hours. I hear one time, a guy was gone for a few days and his DNA was so scrambled when he came back that Philip could hardly identify him. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. Has Connor been affected at all?"

"Not after those first few trips. We always test him when he gets back, and his system just keeps getting stronger and stronger. I'm beginning to think he could last for weeks out there."

The Harden Center was dead quiet except for our footsteps. In the lab, I waited patiently while Carina turned on and adjusted the equipment.

"What kinds of tests do you do on Connor?" I asked.

"Oh, the usual. The CKS and the stratifier." She held up the pen thingy that Connor had used on me that morning. "The vortifuge, multiphotometer. Sometimes we run more, depending on how long he's been gone."

I crinkled my brow. "Do they take long to do?"

"Not really, why?" She blinked a realization. "Are you coming back? I knew it! You're dating in both worlds now, huh?"

"Well, that depends on a few things." Understatement of the century, I thought.

"Let's full-scan you. Oo-oo! We'll run a gamut test, too. Then we'll know better how long you can stay." She waved me into a leather chair.

I slipped off my heels--omigod it felt good to be out of them--and nestled into the chair. Carina clipped monitors to my fingertips. She pointed a light into my eyes and a robotic arm scanned me from head to toe. Then we moved on to the next test, and the next, and the entirety of our conversation was summed up as:

"Wow," she would say.

"What?" I'd repeat.

When we finished, I hung over her shoulder and looked, clueless, at the monitor full of charts and numbers.

"Was that 'wow' as in 'very cool' or 'wow, I'm going to die a slow painful death'?" I asked.

Carina pointed to lines and dots on the screen. "The functionality ratings are extraordinarily high and assimilation results fall within point zero eight on the solar scale."

"English, please?" I begged.

She twisted her mouth, wondering how to best dumb it down. "Well, your results are really close to the locals. We haven't full-scanned many visitors, but over the decades, a few people have dropped in. They always rate very different from us, but you..." Her voiced trailed. "It's almost like you belong here."

My heart burned in my chest. Until one second ago, so much of my life had felt like one wrong event after another, a series of glitches that played out in a displaced world and began long before tele-chaosing disrupted my life.

But now, it all made sense. I was one of those mistakes that happened in nature, like a two-headed snake or a human baby born with a tail, except I wasn't plagued with a deformity. The timing of my existence was in error.

Why did my mother walk out just hours after I was born?

I was a mistake.

Why didn't my dad know I existed until he got a phone call from the hospital?

Mistake.

Why were Connor and I born more than a century apart?

Mistake.

Why was I born at a point in history when my ability could get me killed?

Mistake.

Maybe I belonged in West Region; maybe the universe was trying to correct this error. This explanation probably wouldn't get me far with Mr. McCabe, but when I came back, I'd definitely tell him about the lab results. In the meantime, Connor and I would find a way to make this work, even if it meant traveling back and forth daily.

"Carina, how long do you think I could stay without getting sick?"

"Hmm. I'd have to take a closer look, but--"

Carina was cut off when the lab doors swooshed open and Jaxon strode in.

"Party's over," he said. He tossed me my backpack. It hit me square in the chest and I coughed air.

"We're still waiting for Connor," Carina said.

"Looks like he's changed his mind. You have orders to escort her back." Something in Jaxon's knowing smirk made my stomach fall.

Carina and I exchanged a look.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

"It's not really any of my business." He stepped to the control panel and jerked his head toward the portal. I glowered at Jaxon, hating that he had the power to dismiss me like this.

"Should I change?" I didn't want to cause any more trouble by leaving with Manny's dress.

"Keep it. Consider it a consolation gift."

My body heated. "Consolation for what?"

But Carina pulled me through the metallic doors, and the portal's hum made it impossible for Jaxon to hear me. I looped my backpack over my shoulders and Carina wrapped her arms around me.

We stepped into the gaping hole. There was a burst of light, and we arrived in my bedroom. I swayed from the familiar sensations of disorientation and noodly legs. This time, I shook off the fog and stared at Carina until I could make out the black lines around her irises.

She gave me a head-to-toe glance. "Anything feel out of place?"

I ignored the question. "What did he mean by consolation prize?"

"Don't take Jaxon seriously. He's a jerk. I don't know why Philip puts up with him."

"Do you think Connor changed his mind about coming to the lab?" I asked.

"I'm sure it's nothing." But she found a place to look, and it wasn't at me.

"Carina?"

"I'm sure Connor's mad that he didn't get to bring you back himself. It's still early. Maybe he'll come by later."

I tried to cling to her reasoning. She made sense, except she didn't know what Mr. McCabe wanted to do to me and Connor. Sever is what he'd said.

"Connor was dancing with his ex-girlfriend tonight." I hadn't wanted to sound like a jealous spy, but I had to know. "They looked pretty happy out there."

"They did?" Carina's brows arched. "Don't worry about her. The breakup was bad. Her dad and President McCabe work together on the Council, so she and Connor get stuck going to a lot of the same events. They have to be decent to each other." She added this last bit like it should be enough to erase my worries.

"Let Connor know I'll stay up late in case he wants to come by." I forced a cheery voice.

"Will do."

After Carina fizzed back to West Region, I lay on my bed and closed my eyes. It took some discipline to shut out the image of Connor holding the other girl on the dance floor.

Weariness set in and my limbs became dreamy and light. I imagined I was back in Connor's arms, floating across the ballroom, my ear pressed to his chest, and I fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
Chapter 33

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick. Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

I lay on the living room couch, listening to the wall clock count away the seconds. The space between ticks grew longer and longer until the lengthening silence screamed volumes.

That's what it was like while I waited for Connor to beam himself back into my world. Months, years went by without any sign of him. At least that's how the past couple of weeks felt.

The red dress hung in my closet next to my hoodies and tees, a frustrating reminder of the life that I dared to look forward to. Every day, I held the dress to my face and inhaled Connor's scent, that otherworldly fragrance that embedded itself in the fabric when we held each other on the dance floor.

To keep myself occupied, I created a game where I searched for him everywhere--in the lunch line, among the crowds as I drove to and from school, in every window reflection. It was much the same as when we'd first met: I'd catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye and hope would bubble up like a mountain spring before I realized I was looking at my own reflection.

For the first couple of weeks, I fully expected Connor to show up 'any time now.' When he didn't, I had to find ways to keep the anticipation from busting me in two.

I took a clothing catalog that came in the mail, laid out all the shirts I never wore, and had me some Manny-style magical fun. Soon, I'd turned the boring stuff that Kimber had bought me into tops worthy of a Rodeo Drive boutique. What I didn't have was a way to explain where I'd gotten them. So I had to pretend to go shopping.

"Kimber, can I have some money for some new clothes?" I asked.

"Why don't we just get you a credit card?"

"Um, sure, but I want to go this week, and a card'll take a while to get here."

I wasn't really heading to the mall, but I had to make up an excuse for all the awesome new shirts I'd created.

"Check my wallet. You can have whatever's there," she said.

I removed the generous bunch of twenty-dollar bills and thanked her profusely. Then I tucked the money in my dresser and promised myself I'd remember to get Kimber something really nice for her birthday this year.

School days blurred together, and about the time I was desperate for a new diversion, I found the word psycho written on my locker in permanent ink. I could have made a complaint at the school office, and even flat-out accused Raquelle, but that would have taken all of ten minutes. I needed an activity that commanded my free time for at least a few days.

I went online to Raquelle's Pinterest account, where she'd posted dozens of photos of herself with her latest boy toy. I printed one out, using the best quality setting. I wanted her blonde hair to gleam and her brilliant white teeth to dazzle on the paper. I scissored the guy out of the picture and dropped him into the garbage can.

I jammed a thumbtack through the top of the fresh print and into my wall. Stood back a few feet. Raised my palm to the picture of Raquelle and thought back to the way she'd flirted with Connor on that first day. With all my energy focused through my palm, I blasted an electric bolt straight into her head. Well, sort of. I'd only done the laser trick once before, and that was with Connor to coach me, so the energy I sent barely shifted the paper.

This went on for a string of nights until a laser-like flash flowed out of my palm and zapped the photo dead center.

"Yow!" I jumped. My palm burned as though a hot spike had been jammed into it. I hopped around the room, shaking the pain out of my hand, and laughing at the coin-sized mark that now blackened Raquelle's cheek.

Raquelle hadn't spoken to me since I got back, but there was something about her that brought out the monster in me. Besides, I justified, if the factions were still a danger, then I should be practicing anyway. The truth was, I'd never felt safer. Mr. Crane had gone out of town unexpectedly and rescheduled our appointment. The murders had stopped. Ryan Hoffman was still missing, but rumor had it he'd run away from home.

I passed the days waiting for Connor. Each night, I stared into the darkness, watching for that spark that would flare into human form. And each morning, before I opened my eyes, I imagined that he was there, his face hovering above mine, ready to wake me with his alluring kiss.

In a quiet place far, far back in my mind, I rationalized why he hadn't shown up yet. It was his father, of course. By now, his dad would have told him we couldn't see each other. Mr. McCabe might even have banned Connor from the portal, but Connor had assured me he'd find a way to come back: I'll find a way to get to you.

One afternoon, I gathered the dress against my cheek. I inhaled. I smelled nothing. I moved my nose to another spot, and then another. There was no trace of Connor left in the silk. Slowly, like a sound wave from a far-off explosion, shock rippled down my body.

All the signs that I'd ignored since my return began to pile up. I didn't need a calendar to tell me what I'd refused to see before. Up until the dance, we hadn't spent more than a week apart. Now, the two-week reprieve that Mr. McCabe had granted us was long past. Connor said he'd come for me, no matter what, and I was certain he would have done so by now. Even if he was unable to travel, at the very least, he would have sent Carina, or even Jaxon, to update me on what was happening. I was sure of it.

Something had changed. There was only one possible explanation.

I clutched the dress and scanned through the harsh events of that final night: Mr. McCabe's grip, solid as a steel plate against my back. His smile as he watched his son dance with his ex-girlfriend. What was it Mr. McCabe had said? You underestimate how persuasive I can be.

And then, as if following a script, Carina met us outside the Great Hall. Connor ran to meet his father. Jaxon arrived and quickly shuffled me through the portal with the dress, the consolation gift.

The grand prize was Connor. The loser went home with a dress. Looking back, it all seemed sickeningly well planned.

I sunk my face into the fabric one last time. Connor's scent was gone. The illusion that I'd clung to evaporated like a fine mist in desert air. Mr. McCabe had severed us. Clean. Fast. He had convinced Connor to move on with his life.

Mine came to a screeching halt.

*****

"Echo, you have to eat." Kimber sat across the counter, a pizza box flipped open between us. Becca was there too. She'd forgiven me the moment she found me slumped at my locker, my eyes red and puffy from crying. She'd been trying to cheer me up ever since, splitting her time between me and Lucas.

Becca tried to tempt me by twisting a long string of cheese onto her finger and into her mouth. The smell of hot pepperoni, sausage, and spicy red sauce filled the kitchen. The very sight of food made me gag. My clothes were hanging off my already slight frame and my skin was ashen.

"I mean it this time, or I'm taking you to a doctor," Kimber said. A tiny pucker formed above the Botoxed bridge of her nose. She was serious.

I picked at the sausage and stuffed a piece in my mouth. It chewed like rubber. Tasted like glue. I forced myself to swallow.

"Happy?" I asked.

Kimber shifted back on her stool. Her pained expression jolted me.

"I'm sorry, Kimber." I pulled a slice onto my plate and ate bits of the crust. Then I sank back into the numbness that had consumed my mind and body. I wanted to descend into the vast gray nothingness that clouded my vision every day since I'd stuffed the red dress into the back corner of my closet.

"No guy is worth this," Becca said. "Just give me the word and I'll shrink his winkie to the size of a raisin."

Kimber gave her a strange look. "You know, whenever I broke up with a guy, I always went out with another one right away. My masseuse has a son your age. Why don't I have him give you a call?"

The crust gathered in a glutinous clump on my tongue. "No, thank you."

Kimber tsked. She seemed bound by some maternal code to come to my rescue, even though I'd brushed away all her advice.

"I once caught a guy cheating on me, and the only thing that made me feel better was to burn all his clothes," she said, a little too chipper.

"Oooo, that sounds like fun. Let's burn something of his," Becca said.

I looked at them through bleary eyes. "Connor didn't cheat on me." Saying his name out loud drove a spike through my soul.

"I didn't mean that he did, only that sometimes it helps to do something really radical after a breakup, like tear up his picture, or throw away his CD collection." Kimber leaned in. "Or slash his tires. I've always wondered how that would feel."

I barely heard any of this. "Do you think he's with someone now?" I descended a little lower.

"No, honey. He's probably hurting just as much as you are."

"Oh great, he's gone back to his ex-girlfriend, hasn't he? Oh, I bet his dad just loves that. That perfect little West Region priss!" I stuffed my face into my hands.

Kimber grabbed me in a hug and uttered soothing words into my ear. I rocked into her embrace until a familiar pressure clawed its way up my back.

"I gotta go." I scrambled off the stool and ran to my bedroom. This probably distressed Kimber and Becca even more, but if I didn't go, and fast, they'd see me contort with agony and would rush me to the hospital, because the day the illusion broke, I'd pledged I would never use my power again. I swore I'd never even let a sliver of it escape. Any trace of my ability--the tiniest flicker of a lamp, the wave of a curtain--reminded me of what we had, drove a dagger into my heart.

So I locked it down.

As it turned out, the one promise Connor made that stuck was that the more I used my gift, the stronger it would get. Now, it fought for release like a caged animal. I held it in no matter how much it hurt.

And hurt it did. Times like these, when I reeled from Kimber's careless comments, a volcanic pressure filled my spinal cord and burned into the back of my head. It built up until I thought my skull would split. Waves of pain seared my stomach. I doubled over and panted, clutched by dry heaves. An excruciating hour later, when it let up, I lay crumpled in a corner.

The nights that followed these episodes were bad, too. My muscles clenched all night long against the torrent of hateful, bitter energy that threatened to roll off me. Mornings, I awoke drenched in sweat.

Kimber's advice only made me realize just how little I had to remind me of Connor. I didn't have any pictures to tear up. Not even a phone number to delete. I didn't know where the necklace was and I didn't care. But the phone had been a gift. The dress, too, in a way. 
Chapter 34

That Saturday, I drove through the pounding rain to a quiet spot near the river and parked in an empty lot in the industrial district. I wadded the dress under my arm and climbed out of the car. The rain came down with such force, I was momentarily blinded by the drops hitting my face. In three steps, I was soaked. In six steps, I stood at the railing overlooking the river.

Swollen from a solid week of rain, the river had broken its banks and swept trees, car tires, lumber, and the bloated carcass of a small animal into its current. The debris flowed like a watery trash heap through the middle of the city.

I fished my phone from my pocket and threw it in a long arc. I lost sight of it before it hit the water.

The dress was rain-soaked when I shoved it over the railing. It fell, a dead red mass, toward the slate gray water. The wind seized it and thrust it toward the far shore until it was no more than a bloody splotch against the flat, lifeless sky. A crosscurrent whipped the fabric into a red streak and plunged it into the cold river.

I climbed into my car, sopping wet and shivering. The windows fogged from the scant heat coming off my body. I turned the defrosters on high and cleared a spot on my windshield with my sleeve. I put the car in reverse. Through the rear glass, I made out the shape of a vehicle blocking me in. I smacked my fist on the console. Who was so stupid to park directly behind me?

There was a tap on my window. Outside, a man hovered under an umbrella. I figured it was a security guard, about to tell me to get off private property, which I obviously was trying to do.

I jammed my finger on the button and dropped the window a few inches. Mr. Crane peered in through the crack.

"Are you having car trouble?" His fingers curled over the top of the open window.

"Why would I be having car trouble?" I snapped. I made no effort to hide my foul mood. Mr. Crane's aura was steel.

"It's an odd place to park. What are you doing down here?"

"Nothing. What are you doing?"

"I'm on my way home from the office and spotted you. I'm also wondering why you missed our appointment this morning. Kimber and I waited and I eventually ran the tests without you."

"I completely forgot." Yeah, right. He'd gotten back to town mid-week and rescheduled our appointment. Nobody asked me if I wanted to go. They just signed me up.

"Luckily, I have the afternoon free. Why don't you follow me back to the office and we can do it now?"

"Because I'm not interested. I never wanted to be a part of your study, and Kimber made the appointment without even asking."

Mr. Crane's jaw tightened. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I've got better things to do." I didn't like being rude to people but Mr. Crane kind of deserved it. He acted like I owed him. I ramped up to tell him what I really thought about his stupid experiment when I realized he'd stopped listening.

Mr. Crane took a long, slow look at the river, his eyes narrowing like he noticed for the first time how cold and fast and dirty it had become. He swung his gaze across the empty lot, past the buildings that were closed for the weekend. His aura darkened. We were the only two people around for blocks. His eyes dropped onto me. Wisps of hair from his nearly bare scalp plastered to his forehead. Rain dripped down his face, and dark thoughts seemed to form behind his eyes. I pressed into my seat.

Just then, a couple of joggers splashed along the road behind us, snapping Mr. Crane out of his trance.

"Lies have a way of catching up with us, don't you think?" Threat was thick in his tone. "You know, this isn't a safe place for a girl to be alone. Ryan Hoffman's body was pulled from the river not far from here."

"Ryan is dead?"

"It's a tragedy, a young boy losing his life like that. The investigators say he died from head trauma." His eyes settled on mine. "Like the others."

My face went white. Mr. Crane's cheek twitched, and I swear he was holding back a smile. Thick, tarry blackness swooped off him and into the car, so dense with power and hatred that I nearly choked on it.

"Be very careful, Echo."

I hit the window button and the glass rose. Mr. Crane pressed down on the window until his knuckles grew white. He jerked his fingers away before it closed on them. He walked back to his car.

My hands shook, but I tried to compare Mr. Crane's auric energy with what I'd felt at the library. Trying to do a match after so many weeks was impossible.

I'd sensed enough to suspect that Mr. Crane knew about my ability and that he might try to hurt me. The only evidence of this--his frightening aura--would never stand up in court. But if something happened to me, if I ever went missing, or worse, then I wanted Mr. Crane's name at the top of the suspect list.

The second I got home, I looked for Kimber. I wanted to tell her about my run-in with Mr. Crane and at least tell her about the encounter by the river and how I'd felt threatened.

I found Kimber curled on her bed with Tito, weeping. Mr. Crane had told her about Ryan. Why he continued to haunt her with these grisly murders was a mystery to me. The poor woman's emotions were fragile as china.

I lay with her, stroking her hair until she fell asleep. The more I thought about my accusations, the less fired up I was to tell Kimber. What exactly did I expect her to do? Confront Mr. Crane? Keep it to herself and add to her emotional burden? The best thing would be to wait and talk to my dad the next time he came home.

*****

"How'd you think you did?"

Becca and I had just finished a physics exam. Her question made me smile because I caught her copying my answers.

"I'm pretty sure we both got an A," I teased.

"Yeah, thanks for saving me. Lucas and I were supposed to study last night but..." She trailed off when she sensed someone coming up behind us.

"It's just Raquelle," I said.

"How do you do that? Know who it is without looking?"

"Mostly from the wicked stench."

Becca eyed me curiously. After failing to develop telekinetic ability, she'd come to the conclusion that something, or someone else, must be responsible for the odd things that used to happen. I say used to because I still kept my ability under lock and key. I hadn't let it slip in weeks.

We stopped at our lockers and as soon as Becca peeled off to join Lucas, Raquelle slithered in.

"What's this I hear about Connor dumping you?" she hissed.

The very mention of his name sent shards into my heart. I swung my locker door open, hard. It narrowly missed Raquelle's nose before banging against its neighbor.

"Temper, temper. You should be nicer to me, Echo. In fact, you should be treating me like your very best friend in the entire world."

I gave her my back off, wench glare and busied myself exchanging books.

"Connor and I have a lot in common. Like, I just dumped Hunter Cassington. You know, that model from Riverdale High? We did everything together. And I mean everything." Her tongue flicked against her upper lip. "And then I got bored and now it's time to move on."

"So move, you big cow." I slammed my locker and elbowed her to get by.

"Not so fast, Echo." She snatched my arm and shoved her phone in my face. "I need Connor's phone number."

"Well, I don't have it."

"Well, find it. Pretty please?" The girl was all saccharine. When we were friends, she'd pull this routine where she acted all chummy because she knew she was about to get her way. I yanked my arm free but eased up on the attitude.

"Why don't you just look it up?"

"If I found any listing for him, you think I'd be asking you?" She pressed a few buttons on her phone. "His address. Now."

"I don't have it."

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely, so positively sure, that you're willing to risk everybody knowing just how much of a freak you are?"

Her lips smiled but her aura flickered nervously. So did mine.

"We're going to be late for class," I said.

The bell rang. I took this as an opportune time to break away.

"Have it your way. You'll see it soon enough on Instagram."

I stopped. She rocked her phone back and forth, taunting me with it.

"See what? Echo must surely be asking herself." Raquelle pressed another button and held the screen for me to see.

I was looking at Raquelle's private YouTube account. A video sat frozen on the screen. She pressed play. The video was taken in Trisha's kitchen, the night of the party. Whoever took it was hiding in the dark behind Trisha and McKyla. I stood in front of them in a fighting stance, eyes narrowed. The audio was soft, but clear.

I watched in horror as the entire, awful event played out: Trisha calling me names. My anger rising. My hand arcing through the air, sending the knife block slamming against the wall. My self-satisfied expression as my classmates tried to register what had happened. And then Raquelle's voice, low and mocking and close to the microphone: "Gotcha now, bee-otch."

The video ended. My vision swam. A mild buzzing on my brow warned me to hold myself together.

Think, Echo. THINK. "How much did it cost you?" I sputtered.

"Excuse me?"

I huffed a weak laugh. "Oh, please. All the special effects? That's pret-ty pathetic."

Every muscle in her neck clenched. "Nice try, Echo. I don't know what kind of witch you are, but if you don't get me Connor's address, everybody will see this video. Got that?"

It took every ounce of restraint not to flatten her with one punch and let her bleed all over the shiny, waxed floor. "If you post that video, I'll never give you his address. His family likes their privacy, and you'll never even find out what school he goes to." I felt a bump of hope at my fast thinking.

Raquelle hadn't considered that I might retaliate. Options flitted across her face. She weighed these against her hunger for Connor.

"You have until Thursday," she said. She swayed out of sight.

The substitute teacher barely acknowledged my tardiness. I elbowed past rowdy guys and girls and sank into my seat, dazed. Raquelle had given in pretty easily. No doubt she was now coming up with a bigger way to threaten me, just in case the video wasn't enough to wrangle me into submission.

The video. She'd held onto it for over a month, patiently waiting until she needed the perfect blackmail tool. Raquelle would have sworn Trisha and McKyla to secrecy, too, so that she'd have full power over me.

The worst possible thought occurred to me then. Was it possible that Mr. Crane had seen the footage? Intuitively, it didn't seem right. I doubted she'd share this with her dad, but if it ever went public, that would be the end for me.

I had to get into her account and delete the video, but how was I supposed to do that? Now I wished I'd told Connor about the incident at the party. He might have seen this coming. He might have been able to do something about it. Rage pooled in my stomach. Where was he when I really needed him?

Raquelle's password could be any combination in a million, and I had to figure it out by Thursday. The impossibility of my situation caused the fluorescent lights to blink erratically. Volcanic pressure surged up the back of my head. I staggered to the front of the room.

"Can I get a bathroom pass?"

The teacher was typing on her laptop, long past caring what happened in the classroom. She handed me a slip and went back to work.

I jogged past the girls' bathroom and to the auditorium entrance. A quick glance told me nobody was watching, so I slipped into the cool, dimly lit lobby. I climbed the stairs to the dark balcony. My fists clenched against my pounding pulse.

I eased into a seat, afraid that a mere flinch would set my aura loose. Instead of releasing it the way I used to, I pulled it close and tightened my grip on it. The buildup was too much, though. Little by little, threads of anger and confusion and heartache seeped into the auditorium. I pulled my legs to my chest and sank my teeth into my lip until I tasted blood. The seats around me rocked violently on their hinges. The curtains whipped and twisted as if caught in a hurricane wind. A stage light blinked on. Then, as if my power had been dialed to zero, all the disruption ended. My headache eased.

Down on the stage, a curtain still moved, ever so slightly. The pleats shifted, starting at the wing and moving toward the middle, as though someone were searching for the way through. The curtains parted in the center and Solomon stepped on stage. He raised his hand to cut the glare from the overhead light.

"Who's out there?" he called.

I slapped my hand over my mouth to hold in a screech.

He walked the length of the stage, peering into the darkness. Then he dropped into the seating area and began searching between rows. The chair next to me squeaked. Solomon's glare shot to the balcony.

"This area is off limits except during class," he shouted.

I ducked down. The penalty for hanging out in the auditorium was probably minimal, but I had a feeling he'd seen the curtains whirling and snapping like they were possessed by demons. He marched toward the stairs, every stride coming closer to blocking my escape route. There'd be no dodging him once he got to the balcony.

I crept out of my seat and dropped down the steps two at a time. Then I darted through the exit and back to class, where I grabbed my books and excused myself. I got my backpack from my locker and ran for the parking lot.

I spent the rest of the day in my bedroom, trying to hack into Raquelle's account. 
Chapter 35

My dad glanced at me from across the dinner table. Home for a visit, he was unprepared for the unsettling vision I had become. He wasn't sure how to react to the girl who so violently stabbed at her steak, the girl who had given him an aloof hug when he arrived. The girl who, just minutes ago, had accused Mr. Crane of harassment.

I'd wanted to lay out a constructive case for not allowing Mr. Crane into our home. Instead, I'd told a confusing, winding tale that made it sound like I was mad about being pushed to participate in the research study. I didn't blame my dad for not taking my concerns seriously.

My dad was supposedly between clients, but I knew Kimber had asked him to come home. She was worried about my odd behavior--the long absences at night that I refused to explain; my heightened anxiety caused by my rising, barely controllable energy; my dangerous driving, which was a total exaggeration. So what if I'd run a couple of stop signs and gotten a couple of tickets?

"Is there anything you want to talk about, Echo?" my dad asked.

"Nope." I tore the last of the meat off the bone with my teeth. What could I say? If I told him about the breakup, the table would surely flip on its side and send everyone sprawling. Denial was my safety net. As it was, the knife next to my plate jittered.

"We want to know where you're going at night," Kimber said.

"Nowhere."

"Is it to see that boy Connor?" she asked.

At the sound of his name, the scarred edges around my heart peeled back, exposing fresh, recently wounded flesh. I shot her such a vile look that her fork stopped in mid-air.

"Echo?" my dad pressed.

"I don't go anywhere. I sit on the portico until I go to bed."

"In the dark and the rain? It's freezing out there. And why don't you answer when I call you?" Kimber asked.

"Because I don't want to be bothered." My gritted teeth challenged her to ask another question, push another button.

"That's no way to talk to your stepmother," my dad snapped.

"Sorry. I just don't want to talk about it."

Kimber and my dad exchanged a glance, a signal that they'd take this up later. My dad launched into a story about one of his clients, and I retreated inward.

Why did Kimber have to mention his name tonight? It jarred the delicate balance I'd found when I'd settled on the real reason my life had deteriorated. It was because of him that my ability terrorized me daily. His irresponsible training made me cause a scene at the party. It was his fault that I lived an unbearable life.

I snuck a few pieces of steak to Tito and tuned into my dad's voice, waiting for him to finish so I could excuse myself from the table. I caught his last sentence, so innocently spoken.

"The contract was good," he said, "but they didn't give me any choice. So I severed the relationship."

My stomach lurched.

Severed.

"Echo, are you okay?" My dad leaned to steady me.

The word rang in my head, shouted by my own voice. Severed, severed, severed.

The voice rose to a high pitch. My eardrums burned. Heat filled my throat and raced down my body's core until I was scorching from the inside out.

Severed.

"I need to be excused," I coughed.

"Honey, what--"

I was off my chair and out the door. Heat boiled in my stomach, and my dinner rose into my throat. I swallowed it down. Sweat broke on my temples. Fire ignited beneath the layers of my muscle.

I burst into the freezing night. Sleet pelted my skin, stuck to my hair. I tilted my face skyward and inhaled. Flecks of ice stung my tongue and the inside of my mouth, but it didn't cool me. I kept running.

I lost my footing on the slick lawn and slammed onto the ice-covered grass. I bounded back up and into the street. My tennis shoes slapped against the wet pavement as I hit a full sprint.

At the bottom of the hill, I stopped, doubled over, gasping for air, my lungs coated with ice. Wind roared through the deserted intersection and into my bones. Still, the fever rose. I clutched at my bare skin, expecting it to peel away in great, blistering swaths. Bile churned in my throat. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I threw my head back to the sky.

"How could you do this to me?" I yelled from the bottom of my lungs.

Streetlamps along the boulevard flickered wildly. A sapling, already straining against the wind, snapped in two.

"You said I could go back! You said we'd be together! I trusted you!"

I spat out my rage. I bent over and put my hands on my knees, unable to breathe. The metal bracelets dug into my wrists. In a fit of rage, I yanked them off and flung them into the street. A second wave of energy surged through my body with such force that I convulsed.

"You abandoned me! I don't belong here, and you left me here!" I screamed at the clouds.

The streetlamps blazed white hot. A bulb shattered. Glass ripped into the night. A metallic groan cut through the wind. The lampposts nearest me began to bend, their black steel columns arcing away from me. The cold metal shrieked and folded in half. Another post quivered and snapped in two, its top half hurled into the middle of the intersection. Then, like a series of gunshots, the remaining bulbs in the lamps along the boulevard burst. Lights in houses on the hill flickered, and the neighborhood plunged into darkness.

My hand flew to my mouth. I stumbled backward in shock.

Was it possible... could I have done this? I froze, terrified that any movement would cause more damage. The internal fever was gone. I shivered uncontrollably, stumbled back up the hill through my dark neighborhood; faltered across the sodden lawn to our house. Once inside, I leaned against the door, panting and fighting a bristling fear.

"Echo?" my dad called from the darkness.

I dropped to the floor and pulled my knees to my chest. The truth of what had happened was sinking in. My emotional explosion had caused tornado-scale damage.

"Echo, is that you?" His voice was insistent. I knew I should answer him, but I didn't know how. A simple "yes" didn't seem truthful. The Echo he knew didn't get traffic tickets, didn't travel through time with a secret boyfriend and plan to leave her family behind forever. His Echo didn't destroy steel objects with her fury.

My dad hurried into the entryway, led by soft candlelight. He knelt in front of me. "Honey, are you hurt?"

My dad reached for my face. I whimpered in warning, but my energy had diminished, and nothing horrible happened to him. My skin pricked beneath his touch.

"You're bleeding!"

Even in the pale light, I could see the red streaks on his fingers.

"Did someone hurt you?"

Kimber came in from the other room, carrying Tito and a flashlight.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," my dad said. He reached to pick me up.

"What on earth happened?" Kimber asked.

I pushed my dad's arms away, shook my head. I forced myself to speak, certain I wouldn't recognize the sound that came out. Nothing else about me felt familiar, why should my voice?

"The storm," I said.

"You got hurt in the storm?"

I nodded. My cheek stung from what felt like a hundred cuts. I touched my face and found it sticky with grit. I rolled the grit between my fingertips. Glass.

"One of the streetlights shattered," I explained.

Against my protests, we went to the emergency room. For two hours, the doctor picked glass fragments from my skin and sewed up one of the larger cuts. He sent me home with a bottle of painkillers.

On the ride home, my dad gave me uneasy, sidelong glances. Without his asking, I understood what I needed to tell him.

"Something Kimber said at dinner reminded me of Connor." I choked out his name. "And I lost it. I'm sorry I made you worry."

He nodded once. Deep lines still radiated from the corner of his eye.

"It won't happen again."

He nodded again, and his shoulders fell soft.

That night, I undressed in the dark even though the electricity was back on. It was hard enough to reconcile who I was with what had happened. Seeing my puffy, lacerated reflection in the mirror would only have sparked more doubt and confusion.

The episode on the street had served its purpose, though, and the crushing pain was gone. When I'd refused to use my ability, it was meant to be a kind of revenge against Connor leaving me. It had totally backfired.

A barb jabbed beneath my breastbone. I repeated his name. It still hurt, but a little less. I thought about how I had followed him to the warehouse that first day. How my power flourished. How I dove into Connor's world and fell for it. Fell for him. If I'd known how it would turn out, I would have stood fast against his smile, his green eyes. I would have walked away.

I said his name again, out loud this time, over and over until it no longer hurt.

*****

Ladies and gentlemen, behold the mistress of darkness as she slices her hand through a solid wood desk! As her bed magically makes itself without touching it!

Be in awe as books flutter across the room like birds, empty shoes tap dance through the air, and a lip gloss wand writes on the mirror with a power all its own!

Applaud as the queen of outcasts levitates and changes a light bulb on the ceiling without a ladder!

I'd learned the hard way that I couldn't imprison my ability. So, before breakfast each day, I reluctantly turned my bedroom into a Harry Potter funhouse. I released as little energy as I thought I could get away with. No more, no less. I felt like I was feeding crumbs to an insatiable lion.

My dad let me stay home for a couple of days to let the swelling on my face go down. Even while I was loopy from painkillers, I tackled the mystery of Raquelle's password. I thought the drugs might open a gateway to higher inspiration. Mostly, they put me to sleep.

Thursday, my dad decided I wasn't going delinquent after all and caught a flight to Paris. I dragged myself to my car, drove to Becca's driveway, and honked the horn.

"Yikes. That's a lot of makeup," she said as she climbed in the car.

"It's really not that bad. It's covering up some cuts."

"Should I even ask?"

"Please don't." At the bottom of the hill, I braked at the boulevard's intersection. A utility crew was removing the two posts that I'd bent and was replacing all the broken bulbs.

"Did you hear what happened to those posts?" Becca asked.

I nodded. The damage had been broadcast on the news, along with outlandish speculations about the cause. Most people found it hard to believe the storm theory.

"Aliens is what I think. You know, like the ones that make crop circles? Nobody can explain how they get there and yet bam, they show up overnight, just like this stuff did."

"Sure, why not," I answered, completely absorbed with the password problem. Raquelle's deadline was today. She hadn't said when exactly the axe would drop.

Becca gave me a woeful look, pitying the lackluster person that her off-again, on-again BFF had become. "I miss my smartass friend," she said.

"Well, I'm in crisis central."

"What's going on?"

"I need to break into Raquelle's YouTube account and I can't figure out the password. If you were her, what would your password be?"

Becca's eyes flit side-to-side. "Why would I know?"

"I'm not saying you do. I'm saying, what's your best guess?"

Becca turned up the volume on the radio. "Dunno," she said, a little too casually.

Her aura fizzed. She seemed all too fascinated by the scenery outside her window. And just like that, I remembered why Becca had been so amazed that Lucas asked her out.

"You know," I said.

"I don't."

"You do. You know her password! You know because Lucas went out with Raquelle, and he knows, and you somehow found out. "

Becca shook her head. "I can't tell you. If anything happens to her precious accounts, she'll blame Lucas first. And I won't be able to lie to him about it. And then he'll be mad at me."

Her refusal startled me. "Becca."

"I can't."

"I can't believe this. We're supposed to be friends."

"Then tell me why you need it."

"It's Raquelle, Becca. Do I really need to explain? She's evil incarnate. She's trying to ruin my life, and I have to know today."

Caught between a rock and a harder rock, Becca threw up her hands. "Okay, here's a hint. Her user ID is her name, and the password is super easy. It's like, 'duh, how'd I miss that?' You'll totally figure it out."

"I'll figure it out??" I smacked the steering wheel. "Jeez, Becca."

"Don't do this to me, Echo. Lucas and I are really great together." She fixed her attention on the cars funneling into the school parking lot.

If I wanted Becca to make a sacrifice, I had to be willing to give something in return. I'd need to tell her why I needed to get into Raquelle's account. I'd have to start from the beginning, tell her how my fall off the banister gave me paranormal powers, how I struggled daily, how I'd lost it at Trisha's house.

If I showed Becca one of my tricks and told her about the video, maybe she'd understand and give me what I needed. But I'd be selling my secret to Becca in order to delete the secret from Raquelle. Two steps forward, one step back.

"Thanks for the hint," I said.

Her voice was soft. "Yeah, all right."
Chapter 36

Solomon stood outside the classroom, whistling that same, eerie tune he did every day before the bell rang. Like most people, he stared at my swollen face.

"My goodness. Have you been in an accident?"

Showing any expression aggravated the cuts, so I simply nodded. "Broken glass."

"Hopefully, the stitches won't leave a scar." He lifted a finger to his pocked complexion.

A wave of compassion lifted my spirits. "No, they'll heal okay. It's really nice of you to ask, though." I gave him a broad smile, even though the scabs pulled.

Like the rest of my classes, I spent Physics head down, scribbling possible password combinations into my notebook. The list was long and none of the words were flattering. I wished I hadn't thrown my phone in the river. Now I'd have to wait until lunch to test the guesses in the computer lab.

Raquelle sat across the aisle, a departure from her usual spot behind me. From her constant smirks, I figured she wanted to add pressure to my growing panic. While the class worked on a problem set, she slid me a note. I unfolded it. My hands shook:

Time's up.

I jerked my head at her. Hers was down, one cheek plumped by a hidden grin. She discreetly pecked into her phone.

Solomon cleared his throat and caught my eye. I moved my pencil to make like I was working on the problem set and scrambled for what to do next.

I'd lied to Kimber and told her that Connor lived on the northeast side of town. I'd told Becca the same thing when she asked. Raquelle wouldn't know for sure whether the address I gave her was accurate until she checked it out herself. I jotted 1228 NE Hancock St. on the note.

In the far row, Becca slipped something to Lucas just as Solomon walked by. Solomon turned to see what they were up to, and I shoved the slip of paper back to Raquelle. She smacked her gum when she read it and tucked it in the left cup of her push-up bra. Then she tilted the phone screen so I got a good look at what she was watching. It was the footage from the party.

"That address better be right," she mouthed, and she lay the phone face up on her desk.

A shadow fell over us.

"Raquelle," I hissed. "Raquelle!"

Solomon hovered over Raquelle. He trained his gaze on the video. His eyebrows rose. He leaned closer and squinted.

"Raquelle." Our teacher's voice made us both jump. "Put your phone away and see me after class."

Raquelle shoved the phone into her purse. My veins went icy, wondering what was going through my teacher's head right then. It was impossible to tell if he recognized anyone on that tiny screen. I wanted to smack Raquelle for her carelessness.

Tense minutes passed until the bell finally rang. I took my time gathering my books, keeping one ear tuned to the front of the room where Solomon lectured Raquelle. I couldn't make out their conversation.

"Guess who's got a hot date." Becca was next to me, wagging her hips.

"Um," I stalled, still trying to hear Solomon and Raquelle.

"It's not that hard a question," Becca said.

"Sorry. Where's he taking you?"

"Not sure, but someplace nice. He said to wear something sexy."

Raquelle's voice rose, but whatever she said was drowned by the sound of kids pounding for the door.

"So," Becca continued, "you want to come with me to the mall tonight?"

"What about all the dresses you already have?"

"Too Wiccan. I'm going for hot. Rocking, sizzling hot. Just this side of obscene."

Raquelle stomped out of the room, her complexion beet red. Solomon began wiping down the board. Relief practically bowled me over. He'd reprimanded Raquelle for using her phone in class, but if he had seen the video, he hadn't linked me to it.

"Sounds like fun," I said.

We were nearly out the door when my teacher said, "Echo, if you're looking for more extra credit, stop by after school."

"No thanks, Mr. Solomon. I'm behind in English."

"Say, your neighborhood had quite a power outage. Did they find out what caused it?"

A sense of unease passed through me, like when you hear a noise in your room in the middle of the night. "They said it was the wind?"

"Mm. Well, I'll have the room open late if you change your mind."

A subtle shift told me something happened between us, but I couldn't read exactly what. Sometimes, a smattering of someone's aura was more frustrating than none at all.

"Kiss-ass," Becca said when we reached the hall.

"Bite me, witch."

She threw her arm around my shoulder. "Finally, the Echo I know and love is back!"

*****

Partychick

Queenbee

Cheercaptain

Hit list

Superslut

I stole a few precious minutes trying to hack into Raquelle's account before Becca and I headed to the mall. At that very same moment, Raquelle was probably driving to the fake address I gave her. Any minute now, I expected an angry text from her, telling me that the video was about to go live. I wiped sweat from my cheek and kept trying.

Why was this so hard to figure out? Raquelle wasn't known for her high IQ. I mean really, someone who wore sweatpants with partychick written across her butt wasn't a very complicated person.

Partychick wasn't the password, but what if...

On a whim, I typed "kcihcytrap", partychick backwards, into the password line. Voila, I was in Raquelle's account.

"Ohmigod. Oh. My. God! I did it!" I jumped out of my chair. I smacked the heel of my hand on my forehead. "Duh! Partychick in reverse! Duh!"

I scrolled to the video of me at Trisha's house and clicked the Remove button. The screen asked if I was sure.

"Heck yeah." I clicked the video into oblivion. Then, just for good measure, I deleted all her other content. That way, she'd be less likely to point blame at anyone in particular. Technical glitches happened online all the time, right?

And with that press of a button, my entire shroud of anxiety lifted: the video was no longer an issue; since I'd returned from West Region, I'd seen no evidence that factions were a threat; though I still didn't know what to do about Mr. Crane, I felt in control now, confident in my safety as long as I kept my distance. If he said or did anything that made me the slightest bit uncomfortable, I would have a serious conversation with my dad.

A smile, one of the few in a month, spread ear to ear. I turned on my iPod dock and blasted music at full volume, dancing while I got ready to meet Becca.

*****

Becca and I stepped into the warmth of Pioneer Mall. A slight adrenaline rush skipped through my belly when all the auras bounced into mine, but it quickly passed. I'd decided not to tell her what I'd done to Raquelle. That way, she wouldn't have to lie to Lucas. Besides, we had more important business.

"Lucas hasn't figured out you're Wiccan?"

"Well," she hedged, "I moved most of my business to the girl's bathroom. After what I did at the party, I decided to lay low, so he doesn't get suspicious."

Seconds passed, and then I got the gist. "Becca, you didn't."

"It was no biggie. I just spilled a bit of potion on his hand."

I squelched the impulse to shake her. "You've got to stop this. You're messing with power you don't understand, and if it works, someone could get hurt."

"If it works?"

"I'm just saying, Becca, be careful what you wish for."

Becca frowned. "I really wanted him to like me."

"Maybe he already did."

"Yeah, but the competition is fierce. I needed to make sure he'd lock eyes with me all night."

"From what I hear, you locked more than eyes at that party."

"See how well the potion worked? It was hard enough keeping Raquelle away from him. You remember what it was like with Connor." Becca caught herself. "I didn't mean to bring him up."

A small place in my heart, too recently scarred over, throbbed. "It's all right."

We walked to the center of the circular atrium, surrounded by three stories of clothing boutiques. Becca would want to hit every one. It was going to be a long night.

By the time we got to the top floor, I'd offered advice on about a million different skirts and dresses.

"Hey, this might be the one," Becca said as she emerged from the changing room. She modeled a dress that had cutouts running down the side.

"Are you going for slutty chic?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then that's your dress," I said. The lights flicked off and on and for a second, I thought I was the source. Then an announcement came over the speakers telling us the mall would close in fifteen minutes. Becca hurried back into the changing room.

It felt good getting pulled into Becca's dating drama. It helped steel me against the memories from the last time I was at the mall. The jewelry store where Connor bought my necklace, the corridors where we'd walked and joked, all these places still brought heartache. The AT&T store was right next door, and I hadn't anticipated the swell of emotion I felt as we walked by. Now, bits of conversation with him trickled back, ran loose in my head. I remembered the sound of his laugh, the soft cotton of his t-shirt, the glow that skittered up my back when his hand wrapped around my hip.

Warmth tingled in my fingers and between my brows. No biggie, I thought calmly. There were plenty of ways to burn off my auric disturbance before it got out of hand. I moved to a table stacked with sweaters and casually glanced around as I picked one up. The store was empty except for the clerk and a customer at the register.

"Gray is so yesterday," I said and shook the sweater twice. On the second snap, it changed to peacock blue. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I changed another one from black to green to yellow, and added a hoodie just to see if I could.

This felt so good. Why did I continue to fight my gift? I bet I could have shaved an hour off the shopping trip if I'd discreetly altered dresses that Becca liked but hadn't come in the right color. Or maybe I could have created a different one all together.

I grabbed a nasty-looking dress with puffy sleeves and imagined making it wildly different--beaded straps and a slit up the skirt. I was about to give it a good snap when I sensed someone watching me.

I turned and nearly choked on my tongue. "Oh. Mr. Solomon."
Chapter 37

Mr. Solomon smiled at me with a mouth full of crooked teeth. From the other side of the sweater display, he nodded at the dress in my hands. "No wonder you didn't want to come to the physics lab tonight."

"Um..."

"You look like you're having fun shopping."

"Yeah, I'm here with Becca." I adopted a bored tone and calmly returned the dress to the rack. If he had seen me playing with the sweaters, he wouldn't be chatting so casually. And I would have felt shock in his aura. Or would I? I rarely sensed his aura at all, even when we stood side by side.

"I'm sure you'll do well this semester without the extra work. Of all my students, you're the last one who needs more practice. You're showing a real gift."

He was being friendly, but the hairs on the back of my neck rose. Were we still talking about physics?

"Thank you. I appreciate the bonus questions." We stood there for an uncomfortable moment. The lights flickered.

"So, I guess they're about to close," I said.

Solomon craned his neck to look at the clerk. She was still taking care of a customer.

"I've been shopping all night, trying to find a gift for my wife. These look nice." He pointed to the stack of sweaters. "She likes blue, and I see they happen to have just the one."

His eyes locked onto mine, and his mouth lifted in a knowing smile. My veins cooled.

"Well, good luck finding something for her. I'll see you at school," I said.

"Wait, maybe you can help me with size. Do you mind? I just don't have an eye for this sort of thing. It's her birthday. Tonight. And here I am without a gift."

"Uh, sure." If he'd caught part of my magic act, he wasn't in a hurry to confirm it. If I played it cool, maybe he'd brush away any suspicions he had. It shouldn't be hard to plant a seed of doubt. After all, he taught us the ground rules of our physical world: mass, gravity, acceleration. Physics theories did not allow for the supernatural.

"What size does she wear?" I asked.

"She's about the same as Mrs. Fullner, your trigonometry teacher. Do you think the blue one would fit?"

Before I could hand him the top, it rose from the pile on its own and unfolded itself. I inhaled two sharp breaths.

"She also likes red," he said. A red sweater floated into my teacher's hands. My eyes jumped from Solomon to the sweater. He let the floating top crumple to the table.

"I didn't mean to frighten you, Echo. I just wanted you to know you're not alone. From the very first day, I knew there was something special about you," he grinned.

His statement jarred me. I thought back to when he started as a substitute teacher. Was it possible that, every day while I sat in physics class, a truly gifted person was literally right in front of me?

As I thought about this, Connor's warning about the factions surfaced and then, just as quickly, left. I'd only caught an occasional smattering of Solomon's aura over the past couple of months, and when I did neediness seemed to be the ruling emotion. Compared to Mr. Crane, Solomon's energy was about as alarming as a Christmas elf's.

"If you knew about me, why didn't you say something?" I asked.

"It's not a safe world, is it? We like to take our time and make sure we're right about someone before we approach them. Once I observed your flair here in the store, that sealed it."

My ears clenched onto the word we. "There are others," I gasped.

"Lots of them. I'll see some of them tonight, in fact."

"Here? In Portland?"

"Does that surprise you?" Solomon rubbed his fingers together, like he did just before the bell rang. "Why don't you join us? We're meeting just around the corner. I'm on my way there now."

"Is it your wife's birthday party? I couldn't just crash it like that," I said, but only because it seemed the polite thing to say.

He paused, like he'd lost track of the conversation. "Not at all. We'd love for you to join us."

A jumble of emotions spilled into my belly. While I debated my decision, one battered emotion, long ignored and left for dead, struggled to the top: a sliver of hope.

Becca exited the dressing room with an armload of clothes. "Huge score! Did you know this dress is Valentino? Oh, hey, Mr. Solomon."

"Hello, Becca." His smile wavered.

She looked from him to me, sighed and rolled her eyes, sure I was sucking up to our teacher.

"I'm going to go pay." Becca left for the register.

"I've got to drive Becca home, but I can meet any other time. Pretty much whenever you want." Desperation practically oozed from my pores and I didn't even care.

"How about tomorrow?"

"Yes!"

"We'll talk more after class, then." Solomon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stack of metal bracelets.

"I nearly forgot. I was out for a walk and found these at the bottom of your hill. Didn't you have bracelets like this? I thought they might have fallen out of your school bag."

"Yeah, those are mine." When I reached for them, he pulled back.

"Ah, we'll know they're yours if they fit," he teased.

A niggling voice in the back of my mind was trying to formulate a question. I ignored it, took the bracelets, and slid them onto my arms. Their weight was comfortable and familiar.

"See?" I laughed. "Told you so. Thanks."

"Anything for a gifted friend."

As Solomon considered the space between us--maybe he was going to give me a friendly hug--Becca breezed in front of him.

"Can I borrow your credit card? Mine's dead," she asked.

"I only have cash, but yeah." And then, "I gotta go, Mr. Solomon. Tomorrow?"

"I look forward to it." He strolled out of the store.

"What was that all about?" Becca asked on our way to the register.

"Just school stuff."

What a day this had been! First I wiped out Raquelle's account and now I was on the verge of meeting my new tribe. Right here in my own city. I'd bet my life they knew about the factions, too. They might know whether or not Mr. Crane was dangerous. Or maybe they didn't know about him yet. Maybe I'd be giving them new information they could use to keep us safe. I basked in the great first impression I'd make. But not until tomorrow. I felt a pang of regret at passing up the opportunity to meet Solomon's friends that night. What in the world was I waiting for?

While I dug out the cash for Becca, I scoured the outside of the store for our teacher. I fidgeted while the cashier bagged up the dress. Then Becca and I ducked beneath the half-closed security gate at the front of the store, and slipped onto the empty third floor. All the other stores were closed. Becca headed for the escalator.

"Becca, hold on a minute."

I peered over the railing at the main floor, three flights below. If I could spot Solomon and see where he exited, maybe I could still catch up with him. A handful of shoppers loitered. Solomon wasn't one of them.

"Shoot," I said.

"Are you looking for Solomon? 'Cause he's over there." Directly across from us in the circular atrium, Solomon was looking in a store window. He didn't have a shopping bag. He must not have found a gift for his wife yet.

I held my car keys out to Becca. "Can you drive my car home? There's this birthday party for his wife and he said I might know some of the people. It's just around the corner."

"Seriously?"

"I know it's weird, but they're friends of Kimber's and I said I'd go down and say 'hi,'" I lied. "I'll get a ride home."

Becca narrowed her eyes and shook her head, perturbed. "One of these days, will you please tell me what's going on?"

I gave her a sheepish smile and dropped the keys into her hand. "Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah." She waved back at me and walked to the escalator.

I jogged along the curve of the atrium railing to catch Solomon before I lost him again. Despite the giddiness rising in my chest, that niggling voice was back. It sifted through the conversation I'd just had with him. Hooked on a word he'd said. Then another. As I hurried toward him, the voice came through loud and clear. How does he know where you live?

There were plenty of good reasons--school records, maybe he lived in my area--but none of them felt right.

"Mr. Solomon," I called out.

He turned, and I slowed to a walk. I smiled and waved. My eyes landed on his face, then his body. My smile dropped away.

Solomon's image was transparent. I could see right through him and into the store behind. A dense cloak of hatred, envy, and disgust slammed into me. Foul with viciousness, Solomon's malignant aura hit me with such force, I grew dizzy.

"Did you change your mind, Echo?" His yellow teeth bared into a grin. "Everyone will be delighted to finally meet you."

I stared at him in shock, struggling to reconcile the horrific energy coming off my kind teacher.

"Mr. Solomon?" my voice quaked.

Bruises stained his face and neck. The pocks on his cheeks were raw and crusted. Solomon glanced down at his transparent arm. He laughed, sharp and brittle.

"There's nothing to fear. Come, we don't want to miss the festivities." He took a step toward me. I turned and ran.

I made it ten feet before a vice-like pressure gripped my forehead. The intensity weakened my legs and forced me to stop. I cried out in pain. He took a few tentative strides toward me. His hand clenched the air in front of him, claw-like, as though he were squeezing the life out of a small animal. A spasm shot through my skull.

"Stay away from me." I tried to yell but could barely speak. Incredibly, the pain backed off.

He circled wide, his eyes traveling over me as though appreciating me from every angle. "You blended in so well with your classmates," he said. "At first, I thought the gifted one might be Becca or even that deplorable Raquelle. It was you the whole time. I'm astounded that I missed it. I can feel you so clearly now."

Solomon waved my aura to him like he was taking in the smell of the ocean. He let out a lascivious moan. The transparent edges of his body sharpened and his bruised skin renewed itself. "So fresh and pure. So untainted."

The malicious desire coming off him curled my stomach.

"I understand now why that McCabe boy was coming here. You must be incredibly powerful for him to travel all this way. All the better for us."

"Connor?" I whispered. How did he know about Connor?

"And the things he must have taught you. Tell me, what did he expect you to do with so much power? What could you, a mere girl, accomplish in this primitive world?"

My battered heart trembled. He was right. Connor didn't teach me how to thrive in my world. He'd only taught me how to survive, how to defend myself in a situation like this. Or he'd tried to. Flight was my best option now, but the pain searing into my head overwhelmed me.

Solomon took a step closer, watching me carefully. "If he were smart, he would have taken you to West Region. Your talent would have been wasted there, too. I think the boy knew that. He stopped training you, didn't he?"

I moved my mouth to speak but could only groan. Solomon read the flicker of anguish in my expression. "So he did leave you here. Not a wise political decision, but in a time of war, we feast on our enemy's stupidity." His eyes gleamed. "You were born with power for a reason, my girl. You belong where your ability will reign supreme. We're going to a place where you will be treated like a queen."

He extended his hand.

I struggled to understand what he was talking about. "Stay away from me." My voice rattled.

He clawed at the air again, his grip tightening, and black dots danced across my vision. So this was what happened to the murder victims, the psychics, the medium. And Ryan. When they refused to cooperate with Solomon, he'd psychically punched a hole in their skulls. But Solomon hadn't been looking for them. When he discovered that they were limited in their power, he'd killed them and left them on the street. In the river.

The whole time, Solomon had been searching for me. He intended to take me alive, to the faction leader, wherever that was.

"If I don't show up at home tonight, my parents will call the police. My dad will find me no matter where you take me," I croaked.

"Not where we're going. Your existence in this time will be nothing but a memory."

"This time?" My head swirled.

"East Region, my girl."

Panic crashed through me. "No," I whispered.

"Your ability is wasted in this century. Even the factions in your time are rudimentary compared to us."

"No... no." This couldn't be happening. I shook my head violently, despite the excruciating pain.

"You were meant for great things, and what greater way to leave a legacy than to reunite two regions into one country? And when the country is whole again, East Region will rule it. It won't be that different from your world. Those who deserve power will have it. The rest of the people exist only to serve."

"You're going to use me to hurt West Region?"

"People only get hurt when they resist. Which someone always does," he grinned.

"You're disgusting. You liked hurting those girls and Ryan. You killed them, and you liked it."

"Don't look at me like that. You will never know your true power until you've met your dark side. When you do, your thirst will become insatiable. You'll find out for yourself. We're going to take that beautiful journey together, Echo."

Solomon eased closer, his hand still extended. "Take my hand. Everyone will be so thrilled to meet you."

As he eased closer, it all clicked into place. East Region must also have a portal. He needed to grab me so that we could transport together. I scrambled away.

"Tsk tsk. You're making this harder than it needs to be," he scolded.

He clawed the air again. An agonizing spike drove into the soft tissue of my brain. My mouth widened in a silent scream. My vision blurred and darkness closed in. I went blind.
Chapter 38

"Oh my God! Oh my God! What happened? I can't see!" I was barely able to whisper my terror. I threw my arms up in defense, expecting Solomon's hand to clamp down on my shoulder any second. His aura seemed to come from every direction. I pricked my ears and picked up the squeak of his shoes edging closer, directly in front of me. But then I heard him closing in on one side. He was circling, testing, never approaching more than a few inches at a time.

Why was he being so cautious? The answer hit like a ton of bricks. He was afraid of me.

"Sshh. It will all be over soon, and you will start a glorious new life." His voice came from my left. A second later, the sole of his shoe squeaked on my right.

"You'll give me anything I want if I go with you?" I whimpered.

"You'll have everything you dreamed of and more."

"You'll teach me," I wrenched out the words, "to be more powerful than anyone in West Region?"

"Yes, oh yes."

"Okay." My voice shook, nearly inaudible. "I'll go," I said, louder. "Just please, please stop hurting me."

"That's my girl."

Just as I'd hoped, the pressure relaxed on my forehead. The jagged pain eased. Keeping my hand close, I raised it in a gesture of peace. "I'll do whatever you want."

Victory flooded Solomon's aura and spilled over me from behind. That was my cue. I kicked myself around until I felt that sickening presence on my face. I thrust my palm between us, focused every remaining ounce of energy through my arm until my palm flared with heat. I heard a snap, and my hand crackled. Solomon bellowed, and I heard a dull thud. The vice grip released.

The blackness cleared instantly and my surroundings came into focus. I must have hit him square on because he was getting up off the floor, twenty feet away. His thin lips pulled back and he let out a primal sound. Fury rolled off him.

"That tactic will come in handy when you're convincing President McCabe to surrender. Perhaps we'll have you use it on his son first."

This time, when I raised my hand against him, I watched the hot white bullet leave my palm and nail him in the center of his chest. He wobbled but stood firm. My stomach fell. I'd ripped steel lampposts in half without even trying. Why wasn't I able to destroy Solomon?

He took a wary step toward me and I crab walked backwards. My bracelets clinked against the floor. The bracelets! I yanked two of them off while Solomon calculated the distance between us. Energy surged into my arms.

"We won't have any of that," he said. With a flick of his wrist, he sent me sprawling across the floor. I slammed into the atrium railing and heard my ribs snap. He closed in with long, fast strides. I struggled to my feet and threw a bolt of light at him. A loud crack echoed through the mall as Solomon deflected it. The shock wave hit us both. He grunted from the impact and his body was thrown toward the wall. I screamed as the impact threw me backward over the railing.

Time really does slow when death seems imminent. I flailed, airborne long enough to catch glimpses of my life: Becca, as she reached the bottom floor and searched for the source of the scream; the few remaining shoppers shrieking as they watched a girl about to plummet three stories to her death; Connor's face the last time he twirled me on the dance floor.

Gravity took over, and I fell. My arms thrashed, in search of something solid. By some miracle, my fingers latched onto the bottom rung of the railing. The rest of me yanked to a stop and the tendons in my arm snapped taut. Three stories above the atrium floor, my body swayed.

Panic stole my ability to blink, breathe, act.

"Echo!" Becca ran back up the escalator, her screams for help carrying through the atrium and rattling me back to life.

I knew all I needed to do was levitate, just enough to take me to safety before Solomon got to me, but the remaining bracelets sapped whatever power wasn't paralyzed by fear. If I let go, I'd drop like a rock.

Any moment now, he would grab my wrist and drag me through his portal. I'd never see my family again. East Region would try to force me to do horrendous things to innocent people. Even if I refused, what would I have to endure before they decided to kill me?

Above me, I heard a footstep, followed by a dragging sound. Solomon moaned. "Stupid child. You'll pay for this." Spit clogged his throat and he moaned again. He couldn't be more than a few feet away from the railing. Gruesome tentacles of energy reached over the ledge, played along my windpipe. I jerked my head in a futile effort to escape it.

"No," I scream-whispered. The movement made my body swing.

The tentacles settled on my throat. They squeezed my airway, and I was forced to hold still. Solomon wasn't taking any chances. He was going to subdue me until he could make contact with me. Then it would be all over.

There was only one way to avoid that ugly chain of events. I couldn't allow him to touch me. I couldn't let him take me alive. I had to do whatever it took to get away from him, and there was only one direction to go. Down.

Blood pounded in my ears. Sheer terror kept my hand clamped to the ledge. My body ached.

Just let go, I urged. And then all I could think about was Connor. How he had tried so hard to protect me. The risks he'd taken. You've already let him down, I thought. Just. Let. Go.

Sweat dampened my fingers. My arm shook violently. A shadow passed over me and I heard a hoarse animal sound, part growl, part groan, too close to my ear.

"Please, no," I whimpered and closed my eyes. I let go of the railing. The grip on my throat released. I screamed.

My free-fall lasted all of two seconds, and then a hand clasped my wrist.

"Let me go!" I lashed out, prepared to fight to the death.

In one sweeping motion, I was lifted over the railing. I raised my palm and turned to attack my enemy. My hand was batted to the side, and I found myself face to face with Connor.

With one arm, he swept me behind him and pressed me protectively into his back. I caught a glimpse of his cold, merciless eyes before he turned to face our attacker.

Solomon was rising to his feet, leaning heavily on one leg. The other hung broken and mangled behind him. His lip curled into pure hatred as he staggered toward us. He flung a light bolt at Connor's head. Connor dodged to the left but with me behind him, he couldn't go far. A fragment caught him in the forehead.

Solomon shot at us again. Connor retaliated with a bolt of blue light. The two bolts clashed in an explosion of fire and sparks that flattened my teacher.

Still, Solomon rose. Connor made a fist and energetically punched him backward into the marble wall. A chunk of marble broke away and smashed to the floor. Solomon crumpled on top of it. The back of his head was caved in from the impact. His legs tangled at an odd angle. A pool of blood spilled around him.

Connor's voice eased me out of my stupor. I don't know what he said, but he was feeling my limbs and running his hands down my face and neck. I yelped when he prodded my broken ribs.

"Can you walk?" I heard him say.

I nodded. A red gash ran north from his eyebrow to his hairline. "You're bleeding," I said.

He wiped away the blood with his sleeve. The trickle started up again.

Becca sprinted toward us, a small group of shoppers close on her heels.

"Oh no." I glanced toward Solomon's body, wondering how we'd explain the bloody evidence of the fight, but he was gone. His blood was gone. The chunk of broken marble was the only evidence that anything out of the ordinary had happened.

Connor's jaw clenched. "They pulled him back," he said.

Becca grabbed me in a hug. I let out a soft cry, and she let go. She saw my arm clutched to my side.

"It's just a bruise," I said in the most unconvincing role of my life.

The rest of the shoppers looked at us, puzzled. Becca summed it up for everyone: "What the hell happened?"

"I guess I leaned over too far."

"So you just fell over the railing?"

I nodded.

"Why didn't Mr. Solomon help you?"

"He must have left. He never even saw me." My lies fell on deaf ears. Becca gawked at me. Then she noticed Connor.

"When did you get here?" she asked, confusion adding to the disbelief on her face.

He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled me into him and kissed my hair. The electricity beneath his skin, usually gentle, pulsed with such ferocity, it felt like nonstop static shock. I pulled away.

"Echo," he whispered. The strain on his face was agonizing, but inside, I turned to stone. Not even the emotions colliding on his face-worry and relief and pleading--softened it. He'd saved my life--again--and that was enough compensation for ripping my heart to shreds. We were back at a clean slate, free of botched expectations and promises about things that we wanted to be possible, but never would be. Not in this lifetime.

Someone gave Connor a handkerchief to sop the blood that now ran down his temple and onto his cheek. Then, the onlookers who had come to my rescue left. Becca nodded toward the two security guards riding up the escalator.

"Mall cops to the rescue," she said. "Time to get out of here."
Chapter 39

To avoid mall security, Becca led us past the AT&T store and into the cavernous bowels of the building, a route she used to take when she worked at Rings N Things during the summer. Then she drove us home.

In the back seat, Connor wrapped me in a blanket and held me close. At first, I pulled away, but I was so exhausted, I reluctantly sank into him. A strained silence filled the car.

Outside the rain-streaked windows, the city was dark and ominous. Every shadow carried a new threat. I recoiled at a honking horn. Rain-soaked pedestrians made me want to curl into a ball as they ran toward, and then past, our car. Connor looped his arm around me so that I was cocooned in his heat. He breathed into my hair, planting kisses on the top of my head. I was afraid he'd start talking, would try to apologize for his absence and then line up excuses for why he stayed away. To his credit, he didn't utter a word.

Becca parked in our garage and gave me a long, troubled look before walking home. I knew my lies had tested the bounds of our friendship, possibly for the last time.

The second Becca was out of earshot, Connor peppered me with questions so fast I had no chance to answer. I cut him off. "Solomon was going to take me to East Region," I sputtered. "He was going to--"

"I know what he was going to do," Connor growled. "He's one of the Imperators, one of the leaders that are trying to overtake West Region."

My jaw dropped. "Why didn't you tell me this could happen?" I demanded. "All you ever warned me about were the factions here."

"Because I didn't know they had the capability to get here and I still don't know how Solomon did," Connor snapped. "How did he know about your ability? Was he following you?"

"He's my Physics teacher."

Connor's tone was livid. "He's what? For how long?"

"Beginning of October?"

He pressed his eyes closed and spoke with forced calm. "Right after my first trip here."

I knew what he was thinking, that he had somehow led Solomon to me. The timing made sense. I searched my memory, intent on denying this possibility, but I couldn't. So I nodded. Connor's face went dark. He paced the garage. For the first time, I felt the full force of his aura, and its intensity frightened me.

"Solomon might have picked up on your energy trail, like I did. Once he got here, he would have tried homing in on you. He wouldn't have been very good at it. The Imperators don't have much power of their own. Which explains why he got it wrong and killed those other girls. They weren't the one he was looking for," he hissed.

I began to see, with frightening clarity, the way Solomon had tried to track me. The gifted women were killed near the warehouse where Connor and I practiced. I knew now that the mysterious person in the library was Solomon. He must have had a hunch and tried to check me out while my guard was down. He'd done it in class, too, but he hadn't gotten anywhere because I'd kept my aura clamped down.

I clutched my stomach. "Omigod. Ryan."

"What?"

"He was a boy from my school. I bumped into Ryan at the mall, and...and maybe my aura flooded all over him. He disappeared that same day, and they found his body in the river, with his forehead punched in. Can that happen? Did Solomon pick up my aura on him? Is he dead because of me?"

"Nobody died because of you!" Connor grabbed me by the shoulders. "Echo, look at me." I straightened until we were eye to eye. Connor jabbed his finger against his chest. "If anyone's to blame, it's me. Solomon was here the whole time and I should have been able to sense him. How did I miss this?"

"I saw him almost every day. I should have been able to read him."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You're still learning, and he probably put all his energy into hiding from us. I doubt he adapted well, which is why it took him so long to identify you."

I braced myself against the door. "They can still come back for me, can't they?"

Connor gathered me in his arms before I could protest. I waited for him to tell me I was safe from the Imperators. Instead, we stood quietly while the rain battered the garage roof.

The door opened and Kimber rushed out. Her face was drawn.

"Echo, I didn't know you were back. Oh. Connor." She was trembling so hard the keys jangled in her hand. "Mr. Crane's in the hospital. That...that maniac tried to kill him."

"How do they know? Does he have the same head injury as the women who died?" Connor asked.

"Yes," she stammered.

"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked Kimber. She didn't look together enough to drive to the hospital. Not that I was in any better shape.

"No, it's getting late. You've got school." She hurried to her car and was gone.

Connor and I exchanged a dark look. "Solomon," he said.

"Why would Solomon hurt him?"

Connor considered this. "If Mr. Crane is a member of a local faction, and I still think he is, then he and Solomon would have both been trying to get at you."

My stomach soured. "And Solomon won."

Everything Connor said made sense, especially given my recent run-ins with Mr. Crane. My entire body shuddered, close to total shutdown. Every bone ached, every muscle pinched like I was being squeezed in a giant vise. My stomach cramped. The full impact of my brush with death was setting in.

Connor's touch should have offered comfort against the physical and emotional trauma, but it had the opposite effect. Any minute now, he would say he needed to leave, and I'd be here, lost in the crushing traces he left behind. The urge to pull away overruled any solace I found in his warmth. I brushed away his embrace.

Life had been hard for him the past few weeks. Dark circles smudged beneath his eyes told of countless sleepless nights. The blue flecks in his irises were dull. His hair stuck out, unkempt and overgrown. What I was about to do seemed cruel, but drawing this out was the equivalent of stretching a rubber band to its breaking point--the further you pulled, the harder the sting when it finally broke.

"Thank you for saving my life," I said. I walked inside the house and swung the door closed.

Connor barred the door with his arm. "Wait a minute. I'm not leaving you alone tonight."

My eyebrows shot to my hairline. I'd been alone for weeks and that hadn't seemed to bother him. "Mr. Crane's in the hospital. Solomon's gone. I can take care of myself." This was frighteningly untrue.

"First of all, that's absurd. You're hurt and you can't defend yourself. And we need to talk."

"Talk? Now?"

"About why I wasn't here. You need to know what happened."

"You left me! That's what happened!"

For the second time that night, Connor's expression turned livid. "You think I would do that? After everything I've put you through?" He was yelling now. "The night of the dance, Carina and Jaxon were under my father's orders to take you home. I learned this when I got to his office. Then he forbid me to use the portal ever again. He instructed the Harden Center to bar me from the lab. I would have worked around that, Echo, but he would have sent me to the university early. I would have been hundreds of miles from the portal. I couldn't let that happen. It's the only link I have to you.

"But the second I sensed you were in danger tonight, I raced to the lab. There wasn't time to call Carina or Jaxon and beg for their help. I broke in and set the portal on autopilot. I had to make the jump myself."

"How did you know I was in trouble?"

"All the time we spent together made our connection stronger. I've felt everything since you left." His gaze dropped to the floor. "Your anger. Distrust. When Solomon attacked you, I felt your terror. I got to the portal and pictured you in my mind so that it would send me directly to you. When I materialized at the mall, I was going insane trying to figure out where you were. Then I saw you over the railing."

The blood drained from my face. While Connor was racing to my rescue, I was trying to fall to my death. I curled my fingers around his.

His eyes were wide, searching mine. "I never meant to hurt you."

My head throbbed and my ribs ached, but they were easy to ignore over the dark, mauling pain pouring into my chest.

"You're still banned from the portal. You'll go back and I'll never see you again," I said.

"I'm not going to let that happen."

"When your father finds out..." I shook my head. "I can't do this. Not again."

I tried to push the door closed, but I was weak against his force. Tears filled my eyes, threatening to pour.

"Please, at least let me look at your injuries," he said.

I dropped my head so he couldn't see the single tear escape and splatter on the tile.

"Echo. How are you going to explain the bruises?"

"What?"

"It looks like you've been in a car accident."

I thought he was referring to the cuts on my face until I glimpsed my reflection in the entryway mirror. My forehead was swelling where Solomon had gripped me. The damage was just as real as if he'd hit my forehead with a hammer. Greenish marks were forming above my brows. The color bled into the hollows around my lids. Before the night was through, I'd have two black eyes. Defeated, I released the door and dragged myself upstairs. Connor followed quietly behind me.

In my bedroom, Connor inspected my injuries with a feather-light touch. Each time he grazed my skin, I flinched.

"It's bad, huh?" he asked.

I cast my eyes anywhere but at him. The physical pain, I could handle. Even having him here in my room, where the memories welled up out of the floorboards and cloaked me like a funeral shawl, I could deal with that. What threw me off balance were the irrational thoughts creeping in, the returning illusions that he and I maybe had a future together, the series of what ifs racing through my head.

"Should we do this?" he asked.

Countless possibilities jetted through my mind before I realized he was talking about my injuries. "Right. Let's get started." I swallowed, remembering how Tito had yelped when Connor had repaired his mangled legs. "Is it going to hurt?"

Connor squinted in empathy. "It could hurt quite a lot."

I clutched handfuls of my comforter and Connor placed his fingers over the marks. He closed his eyes, and his breathing slowed. His head nodded slowly, up and down.

Beneath his touch, I was sure my head would split wide open. "It hurts," I said.

Connor pressed his eyes tighter. "I'm sorry. Almost there."

Short sobs escaped between my gritted teeth. Blood seemed to flood my eyeballs, and they threatened to burst.

"Connor," I tried to yell. My hands flew to his and I tried to pry them off me. The compression eased and was replaced by a soothing coolness.

Connor opened his eyes. He turned me to face the mirror. "Better?"

Miraculously, not a single bruise marred my fair skin.

"That sucked," I croaked.

Connor gave a weak smile. "Let me know when you're ready to do your ribs."

"Let's just get it over with. Will it hurt worse? Wait. I don't want to know. Just do it."

Connor lifted my shirt and looked at the green bruise forming over the swollen knot on my ribs. He tried to hide his reaction, but I could tell this was not going to be fun. I was right. Healing my ribs was ten times worse. I passed out from the pain.
Chapter 40

When I came to, my head was cradled in Connor's lap.

"There was more damage than I thought." He stroked my hair slowly, from the top of my head to where it flared across my back. "You've got amazing pain tolerance."

Carefully, I pressed against my ribcage. Then I sat up and gingerly bent to the side. My ribs were good as new.

"Unbelievable," I said. How had I ever thought Connor would do anything to hurt me? If what he said was true, that he'd been able to feel everything I was going through in the past weeks, then he'd felt my hatred and anger, my accusations of betrayal. Worst of all, he'd been powerless to convince me otherwise.

I was at a loss for what to say, so I turned to the cut over his eyebrow. The bleeding had stopped, but the wound looked deep. "Aren't you going to fix your cut?"

"Doesn't work that way. I need someone else to do it." Connor grabbed one of the pillows off my bed and moved to my desk chair. He pushed the chair against the wall, sat down, and rested the pillow between his head and the wall.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm staying here tonight. I don't want to take any chances now that East Region knows about you."

My hands flew up. "And then what? What about the next night, and the one after that? You can't protect me forever."

"Says who?"

"For starters, your dad."

"Nothing has been set in stone."

"I think it has," I said, remembering Manny's words. "This lifetime, we were never supposed to find each other. If we were, your dad would have welcomed me into West Region or allowed you to stay here. It couldn't be more obvious, Connor. We're not meant to be together. Not yet."

"That's what you want? For me to leave and hope we'll bump into each other in, what, another thousand years?"

"No! What I want is to leave with you right now and start my life in West Region. I want to not feel like a freak when I inadvertently make something fly across the room. I want to train with people like me and then maybe someday teach others, and be with you through all of it. But that's never going to happen, and it kills me to face that fact. And then you have the audacity to ask 'do I not want to see you for another thousand years,' and I wonder if you have any clue how much I love you?"

Connor crossed the room in two long strides and answered with the most passionate kiss of my life. He held my face in his hands and crashed his mouth onto mine as if he'd never get enough. His tongue parted my lips, and mine reached out to meet his. I slid across his teeth, and melted into his velvety warmth. The hand cupping my face trailed down my neck and back, leaving a delicious tingling where our skin met. His mouth moved over mine, hungry, and I pressed into him harder.

An unfamiliar fire lit inside me, and my body began acting without any guidance from my brain. Driven by a desperation I'd never felt before, I pulled Connor's t-shirt over his head. Connor slid my shirt off and our kissing grew more heated. My palms dampened and when I touched him, the electric sensation buzzed through the tenderest parts of my body. Everything happened so fast, I lost the ability to think.

His fingers were fumbling with the button on my jeans when he abruptly stopped. He leaned back on his arms, his breaths coming short and forceful. He trained his eyes on the ceiling until the rising of his chest deepened and slowed, until the spell that overtook us was broken.

Connor looked at me with what I could only describe as apology. "I don't want to do this without knowing what happens next," he said. "I can't do that to you."

I nodded. Our sense of urgency had fogged my judgment, and I wasn't sure this was a good idea. I wanted him in that way, but not like this. Not as our final, farewell moment. That would kill me for sure.

"We can always wait until the next lifetime," I joked.

"God, I hope not."

We pulled our shirts on. I lay in his arms, basking in a peace that I hadn't felt in weeks.

Connor was the one to break the silence. "I don't want to leave you again."

"I've learned how to take care of myself."

"It's not about that. I don't need West Region. I don't need to rule over a million people."

"How can you say that? You'd be giving up everything."

"If I went back without you, I'd lose everything."

If it were possible, I collapsed deeper into his arms.

"I'll make a few short trips back to learn what I can about Solomon and how he got through the portal, but otherwise, I don't want to leave your side."

"Where are you going to live?"

"Think Kimber would rent me a room?"

"Doubtful," I said.

"I'll figure something out."

"What about your body holding up here?" My hand rode down his hard, flat stomach and curled onto the waistband of his jeans. My safety meant nothing if his body was going to fail.

"I acclimated just fine. It just took a while. I can do it again."

"You'd have to enroll in my school," I said, loving and at the same time super cautious about the direction this was going.

"Good. Then I can check out the rest of your teachers."

"I don't think we need to worry about them. They've all been there since before I moved to Portland. And do you really want to take a physics class that's outdated by a century?"

"Are you trying to talk me out of this?" he asked.

"I should be, but no. None of this makes sense, but it's what I've always wanted." Second to living this same life in West Region, anyway.

Connor rolled onto one side. "I almost forgot." He reached into his front pocket and pulled out a device, smaller than a deck of cards.

"What's that?"

"My communication thingy," he teased. "I forgot to leave it in the lab."

He slid this into his back pocket and dug into the front one again. He opened his hand to reveal my coin necklace.

My face lit. "You had it the whole time." Now I remembered that he'd held onto it while I tried on Manny's dresses. Thank goodness, or this would have ended up in the river, too.

We curled into each other, our heads sharing the pillow. Connor fell asleep with his arm firmly around my waist. I lay awake, listening to his breath fall in and out and squeezing his hand when he let out a frightened moan. A nightmare stalked him in his sleep, causing him to kick and jerk his elbows and yell out. I felt useless, unable to protect him from whatever haunted him, the way he had protected me against so many of my demons.

In the dark of night, the coming day loomed with uncertainty. I allowed myself to think what we'd do when the sun rose, how we'd set up Connor's new life here. I refused to think any further ahead than that. Daylight would come too soon and with it, too many unanswered questions. I wanted to stay curved against him, suspended in this perfect vignette in time.

The sky changed from pitch to charcoal grey, telling me that the sun had risen somewhere behind the thick cloud cover. Connor was still deep asleep and I was happily pinned under his arm.

In the hazy light of dawn, my room came into shape. I decided I was far more tired than I realized when my eyes could no longer focus on my surroundings. Not that far in front of me, the lines shaping my desk began to blur. I rubbed my eyes and propped them open again. I refused to sleep through one minute of the passing night.

A couple of hard blinks chased the sleep from my eyes, but the blurring intensified near my desk. The air around it wavered and shimmered into human form. Every cell in my body went on red alert. Solomon had been in a pool of his own blood just a few hours ago. How could he have recovered?

I moved to wake Connor when the form took an unexpected shape. Mr. McCabe fizzled to life. Even in the half-light, I recognized the panic in his expression, the kind a dad gets when his child has gone missing. When he saw Connor asleep next to me, his spine relaxed. He let out a long exhale. His chin jutted as he gathered his composure. His posture regained, Connor's dad was a formidable sight.

"Never in the history of our family has an outsider brought so much trouble," Mr. McCabe finally said.

I held fast under Connor's arm, less for protection than as a statement of determination. Connor wanted to be here. I wanted him here and unlike my failed clash against Solomon, I was prepared to fight this battle.

"Connor saved my life last night."

This didn't impress Mr. McCabe the way I'd intended. He scanned my room, tiny in comparison to even the smallest in his mansion, and then rested his sight on the world beyond my window.

"Wake my son up," he said quietly.

Connor was already stirring. When he saw his father, he sat bolt upright.

"West Region security has been looking for you," Mr. McCabe said.

"I've only been gone overnight."

"It's been a very long night." His dad stepped closer. Fatigue ringed his eyes.

"I'm sorry you were worried, but I'm fine."

"I see that. I've left word with your school that you'll be out today. We have a series of security meetings, and I want you to attend all of them."

Connor swung his legs to the floor. "Please send my regrets to the Council. I won't be attending the meetings."

"And why not?"

Connor swallowed. "I'm resigning my future position as leader of West Region. I'm staying here. With Echo."

Mr. McCabe let out a weary laugh. "You are, are you? Well, far be it for me to interfere in your plans. I'll be sure to alert the Council that you're relocating. I suppose you think you can create a life in this barbaric environment?"

"That's the decision you've made."

"My decision?" Mr. McCabe spat.

"If you had any idea how powerful Echo is, you'd want her in West Region. With us."

I held back a smile at this unexpected declaration.

"We've had this conversation, Connor."

"That's why I've decided to stay."

Mr. McCabe's temper rose. "And when your body fails, I suppose you'll come running home?"

"I can move back and forth until I completely assimilate. It's been done before. I saw it in the portal records, that people have been able to stay long-term."

This was the first I'd heard of this. "For how long?" I asked.

Mr. McCabe ignored me. "You're right. It has worked in the past, but only because the portal remained open the entire time."

"What are you saying?" Connor's voice was surprisingly harsh.

"The portal has been compromised, Connor. East Region hacked into a branch of it. Solomon was here, wasn't he?" It was more a statement than a question. "Transported through a connection to our portal. The news we're getting from the East is that Solomon is dead, and you are responsible. East Region has put a bounty on you."

Connor paled. "He was after Echo."

"I know why he was here! And why you are here, and why the security of our region is at stake more than ever." Mr. McCabe's eyes burned into me. "She is not worth the safety of an entire nation. Or my son's life. Which is why you are returning to West Region, now, and we are shutting down the portal permanently."

My head jerked between Connor and his dad. "Mr. McCabe..." I pleaded.

Connor scrambled to his feet. "But, sir..."

"You insisted on breaking every code in the book by interfering in her time."

"Sir..."

"They could have assassinated you here!"

"I cannot leave her here!"

Mr. McCabe's voice lowered. "You can, and you will. You have thirty seconds." His form shimmered, faded and disappeared. I understood immediately what was happening.

"No!" Connor's eyes were wild. "He can't do this!"

Out of pure emotional self-defense, calm settled over me. I took Connor's hand. Precious seconds were ticking by.

"Don't. It's done," I said. "It's going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay." Tears clogged my throat.

Connor grabbed me in his arms and I clung to him. "If the portal is shut down, you'll be safe from East Region." His voice shook.

"Yes." I clenched my teeth against the building sobs.

"But never let your guard down," he said. "You have to fight for your life, Echo. Do you understand me?"

"Stop, please." I didn't want to hear anymore, not in the last few seconds of this lifetime together.

"Abilities like yours come once in a hundred years."

I nodded. My breaths became ragged.

The electric sensation that I had craved since I first touched Connor grew stronger. The portal locked onto him.

I dug my fingers into him. This couldn't be happening. We'd come so close.

Trembling, Connor released me and stepped back until only our fingertips touched.

"I'll always be waiting for you," he whispered.

"Me too."

His form glowed in a dazzling array of pale white light, and he began to fade. At the very last second, he withdrew his fingers from mine.

He was gone.

*****

Continue reading for Echo Across Time Bonus Material, and Echo Into Darkness, the exciting sequel!

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Echo Across Time

Bonus Material

Q&A with Skye Genaro

Paranormal Power Quiz

Paranormal Quiz Answers

Discussion Questions

Skye Genaro's Echo Across Time Playlist

Q&A with Skye Genaro.

How could you end Echo Across Time like that!? Don't you have a heart?

It was a hard decision, but Echo and Connor each need to develop and grow as individuals before they can have a future together.

Where did the idea for Echo Across Time come from?

I've always been fascinated by the paranormal and have had some very interesting experiences of my own. However, they've been nothing like what Echo experiences. I've always wondered what would happen if I woke up one day with crazy abilities that were out of my control.

While it would be really cool to have the ability to move things with my mind or walk through walls, I personally would be frightened to have that much power. I know a lot of people would jump at the chance to have these kinds of abilities, but this imbalance of power can have an unsettling effect on a person's life.

The crux of this saga is about personal power--identifying it, embracing it, respecting it and the impact we have on the world through the empowered choices we make. I thought it would be interesting to explore this through a character who is forced to deal with paranormal power.

How did you come up with Connor's character?

When I was six years old, I dreamt that I was in the basement of our family's house and a boy about my age materialized next to the staircase. I couldn't see him very well, but he had dark hair and a dark complexion. I sensed that he was from a royal family and that he had made a special trip to find me.

I also knew that this boy was the love of my life, from another lifetime. We didn't speak, and he faded away after just a minute. I woke up feeling like I had found, and then lost, my soulmate. That feeling of deep loss stayed with me for a long time.

Many years later, I set out to write a story about a teenage girl who was struggling with unwanted paranormal ability. When I started crafting the love interest, I remembered the dream, and the love story between Echo and Connor was born.

Is there a character you had the most fun writing? If so, why?

Raquelle was a lot of fun to write because she's just so nasty, and I loved creating Manny because his abilities are so intriguing. Who wouldn't want to spend time with a person like Manny?

Of all the characters though, I enjoyed writing Echo the most. She has a strong arc across the series, which was a lot of fun to write, and I enjoyed watching her develop as a character. Then I got to match her up with a hot guy from the future and write about their budding romance. What's not to love about that?

What's the significance of that butterfly in the Reserve?

The butterfly is a symbol of powerful transformation and metamorphosis, which is one of the reasons why Manny calls Echo "Butterfly." The nickname goes well beyond her make-over, as you'll see in the upcoming books.

I named the butterfly Hecate, (pronounced hek-uh-tee), after the Greek goddess of the earth and Hades. She is also associated with sorcery and crossroads. These themes are all prominent in The Echo Saga.

Why did you choose to set Echo Across Time in Portland, Oregon?

I've lived in Portland for nearly twenty years, and I think it makes a fantastic backdrop for the story. Most of the places in the story exist, from the three-story mall where the climax plays out to the wealthy, hilltop neighborhood where Echo lives. When you live in or near the area you're writing about, it's easy to visualize the settings. There were times when I needed inspiration while writing Echo Across Time and I often found it by scouting for an interesting location to set a scene. This made me fall in love with Portland all over again.

Not only is the city beautiful, but it is also home to a strong film industry. Movies and television programs are constantly being filmed here. If someone decided to turn Echo Across Time into a movie, Portland would be the perfect setting.

You can visit my website, <http://skyegenaro.com>, to see pictures of Portland that inspired locations in the story, including Echo's house and Pioneer Mall.

Do people with paranormal abilities really exist?

Portland is home to quite a few authentic psychics and mediums. I personally know someone who is very talented at psychometry. I have a friend who is an empath, another one who is a very gifted medium, and many others who live in the Pacific Northwest.

Unlike the negative stereotypes, these gifted friends are very down-to-earth, honest people who know their ability's limitations. When they don't know the answer to a question, they'll tell you. They never make up answers.

As for psychic healing and psychokinesis, I've seen fascinating documentaries on these subjects. I've listed some of these resources on my website.

If you could have three paranormal abilities, what would they be?

Levitation. Levitation. Levitation.

I really, really want to fly.

Paranormal quiz: Match the power with the definition.

Astral travel

Auric reading

Bi-location

Clairaudience

Clairsentience

Clairvoyance

Energy medicine

Mediumship

Precognition/premonition

Psychometry

Pyrokinesis

Remote viewing

  1. To be in multiple places at the same time.

  2. The ability to "see" information in the form of images, symbols, or action taking place.

  3. Knowing ahead of time that an event is going to take place.

  4. Gathering of information from a distance, usually by going into a trance and envisioning the place or person in question.

  5. To know information about a person by holding one of their possessions, such as the person's eyeglasses, jewelry, or wallet.

  6. To go "out of body."

  7. The ability to know information through cues that your body gives you. A common example of this is a gut feeling that something is wrong.

  8. The ability to create and control fire with your mind.

  9. The ability to heal someone using energy that you channel or generate from your body.

  10. The ability to sense or see the energy fields surrounding people, places, and things.

  11. The ability to communicate with people who have died.

  12. The ability to hear information or answers via a voice inside you.

Quiz Answers

A. The ability to be in multiple places at the same time. 3. Bi-location.

B. The ability to "see" information in the form of images, symbols, or action taking place. 6. Clairvoyance.

C. Knowing ahead of time that an event is going to take place. 9. Precognition/premonition.

D. Gathering of information from a distance, usually by going into a trance and envisioning the place or person in question. 12. Remote viewing.

E. To know information about a person by holding one of their possessions, like the person's eye glasses, jewelry, or wallet. 10. Psychometry.

F. To go "out of body." 1. Astral travel

G. The ability to know information through cues that your body gives you. A common example of this is a gut feeling that something is wrong. 5. H.Clairsentience.

I. The ability to create and control fire with your mind. 11. Pyrokinesis.

J The ability to heal someone using energy that you channel or generate from your body. 7. Energy medicine.

K. The ability to sense or see the energy fields surrounding people, places, and things. 2. Auric reading.

L. The ability to communicate with people who have died. 8. Mediumship.

M. The ability to hear information or answers. 4. Clairaudience.

Discussion Questions

Which one of the powers listed in the quiz would you most want to have? Why?

If you did have this ability, would you tell your friends and family about it? How do you think they'd react? Would you worry about losing friends if you told them the truth about yourself? How do you think society in general reacts to individuals with paranormal abilities?

What kinds of things would you do with your ability? Do you think you'd be more likely to use it to benefit yourself, or to help others? Would you be more likely to consider your ability a gift or a curse?

Which Echo Across Time character do you most relate to? Why?

Echo Across Time takes a look at various types of power, not just the paranormal kind. What kind of power does Raquelle have? What about Becca? Why do you think potions and spells are so important to Becca?

Do you think it's possible for a society to embrace gifted people the way West Region does? What challenges might individuals and society face in a place like West Region? Do you foresee a time in our future where people would openly talk about and develop their gifts?

*****

Skye Genaro's Echo Across Time Playlist

"Inner Journey" by Sonic Adventure Project. This song embodies Echo's internal journey and how, at the beginning, she chains her soul to the expectations of popular culture instead of seeking her individual power.

"Safe and Sound" by Capital Cities. If Connor picked a song for himself (one in this century anyway), he'd pick this one. This is how he wants Echo to see him. "Connor's Song"

"Cheap and Evil Girl" by Bree Sharp. I think we all know who this is about. Don't you just love to hate Raquelle?

"Science and Vision" by Chvrches. This song fits well with chapter 7, when Connor shows Echo the true meaning of her power during that first training session.

"Everything Has Changed" by Taylor Swift, featuring Ed Sheeran. Listening to this takes me to the scene where Echo and Connor kiss for the first time.

"Falling" by HAIM. This reminds me of the determination that Echo and Connor have to stay together, despite the barriers.

"Stay" by Rhianna. If ever there were a love anthem for Echo and Connor, I think this would be it.

"Home" by Above and Beyond. If Echo chose a theme song for Echo Across Time, I think she'd pick this one.

*****

Echo Into Darkness

Book 2 in the Echo Saga

Skye Genaro

Also by Skye Genaro

Echo Across Time, Book 1 in The Echo Saga

Echo Into Light, Book 3 in The Echo Saga

Echo Rising, Book 4 in The Echo Saga

Four First Kisses, an Echo Across Time short story

After the Dance, an Echo Across Time short story

Anything She Wants

Supernatural Summer

Copyright © 2014 by Skye Genaro

In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at skyegenarobooks@gmail.com, or http://skyegenaro.com.

Thank you for your support of the author's rights.

This story is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

This book is also available as a print book.

Book Bundle December 21, 2018

V1 Bundle

Cover designed by: RAVVEN

http://www.ravven.com

Interior designed by: Brighid Publishing

Echo Into Darkness summary:

So close to death that he could probably taste it, Connor set his gaze on his hidden audience. At a moment when most prisoners would lash out in panic, he stared down his tormentors. Behind that stormy, warring face was a tenderness that only I knew. A devotion that ran so deep, he had risked everything to search for me beyond the boundaries of time.

Now, his life was in my hands.

As Echo tries to piece her life together after the devastating separation from her soulmate, she finds herself in a cat-and-mouse game with bewitching criminals whose paranormal terrorism threatens to take over her city.

When a frightening turn of events puts Connor's life at risk, Echo must unveil the depths of her power or lose him forever.

Echo Into Darkness is a story of power, passion and deceit that will keep you turning pages and leave you breathless.

For Val and Christy.

When they tried to break you with Darkness,

you held fast to the Light.

*******

Power is not a means, it is an end...The object of persecution is

persecution. The object of torture is torture.

The object of power is power.

-George Orwell

When the power of love overcomes

the love of power, the world will

know peace.

-Sri Chinmoy Ghose
Echo Into Darkness

Prologue

I felt like I was in a horror movie, the kind where I was locked in a room and the monsters kept multiplying until they surrounded me and my death was just a matter of time.

But it wasn't my life that was at stake. That, I could have accepted. It was your blood they shouted for. My soulmate's. The most powerful person I had ever known.

When they turned on the light in your cell and I saw you through the one-way window, bruised and bleeding, it nearly broke me. I was thankful you couldn't see beyond the glass, couldn't see the fear building behind my eyes.

If you could, you would have watched me fight for your life with everything I had. You would have seen them laughing and cheering as if they were watching a sporting match, instead of a grisly duel where your life was the prize.

They were placing bets that I could not save you.

I was terrified they were right.

It was ironic that these monsters would test my strength, my ability to destroy beautiful things, when all the time they were tapping into the very depths of my love. That was the key to everything worth living for, wasn't it? The power of love to overcome the darkest of fears? It had to be.

While they shouted to see your blood spill, love was the one thing that pushed my paranormal gift beyond its boundaries. It was the key to keeping you alive.

If I lost this contest, then they would have to take my life, too. I would push them so far they would have no choice. Then you and I would finally be free to live out our destiny, together.
Chapter 1

There's something about the week between Christmas and New Year's that I've always loved. Presents have been opened and school is still out for winter break. The whole neighborhood smells like Christmas trees. Holiday lights brighten up every block. It's one big joy-to-the-world fest while everyone rides high on eggnog and sugar cookies.

I blew warm air on my hands and thought maybe I could enjoy the crisp winter night if I just dropped the sarcasm. This was my first trip out of the house since the start of holiday break, and let's face it, no way would I be walking through my neighborhood alone at night except my stepmom, Kimber, had handed me Tito's leash and ushered us both out the door.

Staying inside was safer, but Kimber didn't know that paranormal ability had dramatically changed my life during fall semester. She knew nothing about the incident at the mall, when Solomon, a man from Connor's time, had tried to kidnap me. She'd never found out about the night when I nearly fell three stories to my death.

If it were up to me, I would forget that entire incident, including the part about Connor coming to my rescue. Pretend he hadn't left for good the next morning. Ignore the constant feeling of vulnerability, like a chill I could not shake even when I burrowed beneath the heaviest of blankets.

Connor could have put an end to that chill. I'd felt secure when he was with me, protecting me. Also, his body ran a little warmer than anyone else I hugged, and the electric stream beneath his skin, well, that made me warm in a very different way.

Now I hunkered into my fleece coat, on the lookout for some nondescript faction people who would seriously mess me up if they found me. Connor had known my life was in danger, but he had not been able to point out the enemy. He only knew that a band of faction members were stationed somewhere in Portland, living in secrecy, running companies, raising families, blending into society. When they weren't pretending to be normal, harmless citizens, they were rounding up gifted kids like me and forcing them to use their abilities to commit violent crimes.

Not knowing where these faction people lived, what their names were, or how to find them was fertile ground for my recent nightmares. All I knew for certain was that my gifts--the telekinesis, the levitation, the whole crazy lot of it--put me in serious danger. I was walking around with a target on my back.

I shuddered and forced my attention back to the cheery atmosphere. The red and green lights decorating Becca's house across the street blinked, faded, and came on again, forming a snowflake pattern. The decorative electric reindeer at the end of the street bobbed up and down like they were excited to see me. I actually waved at them. That's what happened when you spent your entire winter vacation in self-imposed solitary confinement--you got desperate for friendship.

A couple of hardcore joggers ran by and I immediately clicked into aura-reading mode. I felt the damp heat of their determination, the clarity of their focus. They sprinted up the hill, giving no indication they saw me. I almost relaxed, but then I picked up another faint vibration in the air--something tentative and leaden. Just as quickly, it was gone.

I wrapped Tito's leash around my gloved hand and waited while he peed on everything that didn't move. My side ached a little bit, and I pressed my arm against my coat. Connor had healed my ribs after Solomon broke them, but they still nagged when the weather got cold. I didn't mind. It was a sweet reminder that my soulmate existed out there somewhere. He'd been gone for weeks, but the sting of our last few seconds together never faded. They never would. You didn't just forget a supernatural guy with tropical green eyes who taught you how to levitate and push your hand through solid objects.

At the West Vista Bridge, I gave Tito a backward tug. My toes were numb, and he was shivering beneath his red and white Santa coat. But he strained toward the bridge and barked.

"Quiet, Tito. Come on, let's go home."

The bridge spanned a ravine and a highway and connected my neighborhood to downtown Portland. Constructed entirely of molded cement, it resembled a relic from Gothic times, especially when the majority of its lights were burned out.

Tito's oversized Chihuahua ears twitched. A whimper came from somewhere on the bridge. A chill ran down my back when I realized the sound was human, not animal. Tito pulled us down the sidewalk. There it was again, a broken sob, so short and soft that the night air seemed to steal the life from it.

Where was it coming from? The entire stretch of sidewalk was empty, and beyond the railing? Nothing but a hundred-foot drop.

A rubber sole scuffed against concrete and I looked up. A slender figure stood on the bridge railing and clung to the rough stone column.

"Omigod. What are you doing?" I asked.

The girl's mouth formed a surprised O. Her hair stuck out from under a striped knit cap, and a reddish smear soiled one side of her blue nylon coat. My sixth sense told me the stain was blood. Her cheek pressed into the column, delicate features mottled by pale moonlight.

"Leave me alone," she whispered. She turned her tear-streaked face to the drop-off. When her weight shifted, the nylon fabric of her coat scraped against the stone like a scream.

"Wait! You can't do this!" I reached for my phone to call 911. It wasn't in my pocket.

"I don't have a choice." Tears garbled her speech. "You don't know what I'm going through."

"It's not as bad as you think," I answered. It sounded horribly cliché, but what do you say to a girl who is about to end her life? I scrambled for the right words. "Come down and talk. You can tell me what's wrong."

The girl laid haunted eyes on mine. My skin went taut, and I felt my aura bend outward. She was prodding it, testing its strength. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

"You're gifted," she said. "You can levitate and move things with your mind."

Only another gifted person would pick up these subtle differences in my aura. Once, a few months back, I longed to share my truth with another gifted person, to shake the never-ending loneliness. This wasn't an ordinary gifted girl, though. I had tucked my aura in tight, but she unraveled my paranormal secrets too easily. She was hiding ability, too, and really well, like she had been schooled in the uncommon art of auric camouflage.

Then she let it loose, and the air between us pulsed. A humid, chemical taste clogged the back of my throat. Alarm pinched my stomach. I scooped Tito and took three long steps backward.

"You're in the faction," I choked.

The girl blinked at me, her eyes as big as an owl's. Searing guilt drifted off her aura. What had she done to make her teeter on the edge of death?

Something Connor once said came back to me. When gifted people were enslaved by factions, they were expected to follow orders, no matter how hideous the demands. If they refused, the faction forced them into action, using any method necessary, including torture. I wasn't sure exactly what this girl had been through, but I could not abandon her.

"Please come down," I said. "We'll find someone who can help."

"They made me do it." She panted, unable to catch her breath. She clenched her eyes. "I can still hear the screaming."

"Okay, yeah, you're right; they made you do it." I played along to keep her talking. "They're responsible for what happened. Now come on down."

The girl sensed my uncertainty. "You think I'm crazy." Her attention latched onto Tito, and she levitated him out of my arms.

"What are you doing?" I strapped my dog to my chest. "Leave him alone. I believe you, all right?"

Tears rolled down her face. "The lightning strike. I made it hit those people outside the movie theater. They never even did anything to deserve it."

"Oh my God," I said. "You did that?" During winter in the Pacific Northwest, it rained for months on end, but lightning was extremely rare. So it was beyond freaky when, on a clear day last week, a bolt struck and injured six people while they waited in line to buy movie tickets.

"If I didn't obey, they were going to hurt me again." She wiped her nose on the back of her coat sleeve. That, too, was wet with a red stain.

"Are you bleeding?" I asked. "Did they do that to you?"

She nodded.

"Who are they? Tell me who did this." If this ended badly--and please, please don't let that happen--I would at least have something to take to the police. An odd thought went through my mind. She couldn't have been more than seventeen. My age. She leaned into the gaping blackness beyond the bridge. "Wait!" In one swift movement, I set Tito on the sidewalk and clutched the girl's coat in both my hands. The fabric was slick between my cotton gloves. If she jumped, she would slip right out of my grasp.

A glimmer of recognition filled her aura. "I've felt you before," she said in a dreamy voice. "I know who you are." She seemed to look right through me. "They've felt you, too. They can sense you're in the city. They'll figure out who you are and come after you, next. You have everything they want."

A tremor knocked through my legs. "Who's coming after me? You have to tell me who runs the faction."

"They'll never stop using me. This is the only way out for any of us." Her gaze was fixed on a distant point. Then, as though she had a sudden change of heart, the girl extended her hand. Yes, thank God, I was finally getting through to her. I took it, but she leaned away, her weight pulling me onto the ledge with her.

"Jump with me. Before they get to you. It's the only way out," she repeated.

I ripped my hand away. This girl was seriously sick. "I'm going for help. Please stay here."

No sooner had I gathered up Tito than the strangest thing happened. The girl became bathed in white light, as if by the simple act of intense wishing, she had become a celestial being. After a few seconds, the glow fell away, casting her in darkness again and drawing our eyes to the highway below.

A car had stopped on the shoulder, and someone aimed a spotlight at the bridge. It skimmed the abutment on our left, drew toward the center, slowing at each section. The harsh light drifted across the columns and spindles and settled once again on the girl. Her arm shot up to shield her face.

"Omigod. They found me!" she wailed. She dropped to the sidewalk, knocking me to the pavement. Her blue jacket faded into the inky night as she sprinted down the hill toward town.

The spotlight kept pace but then lost her. Instead of going dark, it arced and dove, retracing the girl's steps to the center of the bridge where I was scrambling to my feet. It glared between the railing spindles, cutting my body into vertical stripes of shadow and light. I grabbed Tito and ran.
Chapter 2

The dream came like clockwork. Connor lay next to me with his head resting on my shoulder. His hand found its way to my bare stomach, where it rose and fell with each of my breaths.

We were stretched out on the portico roof outside my bedroom window. In my dream, wispy clouds feathered across the blue sky and the tops of Douglas fir trees swayed in the breeze. I was happier than I had been in months. With Connor's hand nestled beneath my shirt, it was impossible to be unhappy. His fingers traveled north to my rib cage and traced circles.

"That tickles," I giggled. I laced a handful of midnight black hair through my fingers and tilted his head back. His perfectly formed lips curved into a devil-may-care smile. The blue flecks in his eyes communicated a promise that I couldn't quite make out but was packed with daring and thrill.

He brushed his lips across my throat, and a day's worth of stubble pricked my cheek. This was odd because I had only ever seen him close-shaven. The tip of his tongue darted along my lips, teasing me with the taste of earth and dampness. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Then he sunk his mouth onto mine, and my whole body melted.

"Echo," he said without leaving my mouth.

"Mmm?" I said as our tongues slid together. Whatever he wanted would have to wait.

"Echo," he repeated.

"Sshhh." I got lost in his kiss. I loved how he said my name without moving his lips, like he was speaking directly into my thoughts. In my dream, we had grown so close we lost the need to communicate like regular people.

"Tell me whatever you want, but don't stop kissing me," I answered with my mind.

Connor pulled his mouth away. Then he sneezed on me.

"Echo, wake up or you'll be late for school," a female voice crackled in my ear.

Like a broken mirror, the perfect image of blue sky, fir trees, and Connor split down the middle, splintered, and fell out of sight.

I opened my eyes part way. Kimber was setting a pile of folded laundry on my dresser. "I don't want to get any calls about you skipping school this semester, all right?"

School?

Tito ogled me from his spot next to my head. His bulgy eyes quivered like he'd had too much caffeine, pretty much the natural state for a Chihuahua.

"Aaagh! Please, everyone go away." And Connor, come back! I stuffed the pillow over my head.

Kimber stole the pillow. "Did you hear what I said about missing school?"

"Yessss," I hissed. I played hooky with Connor one day last semester, and everyone acted like was a repeat delinquent.

"Going back to school will be good for you. You've spent too much time moping around the house." She planted a quick peck on the top of my head. "Are you okay this morning?"

I'd told Kimber about the girl on the bridge as soon as I got home. She'd called the police and given them the description I provided. Though it probably wasn't worth anything, I had also said the girl was running away from someone. No, I didn't know who. No, I didn't get her name. I skipped over the paranormal part of our interaction.

"I'm all right," I replied, even though I was far from it. I had tossed restlessly most of the night, afraid for the girl and what had become of her. I was also pretty freaked that the faction had somehow sensed my ability.

"Kimber," I called out. She waited at the door, expectant. "Thanks for everything."

"Of course, sweetie." She gave me a quizzical look. "Did something else happen last night that you're not telling me?"

"No. I just, you know, appreciate your help telling the police."

"Well, you're welcome. Have a good day at school." She hurried out.

"That's a contradiction in terms," I said to Tito. He yawned. "Ew, your breath smells like dog butt." I rubbed my eyes and licked the sleep off my lips. They tasted suspiciously like kibble. And dog butt. "Oh, gross!"

No wonder my soulmate's kisses had felt so real. Someone's tongue had been in my mouth.

A half bottle of mouthwash later, I'd rinsed away Tito's French kiss. I showered and pulled my chestnut hair into a ponytail. The mascara wand levitated into my hand, and I swiped a dark layer onto my lashes. The tube of Shimmer Berry gloss rose off the vanity on its own, the top twisted off, and I expertly stroked it across my lips, all without touching any of it.

At my closet, I plunged my hand through the closed door. My knuckles made a soft sucking sound as they disappeared into the wood and emerged in the dark interior. I smiled, remembering the first time Connor taught me how to move my body through solid objects. That happy memory was followed by the dull ache of loneliness. I pushed his perfect face out of my head.

I flipped through the hangers and blindly selected a shirt. Then I pulled it, hanger and all, through the door. "Yup, that's about right," I said to the black blouse I'd chosen. I slid into a pair of jeans and clasped the coin necklace from Connor around my neck. I slipped magnetic bracelets onto my wrist, that extra layer of protection to help keep my aura contained.

I usually enjoyed my morning magic routine, but today, the ritual was tainted with darkness. The girl on the bridge had been a wakeup call, and any doubts I'd had about the faction existing in Portland were gone. As disturbing as the encounter was, the girl fascinated me. She was the strongest person I'd met here, in my time. A kindred spirit who had been sucked to the dark side.

I wanted to know where she was. If she had survived the night. Did her parents know what was happening to her? I doubted it. Let's face it: you try to tell adults about paranormal power or faction baddies and you're going to find yourself in a three-day institution lockdown with a Thorazine drip.

A tremor went through my shoulders. If she had jumped, and her body was discovered at the bottom of the ravine, her parents would have no clue why she ended her life.

My bedside clock ticked closer to the school's late bell. I ignored it, sat at my desk, and fished out a piece of paper. The girl's warning shook me. The thought that I, too, might be snatched up made my head buzz. I scribbled a hasty note and sealed it in an envelope. On the outside I wrote: To Dad and Kimber. If, by some horrific turn of events, I did not make it home after school one day, the note would give my parents some closure. I set this under my bedside lamp where it would go unnoticed unless someone was looking for it.

I slung my book bag over my shoulder, catching my reflection in the mirror. My shoulders curled inward. My chin hung low. The past months had been a fresh sort of misery. I lived in fear of a nebulous threat that I did not understand. And just last night, I met someone who suffered at the hand of the very people I was trying to avoid. No wonder I looked like I was cowering.

I had two choices: let blind fear consume me every day for the rest of my life, or find out what I was up against and figure out how to stay out of the faction's hands. There was only one place to start.

I had to find that girl.

*******

The secondhand BMW that my dad bought for me hated cold weather as much as I did. The engine slowly chugged to life and groaned as I eased it down the hail-slickened hill toward my high school. The freezing temperature made my teeth knock together, but I didn't bother turning the heater on. Lincoln High was a few minutes away, on the edge of downtown, but I wasn't even going that far. Partway down the hill, I parked at the West Vista Bridge and got out.

I counted the pillars to the fourth one, and dipped my head over the side, looking for some evidence of last night's bizarre incident. I didn't know what I expected to find--a blood smear, a personal item left behind, or the girl's phone number written in bright ink with a message saying let's grab vanilla lattes and play 'find the villains'!

On the far side of the column, a few millimeters from the drop-off, a small silver object glittered. An earring? A small pendant? Whatever it was, it was potentially a clue, and far out of reach. Shoot. I so did not want to do this in public. I did a quick scan to make sure I was alone, threw one leg over the railing, and stretched toward the object.

"Don't look down. Do not look down," I coached myself. I clenched my teeth and telekinetically latched onto the metallic piece. It slid closer. "Come on, a little more, a little--whoamigod."

A wind gust pushed me toward the great wide open. I got an involuntary glimpse of the ravine, and that was it. My ability locked up. It always did when panic got the best of me, and few things blocked me faster than my fear of heights. My near-death experience at the mall had only made this worse.

The silver object was close enough to tell it wasn't jewelry at all--a wad of crumpled yogurt lid, or some other piece of garbage. The wind flipped it over the edge, and I watched it sail a hundred feet and land on the side of the highway.

The girl had been right about one thing. Dropping from this height would do away with all my problems. No factions to worry about. No sleepless nights. No long, lonely days aching for my soulmate. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what it would be like to die suddenly and painlessly, to leave this earth and move onto the next plane. Would all my dread and uncertainty vanish? Most important, would Connor and I find each other in my next lifetime?

An Oracle once promised that Connor and I were meant to be together, but--and he was especially firm about this condition--we would not share a life until some unknown time in the future. So we were forced to live out our current lives separately, die, and then, if the universe was feeling particularly generous the next time around, we would be born during the same time and eventually find one another.

Straddling the railing, my head cottony from the overwhelming height, I wondered if that was all I needed to do to finally be with him: end this life early. It was an ugly thought, but my head was full of ugly thoughts right then.

A car pulled to the curb and I heard the electric hum of a window rolling down.

"There you are, you little witch! You're the one who hacked into my account, aren't you?"

Well, this was awkward. There was no mistaking that screech, or the accusation it delivered. I rolled my eyes and turned to face the car.

Raquelle Crane glared from inside her convertible, her glossy peach-berry lips pinched in vengeance. The previous summer, she had warmly welcomed me into her elite clique, the Partychicks, after I moved to Portland. Shortly thereafter, she unceremoniously dumped me. Now she and I had an unspoken pact to inject misery into each others' lives. Leave it to Raquelle to hassle me when I'm inches away from possibly ending mine.

"I'm kind of busy," I said.

"I know you're the one who deleted all my YouTube videos. Nobody else would have dared to touch my account! Freak!! This is not over!!! I'll get you, and your weird little witch friend, too."

I slid to the sidewalk and jammed a hand on my hip. "You leave Becca out of this."

"What were you doing on the railing, anyway?" she snapped.

"Did you happen to see a girl out here last night? In a blue coat?"

"What do I look like, the neighborhood watch?" That was Raquelle for you. If it wasn't posted on Instagram, it wasn't worth knowing. "You didn't answer my question. Were you going to jump? Because before you snuff yourself, you'd better give me Connor's real address. The one you gave me was fake."

"Over my dead body," I said.

"Hurry up and jump then," she replied in a bored tone.

I started to laugh, because it's classic Raquelle to overlook the fact that if I'm dead, she can't manipulate Connor's address out of me.

"What's so funny?"

"Do you ever run things past your brain before you say them?" I asked.

"Screw you, Echo. Now get back up on that railing and jump like the champion loser you are."

I flipped her the finger as she peeled away. Nobody tells me when to die.
Chapter 3

Lincoln High School is a blond brick building designed in a modern take on Greek revival. Embedded columns separate row upon row of tall windows. When the weather is nice, sunlight fills the school. In the gray of winter, the oppressive clouds collect right outside the fluorescent-lit classrooms, making the days seem all the gloomier.

I got to my locker as the second period bell rang. Extra bonus: I rounded the corner outside my chemistry class and slammed into my principal, Mr. Lauer. My books went flying.

"Welcome back," my principal said. "Not a great start to the semester." He tapped his watch.

I scooped my books off the floor and gave him a sheepish grin. "Uh, yeah, it's been one of those mornings." Some of the administrative staff would have slapped me with detention for being late. Not Mr. Lauer. He didn't hassle anyone unless they really deserved it.

I plunked into my chemistry seat, already woozy from the swirl of teenage auras spilling into mine. If you were able to feel people's emotions the way I can, sitting in my classroom would feel something like this: the girl suffering a panic attack would throw a bucket of icy water on you, right before another girl with PMS brushed you with a coat of metallic bristles; the jock seated in the corner gave off a distracting buzz from thinking about his girlfriend (again), and no matter how icky it was, you were stuck feeling it too.

Mr. Wickner started his chemical equations lecture and I energy-scanned my classmates. From the look and feel, none of them had spent the night agonizing over suicide or outrunning criminals. That was okay. I would have been shocked to find the girl from the bridge that easily.

After just one class, I needed a break from the auric chaos, because the other downside to feeling people's emotions was the way they clung. It was as bad as walking through a cat show wearing a Velcro suit: soon you're covered in hair, none of it's yours, and it's a real pain to get it off.

The girls' bathroom in the old wing was the closest escape. I latched myself in a stall, sat on the toilet seat, and let out a deep breath. Two seconds later, the bathroom door slammed. Angry footsteps pounded across the tile. Boots, untied and flopping loosely, gave away their owner.

I looked through the gap in the stall door and there was Becca, my former best friend. She had dyed her short hair platinum blond over winter break and the roots had grown out. Becca wasn't a fashionista by any standard, but she drew the line at dark roots. Something definitely had the girl in an emotional twist.

Becca dug a fist full of glass vials out of her book bag. "You are so stupid. You are the biggest freaking moron on the planet," I heard her say.

I snuck a look under the door. One pair of feet. One girl. She was talking to herself. She pressed her face to within an inch of the mirror. "You're a big fake and everybody knows it." She threw the vials into the sink. Glass shattered.

Oh no. Becca had been selling her Wiccan potions to students since last year. I heard rumors that her potions were garbage and people were asking for their money back. If she and I were still good friends, I would have come out of hiding and tried to console her, but she'd been freezing me out since before Christmas break. I was pretty sure eavesdropping on her hateful rant would just make her madder.

Becca started sniffling. Physics class was about to start. Mr. King was back, and he was handing out tardy slips like they were Halloween candy. Her whimpers turned into crying. I swore under my breath, and she heard me.

"Who's in there?" she demanded.

I stepped out of the stall.

"Oh, great. Like my life doesn't suck enough already." Her cheeks were splotchy. She disappeared into the stall and blew her nose loudly.

"I'm sorry, Becca. I didn't mean to overhear."

"No you're not. You always thought my Wiccan beliefs were dumb. Go ahead and say it. Try something new for a change."

Something new? I didn't get what she meant. "I know you believed the potions worked, and I'm okay with that."

She croaked a huff. "Pul-eeeez, when are you going to stop lying about everything? You thought I was a faker. Do us both a favor and at least admit that."

"And why are we talking about me, now?"

She rinsed her face with cool water and looked at me with red eyes. "Answer one question. Honestly, this time."

"Okaaaaay," I said hesitantly.

"When we were at the mall, that night you fell over the railing, I saw you hanging by your fingertips. You were about to die. The next thing I know, you're safe and standing next to Connor. Explain how he was able to reach all the way over, grab you, and haul you back up with one arm."

"He's really strong," I replied. My eyes got all blinky. Ever since that incident last semester, she knew I was hiding something big.

"Lucas is on the wrestling team and can bench-press two-fifty. I told him how you got rescued, and he says what Connor did was impossible. For a normal human being, at least."

"Clearly it's not, or I'd be dead," I said.

"I wish for once, you'd tell me the truth."

I wanted to tell her, I really did, and she saw my desire to spill the entire story flash cross my face. If I told her right now about my telekinesis, or that I felt her disappointment piercing my skin like shards of glass, would that repair our friendship? I glanced into the sink where her failed potions soiled the white ceramic. The truth was messy and sharp, and sharing it might end any chance of us being friends ever again.

"You know the whole story," I said.

"Have it your way." She gave me one more disdainful look and left the bathroom.

*******

I could not find my car keys. I searched everywhere--in my locker, my classrooms, my book bag, the office. I gave in and retraced my steps through school, and found them near my Trigonometry desk. So far, the first day of the semester was scoring a big fat zero.

I was irritated for another reason, too. I had scanned every student in my classes, the halls and lunchroom in search of the girl from the bridge but was no closer to finding her. My school had over a thousand students. Multiply that times all the high schools in Portland, and tracking her down now seemed a ludicrous task. I'd gotten a small consolation when I used the library computers during lunch to check the local news. Nobody had reported finding a girl's body overnight.

It was dark by the time I got outside, and another storm was drenching the city. I flipped the hood of my rain jacket over my head and sloshed past the cars in the teachers' parking lot. I dodged a puddle, grumbling that I had to go all the way across the lot and a sodden soccer field to get to my car.

A shadow fluttered across my path, and I inched the hood away from my eyes. The teachers' lot was still pretty full, but I was the only one out there. A few rows over, a car alarm went off, screeching three discordant tones at once. I jumped. Another one shrieked in the row next to me, and then two more. There was no way I triggered the alarms. I'd kept my tele-chaosing under control all day.

Little bumps rose on my neck and I took off at a jog into the soccer field. The mud sucked at my tennis shoes and leaked onto my socks. Stray hairs floated out from under my hood, like the sky was building with electricity. When I opened my car door to climb in, the metal sparked. Unease trickled down my back. Static shocks didn't usually happen when everything was soaking wet. Something was not right. I started the car and pressed the accelerator.

I heard the explosion before I saw it. A ball of light hit the pavement in front of my car, sending flames up over the hood. I screamed and slammed on the brakes. The rain snuffed out the fire before I even got out of my car.

A guy lay curled in a tight ball on the scorched pavement. Smoke rose off his clothing.

"Are you all right?" I screeched.

I watched, breathless, as he rolled to his hands and knees. He braced a dicey leg beneath him and got to his feet. He was tall and had broad shoulders. I expected him to be hurt from the explosion, but he appeared to come out of it unscathed.

"What happened?" I asked. "Did I hit you? Did you hit me?"

The guy braced his lower back with his knuckles and stretched. His dark eyes gave me a cursory once-over. His upper lip curled high and smug on one side. A flicker of recognition set in and my lips parted in disbelief. I knew that smirk. I'd wanted to slap it off its owner more than once.

"Jaxon? Is that you? What are you...how did you..."

Jaxon, the guy who ran the West Region portal, looked down from his six-foot frame. "Well, well. If it isn't the famous Butterfly." 
Chapter 4

Ratty brown hair hung in Jaxon's eyes. His cheeks were sunken and his jawline more defined than I remembered, like he had missed a lot of meals recently. His oversized sweatshirt and jeans smelled like a burning trash heap. And still, I grabbed him in a hug.

"This is an unexpected pleasure," he said and wrapped a hesitant arm around me.

I looked across the empty field for a second figure, one a couple inches taller, one I ached to see. "Is the portal open now? Is Connor with you?" I asked, unable to keep the longing out of my voice.

"Yeah, right. Like that's gonna happen."

My arms sagged to my side.

"Oh, that's a nice reaction," he said off my pitiful expression. He brushed mud off his jeans while dark patches of rain soaked his shoulders.

Traveling through the portal was dangerous and unpredictable. My first trip had nearly unscrambled my DNA and I was lucky to get through in one piece. Even though Jaxon and I had never shared niceties, it was good to see he came through unscathed. He had helped Connor travel to my time. That is, until Connor's dad cut us off.

Across the field, teachers were turning off their car alarms and heading toward us, probably wondering about the explosion.

"We need to go," I said. "Get in my car. It's this thing, here." I motioned to my BMW because West Region didn't use this kind of vehicle. Jaxon was in a foreign land now. "Does Connor have a message for me? Is that why you're here?" I asked after we drove a couple of blocks. It took that long to get over the shock of seeing him.

He rolled his eyes sideways. "Everywhere I go, that's all I hear. Connor this and Connor that. What would we have ever done without Connor?"

My pulse sped up. "What do you mean 'would have done'? Did something happen to him?"

"Unfortunately, no. His Highness is back in West Region, in his comfy castle with all his servants, waiting to take over the region."

Calling Connor "His Highness" was just a way to mock him. He wasn't royalty, and he didn't care about politics or taking over his father's role as president when he stepped down.

"How did you get here? I thought the portal was shut down for good," I asked.

"Short answer, because I'm smarter than the rest of them." He shivered and crammed his hands deeper into his soaking wet pockets. "If you want the long answer I'll give it to you, but can we go somewhere warm? It's been a rough trip."

*******

Jaxon and I sat in my car outside Tastee Burger with the heat turned on full blast. We'd gone to the counter to order, but one whiff of Jaxon's scorched, stinky clothes and the manager shooed us back into the wintery night. I kept my window open so I didn't pass out from the smell.

My time jumping passenger inhaled his third hamburger. "You don't find food like this in West Region. One of the downsides of a great civilization." Sarcasm dripped from his lips. So did a dribble of grease.

"You've got..." I motioned at my own chin. He wiped the grease with a napkin, giving me a clear view of swollen, purple knuckles.

"Have you been in a fight?" I asked.

He chewed methodically, offering a sideways nod that indicated yes, but he wasn't about to divulge any details. He obviously wasn't here on a pleasure trip, and I began to think his jumping to Portland had been hasty. Before getting into that, though, I had one not-so-minor request.

"If Connor's not coming here, you have to take me to West Region. He and I will figure something out once I get there." Like how to tell his father we were back together without getting me kicked out for good.

"Oh, yeah, that ain't gonna happen." Jaxon crumpled the burger wrapper and shoved it in the bag. He kicked back in his seat and quietly belched.

I had just spent the rest of my allowance on enough burgers and fries for three people, all of which he'd gobbled without so much as a thank you. He was stinking up my car, and now he was acting in that annoying, manipulative way. I crossed my arms. "Well, why not?"

"You already said why. The portal is officially closed."

"Then do you mind telling me what you are doing here?" Before I kick you out of my car? I wanted to add.

"Avoiding trouble that your ex-lover got me into."

I winced. Connor and I never reached what I would call lover status. Almost. Not quite.

"After President McCabe shut down the portal, he went after anyone who helped your ex travel here," Jaxon said. "Apparently we should have known better than to let His Highness time jump. Me and Philip and Carina were all going to lose our jobs." He picked at a chunk of gristle lodged in his teeth. Waves of contempt filled the car.

"Oh, no. Jaxon, I'm sorry." I felt partly responsible. Every time Connor traveled to be with me, he'd put their jobs in jeopardy.

"You should be. Your precious ex-boyfriend tried to send me to jail. I told the president the truth, that we were all forced to cooperate with Connor, no questions asked. Of course, he found a way to blame everything on me."

"Connor would never say something like that."

"Oh really? You only knew him for a couple of months, Princess, and he had one thing on his mind where you were concerned." Jaxon's gaze strayed down my body.

I tightened my crossed arms. "That's not fair. You know nothing about us."

"And you know nothing about what Connor would or wouldn't do, so don't tell me I'm wrong. People with that much power have a despicably thin moral code."

"So you came here to stay out of jail?"

"I was on the run in West Region for a while." That explained why he looked and smelled like a homeless person. "I got tired of hiding. And guess who has the backup code for the portal?" One eyebrow lifted.

"How long are you going to stay in Portland?" I asked.

"As long as possible."

"Don't you worry about how the time travel will affect you? Connor kept fading in and out when he first came here," I said.

"Nope."

A few beats passed. "Oh, well, don't bother to expand on that," I said. He didn't.

God, this guy was a first class jerk. Connor didn't seem like the kind of person who would punish someone for helping him. Still, I couldn't turn my back on Jaxon. He was one of the reasons I'd had the most blissful, romantic few months of my life.

I sighed. "I can call my stepmom, Kimber, and see if you can stay at our house for a couple of days. How does that sound?"

He ran one grubby fingernail under another. "Oh, all right, if you insist."

*******

Jaxon stepped into our house's broad entryway and gawked at the huge staircase winding to the third story. His eyes toured the ancient Oriental rug hanging on the wall and the crystal chandelier that was as big around as our kitchen table. His reflection stared back at him from the hardwood floor, daring him to tread on it with dirty boots.

"Royalty attracts royalty," he muttered.

"I know a nice bridge you can sleep under," I replied. "In fact, that's where you're going to end up if you make any more rude comments about Connor. Or me."

Kimber was out, thank goodness, because it would have been hard to explain why he looked like he'd been sleeping in a sewage drain. I lent him some of my dad's clothes and stuffed his in the washer. Then I showed him the guest room, pointed him toward the shower, and went to my bedroom on the third floor.

I never lost the desire to smack the smirk off Jaxon's face, but having him land in front of my car snapped me out of my gray mood. He was my sole connection to a place and a boy I loved, and I was grateful for that.

I stripped off my magnetic bracelets, dumped my book bag on my bed, and flopped down next to it. My life was enough to make a sane person's head spin. Between the time jumping and attempted suicide and the just-in-case note I'd left for my dad and Kimber, who had time to be a normal teenager?

I reached for the envelope that I left under my lamp just to be sure it was still there. It was gone. It wasn't on the floor or under the bed or anywhere. The mere possibility that Kimber might have found it made me ill. She would be worried sick, wondering what it meant. But I dismissed that thought. If she had found the note, she would have interpreted it as a declaration of suicide, met me at the front door, and dragged me to a late-evening appointment with her therapist.

My anxiety tumbled across the room and tossed a stack of books off my desk, revealing the envelope. It was still sealed. I let out a relieved breath, figuring the housekeeper had moved the letter while she was cleaning and forgot to put it back.

"So this is your bedroom." Jaxon barged in without knocking. His hair was damp and sticking up from his shower. He'd shaven and wore the sweatpants I had given him. He'd skipped the shirt.

The day I first met Jaxon, I'd noticed his swimmer's physique, but I never gave it a second glance. Until now. His broad shoulders weren't muscular, but they were strong. His upper body tapered, leading my eyes south to a narrow waist. The sweats were a size too large and hung low, showing a whole lot of toned stomach muscles. What was it with these West Region guys and their six-pack abs?

He tossed me a lazy smile. "Like what you see?"

My neck warmed. "Do you always barge into people's rooms half-dressed?"

"Don't try to change the subject. You're acting all innocent, but your eyes are wandering."

My cheeks burned. I yanked my gaze off his torso, and then to, well, anywhere but him. It figured that this amazing body had to come with Jaxon's personality. I fanned myself with the envelope, to cool my face and diffuse the odd tension. "Well pardon me for looking," I said in a Scarlett O'Hara drawl. Not that he would get the cultural reference.

"Whatcha got there?" He nodded at the envelope.

"Oh, nothing," I said a little too quickly and shoved it into the drawer.

Our eyes held, and for a fleeting second, I wondered if he was psychic. Most people from Connor's time had at least one paranormal gift. Jaxon had game in his eyes, though, like he wished he could read my mind. He tapped a finger against his chin.

"Doesn't look like nothing to me. Looks more like a whole lot of something. Is it a love letter? A private fantasy? What would Echo fantasize about, I wonder?" He crossed the room in rapid strides and before I could react, he snatched the envelope out of the drawer.

I hopped to my feet. "What do you think you're doing?"

He held it high overhead. "Two things I can never get enough of: secrets and intrigue. From the way you're reacting, I was right about the fantasies, wasn't I?" He pursed his lips. "You don't seem like the kinky type, and Connor always preferred his girls innocent and vulnerable."

"You're disgusting. I never should have let you in my house."

"Fantasy letter," he taunted. He slipped a fingernail under the envelope's seam.

"It's a letter to my parents," I said in a rush, before he could open it.

"That's not very tantalizing."

"It's not meant to be." I sunk my elbow into his midsection, hard. He let out a puff of air, part laugh, part grunt, and handed me the envelope.

Jaxon watched the conflict on my face. He tossed himself onto my bed and meshed his fingers behind his head like he freaking lived here. "Let me guess. Why do girls write notes to their parents? Hmm. Because the news is too big to announce in person? Yeah, definitely, but it's got to be so huge..." His thoughts trailed and he pinned me with a gaze. "His Highness got you pregnant and you don't know what to do with your half-royal baby."

"Out. Get out of my bedroom. Now."

"No? No baby?" He didn't budge from my bed.

I planted my fists on my hips. "Not even close."

"The only other reason for a note like that is suicide."

I blinked twice.

"Ohohoho...that's it, isn't it? Well, what did you write?"

"It's not what you think. I wrote this in case something happened to me. In case..." I shook my head and massaged my fingers into my eyes.

"Sorry if I hit a nerve." His brow creased like he meant it.

"If I tell you something, will you promise not to be a jerk about it?" I asked.

"I'll do my best."

I recited the note from memory. "If anything happens to me, know that I love you. I never meant any of the mean things I ever said. I always really did love you both."

Jaxon watched me carefully. "Sounds like a suicide note to me."

"It's not." I told him about the girl who was going to jump to her death and what she told me. The rush I got from spilling the events was worth the risk of being laughed at. I felt lighter, as if whoever heard the story was obligated to help carry its considerable weight.

When I finished, he said, "Yeah, I know about the factions. So?"

"So, they're out there looking for me, and I have no idea who they are or how to protect myself against them. I'm tired of living in fear every single day!"

"If you're anywhere near as powerful as they say, why are you so afraid? Guess you're not the legend Connor's been bragging about."

This got the tiniest of smiles out of me. Connor had told his dad that I was more talented than anyone who existed in my time. Even if I bought into this praise, what good was it? My gift was good for changing the color of clothing and other low-level party tricks. I was no match for soldiers who were trained to maim and enslave.

"If you're so brave, then you take them on," I said, plopping down next to him.

"You'd have to be an idiot to volunteer for a job like that. Why don't you figure out who they are? Then you'd know who to stay away from, and if anyone bothers you, you send them to the police. Wouldn't you feel safer then?"

I let out a biting laugh. "Gee, I tried to look them up under Supernatural Psycho Killers, but I guess their website was down. By the way, a website is a part of what we call the Internet, which is the old-fashioned way we communicate."

"You don't need to translate anything for me," he said, not unkindly.

"I appreciate the suggestion, but you don't know anything about my world. If you had any idea what I was up against, I don't think you'd be so judgmental. Besides, Connor already tried to find the factions."

"I can help identify who you need to watch out for, and I can offer something your ex-lover never could." He wiggled his eyebrows and smirked and I knew he was about to make another inappropriate comment about my personal fantasies.

"That's it. Get out of my house." I pointed at the door.

"Princess, you're trying to kick me out when you should be throwing me a Welcome Home party. Portland is my home turf. I was born a few miles from here."
Chapter 5

My jaw went slack. "You mean you were born a few miles from here in your time, 2173."

"Listen closely and see if you can follow along: I was born the same year as you, right here in this city, right across the river," Jaxon said.

I gawked at him like a fool.

"I was a foster kid in a crappy situation," he continued. "I used to get beat up on a regular basis by my foster dad. Still with me? Good. One night, I left. I was wandering around on my own when this weird guy in a freaky-looking tunic asked me if I needed help. That was Philip."

I remembered Philip, the kindly older man who I met on my first trip to West Region. "He worked with you in the lab."

"Yeah, that guy. He decided I'd be better off living in the future with him than with whoever had bruised me up, and I became one of the original time jumping guinea pigs. I was eight years old."

"Connor never said anything about this."

"Seriously, you need to stop talking about him. Nobody except Philip ever knew where I originated from. I got really sick after he took me to West Region, but he transported me back and forth through the portal until I eventually acclimated. Philip adopted me, but I was little more than a lab experiment to him."

"He made you stay in the future all these years?"

Jaxon shrugged. "It's a pretty cool place for a kid. Aside from watching my body parts fade in and out for the first year, I was fine."

Color me surprised, but I may have just gained a little respect for Jaxon. "Didn't you ever miss your life here?" I asked.

"I missed out on some, let's say opportunities that were available to me if I'd grown up in that foster family. I always wondered how that could have turned out." He yawned. "Anyway, my offer stands. You can't avoid an enemy you can't see. I might be able to help you find what you're looking for. Think it over. I'm going to bed."

*******

The next morning, I found Jaxon in the kitchen, eating dry cereal out of the box and paging through my Economics textbook. He gave me an I'm-not-a-morning-person nod. That was fine by me. I hadn't lost a wink of sleep thinking about his proposition. I didn't want his help. This was a personal matter and he would only get in the way, with his smart aleck comments and arrogance. Besides, he'd been gone for nearly ten years. What could he possibly offer?

Jaxon's value was limited to one thing, and that was making my one, true fantasy a reality. In it, Connor and I would go to school together and have a normal boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. We would live as soulmates right now, not in some unknown time in the future. The one person who could make that happen was sitting at my breakfast bar with a cranky, morning face.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal and ate, casting the occasional glance at my houseguest. There were untold mysteries behind those brown eyes. Scheming. Planning. He had a lot of decisions to make--where he was going to live and how he would support himself here. I didn't discount the possibility that his plotting included stealing lunch money from elementary school kids. He seemed like that kind of guy. If I wanted to change his mind about transporting me to Connor's time, needed to come up with the right enticement and deliver my request carefully.

"I'll give you five hundred bucks to take me through the portal!" I blurted. Milk spilled over my chin. Smooth I was not.

He gave me a bored look.

"You need the money," I said. "Kimber will let you stay here for maybe one more night. All I'm asking is that you drop me off at the West Region lab. Then you can come back here and, I dunno, live out your life as a fugitive in my sucky time. What do you think?"

"I think if I had the choice between shooting myself and hearing you whine about McCabe's kid for one minute longer, I'd take the bullet. His dad would only kick you out again anyway."

I slumped over my cereal. My trip back was not going to happen.

Jaxon pocketed a few bananas and oranges from the fruit basket. "I need you to drop me off on the southeast side of town on your way to school."

I dumped my hardly-eaten bowl of cereal down the sink. "That's going to make me late."

He sighed. "So take me to a bus stop."

"What's in southeast?" I asked.

His knee rolled back and forth while contemplated the floor, the counter, the air in front of him. "People I know."

"Your foster family?"

"Hell no. Okay, sort of. I thought I'd see if my foster brother is around. I don't care about the rest of them."

I pulled out my cell phone. "What's their last name? I can see if they're still at the same house."

His aura tightened, protective. "Don't bother. I'll figure it out."

"Are you sure? I can map out their address for you."

"Positive."

So much for extending the olive branch of friendship. I drove us through my neighborhood and toward town. Rain pelleted the pavement and bounced a foot. We got to the bus stop at the bottom of the hill where commuters huddled beneath the plastic shelter with their umbrellas thrust outward against the wind. They looked miserable. I kept driving and turned onto one of the bridges spanning the Willamette River.

"Taking pity on me?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered as we crossed into southeast Portland.

"Go up a few blocks and take a right."

I caught a whiff of gratitude from his aura. The last turn took us into a neighborhood that had seen better days probably twenty years ago. Houses were small. Paint peeled off the siding and weeds grew out of clogged gutters.

"Anywhere in here is fine," he said.

I pulled to the curb.

"You never said if you wanted my help or not," he said.

I gave him a long look, attempting to understand why he cared what happened to me. "I'm not exactly your favorite person, and that goes both ways, so why do you care about the factions? Or what they want to do to me?"

"Maybe I like the idea of spending more time with you," he replied with a sly grin.

God, I wished he would let up with the charm act. "Aren't you afraid of them?" I asked.

"Nope."

"Then pardon me for saying so, but you're certifiably nuts. Or you must have had a lot of training in West Region to be that brave." A new thought occurred to me. "Are you actually worried about my safety?"

He let out a surprised laugh. "Let's get one thing clear. I'm not here to protect you. Never was on my agenda, never will be."

"Oh, please. Like I even need your protection. And don't forget, you're the one who offered to help me. I'll pass."

"Good luck with the factions," he said.

"Good luck tracking down your brother."

"Foster brother." Jaxon stepped into the downpour.
Chapter 6

I parked in the school lot two spaces away from Becca and Lucas. They leaned against a red Mustang convertible, their tongues angling down each other's throats. Watching them sparked a twinge of loneliness. She had her guy and a whole new crowd of friends. That was more than I had. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

"Hey, Echo, wait up!" Becca peeled off her boyfriend and jogged to my side. Her fingers were warm on my arm. "I'm sorry I was such a bi-otch yesterday. It's just, all this Wiccan stuff was...I dunno. I totally overreacted. I guess I thought I had something special, you know?"

Her apology fell flat, and she seemed to have forgotten her rudeness when I refused to share certain specifics about Connor. What did she think, that I was keeping secrets from her just for fun, to make myself feel special? "You're right, there's a whole lot I haven't told you. You know why? It's private. A lot happened between me and Connor that I can never explain, not to anyone."

I headed into the building. She hooked my elbow. "I mean it. I'm really sorry. I never should have yelled at you yesterday. I guess I was a little jealous of him."

Her nose crinkled that funny way it did when she got embarrassed. Still, the way she snapped at me in the bathroom really stung. "Well, you've got a boyfriend of your own now."

"No, I mean Connor was taking up all your time. You and me hardly hung out anymore. You used to tell me all your secrets, you know? I know you had some weird stuff going on and it's none of my business, but I'll listen when you're ready?" Her face was wide open, hopeful.

"Thanks," I said, warming at the notion of having my friend back.

We stood there for an uncomfortable minute.

"So," she stalled.

"So."

"Oh!" She held up a set of car keys. "I got my license! And look what my dad bought me!" She pointed at the sleek, red Mustang convertible where she and Lucas had been making out. Becca had gotten her dream car.

"Congratulations. It's beautiful."

"It's so new, I'm afraid to leave it in the parking lot. It doesn't even have license plates yet," she said. "Hey, Lucas has basketball practice most mornings so if you ever want a ride--"

"I'd love to," I cut in.

We chattered until the final bell cut us apart.

******

During my free period, I went to the library and checked out the yearbooks from the past three years. That seemed like a good way to search for the girl I met two days ago. I tossed them in my book bag with my usual gobs of homework.

As if I didn't have enough going on, that afternoon, I started my new part-time job. Mind you, I did not want this job, but Kimber got tired of watching me sulk during winter break. She'd left not-so-subtle hints about job openings lying around the house. One day, I found the Smoothie Shack phone number written on my bathroom mirror with lipstick. Point taken. I applied the next day and got the job.

The Smoothie Shack occupied a space in one of the downtown complexes not far from Pioneer Mall and was a favorite after-school hangout for Lincolnites. The shop was divided into two parts, the juice bar and The Cave. The girls usually hung out at the bar, sipping fruit drinks that they spiked with Diet Red Bull. The guys played arcade games in the darkened back room, The Cave, coming to the counter to refill sodas and flirt with the girls.

I showed up for my first shift a few minutes late. My manager was a pimply-faced senior who said he worked his way into management by putting in extra hours over the summer. He forgot to introduce himself, so I took a wild stab in the dark and assumed his nametag read Joe for a reason." If you show up on time and get the orders right, I'll put in a good word for you. Management has its perks, you know. Free smoothies and game tokens."

Joe handed me a t-shirt embroidered with the Shack logo and a matching baseball hat. After I changed, he gave me a sixty-second tutorial on how to make smoothies (fruit, ice, special powder, know how to use a blender?), and a short cash register lesson.

"You can do homework between customers," he said, and took off to watch a Mortal Kombat battle in The Cave.

I didn't have any customers so I found a corner table and pulled out last year's yearbook. If I had been asked to sit with a police sketch artist, my description of the girl would have been embarrassingly thin: hair that might have been short and brown but I couldn't be certain because it was under a hat. Big eyes (of course, she was ten shades past freaked out), ashen skin (another sign of being terror-stricken), and no unique, memorable features.

At first, I took my time on each page, looking closely at every photo, trying to match it with what little I remembered. By the time I paged through the sophomore class, I was skimming faces. By junior year, all the photos blended together in a wash of color.

At the counter, someone banged on the service bell hard enough to suggest we should evacuate the building.

"Hellooo. Anybody here?" The voice of the she-devil broke my concentration.

Oh great, I thought. "What?" I slid to my place behind the cash register, my eyes slitty, ruffled by the idea that I was forced to be cordial to the one person who least deserved it.

Raquelle's eyes glided over me. "Oh, it's you," she said, my appearance obviously pushing her day into the unbearable zone. Her eyes were rimmed with red like she had been crying. Raquelle never cried, not even when her dog died, so right away I assumed the worst.

"Is your dad all right?" I asked.

She gave me a startled look, surprised that I cared. Her dad, Mr. Crane, had been in the hospital for weeks. Nobody was sure what happened to him, but Connor and I shared the same theory, that Solomon, the man who had attacked me, had attacked Mr. Crane, too. He'd been injured badly and by the grief on Raquelle's face, his health had taken a bad turn.

"That's why I'm such a hot mess." She air-circled her face with a finger. "I've been up at the hospital. Somebody got into my dad's room last night and tied off his oxygen tube. Like, put a knot in it."

My eyes bugged. If her dad was using a machine to breathe, tying off the oxygen tube was as good as ending his life. "Is he okay?"

She nodded. "The machine's alarm went off. A nurse ran in and fixed it."

An alarm was going off in my head, too. First, a faction girl tried to end her life. Then, someone tried to end Mr. Crane's. I wondered if there was a connection.

"Do you know who did it?" I asked with more eagerness than I intended.

Raquelle scowled. "Some psycho, obviously." She scanned the handwritten menu hanging above my head. "It's been a long day and I'm hungry. I want a Mango Tango smoothie, extra protein powder. And make sure you use low-fat fruit."

There was no point in rolling my eyes. "Fruit doesn't have any fat in it."

"Then why does my fruit yogurt always say it's low fat? Huh? Just make sure you grab the right mangoes. I've been stuck eating hospital food all week and my jeans are digging into me." She tugged at her waistband. The denim left a red line where it cut into her hip.

A better person might have explained that it was the dairy, not the fruit, that was low fat. But hey, I'm no angel. I reached deep into the cooler for a bag of cut and cubed fruit. "Oh, lookee here. All the fat free mangoes are hiding in the back." I dumped a scoopful into the blender along with the other ingredients and frappéed the lot into submission.

I slid the plastic cup and a straw across the counter. She gave me an inquisitive once-over. "You weren't really going to jump off the bridge today, were you? That would have been pathetic."

"Nope. Just checking out the view."

"Uh-huh. You're obviously dying for attention. Why don't you join the Debate Team or something?"

I worked up a friendly smile. We were actually having a reasonably civil conversation. No snide remarks, no passive aggressive threats. This was the perfect time to pump her for information.

"So, that's really weird about your dad. Who would want to mess with his oxygen? I thought everyone liked him," I said in my most helpful tone and swiped a towel over the spotless display case.

She shrugged. "The hospital swears it wasn't anyone on their staff, but who else would be there after visiting hours?"

"Has he had any, I dunno, strange people visit him?"

"Why do you care?"

"Just trying to help."

She eyed me suspiciously. "Just ring me up so I can get out of here." She fished out her credit card.

"Four-fifty," I said, punching cash register buttons to initiate the transaction. The digital screen gave me an empty stare. I tried another series of buttons. No luck. "Shoot. I'll be right back."

I hurried to The Cave entrance and squinted into the dark, looking for my manager. Slowly, sluggishly, an agonizing presence slithered into my aura from somewhere in The Cave. Tarry energy stabbed the back of my throat, the same kind that had oozed off the girl on the bridge but stronger, sharper. Faction energy.

They were here. I immediately felt hot and sick. I sidestepped out of the arcade and dodged behind the counter.

"I don't have all night," Raquelle whined. Then, "Why do you look all pasty?"

"Um..." I stuttered. With one eye on The Cave entrance, I tried the register again. It rang up the purchase. She swiped her credit card. My mind raced. Should I leave the building? Hide out in back until everyone left?

"What's with you, lately? You used to be almost kind of cool, before I had to dump you from the Partychicks."

"Shut up, Raquelle," I hissed. I needed her to be quiet. I had to think what to do next.

"Excuse me?" Her voice hit a high C. Nobody told Queen Bee to shut up.

"I said..."

A group of kids strolled out of the arcade and into the shop. They laughed and chattered. All except one. A small, hooded figure in the middle of the group peered over her shoulder and held my gaze. I quit breathing when I recognized the large eyes and fair skin. She looked exactly like the girl from the bridge. Her hard stare made me take a step back, but as they left the building, I skirted the counter and went after them. I tugged the door, but it wouldn't budge. I shook it, and the deadbolt rattled. The door had been locked from the inside. Not by me, so how?

I flipped the bolt and ran outside. The winter air bit through the thin fabric of my work shirt. My breath came out in a cold, white stream as I searched up and down the sidewalk. The kids were gone. Behind me, the girl's pain rolled out of the store like a receding tide.

I went back in, my lungs tight from the bitter cold and the close encounter. While I willed my racing heart to slow down, I caught movement on the handwritten menu board hanging above the counter. Below the Mango Tango smoothie listing, a blue whiteboard pen floated in the air and scrawled out a message:

Jump before it's too late.
Chapter 7

My limbs filled with ice as I watched the message magically appear on the menu board.

Raquelle was so busy watching my near meltdown, she missed the voodoo happening right over her head. "God, you are such a freak."

My whole body shook. "If you find out what happened to your dad, will you let me know?" It seemed important, even if I didn't understand why yet.

She sniffed. "Why don't you stick to worrying about your own parents? Oh, that's right, your dad is never around and Kimber isn't your real mom. No wonder you were hanging over the West Vista bridge."

I spun on her. "Enough with the suicide jokes. It's sickening."

"Jumper," she said.

My manager came in from The Cave, and that may have been the single thing that prevented me from strangling my very first customer. "How's everything going out here?" he asked.

"Excellent," I said, pasting on a smile.

"Hoppity, jumping wonderful," Raquelle answered, and pushed through the exit with one hip.

Joe saw I had the counter covered and went back into the arcade. Quaking, I set the stepstool beneath the menu and erased the words in blue.

*******

On the drive home from the Smoothie Shack, I slumped behind the wheel, trembling uncontrollably. It wasn't the message on the menu board, or Raquelle's insensitive taunting that had gotten to me. Something else, unfamiliar and haunting, settled in my bones, darkening the core of who I was. I could not put my finger on it.

I got to the top of the hill on the highway leading home and glided down the other side, picking up speed and passing cars until I was wheel-to-wheel with a semi in the next lane.

Hopelessness seemed to bind me like a straight jacket, and I thought how this was the way the rest of my life would unroll: the surprise kisses, the first dates, college, my whole life would be tainted by the fear that they were around the corner, in the next room, and then suddenly close enough to haul me away.

The road beyond my headlights contracted to a dark point. That was my future. A narrowing tunnel with no bright light at the end. And then I was thinking what is the point? What is the point of staying here if my future is just a tunnel of darkness?

The truck in the next lane barreled down the hill, its trailer bobbing and weaving over the dashed yellow line. Its blinker signaled it was about to move into my lane. I suddenly hoped that I was sitting in the driver's blind spot.

That was when I realized something inside me had snapped.

Before the incident at the bridge, when the girl took my hand and tried to coax me onto the railing, I had never, ever considered ending my life. It was unthinkable. In the past months, I had lived through, and survived, heartbreaking loss. Much of it had been unbearable, and at times I'd hated my life, but I always came through it okay.

Then, the anonymous girl in the blue nylon coat shook my life twice. Since that first night, a cruel thought had been forming, so quietly, so stealthily, that the seed it planted went unnoticed. It was wrong and I wanted it to go away, but I was struck at how firmly it had already taken root.

Maybe you really are better off dead. If you stay in this lane, the semi will take away all your problems.

I gave my head a hard shake to loosen and discard the dangerous ideas rattling inside. If I were to believe what the girl said about the faction, I was going to collide with a perilous, deadly world, one I was not prepared to face. Despite my gifts, I felt powerless, like the blood and air were being vacuumed out of my body. Like the end was hurtling toward me at breakneck speed, and with it, a great deal of pain.

I could change that, right now, if I stayed here in the semi's blind spot.

It would be over so fast.

The trailer teetered. My headlights glinted off its chrome hubcaps.

What if it moved into my lane right now? What if the driver didn't see my car? What if...

The semi eased into my lane.

My cell phone chose that moment to ring, its trill sounding ten decibels louder than normal, jarring me back to myself. I hit the brakes, and the truck sped away, its tires kicking pebbles onto my windshield. I took the next exit and pulled to the shoulder. I dropped my head onto the steering wheel and inhaled deeply. That was close. What had I been thinking?

The phone rang again, and I was floored when my head cleared enough to recognize the ring tone: Peter, Paul and Mary's "Leaving on a Jet Plane." Talk about uncanny timing.

"Hey Dad," I answered.

"Honey, are you all right?"

I exhaled a jerky breath. The answer was no, but what good was it to tell him? I had already edged away from the proverbial cliff. He couldn't fix the things that were wrong. "I'm fine. What's up?"

"I'm watching the sun come up over Paris and got the urge to call my favorite daughter."

His voice hinted at laughter. Working to keep mine steady, I fell in step with his joke. "So, you have more than one daughter now? Geez, any other big reveals you want to share?" My dad traveled internationally for his business, Bennett Global Imports. He spent more time in hotels than at home. It was so good to hear his voice.

After my dad hung up, relief tingled from my crown to my toes that the phone had rung when it did. Funny how fate can throw you a life preserver when you least expect, and most need, one. I realized, then, that I needed every lifeline I could get. That included Jaxon's offer, even if it came with his snarky attitude.

As soon as I got home, I went to the guest room. Kimber was pulling the sheets off the bed.

"Where's Jaxon?" I asked.

"He came by and said he didn't need to stay here another night."

"Did he leave a phone number?" I asked.

"No, but you'll see him in school tomorrow, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, right," I said, filling in the holes in his story.

Jaxon wasn't at school the next day, or the day after. He didn't come by my house, either, which got me wondering if he had changed his mind and decided to go back to West Region. I wouldn't have blamed him. Life in my time was no party, not compared to the paranormal haven he'd come from.

But if he did go, I was silently pissed at him for not taking me. Not that I should have been surprised. A snake was a snake, and if you expected it to dance instead of slither, that was your own darn fault.

If I wanted any peace in my life, I would have to track down my enemy on my own.

*******

At midnight, I woke up to Tito whining. He growled, his furry brow wrinkled in doggie concern. His ears twitched. This was how he acted when he heard a noise outside the house. I did not like this at all.

"What's up, boy?"

A faint beep found my ears, one I had heard recently. In the past couple of weeks, an occasional electronic blip or purr would distract me from my homework. It was soft and infrequent enough that I never bothered to look for the source.

Tito hopped to the floor and nosed the edge of the comforter. Then he got on his hind legs and pawed at the headboard. Another beep. I reached down and found a small rectangular object jammed into the space where the box spring met the headboard. The thin device fit neatly in my palm. It looked fleetingly familiar, but I wasn't able to say why. A small green button blinked and my memory tripped back to November. My heart triple flipped. I knew what this was.

The last time Connor visited, we were tangled into each other on my bed. He'd dug into his pocket where he'd been keeping my coin necklace, and pulled out this device, too. It was his phone. I had Connor's phone!

All rationale disappeared. I had the mad, crazy idea that if I could figure out how to use it, I could find his number in his contact list, dial it, and talk to him, because he would have gotten a new phone by now, right? Clearly, my thinking wasn't at its peak in the wee hours of the morning.

The phone's interface was a smooth blank screen. I tapped it, and when that didn't work, I pressed the green light. Nothing happened until my thumb found a sliding button on the side. The phone's menu illuminated the screen: Contacts. Schedule. Pictures. I touched Contacts and waited. The phone stalled, so I tapped on Pictures.

My room lit up as the photographs sprung off the phone. They hung over my bed, a line-up of scenes from West Region. Connor's headshot floated among them, taken by someone who had caught him off guard. His lips carried a hint of a smile, his expression far off. It was the same expression he had when he said he was thinking about our future together. I reached out to touch the photo and it expanded into a three-dimensional image. I nearly squealed with joy.

Where our technology offered flat, one-dimensional photos, West Region used holographs that were so lifelike, you would be hard pressed to tell them from the real thing. That was enough to send me to seventh heaven. Then a spicy, earthy scent wafted into the room. My fingers rose to my lips. Was this really happening? I inhaled. Yes. The holographic image carried Connor's scent.

I explored the other photos. The picture of the Reserve, where he had taken me during my first visit, came with the humid, floral smell of a tropical paradise. The gardens behind his house smelled of warm marigolds. Connor had quietly snapped a picture of me sitting in the Great Hall the night of the dance while I watched the acrobats twirling overhead. The look of sheer bliss on my face made me smile.

I discovered that I could turn each holograph with my index finger, make it bigger and smaller by swiping over it. I magnified Connor's face to larger than life--all the more of him to enjoy--and stared into his oversized green eyes. He was one of the strongest people I had ever known, not just paranormally, but his spirit, too. Nothing scared him. I wasn't proud to say it, but I wished he were here in person, doling out advice about how to find the girl from the bridge and keeping me out of harm's way. I supposed that was one of my faults, letting others take over when I did not believe in my own strength. That wasn't an option anymore.

I asked myself, what would he do if he were in my situation? If he were going to try one more time to identify the faction members?

I closed my eyes. The day's drama fell to the background and my mind quieted. I drifted deeper into my subconscious, where the answer to my problems might lurk. The question cartwheeled through my mind and released ideas, a flurry of them, all descending like individual snowflakes across my vision--walk the city and scan auras until I found their unmistakable polluted discharge, then figure out their identities; talk to local psychics to see if they had any information; ask the police what they knew.

None of the dozens of options appealed to me. They were scattershot, and I didn't have the free time to go on a massive, citywide hunt. There was only one starting point that made sense, and I'd been avoiding it since my accident at the mall.

Connor had been sure Mr. Crane worked for the faction. It was time to visit him at the hospital.
Chapter 8

I was on my way to Chemistry when a kid stuffed a flyer into my hands. Raquelle was offering a $500 reward for information leading to the person who had broken into her YouTube account. Last semester, I'd hacked my way in and deleted all her videos. She probably didn't care a whip about the footage of her partying that I erased, but she was furious that she lost video evidence of me tele-chaosing in McKyla's kitchen.

I tossed the flyer in the chemistry trashcan and took my seat in the back row. My lab partner, Martha, rarely said a word, spending class with her fists wedged under her chin, blandly watching Mr. Wickner.

Midway through Mr. Wickner's lecture, the classroom door opened. Jaxon strolled in wearing new clothes and carrying a stack of textbooks. He handed a note to the teacher, who read it and then pointed at my table.

Jaxon lifted one corner of his mouth, and his lazy gait brought him to my table. He took Martha's books and moved them to an empty spot in front of us.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said.

"I'm new here and this girl," he tipped his head at me, "has been assigned as my school buddy."

"I am not your buddy." I gave Martha a look of apology. "You don't have to move."

"I'd be happy to pick up your chair and move you myself," he said.

"Is there a problem back there?" Mr. Wickner asked.

"Just introducing myself to my new buddy," Jaxon replied.

I narrowed my eyes with newfound dislike.

"Geez, I'll go, okay?" Martha huffed.

Jaxon glided into her chair and sat with his legs spread, taking up more than his share of space. I scooted to the far end of the table. He laughed quietly. I turned my back to him, silently cursing the administration's new-student policy. As his school buddy, I was responsible for showing him to all his classes and answering his questions. The first place I intended to show him was the office, where I was going to recommend that he be paired up with someone else. Preferably someone with more patience than I had.

He moved his stool to my end of the table so that our knees touched.

"I've got a lead on the factions for you," he whispered.

"Good to know," I whispered nonchalantly. That was my ego talking now that I had a lead of my own. The rest of me, the sensible part, wanted to beg for his help.

He lifted an indifferent shoulder and faced the board. Then he lodged a pen between bruised, yellow-green knuckles and waggled it between them, faster and faster, until it became distracting blur.

I grabbed his hand. "That's annoying."

"Echo, save your discussion with Jaxon until after class."

"Sorry, Mr. Wickner." I cast a dark frown at my tablemate.

The end-of-class bell rang and Jaxon followed me to the hall. "Where to next?"

I threw my arms up. "I give up, Jaxon. Whatever you're up to, you win."

"Funny how you get defensive whenever I try to do something nice."

"Nuh-uh." I shook my head. "You can't turn this around on me. I know enough about the future to know that you're not going to learn anything useful in my high school. Classes in West Region are way advanced. So what are you really doing here?" I wasn't sure why I was acting this way. I guessed that my lack of trust, combined with his arrogance and pushiness, was a toxic combination.

"Did it occur to you that I can't do much in your time without a high school diploma?"

"Nobody's going to give you a diploma. You've been missing for nine years! And don't you need a bunch of records and immunizations to even enroll?" I put up a hand. "That was a rhetorical question. I don't actually care."

I cut left down the administration corridor. "I'm getting you a new buddy," I said.

"Don't you want to know what I found out about the factions?"

"Depends on how much crap I need to put up with to get it."

"Fair enough, no more crap. Okay, there's gonna be a little. You're too easy to mess with. You should hear me out. This lead is solid."

Outside the office, I let out a long sigh. "Fine. What have you got?"

"I found my foster brother," he said.

"He must have been happy to see you."

"He was shocked out of his mind. His parents never tried to explain why I was gone, and who knows what story they told the authorities. I told him I ended up back in the foster system in a different part of the country. He got me clothes and a phone, and is letting me stay at his place for a while."

"He sounds like a great guy, but this has to do with the factions because..."

"Patience, Princess. While he and I talked, a lot of stuff started coming back to me that I heard when I was a kid. There are three factions spread across the country, and the one you're looking for has a name. They call themselves the Mutila. The Northwest region is their territory and their base is somewhere here, in Portland."

I gave this a minute to digest. I felt the need to tie this in with what Connor had told me, to make sure I could make sense of it all. "All of these groups are tracking down and enslaving gifted people?" I asked.

"Yes."

"And over the next hundred and sixty years, one of these factions will grow into East Region, West Region's enemy," I said, reciting Connor's explanation.

Jaxon looked at me curiously, startled at my knowledge. "Yes."

"Okay, I'm caught up now."

"Have you ever heard of an indoor skateboard park called The Asylum?" he asked.

"No."

"I think some of the younger Mutila members hang out there."

"You learned all this in a few days?" I asked.

His face pinched like he was calling back long-held, painful memories. "Before Philip took me to live with him, I spent years with that foster family. You wouldn't believe some of the bizarre activity I saw. My foster dad used to have super-secretive meetings with kids from my neighborhood. They would come to our house after we were in bed and they'd all meet in the garage."

"Okay, that's gross and creepy."

"Yeah, but not in the way you think. I went out there one night when I couldn't sleep. The side door was open and they were all sweating from the heat. They sat around a table, staring at, I dunno, a rubber ball I think. They were so quiet, I thought they were praying or something. Then that rubber ball started to levitate."

My mouth fell open. "They were gifted kids."

"Sounds like it."

"You should talk to the dad. What does your foster brother have to say about this?"

"My foster parents died a few years ago. I don't need my foster brother's help to figure this out. I'm not sure how much he'd tell me anyway. But I talked to a guy who still lives in my old neighborhood. He said some of those same kids that I saw in the garage hang out at The Asylum. They're our age now."

"And you think they're with the Mutila?"

"That's why I need you. You come with me, I'll point them out, and you tell me if you read any unusual energy on them."

"Uh, I was going for a less confrontational approach, like getting their names and handing them over to the police."

"What do you expect the cops to do with that?"

"It's a start, at least. Maybe they can link them to crimes in the city?" I knew I was jumping to conclusions. You can't accuse people of crimes without some kind of evidence to back it up. I twisted my lips. "These faction kids, if they don't want anyone to know about them, they'll hide their auras."

Jaxon shrugged this off. "Why would they hide? They're going to be busy skateboarding and won't even know you're there. Give me your phone number and I'll text you the address."

Little warning darts skittered up and down my spine. "I don't know..."

"I'm sure you have a better idea?" He crossed his arms. After couple of beats, he said, "I can get the leads, but you have to verify them. We have to work as a team. As long as you don't freak out in their presence, they shouldn't know who you are. Right?"

That was how it was supposed to work, but the girl on the bridge blew my cover in no time. On the other hand, she also might be one of the kids at the skateboard park.

"Okay, I'll be there. And hey..."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Thanks for the lead."

"I'm not all bad, you know, even if you think I'm a first rate jerk." His ears reddened.

The corner of my mouth lifted. "Maybe not completely," I teased. "Give me your phone."

We exchanged numbers and I ran to class.

*****

The lunch bell rang, and Jaxon decided he didn't need me to babysit him the rest of the day. He went to the cafeteria to try school food for the first time in nine years. I wished him luck with that, and headed to my locker.

I found Raquelle in the junior corridor, freshening her makeup and checking herself out in the full-length mirror she'd hung on the inside of her locker. I stomped over to her.

"You are an evil, evil person," I said.

"Are you still griping about the bridge joke? Because I am so over that."

I tugged her shoulder to make her face me. "This isn't about you or what you're over. You crossed a line last night. It wasn't funny and you owe me an apology."

"Are you touching me?" She swatted my arm away.

"Apologize."

She painted her lower lip with gloss. "Sorry," she said into the mirror.

"Apologize like you mean it," I snapped.

Raquelle stepped back to get a full view of her reflection. "If I'm wrong about why I found you straddling the railing like you were going to off yourself, tell me the real story and I'll apologize. Don't get on my case for saying something that's true." She smoothed the fabric on her hips, making it impossible not to notice the Partychick applique on the butt of her pink sweatpants. She caught me staring. "Like the sweats? My mom got them for me. My real mom." She put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, does that remind you that you have a stepmom and not a real one?"

Under other circumstances, I could dismiss her snotty comment. Today her meanness made my resentment run wild. Fiery heat buzzed across my forehead. My fingers throbbed. I took one step back, aimed my palm at Raquelle, and let a flash of yellow light arc from my hand and zap her in the butt.

"Ouch! Oh!" She slapped her hand to the rear of her sweats. The satisfying smell of melting polyester-cotton blend reached my nostrils.

I grimaced and shook my hand. It burned like crazy. Raquelle squeaked in shock when she realized what I had done. The look on her face was part terror, part murder. "You...you!"

She took two generous steps back and pointed over my shoulder. "You saw it! You saw what she did!"

An inch at a time, I turned around. Becca was right behind me. 
Chapter 9

Becca's mouth gaped. Her hands hung limp at her sides. Her lunch bag slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor.

"I'm going to the principal's office and you're coming with me!" Raquelle commanded Becca. "You're going to tell Mr. Lauer what you saw!" She slammed her locker and tromped down the hall. The burn mark had obliterated the "C" on her sweats.

Becca stifled a laugh. "Your pants say Party hick," she said.

"What?" Raquelle snapped. She pulled at the fabric and tried to read the scorched lettering.

"I don't know how they got that way. Did you fart so hard you blew a hole through them?" Becca pulled out her camera phone. "Say Party hick!" She clicked a photo.

"You witch! Both of you are in big trouble. You're going to get expelled from school!" Raquelle yelled.

"What do you serve at that hick party? Hooch and possum stew?" Becca snorted.

Raquelle quivered from head to toe and stormed off. The smile dropped from my friend's face, and she gave me a long, silent stare. I responded with a sheepish grin that said I can explain everything.

When Becca finally found her voice, it was low and perplexed. "You lightning-bolted a person in the butt. With your hand." Her brows squeezed together. Her aura bounced all over the place. No telling where this conversation was going.

"I'll tell you everything. The truth this time," I pleaded.

Her eye went into a spasm. "Normal people don't do this kind of thing! Are you a witch? You're the real deal, aren't you? Well? Well? Start talking!" She slapped her hand on the locker.

"Okay! Remember when I fell off the banister and went into a coma? I woke up with telekinesis, and then it developed into other stuff, like I can change the color of your shirt and, so, um, now I can do the electric bolt thing."

She shook her head, giving my story time to set in. To her credit, she didn't shriek, pass out, or flee. "Connor knew, didn't he?"

I had wanted to leave him out of it, but she watched me closely to see when the next lie would spill from my lips. "Yeah. He knew."

"This is why you've been weird since the beginning of school. Man, oh man, I do not freaking believe this!"

"Becca..."

"How could you not tell me? I was your best friend," she said.

Oh no. "Are. You are my best friend."

"All this time I was making a total fool of myself, mixing lame potions and you're all 'look at me, I can shoot electricity from my hand.'"

"I was afraid to tell you. I couldn't control it at first and I was scared."

Her eyes narrowed. "Who thinks paranormal activity is the coolest phenomenon ever?"

"You."

"Who has every episode of Supernatural on DVD and had them autographed at ComiCon? Huh?"

"You stood in line for six hours," I said.

"Who was Wiccan for two whole years even when half the school made fun of her? And who follows the moon phases and has been dying for superhuman ability?" She rapped her finger against my forehead. "Hello? Anybody come to mind?"

"You have. Becca, I'm sorry. If I ever thought..."

She cut me off with a dismissive hand. "Save the apologies. It's too late for that and I don't care, 'cause we are going to be famous! Do you know how much money kids will pay to have you zap their enemies? And then there's the entertainment angle. McKyla's parents hired Flaming Gristle to rock out at her birthday. You'd be way better than any band. You could charge a fortune for this!"

I squeezed her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. "You cannot tell anybody what I just told you."

Her face fell. "You did not just say that."

"There are people out there who will hurt me if they find out what I can do. You have to promise to keep this to yourself."

"You've got people after you? Dude, how much cooler can this get?"

"This is the absolute opposite of cool. This is serious. Who knows what will happen when Raquelle opens her big mouth."

"Oh pul-eeeez. She's not going to the principal, she's gonna keep her big yap shut. Can you see her trying to convince the Partychicks that you...with your...they'd dump her in a second, and then who would be the freak?" Becca bent over, laughing.

"Promise me, Becca."

"Oh, all right. But for real, you can change the color of a shirt? That I've got to see!"

*******

The sun was kissing the afternoon sky goodbye when I took Connor's phone from its hiding place under my mattress. I flicked it on and stared at his gorgeous face. For strength, I told myself. Looking at him gave me confidence. He definitely would not approve of what I was about to do. If he knew, his aura would turn fuchsia with frustration. I could hear him lecturing, even from a hundred and sixty years in the future. Did you not hear a word I said? Have you learned nothing from me?

"The girl from the bridge might be at The Asylum," I told his holographic image. "I have to go."

Jaxon said he would meet me at the skatepark, but I wanted to take someone who would be firmly on my team. I'd recruited Becca in case our Mutila search went off the rails, or Jaxon didn't show up at all.

After dinner, my BFF and I skidded down icy streets to the southeast side of Portland. Most Portlanders stayed in when the weather turned icy, but I was hoping The Asylum would be packed regardless. Becca's knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. Her teeth stayed clamped on her lower lip since we left the house, and I was reminded that she'd only had her driver's license for about a week.

"You want me to drive?" I asked. I had more experience on the road and didn't want to see her car wrapped around a telephone pole.

"No way. This is the ultimate freedom. It's us against the elements in a car that I'm driving. We could go anywhere! Tacoma. Olympia."

"Why on earth would we go to Tacoma?"

"Just sayin'. The night is young. I'll drive you all the way to Seattle if you want, but you don't get the steering wheel."

I checked my seatbelt as the car fishtailed.

The Asylum sat across the river from downtown Portland in a warehouse district along the river. A heavy coat of paint blacked out its low windows. An awning covered a section of broken sidewalk. Beneath it, a dozen guys huddled around a flask. I spotted a bunch of neck tattoos and facial piercings, nothing out of the ordinary for Portland.

On the way to the skatepark, I had explained Jaxon's role.

"He knows about your magicky talent, too? I really am the last one to find out," she said.

I finished telling her about the Mutila while she parked. She huffed impatiently. "I don't get why you're even the tiniest bit afraid of them. You're a paranormal ninja. Nobody's going to mess with you."

"I'm not going to give them the chance. I'm only going inside to find out if these are some of the people we're looking for, and I'm packing my aura in tight so they can't read who I am." I hoped this worked the way Connor said it would. If not... "But if anyone even looks at me funny, we're running for the car. Okay?"

"I'm on it, home girl. Then we race home like we're being chased by demons," she said.

"Why are you making a joke out of this?"

"Echo, look at these guys." She pointed at the group under the awning. "They're high school dropouts all sharing the same flask, and you can zap people with electricity. What's the problem?"

I didn't expect Becca to understand. I did a careful scan of the people hanging around the door as we got closer. Nothing resembling faction, there. I hooked my fingers onto the entrance handle.

"You're new," one of the guys said. He was Porta-Potty thick on stumpy legs. "You learning how to skateboard?"

"Are you giving lessons?" Becca asked.

"We're meeting someone." I linked her elbow into mine and moved to go inside. The guy blocked us with his arm.

"Skaters get in for free. If you're here to watch, you gotta pay," he said.

"What's the fee? I don't see any sign," I challenged.

"Two swallows for dudes, one for girls." He held out the flask.

"If you insist." Becca let out an exaggerated sigh and reached for the metal container.

I ducked under the guy's arm and pulled my BFF into the building. "We'll have to owe you for it," I said.

"Hey!" she protested.

"You're my security sidekick. You need a clear head. And you're driving." I gave her a gentle rap on the head with my knuckles. "Anybody thinking straight up there?"

We walked past the gear store and rental counter. Fat, colorful graffiti style letters and graphics decorated the walls. Mattresses were stuffed into corners around the concrete skating bowl. The place was packed with kids waiting their turn to skate.

Skaters dipped in and out of the bowl, riding up half-pipe ramps and skidding across metal railings. I picked up plenty of auras--lots of daredevil aggression that comes packaged with youth and testosterone, but nothing dangerous. An emergency exit light on the far wall at the opposite end of the bowl caught my attention. Good, I thought, there's more than one way out of here. My attention drifted to the trio of skaters standing next to it.

Two of them were guys, and they couldn't have been more different. The bigger of them was over six feet tall. His short legs were out of proportion with broad shoulders that made him look like a squat WWF wrestling contender. The other guy was scrawny, the kind of kid who forgets to eat because he's too busy hacking into government computer networks. The girl with them was a pretty, copper redhead with a tattoo winding down her arm from beneath her short sleeve. Even from my spot across the bowl, I noticed her seductive quality.

They wore all the right clothes and flat-soled shoes, and each held a skateboard, yet they seemed out of place. Part of it was their aggressive stances, their glares daring anyone to land on the slab of concrete they had claimed as their own.

I didn't see Jaxon anywhere and was considering waiting for him in the car when my spine prickled. The trio at the far end was watching me.

"That might be them," I said out of the corner of my mouth. This was the wrong time to be tense, but my insides were writhing.

Becca was at my back. "Okay, stay cool. Uh-oh. One of them is coming over here."

The bigger guy hopped on his skateboard and rode across the bowl toward us. My pulse shot north and I did a hasty check to make sure my aura was wrapped tight. He struggled to maintain balance from the get-go. His hips jiggered side to side and his arms made odd circles as he tried to stay upright. His top-heavy body tilted too far forward, the board flew out from under his feet, and he did a face dive. His two friends laughed while he packed up his board and jogged back to the emergency exit.

"And fail," Becca laughed. "I don't think he's going to give you any trouble."

The smaller guy dropped into the bowl, expertly swooping across a pipe and straight toward me. One side of his face was disfigured with a burn mark.

"Becca, back up, head for the door." Even as I reeled to the far edge of the crowd, I picked up a dark, broken life force off the skinny kid. Mutila energy. It was faint, but there was no arguing its poisonous residue. The copper-haired girl came right behind him and together, they carved the lip and sailed back to the far side. My nervousness spiked into dread.

"Both those kids. I bet that's who Jaxon was talking about." I reached for her but found only air. She had gone to the concession counter and was talking with the guy we'd met at the door. Great, and Jaxon was still a no-show. I would have been better off spending my allowance on bodyguards than depending on those two.

I gave the space one final scan and in case he'd somehow gotten by me. I was wondering about the old mattresses strapped into the corners when a skater overshot a ramp and crashed headfirst into one of them. Not altogether a high tech way to prevent injuries, but the padding seemed to do the job. The guy bounced to his feet and I recognized Jaxon. He collected his skateboard, fastened his eyes on mine, and crossed the bowl. His downturned mouth was the closest thing to concern I had seen from him. Behind him, the eerie trio watched my nervous movements.

I grabbed Jaxon's elbow, and discreetly nodded across the space. "Over there. Those are faction kids."

He wiped sweat off his face with his sleeve, sneaking a casual glimpse at the kids as he did. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and teased his fingers into my hair. He cupped my chin in both hands and kissed me. 
Chapter 10

Jaxon's kiss was deep and territorial, like he was claiming me. He released me and, as much as I hated his presumptuous kiss, my legs wobbled.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded.

"Letting those kids know you're not alone, and not an easy target. Also, getting you to relax. You look like a vice cop, giving everyone the evil eye."

"I do not. I was doing what you asked me to." I licked my bottom lip. It tasted salty. I let my tongue swipe over it again.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you enjoyed that kiss," he said.

"Wow, you are arrogant."

"You kissed me back, you can't deny that." I gave him a dark look and he decided not to get into it. He nodded at the far end of the bowl. "Those kids you saw are gone."

"They must have slipped out the back exit. There were three of them," I said. "The smaller guy and the girl are definitely in. I'm not sure about the bigger guy. Now what do we do?"

"I'll ask the guys at the gear shop if they know them, and tomorrow, I can ask that guy from my old neighborhood if he recognizes their descriptions. Someone's got to know their names or where they live or something, right?" The corner of his mouth angled into a smile. He set his skateboard down and tapped the tail with his foot. "As long as you're here, how about a skateboarding lesson? I bet I could teach you to Ollie in ten minutes."

A crease formed between my brows. "I just had a close encounter with supernatural criminals and you're flirting with me?" I tried hard to sound offended, but my voice was croaky. I still felt warmth where his hand had rested against my chin.

This was all wrong. Jaxon was not my type. I was trying hard to understand why he affected me this way, and then a sinking feeling pushed away the buoyancy and I understood. For the few long seconds of that kiss, I had stopped aching for Connor. Now the ache was back, stronger than ever.

"I gotta go. Homework. And stuff." I turned before he could see the sadness on my face. He would say something annoying for sure, and probably start flirting again. It was more than I could handle.

"Good luck getting a ride. Looks like Becca's busy entertaining one of the locals."

Becca was still talking animatedly to the guy who had tried to feed us alcohol on the way in.

"Those kids are gone now, so why not stay and have a little fun?" He touched my shoulder and gently spun me to face him. His lids dropped half-mast. He twirled a section of my hair around his finger.

That ache went away again, and I was suddenly very aware of the smoothness of his skin. I did not want to think about that, or how thick his lashes were, but now I couldn't ignore them. I frowned to hide my discomfort. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Me? You're the one who keeps licking your lips. Either you're hungry enough to eat the gloss right off them or you're waiting for me to kiss you again."

"I--I am not." Not much surprised me anymore, but that kiss had. It was sensuous and laced with a dark hunger I hadn't ever felt from a guy. It wasn't the kind of kiss I expected from someone as annoying as Jaxon. His eyes surfed over me and I shifted my weight.

"You're supposed to have all this amazing power. What would you have done if one of those kids confronted you?" he asked.

I probably would have fainted. "Why do you keep asking about my ability?"

"Can't blame me for being curious. I'd like to see it for myself some time."

His expression was innocent, but his aura had a sensual vibe. Given the chance, Jaxon could make my life complicated. Maybe in a good way. Probably not.

"I have to go home." I zipped my jacket, hard, so he couldn't see my hand shaking. From my brush with Mutila. Or from that stupid kiss.

He let out a sigh. "Do you want me to check outside and make sure they're gone?"

"That would be great, thanks."

He went outside, and I joined Becca at the concession stand, where she was snapping the lid onto her cup of soda. "No way. My boyfriend plays defensive back for our team," she said to her bulky new friend "The Cardinals can kick Panther butt any day of the week, right Echo?"

"Yes. Butt kicking galore." I turned to the guy. "Is your offer still open because I could use that flask about now."

Becca's brows arched in surprise. I had never cared for the taste of alcohol.

"The name's Tugg," he said as he tipped the open flask upside down to show it was empty. "And you're too late. You can have my soda, though. I work here, and I get free refills."

It wasn't what I had in mind, but I accepted his paper cup and took a long drink. A mix of alcohol and soda burned the back of my tongue. That was where the contents of the flask had gone, right into his cup. I drank all of it in a few gulps and winced. The bubbles made the alcohol hot and scratchy against the inside of my mouth. The cola left an acidic film on my teeth.

"Whoa," he said. "That was heavily spiked."

"Thanks." I handed back the empty cup. The drink swam straight to my legs, washing over my frayed nerves and coating them with a sugary elixir.

"Is everything all right?" Becca asked.

"On the way to getting excellent," I sang and snatched her cup from her hand. One sniff told me her drink was spiked, too. After a long, industrious slurp, I came up for air.

"You'd better slow down. You're going to get sick." She tried to snag the cup, but I hid it behind my back.

"I'm not sure I care." Over the next few minutes I finished its contents, too. The rubber bands in my neck released, and the iciness was gone from my legs. Who cared about the stupid Mutila kids, anyway? They were nothing more than a bunch of skateboard punks. As for Jaxon and his kiss, it still lingered on my lips. I wanted to wash away the taste of it with the last of Becca's soda, but the walls began to sway. The fat graffiti letters ran together in a wreck of color. My eyes tried to track a skater as he flew up a ramp. His image split in two and my stomach went topsy-turvy.

Jaxon finally appeared at my side. "I checked the parking lot and up and down the street. It's safe for you to leave."

"Thank you kindly." I slurred ever so slightly. His expression was impossible to read, seeing as how his features were blurred together.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked.

"Can't hold her alcohol. Come on, party animal, time to go home." Becca pulled me toward the door, and I stumbled. That was the thing about alcohol: when you never drank, and then guzzled it like a thirsty camel, it hit fast. Especially on an almost empty stomach.

"I should have eaten more for dinner," I giggled.

Tugg half carried me out, and the two of them placed me in the backseat of Becca's car. When I sat up, dizziness pressed me down again. I lay on my back, tracking our progress by sound and feel. The gearshift clicked into reverse and gravel crunched beneath our tires.

"Oh no," Becca said from the front.

"What?"

"Something's wrong with my car. The gas gauge says my tank is empty. Now it says full. Empty. Full. What the heck?"

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "How is it now?"

"Hey, it's back to normal. Did you do that?"

"Yeah, sorry. I'm kind of losing it. Don't take the corners so fast, okay? Everything's all swirly." I belched and wrinkled my nose at the smell.

"What happened back there? Did you find those Mutila people?" she asked.

"I think so. Jaxon's looking into it."

"And what about your one-woman drinking show? Did that have anything to do with that red-hot kiss? Yeah, I saw it. Mmm-hmm." The car skidded. Her breath hitched. "Oh boy."

"Is everything okay?"

"The road is super slippery." The engine hummed into a lower gear. "Jaxon's got a thing for you. You should totally go for it."

"Jaxon's kind of a jerk".

"Apparently that's working for you. That was one steamy kiss."

I willed my brain to come up with a good argument. I couldn't. "It was good, I'll give him that. It's his single redeeming quality."

"That and a great bod. He was nice when I talked to him at school. You could do worse," Becca added.

"I'm not ready. I can't get Connor out of my head."

"Is there any chance you'll get back together with him?"

My insides pinched. It wasn't from the alcohol. "No," I whispered.

"Then go for the new guy. Live a little."

Maybe she was right. Maybe that was the key to getting over heartache. I let out another long burp. "Are we spinning? Is the car spinning?"

"Keep your eyes closed, it'll help. And don't you dare barf on my new leather seats. There's a blanket on the floor. If you have to throw up, do it on the blanket."

Eyelids clamped tight, my world returned to semi-normal. "I've been thinking," I slurred.

"Oh goody."

"You know how Raquelle is a ginormous skank? I hate her guts but me thinks she's the smart one. I mean, she goes through guys like she goes through toilet paper. Rips one off the roll, poops on him, and tosses him in the garbage when she's done."

"That is the worst analogy ever."

"She dumps them before they dump on her. Ha! This is an excellent analology. Analanagy? Anyway, you get it." I hiccupped something sour. "That's what I need, someone to help me get over Connor. I need a disposable guy, as in hi it's nice to meet you and thanks for the good time, now flushity-flush buh-bye."

"Hey, fool, you ever heard of personal space?"

"Huh?" I rolled onto one elbow and saw Becca's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"The guy behind us is riding my bumper. So help me, you put one scratch on my baby and my dad will sue!" she yelled at them.

I could tell we'd turned onto the Hawthorne Bridge by the way the car shimmied side to side. The center of the bridge was metal grating, and when it was covered in ice, it offered little traction.

Becca's car lurched and steel crushed her trunk. "What is he doing? That SUV hit me from behind!"

I tried to see out the rear window, but it was iced over. "Becca, you have to pull over. We have to pull over in an accident."

"I'm trying. He's going to do it again!"

Our car groaned from the next impact and I almost fell onto the floor.

"He's doing it on purpose!" she yelled. "You are so dead for trashing my car! I'm pulling over!"

A trickle of dread coiled down my spine. The fact that I had been within a few yards of Mutila and now our car was being rammed was too much of a coincidence.

"No! Go faster," I commanded her.

"But..."

"Keep going! I think they're trying to force us to pull over and we don't know who it is." I fumbled for my cell phone. "I'm dialing 911."

She punched the gas pedal and we fishtailed.

"Here he comes again! So help me, you better not..." Her threat was lost under the crunch of metal on metal. Our car jumped forward. My cell phone flew out of my hand and onto the floor in front. The engine whined and our car sped up.

"Is he pushing us?" I yelled.

"Yes!"

Our car swung to the right, hard. Becca's head smacked against the window and dropped forward.

"Becca!"

We spun toward the railing, bounced off the cement barricade, and screeched to a stop. The SUV's headlights lit up the interior of our car. Doors slammed and voices came toward us.

"Becca!"

I'm not proud of what I did next, but I was so afraid. As the footsteps came closer, I rolled onto the floor and pulled the blanket over me. I clamped down my aura. Through a space in the blanket, I watched the shadows loom outside. A head peered into the driver's side window. Someone tugged at the door handle, but the lock held.

"It's not her," a male voice said.

I held my breath for a full minute while the footsteps receded and the SUV gunned its engine and drove off. Moments later, there was another tap on the window. My heart pounded in my throat. I clutched the blanket over my head, but the next voice was urgent. "Hey, are you okay in there?" Then, "The girl is unconscious. Someone call an ambulance."

I crawled off the floor and in between the two front seats. Becca moaned. Blood dripped from her ear. In the distance, a police siren wailed.
Chapter 11

The morning light streaming into the kitchen split my head in two. I'd passed out after Kimber drove me home last night so she'd had to wait until morning to start yelling. . She'd been at it for a solid hour, and most of her tirade came in the form of questions: Where did you get the alcohol? What were you thinking? Do you expect us to trust you after this?

I wasn't able to keep up with the questions, but that didn't slow her down any. My head throbbed. I was sure an angry troll was trying to scratch its way out through my eye sockets. My mouth tasted like boiled vomit. I would have done anything to make her lower her voice.

"And for that, you are grounded." Kimber axed me with a look she reserved for the most serious of grievances--a bad bikini wax or poor restaurant service.

"You can't ground me. You don't have the authority," I said.

She held up her cell phone for me to read. On it, a text from my dad:

Don't argue with your stepmother. Hand over your car keys until further notice.

"Fine." I dropped my keys on the counter. "I'm going back to bed."

"Think again, girlfriend. Grab your school bag and be back down here in five minutes."

I didn't have enough saliva in my mouth to protest. Kimber drove me to school. Thankfully, she was too disappointed in me to keep lecturing. I used the silence to try to process the night's events. For a few seconds, I thought Becca and I were going to die. The people in the SUV had been looking for someone specific. Chances were, paranoia was skewing my view of things, but showing up at The Asylum could have backfired. What if I was now officially on the Mutila's radar?

I looked for Jaxon as soon as I got to school, but he must have made it to his first class without my help. Later, I found him outside Chemistry, talking to a couple of girls. Self-assurance anchored his pose and boredom tinted his expression. He had been at Lincoln for just a couple of days, but he had no trouble fitting in. His indifference seemed to attract girls like flies at a picnic.

A twinge of jealousy hit my gut, and I was left wondering if I was the only one still thinking about the kiss at The Asylum. In fact, I could not get it out of my head. Get over it, I told myself, you've had better with Connor.

I met Jaxon at our chemistry table.

"You look like you caught the plague," he said.

"You look like you were trying to catch a bunch of freshmen girls." Ungh. That came out way cattier than I intended.

"Who says I have to try?"

"You are unbearable sometimes." I rested my forehead on the lab table. The coolness combated my headache.

"I was just kidding. You've obviously got a hangover, so I'll be nice to you today."

"It's more than that. On the way home last night, somebody rammed Becca's car." I gave him the details of our frightening trip.

"Oh man, are you okay?"

I nodded. "Becca went to the hospital, though. I'm still waiting to hear how she is." I straightened and fastened onto his aura, reading, testing, searching. I must have had suspicion written all over my face because he shifted uncomfortably.

"What?" he asked.

"Is there anything you left out about last night?

"How about you give me a clue what you're insinuating." His forehead creased.

"You drew me close to the Mutila, said I was safe to go home, and then we got rammed."

"You think I had something to do with it?"

"You never talked to anyone about me?"

His aura was rock solid. "It sounds like you're accusing me of conspiring against you."

I shrugged. "I had to ask. Nobody witnessed the hit-and-run. Nobody knows why anyone would have done that to Becca's car." Frustration gathered in a knot between my shoulder blades. The last thing I remembered was Becca coming to and me getting out of the car. Everything after was a blank. My memory of events beforehand had been distorted by alcohol.

Mr. Wickner started class. Jaxon shook his head and angled his body away from my side of the table. During the lecture, my phone vibrated. I discreetly checked my messages and found a text from Becca. She had spent the night at the hospital but was fine. Her parents were letting her stay home for the day, and were my parents letting me out of the house ever again?

Grounded 4 the rest of my life, I texted back. Thank god ur OK. Call U after school.

At lunch, I made myself eat a sandwich and guzzle as much water as I could without hurling. The nausea settled and my head cleared. Also, a fresh perspective was dawning. It first sparked when Mr. King started lecturing about scientific experiments during our physics lab. He talked about how it was important to keep a clear head when you tested a theory, otherwise you could steer yourself towards a false truth: if you examined a question through a biased lens, expecting to see a specific answer, that's what happened--you saw what you wanted to find, instead of seeing what was really there.

By the time I finished lunch, I saw how Mr. King's lecture applied to last night's accident. I'd been stringing coincidences together, trying to give them meaning. Because I was scared, I assumed that the SUV chasing us belonged to the faction. I had no real reason to believe this was true.

After lunch, I went to get books for my afternoon classes. When I opened my locker, a square of red paper tumbled out and landed at my feet. I read the message scrawled in heavy black pen:

Stop looking for the mutila. They almost found you last night. Sorry about your friend.

p.s. don't jump. There's hope for you yet.

Cold rippled down my legs, taking Mr. King's lecture about coincidence with it. Only a handful of people knew that Becca was in the hospital, and most of them were family. My old theory rode back up my legs on a crest of ice, rising higher and higher until it found purchase in my chest. The kids from The Asylum must have figured out who I was. They identified the car I was riding in and followed us after we left. That was why the guy said it's not her after we crashed.

My books nearly slipped to the floor. I gathered them and pulled myself together. I was now officially in the middle of a cat and mouse game with the Mutila. I had to identify them before they found me.

I stuffed the slip of paper in my front pocket. There was only one person who could have left the note. One person who knew about the Mutila and would be looking out for my well-being. The girl on the bridge. If she knew how to find my locker, she must go to my school.

I surfed for her the rest of the day. You're here, I know you are. I was sure I caught a flicker of her tragic presence outside the gymnasium, but it collided with the mass of other kids and was gone. I decided against telling Jaxon about the note. I wanted to pursue this one on my own.

After school, Kimber met me at the curb. I settled in the passenger seat, tipped my head back, and closed my eyes. The boost I'd gotten from eating lunch had worn off. The hangover was worse than ever.

"Don't get too comfortable," she said. "I promised Mrs. Crane we'd visit Mr. Crane today. We're stopping at the hospital on the way home."

"Kimber--" I groaned.

"Don't even think about talking your way out of it. If you want to party like there's no tomorrow, you suffer the consequences."

"I feel like I'm going to die," I mumbled.

Just a few days ago, I had planned to talk to Mr. Crane. Now I didn't see the point. I had Jaxon and my note-writing ally.

"I'll wait in the car," I said when we parked in the hospital lot.

Kimber rousted me out. "You'll do no such thing. The Cranes have been good to us. The least you can do is come in and say hello."

*******

Mrs. Crane was in the hospital waiting area, taking a call on her cell phone. She held her hand over the mouthpiece when we got close. "Thank you for coming." She and Kimber exchanged pecks on the cheek. "The nurse is giving Don a sedative."

"Can I go in?" I asked.

Kimber angled a brow at my sudden interest. On the elevator ride to his floor, an idea had sprung to life in my addled brain.

"He's got another visitor, but go on in. I need to talk to Kimber when I finish with this call," Mrs. Crane said.

My principal, Mr. Lauer, came out of the hospital room as I went in. Wrinkles on his forehead steepled in surprise. "What brings you here..." His mouth tightened while he tried to remember my name.

"Echo Bennett," I said. "Mr. Crane's a friend of the family. How do you know him?"

Mr. Lauer fumbled with the zipper on his jacket. "Yes. Friend of the family as well." The zipper was off-kilter and snagged the fabric. He gave up and pulled the collar high around his neck. "Have a good night," he said and hurried down the hall.

The nurse was adjusting the plasma bag next to Mr. Crane's bed when I walked in. "You just missed him," she said. "The medication puts him under pretty quickly." Her patient's chest swelled and shrank in relaxed, drug-induced breaths. The machine monitoring his heart rate showed a slow, even cadence. "Go ahead and say hello, but keep it short. He needs his rest."

My eyes stung from the rubbing alcohol and ammonia vapor hanging in the air. Machines hummed quietly next to the bed. The nurse left us, and I studied the man who had frightened me not so long ago.

Mr. Crane had been in the hospital for two months and was healing slowly. A bandage covered his forehead where a puncture wound still healed. He was so pale, it was hard to tell where the gauze ended and his skin started. Tubes poked out of his nose and arms, adding to his frail appearance. It was hard to believe I had ever been afraid of him. His hand lay outside the blanket, thick blue veins riding below the skin. I tucked a sheet over it and sat in the chair next to his bed.

Now that he was asleep, it was probably too late, but still, my fingers folded and twisted the cuff of my jacket with nervousness.

"I know about the Mutila," I said softly. "I know what they do and that they're here in Portland. Do you know anything about them?" I needed Mr. Crane to answer, but at the same time I hoped he was too out of it. I was not sure what I would do if he answered yes. Running out of the room screaming was high on the list of possibilities.

Mr. Crane breathed in a steady rhythm.

I tried again. "I'm looking for some Mutila kids. A red-haired girl and a skinny boy. Another boy who is muscular. I think they've been following me."

I looked for any sign that he heard my request. Whatever the nurse gave him seemed to have knocked him into la-la land. I asked again, this time holding still to see if the answer came through his energy field.

"Do you know those kids?"

The machines purred. The plasma bag dripped. Mr. Crane breathed noisily through his mouth, but I got nothing from him that indicated a yes or no. Though weak, his aura piped out the same, steady determination that I'd come to recognize.

Watching him lay helpless beneath the mass of tubes, I felt my own strength grow. In the space of two seconds my mind zigzagged from the subtle threats he once delivered, to the way he had tried to strong-arm me into acting as his research guinea pig, and back to the hospital room.

After my accident, I made a special effort to hide my ability when around him. He'd known I was hiding a secret, and I think it drove him a little nuts. So he kept prodding until I was forced to avoid him. Well, here I was, with the very news he wanted to hear, all those words that I kept under lock and key were ready to bubble over. I let them spill.

"I bet you're one of the Mutila," I said. "And guess what? I'm the one you want. I'm telekinetic. I can levitate. I have gifts you'd never believe unless you saw for yourself." His eyelids fluttered. A thrill charged me. It felt good to announce my truth. No apologies. No explanations. No consequences. "Yeah, I'm definitely the one you're looking for, but I'll die before I let the Mutila have me."

Mr. Crane's head drooped to the side. His eyes snapped open and he aimed his cloudy gaze at me. 
Chapter 12

The machine monitoring Mr. Crane's heart rate blipped and settled. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, and then his lids closed. I launched out of my chair, and out of the room.

Mr. Crane's wife met me in the corridor. "Did you have a nice visit?" If she noticed my sick pallor, she didn't say anything.

"He was...asleep," I said, working hard to keep my voice steady. "Will he even remember that I came today, or that I talked to him?"

"Sorry dear, but no. He's on a heavy dose of painkillers." She patted my shoulder and went to her husband. My body sagged with relief.

Kimber and I got home after dark. After a chapter of Trigonometry, I was dying to go to bed. I changed into my pajamas and saw a lamp glowing in Becca's window across the street. I let out a long sigh. She needed to know what I had found out about last night.

"I have to tell you something about the accident," I said when she answered her phone. "That driver rammed your car on purpose, and he did it because of me."

"I know. You already told the police," she replied casually.

"When did I do this?"

"When they were writing up the report. You told them that people were out to get you, and the guys in the SUV wanted to kidnap you. When the police asked why, you said it's because you have superpowers."

My dinner tossed and threatened to come up. I wrapped my arms around the wastebasket and dry heaved.

"Are you throwing up?"

"I actually said that? Out loud? What did they do?"

"They looked at each other like you were bat-crazy and then tested your blood alcohol level. Not that they needed to. You could hardly stand up, you were so blitzed. They made you sit in the back of the squad car until Kimber got there."

I let out a groan.

"Hey, thanks for guzzling my drink last night," Becca said.

"Now you're just being mean."

"No, I'm serious. The police checked me for alcohol, too. I could have lost my license."

"Oh, in that case, my pleasure," I said.

I hung up the phone and threw up for real.

*******

Saturday morning, I refused to get out of bed. What was the point? I wasn't allowed to leave the house. Plus, the longer I stayed under my comforter, spooning with Tito, the longer I was off the psychos' radar.

Around eleven, I grabbed my phone and Googled Mutila. I'd done several searches before, using words like secret societies and paranormal bad guys but never came close to finding anything useful. This time, three websites appeared at the top of the results page. I clicked on the first one, Conspiracy Theories.

The Mutila is a fictitious organization that supposedly uses paranormal abilities to control United States governments, corporations, and citizens. Their existence is completely unfounded.

According to the theory, regional factions are led by a sole individual who oversees a staff of agents and soldiers that recruit gifted people. Soldiers are at the bottom of the hierarchy and are tasked with recruitment. As they rise in the organization, they gain agent status and are given destructive missions.

Agents and soldiers supposedly possess unnatural abilities such as "psychic," "telekinesis," and other unproven capability.

There are many problems with these theories, the biggest being that paranormal ability does not exist. Unfortunately, certain unstable individuals living on the fringe of society still fabricate stories about such events.

"Unstable individuals? No evidence that these abilities exist?" All the books on my shelf flew to the floor, and my desk chair did a somersault across the room. Conspiracy theory, my butt. I had a mystery girl leaving warning notes in my locker about these maniacs. I continued reading.

The Mutila supposedly categorizes agents and soldiers according to the tasks they perform:

Coercion: Psychically influencing a person, forcing them to do something they do not want to do.

Destruction: Destroying objects using only the power of the mind.

Remote Viewing: The capability to spy on people, read classified documents, etc. using psychic skills.

Assassin: Ending the life of another person using psychic influence.

These abilities are completely baseless, and therefore these threats are impossible.

The writer's assurance did nothing for me. I did not believe for one second that the Mutila was a conspiracy theory.

The other two websites displayed the same information, like someone had copied and pasted the content from one place to another. The search hadn't been a total waste, but it was far from valuable. What did I expect? A flow chart showing titles and pictures of the villainous people who were after me? A neon arrow pointing to their secluded headquarters on a map?

My phone buzzed with a text from Becca, asking if she could come over.

Yes! How about now? I responded. Anything to get the Mutila off my mind.

I met her at the door. She carried stacks of clothing under each arm.

"Is Kimber here?" she whispered.

"Pedicure and massage day. Why?"

"'Cause I want you to do some voodoo on these clothes. You said you can change them with your magicky power, right?" The girl was shaking with anticipation. She'd probably been up all night fantasizing about the tricks I said I could do.

I yawned, feigning disinterest. "Nah, let's go watch TV."

Becca waggled her head. "Say what?"

"You saw the lightning thing I did to Raquelle. The rest is so boooring." I gave an incurious shrug.

"You're holding out on me? I follow you into a den of freaks so you and Jaxon can spy on America's Most Untalented Skateboarders, and then get in a car accident because of you, and now..."

While she worked herself into a rant, I levitated three feet off the floor. Her jaw hung limply.

"You're right. I totally owe you. It's just that it's all kinda overwhelming sometimes," I said with fake pity. I had a hard time holding back a fat grin.

Becca's voice got croaky. "Right. I've got too many superpowers. Said nobody. Ever. I bet if Connor were here, you'd do this every day."

"Sister, I would do anything with him any day of the week." I unconsciously swept my tongue across my upper lip.

"Wipe off that sinful look and quit messing with me." She unloaded the pile of black clothing into my arms and I lowered back to the floor. "Change the color of these, please? I can't go to school wearing Wiccan anymore. I'll feel like an idiot."

"Hmmmm..." I held the first shirt and gave it some thought. I tossed it back to her, and in mid-air, it changed to light blue.

"Better?" I asked. Her jaw fell open again and her eyes got cartoon-large. I tossed the remaining shirts at her, one by one. "Let's go with...green. Yellow. Coral, which you hate but you look nice in. White, pink, purple and...here we go...ta-da!...red."

A pool of drool threatened to pour over the corner of her gaping mouth. She swallowed, hard.

"Wait, this one is all wrong." I levitated the red shirt and, instead of changing it, swept my hand through the fabric.

"Omigodomigodomigod." She started to pant.

Having an audience was way more fun than I anticipated. I liked using my ability for fun stuff like this. Actually, I had learned to love it. "Catch the Chihuahua." I gently levitated Tito into her arms. Becca looked like she was going to pass out from ecstasy.

"Maybe you should sit down," I said.

"Uh-huh." She bent unsteady legs and collapsed against the wall.

Laughter bubbled over. "Oh, man, you should see the look on your face," I said.

"If I had your gift, I would never sleep. This kind of power is incredibly seductive."

"I'll admit, this is the most fun I've had in a while."

"Ditto that." A minute passed before she could speak again. "Speaking of seductive, does Jaxon know you can do all this?"

"He kind of knows, but I haven't shown him anything yet."

"I bet his kisses will get hotter when he finds out you can levitate." Her face went all dreamy. "Levitating kisses. Oh yeah." When I didn't answer, she asked, "You do like him, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. But..." But what? There was something about him that made me uneasy, and it wasn't just his very public displays of affection. "His aura is clean, but I get the impression he's not being completely truthful with me."

"You read auras, too? Like, you can tell if someone is lying?"

"Yep."

Becca bit the inside of her lip. "I got an A on my Trig test."

Right away, I guessed what she was doing. "You're bad at math. If you want to test me, ask something I'd never know."

"I got a C in History," she said.

"Truth."

She thought for a moment. "My mom and I fought today," she challenged.

"Truth."

"My brother broke up with his girlfriend."

"Lie. Wait, truth? Lie?"

"Lie, and my mom and I haven't fought in a while."

"I got them wrong? Test me again," I said, bewildered.

"I read Lord of the Flies."

"True."

"I love Danielle's new haircut."

"That short look with all the bangs? Lie."

"Well, you got some of them right," she said. "Jaxon seems like a pretty fun guy. Do you think you're reading him wrong?"

This was disturbing. I'd put stock in my talent for reading people, but I hadn't used it much after Connor left.

Becca went home with her stash of new clothes and I realized I hadn't had my Connor fix for the day. All the talk about Jaxon made me irritated that he was able to zip into my time without difficulty while the one person who should be here was still stuck in the far corner of the universe. I pulled the futuristic phone from its hiding place and turned it on. Connor's holographic likeness materialized in front of me. His scent warmed the air. The image was so lifelike, every time I reached out to touch it and my hand passed through, goose bumps sprung up on my arm.

I rotated his picture to admire the curve of his neck. That used to be my favorite place to kiss him. That and his earlobe. He said it tickled, and I loved the burst of power I got when he would laugh and playfully shrug away.

I wondered what kind of power I had over Jaxon.

I gave my head a shake. Where had that come from? Jaxon could not compete with my soulmate in any category. Connor was mystical and sexy, fierce and rock solid in his conviction. I knew where I stood with him.

Jaxon was a roller coaster ride through unknown territory. He was unpredictable and unnerving, like a carnival ride with an ever-louder squeak that loses a bolt right when you reached the ride's highest point.

Not all the differences were bad, though. Jaxon had a bad-boy thing going that got my adrenaline pumping. He and I were on more equal footing, whereas Connor's perfection sometimes unsettled me. He had been so far out of my league, I'd felt inferior to him at times. I never stopped marveling at how much he loved me.

The little green light on the phone blinked repeatedly. It had started doing that more and more. I worried that the phone was battery operated, and that the batteries would quit on me permanently. Suddenly, Connor wavered and disappeared.

"Oh no! Come back. Don't be dead, please don't be dead." I turned the phone off, then on. Pressed a few buttons I hadn't dared touch before.

"Come on, just a little longer. Please?"

As though granting me one final wish, the phone blinked back to life. Connor's face didn't appear, though. His whole body did. He stood in the center of my bedroom, smiling.
Chapter 13

"Connor?" I called to the image because, my God, he looked so real.

"Hey," he said.

My hand flew to my mouth.

"Hey," a girl's voice replied.

My veins hardened, and I realized I was watching a holographic video. The camera was trained on Connor. Who was filming him?

He looked into the lens, quirked a self-conscious brow. "Turn that thing off."

"I thought we'd pick up where we left off yesterday." The feminine voice came from off-camera. "I was having fun. Weren't you?"

His gaze drifted, giving the impression that whatever she was talking about, he wasn't nearly as interested. She set the camera on a flat surface. The holograph of a girl crossed the room and took his hand. She had big eyes and full lips. I recognized her right away. She was the girl Connor had danced with while I was on the ballroom floor with his father, Mr. McCabe. This was Connor's ex-girlfriend. Her golden hair hung down her back in an intricate plait.

"Come on, Nadia, we're going to be late," he said.

While she held Connor's hand, my eyes lowered to the phone where a date flashed at the bottom of the screen. The video was over a year old, filmed long before he and I met.

Everybody had a past.

Still, the sight of this girl touching him made me want to scream.

"You're always on time for everything. You're too serious." She dropped his hand and picked up a pillow. Her eyes gleamed. She smacked Connor across the shoulder with it. "When are you going to learn to relax a little?"

He winced, agitated. "What are you doing?"

She swung at him again. "Aren't you at least going to fight back?" She tossed him a pillow. He held it away from his body like he'd never heard the words pillow fight in his life. She walloped him on top of his head and gave him an I dare you smile. Connor smacked her on the back, and a full-fledged pillow war ensued. She was an equal match, holding her ground, swinging as hard as he did. I wondered what sort of gift she had, and if she was as talented as him. Good enough for him was the phrase I was tap-dancing around, because this was the girl Mr. McCabe thought his son should be dating.

I watched them for much too long, mesmerized by the sight of holographic people rough-housing in my room. When their battle came too close, I actually stepped out of the way before remembering they weren't real. None of this was real. But it had happened. Connor had cared about her.

Connor charged the girl and they tumbled onto the floor in a laughing mass of tangled limbs.

"Oh, no," I said.

She set her pillow aside and kissed him on the temple.

"Ack! This is not happening." The phone bobbled in my grip.

The girl gave him a long kiss on the lips.

"You skank! Get away from him! Don't let her touch you!" Which button did I have to push to put an end to this catastrophe? Connor got that faraway look on his face, like he had heard me, like he was thinking about something else, someone else. He leaned away from the girl. She kissed his neck.

I pressed the Off button. When that failed, I tapped every icon on the screen. The image would not change.

Connor gave her a peck on the inside of her wrist and moved it into her lap, signaling he was done. She crawled toward him and lifted the hem of his t-shirt over his head.

"No. No! NO!" I yelled.

She touched his bare back and I threw the device against the wall. Connor and the girl flickered and then reappeared a few feet from the phone. Lines of white static cut across the two holographic bodies, but it didn't prevent her from pushing her fingers through his hair. His perfect, raven hair.

I snatched the device off the floor and ran to the bathroom with that damn hologram following right behind. I threw the phone in the toilet. Sparks flew; the image sputtered and died. I sank to the edge of the tub with my face in my hands. What was it going to take to let Connor go?

A sob caught in my throat. It was pointless to feel this way, months after we'd split up. Pointless to ache over a relationship that Connor had been in a year before we ever set eyes on each other. I turned on the faucet and let cool water run over my face.

Connor had a past, and he was going to have a future. Without me. It was high time I gave up my sad daydreams and got a firm grip on this reality. It was time to move on.

*******

Sunday night brought another shift at the Smoothie Shack.

"I need to cut back on my hours," I told my manager, Joe. "I can't keep up with my homework."

"Don't make any hasty decisions until you see this." He handed me an envelope. Inside was my first paycheck ever.

"Ninety dollars. Yeah!" I said.

"That's the gross amount. Your take-home pay is at the bottom."

He pointed to the bunch of lines subtracting from the overall amount.

"What? Who are these people, and why are they taking all my money?" I asked.

"They're not people, they're government. The more you make, the more they take out as your contribution to society. By now I'm putting in, like, two hundred bucks per paycheck." He stuck his chest out. "But that's because I'm management. One day, I'll be District Manager and my contribution will be way bigger. Pretty awesome, huh?"

I shook my head. "You're weird." I stuffed the check in my pocket.

"Hey, respect authority. And you have a customer." Joe went into the back.

I turned to find Jaxon leaning against the smooth, vinyl counter, his mouth caught somewhere between a smile and a smirk. His eyes trailed over the completely unimpressive shop. "Fruit drinks and arcade games. I've really been missing out."

I squinted one eye. "If you've come to hassle me, this is a bad time."

"Not on my agenda tonight." He dovetailed his fingers and curled them together. Tapped his thumbs. "Do you have time to talk?"

I blew out a cheek full of air. The place was empty except for a grade-schooler and his parents who passed by my counter and went straight to the arcade. "I dunno. I could be mobbed at any minute."

Jaxon took in my sarcasm, and then looked away. "I wanted to apologize for not..."

"Not what?"

"Well. Protecting you. From the Mutila or you know, whoever came after you on your way home from the skatepark."

"You made it pretty clear you weren't going to come to my rescue. Ever. I shouldn't even expect a fistfight on my behalf because, according to you, I can take down an entire super-soldier army on an as-needed basis."

"Can't you?"

I sighed. "I hate violence. Besides, the idea terrifies me. My ability isn't exactly predictable when I'm scared."

"Not even to save yourself?"

"Even then. It locks up when I'm freaked out." Defending myself against Solomon had driven that weakness home. I had no reason to believe I'd ever recover from that mental block, and prayed I would never have to find out. Time to change the subject.

"You've never told me what your skills are." I gave him a friendly nudge. "You spent the last nine years living in nirvana. You must be an expert at something. Postcognition? Pyrokinesis?"

"Nope."

"A healer? No? Okay, let me read your aura. I bet I can guess."

"Don't bother." Jaxon's gaze jogged along the counter.

"Isn't that cute. You have a shy side."

"I'm part of the twenty percent." He crossed his arms.

"Twenty percent?"

He flashed a pout, like do I really have to explain it to you? Then I remembered. "Eighty percent of West Region citizens have at least one gift."

"The rest don't. Since I was born here, it's no surprise," he added.

"But everyone in West Region gets training." That was the key to bringing out talent in some of the kids.

"It was a big waste of time. Nothing ever developed," he answered.

I gave his shoulder a squeeze. Living in Connor's world without any ability must have made him feel even more out of place, and that I could relate to. "No wonder you're not afraid of the factions," I said cheerfully. "You're free from all this paranormal junk. They won't want anything to do with you." I'd meant it as a sort of compliment. Like, look on the bright side.

"That's another reason I'm glad to be back in my own time. West Region doesn't respect you unless you have some sort of gift."

That couldn't be true. Connor had said...No. Forget what he said. Forget all about him. My life was about moving forward now.

"Well, I think you're lucky. You'll fit in fine here," I said.

His chocolate brown eyes softened. That sensation came over me again, from when he kissed me the skatepark, like there was a storm slowly brewing between us. "What about you? You as gifted as they say?" he asked.

I lifted a shoulder. "I can do a few things." I slipped off my magnetic bracelets. The shop and The Cave were safe for now, so I let my aura trail along the cooler to the blender. I telekinetically turned it on. I did a swirly thing with my finger and turned it off.

"You can manipulate on-off buttons. That's what everyone was so excited about?" He faked a yawn, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm just warming up." A display basket on the counter was loaded with bananas, peaches, and apples. An apple launched itself into my hand. "For you," I offered, but when he reached for it, I pulled back. "Nah-ah. Wait." I balanced the apple on my palm and levitated it until it was directly between us. "Take a bite."

He gave me an inquisitive grin. As he leaned in with his mouth open, I did the same on the other side. Our mouths pressed into the firm skin and we each sunk our teeth into the apple's flesh, taking a full bite. The fruit dropped to the counter. Juice ran down the corner of his mouth. I wiped it away with my thumb. He chewed slowly and swallowed hard.

"I have a couple of theories about you," he said.

"Yeah?"

"One. I still don't think you're as talented as they say. And two, I don't think you're as angelic as you let on."

"You're right, but only on one count," I replied.

"Which one?"

"Guess you'll have to figure it out," I challenged, surprised at my boldness.

"I look forward to it." Jaxon pinned his eyes on mine, took another bite of the apple, and walked out of the shop.
Chapter 14

I had hardly any customers the rest of the night, leaving me plenty of time to obsess about the kids I'd seen at The Asylum. I was mad they had crashed into Becca's car. Madder still that they'd so easily and boldly come after me like easy prey, right out in public. When I obsessed, I went all out: my nails got bitten down to the bed, my knuckles turned red from wringing, my mind went ballistic in a million directions at once.

When my shift ended at nine o'clock, I called Kimber. "I'll take the bus," I told her. "You can stay at the Rose Club." Kimber's social club took up most of her free time. I counted on her staying out late, and headed for the bus stop two blocks away.

By the time the number fourteen picked me up, I was freezing my butt off. I stuffed my hands inside my coat to warm them and watched the downtown city lights disappear behind me. I rode across the river to the warehouse district and got off a few blocks from The Asylum. The surrounding businesses were busy loading and unloading delivery trucks twenty-four seven, but that didn't make the dark streets any more appealing. I jogged the rest of the way to the skatepark.

The sign outside The Asylum said they closed at nine on Sundays, but the door hung open. Cracks webbed across the glass. A blackness that I could feel but not see scraped down the back of my neck. I froze.

They were here. They were right inside. I backed away slowly and prepared to full out sprint out of there.

A masculine voice, unnaturally squeaky, called from inside. "Is anybody out there? Um...can someone please help me?"

I crept inside. Skater clothing lay everywhere. Helmets, knee pads, shoes, and skateboard parts littered the space as if someone had tipped the entire gear store upside down and emptied it over the rest of the shop.

"Oh wow. Oh man. It's you," the voice came from behind the counter. Tugg was suspended halfway up the concrete wall, hanging by the back of his shirt.

My eyes bugged. "What the..."

"Don't just stand there. Get me a chair." His arms and legs flailed as he tried to shake himself loose.

I hauled a stool over from the concession stand. Tugg balanced on it and unhooked himself. When he lowered next to me, I was reminded of his massive size. I was afraid to ask who exactly had hoisted him off the floor.

"Are they gone?" I asked. "Whoever did this, I mean."

He glared at me and swore. "Out. I don't want you here. Go." His knees shook. He planted a hand on my back and shoved me toward the door.

"Wait, I have to talk to you."

"Forget it. Don't ever come here again, and you were never here. Got it? I know nothing."

"I'm not going anywhere." I turned to face him, and he skittered backward with his hands raised, a barrier between us. Given his size, I found it more than a little disturbing that he was afraid of me. "I get it," I said calmly, "you're scared, but I need your help. I need you to think back to the night I was here with my friend Becca. Remember? You guys were talking about our football teams playing against each other..."

He squeezed his eyes tight like he wished I would just get on with it. "Yeah, yeah. I remember. So what?"

"There were three other kids here that night." I described the girl and the two guys, and Tugg shook his head violently.

"I don't know anything. Now get out..." He pointed toward the door, but movement out of the corner of his eye distracted him. If it were possible, he turned a lighter shade of gray. "What the--"

I followed his gaze to the skating bowl. All the store's skateboards, dozens of them, cruised across the concrete as if ridden by ghosts. They skidded on the bowl's lip, launched up the quarter pipe, jumped over each other.

"Whoa," I said.

Tugg babbled nonsensically and his legs went limp. He put his head between his knees. Secretly, this was the kind of thing I found the most upsetting, seeing a normal person's reaction to paranormal occurrences. It reminded me how much of a freak I was.

I rested a hand on Tugg's knee. "Tell me what happened here tonight."

He shook his head. "Crazy. Too crazy."

Frightened people often refused to talk, even when it was in their best interest. I saw this all the time when my dad and I lived in a crime-ridden neighborhood south of Seattle. Our neighbors would witness the worst of human behavior, but when the police came around asking questions, they clammed right up.

I went to the edge of the bowl and jumped in. I kicked one of the boards, sending it flying across the cement. That was enough to sever the phantom thread that kept the whole lot of them moving. All the skateboards rolled to the center and stopped. Tugg watched, wide-eyed, like I was his personal hero.

"What happened here tonight?" I asked again.

"Two of them came in. The skinny guy and the red-haired girl with tattoos on her arm. She moved things without touching them," he stuttered and motioned to the mess of clothing and gear, "and she was standing over there and she lifted me off the floor like, like," he made an upward motion with his finger. "And voop, she hung me right up on the wall."

"Why?"

He hesitated. "Because I wouldn't give them your name."

My head swam and, much like the night I was drunk, the graffiti walls blended together. They had remembered me after all. I joined him on the floor.

"You know them?" he asked.

I wheezed a couple of deep breaths. "Did you tell them my name?"

"I didn't remember it."

"Okay," I wheezed. "Okay. That's good."

"Who are they?"

"That's what I came to ask you. Do they come here a lot?" I asked.

"Just a few times."

"Do you know their names?"

He clamped his jaw down tight, undecided. Gave me a once-over. Decided I was worth helping. "The skinny guy called the girl Luma. She's the one who did all the damage. That's all I know, and you did not hear it from me, got that?" He lurched to his feet. "I'm quitting this job. If they come back, I'm not going to be here. I don't even skateboard, I just show up for the girls."

Tugg closed the shop and drove me home. "I wouldn't have told them your name, even if I could remember it," he said when he pulled in front of my house. "I'd never do that to an innocent girl. This Luma chick, though...she's evil."

A shudder ran down my neck. "Thanks, Tugg."

"Yeah. See you around."

His tires squealed as he backed out of our driveway. I was betting I would never hear from him again.

********

Becca's car was back from the repair shop, and Kimber let me ride to school with her.

"How much longer until you get your keys back?" Becca asked.

"My dad said when pigs fly and dinosaurs pop out of his butt."

"Gross."

"Yeah, well, he got his point across. I'll be hitching rides until college."

We rode the rest of the way in silence, my mind still wrapping around what I'd seen the night before. The damage at The Asylum meant the Mutila kids were trained in Coercion and Destruction. It had frightened me, seeing firsthand what they were capable of.

Once we got to school, Jaxon was impossible to find. Since he was new, the office had allowed him to switch out of my chemistry class because he wanted to take woodworking, of all things. I finally found him during lunch, leaning against a locker outside the biology labs, circled by--you guessed it--a group of underclass girls.

The girls stretched their bubblegum with their tongues, watching him like they fantasized about the secrets he held beneath his coarse exterior. Anyone spending time with Jaxon saw the restless storm that raged below the surface. Girls liked to crack that barricade. I guessed they relished the challenge of making a seemingly untouchable guy lust after them. It validated their power.

He broke out of the circle to join me, earning me a few dirty looks. I wondered what was happening between me and Jaxon. We'd had a couple of close moments, and I liked the pleasure part of our relationship more than the information-gathering part. Flirting was fun, but I was ready to take things to the next level.

I nodded toward the girls. "Aren't they cute. In a couple years, they'll be old enough to drive." I didn't like notion that I was competing for his attention.

"And they'll be way more experienced." His eyes did that quick body scan that boys do but think girls never notice.

"Why do I get the impression you're picturing me naked?" I asked.

"I'm always picturing you naked."

"Oh." My cheeks warmed.

"That's what guys do. We picture everyone naked."

"Everyone? Talk about a lack of self-control."

"Yup. Teachers, other kids' parents, even other guys. If we're competing against a guy, picturing them naked gives us an edge."

"Eww." Picturing my teachers naked was the last thing I would ever do.

"God, you're gullible. I'm beginning to think you are a clueless little angel after all. No, I don't think about guys. You, though, take up a lot of space in my head."

"I've been thinking about you a lot, too." I gave him my flirtiest look--a mysterious smile with half-mast lids.

"You look sleepy," he said. Not what I was going for, but he stepped in close and ran his thumb across my collarbone. "I got more information about the kids at the skatepark."

My neck tingled under his touch. "Me too. After work I went..."

He didn't wait for me to finish. He turned on his heels and walked through the outside door. 
Chapter 15

"Wait--where are you going?" I caught up to Jaxon in the parking lot. He pulled out a set of keys and beeped the lock open on an older model Jeep. "Don't tell me you've got one of the Mutila tied up in your backseat," I joked.

"Wish I did. I'd like to know what would happen if you had to face off against one of them. I'd like to bet my money on you." He pursed his lips, seemed to evaluate me, like the one thing he was most interested in was the scope of my gifts.

"You're asking who I'd bet on? Not going there. Especially not after what I saw at The Asylum last night."

"You went back?" He leaned inside and emerged with an English book for his next class. I recapped my trip to the skatepark.

"Luma. Interesting name," he said. "I don't recognize it from my old neighborhood."

"I think she's a Coercion Agent, or a Destruction Agent."

He squinted one eye in a silent question.

"I've been doing my own digging." I explained the different types of agents and soldiers to him. "What did you find out?"

"Remember the one kid who looked like he could stop a Greyhound bus in its tracks? His name is Roth. He was driving the SUV that hit Becca."

"Did you get his license number?" I asked.

"Nope."

"How did you find this out?"

"I described him to the guy I know from my neighborhood. Unfortunately, he never knew Roth's last name," Jaxon said.

I threw up my hands. "So we've established that a steroid-eating skateboarder into coercion is probably the one who hit us, and his wild red-haired sidekick trashes places and threatens people. No last names. No license plate number, and I still don't know anything about the girl who was going to jump to her death."

"Pardon me for not whipping up a miracle."

"I'm sorry. I'm frustrated."

"You're the one with all the abilities," he said, his tone short. "Try going into a trance and psychically conjuring up a license plate number."

"If that was on my playlist, don't you think I would have done it by now?"

He lifted a shoulder. "I'm sticking by my original theory, that you're a semi-talented angel."

This steamed me. Just because I wasn't letting him in on the fine points of my abilities didn't give him the right to be insulting. And then I wondered if that was the reason we flirted: he was into power, that much was clear, and I had some pretty interesting power of my own. I thought back to the look on his face when we'd bit into to the apple together. If I really was competing against a bunch of other girls, why not give him another taste of what he was into? I sucked in my cheeks and swung my eyes across the parking lot. The bell signaling the start of next period rang, meaning we were alone.

Jaxon swore. "I'm late for class."

"Well, you're going to be later." I slid off my bracelets and set them on the asphalt. Then I raised my hands waist high, concentrating all my energy, and aimed them at Jaxon's ride. His Jeep shook.

"Uh, what are you doing?" he asked.

I clenched my jaw. Come on, float, darn it. I had watched Connor do this same trick to Raquelle's car. He'd made it look ridiculously easy. I, however, was about to crack a molar if I clenched my teeth any harder.

The tires lifted off the asphalt.

"Cool, huh?" I twisted my mouth in a cocky smile, and tried to push the Jeep over the curb. "I'm not as innocent as you think," I said, struggling to keep my magic act going.

He grinned ear to ear. A loud crack shot through the air. The Jeep fell back into its spot. Its bumper snapped off and clattered to the blacktop.

"Oops," I grimaced.

"What did you do?" His palms aimed at the sky. "You broke my Jeep." He picked up the bumper and dumped it onto the backseat. "I was thinking of asking you out, but I guess I'll be spending that money at the body shop."

"Sorry," I said instinctively. Wait. No I wasn't. "That's my devil side acting out. You never know what you're going to get with me, but I guess you're not into bad girls after all." I was as surprised as anybody to hear myself say this. On top of that, I'd used my ability in public, which could get me in huge trouble. This time-jumping bad boy brought out a side of me I had never seen.

I headed for the school doors. After a few steps, I glanced over my shoulder. Jaxon's lip curled into that smirk, heat smoldering in his eyes. The look was so palpable, it pressed my skin all over, like a hot, humid night. I allowed him a smile and forced myself not to look back again.

After Trigonometry started, I hid my phone under my desk and sent him a text.

I would have said yes, I said about the date. Ms. Fullner's lecture went in one ear and out the other while I waited for Jaxon's response. My phone didn't beep, not even once.

Later that afternoon, he met me at my locker. "So, what do twenty-first century girls like to do on dates?" he asked.

I was gathering overdue homework for my next class but stopped long enough to acknowledge that his thigh leaned against my hip. "I like going to movies. You?"

"Don't know. Haven't been to one in this time zone."

"It's fun. You get buckets of popcorn and gigantic sodas and sit in the dark for two hours."

"Sounds like a perfect place to make out."

"Um, yeah, I guess some kids go and never watch the movie."

"You seem like the type who never misses a minute of any movie." A sly smile curved his mouth. "Are you sure you want to go out with me? I could be very bad for your reputation."

I had no reputation, not the kind he meant, anyway. "I guess that's a chance I'll have to take."

"Oh, angel, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

"Is that a challenge?" I asked, taking in the rose color of his lips.

"Saturday night. You buy the popcorn. Consider it payment for the bumper."

*******

A dozen different shirts and sweaters lay in a pile on my bed. Jaxon was due to show up any minute, and I still did not know what to wear. All my clothes seemed too cute, too...innocent. When Tugg called me innocent, he'd meant it as a compliment. Now the word made me feel fragile and naïve. Pretty much the opposite of how I wanted to come across to Jaxon.

The clock ticked closer to date time. I used my magic touch to cut out the entire back of a black blouse, then replaced it with black lace. I shimmied into a pair of skintight jeans and added tall boots with heels that would bring us eye-to-eye. I put on eye shadow--three shades of brown to make my eyes large and sunken--then lined the bottom lid with black. The overall effect was edgy and mysterious.

It was seven o'clock, then a quarter after. No sign of my date. I spent a few minutes running through my ritual--telekinesis, levitation, the whole bit--so that I wouldn't accidentally slip up in public. I slid the bracelets onto my arm for good measure.

My eyes settled on Connor's portrait. It still sat against the wall next to my desk, as it had for months. That tropical gaze that had lured me to him seemed piercing now, cool and judging. That quirky smile that I had painted seemed filled with doubt, like he knew what I was up to and did not approve. I tried not to feel tense, but the truth was the date with Jaxon left me feeling scattered and uncertain. The portrait staring back at me made it worse. The girl that Connor fell for had been struggling and broken. Kind. Caring. There was no room in my life for sweetness anymore. My days were filled with too much fear and uncertainty.

Now I was acting a part, with my revealing shirt and stiletto boots and cocky promises. I hoped the changes on the outside would sink through my skin and make me tougher on the inside. But at that moment, my identity felt like a handful of confetti tossed into a shifting wind.

Also, the prospect of falling for another guy frightened me. My heart was still healing, and the scars were coarse and ropey. The mere idea that I could ever care for anyone as much as Connor was laughable.

I didn't want to fall in love again. Ever. But I liked being liked, and I liked going on dates. So I was left playing a new role, shrugging into it as I would a dense, weatherproof coat that was too big in the shoulders, too long in the arms.

If I had to bring out my non-angelic side, stay cool and detached and hard to keep my heart from breaking, so be it. As for Jaxon, I firmly put him in the fun-doll category. Raquelle used this term when she dated more than one guy at a time. She simply was not getting serious with anybody, she'd say. They were fun-dolls.

I took one long, last look at the portrait. "It's got to be this way," I told Connor's likeness. "Or I'll never move on." I had even stopped wearing the coin necklace he got me because every time I put it on, well, there he was.

I turned the portrait to face the wall. My pulse hitched. I flipped the canvas around again. A tiny red mark--a paint drip?--ran from the scar on his forehead and onto his temple. My mind immediately thought blood, but unless Kimber or the maid cut themselves in my room, that wasn't possible. I ran a thumbnail over the mark. Whatever it was, it wasn't coming off. A seed of uneasiness planted in my solar plexus as I set the painting down.

I checked outside to see if Jaxon was waiting in the driveway. I'd given him explicit instructions to text me from the bottom of the hill. That would allow me time to slip out the front door without Kimber noticing. I wasn't sure if dating was part of my jail sentence--they already took my car away, wasn't that enough? I figured it was better not to ask about the fine print of being grounded.

Seven thirty came and with it, a one-word text from Jaxon.

Tomorrow.

"What?" I yelled at my phone. You're standing me up? I replied. He didn't respond.

"Unbelievable." I threw my phone on the bed.
Chapter 16

"Do it again." Becca stabbed her spoon into her yogurt at our lunch table. Raquelle sat a few rows away in the school cafeteria, at the Partychick's table, holding court with her clique. She strained to maintain composure while an invisible force swatted her ponytail. Sometimes to the side, sometimes up and back. It was driving the girl batty. Sweat dribbled down her neck, darkening her blouse. Her shoulder twitched at random intervals like she expected the great hand of doom to clamp down any second.

I gave her golden hair another solid telekinetic tug. Raquelle slammed her hand on the table and stormed across the cafeteria. The Partychicks batted their lashes in confusion. Clearly their Queen Bee had lost her mind.

Good. This was good. Hassling Raquelle was fun, but I had a reason for throwing my energy across the packed room. I was taking a huge risk, exposing myself in a public place, because I hoped to draw my unknown ally out of hiding. The girl from the bridge had cared enough to drop a warning note in my locker, but I hadn't heard from her since. She might reveal herself if she saw me carelessly using my power. I was certain Roth and Luma didn't go to my school and prayed the mystery girl was the sole person at Lincoln with aura-radar.

Raquelle planted her fists on my table and leaned in so our noses almost touched. "You quit this right now or I swear will destroy you."

I fanned the air. "Did you eat onions?"

Her eye jumped in a spasm. "I know you're pulling your witch crap on me. Leave me alone!"

"Listen and listen carefully. Of all the things I have to worry about, you don't even rank. Got that? If you're the victim of someone's voodoo, and it ain't me, then there must be more of us out there."

Her mouth opened, but she could not find the words. She jerked back. "That's not possible. There aren't more of you. You're trying to scare me."

"Your glory days are over, Raquelle. Don't mess with us." I wiggled my fingers hocus-pocus style and added a ghostly woooooh. Her face lost all its color and she squeezed her legs together like she was about to pee her pants. She left the cafeteria with one hand holding down her ponytail.

"I think you went too far," Becca said.

"Definitely." The way I figured it, she had it coming. "She's getting what she's dished out to me."

Becca quirked her mouth in disapproval. I scanned the cafeteria for a sign that my telekinetic goofing off had gotten anyone else's attention. From the other side, Jaxon twitched a friendly nod. He sat with a group of junior guys. He still hadn't answered my text or apologized for standing me up on our date. If that was the way he wanted to play it, fine. He had sunk himself down to persona non grata.

"I guess Jaxon wasn't the love machine you were expecting," Becca said.

"How'd you know he stood me up?" I hadn't told her he was a no-show.

She gave me an odd look. "I didn't. I figured your date ended early 'cuz I saw him out late on Saturday night."

"What? Who with? That freshman girl who's always sniffing around?" So much for not caring.

"He was with a guy. At Forest Park."

"At night?" Forest Park was a wooded area within the Portland city limits. It spanned hundreds of acres and, while it was popular with runners and hikers, it wasn't hangout central, at least not on a wet, winter night.

"You know that pullout by the Witch's Castle trail?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"It's at the edge of the forest. Lucas takes me there because it creeps me out and I spend most of the time on his lap while we're making out. Which I would anyway, but I let him think he's got all the moves. Anyway, we were up there a while and I had to pee. I was in the bushes next to the trail with my jeans around my ankles and Jaxon comes out of the woods with another guy."

"Who?"

"I don't know, but who goes down Witch's Castle trail at one in the morning? Some super creepy stuff supposedly happens there. The legend is that people used to get sacrificed..."

I made the fast-forward motion with my hand. "Back to the Jaxon and the guy..."

"Well, they stopped pretty close to me. They had flashlights, and I recognized Jaxon's voice. He was mad and said, 'I'm not just anybody.' And the guy said, 'You still need to prove yourself.'"

I squinted in confusion. "Weird."

"Right? The guy was older though, not a student."

"I wonder if this is why he stood me up."

"Ask him. He was super pissed, but the guy laughed at him. They left together, though."

That afternoon, I tracked down Jaxon outside his English classroom. "Have you been avoiding me?" I asked.

"Yes. I wanted to get you this." He pulled a slightly crumpled pink rose out of his book bag. "I owe you an apology."

I didn't take it. "Yeah, you do. What you did on Saturday might be okay by West Region standards, but here you can't just not show up for a date. You didn't even answer my text."

"I know. I'm sorry, but something came up. It won't happen again." A tiny crease formed between his eyebrows. His aura filled with embarrassment. The flower was a nice gesture, but it was two days too late.

"What did you end up doing that was so important?" I asked. Yes, this was a test.

"Translation: did I find something better to do than go on our date? Depends on how you look at it. I got a lead and I followed it."

My attitude did a one-eighty. "I will pay you a million dollars if you got the last names of those kids."

"You make deals like that and people will just tell you lies. I met a guy who I thought would get me close to the Mutila, but we got into an argument. It was a dead end. I'm sorry I missed spending time with you." He pressed the flower at me.

"Why didn't you text me back the other night?" I asked.

"What can I say? I screwed up."

A lot of boys would have made an excuse about dead phone batteries or never getting the message. Jaxon's honesty was disarming. I took the rose.

"I'm forgiven?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Can I take you out this weekend?" He stepped in. Warmth radiated off his body.

"I'm still grounded," I said.

"Then sneak out." He leaned in and kissed me on the lips right when my Trigonometry teacher, Ms. Fullner, walked by.

"No PDA in school," she said.

"Yeah, get a room," a kid teased.

My neck flushed--the angelic side of me acting out. My devil side wished he would kiss me again, right in front of Ms. Fullner.

"I wish I could read your mind right now." He lifted my chin with his knuckle.

"This is what I'm thinking." I kissed him on the lips until we were both late for class.

*******

"Smoothie Shack," I answered the phone at work. With my free hand, I dumped fruit and powder into the blender. A basketball game had let out at a nearby school, and we'd been swamped all evening. "Just a minute, I'll go get him," I said and set the phone down.

My manager, Joe, had gone into The Cave when one of the games ate all of a customer's quarters without giving any playtime. I headed into the dark room, into the sea of bodies.

The local team had won big, and everyone was in a good mood. The happy, bubbly auras slipped across my skin, making me feel like I was swimming in a freshly opened can of soda. The glow coming off the game score panels turned the crowd into a collection of shifting silhouettes. Since The Cave didn't have any overhead lights, I did a full lap before I found Joe kneeling next to one of the machines. One of its side panels was open, and wires tumbled out like loose intestines.

"Phone for you," I said. "It's that vendor guy you've been wanting to talk to."

"Tell him I'll call him later," Joe said over his shoulder and went back to his pile of wires.

I swung back toward the shop and screeched to a halt. There, near the entrance, was a head of copper hair. Next to her, an oafish guy plugged coins into a game slot. It was Roth and Luma. She shook the rain out of her hair and took off her coat. They settled into a pair of stools right next to the doorway.

My heart hit my ribcage like a frightened bird trapped inside a house, slamming against the windows trying to find a way out. How long had they been here? Had they seen me? No, they couldn't have or they would come after me the way they had with Becca's car.

I couldn't very well stay in The Cave. Maybe I could slip past if I left with a group of kids. But already, a tingling sensation intensified between my brows. And guess who forgot to wear her magnetic bracelets to work? I slapped my hand to my forehead as though I could prevent my aura from transmitting my growing anxiety.

Too late. The scoreboard on Roth's game blinked erratically, and, like two feral predators picking up the scent of blood, their heads snapped toward the arcade's interior. Their postures stiffened. Luma's head tilted, searching for a faint vibration among the bodies. She would be picking up the same thing I was: a mix of ordinary teenage auras--scratchy, giddy, and complex. Somewhere in that mix, mine blared its unique frequency loud enough for a gifted person to sense it.

Without daring to breathe, I backed deeper into The Cave. My fingers went numb, telling me my aura was now screaming in silent decibels. I ducked behind a group of boys as Luma and Roth homed in on one kid, and then another. They exchanged a few words and, to my shock, picked up their coats and walked into the shop.

I exhaled hard. That had been close.

"Hey, who's watching the counter?" Joe said on his way back into the shop.

"I'll be out in a minute," I said.

"This is no time to take a break. You've got a line of customers."

"I know," I said. "Sorry. I'm coming."

As Joe stepped out of the arcade, Luma and Roth re-appeared in the entryway. She scanned Joe, assessing him with cold amber eyes. Another couple exited, and she gave them the same calculated once-over. Then she anchored her gaze on The Cave's interior and waited. Roth took a seat next to the door. They knew whoever had triggered their interest was still inside, and they were going to scan each person until they found him or her.

Another minute ticked by, and when nobody else left, Luma became visibly agitated. Roth leaned in and said something into her ear. Her expression grew taut, and she waved him off. Then she flicked her wrist, a motion so subtle, you'd miss it unless you knew what to look for. A few empty seconds ticked by, and a game at the back of the room threw sparks into the crowd. Smoke poured out of the console. Turmoil broke out as kids coughed and ran for the exit.

They were trying to flush me out.
Chapter 17

Despite the chaos, Luma and Roth held their spot outside The Cave. He grabbed kids' elbows, forcing them to slow down while she gave them a quick check. He was frighteningly methodical, just another day searching for gifted kids to add to their macabre army.

The smoke thickened and turned black. I got down on the floor to avoid the heaviest of the smoke. It made it harder for them to see me, too, but that would not last long. The Cave was almost empty. When Luma and Roth did not find what they were looking for, they would come in and get it. I scrambled across the floor, searching by feel for a place to hide. Now, with all the kids gone and from my low vantage point, I saw a sliver of light glowing along the wall next to the supply room. I crawled toward it, pushed through a door, and found myself in Joe's office. I grabbed my coat from the employee area and slipped out the back exit that we used to dump garbage at the end of each shift.

Cold air chafed my lungs. My chest convulsed. I hacked up and spit out chemical-saturated smoke until I thoroughly grossed myself out. I called Joe on his cell phone--he made us add his number to our contact lists in case we had to make last-minute changes to our shift--and told him that I was out of the building and a safe distance away.

"Did you happen to see what started the fire?" he asked.

"I thought I saw one of the machines spark," I answered. "Then the room filled with smoke." Joe gave me the okay to go home. If the fire department needed any more information, they would be in touch.

My next call went to Kimber. I asked her to pick me up on a side street two blocks away, using the fire trucks and commotion as an excuse to get away from the Shack. The few minutes I had to wait for her were agonizing. Roth and Luma hadn't seemed to be at the Smoothie Shack with any purpose in mind. Kids came from all over to hang out and play arcade games. Maybe they got lucky by showing up during my shift. Or--and this possibility shook me to the core--maybe coming to the Shack had been part of a deliberate strategy, and they knew they would find me there.

A block away, Kimber's car slowed at an intersection. In front of it, a black SUV picked up speed and ran the red light. Its front bumper was punched in, like it had been in an accident. The streetlights lit up the faces inside, giving me a flashing glimpse of Roth behind the wheel and his copper-haired passenger. My body quaked when I read the license plate: WEOWNU.

We. Own. You.

*******

WEOWNU. I knew enough about the Mutila now to know that the license plate was a declaration of power. Once they captured you, you were under their control. Completely.

Still, I slept better that night than I had in a long time. I woke up ahead of my alarm, feeling calm. I had given the SUV's license plate information to Kimber, who gave it to Becca's dad, who was going to give it to the police. They were still trying to find out who ran into Becca's car. I hoped that when they tracked down the SUV and looked into its passengers, they would find a rap sheet full of criminal activity and dump both of them in jail.

I felt looser and lighter than I had in weeks. On the way to school, I couldn't help but notice how the rising sun hovered right above Mount Hood, so that the mountain seemed to balance the bright yellow orb on its peak. The sun's colors washed into the clouds, like they were content to laze away the day there.

The Smoothie Shack news spread through school, like, well, wildfire.

"I hear you had an exciting night." Jaxon met me after first period.

"You don't know the half of it." I told him about the entire ordeal.

His brow wrinkled in confusion. "How did they know you worked there?"

"I'm not sure they did. I think it was a coincidence they showed up. Anyway, I won't be running into them at the Shack for a while. I'm out of a job until they clean up the fire damage."

"So you've got some free time on your hands." He smelled nice, all shampoo and herbal soap. His fingers walked up my throat and settled on a tender spot there. They rose and fell when I swallowed, an uncomfortable sensation. I pulled his hand away. "What are the chances you can get ungrounded so we can go on that date?" he asked.

"I'd say none to none. I might be able to get ungrounded next week?" Kimber somehow found out I was going to sneak out with Jaxon the night he stood me up. She'd had a fit and made it clear that dating was off limits. But now, with no job to go to, I had time to do extra chores. That might earn me points and get me out of house arrest.

"I don't think I can wait that long. You've got study hall last period, right?"

"I do."

"I'm going to skip my last class, and you and I are going to find a dark corner where we can be alone."

"You'll get in trouble," I said, but the mischief in his voice was enticing.

"Trouble suits me just fine." He brushed the hair away from my ear and whispered, "Meet me under the south stairwell."

My stomach did a little flip. This was what I wanted, right? Alone time with Jaxon, to mend the lingering ache that would not leave on its own. To help erase the memory of a green-eyed boy. "Sure," I breathed. The no PDA rule was strictly enforced, though, and really, who wanted to hide out in a stairwell? Ick. "The auditorium will be empty. I'll meet you inside the side door."

I took my seat in Economics as the bell rang. It was Thursday, which our teacher, Mr. Katz, had nicknamed Get Your Goals In Gear Day. Kids called it Don't Get Your Hopes Up Day, because of his outrageous expectations.

"Everyone pull out the personal economic goals you set at the beginning of the year," Mr. Katz said. "Take a good look at the number you wrote down for your ten-year plan."

Kids dug out the worksheet from their folders.

"A million dollars," Lucas said from a back row.

"Two million," Becca said from next to him.

"How are you going to make that much as an archeology major?" Lucas chided.

"I don't need to go to college. Echo and I know where the big money is, right Echo?" Becca flashed toothy grin.

"Not gonna happen, Becca," I replied.

"Good, some of you have a plan. What's yours, Becca?" Mr. Katz asked.

"Oh, Echo and I are going to film a reality show featuring people with superpowers."

"Yep, we've got our investment capital all lined up." I rolled my eyes. She still thought she could convince me to take my 'magicky show on the road.'

"I bet that would be worth a few million, but if that falls through, you can learn something from today's Feature Success." Mr. Katz held up the current issue of a national financial magazine. "This man is an example of what you can achieve a few years out of high school."

The man on the cover smiled with one eye closed. His other eye, pale blue and fixed on us, negated any sense of warmth that he might have tried to communicate through the wink. His jawline was as crisp as the crease in his collar. The man's arms were folded, and one hand rested in the crease of his elbow, where his fingers formed an upside down V.

"Cheesy," one of the kids said. "Who winks for a photo op?"

"And yo, let's flash an upside-down peace sign," said another.

"That's the guy!" Becca shouted and gaped at me.

All heads turned to Becca.

"You've met Keenan Feller?" Mr. Katz asked.

"Oops, my mistake. I thought that was Robert Pattinson," Becca joked. All the kids laughed.

"Not even close. This man hasn't made his fortune by sucking people's blood. Keenan Feller entered the financial market straight out of college and went on to start Feller Industries. He's the richest man in Portland, one of the richest on the West Coast, and he's just ten years out of high school. Think about that when you're revisiting your ten-year plan."

Mr. Katz moved on to a chapter in our textbook. Becca waited until his back was turned and flagged me. "That's him!" she mouthed.

"Who?"

She clenched her fists in frustration and signaled that we'd talk after class. When the bell sounded, Becca flew to the front of the room. She exchanged a few words with Mr. Katz, and he handed her the magazine. At my desk, she held up the cover.

"This is the guy I saw with Jaxon near Witch's Castle."

"That Keenan guy? Pfft. Not a chance."

She sucked in her cheeks, irked. I took the magazine and flipped pages until I came to the feature article.

"Mr. Feller owns an island on the Columbia River," I read out loud. "Which is the site of his super-successful international business." I skipped over a few paragraphs. "He donated over a million dollars to children's charities last year, started a foundation for education..." I gave the magazine back. "This super-generous money mogul was not in the woods in the middle of the night."

"You're not hearing me. This is the guy who was with Jaxon, and the question isn't if he was there, it's why?"

The accompanying pictures showed Keenan lounging in his exclusive penthouse. The walls, carpet, and all the furnishings were done up in white. Even the chess game on the coffee table matched the interior--the pieces on both sides of the board were white. Dumbest idea ever, I thought. How were you supposed to tell who your opponent was if all the chess pieces looked the same?

In another photograph, Keenan leaned against a sleek, expensive, high-end car.

"There's that sign again," I said. His hand formed the upside down peace sign.

"I guess you can get away with looking like a dork when you're ungodly rich. And this explains why they left in a Lamborghini." Off my perplexed look, she added: "That's the car they got into at the trailhead. You said Jaxon had a brother. Maybe it's this guy."

"No way. He would have told me if his brother was a bazillionaire." I glanced at the classroom clock. Jaxon was expecting me to meet him in the auditorium in a few minutes. I'd spent a good part of Econ thinking about our hook up, but now I was more curious about his late night trip to Forest Park. I wanted to see for myself what was on that trail.

I thought for a moment. Becca had open study hall with me.

"Do you know how to get to Witch's Castle?" I asked.

"I've only been there a hundred times."

"Well I haven't, so grab your car keys, baby, 'cuz I call road trip."
Chapter 18

I texted Jaxon one word to explain that I wouldn't be meeting him in the auditorium: Tomorrow.

Okay, I was getting back at him a little bit for sending me that same message a few days ago. By the time we started driving, he'd responded. Your loss. I sighed and tucked my phone in my bag.

If you spread out a map of Portland, you would see Forest Park as an expansive green section that hugged the downtown perimeter and extended for eight miles into low, rolling mountains. The park got a lot of foot traffic, but because it was large and rambling, it held its share of surprises. In the time that I'd lived in Portland, two different sets of hikers had gotten lost on its miles of thick, mossy trails, and a jogger had stumbled across the long-deceased body of an ex-convict.

Becca drove down residential streets. A few minutes later, we were at the trailhead. The parking lot was shrouded in fog. Rain dripped from sluggish clouds that brooded over the treetops. I zipped my coat up to my neck and hunkered under my hood.

We started down a paved trail that soon turned to mud. Where the footing was slick, we held onto branches to keep from sliding down the steep creek bed. The other side of the trail was thick with ferns and ivy. Dead branches clothed in moss reached for us at unnatural angles, like goblin arms plucked from a frightening children's tale. It all added to the feeling that we were treading on cursed ground.

"I used to come up here for Wiccan inspiration, like if I wanted to make a new potion or spell," Becca said.

"You said something about sacrifices being held up here?" I slipped and planted a hand in a mud puddle to break my fall. "Eww."

She helped me up. Her cheeks were flushed, either from the cold or the excitement of the legend she was about to share. "The story goes that the sacrifices were part of an initiation into a secret society. You had to sacrifice another person to show your loyalty. They used to find dead bodies up here all the time. Dozens of them." Her face lit up. Becca did love a good tale.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe not dozens," she corrected. "When I was in sixth grade, they found a couple of corpses up here. They might have been prostitutes or druggies, but I like the other version better."

My heel hit a slick spot and I nearly fell again. "I get it. Nobody in their right mind would come here at night. I'm going back to the car."

Becca took my sleeve to steady me. "We're almost there. See?"

Up ahead, where the trail forked, remains of a stone house nearly blended into the foliage. Its side walls were gone, but the end walls stood strong, shaping the building's footprint. The window openings cut into the thick stone reminded me of empty eye sockets, vacant and soulless

She ran up the moss-covered staircase to the arched doorway, made a demon face, and pretended to slash the air with a knife. Then she laughed and walked into the open-air house. I had no reason to follow. There was nothing about the structure that piqued my curiosity. I still didn't understand what would have sent Jaxon down this trail.

Foreboding prickled my neck, and before I could dismiss it as unease about Jaxon, heaviness weighed over me. I rested my hand on the damp stone banister for support. "Becca? I'm not feeling too well." A sickness seemed to gather in the air, syrupy and dense, and then like a clap of thunder, it slammed into me full force. "Omigod. Becca! Becca!"

Remnants of other peoples' auras flung themselves at me. The air around Witch's Castle seemed drenched with the vestiges of human pain and suffering. Auras scratched, clawed, and pleaded for my attention.

"No, no, no. Get away. Get off!" I struck at the air as though I could physically shove them away. My breathing became short. A pain stabbed my spine. "What's happening! Get away from me!"

As if prompted by a higher force, the answer rolled through my bones. These weren't auras of the living. They were pieces of souls from people who had died here. Their bodies were long gone, but their agony somehow remained, attaching to the building, to the gnarled trees and rain-soaked moss.

Desperate to tell their stories, the battered souls attacked my body, communicating their last earthly moments: Strangulation. Stabbing. Gunshot.

I ran back up the trail. The invading forces thinned by the time I reached the pavement. They didn't follow me beyond the edge of the woods.

Becca caught up, out of breath from running. "Why did you leave? I was going to show you the little room that's under the house. That's super haunted."

I took in deep drags of air, and probably looked white as snow. I had never felt dead people before. If this experience was the norm, I hoped I never felt it again, thank-you-very-much.

"You saw something, didn't you?" she asked.

"This isn't a safe place. I don't want you coming here anymore," I told her. I rubbed my arms, trying to get the goose bumps to go down.

"You're freaking me out."

I took a deep breath and explained what I'd felt.

"The legends are true? Awesome." Becca said.

"It's the exact opposite of awesome. Those people didn't die fifty years ago. I think it happened recently."

"Like when?"

I wiped the rain off my face. "Last year? Last month? Yesterday? Who knows? I want to get out of here."

We were on our way back to school when she asked, "Does that happen every time you go to a cemetery? Getting blindsided by dead people?"

I didn't answer for a while. I was coming to terms with the news that I had another odd talent. I had walked past cemeteries in the past months and hadn't felt a thing. There was something about Witch's Castle that allowed pain to cling to it, allowed it to act as an afterlife harbor for the lost, the tormented.

"It's never happened before," I answered, still struggling to shake the crushing despair.

We got back to school with barely enough time to change out of my muddy jeans and into my gym sweatpants, and get to the curb outside school. While I waited for Kimber to pick me up, I texted Jaxon, telling him we needed to talk ASAP.

He responded, saying he had too much homework. Then he asked what I usually wore to bed.

Downhill skis and a prom dress, I typed. He didn't reply back. So what if I wasn't in a flirtatious mood? Getting bombarded by a bunch of dead people had sucked the life out of my desire.

A dark BMW with tinted windows rolled to the curb. Little hairs on my neck stood straight up as the side window slowly lowered. "Looking for a ride?" my dad said from behind the wheel of a rental car.

I jumped into the front seat and threw my arms around him. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?"

"I surprised Kimber, too. It's our anniversary tomorrow," he reminded me.

"I bet she loved that. Way to score the big points, Dad."

"I'm also thrilled to see you," he said, giving me another squeeze. "It's been too long."

"Almost a whole month." Our conversation turned to general life topics. I filled him in on all the local gossip, save for the bits about violent souls and kidnapping factions.

"Kimber told me about the license plate number you turned into the police. They got back to Becca's dad today."

"Yeah? And?" This was what I'd been waiting for. Luma and Roth could be tied to the hit-and-run and to the vandalism at The Asylum. They would end up in jail, and I could breathe easy, for a while at least.

"Are you certain you read the plate right?" my dad asked. "The police say there is no vehicle that matches the information you gave them."

"That's not possible," I said. "Do they know to look for a black SUV?"

"They do, honey. Don't feel bad. I'm proud of you for following through and trying to help Becca. Not a lot of people take the time or are brave enough to turn someone in."

I shook my head, frustrated. The night had been dark and rainy and I'd been wound up from the near miss at the Smoothie Shack. Still, I saw WEOWNU in my mind, as clearly as I had that night.

"I know I got it right," I insisted.

He patted my hand, his quiet way of letting me know there was nothing else he could do. We were almost home when he said, "I have a favor to ask. Don Crane is getting out of the hospital this week."

"Oh. Good. Good for him." I'd been so busy with Jaxon that I hadn't thought much about my hospital visit. Every time I did, I felt a mix of regret and disbelief at my hair-brained confession, even if Mr. Crane hadn't registered a word of it.

"His family is throwing a welcome home party, and I was hoping you'd go with Kimber."

I frowned. "You won't be here?"

"A firm in Bangkok wants to break their contract with us. I need to fly there and find out what's going on."

I let out a groan. "You're always leaving."

"If I could stay longer, I would."

I took the opportunity to milk his guilt. It was my God-given right as a teenager, after all. "I haven't seen you for more than a weekend at a time since we moved to Portland."

"I know, honey..."

"I'm supremely disappointed. It's just me and Kimber and Tito, hanging around the house by ourselves." I let out an exaggerated sigh to push his guilt buttons.

"Is this going somewhere?"

"How about lifting my imprisonment? It's hard to coordinate rides with Kimber, and I promise I have learned my lesson."

He gave me a sideways glance.

"I mean it," I said before he could come up with a reason to argue. "It was awful. I felt sick for like, three days, and trust me, I have no desire to ever drink again."

"Never?" he pushed.

"Not until I'm super old, like thirty," I joked.

My dad cracked a tiny smile. Thank goodness. "Fine. You are no longer grounded..."

"Yes!"

"...but you don't get your keys back."

"Whaaaat? That's the same as being grounded."

"Except I'm letting you leave the house to be with your friends. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

"This sucks," I whined. His brows shot up. "But I'll take it!"

*******

The next morning, I was leaving the girl's bathroom when Raquelle shoulder-slammed me, sending my books to the floor. Before I could react, McKyla sprang from a pack of kids with her camera phone aimed at me.

"Aha!" McKyla yelled. "Do it! I dare you." She snapped a series of photos. Of me. Doing nothing.

Raquelle slapped the phone from McKyla's hand. "You're supposed to wait until she uses her witch power! You are such an idiot."

"But you said ..." McKyla's face heated.

"Shut up. Just shut up." Queen Bee's lips were chapped and her forehead was breaking out. She looked so unstable, I expected her eyes to spin and steam to fly out of her ears. I picked up my books. She was going to have to be a lot more patient and sneaky if she expected to capture me zapping anyone on camera.

"Try...and fail," I sang to Raquelle. "Desperation is not a good look on you, sweetie."

She dug her fingers into McKyla's arm and dragged her down the hall. I cut down the sophomore corridors that led to the gymnasium. Jaxon hadn't been outside his earlier class, and I thought I remembered him finishing P.E. now. If I didn't find him in the next five minutes, I thought my head might explode.

None of the clues and tips from our search were adding up--not his trip to Witch's Castle or Keenan Feller or the fake license on the SUV. I was frustrated and out of answers and felt the heat of impending disaster closing in. I was betting Jaxon could put things in perspective, and to do that he needed to explain how he knew a man like Keenan.

Jaxon came out of the guy's locker room with a towel over his shoulder and mussed-up hair. The veins on his forearms popped. He was cute, disarming. Different from the smart aleck who usually got my pulse chirping. He stepped in and kissed me on the cheek. He smelled faintly of sweat, and he radiated...faction?

"I broke my bench-press record," he said. "One ninety. Not bad considering I never lifted until I moved here. Uh-oh. Now what did I do?"

I eased back. "You feel like Mutila."

"You're just picking up my overriding manliness."

"I can tell if you're lying." Or at least I used to be able to. My skill seemed off lately.

He blotted dampness from his hairline with the towel. "Take it easy. You're right, you're picking up faction. I found the red-haired girl from The Asylum. I'm taking her out tonight."
Chapter 19

"Are you out of your mind?" My shriek bounced off the corridor walls.

"Chill, all right?"

"Ch--did you say--"

"Yes. Chill. Out." Jaxon put his hands on my shoulders. I shrugged them off. "I was driving by the Smoothie Shack and saw her stalking around, looking for a way to get inside even though it was closed. I told her I saw her skateboarding and thought she was good, blah, blah, blah. Told her I thought her tattoos were hot and asked her to dinner."

"Why?"

"There's only one reason she'd go back to the Shack--she's looking for another link to you. All this lame detective work is getting us nowhere. If we want answers, we should go straight to the source."

"You can't go. She saw us kiss and will use you to get to me."

"If the topic even comes up, I'll tell her I met you at the skatepark and never saw you after that."

"And you think she'll believe you?" I asked, incredulous. I collapsed against a locker. What was he thinking?

"Opportunities like this don't drop in your lap. I'm putting my life on the line, here. For you. A thank you wouldn't be out of order."

I flashed back to the night I stopped by The Asylum. "Look what she did to Tugg."

"That's not going to happen." One side of Jaxon's mouth curved into a smirk.

"How can you be sure?"

"She's into me."

My veins cooled. "You actually like this girl."

"I think ink on a girl is hot, that's all. Are you jealous?"

"No," I stuttered. Of course I was. And confused, but all I said was, "It's a bad idea."

Jaxon wrapped his arms around my waist and rubbed my back. "I'll be able to ask questions that we'd never be able to unless we got close to them. I can find out who's running the group. That was the plan all along, wasn't it?"

I exhaled into his t-shirt. His forearms were smooth and hard against my back. I was in a precarious state, afraid and yet unable to do anything about it, curled against the one person who was both helping me and drawing out my anxiety. I couldn't stop him from going on the date. I had pushed him to be creative and this was what he'd come up with, but sitting across a table from Luma felt like flashing your jugular at a cheetah.

"Where are you taking her?" I asked.

His aura flickered at my odd question. "She wants to go to Ciao Italia."

I pressed my hands against his chest to create distance between us. "I hear it's lovely."

"Come on, this is the best thing that could happen to us."

I forced a tight smile and nodded. The bell rang and Jaxon was sucked into the mass of students before I realized I hadn't asked him about Keenan. It would have to wait. One crisis at a time.

Minutes later, I was in class and Becca was laughing. At me. "First you hate Jaxon, then you're all 'he's the perfect disposable guy,' and now you want to spy on him while he's on a date?"

"I'm not jealous." I studied my cuticles.

"Sure you're not. I didn't get a good look at this chick at The Asylum. What does she look like?"

"Hot with tattoos."

"So he's into tats. You could get a few and hide them in mysterious places. I hear Raquelle does that, pastes a temporary tattoo where the sun doesn't shine and then bets her date that he can't find it."

"Right," I answered, barely hearing a word she said. I was still turning over in my head the probability that Jaxon and I would come out unscathed. I didn't like the odds one bit.

*******

That night, Becca and I sat in her car across the street from Ciao Italia. We'd gotten there at five to make sure we wouldn't miss Jaxon and Luma arriving. Our breaths came out white in the unheated car. Finally, shortly after seven o'clock, the two of them came up the sidewalk, arm in arm. Luma was prettier than I'd remembered. Her skirt stopped about a foot above her knees, and Jaxon snuck a look at her legs when she walked into the restaurant ahead of him.

"For the record, she's not all that pretty," Becca said.

"Thanks, Becca." A good friend knew when to lie.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked.

"Yes." For some reason, after I learned about this date, I started thinking about the girl on the bridge again, and the conversation we'd had. One phrase replayed over and over, a broken record, in the recesses of my mind:

This is the only way out. This is the only way out.

At first, the words came as a whisper, inches from my ear, close in and then fading, then close again, until finally I accepted that my subconscious was working to drill a message home.

Luma had been circling me like a vulture, her shadow growing larger as she got closer: first The Asylum, then the Smoothie Shack, and now the guy I was trying to date. Jaxon had promised to ply Luma tonight and bring me information I could use against the Mutila. Tomorrow he would tell me how to link the members to the recent crimes, or maybe he would have learned nothing at all.

The bridge girl's words had taken on new meaning. Dodging my problems was getting me nowhere. I had to confront Luma in person and convince her that I was not gifted. Convince her I was not worth stalking. This, I thought, was my only way out.

If I did this tonight, at Ciao Bella, I would be in a public place, away from her super-sized friend. I had my bracelets on. I had expelled any pent-up energy and meditated for two hours to bring myself into a calm state of being. My ability was as hidden as it would ever be.

I turned to Becca. "Okay, it's simple. Give me a minute to get into the restaurant bathroom, then call Jaxon."

She nodded. "Tell him it's urgent and I need to see him outside because you've gone missing and I'm worried."

"Right, but you need to sound worried."

"My best friend is MIA! Somebody help!" she wailed.

"Take it down a notch. When he comes out to meet you, I'll go to his table and have a chat with tat-girl."

Becca pressed her lips together and shook her head. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"I'll be in and out in a few minutes. She won't try anything in public." Maybe. Hopefully.

Becca's eyes flitted to the restaurant's large front window. "Uh-oh."

I followed her gaze. Jaxon and Luma had taken a seat in the window. Now, when he came outside, he'd be able to see me talking to his date.

"We need to go to your backup plan," she said.

"Crap," I said.

"Run it by me. It can't be that bad."

"Crappity-crappity crap." I smacked the dash.

"Dude."

I put my face in my hands. "I don't have another plan."

"Good. I vote we abort this mission. Getting near this faction chick ranks as one of your all-time worst ideas." She started her car.

I scraped my fingernails through my hair. Movement at the restaurant's door stole my attention.

"Becca."

"This is for your own good. We're going home," she said.

"No. Look who came out of the restaurant."

Keenan Feller stepped to the curb. He was much taller than I would have guessed from the magazine cover, and a wiry kind of lean, but I recognized him right away. Next to him was a teenage girl in a blue ski jacket. She adjusted her knit cap, swayed her head to the left, then right, as if looking for a shadow she could slink into. A second later, the valet drove up in a Lamborghini. Keenan guided the girl to his car and when she hesitated, he seized her arm and shoved her inside. He climbed into the driver's seat and sped off.

"She's alive," I said.

"Who is?"

"That's the girl from the bridge." My words were airy as this settled in.

"No way."

"Go!" I yelled.

"What?"

"Follow him. I want to know where he's taking her."

"Echo, I love you, but this is a monumentally bad idea. He's famous. He's probably her guardian or uncle or something."

"She didn't want to get in that car. Something is wrong. Go, before we lose them." There could have been thousands of blue ski jackets in Portland, but what were the chances someone else wore it with the same striped knit hat? I knew, just knew it was her. I was so thrilled to see her alive that nothing else mattered. Not Luma. Not Jaxon. The thought of losing sight of her again had an unexpected effect. Sadness filled the car. Of all the ridiculous things, I felt like I might cry.

"We can't lose them. I have to find out if she's okay," I said.

Becca let out a sigh and pulled onto the street.

I dropped low in my seat. "Keep your distance. I don't want him to know he's being followed."

"Duh."

Keenan slowed for a stoplight and we caught up fast. He zipped over the Morrison Bridge and into the southeast part of town, never getting more than a couple of blocks ahead. We followed him into a neighborhood overtaken by foreclosure signs. Windows on houses were broken. The entire street seemed forgotten.

Becca pulled to the curb at the end of the street. If we went any farther down this abandoned stretch, he would notice us for sure. I thought we were going to lose him, but the next block down, Keenan's brake lights lit up. He backed up and turned into a driveway. She and I looked at each other in surprise.

A few seconds later, another car rounded the corner. Its headlights were off. It turned down the same driveway.

"Something wrong with this picture?" Becca asked.

"Rich guy with a teenage girl in a crummy neighborhood meeting people."

We stared down the darkened street. The wind howled.

"What if it's a drug deal? We should go," she said.

I opened the passenger door. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Where are you going?" She got out. "You're not going up there. They could be selling meth. You could get killed."

"It's not drugs. Go back to the car."

"What is it, then?" She stayed on my heels.

"Shh!" I hugged the shadows.

Another car, sans headlights, pulled into a dirt and grass driveway. We followed it to an older two-story house with a wide front porch. Windows on the first floor were boarded up. A porch swing creaked in the wind. A second-floor light came on and heavy curtains closed over the window, shutting in most of the light.

A shiver went toe-to-toe against my courage. I still had all my limbs, hadn't lost any blood, and was only partially grounded. I did not know what was happening in the house, but I sensed it was meant for exclusive eyes only. Why else would these people gather covertly in an abandoned neighborhood? And why did they need the gifted girl?

Warnings about the Mutila rang through my head. If we were caught spying, I was certain nobody would lecture us about trespassing. We would be facing a darker, uncertain fate. If it weren't for the girl, I could have walked away.

"I need to find out what's going on in there," I said.

We crept to the side of the house. Whoever nailed the boards over the windows had done a sloppy job. I was able to peer through the gaps into the darkened first floor. A shadow passed by on the inside and I scrunched to the ground.

"There's someone in there." I whispered and glanced over my shoulder. No Becca. A squeak drew my attention upward.

"Over here." She was around the corner, climbing the trellis on the back of the house.

"What are you doing?"

"Part of the upstairs window is uncovered. We can see inside," she whispered back.

The trellis creaked under her weight. In one swift movement, she scooched onto the ledge and became a dark blotch against the inky sky. She heaved herself onto the roof and disappeared. Her footsteps treaded softly overhead.

"Oh man, oh man." I paced, throwing an occasional glare at the second story. I debated what to do in stuttered starts and pauses: go after her-stay-go see what was happening-stay on the ground because climbing was out of the question. Definitely out of the question.

Icicles of dark energy seeped out of the house and jabbed under my skin. "Come down!" I whispered loudly as I dared.

"Oh. My. G--" Becca scrambled to the edge of the roof. The whites of her eyes cut through the night. "You have to get up here!"
Chapter 20

Becca disappeared again. She had no idea what she was asking. I hated being more than a few feet off the ground. But she was up there because of me, and she wasn't coming down. I had two choices: levitate to the roof or climb. Floating ten feet off the ground was about as appealing as sticking my hand in a nest of snakes. My fear of heights made levitation all the more challenging and unpredictable. Plus, if I cracked open my ability, I may as well ring the doorbell and announce my presence to the paranormal agents doing who-knew-what inside.

I gritted my teeth and grabbed hold of the trellis. Placed a shaky foot on the crossbar and started climbing. Nausea set in. The wood was rough and splintered and some of the crossbars were missing. Wood strained against nails. The slat beneath my foot bowed under my weight. I reached the ledge of the roof and rolled onto the shingles. One agonizing inch at a time, I crossed the incline to the window.

"We need to leave. Now," I said into Becca's ear.

She shook her head and shifted so I could see through the part in the curtains. A dozen people sat in chairs around a waist-high platform. They wore plain white masks with a black mark painted under one eye. One person stood next to the platform, wearing a gold mask and holding a tall gold staff. Based on the way they were dressed, in everyday khakis and office shirts, I guessed they were all men. Keenan might have been behind the gold mask, but I couldn't be sure.

A small, motionless figure lay on the platform with her eyes closed. Brown hair gathered around her shoulders. She wore jeans and a short sleeve t-shirt. A monarch butterfly was tattooed above her elbow.

Becca's breath dampened my ear. "Is that her?"

I nodded. The gold-masked guy gestured to the others, and though I could hear his voice, it was too muffled to make out what he was saying. He reached beneath the platform and brought out a silver chalice. He said a few more words, and the men sitting in chairs went rigid. They looked at the person sitting on either side as if they were contaminated with an awful disease.

The man in gold reached into the chalice and pulled out a square of paper. He held it to the girl's face. From our spot, I could see that it was a photograph. Her eyes snapped open and fixed on the photo. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

"What's happening?" Becca whispered.

"I have no idea."

The girl lifted an arm toward the ceiling, causing the seated men to jerk and tremble. She pumped her hand open and closed. A bolt of lightning erupted over her head and struck the floor with a loud SNAP. The walls crackled with electricity. Fingers of it danced toward the girl, reaching and receding and eventually filling the room. Lightning flared, leaving burn marks on the walls and floor.

"Omigod, omi--" I slapped my hand over Becca's mouth. Her eyes were huge. If she lost it up here, we would be in serious trouble.

The lightning snapped and faded. Even from my place on the roof, I could see the masked people quivering in their chairs. The girl pointed at one of the men. The wall behind him went white with electric charge, and he burst into flames.

Becca and I let out sharp inhales.

The burning man jumped from his chair, desperately trying to pat out the fire. The flames grew. He ran to the door and tugged at the doorknob. When he couldn't open it, he began pounding and screaming for someone to let him out. The onlookers clenched the seats of their chairs, too terrified to move. The man in gold watched calmly while the burning man got on his knees and begged. When this had no effect, his shoulders drooped in submission. He raised two trembling fingers in the upside down V sign that I had seen on the magazine cover.

The man in gold rested his hand on the girl's shoulder. Her arm dropped to her side, and the flames went out. The victim and his clothes were smoldering but seemed hardly burned. He held his hands to his mask like he was weeping.

Outside that window, we gripped each other's arms like it was the end of the world.

"How did she do that?" Becca's voice shook and was loud.

"Sshh!"

The girl on the platform snapped her head to the side and fastened her eyes on the window. On us.

Fear has always had an unpredictable effect on me. Usually, it paralyzes my whole body. This time, it shocked me into action. I pushed Becca toward the edge of the roof and onto the trellis. Once she got to the ground, she blended into the night. So did everything else. I couldn't see where the roof ended. I couldn't see the trellis. I reached into the dark. The tips of my fingers barely found purchase on the thin wood. I froze.

"Hurry!" Becca said.

I shook so badly, I couldn't convince my hand to close around the crossbar. "I'll meet you at the car!" I said. If I told her I was too afraid to move, she might panic.

The front door of the house slammed open.

"Run!" I said. "Go!"

Becca took off. Heavy footsteps came from the front of the house and paused below me. I flattened against the shingles and waited, my pulse thrashing in my ears. In the distance, a car started and screeched down the street. I hoped it was Becca, even though that meant I was now alone.

Harsh auras lashed out like a viper's tongue. The footsteps moved to the back of the house. Behind me, someone tried to wrench the window open from the inside. I worm-crawled up the pitch and crammed next to the chimney. Every inch of my aura and body tried to betray me. I wanted to throw up, pee my pants.

The wind carried low murmurs from the ground. I couldn't make out what the men were saying, but hearing them so close was enough to make me bite through my lip. The person working at the second story window gave up. The men's voices receded and they pounded back onto the porch and into the house.

Ten minutes passed before I convinced myself to slither back to the edge. I was shivering from the cold as much as anything, and my fingers had gone numb. The second floor window was still lit. Faint voices floated from inside again, meaning they had probably gone right back to their bizarre ritual. A sense of obligation ticked through me before I convinced myself that staying would not do the girl any good. What could I do, bust in superhero style and steal her away? Only in the movies.

I blew warm air onto my fingers, then clutched the gutter and inched a foot onto the trellis. I put all my weight on the crossbar and stepped down to the next one. I lowered a foot, swinging the toe of my tennis shoe back and forth in search of the next bar and missed. I lost my balance; the wood in my hand cracked, split, and gave way. I squealed when my knees smacked against the side of the house. My tennis shoes raked the siding and finally found a toehold between intersecting vines. That was close.

"I'm okay I'm okay I'm okay..." I chanted.

My cell phone rang.

The volume was on high.

"Shit!" I dug it out of my pocket. It was a text from Becca.

Where are you?

I madly tapped my response with one hand. Trellis.

Yelling penetrated the home's thin walls. Movement from inside told me they were on their way back outside. I let go and fell the last few feet.

My phone rang again.

End of the block, the text read. Good. She'd driven closer so that I didn't have to run so far out in the open.

I was about to race for the street when a flashlight bounced along the front yard and pointed in my direction. I sprinted across the back yard and tore through a hedge, snagging my jacket and tripping over who-knew-what. I bolted across another yard and squeezed behind a shrub, partly to catch my breath but also because I had lost my sense of direction. There were no lights among the abandoned houses, nothing to tell me where my panicked run had led me. Becca was waiting at the end of the block, but which way was that?

The flashlight beam found my feet and trailed up my legs. I took off running. Behind me, heavy puffing from an out-of-shape chaser fell farther and farther behind. I tore down the street, spotted Becca's car, and jumped inside. She hit the gas before my door fully closed.

On the ride back, we broke a record for how long we could go without talking. We pulled into my driveway before she finally spoke.

"What. The. Hell," she said.

"It was them," I said, tasting iron from where I'd bit into my lip. "And I'm pretty sure Keenan was there. He might have been wearing the gold mask." A thought blindsided me. "Oh no." I pulled out my phone. "Jaxon was with Keenan. He doesn't have any idea what Keenan is into."

Becca put her hand over my phone. "Wait. How do you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"They went to Witch's Castle together, remember? Maybe Jaxon already knows."

I swallowed. "He would have told me."

"Are you sure?"

I put my phone down. He had told me. "Jaxon said he met someone who could get him closer to the Mutila. That's why he didn't show up for our date."

"But how much does he really know?" Her eyes were spooked.

I honestly didn't know how to answer that. Unease skipped along my spine, but I said, "No more than I do. I can't text him right now. He'll still be with Luma."

She shook her head and shrugged, not liking the way Jaxon played into this. I didn't feel much better, but I wasn't jumping to any conclusions.

"What was going on in that house?" she asked.

"It looked like the man was being forced to make that V sign with his fingers."

"But why?"

"I don't know. The Mutila uses different tactics, like coercion, destruction, and...assassination." I shuddered. At least we hadn't witnessed that tonight. "I think he was giving in to them, but I don't get why."

We sat quiet for a few minutes.

"O.M.G." Her head wagged.

"I know, right? A guy burst into flames. At least it didn't look like anyone got burned."

"Do we tell someone?"

"What would we say? Did we see anything illegal?" We were silent for a beat, and then, like we were prone to do in the most tense, inappropriate situations, we burst out laughing.

"She set a man on fire! How can that not be illegal?" she giggled with tears streaming down her face.

I shook my head, laughing too hard to speak. When I pulled myself together, I said, "I need to tell the police what we saw. I'll make an anonymous tip." This wasn't the sort of thing I wanted to report using my name. After the drinking incident, they already thought I was nuts. "I'll straighten this out with Jaxon tomorrow." I slid out of the car. "Good luck sleeping."

"Lock your doors," Becca replied.

"I always do."
Chapter 21

Late that night, when I was sure Jaxon's date had ended, I texted him.

U all right?

Fine, he texted back. Tired. Details tomorrow.

After my morning classes, I sent another message asking him to meet me in the cafeteria. On the way, I swung by the bathroom and smeared extra concealer over the dark circles under my eyes. I hadn't slept a wink.

I was worried Jaxon was going to get himself killed. I had thought long and hard about his meeting near Witch's Castle. He knew about Keenan's involvement. That was why he met with him. Did Jaxon understand how much danger he had been in, getting that close? I had the impression he had no clue. Then he went and made a date with that psychopath, Luma. I did not like that his safety was at risk.

In the cafeteria, Jaxon strode toward me with a broad grin. He spun his chair backward and crossed his arms over the back as he sat. "You look like you were up all night," he said. "Are you still mad at me for going out with Luma?"

"I'm not mad." I took his hand. "What did you find out?"

"Over dinner, I told Luma I'd heard about the Mutila legend, how they use paranormal ability to intimidate and torture people. You know, nice light dinner conversation. At first she laughed it off, but she knew exactly what I was talking about. I couldn't get her to answer any questions directly, but we made a game of it. You're going to hate this part."

"Just tell me," I said.

His cheeks filled with air and he let it out in one breath. "Just keep in mind, this was her idea of fun. I asked questions with yes or no answers. If the answer was yes, she would rub my leg with her foot. I don't know what that was about. Probably some kind of fetish."

"What did she answer 'yes' to?" I managed not to sound peeved.

"I think she enjoys causing physical pain. She joined the faction voluntarily, said she likes having a place where her talent is respected."

"I can't believe she told you this."

"It was like she was bragging. The Mutila think they're untouchable." He held back a smile. "Also, she thought I was into her." Jaxon read the question on my lips. "There won't be a second date. I didn't even kiss her goodnight."

"Good. I don't want you seeing her again. It's too dangerous. Who's their leader?"

"She wouldn't go near that question." He put his hands on my shoulders to steady me. "They are looking for you. They don't know who you are yet, but they've felt your energy field and they're floored by it. Luma even seemed jealous."

Beneath his firm hands, I began to shake. "Are they going to find me?"

His aura formed a concrete wall. I was pretty sure that meant he did not want to say what he really thought. "I don't know," he answered. "They don't know where you live or go to school."

"They found me at the Smoothie Shack," I said.

"You should probably get a new job."

"Did they know I worked there or was it coincidence that they came in?"

Jaxon's head jerked to the side and he pasted his gaze to the floor. "Beats me."

When our eyes met again, I saw uncertainty. "Is there anything else I should know?" I asked.

"That's all I've got."

It wasn't much. I got the impression I'd landed in sensitive territory, that there was more to that conversation. If I accused him of holding back, his stubborn streak would take over. I moved to the next item of business and pulled the magazine out of my folder. Keenan stared at us with one ice-blue eye.

"This is the guy you met at Witch's Castle, isn't it?" I asked.

Jaxon jolted backward. "That's Keenan Feller. How did you know--"

"Kids go up to the trailhead to make out, and some of them saw you," I said vaguely so he wouldn't guess it was Becca who busted him. She was in this deep enough. "They heard part of your conversation."

"Echo, you've got to stay away from this man. He's..." His voice dropped. "Feller is in deep. I think he knows every faction member up and down the coast, and there are thousands of them. He's pretty high up." Jaxon looked at me squarely. "He's very dangerous."

"I know." I was seething inside. "I can't believe you hid this from me. You should have said something when I asked you the first time. This guy could get you in big trouble. What did he mean when he said you had to prove yourself that night?"

His jaw lowered an inch. "Who saw us?"

"What did he mean?" I repeated.

He scratched into his hair like he was going to yank out a handful. "They don't allow outsiders to get close to them unless you're willing to prove your loyalty. They give you a test. If you pass, you gain their trust, you get inside knowledge. If they ever get the impression that I'll use what I know against them..." He shook his head slowly.

"He wanted you to take the test, didn't he? What was it?"

"No. It's disgusting. It's not important and I'm not going to talk about it." The muscles in his cheeks went tight.

I considered telling Jaxon what I saw at the house last night. When I started to, something in my chest twinged, like my intuition was shouting for me to keep it to myself. It was hard to tell where these intuitive hits came from, but they were usually right.

"I think you should quit," I said. "I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

"I'll be fine. I learned how to play head games in West Region. I can hold my own here." There was a glint in his eye, like he was charged up by the challenge of living a double life.

My brain went back to the day when Jaxon made it clear he was not here to protect me. Yet that's what he had been doing, getting close to the most frightening people imaginable so that I might live in peace. "Why are you doing this?"

"I care about you." He ran a thumb over the back of my hand in what was meant to be a soothing motion. The skin on his pad was rough and snagged on my knuckles. I let my hand drop. He seemed to pick and choose his next words. "And I think the Mutila destroyed my foster family. Everyone except my foster brother died in a car accident while I was living in West Region."

"Oh, Jaxon."

"The more I think about the strange meetings my foster dad held--the kids in the garage, the levitating ball--I'm almost sure he was one of their soldiers. I want to find out for sure."

"What are you going to do if you find out he was?"

"Nothing, probably. I just want to know."

This was way more than I was ready to take in. If Jaxon was right, his father was responsible for some horrible crimes. "Did you get Luma's last name?"

He hesitated. "Uh, Van Astor."

I wrote this down next to Keenan's picture. Wild thoughts raced through my head. When I first started my hunt, I wanted to be able to identify the dangerous people so I could stay clear of them, stay safe. Now I wanted to expose what they were doing and bring it out to the public. Names were a good start, but I needed proof of their crimes, of the pain they were causing.

He watched me scribble notes on the dog-eared magazine. "What are you going to do with that?"

I got to my feet and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Good things. Thank you for your help."

I scoped the cafeteria for Becca. She was seated at the jocks' table, her tiny figure scrunched between Lucas and a linebacker for the football team. I tapped her on the shoulder.

"Nice bodyguards," I joked when she squeezed out of her spot.

"Are you still freaked out about last night?"

"Nope. You?"

She twisted a lip. "Nah. A little bit. I mean, it's not like we saw anyone get murdered."

Not this time, I almost said. "I want to go back to the house tonight. If they're there, I'm going to get a video of their license plates and whatever they're doing in that room."

"Uhhhhhh....I don't think I want to do that," Becca said slowly. "I mean, it was...interesting to see that one time, but...why not ask Jaxon to take you? I bet he'd go."

"I didn't tell him what we saw. I don't exactly want to spread it around, you know?" That wasn't the real reason, but she accepted it with a nod.

She got very quiet. "Do you think the girl is okay?"

"As long as she does what she's told. I guess that could change at any time."

She picked nervously at a hangnail. "I'll think about going back, all right?"

I answered with a nod. All I needed was footage. That, along with Keenan Feller's name, would be enough to take to the police. The bell rang and I dumped my lunch in the garbage. I'd been too excited to eat.

*******

Trigonometry class started off with a quiz. I whipped through it, sure of my answers, and turned it face down on my desk. I savored this small sense of accomplishment. The simple things were important to me now--sitting among my classmates, hearing my pencil scroll across the quiz paper, watching Ms. Fullner sit peacefully at her desk--because over the next few days, my life was going to change drastically.

I was done hoarding secrets. One after another, I had taken the hard truths about my life--my paranormal gifts, my relationship with Connor, my uncertain future--and stuffed them into an invisible backpack that I carried everywhere. The weight had become crushing. The closer I got to revealing the Mutila and their criminal acts, the more confident I became that it was time to reveal the truth about me, too. Not to everyone, of course. The planet wasn't ready for that. But my dad deserved to know.

I would show him the telekinesis first, then levitation. Then, assuming he didn't suffer a stroke, I'd lay out what I knew about the criminal secret society. Giving the police an anonymous tip didn't seem like the right approach anymore. I had to do more. My dad would know what to do with the evidence I'd gathered.

One by one, the rest of the kids finished their quizzes.

"Time's up," the teacher said. "Please hand your papers to the front."

Most of the kids did as they were told, but there was a holdup in the far row.

"You too, Gianna. Stop writing and turn your quiz in," the teacher pressed.

We all craned our necks to see who was going over the time limit. When I spotted her in the back row, I gasped so loudly the boy next to me said, "You all right?"

The girl who was slow to finish her quiz felt me staring. She gave me a subtle, sideways glance and her face went dead. It was the girl from the bridge. The girl from the house last night.
Chapter 22

I recognized Gianna from two of my first semester classes. If I had felt her aura then, when I was a paranormal rookie, I would not have been able to separate it from the stew of fitful teenage energy. Not that it mattered, because this girl was an expert at cloaking her aura. From where I sat, I felt none of the dread that slowly crept over her delicate features.

Gianna had nearly mastered the art of invisibility. She sat in the back, staying low in her seat. Never made eye contact. Never spoke a word. Dark clothing, mousy hair and a bland, expressionless face made her anonymous among the thousand-plus student body. Her desk at the opposite end of the room had been empty most of spring semester, making me think she rarely attended class.

She might have gone unnoticed the rest of the school year but for one mistake. She had not conformed when the teacher asked for everyone's quizzes. She became visible.

The bell rang and I cut her off at the door. "Gianna..."

She shoulder-checked me, and released her aura into mine. Her grief and ache nearly flattened me.

"Wait. Please," I said.

She hurried into the sea of students. "Stay away," she hissed when got near.

"I just want to talk." I put my hand on her shoulder. Big mistake. The rage in her eyes ran so deep, I thought she was going to throw a punch. Her aura leaked misery, deliberately making me feel sick. "I wanted to see if you're okay. I saw you at the house last night with the men in masks"

She tilted her head, as an animal might if it were struggling to process human language. A pang of distress pinched my gut; her body language was so feral. Gianna grabbed the front of my shirt and shoved me into the janitor's alcove. Kids jumped out of our way.

Someone yelled "Girl fight!" but nobody tried to stop us.

"You saw nothing. Get it?" she spat.

I tried to push her off, and her sleeve slid to her elbow. A red scar starting at her wrist ran the length of her forearm. I sucked in a breath. "You're the one who left a note in my locker, aren't you? You were trying to warn me."

"You have no idea what you're getting into," she sputtered. "You're nosing around like you're invincible and you're not."

"I know about Keenan and Luma. I'm going to tell my dad and I'm going to the police."

She gawked at me as if I had crawled out of a cradle. I yanked the crumpled magazine out of my folder and pointed at Keenan's picture. "He was at the house with you last night, wasn't he? Was he the guy behind the gold mask?"

Gianna looked at the photo and began to tremble. "You're s-so n-n-naïve. You can't stop him. He's into everything, like a-a-a disease. He forces people to work with him. That's what you saw last night. You think those men wanted to be in that room with Keenan?" Her eyes jumped to the ceiling, to the wall behind us. Was she afraid we were being watched? "You want to know how d-d-deep this runs? Forget Keenan and his soldiers. Forget your tiny existence." She ripped the magazine from my hand and thrust the cover in my face. "See what he's doing?" Gianna replicated the two-fingered gesture, the upside down peace sign. "It's a calling card to his soldiers and agents, and a warning to anyone who tries to resist him. Here I am, in front of everyone, gaining more and more power, and nobody can do a thing about it. The symbols are everywhere, but do you think anyone notices? People cruise through life with their eyes wide shut."

The whites of her eyes grew comically large. The girl sounded insane. My fear started to drift and was replaced by doubt. "Okaaaay, where do you see these symbols?" I asked carefully.

Gianna flipped to another article, nearly tearing pages as she did. Her finger landed on a photo of a local music star who recorded top ten singles and platinum albums. The singer flashed a million watt smile, and rested two fingers over her closed left eye.

"Keenan owns her. She's not paranormal, but she will do anything he tells her to. Her handler is on the set, making sure she flashes the sign. Movies, music videos, politics, everywhere in the U.S. He's gotten to the police. The mayor." Her hand flitted through the air. "It's all right in your face. Keenan is behind the scenes, enslaving gifted people to take control. First Portland, then the state and then the region and then the country. And they all do this," she stabbed at Keenan showing the symbol in his photograph, "to flaunt their control."

My mouth hung open. I didn't know what to say.

"You don't believe me," she said.

"I...want to. It's a little..." I searched for the right word.

"Crazy? Yeah. Thanks."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"If you don't believe me, then it's easy for you to walk away."

What she said was difficult to conceive, almost impossible. But Connor had alluded to the exact same scenario--factions working behind the scenes to assert control over the country's population. Eventually, they would control the entire eastern portion of it.

Gianna read my hesitation as resistance, and she seemed to come to a conclusion. As she leaned away, her aura broke free and hammered me full force. It landed a thrusting blow that barreled through my intestines and into my backbone. I doubled over from the pain.

"This is how my life feels, and it's all because of them. Is this what you want?" she hissed.

I needed my breath to answer. I had none.

She lowered her voice. "I pretend you don't exist even though I know what you can do. If you go to the police, Keenan will make it worse for you. If he finds out I know about you and didn't turn you in, he will hurt me. Then he will find you, and you will feel like this for the rest of your life." Her aura wrenched me harder. "That doesn't have to happen, you know. If you hide your ability and mind your own business, they might stop looking for you." She released me. "Don't talk to me ever again. Don't even look at me."

I exhaled short puffs of air. "Why haven't you turned me in?" I asked before she could leave.

Her despair parted, a tiny smoke ring of an opening, and behind it, a sliver of optimism. "Somebody has to fight them. You could, if you live long enough." She scurried into the packed hallway, taking her tortured energy with her. A full minute passed before I was able to stand upright. I took a long look at Keenan on the front cover. Wondered how one man could spark terror in so many people.

Gianna was risking her life by sparing mine, which put me in a precarious position. There was no way I could have known that doing the right thing--investigating, reporting the Mutila to the authorities--was worse than doing nothing at all. By going after Luma and Keenan, I would be betraying her.

The night I stopped Gianna from jumping to her death, she told me there was no way out, that the soldiers would eventually find me. Now she thought they might stop looking. I wondered what had changed her mind.

"I want us to take a break," I told Jaxon when I found him in the parking lot after school.

"Are we breaking up? Shouldn't we actually start dating first?"

"No, it's this whole Mutila thing. I'm not going to do it anymore. I found the girl who was on the bridge and...we're getting in too deep."

"Is she okay?"

I shrugged. What qualified as okay? "She's not dead."

"And you're going to...what? Go back into hiding?"

"She said I'd be safer that way. We need to stop looking for them. Now."

He looked at me as if he preferred not to go down that path. "What if I want to keep going? Without you?"

My brow furrowed. Gianna's warning hadn't included Jaxon. But still. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"I want to find out what my foster dad did in the Mutila," he said.

I held up my palms. I had to draw a line. "Do whatever you want, but if you're going to keep looking, then we can't spend time together."

"Why should it matter as long as you're not the one digging around?"

"You're a direct link to me."

"So I have to choose." That sarcastic smile that I expected never materialized. For once, he was taking me seriously.

"This scares me, Jaxon. More than when I started."

The conflict coming off him surprised me, but if I were in his position, I would have hesitated, too. He'd spent a lot of time chasing around on account of me. "Okay," he finally said. "I'll let it go."

"You'll walk away?"

"My foster father is dead. I guess the rest doesn't matter. There are lots of other mysteries I'd rather unravel." His chocolate eyes sunk into mine.

My belly fluttered, mostly from relief but also because of the hungry way he was looking at me. "Like what?"

"Like..." He put his hands on my face and walked me backward until I was pressed against his car. "What your lips taste like after curfew."

When he leaned in to kiss, I flinched. An unnerving sensation crept under my skin, like I was bungee jumping toward an alligator pit. I knew the cord was short enough to keep me safe, but the threat of snapping jaws made me second-guess taking the leap. I chalked this up to my limited experience with boys like Jaxon.

"You and I are going out tomorrow night," he said.

"Okay. Wait, no. I have this thing I need to go to. It's a welcome home party for Raquelle's dad."

"How about I go with you and we can go out after?" he asked.

"I might get stuck there a while."

"We'll be stuck together. There's no place I'd rather be."

"Wow, are we actually going on a date?" I teased.

"Are you suggesting I'd stand you up again? Because you're not getting away from me this time."
Chapter 23

The first thing I did when I got home was dig out the note I'd written to my dad and Kimber, the one that was intended to offer some comfort if I disappeared one day. It was right where I'd hidden it, beneath my sweaters. I ripped it into tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet.

There was no longer a need for those words that were supposed to soften the blow if I turned up dead. I was going to do what Gianna said. No more poking around in Mutila business. No more public displays for any reason. I would do a better job of keeping my ability tacked down. My brazen behavior from the past weeks was forbidden, too. As far as the outside world was concerned, I was just another normal, ungifted girl, going about her life.

I went down to the second floor to find my dad. He was in the master suite, reloading his suitcase for his flight to Bangkok. I launched myself onto the king-size bed and rested my chin on my knuckles. He zipped up his shaving kit and tucked it into his bag. The whole room smelled of his aftershave.

"I haven't seen that in a while," he said when he saw my smile.

"It's been a rough month." There was no reason to tell him about my telekinesis or levitation or any of it, now. That decision alone was enough to wash me over with relief.

"Say hi to Mr. Crane for me, would you?" my dad said.

"About that. Is it okay if I take a friend to the party? We're going on a date after."

My dad waited to hear the string of details that I used to automatically share with him. I was fast growing out of that habit. So much of my life was unsharable. "His name is Jaxon." I left it at that.

"Is that the boy who stayed here one night? The one who wasn't getting along with his family?"

"He's living with his brother now. Everything worked out okay."

My dad's enthusiasm, warm and cottony, flittered through the room. "Sure, honey, he can go to the Crane's with you. I'm glad you're dating again. Take this one slow, okay? It took you a long time to recover from the last breakup."

"I'll be fine." I was keeping my heart out of this one. Jaxon wasn't going to get close enough to do any damage.

*******

Saturday afternoon, Jaxon picked me up and we followed Kimber's car up the hill to the Cranes' house. The sky was as blue and cloudless as a July day. It was supposed to downpour later, but you'd never know. Kimber had given me the okay to go on our date as long as we stayed at the party for an hour.

I was more excited than I'd been in months. This wasn't the emotional direction I was hoping to go. Jaxon was a temporary fix, a funhouse to explore until the "right" guy came along. Ultimately, I wanted to be with someone who was less crass, less frustrating, and more...oh who was I kidding? I was looking for a replacement for my soulmate, and that just was not going to happen.

"Where are we going after the party?" I asked.

"I thought we'd get something to eat."

"And then?"

He traced a circle on my knee. "I can think of a few things."

I gave him a mock frown. "You have a dirty mind."

"You're just noticing?"

Inside the Cranes' mini-mansion, a butler took our coats. The three of us crossed the marble entryway into the parlor, where dozens of the Cranes' friends gathered. Waiters offered champagne to incoming guests. Jaxon swooped a glass off a passing tray, and Kimber swooped it right out of his hand.

"Why don't you kids get some punch and hors d'oeuvres?" She left us at the buffet table and joined the throng of people surrounding Mr. Crane.

I was in no hurry to talk to the guest of honor. My careless comments in his hospital room still scratched at my conscience. I had not forgotten his glassy, deadened stare right after I announced that I was God's gift to paranormal beings.

"Echo Bennett."

I turned to see my principal loading his plate at the buffet table. "Hi Mr. Lauer. How are you?"

"Very good. Happy to see our mutual friend is home."

"Yeah, he looks a lot better than in the hospital. Oh, this is Jaxon. He's new at Lincoln."

Mr. Lauer gave him a long glare. "Where have I seen you before? Outside of school?"

Jaxon stiffened. "I have that kind of face. People are always telling me I look familiar."

Mr. Lauer blinked a few times and frowned, like an unpleasant answer had come to him. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to..." He motioned at a group of adults and joined them.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"Dude needs to get his memory fixed." Jaxon's tone was edgy.

A while later, the crowd around Mr. Crane thinned and Kimber waved for us to join them. Mr. Crane sat in a wheelchair with a blanket over his legs. His hair was salted with gray. The corners of his eyes crinkled with delight as guests leaned in to hug him. He was, in all appearances, harmless. Still, I linked my fingers through Jaxon's to keep from fidgeting.

"It's not permanent," Mr. Crane said when he saw my eyes fix on his wheelchair. "I asked for a scooter, but the missus doesn't trust me to drive through the house without damaging her Tiffany collection." Everyone around him got a good chuckle out of that. He patted my arm. "Echo, it's wonderful of you to come by. Thank you."

"I'm glad you're doing better. Welcome home," I answered.

"Kimber tells me you visited a short while ago. That was kind of you. I must have been a sight, tubes coming out of every orifice, drugged into the next world." His gaze shifted near and far, the memory of my visit distant and fuzzy. His attention wandered, and he greeted Jaxon and the next round of guests. Relief cascaded from my head to my feet. He had not remembered my visit.

I took Jaxon's hand and pulled him to the hors d'oeuvres table. Three strides later, I realized I'd been holding my breath.

"Everything all right?" he filled my cup with punch. I'd never told him about my visit to the hospital. At the very least, my behavior there was downright embarrassing.

"Just enjoying the freedom. No evil soldiers to watch out for, no crazies following me. I'd forgotten what it's like to relax."

I noticed Mrs. Crane across the room, talking in low tones to Raquelle. Raquelle said something sharp to her mom and then stomped over to us. "Welcome to our home. Thank you for coming. My mom's making me ask if I can get you anything, but you can forget it."

I bit my lip to keep from bursting out laughing. I shoved my plate at her. "I'm glad you asked. Those tiny crab puffs are delicious. We would like more, wouldn't we, Jaxon?"

"Yeah, sure. Tasty." He followed our battle, amused.

Raquelle shot poison darts with her eyes. Then, a look I couldn't decipher crossed her face. Right as the waiter passed by, she ever-so-casually bumped his tray full of champagne flutes. The glasses tipped, and before the waiter could recover, they crashed to the floor at our feet. Champagne soaked my shoes. The room went quiet. I gaped at Raquelle.

Do it, her eyes dared me. Go ahead, get your freaky paranormal revenge.

"Nice try," was all I said. Telekinetically dumping the punch bowl over her head would have made my day, but it wasn't an option.

Raquelle put a hand to her mouth and recited one fake apology after another. Then she sauntered off.

"I bet there's a story behind that," Jaxon said.

"The Twitter version: I lost my temper, zapped a hole in her sweatpants, and now she's trying to out me."

"You can throw your energy? That is incredibly hot. There's so much about your gifts that I don't know. So much I'd like to see." He bit his lower lip.

This tiny motion sent fever rising up my throat. "I think our hour is about up. I'm going to tell Kimber we're leaving."

Jaxon went to hunt down our coats. I spotted Kimber, signaled that we were on our way out, and slowly moved through the crowd toward the door. There must have been a hundred people visiting. It was obvious that Mr. Crane was respected, and even adored. I felt a guilty pang at the horrible accusations Connor had made about him, things I had eventually believed.

Free of the crowd, I headed down the long hallway to the exit. Mr. Crane appeared from one of the rooms and wheeled his chair over to me. "I'm sorry you're leaving so soon," he said. "I wanted to thank you for visiting me in the hospital."

I smiled. Had the head trauma damaged his short-term memory? "Mr. Crane, you already said that, and you're welcome."

He placed a cold hand on mine. I squeezed it in a comforting gesture. He squeezed back. He didn't let go. "I wish I'd been able to talk when you visited, but those drugs made it impossible to answer your questions."

My blood cooled. "I don't remember asking anything." I said evenly.

His grip tightened. "Come now. You know who I work for, and you told me who you are. I remember very clearly what you said."

I yanked my hand away. "The nurse gave you a painkiller. You were sleeping when I got there."

"The drug doesn't take effect for ten to fifteen minutes. Not when you've had as much of it as I have. You said you have telekinesis and can levitate. I bet it started after your accident last fall, after your coma, didn't it?"

"I never said any of that." The tremble in my voice gave away my lie.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Echo. I'm on your side. We can banter back and forth all day about what you confessed, but we're just skirting the real issue, and that is, what happens to you now?"
Chapter 24

My eyes grew wide. A scream tore through my chest.

"Steady, Echo. This isn't a good place to make a scene. Those of us in the Mutila stick close together." As Mr. Crane glanced across the room full of guests, I got his meaning. He was not the only member present. The pleasant grin never left his face. "If the Mutila street soldiers had found you before I did, you would have ended up like so many of the young recruits--used up and thrown away. I don't agree with all of their methods, which is why I'm grateful you came to me. I don't want to see you get hurt, and I can make this easy for you. Most recruits don't have anyone to act on their behalf. That's when ugly things happen to them."

The crab puffs turned to acid in my stomach. "They're not recruits if you force them to go with you. That's kidnapping."

He waved my comment off. "Kidnapping is beneath me. I act as a guardian, and as such, I can ensure certain things. You allow me to introduce you to the head of the organization. In return, I'll see that no harm comes to you or your family. I can't make the same promise if the street soldiers drag you in."

Mrs. Crane's laughter floated from the other room. Raquelle's high voice reached me. The feeble-looking Mr. Crane was a respected member of the community, a husband and a dad. He was also a monster hiding in plain sight. Like Gianna had warned.

"If you go with me willingly, you can still resume a normal life. You'll go to school, have a boyfriend, go to prom. The only difference is you'll do a little work for us now and again. Nobody will ever know about your second life."

My mouth moved, but no words came out.

"Take a day or two and think about it. Sooner or later, you'll be working with us. Everyone like you does, but there's no need for you to suffer."

A fuse lit inside me. "You can never have me."

"I'm afraid that choice isn't yours to make, my dear. The Mutila gets what the Mutila wants. Go on, now. Your friend is waiting."

Jaxon stood at the end of the hall with our coats. I ran past him and out the front door.

"What was that all about?" he asked, setting my coat over my shoulders.

"He's one of them! How could I have been so stupid?" I gulped air and kicked the hubcap on Jaxon's car as hard as I could.

"Raquelle's dad is in the Mutila?" he asked.

"Connor warned me, but did I listen?" I slid into the passenger seat and locked the door. Dropped my face into my hands. "He wants to take me in. Recruit me. He says he can make things easy for me."

Jaxon was already in the driver's seat. He gathered me in his arms. "It'll be all right."

"No it won't! He knows what I can do and if I don't go with him, then he'll tell them. They're going to come after me. My family, too, if I don't do what he says."

Jaxon was quiet. "Do you want me to take you home?"

I sniffled and wiped my tears with my sleeve. "No. Can we go to your place? Would your brother mind?"

"He won't. I'm living alone at the apartment."

"Then let's go there."

On the way to Jaxon's apartment building, I calmed down. It took some deep breathing, but my rational brain finally got a grip. Only then did I realize the contradiction I picked up when Mr. Crane cornered me. Before he landed in the hospital I had, on occasion, felt faction residue on him. This time, I did not. He was softened...different. His words were threatening, but his aura did not have the same toxic rawness. I didn't know what to make of this.

"What are you going to do?" Jaxon asked after I shared this with him.

"I don't know. If I refuse, maybe he won't turn me in. He said I'm on your side, like he wanted to help, maybe? And he's known Kimber for like, forever. I can't believe he'd do anything to hurt her or my dad." My mind raced with paranoid tangents. "Who else knows? Has he told anyone? There were more of them at his house today. What if Mr. Lauer is one of them, too?"

"He's not," he said hastily.

"How can you be sure?"

"Uh, you know, he doesn't have that vibe about him."

I narrowed my eyes. Pressure pulsed between us and when my eyes didn't leave him, he decided to expand.

"I spent time with Luma," he explained. "Trust me, if Mr. Lauer was one of them, I would have picked up on it."

"So now you're an expert?" I snapped.

"I don't think you have to worry about your principal. Let's take one thing at a time." He parked and led me into a blood-red brick building. We climbed the wide staircase to the third floor. His apartment was small, with a kitchen and table on one side and an oversized couch on the other. Another door led to his bedroom. I collapsed on the couch.

"What if you took Mr. Crane up on his offer?" Jaxon asked.

I looked at him like he'd flown in from Jupiter. "You did not just suggest that I join his army of freaks."

"I thought that maybe it wouldn't be as bad as you think. When I was talking to Luma..."

"She joined voluntarily!" I yelled. "Whose side are you on, anyway?" My forehead pricked and my fingers tingled like mad. My body felt brittle as glass, like one more ounce of bad news and I would shatter into a thousand unsalvageable pieces. I didn't bother to rein in my aura. What did it matter now? It blasted through the apartment, slamming kitchen cupboards and shaking the tables and toppling chairs.

In the unit next door, a dog heard the noise and erupted in a deep, booming bark.

"Jesus," Jaxon said when my blow-up finally quieted. He peeled his eyes away from the overturned chairs. "That was all you?"

"You have no idea." I strapped my hands behind my neck and let out a long puff of air. "Okay. Okay. I'm good." I had to keep a clear head if I was going to handle this dilemma.

He put a hand on my knee. "Hear me out. If you go with someone who knows the leader, you'd be safer than trying to survive on your own."

Huh. Yesterday he had quit his hunt in order to keep me safe. At the slightest breach in our plan, he was ready to give up. Ready for me to give up. He wasn't the level-headed person I thought. My fists curled in frustration. "If I go, then I have to follow any order they give me. If I refuse, they will torture me until I give in. Do you get that?"

"Sure, but..."

"There is no but! What is going on with you? These people are savages!"

The cupboard doors slammed open and their contents churned onto the kitchen floor. The chairs hurled themselves against the wall. The television exploded. I buried my face in the cushion to protect it from flying glass. Jaxon hit the floor. When he came up, he wore a crooked smile.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," I said, appalled. Was it my imagination or was he pushing my emotional buttons on purpose? "You keep pestering me about the kinds of ability I have, so there you have it. This is what I live with."

He brushed glass slivers from his jeans and picked out a fragment that had embedded itself in the back of his hand. He surveyed the damage in awe. "Wow. I just gotta say...wow."
Chapter 25

It took us an hour to clean up. One of the chairs left a gash in the wall. The apartment manager would make him pay for sure.

"I'll reimburse you for anything I broke," I said, wiping splattered ketchup off the kitchen wall.

Jaxon dumped the last of the glass into the wastebasket. "My foster brother will take care of it. He's loaded. He makes a killing in finance." His voice faded suddenly, like he was aware of words slipping out.

"What is he, a banker or something?"

He snatched the rag out of my hand and tossed it in the sink. "I don't want to talk about him." He kissed me on the neck. "Are you feeling better?" His aura went hazy, just-like-that. What was it that kept throwing him off balance?

"Your foster brother is rich and pays for your apartment and Jeep. He sounds like a great guy. How come you never talk about him?" I asked.

"Because he's not that interesting. My mind's not anywhere but here." He rubbed my neck with one hand. "How about we order takeout and stay in and pretend we're in a movie theater?"

"I broke the television."

"Who said we have to watch a movie? We can find another way to keep ourselves occupied." He pressed his thumb against a knot at the base of my neck and massaged in tiny circles. It felt so good. His hand was warm and protective.

"Ooo, that feels nice."

"Does Thai takeout sound good?"

"Sure."

He disappeared into his bedroom with his phone and ordered the food. He was in there a while, so out of curiosity, I dug into the stack of DVDs sitting next to the now-defunct television. Most of them were cheap horror flicks, the kind that I refused to watch because they gave me nightmares. The rest were violent thrillers.

A short while later, there was a knock at the door. Jaxon bounded out of his bedroom, hanging up on his caller as he did. "I'll get that," he said. He met the take-out delivery guy and paid for the order. The neighbor lady from next door came out of her apartment leading an enormous Rottweiler. He growled at the delivery guy, and the woman put all her weight into restraining the dog. She yanked him down the stairs toward the outside doors.

Jaxon handed me the white takeout bags. Seeing as I'd broken a bunch of his plates, we ate straight out of the containers. I munched on spring rolls and curry, deep in thought about what to do about Mr. Crane. When he cornered me at his house, he seemed to be going along with someone else's orders. Like he, too, was a pawn. "Maybe I could convince Mr. Crane to go with me to the police instead of handing me over." This sounded crazy once I said it out loud, but I was grasping. Gianna warned me not to report them, but wouldn't the situation be different if I went with one of their own?

Jaxon quirked an eyebrow.

"I'm telling you," I continued, "I don't think he really wanted to turn me in. He said he didn't agree with their methods, and he didn't want to see me get hurt. I should at least try talking to him, don't you think?"

"Let's say you're right about that. What are you going to tell the police? Do you have any proof of anything that these guys did?"

"Roth's SUV hit Becca's car," I answered.

"You can't prove it because you don't have a traceable license plate number."

"Mr. Crane can corroborate everything I say, and if I can convince Gianna to go to the station with us, somebody will listen."

His fork scraped along the bottom of the cardboard container. "You know what happens to them if they talk."

"Then that leaves you," I said. "You can verify everything."

He took a bite and chewed.

"You'll back me up, right?" I repeated.

He stared into space. "I can see it now. Two teenagers walk into the station and report that they have inside information on one of the greatest conspiracy theories this country has ever seen."

I pushed the food away.

"I'm thinking realistically," he offered. "Listen, if you want me to go with you, I'll do it. I'm here for you."

I went to the couch and toppled onto it. "You're right. I'm going to need to give them something more. I'll have to go public with my ability, show the police what I can do. Then they'll listen." I pulled the blanket on the couch over my face. "I'm going to be a human freak show."

Jaxon sat next to me and massaged my shoulder. "You're one in a billion. A living legend."

I propped myself up on one elbow. "If you're trying to cheer me up, it's not working."

He pulled the blanket aside and squeezed next to me. He brushed a section of my hair behind my ear. "Then let's find something else to talk about."

Having his body right next to mine eased some of the angst that bounced around my ribcage like a pinball. His heat enveloped me, and when he rested his chin against my forehead, the stubble raked my skin. He traced my mouth with his finger.

"Don't. That tickles," I said.

He did it again, so I grabbed his knuckle between my teeth.

"No biting," he warned, but that smirk was back.

"You wanted to see my not-so-angelic side," I joked.

Laughing was one of two things that didn't bring out the ache of uncertainty. The other was affection. There was something about being afraid and hopeless that made me want to get closer to Jaxon, so close that I'd forget all the worry and confusion clattering in my head.

I closed my mouth over his and combed my fingers into his hair. His tongue darted along my lower lip, sending a flood of warmth behind my ribs. His kisses grew more urgent and strayed to my collarbone.

He moved his hand up my thigh to the button on my jeans, and I almost, almost backed away. But the world outside the apartment was messy and frightening. It demanded decisions that a girl my age should never have to make. I needed all of it to disappear, for a little while.

I kissed him harder.

With shaky hands, I began unbuttoning his shirt. A far-off voice inside my head asked Where are you going with this? I did not know.

Jaxon took my wrists and pushed me away from him. "Don't use your hands."

I squinted in confusion. "Um...?"

"Use your telekinesis. I've seen how strong you are. Now show me precision."

Fascination vibrated off him. Not only was he accepting of my gift, he wanted to experience more. A rush of heat curled down my back. Without touching him, I glided Jaxon's top button through the buttonhole. He let out a short breath. I undid the second button.

"Oh, man," he said.

I went for broke and telekinetically yanked the placket. Buttons flew, opening the rest of his shirt. He undid the top buttons on my blouse and kissed me in the notch below my throat. His lips made me shiver, or maybe it was having my blouse half off, or the racing thoughts about what would happen next.

His phone pinged with a text message. A minute later, another, and then another, as if the sender was too impatient to wait for a response. Jaxon didn't seem to hear any of this. A dark tone trilled and I recognized his cell phone ring.

"Ignore that," he said. The call eventually went to voice mail.

We kissed some more. Dampness broke out on his neck. His eyes floated down my body. "Just looking at you makes me want all of you."

I recognized this as a question, as his way of asking permission to go further, to have sex. Instinctively, my hand went to close my open blouse. I'd promised myself I would keep him at a distance to keep from getting crushed, but now Jaxon was asking to get closer and somehow that felt right, too.

"I've never done this before," I said.

His eyebrows jerked. "You've never had sex?"

I shook my head tentatively.

"Wow." He pinned me with a gaze that made me squirm. "You're sure you're ready?" He said this like he was expected to ask but didn't really want to wait for the answer.

"I don't know. I think we should take this slow." I put my hand on his chest and kept it there as his lips landed on mine.

His phone rang again.

"Maybe you should answer that." I was relieved for the interruption. My head was cloudy and my stomach fluttery. I definitely wasn't ready to get intimate with Jaxon. My life was a whirlwind of danger and while being close to him helped soothe my anxiety, anything beyond that was more than I could process.

Jaxon grabbed his phone and got to his feet. "Stop calling me," he said into the phone. He disappeared into his bedroom, but I could still hear his side of the conversation. "Not now, I'm busy. I already told you. I don't know yet. I'll call you when I do. I don't know. Don't bother me."

He came back without the phone. The energy coming off him was laser sharp and starved.

"What was that about? Is something wrong?" I asked.

"A friend of my foster brother's. He won't bother us again."

He kissed me with such force that all the passion fell away. His touch felt more like a grappling match--no tenderness and all power play--like he was trying to determine who was the fiercest at making out.

I peeled my lips away. "Take it easy," I said.

"Sorry."

I'd had about enough and was about to tell him so, but then he lifted my hair and kissed my neck at the base of my hairline. I melted. I drifted. I was whisked a hundred and sixty years in the future with the guy of my dreams. There was only one other person who had ever kissed me there.

"Connor," I whispered.

Jaxon's teeth clamped down on my neck.

"Ow!"

"The name is Jaxon." He didn't give me a chance to apologize, but strung his fingers into my hair. His fist was so tight my roots ached.

"Jaxon, you're hurting me."

"You're not his anymore," he said.

My eyes got big. Is that what this was about? Getting me into bed because I was once Connor's girlfriend? "I'm not anybody's. I'm not property. I want to stop. Now." Everything was wrong-wrong-wrong. The place, the guy, the way this was happening. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was Connor.

Jaxon reached for the zipper on my jeans. "Everything will be fine. You'll like it. You'll see." His hand clung to my hair like a leash.

"I don't want to do this. Let go of my hair," I barked.

He needed both hands to untangle his fingers. Loose strands clung to the sweat on his palms. "You said you wanted this. Where did you think this was going?" He stole a glance at the clock over the dead television.

"No, I said I didn't know." I stood up and buttoned my blouse. "I want to go home."

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His breath steamed against my cheek. He was struggling to come up with the right words to keep me there. "Please don't go. I'll back off, okay? I'm the only one who understands what you've been through. No one else cares about you like I do."

I was no expert on guys, but this sounded fake. His hands found my shoulders, then ran down the backs of my arms, past my elbows to my wrists, where his fingers encircled me like handcuffs. "You do like me, don't you?"

"Right now, I just need a friend. Can't we...what are you doing?"

He pushed me backward, forcing me to shuffle in step with him until the backs of my legs bumped against the couch. I fell to a seated position. He pushed me down onto the cushions and lay on top of me.

"Jaxon, get off me."

He took both my wrists in one hand and held them over my head, pinning me against the cushions. He nestled his free hand onto the waistband of my jeans and tried to unzip them again.

"Stop it!" I tried to roll away, but he was too heavy.

"Hold still." His voice rasped and his eyes had gone murky. He had turned into someone I did not recognize. He was focused on getting sex whether I agreed to it or not.

"Please don't." Tears welled in the corners of my eyes. Why was he doing this? He was supposed to be my friend.

Someone pounded on the door. Jaxon jumped enough to loosen his grip on my wrists.

"I'm out of here," I said, and Jaxon slapped his hand over my mouth.

Another knock shook the door. I tried to yell and call him names, but my voice was muffled under his hand. I braced my arms and tried to shove him away. His weight and strength were leveraged against me. His hand reached for my zipper.

I had given him a chance to back off. I had asked and pleaded. Now, he left me no option. I stuffed my palm into his ribs and shot a burst of white-hot electricity into him.

Jaxon flew off the couch and skidded across floor. "Ow! What did you do?" The smell of burning skin wafted into the air. He gaped at the quarter-sized char mark on his ribcage. "That was not a smart move."

I plastered my eyes directly on his. "I don't want to do this. I don't love you. I don't even like you anymore."

"I don't care." He took a stride toward me, but I raised my hand and he stopped cold.

"Really, Jaxon? Are you that slow a learner?" I found my jacket and adjusted my clothes. "I'm going home."

A fist railed against the door. "Let us in, Jaxon," drawled a guy from the other side.

Jaxon watched me for a moment. Something sickly sweet rose off him. "Fine. You want to leave? Go right ahead." He gestured toward the exit.

As I reached for the doorknob, I felt it: dagger-sharp, grotesque energy seeping into the apartment. I backed away.

"Something the matter?" he asked. "Here, let me help." He swung the door open.

Two Mutila soldiers stood in the hallway.
Chapter 26

Roth and the boy with the burned face filled the doorway, blocking my escape.

"Jaxon?" I peeped. I stepped behind him for protection.

"I said I wasn't finished with her," he said to Roth.

What did he mean, finished?

The three guys stood between me and the exit. Two of them soldiers. Each of them far stronger than me in one capacity or another. All the blood siphoned out of my muscles, and panic froze me from head to toe. Jaxon wasn't taking any chances. He reached for my arms and twisted them behind my back.

Roth's meaty face went dark. "We've been looking for this girl, and you're wasting time trying to get her into bed?"

"I wasn't keeping her here because of that," Jaxon replied. His ears reddened. "It just happened."

"Uh-huh," Roth frowned.

"I wasn't about to bring her in until I knew about her skills. You know what happens if I hand over a recruit with sketchy ability." Jaxon stumbled over his words. "Tell him, Ivan."

The boy with the burn mark shook his head. He rolled his one good eye. The other one was milky. "Whatever. You've been stalling while we've been pounding the city looking for her. He wants to see her now. If she's everything you promised, she's your key into the Mutila. That's what you want, isn't it?"

My throat parched. "Jaxon?"

Jaxon looked down at me and gave an indifferent shrug. "It's where I belong. My foster father was with the Mutila, and I would have been too, if Philip hadn't forced me to leave."

So this was why Jaxon had been looking for them, why he had agreed to get close to Keenan and Luma. And me. He had faked liking me. Pretended to care about my well-being.

The heat of anger came roaring back, and I mule-kicked Jaxon. My heel landed on his shin, and I rolled out of his grasp. I charged into Ivan and knocked him into the hallway. An enormous hand clamped down on my shoulder. Two fingers found the soft spot behind my jaw, below my ear. Needles of pain dashed into my head. The hallway spun and my knees gave out.

"Grab her!" Ivan yelled. I collapsed into a pair of arms.

"She's fine. You're fine, aren't you? Back on your feet. That a girl," Roth drawled. I teetered. He looped an arm around my waist. "Don't make this difficult for yourself. Things could get nasty for you very fast."

The three of them formed a tight pod around me and we marched down the stairs. My heart pounded so hard it blurred my vision. The entire way, Roth's fingers pressed behind my jaw. On the ground floor, Ivan pushed through the exterior door. We barged into the night like a small army. Right outside, Jaxon's neighbor was coming up the stoop with her Rottweiler.

The rush of people spooked the Rottweiler and sent it into a snarling frenzy. It lunged at Roth. We all jumped backward. Roth's hand fell away from my neck. I jammed my elbow into Jaxon's gut and ducked out of Ivan's reach. The Rottweiler charged, claws tearing at the cement, its muzzle spraying saliva on my bare arm. Another stride put me out of its reach. The dog lunged at whomever tried to follow.

"Call off your dog!" Roth shouted.

I ran like I'd never run in my life. I sprinted until my lungs froze from the cold, and then I ran some more. Jaxon's apartment was in the northwest district, ten minutes from my house. I put as many blocks behind me as I could, and when I ran out of breath, stepped into a coffee shop. I called Kimber and, thank goodness, she answered her phone.

An hour later, I was sitting at our kitchen table with my head in my hands. There was only so much I could tell her, so I kept it simple: Jaxon had tried to force me to have sex. He didn't take no for an answer and I pushed him off and ran to the coffee shop.

Tito sat in my lap, licking away my tears. Kimber pressed against me like a mother bear, her arm firmly around my shoulders and her aura spitting nails. I think if she'd had any weapons in the house, she would have gone after Jaxon herself.

I shoved the tips of my fingers into my temples. How could I have trusted him? Every conversation we had came shrieking back. He had walked the razor-thin line between truth and lies. We had been on the same track, working side by side to find leads, but our reasons could not have been more different. When I grilled him about the faction waves coming off him, he actually commended me for being able to sense it. Made me think I was helping our search. I never dug deep enough to catch him in a lie. And the whole time he was measuring my ability. My strength. My precision. Ways to trigger it.

"This is all my fault," I said.

Kimber thought I meant the assault. Anger burned her cheeks. "Don't you ever say that, do you hear me? When you told that boy to stop, he should have stopped."

I nodded. That much was true. "Kimber?" I wiped moisture from my eyes. Her face was blurry. Everything was, right then.

"Yes?"

"Can I get out of Portland for a while? Like, go to Seattle and stay with friends? I don't want to run into him at school." I wished I could tell her the other reasons why I needed to leave town.

"For how long?"

"A couple of weeks? If you talk to the principal, maybe they can email my homework." That would give me time to figure out what to do next. I had to find a way to get out of the Mutila's reach permanently. That might mean leaving the city, or moving even farther away. I winced, knowing this meant leaving behind those I cared about the most.

She hugged me. "I'll see what the school policy is. You can stay home, though. You don't need to go all the way to Seattle. I'm going to insist that boy gets kicked out of school so you don't have to see him again."

"Thanks," I said and set about planning my escape. I had to get out of Portland, whether she gave me permission or not.

*******

I spent Saturday night sleeping next to Kimber in her king-sized bed. The security system was armed. I held Tito close, knowing his doggie radar would wake us if anyone got past the security alarm.

What little sleep I got was haunted by nightmares involving Connor. He hadn't come to me in my dreams in weeks, but when he did, the dreams had been peaceful and loving. That night, though, he was fighting off attackers. Like so many of my dreams, some parts felt surreal and others frighteningly realistic. The shadowy forces that he battled were featureless, faceless demons. When one of them struck Connor in the back, I felt the blow. I twitched and jerked myself awake. Unable to fall back to sleep, I listened to Tito's steady snore until the sun came up.

The next day, Kimber hovered, bringing snacks and lunch and pecks on the cheek. Her attention was calming, but I knew it couldn't last forever. No amount of mothering would chase away the suffocating threat waiting outside our front doors.

Kimber's social schedule was packed most days, even on Sunday, so when mid-afternoon came, I handed her the car keys. "You don't have to cancel your whole day. I'm perfectly fine." I did a respectable job of keeping my voice level.

"If you need me for anything at all, call, all right?" She kissed me on the forehead and left.

No sooner had she slipped the deadbolt into place than I ran to my closet and pulled out a suitcase. I wrote a note telling her that I had decided to take the bus to Seattle, would stay with friends for a few days, and would check in with her and my dad when I got there.

I packed my suitcase to the brim and zipped it shut. I had everything I needed except for one thing--the portrait. I didn't know how long I would be gone, but I refused to leave it behind. The painting sat facing the wall, as it had since the day I decided to make a play for Jaxon. I picked it up, wanting to apologize to Connor's likeness for ignoring his warnings. For trusting Jaxon.

I gasped. Someone had ruined it! The red streak near Connor's scar was much wider and black. Blue and green smudging on his cheek resembled bruising. Saturated color around his mouth made his lip appear puffy.

Jaxon was the one person who would have reason to desecrate the painting, but he would have had to sneak into the house to do it. This didn't seem likely, but now that I understood how much he despised the McCabes, anything was possible. His hatred and desire for revenge ran deep.

Another thought occurred to me, both absurd and surreal. I had stretched my imagination plenty to adapt to my new, paranormal existence, but even this was a leap: was the portrait energetically connected to my soulmate? Was it channeling physical changes that he experienced one hundred sixty years in the future? If this were true, then something awful was happening to him. I shook this possibility off, deciding there had to be an everyday explanation for the damage.

Tito whined and nuzzled my suitcase. His highly tuned Chihuahua nerves vibrated with anxiety. Like most dogs, he recognized when one of his owners was leaving for an extended time. The next bus to Seattle left in less than an hour. I intended to be on it.

"I won't be gone long," I said, wrapping him in my arms. In truth, I didn't know how long I would have to stay away. Once I got on the bus I would text some of my old friends and find a place to stay over for a few nights. I would have to figure out what to do after that. My dad might be angry that I took off, but he would understand once he heard what Jaxon tried to do. I did not know how I'd explain that I couldn't return to Portland. The very idea that I was leaving home for a long time--possibly forever--made me dizzy.

Tito licked my ear and then sneezed into it. I laughed even though moisture beaded in the corners of my eyes. His ears perked. He wiggled out of my arms and his bug-eyes centered on the corner of my bedroom. A high growl warbled in his throat.

A cold ball of trepidation gave me goose bumps. "Tito, quiet." I listened for sounds of an impending intrusion--a car in the driveway, a knock at the door.

The air changed. The hairs on my arm rose as the room filled with static electricity. There, next to my desk, in the space where the sunlight was broken by shadow, a column of light sparkled. My whole world tilted with anticipation. The form grew to six feet tall and began to take shape.
Chapter 27

I bounded across the room to the materializing body. It was him. It had to be. I forced my hands to stay at my sides. It was torture, waiting for the glistening phantom to become human so that I could throw myself into his arms.

The tall figure coalesced slowly. A hand appeared, and then a leg. They were delicate and gangly and definitely not Connor's. Confusion overtook my elation and I let out a small whimper. As the sparks solidified, I made out a narrow face and wide, feminine eyes.

"Carina!" I threw my arms around her. She wasn't who I ached to see, but any visit from West Region was a gift. Her showing up in my time meant that portal travel was allowed again!

Carina's hug was fierce. "It's so good to see you." It had been a few months since she escorted me home after the dance at the Great Hall. She wore her standard lab uniform, a fitted white smock and pants, and her short chestnut hair had grown past her ears. Her big brown eyes darted around my room. "Are you well? Is everything good?" I caught an almost imperceptible quiver in her high, light voice.

"Everything is screwed up! Did Connor send you?" I was sure he would have come himself if he could get out from under his dad's nose long enough.

Her face fell. "Send me? I don't understand."

Impatient, I rushed through the explanation. "Connor was always able to feel when I was in danger, even when we were apart, but then I thought since the portal shut down, he couldn't feel me anymore. But he must be able to. He knows what Jaxon did to me. Right?"

"Jaxon?" Carina yelled so loudly, I jumped.

Of course. Nobody in West Region knew he had escaped to Portland. "Mr. McCabe was going to put Jaxon in jail, so he snuck to Portland."

She grimaced. "You're telling me Jaxon is here?"

I unloaded the torrent of events, from his arrival to the recent twelve hours. "And last night, he sold me out to the faction."

Carina stared at me wide-mouthed.

"Right? Can you believe he would do that?" I said.

"No, no, no, no." She shook her head slowly.

"I thought I could trust him."

"Oh, no."

"Carina, you have to take me back with you. Connor will know what to--"

Her hand flew up to cut me off. "Please quit talking. I need to think." She held her head while she paced my room. The minutes ticking by felt like forever.

She spoke carefully, as though connecting pieces of a puzzle she was afraid might fit. "After President McCabe shut down the portal, Jaxon was sentenced to jail, but he conveniently left out the real reason why. He was accused of treason for allowing East Region to hack into the portal. He's the reason Solomon was able to come here and track you down. We think Jaxon attempted to align with East Region and they dumped him once Solomon was killed."

Solomon's name brought back terror-filled memories. He had managed to get a position as a physics teacher at my school. When he found out about my extensive gifts, he tried to take me to East Region. He had planned to use me to torture West Region citizens. Connor had accidentally killed Solomon while fighting to save me.

East Region was run by terrorists who oppressed its people. The fact that Jaxon had worked with them made me ill.

Carina's face flashed an emotion I couldn't pin down. "Jaxon hates the McCabes, especially Connor. He hates their privilege and is willing to do anything to gain his own power, even sell his own government's security secrets. But how did he get here?" she muttered to herself.

"Oh, that's easy. He used the backup code."

Her outrage blasted through the room in blistering waves. "I created that code! It's our security login!" She punched the air with her fists. "That traitor! I'm going to wring his neck when I get my hands on him!"

"Carina, I have to get out of here. I think the faction is going to come after me."

"Oh, sweetheart, they'll definitely come after you. Handing you over to them is just another way for Jaxon to spite Connor."

"Then let's get out of here! We need to talk to Connor!" I said.

Carina ripped me with a look full of dread. She held my gaze like she wanted to communicate something too horrific to say. I realized, then, that I still had no idea why she was here.

"He didn't send you, did he?" I asked.

She stormed through my room in another fit of rage. "Dammit! This is a steaming pile of a situation!" She took three swift steps to add distance between us. "I have to go back," she said, and prepared to leave. When I grabbed her arm to go with, she tried to wrench out of my grip. "You have to let go, Echo."

"Why won't you take me with you? Doesn't he want to see me?"

She noticed the suitcase next to the door. "Were you going to leave town?"

"Yes, but if you'll--"

"Then go. Hide somewhere for as long as you can. I can't take you with me, so let go."

"Not until you tell me why you came." I squeezed her harder.

There was real fear in her eyes now. "Connor is missing. East Region put a bounty on him after he killed Solomon, so we assumed they had him. But East Region hasn't sent any demands. On a whim, I checked the portal log. We thought me and Philip were the only ones who had access to that security code, but Connor can be remarkably creative where you're concerned." The corner of her mouth twitched in a tiny smile. "I thought he might have snuck here to see you. Someone time-jumped this morning but I can't tell who, and if Connor isn't with you, then where in the world is he?"

Tito's ears pricked and he galloped down the stairs to the first floor. I barely registered this. The news about my missing soulmate made my entire body buzz. "Have you checked the Reserve? He liked to hang out there," I offered.

"Of course we have. The entire region is on alert. Nobody's seen him for over twelve hours and the president is frantic."

We stared at each other, our distress mirrored on one another's faces.

Downstairs, Tito started barking maniacally. The doorbell rang. "God, now what?" I went to my bedroom window. A black SUV sat in the driveway. Roth leaned against its hood, and when he saw me looking down, he waved. "Omigod." I began to shake uncontrollably. "It's them."

"Son of a--" Carina's eyes cut to the doorway and back at me, indecision pulling her in every direction. "Take my hand," she finally said.

I took hers in both of mine and immediately felt the familiar tingle of the portal as it locked onto us. Tito's barking turned vicious. He scratched at the front door, ready to attack whoever came through it.

"Wait!" I dropped her hand. "I can't leave Tito."

"Echo!"

But I was already launching myself down the stairs. Halfway to the second floor, the Mutila's polluted discharge fouled my lungs. The doorknob jiggled and something metal rasped against the lock. They were picking their way inside. Tito was in full protection mode, his lips drawn back in a rabid snarl.

Carina stood outside my room. "We have to go now. We can't let them see us use the portal!"

"Hold them off! Shoot electric bolts at them or something." I hit the second floor landing.

"I don't have that ability!"

The deadbolt clicked. The door swung open. I slid to a stop.

Jaxon, Roth, and Ivan sauntered into my house as casually as if they owned it. Tito sunk his teeth into Roth's calf.

"Ow! You stinking little rat." Roth gave him a violent shake, but the dog charged again and this time crunched into Jaxon's ankle. Jaxon grunted as though the Chihuahua's teeth had chomped bone. Then he kicked out, connecting with Tito's midsection and sent the dog flying. Tito yelped. His soft body landed on the cold tile floor and lay motionless.

"Tito!"

Jaxon stalked toward me. I crept backward up the stairs, splitting my glances between him and the dog, measuring the possibility that I might be able to save Tito and make a run for it. I stole a glance over my shoulder, and when I didn't see Carina, reality hit hard. She'd left without me.

Jaxon's stride was cautious, but his shoulders were square, and his expression eerily confident. "We're not going to harm you. You're too important to us," he said in an airbrushed voice.

I raised my palm, aimed it at him, and tried to concentrate my life force into a full-on electric blast. A numbing fear took over, draining away my ability. The bolt sputtered and fizzled at his feet.

His arm rose to shield his face. "You do not want to do that." There was no warning in his tone, just conciliation. "I have a message for you." Slowly, he reached into his back pocket and held his phone for me to see. He tossed it onto the stairs. "Go ahead, we'll wait," he said.

I picked up the phone. A black blur filled the screen. It shifted. A man's face came into view, angular and hardened. I did not recognize him.

"Are we live?" he asked.

"We are," Jaxon said, loud enough for the man to hear.

The man adjusted his camera so that I could see the form next to him. A person sat in a chair, his broad shoulders hunched forward. A crop of midnight hair reflected the dim overhead light.

"Sit up," the man said. "Look into the camera."

The human form let out a low moan, like an injured animal being prodded out of a deep sleep.

"Say it," he commanded to the figure. "Call her name." The man seized a handful of hair and dragged the person's head upright.

Green eyes stared back at me. My heart dropped out of my chest.
Chapter 28

"Connor?" I whispered to the figure on the screen. Connor's cheek was bruised yellow-green, and a gash cut across his swollen lip. His eyes were fierce.

Jaxon chuckled. "Talk about blind love. All I had to do was go back to West Region, tell him one of the factions had you, and give him the portal's security code. He came running, as always." He raised his voice to address the phone. "Didn't quite turn out the way you expected, did it, McCabe? Well, here she is, your pretty little trophy girlfriend. Can't do much for her now, can you?"

I gaped at Jaxon, speechless.

His lips twisted into a smile. "It seems there's no limit to what he will do to save you. I'm betting that goes both ways."

"Don't listen to him, Echo." Connor's voice was sandpapery.

"Tell her to cooperate with Jaxon," the man on the screen demanded.

Connor looked into my eyes. "Run."

The man brought his fist down on Connor's temple.

"Connor!"

"Butterfly," my soulmate whispered.

"Stop it! Stop hurting him! I'll go with you."

"Yes, you will." Jaxon held the door open, his arm sweeping wide in a ladies-first gesture. The smirk on his face made my anger boil, and I was struck by the unfairness of my ability. My fear was gone, now, and intense heat flared in my hands, volatile enough to blast all three of them. But if I lashed out, Connor would suffer the consequences.

"You will pay for this," I seethed and walked outside.

"People threaten the Mutila all the time, and you know how it works out for them? It doesn't."

I flopped onto the backmost seat in the SUV. A minute later, Roth emerged from the house with my phone and my suitcase.

"She was already packed," he said.

"Wasn't that handy," Jaxon replied. "Trying to run out on us?"

"No."

"Where were you going?"

I kept my eyes on the floor. He held up his phone as a reminder that Connor's life depended on my cooperation.

"Seattle," I replied.

"Saves us the effort of explaining your absence." Roth tossed my suitcase in the trunk. The guys climbed into the SUV, taking up the two front rows.

"Seatbelt," Jaxon said.

I jammed the shoulder buckle in place, sick with the notion they felt safe enough to turn their backs to me. I allowed myself one brief moment to wonder how, how, how they had managed to overpower Connor. He was so strong, had an arsenal of abilities that I could only dream of. A sob caught in my mouth. I clenched my teeth, refusing to let one tear drop. I would not give them the satisfaction.

The side windows were heavily tinted, and the low sun had disappeared behind late afternoon clouds. The darkness made it impossible to see where we were going. I made out shapes that flowed together, flat-topped buildings, residential peaked roofs, and tree cover getting denser and denser. Light rain pattered against the SUV's roof. The wipers whooshed hypnotically. Ivan turned on the radio and the speakers vibrated with upbeat alternative rock. Roth bobbed his head to the beat of the drums. Every few minutes, Jaxon turned to me, his mouth curled into that abhorrent smirk.

After about twenty minutes, we parked.

"Where are we?" I asked.

Without answering, Ivan opened the rear passenger door and handed me a coat. I put it on and stepped onto a wet gravel surface. Roth opened a wide umbrella to shield me from the rain. Even in the dark, I recognized the Witch's Castle parking lot.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

"This is your test," Ivan said. "One you definitely want to pass."

"Or else." Roth sliced his hand across his throat and made a gurgling sound. My knees weakened.

"She'll pass. She doesn't have a choice," Jaxon said with certainty. His foot skidded out from under him, and he landed in the mud. He cursed. "This is ridiculous. Why doesn't he let us do this inside?"

"You know how he is. Nutty for ritual," Ivan answered.

I was wondering who he was when Jaxon linked our arms, like a boyfriend taking his girlfriend on an evening stroll. I whipped my arm away. "Don't touch me," I growled.

Hands up in fake submission, he started down the muddy path leading into the woods. The trail was terrifying in the dark. Trees hunched on the edge of the ravine like predators waiting to pounce. Their limbs twisted overhead, brittle and grotesque. Roth kept the umbrella canopied over me; Ivan guided us with a flashlight and held wet branches to the side to keep them from snapping me in the face. When I slipped, Jaxon clutched my elbow. It frightened me that they treated me like a valuable, delicate package. Who was the recipient?

"Are we hiking to Witch's Castle?" I asked.

"You've been there?" Roth said gaily. "Cool place, huh? Fun little tourist spot steeped in legend."

"Legend. Good one, man," Ivan said as he guided me around a partially buried rock.

"We might witness a legend in the making tonight," Jaxon added, unable to hide his anticipation.

I felt Witch's Castle before it came into view. Grieving auras cloaked us, though I seemed to be the only one who felt them. The stabbing pain came again, and I bent over with my hands on my knees.

"What's wrong? Stand up," Roth drawled.

I breathed heavily through my mouth.

"You can feel them, can't you? All the people who died here," Ivan asked.

I nodded my head weakly.

"You gotta learn to block it out," Ivan said. "Come on, it's better if you keep moving."

I gritted my teeth against the ghoulish remains of human suffering and did my best to tune out the wailing that drenched my aura.

We emerged from the pitch dark into a dome of light. Witch's Castle was lit up like a movie set. Rows of camping lanterns lined the mossy stone walls and dotted the rocky steps. Jaxon led me up the moss-covered stairs and through the arched door to the open cement floor. Rain dripped onto the cracked cement, forming a broad puddle in the center. A faint outline of a white circle was painted on the floor, partially washed away by time and weather.

Silhouettes of boys and girls my age moved in and out of the shadows. A man came up the steps on the far side and met me in the center. Blue eyes. Skinny lean.

Jaxon nudged me forward. "Echo, this is my foster brother, Keenan Feller. The leader of the Mutila."

All the air left my lungs.

"Echo, it is an absolute pleasure to meet you." His eyes were piercing and he stared at me with such intensity, I worried that he was reading my thoughts. And while there was nothing frightening about his rail-thin physique, his low tone and measured cadence made it clear he was in charge. "You, my friend, must be quite a commodity. I heard there was an incident at a mall involving you and an unfortunate attacker. If you want to tell us who tried to harm you, I will personally see to it that he never bothers you again."

He was talking about Solomon, the man from the future district of East Region. I resisted the urge to look at Jaxon while my mind struggled to bridge the gap in Keenan's understanding. Keenan didn't know where his foster brother had been for the past nine years. He didn't know that West Region or East Region or the portal existed. Like any normal person, he assumed Solomon had been from our time.

"I...I didn't know the man," I answered.

"I think he was from a competing faction, one from out of the area." Jaxon lied. "I heard he's already dead."

I threw tentative glances into the dark forest. "Where's Connor?"

Keenan's attention drew inward and two lines formed between his brows, like he was solving complex math in his head. "You do have an affinity for that boy. Bringing him in was a remarkably strategic move," he commended Jaxon.

His foster brother beamed. "She'll do anything you tell her to."

"We'll see. Echo, do you know why you're here?"

I shook my head.

"This is a test, the first of many I will ask you to take. I hear your skills are extraordinary. I look forward to seeing this for myself."

"They are," Jaxon cut in. "Her precision is spot on. She can read auras..."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I blurted, but a jerk of Keenan's eyebrow told me he could easily sort out the truth from lies. I treaded carefully. I had two lives in my hands now.

"I-I can move objects with my mind, but it's completely out of my control."

"Telekinesis," Keenan smiled. "Interesting. What else?"

Jaxon was already pulling his shirt over his head. The mark where I'd blasted him was charred and raw, a third degree burn. "This is her handiwork," Jaxon said.

Keenan's grin broadened. "You did this?"

The apprehension on my face gave me away.

"How?" His voice got low and breathy.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Jaxon shivered--probably from recalling what I had done to him as much as the cold--and quickly got dressed. "Make her show you."

Keenan put his large, bony hands on my shoulders. "All we need is for you to show us what you've got, okay? Can you do that for us?"

I nodded and swiped a tear that threatened to roll down my cheek. "Just let me see Connor. Please."

"You will, sweetheart." Keenan signaled to someone lingering in the shadows. Leaves rustled at the edge of the woods. Moments later, two young men clomped up the steps, their arms latched beneath those of a third person. I strained to see who they half-carried, half-dragged and saw a crop of dark hair.

Any remaining color drained from my face. "Oh no." I ran toward him. His head flopped back. It was Mr. Crane. His face was cut and bruised. He slumped to the side when the handlers propped him against the crumbling wall.

"Don," Keenan said to Mr. Crane. "I'll ask you one last time. Where is the list of gifted kids you've been hiding from us?"

"You know what I want for it." Mr. Crane's swollen lips could barely move.

Keenan paced. "Ungifteds can be so unreasonable. He actually thinks I will pay him for information that is rightfully mine. He should know after all these years that this is not how this works. Echo, I want you to do to this man what you did to Jaxon."

My eyes widened. "That was an accident. I can't do it again."

"How did she cause that burn mark?" he asked Jaxon.

"She shot some sort of electric bolt out of her hand," he replied. "From the way she controlled it, I'd say she's done it plenty."

Keenan blinked. "Out. Of. Her hand." His brain attempted to coil around this astounding possibility. "Echo, do that same thing to the center of this man's chest."

"That'll kill him," Jaxon cut in, and he withered under Keenan's scowl.

"Crane is worthless as a recruiter. He has a list of gifted teenagers that he refuses to hand over. He has no paranormal talent of his own. He's useless in every respect. Do it, Echo."

"Jaxon's lying," I stuttered. "I can't shoot electricity or whatever he said."

"I'm telling you, Keenan, she's the one. If she won't show you, make Connor tell you. He knows what she can do."

"No!" My shoulders shook. "I'll try. I need a second."

The handlers gave Mr. Crane a wide berth. He managed to throw a disdainful look my way, probably silently cursing himself for not handing me over to Keenan when he had the chance. That might have bought him some lenience with the madman leader.

My arm shook. I steadied it. The one thing keeping my fear at bay, and my ability flowing, was knowing that if I followed orders, I was one step closer to seeing Connor.

I could do this. I had to do this.

I inhaled a quaky breath and aimed just to the left of my target. A high-voltage buzz charged through my body. Heat stung my palm. A flash of blue light missed Mr. Crane's head by a few inches, blasting into the ancient gray stone. Rock shards scattered. The handlers ducked. Keenan's jaw dropped and stayed there.

"She's got better aim than that." Jaxon said. "Make her do it again."

Keenan shook his head, his muscles slack, unable to speak. He gawked at me with what I could only describe as greed. "That'll do," he finally whispered. "Take her back to the car."

"What about him?" One of the handlers motioned to Mr. Crane. His face glistened from the close call. He stared at me with a mix of shock and horror.

"Get rid of him." Keenan jerked his head toward the forest. I knew I'd never see Mr. Crane again. 
Chapter 29

Jaxon dragged me back up the trail and stuffed me into the SUV. I drew my legs in and put my forehead onto my knees. I didn't look up until I was instructed to, a half hour later.

"Wake up." Jaxon prodded my leg. Like I could have fallen asleep during my own kidnapping.

I lifted my head. "Where are we?"

"Put this over your head." He threw a black cloth bag onto the back seat.

I threw the bag back. "Why? You've got me, so what's the point?"

He whipped around. "Keenan might think you're the greatest thing to ever walk the halls of Feller Industries, but you're no better than the rest of us, you understand? You do what I tell you or Connor pays. Now put it on."

I slipped the bag over my head. The inside smelled of mold and cat pee. The thick fabric blocked out any clue as to my surroundings. I shook like a leaf. Wherever they were taking me, Connor was there, too. I had to keep a cool head, figure out where we were. Find a way to get us out.

A hand latched onto my elbow and guided me out of the SUV. I canvassed my surroundings by listening. Our footsteps landed on smooth concrete. Car doors opened and closed, sending hollow echoes against walls in a closed-in space. I guessed we were in a parking garage.

A bell rang, the doors of an elevator swished open and then swished closed behind us. The floor pressed against my feet as we rose. My balance pitched each time we stopped. The door opened on various floors, and bodies shuffled on and off. I thought for sure one of them would ask about the shivering girl with a bag over her head. Nobody said a word.

A new sense of defeat settled in. Were blindfolded girls so common that nobody thought anything of it? Or was everyone afraid to offer help?

The elevator stopped one last time and Jaxon--at least I think it was him--led me down a corridor and into a room. Bright overhead light broke through the fabric. The smell of antiseptic burned my nose. My ears pricked at the sound of metal objects skimming against a metal tray, and I sensed that I was in some sort of doctor's office.

My pulse raced erratically. "What's going on?" I reached to pull off the bag, but someone intercepted my hand.

"Sit," Jaxon said. He angled me into a hard chair. "We'll take the bag off in a minute."

"This is number 293?" asked a voice I hadn't heard yet that night.

"That's her," my captor replied.

"Wow."

"Enough staring. When can we pick her up?"

"Give me an hour."

"What's happening? What are you going to do?" I asked. Rough hands held my wrists against the arms of the chair. Someone rolled up the sleeve of my blouse.

"Hold her still," the new voice said.

I felt a prick on my shoulder. The cloth bag slid off my head. Before my eyes adjusted to the light, my lids closed and I slipped into darkness.

*******

I stirred, semi-conscious, under a heavy blanket. I was weighed down with the need to sleep and if my cement-laden limbs were any measure, I needed about twelve more hours of it.

I nestled the blanket to my chin, willing myself to drift back into a dreamless void. It was no use. An itchy spot on the back of my wrist nagged for my attention, and my head throbbed with such intensity, it jarred my eyelids. With each pulse, images crowbarred their way into my gray-blank mind: Jaxon unbuttoning my blouse. Connor telling me to run. The Witch's Castle.

My eyes flew open. In one motion, I swept the blanket aside and sprang out of bed. For one, beautiful second, I thought I was back in my bedroom. A swift glance at my surroundings made my hope plunge. This bedroom was painted soft yellow. Lightweight curtains hung over tall windows that filled the wall. A plush chair, the kind you'd curl up in to recover from the flu, or from a friend's funeral, sat on an ornate rug. A door next to the bed led to a bathroom.

Any resemblance to niceness, to normalcy, was erased by the framed paintings on the walls: a girl with a monarch butterfly pasted over her mouth that seemed to hold back unspeakable secrets; men and women modeled unnatural poses with marionette strings leading from their limbs to an unseen controller. One photograph showed nothing but rows and rows of chains, some rusted, some polished, all unbroken.

I did not remember anything after the pinprick in my arm. The gray daylight streaming into the room told me I had slept through the night. My suitcase sat on a low table. Everything I had packed the day before was there except for my cell phone. I tried the bedroom door but found it locked from the outside. No problem, I thought, I'll unlock it myself, and I shoved my hand into the wood.

"Ouch." Instead of plunging through the door and to the other side, my fingers hit the solid surface and folded. I tried to go through the door again with my fist but bruised my knuckles when they smacked into the wood. What was up? I should have felt Mutila energy, too, but I wasn't picking any up. "Weird," I said. Or maybe it wasn't. My ability never worked well when I was frightened.

I went to the window and looked down. My head swirled. Ten feet or two hundred, it was all the same to me, but I guessed I was at least twenty stories up. The building sat near the edge of a river. On the near shore, I spotted a small ferry made for carrying cars across the water. My mind rolled back to the magazine article that featured Keenan. Feller Industries was located on a private island in the Columbia River upriver from Portland. I bet that was where I was now. We would have used that ferry last night, but I'd been so alone in my misery, I had given up trying to process every bump in the road, every unfamiliar sound.

Far below, a tugboat chugged through the river's choppy brown waves.

"Up here! Help! Help!" I slapped the glass in time with my cries for help.

My voice boomed through the bedroom. It was unlikely that anyone could see or hear me from the river, much less understand that I was being held against my will. Aside from Carina, nobody knew what had happened to me. In a futuristic laboratory, one hundred sixty years away, Carina would be at the portal controls, frantically searching for Connor's auric essence. His father, Mr. McCabe, would no doubt be at her side.

"Carina," I called out. "Can you hear me?" I set my intention on connecting with her. That's how time-jumping worked: you gathered your focus to a pinpoint and set it on the person or place you wanted to go. That allowed the portal to find you, if anyone was looking, and then lock onto you. I held this intention for as long as I could. No column of light materialized in my room.

Absentmindedly, I scratched my wrist and winced. The skin was red and dotted with tiny blisters, like I'd gotten a bad case of poison ivy. I went through my suitcase again, looking for anything I could use to get me out of there. But of course I was out of luck; I hadn't packed with escaping in mind. And besides, I could not leave until I knew where Connor was. I was betting they had him somewhere in this building. I blanched at what the Mutila might be doing to him, and before panic made me immobile, I set my mind to small, simple matters.

I still wore my clothes from yesterday. My pants were muddy from the hike and my shirt stunk with adrenaline and sweat. I pulled my blouse over my head, and the fabric brushed against something papery on my left shoulder blade. Reaching back, I felt a square of gauze taped to my skin. I didn't remember getting cut and could not imagine why I needed a bandage. Carefully, I peeled the tape away and checked myself in the mirror.

"What the--?" A monarch butterfly tattoo stared back at me, scabby and oozing clear fluid. This had to be a sick joke. Connor and Manny had called me Butterfly with love and adoration, and now someone had marred my skin without my permission.

Tears sprung to my eyes. "No," I ordered my reflection. "You will not cry. You've lived in gang territory. You stood up against drug dealers when they wouldn't let you walk to school. You will not let these people get to you."

I replaced the gauze and finished dressing. The deadbolt on the door to my room clicked. Jaxon eased into the room, rail-straight. His eyes drifted onto mine, lazy and possessive. "About time you woke up. Did you sleep well, Princess?"

A depth of hatred that I had never experienced until that moment made me lunge for him. Before my fists could land, he grabbed me by the wrists.

"I trusted you! How could you do this to me?" I yelled.

"Oh, settle down. You were so desperate for a friend you would have sold your soul if I asked for it. Oh Jaxon," he imitated in a high voice, "nobody understands me but you." He freed my wrists.

"I never said that. I never said..." I stopped because what was the use in arguing? I rubbed the red circles where his fingers had gripped and concentrated on driving white-hot electricity into my palms.

He leaned against the wall, arms loosely crossed. "You know what Connor once told me? He was convinced I had power that I could develop if I worked hard enough. It's the ultimate rush, he said, moving objects with your mind, or levitating for the first time. He was wrong. This is the ultimate rush. Handing you over to the Mutila. Wait, I take that back. It was the look on his face when I told him we had you."

I jabbed my palm forward and waited for the bolt to hit him. He flinched and his smile faltered, but the electric charge never materialized. I tried again.

"Don't waste your time, Princess."

My face heated. What was going on with my ability? "Connor will get us out of here. He's stronger than all of you."

Jaxon laughed, hard. "His Highness's superpowers aren't working so well right now. If you want to do your prince a favor, you'll keep your mouth shut. Keenan thinks he's nothing more than a low-grade psychic."

I read the scheming in his eyes. "And what if I tell Keenan the truth?"

"Go right ahead. See what Keenan does to him and carry that around for the rest of your life. Connor is here because of you, and what happens to him next is up to you. Have you ever heard Connor scream? You will if Keenan finds out about his abilities. I wouldn't mind hearing it myself, but I have other plans for him." The corner of his mouth twitched. "How do you like the tat? That was my idea. The monarch is the Mutila's symbol, and you know how much I love ink on a girl."

He turned down the hallway, expecting me to follow.

"Mr. McCabe is going to get you for what you've done," I yelled after him.

Jaxon huffed. "The portal can't find you here. There is no knight on a white horse coming to your rescue. You are property of the Mutila now, and the sooner you accept that, the better." 
Chapter 30

I kept up with Jaxon's clipped pace. To keep from falling to pieces, I memorized my surroundings. A half dozen doors in this hallway, a corridor to the left. Connor and I might use this knowledge to escape Keenan's tower.

The hallway opened to a wide-open living space. Opulent artwork hung on white walls. White furniture sat on white wall-to-wall carpeting in a sunken area. Cold, white marble covered the remaining floor. I had seen this space before, pictured in the magazine. I was in Keenan's penthouse. I made a mental note of the elevator door on the far wall.

The wall nearest me was covered with what must have been a hundred photographs, all showing Keenan hugging and shaking hands with various people. Some of them were celebrities. One of them had run for mayor recently. All of them found a way to discreetly flash the upside down peace sign. If what Gianna said was true, I was looking at a Mutila Hall of Fame.

Keenan was waiting for me. "Good morning. You're looking well." He said this without an ounce of sarcasm. The psychotic glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by stone cold calm.

"I want to see Connor now," I said, trembling. Hearing Keenan's voice again reminded me how easily he had sent Mr. Crane into the woods with his soldiers. How little human life meant to him.

"You will. I guarantee it," he answered.

"What does that mean? What have you done to him?"

"Every time you ask, you will prolong the reunion." He noticed my incessant scratching. "Jaxon, get her some ointment and a cuff." Jaxon exited the room.

"The itching should go away in a day or two," Keenan explained. "Your body isn't used to the microchip we inserted under your skin."

I jerked my fingernails away from the raw patch. "Microchip?"

"It sends an electromagnetic pulse through your system to prevent, shall we say, unwanted outbursts?"

My mouth fell open. "You cut off my ability."

"The chip ensures you won't give us any trouble."

What a sad irony, that the gift I once hated was gone when I needed it most.

Jaxon returned with a tube of ointment. He tossed it at me. "Smear that on your wrist," he commanded.

It was a common anti-itch remedy. I spread a gob over the red area. The ointment stung on the open blisters, but the irritation eased.

Next, Jaxon held out a metal cuff. "Give me your arm."

"No."

The look Keenan gave was a silent reminder that my resistance was pointless and my attitude was not appreciated. I extended my wrist and Jaxon clasped a metal cuff over the chip. The cuff was about two inches wide and the color of tarnished silver. It was heavy, like it had been pounded from the same iron you'd find on prison bars.

"Good girl," Keenan said. "You'll notice a tingling in your arm. I understand it's bothersome but not painful. Am I right?"

"Yes," I answered obediently.

"The cuff overrides the chip," Keenan said.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you shouldn't have to dodge this." Keenan snapped his fingers and a heavy crystal vase flew at my head. I ducked out of its path. It splintered against the wall.

My eyes bulged. He was telekinetic!

"Just so we're clear, you have full use of your paranormal talents as long as you're wearing that cuff," Keenan said.

"Where do you think she'll fit in? Coercion? Destruction?" Jaxon asked.

Coercion. Destruction. I remembered these types of agents and soldiers from my research on the Internet.

"We'll see how she does during the next round of testing," Keenan replied.

Suddenly, I was sliding out of control across the marble floor. I smacked into a wall and began to spin in circles.

"Stop it," Keenan said.

"It's not me. I don't know what's happening." I skidded into another wall.

"I've got control over you. Override my telekinesis and regain control of yourself," he clarified impatiently.

I got down on my knees, because dizziness was about to topple me. "I, I can't."

He sighed and released me. "Either we've met one of your limitations or you're holding back on us."

"She has a problem with fear," Jaxon said. "It makes her weak and scrambles her energy field or something."

"Is that true?" Keenan asked.

I gave him a tight nod. "What do you want? I showed you what I could do last night, now please let me and Connor go." I scoured his pale eyes for a hint of compassion. "Please. My family will be looking for me. They'll go to the police if I don't call." I forced certainty into these words that, in reality, gave me little faith. Kimber would have seen my note telling her I'd taken a bus to Seattle. She would be mad that I hadn't called, but she wouldn't be worried yet.

Keenan pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, and I recognized the red and black swirly pattern on its case. It was mine. He tapped a couple of buttons. Kimber's voicemail message came through the speakerphone.

"Echo, I wish you would have talked to me before you left for Seattle," Kimber's voice scolded. "That boy you had trouble with didn't show up at school today. Call me when you get this message."

"We don't want your parents to worry about you," my tormentor said lightly. "It's not that you've gone missing, you're simply...emotionally taxed and need some space after my foster brother's rude behavior at his apartment."

Jaxon shot him a foul look. "She was supposed to be mine until I was done with her."

Keenan ignored him and dictated a text message into my phone. "Hi Kimber, don't be mad that I left town. I just need time to myself. Oh," he added as he looked straight at me, "I'll call you in a few days."

A few days?

He sent the text and pocketed my phone. His complete lack of expression summed up the extent of his control. He would text back and forth with my dad and Kimber as much as he needed to. His carefully crafted lies would keep them from searching for me. Frustration heated my neck and spread across the room in waves. The lineup of celebrity photos jumped off the living room wall and flew at Keenan. He dodged them, and, quick as a flash, he unclipped the cuff from my wrist.

"See what I mean? She's got plenty of force when she's mad," Jaxon smirked.

Keenan did not appreciate this unexpected display. "Striking out against your superior is a mistake an agent makes only once."

He dismissed Jaxon with a nod and led me to the elevator. He called the car to our floor with a key. The elevator didn't have any buttons on the inside, either, just a series of codes etched into the panel and a keyhole next to each one. Keenan keyed one of the floors and from the way my stomach floated against my lungs, I knew the elevator was dropping.

"What was it like when you discovered you could move objects with your mind?" he asked.

I squeezed into a corner, as far away from him as possible. My head hung, and I let my hair veil my face. "Horrible," I mumbled.

"Were you frightened?"

"A little," I lied. I'd been horrified.

"Fear is a form of weakness. My talent came on when I was three years old. I was terrified of it. My father forced me to develop it."

A ribbon of a conversation unfurled in my head. Jaxon's foster father, Keenan's father, had been a soldier. Those odd meetings Jaxon witnessed in the garage must have been some of the testing for paranormal ability. I shuddered to think what those children would have gone through.

"Sessions with my father were severe," he continued. "No matter how hard he pushed, I never gained talent beyond telekinesis. However, I learned to never let fear control me."

The expression on his face was chilling. His father had abused him and probably used him to get promoted in the Mutila. Now Keenan was building his own army of gifted kids. If he expected me to soften because he shared his sad story, then he wasn't the mastermind he thought himself to be.

"The testing labs will identify that single key inside you that will overcome fear under every circumstance. We will drill for it, go as deep into your psyche as needed. Anger, hate, revenge--these are the gems we will mine. They will allow your power to thrive beyond your emotional barriers."

Testing labs? I squirmed. "I know what you do," I said. "Your agents use their psychic ability to kill people or coerce them into working with you."

His eyebrows raised in appreciation. "Doing a little Internet research, were you? I'm flattered you cared enough to learn about us. Ivan loaded those Web pages. If I remember correctly, anything about the Mutila comes up under Conspiracy Theories. Nice touch, don't you think? Paranormal power is the new perfect weapon. The ungifted are frightened of phenomena they don't understand, which makes them exceptionally cooperative when I send in a gifted agent or soldier to, say, influence them."

The elevator doors opened to a dark hallway. Our footsteps squeaked on the tile floor. Young voices came from somewhere nearby.

The madness in Keenan's eyes returned. "You are not like everyone else, Echo. You are the elite of society. The non-gifted are simple creatures. They hold more power than they fathom. Not paranormal ability, of course. Nonetheless, they could change the world, but what do they do? They hide behind phones and computers and televisions and hand over the most important decisions of their little lives to those who will use it for their own gain. And you know what? Whether they're gifted or not, I will gladly make their decisions for them. This country will reach its peak when the Mutila and its sister factions are in control."

"No," I said quietly.

"Pardon me?"

"I'm not better than anyone else."

He shook his head, ever patient. "Come. It's time to see where your weaknesses lie."
Chapter 31

We entered a wide-open gymnasium buzzing with activity. Dozens of kids my age worked in groups doing what looked like training exercises. The telekinetics juggled knives, swords, and spiked mallets with their minds and flung them at dummies marked with red and white target symbols. The pyrokinetics launched arcs of fire and set their own bunch of dummies ablaze. They each wore a metal cuff on their wrist, which meant they wore a microchip under their skin. None of their efforts strayed far from their targets. They must have been practicing a long time to gain this kind of skill. Weeks, months--years? And this was the kind of training that only took place behind closed doors contained in private facilities. The possibility of my own long-term future with Keenan made me light headed.

Gianna was in a section off to the side, out of range of the flying knives and fire. Her hand rested on a boy's neck, her eyes closed in concentration. He sat rigid with apprehension, his arms braced taut for whatever misfortune Gianna was about to deliver. Gianna's body swayed. The boy quaked into a full-blown seizure. Spittle foamed at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. She released him, and he crumpled to the floor.

"Gianna," Keenan called. She came out of her trance and marched over to us.

"Hi, Keenan," she said flatly.

"This is Echo. Take her through Stage One testing."

She gave me a cursory glance. "She doesn't look like much."

Of course that was how we were going to play this, pretend not to know each other. Gianna's warning was easy to remember. If he finds out I know about you and didn't turn you in, he will hurt me.

"Same to you, too," I snapped, determined to play out our bluff.

Roth came out of the elevator, happy news written all over his gigantic face. "Keenan, we know who's got the list of gifted kids."

"Good job, Roth." He turned to me. "Remember, Echo, there's no room for weakness here." He and Roth disappeared behind the elevator's doors.

In the gymnasium, the boy who had fallen under Gianna's spell rolled onto his hands and knees and tried to stand. His legs gave out and he sat down in a daze.

"What would have happened to that boy if you didn't let go?" I asked.

"He would have died."

I gulped air. She ushered me into a room across the hall and closed the door. A row of human dummies lined one wall. A fire extinguisher leaned against a row of cabinets. The walls were charred with long black streaks, and the air smelled faintly of heat. We were alone.

I grabbed Gianna's arm. "You have to help me," I said. Then, remembering how she reacted the last time I touched her, I let go. "You have to get me out of here. Keenan kidnapped my friend, too." My one true love, I wanted to say, the boy I'm meant to spend my life with. "Do you know where he is?"

Her face was a blank slate, her movements small, a stark comparison to the distraught girl I'd encountered at school. She had become invisible again, moving in tiny, fluttery motions, a battered bird beneath Keenan's radar. "Stage one testing," she recited in a monotone voice. "Minor explosive techniques." She opened the cabinet and dragged out a large plastic crate filled with...piñatas? I did a double take, giving the colorful party decorations a second to register. The papier-mâché donkey, fish, and llama fixed their dead black eyes on us.

"Tell me," I insisted between clenched teeth. "Where are they keeping Connor?"

She shifted nervously, always, always keeping one ear aimed at the door. "I don't know anything about that." She reached for a hangman's cord dangling from the ceiling and looped it over the llama's neck.

"Can you at least tell my parents I'm here? They need to know what's happened to me," I begged.

"I definitely cannot do that."

"Then tell your parents! Tell somebody!" I worked hard to keep my voice quiet, but hysteria was setting in. "God, Gianna. Help me."

"Pay attention," she hissed. "If you don't pass this test, you get marked down. You get enough marks and..." She yanked the cord tight around the llama's neck.

"So that's it? You're not going to get us out of here?"

She spun on me, those wide owl eyes burning. "I warned you. I tried to protect you, and you messed everything up. Why should I help you now?"

"I backed off like you told me to! Jaxon turned me in."

She shook her head and spoke below a whisper. "You were the one person on the outside who I thought could help us."

"Me? What was I supposed to do?"

"Like it matters now." She fixed her gaze on the llama. "All you have to do is pass a few tests, do a couple of missions, and you get to go home."

Hope flowered in my aura. "I do?"

"Don't get too excited." She handed me protective glasses, the kind we used in chemistry class. She put on a pair and settled into an open-eyed trance, then began to breath deeply, the way she had when she set the man on fire at the house. With the chip in my wrist, my aura could not pick up what she was doing. If it could, I believed I would have felt a surge of energy like a heat wave rising off her and into the piñata. The llama started to vibrate as though someone were shaking it to inspect its contents. Tentacles of electricity danced along its legs and head. The fine, bright paper smoldered.

"Keenan'll let you go home, but things will be different. You'll go to school as usual, but when he wants you, he'll send a soldier to get you," Gianna said. "You'll go with him, no questions asked, do the mission, and go back to your life. You don't talk to anyone about the Mutila, even when your parents yell at you and ground you for missing school. You give them whatever excuse you have to--too much pressure, or a bad breakup and so you left town for a few days. Got it?"

My hope sank. "I'm not going to lie to my parents."

"You don't want Keenan going after them, do you?" The piñata exploded in a ball of fire. Papier-mâché spattered the walls like buckshot. Burning tissue paper dotted the floor. "Aw, that one was empty." She dropped the llama's remains into the trash bin.

"I can't do it," I said. "I can't live like that."

"You'll learn. We all do. The kids on that list that Keenan's tracking down, they'll learn to deal, too." She clipped a metal cuff around my wrist. "And don't mess with the chip in your arm. Ever. It's cause for immediate termination."

My mouth went dry.

"You don't have to get worked up about any of that as long as you do what he tells you to," she said.

"Seriously? I'm just supposed to get over it? You were going to jump off a bridge because of the Mutila."

"Don't ever bring that up again," she snapped.

When the cuff settled into place, it was as if a switch went on. A tingle lit my nerve endings and my capillaries opened. Without my power, I only felt half alive. Now I could get a better read on Gianna, too. She was putting on a hard act, but there was fragility there. "You didn't jump off the bridge, and then you ended up with the Mutila again. Why?"

She strung up a donkey piñata. "It's your turn. Do you know pyrokinesis?"

"How did you end up back here?" It wasn't just curiosity that made me press, though I could not fathom what would make a girl go back to the people who abused her. She seemed to know the why's and how's of the group, and so far was the only person offering tips on how to stay alive.

She gave a sideways glance. "If I ended my life, Keenan would make someone else in the Mutila pay. Someone I like. Now do you know pyrokinesis or not?"

"No."

"Then use whatever you've got."

It never occurred to me to refuse. I did not know how I would handle the new life, but the promise of going home made me breathless.

"If you bring your concentration to a point--" Gianna instructed.

"I've got this," I said, waving her off. My energy coiled from my feet upward, spiraled through my abdomen and into the room. The donkey's middle puffed, growing larger and fatter until the paper began to tear. It splattered with a piercing BOOM!, and its contents fell to the floor.

"Ooo, prizes," she said with a complete lack of expression. She scooped two handfuls of candy.

"Can you at least tell me if Connor is in this building?" I asked.

She cast a cautious glance at the door. Swallowed. Her mouth started to form an answer, and Keenan and Jaxon walked in. She quickly set her jaw in a compliant smile and thrust a candy bar at me. "Twix?"

"No," I answered in a ragged breath.

"Yes," she said firmly, pushing the chocolate into my palm. She touched me for a beat longer than necessary, like she was pressing her answer into my hand. Yes. Connor is in the building.

Elation rippled through my body.

"How did it go?" Keenan asked Gianna.

"She doesn't know pyrokinesis, but she can ball her telekinesis and expand the energy just fine. I'd say she's ready for Stage Two."

He turned to me. "Gianna is quite something, isn't she? She's one of my best Coercion Agents, and is now training for Class A certification."

"Thank you," she smiled, munching on a candy bar. "I've got a quiz in third period English, so..."

"Ivan will give you a ride back into town," Keenan said.

I watched her go, trying to imagine slipping into my desk at school, carrying a secret that threatened to bury me alive. But that was the girl I needed to become, because that tipping point lay in keeping Connor from harm. If anything happened to him, it would permanently stain my every breath, my every heartbeat. I would not be able to live. So I had to pass their frightening tests, if only to get out of there long enough to alert West Region. Carina would locate me with the portal. Then I'd tell Mr. McCabe where to find his son, and he would surely send a rescue team.

"You want my advice, skip all the low level tests. I think she's got what it takes to be Class A," Jaxon said.

"Class A isn't only about skill, it's a mentality." Keenan tilted his head, considering me from a new angle, wondering if I had what it took to become a psychic assassin.

"McCabe thinks she's special. Let's find out why." Jaxon coiled a section of my hair around his finger. I swatted it away.

"Don't touch me," I hissed.

"Like you have a choice. You'll do as I say."

In the snap of a whip, Keenan's blue eyes grew dull and hard. The hostility he flashed at his foster brother sent a shudder down my spine.

"Perhaps Echo is Class A material." Keenan turned to me. "When you use your telekinesis, your aura grips the edges of the object that you're moving. Did you know that?"

I had not cared enough to consider this. "No."

He placed two fingers over Jaxon's windpipe. "Apply that telekinetic pressure here."

Jaxon brushed his foster brother's hand away. "I'm not a training guinea pig. Get one of the soldiers in here."

"Do it, Echo."

"But--"

"Remember what Jaxon tried to do to you at his apartment? How did that make you feel? Did you enjoy being overpowered?"

I balled my fists against my thighs. I knew what he was trying to do, and it was working. Hot pinpricks assaulted my fingers and embedded under my nails.

"Knock it off, Keenan." Moisture broke out on Jaxon's upper lip.

"This is your next test, Echo. Will you pass? Or fail?"

Jaxon watched wide-eyed, wondering the chance that I would follow through with this order. He must have been stacking up the lies he told. Counting the times he had pretended to care about me. I certainly was.

I wrapped energetic fingers around his neck and pressed. He let out a single peep and then a gurgle. His hand went to his windpipe.

"Your emotion fuels telekinetic ability at an exponential rate. The difference between feeling anger and feeling fury is the difference between leaving a harmless bruise and causing death." Keenan doled out these facts with the same tone my teacher taught a simple math equation. "If you want to pass, you will need to leave far more than a bruise."

Jaxon's brows strained against his hairline. He struggled to inhale. A blip of emotion, compassion maybe, softened my anger. The image of his face too close to mine, his hands pinning my wrists above my head, made it go away.

"Harder. Do not let go until I tell you to back down," Keenan said.

I squeezed, watching my target's knees weaken. An unfamiliar warmth cascaded down my back, as if I took pleasure in harming him. Revenge, it turned out, gave a satisfying rush.

Jaxon staggered, and his liquid eyes landed on mine. The hostility and cockiness that seemed to anchor his personality slipped away, and for a fleeting second, I saw inside him. I saw beyond his daily struggle for recognition and power. Right before my eyes, his face seemed to melt and reappear as a frightened young boy who had been abused by his foster dad. A boy whose life was filled with weakness and insecurity. I began to feel sorry for him.

Something inside me clicked, and the Jaxon I knew came into focus again. His lips were turning blue. He pleaded for release with his eyes. I did not know what had happened in his past to turn him into a beast and traitor. Taking his life, if that was what Keenan intended, would not fix anything.

"You're weakening, Echo."

He wouldn't actually have me kill his foster brother, would he? Keenan watched with fascination as I debated how many more precious seconds of Jaxon's life should tick away. Jaxon's legs were about to give. A few seconds beyond that and he would never wake up again.

Pass? Or fail?

It felt right to make the person responsible for my misery pay.

Jaxon dropped to his knees.

Pass.

But there was no going back after I squeezed the life out of a boy. There was no way to return to the girl I was. The girl Connor had jumped time for.

I released Jaxon. He took a long, broken inhale.

Fail.

Omigod.

Keenan watched, puzzled and amused. "Why did you stop? Jaxon turned you over to us. Doesn't that make you furious? Doesn't it make you want to end his life?"

"What would it change?" My voice shook. "If I suffocated Jaxon, what difference would it make? Would you let Connor and I go and leave us alone for the rest of our lives?"

"I think you know the answer to that question."

I did. Keenan would never give us up, not like that. I could not help wonder, though, out of necessity, would I trade someone's life for ours? If he did offer our freedom in exchange for taking the life of someone who caused mass pain and misery without conscience, what would I choose? Two days ago, the answer would have been no. Today, imprisoned and facing a future filled with agony, I was not sure.

"Do you know what Class A is, Echo?" Keenan asked.

I knew exactly what that was but shook my head passionately. "Put me in any of the other classifications. I can never be a psychic assassin."

"We'll see." 
Chapter 32

My hairbrush hit the wall with a thud, followed by the bedside clock, a stack of leather-bound books, and my dinner fork. When I ran out of things to throw, I ripped the sheets off my bed, yelling and calling Keenan every name I could think of.

Submission did not suit me.

My fury extended to my dad and Kimber. They were supposed to protect me, supposed to be smarter and stronger and keep me out of harm's way. Why hadn't they seen that something was so very wrong in my life? Why hadn't they forced me to tell them about my ability and the madness I was slowly descending into? This was unfair, I knew. I hadn't trusted them enough to tell them what I was going through. They could not protect me from things they knew nothing about. None of that mattered as I whipped the lamp onto the floor and yanked the curtains from their rods.

I had turned my room, my cage, into a disaster zone, but I didn't feel any better. I'd gotten a whole lot more satisfaction when I was able to telekinetically rip my room apart, when emotion gushed off my body like a flash flood, tearing down everything in its path. Sometimes, after one of my outbursts, I felt cleansed. Now the rage just pooled in my bones.

A cold platter of food sat on the small table--a baked potato, still in its tinfoil wrap, broccoli, and steak neatly cut into bite-sized pieces so I would have no need for a knife. I whipped the potato against the wall, and then immediately regretted it. I had refused lunch and was lightheaded from hunger. Pretty much everything I'd thrown at the wall ended up behind the dresser. Cursing some more, I pulled the heavy furniture forward and reached behind it for the potato and fork. My cheek was squished against the wall, my fingers playing with the fork's tines, when I noticed words etched into the back of the dresser.

John Bardo was here.

So was Elsie Cardon.

Doug Laramie

Gianna Peretti

For a moment, I could only stare. These people had been here, in this room. Were they all kids, like me and Gianna? I could only assume they were gifted, and they, too, had endured Keenan's twisted rites of passage into the Mutila. What had become of them?

John. Elsie. Doug.

I laid my hand on the wood over their names. Its firmness reassured me, gave me a sense of permanence when my life felt so very fleeting. Maybe that was why they had scratched their names into the grain, to leave proof that they existed, that they once walked this planet, even if Keenan was to decide they had no place at Feller Industries. No place in this world.

I debated carving my name beneath Gianna's and then decided against it. Adding to the list of Keenan's victims felt the same as giving in.

*******

The noises you hear when you are half-asleep always seem exponentially louder than they really are. So when the deadbolt on my door clicked in the dark of night, it sounded like a stick of dynamite in my head.

My eyes flew open. I strained to see through the dark so thick it seemed solid. My ears picked up light footsteps and lighter breathing. I froze, groggy and indecisive, while ugly possibilities raced through my head. What if Jaxon came to take what he hadn't gotten at his apartment? Or was it one of the soldiers, coming to finish me off because I failed my last test?

Someone's hand settled on my breastbone and I lashed out.

"Hey, whoa. No need to get violent." Ivan clicked his flashlight on. The ray lit his grotesque face, showing where the burn mark darkened his cheek near his ear and faded to pink where it ended at the corner of his mouth. His cloudy eye had a translucent cast.

"Just checking to see if you're breathing," he said.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I snarled.

"You don't want to know the answer to that question. It's time to get up."

The rush of adrenaline left my legs momentarily useless. I eased them over the edge of the bed.

"Ivan?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know anything about the guy they kidnapped to get me to come here?"

"What about him?"

"Is he okay?"

Ivan hesitated, and I thought the length of that pause would be the end of me. "He'll live."

Before his answer could spark my imagination with worry and what-ifs, I asked, "Gianna said I get to leave when I finish a mission. What about my friend? And when do you think I'll get to see him?"

Ivan's eyes shot to the door. We were still alone. "I think Keenan's waiting to see how you do. What your flaws are and all that. Or if you need motivation."

"I'm motivated! I'm doing everything they're telling me to."

He sighed. "Get dressed. You're expected in the testing center." He lit a path back to the door.

"Wait. Who are...John Bardo, Elsie Cardon, and Dan Laramie?"

Ivan stopped. "Doug Laramie. How do you know those names?"

"I'm psychic," I sneered.

"Everyone knows you're not," he said without malice.

"Who are they?"

"They were recruits like you."

"Are they alive?" The question seemed reasonable in an environment like this.

"All but one." His voice was so soft, I had to lean in to hear. "Why? Did Gianna say something to you?"

Interesting. He had come up with the one name I hadn't mentioned.

"I overheard someone talking about them."

"Not here, you didn't. Nobody would have mentioned those kids, so you'd better get your story straight."

Ivan gave me a muffin to eat on the way to the testing center. It might have been early, but the tower was bustling with people. A somber group of kids left the center when we went in, sweat soaking their t-shirts, futility bowing their shoulders. I hadn't made an effort to count kids during the time I was swept from place to place, but as I walked through the tower this morning, I was struck by the sheer number of them. Some maybe as young as twelve. Others I guessed were a little older than me. All together there must have been a couple hundred. Every one acted obediently, never straying from their designated tasks despite the fear I saw in so many of their eyes.

Keenan met us with a bright smile. "Good morning, Echo."

Yeah, whatever. "You said I could see Connor if I did your tests. I want to see him now."

From the corner of the room, someone laughed. "Is that her? Making demands already?" Luma, the tattooed girl that Jaxon had gone out with, sat on the weight bench. A large barbell rested across her knees. She puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled, the way she would if she were physically lifting a heavy load, but she was using her mind to raise the barbell. I'd seen guys bench-press that much weight, their shirts soaked from exertion. Luma didn't sweat a drop.

The barbell clanked to the floor and she slunk to us with feline grace. Her black gym tights and tank top curved over a sleek, toned physique. A studded collar glinted around her neck. She was older than I first thought, eighteen or nineteen. Her smile was radiant, and I was certain she had polished those collar studs to make them look even sharper.

"Luma, this is Echo," Keenan said.

The girl raised a copper-colored eyebrow as she circled me. "So this is the one from the skatepark."

Luma was partly responsible for wrecking my life. Now she sniffed at me like I was spoiled meat. I wasn't looking for a reason to despise her more, but there it was.

"I think our new recruit has Class A potential," Keenan said.

"That's a little presumptuous," she huffed.

He turned to me. "Luma is my top Class A agent."

"It means I'm the best." She pinched her fingers together and blew onto them. A coil of smoke transformed into the image of a cobra. It struck at me, and I jumped back before it faded. She did all of this without wearing a metal cuff. That would make sense: Jaxon said she had joined voluntarily. Keenan did not need to control a soldier who so willingly did his dirty work. "If you can survive me, you can handle anything Keenan throws at you. Oh, what a great segue into your next test."

She hopped onto a long rectangle arena a few feet above the floor and directed me to join her. I climbed onto the low platform and naturally went to the opposite end, as far from her as the wooden floor allowed.

A hum rose around us. The little hairs on my body rose and stayed there. Static brushed against my skin, and the air wavered along the edges of the platform. About the time I realized we were surrounded by an invisible electric fence, a high-pitched whine snapped my attention to the far end. Luma held blue, glowing orbs the size of a tennis ball in each hand. She telekinetically lobbed one at my head.

The glint in her eye told me we weren't playing a friendly game of catch, and I dipped to the side to avoid the blue ball. It squealed as it flew past, leaving a trail of sparks that burned little black specks on my clothes.

"Wouldn't take too many steps in that direction if I were you," she warned.

The next orb ricocheted off the electric fence and sunk into my lower back. A cold ache sent the muscles around my spine into spasms. I swiped it off, and it fizzled when it hit the floor.

"The electric walls teach you to think fast," she said. "And they keep you honest." She whipped another orb at Keenan. It deflected with a snap and landed on the floor, where it disappeared. Keenan was not amused.

I guessed this must be a defensive test, and raised my hands in front of my face, boxer style. Luma closed her hands into fists and opened them to reveal two glowing orange orbs. They whizzed at my head. I telekinetically swatted them to the side. That was a mistake, though. They bounced off the wall and drilled into my legs, like balls of hot lead. My knees gave out. I got to my feet, fast, and knocked the next two to the floor, where they fizzled. That must be the key to passing this stage, deflecting them downward without getting hit.

"Jaxon's a piece of work, isn't he?" She formed, and threw, two more blue orbs.

I tilted an eyebrow. "That's an understatement."

"I heard he attacked you at his apartment. If I'd had the opportunity, I'd have choked him all the way." Her lips twitched. "But you went easy on him yesterday. How come?"

I didn't answer. If she thought she could shake my focus by dredging up that battle, good luck to her. I was over it. I batted a metallic orb back at her. They were coming fast, but they were easy to deflect. Too easy. I began to wonder the point of the test.

"Me and you, we're more alike than you want to admit," Luma goaded.

"You might get up in the morning looking for ways to mess up people's lives. I don't," I said.

"Wow, aren't you self-righteous. We're the greatest thing the world has ever seen. Maybe not you, but definitely me. I'm part of the destiny for gifteds, the destiny of this country. I only want what's best for society."

"That's the dumbest thing I have ever heard."

"Yeah, you would say that. Ungifteds are useless and soft, but your kind is the worst. You've got a bunch of power, but you hide out with the ungifteds. I bet everything comes easy to you. I've seen that giant house you live in." She saw my jaw tense. "Yeah, I know where you go to school, too. Rich and cushy. You're such a goody-goody. You could have more, way more, if you had the guts to just take it. You're downright pathetic."

I tried not to care about her rant. It was only a distraction. But she was kind of pissing me off, the way she suggested my dad was worthless because he had no ability, and how he and I were lazy. She had never seen the roach infested apartments that my dad and I lived in before his business took off. And did she really think I should bully and hurt people with my ability to get what I wanted? Her thinking was surreal, and I began to understand why she had volunteered for the Mutila.

"Gifteds are superior," she said. "We deserve to own the world. And we will one day, so you might as well give in and admit you belong with us." She sent a barrage of orbs with machine-gun speed. A blur of orange passed through my pelvis and exited out my back, leaving a searing trail. I had a fraction of a second to wonder if I had just suffered internal damage before a metallic ball whistled past my face. I dove onto my hands and knees. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Keenan frown. I was losing this odd battle. Failing his test.

Luma's eyes shined. "We've got your boyfriend locked up here, too, don't we?"

I inhaled a tight breath and clambered to my feet.

When I didn't respond, she said, "Connor. That's his name, right? How long have you been together?" Her arm twitched and a metallic orb missed my temple by in inch.

"That's none of your business," I said as calmly as possible. Instinct told me to steer away from this topic quickly. Luma's attempts to draw me into conversation did not make sense. Her movements were not haphazard, but the way she bounced from topic to topic made me wonder if there was more to this test than keeping myself physically intact. The next ball sliced my shirtsleeve, ricocheted off the wall and lodged in my calf. "Ow!" Little green dots danced across my vision. I grimaced and knocked it out of my muscle. Blood soaked my pant leg.

She laughed. "What did I tell you?" she said to Keenan. "Weak. Just like her boyfriend. Of course, he can't do anything with the chip in him, but if he's as useless as Jaxon says, we should use him as a punching bag for the new recruits. Or perhaps I'll practice on him myself. He's got such pretty green eyes. I think I might like to plant these right between them." Luma made a broad motion, and the air in front of her filled with orbs of every color.

Fury gushed to the surface before I could stop it. When the orbs screamed toward my head, I flung them back at Luma with such ferocity, defending herself wasn't an option. I made them screech to a halt, inches from her flawless face.

"Don't you dare touch him," I said through gritted teeth. My whole body seemed to swell, a tempest of heat and power. "Don't you go anywhere near him, ever."

The balls quivered and hummed. She tried to push them back, but they held. Her disbelief at my boldness reflected in the metallic surfaces. If I let them tear into her, she would get the message. Connor was off limits.

Her mouth twisted like she was chewing something sour. "There's your answer, Keenan. Now call her off."

Answer?

"Pretty green eyes," Luma whispered.

I unleashed a pair of orange orbs into her leg. "If you touch him, it will be the last thing you ever do."

She grunted air. "Call. Her. Off."

My forehead throbbed from the strain of maintaining control over so many objects at once. The orbs began to vibrate, and the vibration turned to a metallic hum. The pitch rose to a high, ear-splitting tone. Any moment now, I was going to lose control.

"That's enough, Echo." On the sidelines, Keenan grinned. I realized too late that he had not been testing my ability. Not this time. He wanted to know where the real source of my power resided. What it would take to unleash the intensity buried deep within me. What it would take to make me one of them.

I had just told him.
Chapter 33

I released my telekinetic grip. The orbs clattered to the floor and disintegrated.

Luma hopped off the platform, rubbing her thigh. "You're going to pay for that."

My legs went weak at the thought of what I may have done. Keenan's eyes passed over me, calculating.

"Luma, call the others," he finally said.

"It's about time." She limped out of the room.

"What I said up there, I didn't mean it," I said. "I didn't mean to threaten a superior."

"You did, but that is no matter. It doesn't reflect poorly on your test score. In fact, I might bump your points up for finally giving in."

"Giving in?"

"Showing aggression and directing it at your target. We still need to pinpoint what fuels you, Echo. You're holding back, and whether or not that's intentional is beyond the point. You're no use to the Mutila if you cannot access the depths of your power on command. Take a moment to clean yourself up. Your next test will begin shortly."

Keenan removed my metal cuff and left me with a box of gauze and tape. I dabbed away the blood and bandaged the gash on my calf. The room was eerily silent with nobody else around, but my brain was a hurricane of frightening thoughts. I had taken a stand about Connor, exposed my feelings. This kind of slip-up did not go unnoticed in the Mutila.

Agents and soldiers came in a few at a time until dozens crammed shoulder to shoulder, all angling for a view of the front of the room. Ivan and Luma got off the elevator together. Jaxon and Roth joined in from down the hall. They greeted each other with hugs, shoulder punches, and jabs to the ribs. The four of them--they seemed to have a higher status than the rest of the soldiers and agents--ambled to the other end of the testing center where a pair of couches, a side table, and a lamp clustered together in a cozy arrangement. A long black window ran the length of one wall. When I first saw it, I assumed it was one-way glass that allowed agents or soldiers to watch us run through the tests without being seen. That theory blew to pieces when I spotted two chest-high consoles positioned in front of it.

The four people I knew tumbled onto the couches like kids getting ready for movie night. Roth's arm snaked around Luma.

"What's up?" Jaxon asked. Green marks along his windpipe reminded me of the damage I had caused.

Luma cracked her knuckles. "It's game time, boys."

Keenan signaled to Ivan. "Throw a light on cell B43."

Everyone in the room stirred. Luma took her place in front of a console. She placed her palms on the metallic surface and put her full attention on the glass. One leg bounced, conveying her eagerness.

The lights dimmed around us, and the room on the other side of the one-way glass lit up. The space was little more than a jail cell, with a sink in one corner and a metal-frame bed along one wall. Connor sat on the slim mattress with his elbows sunk into his knees, his eyes trained on the floor. He raised his head slowly, blinking rapidly as if he'd been sitting in the dark for a long time.

I raced to the window. "Connor!" I pounded on the glass. "Connor!"

The tinted window prevented him from seeing me. He gave no indication that he heard me, either. His lip was swollen and dried blood clotted over the gash. Purple bruises blossomed on his cheek. He glared with unabated hatred at whoever watched from our side. He bounded off the bed and charged at the window. I jumped back, sure he would crash through, but when his body landed, the thick glass didn't even shake.

A heavy scar covered the back of his wrist. Knowing Connor, he had tried to dig the chip out. A chain held his arms to a belt around his waist, probably to keep him from inflicting damage to himself and others. He yelled and kicked at the window. I had no doubt that the cell was meant to contain far larger threats than a pair of feet and fists.

I placed my hand on the glass, as close to his face as I could. "I'm right here, Connor," I said, willing him to feel my presence. His expression piqued slightly, as though he heard my voice echoing from a great distance. Behind me, some of the soldiers snickered.

"Can we start already?" Luma asked.

Keenan clipped the cuff over my wrist. "Echo is ready."

Luma pressed a button on her console. A digital clock above the mirror blinked at ten seconds.

I spun on the group. "Mr. McCabe will make you pay for this! Let us go or you'll regret every minute you keep us here!" My rage bubbled over, and every small object that wasn't nailed down took flight. Couch pillows, vases, small barbells by the weight set all spiraled in a torrential whirlwind and sent people ducking.

"Girl unleashed!" Roth laughed.

"Yeah, man, way to let loose!" a kid shouted.

"Connor's dad will get all of you!" I nailed Keenan with a death glare. "Let him out of there! Until you do, I'm not doing another thing for you."

Keenan's expression was steady. "That's good, Echo. Anger is your best friend right now. Let it build. Funnel it into this test. You'll need it."

Soldiers and agents pulled wads of cash from their pockets. Roth threw fifty-dollar bills on the table. "Two hundred on Luma." Others matched his bet. Jaxon hedged.

"Really, Jaxon? This should be a no-brainer," Luma spat.

"Three hundred on Luma." Jaxon glared at me and added his money.

Ivan counted out a handful of bills. "The girl must be good if Keenan let her in. Two hundred on the new girl." He added to the growing pile. "What about you, Keenan?"

Keenan watched my tele-chaosing with commanding silence. "One thousand on Echo."

Luma curled her full lip into a sneer. "Your loss." She smacked a red button on her console and the digital clock began counting backward from ten. The seconds ticked away, and I slipped into panic. What did they want me to do? The clock ticked to zero, and a buzzer sounded. Luma's attention shifted to Connor's cell. My brain fired hysterically as I watched the ceiling drop.

"Get in the game, Echo. Use the console," Ivan coached. Roth stabbed him with an elbow. Ivan returned the jab. "She doesn't know what to do. I'm not losing money because of a rookie mistake."

Luma planted her palms on the console, all her concentration on the ceiling. With the metal cuff on, I was able to read her aura and from that, her intent. Fear cut jagged against my windpipe when I understood the game. I slapped my palms onto the handprints on my console and sent my intention for the ceiling to stop moving. It continued to drop. What little composure I had began to fray like twine being rubbed the wrong way. Little threads peeled away, and with it, my strength.

"I can't do it!" I grabbed a fistful of Luma's shirt and tried to drag her away from the console. "Leave him alone!"

Keenan yanked me back to my side. "Put your hands on the pads and control it with your mind."

"But I--"

"Channel your rage. Let it consume you and drive it into the console. Push the ceiling back to its rightful place at the top and you will win. If the cell goes dark, Luma wins."

"I told you, she's too soft," my opponent said. "She's got nothing to work with."

They had given me plenty: Mr. Crane's death, Luma's threats, and now Connor's captivity. The events fanned an angry flame, but it was no match for my terror. Connor paced his cell, unaware of our battle until the swaying fluorescent light narrowly missed his head. He dropped to the floor. His face blanched.

"Oh no-no-no-no-no..." Sweat drenched the back of my blouse.

"It's good he's down, Echo. That gives you more time," Ivan said.

"Traitor," Luma hissed at Ivan. The ceiling inched lower.

"You losers want to pay up now?" Roth taunted.

"He was cute, too. What a waste this is gonna be," Luma replied.

"No." I put everything I had into that console and yet the course of the ceiling did not change. "Please, somebody make it stop."

The room was dead quiet.

Now so close to death that he could probably taste it, Connor looked into the one-way mirror and set his gaze on his hidden audience. His blue-flecked eyes were fierce and unyielding. At a moment when most prisoners would lash out in panic, he stared down his tormentors. His jaw held the strength of conviction, the courage of a fighter. Behind that stormy, warring face, was tenderness that only I knew. A devotion that ran so deep, he had risked everything to search for me beyond the barriers of time.

My terror melted and love flared, a roaring heat that rose high in my chest. It tore like a fever down my arms, through my hands and into the console. The ceiling's downward progression stopped. My audience erupted.

"What the--?" Luma snarled.

"No way!"

"Aw, crap."

"Yes!"

"I love you, I love you, I love you," I whispered, pouring every ounce of my heart through my hands. I imagined him stroking my hair, cupping my chin. Lowering his mouth over mine. The ceiling inched away from Connor. A chill of victory prickled down my back.

"She's got it!" Ivan shouted.

"Oh, hell no," Luma said, and she drove the ceiling down again.

For the first time, I noticed the grisly pattern spread unevenly across the white tile floor. Dark red stains spread in pools, streaks and splatters, not far from where Connor lay. The last person in this chamber had not made it out alive.

The fluorescent light crashed onto the floor and shattered. Connor shielded his face from flying glass. I pulled up the memory of our dance at The Great Hall. Stars flashed across my vision, and new life force surged through my hands. The ceiling reversed its course.

"You got it, Echo," Ivan shouted.

"Come on, Luma," Jaxon whined.

She cocked an eyebrow. "You think you're pretty tough?" She hit another button on her console. Four-inch long metal barbs emerged from the ceiling.

"And down we go," Luma said.

"No!" I shrieked.

The soldiers cheered and shouted. My ability abandoned me, leaving a hollowness that quickly filled with despair.

"Shut up! I can't concentrate!" I yelled.

Connor pressed himself against the tile, watching the barbs close in. He closed his eyes. Another foot and it would be over.

I bombarded my mind with memories of us--the first time we touched, the first time we kissed, the way he held me in the horse carriage. It wasn't enough. So I dug deeper, to a place inside where I kept the truth of my gifts dormant, a place so dark, so swelling with power that I'd been afraid to tread there. There was no anger in that place, no room for hate or violence. Love stood guard, a divine protector. I reached down and opened the floodgates.

The room shook. Soldiers were thrown backward. My body jerked in a spasm. Black spots marred my vision. Pain shot between my temples.

For a split second, the ceiling hung motionless. Then, Connor's room went black.

I was too late.
Chapter 34

I lay crumpled in the corner of my room, unable to stop crying since they had dragged me away from the testing center. After Connor's cell went dark, Luma had cheered victoriously and high-fived the others. I'd flung myself at her and punched her over and over. The sound of her skin splitting beneath my fist was the most sickening sound I had ever heard, but I couldn't get enough. I hit her until Keenan wrenched me off.

Luma's triumphant sneer--now crooked and bloodied--confirmed that I had lost the most important battle of my life. I'd screamed all the way back to my room.

Time passed in an endless haze of heartache. Every few hours, someone dropped off a food tray. Based on the number of untouched meals sitting on the table, I estimated I'd been in the room for more than a day.

A wall of grey clouds sat outside my window, blocking light from entering the room, sinking me deeper into depression. It did not matter. My world had ended in the testing center. The moment that cell went dark, I could no longer allow myself to care about anyone or anything that existed beyond the walls of Feller Tower. Keenan had demonstrated his power, and the message was clear. He would take away whomever I loved if I didn't comply with him. To make matters worse, I'd revealed strength that I didn't know lived inside me.

Someone knocked on the door, and it opened a crack. "Keenan is requesting your presence," Ivan said.

"You can tell him to f--"

"Don't force him to come get you," Ivan said before I could finish my insult. "You'll regret it if he does." When I refused to budge, the edge left his voice. "Please. You won't be sorry."

I followed him down the corridor, past the photographs of the celebrity Mutila, to a dining room. A table was set for three people. A lone figure sat with his back to me, his head curled forward in defeat. I gushed a sob.

"Connor!"

Connor lifted his head. Blood had dried on his face where the barbs had grazed him. Fluid from wounds on his forearms and shoulders seeped onto his shirt. He didn't register me at first. When he did, his expression fell.

"They got you," he said. A lone tear rolled down his cheek. I had to remind myself that he had not seen me on the other side of the tinted glass. He'd had no idea if Keenan was really holding me captive until right then.

Connor's arms were still chained to his side, but he took my hand. I cupped his in both of mine, tenderly, in case it was as bruised as the rest of him. He was cold, too cold, and the electric sensation that always coursed beneath his skin was gone. I worried that his injuries ran deeper than I could see.

"I screwed up," he said. "I came with Jaxon because I thought the faction already had you." He coughed, dry and hoarse. His breath was sour, from vomiting, maybe. I would have, if I had been in his place.

"It's okay."

He shook his head. "They used me to get you here. This is all my fault."

"Don't ever say that again. Do you hear me? They knew where I lived. It was just a matter of time."

With the lightest touch, I ran my fingers down his throat. It was the only spot of skin that wasn't swollen, bruised, or dirty. He didn't flinch, so I kissed him there. He let out such a sweet sigh, I nearly broke into tears.

"I'll get us out of here," I whispered, if only to see the life come back into his eyes.

Connor untangled our fingers and slid his beneath my sleeve until he reached the raw patch of skin on my wrist. He dug his fingernails into my flesh--deeply--until they hooked onto the edge of the chip. Then he lifted the chip until it strained against the delicate skin. I sucked in a breath. He locked his eyes on mine in a silent plan. He was prepared to rip the electronic device out of me, right then, if I promised to fight my way out of there and run.

There were a few problems with that scenario. Even if I could get to the elevator, I needed keys to use it. Then I'd have to guess which of the key codes would take me to the ground floor. If I were caught, one of us would suffer for it. All of those barriers paled in comparison to the idea that he expected me to leave without him.

"Connor..."

"I'm not acclimated to your time anymore. If they don't let me go in the next few days..." his lip trembled. I rested a finger over it. I didn't need to hear the rest--that his body would eventually fail if he didn't get back home.

There had to be a way to get both of us out of there. "Contact the portal, get them to lock on to you," I said.

He shook his head. "This place is impermeable. No electromagnetic energy comes in, none goes out. And," he struggled to keep his voice steady, "I can't override the chip. You have to go."

He reached for my wrist again, but I pressed his hand into my lap. My brain spun and wove possible plans. "We'll tell them you need to go to a doctor," I said.

"They have a medical team here. They're refusing to treat me."

"But why?"

Connor's lids closed. He shook his head once, such a miniscule gesture that I nearly missed it. He was keeping something to himself.

What good was it to let his wounds go untended? Infection would set in, and he would become ill. He might die. Keenan knew this. There was a lot I did not understand about Keenan, but one thing was clear. Everything he did, or did not do, had a distinct purpose.

"They want me to see you like this," I finally said.

Connor gritted his teeth. "Keenan doesn't know where I'm from or what I'm capable of. If he did, he'd be using you to bait me. Do you understand? He's dangling my life in front of you to get you to push harder."

I wasn't sure I believed that. "Tell them what you can do," I said. "Once he puts a cuff on you, you can fight. You're stronger than all of them."

He pasted me with a look like I'd lost my mind. "Did you not hear a word I said? I'm too weak to get us out of here, but if they find out I have ability, then you become the punching bag." It took all his effort to lift his shoulders in surrender. The chip, the abuse, and too much time away from his proper place in time had all sapped him. "Jaxon is keeping my paranormal ability to himself," he continued. "Why, I don't know, but it's got to stay that way. Do you understand?"

Considering Keenan's policy of getting rid of people once he was through with them, I was betting Jaxon was using Connor's true origination as a sort of leverage. They might be foster brothers, but loyalty didn't seem to factor into their relationship. Information about the portal was probably Jaxon's last bargaining chip. He would hold onto it in case he had to trade it for his own life.

Connor rested his forehead against mine. "I am going to die here. You have to let me help you escape."

I pulled his hand to my lips. "No deal."

Keenan marched in, his eyes bright. He had slept well last night. "Young love. How inspiring."

Neither of us answered. We didn't even raise our heads. Sitting knee-to-knee, holding hands, the Earth could have crashed into the sun, and we would not have cared. Roth came in with platters of food and set them in front of us. Then he dug a key out of his pocket and unchained one of Connor's arms.

"You two must be ravenous. Please eat. You've earned it," Keenan said.

Connor sprang out of his chair, aiming his fork at Keenan's face. His injuries slowed him, though, and Roth blocked the strike, holding his forearm high.

"Let Echo go," Connor spat.

Keenan touched a finger to his chin in mock contemplation. "Oh, yes. Consider it done. Perhaps we should put you in charge for the day? And then we can all join hands and sing the Star Spangled Banner?" He laughed, deep and feral. "I. Said. Sit."

Roth placed two fingers behind Connor's jaw below his ear. My boyfriend staggered and fell into his chair. "My father will demolish you for this," he growled.

"Speaking of demolish, you should have seen the way Echo fought for you last night. She short-circuited the system, thus ending the match and blacking out your cell at the same time. When Luma found out she didn't win, she wanted to finish you off. But Echo has such an affinity for you."

Fresh realization dawned on Connor's face. "That was you?" He squeezed my hand.

"I tried to hold the ceiling back." My voice quaked. "She was so strong."

"You beat Luma." The corner of his mouth turned up in the tiniest of smiles. He began to pick at the food on his plate and nodded that I should eat.

Butter and syrup dripped from the stack of pancakes. When I thought Connor was dead, I had refused food, but now we both needed our strength. He was single-mindedly working out a way for me to escape without him. I had to stay sharp and figure out how to get us both out.

We were both right-handed, but I managed to eat with my left so we could hold hands under the table. As we ate, his body warmed.

Keenan grinned at me. "What was the pivotal moment for you in the contest for Connor's life? What finally pushed you beyond your limits?"

"Anger," I lied. No way would I tell him the real source of my unexpected power. If he knew love had delivered me over the precipice and back again, he would find a way to manipulate that, too.

"I'm proud of you. Luma has been one of my top agents since she volunteered at twelve years old. Her Class A talent can psychically bring a military tank to a standstill. She has toppled buildings and brought jets crashing to the ground, and you, dear girl, crushed her in one challenge. My apologies for the crush reference."

Was I mistaken, or did I see a flicker of hope cross Connor's face?

"All Echo needed was the right motivation. By the way," Keenan reached in his pocket and flung a pile of fifty-dollar bills on the table, "that's your cut of what you won against Luma."

My eyes narrowed in disgust. "I don't want it."

"There's more where that came from. With your potential, and my tutelage, you'll be one of the most extraordinary paranormal beings on the planet."

"That's never going to happen." I shoved the money back.

"Be quiet," Connor said.

"And when you're done with us? What then?" I spat.

"I said be quiet," Connor squeezed my hand hard.

A few tense beats passed. "Your friend is giving you wise advice. Take the money. You earned it," Keenan said.

"You can't buy me."

He looked at me squarely. "I don't need to. You're already mine."

Keenan nodded once, and Roth hauled Connor to his feet. I threw my arms around his waist.

"Please let him stay," I begged.

"He's going back to his room," Keenan said.

"Let me go, Echo."

"No!"

"Let go of me," Connor wrested out of my grip. He pressed dry lips against my cheek in a kiss and nuzzled close to my ear. "You are stronger than the chip," he whispered. Roth dragged him away.
Chapter 35

My brain exploded and my heart broke into pieces. I sank into the chair. You are stronger than the chip. What was that supposed to mean? I wasn't brave enough to cut the chip out with my bare hands, and if Connor couldn't override it, there was no way I had the strength.

Dried blood had settled in the creases of my palm. I had been careful not to touch his wounds but somehow, his blood found its way onto me. I ran my thumb along the red streaks, and my insides shook. From the first day we met, Connor's ability had awed me. The suggestion of power in those green eyes was enrapturing. I accepted him as a superior being. Indestructible. Invincible. Now his vulnerability stained my skin.

"Are you ready for your first mission?" Keenan startled me back to the present.

Only one answer would keep Connor safe. I dug my fingernails into my palm. "Just tell me what to do."

Keenan smiled his madman grin.

*******

Jaxon, Ivan, and I sat in the parking lot of the Columbia Marina. It was the off-season, but sailboats were still tied to the piers, gently swaying in the river's flow. Their owners clambered on and around the dock, sweeping, washing and polishing their boats with care.

My mission was simple and, for almost everyone involved, painless. Everyone except for one boat owner.

"See the sailboat in slip number three?" Jaxon handed me a pair of binoculars. We weren't that far away, but he must have wanted me to get a good view of my target. The twenty-foot boat named The Kubrick bobbed in the winter water. A man in a green rain slicker uncoiled a thick pile of rope on its deck. I recognized Mr. Lauer.

"That's my principal!"

"He's got something Keenan wants," Ivan said.

"The list of gifted kids," Jaxon added. "That Crane guy must have given it to your principal. I doubt he knows why it's valuable, but he won't hand it over. You're going to change that."

"Mr. Lauer isn't one of you," I said with new understanding.

"One of us. No, he's another ungifted," Ivan replied.

"What happens when Keenan gets that list?" I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

"What is this, an episode of Jeopardy? Get out there and do the mission so we can get back for dinner," Jaxon barked.

Not long ago, his attitude would have stung. Now, I felt nothing. "Whatever." I reached for the SUV's door handle.

"The kids'll be tested and if they pass, they'll be trained for our army," Ivan answered. "Same as you."

"Keep opening your mouth and you'll lose your other eye," Jaxon warned him.

"She deserves to know," Ivan replied. Then, to me, "You know your mission, right?"

I nodded. My conscience weighed the consequences of what I was expected to do. On one side were Mr. Lauer and a list of kids whose lives depended on remaining anonymous. On the other side, Connor's life. I was sure other people would struggle far longer in internal debate, calculating the morality of risking many lives for the welfare of one. For me, the decision took a mere second.

I got out and pulled the hood over my head. Mist dampened my face. Fog settled between the piers and over the water, making the river resemble a long, low cloud. I swung my attention to The Kubrick. I inhaled, breathed out in one long flow, and closed my eyes. I pushed myself into the imagery that guaranteed I would successfully complete the mission.

I let out another long, slow breath and let Connor's face fill the space behind my closed eyes. I pictured him kissing me, and felt every sensation from his body: the taste of his skin, the sweet smell of his hair, his fingers slowly drifting down my shoulder, to my back. Heat swirled across my forehead and down my arms. The energy build-up became so powerful, my arms ached. I directed all this onto the river dock.

Down in the marina, a loud tearing sound rang off the water. Fiberglass crunched and wood split. Men yelled. I opened my eyes. The Kubrick's fiberglass body collapsed on one side. The mast snapped, spraying wood shards.

I blocked out the angry shouts and sank back into my vision. I love you, I heard Connor say. I love you forever across time.

Mr. Lauer dove off the boat and onto the dock. His mouth dropped open as his boat folded itself in half. The vessel took on water and began to sink. My principal spotted me hiding under my hood in the lot above the marina. He saw the black SUV, and his face went gray. He would not have been able to identify me, but he had gotten the Mutila's message, loud and clear. The river frothed and The Kubrick disappeared below the surface. Mr. Lauer's hands went to his face.

A tear rolled down my cheek and I let Connor's peaceful, beautiful image fade. My ability was not strong enough to crush fiberglass like the hand of God, unless I called on the deepest love I had ever known. This enabled me to do unthinkable things. But by following Keenan's orders, I was turning into my worst nightmare.

I did not deserve the love that fueled me.

*******

When we returned to Feller Industries, it seemed most of Keenan's army was gathered in his enormous living room. They cheered when I walked in. Some patted me on the back. Ivan and Jaxon grabbed cold cans of beer and popped them open, hitting me with bitter spray. Gianna handed me one, too. She gave me a tight smile.

"Good job not screwing up yet." She tipped her can against mine. As she wandered back into the crowd, her shoulder brushed Ivan's. Their fingers met in a tiny, nearly invisible caress before she got lost among the other kids. A light went on in my head. He was the one she came back for, the one Keenan threatened to hurt if she tried to jump from the bridge again. Ivan raised his can to his lips, but I spotted the crease in his cheek from a faint smile.

"Did you see the look on that guy's face? If Lauer doesn't hand over that list, he's crazy," Jaxon said.

"Smooth as a long-time recruit," Ivan nodded at me. "You've got an in with Keenan now. Don't mess it up."

"She won't. She doesn't want to end up looking like you." Jaxon looped his arm around Ivan's neck and wrestled him into the crowd.

Cold, thin hands bore down on my shoulders from behind. There was no mistaking Keenan's attempt at warmth. "I watched everything from the SUV's video feed. You did a remarkable job," he said.

"Are you sending me home?" If he said yes, I did not know what I would do. Connor would still be here.

"Tomorrow, after you complete one more mission. We can seal that deal right now."

Keenan pulled my phone out of his pocket, punched in a number and began dictating a message. "Hi Kimber, sorry I've been out of contact, but the time away has been good and I'm feeling much better. I miss you and dad. I'll be home late tomorrow, 'kay?"

He sent the text. A chill bloomed on my neck. He was so certain I would follow through on his orders, so confident tomorrow's mission would go as planned.

"Aren't you excited to go home?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," I answered flatly.

"You need to know what to anticipate once you leave Feller Industries. You'll no longer work at the Smoothie Shack, but I have a part-time job lined up for you at one of the malls. The owner is a close friend. He'll schedule you on the days that I need you, except when you arrive for your shift, Roth will be there to take you to your next mission." He paused, taking in my complete lack of reaction. What did he want, a smile and a salute?

"When you finish the mission," Keenan continued, "Roth will drop you off at work. If I need you during the day, he will pick you up outside your school. You'll continue living at home as long as your missions are successful. For the most part, that will be up to you."

"What about Connor?" I asked.

"Hmm. What about him? That is a good question. Would you like to see him?"

A full minute passed. He cleared his throat and startled me back to the present.

"Yes. Of course," I said again. This would be my stock answer from now on. Yes, I will do the mission. Of course, I will destroy, harm, collapse, or terrorize for you. Otherwise, Connor would pay. I would follow through, do whatever was required, as long as I could use love as my source of strength. If Connor's body failed him, and he died because he could not acclimate to my time, that would only make me love him more.

But the missions would get harder. Keenan would push until I was as ruthless as Luma. When I became that person, love could not possibly survive. I understood, then, why Gianna had wanted to jump off the West Vista Bridge. She had come face to face with darkness so bleak, she lost sight of the light. Instead of allowing it to eat away at her, to devour her day after day, she wanted to let the darkness swallow her whole.

"Echo."

That velvety voice caressed my ear. A warm hand stroked my cheek. I lifted my chin and stared into pools of green. "Hi."

"Hi." Connor wore clean clothes and his cuts were bandaged. They had made some effort to clean him up, but his strength was waning. Fine capillaries webbed his skin. His cheeks and neck were sunken, like he was deteriorating from the inside out. "Are you okay?" he asked.

I nodded weakly. His wrists were chained together, but at least they weren't locked to his sides any more. He lifted his arms over my head and drew them in behind me. He squeezed me against him.

"I'm starting to reacclimate to your world," he whispered. "It's touch-and-go, but I think I'm getting better."

This was both great and horrible news. He might survive the time away from home, and for that I was eternally grateful, but that meant he would be imprisoned for longer. Used as bait while I went out on missions.

Darkness welled in my muscles, my bones. I let the conversations in the next room fade and latched onto the sounds coming from Connor's chest: the steady, certain sound of his breath; the rhythm of his heartbeat--three beats, a flutter, three beats, a pause; three beats, a flutter, three beats, a pause; three beats, a flutter.

"I have a way to get you out of here," he whispered into my hair.

"Not now, please."

He pressed me closer. "If I can get them to send me on a mission, they'll cuff me and I might be able to contact the portal. Once I get home, I'll get my father to send a team to get you. Then you can come to West Region with me, like we've always wanted."

My shoulders shook.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"You're insane."

"My strength is coming back. And I know I said I had to hide my ability, but I can't think of any other way to get you out. I might be strong enough to convince Keenan to give me a shot. I have to try, in case I start to fade out again. It'll work. It has to." He bit back his desperation, but I heard it.

I ducked out from under his arms and brought his palms to my cheeks. They were the only warm things in the room. I wanted to dissolve into them, the way I had when Connor seemed invincible.

"What's going on?" he asked. If I could read his mind, I bet I would hear a tentative voice warning that I was up to something. That voice was right.

I flagged Roth, who stood at the room's entrance, keeping an eye on us. "Tell Keenan I want to see him," I said.

"What for?"

"What do you care? Get Keenan."

He left to fetch our boss.

"What's going on?" Connor asked.

"Why are you here?" I asked him.

"I don't get it..."

"You came here to rescue me, right? You defied your dad's orders, broke into the lab, and jumped time and where did that get you? You nearly lost your life."

"I'd do it again, in a heartbeat."

"That's the problem."

Suspicion dawned in him. "Where are you going with this?"

"Your dad will never come for me, and I'm sorry, but you've got to be a fool to think he would ever rescue me after I've endangered his son's life again. You're the next leader of a region!" I lowered my voice. "You don't belong here. You never should have come. And I don't belong in West Region."

Keenan came into the room. "You wanted to see me?"

"I want to make a deal," I said.

"No, she doesn't. Echo, listen to me."

I held his gaze. There were things he needed to know, things I could not communicate. Things he would never forgive me for:

I had to stop worrying about his safety.

I had to stop loving him.

Then I would have nothing left to fuel my ability. I would have nothing left to give the Mutila.

Keenan would either set me free or end my life.

That was my only way out. 
Chapter 36

"Tell me about tomorrow's mission," I asked Keenan.

He cocked his head at my sudden interest.

"I don't need to know the details. Just tell me, do you expect me to hurt someone?"

"That is the idea," he said. "I expect your full alliance if you want to go home." If you want to live was what he meant. If you want Connor to live.

"Yes," I answered. "Of course. But I need something first."

Keenan's mouth curled in amusement. "And what might that be?"

"Let Connor go."

Keenan chuckled.

"You've already got me, and I'm everything you want. Am I right?" I challenged.

He didn't answer.

"You know it's true," I pressed. "I've proven myself and I know what happens if I don't follow orders. I still have skills that I haven't tapped into, and you expect me to develop them. Connor is no good to you. If I'm terrified you're going to torture him, I'm not as strong. I need a clear head. I can work better if he's not here."

"I'm to take you on your word?" Keenan asked.

"Of course not! You have my life in your hands, my parents' lives, and if you want Connor back, you'll go to his house and take him, right? That's what you do, take what you want when you want it. So why not let him go?"

Keenan considered this for far less time than I expected. "We all know what happens if either of you goes to the police or tells your family."

"Yes, of course," I answered robotically.

"All right," he said. "I'll send him now."

Connor cut his eyes to me, and the corner of his mouth twitched as if to say nice acting.

"No. This is it. I don't ever want to see you again," I told him.

"Okay," he agreed, still playing along.

He didn't get it. I was a bad person, a hypocrite. I had used the most precious thing I'd ever had, his love, to commit atrocities, and this was just the beginning of Keenan's gruesome plans for me.

"I'm serious," I said, my eyes holding his. "Don't show up in my bedroom or in my house. Don't show up in my classroom, not anywhere. I don't want to see you again. Not in this lifetime."

His jaw fell. "Don't do this."

"Take him, Keenan."

"Echo!"

"Don't be an idiot, Connor. Go home," I said. Tears stung my eyes.

Roth led him by the chains at his wrists. "You heard the girl."

Keenan pulled out his phone and dialed. "Roth is bringing Connor down. Take him to the dock on the other side of the river and have a car waiting. Drop him off wherever he wants."

Connor disappeared into the elevator, his unforgiving eyes drilling into mine.

I had pushed Keenan further than I dared and won, but a single phone call from a man capable of cold-blooded murder carried no currency with me. "I want proof that you're letting him go," I said.

"Instead of dumping him in the river?" Keenan chuckled like this was some sort of joke. "Take this." He punched a few buttons on his phone and handed it to me. The screen showed the Feller Industries driveway beyond the front doors.

A few minutes passed and the doors swung open. Connor stumbled into the rain. Roth shoved him into a car idling outside the building. Exterior cameras placed throughout the property followed the car a quarter mile to the dock at the edge of the island. Instead of driving onto the car ferry, they climbed out. Connor began arguing. He pointed back at the Feller Tower. I didn't need audio to follow what he was saying. His lips formed my name more than once. His eyes blazed and his jaw grew tight from shouting.

"Go," I said. "Just get out of here."

Roth and a second handler pushed him toward the pier and restrained him enough to get him in a motorboat. They launched into the choppy brown Columbia River. A while later, they pulled to a pier on the mainland.

Another camera--did Keenan have eyes everywhere?--showed Connor limping out of the boat. The handler unlocked his chains and pointed toward the road.

"A car is waiting for him in the parking lot. He'll be taken wherever he wants," Keenan said.

Connor stared back at the island, that mind of his ticking with alternate plans. The chip was still embedded in his wrist. I hoped he wasn't foolish enough to rip it out and try to rescue me. I hoped my message had sunk in. I'd left no room for misinterpretation.

"That's enough," I said and handed the phone back. I hiccupped to keep from crying.

"Satisfied?" Keenan asked.

"Yes. Of course."

*******

I sat next to Ivan in the testing center, on the couches in front of what used to be Connor's cell. Today, I was expected to cause physical pain to our target.

"Hold this," Ivan said and handed me an earpiece. He was synching a pair of cell phones to the earpiece that I would wear for the mission.

"What exactly am I doing today?" I asked.

"Don't know. We get a GPS code at the last minute that tells us where to take you. Keenan'll stay here, at Feller Industries. This earpiece has a video component so he can see and hear everything you do. He'll give you instructions at the destination."

Ivan had to raise his voice so I could hear. Behind us, in the weight bay, Jaxon had cornered Keenan and was yelling at him for releasing Connor. Apparently Jaxon thought he had ownership over the recruits he turned in. From Keenan's unblinking pose, I'd say he was running out of patience with his foster brother.

"Jaxon's got cajones, I'll say that for him. Why does he care so much about your boyfriend?" Ivan asked.

I almost corrected him. I didn't have a boyfriend anymore. But I just said, "Beats me."

Ivan adjusted the earpiece until it fit snug against my head, his good cheek dipping close to mine. I was taken aback by his skin's smooth, even texture. His good eye was a clear hazel. Before the other side of his face got marred, he must have been an attractive guy. "Are you excited to go home?" he asked.

"I guess." After this mission my house, my bedroom, and school awaited, but also, Kimber and my dad's wrath for leaving unexpectedly, and a new life that I would never come to terms with.

"It's hard at first, knowing someone is watching you all the time, but after a while, you don't even notice," Ivan said.

"So, you like being in the Mutila."

He kept his gaze on the phones, even though he no longer fiddled with them. "It's all I know."

I ran a finger along my cheek, signifying Ivan's burn. "And this?"

"I messed up a mission."

"What did your parents say when they saw what happened to you?"

He stiffened. "They're not around anymore. I've lived at Feller Industries most of my life." He tucked one of the transmitters into my back pocket. "All right, you're ready to go. The headset has a mic, so you can talk to Keenan if you need to. Someone on the team'll cuff you once we get there. Roth and Luma and some of the others'll be with you, too. If anything goes wrong, they'll help."

I huffed a laugh. "Yeah, right. They'll be there to make sure I do what I'm told."

Ivan cemented his hazel eye on me. "We do watch out for each other around here. For some of us, it's all we've got."

*******

I rode with Ivan and Jaxon. Two other SUVs carried Luma, Roth, and a team of additional soldiers. We drove into downtown Portland and then through a residential area two blocks from my house. My chest cramped and I realized how homesick I was. I'd been gone for almost a week.

Ivan pulled into the parking lot at Lincoln High School. My pulse picked up. "What are we doing here?"

"This is the address we were given," he replied. It was Saturday, and the lot was empty save for a handful of cars parked near the gymnasium. Our army of black SUVs crowded the lot.

"This has to be a mistake. I go to school here," I said.

"Your principal had twenty-four hours to deliver the list of kids that Keenan's looking for. He hasn't, so we're kicking up the pressure a notch," Jaxon said.

As we piled out of the SUV, the enormity of what I was about to do set in.

"Listen for Keenan's instructions," Ivan said. "If we get separated, we communicate through him. And don't get any crazy ideas. You do not want to break away from the group."

Keenan's voice came through my earpiece. "Echo, lead the team through the school's side entrance. When you get to the gym, don't go in. Keep to the hallway and stay out of sight of the people inside."

A buzz rippled through me. Not the kind that came as a precursor to my telekinesis. The kind that felt like impending doom. 
Chapter 37

I yanked the heavy outside door open and was met with the scent of sweat, rubber soles, and textbooks. I didn't know until then how much I loved the way my school smelled.

"Move it. I want you in and out in less than three minutes," Keenan said. He monitored our progression through the camera on my earpiece. "Take the hallway on the right. Yes, that way."

The gym's doors were propped open. Ivan put a hand on my shoulder and we all stopped in the shadows. Inside, Saturday basketball practice was in session. Fifteen or so boys ran up and down the court, doing passing drills. The coach and assistant stood on the sidelines, hollering instructions. Mr. Lauer, my principal, watched from the bleachers. I remembered that his son was on the team.

Three rows behind Mr. Lauer, a girl with spikey platinum hair tapped her phone screen. My eyes bugged. It was Becca. Why, why, why did she have to pick this day to watch Lucas practice?

"Are you listening, Echo?"

"I'm here," I said into the mic.

"This is a covert operation. It is imperative that nobody sees you, is that clear?" I mumbled agreement. "Soldiers, get into place," Keenan instructed. The group imprisoned me in the center of a tight semi-circle. Most of the soldiers wore jackets and it was impossible to tell if they wore a metal cuff, or if they were simply there to act as muscle, to ensure that I stayed on task.

Luma snapped the cuff over my wrist. "She's ready," Luma said into her mic.

"Echo, you are going to levitate everybody and everything in the gym that isn't nailed down. Do you understand?"

My voice hitched. "Um, yeah, okay." Cool buzzing fanned over my forehead. Nerves in my arms and hands lit up. On the basketball court, Lucas arced a ball toward the hoop. The ball landed on the rim, spun, and stayed there.

"Hey, check this out!" Lucas yelled to his teammates. A second later, the other balls levitated, then all the boys' gear. They seemed more amazed than shocked.

"What the..."

"What's happening?"

"Dude, check this out! I'm flying!"

Becca screamed, and everyone realized they were rising off the floor. In their panic, they had no idea we were standing just outside the gymnasium.

"Good job, Echo. Take them higher," Keenan said.

"How high?"

"Until I tell you to stop."

There had to be more than a thousand pounds of people and stuff levitating. My strength wavered. I found my memory of Connor, and my heart swelled. Everyone in the gym ascended, their screams echoing off the cement block walls.

"Higher," Keenan said.

"I can't," I answered. I was breathing heavily to keep everyone at this height. The spot behind my temples throbbed.

"Find it in yourself. That's an order."

In my mind, I pulled Connor into my arms and relived our most passionate kiss. Our lips glided together, damp and insistent. I inhaled him, clung to him fiercely. It was easier to imagine this today because he was free. The portal would have found him, and he would be safe, far in the future.

Intense heat flared down my arms, like I had dipped them into a too-hot bath. A sound like a roaring wind filled the gym and Keenan's targets shot toward the ceiling. The soldiers stirred, probably picking up the intense power surge.

"That's my girl," Keenan crooned. I knew the look he would have on his face: blind greed, thrilled with the dominance he was able to wield through his minions.

Hysteria broke out in the gym. The players, coaches, principal, and Becca all dangled helplessly forty feet in the air, marionettes waiting for a puppeteer to steer them to safety. Some of the boys were crying. Mr. Lauer was fighting tears, yelling for everyone to stay still. If anyone fell from this height, they would be crippled, or even die.

"They got the message," I said, relieved that this was nearly over.

"Good," Keenan said. "Now drop them."

"What?"

"You heard me. Let them fall."

"They'll die!"

"Do it!"

"No!" I said, shaking from the strain of keeping them airborne. The kids quivered overhead. I was about to lose them all. I squeezed my eyes tight and scrambled for a powerful vision. I jumped to the last night Connor and I were together in my bedroom, when we were certain we would last forever.

His hand under my shirt.

The electricity beneath his skin.

His sweet voice.

I want to spend eternity with you.

A blast of air rushed through the gym. I opened my eyes. My body began to glow. My aura rolled outward like an ocean wave and the gym exploded with pink light. The school walls shook.

"Luma get the cuff off her and take over the mission!" Keenan commanded.

Luma made a grab for me. I heaved an elbow that landed in her solar plexus and sent her sprawling.

The south wall of the gymnasium collapsed. The soldiers dove for cover. The freshman wing shuddered and one of its brick walls crumbled in a cloud of dust.

The levitated people swayed and fell. I thrust a telekinetic cushion beneath them. Twenty feet above the court, they landed softly and held.

"Drop them!" Keenan screamed into my ear.

I threw my earpiece on the floor. Luma snagged my wrist and tried to peel the cuff off. I twisted out of her grip. My wrist burned with lava-hot intensity, heating the metal so that the cuff seared my skin.

The energy barrier holding the gym spectators convulsed. A thunderous CRACK! split the air and they fell again. In one explosive burst, I slowed their fall. They touched down lightly, bounced, and rolled the last few feet to the floor. A couple players grabbed their ankles. Becca fell onto the bleachers but got to her feet and ran for Lucas.

An eerie wail drew everyone's eyes past the fallen walls. My aura was rolling back in. It crashed toward us in a softer pink wave, rebuilding the walls, brick by brick. Broken glass mended itself. Cracks and fissures melted closed. The school reconstructed in front of our eyes.

Three dozen jaws dropped.

Luma snapped out of it fast. She unclipped my cuff and hauled me out by the neck of my jacket before anyone saw us. "You are dead meat," she spat.

The rest of the Mutila hurried out the door, throwing awestruck glances at the restructured building.

"What happened back there?" one of the younger soldiers asked, incredulous.

"She regenerated the scene." A soldier in his twenties shook his head.

The younger one could not tear his eyes away. "I've never seen anything like it."

"You're not supposed to," Luma yelled. "Our job isn't to put things back together."

Next to us, two lone bricks rose off the ground and slid into their rightful spots on the wall, like they'd been called home. Luma stuffed me into the back of Ivan and Jaxon's SUV and stomped to her vehicle. The army sped toward Feller Tower.

"You just pulled the worst move on the planet." Jaxon shook his head, hard.

"I know those people! I would never do what he told me to, not to anybody." I pulled at the door handle. The childproof lock was in place. "Let me out of here!" I stretched for the door control on the front console and Jaxon shoved me into my seat.

"You're not going anywhere. We lose you and we take your punishment," he said.

I crushed my face into my hands. Keenan wasn't going to let me go home. Whatever he had planned now was more than I could bear to think about. Ivan's burn mark was a testament to the penalty I faced. Nausea set in.

"She's going to puke," Jaxon warned.

"Get a hold of yourself, Echo. You're going to make things worse if he sees you fall apart," Ivan said. Our SUV slowed down.

"What are you doing?" Jaxon hissed.

"She needs to pull herself together," Ivan answered.

"She needs to get what she deserves."

"Echo, how did you do that? Reconstruct the building?" Ivan's tone was gentle and sincere.

"I don't know." I didn't care, either. There was a strong chance that my life was about to end. I would beg for Keenan's mercy but then what? I'd be right back where I started, preparing for the next mission, forced to cause unthinkable pain to more targets.

I should have jumped off that bridge when I had the chance three weeks ago. My dad and Kimber would have been devastated, but even that would have been an improvement over the events that unfolded. Connor never would have been captured and tortured. I would be long gone, on my way to my next life.

The unthinkable ahead of me, I filled my thoughts with my soulmate and what we'd had and how I would do anything to have it again, in this lifetime or the next. I found Connor's perfect face in my mind and held it there until my pulse beat so hard, I wouldn't have been surprised if Jaxon and Ivan heard it. This made my wrist burn until it ached to the bone. The skin over the chip blistered and smelled like charred meat.

Jaxon wrinkled his nose. "What stinks?"

Ivan fanned the air. "Excuse me."

"It smells like burned steak," Jaxon complained and opened the window to let fresh air in.

"It smelled like that when I ate it, too," Ivan laughed. He snuck me a glance in the rearview mirror. A grinding sound came from under the hood.

"Something wrong with the truck?" Jaxon asked.

"Engine trouble," Ivan replied. His eyes were wide in the mirror. "Echo, how're you doing back there? You feeling better?" His voice sounded off, on the high side. He caught my gaze again and slowly led my attention to the dashboard. The dials spun erratically. The engine light blinked.

A thin trail of smoke rose from the wound on my wrist. The smell of scorched microchip plastic stung my nostrils.

I was overriding the chip.
Chapter 38

Jaxon hauled me out of the SUV and into the elevator with the rest of the team. He checked his phone. "My cell's not working. Anybody else got reception?"

"Nope," Luma answered. Other soldiers shook their heads.

"My signal's fine," Ivan said without bothering to check. He dug his fingers into my arm. His aura was sending out a mix of alarm and compassion. Mostly alarm.

Keenan was pacing in his living room when we stepped into his penthouse. He pinned me with a black scowl. The full force of his rage slammed into my body.

"Leave us," he said, and everyone scattered. "Luma, stay."

"Goody," she said, not even trying to conceal her eagerness.

Keenan turned to me. "We have no tolerance for lack of loyalty. I thought you would have learned that much in the short time you've been here."

His voice was low and dangerous, but my rage pitched to the surface. "You wanted me to kill those people!"

"We had an agreement, one that you set in place. What would have happened today if I had refused to let your friend go? Would you have completed the mission then?"

"You can't turn me into a monster," I shot back.

"Nearly every one of my agents has said that at one time or another."

"Not me." Luma's mouth curved into a predatory smile.

"No, Luma, you were born for this work." He jerked his head. "In the back."

She left the room. I scrambled for options. I doubted Keenan would listen to reason. How strong was I without the cuff? If I could disarm him and get his keys, I could make a run for it. I had to guarantee a disabling hit, though, or I would not make it far. He needed to get closer.

"I took a chance, negotiating with you yesterday," he continued. "I'm glad, though. Giving in to someone's demands can be very revealing. I see, now, that loyalty is not one of your strong suits." He closed the distance between us and my insides turned to liquid.

"I-I-I'm sorry," I said. "I-i-it was wrong of me."

"Sorry does not begin to describe it."

Now, I commanded myself, do it now. I angled my palm toward this horrible man. Aimed for the center of his chest.

A low moan stopped me cold. Luma came in dragging Connor behind her. Fresh panic slammed through me. A chain encircled his neck. His arms were no longer chained, but it did not matter. They hung limp at his side. The bruises on his head were deep and the gashes on his face had reopened. He hobbled on one leg, his expression vacant.

I lunged at Keenan. "You said you let him go!"

Keenan twisted his lips into an ugly smile. "I'm sorry," he mocked. "It was wrong of me. Did you actually think we were going to let this boy get any farther than the parking lot? You overestimate your influence here, and it occurs to me that I may have treated you too softly. You have tested boundaries that most recruits do not survive. Failed missions. Attacked your superior. Lied. And you," he said to Connor, "I know you are hiding ability."

"He's not. He's barely even psychic." I ran to Connor's side and linked my arm in his.

He shook me off. "She's lying," he rasped. "Get a cuff on me. Test me. Echo's a baby compared to the abilities I've got. Let her go and I'll show you."

Keenan circled us. "We're going to play this game again? You've refused to show us anything."

"Jaxon knows. He's been keeping it from you," Connor retorted.

Red hot needles erupted off Keenan.

"Be quiet, Connor," I pleaded. He was in no condition to fight. Maybe he thought he had some reserves left. I didn't see how. He could barely stand upright. But if he did, the two of us might be enough to overpower Keenan and Luma.

"Connor's right," I said. "Test him."

"Shut up." Connor's words struck me with the force of a punch. "Jaxon's been lying to you the entire time," he said to Keenan. "About where I'm from. What I can do. Your foster brother's got you on a leash, Keenan," he laughed weakly, "and you are too blind to see it."

"Put a cuff on Connor. He'll show you," I said, praying this plan would work.

"I said shut up. It's your fault we're in this disaster. This is between me and him." He glared at our captor with crazed eyes. "What else is your little brother hiding from you?"

The possibility sent a spasm through Keenan's shoulders. The tendons in his neck stood out. While he might have believed us, he wasn't about to let Jaxon's disloyalty distract him.

Keenan's jaw muscles hardened. "Every recruit has a breaking point, that place where we finally have the ultimate understanding about their role here. Apparently we haven't reached that understanding with either of you." He formed a 'V' with two fingers, pointing at Connor and I simultaneously. He gave Luma a tiny nod and she made a slight motion. Connor's arm involuntarily extended straight in front of him. It bent at an impossible angle. He moaned.

"Connor's telling the truth. I'll tell you everything," I pleaded.

"No more negotiating," Keenan said.

Luma twisted Connor's arm behind his back. He coughed in agony. I lunged at her, but a small jerk of her hand sent me sprawling. He saw me set my intention on Luma, saw the singed skin on my wrist, and registered what I was about to do.

Go, he mouthed.

I stopped. He was too weak to run and I had no way to get him to safety after I immobilized the other two. And then they would know that my microchip had failed.

"Pay attention, Echo, we're learning about your breaking point, too," Keenan said. "Take the boy's hand and transfer the pain to yourself."

"I don't understand." I could barely hear him over the pounding in my ears.

"You're an empath. You can't help but pick up other people's emotions. Now do it on purpose. Draw his pain away and take it as your own. Your friend thinks you are the reason he's imprisoned here. If you agree, take his pain away."

Connor's lips pulled back in a grimace. His breath hissed through clenched teeth.

The instinct to avoid pain at all cost made me hesitate. I was not made for this. I was not strong enough. But then, pulled by a force higher than myself, I moved toward him.

"Don't come near me," he cried.

"Motion to assist denied," Luma said. "So much for true love."

I clamped my hand onto Connor's shoulder. My mouth formed omigod, but I emitted soundless air. The feeling that tore into me could not be described as pain. I had experienced the ache of a twisted ankle, broken ribs, a bruised skull. The sensation coming through Connor tore at my consciousness, threatened to send me into a blackout. The days of cumulative abuse poured out of his body and into mine. As if from a distance, I heard myself wail. My legs gave out and the sheer force of energy flow flipped me backward, landing me at Keenan's feet.

"Let him go! Let him--" My plea was cut short by the sound of a bone snapping. Connor screamed. I threw up on Keenan's shoes.

"Disgusting." Luma wrinkled her nose.

The smell of bile sent me into dry heaves. Keenan pinched his nose against the odor.

"Luma, finish the lesson," he said and hurried out of the room.

She telekinetically bent Connor's middle finger backward. "This is for Echo making a fool of me in the testing center."

"Echo, leave." Connor's voice was husky from pain.

The savage that they had mined for came alive. I swept my arm across Luma, hurling gales of pent up violence and rage, and sent her flying across the room. She collided with the elevator door with frightening impact and collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Chapter 39

Smoke billowed from my arm, and if I hadn't already barfed, the sizzling flesh would have sent me over the edge.

"I knew it," Connor said, on the edge of consciousness. "I knew you could do it."

I patted down Luma's limp body. "Where are the keys? We need them to get out of here." I rolled her over and checked the rest of her. She let out a low moan. The keys were nowhere. I wrapped Connor's good arm around my neck and helped him to his feet. He swayed and his full weight buckled my knees. I anchored my other arm around his torso.

"This way," I said, hobbling down the hall that led to my bedroom. I opened every door on the way down the hall. We found bedrooms or closets. No stairwells, no more elevators. The central elevator really was the only exit point.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm so proud of you," he rasped.

In my bedroom, I rested him in a chair. He sat hunched over, clutching his broken arm. "About what I said back there, about this being your fault. I was trying to throw them off. I thought it would help if we looked like we were breaking apart."

I nodded and concentrated on barricading us in. With my telekinesis, I shoved the dresser in front of the door, then the bed and the desk. That would hold them back for a few minutes. Then what?

"Connor?"

"Yeah?" He floated his green eyes over my face.

"I'm feeling like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."

"Should I know these people?"

"They didn't have a way out. We don't, either." I knelt in front of him, resting my hands on his thighs. "I don't know what to do."

"What's outside the window? Can you see the river from here?"

"Yes."

"Open the window."

"They don't open."

"Make them."

"And then what? Hide on the ledge? We're twenty floors up!"

"You need to blow out the glass and levitate down the side of the building."

I nearly choked. "I've never levitated more than a few dozen feet."

Our conversation moved at a rapid-fire pace.

"You can do this, Echo. You overrode the chip."

"I know I'm strong enough; it's the height. Connor, I can't." I got dizzy thinking about getting near the ledge. "You have to fly us down. I'll levitate us across the river."

"I was lying back there," he said. "I've got nothing left. Why do you think we're still in this situation?"

"We'll fall to our death!"

"We won't. Now go to the window and put your hand on it. Imagine there is no glass, only air."

I did as he instructed, and the cold pane quivered beneath my palm, shimmered, and dissolved. Wind gusted into the bedroom and pushed me off balance.

"Omigod." I staggered backward.

Loud voices boomed in the hallway. Someone rattled the doorknob.

A thought crossed my mind, one that was both sickening and reassuring. Once we stepped on that ledge, Connor would figure out a way to get us to the ground safely. He would never let anything happen to me. "Let's do this," I said and reached to help him up. He didn't move.

"Once you're on the ground, it's only a few hundred yards to the river. When you get to the other side, find a place to hide," he said.

My entire body went numb. "I'm not leaving you here."

"Someone will be searching for me with the portal. They'll find you and you can tell them I'm at Feller Tower."

"Keenan will kill you!"

"Listen to me. If I take us out that window we are as good as dead. I cannot fly us down. Do you understand this? Tell me you understand." He squeezed my arm and tried to shake his words into me.

"I won't go without you. They'll have to kill us both." I swallowed hard.

"That's exactly what cannot happen. You have to survive this."

A body slammed against the door. The furniture shook.

"No," I whispered.

"Get her out of there!" Keenan bellowed from the hallway.

"Go!" Despite his injuries, Connor dragged me to the window and tried to shove me out. The wind plastered my hair against my face.

"I'm not going!" I grabbed his waistband.

The bed flew away and smashed against the far wall. The dresser sailed across the room and splintered to pieces. The door opened.

Keenan's face was blaze red. Roth, Jaxon, and Ivan came in behind him. They froze when they saw me leaning out the window. Keenan's expression did a one-eighty. He forced a smile.

"Falling to your death is so theatrical. Come away from there, and Connor can be included in our conversation." He spread his hands, a gesture of surrender.

"You don't need him, just the girl," Jaxon said.

"Nonsense. Both of you are important to me. Luma won't be allowed to lay a hand on either of you. You're too young to die."

"I welcome it," Connor said.

"Please. Don't do this," I begged.

Connor leaned back, shoving me out beyond the ledge. Blood pounded through my head. I saw the ground below and my vision got fuzzy. I latched onto the window frame to keep from falling out.

"Bring her back in and we can talk," Keenan said.

"Or what? You'll sic your soldiers on me? If you had much ability of your own, you wouldn't have to surround yourself with gifteds. One day, they'll all turn on you."

The lamp hit Connor in the head so fast, he never saw it coming. Roth and Jaxon charged us.

Connor reeled from the blow to his head. "Echo, go!"

"Not without you." I lashed my arms around him and let our weight carry us backward out the window.

Keenan's howl clashed with my scream. The wind thundered in my ears, whipped and snapped at our clothing. The tower whizzed by in a gray blur.

And though the seconds ticked perilously by, the irony of the situation was not lost on me. Not long ago, I welcomed death. All I'd wanted was to move into my next life, find my soulmate and start our life together. In my effort to save us from Keenan, I had unintentionally set this very future in motion. Except this wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. Connor's body was warm against mine. In another few seconds, both of us would be stone cold.

I would not let my soulmate perish like this.

With that intention firmly entrenched in my mind, my body heated and my forehead buzzed. The chip sizzled. Our descent began to slow. Gradually, resistance formed between us and the earth until we were suspended on a downy cushion.

The wind pushed us toward the building, and I used my remaining strength to drive us closer to the river. My knees crashed into the wet soil. I levitated us off the ground a few inches and fell back into the mud. It was no use. I was done.

"Stay with me. Just a little farther," I said and pulled his semi-conscious body upright. Blood poured from the gash in his head. His one leg was near useless. The last fifty yards to the river may as well have been a mile. But we made it.

At the pier, I searched frantically for the motorboat. The ferry was docked on the far side of the river and the boat was nowhere to be found. We would have to swim for it. We splashed into the water. Connor's knees gave out.

"Up! Stand up!" I barked, hitching my shoulder into his armpit. His head rolled back. "We'll levitate for buoyancy, okay? And we can paddle across. It's not so far." But it looked so very, very far. The dark water was freezing cold and moving fast. Mud sucked at our shoes. His leg dragged. I scanned the waves for passing traffic. Barges and fishing vessels navigated the Columbia River constantly, but there wasn't a boat in sight.

Two cars raced from Feller Tower toward the river.

Connor's body suddenly took on more weight. "Connor, wake up." I splashed water on his face. He opened his eyes. "Please don't leave me," I whispered.

The vehicles sprayed gravel on the waterfront and came to a sudden stop. Keenan and his men scrambled out.

"Someone get the boat!" he yelled. Then, "Echo, come back to shore."

"I'll get her." Jaxon jogged to the waterline, peeling off his shirt and shoes. Anger pumped into my forearm. I took the last of my reserves, raised my palm and blasted him. He fell to the sand, struggled to get up and fell still. The attack took more out of me than I anticipated, but I shot at Keenan's head. The bolt was weak and poorly aimed. It nicked his thigh, sending sparks into his men. He shrieked. His team marched backward.

"Go after her!" he yelled.

The soldiers took tentative steps toward us. I pulled us deeper into the river. Connor fell to his knees, and the water flowed over his shoulders. A motorboat's engine buzzed across the water. Over the cresting waves, I saw a watercraft headed in our direction. A Mutila boat. Carrying Mutila soldiers.

My teeth chattered violently. "Get up!" I screamed. Connor sank deeper.

"You'll never make it across," Keenan called from the bank. "You don't have to end things this way." His team waded in up to their knees.

"Stay away from us!" The freezing water licked at my chin. A wave curled over us and we went under. I kicked to the surface and coughed water.

Connor gave one last push. His eyes went glassy.

"Connor! Connor!" He didn't respond.

"Bring them in," Keenan ordered.

I cradled Connor's face above the water. "Wake up!" I cried. "Please wake up."

The boat steered next to us and the soldier looped a rope around my midsection. A spiny current clawed at the top of my head. I fought against it, flailing my free arm at the force that now took over my body. An electric sensation buzzed down my spine, into my arms, and into Connor. His beautiful, lifeless face glowed with pale white light. He began to fade.
Chapter 40

Angels surrounded me. They swooped in to wipe my brow and soothe my fever. They bathed me in warm light. When my breath halted, they sighed life into my starving lungs. When I screamed from visions of demons, angels held me tenderly and chased the evil away. One of them, plump and with a crooked face, was a constant at my side. His hand stayed wrapped around mine, his touch always gentle, reassuring.

I sank into my newfound peace on the way to my next life. The transition brought on by my death was much easier than I imagined. I had a vague sense of the hell I had endured, of events gone wrong that I had failed to fix. But the horror and fire, the fear and blood, were behind me.

I lost connection with any physical sensation. The pain that once ripped through my body was absent. In fact, I had no sense of humanness at all. I was graced into oneness with everything around me, cocooned in an overwhelming sense of beauty and love. Connor was there. Though I could not see him, I felt him, pure and beautiful, merging with me in his afterlife form.

This must be what it was like to be fully consumed by someone from the inside out, to have your vacantness filled. This must be what it was like to finally be with your soulmate.

My eyelids fluttered.

If I were dead, surely I wouldn't feel my eyelids. Or air warming my throat and expanding my ribs. What if I was reborn already? Was I prepared for this? Once I passed through the other side and was birthed into human form again, would I remember that I was looking for him? I would have to depend on luck or fate or intuition to bring us together because once reborn, we would be in different bodies. There would be no scanning the crowd for a raven-haired boy with tropical green eyes. The search for each other would start all over again.

My heart grew, shrank, and beat steadily. My lids fell open.

A room came into focus. The low railing on my bed was my first clue that I had not been reborn. I was in a hospital but unlike any I'd seen before. Blue walls hummed with the delicate, silvery music of wind chimes. Cinnamon and vanilla played with the scent of marigolds.

Something prompted me to look at my wrist. It was wrapped in gauze and throbbed when I bent it. Jigsaw thoughts came rushing back: I had escaped from Keenan. I must have been caught again. I had to get away, fast.

I slipped out of bed onto woozy legs. A draft ran up my light nightgown, sending goose bumps skittering up my back. I went to the window and was struck with a sense of déjà vu. Hadn't I recently escaped through a window? No matter. I'd do it again.

Warm sunlight flooded into the room. I was a couple of stories up this time. A garden below was in full bloom. That should offer me a soft landing. Confusion nudged away my desire to flee. Gardens? The last thing I remembered was trying to cross a cold river in the dead of winter. Had I slept all through spring and into summer? Or had Keenan taken me somewhere else?

My answer came in the most astounding way. The mass of flower heads opened and closed in a deliberate pattern, spelling the word "Welcome" in red. Below it, "Echo" bloomed in yellow. They closed and opened again with a new message: "Thank you, Butterfly."

A mix of relief and joy spilled over me. There was only one place where this kind of beauty and magic existed, but if I was in West Region, where was Connor? I dragged my legs toward the door. After a few steps, I bent over, winded. Manny found me swaying in the middle of the room.

"Butterfly! I sensed you'd woken up. You shouldn't be walking yet." He ushered me back to bed.

Manny was one of the region's super-gifted individuals. I had watched him create dresses out of thin air and read minds and project the future. He was the one who told me that Connor and I had a future together, and that we had to be patient about it. When I pressed him for details, he didn't give me the answers I wanted to hear, but I respected and adored him just the same.

Before I could barrage him with questions, a dark-haired wisp of a man levitated into the room.

"Echo, this is Devon, our best healer," Manny said.

"The one responsible for your astounding recovery." Devon ran his palms over my hair, smoothing it and sending calming waves into my head. "We've all been waiting impatiently for you to wake up and fill in the details of what happened."

Oh no. If Connor were okay, he would have explained everything. For a passing moment, I wondered if he was the one who died and what I'd experienced while I was unconscious was our souls mingling for one last golden kiss before he went on to another life. Without me.

Devon pushed me back onto my pillow. "You need to rest. Whatever you've been through completely drained your vital organs. We're practically recharging you from the inside out."

"We put you in an induced sleep so Devon could perform intensive healing," Manny said. "Your heart stopped when you went through the portal."

Manny, I whispered to him in my mind, because no way could I ask my greatest fear out loud. Where is Connor?

Telepathic communication was a one-way street though. "He will be okay," he answered out loud.

"But he's not now?" I gripped his plump hand.

"His injuries were far more extensive," Devon said. "Lacerations, internal bleeding, molecular breakdown due to his extended journey into your time..."

I winced. Manny waved him off. "Connor will heal completely. We put him into a deep sleep, too, to expedite his healing. He hasn't woken up yet, but I can tell he's dreaming about you constantly."

Devon circled his hands a few inches above my body, as though measuring the fever coming off me. "Her vitals are soaring. Give her more news like that, Manny, and we'll have this girl flying loops in no time."

I offered a frail smile. "I want to see him."

"I'd rather you stay here and rest," Devon said.

"But I'll get better faster if I'm with Connor. Right, Manny?"

Manny smiled crookedly. "She's right. I don't think President McCabe would mind."

"Mind what?" Mr. McCabe said as he entered the room. Connor's father spoke at a hospital-acceptable level, yet his commanding voice made me sit upright. The last time I was in West Region, I had tried to make a case for how his son and I should be allowed to stay together. Mr. McCabe hadn't cared for me one bit then. I doubted he'd warmed up any after his son nearly died coming after me.

"I--" I cleared the nervousness from my throat. "I asked to see Connor."

Mr. McCabe sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand. "And so you should." The skin around his eyes was wrinkled and dark. Deep lines ran from the outside of his nose to the corners of his mouth. The hardened man that I'd met a few months ago smiled with paternal warmth. In that smile, I finally saw the family resemblance to the boy I loved.

"The only time President McCabe left his son's side was to check on you," Manny said.

I didn't understand Mr. McCabe's show of affection, but I wasn't about to turn it away. They helped me to Connor's room and sat me in a chair next to his bed. His complexion was healthy and his lips were flushed. He slept soundly. I scooted the chair as close as I could and laid my hand along his neck. Electricity buzzed beneath his skin. To me, this tingling was as good as a fountain life.

"Can you hear me, Connor?" I asked.

His breath drew in and out, steady and reassuring.

"I'm here. I'm okay. I love you," I whispered. I nestled my head onto his shoulder and drifted to sleep.
Chapter 41

I woke up in my own hospital bed, but now I was in Connor's room.

"There she is." My soulmate's voice was gravelly. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

I blinked back tears. "You're awake." I climbed onto his bed, curling my legs under my nightgown. His eyes were bright, but the memory of his broken body was too fresh. Gingerly, I stroked his cheek with the backs of my fingers.

"You don't have to be so careful. I'm nearly healed." He eased a hand around my neck and smoothed my hair. Then he guided me closer until we could feel the breath coming out of each other's mouths. I lowered my lips onto his. Slowly, with more self-control than I knew I had, I kissed him.

"Was that okay?" I asked.

"You're not going to break me."

My mouth closed over his curved lips and pressed into them, hard. I tasted sweetness. Citrus. I let my tongue roam. Connor took a lengthy inhale, struck by my intensity.

When I finally came up for air, he was grinning. "Wow. Been saving that up?"

"I thought I'd lost you," I said.

His thumb intercepted a tear as it left my eye. "Don't cry," he whispered. "We made it. We're safe. Everything's going to be okay."

I nodded and ran my fingertip along his lip. There was a scar there, and one along his cheekbone. A few faint slashes marred his beautiful neck.

"Manny will take care of the scars once I'm fully healed," he said. "Has he done yours yet? I know you had at least the one." Connor carefully rolled back the bandage on my wrist. The skin was no longer raw and oozing, but a wide, black scab covered the gouge where the chip had burned through.

"Oh, Echo..."

"Sssh..." I covered his mouth with mine again. His fingers swept into my hair. He let out a moan, a good one, this time.

"It's good to see you're both awake."Mr. McCabe stood in the doorway, looking a little sheepish, if that was possible from such a domineering man.

My face flushed to a deep shade of red. I edged off the bed and back onto mine. "Sorry."

"You were fine where you were," Mr. McCabe said. He tucked the blanket around my bare legs and gave them a pat.

My eyebrows steepled in confusion. Connor's dad was happy to see me alive, sure, but my relationship with his son had always been in the forbidden zone.

Mr. McCabe saw my uncertainty. He responded with a kind smile. "We still have many questions about what happened to you two, but Manny was able to decipher from your molecular memory that you saved Connor's life." His voice cracked and he gave us the back of his head while he composed himself. "When Connor is stronger, I'll get a full report from him. You, too, if you're willing."

The thought of revisiting those days provoked a rush of grief. I nodded anyway. "I saw the flower gardens with my name in them. That was really sweet," I told him.

"I wanted you to feel at home after everything you've been through."

Home. I'd been so out of it since I woke up, so preoccupied with Connor's recovery, I'd actually forgotten about home. Now, the mention of it made me ache all over.

"How long have I been here?"

"Just a few days," Mr. McCabe replied. "You healed faster than any of us expected."

Although it forced me to look back on events I did not want to remember, I did a fast mental calculation, factoring in the last time Keenan had sent a fake text to Kimber.

"My parents haven't heard from me in over a week. They're going to ground me forever. They probably have search dogs looking for me by now."

"I've taken care of it," Mr. McCabe said.

"But my parents think I've been in Seattle this whole time. They're going to know something's up. I haven't texted them in days."

"My dad's got it covered," Connor said. "If he says it's taken care of, it is. Right, Dad?" The words must have run straight into Mr. McCabe's heart because the hard-bitten President appeared too choked up to answer.

He patted his son's hand. "Right."

*******

A couple more days passed. In that time, Connor met with Mr. McCabe and told him about Keenan. They let me off the hook, claiming my part of the story wouldn't add much. I thought this was odd, but I was grateful for it.

Manny made me a few sets of clothes so I didn't have to sit around in a hospital gown. Then he decided we were strong enough to have our scars removed. I was curious to know how he was going to do this.

"Are we doing Connor first?" Manny warmed his hands by rubbing them together. A soft orange glow emanated from his palms.

Connor began to lift his t-shirt and hesitated. "Echo, I don't think you should be here for this."

"It's okay. I want to watch Manny fix you." To show I meant it, I pulled his shirt over his head. My hand flew to my mouth. Connor's front was covered with lash marks. The puncture wounds from the ceiling left jagged, radiating gouges like huge spiders had been crushed into his skin. There were too many to count. His back was in equally bad shape.

I buried my eyes into his shirt because after everything else, I didn't want him to see me bawl. But I'd been holding back the tears for too long. My nerves broke, and I lost it.

In the history of crying jags--across all the centuries--this was one for the record books. I soaked his t-shirt with tears, and then my own. My sobs came in ragged pants and I began to hyperventilate. Manny rushed out of the room to find Devon and they came back with a sour tea that was meant to calm me down. Connor redressed and held me. It was hours before I stopped crying.

That afternoon, Manny took Connor to his studio to restore his battered body. They were finished in no time. Connor came back shirtless, his body returned to its flawless state. It had been a long time since I'd seen him without a shirt. I hadn't forgotten the perfect sun-kissed color of his skin, the curve of his shoulder muscles, and his strong narrow, waist, but by the way I stared, you'd think I'd never seen his amazing build.

"You look like you're about to drool," he said.

"Uh-huh."

He laughed. "Are you ready to get yours done?"

I nodded. Manny joined us and placed his hands over my wrist. After a burst of warmth, all the ugly physical reminders of the implanted chip were gone.

"What would you like to do about the tattoo?" he asked.

I'd been careful not to look at the monarch butterfly on my shoulder blade. It only brought back bad memories. "Get rid of it. It's their symbol. I'd scrape it off myself if I had to."

"There is an alternative." Manny tapped the pads of his fingers together, the way he did when he had an intriguing idea up his sleeve.

Connor took my hand. "Echo, remember your first trip here when we went to the Reserve? And the butterfly we saw that had two sets of wings?"

"I'll never forget it," I smiled.

"Do you remember why it became our region's symbol?"

I thought back. "The first set of wings represented who you started out as."

"Yes. The persecution that the paranormal community suffered while we lived under oppressive rulers," he added.

"The second set of wings means freedom...and peace for the gifted people," I recalled.

"It's a symbol of everything we've worked for over the past hundred and sixty years. Manny can remove the tattoo, or he can change it. He can add that second set of wings. It's up to you."

They watched me with open anticipation, a kind of hopefulness, it seemed. I tried to see my situation from their point of view. Defying a Mutila leader and escaping was a sort of victory for the gifted people. At least that's how I thought Connor and Manny viewed it. How many gifteds before me had succeeded at this? Not many, I guessed.

"Add the wings," I said.

Manny did his homespun magic on my shoulder blade and handed me a mirror.

"What do you think?" His eyes lit up like a child's. He had changed the orange on the monarch to royal blue and green. The new wings glistened fuchsia and red. I shifted to inspect them from different angles. They appeared to move when I did.

"Is it my imagination or..."

"You can tell everyone back home that it's an optical illusion, but yes, it is a three dimensional tattoo and the wings do flutter," Manny said.

"Wow. Thank you."

"My father's been talking to your parents," Connor said. "Kimber and your dad are expecting you back tonight. My dad told them that I drove you to Seattle and you've been staying with a relative of ours--a trustworthy old aunt who kept you out of trouble and gave you a place to rest. Apparently you were very depressed while you were gone and got behind on homework, but that's the worst of it."

"Your dad did that for me?"

Connor saw the shock on my face and burst out laughing. "Don't look so surprised. You did save my life."

"I'm the reason you almost died."

"Uh, no. I'm in big trouble for following Jaxon and getting into that mess. My dad's taken away a lot of my privileges."

My eyes widened.

"But he hasn't taken away you," he said.

"We can keep seeing each other?"

He grinned. "As usual, my father has a few things to say about that."

I waited one beat, then two. "Well, are you going to tell me or make me suffer and wait?"

"There will be no more suffering." He pulled me to his lap and strapped his arms around me. With gentle restraint, he dropped his lips onto my neck. His tingling skin made my blood race.

Manny interrupted our attempt at a make-out session. "Okay, lovebirds, we've got someplace to be."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

Connor led me to the door. "You'll see." 
Chapter 42

The three of us left the hospital wing and walked into the main part of the McCabes' mansion. When we reached the first floor, Manny pulled open a pair of tall, ornately carved double doors. He motioned me inside.

A couple dozen people clustered in a ballroom filled with flowers. Connor placed his hand on my lower back and gave me a nudge. When I stepped in the room, everyone applauded.

I turned about four shades of pink. "What's this about?"

Before he could answer, Carina bounded into my arms and suffocated me in a hug. "I never thought I'd see you again! I would have died if you didn't make it back. Oh, that's probably a bad way to say it."

"Carina," I squeaked. "I can't breathe."

"Oh no." She let me go and wiped moisture from her cheeks. "When Jaxon showed up at your house, I heard him say he had Connor. Then the portal homed in on me and I was gone. I told President McCabe what was happening. I'm so sorry I couldn't help."

"It's okay."

"Carina insisted on the party," Connor said.

"President McCabe told me not to do it, but I ignored him. Oh, I almost forgot!" She snapped her fingers and a cloud of double-winged butterflies appeared out of nowhere. They filled the room with luminescent color, landing on delighted guests.

"Thank you, this is...really sweet." They had no way of knowing the real significance of this gathering. The last time people celebrated me, it was because I had completed a mission and given in to darkness.

One by one, the guests thanked me for bringing Connor home. Through introductions, I found out most of them were Council members who worked with Mr. McCabe to keep West Region safe. I didn't know how much of our story they knew, and they didn't ask for details.

Connor came to my side with a guy who shared his green eyes. "Echo, this is my brother, Larsen."

I had seen pictures of Connor's brother around the mansion. They both had the same thick hair, but his ran a few shades lighter. They were the same height, too, but his body was soft, giving the impression he spent more time studying than going to the gym. Still, he was good-looking in that McCabe way.

Larsen caught me by surprise by grabbing me in a hug. "I was at the university when my brother went missing. I wanted to meet you before I went back." He went on to say that he was studying bioinformatics, whatever that was, and how much he liked it. He didn't ask about any of the gory details from the past weeks. He made light conversation until the guests quieted. "Looks like my father is about to speak. Thanks for getting Connor out of that mess with Jaxon." He kissed me on the cheek before stepping away.

Manny handed Connor and me glasses of a bubbly drink just as Connor's dad levitated a few feet above the crowd at the head of the room.

"Can I please have everyone's attention?" Mr. McCabe said over the chatter.

"The past week has been the hardest that most of us have had to live through." His voiced hitched. He took a deep breath and a sip of his drink. "I consider myself profoundly fortunate that my son has returned safely. I have--we have--one person to thank for this."

Everyone's eyes fell on me, but all I saw was the gratitude shining from Mr. McCabe's.

"Now, I know it's a small token, but I want Echo to have this." Mr. McCabe opened a gold oblong box and held it for everyone to see. An amethyst quartz crystal, a few inches long and carved to a point, lay inside. Its contours reflected light in a dazzling display of color. "The portal was discovered while the early West Region pioneers were mining for crystal. The amethyst has always been important to our community. It is a symbol of our spirit, and our connection to the past and future."

The guests applauded and Mr. McCabe lowered to the floor. He pressed the stone into my palm and closed my fingers around it. "The crystal amplifies your connection to the portal," he whispered in my ear. "It will make travel easier for you."

He turned to his son. "Connor will be--what was the word you used?"

"Grounded," Connor said.

"Yes, grounded, for the rest of the school year, but since I'm punishing him and not you, you may see each other on weekends."

"Thank you," I beamed.

The two of them stepped away to talk to guests, and Carina was back at my side. "How does it feel to be a heroine? I think the entire region should know what you did, but President McCabe is making us keep quiet. He's doesn't want the whole population to know where you came from. Region security and all."

"It's nice." I had a hard time relaxing, though. "I'm nervous about going back. The Mutila is still out there. Their leader, Keenan, knows where I live."

She shrugged. "He might have died in the explosion," she replied.

"The what?"

"Connor didn't tell you? The place you were held hostage exploded and collapsed. There's nothing left of Feller Industries but a pile of dust. The story I'm hearing is that Keenan destroyed all the evidence that they ever existed, and relocated."

I took this in, shaking my head. "I don't get it. I thought the Mutila had control over the entire city, had nothing to be afraid of."

"The theory circulating is that they panicked when they watched you and Connor disappear through the portal. They didn't know what kind of power they were dealing with, but it scared them enough to destroy everything and leave," she said.

I wasn't buying it. I didn't think anything could scare Keenan into making such a bold move. As if sharing my thoughts, Carina shook her head. "Here's the thing that doesn't make sense, though. There was a body count. If they caused the explosion, why did they let so many of their own people die?"

"Who died?"

"Connor has been piecing it together. A guy he said was Roth, and another guy with burn scars on his face."

"Ivan." Ivan's death saddened me. He had seemed like the most decent of the bunch.

"Connor couldn't place the others, but one of them could have been that Keenan guy."

"And Jaxon?" My fist tightened around the crystal.

"His body wasn't found after the explosion. We think he survived. Listen, I think there's something President McCabe isn't telling us. He came to my lab before the explosion and jumped to your time. This was after he found out everything that happened to you and Connor. He was gone an entire day and when he came back, he smelled like smoke. I think he's the one who destroyed Feller Industries."

"No way."

"Yeah." One of the Council members drifted close and she gave him a chance to move out of earshot. "Jaxon might be setting up the Mutila somewhere else, but he knows he'll have to deal with President McCabe now. I don't think he'll bother you, at least not for a while."

I felt safer knowing this. Then I remembered something that Connor and I had talked about when we first met. "If Mr. McCabe caused that explosion, hasn't he altered the future somehow?" I asked.

"I don't know what to tell you. We've always worked with the understanding that the portal won't allow us to travel to a place or time we're not supposed to be. Whatever did happen," she spread her palms to the sky, "I guess it was meant to be."
Chapter 43

After the celebration, Carina, Connor, and I walked with Mr. McCabe to the Harden Center. I wheeled a new suitcase behind me, compliments of Manny. He'd manifested an identical match to the one I left behind at Feller Tower, along with a few sets of clothes. My parents would have known something was up if I came home empty-handed.

Inside the lab at the Harden Center, Connor and I stepped next to the portal. He wrapped his arms around me and we stepped into the dark abyss. We landed outside my house, in the rain. A few seconds later, his dad fizzled into form.

I let us in the front door. "Hello, anybody home?"

Tito galloped down the stairs, barking like a maniac. Thank God. The last time I saw him, he was slumped on the floor from Jaxon's kick.

"Tito!" I scooped up the wriggling Chihuahua and hugged him while he showered me with spastic homecoming kisses. The very best kind.

"Tito the Iron Chihuahua," Connor said, scratching the dog's ears. "He's a tough little dog."

Kimber and my dad hurried to meet us. After the usual exchange of hugs and handshakes, Kimber pulled Connor and Mr. McCabe into the kitchen for a "get to know you" chat.

My dad held me back. His mouth was taut. "Do you have any idea how worried we were? Don't you ever take off like that again, and when I ask you to call, I expect you to pick up the phone and do exactly that. No texts!"

He had a lot more to say, but I hugged him so hard, he grunted air.

"I'm sorry," I said. "If you want to ground me, I understand." I'd gladly limit my life to school and my house. With a few clandestine side trips to West Region, of course.

My dad shook is head, like, what good was it to ground me if I asked for it? "This boy. He's the one you broke up with last fall, isn't he?"

"He's the one."

"Are you sure it's a good idea for you two to get back together? I didn't like the person you became after he left." Genuine concern etched his face. Between my recent string of tumultuous relationships and bolting town without permission, I could only blame myself for the new sprigs of gray hair at his temples.

"It's different this time," I promised. "Connor and I are really good together."

My dad shook his head and grumbled. "We'll talk more about this later. I'm not sure how comfortable I am with the McCabes."

We joined the others in the kitchen. Kimber filled me in on the bizarre goings-on while I was away: Mr. Crane's body was discovered in Forest Park. Something had happened at the high school during basketball practice that had terrified the team and coaches. Shortly after, my principal, Mr. Lauer, had resigned as school principal without notice and left the city with his family. Becca had been at the gym, Kimber told me, and she'd been trying to contact me ever since.

"I misplaced my phone a few days ago," I said. I didn't know how else to explain falling behind on the news.

When it was time for Mr. McCabe to leave, I placed my hand on his arm. "I'll walk you to your car."

Connor distracted my parents while I escorted his dad outside. It was drizzling and chilly, but I didn't care. I tipped my head back and let the rain dampen my face. Being outside never felt so good. Freedom from enslavement had that effect.

Mr. McCabe placed his hand on my shoulder. "The Mutila is scattered to the winds, but I believe Keenan and Jaxon survived. They'll be setting up somewhere else, but this will take time. The other factions in your country don't know about you. You are safe for now." He kissed me on the forehead.

I breathed a sigh of relief. This small assurance was what I needed to move on. I found his kind eyes. "Keenan wasn't the one who destroyed Feller Industries, was he?"

Mr. McCabe's mouth curled ever so slightly, that same way Connor's did when he was holding something back. "I'll see you in West Region, my dear."

He glittered and disappeared.

Back inside, Connor and I climbed the stairs to the third floor. When we got to my bedroom, I went straight to the portrait. All the foreign marks that had resembled bruising and cuts were gone. Connor was fine, and now the portrait was returned to its normal state. It had been transmitting his physical condition after all.

"Hey, Connor?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you notice anything odd about that portrait you have of me in your room? I mean, since we've been separated?" I was curious to know if it had been transmitting any physical changes, the way Connor's had.

He gave me a guilty look. "I had to put it away for a while. I couldn't look at it after my dad cut us off. Why?"

"No reason," I said.

Connor sat on my bed with his back against the wall. I sat between his long legs and leaned into him.

"Are you going to be okay after I go home?" He brushed hair away from my temple, running his fingers through the strands.

"I guess." The healers in West Region had fixed my body, but my psyche would have to heal itself, and that would take time. It would be a while before I slept through the night, before the nightmares faded. Before sudden noises didn't make my pulse jump.

Connor shifted and something crinkled underneath him. He pulled an envelope out from under his hips. "Whoops, hope this wasn't fragile."

My name was written on the outside, four simple letters scrawled in red ink. I recognized the handwriting and tore into it. A USB flash drive fell onto the bed. I read the enclosed note:

_These are the kids Keenan is looking for._

_You have to warn them._

_I knew you were the one who could help us._

_Gianna._

"Connor."

"I see it."

"We have to find these kids. We can't let Keenan or Jaxon get to them."

"I know. But can we take the night off?" He gave a brave smile, meant to hide the strain in his voice. He would need time to heal, too. For every one of my emotional scars, I imagined he had ten.

I answered with a tender kiss. Wove my fingers into his jet-black hair. His tongue tickled mine, and he jerked back. His expression was a mix of pleasure and shock.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

He slid his hand under my shirt and felt my bare back. "Oh, wow," he said.

"What?"

"You can't feel it? Your skin is tingling."

"It is?" I touched my arm but didn't pick up the sensation.

"It must be from using the portal. I thought I was the only one that happened to," he said.

"Is that good? Bad?"

"It is incredibly sexy." Connor closed his mouth over mine and for one glorious moment, I felt what it was like to be suspended in time, tangled in an infinite loop of happiness, merging with the missing part of my soul.

This was what forever felt like.

I was ready for it.

The Echo Saga continues!

Keep reading for an excerpt from Echo Into Light, Book 3 in The Echo Saga. 
Skye Genaro's Echo Into Darkness Playlist

"Take Off" by Side FX. This instrumental only song sets the tone for this book.

"Cold Hearted" by Paula Abdul. There's only one contender for this song, and you can guess who this is.

"Toy Soldiers" by Marika. Even though this song is about addiction, the lyrics remind me of Gianna and her struggle to comply with her life in the Mutila.

"Come Undone" by Duran Duran. This song gets me in touch with Echo's fight to hold onto the person she believes she is.

"Dark Side" by Kelly Clarkson. This speaks to the struggle Echo goes through when she feels herself going dark, leaving love behind.

"Ultraviolet (Light My Way)" by U2. If Connor picked a song for Echo to help counter her darkness, I can see him choosing this one.

"Clarity" by Zedd ft Foxxes. This song embodies Echo and Connor's love.

Echo Into Light

Book Three in the Echo Saga

Skye Genaro

Copyright © 2016 by Skye Genaro

In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at skyegenarobooks@gmail.com, or http://skyegenaro.com.

Thank you for your support of the author's rights.

This story is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

This book is also available as a print book.

First edition published October 1, 2016.

V6

Cover designed by: RAVVEN

http://www.ravven.com

Interior designed by: Brighid Publishing

Prologue

The boy standing across from me shifted, blocking the breeze coming off the river. For the first time that night, I was warm. He was strong, this one. His arms were all muscle, and his V-shaped upper body was the kind you earned by spending hours in a gym. But he didn't work out at a gym. Not the kind in my city, anyway.

How did I know that?

I gave my head a shake, but the confusion would not clear. The unfamiliar feel of cold steel in my palm brought my attention back to the river. I was ready to battle. We both were.

Anticipation pulsed off the boy, his aggression aimed at me. His gaze went to the gun dangling in my hand. "I'll kill you fast so you won't feel a thing." His voice pushed into the thick haze filling my head but could not reach through it. Those arrogant green eyes made my blood boil. And that flop of black hair on his forehead--was that supposed to be cute? I could not wait for the command to take the smile off his presumptuous mouth.

My finger twitched on the trigger. Pressure built like storm clouds, growing taller and thicker with every passing second. I moved from foot to foot, hardly able to stay still. We were going to get the signal soon, and the fight would begin. I was going to prove to them that I was the strongest one, the one worthy of our power.

The green-eyed boy tapped on his thigh, long fingers strumming impatiently. Fingers that could deliver a deadly blow...or....a gentle caress?

Where had that thought come from?

Did I know this boy, once?

Impossible. I would never spend time with someone so aware of his own beauty. Privilege radiated off him. Superiority settled on his curved lips. He carried a quiet, annoying entitlement as if the world were waiting for him to rise above everyone else.

That thought collided with the image of my hand in his raven hair, my nose filling with the scent of earth and spice.

The strange fog in my head swirled and began to part. Images of a world I had known and forgotten edged back into my memory. What was I doing here with a gun in my hand? Why did I want to point it at that boy? Hadn't I recently been in those strong arms?

I did know him. He was my...

Someone shouted the command, and my arm robotically leveled the gun to his chest.

West Region

I levitated up the magnificent winding marble staircase to the top floor of the McCabe mansion and followed the labyrinth of hallways to Connor's room. Piles of jeans and shoes met me at the door. An electronic textbook, more clothes, and a backpack littered his bed. The framed holo-photo of his brother, Larsen, who I'd only briefly met, was tipped over on the dresser.

On any other guy, I would hate the messiness, but Connor's life was busier than any other person our age, and really it was just a matter of priorities. He didn't want the servants poking through his stuff, so I did my usual Saturday morning routine: I telekinetically folded and stacked, lined up and arranged, until the place was tolerable.

I kicked off my shoes and bounded onto his bed. The portrait of me that he'd painted years before we met hung above his headboard, the purple hoodie and lonely eyes reminiscent of a time when friends were hard to come by.

In one corner of the bedroom, freshly painted canvasses crowded the wall. Bright scenes of the city all suggested an artist who viewed life in a positive light. They were a great cover for what was really going on in the boy's head. One day, while taking a closer look at Connor's new artwork, I'd flipped a canvas over. The backs were painted too, but these images came from a dark and foreign place: flat black ghosts writhed in agony; human-like creatures without any eyes reached for something beyond the edge of the canvass; blood-red strokes slashed grotesquely across a flesh-colored background. I'd fallen to tears at seeing these, and he had tried to comfort me even though his aura was heavy with the pain he hid so well.

A flash of raven hair brought me back to the present. The mattress convulsed as Connor vaulted across the room and landed next to me. There was no saying hello to this boy. His lips clamped over my mouth, and I was pulled into his kiss. His tongue sought mine and I gave it to him. That familiar electric tingle danced across my skin where we touched.

Everything I loved about him hit me all at once. The way his hair stuck out after I grabbed handfuls of it, and the rich scent of his skin. I loved how his black t-shirt, the one with the name of a band we'd gone to see, skimmed his triceps. I loved that his cheeks flushed when girls gawked at him when we were out in public. He had no idea how beautiful he was.

He broke away and his hand cradled my face. "I missed you so much. I could hardly concentrate when I felt you outside the Council Room." He kissed me on the nose.

"I heard what you said to Councilman Griffith. You really think I'm courageous?"

His kiss pressed into my chin. "You're one of the bravest people I know."

"Did they make a decision about my asylum?" Connor had asked his dad and the Council to grant permission for me to move to West Region permanently. It was the only way to keep me out of the Mutila's hands.

Lips brushed against my throat. "Postponed again."

"That's too bad..." I dropped my lips onto his. Frustration about asylum grew fuzzy and distant. All other worries withered and disappeared.

His hand scooped beneath my shirt and glided onto my lower back, pressing me closer. "I love how your skin tingles now, too. I hope it stays that way even after you stop travelling through the portal." His breathing became insistent, communicating an urgency we both felt. His mouth traveled to my chin, neck and stomach. He nipped at my jeans where they covered my hipbone, and the tickling sensation became too much.

"Stop it, stop!" I giggled and pushed his head away. His expression was a mix of teasing and dare.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" He combed a section of my hair through his fingers.

"Right now, everything is perfect."

"But I'm right, aren't I? I can still pick up some of your aura." One of the scars he carried from imprisonment was the lost ability to feel certain emotions coming off me. Before, he could feel everything, even when we were separated by time. Now, his radar often failed to pick up anxiety and worry. I could not say this bothered me. It was awkward at times, having someone constantly cued into my emotional ups and downs.

"We need to talk. But later, okay? This is too nice to spoil."

I kissed a trail along his jawline to his chin, his lips. Connor's hand skimmed the thigh of my jeans. Dove under my shirt. His caress sent a shiver down my spine. A tingle traveled below my waistband. He undid buttons on my shirt while my hand slid to the firm hollow of his lower back. His tongue painted a tender line up my throat. I let out a soft sigh. I'd never wanted anyone the way I wanted him, all of him.

And yet, I could not let myself go there.

His fingers played with the button on my jeans, and I gently brought his hand to my lips. I kissed each finger. He tried to hide the disappointment flickering across his face. Embarrassment flared on my cheeks, but not just from refusing his desire for sex. The memory of Jaxon pawing at my jeans had risen up, making my throat tighten. It happened whenever Connor and I got close, which was often.

Maybe one day I would tell him about the predicament I had gotten into in Jaxon's apartment, but not now. I still felt like an idiot for not seeing him for the snake that he was.

"Too much too fast," I said, covering. A line formed between his brows, unconvinced. I began to babble. "You know I want to, right? I've just never done it..."

He laid a palm on my cheek. "Echo, we'll wait as long as you want. Don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to it and it'll be--" he blew out air and his eyes went big, "--incredible, but I'm not going to push you into anything you don't want. We'll go at your pace."

"I do want. I just need time."

"Take as much as you need. I refuse to let time come between us," he said with a grin, and I had to laugh, because that, in essence, was the story of our lives.

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Acknowledgements

Thank you, sweet Chuck, for your never-ending support.

A very special thank you to my core readers, Rachel Bennett, Stefan Feuerherdt

and Dirk Ohling. I could not have written this book without your help.

And thank you Val and Christy, for lighting the way.

One day, everyone will understand.
About the Author

Skye Genaro graduated college with a degree in microbiology and has a background in market research in the technology sector. She left that predictable and stable world behind and dove into a more adventurous life that includes rock climbing, whitewater rafting, foreign travel and writing fiction for a living.

Skye lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband. You can visit her online at <http://skyegenaro.com/>.
