

A BirthRight Novel

Tethered

Brandi Leigh Hall

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Brandi Leigh Hall

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

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

Cover Production Artist

Hirosh Jayakody

**Photograph by**

**Evgeny Varlamov**

Poetry by

Walt Whitman, E.E. Cummings, and Robert Browning

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

### DEDICATION

For my Mother, whose unconditional love—and unwavering support—has allowed me to follow my dream.

### CONTENTS

1. The Return

2. A Familiar Face

3. Driving Miss Crazy

4. The Decision

5. Stalk You Later

6. Assumptions

7. Open Mouth, Insert Truck!

8. Fight Night

9. The Kiss

10. Apologies

11. Reunited

12. The Greatest Lie Ever Told

13. Spellbound

14. The Gemini Prophecy

15. The Miracle

16. Date Night

17. The Betrayal

18. Secrets Revealed

19. The Vision

20. The Botched Exorcism

Epilogue: Paranormal Poker

#### Chapter 1

### THE RETURN

At one point or another, there are three types of call every girl dreams of getting: the "Congratulations! You've just won a designer wardrobe every season for life!" call; the call from the hot celebrity you've been salivating over since puberty; or a call from the Queen of England saying, "You were accidentally switched at birth, but fortunately, we've found you just in time to take your rightful place on the throne."

But nowhere in those cellular-fantasies, did I ever imagine hearing the _only_ words that could change my life forever—in the worst way: "Chloe, your pap has a brain tumor...and he'd like to see you before surgery, in case...."

In case? _Seriously_?

My grandmother's words—and they were her _only_ words—continue bounding backflips through my jumbled mind. Sure, there may have been a "good bye" uttered in there somewhere, but I honestly don't remember. I think I was catatonic at that point.

Why couldn't it have just been that long-awaited call from Liam Hemsworth, professing his undying love?

But it wasn't. So now, I'm forced to fly home to be with the family I haven't seen since I was in Junior High.

Sure, I'd be lying if I said the only thing I'm worried about is my pap. Each time I imagine seeing him—or what could happen while he's under the knife—my mind switches to the high-def picture of my siblings faces when they see me for the first time in six years. Or more accurately, the snarling face of my hateful sister.

I'm sure my brother Dru will be happy to have me back. But Dhelia, I'm sure, would rather drink battery acid than breathe the same air as me. And the idea of her less-than-warm greeting is _precisely_ why I'd rather hide under my seat forever. Darling Dhelia scares the bejesus out of me!

But let's be honest. I'm no stranger to fear. In fact, it's held me hostage on more than one occasion. So why should today be any different?

Psychotic butterflies circle through my queasy stomach, the plane making its bumpy descent into LaGuardia. As the pressure pops in my eardrums, I can't help but wonder if I'm making the right choice in returning home. Wouldn't it be easier to continue being a coward—unable to face reality—and my family?

But sometimes life has a way of catching up with you. Call it karma, or divine intervention. Either way, things happen which force us into doing things we're not even _close_ to being ready for.

My thudding heart catches in my arid throat, the Jet Blue's tires send near deafening rumbles throughout the plane as it makes contact with the pavement. If only landing was half as tingling as take off.

"That didn't scare you, did it, Chloe?" My Aunt Morgan nudges my shoulder, a sarcastic grin peeking out around the corners of her shimmering lips.

"Ah, no." A nervous giggle escapes my mouth as I turn to look out the slightly steamed-up window. " _That_ was the easy part."

She unbuckles her seatbelt, straightening out the not-so-flattering wrinkles left behind from the seven-hour flight. "You've _gotta_ stop worrying about Dhelia. It's gonna be fine, I promise." She laughs, reaching down to grab her purse from under the seat in front of her.

"Wanna grab mine while you're down there?" I ask in that NutraSweet voice I know she can't possibly deny.

"Oh, I guess." She leans back, handing me the oversized Coach bag Gram sent me last Christmas. "You sure you're ready to face the firing squad?"

Even though every inch of me wants to scream " _No way!"_ and run for the exit _,_ I opt for the less negative response I know my aunt is hoping to hear. "I'm _mostly_ ready I guess. I just hope she doesn't cause a scene when she sees me."

"Well she knows you're coming, so it's not like she'll be surprised."

"Yeah, I know. But still. She hates me and I know she won't be happy I'm there."

Morgan clicks her tongue off the roof of her mouth. "Okay, _now_ you're just being ridiculous. Your sister does _not_ hate you. That's just absurd."

My only response is a lame shrug.

We both reach inside our bags for our cell phones, instantly connecting ourselves to the world again. Not that I'm expecting any missed messages. I didn't really leave much of a social-life behind in sunny California.

Just as Morgan powers up her iPhone, a doorbell-like chime alerts her to a message, so she lifts the phone to her ear. "It's your Gram." After about twenty seconds of silence she says, "They decided to head to bed, so we should just let ourselves in and get comfortable." She turns to me. "Looks like you'll have to wait until morning to have your baby-blues scratched out."

I push out a long, exaggerated sigh, followed by an all too forced smile. "And I was _sooooooo_ looking forward to it tonight. Awe, shucks!"

Laughter fills the air around me as Morgan squeezes my scrunched up cheeks. "You're so cute when you're being sarcastic."

We stand to make our way off the plane just as a blue-haired old woman in the next row decides to chat up Aunt Morgan. I've always had a tough time making small talk with strangers, but she can have a conversation with pretty much _anyone_. And that's no exaggeration. Just one more trait I clearly didn't inherit. Why is it the qualities I _love_ in my family, completely managed to escape me at birth—but the ones I loathe more than anything, grabbed hold like a blood-sucking-leech-on-safari and refused to let go?

As a child, I was so completely different from my siblings I'd convinced myself I was adopted. But once I was old enough to realize the rarest of genetic traits was something we _all_ shared, images of being dropped off in a laundry basket on a church stoop, quickly fled my colorful imagination. Not that I was relieved.

You know that old saying, "You can pick your friends—but you can't pick your family"? Well it might be about as cliché' as it gets, but it's also true. At least to me it is. I mean, wouldn't you feel the same way if your family forced you to be born a Witch—with magical abilities— you're stuck with for life?

I love my family, but I despise what they turned me into.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not naïve. I know most people would sell their soul to be born with a 'gift'. But how do you think those same people would feel if that very gift, forced them to witness the death of their parent's? No, being born a Seer is in _no_ way a blessing. It's a curse. And going back home is only going to make me relive all the reasons why I left in the first place.

"Miss, do you know where you're going?" An airline attendant with about a hundred layers of make-up asks.

Realizing I'd stopped in the middle of a crowd just inside the gate, I spin around to see where Morgan disappeared to. I spot her about ten feet away, hopefully wrapping up her conversation about this stranger's grandchildren—or their various disgusting ailments. "Yes, I'm sorry. I must have been daydreaming." I point over my shoulder. "I'm just waiting for my aunt."

Her over-painted, rosy cheeks and smudged lips lift in a smile. "Okay. Enjoy your stay in New York."

"Thank you." Though considering the reason I'm here, I'm sure "enjoy" is the last thing I'll be doing.

I readjust my thousand-pound bag on my shoulder, as a creeped-out feeling slithers its way across my skin. You know the one I mean, when you're being watched by someone you can't see? But you can _feel_ it. My social skills might be lacking, but my intuition certainly is _not_.

Trying not to appear _completely_ obvious, I casually scan the area around me.

But nothing.

My eyes pan out a bit further through the crowd, just as I spot a guy staring, with not a care in the world that he's just been busted. Our eyes meet, but I reflexively turn the other way.

Wait, why do _I_ feel embarrassed? I wasn't the one staring. But my curiosity gets the best of me, so I turn back.

No more than fifty-feet away on the far side of the room, it's my turn to admire the sights. This gorgeous stranger is sculpted like a marble statue with short, stylish chestnut hair (you know, the kind that's all spiky and messy, but you _still_ wanna run your fingers through it); dark, penetrating eyes that pierce your soul; full pink lips you instantly want to kiss; and crater-sized dimples that perfectly align an Italian, chiseled jaw line. Not to mention buff (but not overly) and rather tall—I'd say around six-three, six-four.

Can I just say, _wow_? He. Is. Perfection!

I'm not up on Greek mythology or anything, but if you ask me, Urban-Adonis comes to mind.

It's not uncommon for me to squirm a bit when someone gawks at me, but _this_ guy can stare away. With pleasure!

But _why_ is he? I mean, I'm cute and all—but hardly pretty enough to deserve a Calvin Klein underwear model's attention.

My gaze wanders up from his filled-out NY Yankee's hoodie, our eyes lock and I'm compelled to hold it. I tingle from head-to-toe. But the longer I watch him, the more familiar he seems. There's something about him. Have we met somewhere before?

Wait a minute—is he _smiling_ at me now?

"Sorry about that. She would _not_ stop talking." Aunt Morgan grabs me by the elbow, pulling me—and my attention—away from momentary bliss. "Come on, we'd better get down to baggage claim before someone runs off with our skivvies."

Tongue-tied, I turn back towards the hottie. But he's gone.

Noooooooo!

My now saddened heart sinks beneath my worn-out flip-flops, eager to be trampled on for being such a spaz and missing out.

"Everything okay?" Aunt Morgan's voice snaps me out of my pout.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just thought I saw someone I know." Or rather, someone I _wish_ I knew, and would willingly take a beating on a ten-mile-mud-run just to meet.

"Would you like to look around a bit?" She asks, as patient as only Aunt Morgan can be.

"Oh, no, that's okay. I haven't been here in six years, so I'm sure it was just some warped hallucination."

But I'm sure I'll still kick myself in the ass later for not taking her up on the offer.

Half way down the corridor, I turn to look behind us, on the off chance he might have reappeared. But no luck. Oh well. It's not like I really have time to meet guys with the shit-storm facing me this week.

* * *

Since the death of my parents, I've done everything you can think of to suppress my magical birthright. Being a Seer _is_ after all what kept me from falling asleep at night—and from having a normal childhood. But the second I stepped through my grandparent's front door, the demons from my past—went head-on with my visions of the future.

What is it about this old Victorian mansion that makes it impossible for anything paranormal to hide? For more than six years, magic—and visions—have been absent from my life. But coming back here has changed _everything_.

After a speedy trip to the restroom, I take the unoccupied micro-fiber sofa across from my already sleeping aunt. Luckily, Gram placed fluffy blankets and pillows on the coffee table for us. Seconds later, I lay staring at the ceiling, while images of the past—and future—force my heart to rivet against the inner walls of my ribcage, replaying the tiny snippets of images I saw when we walked in.

Did I really think there was a chance this _wouldn't_ happen? I'm such an idiot. Long Island now feels like the _last_ place on earth I should be.

When I dropped my banged-up suitcase on the floor about ten minutes ago, I had what can only be described as a _creepy_ vision. But I'm not sure what to make of it. For years, I would do everything in my power to shut them out. For the most part, I learned to ignore them. The second a vision began, I would automatically force myself to think of something else. I can't remember the last time I actually allowed one to play out. This new vision, however, shocked my senses. There was no ignoring it.

There were faces I don't know, mixed with faces I do.

I could feel pain and fear, but I had no clue why.

The strangers were more bothersome than the feeling of dread. Their fancy attire reminded me of a Masquerade Ball.

But something was disturbing about these people.

Nothing about it makes any sense.

Somehow, I manage to fall asleep, but each time I do, I wake up a short time after remembering the vision. For hours, this continues like clockwork. But as my cast-iron-eyelids finally decide to give in, a noise from upstairs startles me. I lift my hand, trying to slow the erratic thumping in my chest.

The low rumble of my sister's voice gets clearer, talking on the phone as she clears one wooden step at a time. I'd know her throaty voice _anywhere_. My stomach knots as the creaky stairs across the room taunt me with her impending arrival.

Gulp. You can do this.

I sit up as she turns the corner, swaggering towards me with her ski-slope-nose in the air, hands on her lithe, tiny waist. If I weren't so afraid of her, there's a good chance I'd be in awe of the woman she's become. At least five-seven—thin—and exquisite. Some might even say breathtaking, with her pixie-like features, flowing mahogany hair, and spidery-long-legs. The _exact_ same features our mother had.

I sigh, yanking the fuzzy fleece from my lap.

I just can't get over how much older than eighteen she looks. I mean, I'm only nineteen, but she looks _so_ much older than I do with her Victoria's Secret Angel curves.

Deep down, I'd _hoped_ she might be happy to see me, but that was clearly an overly optimistic wish. Instead, she greets me with the straight-face-of-indifference. Well it's better than rage, right?

Deep breath, Chloe. Brace yourself for the barrage of innuendo that's sure to spout from Dhelia Bishop's often-cruel lips.

Standing before me, Dhelia simply stares, waiting for me to speak.

Okay, I guess I _should_ be the one to say something. We talk on the phone every few months, but it's so much easier when I can't see her piercing eyes look right through me. But even then, it's still forced small talk.

Well, they say it's less painful if you just yank the Band-Aid off. Yeah, right. Who's the moron who came up with _that_ one?

"Morning, Dee. I...I hope Aunt Morgan and I didn't wake you when we got in last night?" I clear my throat, dislodging the imaginary hairball that's getting in my way. "We tried to be quiet."

Now refusing to look at me, her eyes jump to the blank TV screen across the room. "Nope. Slept like a baby." She turns her head back, scanning me up and down more thoroughly than TSA. " _You're_ a hot mess though. Trouble sleeping?" She snorts. "I've heard a guilty conscience will do that."

And _there_ she is ladies and gentlemen, wasting no time sinking her claws in. That's record time, even for her.

I shake my head in silence.

How could this brat be my _only_ sister?

I stare at cerulean blue eyes that match my own, realizing: if it weren't for our eyes, no one would ever know we're related. Not that most people would notice mine anyway against my pale features. But Dhelia doesn't have that problem. The twenty layers of black mascara and eyeliner make hers pop with conviction. I tend to go for a more subtle look, where Dhelia goes for the dramatic. Go figure. Then again, she _is_ the drama queen in the family.

Yes, I suppose it's safe to say I dipped in the _other_ side of the gene pool.

Average height.

Athletic build.

And golden-blonde hair of all things.

Other than my father, I'm the only blonde in the family. Chloe Bishop—oddball extraordinaire.

Now self-conscience with Dhelia's piercing eyes upon me, I run my fingers through my imagined bed-head. If it weren't so long, I'm sure it would be a nasty mess.

Dhelia crosses her arms, waiting for me to say something, but my mind takes me back to the last day I saw her. A frightened and helpless little girl, unable to hide her devastated emotions. Comparing it to the impassivity I see now, I don't know which is worse. How do I navigate this?

But I'll be the bigger person and ignore her smart-crack. For now. "It was a long, bumpy flight. I only got an hour or two of sleep once we made it here. Not that anyone else had a problem." I tilt my head towards Aunt Morgan who lay sound asleep across from me, her face buried in a down pillow.

"Apparently." Dhelia blurts out an abrupt laugh, turning to walk towards the kitchen. "You hungry?"

Rather than yell my answer and risk waking Aunt Morgan, I get up and follow her. "Sure, what's for breakfast? Need any help?"

Dhelia stops, her sparkly flip-flops squeaking on the ceramic tiles. "Help?" She sneers. "You're a little late for that one, don't you think?"

Ouch! Straight for the jugular. Screw the claws—Dhelia's all fangs.

Not that I don't deserve it.

I wipe my sweaty palms against my flannel jammy pants. "I meant with breakfast, Dhelia," is all I can mutter without feeling like an idiot.

She waives her hand in the air so the refrigerator door slams shut with a loud thud. Showoff!

I try to think of something to say, but I can't help but notice the kitchen's new facelift. My grandparents must have spent a pretty penny. Dark cherry cabinets rest overhead on three walls with multi-colored, earth-tone quartz counters under each. And the stainless steel appliances bring together this state-of-the-art, spotless kitchen. Gram must adore her time in here. I sure would. But I think _my_ favorite thing is the matching island for eight in the center of the room. They must spend _so_ much time here.

I open my mouth to comment on the remodel, but sleeping beauty walks through the door and interrupts. "Good morning, girls." Aunt Morgan yawns. "Been up long?"

Well _she_ must have slept well. By the look of that hair, I'd say a little _too_ well. Talk about a rat's nest.

"Nope. Only about five minutes or so," I mumble, hoping my relief at her timely entrance isn't too obvious. "So, looks like you slept okay." I giggle, lifting my eyes to admire her mussed coif. "You passed out on me the second you laid down."

She tries to look up at her hair, patting down the disaster with little success. She's too cute. "Yea, sorry about that. I guess I needed it." Stretching, she strolls through the wide-open kitchen taking in the new layout just as I had. "The minute we walked through the door I was overcome with exhaustion. I forgot how relaxing it is here." She pokes her head into the sunroom off the kitchen. "Are your gram and pap up yet?" Aunt Morgan turns to search our faces, but my blank expression makes her look to Dhelia for a response.

"I'm sure they're still in bed. They tried to wait up, but I don't think they made it past midnight. What time did you finally get it in?" Dhelia keeps her eyes on Aunt Morgan like I'm not even here. Nice.

"Oh, it was between three-thirty and four, right Chloe?"

"Yeah, sounds about right." I nod. "It was the latest I've been up in a _long_ time . . . that's for sure."

Dhelia rolls her eyes at my response. She always makes me feel like such an ass.

We stand around the island like three strangers at a fast-food restaurant. Could this be any more uncomfortable?

I look up towards the ceiling. Save us, please!

Aunt Morgan breaks the silence, pulling out a bar stool beside Dhelia, wooden legs rumble across the ceramic tiles. " _Please_ tell me there's coffee?" Her eyes pleading. "There's no way I can function without my fix."

"Oh, yeah." Dhelia laughs. "I _knew_ I was forgetting something." She grabs a bag of Dunkin Donut's coffee from the fridge and fills the pot with water.

Aunt Morgan's lips part as though she wants to say something. She's wearing that stressed-out look I've grown to know so well, arms awkwardly crossed, eyes squinting. Clearing her throat, she looks to Dhelia. "Will he be okay, Dhelia? I . . . ." She pauses. "I know your gram said we should be hopeful, but I need someone to give it to me straight. I need to know _exactly_ what we're dealing with."

Dhelia turns my way. "You'd better sit down, too."

I obey, dropping onto the stool with a thud.

"Okay. Here's what we know." She exhales. "Pap has a grade IV Glioblastoma Multiforme brain tumor. But because of its location, his doctor isn't sure if they'll be able to remove it or not. They keep feeding us this hoopla about new treatments and procedures, which is why Gram's so hopeful." Dhelia's eyes tear, forcing her to look down. "I just hope she's not kidding herself."

Oh my god! I had no idea it was _this_ bad. My mouth falls open in shock as my heart drag races through my chest, shifting gears to speed up, threatening to crash at any second.

Dhelia looks back and forth between us. "We've done tons of research and gotten second, third, and fourth opinions. Honestly, we should prepare ourselves. I'm not trying to be a pessimist, it's just . . . . I just want us to be realistic. If the worst should happen, I don't want us to be taken by surprise."

Silence.

As Aunt Morgan and I digest the information, Dhelia winces, hanging her head again. Great. Now I feel even guiltier than I already had. The only reason Aunt Morgan and I are even here is because of Pap. I'm the _worst_ sister in the world.

"So what's the plan tomorrow?" I rub my frigid hands together, looking to Dhelia. "Is there anything Aunt Morgan and I should know ahead of time?" Please tell me there isn't something else. Please!

Fidgeting with the edges of a bamboo placemat, Dhelia looks up. "Nothing I haven't already told you. The _plan_ is to remove the tumor. At this point, they don't know how far it may have spread. Even if they do remove it, he may still need radiation or chemo. Beyond that, we have to wait and see how tomorrow goes."

"How's he feeling?" I lift my eyebrows, unsure if I can handle the answer.

She glances down at the table again. "Well, he has good days and bad...and has probably aged about fifteen years since this all started. Plus, he sleeps a lot and has been _super_ weak lately. Had it not been for the terrible headaches he'd been getting, we wouldn't have even known he was sick." Dhelia shakes her head. "But about the time he got the test results, everything hit him full-force. It's just not fair."

"Well, I'm here to help in any way I can. I know it's not what you want to hear right now, but I'm not going back to San Diego. I'm _staying_." Where did _that_ come from? Staying here was _never_ part of the plan. What the . . . !

Her posture stiffens, the corners of her lips curling in that condescending way that makes you feel like an insect, just before it gets squashed. "Is that so? Better late than never I guess."

I push out an exasperated exhale. "Please don't be like that, Dhelia."

She releases the mat, laying her hands flat against the gold-flecked quartz. "Oh, _my_ bad. That's _soooooo_ kind of you, Chloe. I wasn't aware you'd gotten so considerate in your years away." Dhelia's smug nose lifts in the air.

Why doesn't she understand why I had to leave? She acts like I left to intentionally hurt _her._

"Girls, this really isn't the time. I know you have issues to work out, but it's gonna have to wait." Aunt Morgan's disappointed eyes narrow on us both.

Great. The last thing I want is to upset her. She has _enough_ to worry about. "You're right. We can talk about it later." I lift my head, glaring at Dhelia across the table. She rolls her eyes with such animation she doesn't notice anyway.

My sister gets up from the stool to throw bacon in a frying pan. Instead of offering my help again, I go to the cabinet for more pans and spatulas. Luckily, everything is right where I remember it. I'd hate to have to ask Dhelia where something is. She'd bite my head off for sure.

I notice Aunt Morgan watching our display with a grin. "Kids," she says, chuckling under her breath. She meanders to the coffee pot to erase her morning sluggishness.

As I reach up for plates, the front door slams shut. "Honey, I'm home! Mmm mmm mmm . . . sure smells good in there. What's for breakfast?"

"Dru!" I squeal.

I bolt across the kitchen floor, jumping into my baby brother's welcoming arms. "It's so good to see you. And when did you lose the pimples and get so handsome?"

Six-two with shaggy brown hair and a chin dimple, he's even better looking than his pictures. He has _heartbreaker_ written all over him with his dreamy, boy-band looks. I've never been more proud.

"Well, thank you." He puffs his chest out. "You're not looking too bad yerself there, Blondie." He pushes me back at arm's length, looking me up and down. "Looks like San Diego's been good for you." He hugs me again, swinging me around in dizzying circles.

My little brother no longer smells of fresh-cut grass and bubblegum—he now smells like a _man_ with his sporty, powder-fresh cologne. My heart that had been aching only moments ago, swells with so much joy to be with my brother again. Not a day went by where I didn't miss his sweet smile and disarming attitude. Dru's the kind of brother _all_ girls dream of having. He's funny, understanding, protective, in touch with his feelings, and has the biggest heart I've ever seen. It still _baffles_ me he's Dhelia's twin. Can you say "polar opposites"?

While pride for my brother makes me giddy, it occurs to me he's just now coming through the door. "Just getting home, are we?" I give Dru a sideways grin, wondering if he's been up to no good. I take a big whiff of his shirt to see if I missed a hint of beer—or pot.

Both Dhelia and Aunt Morgan turn from the stove to look at his face.

Dru squirms, tugging at the collar of his powder blue button-down. "Ah . . . I guess I'm just getting home. I stayed at Peyton's." A tiny blush spreads across his round cheeks.

"Peyton?" Huh? Sounds like someone's got some 'splaining to do.

Even though we haven't seen each other in years, we stay in constant contact with e-mails, calls, texts, social media, and tons of pictures. Yet this is the first time I'm hearing Peyton's name.

"She's the girl I told you about." He tilts his head to the side, grabbing my arm. "You know . . . the one I've gone out with a few times over the years. I haven't said much because I'm not sure where it's going. She goes to Florida State, so I don't know about the whole long distance thing. But summer just started, so we'll see." He smiles. "You'll like her, Chloe. She's pretty great. Sorta reminds me of my big sister."

Awe, how sweet is he? "Oh really? Then she must be the _coolest_ chick ever." We both laugh at my less than modest comparison.

Dhelia sticks her finger in her mouth pretending to gag, but I ignore her. "So when do I meet the lucky girl?"

"Soon. Let's see how things go with Pap tomorrow. Maybe we can make a plan for later in the week? Unless . . . ." He pauses. "Unless you plan to leave before the weekend?" His cheeks droop like a moping Bassett Hound.

I reach up, pushing his frown into a smile with my fingertips. "Looks like you're _stuck_ with me." I gently punch him in the arm. "I'm back for good."

His face lights up like a tanning bed. "Seriously? That's the _best_ news I've heard in a long time. _Awesome_!" Dru hugs me so tight he just might sever me at the ribcage.

He lowers me to the ground, sniffing the air again. "So is breakfast ready or what?"

"Sure is." I look to Dhelia and Aunt Morgan. "So should we eat now . . . or wait for Gram and Pap?"

"You'd _better_ not start without us!" Pap shouts from the other room. "Heads will roll if I have to eat cold bacon." He tries to sound tough, but we know better.

We laugh as he and Gram walk in. He still has his wits about him, which has to be a good sign.

As I assault my grandparents with hugs, I can't help realizing how much Gram _hasn't_ changed, but how much Pap _has_. It tickles me to see him, but my heart breaks to feel his frail shoulders beneath my hands. This once strong man now seems more breakable than bone china.

He has to be okay—he _has_ to!

"Now _this_ is the way it's supposed to be. Well, almost." Gram purses her lips, eyes shooting daggers at Aunt Morgan. "So how _are_ the boys, dear?"

"Ash and Aidan are just fine, Mother. _Anyway_ . . . ." Aunt Morgan changes the subject, "who wants scrambled eggs and bacon?" Everyone raises a hand. "Well what are you waiting for? Dig in!"

We eat breakfast, reminiscing over childhood stories and making plans for the future. Tension drains from my body the longer we talk. I never imagined it would feel so natural to be with my family again—as if we'd never skipped a beat.

But sitting here listening to the contented chatter brings everything to the forefront. The proverbial elephant in the room; the very reason I left home in the first place.

Witchcraft.

They're _all_ Witches. Other than Pap, every single one of them was born with a magical ability, just as I was. Though, I'm the only one who would do _anything_ to give it back.

But watching the faces of my loved ones, I can admit there _is_ one thing I do like about being a Witch: our funky, brilliant-blue eyes with a dark ring around the iris. When we use magic, they glow such a bright, radiant blue, one might think there's an electric current running through them. Even I can't deny how spectacular they are.

Which reminds me of a question I was always either too stubborn—or too afraid to ask. "Gram, there's something I've always wondered about. Did our entire family have the same eyes as us?" For some reason, I need to know.

The room grows silent, her eyes scrunching up as she watches me.

"What?" I shrug.

"Well, dear, you know _very_ well that subject has always been off limits with you." She looks around the table at the rest of the family. "You can't blame us for being skeptical of your sudden interest."

She's right of course. "Yeah, I know. I'm just curious." I look down at the greasy bacon on my plate.

"You're allowed to be, dear. It's okay. I'd _love_ to answer questions about the family." She lays her fork on the side of her plate then crosses her hands in front of her. "You probably never paid attention when you were little, but we're _very_ different from the rest of the Moon family. Yes, they were all born with supernatural abilities, but I was the first one born with our magical eyes." She clears her throat. "I've always said we were special, and that just proves it."

"Humph," Pap huffs. "What makes this family so special is the _superior_ , genetic boost that _I_ gave it. Where else do you think the damn twins came from, woman? Me! _I'm_ the twin, not _you_." He shakes his head at Gram, but then everyone laughs at their banter.

"Don't you sass me, old man! I might not have an active power like the rest of the family, but one of my potions can still turn you into a toothless troll." She pinches his cheek as his eyes widen in animated disgust.

Watching my grandparents now, it's hard to believe Aurora and Samuel got the short-end-of-the-broomstick as far as gifts go. Pap obviously isn't part of the Moon Wiccan bloodline, so he learned magic the old-school way after they were married. Not that he was crazy about the endless hours of studying. Gram even made him take a few Herbology and Botany courses.

Pap wasn't much of a believer back then, but because he loved Gram so deeply, he knew the greatest gift he could give her would be to play a role in the one thing that brought her so much joy. And that's precisely what he did. According to Gram, he complained the _entire_ time. But knowing Pap, I'm sure he did it with sarcasm and a smile. Just like he always does.

Gram places her hand atop Pap's and I can't help but admire her love for him—and for magic. She _loves_ being a Witch and concocting all sorts of potions and spells. No, she's not the overly commercialized type of Witch with cauldrons and black pointy hats, who rides a broom and twitches her nose. She'd gasp in abject horror if she ever heard someone make such an accusation. For most of the family, Wicca is more of an entertaining hobby. But for Gram, it's the only way of life she's ever known.

I glance across the kitchen to the windowsill where I spot glass bottles of what looks to be calendula, lavender, and a strange blue liquid I've never seen before. I'm guessing they're something new Gram's working on for her skincare line or homeopathic remedies.

My grandparents have built a comfortable life for themselves from her gift. Her biggest sellers, however, are the various love potions people around the world would pay just about anything to get their hands on. She calls it, 'The Magic Touch'. And believe me, it is.

My trip down memory lane halts, feeling someone's eyes on me.

Of course. I should have known. My darling brother, the Empath, watches me with an amused smile. It can be a bit unsettling to know someone can channel your emotions. But he'd never abuse it—that's not his style.

When Dru was ten, his best friends' dog was hit on the road right in front of them. He felt terrible because his friend was in so much pain—all he wanted to do was make him feel better. Dru tried to console his friend as best he could, but nothing worked. He started saying, "Make it stop. Make it stop." And the next thing he knew, his friend was somehow calm. Instead, it was _Dru_ who was crying like a baby.

Gram figured that as he got older and had a chance to develop his gift, perhaps he could take away peoples pain _without_ absorbing it _all_ into himself in the process.

I wonder how much luck he's had with that?

Dru shakes his head at me. "Stop it!"

" _What_?" I lift my hand to my cheek, feigning ignorance.

"You _know_ what." He points his finger at me. "Find something better to think about."

Better? Not a chance. "There's _nothing_ better than my little brother." I blow him a kiss across the table.

"What's going on with you two?" Gram asks before taking a drink of orange juice.

"Oh, Dru doesn't want me getting sentimental thinking about him." We stare at each other with a smile. My god, I've missed this. Why did it take me until now to realize that?

"Just for that . . . . " He grabs two slices of my bacon and shoves them in his wide-open mouth.

"Are you showing off again, dear?" Gram laughs at the chomping Dru.

"Oh, no way am _I_ being a show-off." He turns to Dhelia. "There's only room for one of those in _this_ family."

"Excuse me?" Dhelia's jaw falls open, glaring at her twin. "What did I do _now_?"

"Nothing, _yet_. But do you remember the stuff you used to do in school? Like the time you pulled the chair out from under Bobby Wilson as he was sitting down. Or the time you made chalk fly out of Mr. Lingenfelter's hand when he was writing on the board? He thought the class was haunted." Dru howls with laughter. "But the best was the day you made the tennis racket fly between snotty Susie Frank's feet. I'll never forget the way she nose-dived in the middle of the court." My family laughs at the memory.

"That wasn't funny," I reply. "Didn't she hurt her knee when she fell?" Dhelia can take her Telekinesis a little too far sometimes.

My sister lifts the pitcher of orange juice off the table with her mind, only to fill my glass so full it spills over into my lap. I give her the death-stare, but she just snickers. "Dru was right. Show off!" I snap.

"No bickering," Pap mumbles with his mouth full. "Eat."

She's so infuriating.

I grab a handful of napkins from the center of the table and wipe myself off, while the rest of the family gets back to breakfast.

I can't tell you how many times she put our family at risk with her ego. But Gram always found a way to calm an angry parent or teacher. By the end of the conversation, they'd think it was the _other_ child who'd done something wrong. Yes, Gram's gift works miracles on more than just wrinkles and unrequited love. As long as she kept her family safe, Gram saw no harm in bending the rules a bit. Even when my mother was alive, it was still Gram who came to Dhelia's rescue. My mom on the other hand, wasn't nearly as good at the art of persuasion. She didn't have the same _charm_ as Gram, but that was okay with her.

My mother's gift was pretty cool though. If I could have traded mine with hers, I would have done so in a heartbeat. She was what's known as a Reader. When she touched an object—any object—she could tell you _everything_ about _anyone_ who'd ever laid their hands upon it.

Unfortunately, my father didn't find her gift to be as wonderful as I did. He used to get so pissed at my mother for what was in _his_ eyes, an invasion of other people's privacy. It had gotten to the point where she'd walk around with her hands in her pockets, just to avoid an argument. It was irrelevant that it didn't happen the very second she touched something. She had to take a moment to focus on the object before the flashes of information would flood her mind.

The technicalities didn't matter to my closed-minded father. He didn't trust her not to snoop around where she didn't belong. He _always_ hated my family's magic. No, more like, he _resented_ it. If only she'd been honest with him _before_ they'd gotten married, but Gram didn't think it would be a wise idea. History was always doomed to repeat itself in her eyes. And she was right.

But my mom hopelessly loved my father back then. Gram knew if he'd heard the truth, he would have _never_ married her, which would have crushed my mom. And considering how difficult things had gotten for my mom after he'd found out, I know Gram regretted her interference. Even though she'd been right about how he'd react.

My parents argued so much those last few years, and it always broke my heart to see my mother filled with such regret. She hated that she hurt him—and he _never_ let her forget it.

In the end, she paid the ultimate price for her betrayal—and for her gift.

What had she touched to set him off? What had she seen?

Most of their fights blend together in a haze of memory from childhood, but it was the _last_ fight they had that remains crystal clear in my mind.

It was that _last_ fight that made me _hate_ who I am—and forced me to run away from everything I ever knew and loved.

#### Chapter 2

### A FAMILIAR FACE

The memory of that day makes my head spin and I'm no longer in the mood for chatter. I need air. "Would you guys excuse me for a minute?" I jump to my feet.

"Is everything okay, dear?" Gram places her silky-soft hand on my shoulder.

"I'm okay. I think the trip down memory lane is getting to me a bit. I just need some fresh air to clear my head."

Dhelia snorts. "Well, I guess you shouldn't have started it then."

My head droops as I try to think of something to say.

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?" Gram's eyes turn glassy. She knows how hard it is for me to be here— _and_ to talk about magic.

I hug her as I whisper, "I'll be okay. I promise. But can I borrow the car for a bit?"

"The keys are on the table beside the front door. Take all the time you need, dear."

I turn to walk outside, but the guilt kicking me in the gut only makes me feel worse. I get in the car and put the windows down, praying the chilly air clears the memories from my mind.

But it doesn't

As I pull in to the cemetery a few minutes later, I realize an overwhelming sadness is riding shotgun with my remorse.

I can't believe I've never been back to her grave since the day she was buried. If my broken heart didn't know any better, it could swear the funeral was going on right now around me.

As I kneel on the damp grass before her marble headstone, my mind picks up where it left off at Gram's.

The images in my mind so clear.

I've tried so hard to forget. Even harder to bury the haunting vision from that day.

But it all comes rushing back like a tidal wave.

My parents' death.

No. My mother's senseless _murder_!

She was killed because of my father's hatred of magic. I doubt he meant for it to be a murder/suicide. He was too much of a coward for that. But it was the end result, nonetheless.

It's been six long years, and I can still see it, like it's the very first time. As if losing my parents wasn't bad enough, I'm forced to see the rerun—every day, for the rest of my life.

And just like that, I'm thirteen again, reliving the worst day I can remember.

I was in sixth period Algebra with my face in my palms, daydreaming about the adorable student teacher, Mr. Carr. He looked just like Clark Kent from _Smallville_. In _my_ mind, he was Superman. As I fantasized about kissing him, the way I dreamt of doing _every_ day, a vision jolted me from reality with images so clear—so vivid—it instantly made me weep.

Tears covered my mother's angelic face.

Her creamy, Irish complexion was sallow as she stared out the passenger side window. The dark circles and look of defeat she wore, tore my heart in two.

But why was she so upset? What exactly happened?

My father's scowl stretched across a face so taut, I'd swear he was made of stone. He'd never been a warm person, but in that moment, it was clear he had ice water running through his waspy, white-collar veins.

_He turned a malevolent gaze towards my mother. "Why can't you ever leave well enough alone? Why do you insist on touching_ everything _you see?" He huffed. "Is it really too much to ask for you to just be a_ normal _wife?"_

_Her wobbly head turned to him. The anguish on her face said his words carried the force of a lead weight. "_ Normal? _Oh, please, my darling husband . . . what's 'normal' in your tiny, deceptive mind? Is_ she _?" My mother's nostrils flared as she battled the floodgate within her tear ducts._

Her sarcasm hit the wrong nerve.

_My father's quivering muscles and clenching jaw painted the perfect picture of hatred. "This isn't about_ _her you dumb ass_ _, so don't you dare make it seem like it is."_

She glared at him. "So how long have you been seeing her anyway? A few weeks? Months? Years, maybe?"

"Moira, we've had problems for more than a decade. It shouldn't come as some big surprise that I've been seeing her. If it weren't for you and your damn family, we'd have a normal life, with normal children, free of magic and all the other crap that comes with it. But nooooooooooo . . . I had to marry a freak!"

My mother's jaw nearly fell to her lap. "A freak?" she asked. "That's really how you see me?" Tears cascaded down her ashen, swollen face as she gasped.

" _I didn't ask for this and you know it. If I had the choice, I would have never in a million years married a Witch. I mean, really, Moira. What man with half a brain would? Women are crazy enough as it is, without adding supernatural bullshit into the mix. Look at your sister for cryin' out loud. The second Michael found out she was a Witch, he ran for the hills, which is exactly what I should have done_ years _ago."_

He fixated on the flooding country road, sheets of rain obstructing his view. He turned up the speed of the wipers, the swooshing sound of the blades mimicked my mother's breathy, rhythmic sobs.

"Well no one's forcing you to stay, you know. I can take care of the kid's just fine on my own. I've already been doing it for years anyway."

_Her seething words seemed to penetrate flesh, muscle, and bone—like no tangible weapon ever could. His scarlet face twisted like a demonic possession. "Oh, so now I'm a bad father? That's priceless coming from the woman who teaches her children how to use magic. Trust me . . . no judge in the world would give_ _you_ _custody of those kids. Just wait until the world finds out what you and your psychotic family_ really _are."_

_Sheet white, my mother froze. "You wouldn't! You've already exposed us by telling_ her _." She latched onto his arm. "Please, Daniel . . . promise me you won't hurt my family that way?"_

_Her hysterical pleading would have broken even the most evil man's heart, but not my father's. His face turned expressionless. "If you force me out, I honestly don't know_ what _I'm capable of."_

Lightning crashed down in several places in the distance, but my father never eased off the gas.

My mom took steady, deep breaths. "You know I don't want you to go, Daniel. I still love you just as much as I did the day I married you. But if life with me is so unbearable, I won't make you stay somewhere you don't want to be." As the words left her lips, her tears fell faster than the rain battering the outside of the car.

_He squinted in stymied surprise. "Are you_ kidding _me? You don't want to make me stay somewhere I don't want to be?" he asked in a condescending tone. "After ten years of this bullshit_ , now _you won't make me stay?" Hatred couldn't even begin to explain the abhorrent gleam in his eyes._

Ignoring the weather and poor visibility, his rage forced his foot firmly on the accelerator. The engine roared as he sped through the splattering water.

"Slow down, Daniel!" My mother yelled, unable to divert her attention from the barely visible road.

Where did this loathing in my father come from? Why hadn't I ever seen it before?

She'd pushed him too far this time.

My father turned the wheel with so much force, the back of my mother's head slammed into the side window.

"Daniel, no!" Her lungs hissed like they were ready to burst.

Slow motion kicked in as he drove the silver SUV through guardrails.

They plummeted down a darkened ravine—and all I could do was watch.

My mother took one last look into my father's enraged eyes as the vehicle sliced through trees, debris, and spewing mud.

When the abraded vehicle hit bottom, the car exploded on impact.

And they were gone.

Those last few seconds played over, and over—like a skipping movie projector.

The replaying sound of crushing metal, shattering glass, and licking flames was so deafening my head could have burst. But even worse were the noxious fumes of gasoline and antifreeze, mixed with the stench of scorched hair and burning flesh.

How could I ever forget such smells?

Then darkness consumed my thoughts as the vision ended.

I remember opening my eyes to a room full of classmates, staring at me as if I had two heads. And I couldn't even defend myself. I can only imagine what my body had involuntarily done during such a horrific vision.

Afterwards, I was paralyzed.

I couldn't breathe.

In shock, I was unable to gain control of my senses fast enough to comprehend what was about to happen.

I couldn't tell my teacher or anyone in my class what I'd just 'seen'. I had to think—and think fast.

I jumped from my seat with my hand over my stomach, moaning I was about to be sick. Once Mr. Carr nodded, I bolted from the room as fast as I could towards the nearest pay phone.

My hands shook, but somehow I managed to pick up the receiver and dial. After two short rings, the voice on the other end said, "Hello?"

In a frantic tone I spoke. "Gram, I don't know what to do. I just saw Mom and Dad in a car crash. We have to call them. They can't leave the city yet. They have to wait!"

After a brief pause, Gram said, "Chloe, it's too late, dear. I just got a call from the police."

Then it hit me. She'd been crying when she answered the phone, but in my panicked state, I hadn't noticed. "Did they . . . is she . . . ?"

"Oh, Chloe. I'm so sorry, dear. You shouldn't have found out this way. You shouldn't have had to _see_ it happen." The pain in her voice rattled me to the core. "I'll call the school and tell the principle what's happened. Go get your brother and sister. Your pap will be there shortly."

I hung up the phone.

I was numb.

I dropped to the floor and cried until my eyes went dry.

Minutes passed, but I had no idea how many.

"Okay," I told myself aloud, trying to get a grip. "You have to find Dru and Dhelia. You have to tell them."

My body trembled, but it didn't keep me from what I knew I had to do. "I'm the big sister, so I _have_ to be the strong one. They can't see me fall apart." I continued talking to myself, thinking it would make what I was about to do, somehow make sense.

But it didn't.

How could my father have done this? Pain ripped through my heart again.

I had no idea how to tell them. But the more I tried focusing on my brother and sister, the more the flashes of my vision permeated my consciousness.

I stood in front of Dru and Dhelia's English class, unaware that my feet had carried me down the hall simply by reflex alone.

As I lifted my hand to knock, I could see Dru on the other side of the room jump to his feet and rush towards the door.

Before he could make it to the front of the class, Mrs. Reiter pulled the door open. "Yes, Miss. Bishop? Can I help you?"

As I opened my mouth, Dru and Dhelia stopped beside her.

With three sets of eyes upon me, the only words I could manage in a broken voice were, "There's been a terrible accident. We need to leave right away."

They knew.

It was written all over their innocent faces.

The helpless look in their eyes sent the pain of a piercing bullet straight through my heart.

An inner battle raged inside of me.

I _wasn't_ strong enough for this.

My heart was determined to protect my family—but my mind knew there was no way I would succeed if my family ever learned the truth.

In that moment, I knew I could _never_ tell them what happened. What _really_ happened. There was no way I would be responsible for destroying my family—and remaining in Lindenhurst around magic would destroy _me_.

So I chose to keep the ugly secrets surrounding their death.

No one could ever know my father was an adulterer— _and_ a murderer. No matter what.

I knew our lives would never be the same again, and I would be forced to abandon the only family I had left.

I had no choice but to leave.

I couldn't be around them and risk the truth coming out. Especially since I often talk in my sleep— _and_ during visions.

So I ran.

Away from my family.

Away from my magical gift.

And away from the truth.

After the funeral, I took what money I had and flew to California with my mother's twin sister, Morgan. And I've spent the last six years in San Diego with the one person who hates magic more than I do.

But now, it's time to rebuild my family's trust—and gain forgiveness for running away when they needed me the most.

For the most part, I think Dru forgave me years ago. Dhelia, however, may never. And she'll _never_ stop punishing me.

Being back home now is the first step. If we can make it through Pap's surgery tomorrow, there just might be hope for this family after all.

* * *

So today's the day.

With heavy hearts, we arrive at the North Shore University Hospital.

Unlike yesterday, this morning is painfully quiet. Uncomfortable even. What's even worse, last night the vision of my parent's death came back to me twice—in its entirety—causing my head to pound this morning.

Pressing my fingertips to my throbbing temples, I watch the floor numbers on the elevator ascend at a sluggish pace. Regret and hesitation—along with the desire to be anywhere but here—ricochets through my mind as I wait for another unwanted vision to accost me.

Ding-ding. "Fifth floor," a canned electronic voice calls out from above. Finally! Readjusting my oversized bag on my shoulder, I step out into the hospital lobby.

Minutes after arriving to Pap's room, his neurologist, Dr. Gaslightwala, and his oncologist, Dr. Hashem, meet with us to go over the surgery. They educate the family members who haven't had a chance to speak with them before today. I know I was worried before, but after hearing what they have to say, everything becomes real. He could actually die during surgery **,** before he's even able to fight the cancer.

Once the doctor's finish, we give Pap our love before they wheel him off to the OR, then we make ourselves comfortable in the waiting area just outside his room.

But there's something I really think I need to do. It's a bit out of character for me, but I just might be more useful somewhere else. "Gram, I'm heading over to the chapel for a bit."

With a curious smile, she says, "Good idea, dear. Mind if I tag along?"

Um, well I guess not. "Not at all."

She gets up. Standing beside me, she grabs my hand to lead me down the hall. Within seconds, I spot our destination about twenty yards ahead. Just as we pass the nurse's station, I notice one of Pap's doctors talking to someone with a familiar face: that _hot_ guy from the airport.

No way!

The second I spot him across the hall, I gawk like a rubber-necker at a freeway accident. I've seen cute guys before, but this is ridiculous. My face heats up as I turn back to my family sitting in the waiting room. I seriously hope no one saw my deer-in-headlights expression.

"Let me go check my lipstick, dear. Wait for me?" Gram asks, a questioning look on her face as she notices me staring at some guy.

I stop. "Yeah. Sure."

Countless times, I've heard people mention the affect a stranger had on them at first sight. I never quite understood what they meant. But given my youthful cynicism, it's likely I just didn't believe them. Has the time come for me to be proven wrong?

I stand outside the restroom waiting for Gram, but I can't help looking his way again. The longer I stare, the more I want to hear his voice.

Busted! Now he's caught _me_ staring at _him_. But it's only fair, right?

He winks before turning his attention back to the doctor.

"I think he likes you, dear," Gram whispers, awakening the rest of my senses as I jump. She squeezes my hand and giggles. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," I reply in a snippy tone. "That guy with Dr. Gaslightwala looks familiar. I just can't figure out where I've seen him."

"Oh yes, that _must_ be it." Gram and I turn towards each other, a smirk lighting up her face. "Well, you be sure to fill me in once you figure it out, dear."

Unable to ignore her sarcasm, I look the other way as we start back down the hall.

Once inside the empty chapel, we sit in the front row where Gram begins the ritual so many before us have completed. Although, I can't help but wonder how successful they'd been.

Regardless of one's religious affiliation, praying for a sick loved one seems to be a universal response. Even for those who don't pray at all. Like me. But I often wonder if praying isn't part of one's normal routine, why would God answer a request in a moment of need? Isn't it hypocritical to pray _only_ when God's help is needed?

Shame for my lack of faith creeps through my body, sending uneasiness through my limbs. I've always been a spiritual person. But after my parent's death, I shied away from _anything_ related to religion. Especially Wicca.

As I rationalize my hypocrisy, my thoughts drift back to the familiar face I'd seen only moments ago. I don't know if I've ever seen a better looking guy in my life, which is why I know I could never forget his face. So where have I seen him? This is gonna drive me nuts!

Okay, focus. Your pap needs you now, so who cares about some cute guy you'll never see again.

I force my brain back on track.

It's been so many years since I've done any religious studying, I can't remember which God I should be praying to for protection and healing. A truth I would never admit to Gram. Not unless I have a death wish.

I lean down, covering my face with my hands. I know it's been a while, but please God, any God who can hear me...please protect my grandfather. Please make him come out of this surgery okay. I don't know if my gram could survive losing him. I'll do anything. Just please let him be okay. We need him. It's not his time.

The second I finish, I raise my head, opening my eyes to Gram staring ahead with a peaceful smile on her face. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she doesn't look worried at all. It doesn't make much sense, but I guess everyone deals with stress in their own way.

It's somewhat unsettling to see her so at ease, while the rest of the family is so tense. If we were home now, I'd imagine she'd be in her sunroom mixing potions. Devising the perfect spell. That is, if she hasn't already. Realizing I'm watching her, she squeezes my knee and gives me a sweet smile. "Are we ready then, dear?"

Oh, you have no idea. "Yep. I think so, Gram." I smile back as we stand and walk out of the chapel.

I wrap my arm around Gram's petite shoulders, when an unfamiliar male voice interrupts us. "Excuse me, Miss?"

I turn to find the very face that's been penetrating my thoughts for the last thirty minutes. "Yes?" My hands begin to shake.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but do I know you from somewhere? I have the feeling we've met before." He blushes, tilting his head to the side.

I smile. "That's funny. I sort of thought the same thing when I saw you earlier."

Head-to-toe goose bumps devour me. Great. Oh, _please_ don't let him notice.

He steps closer, now less than a foot away. If this were any other guy I didn't know, I'd feel like he's invading my personal space. But with him, I have the unfamiliar sense he's not close enough.

He pulls his hand from his pocket, lifting it towards me in a polite gesture. "Hi. My name's Hunter Payne. It's nice to meet you."

The second he wraps his warm, smooth fingers around my hand, sparks shoot through me like lightning.

"Hi." I clear my throat. "I'm Chloe Bishop. It's nice to meet you, too." My smile widens, but I have this odd feeling he can read my every thought. Transparency has always been a weakness of mine. My cheeks flush as I lower my head.

Suddenly aware he's still holding onto me, I glance at our clasped hands. Catching on at almost the exact moment, he releases his hold. Embarrassment makes its home across his now rosy cheeks. "Oh, sorry."

From some place close behind, the sound of someone clearing their throat gets our attention. Gram stands with a bemused smile painted across her shimmering mauve lips.

"Please, forgive my manners. I'm Hunter. It's nice to meet you, Miss?"

She nods with a sheepish grin. "I'm Aurora. Chloe's grandmother. It's _very_ nice to meet you, dear." He takes her hand, shaking it with a quiet grace. "You have a lovely granddaughter, but I'm sure you already knew that." They exchange a brief smile.

"Well, I'm heading to the waiting area in case the doctor comes back. You kids finish getting better acquainted." She turns to leave. "No need to hurry, dear. We'll be here all day." She takes a few steps forward, turning her head back to give us a naughty grin. It's always humorous when Gram _thinks_ she's being sneaky. Sorry Gram. Not _this_ time.

"She's a real firecracker. I'm sure your grandfather has his hands full with _that_ one." Hunter chuckles, shaking his head as we watch her saunter away.

"Oh, you have _no_ idea." Then it hits me. "Wait, how do you know about my pap?"

"I was with his doctor when you walked by earlier. He saw me watching you, so he mentioned your pap's his patient. He thinks a lot of your grandparents."

"Yeah, they usually have that effect on people." I look down. "So, have you figured out how we know each other?"

He shakes his head. "No, I haven't. I keep racking my brain, but no luck. You?" His eyebrows lift, waiting for my answer.

"No, me neither." I might as well be honest. "Actually, I haven't lived here for quite a few years...so perhaps we're wrong about this."

He rubs his throat, head tipping to the side. "Really, for how long?"

"I lived in San Diego for a little over six years."

"Oh, wow. That's cool. When did you get back to town?"

I shift my weight to my left foot. "Oddly enough, I just got in early yesterday morning."

"Oh. So you must be in town for your pap then?" His smile fades.

"Well, not exactly **.** I mean, yes, it's what brought me here this week...but I decided to move back permanently." I fidget with my purse strap, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands.

As fast as the cheerfulness faded from his face, it returns. "Then I guess what I _should_ be saying is, 'welcome back'."

"Thank you." Excitement swims through my body. Why does his reaction have so much of an effect on me? I've been around good-looking guys before, but I've never reacted this way. Yes, he's gorgeous, but looks aren't everything. I've never been the shallow type to get caught up in the superficial.

" _You_ decided? Isn't your family moving with you?"

"Um. Well most of them are already here."

"Really? You must have cool parents to let you live across the country for so long."

I hang my head for a second. "It wasn't like that." Crap, here goes. "They ah . . . they were killed in a car wreck, so I've been living with my aunt in California. My brother and sister stayed here with my grandparents."

His face turns the shade of a Hot Tamale. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume . . . or to pry." He shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans as his eyes dart nervously around the room.

Crap, I didn't mean to make him uncomfortable.

"It's okay." I look down, shifting my feet from side to side. "Classes at San Diego State were over anyway, so moving back makes sense with my pap and everything."

An awkward silence fills the space between us, but is short-lived by a loud voice booming over the hospital intercom. I jump.

As if remembering something he'd forgotten, he checks his watch. "I _really_ hate to cut this short, but I should probably get to work before my boss sends out a search party. It would appear _someone_ made me lose track of the time." He shoots me a wry smile, blinding me with his impeccably perfect, white teeth.

With heat rushing back to my cheeks, I lower my head. He grabs my hand again, lifting it to his mouth and taking me off guard.

The instant his silky lips touch the top of my hand, he brands my flesh. Our eyes lock. A fever and the chills overcome me at the same time. I can't move. A blanket of horripilation covers my entire body. _Not_ a good day for short sleeves. Oh god, _please_ don't let him notice the game of peek-a-boo my skin insists on playing.

He releases my hand, but his eyes remain fixed on mine. "Something tells me the next time we see each other, _neithe_ r one of us will have difficulty remembering this moment."

Unable to speak, a faint smile curls up the corners of my mouth, prolonging the color I feel inching its way across my cheeks.

"It truly was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Chloe." As he turns to leave, he looks down at my arms. "Perhaps you should bring a sweater next time?" A faint chuckle escapes from under his breath, adding to my implacable humiliation.

My mouth opens, but no words come out.

Nothing.

Isn't that just perfect!

#### Chapter 3

### DRIVING MISS CRAZY

What's wrong with me?

In the blink of an eye, Hunter walks to the elevator. Gone before I can regain enough composure to utter a simple 'goodbye'.

"I'm such an idiot!" bursts from my mouth. Sure. _Now_ I can speak just fine. Of course!

He must think I'm such a moron. If not, he must at least think I'm a silly little girl who can't speak coherently.

I look up. "Shoot me now, please!"

If I'm ever lucky enough to see him again, or rather, if he isn't so turned-off by my childish behavior to speak to me again—I swear I'll be in control of myself.

"Chloe. Are you planning to join us anytime in the near future?" The sound of my sister's irritated voice startles me.

"I'll be right there," I snap. Then I take a deep breath in an attempt to regain the pretense of composure. I'll never hear the end of it if Dhelia finds out how big of an ass I made of myself in front of such a gorgeous guy.

With hesitation creeping up my spine, I walk back to where my family sits with expectant grins. I stop at the edge of the waiting area while they do their best to appraise my demeanor. In light of why we're here, perhaps I _should_ allow them the distraction. It certainly seems to have them intrigued. Anticipation spreads across their smiling faces.

I suppose I can handle the ridicule, as long as it takes their minds off Pap. I'll call it my penance for the day.

Dru moves over on the bench, eagerly patting the area beside him. As my butt makes contact with the metal seat, he nudges my arm. I wrinkle my nose in an attempt to dissuade him, but he just bats his thick lashes while pretending to fan himself. "Why so red, sis? You look all hot and bothered."

Oh, crap. I might as well tell them the embarrassing truth. "Well, let's just say . . . nothing instills confidence like making a _complete_ ass of yourself in front of the most gorgeous guy you've ever met." I emulate a sob, sticking my head between my knees in an attempt to achieve the proper dramatic effect.

The sound of their laughter warms my heart.

Yes, without a doubt, I made the right choice.

"Tell us everything, and don't leave out one painful detail," Aunt Morgan gleefully chimes in.

We spend the next twenty minutes rehashing every second of my encounter. The good, the bad, and the _very_ ugly. Most humorous to everyone, including myself, is the fact that he rendered me speechless.

That _never_ happens.

I'm the girl who _always_ has something to say, and guys _never_ affect me. Sure, I've liked guys. I've had boyfriends. I even thought I was in love once. But my heart wasn't broken when it didn't work out. I was fine. If you're in love, it should hurt when it ends, right?

Everyone knows I don't daydream about a knight in shining armor rescuing me.

I don't fantasize about getting married and having children.

I'm not against it or anything—I know it sometimes works. My grandparents are proof of that. I may even decide one day down the road it's something I want, but until I finish school and start my career, I won't be able to focus on anything else.

It's not part of my five-year plan.

The morning crawls by once we finish discussing my entertaining encounter. But the longer we wait for the surgery to end, the antsier we get. Patience is not something anyone in our family was blessed with. Not even close.

It's just past lunchtime when we see the doctor walking towards us, bringing us to our feet. Nerves on end, we wait to hear what Dr. Gaslightwala has to say.

"How did everything go, Doctor?" Gram wrings her hands against her stomach.

He hesitates before answering, but rebounds with a polite, yet serious smile. "We just finished Samuel's surgery and they'll be moving him into recovery momentarily. It went well, but due to its location, we weren't able to remove as much of the tumor as we'd hoped." He slides a blue Bic in the breast pocket of his white coat. "Unfortunately, it does seem to be spreading. We'd like to begin radiation and chemotherapy as soon as he's strong enough, which will hopefully be in a few days. A week at most."

Dr. Gaslightwala pauses, readjusting his trendy, small-framed glasses. "This type of tumor grows at an incredibly rapid rate so we'll need to be aggressive with our next course of treatment. We'll know more once he wakes up and we're able to ascertain how he's handled the surgery. I'm sorry I don't have better news." His eyes volley as he takes in our troubled faces. "Does anyone have any questions?"

There's a long silence.

"Thank you." Gram manages to find her voice. "I'm afraid we'll need a little time to digest the information. We know where to find you if we have any questions. Thank you, Dr. Gaslightwala." She forces a smile, which doesn't quite reach her pale-blue eyes.

He nods. "Dr. Hashem will speak with you after Samuel wakes up. I'm here if you need anything." Then he makes his leave towards the nurse's station.

We do our best to comprehend the news, the news that's taking us all by surprise. Like naive children, we believed the surgery would be a complete success. We thought as long as he made it through the actual procedure, he'd be fine.

How could we have been so ignorant to believe he's impervious to this possible outcome?

Cancer doesn't discriminate.

It doesn't ask what other difficulties you may have in your life to be sure you're strong enough to handle it.

It doesn't stop first to show you its ID to gain admittance.

It doesn't give preference to the physically fit, or to the out-of-shape.

It doesn't care if you've lived five years, or fifty.

The truth is, no one's safe from its life altering—or life-ending—invasion.

Before today, we were worried about my pap. But now I see a collective fear on everyone's face. The gravity of the situation seems to incapacitate us all with its ugly truth.

We spend the remainder of the day waiting for Pap to wake-up. The sooner the oncologist can evaluate him, the sooner we'll know what we're dealing with.

Not wanting Pap to wake up alone, the family decides to go home in shifts to sleep. Of course, Gram refuses to leave the hospital, period, so the nurses agree to set-up a cot in Pap's room. But before the first shift begins, we convince her to have dinner with us in the cafeteria. Since everyone's so tired, the only way she agrees is if we all go home together. Instead, we make a compromise that Aunt Morgan would stay here with her tonight, and the rest of us would come back in the morning. Even though our house is only fifteen minutes away, there's still no chance we'd leave her here alone all night.

The ride back to the house is quiet, but I've never been more thankful for the time to think. Dru and Dhelia must be just as drained as I am. Sitting around doing nothing somehow seems more exhausting than a day of shopping. Stress has a way of doing that.

The moment my head hits the pillow, my mind shifts to an unfamiliar place. No matter how embarrassed I was this morning, nothing can change how alive I felt when I looked into Hunter Payne's eyes. Regardless of the reason for my schoolgirl reaction to him, it's exhilarating to feel something other than fear—or guilt. I honestly think I'd forgotten how to feel anything else.

I'm sure I'll never see him again, but I deserve to hold on to this feeling for a while. If nothing else, I can use it as a mental distraction when I need to escape the upcoming hours we'll be spending at the hospital. It will give me time to figure out where I'd seen him before, since I'm positive I had. How could anyone forget those warm, molten eyes?

As my body relaxes enough for sleep, I play back the entire day in my mind. It's beyond surreal being back here with my family again. Even more unreal, is that my pap now lays in a hospital bed unaware he's heading for the fight of his life.

What I wouldn't give to see my mother now. She'd know just what to say to make everyone feel better. She had an enduring strength, which few possess. I wish I had even a tenth of it.

My eyelids give up the fight, falling shut as a vision of my mother comes to me. Had she heard my mental plea? For the first time in my life, I want nothing more than to stay in this vision forever.

My mother stands before me with a smile so warm—so lifelike.

"Mom?" I rush up to her, wrapping my arms around her tighter than I thought possible.

"My darling, Chloe . . . I've missed you so much." She's an angelic vision with her flowing, dark-as-night hair—her glowing skin making her more beautiful than I remember.

"I've missed you, too." Years of guilt creep up from my stomach to my throat. "I didn't handle losing you very well. You must be so disappointed in me for leaving Dru and Dhelia behind."

I hang my head in shame, unable to look at her. My stinging eyes try to focus, only to shock me as I realize there's no ground of any kind beneath us. Nothing but fluffy, white clouds. What the . . . .

_I've never had a vision quite like_ this _before._

She floats closer. "Chloe, how could you possibly think such a thing? You did what you needed to, and there's no fault in that. What you don't realize is...you weren't the only one who felt like they couldn't handle losing me. Neither could Morgan." Her calm voice soothes me like a lullaby.

"What?" I lift my head to look at her. "But she never let on like she was having a tough time. I knew it was hard and she missed you, but she always seemed so strong."

"That's where you're wrong, honey. Morgan and I were always so unbelievably connected. More than normal twins, even from opposite sides of the country. I know you never had the chance to know your twin sister, and it breaks my heart. If she hadn't died at birth, you would have been able to experience the wonderful bond twins share. Instead, what remains is the incurable emptiness your other half left behind. It's why you've always felt so alone...why you've been so desperate to feel complete. I would do anything to take away that pain for you."

_My heart sinks at the thought of the sister I'd never know. "I thought I was just trying to fill the void for missing_ you _."_

" _Oh honey, that was only a small part of it. You finally understood loss, just like your Aunt Morgan. Only,_ she _needed_ you _more. You saved her life. Your being there was the next best thing to having_ me _there." She reaches for my hand. "True, we don't look alike, but you and I have the same heart and the same gentle soul. Your brother and sister only_ look _like me. But you_ are _like me."_

"Really?" My eyes fill. "I didn't think much of you lived on through me at all. That's why I needed to be with Aunt Morgan. I wasn't ready to lose you." The pain of that memory claws its way through my heart.

"Well, it was the same for her, too. You saved one another. Your brother and sister had each other, as well as your grandparents. You were in the right place, so please stop this insane guilt. You did what you were meant to do, and one day Dhelia will realize that. In the meantime, give yourself a break. You were only thirteen years old for crying out loud." A single tear rolls down her rosy cheek.

"I don't understand." My eyes well up to the edge, confusion clouding the heartbreak. "Why couldn't you have come to me years ago? It would have saved me from so much pain." Heavy tears now pouring down my cheeks.

An innocent smile graces her lips. "I didn't come because you really didn't need me, Chloe. You might not have thought so, but you were handling things unbelievably well. You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for."

" _I am? Then why are you here_ now _? Not that I'm complaining or anything." I wipe my face with my sleeve._

" _I'm here because I heard your thoughts earlier. I heard you wishing you had my strength. But I need you to realize, not only do you have it . . . you have more than I ever did. I'm here to make you see yourself the way most everyone else sees you. You are the heart of this family, Chloe. In time, you'll see it, too." She takes a deep breath and pauses. "There's going to be a very difficult road ahead of you . . . things you won't see coming. But you_ will _overcome it. This is only the beginning though." Her brow wrinkles to match her serious tone._

My stomach flip-flops. "What are you talking about?"

" _I can't tell you any more than that, I just need you to prepare yourself and trust in who you are._ You _have the power to protect our family." She places her right hand on my cheek, the way she used to when I'd wake up screaming from a nightmare. "Sweetie, tell me you hear me and you understand?"_

" _Yes, I hear you . . . but I_ don't _understand."_

"Don't worry . . . you will. I promise."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Only if you need me. But never forget I'm watching over you. I always have been."

She turns her head as if someone's there, someone I can't see. "I have to go now, but please remember everything when you wake up. It's very important."

"I don't think there's any chance of me forgetting."

"Good. In the meantime, please tell everyone I send my love. Especially your pap. Tell him I'll be watching over him, too."

"Okay, Mom. I will."

"I love you so much, Chloe."

"I love you more.

She wraps her arms around me with all her might, the warmth of the sun washing over my entire body.

"So, who is this handsome guy who has you so worked up?" She smiles, but before I can respond—she's gone.

I wake to the stillness of my dark bedroom.

Did that just happen, or am I finally losing it?

I climb deeper under my down comforter, remembering every word she spoke.

Why wouldn't she tell me more?

I guess there's no chance I'll figure it out now, so I might as well focus on the good things she had to say. Like the fact that she's _not_ disappointed in me. How is that even possible?

I hold on tight to my pillow, replaying the vision again. And again. She made it clear I need to remember, so that's just what I plan to do.

* * *

As the sunlight beams in, forcing my eyes open, I find myself not minding it's time to crawl out of bed. The guilt that usually parks on my chest like a tw0-ton-dump-truck, is lighter somehow.

Nothing can ruin this feeling—not even Dhelia's biting sarcasm.

I inhale the fresh morning air coming through the window—take a steaming shower—then throw on khaki Capri's and a royal blue tank.

For the umpteenth time, I replay my mother's words while I paint on a bit of make-up, finding new strength each time the vision begins. I'm dying to share my vision with my family, but I'm not sure how to approach the subject.

Like a skilled chess player, I plot various scenarios and strategize the possible outcomes. Each time, Dhelia meets me with disbelief and argumentative behavior. I'm sure there's no way around it, but I do need to tell her and the others. Whether they believe me or not.

I grab a rubber band and smooth my hair back into a ponytail, convincing myself I'm sure I'll know when the time is right. Satisfied after one last perusal in the mirror, I set off on my mission.

I walk downstairs expecting to be alone this early in the morning, but to my surprise, both Dru and Dhelia sit in the kitchen having their tea.

The second I spot them my resolve begins to fade. "Hey. Morning, guys."

"Hey." Either Dru didn't sleep well, or he's hung-over. His slumped-over posture is a bit out of the norm.

"Rough night?" I raise my eyebrows in mock judgment.

"Oh, let's just say it was a _long_ night and leave it at that." Dru stares at his cup, playing with his spoon like a toddler.

If my brother doesn't say what's on his mind, it's cause for concern. He's an open book by nature. But I won't press it until later when he's had a chance to wake up.

Getting no response from my sister, I greet her again. "Good morning, Dhelia."

"Morning," she replies in a low monotone, with not even a hint of snark.

Great. This is guaranteed to be a _long_ day at this rate. "I can just get something to eat at the hospital, so whenever you guys are ready, just say the word."

Dru flies off his chair like a bolt of lightning. "I'll drive!"

I don't ask any questions as he rushes out the door—I just follow. I make it to the car before Dhelia, but I jump in the back to avoid any potential for an argument.

After ten miles of awkward silence, tension fills the car like a hitchhiker.

"Would you _stop_ it already?" Dru shouts at Dhelia.

"I'm sorry," Dhelia snaps, but her frowning expression paints the perfect picture of remorse. _That's_ a new one!

Did I miss something? "What's going on with you two?"

Dru snorts. "Dhelia refuses to control her hormones, and she's driving me nuts with her negativity. I feel it for us _both_ and I can't take it right now."

Oh, wow. _Now_ I get it. "Well, can't you calm her? I remember you doing it when we were kids."

He scrunches his eyebrows, glaring at me through the rearview mirror. "Not when I'm already upset myself. I can't focus enough to even try."

"Come on, Dru . . . just take a few deep breaths and relax."

He obeys.

Ok. If he's gonna listen, I'll see if I can help. "That's good, Dru, a few more. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel any better?"

He nods. "Yeah, some."

He's so rattled. I can't stand seeing someone so sweet, tormented over something that's out of his control. "Good, now think about what Dhelia's feeling and try to make it disappear. Can you feel it?"

"Oh yeah, no question there," he quips, not even trying to hide his sarcasm.

"Okay, now focus. Imagine you can physically wrap your hands around it and pull it from her." I give him a few seconds. "Are you pulling?"

He focuses. "Yes, I have it. But what do I do with it."

I open my mouth to speak, but I'm muted by a revolting sound coming up from his lungs—like the wind is being sucked out of him.

The car swerves out of control, as panic—and déja vu—overcome me.

I lean up, putting my hand on Dru's shoulder. "Pull the car over, Dru. Keep your eyes on the road and pull over."

He responds to my command, bringing the car to a screeching stop on the side of the road. Thank god there were no other cars around!

I rub his shoulder. "Close your eyes and breathe, Dru. Deep . . . slow . . . breaths." He continues repeating the exercise, his labored breathing normalizes.

"Are you okay?"

"I think so. Man, that was wild." He laughs. "How the hell did you do that?"

#### Chapter 4

### THE DECISION

Huh? "What do you mean? Do what?"

"You helped me take away her pain . . . pull it into myself . . . then get rid of it."

I squint, cocking my head to the side in disbelief. "No I didn't, _you_ did. I was just trying to keep you calm so you could focus. I remember how hard that always was for you."

He laughs. "Yeah . . . still is."

Oh, crap. Dhelia. How'd I forget about her? "Dee, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She pulls off her seat belt then twists around to face me. "No. I'm better than fine. I feel great. I seriously thought I was having a panic attack. I tried so hard to control it, but the harder I tried, the worse it got. I'm so sorry, Dru." Her eyes well up, turning to her other half.

"It's okay. I shouldn't have gotten so mad. I know you weren't doing it on purpose. Please don't cry, Dee." Dru lays his hand on her knee.

Dhelia turns to face me again. "Thank you, Chloe. Seriously. Thank you."

Whoa. Where did _that_ come from?

"Ah . . . you're welcome." I barely did anything more than make a few minor suggestions to help him breathe.

But I'll leave it alone. These moments are rare, so there's no sense spoiling it.

Dru puts the car in drive, pulling back onto the empty country road like nothing happened. I notice him watching me in the rearview mirror with a grin on his face. We just had a breakthrough. And like me, I think he knows it's only the beginning.

Dhelia leans forward to turn on the radio as Dru opens the sunroof, allowing the perfect sixty-five-degree May morning to permeate through the car. Now _that_ feels fantastic.

I smile, leaning back to enjoy the wind—and this moment. This is a _much_ better way to start the day.

Ten minutes later we make it to the hospital, but no one's in sight near Pap's room. We head to the nurses' station, only to learn they've taken Pap down for a few tests. Gram and Aunt Morgan must have gone for a walk to stretch their legs.

It's extra quiet this morning. Business must be slow on this wing, which is a good thing. Either that or most are still sleeping. No worries—we've come prepared. We brought books, newspapers, magazines and a deck of cards. The latter was Dru's doing. Since the waiting room is empty, we find the most comfortable corner to settle in for the day.

About twenty minutes after we sit, we hear familiar voices coming down the hall. Gram beelines straight for us. "Good morning, kids. How'd you sleep?" Her smile as warm as ever. My heart breathes a sigh of relief.

The three of us look at each other and shake our heads, but I answer, "Not too bad. Had a dream that woke me up, but other than that, I slept well." It's the perfect time to start paving the way towards sharing my vision.

"And how about you two?" She studies them with curious eyes. They turn to each other again, both seeming unsure of how much they should divulge. "Okay, out with it. What's going on?"

After a brief hesitation, Dhelia speaks up. "Well, I sort of kept Dru up all night with my worrying. He was super pissed at me this morning, but I tried to tell him I couldn't help it. I'm worried. It's not like I can fake it or anything."

Gram nods in agreement. "That's true enough, dear. But you have to realize that because you're twins, it exacerbates _everything_ he feels from you. Even if Dru weren't an Empath, he would still be able to feel what you feel. His power just magnifies it to the extreme." She lifts Dhelia's chin with her fingertips, kissing her forehead.

My sister's eyes glaze over. "I know, Gram. I told him I was sorry. I couldn't help it. I tried though, I really did."

"I believe you, dear. Maybe your brother needs to realize you won't always be able to control your feelings. Perhaps he needs to find a way to block you out." She eyes Dru as though he's done something wrong.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway. Chloe saved the day and rescued us both before I had a chance to strangle Dhelia." He plasters a smug grin across his face as he turns to me.

Gee, thanks for throwing me under the bus, Dru. Brat!

Gram's mouth falls open. "Is that so? What exactly did she do?"

I feel thirteen again—busted for playing with her Wiccan ritual paraphernalia.

"Well, we'd just gotten in the car to come here. I yelled at Dhelia for driving me nuts with her negative energy then Chloe asked what was going on. Keep in mind I was super agitated at this point. I wanted to break something." He pauses.

"Go on, dear."

"Well, I'm not really sure what happened. After I told Chloe about Dhelia, she not only calmed _me_ down, she also kept Dhelia from totally freaking out. It was unbelievable. One minute she's walking me through slow breathing like I was giving birth or something—then I almost wreck the car—and the next we were pulled over along the road feeling like a huge weight had just been lifted. I've never seen anything like it, Gram."

She rests her hand on the side of her face. "Is this true, Chloe? I thought you didn't use magic anymore?"

Huh? "I don't . . . I didn't. It wasn't like that. All I did was put my hand on his shoulder to calm him down. Then I helped him focus so _he_ could take away Dhelia's pain. That's it, I swear. I might have given him the directions, but Dru did the driving. Besides, I'm a Seer . . . what magic could I have possibly used?"

"That's a load of crap, Chloe," Dru interjects. "After I pulled the fear out of Dhelia, it went _completely_ into me. I thought my lungs were going to explode from it hitting me so hard. You walked me through it and told me how to push it away. It's totally gone now . . . from both Dhelia _and_ me. I can feel she's calm and relaxed. I couldn't have done that without you. I'm not _that_ strong." Out of character, Dru looks annoyed, nostrils flaring with each breath.

I don't see what the big deal is. I shake my head. I didn't do what he thinks I did. He just lacks confidence in his abilities. I'll help him see that, but it won't be now. We can talk when we're alone.

Gram stares me down as if she's seeing me for the first time. What is _that_ for? She moves to my side, laying her hand on my shoulder. "Sounds like _someone_ has more 'gifts' than she realizes."

Before I have the chance to disagree any further, we notice the nurses wheeling Pap back to his room.

We move towards the doorway where Dr. Gaslightwala greets us. "Good morning, everyone."

We all reply, "Good morning."

"So Doc, what's the story?" Dru isn't wasting time on small talk.

Dr. Gaslightwala takes a deep breath. "I'm afraid the news isn't good. Since Samuel still isn't responding, we ran a battery of tests to see what's preventing him from waking up. Unfortunately, we've concluded he's in a coma. Upon using The Glasgow Coma Scale, he received a seven. A score of three to five likely means fatal brain damage. A score of eight to fifteen means a great chance for recovery. A score of seven means things could go either way at this point." He sits on the arm of the chair next to Gram.

"An MRI indicates there are no visible lesions, but there's still a significant amount of swelling from the surgery. We're putting him on a course of steroids over the next few days to reduce the swelling and to alleviate any pressure on the frontal lobe where we operated. We'll be monitoring him _very_ closely. As soon as we see a change we'll let you know right away. Again, I'm sorry I don't have better news."

My heart threatens to stop beating from this unexpected change.

Gram leans closer, placing her perfectly manicured hand on Dr. Gaslightwala's arm. "How long could this last, doctor?"

With his pursed lips and squinched up eyes, he shakes his head. "There's really no way to tell. Samuel's a strong man, so there's still every reason to be hopeful."

"Okay, thank you doctor." Gram smiles politely, pulling her hand back.

"We'll keep you posted, Aurora." He stands to walk away, leaving us in stunned silence.

We knew Pap would have a difficult road ahead of him, but we never prepared for _this_. No one did. A coma? Are you kidding me?

While maintaining her usual calm, Gram turns towards her family. "Let's sit down and talk for a bit. There are some things I can't put off any longer."

We do as she asks, but shift in our chairs uncomfortably. Where's she going with this?

"Okay," she says, taking a deep, yoga-like breath. "I was hoping we'd never need to have this conversation. But out of respect to a promise I made your grandfather, I suppose now is the time." She pauses, and we patiently wait for her to regroup. No one seems to have a clue what she's about to say.

"Even though it's not what I believe in my heart, we need to prepare ourselves for the worst. After we found out about the tumor, your grandfather went ahead and made all sorts of arrangements. You know how practical he is . . . he doesn't want us burdened with anything in case the worst should happen." Her eyes fall to her palms. "So he had a will drawn up, along with funeral and burial arrangements. He's even written letters for everyone."

We look around the room at each other, panic etched across our clueless faces.

"Now don't get the wrong idea. He's more worried about _us_ than he is for himself. He doesn't want us to assume he'll be okay, and then be shocked if he should die. He doesn't want anyone having regrets, either, which is what brings me to the next promise I made him, and quite possibly, the most difficult." She pauses again, nervously twisting the rings on her fingers.

"Go ahead, Mom, it's okay," Aunt Morgan tries to reassure her.

She turns toward her daughter with a look of both fear—and hope—all wrapped up into one. "You say that _now_ , but wait until you hear what he wants." She hesitates. "He made me promise I'd convince you to bring the boys here to say goodbye. If he should die, he doesn't want them to live with the regret of not seeing him before he goes. Please don't be upset dear, but it's the right thing to do. Deep down, you know it is."

"You're right, Mom." Aunt Morgan grabs her hand.

"You've kept them safe all these years, but now . . . wait . . . what did you say?" Gram's mouth falls open.

"I said you're right. And _he's_ right. He's _always_ right. It's not fair to keep the boys away at a time like this. I've kept them safe for twenty-one years. The simple fact is they're old enough to take care of themselves now. They're grown men and I can't protect them forever. They should be able to make their own choices. Besides, what are the chances the Russo's have kept _our_ secret all this time anyway?" She rubs the top of Gram's hand, staring out the window with a rather helpless look on her face. "I'm not going to worry about that stupid pact anymore. I only wish it hadn't taken something like _this_ to make me realize it. But just so you know, I'd already made the decision before you said anything. Actually, I made the decision before we left California." A hint of a smile forms on her face as she turns back to Gram.

An imaginary light bulb explodes in my head, remembering Aunt Morgan's hours of pensive silence on the plane. "Is _that_ why you were so quiet on the way here?"

She shrugs at me apologetically. "Yeah, I guess so. I was afraid for my dad, but I also knew I had to find the strength to bring the boys here. I've always known the day would come, but now that it's upon me, I'm just not sure what to do. Sorry I was so anti-social."

"Don't be, it's totally okay. If anyone can understand how difficult it is making decisions that affect the people you love . . . it's me." My eyes dart towards Dhelia.

"Oh, is this my cue to say something all heartfelt and forgiving?" Her posture stiffens, almost as if she regrets the reflexive attack.

Unaffected by the classic Dhelia snark, Gram jumps to her feet, excited by her daughter's words. "Are you sure, dear? I'm not trying to talk you out of it or anything . . . I just need you to be sure this is truly what you want."

Aunt Morgan laughs, lighter than she was just moments ago. "Yes, Mom, I'm sure. It's the right thing to do. Besides, how could I possibly deny Dad this? I just pray he gets to see them before . . . ."

"Don't you _dare_ talk like that." She pushes Morgan's hand away, an agitated breath pushing out from her lungs. "So when are the boys done with classes?"

"Sometime next week. I'm sure if I talk to the Dean, maybe they can take their finals a few days early."

"Well, why don't we find the doctor to see if we can get more information? I don't know much about comas, so the more we can find out, the better."

"Okay. That sounds like the best first step." Aunt Morgan stands to throw her arms around Gram.

"Thank you, dear. I love you even more for doing this."

My aunt doesn't say anything, but I can tell by the way she buries her face in Gram's shoulder she's still nervous about her decision.

As they embrace, I realize not so much as a peep has come from Dru or Dhelia about the news on Pap. "You guys okay?"

Dhelia gives me her usual eye roll. So much for making progress earlier.

"Dru?" I ask.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm just trying to keep everyone calm and tear free. Man, do I have my work cut out for me with this emotional crew. Geez." He scans the area to admire his handy work. "But not too bad if I do say so myself. Not a single tear shed."

After _that_ conversation, I'd say Dru did a _great_ job. I laugh. "Are you _okay_ though, show-off?"

"Of course I am. I can feel Gram really isn't afraid, so neither am I. Pap's gonna be okay, Chloe. I 'feel' it."

"Yeah, I'm sure you're right." But I'm really not convinced.

Gram clears her throat. "Okay, kids. Morgan and I are off to find the doctor for more information before we call Ash and Aidan. Why don't you kids go get something to eat, or go outside for a walk or something?"

We nod like obedient toddlers.

She's right. A walk alone to clear my head sounds perfect. "I'm going outside for a bit. Call my cell if you need me, okay?"

Dru purses his lips in annoyance. "You don't wanna hang with us?"

"I just need some fresh air, that's all. I'll be back in ten."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Ok then. I'll just be here kickin' Dee's ass at Texas Holdem."

"Game on, bee-otch!" Surprisingly chipper, Dhelia bounces her head to an imaginary beat. But I'm sure Dru has something to do with that. Or perhaps it's because I'll be out of sight for a while.

"Play nice, children." I laugh, turning towards the elevator.

Outside the doors, fresh air clears the sterile stench from my sinuses. The smell of hospitals is something I've never gotten used to. Not that I've spent much time in them. The air is pungent, as much as something clean is capable of being. I know it's psychosomatic, but it still makes my stomach queasy.

I gaze up towards the sky, admiring the gorgeous day. Not a cloud in sight, a gentle breeze, and cheerful birds singing from the expansive oaks. Hard to believe there's another disheartening world just beyond the walls behind me.

I sit on an old-fashioned wooden bench, the warmth of the sun's rays making my alabaster skin tingle. This is _just_ what I need.

The tranquil sound of a sparrow's song commands the tension in my shoulders to dissipate.

I tip my head back—close my eyes—and relax under the soft breeze kissing my cheeks.

My mind relives the visit from my mother, desperate to pick up where we left off. But as I try returning to that perfect place, my twisted ability takes me to a moment in time I do _not_ want to think about right now.

The future.

Darkness surrounds me then stops as flickering lights from above illuminate my surroundings.

Where am I?

The massive room is unfamiliar, its Victorian charm cold in its pristine beauty.

Everywhere I look, strangers dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos move rhythmically around the room. I can only see half of their faces from underneath elaborate masks that expose their black-as-coal eyes.

A shiver crawls up my spine, sinking one icy tendril at a time into my skin.

Something about these people is familiar, yet I don't recognize anyone. Not a single person. But somehow, deep down I feel like I "know" them.

My world starts spinning.

_A flash of light blinds me_ — _then my vision clears._

I focus again on these strangers. One minute their eyes appear normal, but the next they turn black again. And then normal, once more.

_What's going on? Who_ are _these people?_

Off-balance, the pressure upon my lower back and hand startles me. I'm twirling around the room with a tall dance partner. As we spin in circles, I see the same faces over and over—like I'm riding a merry-go-round.

They smile with the warmth of a friend, but the way it chills my blood frightens me.

The dancing halts.

I look up towards the muscular man who's holding me in his arms.

I can only see part of his face, but the anticipation now growing inside me says he must mean something to me. He makes me feel safe.

The most beautiful jade eyes with amber flecks stare back at me, his honey-golden hair curling up around the elastic at his ears. So familiar.

Who on earth is he?

I wish I could tear off the mask to see his face.

He squeezes me closer, my chest crushing into his.

My body tingles with excitement. More than anything, I don't want the night to end. I want to savor this moment.

Haltingly, he lowers his head to kiss me.

As our lips touch, the jarring sound of gunfire and chaotic screams jolt us back to reality.

His arms fall from my waist as panic threatens to implode through my chest.

"No, don't go," I whisper.

Everything goes pitch black—then my eyes pop open to the blinding sun in my face.

What the hell was that?

If I don't know who these people are, why show them to me? Again? Why bother giving me a vision that makes no sense?

"I don't understand," I utter under my breath.

Both times the vision stopped on its own without finishing. Is it from years of forcing my visions away? Had I subconsciously created this reflex?

I shift my weight, unable to get comfortable on the hard surface beneath me.

A day ago, I would have been relieved at the realization. Today, however, something in my gut tells me I _need_ to see this vision.

The first vision was similar to the last, but I was able to glimpse a bit more this time. I could sense more. The last one, I felt what was going on in the room around me. The foreboding danger. But this time, I could only feel what I was experiencing in that moment, between this guy and myself.

When is this supposed to happen? My guess is, not anytime in the near future considering the fact of what's going on with Pap. Plus I have no plans to do anything, let alone something black-tie. It just doesn't make sense.

Perhaps that's the point.

I pull my feet up on the bench, wrapping my arms around my bent legs as I lower my head to my knees. "Focus, Chloe. Think. There must be something missing," I say aloud.

"Chloe?"

"Geez!" I snap, almost falling off the bench as the urban-Adonis interrupts my mental debate. "Hunter? You scared the crap out of me. I didn't realize anyone was there."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I can see that. Though, you wouldn't have been able to see me anyway, not with your face buried in your knees." He pauses. "Is everything okay with your pap? You seem upset."

"Oh, yeah . . . I mean no, he's not . . . but that's not what . . . oh, never mind, it's nothing." I shake my head so hard I swear I hear maracas. "I fell asleep and was having a bad dream, that's all." I plant my feet firmly back on the ground, yanking down my clinging pant legs in one fluid motion.

A smile spreads across his stubbly face as he watches me readjust. What's so funny?

#### Chapter 5

### STALK YOU LATER

Hunter wiggles his hands deep into the front pockets of his designer jeans. "So, your pap's okay then?"

"Well . . . we're not sure yet, actually. We just found out he's in a coma." I hang my head.

"Oh. That's too bad. I'm really sorry." He rubs the back of his head, suddenly unsure of what to do, or say. I can't be sure which. "You mind if I sit? Or . . . if you'd rather be alone, I'll understand. You just look like you could use some company."

Only if it's you! "Sure. Please . . . sit."

He lowers himself beside me, my nerves tingling with tiny electrical pulses.

Okay Chloe, you promised you wouldn't act like a total ass-hat if you saw him again. I speak the words in my head, but thinking it _doesn't_ make it a reality.

I'm hopeless.

He stretches his long legs out in front of him. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"The bad dream you were having. You know, sometimes it helps to talk." Still holding his keys, he glances away and fidgets with the metal ring holding them together.

Why is he being so nice to me? Most good-looking guys are so self-absorbed; they could give a care less what goes on in the ambivalent recesses of a girl's mind. Especially one they barely know. But Hunter sounds like he genuinely _wants_ to know. Not like one of those people who merely pretend to be interested for the sake of being polite—while deep down they're really hoping you zip it and walk away.

But I wouldn't know where to start, even if I _could_ talk about it. "Thanks Hunter, but I'd rather not think about it anymore, if you don't mind." I cross my legs, hoping he doesn't press the issue.

"Well, let me know if you change your mind." A smile lights up his entire face, melting my heart on the spot.

But wait a minute. He's at the hospital _again_? Two days in a row? "So what brings you back to North Shore? A sick family member? Wife? Girlfriend? _Boyfriend_? Or perhaps therapy?" I wink. Sometimes I crack myself up, but it's a good way to find out the basics.

His laugh is so infectious I can't help but giggle right along with him.

"None of the above, actually. My work keeps me safe from most relationships." He shrugs.

"Your work?" Okay, stud, dish.

"Ah . . . yes, my work. I'm . . . a fireman with the FDNY. Most women don't want to fall for someone with such a dangerous job. Not that I can blame them." He shrugs again, this time with a hint of regret.

"That's too bad." My disingenuous tone has him eyeing me. Whoops. It's worth it though. At least now, I know he's single _and_ brave.

"Soooooo, to answer your question, I'm visiting a buddy who'd fallen on the job a few days ago. He's in pretty bad shape. Head trauma." Hunter purses his lips, looking towards the ground with his face blanketed in worry.

"Oh my god, that's _terrible_. I'm really sorry, Hunter." I place my hand on his knee.

"Thanks."

His pain wrenches my heart. What can I say to that?

I sift through my mind for the right words, and then it hits me. Duh! "So _that's_ why you were talking to Dr. Gaslightwala yesterday."

"It is, yes." He eyes me curiously. "Why, were you afraid I was _stalking_ you or something?" Once the words roll off his tongue, he snickers.

My face heats up. "Of course not! It just occurred to me after you left yesterday I had no idea why you were here . . . when you knew why _I_ was. So now I know."

"Now you know." Mischief spreads across his face, his brow lifting with his crooked smile. "So, if you see me back here a lot over the next few days, you won't go thinking I decided to stalk you after all, will you? Because if we're here—on the same floor—seeing the same doctor—we're _bound_ to run into each other from time to time. I wouldn't want you worrying for your safety or anything, so I figured I'd put your mind at ease _before_ it has a chance to run away with itself again." He laughs, almost under his breath.

Seriously? Oh, he's _clearly_ enjoying this. But I'll play along. Why not? "Your consideration is touching." I lift my hand to my heart. "But if you _should_ happen to change your mind about stalking me, please just give me a heads up first. I'd be more than happy to provide you with my itinerary. I know how daunting your schedule must be, so I wouldn't want to subject you to any difficulties which might further endanger your well-being." I tilt my head, batting my baby blues for affect. "If you like, I could even leave a ladder outside my window . . . or binoculars in the tree across the street. You know . . . just in case." Feeling just a tad cocky from my rebuttal, I return the same sideways smirk he's now giving me.

"You see, I _knew_ you were a good woman from the first moment I laid eyes on you. Most aren't willing to be so accommodating."

"Well, the way I see it . . . you risk your life to protect strangers every day. It's merely my civic duty to repay your kindness. I'm nothing if not old-fashioned." I re-cross my legs, trying not to seem too confident.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Well in that case, I promise to let you know when I decide to stalk you."

" _When_ . . . ?" My eyes widen.

The second he laughs, I jump in right along with him. How could I not with that amazing, smoky laugh of his? He does seem to be enjoying this, just as much as I am.

"You're a lot of fun, Miss Chloe. And a lot quicker than I expected. _Very_ pleasant surprise." He smiles. His gorgeous, mocha eyes caress my soul.

Deep breath, Chloe. "Yeah well, you caught me on an off-day yesterday. But I'll be sure to bring my A-game from now on." I bump my knee into his as I lift my brows flirtatiously.

"I'll hold you to it, you know. Comic relief is in short supply around here." He nods towards the emergency room entrance.

"Yeah, hospitals tend to have that effect on people. I can't imagine why."

We both grin.

"So, Miss Chloe, what do you do for fun in this town?"

"When _you_ figure that one out, you can let _me_ know. I have absolutely no idea. Lived in San Diego for six years, remember?"

"Oh, that's right. Well, perhaps some evening after I decide to _stalk_ you, maybe I'll lure you to my car with some candy. Then we can drive around and figure it out together." He leans back, eyeing me from under half-closed lids as he grins.

"Well that all depends on how long it takes you to start stalking me. I can't wait forever you know." I do my best to look serious, but I can't quite tell if I succeed.

He tips his head back, belting out a hearty laugh. "Fair enough."

"So would it be presumptuous of me to ask how old my perspective stalker is?"

His jaw drops. "I'm appalled! How _dare_ you ask me such a personal question? You have some nerve, madam." His acting skills are lacking, but who cares. He smiles. "I'm twenty-five. So will you bestow the same courtesy upon me?"

Suddenly uncomfortable, I re-cross my legs again then start bouncing my foot. "Are you sure you really want to know?"

Well, it was fun while it lasted. I know I'm way too young for him, and now he'll know too. I'm such a dumb ass for asking his age. Idiot!

"Of course I do. It can't be _that_ shocking."

"You sure about that?"

"Oh come on, it can't be that bad."

I hold my breath for a few seconds then exhale. "I'm only nineteen." My shoulders tense as I get ready for the big letdown.

"So you're still in school then?" His head tilts to the side.

"Yup. Only two years left, thank god."

"Hmm. I don't know if I can stalk someone who's underage. I could get arrested for harassing a minor, you know." He attempts a serious tone.

"First, I'm _not_ a minor . . . and second, I'd say that's the _least_ of your worries if you turn out to be a stalker." Ha. Take that, Hunter Payne!

"You do have a point." He nods while looking at the sidewalk.

"Of course I do."

"I'm sure you've heard this before, but you're _very_ mature for your age." He crosses his arms over his chest.

I look towards the hospital doors. "Yeah, well life has a way of doing that sometimes."

He nods in agreement, but his now somber expression is evidence of his mood change. I took Psych 101. I know what it means when someone sits so defensively. I guess my age bothers him after all. Not that I'm surprised. I should have known this flirtation with such an amazing guy was too good to be true.

"Shouldn't you be getting back to your family?" He looks away, rubbing his hands across his jeans.

Well so much for that.

Wait. I totally forgot about my promise to Dru. "Crap. Where's my head? I promised my brother I'd be back in ten minutes." Phone in hand, I jump up while scrolling to see if I missed a text. But I didn't.

"You mind if I walk up with you? You know, since we _are_ going to the same place and all. I would have just waited to follow behind you, but I did promise to warn you _before_ I start stalking you." He winks.

"A man of your word. Commendable."

"But of course. Shall we?" He stands, holding out his hand towards the hospital's entrance.

As we walk through the automatic doors, he puts his hand on my lower back to guide me in ahead of him. The heat from his palm goes right through my sheer cotton shirt, goose bumps shoot for the sky on contact.

I wonder if he's aware of the effect he has on me?

He starts to say something—but hesitates. Unable to take my eyes off his mouth, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss him—or to nibble on that juicy bottom lip.

My naughty thoughts are interrupted by the clanging doors swinging open, only to be met by my family's curious stares. What the . . . . I should have known they'd be right there waiting—like they knew I'd be getting off the elevator at that exact moment.

My stomach roils from the invasion.

To my surprise, Hunter walks towards the voyeurs first. Great. This won't be good. If someone makes smart cracks at my expense, it will _mortify_ me. But it would be just like my family to embarrass me for kicks.

Gulp.

Deep breath. You can do this, Chloe.

Gram gets up to greet her new acquaintance. "Hunter . . . how very nice to see you again, dear."

An instant smile blossoms across his face. "Miss Aurora, the pleasure's all mine. You look lovely today."

"Thank you, dear. I guess the hospital cot agrees with me after all." She grins, just as I open my mouth to speak.

"Hunter, this is the rest of my family. My brother, Dru. My sister, Dhelia. And my Aunt Morgan. Everyone, this is Hunter Payne." They politely greet him.

Okay, so far so good.

"Nice to meet everyone." He runs his fingers through the back of his hair then points towards the courtyard. "I ran into Chloe outside and kept her company for a little while. I apologize if I kept her away too long, but she looked like she needed a bit of cheering up." He turns to face me, placing his hand on the side of my arm, the heat from his palm searing my skin.

"That was _very_ sweet of you, dear. So what brings you back to the hospital so soon? Or do you work here?" Gram seems even more curious than I'd been to find out that answer.

"Actually, a co-worker of mine was hurt on the job a few days ago. We're pretty close so I've been coming by every day to check on him. He doesn't really have any family." He squeezes his hands into his pockets again. They sure seem to go there a lot.

"I see. So what sort of work do you do . . . if you don't mind me asking?" Gram lifts her brow, awaiting his response.

"No, not at all. I'm a fireman."

Gram squeezes her hands together in delight. "Oh, that's wonderful! What a perfect job for someone so big and strong." Beaming from ear to ear, she lays a hand on his exposed, muscular arm.

"Thank you. I definitely enjoy what I do." He lowers his head as he starts to blush. Modesty is surprisingly sexy on him.

Everyone else is quiet, watching Gram work her usual magic on yet another unsuspecting victim.

I should probably help him get out of here while it's still safe. "Hunter, shouldn't you be going to see your friend now?"

He turns to face me, surprise etched across his handsome face. "You trying to get rid of me?"

I squirm, but it's true. "Yes, you've bored me to tears. Be gone already!"

We both laugh.

"Actually, I _should_ spend some time with him before I have to leave for work." He holds his hand up to wave. "It was nice meeting everyone."

Dru and Dhelia nod, but Aunt Morgan chimes in, "Stop by anytime, Hunter."

"Thank you. I just might do that." He grins, turning back to me. "Miss Chloe, thank you for letting me cheer you up."

My legs start shaking. Why am I so nervous _now_? "Thanks for sitting with me. I had fun." _Way_ too much fun. So why am I chasing him away? Idiot. "See you later, Hunter."

He stops, giving me his adorable sideways smirk. "Stalk you later. I mean . . . see you later."

A giggle escapes my lips as he walks down the hallway towards his destination. I take a deep breath, walking back to where my family sits.

Here we go again.

Time for them to bombard me with more questions.

Dru motions for me to sit. "Can I say something?"

Uh oh. "Well, yeah. Of course, you can.

"Be careful around him, Sis. I don't trust him." He glares like an over-protective father.

"We're just friends, Dru, it's okay. But might I ask why you distrust a guy you've only been around for five seconds?"

"I'm not sure, exactly." He shrugs. "I just get the feeling he's hiding something."

"Well, I just met him . . . so I'm sure he's hiding a _lot_. But you have nothing to worry about anyway." I open my purse, digging hopelessly for my lip-gloss. "I don't know anyone around here, so it would be nice to make a new friend."

"Just the same, I'd feel a lot better if you keep your guard up. You can both _say_ you don't want to date, but I could feel the electricity between you two the second you got in the elevator. It almost knocked me over. Literally."

Okay. _Now_ it makes sense. "So you _knew_ we were coming up? That's why everyone had their eyes on the doors when they opened?"

His lips pinch into a thin line. "Hell yeah, we knew. I told them the second it hit me. You might not realize it, Chloe, but it's super strong." He sighs. "Please be careful, okay?" He pauses. "Promise me?"

"Okay, okay. I promise I'll be careful. Not that it matters anyway. I'm too young for him, even if we _did_ want to date. He's twenty-five-fricken-years-old. I think I scared him off when I told him I'm only nineteen."

"I can only hope." His words drip with sarcasm.

"Oh, unclench! Just promise me you'll be nice? No matter what, he seems like a good guy . . . and he's funny. Besides, it wouldn't hurt _any_ of us to make a new friend. Especially a fireman. You never know when one of Gram's potion experiments will blow the house up."

Everyone laughs and agrees—even Gram. She's known for creating small explosions every now and then.

Once everyone stops laughing, I realize I forgot to ask the most important question. "So what'd the doctor say? Did you call the boys yet?"

"No, not yet," Aunt Morgan replies in a listless tone. "I'll call them tonight when they're done with class. The doctor said your pap's in stable condition right now, so instead of trying to get the boys here over the next few days, we'll talk to the dean about getting them here next week. That way they only have to miss a few classes instead of a week's worth. I'm waiting for the dean to call me back."

"But what about graduation? They'll miss it, right?" That sucks. Four years of hard work and they won't get to walk down the aisle for their diploma.

"I'll let _them_ decide what they'd like to do. Worst-case scenario is I fly back with them for graduation. We can come right back when it's over. I'm not even sure which day it is, but we'll figure it out. No worries."

Yeah, right. "You know me . . . always the worry wart."

"Isn't that the truth?" She laughs, putting her arm around me as I pretend she's hurt my feelings.

"I have an announcement to make," Gram declares. "We are _not_ spending the entire day locked up in this hospital! It's gorgeous outside, and your pap will never let me live it down if he finds out this is how we're spending our time. Especially when we know there's nothing we can do right now. If he wakes up, they'll call us right away. So let's go do something. What do you kids say?" She bubbles over with anticipation.

The five of us are in agreement. We grab our bags and head to the Americana Manhasset to do some shopping since it's so close to the hospital.

Just in case.

* * *

I wouldn't normally let Gram take me on a shopping spree, but the joy she gets out of doing this for us makes it worthwhile. For an entire afternoon, she's able to escape her painful reality. I'm just thankful something can still do that for her.

Tonight I'll tell them about Mom's visit. With everyone's spirits now lifted from a successful day of shopping, the news might be accepted more easily.

On our way home from the outlets, we stop by the hospital to check on Pap.

Gram heads straight for his bed where she plants a tender kiss upon his cheek. "You know, I think your pap would be much happier if I sleep in our bed tonight. He'll have a few choice words for me when he wakes up if I don't get proper sleep." She wipes the taupe lipstick stain from his face with her thumb. "Then tomorrow, I'll bring some of your favorite books so we can take turns reading to you." She rests her palm on his cheek, the picture of a lifetime built on love.

"And I can bring my laptop to do research on coma studies. I heard there are certain stimuli patients respond to, so I might be able to find something to help." Dru rubs his hands together as he makes his plan, then we all head out for the evening.

Since we'll be coming back in the morning, we pile into one car to save gas. And the drive is just as pleasant as our afternoon, with lots of laughing and storytelling.

We pull in the driveway just after seven. With plenty of sunlight still gracing the sky, I take in the floral splendor of my grandparent's enormous yard. I have no clue what most of the names are, but they pretty much have every color of the rainbow growing—and then some.

I turn towards the house, my attention zeroing in on the old swing on the front porch. Its empty state calls to me. By the smile painted across Aunt Morgan's face, we're both on the same page as everyone else goes inside.

Together we sit. With her long, sinewy legs, she kicks off with a whoosh.

This faded swing brings back so many memories. As a child, I spent most of my nights out here swaying to my heart's content. If I was upset—this was my retreat. Something about the soft squeak and rhythmic, repetitious pace back and forth always pacified me.

I kick my flip-flops off as my attention draws to the sound of a car door across the street.

Aunt Morgan's feet make firm contact with the cement surface of the porch, bringing us to a sudden, jarring stop.

Her face turns sheet white.

Is it panic, or nausea from the motion? I can't be sure which.

I focus my attention on a small group of people not more than fifty yards away, realizing what has her so rattled.

Oh my god. It's Michael Russo in the flesh.

The man who left tread-marks across her heart as he sped away—as though she meant nothing.

Ash and Aidan's father.

The man with no clue his two sons even exist.

#### Chapter 6

### ASSUMPTIONS

Aunt Morgan moved to San Diego when she was nineteen. She'd always been quite happy living on Long Island, but when she found out she was pregnant—her happiness vanished.

She'd been dating the neighbor boy, Michael Russo, since the ninth grade; true childhood sweethearts. He'd been in love with _her_ since the day he ran her over with his tricycle at age three. It's safe to say she played hard-to-get for well over a decade.

Getting pregnant right out of high school isn't what most girls aspire to. But Aunt Morgan was ready to be a mother, regardless. She would have preferred it happen _after_ they were married, but she was confident it would work out. She was, after all, the eternal optimist in the family.

There was never a doubt in her mind they'd get married someday. When Michael found out she was pregnant, he handled it like a gentleman. A few months later when he found out they were having twins, he was even excited. But once she decided it was time to tell him about her gift—about the whole family's gifts—well that's when everything changed.

You see, Michael comes from a strict Catholic family, the kind who aren't open to other religions or ideas that differ from their own. The Russo's had always known there was something _different_ about our family, but I don't think they were ever sure what it was. I imagine we can thank Gram and her eccentric behavior for raising their suspicions. But the minute their greatest fear was confirmed about the "crazies" next-door, all hell broke loose. From that moment on, Michael was forbidden to see Morgan.

The agreement they'd made was that as long as Morgan and Michael stayed apart, they would respect our secret. The family agreed—and Morgan's world was in turn dismembered.

She would have fought for Michael. But if he didn't have it within himself to fight for _her,_ then why should she?

After that heartbreaking day, Morgan never spoke to Michael again.

Gram told the Russo's she'd had a miscarriage and moved to California for college. And all these years later, they've never asked _anything_ about her—so no one ever felt the need to tell them she'd actually given birth to healthy twin boys who were the spitting image of their father.

The only thing Morgan could do to escape the pain, was move as far away as she could. At least _that_ part wasn't a lie. Just like me, Aunt Morgan wanted nothing to do with magic. So much so, I don't even know what her ability is. No joke. No one's ever discussed it in front of me. She despises everything it represents after taking away the father of her children—and destroying the love of her life.

Now, the man she hasn't seen in over twenty-one years is before her—his face appearing just as aghast and frozen in time as hers. You can almost see the life force draining from their stunned bodies.

I open my mouth to speak, but the front door flies open and Dru rushes to her side like Kujo. "Are you okay, Aunt Morgan? I could feel your anxiety the whole way upstairs." He glares across the street. "We can go in the house if you like. You don't have to sit out here and subject yourself to seeing _him_."

Other than the chirping birds in the background, there's not another sound for what feels like minutes.

"No. I actually think I do." She exhales, running her fingers through her flowing dark hair to tame the fly-aways. "If I'm going to be here for any length of time, I'm bound to run into him eventually. It can't be avoided. I won't go out of my way to talk to him or anything, but if he seeks me out, I'll be polite." Aunt Morgan's head bobs back and forth between Dru and me. "The truth will come out soon enough. I just need to figure out if I should tell him _before_ the boys come next week, or wait till he sees them first and has a heart attack." She giggles. "Tough, that just might be fun."

I know she doesn't mean it. No matter how much pain he caused, she would never wish anything bad on him. She's one of the most compassionate people I know. But I'm sure just finding out after all these years he has two grown children, will be hard enough.

He stands there like a limp rag-doll, blankly staring in our direction. The people he's with continue talking amongst themselves. Oblivious.

"Do you need my help, Aunt Morgan? I can take the edge off if you like?"

"Thanks Dru, but I can handle it. It's somewhat interesting to see what I feel after so long. I've always wondered what it would be like."

"Okay. I'll be in the house if you need me, so just let me know if it gets to be too much." Dru's shoulders slouch in defeat as he walks back inside.

"I will. Thanks, Dru."

Realizing she'd applied the brakes to our swinging, she pushes off in one fluid motion to get us moving again. The tension melts from her shoulders, relaxing with each pass through the air.

A deafening silence swells around us.

Her eyes fixate on Michael, with both contempt—and purpose.

I can't help but wonder if he still looks the same to her, or if he's changed so much she no longer finds him attractive. Of course, I'd never ask, but the thought still permeates my mind.

We continue swinging, noticing everyone but Michael goes inside the Russo's house. Just as the front door closes behind the last unfamiliar face, he starts heading our direction without breaking stride.

Holy shit! What's he thinking?

I lean towards Aunt Morgan. "Should I leave you alone with him?"

"Absolutely _not_ , stay right where you are!" Her voice goes up a few decibels. "I don't think I can handle a one-on-one just yet." She puts her hand on top of mine.

She remains impassive, straight face and rigid body. But knowing her as I do, it's not an easy facade. I'm sure she's dying inside.

Just ten feet away, the man in question stops short of the porch. His vacuous expression mirrors Aunt Morgan's, utterly unreadable in its stoicism.

Is it surprise—or pain?

"Hi, Morgan." He clears his throat. "I heard you were in town. I didn't believe it, so I had to see for myself."

Her feet push off a little harder this time, our heads jerking back in response. "Well, now you see." Her words are so matter-of-fact.

He clears his throat again. "H-How are you, Mo? You look fantastic. Haven't aged a bit."

Her eyelids squinch like she's been stung. "I wish I could return the compliment. I guess time and genetics have _not_ been as kind to you." She averts his penetrating gaze. "And please don't call me that. You gave up that right long ago."

Discomfort crawls through my body as I witness this awkward exchange.

I've never felt more out of place. This new side of my aunt is almost cruel. But not that I blame her.

From what I remember, Michael looks pretty much the same to me. His hair's starting to thin on top, a tad bit of gray in the temple area, but he's still in good shape. She's just trying to hurt him, but I can't tell if it's working. He remains aloof, completely unscathed by her sharp words.

He lifts his foot up on the first step, leaning his weight on his right knee. "I heard about your dad. Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine. The Crawford's are survivors." She looks past him again, her eyes glazing over.

"Is he still in the hospital?"

She brings her attention back. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes, he is." She forces out a breathy sigh. "He's in a coma, if you _must_ know."

"Oh. I hadn't heard that. I'm sorry, Morgan. He'll be in my thoughts and prayers." Michael pulls his foot back to the ground, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Thanks," she replies, her contrived tone unmistakable.

"Well, I don't want to disturb you and your family. I just wanted to say 'hi' and wish your dad well. Take care of yourself, Morgan."

She ignores his last words.

Michael watches the ground, never lifting his head until he makes it to his parents' porch. He stops—looks back toward Aunt Morgan—then goes inside. Her apathetic words must have wounded him more than he let on.

"Well, that was easier than I thought it would be."

Kidding yourself much? "Um, are you okay?" I squeeze her knee.

"I'm _great_. I can handle this. I have, after all, had over twenty-one years to prepare." She pats my thigh, the corner of her mouth curling up.

"True." But who's she trying to convince?

She lets out a breathy sigh. "I was pretty nasty, wasn't I?"

"Well...you were...cold...and hurt. But he deserves it. You could have been _much_ worse under the circumstances, so he should thank his lucky stars you took it easy on him."

"That's why I wanted you to stay. If I was alone with him, I can't even imagine what would have come out of my mouth. There are so many things I've imagined saying, but I _won't_ go there. It's not worth it. _He's_ not worth it." She shakes her head.

"Then I'm glad I could help you take the high road. Well, a _little_ higher anyway." I nudge her arm. "I had no idea you had that in you. You're such a tough ass. Remind me never to get on your bad side." We turn to each other and laugh.

"Let's go inside. We've had enough excitement for one night." Her eyes cross the street one last time.

Gram puts the final touches on dinner. I'm not sure what it is, but the sautéed garlic smells delicious. She's our culinary master. We used to tell her to open up a restaurant, but she's convinced if she has to do it every day for tons of people, the enjoyment would be lost. I guess I can see why she'd think that.

We fill Gram in on Michael's visit while we set the table. She doesn't say much, but her furrowed brow speaks volumes. I'm sure she's thinking about next week when the boys get here; what might happen when Michael learns the truth.

Dru and Dhelia make it to the table, so we sit to feast on Gram's yummy Seafood Fettuccini Alfredo. As everyone loads up their plates, I wonder if this might be the best time to share the news of my vision from last night.

It's quiet while we eat. Most likely from all the talking throughout the day. We're discernibly spent.

Yes, this is _definitely_ the right time.

"So, something interesting happened last night. I wanted to tell you earlier, but I decided to wait until everyone could focus on what I have to say." Four pair of eyes lock on me. "I had a vision. The most amazing vision I've ever had."

I'm already getting choked up, geez.

Dead silence.

They stop eating, waiting for me to continue.

"Mom came to me." I pause, trying to gage their reactions.

"And? What did she say?" Dru's mouth hangs open like a rabid dog, Alfredo sauce dripping down to his chin.

I lean back to get more comfortable. "A lot. She wanted to reassure me everything would be okay with Pap, but she also wanted to warn me there would be very difficult things ahead for us." I pick up my silverware and start cutting my pasta. "She said she's watching over us, and always has been . . . always will be. And she knew I needed her, which is why she came to me _now_." I reach for the pepper, clearing my throat as I load it on. "I asked her why she never came to me right after she died, but she said I didn't really need her . . . that Aunt Morgan and I were supposed to be there for each other."

I scrutinize their questioning faces. Their silence. But they're simply waiting. No sign of disbelief. Not even from Dhelia.

"Go on, dear. Tell us what else she said." Gram sips her coffee.

"Well, Mom said I made the right choice in leaving, and then she yelled at me for being so hard on myself. For some reason, it was important to her I know how strong I am, but she couldn't explain _why_." I take a drink of water, sudden cottonmouth making it difficult to continue. "She was very mysterious, trying to reassure me and warn me at the same time." I scan my family's faces again. "She wants you all to know how much she loves and misses you, and she wants to make sure Pap knows she's watching over him. She's his Guardian Angel."

I regroup my thoughts, only to realize every single one of my loved ones has tear-filled eyes.

"Oh Chloe, that is so wonderful, dear. Why didn't you tell us first thing this morning?" Gram lays her hand across her heart, as if it's about to burst.

"I'm sorry. I just wasn't sure how you'd all react. Or if you'd even believe me."

Gram shakes her head. "Why would we ever doubt your visions? That's your gift, dear. They don't lie."

"I know, but I've done my best to shut them out and ignore them for so long. I just didn't know what to think."

Dhelia smacks her lips together, drawing my attention in her direction. "Well did she say anything else? Did she say anything about me or Dru?"

Damn it. Well here goes nothing. "Do you want me to be honest?"

"No, _lie_ to me." She rolls her eyes. "Of course I want you to be honest, or I wouldn't have asked!" She leans up on the table with both arms, preparing herself for the unimaginable.

"Okay. Yes, she said more. Mom told me you'd forgive me one day. She said you and Dru have always had each other, but because I lost my twin at birth, I've always felt alone. Which is why I needed to be with Aunt Morgan." I look to my Aunt who bears the exact same face as my mother. "She's the only one who understood my loss. You see, Mom's convinced her death brought the loss of my twin to the surface, without me even realizing it. So Aunt Morgan and I needed to help each other get through Mom's death, or neither one of us would have survived."

"Oh. I never thought about it that way." Dhelia looks at both Aunt Morgan and me with a guilt-ridden face. Does she _finally_ understands what it must have been like for me?

"Did she say if you'd see her again, or if she'll come to _us_?" Dru wipes his eyes with his T-shirt collar, searching my face for the answer.

"No, she said she'd only come to me if I need her. Though I'm not quite sure what that means." I pick my fork back up to stir my uneaten food.

"How did she look?" Aunt Morgan's cheek twitches, a smile trying to make its way to the surface.

"Beautiful. She hasn't aged a day and she seems so happy."

"Did she say anything about your father, dear?" Gram taps her plate with her fingernail.

"No, she didn't. And I never thought to ask. Do you think it means something she didn't mention him?"

"I'm sure it doesn't, dear." But Gram's crinkled brow says something else. What does she know I don't?

Dru stands up. "Well, now I understand why you were in such a good mood this morning. It was a bit irritating that I was so cranky while you were so damn chipper. It didn't make sense at the time...but then I forgot about it with everything else that happened on our way to the hospital." He shakes his head. "This sure has been quite the day."

Talk about an understatement.

We laugh. It's been one thing after another today. Yes, there were good things, but I could do without the perpetual drama.

They continue asking me questions, and I continue giving them answers. They're almost as excited as I am.

Gram's happy as well, but unlike the others, she seems a bit distracted as she stares off into space.

Is it because of mom's message—or Pap's coma?

But all I want, is for us to enjoy this gift we've been given. We can worry about the future, _later_.

* * *

Gram reads to Pap, while I sit on the couch beating myself up. I'm sure I'll snap out of it, but failed experiments do have a way of wounding my ego.

I'm not sure if it's even possible, but I tried going back to the vision about the masked strangers. In the past, I've been able to replay things I've already seen, to be sure I didn't miss anything. But I've never tried picking up from where it left off. Then again, they usually play themselves out the first time around.

But it didn't work.

Each time I remember my mom's words—just as she wanted me to—I can't help but wonder if this other vision has something to do with her warning. I'm sure it's unrelated, but I don't have much else to go on just yet.

Nevertheless, my eyes are open.

No more shutting out visions and jamming the fast-forward button in my mind.

These images come to me for a reason, and it's time I take responsibility for my gift. If I'm _truly_ the strong person my mom believes me to be, it's time I start acting like it.

For the first few hours, we take turns reading to Pap from his favorite books of poetry by Yates, Dickinson, Browning, Longfellow, and Whitman.

As a child, I loved sitting in his study while he spent hours reading from his favorite excerpts. I notice the Walt Whitman book on the table, one passage in particular coming to mind that always stuck with me.

There is no endowment in man or woman,

that is not tallied in you.

There is no virtue,

no beauty in man or woman,

but as good is in you.

No pluck, no endurance in others,

but as good is in you.

No pleasure waiting for others,

but an equal pleasure waits for you.

That was from Pap's favorite poem called, _To You_.

He's always been an incurable romantic. I'm sure his passion for the written word had a lot to do with winning Gram's heart.

I grab the Whitman book from the table, smiling to myself at memories of the most amazing man I've ever known.

I look up to see his peaceful face.

With one hand gripping a book—and the other holding Pap's hand—Gram reads Yates to her beloved husband.

My heart warms at this touching vision before me.

In the old days, letters were hand-written and intimate. It seems archaic now with the advancements in technology. So impersonal—yet convenient. The idea of someone writing down their favorite poem and mailing it to someone they love, well most people would find the notion absurd. But not my Pap. Gram still has boxes of poems and notes he sent her all those years ago.

As a society, we've become inherently lazy. Everyone's always taking the easy way out—looking for the quick fix. It's no wonder love is no longer appreciated the way it used to be. It's no wonder love has lost its meaning.

Pap always told me, "If a man can't give you the name of at least one famous poet or author, don't waste your time, Chloe. A man with love in his heart will have it filled with poetry . . . and the rest are animals."

And I've always believed him.

These days, actual poetry's been lost through song writing. When a guy starts spouting lyrics, he assumes you should go weak in the knees. Yeah, right!

Sure, some songs are pretty. But for the most part, it's the music or the melody that grabs your heart. Not the words. Poetry on the other hand, doesn't _need_ musical accompaniment to make it beautiful. It just _is_.

Perhaps the next time I see Hunter I'll test his knowledge of poetry. I can't imagine a tough guy like him would have the first clue about the classics. Considering the fact he enjoys talking like he's in an old black and white film, it'll be fun to find a weakness.

I _need_ to start bringing him down off that pedestal in my mind.

And speaking of Hunter, I haven't seen him yet today.

Maybe he won't be coming by after all.

Sadness seeps through my chest at the thought.

Not to worry though. It's not like I need the distraction.

Gram closes the book and turns to Dru. "Your turn, dear. Why don't you read him a story this time?"

Dru grabs a book from the table. "I think that can be arranged." He takes a seat opposite Gram—then begins.

My brother has the most soothing, melodic voice. The inability to hear it in person for six years gives me a newfound appreciation for its tenderness.

As I sit in the corner listening to Dru read from _Pride and Prejudice_ , I take a moment to look at Pap's surroundings; what he'll see when he wakes up.

If you take out the monitors and tubes, it doesn't even look like a hospital room. There's nothing clinical about it. Instead, the walls are an earthy shade of garnet, and my pap rests comfortably beneath a coordinated pattern of chocolate, burgundy, emerald green, navy blue, and crème linens.

We're thankful for the oak table and chairs. Much better than the cold, impersonal waiting room. But you can usually find me parked on the cozy loveseat—mainly because I enjoy the soft, glowing light from the floor lamp.

Each wall wears a painting of various outdoor scenes: Vibrant, crisp autumn leaves; a gorgeous, spraying waterfall; and an artistic field scattered with a multi-tonal array of flowers. They sort of have a Thomas Kinkade feel to them.

It's a masculine atmosphere, but it feels more like a den in your home than a hospital room. When Pap wakes up, he'll feel more than comfortable here.

I continue listening to Dru tell the captivating tale of Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. Even though I'm not a romantic like Pap, this story moves me. It's one of my favorite books, and Jane Austin remains one of my favorite authors. If ever I dare to dream about love and an unfathomable happy ending—it's when I read this book.

Dhelia took Gram and Aunt Morgan to pick-up something for lunch that's better tasting than cafeteria food. I look up at the clock on the wall, my growling belly reminding me I shouldn't have skipped breakfast. And maybe I should have ordered something more substantial than a grilled chicken salad. Oh well. I'm sure it's too late now.

The fam must be close. Dru slams the book shut and walks to the open door with a victorious smile. "Lunchtime." He's such a show off.

I jump up from my cozy spot on the couch.

Just as we make it to the hall, the elevator doors swing open. To my surprise, my family isn't alone. The delicious Hunter Payne steps off with them.

Yum. I didn't realize I'd ordered dessert with my lunch.

As if stuck on a giant flytrap, I remain glued in place while everyone walks inside. Hunter, however, stops in front of me. "Good afternoon, Miss Chloe." He nods in my direction.

My god he's gorgeous. His radiant smile and sparkling eyes could melt steel.

"Hi! I...I didn't think you were coming by today. It's late for you." Pipe down, Miss Chipper. You're acting like a bubble-headed-schoolgirl again. Why don't you just hold up a neon sign that says, "Caution: children at play".

"Yeah well, it's my day off, so I slept in as long as I could. It was a _really_ long week." He stretches before me like a well-fed house cat.

"I don't blame you then. I _love_ sleeping in any chance I get." Oh, who am I kidding? I sleep in even when I don't.

"Yeah, me too." He chuckles, looking over my shoulder inside Pap's room. "Hey, don't let me keep you from your lunch. I don't want your gram mad at me." Right on cue, his hands find his pants' pockets. The Hunter Payne signature move.

"Yeah, they'll be yelling for me. She'd never get mad at _you_ though. She thinks you're the next best thing since Armani." My cheeks flush, so I turn my attention to the floor as fast as I can.

Ha. The Chloe Bishop signature move.

He laughs his adorable little laugh, eyes twinkling like stars catching the full moon's reflection. "Now, if only her granddaughter felt the same." He sends me a wicked grin.

Did he really just say that?

#### Chapter 7

### OPEN MOUTH, INSERT TRUCK!

"I'll stop by before I leave, okay?"

"Sure, we should still be here." I sure hope so anyway.

Heat spreads across my cheeks from his playful crack. Even worse, I hate that I don't want him to leave. I only want to be near him. What's that old saying, 'Like a moth to a flame?' What's wrong with me?

His smile fades a bit. "Enjoy your lunch."

"Thanks. I plan to."

He turns to walk down the hall towards his friend's room, but glances over his shoulder in my direction. " _There's_ that spunk I'm so crazy about."

We both laugh as he disappears through the double-doors to the burn-unit.

I don't know Hunter well enough to be sure, but he still seems a bit off since our _age_ discussion. I _must_ have freaked him out?

Oh, who cares? He just flirted, so that's all I need to get me through the day.

I walk back into Pap's room, just as they finish getting the food from the bags.

Twenty minutes later, Dru assumes his position next to Pap, and I go back to my indented corner of the love seat. Maybe I'll take a nap.

Dhelia leaves with Aunt Morgan to arrange for Ash and Aidan's trip next week, so Gram moves back to her chair to hold Pap's hand while Dru reads.

Watching her now, I can see some of the worry she hides so well, appearing on her drawn, listless face. I wish she didn't always feel the need to maintain such control of her emotions. I can only imagine how painful it must be to watch her husband laying there so helpless—and unaware.

She sits for what seems like an eternity. Rubbing his hand. Smoothing his hair. Adjusting his blankets and pillows. All the while, regarding him as if she's seeing him for the first time. What a rare love they share.

If only my mother could have had that with my father. My heart clenches at the memory of their less than romantic love affair. I wish she could have known what it feels like to be on the receiving end of something so resplendent—and one-hundred-percent reciprocated.

She glowed that night I saw her, like she had found true happiness. But I can't help but wonder if she's with my dad where she is. No. There's no way she could be. If she is, someone needs to reconsider the rules of the afterlife. There's no chance she'd be in heaven with the man who killed her. No God could be _that_ cruel.

Somehow, in the midst of admiring my grandparents' enduring love—and feeling remorse for my mother's unhappiness when she was alive—I manage to fall into deep slumber.

My surroundings are extrinsic.

I'm frightened—but not for myself. So for whom? And where am I?

I'm desperately searching for someone in a crowded room.

My heart pounds. Palms sweat.

Someone's hurt. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.

I need to help them.

From a distance, I hear my name in a faint whisper. "Chloe . . . I need you."

I force myself to run.

The trepidation builds in my chest, as if my ribs are crushing my lungs.

I press my hand to my heart, but the beating never slows.

Where am I going?

Why does it feel like I'm running in circles?

Darkness moves in around me as a low, rumbling growl gets closer.

"Hurry, Chloe. Where are you?" There's the voice again. It's louder this time. And discernably female.

I stop.

I try to figure out where I am, but not a single thing is familiar.

Where the hell am I?

Wait. The people. Where'd they go? Everyone disappeared.

I'm in an endless, shadowy, marble hallway with high ceilings and picture-less walls.

Completely alone, I can still hear the voice calling. "I'm here, Chloe. Over here. Please, hurry."

The anguish in the voice brings me to my knees. I'm powerless. And unsure.

"I can't find you!" I call out. "Tell me how to find you!" Tears stream down my face as I lose control of my emotions.

My heart pounds like a bass drum. What's happening to me?

I press my hands to my aching chest again, as a dim light flickers up ahead. It's calming somehow.

The pain in my chest begins to dissipate.

Someone's there in the distance.

There's a faint silhouette, but not enough to know who it is.

They aren't moving. They lay on the cold tiles—lifeless.

"Hurry, Chloe. There isn't much time!" The woman's voice is full of more panic than it had been just moments ago.

I push myself up off the floor and back on my feet. I have to move. I have to help.

I try to run, but my legs are like lead anchors. I force myself to move, but I'm stuck in slow motion.

"Chloe!" the voice cries out. Desperate. Pleading.

"I'm almost there!" I shout. "Hold on!"

As I get closer, the person on the floor starts to disappear, evaporating into thin air.

I don't understand. Where are they going?

"Chloe, where'd you go?" The voice gets louder. "Chloe. Come on, wake up."

I'm jolted awake as someone grabs my arm.

I squint, trying to see who it is.

It's Hunter.

With his chiseled face only inches away, his minty breath grazes my cheek.

"There you are." He caresses my forearm. "You had me freaked out for a second. I kept calling your name but you wouldn't wake up."

Crap. "Sorry about that."

"Do you always talk in your sleep?" His head tilts to the left, eyes narrowing.

I push myself up to a seated position, realizing everyone else had left the room. I look back to Hunter. "How long have you been here?" And how long was I out?

"Oh, only for a few minutes. I ran into your family in the hall and they told me to see if you were awake. I didn't want to bother you, but you were having a bad dream again." He clears his throat. "I couldn't leave you like that."

I smooth my fingers through my hair, just in case it's sticking up somewhere.

"Thanks for waking me." I lean on my elbow, acclimating myself to my surroundings.

My insides shake, recalling my dream with such clarity.

"You okay? You still seem out of it." With a gentle touch, he strokes my hand. It pulls at my heart like a tug-of-war.

It's too much. Damn it. I can't do this.

I need to change the subject—and fast. "Hey, I have a question for you . . . but you have to promise you won't laugh at me for asking." It's time to find fault in this seemingly perfect stranger. _That_ will snap me of this ridiculous infatuation.

"Hmm. I don't know if I can make a promise like that. You do sort of make it easy to laugh at you, you know." He smirks.

"Come on. _Promise_ me?" I pretend to pout. Unsuccessfully, I'm sure.

"Okay, okay. Anything to avoid seeing a face like that again. I promise, I won't laugh."

"Thank you." Proud of myself, I sit up straight. "So I was wondering—and maybe I should pre-empt this first by saying—your answer doesn't mean anything one way or the other. I'm only asking out of curiosity, so there's no wrong answer." Guilt creeps through my stomach before I even ask.

"Well, now you have _me_ curious. Just ask already, woman." He sits on the couch beside me.

I hunker down in my seat, preparing for his reaction. "Do you by chance know any famous poets?"

He leans back, squinting as he parts his lips. What on earth is going through his head?

Great. He must think I'm evil for asking something I know he's clueless about.

His look of confusion turns into one of tenderness. His eyes widen. Face softens a bit.

What's _that_ about?

I can't help but ask, "What? Did I say something wrong?"

He smiles, his right eyebrow rising.

"I carry your heart with me.

I carry it in my heart.

I am never without it, anywhere I go you go, my dear.

And whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling I fear.

No fate, for you are my fate, my sweet.

I want no world for beautiful you are my world, my true.

And it's you who are whatever a moon has always meant.

And whatever a sun will always sing is you.

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows.

Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life, which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide, and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart.

I carry your heart.

I carry it in my heart."

Hunter gazes into my eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Where the hell did _that_ come from?

My mouth hangs open in veneration.

I have no words. Though what words could I possibly speak anyway?

He seems amused, grinning like the fool who just told a hilarious joke. "Oh, I'm sorry. You asked if I _know_ any famous poets. My bad. I didn't answer you properly. E. E. Cummings. There. Will that suffice, Miss Chloe?"

I manage to find my voice after the initial shock wears off. "Ah, yeah. That will _more_ than suffice." My cheeks enflame. "Um, mind if I ask where you picked up poetry?"

"Oh, a little here . . . a little there." He won't wipe the _stupid_ grin off his face.

"Okay . . . you can stop gloating anytime now." I look up, shaking my head. Of course, I would have to look like a fool. Again.

"Hey, it's not _my_ fault you asked the question. And you were afraid I was going to laugh." He chuckles. "I happen to know _all_ the greats."

Oh, really? "Is that so?"

"Sure is. Why? You wanna test me some more? Well, fire away, little lady." He crosses his arms, puffing his peacock chest out.

I think for a second. "Browning."

He nods in acceptance of the challenge then begins.

"I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless,

that only men incredulous of despair,

half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air,

beat upward to God's throne in loud access of shrieking

and reproach.

Full desertness, in souls as countries, lithe silent-bare,

under the blanching, vertical eye-glare, of the absolute Heavens.

Deep-hearted man, express grief for thy dead,

in silence like to death,

most like a monumental statue set,

in everlasting watch and moveless woe,

till itself crumble to the dust beneath.

Touch it.

The marble eyelids are not wet,

if it could weep, it could arise and go."

Hunter bows from his seat before his captive audience.

Hmm. Very interesting. "Impressive, Mr. Payne." I raise my hands in a golf clap, right fingertips onto left palm.

"Let me guess . . . you thought the big, tough fireman couldn't possibly know anything about poetry, right?"

Crap, I'm so busted. "I'm really sorry. Most guys don't know the first thing about poetry. I . . . I shouldn't have assumed." Beyond mortified, I lean down, putting my face in the palm of my hands.

"It's okay." He snickers. "Just remember what they say about 'karma'." He sends me a sideways grin.

"Just so you know . . . if my pap could have heard what you said . . . you would have made him a _very_ happy man." I glance over towards his bed, then back to Hunter.

"Oh, yeah? Why is that?"

"You know . . . I'll let _him_ explain it when he wakes up. It's a long story."

He turns to Pap, undisturbed in his peaceful slumber. "Sounds like a plan."

Now aware of Hunter's close proximity, I get a little antsy. "I should probably stretch my legs."

He stands, offering his hand to help me to my feet. The smell of clean, crisp cologne invigorates my senses. Without being obvious, I inhale slowly. I could breathe him in all day.

"You sure smell nice. Gotta hot date?" Not that it's any of my business, but god I hope not.

"Thanks," he says with a smile. "It's my day off, remember?" He grabs the collar of his thin, black, V-neck sweater, lifting it to his nose. "If I go to work smelling like anything other than 'manly', the guys harass me all night. And yes, I _do_ have a hot date." He turns his head in the other direction.

A sudden pang of jealousy claws through my belly, even though there's no rational reason why it should. "That's nice. Have a good time," I reply, I bit more snarky than I meant to.

"You aren't going to ask who my date's with?" His eyebrows rise.

I lift my chin. "Nope. It's none of my business."

"Well, I wouldn't say that."

"What does _that_ mean?"

He starts walking out the door then looks back. "Because my 'hot date' is stalking _you_." Unable to conceal his amusement, he darts out before I can say anything. I notice my shoes on the floor, so I step inside them, reaching down to pull the straps up over my heels.

By the time I make it out of the room, he's already on the elevator. As the doors close, he shoots me a beaming smile.

What did he mean by that?

The sound of chuckling takes my attention away from the departing antagonist, to my family staring with obvious amusement.

"Red's a good color on you, Sis." Dru chuckles, bumping me shoulder to shoulder.

"I'm not _wearing_ red!" I snap. But then it hits me. Duh! "Oh whatever, Dru." I turn, storming back to the room to avoid more jokes.

They continue laughing it up, which fuels my irritation further. I need to stop letting this guy get to me. And what did he mean by 'stalking' me tonight?

I'm not sure if I should be flattered—or frightened. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration.

As I tap my foot like Bugs Bunny on crack, they walk in the room. Why do they always have to be right there to witness firsthand the affect Hunter has on me? It's so humiliating.

"So, what did you do to embarrass yourself _this_ time, darling sister?" Dhelia's patronizing eyes make me feel like the biggest idiot possible.

"If you must know, I misjudged him. Then I got jealous for no apparent reason. I'm an amateur. Someone please shoot me and put an end to this vicious cycle." I pull my feet up Indian style, crossing my arms over my chest as my pity-party commences.

They look at each other, but no one speaks a word. I can't read their faces either. What's going on _now_?

"What?" I ask in a miffed tone. "What did I do _this_ time?"

"You'll figure it out one of these days, dear." Gram smiles at the group. They all wear the same knowing expression, but it makes no sense to me.

Whatever. I don't have time for this. We need to get on with our day. "So where'd you guys take off to anyway?"

"Oh, yeah. We went for coffee. Here you go." Dru hands me a large Dunkin Donuts iced coffee. "He wasn't supposed to wake you, just so you know."

"Well, he wasn't going to. When he walked in, I was having a nasty vision and talking in my sleep. He said he was concerned, so he woke me up. And I'm glad he did, too. It's hard to tell _what_ I might have said."

Dru pauses. "Oh. Well then I guess I can forgive him for that."

"So what was your vision about, dear?" Gram asks, fidgeting with her beaded necklace.

"Trust me . . . it's nothing we need to get into now. That's a story for another day."

She has that motherly look on her face she gets all too often, lips pursed, eyes narrowing. "Do you promise?"

"Of course, Gram. I promise." Even though I'm not sure if I can ever share it with her. I can't imagine how much it would freak her out.

"Okay." Her expression softens. "Any chance you'd be up for some fun tonight?"

I think for a minute. "I guess. What'd you have in mind?"

"It's your brother's idea, actually." Gram turns to Dru. "So I'll let him explain."

"Well, I figured tonight would be a good night for you to meet Peyton. Since it's Friday night, and I'm sure you haven't been out in a long time, I thought we'd go to a beach party in The Hamptons at my friend's house. There's gonna be a great band and tons of food." He scrunches his eyelids. "What do you think?"

Talk about from left field. "Well what about Gram and Aunt Morgan?" I turn to gage their reactions.

Aunt Morgan jumps in, "It sounds like the perfect night for your Gram and me to catch up on some missed time together. We rather like the idea of having the house to ourselves for an entire evening."

Gram nods in agreement.

"Oh. Okay. Well, in that case, sure. Sounds like fun. Who knows, maybe I'll even run into some old friends." This could actually be fun. Not to mention a great distraction.

"Sweet. I'll call Peyton and my friends to let them know we're coming. What time works for you guys?" He looks back and forth between Dhelia and me.

It's not like I have anything else going on. "I'm open, you guys just tell me."

"How about we hit the road at seven?" Dhelia answers, a joyful glint in her eyes.

"Seven it is." Looking quite pleased, Dru pulls out his cell to call his friend. "We're in, dude. We'll be there around eight."

#### Chapter 8

### FIGHT NIGHT

We arrive at the party around eight-thirty, which isn't bad considering the dreadful traffic this time of year. It's about an hour drive to Westhampton Beach, but we underestimated it a bit by only leaving at seven.

Still early by any standards, yet there are already tons of people here. With next weekend being Memorial Day—and the official kick-off to summer—I didn't expect there to be many people around yet. But I'm sure with the near tropical weather we're having, most people just can't resist.

I gaze around the jam-packed room of girls mingling ( _all_ impeccably dressed like celebrities), and I can't help being thankful for the shopping trip yesterday. Excellent timing!

Dhelia's gold, shimmering, off-one-shoulder top, cream Capri's, and five-inch gold wedge sandals fit in perfectly. But me on the other hand, I'm not quite as trendy as my sister. Though I must say, my saffron blue sundress doesn't make me look like fashion road-kill, either. I guess you could say I look classy and feminine. And my silver, strappy Guess heels compliment my outfit tastefully. Even Dhelia gave me props on my selection, provided I go all out and glam it up with my hair down.

The instant we find the beach, a squealing blonde leaps into Dru's arms and plants slobbering kisses all over him. Unable to take my eyes off the obnoxious display, I can't help but admire how adorable they are together. I don't think I've ever seen my brother look so happy, beaming from ear-to-ear next to this tiny little thing.

Remembering they aren't alone, Dru spins her around to face me. "Peyton, I'd like you to meet my big sister, Chloe. Chloe, this is my girlfriend, Peyton." As he speaks the words, the expression on her face goes from confused—to elated—in just under two seconds. It seems Dru forgot to inform Peyton of her new status. Way to go, baby brother.

I grin. "Nice to meet you."

"Hey, sexy," a raspy male voice calls out from somewhere behind us.

As we turn, a massive body-builder grabs Dhelia in a bear hug, pressing forceful kisses across her cheeks. Satisfied his lips hadn't missed a spot, he turns to face us, wrapping a muscular arm around her itsy-bitsy shoulders protectively.

Who the heck is this Jersey-Shore-wanna-be with his hands all over my sister?

The Situation's eyes lock on me. "Hi. I'm Caleb. Dhelia's boyfriend."

Boyfriend? What the...? My mouth falls open. "Ah, hi. I'm . . . I'm Dhelia's older sister, Chloe."

Surprise registers on Caleb's face, his over-waxed Guido brows shoot up. "I didn't realize you were in town. It's nice to finally meet you."

We both look to Dhelia for an explanation. Unbelievable!

"And I never knew _you_ existed . . . but it's nice to meet you, too." How do I not know this?

Caleb and I wait for a response as to why she never felt the need to fill either of us in on such crucial information. But she offers up nothing.

"So is this part of my punishment then?" Stabbing pain shoots through my chest as reality sets in.

Does my face look as hurt as I feel?

"Not at all. It just never came up." She hooks her arm through Caleb's like a smug, contemptuous child.

"Never came up? I've been back for days and we've spent pretty much the entire time together. How could it _not_ have come up?"

"You tell me? You _asked_ Dru if he was seeing anyone, and he told you. But did you ask me?"

Crap. "Well, no. But you didn't seem open to me asking you questions, either. You could have volunteered the information. Besides, you two look quite close, which obviously means you've been together for a lot longer than a few days."

Dhelia nods. "You're right. We've been together for about two years."

"Are you kidding me? How is it no one has ever said anything in all this time?"

Dhelia holds her head high, like the victor she knows she is in this moment. "If truth be told, they were under direct orders to keep their mouths shut. They were simply respecting my wishes."

As shock alerts me to the hole in my chest—where my heart used to be—my emotions get the best of me. "Do you honestly hate me that much?"

But I don't wait for an answer. I spin around and walk away towards the sound of crashing waves.

I don't believe her!

Had I truly wounded her _that_ deeply?

My right foot sticks in the sand, nearly pulling me down face first. A tiny yelp escapes my lips. "How can anyone walk in the sand with friggin' heels on?" I yank them off, continuing down the beach towards solitude.

I honestly thought things were getting better. But from where I'm looking right now, I couldn't be further from the truth.

I know it's my own fault, but hasn't the time come for this to end? She believed me the other day when I told her about the visit from Mom. It seemed like she understood for the first time why I had to leave. Or was it just an act?

I find a dry spot to clear my head. I'm sure Dru's upset I ran off, but I would have started crying had I stayed. Not exactly the way I'm sure he imagined introducing me to Peyton.

After twenty minutes of self-imposed isolation staring at the glistening ocean, I try to figure out what to say when I find my way back to the party. I must have made a _wonderful_ first impression on Peyton and Caleb. I won't be surprised if they end up thinking I'd left town years ago because I was locked-up in a loony bin. Great job, Chloe.

I continue beating myself up, when the sound of footsteps in the sand coming towards me pushes the pause button on my self-loathing. But I don't turn to see who it is. I can't. If it's someone from our group, I don't know if I'm ready to face them just yet. And if it's a stranger, I _definitely_ don't want them seeing me like this.

"Chloe, is that you?"

Dhelia? Terrific. She's come to beat up on me some more.

"Yeah." Why'd _she_ come looking for me? If anyone would, I'd have thought it would be Dru.

"I almost didn't see you over there. We've been looking _everywhere_ for you. After searching the house and the entire party area, I figured you might have taken a walk down here."

"Yep. You found me. Yay, you." I can't look at her. Not yet.

Dhelia walks up, clearly in the midst of texting someone. "I have to let Dru know you're okay. He's on the other side of the beach ready to jump in the water looking for you."

"Whatever." My tone only a _tad_ sarcastic.

"Look, Chloe, I really am sorry. I suppose I never thought it through. I was planning to tell you after the dream you had about Mom, but I honestly forgot. Then once Dru sprung the idea of coming here tonight, I didn't think it would be a big deal. I knew you two would meet, so I didn't think anything of it. I didn't plan for it to come out like that, and I never realized how much it would hurt you. I'm sorry. We all know I'm the bitch of the family, but I truly didn't mean to hurt you. I just didn't think it through." She pauses. "If it makes you feel any better, Caleb's mad at me, too."

I chuckle after hearing the news. Yes, that makes me feel a _little_ better, but I still can't say anything.

After a brief silence, she plops down beside me. "I don't want everyone's night ruined because I did something stupid. It's a gorgeous evening, and there are people up there who want to see you. Two of whom would _very_ much like to get to know you. You should be up there having fun, instead of being down here sulking, because of _me_."

Deep breath. Exhale. "I'm okay. I just hate that I've hurt you. You know I never meant to, but I feel like you'll always be paying me back in some way. More than anything, all I want is to put the past behind us and move on.

"I'm sorry I left you and Dru behind.

"I'm sorry I hurt you.

"I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to be there for you. I was only thirteen, for crying out loud!

"I know it's gonna take time for you to trust me again and for us to feel like sisters. But you have to forgive me, Dhelia. You _have_ to."

For a good twenty seconds, the only sound to be heard is the crashing waves.

"My forgiveness really means that much to you?"

"Of course it does!" I shout.

After another long silence, she kneels close to my side, wrapping her arms around me in a way she hasn't since we were kids. "Okay then. I forgive you. You're here now, and even though I haven't acted like it, I really am glad you're back. I've missed you, Chloe. I always have."

Oh my god. Did she just say that?

Dhelia's tears drip onto my shoulder.

Great. Now I'm bawling, too. "I've missed you so much you little brat. You had to know that."

She pulls back from our embrace, wincing as she looks me in the eyes. "I forgot to tell you something else . . . ."

"Oh great. What now?" Should I be scared?

"Well, let's just say . . . I have a surprise for you. But you have to come back up to the party to find out what it is. There's someone here who _really_ wants to see you."

"Seriously? Who is it?" Relief calms me with its welcome embrace.

"You could use a nice surprise right about now, so I'm not telling you. But we'd better get you to a bathroom so we can fix your face first. You look worse than a twenty-car-pile-up."

"Oh gees, is it _that_ bad?" I try wiping the smeared make-up from my face I imagine must be there.

"It's nothing a little powder, lip gloss, and anti-frizz serum won't fix."

"And I suppose you just happen to have all that in your bag-of-tricks, right?"

"You know me...always prepared for anything." She holds up her gold clutch in triumph.

I laugh, but I know it's true. She's famous for having anything you need, for just about _anything_ that might happen. Gram calls it the-purse-of-preparedness.

"Before we go, there's something I need to ask." I pause. "Does Caleb hate me from all the stories you must have told him?"

" _Hate_ you? Why on earth would he _hate_ you?" She cocks her head back, genuine surprise etched across her face.

"Because _you_ did, Dhelia. Because I hurt you so badly."

She shakes her head. "Of course he doesn't hate you. That's messed up, even for you. He understands, believe me. He has his own share of family drama. But Caleb's a great guy. A cocky little meathead, but a great guy. Most days I have no clue why he puts up with my shit, but I'm glad he does. He puts me in my place when I need it." She giggles to herself. "No one knows more than Caleb just how stubborn I can be. I don't scare him the way I do everyone else. He knows I'm nothing but a bag of hot air."

"Well, in that case . . . I like him already." We laugh, brushing off the sand from our clothes.

Dhelia reaches for my hand. "Shall we?"

"Sure. Let's go."

"Oh, and Chloe. I don't _hate_ you. I did. Or at least, I thought I did. But I don't anymore."

Absorbing her heartfelt words, all I can do is smile.

Did that really just happen? If I pinch myself, will I wake up from one of my visions?

We walk back to the crowded area of the beach, but my curiosity gets the best of me. "So will I like this so called _surprise_?"

She plants her feet in place. "Well, maybe not at first. But I have no doubt you'll thank me for it one day."

Okay. Now I'm _really_ curious.

In record time, we make it to the bathroom—fix our ocean-frizzed hair and smudged make-up—then go back to the party.

Dru's eyes widen in surprise as Dhelia and I come back to the noisy party laughing together. I'm sure the tension between us must drive him insane. Luckily, no one mentions anything, so I don't bring it up—and neither does Dhelia. Probably best to let it go and not risk a relapse.

We spend a little time walking around, talking to Dru's friends. For the most part, there isn't anyone here I knew when I was in junior high. Other than my brother's best friend who's hosting the party, and a girl who was in a few of my classes the year I left. She looks familiar, but I never knew her. She seems sweet though, so it's always good to make new acquaintances.

Of course, Dru's nice enough to make plenty of introductions, but since I'm so terrible with names, I don't even try to remember. But so far, everyone's welcoming. I'm glad I came.

I spend about ten minutes talking to this guy Vinny (I think) about what it was like living in San Diego. Everyone seems so fascinated with the West Coast, so I humor them with as many tales as I can remember. It feels great talking about my life, especially since I haven't been able to at home. I've been afraid to hurt Dru and Dhelia by discussing how I lived away from them.

As I tell Vinny a story about meeting Al Pacino in a coffee shop, someone touches my arm and whispers, "Now it's time for _me_ to be jealous."

I jump, startled to hear that familiar, silky voice. "Hunter? What are you doing here?"

Wow! Could he look any more amazing in his black button-up, un-tucked and casual, rolled-up sleeves, khaki shorts, and flip-flops? He could have just walked off the cover of an Abercrombie catalog.

If I fanned myself, would I look like a complete dork?

"Didn't I warn you I was planning to stalk you tonight?" He winks.

Holy shit! He's kidding, right? "Um . . . Well, yeah. I guess you did. But I figured you were joking though."

He shakes his head. "Nope. My only plan was to see you."

Seriously? "So let me get this straight. You _followed_ me here? How on earth did you pull that one off?" I shake my head about twenty times. "I thought it was just playful banter."

His eyebrows crinkle, uncertainty written across his face. "You seem upset. Maybe I should leave."

Dhelia walks up beside us. "Surprise!"

Huh? "You mean... _Hunter's_ the surprise you were talking about?"

"He sure is! When we saw him at the hospital, Dru had just gotten the details about the party, so I told Hunter he should come if he didn't have any other plans. He didn't. So here he is." Dhelia holds up her hands towards him, like one of those QVC models does when they're introducing you to a new state-of-the-art vacuum.

I glance at Hunter's less than enthusiastic face. "Looks like I've insulted you, yet again. I just can't seem to help myself."

"It's okay. Don't worry about it." His hands go straight to their safe haven in his front pockets.

"No, I'm definitely worried about it. I jumped to conclusions and assumed the worst. I'm sorry, Hunter."

"It's okay, Chloe. Honest. I can't say I blame you. I _did_ say I was going to 'stalk' you after all." We both laugh at his making light of the situation, _and_ at our ridiculous joke I sort of took literally for a moment.

"So then you aren't mad?" I hesitate, looking up at the humorous expression on his gorgeous face. I don't think I've ever been so relieved to see someone smirk.

"Of course I'm not mad. But it sure is easy to rattle you. Though, I _do_ rather enjoy it." He winks, nudging my arm.

Thank god! "Oh, good. I don't know if I have any more apologies left in me after today." I turn to Dhelia—smile—then look back at Hunter.

"Seems like I must have missed something?" He glances back and forth between my sister and me for acknowledgement.

"You can say _that_ again! But it doesn't need rehashed. We're past it, right, Sis?" Dhelia's bottom lip sags, waiting for my response.

"Absolutely. It's behind us," I say, and truly mean it.

Dhelia smiles, reaching out to grab Hunter's arm. "Since my sister is now in _very_ capable hands, I'll be getting back to the boyfriend I haven't seen in over a week." She gives us a mischievous grin before walking away. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Once she's out of earshot, I ask Hunter, "So _she_ invited you? It wasn't Dru?"

"Actually, Dru gave her a death-stare when she extended the invitation. I don't think I'm on his list of favorite people." We both look Dru's way, but he's in his own little world kissing Peyton. Again.

"Nah, he's just over-protective of his sisters. I'm sure you understand." What guy wouldn't?

"As a matter a fact, I do. I'd kill anyone who hurt my little sister." His face twists at the thought of it.

Protective brother? Yeah, he just scored a few more points.

"So, you _do_ get it then. Just be patient. I'm sure he'll loosen up once he gets to know you. Dru's the most amazing guy I know. You'll like him, once he stops being a complete douche."

Hunter laughs. "Yeah, I'm sure you're right."

I watch my brother and sister carry on. They've always had so much fun together. Funny how it makes me happy—and sad—at the same time.

"Would you like to go join them? After all, you did come here with your family. Not me."

Does he always say the right thing? "True. But your company isn't so terrible."

"Is that so?" He tilts his head to the side, eyeing me as if he doubts my sincerity.

"Come on." I smile. "Let's see what sort of fun we're missing out on."

We join the happy foursome halfway through a joke Dru's telling, but I'm not paying attention to what he's saying. Instead, I can't take my eyes off my brother and sister. They both look so incandescently happy. Vibrant smiles and glowing faces.

Watching them together, more than ever, I feel good about my decision to move back home.

This is where I need to be. Finally. In fact, I can't believe I was able to stay away for so long. I love these two more than words can say.

Even though Dhelia has issues with her attitude, deep down she has a huge heart. She'd do _anything_ for someone she loves. She's a fighter. Something I've never been.

Living a secret life has always been hard for the three of us. Building friendships were next to impossible. Always fighting the urge to open up to someone about my family—my gifts—and about what it's like to be part of something 'magical'. Why have I never understood before now? Magic isn't just about the power we possess—it's also what makes us so special.

I don't know what the future holds for our family once Ash and Aidan get here—when the truth comes out. In fact, I don't know what the future holds for _any_ of us. Down to my core, I have a horrible feeling about it. I wish more than anything we could carry with us this feeling of contentment we share right now. It could give me the strength to face anything.

If only I could help Gram create a spell to erase the terrible things from the past—fix the pain we have in the present—and prevent any tragedies from befalling us in the future.

Could such a spell even exist?

I know my thoughts are from some fantasyland, but at the end of the day, I'm still a nineteen-year-old girl with hope. Somehow, I still dream, even if I know it will never come to fruition.

I guess you could say I'm a realist, who often has unrealistic expectations.

I know. I'm a walking contradiction.

We've been at the picnic table for a little while now, but I'm not sure how long I've been sitting here in silence—just thinking about my family's secrets. Had it not been for Hunter's leg brushing up against me, it's hard to say how long I would have sat here without uttering a word.

"Is everything okay, Chloe? I hope my being here hasn't ruined your evening?" His sulking, milk chocolate eyes paint the picture of disappointment.

I look down, then back to his superlative face and the despondent look now resting there. "I'm okay. It's just been a long week, and an even longer day. I guess I'm just reflecting. But if you behave yourself, maybe I'll share it with you one day."

A smile peaks its head around the corners of his perfect mouth. "Promise?"

I contemplate my answer. "Yes, I promise. But _only_ if you behave yourself." He might have taken me off guard when he showed up, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't tickle me to have him here.

I'm not stupid. Well, not completely anyway. What warm-blooded girl on earth wouldn't _want_ someone so gorgeous to come to a party, just to see her?

#### Chapter 9

### THE KISS

Hunter nudges my thigh with his knee again, staring into my eyes with such intensity, I'm almost certain he can read my thoughts. The simplest of touch from Hunter seems to elicit the same reaction. But the way he's holding my gaze right now makes me feel powerless—as if he's in control of my every move—and I'm too weak to break it.

Feeling over-powered doesn't frighten me the way you'd think it would. Instead, I feel nothing but alive. Flames swallow my entire body, while my heart pounds with a cadence so loud, I'm sure the entire table can hear it.

I want to look away, but my will is no longer my own. I'm merely a puppet. But before I know what's happening, he releases me, turning towards our group who are getting up from their seats.

"Come on, you two. We're going for a walk on the beach." Dru's authoritative tone doesn't sound like it's much of an option, so I can only assume he has no plan of leaving us alone anytime soon.

Probably a good thing.

Hunter stands, holding out his hand for me to follow.

Now less than six inches from his towering body, the scent of his skin in the damp, night air overwhelms me. Fresh, clean cologne mixed with his natural scent, which is both earthy and sweet at the same time. I inhale, savoring the heady bouquet.

I look up to see if he's watching me. And of course, he is.

"Is something wrong, Miss Chloe?" He snickers.

"No. Not at all. Come on, let's go." I need to distract myself from his delicious aroma before I do—or say—something ridiculously stupid.

We turn towards the rest of our group, but need to pick up the pace a bit to catch up. As we make it to the water, Dru and Peyton decide they'd like to walk in the same direction I'd gone earlier. Thank goodness Hunter has no clue I was already there throwing a pity-party for one!

As we begin strolling up the beach, the formation falls inline. Dru and Peyton at the front, Hunter and me in the middle, and Dhelia and Caleb in the back. If I didn't know any better, I'd think they were babysitting me like bookends.

How sweet. Ha. Thanks, guys.

The sound of the waves would normally relax me, but instead I feel somewhat awkward with Hunter by my side. We're less than a foot apart, but every few steps one of us stumbles in the sand, bumping into the other like clumsy toddlers.

My brother and Peyton walk hand-in-hand in front of us like the perfect little couple. I turn around to see Dhelia in exactly the same picture with Caleb. I'm not about to hold Hunter's hand or anything, but I feel so out of place walking like this.

Dhelia giggles from behind us, but I can't make out what Caleb's saying to her. "Chloe," is a hint of a whisper from my sister, but I manage to hear it and turn my head.

Her eyes flash the brightest shade of electric blue, like someone flipped a switch and turned on a neon sign. The sight no sooner takes me by surprise then she shouts, "Look out!" Followed by more giggling.

Before I know what's happening, I'm tripping over a giant piece of driftwood that was _not_ there a second ago. I lose my balance and plummet forward, but Hunter's cat-like reflexes catch me before I land flat of my face.

"Whoa, watch yourself," he says.

"I'm such a klutz. Sorry."

The instant I realize he's holding me in his arms, the giggling Dhelia and Caleb walk around us without stopping. Why does she think it's so funny? If he hadn't caught me, I could have hurt myself, or had my dress over my head and been humiliated for the rest of my life. I guess she's still up to the same childish, magical tricks. Nice!

I shake my head at my sister before looking in Hunter's direction. "Thanks for saving me from possible injury . . . or irreversible embarrassment."

His face lights up. "No need to thank me, little lady. Saving damsels is all in a day's work." His eyes sparkle in the moonlight, as if encrusted with specs of glitter.

My god, I want to kiss you so badly. Ugh. "True. But this is your day off. So thank you."

"Good point," he says. "In that case, you're quite welcome. I'm glad I could be of service. Please, let me know if you ever need my assistance again. I'll gladly catch you _anytime_ you might happen to fall."

He tugs me closer, the heat from his arms making me impervious to the growing chill in the air.

"I'm okay now." My voice cracks a little. "You can let me go."

"But what if you fall again? You were all over the place you know, so it was only a matter of time."

"Oh really? Well, I'm sure I can manage just fine. But thank you so much for the selfless generosity."

He maintains his hold. "How about a compromise instead?"

Oh, this should be good. "Dare I ask?"

His cheek grazes mine, the feel of his clean shave making me tingle. But then he stands, his arms falling from around me as he moves to stand at my side.

What on earth is he up to?

Hunter lifts his right arm in the air, elbow out, then gestures for me to join him.

Okay, now _that's_ cute. And totally doable.

I meet his eyes and can't help but smile. "That's fair. Compromise accepted."

I happily hook my left arm through his as we start walking again. And oddly enough, I no longer feel awkward. Perhaps Dhelia's strategically placed driftwood was a blessing in disguise after all.

Man, why couldn't I have been born with the gift of freezing time? I think I'd do just about anything to stay in this moment forever.

Does it get any better than this?

I'd be lying if I said I'm not attracted to Hunter. Obviously.

And I'd be lying even more if I said I don't enjoy his company.

But would I be lying to myself if I thought there might be a chance for something to happen between us? I mean, come on. He's the freakin' urban-Adonis. Not to mention the obvious: he's too old for me, and my plate is way too full right now to be distracted from my family.

Or maybe I should look at this another way. Perhaps the more time I spend with him, the affect he has on me will wear off. With his friend in the same hospital as Pap, our paths are bound to cross for the time being. It's unavoidable. I just need to accept this for what it is and enjoy the time I spend with him.

Beyond that just isn't an option.

Don't be an idiot, Chloe.

Besides, I could be torturing myself unnecessarily anyway. Just because this is what _I'm_ thinking, doesn't mean he is. Sure, he's attracted to me. You don't need to be a rocket scientist to see that. But he also made it clear that because of his job, he's not looking for a relationship either. Maybe this is merely the start of a beautiful friendship, and nothing more.

If he were any other guy, I might think he was just trying to get in my pants. But he's never says anything dirty. He doesn't put his hands all over me. And he just doesn't give off that vibe.

Okay, you've gotta stop over-analyzing this before your head explodes!

We continue walking up the Westhampton Beach for the better part of an hour. By the time we make it back to our table at the party, it feels like the temperature's dropped about twenty-degrees. I shiver, wishing I'd have had the forethought to bring a sweater.

We watch as the spastic partygoers dance and sing along with the indie cover-band. No doubt most are drunk off their rockers. Either way, the energy in the air is invigorating. I'm having so much fun I don't want the night to end.

"Okay, girls. We sooooooo need to dance." Peyton bounces in her seat, watching the jam-packed dance floor in the middle of the beach.

I'm not normally one for dancing, but in the spirit of the night, I'll go with it. Why not. "I'm in. Dhelia, what about you?"

She scans the dance area for a millisecond. "Let's do it!"

I wonder if Hunter's one of the few guys who knows how to dance, or if he just sits on the sidelines watching like most guys do. With _his_ looks, I'm sure he dances like a total white-boy though.

The pathetic image in my head makes me giggle.

I clear my throat. "So, will you be joining us, Mr. Fireman?"

He scrunches up his face, shaking his head in disgust. "I doubt it. I don't dance much."

I nod a few times. "Yeah, that's what I figured you'd say." Then I giggle under my breath again.

We get up from the table to work our way through the crowd, but before I leave, I lean down, whispering in Hunter's ear, "Even though it might be difficult, _please,_ try not to miss me too much."

But I don't wait for a response. Instead, I shoot him a flirty smile, pulling away as I spin around. But before I'm able to move two feet, he grabs my arm, yanking me down onto his lap. With my face only inches from his, he parts his lips and leans in. Every ounce of my body tingles with anticipation of the kiss I've imagined a thousand times.

He's so close I can feel his warm, minty breath on my face.

His nose grazes the tip of mine, but then he stops.

My heart freezes.

"Stay out of trouble over there," he says.

But before I know what's happening, he has me off his warm lap and back on my feet. I stand there for a few seconds eyeing him, wondering what in the hell just happened.

Was he just teasing me?

Um, okay.

Well, if that's how he wants to be, _two_ can most definitely play this game.

I look him straight in the eyes. "Well maybe I'd _like_ some trouble." Then I paint on a mischievous smile and saunter away.

I feel his eyes searing a hole through the back of my head.

Vindication is oh so sweet. Yes!

I smile to myself. Hunter Payne might be older and more experienced, but he has no clue who he's dealing with.

Ha. And neither do I, apparently. Since when did I grow a set of balls?

When I make it to Dhelia and Peyton, they're already lost in the thumping music. I'm not sure who the band is, but they're better than I would have expected. Always a bonus.

As we dance to Lady Gaga's _Born This Way_ , I feel the heat from someone dancing just a tad too close. But who cares. I'm so into the music I don't even turn around to see who it is. Instead, I decide given the pleased look on my sister's face, he must be either attractive, or someone she knows.

Perhaps I can give Hunter a little show. That just might be fun. He likes games, so we'll just see how he likes _this_ one.

I lean back into the rhythmic stranger, trying to get our timing in sync. Then I throw a few booty-bounces into the mix for good measure. Perfect chance to test my twerking skills.

Not bad!

As my new dance partner puts his hands on my hips to pull me closer, I find myself curious as to whether or not Hunter's watching. I scan the crowd. But to my disappointment, he's nowhere in sight.

Instead of making _him_ jealous, I only succeed in bringing out my own little green-eyed-monster.

Where the hell did he go?

Nice job, Chloe. Brilliant. You probably pissed him off and sent him straight into another girl's arms. Fabulous.

As if someone flips a switch inside me, I become uncomfortable at the close proximity with this mystery man dancing nearly on top of me.

Dhelia's brows draw together as she watches me.

I stop dead in my tracks, flinging the stranger's hands away from my body. Instantly regretting my terse reaction, I turn to apologize for toying with him, only to feel like the biggest ass on the planet.

Hunter?

Oh, thank god! He _didn't_ take off with someone else.

His gaze turns cloudy. "Hey, are you okay? Did I do something wrong . . . _again_?"

How do I answer that? There's no way I can tell him the truth. I need to come up with something fast. Shit! "Uh, no. My tummy's not feeling so well." Yeah, that'll work. He'll never know I didn't realize I was dancing with him.

"Would you like to sit down for a bit to catch your breath?"

"No, I'm fine. I just need some water." I hold my hand over my alleged queasy stomach.

He pulls a bottle of Poland Spring from his back pocket. "Here you go."

I'm such a fraud. "Thanks." I take a big drink, realizing just how thirsty I actually am.

Then it hits me. I watch him, suspicion forcing my eyes to squint. "I thought you didn't dance?"

"No, I said I don't dance _much_. You guys looked like you were having so much fun, so I decided to live a little. Besides, with the sweaty Guido's skulking around, I knew you'd eventually get into that trouble you _claim_ to be looking for."

So he _did_ hear my comment before I left the table. "Well, I'm impressed. You kept up quite nicely. But for the record, I don't need a baby sitter."

A smile crosses his juicy lips. "No, _you_ kept up quite nicely. And I don't know about the babysitter part." His grin curls up like a twelve-year-old boy with a bad idea.

As if right on cue, Caleb and Dru walk up to join our group.

Oh, crap. I didn't realize a slow song had come on.

Hunter grabs my arm, tugging me against his rock-hard-chest. His strong arms wrap around my waist at the exact second my hands encircle his neck. With our bodies plastered up against each other, it's impossible to hide the shaking in my legs, or the insane ratcheting of my heart.

Each time I look into his molten-lava eyes, I fear I might melt right there in front of the entire crowd. Every few seconds, his arms wind around me tighter, convincing me just how unbearable it is to feel him against me.

Being this close to Hunter is pleasure—and pain—all wrapped up into one giant ball of confusion. My body's experiencing things it never has, things I'm not sure it's ready for just yet. He renders me powerless in every sense of the word. The one thing that scares me more than anything else does. Well, other than magic.

I've never imagined feeling vulnerable to a guy. But in this moment—on this night—I feel more helpless than I ever thought possible.

The heady, sweet scent of his skin is like an intoxicating drug. All I can do is inhale until my lungs are ready to explode.

I wrap the hair on the back of his head around my index fingers, as the goose bumps on his neck tease my palms.

We continue turning in circles in the center of the dance floor. I look up into his smoldering eyes, in the hopes of seeing some sign we're on the same page. The instant I begin gazing, the strongest feeling of déjà vu washes over me.

I contemplate the familiarity of this moment, unable to maintain concentration as he leans down to rest his face on my cheek. His right hand slides up my back and under my hair, to find its resting place on the nape of my neck.

His touch sparks electricity inside of me.

I _must_ be dreaming.

Why does this guy I barely know have to be so damn perfect? I don't recall ever being held like this, not even when a guy has claimed to love me. Hunter acts like we've known each other forever. But we haven't. In fact, we're more or less strangers.

I don't know if I should run away as fast as my feet will carry me, or take everything in until there's nothing left. I never imagined a single person could affect me to the core this way. Part of me wants to cry. But the other part of me wants to freeze this moment in time, because I know it will eventually end anyway.

It has to.

He'd hate me if he found out who I really am. 'What' I really am.

I can't get close enough to take that chance.

My eyes begin to fill. As I take a few deep, calming breaths, he pulls his head back to stare at my face. The pained expression in his eyes touches me.

Does he sense my hesitation?

But before I can debate it any further, he gently places his cool, moist lips upon mine.

Time stands still.

He leans his head back, as a single tear descends my cheek. But instead of looking surprised or upset, he simply wipes the drop away with his thumb. Gazing into my tear-filled eyes, he leans in again to take my mouth in a more forceful kiss. His soft lips massaging mine until we find a perfect, consuming rhythm.

My heart catches in my throat.

Numbness takes over my body, like I'm floating on a cloud. Is this what it means to melt? I've never felt anything like this. Not even close.

A first kiss like this only exists in fairytales.

And that's all it can ever be.

_My_ fairytale.

His kiss becomes more demanding. Hunter's mouth opens wider, allowing his tongue to explore in search of mine. His right hand caresses my cheek, while his left tangles in a handful of hair at the back of my neck.

Holding me in this passionate moment, his heart pounds even harder than my own. We're both lost in this all-consuming kiss—neither one of us able to come up for air.

I can't breathe.

I need to stop for a second, but I don't want him to move away. I never want this to end.

I savor the last few seconds before hesitation compels me to pull away. My lungs burn, forcing me to catch my breath. Even though I move my head away, Hunter doesn't release his hold on me—as if I'm a bird about to take flight.

My lungs fight to replenish the air that's been lost as I become aware of the danger Hunter represents. Yes, horrifying danger. The kind that could so easily destroy me.

Without warning, he's able to make me forget my own name.

Without warning, he manages to make me lose sight of the life I thought I had laid out for myself.

Without warning, he opens the locked door to my heart and throws away the key.

As thoughts spin through my mind, something my mother said comes back to me. "...the incurable emptiness your other half left behind. It's why you've always felt so alone...why you've been so desperate to feel complete."

Wait a minute. Could that be why I've dated guys I never really cared about?

I knew I'd never get close enough for them to hurt me—but I also didn't have to be alone. They filled the void in my heart left by my mother and the twin sister I never knew.

Is _that_ what she meant?

Oh my god!

But it's not like that with Hunter. Deep down, I knew it the first second we met. What am I doing?

I have no clue how to make room for him in my life, but I also don't know how to live another day without the addictive euphoria of Hunter Payne.

Unable to tread this mind-crushing-current, I begin drowning in the sea of my own doubt. The deeper it becomes, the more uncertain I am I'll survive the emotional waves crashing down upon me.

The strong, sheltering arms holding me, now feel like a steel cage—trapping me in like a helpless animal. I need to get away. I need to think without his seductive influence incapacitating my subconscious.

I squirm, pulling away from his embrace.

His eyes scrunch. The confusion on his face makes it clear he has no idea what's brought on this sudden change in temperature—but I can't stand here to explain it. I can't. I have to get away from him.

I look up into his lost eyes. "I'm so sorry, Hunter." Then I turn, fleeing towards the water as fast as my bare feet can take me.

The salty air numbs my mind, the wind throwing my hair across my back.

Once clear of all the people, I look back to see if he's following me. My heart hopes he is—while my guilty conscience hopes he isn't.

But I'm running all alone.

I'm sure I hurt him by taking off, but I didn't know what else to do. I'll hate myself in the morning. Of that, I'm certain.

I walk to the edge of the water, desperate for the chill to snap me out of this insanity.

For twenty-five minutes, I walk to clear my head. But all I can do is question myself. Why do I run away when things get tough? Is it ever going to change?

I'm an emotional mess.

Even more so than I realized.

I know I can't drag Hunter down with me. He deserves so much better—in more ways than one. Now, I just have to find the strength to tell him. He deserves the truth. That kiss proves we're more than just friends and it can only lead to heartache for us both.

It needs to stop now.

I walk back up to the party, but apparently, I was gone longer than I thought. Almost everyone is gone. When did it get so late?

As I reach the house, Dru and Dhelia are gathering their things. "Caleb and Peyton didn't leave, did they?" Oh god, I sure hope not.

Dru's face drips with disdain as he glares at me. "They went to the bathroom before we hit the road."

"Good idea. I should probably go myself."

"Well, you'd better hurry up. We're just about ready to leave." Dhelia seems more like her usual snotty self. Somehow, I should have known the truce wouldn't last longer than a few hours.

I scan the area for Hunter, but he's nowhere to insight. "Have you guys seen Hunter? We really need to talk."

"Yeah well, you should have thought about that before you took off and left him standing on the dance floor like a tool." Dru shakes his head. "He went home, Chloe. What did you expect?"

What? "He was that pissed?" I'm so stupid. Why did I freak out?

"Wouldn't _you_ be? Hot and heavy one minute, then you ditch him for no reason the next. When will you realize you can't run away from _everything_?" Dhelia's shouts.

I messed up big time.

There are no words.

My stomach flip-flops at the thought of him leaving angry. If only I could turn back time to erase what I've done.

The only thing I want now—is for the most amazing night I've _ever_ had—to end.

#### Chapter 10

### APOLOGIES

My eyes pop open, remembering the disaster I made of last night. I wish more than anything I could fall into a bottomless hole and never come out.

If I had Hunter's number, I'd at least call him to explain why I acted like such an ass. But of course, I have no way to contact him.

How have we never exchanged numbers?

Maybe I should have gone to the hospital today. No, that probably wouldn't have been a good idea. I could certainly handle giving an apology over the phone, but seeing Hunter in person might prove to be the impossible. Besides, there's no way he'll forgive me anyway. And I can't say I blame him. I can't imagine how embarrassed he must have been.

I roll over face-first into my down pillow, fighting back the tears threatening to escape. What have I done?

Family is obligated to stick around when they're angry at the stupid things you do. Strangers, on the other hand, can simply forget you ever existed.

Did I chase away my only friend in New York? I'm such an _idiot_!

I have to be the only girl in the world who would ever walk away from a guy like Hunter. What's wrong with me?

I kick my legs on top of the bed, muting the sound of my pathetic screams into the goose-down buffer. I _must_ have been a heinous person in my past life—and karma has tracked me down for payment.

Well my account is just about tapped-out, so it can give up anytime.

Why must I always make the wrong choices?

Perhaps the next time I'm at the hospital I should schedule a psych evaluation. Might be the only way to ever find answers for the things I do.

Wait, what am I doing? Enough! Enough of this feeling sorry for myself crap.

If I could hide in my room forever—I would. But life still goes on, even _after_ the bad choices we make.

I force myself into the shower, and thankfully, the hot water eases my throbbing head.

I take my time putting on my make-up—even more time dragging the brush through my tangled, dripping hair.

Like a robot, I walk downstairs expecting to hear some sort of chatter coming from the kitchen or living room.

But there's nothing.

Complete silence fills air.

I snag a bottle of Poland Spring from the fridge and make my way to the island, only to find a note with my name on it, laying smack dab in between the salt and peppershakers.

Good morning, Dear.

Since you decided not to join us this morning, we figured

you could use the sleep. There's plenty of food in the fridge

if you're hungry—so help yourself.

We should be back around lunchtime.

P.S. And stop beating yourself up. Everything will

be okay.

Love you,

Gram

My heart sinks.

They've already told Gram _everything_. That's just great.

But I guess I should be thankful to have an empty house for another hour or so. Maybe I'll go sit in the sun for a while. My pale skin could use a golden boost.

With laptop bag in tow, I grab the oversized bottle of Banana Boat and a beach towel from the pantry then head towards the back yard.

Situated on a lawn chair, I lean my head back, allowing the sauna-like rays to hit my face as I think of time spent with Aunt Morgan on her patio in San Diego.

It won't be easy getting used to the change in seasons again. I _dread_ the idea of Long Island winters—and driving on icy roads for the first time.

But as I relax my mind to take a stroll down memory lane, a vision sneaks up from behind and slaps me.

Aunt Morgan's leaning against Gram's kitchen sink, tears streaming down her face.

Michael stands in front of her, but I can't hear what he's saying. His lips are moving, but it's as if someone has turned the volume down.

Ash and Aidan are off to the side where Michael can't see them. Watching. Waiting.

Anger spreads across their red faces, but they remain silent.

They just stand there, frozen like two concrete pillars.

I still can't hear what Michael's saying as tears begin rolling down his sullen face.

Seconds later, he storms out the back door.

The boys rush to their distraught mother's side, holding her in their shaking arms as they sob together.

My eyes fly open, the blazing sun greets me with hostility.

Holy crap!

This must mean Michael finds out about the boys. I just wish I could have _heard_ what they were saying so I'd know why Aunt Morgan was crying. It had to be about more than Michael learning the truth. I mean, why would that make _her_ cry?

If Michael weren't the enemy, his weeping would break my heart. I _hate_ to see men cry. But finding out after twenty-one years he's a father will be unbearable. Especially when he believed they were never born.

I can't even imagine what the news will do to him.

Ash and Aidan should be here in a few days, so I'm sure the events in my vision will come to pass later this week. I don't think Aunt Morgan plans to waste any time in letting the truth come out.

It's pointless anyway. One glimpse of their faces and the Russo's will know the truth. How could they not?

But I wonder if Aunt Morgan has any idea how she plans to share the news?

The Russo's will _flip_ when they find out!

I squeeze lotion down my legs, thinking of days spent under the judgmental, spying eyes of Michael's father, Peter Russo. That grumpy man never allowed us to step foot in their yard when their nieces and nephews were in town, no matter how much the kids pleaded. Peter had so much hostility at the mere sight of us. I remember him shaking his fist and yelling when we stepped in the driveway to play. Maybe he thought the Russo children would catch _Witch Fever_ if they got too close. Idiot!

If he'd ever found out we'd bonded with some of his nieces, he'd have hit the roof. We used to figure out ways to sneak them out to the park, or to a nearby stream where we'd play on an old tire swing and jump in the water. He'd have had a coronary if he ever found out.

I shudder as dejection bears down on me—all over again. How could he treat innocent children with such cruelty? Maybe it was a blessing he never knew about Ash and Aidan.

Michael's mother, Angelica, however, would look across the yard with her warm brown eyes, full of remorse. She'd smile at us every now and then, but never when her husband was around to see.

According to the stories my family told, the Russo's were always civil before they found out about our _secret_. But knowing how wonderful my family is, I could never understand why they feared us. Where the Russo's are concerned, ignorance _definitely_ isn't bliss.

I stand for a minute to peek around the side of the house to see if the neighbors are home. No cars. Yes!

I can't begin to imagine what they'll do when they find out they have two Witches for grandchildren. I'm sure they'll head straight to St. Vincent's Church to pray with Peter's brother, Father Gabriel.

Ha! _That_ could be fun to watch.

Speaking of Father Gabriel, now there's one man who always gave me the creeps. I shiver just thinking of him. The way he used to glare at us made me feel like he'd rather burn us at the stake than speak to us. How could a man of the cloth be filled with so much blind hatred? It's not right. And it _certainly_ isn't Christianly.

Do they have equal bias against the Protestants and Jews? Wicca is a religion, just as Catholicism is. If anyone should understand, it should be Father Gabriel.

As my head swims with memories of the neighbors—and my latest vision—the sound of voices erupt from inside the house. Crap. Looks like it's time to face the music. I brace myself, dragging my bare feet through the grass as I head for the house.

"Good afternoon, dear. How'd you sleep?" Gram bounces across the kitchen as I stroll through the back door.

At least _she_ isn't mad at me.

I shrug. "Okay, I guess. I finally caught up on the sleep I've been missing since finals."

"I'm glad to hear it." She smiles. "Did you eat? I was going to throw something together for lunch."

"No, I haven't. But lunch sounds good though." I look around, now curious at Dru and Dhelia's absence. "Where's everyone else?"

"Oh, they had the same idea as you, so they went upstairs to change." Gram reaches inside the fridge and pulls out pasta salad and all the fixings for ham and cheese Panini's.

"That's cool. It's a perfect day for it." Small talk isn't easy with the Russo's on my mind. I know I should tell her about my vision, but I hate to ruin her day.

"What's wrong, dear? You seem a bit more preoccupied than usual. Is something other than last night bothering you?" Gram lays down the bread, standing beside me at the island.

"Well, yeah . . . I ah . . . I had another vision a little while ago. I just hate to bring it up now and ruin Aunt Morgan's day."

"Ruin my day about what?" Aunt Morgan walks through the kitchen door carrying a book and sunscreen.

I turn to Gram, then back to Aunt Morgan—unsure of what I should do.

"Go ahead, Chloe. Just tell her what you saw. It's better she knows now, so she can prepare for it."

I guess she has a point. "Well, okay . . . I um . . . well I sort of had a vision about Michael and the boys."

"You what?" Aunt Morgan pulls out a stool, dropping onto it as light as feather. "Yeah, you'd better tell me now. What happened?"

Dru and Dhelia come walking in. "What's going on? I could feel the tension all the way upstairs." Dru pulls out the stool beside Aunt Morgan.

"I was just telling Gram and Aunt Morgan I had a vision about Michael and the boys. It's not that something _bad_ is going to happen exactly. In fact, I couldn't even hear what they said. I could only _see_ it.

"Michael and Aunt Morgan are here in the kitchen talking, while the boys both stand back in the distance, just watching." I wring my hands, glancing at the floor. "Michael looks so broken hearted. He cries his eyes out then rushes out the door. Once he's out of sight, the boys wrap their arms around you...and the three of you cry together. And then it's over.

"It just didn't make sense to me why _you_ were crying." I look to Aunt Morgan. "I wanted to hear what was being said, but it was like someone hit the mute button or something. I've never had a vision like that before."

"Wow. I guess I should prepare myself then. Any idea when this is supposed to happen?" Aunt Morgan's eyes freeze open, her hand covering her mouth. I've never seen her look so nervous.

"Not really, but my gut tells me it's later this week. Sometime during the day."

"Okay. I'll tell the boys about it when they get here. I don't want them taken by surprise when he shows up." She nods several times. "You did the right thing by telling me, Chloe. Thank you."

At least I did _one_ thing right this week. "You're welcome. I just didn't want to upset you on top of everything else."

Gram plugs in the Panini maker then sits down beside me. "Chloe dear, we need to make a new family rule. I don't want to put pressure on you, but in light of the warning your mother gave, it's my belief you should share your visions with the family for the time being. Of course, if they should be about someone _outside_ the family, you don't need to share it. Unless you want to, of course." She glances at Morgan. "We were talking about it earlier, and we feel the family needs to stay in the loop with what's going on. With what _will_ be going on. That way, as a family, we can discuss it and figure out what we should do. If there's anything we _can_ do."

I look around the room at everyone's serious expressions, realizing how important this has become to them. And they're right. "Okay. I can do that."

"So then we're _all_ in agreement. We want to know about Chloe's visions, no matter how bad they might be, correct?" Gram's stern expression makes us all aware of the gravity of the situation.

Everyone nods in agreement, looking to me for some sort of reassurance. But I have none to give them. I'm already keeping two visions from them, which I now realize I have to share.

"Um...in light of this new pact, I suppose there are two other visions I should probably tell you about. The bad news is, they're scary, and I know someone gets hurt. The good news is, I don't think it happens any time in the near future. So would you like the details now, or should I wait a while?"

In one demanding voice, they say, "Now!"

I tell my family everything about the masked strangers and the voice who cries out for my help. I do my best not to leave anything out, but it still doesn't seem like I'm telling them enough.

They ask questions. I answer what I can. I explain that even though they're always partial visions, each time they come back I see something new—which seems to reassure them a bit.

I'm surprised at how well they're handling it. For some reason, I just assumed they'd panic. But I'm so relieved they didn't. This will make it _much_ easier to keep my promise from now on.

After lunch, we go about our day as though it were any other day. We sit in the sun, talk about Pap, and we try to help Aunt Morgan decide how to deliver the news to Michael.

I don't think any of us envy her that. But I know she'll figure out the best course of action. If anyone can, it's Aunt Morgan.

At one point, we notice Michael's white Volkswagen Jetta in the driveway next door. I wonder if he'll stop by again? But given the frosty greeting from Aunt Morgan the other day, it's not likely.

We spend the afternoon enjoying the spectacular weather until about 6:00, when we go inside to clean up for dinner. Once I finish changing, I go back outside to visit my favorite swing on the front porch.

I have so many things on my mind to think about. Pap, Hunter, the Russo's, and the visions. My mind jumps back and forth between all of them, unable to maintain enough concentration to stay on just one.

As I continue battling my ADD thoughts, my cell phone beeps from a text. I press the little envelope, but don't recognize the displayed number above the message.

Stranger: "R U busy?"

Me: "No. Who's this?"

I wait a minute for a response.

Stranger: "U really don't know?"

My curiosity gets the best of me. "No clue . . . just tell me who this is already!"

A few minutes go by as I wait for a response, but nothing. Okay, who's screwing with me? Did Dru give one of his friends my number last night? Vinny maybe?

Ten minutes later I see an unfamiliar vehicle pull in the drive. The windows have tint so dark, I can't see who's driving the black and chrome Ford Edge.

I continue swinging, the revving engine overpowers the sound of the creaking chains.

Maybe it's Caleb coming to see Dhelia. The spotless SUV looks like something a tough guy would drive.

The door swings open and out steps Hunter, the sun glistening in his thick, damp hair.

Hunter? At my house? Seriously?

My heart explodes from my chest as I spring to my feet.

What's he doing here—but more importantly—how in the hell does he even know where I live?

His face is expressionless, but he seems nervous. Jittery even. Why would _he_ be nervous? If anyone should be, it should be _me_. You know, the one who ran away like a just-about-to-be-munched-on-squirrel.

I step off the porch as Hunter saunters around his vehicle.

Our eyes lock.

"Since you said you weren't busy, I figured I'd stop by for a talk. And to give you these."

What? "Huh?"

"The text message . . . ."

Oh! "That was _you_?" How the . . . ?

"Yeah, it was me. When I realized your sister hadn't told you she gave me your number earlier, I wasn't sure what to say. Sorry about that."

Dhelia? Of course. Why am I not surprised? "It's okay. So I take it she gave you the address, too?" My eyebrows lift, waiting for his answer.

"No. Actually, _that_ would be your gram. She invited me for dinner.

Obviously _she_ didn't tell you either." He chuckles, shaking his head.

"Obviously." So much for our talk today about honesty. Nice!

"Is it okay I'm here? I don't wanna freak you out again."

Why's he acting like _he_ did something wrong?

"No, no. It's fine. I was actually wishing I had a way to contact you, but kicked myself that we never exchanged numbers."

"So then you're not upset they went behind your back again?"

"No, not _mad_ , per se. Just annoyed they won't give me a little credit. I just don't understand why they didn't tell me. We just had a big discussion this afternoon about 'family honesty'." Glancing behind me towards the front door to the house, I cross my arms over my chest.

"Can you blame them? You _are_ a bit skittish. I mean, would you have even gone to the party if you knew I was going? And tell me you wouldn't have gone somewhere else if you knew I was coming to dinner tonight? Am I wrong?"

"Um . . . well . . . I don't know. Last night I might have, but not today. I've been feeling _way_ too guilty." I look down. He sure hit the nail on the head. "Okay, maybe I would have disappeared today, too."

"Exactly!"

"I still wish they'd just tell me. I handle things better when I'm prepared."

"I get that. But let's make a deal. If you promise to sit down and talk to me about last night . . . I promise nothing will be withheld from you anymore about _me_."

I consider his proposition for a second, rubbing my chin like it's a difficult decision. "Okay, that sounds fair. Though, I'm surprised you'd _want_ to talk after the way I acted last night."

"Why? I feel _terrible_. First, I show up at a party you went to with your family, completely uninvited by _you_. Then I kiss you when you clearly weren't ready for it. I pushed myself on you and I couldn't feel worse about it. I feel like a dirt ball. If I were you, I would have run away too." He has trouble looking me in the eyes. "Not to mention the fact that I left the party without giving you a chance to calm down so you could explain." He pulls out a gorgeous bouquet of pink Lotus flowers from behind his back. "Which is why I brought you these."

For me? "That was so sweet of you, Hunter. Thank you. But you really didn't have to do that."

"You're right. I didn't have to. But I _wanted_ to."

My cheeks heat up. "Well then, thank you. They're beautiful. But how did you know the Lotus was a family favorite?"

"Do you _really_ need to ask?"

Gram. Of course. "Is there anything she _hasn't_ told you?"

He laughs under his breath.

Now I feel like a certifiable ass for making him feel so bad he felt the need to bring me flowers. But I love that he did.

Actually, I don't think a guy has ever given me flowers before.

I grab his hand, pulling him up to the swing with me. "Hunter, trust me . . . you have nothing to feel bad about. If I didn't _want_ you to kiss me, it wouldn't have happened. Truth is, I wanted you to all night. I just got scared. Plain and simple.

"There's a lot you don't know about me—but the one thing I'll tell you _now_ is—I've never let myself get close to a guy before. I've had boyfriends, but I've never had the type of connection I have with _you_. It scares the crap out of me, and I don't know what to do about it." I look down, fiddling with the bouquet. "Technically, I don't have room for a relationship right now. But I can't imagine _not_ spending time with you after getting to know you a bit. I'm torn between what my heart desperately wants—and what my mind is convinced I need.

"I'm drawn to you in a way I've never experienced. I feel like a piece of metal being pulled towards a giant magnet. The harder I try to grab onto something to stop me, the stronger and faster it pulls me in your direction. I know this isn't what you want to hear, but I figured the truth is the best option after last night. I owe you that much. I am _so_ sorry if I hurt you by running away. It was no reflection on you, I swear. I just panicked." I look up to see his expression.

A faint smile curls around the corners of his magnificent mouth. "Chloe . . . it's okay. You don't need to explain yourself. I didn't even think you liked me, so it's good to know you're feeling _exactly_ the same things I'm feeling." He shakes his head. "Trust me, I wasn't prepared for you either. And I have no clue what to do." He digs his feet in to give us a good push on the swing.

"There's a lot you don't know about me as well, so try to remember you're not in this alone. We're going through this together. In _every_ way. For crying out loud, I've only known you for a few days, and I've become so consumed by you it could compromise my job."

Huh? "Compromise your job how?"

He twists in his seat uncomfortably. "I um . . . well . . . I can't keep my mind on my work. You know. I ah...I could hurt someone, or get hurt myself because I'm not paying attention. I'm distracted all the time."

Because of _me_? "Oh. Well that's not good. I'd feel terrible if something bad happened because of me."

"I'm sure I'm just being paranoid. I guess we'll know on Monday when I go back to work." He smiles for the first time, making me feel a little better.

Without warning, Dru and Dhelia come barreling outside and startle us.

"Is everything okay out here?" Dru's wearing that protective face I'm starting to get used to.

Hunter and I turn to look at each other and smile.

I look up at Dru. "Everything is just fine. We had a little 'miscommunication' last night, but we're clearing it up now."

Looking pleased with herself, Dhelia holds her head high. "That's good. So you're not mad at me then for giving him your number?"

Dru shoots her a look of annoyance, which she ignores.

"No, I'm not mad. I'm kinda grateful, actually. But Hunter and I made a promise to each other. _No more secrets kept from me about him_! You got it?" I scrunch my eyes warningly.

"Sure. But what was your end of the deal?" Dhelia asks.

"Oh, I ah...I promised to _talk_ to him." Hunter and I both laugh at how funny it now sounds.

"Works for me. No. More. Secrets." Dhelia sends us a playful smile.

Dru taps his foot, not even _trying_ to hide his agitation. "No more secrets from _any_ of us." He pokes Dhelia in the ribs.

"Ouch. Okay. No more secrets from _anyone_." She jumps up and down as a sparkly silver Taurus pulls in. Must _definitely_ be Caleb this time.

"I'll be back in a few. I'm heading out to pick-up Peyton," Dru says, stepping off the porch around Dhelia.

"Okay. Drive safe." I chuckle as he turns to snarl at me.

Caleb walks up, greeting Dhelia the same way he did last night before turning to us. "Hey guys, nice ta see you again."

"Hi, Caleb." I smile as Hunter nods.

"Well, we'll let you two get back to working out your 'miscommunication' (she air quotes for extra emphasis). See you inside for dinner." Dhelia sends Hunter a sly wink before disappearing into the house with Caleb.

"What was _that_ about? It seems I missed you bonding with my sister."

"Let's just say, Dhelia wants to see us together. She'll pretty much do whatever she can to help the process along." He stares me down as though he's waiting for me to say something negative, eyes narrowing.

"Seriously? That's surprising. But it still doesn't explain why she got so upset with me for ditching you."

"Yeah, she wasn't happy about that. But she tried to explain that it wasn't about _me_ personally."

"Oh, did she now?" I shake my head in disbelief.

Hunter laughs. "It's all good. Honest."

"If you say so." It's hard for me to imagine _anything_ with my sister being ' _all good'_.

"So back to our conversation. What do you think we should do about this position we find ourselves in?" Hunter stares me down, awaiting my answer.

"What do _you_ want us to do?"

He nods with a grin, appreciating me turning his question back on him. "Well, I guess we should just take it one day at a time. Definitely take it slow . . . but spend time together and see where it goes."

"It's hard to argue with such logic. I think I can handle that." Relief _must_ be etched across my now smiling face.

"Good. I was _hoping_ you'd say that."

Before I can say anything else, he pulls a flower from the bouquet and slides it behind my ear, then leans in to lay a tender kiss upon my lips.

My heart pounds. How could I have ever walked away from such a perfect guy?

A few seconds later when he pulls away, he looks me in the eyes. "Well, Miss Chloe. Shall we go inside to join your family?"

Do we have to?

But I'm not able to say much after such a sweet surprise, so I nod. Hunter stands up, holding his hand out for mine. His cheeks light up the second our hands touch.

"Oh yeah, before I forget. Can I see your phone for a sec?"

"Um, okay." I hand it over.

Hunter types in something—pulls out his vibrating phone—then hands mine back. "There. Now we can get ahold of each other whenever we want."

As usual, his smile renders me speechless.

Sometimes it's the little things that truly make us the happiest.

#### Chapter 11

### REUNITED

The next few days pass at lightning speed. Everyone's getting along, I've had no new visions, Pap's still in stable condition, and my time hanging out with Hunter and my family has been amazing. Who knew just sitting around talking and watching movies could be so much fun.

I haven't seen him at the hospital this week since he's on day shift, but he's been coming by at night to hang out. We're supposed to go out this weekend—to do something by ourselves. Not that he's told me what he has in mind. The brat.

Dru and Aunt Morgan are at the airport picking up Ash and Aidan, while the rest of us are here with Pap. But I'm getting anxious waiting for them to get here. It's been months since I've seen them. And it's hard to believe Dru and Dhelia have _never_ met the boys. Sure, they've seen pictures and videos, but that's it.

While Dhelia's glued to her laptop, I just can't seem to stop myself from daydreaming about two of my favorite people. Ash and Aidan are two of the most extraordinary guys I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. When they're together, they are so dynamic, animated, and funny. Apart, they're unbelievably shy, and so awkward you wouldn't think they were the same people at all. Anyone who knows them gets such a kick out of the drastic transformation in their personalities when separated.

I smile to myself, picturing their quirky behavior.

Ash and Aidan are also _beyond_ brilliant. Both go to Stanford on a full ride. They're artistic, talented, sing and play acoustic guitar—as well as write music, which they perform on a regular basis at various clubs near school. Since they're graduating this week, I'm sure they'll miss it. Especially since it's how they earn spending money.

I often wonder what their abilities would be if Aunt Morgan hadn't bound their powers, as I'm sure they're just as cool as Ash and Aidan themselves. I understand her reasons for keeping magic out of their lives as children, but perhaps as adults, she'll let them choose.

As I think about how ecstatic I am to see the boys, Dhelia slams her Toshiba shut with bang. I jump. "Is everything okay over there?"

She stands, fists at her sides, trying to hold back her anger. "I wanted tickets to Dave Matthews this weekend. They're playing at The Garden on Saturday, so I thought we could show the boys around the city since they've never been to Manhattan before. But of course . . . the show's sold out already. Damn it!"

"Awe, that was sweet of you, Dee. They _love_ Dave Matthews. But I'm sure there's gotta be something else we can take them to see. Don't worry, we'll figure it out."

The defeated look on her face is almost painful to watch. She hangs her head with a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to make a good impression. I want them to like me."

I understand where she's coming from, but she's not usually the person who cares about what anyone thinks. Who knows, maybe there's hope for her yet.

"Well, as long as you don't bite their heads off when they walk through the door, I'm sure they'll _love_ you." I pucker up, blowing her a big ole' kiss.

Dhelia snarls, but can't hold it for more than a few seconds before she flops down next to me on the couch, pushing me like she's pissed. But for once, I know she isn't.

We share a laugh together, completely unaware Gram had stopped reading until she says, "Well it's about time!"

We smile at her pleased expression. But just as Gram's lips part to speak, voices draw our attention towards the door.

Dru and Aunt Morgan walk through first and the boys follow a few steps behind.

"Ash! Aidan!" I jump up, rushing over to kiss them both on the cheek—followed by a smothering hug. "Oh my god. I've missed you guys so much."

"Hey, cuz. We've missed you, too." Ash returns the greeting, while Aidan sends me a radiant smile.

"My boys! Get yourselves over here and give your old gram some sugar."

Wow! Now _this_ is a beautiful picture. Looking at Aunt Morgan and her boys next to Dru and Dhelia, you'd swear the five of them are super models. And they all look so much alike. Of course, Ash and Aidan have some of their father's Italian features, so their bone structure looks slightly different—but still model-like to say the least.

Once Ash and Aidan are free of Gram's smothering, they stand frozen in place, staring at our comatose grandfather laying before them.

Everyone's silent, giving them time to process the image that's sure to be ingrained in their memories forever.

We all know how they're feeling. The problem is, there's nothing anyone can do to make them feel better. Nothing.

I'm guessing Aunt Morgan filled them in on the way here, so I'm sure they're just in shock and unable to ask questions.

Dhelia walks over to the boys, lifting her arms around their shoulders as she fills the space between them. They turn their heads to see who it is and she says, "This isn't how I imagined meeting you guys for the first time, but I'm so happy you're here with us now."

They smile, moving their arms up around her waist.

I watch in astonishment at the mirror-like images before me. Ash and Aidan are so in sync with every movement, it almost seems unnatural. Nevertheless, it's still fascinating. It reminds me of a ballet. Each movement choreographed and timed to perfection. Except with these two, they need no rehearsal. It's like breathing for them.

When I used to watch them, I would always wonder if I would have been the same way with my own twin if she hadn't died. I'm not sure why I torture myself—wondering about things I'll never know. Perhaps I just enjoy inflicting unnecessary pain upon myself.

My ADD mind suddenly drifts to Hunter. I know I shouldn't get carried away, but I suddenly find myself anxious for the boys to meet him. They've never been crazy about anyone I've dated before, but I have a feeling this time will be different. Because _Hunter's_ different.

There's something special about him, even though I still haven't figured out what that is. Ash and Aidan are great at reading people, so I know they'll see what I do—even if Dru doesn't.

Gram interrupts my musings with chattering about heading out for lunch. They'll be taking Pap down for tests soon, so we decide to head out then. The boys are hungry for good Sushi, so Torigo Japanese Restaurant here we come. Yum.

* * *

Hours later, we go home to help Ash and Aidan unpack, but I find it difficult to pay attention to the conversations going on around me. Which seems to be my normal reaction after hearing Hunter's on his way over. I'm sure it'll wear off in a few weeks, and then I can get back to business as usual, by focusing on everything else in my life. That day can't come soon enough.

We head back downstairs, but not before Dru cons the boys into playing Guitar Hero later. Apparently, he's quite the video game buff. I should have known.

Instead of hiding out upstairs all night, I'm hoping I can convince the boys to play a few of their songs after dinner. Dru and Dhelia would go nuts!

The ringing doorbell makes me jump.

I run to welcome the visitor I've been desperate to see all day. As I open the door, he glances behind me, seeing that everyone now stands where they can easily spy on us. But instead of embarrassing me, he pulls me out on the porch where he can properly—and thoroughly—greet me with his hungry lips.

Time always has a way of standing still when his mouth touches mine. No one else exists—and nothing else matters. If it's possible to be paralyzed and impassioned at the same time, that's _exactly_ what happens.

The second he tears his tender kiss away, reality comes crashing down around me. This time, however, it's more subtle. My excitement for the evening overshadows any—and all—negativities in my world.

We step inside the house at the exact moment everyone disperses to the kitchen. Gram places us at the table, but she's kind enough to put Hunter close to Ash and Aidan, while Dru remains as far away as possible.

Thanks, Gram!

Hunter talks to the boys about their plans for law school in the fall, and they ask him questions about being a fireman. But his look of pride for his job vanishes the second he mentions how difficult it is when men on his crew are injured—or killed. Like his best friend, Trevor, who still might not make it.

I wish he talked about his family. I'd love to know how they feel about him putting his life on the line every day. I've been waiting for him to bring them up, but maybe I can find a clever way to mix it in with conversation. Like maybe on our date this weekend.

I don't say much as we devour Gram's scrumptious lasagna and garlic bread. I'm too enthralled with watching my favorite people interact with one another.

As I take everything in, a vision pops into my thoughts and startles me—penetrating my mind in an instant—but then is gone as fast as it arrived.

I shiver as my eyes open.

It's about Michael Russo. Again.

His face is flushed, sweaty, and pulsating at the temples. And he's on his way to our house _now!_

This isn't just a vision. It's a warning!

My chest tightens as I try to figure out what to do. I turn to my Gram and Aunt Morgan to get their attention, but they're watching the boys talk with Hunter.

Dru stands, clearing his throat. When I catch his blank stare, he motions for me to go in the living room with him.

I get up—follow him out of the room—and hope Hunter doesn't see the nervous look I feel spreading across my face.

Dru squeezes my forearms and says, "What happened? What did you see?"

I shake my head. "It's Michael. He's _livid_ and on his way here this second. I'm not sure how much time we have. We've gotta get Hunter out of here, but how?"

"Is this the vision you saw the other day?"

"No, this is different. In the other vision, he was sad. Now he looks _pissed_." And then some.

"Are you sure this is happening _right now_?"

"Definitely. What I felt in the vision is what he's feeling at this very moment, of that I'm certain. So we don't have much time."

"Okay. Think." He lifts his hands to his face. "Um . . . how can we get him out of here without raising suspicion?"

I pause for a moment. "I got it! I can send him to the store. Let's hurry!"

We dash back to the kitchen where they're still laughing at old stories. There's no time to waste, so I whisper in Hunter's ear, "Can you come to the living room with me for a minute? I need your help with something."

He doesn't say a word. He just gets up from the table and follows my lead.

"Is there any chance you would do me a _huge_ favor?" Oh, god. _Please_ don't let me look as nervous as I feel.

"Sure, what is it?" He doesn't even hesitate.

"I was supposed to take care of a little surprise tonight, but I lost track of time and forgot. The plan was for me to go to the store without the boys knowing, to get a cake to celebrate their graduation. I'm such an idiot. If _I_ leave now, they'll know something's up. So would you mind running to town for me? You could say you got called to work or something." I place my hand on his cheek, batting my eyes so he can't resist. "I will owe you _big_ time."

"Anything for you, Miss Chloe." He smiles. "Is there a particular cake you want?"

"How about a half marble sheet cake with buttercream icing." Is that particular enough?

"Done. I'll be back before you know it." He leans down, kissing me on the cheek before he sneaks out the door.

I feel bad for lying, but I didn't know what else to do on such short notice.

As soon as I'm certain he's in his car and pulling out, I dart across the floor to the kitchen.

"Okay everyone, we don't have much time." I sound frantic, but I can't help it.

With questioning eyes, they turn to look at me.

"Chloe had a vision. And it's one that's going to happen any minute," Dru explains.

I look at the boys then move my attention to Aunt Morgan. "The moment you've been dreading for all these years is upon us. Michael knows something and he's _pissed!_ He's on his way here this very second to confront you. I sent Hunter to the store, but I doubt he'll be gone long."

No one says anything. We just watch Aunt Morgan, waiting for some word of what she wants to do.

"Aunt Morgan?" I try to get her attention.

She lifts her head, opening her mouth to speak, but the ringing doorbell stops her.

She jumps to her feet.

Her limbs shake as she turns toward the door.

"Shit!" She exhales. "Okay, boys. We knew this was coming. We can do this." She sends them a wary smile.

She pivots, hesitation etched through her deep lines of worry, then walks towards the front door. But I know it's the _last_ thing she wants to do.

The doorbell rings again, followed by persistent pounding.

Aunt Morgan looks back and winces, but moves forward.

As she reaches the door, her hand lifts to the knob—and she freezes.

She turns back to look at Gram—me—then at the boys. After another deep breath, she pulls the door open.

#### Chapter 12

### THE GREATEST LIE EVER TOLD

Michael stands before her, fury oozing from his glistening pores. It takes him a second to speak, his eyes burning a hole through Aunt Morgan's face.

Everyone but Ash and Aidan move into the living room.

"Is it true?" he demands, his strained voice dripping with disbelief. "Please tell me it's not true?"

Her head droops, but I can tell she's holding back the tears. Aunt Morgan always hides her face when she's about to cry.

She lifts her head back up. "Is _what_ true?"

He takes a step closer, but his hateful glare never waivers. "I just got off the phone with my distraught mother, rambling on about the two boys she'd seen that were a carbon copy of _me_. Me! She saw them with _you_ , and then realized she's had grandchildren for the last twenty-one years...and that I'm a father...but no one ever felt the need to tell us." He turns away, but then looks back to Aunt Morgan. "Please tell me this isn't true? I told her she was wrong, that you could _never_ do such a thing. She's wrong, right?" The pleading in his voice tugs at my heart.

His expression softens, staring at the tears billowing in her eyes.

"Yes, Michael. It's true. I'm so sorry, but it's true." Aunt Morgan's bottom lip quivers the second she pushes the words from her mouth.

His distinct, Italian jaw drops, the color draining from his cheeks. "What? I . . . I don't understand. How could your family tell me you had a miscarriage? H . . . how could you keep this from me for _twenty-one years_?" His head sways, trying to control the anger in his voice.

Ash and Aidan abandon the seats keeping them out of Michael's line of sight. They move closer to where their parents now stand. Together.

"Don't speak to her that way! After everything you've done to her, don't you _dare_ blame her because you didn't know the truth," Ash exclaims, defending his mother in a frigid, protective tone. I'm sure it's making Michael's insides shake.

"She gave you _exactly_ what you wanted by not telling you. You knew she was pregnant, but you left her anyway. If anyone should feel bad . . . it should be _you_." Aidan points to his father with contempt.

In awe of his mirror image duplicated before him, Michael stands like an ice sculpture, seeing his twin boys for the very first time.

Moments pass as he stares. Morgan steps closer, placing her hand on his arm. "Michael, are you okay?"

She waits, but he doesn't answer. She tries again. "Michael? I never meant to hurt you. I thought this was what you wanted." Her voice cracks.

"What did you say?" He turns to her, surprise pinning his eyes wide open. "You thought it's what I _wanted_? What in the hell would have ever made you think I would want nothing to do with my own flesh and blood? For god's sake, Mo, we had their names picked out the very night we found out you were having twins." Visibly broken, the dark circles and blood-shot eyes overpower Michael's face.

Aunt Morgan releases his arm, moving so she can stand between her sons. She takes a deep breath, turning to face their father again.

As if being wiped by an invisible cloth, sadness is replaced by one of antipathy as a vivid sneer creeps up her face. "Your letter made it _quite_ clear how you felt about us. You said you wanted nothing to do with me, or the Satan spawn I was carrying . . . and I believed you. Given the fact that you never, not even once, tried to contact me, only proves you meant every word."

Michael squints, her words registering. " _My_ letter?"

Aunt Morgan's jaw clenches, a vein pulsating on the side of her lithe neck. "Yes, _your_ letter. You know...the one your father delivered the day after you told him I'm a _Witch_."

He shakes his head, a few stray hairs dangling onto his forehead. Staring off somewhere, he seems confused—like he's trying to recall a memory but isn't able to. Then, as if he's just been kicked in the stomach, Michael's face turns ghostly.

He looks toward Aunt Morgan and the boys one more time, his mouth falling open. "I . . . I have to go . . . ."

Before any of us know what's happening, Michael runs out the front door where he almost knocks over the returning Hunter.

Unaware of what he's just walked in on, Hunter scans the room chock-full of surprised faces. "Ah...is everything okay?"

I grab the cake from his hands, setting it down on the end table behind us. "That was Ash and Aidan's father who nearly plowed you over. Sorry about that."

Confusion stretches across his wrinkled brow.

"He never knew they existed," I add in a polite tone.

The second it registers, he presses a smooth hand upon my cheek. "This is _clearly_ a family matter that doesn't need an outside audience. I'll leave so you and your family can be alone, okay?"

"That's really sweet of you. Thanks so much for getting the cake. We'll save it for tomorrow, okay?"

"No, don't be silly. Enjoy it tonight. Perhaps something sweet will help ease the bitterness of the night."

"Okay, just let me get you some money first." I turn, looking to see where I left my bag.

Hunter grabs my forearm. "The cake is _my_ treat. You guys are always feeding me, so it's the least I can do."

"That's really not necessary, but thank you." I smile apologetically. "I'm sorry I made you run out, only to have you leave once you got back. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"It's not a big deal. Honest. You just focus on your family." He leans down to place a kiss on my cheek. "They come first."

"Thank you, Hunter. I really appreciate everything."

"It's my pleasure, Miss Chloe." He turns towards everyone in the room. "You need some time alone, so I'll get out of your hair. It was nice meeting you guys. We'll talk more tomorrow." He turns to Gram. "And thanks for another fabulous meal."

"You're quite welcome, dear." She smiles.

Everyone wishes him a good night as he disappears through the doorway.

Once I hear his car door shut, I grab the cake and we head back to the kitchen.

"So that's our father?" Aidan asks. "He's not exactly what I was expecting."

"Well, I'd just like to know why he was so upset. Sure, I suppose it's natural to be mad over something like this, but _he's_ the one who shut you out of his life. I just don't get it." Ash shakes his head, stepping out of his flip-flops as he slides onto a barstool.

Aunt Morgan drops down next to him.

"What's on your mind, Aunt Morgan? What are you thinking?" I sit on the other side of her, wrapping my arm around her slumped-over shoulders.

She shrugs. "I'm not sure. His reaction just doesn't make much sense. All these years I've been so angry, but in a matter of minutes, he made me feel sorry for _him_. How does that even happen?" She leans her head against my shoulder.

"If it means anything, he definitely wasn't faking it. In fact, I'd say he was holding back. That man's heart is _broken_. I've never felt so much pain on one person." Dru tries to reassure her.

We go over-and-over the events, discussing how his actions are so unexpected. And we come to one conclusion: it must have been regret. I mean, what else could it be? Maybe in his mind he believes he would have taken her back if he knew the truth back then. But even if he regrets his choices, it's too little, too late.

As we discuss how tired we're getting, I remember the cake Hunter so willingly picked up. I slide it in front of me, take the lid off, and notice he'd even taken the time to have " _Congratulations Ash & Aidan_" written on it. Could he be any sweeter?

"I almost forgot." I tilt the cake towards Ash and Aidan. "Congratulations, boys. You can thank Hunter tomorrow."

Everyone stands up to look inside the box at the blue and lavender floral cake. "That looks delicious. Please tell me we're eating it _now?_ " Dhelia puts her hands on her hips.

In a matter of seconds, Gram has a knife, forks, and paper plates in hand. "Boys, who wants to cut?" She holds out the knife towards the faux guests of honor.

We each have a slice before heading off to bed, not that it helps ease the terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I might not have _seen_ it, but something big is about to happen. You don't need to have visions to see that one coming.

* * *

As we chow down on Denver omelets, we decide to stick around the house today to take care of everything we've been neglecting, like cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, and other errands. We'll spend time with Pap later today, after Gram feels better about the state of the house and refrigerator.

She also wants to stop by her store to check on things. She has people working for her she trusts implicitly, but she never stays away this long without popping in for a visit. I'm sure Gram's a great boss, especially on holidays. She's very generous with family— _and_ with her employees.

Once we figure out our plan for the day, we waste no time getting right to it. I help Gram clean, Dhelia goes grocery shopping, and the boys do laundry before going outside to help Dru and Aunt Morgan take care of the shaggy yard.

While I start in the living room, Gram goes on kitchen duty. The house is by no means messy, not even with seven people living here for the time being. It just needs some routine maintenance, like dusting and vacuuming.

As I work my way through the living room with a bottle of pledge and a dust rag, I come across the Wiccan statues and Celtic figurines taking up residence on the shelves. Like the miniature, gold Altar bell; the pewter Moon Goddess statue; the bejeweled statues of Isis and Pagan fairies; the stone Hecate figurines; and pentacles of every color.

There are so many memories in this room—and most of them predate even Gram and Pap.

Over the years, they've restored the entire house and added all sorts of cool colors to the walls, like the deep shade of burnt-red the fifty-two-inch flat screen hangs on. From the inside, it doesn't even look Victorian anymore. The house is full of detailed trim with a natural oak finish, matching the hardwood floors to perfection. It gives the room such a homey feel.

The living room alone is big enough to fit five or six full-size cars in it, but with floor to ceiling bookshelves on two walls, three over-sized puffy couches and two matching chairs, it's still somehow cozy.

I drag the dust rag across the wrought iron and slate coffee table and can't help but smile. I love this room. It was also my mother's favorite room because of the color, so Gram will never change it—for that reason alone.

I grab the spindly feather duster, making my way to the wall of family portraits. I'd almost forgotten just how many photographs of my mother there are. It looks like there were even quite a few new ones that went up after she died.

I stop when I come to a picture taken during our last Christmas together. My eyes fill to see her the way I try to remember her. When she was happy. Pain courses through my chest, so I return the photo to its home on the wall.

As I move further down the wall of memories, the vision of Michael and Morgan from the other day hits me. The one with no sound.

Only this time, I know it's happening _today_.

I throw the duster on the couch and head outside to find Aunt Morgan.

"Aunt Morgan!" I yell, running through the grass Dru's mowing. "It's today! Michael will be here this afternoon for the conversation that has you all in tears."

I wipe my hand across the beads of sweat forming across my nose.

She shrugs her shoulders and goes back to weeding, without saying a word.

I don't know how she does it. She's always been a rock. And she says there's something about _this_ house that's always given her the strength to face anything. I never noticed as a child—but being here now—I get it.

Having kept my promise, I head back towards the house.

It isn't taking long to clean, but we still have the den, the dining room, Pap's study, and four bathrooms. There are ten bedrooms in all, but we're responsible for taking care of our own rooms. For the ones not in use, she doesn't care about cleaning them. Thank, god.

If I have to guess, it will take Dru and Aunt Morgan longer than anyone to finish. There are five acres of grass to mow, not to mention flowerbeds and a garden to weed and water. With the flowers and shrubs of every color, it's undeniably a gorgeous lawn. The upkeep, however, is pretty much a full-time job for Pap. But he loves every minute of it. He even tends to Gram's herb garden when she can't get around to it.

By lunchtime, we're just about finished. We have a quick lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup so we can get back to work. Another hour or two and we can clean up for the hospital.

As I help Gram and Aunt Morgan clear the table, the doorbell rings. We know right away who it is, so Aunt Morgan tells the boys to behave this time, and not say anything to make it worse. She's already made it clear they don't need to defend her.

Dru and Dhelia had already gone back outside, but the rest of us remain in the kitchen.

The front door creaks open, followed by Aunt Morgan saying, "Michael, we're just cleaning up from lunch, come on in."

Michael asks with a polite smile, "I'd like to talk to the whole family, if that's okay?"

"Sure." She agrees, but the hesitation in her voice is undeniable.

His attitude doesn't seem angry like it did last night. He's calm. Almost apologetic with his hunched over posture and chin dipping into his chest.

Once he's in the kitchen, he looks at everyone and says, "First, I need to tell you all how very sorry I am for my outburst last night. It was a bit overwhelming to find out I have two grown sons after all these years."

As he hangs his head again, Gram interjects. "Michael, no one faults you for being upset. You don't need to apologize. Any one of us would have acted the same way. If not worse."

Aunt Morgan even adds, "You have every right to be pissed. You just have to know it was never done to _hurt_ you, Michael. It was done to protect the boys."

With a pained face, Michael turns to face his sons. He scans them up and down then walks to stand before them. "We weren't properly introduced last night. I'm your father." His creased brow softens. "You have no idea how wonderful it is to meet you. No words can describe how happy I am to know you're alive." His voice cracks with emotion. "So what are your names?"

Before they can say anything, Aunt Morgan steps over to where they stand. "This is Ash . . . and this is Aidan." They nod at the same time towards this stranger; this man who calls himself their father.

Michael spins around, pacing across the floor like a madman.

He runs his hands through his somewhat thinning, salt and pepper hair. "I found out a few details last night I never knew. Things I still can't believe." He pauses. "I spent the entire night, and morning, trying to figure out how to come here to tell you, but I never came up with an easy way."

He shoves his hands into his back pockets, shaking his head.

Aunt Morgan's face scrunches up in a way I don't quite understand. Confusion perhaps? Maybe doubt. She steps forward about six inches from Michael, and the boys move to the other side of the table to face them.

"What is it, Michael?" Her voice turns sympathetic. Tender even.

He lifts his head, pain woven through a furrowed brow and damp forehead. "I don't know how to tell you. It just doesn't seem real." He starts pacing again, but stops to brace his hands on the corner of the quartz counter top. "Morgan, we were played and lied to in the worst way imaginable. According to my mother, my father decided to take it upon himself to destroy our relationship . . . _and_ our lives."

He glances back at Aunt Morgan.

"What do you mean?" I swear I hear her heart breaking from across the room.

He turns around to lean his lower back against the island. "The letter you kept mentioning . . . well, it was my father who wrote it. Not me. I never knew anything about it before last night." His eyes well up, struggling to contain himself.

Aunt Morgan's jaw drops to the floor. "What? Are you kidding me?"

"No, unfortunately, I'm not. In fact, he also wrote a letter to me . . . signed by _you_. Supposedly, they pretty much said the same things. I hate you . . . I never want to see you again . . . if you come anywhere near me or my family . . . blah, blah, blah. For me, saying you no longer loved me was all I needed. Then a few days later, your mom told me you lost the boys. Now knowing about the letter _you'd_ received, I can't say I blame you for what you did. I just can't believe my father is capable of such cruelty. I mean, what kind of father would do such a thing to his child?" As he says the words, tears pour down his blotchy face.

Aunt Morgan doesn't utter a word. She must be just as stunned as Michael is. Hell, as we _all_ are.

"How am I supposed to believe this, after twenty-one years of trying to mend a broken heart? After twenty-one years of raising _our_ boys, _alone_? Even if what you're saying is true, why would you not reach out to me to say you were sorry when you heard I had a miscarriage? It just doesn't make sense." Her eyes glaze over.

Michael places his hands on her forearms. "Morgan, I thought you hated me. I thought you meant what your letter said. You left town. And then, well, so did I."

She shakes her head. "I just don't know what to do with this information right now. I don't know what to believe, or what _not_ to believe. I need to think, Michael. I'm sorry, but I need to think."

He drops his hands, tears still flooding his face. He looks to the boys. "If I would have had any idea you were alive, I would have been there in a heartbeat. I would have never abandoned _any_ of you. Please know that."

Ash and Aidan remain silent, but their tearful eyes speak volumes about what they're feeling.

Michael turns to Aunt Morgan again. "I am so sorry for what my father has taken away from us. I'll never forgive him. I just hope in time you'll be able to forgive _me,_ and allow me to be a part of my son's lives." He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a card, and places it on the counter behind her. "When you're ready to talk, please call me."

She lifts her head, but the second she sees the tears falling down his cheeks, she's unable to control her own.

Michael sees her tears and turns, barreling out the back door as fast as he can.

Ash and Aidan bolt to their mother's side to embrace her. They huddle together and cry as the family of three they've been for twenty-one years.

_Now_ the vision makes perfect sense. I get it.

The sight is heartbreaking. Gram and I hold onto each other and cry, too.

This news is not what any of us were expecting to hear. It's going to change everything, but there's no way to know exactly how. Not yet.

The unnecessary pain she's been through is because of a lie, and nothing more. What kind of a person—who claims to be a man of faith—can do something so blasphemous?

The only man Aunt Morgan has loved her entire life, _clearly_ never stopped loving her. And he never left her the way she was lead to believe.

Her life of heartache was for _nothing_.

#### Chapter 13

### SPELLBOUND

We make it to the hospital a little later than planned. Aunt Morgan had a difficult time getting herself together after Michael's visit, and who could blame her. She's a tear-stained mess even now, and hasn't spoken a word in over an hour.

The minute we walk into Pap's room, a nurse informs us the doctor has been looking for Gram. They just ran more tests and he needs to go over the results. As she turns to walk out of the room, Gram flops down on the chair beside Pap's bed to hold his hand.

Dru breathes out a heavy sigh.

I move to where my brother stands against the wall. "What's wrong, Dru? What aren't you telling us?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I can't feel _anything_. I don't know how to explain it. But it's really freaking me out." He shivers, arms crossing over his chest.

"Well, maybe you're just having an off day. Perhaps your radar is just on the fritz." I wrap my arm around him, leaning my head into his shoulder.

"Yeah, maybe you're right." He rests his chin on top of my head. "Let's go pop-a-squat on the couch while we wait."

"Sounds good."

As we move to the couch along the far wall, a pleasant surprise comes traipsing through the door. "Hello, everyone." Hunter sends a cheerful wave to the room, but no one shares his mood. A simple "Hello" is all he gets.

I feel my face light up as he comes to my side and leans down, placing a feather-soft kiss upon my welcoming lips. "What a nice surprise. I wasn't expecting to see you until later."

"Yeah, well I haven't seen my buddy for a few days, so I figured it was the perfect time since I knew you'd be here, too. Who can say 'no' to a two-for-one deal?" He winks.

He's so adorable. I'd love to wrap my arms around him this very second, but this isn't the time or place.

I stand back up and grab his hand, pulling him out of the room for a little privacy. "Well, I'm really glad you're here. I could use a pick-me-up. So much has happened since I saw you last night."

"Is everything okay?" His brows crinkle.

I shake my head. "Not really. It's a long story. I'll have to explain it later. Right now we're waiting for Dr. Gaslightwala to tell us the latest test results."

"Oh, I see. So it's not good then?" He wraps his arms around me. Like a new reflex, his touch makes me feel safe. Comforted.

"We don't know yet, but Gram and Dru have a bad feeling about it." Hunter and I turn to look at their glum faces through the window.

"Would you like me to stay with you until you find out? I can visit Trevor a little later."

"Really?" I squeeze my arms around him. "I'd like that."

"Anything for you, Miss Chloe." He rubs my back, holding me with so much tenderness.

"You know, a girl could get used to this. I feel so safe with you." I place my head over his heart. The slow, rhythmic thud soothes me.

"That's because I protect people for a living." He squeezes me, chuckling like a little boy. How cute.

"No. It's because of _you_."

He pushes me back at arm's length, staring me in the eyes. "Thank you. That means a lot." He brushes the side of my face with the back of his fingertips. "Let's go back in. Your family needs you right now."

When we turn around, we realize they're all watching us. My face heats up as we walk back in the room. Why do they insist on doing that? Gees.

Ash and Aidan smirk as they stare. I guess momentary distraction isn't so bad. But why does it always have to be at _my_ expense?

I know, I know. Penance!

With Hunter's face as red as mine feels, we take a seat at the oak table while we wait.

Just as we sit, Dr. Gaslightwala walks in. "Good evening, everyone." He smiles, but his non-responsive eyes make it seem forced.

Oh, no. This can't be good.

We say "good evening" in return.

"I'm afraid I don't have good news. Something happened today with Samuel." His hand with the clipboard falls to his side. "We can't be sure if it's from the pressure on his brain, from the tumor growing, or from a lesion, but he's taken a turn for the worst. There's really no way to say this, other than Samuel is brain dead. The tests we did thirty minutes ago show no brain activity of any kind. I'm so sorry, but there's nothing more we can do for him. This was completely unexpected." His glassy eyes look down.

What?

This _can't_ be happening. Oh, my god, no!

My heart races out of control. "I don't understand. He was doing so well."

"We knew the risks before we performed the surgery. His tumor was in a delicate area of the brain. It's still a surprise to me, too, but there was no way to predict what would happen or how he'd react." He looks around the room at our shocked faces, not knowing what to say. He walks over to Gram and pulls a chair up to sit beside her.

Dr. Gaslightwala places his hand on her knee. "We need to discuss what you'd like to do, Aurora. Samuel discussed his wishes with me many times. But once we turn off the machines, you need to realize he'll be gone."

She looks up, a numb expression crossing her face. "Can we take him home? If it's truly his time, I know he'd prefer it if his last moments are in our home with just the family."

"Absolutely, Aurora. We can take care of whatever you need. Just let us know when you'd like us to make the arrangements."

She turns her head, looking around the room at the solemn faces soon to be devastated, then turns back to Dr. Gaslightwala. "Tomorrow. Let's bring him home tomorrow."

"Consider it done. If there's anything you or your family need, please don't hesitate to ask." He manages a polite smile, reaching for her hand. "He was a wonderful man, Aurora. I'm so sorry there wasn't more we could do."

"Thank you, doctor." She lets go of his hand and reaches across the bed to hold onto Pap's.

Hunter moves his chair closer, wrapping his strong arm around me. I lean into him but don't say anything. No one does. How much more can this family handle in one day? It's one thing to find out about the Russo's—but this is something altogether different.

Gram turns to face us. "This isn't over. I'm _not_ giving up." Then she walks out of the room with her head held high.

We look around the room at each other, nervous expressions etched across everyone's suspecting faces. Like everyone else, I'm sure we know what she has in mind: she's planning some sort of major spell.

Has she figured out a way to bring someone back from the dead? Oh my god, I hope not. That's not something to screw around with. I stiffen at the thought of it. Pap would _never_ want her going to such extremes, but once she makes her mind up, no one can change it. We're _all_ stubborn like that.

Aunt Morgan gets up to follow Gram, but the rest of us stay seated. I don't have the first clue of what I should do. Everyone knows how I handle this sort of thing. But no matter what, I have to be strong. If I flake again on my family, they'll never forgive me. Nor should they.

Hunter whispers in my ear, "Is there anything I can do?"

The only answer I can give him is, "Thanks, Hunter. I guess the only thing left to do at this point, is pray."

"Would you like me to leave you alone with your family?"

God, no! But I _should_ talk to them about Gram. "Not really. But maybe now would be a good time for you to visit Trevor."

"Okay. I can do that. If you need me, though . . . for _anything_ . . . just text me. Or come down the hall to find me, okay?" He has that vacant look in his eyes men get when they feel helpless.

"I will. I promise." I kiss him goodbye.

As he stands to leave, I grab his hand. "Thank you for being here, Hunter. It means more than you know."

He smiles, the affection resting there, warms my heart to its core.

Once Hunter's out of sight, I speak up about my suspicions. "Gram's up to something." I turn to Dru and Dhelia. "Has she come up with some sort of 'raising the dead' spell?"

They look back and forth between each other, shaking their heads.

"Not that I know of, but then again, she doesn't usually share her spells with us." Dru's drawn expression proves he's just as concerned as I am.

"You don't really think she'd do something crazy like that, do you?" Dhelia looks to Dru for reassurance. He shrugs.

But what if Gram _can_? I mean, technically Pap isn't 'dead', so maybe there _is_ something she can do. Magic is capable of powerful things.

As sudden pangs of hope go coursing through my veins, I realize how free we are with our discussion in front of Ash and Aidan.

I turn to see their wide-eyed faces locked on us. "Oh crap. We must have you guys freaked out right now." I wait for a sign that they're confused—or afraid.

"Actually," Aidan tilts his head to the side, "we know a _lot_ more than anyone realizes. We have for quite some time now." He gives a sly smirk as he delivers this juicy little tidbit.

"Oh, really?" I ask. "How is that even possible? I know your mom never talked about it when I was around." I can't wait to hear _this_ answer.

Ash hunkers down in his chair like he's about to drop a bombshell. "Well, when we were younger, she used to tell us stories about the family's magic. But she made it clear no one would be using it under her roof. She told us we were free to choose for ourselves when we were adults . . . so that's what we did. We just haven't shared it with her yet. We didn't want to upset either one of you. We knew you were just as against magic as she was."

"Wow. I never would have guessed. How long has this been going on?"

"Oh, I guess since we went away to school. Once we were on our own and figured out how to unbind our powers, we did a lot of experimenting." Ash crosses his arms over his chest and grins.

Why does this surprise me so much? I lift my foot up under my butt, releasing a heavy sigh.

"So you _like_ magic then?" Dhelia asks.

"Hell, yeah. What's not to like? It's so cool to have powers. But don't worry. We did our homework . . . and we know the rules. We'd never put the family at risk, and we're careful not to let our secret get out." I can tell from Aidan's serious tone he's telling the truth.

They're both mature for their age, so I'm sure they're wise about their choices.

As I'm about to ask more questions, Gram and Aunt Morgan walk back in the room.

"Are you kids ready?" Gram asks in a hurried voice. "There's a lot of work ahead of us to get the house ready for tomorrow. We should get started right away."

Aunt Morgan stands beside Gram without saying a word. With her dark rings and slouching posture, she looks like she's ready to collapse. My heart goes out to her.

We get up and grab our things and I send Hunter a quick text to let him know we're leaving as we follow Gram to the elevator. I don't think I've ever felt a more unsettling silence in my entire life.

* * *

Last night was one of the most awkward nights I can remember. There wasn't much talking at all. Gram stayed locked in her sunroom, while the rest of us scrambled around getting things ready to bring Pap home.

Gram sent Dru and Dhelia out for the herbs and supplies she needs, but they were very hush-hush about it. I _know_ Gram's up to something huge, and it makes my stomach queasy just thinking about it.

They called from the hospital earlier to say they'd be here around lunchtime with Pap, so all we can do now is wait. I still haven't wrapped my head around the fact that he's coming home to die. I still can't believe this is happening. I don't think anyone can. To say it's gonna hit like a ton of bricks the second they pull the plug, is an understatement.

Part of me will die with him.

Part of us _all_ will.

As we sit in the living room waiting, Gram walks in. "I know you've all been trying to figure out what I've been doing, so I figured it was time to fill you in." She takes a deep breath, slumping down on the arm of the couch. "I _don't_ believe what the doctor said. I don't believe your pap is gone. If he were, I would _feel_ it . . . and I don't. When you share your life with someone for more than forty years, you become a part of each other. And I still feel his presence as if he were standing right here." Gram points to the ground beside her.

She pauses, tears building in her eyes. "Does anyone in this room believe he's gone? _Honestly_? Don't be afraid to answer." Gram scans our faces, looking for a sign she hadn't noticed before.

We look around at each other, shaking our heads. But no one speaks up to say they think any differently than she does.

Is it possible she's right?

"Okay. Just as I thought. I need you all to trust me. I plan to do all the work, but the only thing I'll ask of you is to form a Prayer Circle while I recite an incantation." She shakes her head in my direction. "And to put minds at ease, no. I _don't_ know a way to bring someone back to life.

"The whole purpose of this ritual is to wake your pap, as I believe he's simply lost in a coma so deep the doctors only _think_ he's gone. I've heard this sort of thing happens all the time. If by chance I'm wrong—and the doctors are right—then obviously nothing will happen.

"But with every fiber of my being, I don't believe your pap has left us. I would know if he had. But I need to know you all trust me and believe in what I'm planning to do. We have to unite as a family to generate the sort of magic that's needed to perform this ritual. So the question is, can I count on you?" Grams attention goes to me. I'd normally put up a fight to participate in a spell—but how can I not try if there might be a chance?

Without hesitation, I stand up, the rest of my family following suit. "Yes, you can count on us," we say together.

"Morgan, Chloe, are you sure? You'll need to be one hundred percent committed to this."

We both nod. I wouldn't dream of not trying, and I guarantee Aunt Morgan feels the same.

Gram puts her hands together in front of her face, eyes overflowing. "Fabulous. This could _definitely_ work."

Aunt Morgan steps towards her. "Are you planning to invoke the spirit, or do you have something else in mind?"

Gram wipes the tears from her rosy cheeks. "Yes, dear, I do plan to invoke the spirit. But there's also something else . . . something I heard about as a child, but never got confirmation on." She stands with her head held high. "Let's just say, according to our ancestors, we have an _enormous_ amount of magic at our disposal. So I'd like to tap into it."

"What do you mean?" Dru asks, moving closer to Gram.

"I really don't want to say anything else, in case it doesn't work. Just trust me, dear, okay?" She smiles, touching her hand to his cheek.

"So when do you plan to do this?" Dhelia blurts out.

"Tonight. After nightfall."

Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

Crap. They're here with Pap.

I have to admit—after hearing what Gram had to say—I find myself filled with optimism for the first time since I found out he was sick. Even more surprising, I'm somewhat excited to see what she has planned.

Talk about a one-eighty.

Since I returned home, I haven't seen my abilities as a curse the way I used to. Perhaps getting older—and being with my family again—has made me appreciate things. These past few days I've even found myself wishing I could tell Hunter. Granted, I know it's way too early to share my secret. But it would feel great to share it with someone. My fear, however, is that Hunter would be so freaked out he'd never speak to us again. The way my father wished he'd been able to.

Hunter's such a down-to-earth guy. The straight and narrow type. There's no way he'd understand such an alternative lifestyle, which is why I know I need to end things before it ever gets that far.

But I can't worry about that now.

After a long morning of waiting—and worrying—they push Pap's bed in along with the ghastly machines. I can't even imagine a world without this full-of-life man in it. My heart hurts just thinking about it. I wonder though, will Gram be _twice_ as devastated if she tries to save him—and fails? She's been so convinced he'd be okay, so it's clear she hasn't prepared for this. I'd say she's been in denial. We all have. Who knows, maybe even more so now. Even if it turns out to be the case, having hope, even if it's short-lived, still feels better than no hope at all. It's the fuel that pushes people through tough times.

After twenty minutes of instructions from the EMT's, Dru and Aidan wheel Pap's bed back to the sunroom. Even though we have seven or eight hours to wait, Gram wants him there to perform a cleansing ritual. I have no clue what's involved, but she's determined to spend the day eliminating any negative energy that may have come from the hospital with him.

We follow them through the house, but once we make it to the illuminated bsunroom, Gram asks if she can be alone for the afternoon with him. Without question, we respect her wishes. Who could deny her this time alone with the man she loves. Especially if it's the last she'll ever have.

* * *

The Witching hour is now upon us. Literally.

It's time to invoke the spirit through a conjuration ritual, and Gram explained what she needs us to do. She even wants us to wear these scary, black ceremonial robes so it can be as by-the-book as possible.

We gather in the sunroom, taking our respective assigned places.

Gram is on Pap's right, then Ash, Dhelia, Dru, Aunt Morgan, Aidan, and then me at Pap's left. Gram and I move further behind Pap's bed so we can form a full circle around him.

A case of the shakes runs rampant throughout my body.

At the foot of Pap's bed, we watch as Gram places an altar to perform the healing ceremony. Atop the altar she lays the Moon family's _Book of Shadows_ ; a pewter Pentacle, which represents the earth; a silver Athame for air; a wooden wand encrusted in gemstones for fire; a silver Chalice for water; as well as white candles, incense, a silver plate, and an envelope of various herbs which reads, _Health for Samuel Crawford_ on the front.

Gram stands tall, elegance, and confidence, radiating from her aquamarine eyes.

Inhaling deeply, she squeezes my hand.

She begins chanting something beyond incoherent, as a fleeting gust of wind blows in through an open window, extinguishing every candle spread throughout the room.

Gram turns in search of matches, but no luck. "Oh, that's right. I used the last one on the incense." She looks to Dhelia. "Could you get more, dear?"

Dhelia smiles. "No problem."

She turns toward the kitchen, but Ash interjects rather abruptly. "Wait! Mind if I try?"

Dhelia nods with a suspicious glint in her eyes.

Ash looks at Gram—winks—then asks her to hold out her palm.

He leans his head down, eyes flashing electric blue as a pack of matches appear in her hand. Out of nowhere.

How friggin' cool was _that_?

Dru and Dhelia talk over each other with a thousand questions, but Gram jumps in, "Well done, dear." She sends my brother and sister a stern look. "Now, where were we?"

I glance over at Aunt Morgan who wears a rather stunned expression on her face. I had a feeling this would happen after the boys told us they found a way to unbind their powers.

I can only imagine what she's thinking.

Gram goes ahead and lights the candles again while Dru closes the windows.

Now back in their places, Gram says, "Okay. Let's try this again, shall we?"

She begins calling to the Goddess for power.

"Charge these herbs to aid my spell,  
that Samuel Crawford will be well.  
That by free will, which shall be blessed,

with total health and happiness.  
I ask the Goddess hear my call,

that it may be for the good of all."

Gram sidles up to the altar and grabs the letter-sized white envelope. She passes it through the flame—then places it on the silver plate to burn.

She then instructs, "Now focus on the smoke and visualize the energy blowing with it towards your pap."

Once the envelope turns to ash, she begins again.

"I call upon a breath of wind,  
empowered by the Spirit of Air.  
To carry my spell toward my kin,

and gracefully deliver it there.  
By all the power that remains unseen,

shall bind around and in between.  
To cause no harm, nor return on me,  
as I will, so mote it be."

We wait for something to happen, but there's nothing.

The monitor above Pap's head appears just as it was before we started.

I turn to Gram, but by her frazzled expression, she seems just as confused as I am.

"We did everything _perfectly_." She scratches her head. "Where did I go wrong?" She paces around the room more frantic than I've ever seen her.

She heads straight for _The Book of Shadows_ , flipping through the pages like a mad woman. " _Here_ we go." After a few minutes of mumbling, she closes the book and moves back to her place in the circle.

"Okay. I'd like to try something a bit different from my original plan." She closes her eyes for a second, taking a slow, calming breath. "Now, everyone needs to join hands so we can close the circle. But Instead of us forming the circle _around_ your pap, we're going to include him in the circle so our power can surge _through_ him. Is everyone still with me?"

She looks around the room at the faces of loved ones so willing to do whatever she asks. As Gram and I grab hold of Pap's limp hands, everyone nods and join hands to close the circle. She begins again.

"I call upon the Ancient power,

please help us in this final hour.

Idle magic of the Moon family line,

find a way to travel through time.

Come to us and settle near,

the past and present shall unit here.

This mind is trapped and should be free,

As I will, so mote it be."

As the last words escape her lips, the windows burst open, allowing a violent, howling wind to whip through the room.

Out of nowhere, lightning crashes down in the distance as a tumultuous rain pelts the ground.

"Whatever you do, you _cannot_ break the circle!" Gram yells, lights flickering all around us.

Chaos ensues like a mini tornado.

Books and plants fly off the shelves, smashing to the floor with a vengeance.

The windows angrily careen back and forth, glass shattering against the walls in their wake.

Near deafening noise fills the air, but we hold tight, unable to lift our hands for protection.

A high-pitched noise climbs through the air, becoming one with the bedlam.

"What's that?" Dhelia shouts, as the painful moaning becomes unbearable to hear.

I attempt to look through the flying debris, hoping to see where it's coming from. And then it hits me. "Pap!" I scream, his body thrashing on the table before us.

The wind screams like an eerie beast, chills clawing their way up and down my spine.

This can't be right. Something _mus_ t have gone wrong. I inch myself closer to Pap, but Gram yells, "Chloe, no! You must not break the circle!"

"I won't!" I holler.

But I have to get closer. I have to do _something_ to help him.

Still clutching Aidan's hand with my left, I pull him with me, leaning my body forward on the side of the bed. As Pap's body convulses, I take my hand holding his, and I push down on his chest to quell the violent, involuntary heaving.

Aidan squeezes my hand, but I can only think about one thing—and one thing only: helping my pap.

As anything that isn't tied down whips through the air, I lean my upper body down to place as much of my weight on Pap as I can.

The thrashing lessens, but the agonizing sounds coming up from his lungs—tears my heart out—piece by tiny piece.

I lean my forehead down on top of our clasped hands and squeeze—both his hand—and Aidan's.

"Please, God. _Please_ help him," I plead.

Tears pour from my eyes with so much force, I can barely make out anything in front me.

Before I know what's happening, a warm, glowing light appears from under me, growing until it envelopes my entire family. Like a force field.

I lift my head, desperately trying to see through my tears and the pandemonium.

My eyes regain focus, and the first things I see are the mouths of my family, hanging open in complete awe at this unbelievable sight.

As if someone flips a switch, everyone's eyes light up the exact same electric-blue, when in darkness, glow like sparkling neon lights.

What in the hell is happening?

#### Chapter 14

### THE GEMINI PROPHECY

The warmth from underneath me grows hotter by the second.

The turmoil in the room becomes insanity, out of control and frightening as we struggle to stay planted beside the bed.

Then, as fast as it started—it stops.

The room is pitch-black, our eyes dimming back to normal.

Even the storm outside has grown still.

Stone-cold silence surrounds us.

"Is everyone okay?" Gram asks in a shaky voice.

The second the lights come back on, everyone releases their hold on each other's hands.

I step back to view the state of the room, but the most unbelievable sight startles me.

Like something you'd only see in a horror movie, we're surrounded by _hundreds_ of people.

I look closer, squinting to make out the faint details.

Wait a minute. They're not _people_. Well, not exactly. They're transparent and fuzzy, with faded white color—like clothes washed one too many times.

They're ghosts! "Holy shit!" I mutter aloud.

My heart's pounding so hard I can barely breathe.

Gram walks around the altar to stand at the foot of Pap's bed. "Never in my wildest dreams have I have ever imagined something so magnificent."

Movement from within the sea of ghost-like images catches my eye.

The translucent figure moves towards us, forcing every hair on my body to stand on end.

The closer it gets, the easier it is for me to see it's a woman. Yes, definitely a woman.

Now about twenty feet in front of me, I can plainly see who it is. "Mom?" I ask, mystified at the sight now before me.

Oh my god, this is so unreal.

As reality settles in, my thudding heart begins to slow.

Fear, is now replaced by overwhelming happiness.

The family mumbles, but I'm so entranced by her presence I can't make out their words.

My mother makes her way towards us—but stops in front of me. "Chloe, I _knew_ you could do it. I knew it! You see, you _are_ strong enough." She smiles, affection radiating from her clear, safflower-blue eyes.

But what is she talking about?

Clearly, by the dumbfounded expression on everyone's face, we're _all_ confused.

"What do you mean? I don't understand." I shake my head.

She lifts her hand, pointing towards Pap's bed. "Look for yourself."

We follow her pointing finger, only to find the most unimaginable sight there ever was.

"Oh my god!" Dru yells. "Pap's alive! And _awake_!

He lay there watching us with a humorous smile stretched across his wrinkled face.

I cover my bursting heart with my palms. "It worked, Gram. Your spell _worked_!"

I could bounce off the walls right now I'm so excited.

Gram seems perplexed as she scratches her head, eyebrows scrunching.

My mom moves closer. "No, Chloe. It was _you_."

Huh? What's she talking about?

Now more baffled than ever, I look at Gram, then back to my mom again. "I don't understand. I didn't do anything. Gram did, with her spell."

"You're partly right." Her full pink lips curl up. "What your gram did was tap into the Moon 'Power-Well'. She found a way to release the unused power from our ancestors who were buried on this land over the last three hundred years." Then she lifts her hands in the air, spinning in circles as she points out the other spirits. "Which is why we're _all_ here."

Wow, there are so many of them. Both in the house—and outside in the yard.

She walks around the room. "There's a lot this family doesn't know, and it's now become important that you do."

Other than me, no one seems able to speak. "Go ahead, Mom. We're listening," I say, but what else can there be?

"This family is destined for greatness, and it was foretold centuries ago. There's a Prophecy which explains everything, but your gram can show you that part later."

I turn to Gram. She's wearing a pleased look on her face, shaking her head in agreement with my mom.

"These things destined for your future were not possible until today's events took place," Mom says. "What you witnessed moments ago with the bright light—and everyone's eyes glowing at the same time—was this family's Ascension. Your powers have all become one, which also means it's unlocked an additional power you and Morgan have both had since the loss of your twins." She pauses, clasping her delicate hands against her chest. "You see, when a normal Witch in our family dies, their power stays on our land and lives within the elements, until surviving family members invoke it. Like you did tonight. But when a Witch dies who's a twin, their power automatically transfers to the living twin—provided there is one, of course. This is something we never knew before."

Say what? I've never heard of such a thing.

Aunt Morgan and I stare at each other. I'm sure my expression must be just as flummoxed as hers is right now. If not more.

"Morgan, _you_ now have _my_ power. Which, we a _ll_ know what that is. The surprise, however, is the power Chloe received from _her_ twin when she died at birth. No one ever knew what it was." She steps closer to me. "It's actually always been there, you just had no clue."

She pauses for a moment, turning toward Gram and Pap who listen with such interest.

"Chloe. In addition to being a Seer . . . you're also a gifted Healer."

Excuse me? "You're kidding me, right?" My mouth falls open.

Mom giggles. "I'm telling you the truth, sweetie. That's why your pap is awake after the doctors told you he was brain dead. Do you recall the warmth and light that radiated from underneath when you held onto to him? Well that's what happens when you heal. At that moment, all you wanted was to save him. You wanted to help him because you thought he was in pain. So you did. _You_ healed him, Chloe."

"I . . . I . . . I don't know what to say." There are no words. Nor any sense of reason.

"Do you remember last week when you were on the way to the hospital with Dru and Dhelia? The day you calmed Dru?"

I nod.

"Well Dru's the one who helped Dhelia, but it was _you_ who healed Dru's pain after he absorbed Dhelia's panic attack."

How? "But there was no glow or warmth that day, so how could it have been?" I'm so confused.

"Well, it's not always the same. The more power you need to use, the stronger the reaction. It was nothing that day. What you don't realize is, your eyes _did_ light up. You just couldn't see it."

"I knew it!" Dru yells.

No way. "Wow. This is just so crazy. It's gonna take me a while to digest this." If I can digest it at all.

"That's part of why this whole thing needed to happen tonight. You all need to be aware of your abilities and learn how to use them. When I told Chloe last week there were difficult things ahead, that was putting it mildly. There will be a series of events to come. And no, I can't tell you what they are. The prophecy needs to unfold organically. The only reason I'm able to tell you this now is because you've gotten this far on your own. I'm just telling you the 'how's' and the 'why's'. The rest you'll need to figure out as you go."

She pauses, turning her head as if she hears something from afar. Then she turns back to us. "It's time for us to go now. But just remember you'll always be able to 'drink from the well' so to speak, whenever you need to. And trust me, you will. Once your gram explains the prophecy, it will make a lot more sense."

She walks around the room to hug everyone and tell them how much she loves them. Since she isn't corporeal, I'm not sure how she's able to pull it off. But she does, somehow.

Gram moves to stand beside Mom, facing our sister Witches who now stand before us. "Thank you so much for coming. And for helping us during our family's hour of need. Blessed be."

A simultaneous "Blessed be" echoes through the air around us.

And in the blink of an eye, they vanish.

As my mom begins to shimmer, she winks. "I'll be watching you," she says, then disappears as she blows a kiss.

I turn towards my loved ones, looking just as bewildered as I feel. I can't help but ask, "Did that _really_ just happen, or did I just have the most insane vision of my life?"

They all laugh, the most beautiful laughter I can ever recall.

"No dear, it _all_ happened. Every single second of it." Gram wraps her loving arms around me. "Thank you, Chloe. Thank you for bringing your pap back where he belongs."

"Um . . . I'd say it was a collective effort. We did it, together."

Before another word is spoken, we rush towards the bed to greet Pap.

We smother him with hugs and kisses, but he just laughs. "Miss me or something?"

As we back up a bit to give him room to breathe, Gram leans down to kiss him on the cheek. "Don't you _ever_ do that to me again, old man. You hear me?" She tries to look tough with her pursed lips and crinkled brow, but she can only maintain the facade for a few seconds. "How are you feeling, my darling?" she asks, resting her loving palm on his leather-like cheek.

"Surprisingly enough, I feel pretty damn good. Well, other than the bedsores on my boney ass. Why the hell didn't you heal those bastards?" He winks at me.

"Oh, Pap, it's _so_ good to see you awake. Do you need anything? Are you thirsty?" Great. Now I sound like Gram.

Everyone chimes in asking him questions, but he just keeps laughing. A sound I never thought I'd be hearing again after the news last night.

Aunt Morgan moves beside Gram. "Well, now you've proved you'll do just about anything to have your entire family under one roof." She turns towards the boys who are both beaming as they watch the playful interaction.

His face lights up. "Boys! Aren't you a sight for cataract-eyes?" He turns to face Aunt Morgan again, this time with a more serious face. "So I guess things must have been pretty bad then?"

She pauses before answering. "Well, when you didn't wake up after the surgery, I got a little worried. Then once they said you were in a coma, Mom told us about the promise she made you. Not that she ever doubted you'd be okay, but she knew how much trouble she'd be in if she didn't keep her word. But just so you know, I was planning to bring them here anyway. It just happened a few weeks earlier than I'd planned." She sends the boys a sympathetic smile.

"Mom. _Seriously_. It's okay. We don't care about a stupid graduation ceremony." Ash tries to ease her guilt.

"They're lame anyway," Aidan adds.

"Graduation? How the hell long was I out?" Pap asks, his bushy eyebrows moving like caterpillars across his forehead.

Morgan looks up, most likely trying to figure out how to respond. "Almost two weeks."

"Really? I guess I _did_ freak you out a bit then. I'm sorry I worried everyone so much." He rubs his freshly shaven cheek, thanks to Gram. "Moira told me I needed to take a little trip. But she was with me most of the time, you know."

"She was? That's so cool." Dhelia's face lights up. "Where'd she take you?"

"Oh, she took me everywhere. Don't worry though, I'll tell you all about it later. I just want to enjoy seeing my family together again. I've prayed for this day for years." He gets all choked up staring at his long-lost grandsons.

"Pap, how about we move you somewhere more comfortable. Like to the living room or upstairs to your bed?" Dru holds Pap's blanketed feet, awaiting a response.

"Okay, but only on one condition."

Dru's face lights up. "Name it."

"Let's plan a fishing trip while the boys are here."

Dru turns to Ash and Aidan, both nodding their heads with the same childlike enthusiasm. "I think that can be arranged."

"All right then. Off to the living room we go." Pap points towards the destination.

We turn to walk out, but Gram stands like a granite statue in the middle of the floor, staring at her sunroom.

"What's wrong, Gram?" I ask.

"Would you look at this mess?" She shakes her head so hard I swear something might fall out.

Everyone giggles. The room was nearly destroyed, but it can be fixed. And herbs can be replanted.

"Well, I'm so sorry I messed up your precious room. Next time kids, the plants and windows come first," Pap spouts with a huff.

Gram relaxes, turning around to look at Pap. "Don't sass me, old man. You know you come first. But I think it's only appropriate _you_ help me clean it up since you're feeling so much better.

"Ha!" he blurts out. "Let me know how _that_ works out for ya."

Gram shakes her head again. "Yeah, we'll see."

Once in the living room, Pap says, "So, what have I missed since I've been out of it? I have the sinking suspicion it's a lot."

We look around the room at each other, unsure of what to say.

But Aunt Morgan answers, "Oh, we can fill you in tomorrow. Tonight, we should talk about the cool stuff that happened here. I'd say we're all dying to ask Gram about this so called 'prophecy'."

A smile curves up Gram's lips. "I've been _waiting_ for someone to bring that up. But first...you shouldn't be hearing such important information on an empty stomach."

And it's not difficult to convince us. Using our powers the way we did earlier, definitely helped work up an animal-like appetite.

While Gram throws food together, I text Hunter the good news about Pap. I'm not sure how to explain it to him, other than being a miracle. Technically, it is, so I'm not lying. Much.

I still can't believe I have such an extraordinary power. After all these years, I was just now coming to terms with being a Seer. So how can I possibly be a Healer as well?

I can't comprehend what it means to have this gift. The thing I've always hated about my visions is, I only see bad things—never anything good. No matter where I go, or who I'm with, I can have a vision of something terrible that's going to happen to them.

It's what's always made it next to impossible to have friends.

It's why I've always kept to myself.

In my mind, if I stayed away from people, I wouldn't get visions. I don't 'see' things about strangers, so my logic made perfect sense. Right?

Now, however, I possess something wonderful. What keeps going through my mind is, if I see someone getting hurt—or worse—perhaps I can save them. How amazing would _that_ be?

I'm not sure if I'll know how to handle something revered as a blessing. I think I might even be excited about it.

Me. Excited about Magic? _That's_ a new one.

I feel like a new person. Born again. Literally. But I _am_ nervous about this so-called prophecy, even though I can't wait to learn more about our Ascension, and what it means.

In no time at all, Gram returns with an enormous tray of wings, fries, quesadillas, and chicken fingers. In even less time—we devour it. I suppose everyone's anxious to hear what she has to say.

She sits down, commanding our complete and undivided attention. "Before I let you read this, you must _first_ know we don't understand all of its meaning. But I'm sure as time goes by, it will all become clear. And, for a long time, we didn't even think it applied to this family. But I'll explain that part after you've read it."

"So where'd this Prophecy come from anyway?" Dhelia asks.

"Well, it was written by the originating Wiccan in the Moon family, back in the early fifteen hundreds. Her name was Willow Moon . . . and she was _also_ the first Seer. Chloe's only the second."

"Seriously? In over five hundred years there was never another Seer?" I ask, smacking my lips together in surprise.

"Not like you and Willow." Gram shakes her head. "There may have been a Clairvoyant, Psychic, or a Medium here and there, but not a true Seer. _Your_ gift is quite rare."

"Okay Gram, let's see it. Don't make us wait another minute." Dru's on the edge of his seat, his mouth hanging open like a salivating puppy.

"Okay, okay. I made a copy for everyone to look at. Here you go." She shakes her head, pulling the pages out of a manila envelope.

The Gemini Prophecy

And the six Gemini shall then Ascend,

The Healer, Conjurer, Traveler, and Seer.

To merge their power at the Well,

With the Mover, Feeler, Controller and Reader.

And The Gemini shall save thine foe,

From an eviction set in motion.

The Divine cannot undo the Pyre,

It is stopped by a mystic potion.

And the Seer shall then go blind,

When the Grand Duke convokes.

But the Legion shall release its hold,

When the High Priestess invokes.

The ties that bind shall cast a spell,

To protect the evil within.

A bauble holds the key to stop,

The temptation of mortal sin.

And the time foretold by ancient prophets,

Of when the end will come.

Shall be the year post Gemini,

Come together as one.

The elements shall devour the earth,

Before drawing down the moon.

The final Winter Solstice battle,

Shall not be a moment too soon.

And the man of many shapes shall form,

A union between Believers.

And they shall then cast back to hell,

The Governing Deceivers.

"This is so cool. I can't believe there was a prophecy written about us. How awesome is this?" Clearly, Dru's happy about this foretold future.

Me on the other hand—not so much. The only thing I got from the prophecy was, 'And the Seer shall then go blind'.

_Blind_? Are you kidding me?

"So how much do you actually understand, Gram?" I can't help but ask.

"Well, not a lot I'm afraid. There are two things I'm certain of. The first paragraph describes you kids and Morgan. What happened here tonight is the beginning of the prophecy.

"The only other paragraph I understand is, ' _And the time foretold by ancient prophets, of when the end will come, shall be the year post Gemini, come together as one_.' Tonight is obviously the night you all became one, which means, ' _the year post Gemini_ ' would be next year. As far as the rest goes, I can guess bits and pieces, but no certainties. Like Moira said, we'll have to figure it out as we go."

"Next year? You're kidding, right? And why is it we're just now hearing about this? I got the impression you've known for a long time." Dhelia crosses her arms, foot tapping like a scratching dog.

"Good question, dear. But not one easily answered." She pauses before continuing. "I first learned of the prophecy as a child. It started out a simple bedtime story, but as I got older, I discovered it was real.

"When your mother and Morgan were born, I was convinced it was about us. Even more so after Ash and Aidan came along. Unfortunately, when Cassie was still born . . . and then when Moira was killed in the car accident . . . I decided it wasn't about us after all. Or maybe these tragic events had somehow screwed with destiny's plan."

She pauses again, looking at Aunt Morgan. "This is the part that might be difficult. But please keep in mind this is _not_ how you were supposed to find out about the boys. They had every intention of talking to you once they thought you could handle hearing it. Nor was _someone_ supposed to show off today without thinking." Gram shoots Ash a stern look, making it clear he's in big trouble.

"It's okay, Mom. Really. I told the boy's years ago they could decide for themselves when they grew up. And that's what they did. I'm not mad." She doesn't look upset, but her cheeks droop from disappointment.

"Well, we can talk about it later if you like. So as I was saying . . . for many years I haven't believed the prophecy was about us. That is, until the day Ash and Aidan called me for magical guidance. Once I realized what their powers were, I started to rethink everything. Aidan is the Teleporter, or Traveler as they called it back then, and Ash is the Conjurer."

Gram's posture straightens. "Look at what it says in the very first paragraph. _'And the six Gemini shall then Ascend_ ', then it goes on to mention _'the Healer, Conjurer, Mover and Seer, with the Traveler, Feeler, Controller and Reader'_. It says six twins but lists eight powers. I always assumed it meant three sets of twins to equal six . . . I never realized it could just be six twins in general . . . which is what we have.

"I was never sure what happened with the other two powers, but your mother explained everything." Gram holds her hand to her cheek in surprise. "I never imagined they would automatically transfer to the remaining twin. It just never occurred to me. So you see, Chloe, it was always meant to happen this way. Your twin sister was destined to die at birth, as was your mother in the crash. Otherwise, there could never be six twins with eight powers like the prophecy foretold." Her face lights up.

"Wow. That does put a whole new spin on things, doesn't it?" I look at Gram with a relieved smile.

"But how will we figure this out? It's not like these sorts of things just _jump_ out at you or anything." A smidge of doubt works its way across Dru's wrinkled forehead.

"Well, I'm hoping Chloe's visions will show us. In the meantime, we need to figure out what this whole 'Ascension' means, and what we're capable of. If anyone is getting worried . . . please don't. We have plenty of time." Gram yawns. "But we should talk more about this tomorrow. I, for one, am getting tired, and we have a long day ahead of us. We need to come up with an ironclad story to tell Dr. Gaslightwala when we take your pap back to the hospital. I'm sure they'll need to run a ton of tests."

"Oh yeah, speaking of which . . . how do you feel?" I ask, walking to the couch where Pap's stretched out.

"Other than being a little weak, I feel fantastic. The first time I haven't had a headache in months." He squeezes my hand.

"I'm so glad to hear it. I'm still not sure how it all happened, but I'm so glad it did." I bend down to place a kiss on his cheek.

Pap's forehead scrunches as he looks up at me. "So I guess this means I owe you one, huh?"

We both grin. "You better believe it. So be on your best behavior . . . especially when you meet my new friend tomorrow." I laugh before the words finish leaving my mouth.

"Oh yeah, that must be the young man who was at the hospital with you." His cheeks lift in delight.

"Yes, it is. But how do _you_ know about Hunter?" I don't think I heard anyone mention his name.

Did they?

A rumbling laugh escapes his lips. "Just because my body was sleeping, doesn't mean my _mind_ was, little girl. I heard everything in that room. Which reminds me . . . thank you all so much for reading to me. I loved it more than you know."

You always hope someone in a coma can hear what's being by their loved ones. But hearing firsthand they do—is a wonderful feeling.

"Okay, everyone, time to hit the sack. Tomorrow's a big day, so get plenty of sleep," Gram orders in her firm, but gentle manner, she does so well.

We say our 'good nights' then hug Gram and Pap before heading upstairs. This has to be the most remarkable day of my life. I almost hate for it to end—but deep down I know it's just the beginning—of many.

#### Chapter 15

### THE MIRACLE

I wake up yawning, twisting in my blankets as if searching for escape from a cocoon. From the moment my head hit the pillow last night, my mind was full of prophecies, magical powers, and recurring visions.

Did I even sleep?

I rub my eyes, adjusting to the glaring sunlight.

My mind goes back to the vision with the masked strangers, convinced more than ever I missed something vital. I go over it more times than I can count, searching for some semblance of a clue as to what it all means. But the deeper I dive in—the more I come back empty when I reach the top.

I guess since it's a new day, I should focus on things I'm _about_ to face, instead of those things that escape me.

In less than an hour, we'll be taking Pap to the hospital for countless tests. At this point, we don't know if anything else about his health has changed beyond coming out of a coma. We're confident we won't be losing him, but we still aren't certain how much of his health problems were healed. The chemo and radiation will wreak havoc on his body, but another surgery could send us right back to where we started.

Here I go again—getting ahead of myself. There's no need to assume the worst. But I suppose it's true what they say, 'Old habits _are_ hard to break'.

I look at the clock and jump out of bed to throw myself together. After a quick shower, comfy clothes, and a little makeup, I'm prepared to start my day.

When I make it to the kitchen, everyone seems lost in thought. It's probably safe to say they're battling the exact same war in their minds as me. I just hope theirs end with a better outcome than mine does. Yes, I know. The eternal pessimist.

We finish off a box of Golden Grahams while waiting for Gram and Pap to join us. I'm not sure what the holdup is. Pap's up and walking around—no need to figure out the best way to transport him. I hear them talking in the sunroom, but I can't make out what they're saying. Perhaps they're still working on their cover story?

As Aunt Morgan loads our bowls in the dishwasher, they come walking in the kitchen where Gram announces, "Okay kids . . . let's do this!"

Without complaint or hesitation, we pile in Pap's sandstone Suburban and head towards the North Shore University Hospital.

Again.

When we arrive forty-five minutes later, Gram says, "Just so you know, I didn't tell Dr. Gaslightwala about the change of events. I simply said, 'the family needs to speak to him'. So when he looks surprised, you'll understand why."

I make a mental note, continuing through the front entrance.

As we get off the elevator, I realize the person we've come to see is already standing at the nurses' station. Dr. Gaslightwala doesn't look up from whatever he's doing as we approach, but I see the shocked expressions on the nurses' faces the instant they recognize the person now standing before them.

We stop about five feet shy of the doctor, but no one says anything to get his attention.

After about fifteen seconds of silence, one of the nurses bumps his arm, telling him to look up. He lifts his head, smiling when he notices the family he's grown so close to over the past few months. But almost as quickly as the smile emerges, it dissipates, replaced by a look of astonishment as his gaze lands on Pap's glowing face.

"Wh . . . what on earth? I don't understand. H . . . how can this be?" He smiles, adjusting his tiny glasses as he walks around the counter towards Pap.

"Hi, Doc. Surprise!" Pap sends him a wink, laughing with a low, phlegm filled rumble in his chest.

"I'm dumbfounded, Samuel. This is impossible. I don't know if my eyes are playing tricks on me, or if you're truly standing here?" He shakes his head, continuing to look Pap up and down.

"Don't worry, Dr. Gaslightwala. You're lucid. We were just as surprised as you when it happened, but I guess it's safe to say we all believe in miracles now." Gram beams, wrapping her arm around her husband.

"So tell me . . . please . . . how and when did this happen?" Dr. Gaslightwala asks.

"Well, it happened last night. We had gathered around Samuel's bed and formed a Prayer Circle. There were so many things we wanted to say...so many things we wanted to pray about before we unhooked the machines." Gram beams while telling her enhanced version of last night's events.

"If you recall, there was a nasty storm last night. In the middle of our prayer, the lights had gone out when the lightning crashed down on our property. Since there were still candles providing us light, we continued with our words." Gram shakes her head. "The next thing I remember, the lights came back on . . . then we realized Samuel's eyes were open. It was unbelievable. We were saying our goodbyes, but he wasn't ready to leave us just yet." She rubs Pap's arm. "He must have been in one of those deep comas I've read so much about. We saw online it's more common than people realize. Perhaps when the lightning struck, it somehow jump-started his brain. Like a car battery."

Gram's story sounds quite convincing. Then again, they usually do.

Dr. Gaslightwala shakes his head in either disbelief or wonderment—god only knows which. "Well this is magnificent news. I couldn't be happier."

"I would assume you'll want to do a work-up of tests to see where we go from here. You'd mentioned before about starting chemo and radiation once he's stronger, so we'd like to know if he'll need to stay here or come back for treatments." I've never seen someone look so happy about the possibility of chemo.

"Oh, yes, Aurora. Absolutely. We can get started on tests immediately. But it will be up to Dr. Hashem as to whether or not he can go home. Let's get started on the tests, and then I'll get a hold of him while we wait for the results. How does that sound?" He smiles, placing one hand on Gram's arm and one on Pap's.

"Sounds great, Doc. Thank you."

"Okay, Samuel. Let's get you to Radiology. Your family can make themselves comfortable in the waiting area, and then we'll bring you back up as soon as you're finished. Aurora, if you'd like to get him checked in again, that would be most helpful." He motions towards a nurse and she obediently pushes over a wheelchair.

"Not a problem, Doctor. We'll be all set when you two return." Gram kisses Pap on the cheek. Dr. Gaslightwala helps him into the wheelchair and they disappear through the elevator doors.

The next three hours drag on like days. Luckily, we each brought a book. As much as it kills me, we sit in the waiting room avoiding the one topic I want to discuss more than anything. But it's not the sort of conversation you want someone to overhear.

So we read in anxious silence.

As I unsuccessfully _try_ to read, the sound of someone clearing their throat draws my attention in the opposite direction.

"Good morning, Miss Chloe." The handsome, smiling Hunter Payne greets me.

Yay! A surge of delight courses through my veins.

I jump up from the chair, knocking over an enormous potted tree in the middle of the floor. I suppose he'd _never_ guess I'm excited to see him. I'm such a dork. But who cares?

I replace the plant to its standing position before wrapping my arms around his tall, broad frame. "Hey, stranger. I'm so happy you came. You do like surprising me, don't you?" Then I smack his arm jokingly.

"I just love seeing the smile it puts on your beautiful face." With his index finger, he tips my chin up, allowing him better access to my lips.

His mouth is so soft and responsive—my head spins. I know it's only been two days, but it feels like an eternity since I've experienced the mind-numbing, tingling sensation his touch elicits.

Before we have a chance to get carried away, he pulls his head back, then buries his face in my neck. His arms tighten around me, hands caressing my back.

It would be so easy to get lost in his arms, but I know this isn't the place. Which makes me even more excited about the 'alone time' he promised me this weekend.

"Did you miss me?" I scrunch my face, looking at him like he's out of his mind.

He laughs. "Not even a little."

Yeah, obviously. I giggle as we walk to rejoin my family in the waiting area.

"Hello, everyone. I hear we have some fabulous news to celebrate."

Everyone greets him with a cheerful tone. Even Dru. Perhaps he realizes Hunter isn't such a bad guy after all.

"How's your friend doing, Hunter? Any change?" Gram's always a compassionate soul.

"It's a slow process, but he's showing signs of improvement. They're thinking of moving him to a rehab facility this week."

"That's wonderful, dear. I'm sure it helps to have such a good friend visit." Gram smiles, her warmth caressing everyone in the room.

Hunter ducks his head. His modesty might be his most attractive quality. "So what's going on now? Is Mr. Crawford with the doctor?"

"He is, but I'd imagine they'll be back soon. They took him for tests hours ago." Gram pulls up her watch and sighs.

And just like that, Dru's on his feet and walking towards the elevator.

As I watch, the doors open, allowing Pap and Dr. Gaslightwala to step out. They're joking around as if returning from a boy's night out.

Dru follows as they make their way back to our group.

The doctor wraps his arm around Pap's shoulders. "You'd better sit down for the news I'm about deliver."

I think we all get nervous just then, but our smiles never waver. Not even for a second. We do as he asks, then wait for him to speak.

"The reason it took us so long is because we not only tested your pap . . . we _re_ -tested. Three times to be exact. I don't know how to say this, but we found no trace of cancer _at all. No_ tumor. _Nothing._ I've heard about this sort of miracle happening, but most physicians never see it in their lifetime. There's no scientific explanation. It's a miracle. Your pap is the luckiest man I've ever met in my life." He laughs, running his fingers through the top of his mussed hair.

Gram stands, moving towards the doctor. "Are you serious? It's _all_ gone? He doesn't need chemo or radiation?"

"Aurora, your husband is perfectly healthy. In fact, he's in better shape than he was when he first came to see me months ago." Dr. Gaslightwala has an immovable smile plastered across his face.

Wow. This is so incredible. Tears roll down my cheeks. Could my new gift really have done this? How is that even possible?

Hunter puts his hand on my leg. "Are you okay? Those are tears of joy, right?"

I want so much to share this with him, but I know I can't. All I can say is, "Yes, they're tears of joy. This is just so overwhelming."

We get up and smother Pap with hugs. As I look at my family, I realize there isn't a dry face in the house.

Everyone gives their thanks and says goodbye to Dr. Gaslightwala and the nurses, just after they make Pap promise he'll be back in three months for scans. Just to be on the safe side.

But as we're about to leave, Pap turns toward the unfamiliar face in the group. "Hello, young man. You must be the one I keep hearing so much about." He reaches out to shake Hunter's hand.

"Well, I sure hope it wasn't _all_ bad?" He smiles, happily taking Pap's hand. "I'm Hunter Payne, Sir. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Pap nods. "Sir? Awe, hell. Call me Sam. And my apologies for not being able to meet you sooner." He winks.

"An apology is hardly necessary. You were, ah . . . er . . . well, otherwise occupied." Then he winks back in such a sweet way, I know there's no way Pap won't instantly love him.

"Well, just so you know . . . I tried my damndest to speak up last week when you were here." He looks back and forth between Hunter and me.

What's he talking about?

I shrug, and Hunter shakes his head in confusion.

"You kids, I tell ya. You have to remember the poetry day?" Then he widens his eyes, glancing back and forth between us again. The open mouth expression on his face saying, "Duh, do you remember now?"

Oh, _that_. "See, I told you he'd have something to say about it when he woke up." I bump my hip into Hunter. Then it hits me. "Wait a minute. So you heard _everything_?" My expression must be amusing, as Pap laughs his ass off.

Fan-tastic!

"Dear, _sweet_ , Chloe. You should know when someone recites poetry, I'd be listening no matter what. But the fact that it was from a man—and from memory—well that was a very happy moment for me indeed. That he was reciting it to _you_ only made it all the sweeter." He holds his hand to his heart.

Pap and I now share the same knowing smile and I turn to Hunter. "You see, my pap has always told me not to waste my time on a guy who doesn't know at least one famous poet. Let's just say, you've _far_ exceeded his expectations."

As Pap nods in agreement, Hunter says, "Well poetry's always been a love of mine, but not many people seem to enjoy it these days, like they used to."

Just as the words roll off Hunter's tongue, Pap waves his hands in the air. "Don't even get me started on today's youth. My tumor will surely come back if I give it too much thought." He shakes his head, disgust dripping from his frown.

Gram chimes in, "Okay, on _that_ note . . . let's get out of here before he goes off on one of his tirades. I've seen enough of this place to last a lifetime, so there's no sense being here any longer than we have to."

Within minutes, we're out the door closing in on our cars.

As we walk through the parking lot, Hunter lays his hand on Pap's shoulder. "So, does that mean you also heard the part where Chloe just _assumed_ a big, tough fireman couldn't possibly know anything about literature? She thought I was dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks." He turns to me and chuckles.

Pap replies with a smile, "Oh, yes, I _did_ hear that. She has an awful bad habit of assuming the worst in people. She didn't get that from me _,_ I'll tell ya." He puffs his chest out. "But you sure did put her in her place though. Good for you, my boy. She needs that every now and then."

"Well, it was my pleasure." Then he and Pap laugh as Hunter grabs me and gives me a noogie like a little boy on the playground would do.

Oh, this is just wonderful. "Now I have _two_ of you to gang up on me? Great."

"I'll help, too!" Dhelia raises her hand.

For the first time since I got back to Long Island, there's no tension, no worrying, and no talk about possible outcomes. Even if this feeling only lasts for the day, it's the most amazing feeling in the world.

And I wouldn't trade it for _anything_.

#### Chapter 16

### DATE NIGHT

I take my time unpacking from our well-deserved weekend. The family spent the better part of three days together in the Hamptons, boating, skiing, sunning, or just relaxing by the water for Gram and Pap. Even though we came back a day early to avoid traffic, it was still the best family getaway since I was a kid.

And what made it even more wonderful was the fact that Hunter, Peyton, and Caleb were with us. It was perfect.

True, I was looking forward to spending some quality alone time with Hunter, but in light of last week's events, it only made sense to have family time.

So today is officially date night, where I'll _finally_ get my alone time with Hunter. It will technically be the first time, so I have no complaints. At least, I didn't have any until a little while ago.

I hadn't had a vision for close to a week. Not that I mind—my head needed a break.

But this morning I woke up after another disturbing vision about the masked strangers. Only this time, it played out much longer than the last.

Even now, I remember it with such clarity. The sounds of orchestra music mixed with the humming of voices. The smell of exotic flowers and potent perfumes. And the feeling of dread when I notice the jet-black eyes watching me.

The man who holds me in his arms, I have no doubt means a great deal to me in the future. Right now, however, his blonde hair and emerald eyes aren't familiar. But in the vision, I'm so happy to be near him. When we dance, I realize how much I missed him. I just can't figure out _why_ we were apart to begin with.

What bothers me the most is _not_ that I haven't met this guy yet—it's that it obviously means Hunter _isn't_ part of my future.

My heart sinks at the realization.

In my mind, I've told myself this is a passing infatuation that will end. My heart, on the other hand, is thinking something altogether different. Especially after this long weekend together. I've gotten so attached—so quickly.

My stomach flutters at the mere mention of Hunter's name.

But since I know for sure I'm involved with someone else in the near future, perhaps I should just end this now to avoid either of us getting hurt. It sounds like the right thing to do, doesn't it?

I hang my clothes in the closet, admitting to myself I should be concentrating on the other aspects of my vision—but I can't. The only thing I want to think about is my urban-Adonis.

I wish I could turn back time to follow my gut and stay away from Hunter.

Perhaps I should get advice from someone who happens to be a bit more knowledgeable in the romance department.

I finish putting my dirty laundry in the hamper then head downstairs to find Gram and Pap.

Just as I suspected, they're on the front porch enjoying a relaxing swing together. I flop down on one of the puffy chairs across from them, breathing a heavy sigh.

"What is it, dear? What's troubling you this morning?" Gram asks.

Pap just sits there. Eyebrows inch their way up, as if waiting for me to drop a bomb.

I rub my sweaty palms against my jeans. "I had that vision again. The recurring one that shows me something new each time."

"Oh. Okay, so what have you learned?" Gram asks, giving me her undivided attention.

"Nothing, really." I shake my head. "It's not the actual vision that has me upset . . . it's the feelings I have for this mystery guy I'm dancing with."

"I don't understand, dear. Why does it upset you so much? What am I missing?"

"Because I'm dating Hunter, Gram. The more time I spend with him, the more I feel for him. But if I know sometime in the near future, I'll be in love with someone else, then why am I wasting my time with Hunter, when it will only hurt me later? Or hurt him?" I pull my feet up on the chair, hugging my knees.

"Okay, _now_ I get it." Gram crosses her legs. "I'm not sure what to tell you, dear. You have no way of knowing what will happen with Hunter. Or why this other boy ends up in your life. I don't think you should end something wonderful . . . something that makes you so happy . . . over something you just don't know much about. He's a good man, Chloe . . . and he's here _now_. Worry about what happens down the road, when it's actually time for you to worry about it. Allow yourself to enjoy someone who cares for you, who's already in your life. You deserve it."

"No, you're right. I suppose I'm just being my own worst enemy again." I turn to Pap, sitting in silence, oddly enough. "What do _you_ think, Pap?"

He lays the newspaper on his lap, sliding his reading glasses down so he can see over the top. "You'd be a damned fool to let some other man get in the way of what you have with Hunter. Men like him aren't exactly a dime a dozen, you know. They're a rare breed. He's everything I could have ever hoped for you to find. Don't be stupid, young lady. You hold on to him with everything you've got." He stands up, storming off into the house without another word.

Gram and I look at each other, brows rise in unison. "Well, I guess we know how _he_ feels." Gram shakes her head.

"I know he's right though, Gram. I just thought I could save us both some future pain."

"Chloe, dear, do you honestly think ending things now wouldn't hurt? Seriously? Even though it's only been a few weeks, you two have connected in ways it takes most people years. You might not realize it right now, but it would crush you both. Just let things happen the way they're meant to, and take it one day at a time. That's all you can do. If everyone walked away from things simply because there's a chance we might get hurt, we'd all live alone, in a bubble. You're young. Live your life and enjoy it." She pats the spot on the swing just vacated by Pap.

I move over, leaning my head on her shoulder. "You really think it would be difficult for us _both_ if it doesn't work out?"

Gram cocks her head to side. "My goodness, Chloe. How can you not see what's right in front of you? We've _all_ seen it since day one. That's why we always laugh when you start rambling on about embarrassing yourself and what not."

"Really? I guess it's harder to see what's going on when you're looking from the other side."

"That's true, dear. But regardless, you should listen to your old grandparents. We know what we're talking about." She gently rubs the back of my hand.

"Okay, you're right. You're _both_ right. You see, this is why I _knew_ I should talk to you."

"Well, I'm glad you've come to your senses before you do something you'd regret." Gram laughs.

We swing in silence for a few minutes, watching hummingbirds in the feeder off the overhang. So at peace. So content. Then it hits me how quiet the house is. Not a peep _anywhere_.

"So where is everyone?" I ask, realizing there aren't any cars in the driveway, either.

"Well, Caleb and Dhelia went to a picnic with his family. Dru took Peyton shopping. And I believe Morgan and the boys went to the store for grilling supplies." She glances at her watch. "They should be back anytime."

"No wonder it's so quiet then." Relief floods my senses.

But I am in desperate need of some alone time, so this is the perfect afternoon.

"So what time is Hunter picking you up for your first official date?" She asks, a whimsical smile gracing her cheeks.

"Um . . . I'm not a hundred percent sure, actually. He had some errands to run, and then he was stopping by the hospital to see Trevor. I would imagine after six, at least."

Our first date. I don't know if I can wait that long.

"Did he give you any clue where he's taking you, dear?"

"Not even a _little_ bit. He said it's a surprise, so I didn't push." And it's _killing_ me not knowing. Anticipation bubbles up inside.

"I'm sure wherever it is you'll have a fantastic time. I expect a _full_ report tomorrow."

" _Absolutely_ , Gram. I wouldn't have it any other way." I lean forward, admiring the cheerful, sunny day. "You know, I think I'll take a book to the back yard and read. Give me a shout if you need help with anything."

"Will do, dear," she says, disappearing into the house.

I follow behind her, heading to find my copy of _Pride and Prejudice._ I've been dying to finish reading it since we left off last week at the hospital.

With book in hand, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and proceed out the back door. A lone hammock calls my name, hanging from a Weeping Willow just off the garden.

As I read the pages, reliving the epic tale of the forbidden love between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett, I find myself drifting to thoughts of Hunter. It makes me realize—he might be going through a lot of the same pain I've been going through since we first met—the same torment that often makes it difficult to breathe.

Regardless of the way a guy acts, you never _truly_ know what's going on in his heart— _or_ in his head. Hunter and I don't talk about what we're feeling—we just enjoy our time together. Sometimes it feels like we've always known each other. But we haven't. It's hard to remember that.

For the first time, all I want is to know what Hunter's feeling.

If he sees this going anywhere.

I didn't think I cared before. But after hearing what Gram and Pap had to say—and reading this book—I finally see how much of an idiot I've been.

I need to know if we're on the same page, or if I'm kidding myself.

Tonight, when we're alone, I'll find out if I have a genuine place in Hunter's heart.

* * *

Okay, it's almost six o'clock.

My palms sweat as I wait on the porch.

Time spent with Hunter and my family gets easier by the day. But time spent one-on-one, is foreign.

I promised myself I'd stop thinking about the guy in my visions. Maybe I'll get lucky and the future will change somehow. If things I see are meant to be warnings—or for me to prevent certain outcomes—then perhaps this too is something I can change. Maybe that's the whole point.

Yeah, _that'_ s it. I like where my mind is going.

Ever punctual, Hunter pulls in with a sparkling SUV and a smile capable of melting the arctic.

As I watch him walk up the sidewalk towards me, I wonder how I became lucky enough to have someone so incredible interested in me. How can I deserve this after the things I've done in my life?

"Hello, beautiful. Did you get all dolled up for _me_?" His smile widens.

After seeing the pleased look on his face, relief bounces through my chest at my selection in the bright blue sundress. I even opted to pull my hair up since he's never seen it like this. The way his eyes now scan over me, I made _all_ the right choices. Score!

"Hello, yourself. I thought you'd _never_ get here." I reach out for the hug I know is coming.

He wraps his solid arms around me and I hear him take a deep breath—like a delicious aroma is wafting through the air. He nuzzles my ear. "Mmmmmmmm. You smell good enough to eat."

Sweet. He noticed the new perfume Gram got me on our shopping trip. I'll be sure to let her know her instincts were on the money. "Thank you. It's new." And just for you.

"Well it smells _amazing_ on you. What's it called?" He inhales again, lingering next to my ear.

It takes me a second to gather my thoughts and remember the name. "Um, Prada Candy, I think."

"Good choice. Though, now it might be tough to keep my nose away from you." He nuzzles my neck again, laying a gentle kiss in his path before retreating.

"I don't mind. You're welcome to smell me _whenever_ the mood strikes you." I hook my fingers in his belt loops, enjoying the smoothness of his fresh shave against my neck.

"Oh really? Is that all? Just _smell_ you?" His throaty laugh reverberates against my ear, sending chills down to the tips of my toes.

"No, you're welcome to do whatever you like. _Smell_ me." I inhale against his chest.

" _Touch_ me." My hands slide from his waist to his shoulders.

" _Hold_ me." I pull him firmly against me.

" _Kiss_ me." I lean up to find his lips, lingering there for a few seconds. " _Whatever_ your heart desires."

He tightens his grip, burying his face in my neck again. "I just might have to take you up on that."

"Well, don't be writin' checks your body can't cash, Mr. Payne," I reply with a playful pat on his butt.

He releases his hold, pulling his head back to look me in the eyes. "You'd better be careful what you wish for, Miss Chloe."

I raise my eyebrows and laugh. "Bring it on."

"Lord, help me! Sometimes you make it impossible for me to not rip your clothes off." He shakes his head, reaching down for my hand. "Are we ready then?"

I blush. "Well then. I suppose I'm ready when you are, Mr. Fireman,"

He walks me to his glistening Edge, opening the door like a true gentleman. "So are you hungry?"

"Are you kidding? I'm always hungry."

"Perfect. We'll eat first."

"Will you tell me where we're going?"

"Of course I won't."

"Okay, have it your way." I cross my arms over my chest, looking out the window.

"Oh, come on now. Don't pout. But I'll tell you this much. We're going to the city—and you'll be _very_ happy at the end of the evening."

"I can't wait." I lean over the console, getting closer to him as he drives.

Once he realizes what I'm doing, he switches hands on the steering wheel, reaching down to hold my hand.

I don't know what it is about Hunter, but when I'm with him, I often feel like I'm in an old movie—like _Gone with the Wind_.

The way we speak to one another.

The respectful way he treats me.

I love it. It would be cheesy coming from most guys. But from Hunter, it's sexy.

We spend most of the hour-long drive listening to my favorite Pop music on _Sirius Hits 1_. Every now and then, a song comes on I like and I sing along—just like I do in the shower. He doesn't say a word, so it must not hurt his ears _too_ much. Either that, or he's just being kind.

Yeah, that's it. I'm pretty sure I'm tone deaf.

Once we turn onto Eighty-Sixth and First Avenue, my gut tells me I've been here before.

He drives slow, scanning the area for an open spot. To my surprise, he finds street parking right away. Does perfection _ever_ end with this guy? Gees!

He yanks the keys from the ignition. "So, does anything look familiar?"

I glance to my right—then to my left—and I know it does. It's not the same though. "Sort of." I shrug.

"I'm sure it will come to you."

I reach for the handle.

"Don't you dare," he says. "I'll be right there."

In about two seconds, he makes it to my side and opens the door, then offers his hand for assistance.

"Thank you. I'm not used to such treatment. I guess California boys are bit too laid back."

"Then I guess that makes it easier for me to impress you."

He reaches for my hand—locks the doors—then waits while I check out the neighborhood.

"Here, maybe this will help." He leads me across the street.

As I look at the various storefronts, I recognize a familiar liquor store and Mexican restaurant. "Wait a minute. _Now_ I know where we are. Isn't this where my favorite restaurant used to be?"

"As a matter a fact, it is. I did a little research, and it just so happens, the guy who owned _Andiamo_ , also owns this place. He did a little redecorating and changed the name to _Sotto Cinque_. They say the food is just as good, but it's a hundred times more romantic." He squeezes my hand.

My stomach flutters. "Seriously? This is so amazing. They used to make an Ahi Tuna dish I loved. And don't even get me started on the Baked Clams Oreganata." My stomach growls just thinking about it.

He holds out his elbow for me. "Shall we?"

"Yes, we shall." I do a little hop in place before we walk through the ebony double-doors the hosts are holding open for us.

Oh my god, he's so right about the decorating. Before, there where obnoxious abstract swirls in every color of the rainbow. Literally. It put me in the mind of a horribly decorated Mexican restaurant in a way.

Now, however, it's welcoming and soothing the second you walk in. There's a long bar just inside the door to the right with a ceiling high liquor wall, backlit with five-by-five panes of staggered stained glass in coral and gold. It takes up the entire length of the bar.

The restaurant itself is quite narrow, super long, and dimly lit with wall sconces and candles on each table, adding to the exquisite, romantic atmosphere.

The walls are the shade of warm honey, complemented by mahogany trim, tables, and chairs. Accent pieces at every table welcome you—from the merlot tablecloths—to the abstract-patterned throw pillows in gold, muted green, chocolate and burnt red.

It's exquisite. The most _perfect_ place for a first date.

As the host escorts us to our table, I can't help but think how sweet Hunter is, going to all this trouble to bring me here. No guy has ever done something even remotely close.

I look around the restaurant and find myself getting a bit emotional. I lower my head so he can't see my eyes fill up. When did I become such a sap?

"Are you okay?" Hunter asks, sounding somewhat surprised.

Of course, he'd have to notice. Why wouldn't he? "I'm sorry. I couldn't be better. I guess I just got a bit sentimental. You're always taking me by surprise with how thoughtful you are. I'm just not used to it."

He grins. "Well, you'd better _get_ used to it, baby . . . cuz dat's just da way I roll." He tilts his head to the side, sending me a wink as I giggle at his thick _, lame_ , Italian accent.

"Thank you, Hunter. For making me laugh _and_ for going to all this trouble. I mentioned this place to you one time in passing, and you remembered it enough to look into it."

He reaches across the table for my hand. "It was my pleasure, Miss Chloe. You make it so easy to do nice things for you. Besides, it wasn't a completely unselfish gesture, you know. I love your smile so much I'd do just about anything to see it."

"Is that right? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you _like_ me or something." I place my free hand on top of his and squeeze.

"Or something," he replies, slumping down in his chair.

His eyes darken, raising his left cheek in a half smile. There's _no way_ those thoughts are G-rated!

A surge of warmth rushes through me.

Just as my face heats up, the waiter appears to go over the specials and take our drink order.

Perfect timing!

Our evening is full of heartfelt conversations about our childhood, past relationships, and our dreams. Of course, I shy away from any details of my parents, and he never pushes.

I can't get over how easy it is for us to open up to one another. In fact, I almost slipped a few times about what's going on in my _Wiccan_ life. Not good.

The food is even more amazing than I remember; Ahi Tuna and sticky rice drizzled with a horseradish and dill Beurre Blanc sauce. My taste buds have never been so happy. And the triple layer mocha cake is to die for.

I leave the restaurant so stuffed I doubt there's even room for a Tic-Tac.

Once we're back in his car, he turns to face me. "Dinner was only part of the surprise. Wait till you see where I'm taking you next."

Seriously? Not that it's even possible to top dinner, but I'm excited to see what he has up his sleeve.

What could it be? "Give me a hint."

"Nope."

"Pretty please?"

"Nice try."

I pout, triggering a low chuckle from him.

He pulls into a parking garage just off the highway. "We're almost there."

"And where might that be exactly?"

He shakes his head. "You might as well give it up. I'm not telling you. There's no chance I'm ruining the surprise."

"You don't play fair."

Hunter steps on the street to hail a cab—and a few seconds later, we're on our way.

"And for the record, no one ever said I play fair." He winks.

After five minutes of silence, the cab stops beside Bryant Park and we get out. I look around to see what's close. He snickers, watching me break my neck searching for a clue.

He wraps his arm around me. "This way, Miss Chloe."

We stroll up the sidewalk, turning through an open gate leading into the park. With wide eyes, I look at Hunter and ask, "The Park at _night_?" Really? Is there a movie?"

He squeezes my shoulders. "You'll see."

We walk up the few steps leading into a stone building and he stops in front of a large sign that reads, " _Directors Night Poetry – A Summer Tribute to the Greatest Poets of all Time_."

My heart skips a beat.

I can't believe this. How could he have outdone himself?

My jaw falls open as I turn to face him. "Are you _kidding_ me? This is the greatest surprise _ever_. Thank you so much, Hunter."

I stand up on my tiptoes, brushing my lips across his for a brief, but tender moment.

"And that look in your eyes, is exactly why I wanted it to be a surprise. So worth it."

He leads the way, opening the door to the _Reading Room_.

We walk inside, taking a seat near the back. We're a little late but it doesn't even matter. As we sit listening to the captivating words of Yeats, it's impossible to not get swept up in the romantic frenzy they inspire.

I slide my chair closer to Hunter, his warmth seeping onto my bare leg. He puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me snug against his side.

If I were to die right here under the protective shelter of his arm, I could not think of a happier way to go—or a happier moment.

This magnificent guy has captured me implicitly. There's no hope of returning from this unknown place I've now traveled. To hell with the future guy. I'm not letting Hunter go for anything.

For the first time in my life, I believe more than anything I'm falling for this unexpected, perfect man.

Falling. Me?

I lean my head against his shoulder, basking in the comfort of his closeness. This is my new favorite place, and I never want to leave.

I close my eyes to enjoy this rare moment of true happiness, when something beyond unwanted happens: a vision!

#### Chapter 17

### THE BETRAYAL

_I'm thrown off balance as everything turns to darkness_ _._

But something's not right.

My body feels different somehow.

_I lift my hand that's holding something, but it's not_ my _hand. It's manly. Calloused._

I'm somehow in someone else's body—looking through their eyes—feeling what they feel.

I'm walking through the grass towards Gram's house.

I go to the front door and knock—but no one answers.

I look behind me towards the cars in the driveway. I know they must be home. Perhaps they're out back.

I walk around the house, stopping to peer through a window to see if anyone's moving around.

As I pull my head away from the glass, I catch my reflection and gasp.

Peter Russo's dark, haunting eyes stare back at me.

What the . . . .

His chest tightens over his evil deeds from twenty-one years ago. The lies and deceit make him shudder with guilt. At the time, he thought he was doing the right thing. But now—seeing how much damage the lies have caused—is more than he can handle.

All he wants in this world is to see the faces of his grandchildren—and to apologize to Morgan for what he'd done. He wants to repent for sins he'd committed, and he knows this will be the first step towards redemption.

His thoughts continue to whirl through my head.

As he walks around the side of the house, he notices a light coming from a room near the back.

When he makes it to the window of the sunroom, he stops—watching my family and me gathered around a body lying on a table.

His heart feels like it's bursting from his chest.

He's confused.

Panic swells inside him as he watches.

He wonders if he's been right all along about the Witches doing human sacrifice.

He stands there watching—frozen—but he can't help but stare at his handsome grandsons. He's seeing them for the first time, and his heart threatens to stop.

He can see his son etched in their features. His wife was right.

The guilt for keeping his family apart wells up in his chest. Torturously.

Without warning, his guilt turns into fear as he sees things fly through the air inside the house.

He can't hear what they're saying, but he can see the frightened eyes on his grandchildren.

Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, making him leap.

As he turns his head to look behind him, a sudden downpour begins with more force than he thought possible.

As he tries shielding his face with his hands, a blinding flash of light explodes in front of him.

He blinks repeatedly, stunned by what he's seeing.

He's surrounded by blurry, glowing images of people.

They aren't solid like normal people, but they're visible enough to tell if they're man or woman.

He scans the area around him, realizing he can't even count how many there are.

A flash of realization crashes into his subconscious. They're demons!

His fear is replaced by the same hatred he felt all those years ago, when he'd written those letters to his son and Morgan.

He's more convinced than ever the family he'd come to see, are devil worshipers unleashing hell-on-earth.

He takes a deep breath—crosses himself—and runs back to his house screaming at the top of his lungs, "I knew it . . . I always knew it! They're over there right now worshiping the devil and performing ritual sacrifice."

His heart pounds so fast, and so hard.

Fear courses through his veins for himself—and for his family.

Then in a flash, the vision changes.

Swirls of light dance around him.

Where is he?

The sun shines down around him as he stands outside Starbucks.

His stomach is in knots, and he's still upset from what he'd seen the night before. He takes a deep breath, prepared to take action.

"Mr. Russo." A familiar male voice from behind draws his attention.

He spins around to greet the man.

"Agent Payne. Thanks for meeting me on such short notice. I finally saw the Witches in action last night. I saw them conjure demons in their back yard." He waves his hands in the air like a madman. "Things were flying through the air, and they were surrounded by thousands of demons, just waiting for them to sacrifice the helpless person who was laying there. We have to stop them. We have to do something before they hurt my grandchildren."

Hunter looks down, rubbing his forehead with his right hand. "Slow down, Mr. Russo, please. How did you see these 'demons' exactly?"

"Well, I walked over to the Crawford house because I wanted to see my grandchildren, and I wanted to apologize to Morgan for something I did a long time ago. I wanted to put the past behind us. They didn't answer the front door, so I walked behind the house. When I got back there, I could see them through the windows, standing in a circle as they conjured demons that appeared out of thin air. I was horrified." Mr. Russo paces in circles on the sidewalk.

" _Do you have any_ proof, _Mr. Russo? As I've told you before, you need solid evidence. I must say though, I've spent a lot of time with these people, and I don't believe they are what you_ think _they are. They're good people who would never do anyone any type of harm. Were you drinking last night, Mr. Russo?" He shoves his hands in his pockets._

" _Of course not. I_ know _what I saw," he says in a condescending tone._

"Well I'm sorry, Mr. Russo, but without evidence, I'm afraid there's nothing we can do. In fact, I'll be closing this case. I don't feel there's any sort of foul play or potential danger to anyone involved here. They've never hurt you . . . or anyone else. Maybe you should just leave them alone."

Mr. Russo's jaw drops. "So you won't help me at all? The FBI won't do anything?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Russo, but we've spent enough time looking into these people, and we don't feel there's anything here to pursue. My boss was already skeptical about taking on this case, but because of your family's friendship with the Governor, we did him a favor."

Mr. Russo's anger escalates to the point it's almost rage. I see red through his eyes.

"Fine! If the FBI won't do anything, I'll find someone who will!" He shakes a fist in Hunter's face.

Then in another flash, Mr. Russo's in a candlelit room.

He's talking to his brother, Father Gabriel.

There's a loud boom, then flames burst all around them.

Paralyzed by fear, Mr. Russo falls to the ground.

The flames close in around him, eager to devour his flesh.

Excruciating pain consumes him.

There's another flash—and the vision stops.

My breathing labors as my eyes spring open.

I look around at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Someone's squeezing me, lightly shaking my arm.

Then it hits me. I'm with Hunter at the Poetry reading.

Wait a minute. Hunter? The man I'm falling for? The man I just saw in my vision being addressed as 'Agent Payne'?

I don't understand. Was it real? This can't be happening.

"Chloe? Are you okay? You're scaring me. Please tell me you're okay?"

I glance up at him, unsure.

But then I know. It's real. It was _all_ real. Or at least, it _will_ be.

He pulls me to my feet so we can leave the room. We walk to a wooden bench and he helps me sit back down.

"What just happened in there? You were shaking. I almost thought you were having a seizure or something."

I don't know what to do, or say. I can't even look at him.

I'm so consumed with fear and anger by what I just saw.

But I have to say something. "I don't feel so well. Can you please take me home?" I ask, still unable to look at him.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you want. As long as you're okay." The panic in his voice confuses me even more. It sounds so genuine.

"I'm fine. I just need to lay down."

I don't know what's real anymore. I was having the best night of my life, but then it was interrupted by a vision that told me the man I've trusted, has been lying to me from the very first second.

My heart pounds, tiny explosions erupting inside my chest.

How can this be? How could I have fallen for someone who's pretending to be someone else? And who's pretending to care about me, just to get close to my family.

He's investigating my family? _My_ family? This is so insane.

They adore Hunter. My god, how can I tell them about this?

Before I know what's happening, we're in a cab heading back towards the parking garage.

He tries to put his arm around me, but his touch only agitates me.

I shove him away, forcing him off balance.

"Chloe, _please_ tell me what's wrong. You're really freaking me out."

I turn my head to look at him, disbelief from his words striking me like a baseball bat. "Are you kidding me?" I reply with a dry, sarcastic tone.

"Okay, what are you upset about? One minute, you're pawing me to death from excitement. The next you look like you're going to be sick. And now you're angry with _me_? Please help me understand what I could have _possibly_ done in the last fifteen minutes to deserve this?" The irritation in his voice sends chills up my spine.

The cab stops to let us out. Hunter pays the fair and we stand on the sidewalk for a minute before walking in the garage.

"You seriously don't know what you did?" Are you kidding me?

"We were having a fantastic night. So, no. I have no clue." He puts his hands in his pockets, glaring at me as he waits for an answer.

I don't know what to say. Do I just blurt it out?

It's apparent he knows my family's 'secret', so I might as well just let him know what I saw. I'm sure he already knows I'm a Seer anyway. "Well, _Agent Payne_ , I just don't know what to tell you." The tone in my voice—mixed with the one word that makes it clear I'm on to his secret—hits home.

His mouth falls open.

With his face pale white like he's been shot in the chest, he tears his hands from his pockets then places them on top of his head. As he looks to the sky, he lets out a painful scream, dropping clenched fists to his sides.

He trembles for a minute, staring off into the distance. I'm sure he's trying to come up with a good story since he knows I just busted him.

"You weren't supposed to find out this way, Chloe. This wasn't part of the plan."

What? "The plan? So tell me, Agent Payne, what _was_ the plan? Get me into bed _then_ tell me you've been investigating my family?" Bile rises in my stomach at the thought.

"Of course not. That isn't what I meant. I was _planning_ to tell you . . . I swear. I was just waiting for the right time."

"How could there _ever_ be a right time to tell the girl you've been _pretending_ to date, that you've been using her as a way to infiltrate her family?" Tears drown my eyes, no matter how hard I fight to hold them back.

"Look, I'll tell you everything. But not here. This isn't the place to have this conversation. Can we just get in my car?"

"Good idea. Take me home _now_."

Hunter hangs his head, humiliation—or guilt—get the better of him. He pauses like he wants to say something, but shakes it off and starts walking towards the garage.

The entire drive back to Lindenhurst is in silence. I stare out the window, unsure if I want to break something—cry—or run back to California.

Thank god there isn't much traffic.

When he pulls in the driveway, he puts the car in park but leaves it running. He turns to me. "Can I please explain things to you?"

He wants to talk now? After being silent the entire way back? Not a chance.

After considering his request for few seconds, I reply. "I don't think that's a good idea right now. It's late. We're both tired. And I'm _way_ too angry to listen to anything you have to say."

A heavy sigh escapes his lips. "I understand. I'll leave you alone then. But I need to say one thing before I go. The _only_ thing I ever lied to you about was my job. Everything else was the truth, Chloe. I never planned to f . . . ." He hesitates. "I never planned to fall for you, but I did."

His gaze turns back towards the windshield.

What? I wasn't expecting him to say something like _that_. The sad part is, all I wanted was to know how he feels about me. But now that he's told me, it doesn't matter. How can it?

My heart is irrevocably broken from his betrayal. The only thing I want is to crawl in a hole and die.

How could he do this to me? How could he _use_ me this way?

The reservoir I've been protecting finally breaks, tears stream down my face as I replay his last words again in my head. Words I would have done anything to hear only an hour ago.

But I don't have the strength to face him any longer.

I reach for the door handle. "I have to go."

I push the door open and step out of his SUV, but look back as I fling the door shut. I don't even care that he'll see my tear-stained face. If anything, I _want_ him to see just how much pain I'm now in because of _him_.

My legs move to carry me up the sidewalk, but the squeak of the window going down behind me reflexively forces me to stop.

"Chloe."

With what little energy I have left, I turn my head back.

"I'm so sorry." As the words leave Hunter's lips, tears begin streaming down his cheeks.

Oh my god, I can't look at him like this. I spin around and run to the house as fast as my size eights will carry me.

Quietly, so as not to draw attention to the front door, I close it behind me with a nearly inaudible squeak. Leaning my back against it, I lose control of my emotions as I inch my way to the floor. The second my butt makes contact with the ground—I roll on my side—curling up into fetal position.

Somehow, in the midst of my immeasurable heartache—I manage to cry myself to sleep—right there on the cold, marble tiles.

* * *

"Chloe, wake up, dear. What on earth are you doing on the floor?"

I sit up, rubbing the fuzziness from my eyes.

Gram squats down next to me. "Oh my goodness, what happened to you, dear? You're a mess." She brushes something from my cheek with her thumb.

"Sorry Gram, I'll get up." Pain crashes into my chest like a freight train, the reality of what transpired earlier rearing its ugly head again.

I could swear there's a huge hole in my chest where my heart used to be. My palm lifts to cover the wound.

"Let's go sit on the couch so you can tell me what happened."

No, I can't talk about it. It hurts too much to say it aloud. I shake my head. "I don't think I can, Gram. I don't even know where to start."

"That's okay, dear. One thing at a time. Let's just start at the beginning. Did something happen when you were with Hunter?"

Hearing his name forces the image of his face into the forefront of my mind. The way his face looked just before he drove away. "Yes," is all I manage to say.

Gram nods. "Okay, that's a start. Where were you?"

I replay the evening.

I remember how blissfully happy I was before my vision. "We were at Bryant Park for a special summer poetry reading. It was perfection, Gram. Pap would have loved it." My head falls forward, suddenly too heavy to hold up.

"That sounds wonderful, dear. What on earth could have happened _there_?" She pauses. "Oh! Let me guess. You 'saw' something, didn't you?"

I lift my head back up, peering into her wise powder-blue eyes. "I did . . . and I'd do anything in the world to take it back. I was having the best day of my life before this stupid vision had to ruin everything."

As if regaining my memory from amnesia, I remember the other part of the vision—the part that could potentially hurt my family. How could I forget about Mr. Russo?

"What is it, dear? You were just seeing something. What was it?" She lays her hand on my knee.

My heart begins pounding out of control. "I was remembering part of my vision. Something you _really_ need to know."

"What dear? What is it?" Her voice softens.

I take a deep breath. "I don't know how to tell you this, but the night we saved Pap—when things were flying through the air and the ghosts appeared—well, Mr. Russo was standing outside watching _everything_." My eyes scrunch up. I look at her face for a reaction.

" _What?"_ All color drains from her face.

"Well, he didn't see _everything_. He ran away before Mom spoke, and before we realized we healed Pap."

"Thank goodness for small miracles I guess," she snaps.

"There's quite a bit more I'm afraid. It gets worse." I pull my feet up on the couch.

"Worse? How could it get any _worse_ than Mr. Russo confirming decades of suspicions?" She shakes her head, disbelief etched across her furrowed brow.

I take another deep breath in, leaving it out as if on a tight leash. "My vision was in three parts. The first part was when he sees everything. The second part, he was talking to a Federal Agent about what he'd seen. He told him everything, Gram. Turns out, the Governor pulled a few strings and they've been investigating us for some time now. He's friends with the Russo's. But there's something else, Gram. So much worse . . . ." I hang my head as the image of Hunter and Mr. Russo talking flashes through my mind.

"You might as well just spit it out, dear. Nothing will surprise me at this point." Gram leans on the arm of the couch, bracing herself. The side of her head in her hand, waiting for the preverbal other shoe to drop.

God I hate this. "It's about the agent who's been investigating us." I hesitate. "It's . . . . It's . . . . It's _Hunter_ , Gram!" I half shout.

"What?" Gram's voice shoots up a few octaves.

"He's not a fireman, Gram . . . he's an undercover agent who's been investigating us for God knows how long." The omission stings as it crosses my lips.

Her mouth falls open. "Well, I just don't even know what to say. I mean, we were so convinced he was in love with you." She shakes her head.

"Yeah well, he said he never meant to fall for me, and that he _planned_ on telling me the truth, but he was waiting for the right time. He also claims the only thing he lied to me about was his job, and everything else he's ever said was the truth."

"I see. Well, what else did he say?" Gram lifts a quizzical brow.

"Not much. I told him I was too upset to talk about it tonight. Then I started crying . . . he started crying . . . then I ran in the house because I couldn't handle seeing him like that."

Why does the image of his tears hurt me so much? I'm pissed. He deceived me. It shouldn't hurt to see _him_ in pain.

Neither one of us say anything for a few minutes as we think about what I just said. Then Gram looks up with a twisted face, eyes wide with the tip of her tongue sticking out. "Let's back up a bit. What happened in your vision when you saw Mr. Russo talking to him? What did Hunter _say_ when he heard everything? And what's the third part of the vision? You said it was in three parts?"

I nod. "Well, he asked Mr. Russo if he had any evidence . . . but he didn't. Hunter told him he was already planning to close the case because he doesn't believe we're the kind of people Mr. Russo thinks we are. He said he's spent a lot of time with us, and he thinks we're good people. The thing is though, Mr. Russo was pissed when he heard the FBI wasn't going to help him, so he said he'd find someone who _would_. I'm not sure what he meant, but it really made me nervous. He's full of so much rage, Gram.

"After that, it flashed to the third part, which was Mr. Russo talking to Father Gabriel. The next thing I knew, there were flames everywhere . . . and then I think they die. The vision stopped right after that."

She shakes her head, fiddling with the buttons on her satin nightgown. "Wow. That's a lot to take in, dear."

I tilt my head to the side. "Not to mention the fact that _I_ was actually Mr. Russo in the vision. I saw everything through _his_ eyes. Felt everything _he_ felt. He's so afraid of us, Gram. He told Hunter we worship Satan and he saw us conjure demons. He thought the person on the table was some innocent we were planning to sacrifice. He has _no_ clue who we are.

"What's even worse is, the whole reason he'd come over to the house in the first place was to apologize to Morgan and the boys. He was filled with so much guilt for what he'd done to them." Not that it matters now.

"Morgan will be _shocked_ when she hears this." Gram pauses. "Were you able to get an idea of when the meeting with Father Gabriel takes place?"

"No, I couldn't tell. But now that I think about it, I'm not even sure if the meeting with Hunter and Mr. Russo already happened, or if it's in the future."

"So then you never told Hunter about your vision?"

"No. Once I saw it, he kept bugging me to tell him what was wrong, so I made a smart crack and called him 'Agent Payne'." I lower my head.

"I know you won't like this, dear, but we _need_ to talk to him. We need to find out what he knows. It's quite possible his feelings for you have gotten in the way of his job and he's trying to protect us."

What? "Wait a minute. Say that last part again?"

"That he's trying to protect us?"

"No, before that."

"Um . . . his feelings have gotten in the way of his job? That part?" Gram's eyes narrow on me.

"Oh my god, that's it! That's what he meant that day." I'm such a moron.

"You lost me, dear . . . back up."

I readjust my weight on the cushion. "The first time he was here, when he showed up after I'd ditched him on the beach, we had a heart-to-heart. He said something about his feelings for me might 'compromise his work'. When I asked him what he meant, he got a little weird, but then said something about getting hurt if he can't focus. Now I understand what he _really_ meant." I should have known there was more to it.

"So what are you going to do about him?"

I shrug. "What _can_ I do, Gram? He lied about who he is. He conned me from the first second I met him. Regardless of how he feels about me, how can I ever trust him again?" I should have never trusted him in the first place.

She reaches over, laying her hand on my cheek. "Sometimes things aren't always as black and white as they appear, dear. At the end of the day, he's a good man who had a job to do. If this was his assignment, he was going to investigate us whether he developed feelings for you or not. Something tells me he didn't plan for it to happen, any more than you did."

"So you still think he's a good person?"

"Chloe, nothing about him seems disingenuous. Is he charming? Well of course he is. But when he says something, I believe him. You know I'm an excellent judge of character . . . that's part of _my_ gift. Believe me when I tell you, Hunter _is_ a good man who cares for you deeply. Of that, I have no doubt. Besides, weren't you also lying to him about who _you_ are? Who we _all_ are?"

God, I hate it when she's right. "True, but that was to protect the family. It's not _my_ secret. It's _everyone's_. I guess I won't make any decisions while I'm upset. I'll call him in the morning to see if he'll come over."

"Before that happens, dear, we need to fill the family in on _everything_. Plus, we need to figure out what the Russo's are up to. The family needs to be extra vigilant now, so if anyone needs to use any visible magic, we'll have to find a place where there's no chance of being seen."

I nod. "I couldn't agree more."

"Well, we should probably go to bed. It's getting quite late and tomorrow will be a tough day."

"Sounds good. I'm exhausted anyway. Crying always has a way of wiping me out." I stand up and stretch.

Gram stands beside me. "So before your vision, you were really having the best night of your life?"

You have no idea. "I was. But I can't even think about that right now, or I'll start crying again."

"Okay, dear. You can tell me about it when you're ready." She hugs me. "Everything _will_ be okay. I promise. You just get a good night's sleep."

"Thanks, Gram. I love you."

"I love you, too, dear. Good night."

"Good night."

#### Chapter 18

### SECRETS REVEALED

I lay in my bed, watching the hands go by on my clock, hoping Gram will have everyone filled in on last night's painful drama before I make it downstairs. I just don't know if I have it in me to go through the whole thing all over again.

There's no avoiding the questions, so I take a shower, slap on a little make-up, and throw on sweats, a tank, and my favorite baseball hat. Good enough.

As I walk downstairs, I hear the sound of raised voices a few rooms away. I hope they're not upset with me, but my gut tells me it's because of Hunter. I'd be pissed, too, if I were them.

I head in the kitchen just as Gram says, "It's the right thing to do."

I wonder what _that's_ about? "Sounds like I picked the wrong time to come down," I say with a nervous giggle.

"Actually, Chloe, you picked the _perfect_ time. We need your opinion on something." Gram gets up from her stool to stand in front of me.

They need _my_ opinion? "Oh . . . okay. Well, what is it?"

Gram turns towards the glum faces in the group. "I told everyone about your vision from last night, But Morgan thinks we should tell the Russo's about the fire. Unfortunately, your brother and sister, as well as the boys, _don't_ think we should be so considerate."

Seriously? "Why on earth _wouldn't_ you want them to know they're in danger?" I look around the room at my shocking family members.

"I'm a firm believer in karma," Aidan replies. "It's because of Mr. Russo that we never knew our father."

"Exactly. And it's because of Mr. Russo that our mother had a broken heart for twenty-one years, so he deserves whatever comes his way," Ash throws in, very matter of fact.

I can't believe their reaction. It's _so_ out of character for them. "Is that really how you feel, or are you just trying to be a tough-ass? I realize what he's done, but no matter what, he _is_ still your grandfather."

Everyone looks at me with a stunned, blank expression. "Who is this crazy girl standing before us, and what have you done with our Chloe?" Pap says.

"Seriously, Chloe. Where is _that_ coming from?" Ash asks with a touch of attitude in his voice.

"Well, perhaps it's because I understand how he feels. I'm not sure how much Gram told you, but this vision was different. I was seeing and feeling everything through Mr. Russo, instead of through myself. The man was in so much pain. He came over here that night to apologize for what he'd done. And he wanted to meet you two.

"But when he showed up at the _worst_ possible time and saw the unbelievable things he did, he was scared out of his mind. He about had a heart attack. He fears what he saw . . . because he doesn't know any better. So maybe we _should_ tell him what he's about to do. Maybe we need to make him realize we're not evil and we do 'good' with our magic." My words surprise even me, but deep down, I know it's right.

The four non-believers look at each other. Dru and Dhelia shrug, nodding like they understand where I'm coming from. I'm not so sure about the boys, though.

No one breathes a word. I hate it when that happens.

Ash and Aidan look at each other as if they're having a conversation in their minds; a secret language no one else is privy to.

After a few minutes of silence, Aidan says, "Look, we know you all think it's the right thing to do, but we don't have to agree with you. You can do what you want, but we'd rather not be a part of it. Considering everything that man has done to our mother, and to our father, we consider this 'karmic retribution'. Whatever happens to him is of his _own_ making. Not ours."

This unexpected negative attitude baffles me. Normally, they possess more compassion and objectivity than anyone I've ever known. Somehow, I don't think we'll sway them this time.

Aunt Morgan stands, walking towards her boys. As she lays her hands on their shoulders, she says, "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one is forcing you. Just try to understand I need to warn Michael. Chloe's vision wasn't clear on the fire, so we don't have any idea who else might be there, or where it will be for that matter. If there's even the possibility someone could get hurt by this—when we could have done something to prevent it—I would never forgive myself. It's just not who _we_ are. It's not who _you_ are either, no matter how just you might feel right now."

Both Ash and Aidan hang their heads as she rubs their backs.

Dru gets up from his chair. "So, Chloe. Should I say 'I told you so', now, or later?"

Taken off guard by his comment, I can't help but reply, "Huh?"

He struts around the room until he's by my side. "Did I, or did I _not_ tell you Hunter was hiding something?"

The second our eyes meet, I know he's not upset. Something in his demeanor almost seems relieved, if that's even possible. The smirk on his face seems like he even finds humor in the whole thing. Though I can't imagine why.

I shake my head. "I guess I should have known you'd find a way to point out how right you were." The sting from this truth goes right through my heart.

"Oh, Sis, come on. You knew I'd have to pick on you a little bit." He wraps an arm around me, pulling me close to his side. "Look, as bad as this seems, it isn't _that_ bad. Didn't you tell Gram he defended us to Mr. Russo? And didn't you _also_ say he was closing the case?"

"Well, yeah . . . that's what I saw."

"He was doing his job. It must have been hell for him considering his feelings for you from the get-go. He couldn't tell you the truth about who he was, any more than _you_ could have. I sure wouldn't have wanted to be in his shoes."

I can't believe _Dru_ is the one defending him. The one person who never trusted Hunter. Wow. "You're defending him? Seriously?"

"Look. If I thought for a second he was pretending to like you, just so he could get close to the family, I'd be the first one in line to rip his throat out. The fact of the matter is, I know how he feels about you—and I know how he feels about the family. I guarantee his feelings kept him from looking for dirt on us. Regardless of how much he may or may not know, at the end of the day, he knows we're good people who aren't here to hurt anyone." Dru crosses his arms over his chest, pursing his lips.

"I don't disagree with what you're saying . . . I'm just shocked you're the one defending him. The irony is killing me." I jab him in the ribs as we laugh.

The doorbell rings and I jump.

"Oh yeah, Hunter's on his way over, dear." Gram winks, walking to the living room to answer the door.

My stomach twists into knots. "Ah, okay," I mumble, even though I know she can't hear me.

Is that him, _already_? My heart races as I hear his voice in the living room.

Sitting down might be smart about now—before my knees give out from under me.

As they walk in the kitchen, my stomach flip-flops. I'm not sure if I have the strength to look at him yet. How can I be prepared to see him so soon? I'm not. I'm not prepared.

Give me strength!

Hunter drags his feet, moving to the open stool beside me. "Morning, Chloe. Did you sleep okay?"

The absence of confidence in his voice bothers me more than I'll ever admit, but I'll be damned if I'm letting him off the hook so easily. No matter _what_ my family chooses to do.

Breathe Chloe—you can do this. "How do you _think_ I slept, Agent Payne?" I glare at him for a few brief, but painful seconds.

"Whoa. Looks like I'm rubbing off on my big sister." Dhelia chuckles as Dru smacks her arm. "Ouch!" She swats him back.

Gram puts her hand on my shoulder. "You two can work out your issues later, dear. Right now, there are things the family _needs_ to know." Gram's serious tone forces me to put my personal feelings aside for the time being. I bite my tongue, nodding in compliance.

She clears her throat, sitting down in the seat opposite Hunter. "The reason we asked you here today is first and foremost, to thank you. We understand you were only doing your job, but your personal feelings must have undoubtedly gotten in the way."

She sends me a sad smile. "Regardless of what you heard from the Russo's, you took the time to get to know this family. Then once you did, you defended us. Sometimes people don't understand us, so it scares them. The Russo's never gave us a chance. From the bottom of my heart, Hunter, thank you. It means so much that you gave us the benefit of the doubt, regardless of what you were told."

He blushes. From guilt no doubt. "You don't have to thank me, Aurora. This is the most amazing family . . . so it was no trouble at all. I know you'd never hurt anyone—and that was the entire reason for the investigation in the first place. Once Mr. Russo heard Sam was sick, he pretty much figured it wouldn't be long until Morgan came back to town. Within a week, he called us to say she was here. The FBI devised a plan to see if he was out of his mind, or if there truly were ritual sacrifices happening at the Crawford house.

"After we found out which hospital Sam would be in, we had my partner moved to North Shore. Trevor really was hurt on the job. It just wasn't in a fire . . . it was in an explosion." He pauses, rubbing his hand across his stubble. "I swear to you all, my only intention was to observe the family to see if I noticed any suspicious activity. I never planned to meet Chloe and fall for her. But I guess some things are out of our control." He leans his elbow on the counter, resting his forehead in his palm.

I'm not used to seeing him so stressed. But it's not my problem. It's just not!

"Hunter, we believe you. You don't need to defend yourself. We know you're telling the truth." Gram looks to Dru. They share a smile.

He watches their interaction. "Yeah, I sort of figured that. You guys always seem to be one step ahead of the game." Hunter smiles in return, as if he knows why.

"So that brings me to the _other_ reason I asked you here." Gram looks my way—then back to Hunter. "We know you're closing the case and that's wonderful. But we'd like to find out what you _do_ know about our family. Chloe's still upset, but if you stand any chance at all with her and this family, we need to be on the same page. Which means, no more secrets—from _either_ side."

A tiny smile curls up on the edges of his mouth. "You honestly want to know what I've been able to figure out?"

Gram nods. "Yes, dear. We need to know _everything._ It's the only way to move forward. We've done an incredible job over the years of protecting this family. Very few people know our secrets, and we'd like to keep it that way. So it's important we find out _exactly_ what you know about us."

"Fair enough. I can respect that." He pauses, looking around the room at the curious faces watching him. "Well, I haven't been able to figure everything out, but I'll tell you what I did—and when." Hunter takes a deep breath. "Right off the bat, I figured out Dru is some sort of Empath or Mind Reader. He's the only one who had his guard up in the beginning. I could tell he didn't trust me. Plus, he always seems so in tune to what the people around him are feeling. I don't know the degree of what he can do, but I know he can somehow read what people feel." He looks to Dru and smirks, nodding his head in approval.

Dru breaks out into laughter. "Good job, dude. It seems you might have some sort of power of your own."

"Well, we can get into that later." He nods at Dru. "The next thing I figured out was Dhelia." He glances her way. "The night at the party in The Hamptons, she didn't realize I was watching out of the corner of my eye when she moved a piece of driftwood into Chloe's path. Thank you by the way—I still owe you one for that. But the thing I found the _most_ interesting though, was the way your eyes flashed bright blue when you used your Telekinesis. _Really_ cool." He smiles, giving her the thumbs up.

"We all do the 'eye thing', but I didn't think you saw me. I never took my eyes off you." Dhelia sounds shocked he fooled her.

Hunter smiles, triumph glinting in his eyes. "Let's just say, I have impeccable peripheral vision."

"What did you figure out next, dear?"

He turns to me, looking down at the ground for a second. "Well, Chloe was a tad more difficult. I had my suspicions on the second day when I saw her outside on the bench at the hospital. But it wasn't until a few days later when I saw her sleeping in Sam's room that I knew for sure." He locks eyes with me. "You 'see' things. I get the feeling it's both past and future things, but I'd say mostly future. You talked in your sleep about 'masked strangers', but I still have no clue what it means. When I've been around you and you've seen something, your body language isn't always consistent. The one thing that _is_ , though, is how you stiffen up . . . as if you're preparing yourself for pain." Hunter pauses, his face losing all expression.

"The night Ash and Aidan came to town and we were all sitting here talking, I noticed you doing it. Then you asked me to go to the store for you. I figured it must have been something you needed to tell your family right away. Then when I came back and things were so intense with Michael, I figured you must have seen him coming. And then there was _last_ night, of course. You really freaked me out, you know. I knew you were seeing something by your closed eyes and body language, but the way you thrashed like you were in pain scared me." He puts his hand on my knee while searching my eyes.

I look away, his hand automatically retreating.

"I _was_ in pain, but not the way you think. I was seeing and feeling things through Mr. Russo. Something horrible happened to him and I felt it all." I shiver at the memory.

"I'm so sorry you had to find out about me that way. I _swear_ I was planning to tell you. I needed to be sure the case was closed first, and then I was going to tell you everything."

His eyes glaze over. Are they filling up with tears? God, I can't take seeing him this way again. And I can't let him get to me right now.

I look away, desperate to avoid his eyes.

He takes the hint, focusing his attention back on the family.

"There's something else about Chloe, but I haven't been able to put my finger on it. It's the same for you, Aurora. I feel power in you, but I can't tell exactly what it is. As far as Morgan, Ash, and Aidan go, I've never been around you when you've used your power, but I know it's there. There's a strong energy that radiates from you."

"Wait a minute," Aunt Morgan interrupts. "What aren't you telling us, Hunter? How do you _feel_ these things?"

Hunter clears his throat. "I have a few more secrets I suppose." I feel his eyes on me, but I don't look. "I'm able to 'read' people, but not in the same way any of you can. If someone uses magic around me, I know what it is right away. Other people can take a little longer, but I read it on them eventually . . . which is why I'm on the unit I am at the FBI. Once they figured out I could read people, they found the perfect place for me. Granted, they don't realize the extent of my ability, but they know it's a quality few possess." He pauses for my reaction, but I have none. At this point—nothing surprises me.

"Well, that's very interesting indeed." Aunt Morgan nods. Then she gets up from her seat, walking around the table to where Hunter sits. She places her hand on his shoulder then closes her eyes.

What on earth is she doing?

Hunter's face lights up with excitement. A few seconds later, Aunt Morgan opens her eyes, pulling her hand away.

"I had no idea you were a Reader. Yours is different though. You can see where I've been . . . what I've done. That's _awesome_!" His face glows with anticipation.

Shouldn't he be running for the hills by now?

"Well, this one is new to me. I only found out a few days ago I could do it. It also works on objects. I can touch anything and tell you whatever you want to know about it," Aunt Morgan reveals with a joyous voice.

"Oh, really? We sure could use someone with your abilities on our team at the bureau. Imagine the murders we could solve if you could read the evidence." Hunter sounds like a little boy who just got his first video game.

"You're right. You know, I never thought about it that way. Well, maybe we can talk about it some other time," Aunt Morgan says, glancing at the spectators.

"Wait a minute. You said 'this one' is new to you. Does that mean you have another power?" Hunter asks, a curious twinkle lighting up his eyes.

Aunt Morgan shrugs, modesty written across her rosy cheeks. "Yes, I do. But I haven't used it for more than twenty-one years." She takes a deep breath. "It's Mind Control."

Hunter's eyes widen. No doubt from the same surprise I'm experiencing. "Mind control? If you'll forgive me for asking, why didn't you use your power on the Russo's then? Couldn't you have forced them to accept the family and not be afraid?" His brows scrunch together.

"Of course I _could_ have, but there are two reasons why I didn't. The first is because of the whole ' _personal gain'_ rule, which we take very seriously. The second is because I wanted them to accept us on their own." She picks at the label on her water bottle. "Sure, there's a lot we could have done to change the outcome—but at the time—I guess I didn't want to. After I received the letter I _thought_ was from Michael, I didn't care anymore. Thinking he no longer loved me broke my heart. I gave up on _everything_. Perhaps the path would have been a different one, if not for that." She shrugs again.

"Letter?" Hunter asks.

"Oh, that's right. You don't know about that. Long story short, Mr. Russo wrote letters to break up Michael and me, which is why Michael didn't know about the boys." She rubs her hands while staring at her sons.

"I suppose I can understand that." Hunter sounds somewhat embarrassed.

"Now that I've answered _your_ question, don't you think it's time to share what I saw when I touched you?" Aunt Morgan eyes Hunter like an impatient mother.

"Yes, yes. I was planning to tell them at the end, but I guess now works, too."

"You have _another_ secret?" Are you kidding me? My god, I don't think I can take anything else today.

"Well, it's not really _another_ secret, but it's the reason _why_ I'm able to read people. It's something very different from the powers you all have, so I hope it doesn't freak anyone out." With timid hands, he touches my arm with his fingertips. "I'm still me, Chloe, so please remember that."

What's _that_ supposed to mean?

Hunter gets up. He takes a few steps back, giving himself room for something. But what? As we wait to see what he's up to, a strange crackling sound comes from his direction.

What the . . . !

Right before our eyes, he contorts and thrashes all over the place. I've never seen anything like it.

Then he stops.

I look around the room at my family, mouths gaping open in shock just like mine.

How in the hell did he just do that?

I turn my head back to Hunter, but the overwhelming sight makes me dizzy—like I'm going to faint.

I'm looking at Mr. Russo _,_ standing not more than ten feet in front of me.

What the hell was that?

"That was so clutch! I can't believe you're a Shape-shifter!" Ash squeals with excitement.

"I _knew_ there was a reason I liked you. That's so awesome, dude." Aidan shrieks.

But I'm numb.

I see Mr. Russo, but I know it's Hunter. I never imagined Shape-shifters truly existed. How is this even possible?

"So what else can you turn into?" Dru asks, like a little boy seeing his favorite super hero.

"Yeah, what about animals? Can you turn into a rabbit or a wolf?" Dhelia bubbles over with anticipation.

Before Hunter speaks, he returns to his normal form. "I can pretty much turn into anything _._ As long as I can visualize it, I can turn into it."

"Well, Mr. Payne, it would seem we aren't the only ones with a secret to keep. I would assume the FBI doesn't know about _that_ special gift?" Gram asks, her mocking tone makes us chuckle.

Hunter laughs. "Um, no. You would be right. I don't think they would see it quite the same way you do. Even though it's been more than useful in my undercover work, I wouldn't want to freak them out. Actually, the only other people who know about it are my family. That's it. I've never shared it with anyone. _Ever!_ "

Oh, that's such a load of bull. "Then why are you now?" I ask, with just a hint of disdain in my voice.

"Because it's only fair, Chloe. Plus, I want you and your family to trust me. By sharing _my_ secret, we're all on a level playing field."

"We appreciate your honesty, Hunter. I'm sure I speak for _most_ of the family when I say . . . it's wonderful. Now it makes so much sense why we were so drawn to you from the second we met you. We're kindred spirits." Gram smiles, adoration consuming her feminine features.

Hunter puts his hands in his pockets. "To tell you the truth, I don't usually come across people like us. Sure, I've seen people who have stolen or borrowed power, but not those who were born with it like we were. It's truly special."

"Well, now you know why you can't figure out what my gift is. I don't have an active or passive power, per se. My natural gift is with mother earth. I've always known the exact ingredients to use for spells and potions. Some Witches need years of research on herbs and the elements to understand what they can do. I was _born_ with the knowledge and have successfully used it over the years." Gram stands before him, proud of who she is. "I can also sort of 'read' and 'sway' people, but it's more influence than ability."

"So that just leaves us with Ash and Aidan. I get the feeling there's something truly unique about them, but I can't put my finger on it. When I'm around Ash, I think about Magicians for some reason. With Aidan, I get these images in my head of him being in a thousand different places—different moments in time. Does that _mean_ anything?"

Gram lifts her hands to her cheeks. "Yes, it does, actually. You see a Magician with Ash because he's a Conjurer. Only, he doesn't need any sort of gimmick to make things appear. And Aidan is a Teleporter, which explains why you see him in so many places. As far as the different moments in time, perhaps time-travel is part of it. It would make sense. We've recently learned a _lot_ of new information about our gifts. So, we have a lot of experimenting to do." Gram rubs her hands together, most likely contemplating the vast possibilities before us.

"Really, Gram? Do you _really_ think I might be able to time-travel?" I've never seen Aidan so anxious.

"Hunter hasn't been wrong about anything so far, so I'd say it's worth looking into, dear." Gram winks his way.

"Aren't you kids forgetting one _very_ important gift we just found out about? From the night that nosey son-of-a-bitch across the street spied through the windows?" Pap speaks up for the first time since Hunter arrived.

Gram squeezes Pap's arm as she remembers. "Oh, that's right. Okay, everyone sit back down so I can tell Hunter what _reall_ _y_ happened that night."

We obey.

But before she begins, she jumps off her chair and opens the fridge. "Does anyone need a drink?"

"Sure, I'd love some lemonade if you have it," Hunter says.

"Yeah, me too, Gram." I swallow, brutally aware of my cottonmouth.

"Anyone else?" She sits the pitcher on the table. "Okay. I won't bore you with _al_ _l_ the details. But the night we brought Samuel back from the hospital, I decided I wanted to try a spell or two, on the off chance there might be something we could do to bring him out of his coma.

"The first spell didn't do anything, so I remembered something I'd heard a long time ago about our ancestors. Apparently, most of our Wiccan descendants are buried on this land . . . and it turns out their unused powers have just been sitting around waiting for us to call upon them."

Hunter's eyes widen.

"Oh, just wait, dear. It gets _much_ better." She giggles. "When we performed the spell, it opened up a Power Well that somehow made our family ascend and become one with _our_ power, _and_ with all the power of our ancestors. What made the whole thing so amazing was that the ghosts of our ancestors also appeared before us, like some sort of 'changing of the guard'. It just so happens, that was the moment Mr. Russo chose to sneak behind the house. The poor man must have been scared out of his wits. I know _we_ were until we knew what was going on.

"One of the ghosts came forth to speak. It was Chloe, Dru, and Dhelia's mother, Moira. She told us so many things, but the one thing that's the most important in this whole story, is when Chloe's twin sister Cassie died at birth, her power automatically transferred to Chloe. But none of us knew anything about it. Can you guess what her power is, dear?" Gram beams, unable to hide her pride.

"I don't have any idea." Hunter shrugs.

"Let's just say this . . . when the family ascended and received this extra charge of power, Chloe was holding onto Samuel. Can you guess what it is _now_?" She's trying so hard to get him to figure it out. It's like watching someone tell a joke for the first time, praying the captive audience gets the punchline.

Hunter looks around the room as he thinks. His attention keeps going back to Pap. Then it hits him. He looks at me in dubious awe. "You're a Healer, aren't you? It wasn't a miracle . . . it was _you_ who saved your pap?" His eyes widen.

I really hate when someone puts me on the spot.

I shift in my seat. "So they keep telling me. It's still hard for me to believe, but my mom told us I got Cassie's gift, and Morgan got hers. Some magical 'twin thing' in our bloodline."

"And what a way to find out. This is so incredible. You must be so thrilled to have a Healer in the family." Hunter shakes his head, unable to take his eyes of Pap.

"Well, I was never _really_ meant to die right now. The entire time I was in a coma, Moira was with me. She told me what was going on. My getting sick was necessary for Morgan and Chloe to return home. But then they needed to think I was almost dead so they could do what they did to find out about their powers. It was all part of some greater plan devised by a higher power." Pap's shoulders go back, holding his head high. He's so proud of the family desperate to save his life.

"That brings me to the _other_ thing Moira mentioned. The 'prophecy'." Her eyes fill with a searching look. She turns to Hunter. "Oh my god . . . ' _The man of many shapes_ '. _You_ are a part of the prophecy, too!"

She gets up from her chair and leans over, wrapping her arms around him. "I can't believe it didn't hit me immediately when you showed us your gift. There's an ancient scroll called ' _The Gemini Prophecy'_. The entire family is in it, and now I believe you are, too, dear. The line that mentions you says, _'The man of many shapes shall form, a union between Believers'_. This is so extraordinary." Grams eyes overflow as she solves another piece of the riddle.

"Well, it certainly does make sense that it would be me. How many _'men of many shapes_ ' do you know?" He chuckles.

You're kidding me! He's part of the Prophecy? As if it wasn't overwhelming enough on its own.

So you mean to tell me, we were _meant_ to find each other?

It was all part of the master plan?

I'm not even sure how I should feel about this news. Learning he'd been lying crushed me, so am I just supposed to magically forget?

Impossible.

I'll have to find a way to accept it, but trusting him again is going to take time.

But for the family, I'll have to suck it up and put on my big girl panties. As best as I can, at least.

I turn to Hunter. "It would appear as though you're destined to be in my life. I guess that means I'm _stuck_ with you."

His face lights up—then he turns to my family. "Okay, so who plans to show me this so called 'prophecy'? I'd like to see what sort of trouble your ancestors have gotten me into."

#### Chapter 19

### THE VISION

After learning Hunter's secrets, I suppose I'm a hypocrite for still being upset—for wondering if I'll ever be able to trust him. No matter how you look at it, I was just as dishonest with him. So why do I _still_ feel this way?

I'm not upset like I was last night. The heartbroken feeling has lessened, yet I can't ignore the lingering sadness.

Aunt Morgan and I left the house a little while ago, so I told Hunter we'd talk later. Right now, we're on a mission to warn Michael.

The decision had been made—though not a unanimous one—to tell him about my vision. He needs to know what his father's planning. _Before_ someone gets hurt.

I'm sure he was more than surprised when Aunt Morgan called him—but he never wavered. She said he sounded relieved to hear from her.

I thought we might form a game plan on the drive over, but Aunt Morgan hasn't spoken a word since we left. I can only imagine what's going through her mind right now. By her white knuckles gripping the steering wheel, I'd say it's good old-fashioned jitters.

We pull up to Michael's designated meeting place. Starbucks, of course. Seems to be the Russo hot spot.

Her hands shake, turning the car into the parking lot.

"Are you okay?" I'm not used to seeing her so unnerved.

She exhales, staring straight ahead in a trance-like state. "I just don't know how to face him now that I know the truth. It was easier when I thought I hated him. But _now_ . . . everything's changed."

Just as I open my mouth to speak, Michael taps on the driver's side window, startling us. I follow her lead out of the car to greet him.

"Hello, Michael. You look well." She sounds genuine enough.

"Hello, Morgan. You look well yourself." He pauses, turning to me. "Hi, Chloe. How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks. How about you?"

"Well . . . maybe you should ask me _after_ we're done talking." He smiles, gesturing for us to walk ahead of him.

After ordering two Mocha Lattes and a Grande black coffee, we take a seat near the back where there's more privacy.

Only seconds after sitting down, Michael says, "Okay, Mo. Let me have it."

She shakes her head, swallowing her first sip of blistering coffee. "No, Michael. That's not why I asked you to meet us. There's something we need to warn you about."

Her concerned tone jolts him into an elbows-on-the-table position.

"What is it? Oh god, I hope it's not your dad? Or the boys . . . are the boys okay?" The terror in his voice matches his dilating pupils.

"Dad and the boys are fine . . . it's nothing like that. It's, ah . . . well, it's about _your_ dad, actually."

"Oh. What did he do _now_? Or should I even ask?" He hangs his head.

It's clear how humiliated he is over his father. But who wouldn't be? The man's an embarrassment.

"I'm not really sure how to tell you this." She leans back in her chair, rubbing her forehead.

Michael lifts his gaze to hers. "It's okay, Morgan. Really. After everything I've heard, _nothing_ would surprise me. Just give it to me straight."

Aunt Morgan squints, exposing a hint of crow's feet. "Do you want the long or _short_ version?"

" _Definitely_ the short."

She glances my way, then back to Michael. "Okay. Let's just say . . . your dad came by our house last week and saw some 'things' he shouldn't have. Magical things. He went to the FBI, Michael. He's had an agent investigating us for _weeks_ , and he told them we're performing human sacrifices for crying out loud. When the FBI told him they're planning to close the case, your father got pissed, and threatened to take matters into his own hands. The main reason I'm telling you this, is because of what he plans to do sometime in the near future."

"What do you mean? What's he planning?" Michael asks, his voice quivering.

"I'm not sure _what_ it is, but he's with Father Gabriel when it happens. But whatever it is, they cause an enormous fire that kills them both."

" _What_?" His hands fly up to press against his temples. "Wait a minute. How do you know all of this?"

Michael stares into her pale eyes, waiting for an answer.

Aunt Morgan turns to me, then back to Michael. "Because Chloe's a Seer, Michael . . . and she saw everything last night. Well, not _everything_. She didn't see where or when the fire takes place . . . or if anyone is there besides your dad and Father Gabriel when it happens."

"A Seer?" He turns to me with wide eyes. "Wow, that's wild, Chloe. I had no idea."

Aunt Morgan snaps her fingers. "Michael, focus on the bigger picture. Do you think there's any way you can get through to your father? _Before_ things get out of control?"

He takes a huge gulp off coffee. "I honestly have no clue. You know how he is, Morgan. And I haven't spoken to him since the night I found out about the letters. But I could probably guess what he's up to . . . what he's _always_ threatened to do if your family ever hurt anyone."

Oh, this can't be good. My stomach spasms.

" _Hurt_ anyone? Michael, we would _never_ hurt anyone, and you know that. He's so clueless about who we are and what we believe." She grips her coffee so tight the plastic lid pops off.

"I know that, Morgan . . . but he's a stubborn old man. And in _his_ eyes, if you aren't Catholic, you're a Satan worshiper. Bottom line. There's just no in between." His voice gets louder, so he looks around to see if anyone's listening.

"So, what has he always threatened to do?" I jump in. My curiosity getting the best of me.

Michael hesitates.

Unease creeps up my spine.

"Well. He always said he'd get Uncle Gabriel to perform the most powerful exorcism there is." Embarrassment spreads across his face from his father's ignorance.

"An _exorcism_? You have got to be kidding me." Aunt Morgan bursts into hysterical laughter.

"I'm glad you find it so amusing." He pauses, but then laughs himself.

"He truly thinks we're possessed?" She shakes her head.

"He does. And he always has."

"I hope I get the chance to one day educate him," Aunt Morgan adds with dry sarcasm.

"I suppose I'll need to suck it up and talk to him." He exhales with a huff. "I had no intention of ever speaking to him again. But I also can't let him hurt anyone. I'd never be able to live with myself if that happened."

"Then you'll talk to him tonight?" I ask.

"Of course. I'll go there as soon as we leave. Just promise me someone will let me know if you see anything else, okay?" He looks back and forth between Aunt Morgan and me.

"We promise. I just wish I knew how to trigger a vision. I'm _really_ out of practice. And I never learned that part."

I'm such an idiot for abandoning my gift.

Wow. Did I actually just say that?

"My dad seriously has the FBI investigating you? Do you know for how long?" Michael rubs his eight-o'clock shadow, surprise moving back across his face.

"Oh, yes. He called in a favor with his buddy, the Governor, and _he_ pulled some strings. It started when he heard how sick my father was. He just assumed I'd have to come home, so he went to them right away. But not to worry though . . . it all worked out okay in the end."

"Well I'm glad. But speaking of your dad, how's he doing? Has he come out of the coma yet?"

"Oh. I guess you really _haven't_ talked to your parents then. Let's just say . . . he's made a full recovery and is already back home now." Aunt Morgan smiles, conveying the family's wonderful news.

"Wait a minute. I thought he had a brain tumor and needed chemo or radiation when he woke up?" Michael seems more confused than ever, mouth gaping open.

"True. He did." She checks to make sure no one can hear her. "But it just so happens our Chloe here, isn't _just_ a Seer . . . she's also a Healer. The night we brought Dad home from the hospital to perform a healing ritual, is actually what your father witnessed. Only, he must have gone back home before he saw how it ended. To be honest, we didn't even know Chloe could do this until that night. It's all so bizarre, but I can fill you in on all the details another time."

"A Healer? Like the kind you see in movies?"

"Well, for the most part, yes." Their eyes lock for a few seconds. Aunt Morgan darts a glance at me, breaking the connection with Michael.

"I don't even know what to say. I'm so glad your father's okay, Mo. You guys are something else . . . and I don't mean that in a bad way." He throws back another gulp of coffee.

"I guess there's really not much you can say. We're blessed." She glances back at me. "Are you about ready? We should let Michael go talk to his dad, while we go home and start practicing."

"Sure. Sounds good." I'm sort of looking forward to it.

"Practice?" Michaels asks in a curious tone.

Aunt Morgan giggles. "Yeah, my mother seems to think we're missing a few things about our powers . . . and there has to be a way to _make_ Chloe have a vision. So, we're practicing."

"Sounds like fun," he says.

"Well, it should be interesting to say the least. Mom always has something up her sleeve. If you like, stop by when you're done at your parents. You can fill us in. And the boys will be there too, and I'm sure they'd like to see you."

"Really?" He gulps, eyes glazing over like a donut. "Then I'll be there for sure."

We get up from the table with drinks in hand. As soon as we make it to the car, Michael reaches for the handle on Aunt Morgan's door. He pulls it open—and she hesitates—as if she wants to say something. But doesn't.

"Thank you, Michael," she says almost inaudibly, leaning down into the driver's seat.

"So I'll see you guys later." Michael smiles, pushing the door shut behind her.

There's nothing disingenuous about this man. He's kind, soft-spoken, and sensitive. I can see why Aunt Morgan fell for him all those years ago.

Before we pull out, I place my hand on top of hers. "He's a good man. I think I get it now."

She turns to me, her eyes filling to the rim. She sighs. "Tell me about it."

She puts the car in reverse, the tires squealing as she throws it back into drive to pull out.

On the ride back home, I'd have to say she looks relieved by our visit, sitting more relaxed behind the wheel. It's nice seeing a smile on her lovely face again. Even an unexpected one.

When we make it back to the house, Ash, Aidan, and Pap greet us, sitting on the porch enjoying the perfect evening, Sinatra filling the air as they read the New York Times. It had been raining a lot lately, so they're taking advantage of the peacefulness before the next storm blows in.

"So, how'd it go?" Aidan asks, apprehension coating his alto voice.

Aunt Morgan sits on the railing across from him. "It went as well as can be expected, I guess. Michael didn't plan to speak to his father again, but he agreed he doesn't really have a choice. He should be there any minute."

We all turn to look at the Russo house.

"Will he let you know how it goes?" Ash asks.

"He'll come over when he's done. We should cross our fingers it goes well." Aunt Morgan's hands shake, staring across the street.

I wish she'd talk about what's on her mind—what she's going through.

"Where's Gram?" I look to Pap.

"Oh, she's in the back getting ready to help you work on those visions of yours. She has some _crazy_ ideas in her head. If you ask me, she's a little _too_ excited to dig into your mind for bad news." Pap scowls.

"I don't think she's excited for the _bad_ news, Pap. She's excited to help my ability grow. You know how she is about magic."

"I guess so," he says. But he still looks annoyed with his face scrunched up.

"It'll be okay, Pap. Just have a little faith." I bend down, kissing him on the forehead.

"Come on, Chloe. Let's go find your gram," Aunt Morgan announces, disappearing into the house.

The second we walk through the kitchen door, the sweet sound of Gram's singing permeates through the air. As we enter her restored botanical sanctuary, I notice she's surrounded herself with candles, incense, and pacifying music I can't quite place. Makes me wanna curl up and take a nap.

I forgot just how peaceful her sunroom is. Most of the outer walls of the room are glass, all twenty by twenty feet of it, as well as the ceiling. The center of the room has a large island where she does most of her work. And along the walls are shelves that take up the entire length and width of the room, standing about six feet high, overgrown with various herbs and plants. But in the far corner rests Gram's pride and joy, which we all know better than to ever touch: her spectacular pink and white Lotus flower pond. It's truly exquisite.

As I admire the cheerful room that used to fascinate me as a child, I notice she moved a chaise along the inside wall. Behind it sits a long sofa table blanketed with dozens of vanilla candles.

I know what she's up to, but I decide to mess with her a little at first. "You trying to set the mood for you and Pap, or what? We'd be more than happy to leave you guys with an empty house tonight so you can get your groove on. I'm sure it's been a while. You know, since he's been sick and all." Aunt Morgan and I snicker, watching a delightful blush form on Gram's cheeks. Something that rarely ever happens.

"Don't get fresh with me, dear. I can still put you over my knee." She sends us a coy smile, then turns to close the _Book of Shadows_ she'd so diligently been reading when we walked in. "So how'd it go with Michael?"

"It went well. He's probably across the street talking to his father at this very moment."

"Then we should cross our legs and eyes and hope he's able to get through to that stubborn old fart." We laugh at her callow attitude.

"He'll be over when they're done talking, so I'm not sure how much time we have right now." Aunt Morgan pulls out her cell phone from her purse to check the time.

Gram points to the chaise. "Then we'd better get a move on, dear."

"Yeah, I had a feeling that was for me. Nice touch, Gram."

"I do what I can, dear. Now put a sock in it and make yourself comfortable."

"Yes, ma'am." I raise my hand in a limp military salute.

"Just take a few minutes to close your eyes and get relaxed. Focus on the music."

As I sit down and stretch out, they both grab chairs and sit on either side of me.

Even though I had my doubts about this little experiment, there's no reason _not_ to try. But any time I attempt to call back a vision—I'm never able to. So I'm not sure what we can do differently this time to make it happen.

"Okay, Chloe. I want you to think about Mr. Russo. Think about how upset he was that day. Feel his emotions the same way you did. Take it _into_ yourself and try to allow those feelings to become your own. Tell me what you see?"

I shake my head. "Nothing, really. I only see the same things I did that day. There's nothing new."

"That's okay, dear. Just keep feeling those emotions. Remember how angry he was . . . and how unbelievably frightened he became when he saw us through the windows. Imagine you feel panic in your chest the same way _he_ did. Do you see anything now?"

"No, Gram . . . nothing. I told you before I've never been able to do this. It just might not work that way for me." Even though deep down I hope I'm wrong.

"Wait a minute," Aunt Morgan says, "what if we're looking at this the wrong way. Bear with me for a moment, but Chloe, didn't you say you'd never had a vision before where you _became_ another person? This was the first time it ever happened, right?"

"Yes, that's true. In my vision, I'm either myself, or I'm just seeing what happens to someone else. I've never gone into another person's body and mind to experience it the way they did."

"Okay. So maybe, just maybe, the only reason you had this particular vision in that fashion was because you were meant to understand how Mr. Russo felt. The beginning of your vision you said he was filled with remorse. But then it was replaced by fear and anger. Maybe you were just meant to know how he was feeling, and why."

"Hmm. Sounds like a logical theory," Gram adds.

"So, if that's the case, we shouldn't be trying to take Chloe back to the emotions she felt in the vision . . . we should be taking her back to where it left off . . . with the fire. Maybe she should just try focusing on the _visual_ aspect, not the _emotional_."

"You know . . . you might be on to something. So let's give this another shot. Gram, what do _you_ think?" I ask, noticing her staring off somewhere.

"Oh, absolutely. Morgan's right. If that's not how your visions work, we shouldn't be trying to tap into it. Makes perfect sense." Gram rubs her hands together. "Okay, Chloe. Close your eyes again. Try to remember exactly _where_ Mr. Russo was when you last saw him. You said you only saw him speaking to Father Gabriel, so take yourself back to those last few moments.

"Focus on everything you see.

"Your surroundings.

"What they were doing.

"Try to focus on _where_ they are.

"What do you see now, dear?"

I take myself back to the vision for a minute. "I still only see the two of them talking."

"Tell me what you see around them? Describe the room?"

"Well, it's sort of dark. There's candles lighting the room, but it's still hard to see. I can make out a large unlit fireplace behind them, and what looks to be a wall of books. It might be a library, but not a real one. It's like the kind someone has in their home."

"Wait a minute," Aunt Morgan chimes in, "that sounds an awful lot like the Russo's house across the street. I remember being in their den years ago, and there are two walls of _nothing_ but books."

"What else can you see?" asks Gram.

"Well, there's ladders in the room . . . like maybe they're painting the walls or something. I can't really see anything else. It's too dark to focus in on small details."

"That's okay, dear. Is this the same thing you saw the other night, or is this new?"

"No, it's not new. It's the same thing I saw before . . . only now I'm paying attention to the background, instead of the people."

"That's good. Just keep doing what you're doing. Take _everything_ in. Perhaps when you've been able to pick up on all the details, your vision will continue."

"But there's nothing else around them I can see. But Father Gabriel on the other hand looks pissed. He's arguing with Mr. Russo. I'm trying to hear what they're saying, but it's as if someone has turned the volume down. They're muffled . . . like they're far away. I'm sorry, Gram. I can't see anything else. It won't show me anything new." Damn it, this is so frustrating!

"It's okay, dear, you're doing great. So far, we've nailed down the location. Now all we need is to figure out _when_ this happens. Just take a break for a few minutes then we'll try again." Gram sends me a reassuring smile, but it doesn't do much for my confidence. I _hate_ disappointing them.

Perhaps this is my punishment for ignoring my visions for so many years. My inability to face my fears might have been at the expense of others, all these years later.

As the three of us sit in silence thinking, a male voice calls out. "Hello? Morgan? Aurora? Chloe? Where are you hiding?"

"We're back here, Michael! In the sunroom!" Aunt Morgan shouts.

A few seconds later, he appears in the doorway wearing a furrowed brow. An expression I've only recently seen him wear, which can only mean it didn't go well with his father.

"Hello, ladies. I'm sorry to interrupt, but Sam said you'd want to see me right away."

"He was right. How did it go with your father, dear?"

"To be honest, it didn't go well at all. I've never met a more _stubborn_ man in my life. I tried and tried to get through to him, but he wouldn't listen. He insisted what he saw that night proves everything he's ever believed about you. And he's determined to stop you from hurting other people—or yourselves." Michael runs his hands through his already messed up hair. "I even tried to tell him about the fire, but he just thinks that's a story you guys made up, just to stop him from doing what needs to be done."

"You tried, Michael, that's all you could do." Aunt Morgan places her hand on his arm, a polite gesture for most, but a huge step for her. "Did you tell your mother?"

"Yeah. I talked to her afterwards. You _have_ to know, she's not of the same mind as my father. True, she's supported him over the years because she felt it was her duty, but not anymore. She believes me when I tell her the kind of people you are . . . and she's _never_ thought you were evil like my father did. She wanted to make sure I passed the information along."

"That's very sweet of her, dear. Please tell her we said 'thank you'. It means a lot that she believes us." Gram gives Michael a somewhat uneasy smile, which only makes me nervous.

"Michael." I pause. "Are your parents doing any remodeling in their den right now?"

"Uh, as a matter a fact, they are. Not just the den though, they're re-painting the entire house. They've had a painting crew in over the last few days. Why do you ask?"

"Right before you got here, we figured out the fire we told you about might happen across the street. Now I know for sure it _definitely_ is."

"Are you serious? Oh man, this isn't good." The fear in Michael's voice grows by the second. "I _really_ need to figure out how to stop my father."

"What's that in your hand, Michael?" Aunt Morgan asks, noticing him fidget with something shiny.

"Oh." He glances down. "My father gave me this before I left . . . to protect me. This is his most cherished possession. His Rosary Beads. Beautiful, aren't they?" He holds the amber beads in the air, allowing the dangling gold cross to sway back and forth, sparkling in the candlelight.

Gram nods. "They're lovely, dear."

"Hey, I've got an idea." Aunt Morgan holds out her hand towards Michael. "May I?"

"Um, if you insist." He hands the beads over.

Right away, I know just what she's thinking. " _Fantastic_ idea!"

She winks, holding the beads in the palm of her hand. Her eyes close. I bet she's replaying the last moments Michael shared with his father.

I reach up, laying my hand upon hers for support. I know this won't be an easy thing to see, especially if he talks smack about the family.

The second my hand meets hers—I'm jolted with a surge of energy.

Without warning, the vision we've been so desperate for me to receive, begins playing.

Mr. Russo's in the den with Father Gabriel.

They're arguing about whether or not they should perform the exorcism in this house with the children sleeping upstairs.

Father Gabriel doesn't think it's a good idea, but Mr. Russo thinks the house is the safest place for his family.

I hear crying in the background.

It's Mrs. Russo.

She sounds heartbroken.

Father Gabriel gives in to his brother, walking to the doorway to tell the others they're ready to begin.

Seven people come walking into the room, but I only recognize Mrs. Russo and her daughter Natalia.

Father Gabriel stands in the center of the heavily candlelit room. A bible in one hand. Crucifix in the other.

The remaining seven people form a circle around him.

Once they're in place, Father Gabriel crosses himself then begins to speak. "In the name of God, whose nature is forever merciful and forgiving, accept our prayer that these servants of yours, the Crawford's, bound by the fetters of sin, may be pardoned by your loving kindness."

A thunderous sound shakes the entire house along with its contents.

They're frightened, but Father Gabriel continues. "Depart, then, impious one, depart, accursed one, depart with all your deceits, for God has willed that man should be his temple."

The windows rattle and the licking flames on the candles reach out, growing hundreds of beast-like tentacles.

The terrifying scene works at Father Gabriel's resolve.

In a panicked voice, he instructs everyone to recite The Lord's Prayer with him.

"Our Father, who art in heaven,  
hallowed be thy name;  
thy kingdom come;  
thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.  
Give us this day our daily bread;  
and forgive us our trespasses  
as we forgive those who trespass against us;  
and lead us not into temptation,  
but deliver us from evil.

"Deliver us, Lord, from every evil,  
and grant us peace in our day.  
In your mercy keep us free from sin  
and protect us from all anxiety  
as we wait in joyful hope  
for the coming of our savior, Jesus Christ.

"Lord Jesus Christ, you said to your apostles,  
I leave you peace, my peace I give to you.  
Look not on our sins, but on the faith of your Church,  
and grant us the peace and unity of your kingdom  
where you live forever and ever. Amen."

Father Gabriel crosses himself again. "Be gone, demons. Leave the Crawford family and this land. Damn ye back to hell where ye came from!"

The tentacles from the candles reach out, grabbing hold of the walls in ravenous pursuit.

Upon contact, the entire room lights up in a blazing inferno.

Within seconds, the flames are everywhere—trapping everyone inside its impenetrable cage.

I hear the painful screams pleading for help. The excruciating sounds seem to make the flames hungry with need.

Within seconds, the entire side of the house is ablaze.

They're dying.

Father Gabriel. Mr. and Mrs. Russo. Their daughter and her husband. The four visitors. And the children who are sound asleep upstairs.

Then the vision stops.

My heart pounds with so much force, I swear it might break through my ribs.

"Chloe, are you okay?" Aunt Morgan asks, rubbing my hand still holding hers.

"Yeah. I'm okay. Just a bit shaken. I saw it. I saw it _all_." My voice is shaky. So is my head.

"I know. I saw it too," says Aunt Morgan, in the same frightened voice as my own.

As the words resonate, I search her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"When I held onto the Rosary Beads, I started to see things about Michael's father. But then you touched my hand and I went to the future right along with you. Somehow, our powers linked together. I targeted Mr. Russo from the past, but you were able to link-in and jump to his future. It was incredible . . . but awful because of what happens."

"Will one of you _please_ fill us in on what you saw?" Gram's agitated voice makes me jump.

Oh god, I've never been good at conveying bad news. You can do this, Chloe. I take a deep breath, making eye contact with Michael. "Well, your father is going to hold an exorcism at his house, like you said, sometime tomorrow. I didn't recognize four of the people, but Natalia and her husband will be there with the children. While they're upstairs sleeping, the rest are downstairs performing the ritual. From what I could tell, things start going crazy and the candles they have lighting the room end up catching the entire place on fire. The fresh paint must make it _extremely_ flammable."

"What? I _told_ him not to use oil-based paint and stain. Damn it!" His eyes open wide. " _Please_ tell me they get out okay?" Michael's face turns white, paralyzed with fear.

"I'm so sorry, Michael." Aunt Morgan's voice cracks, eyes glazing over in remembrance of what she'd seen. "Unless we figure out a way to stop them, they all die in the fire."

He shakes his head. "No. This _can't_ happen. There _must_ be a way to stop him. Are you sure it happens tomorrow night?" Michael's fretful eyes dart back and forth between us.

"Yes, I'm sure," I answer. "I don't know _how_ I know, I just know." Even though this isn't what he wants to hear, I have to be honest. I can't help but wish I didn't.

Gram gets up, pacing across the pewter slate tiles. "Michael, you _must_ try again with your parents. Do whatever you can. If you're not able to convince him to _not_ go through with this, then we need to figure out a way to save them before it's too late."

He holds his palm to his forehead. "Okay. I'll try. I'll also call my sister and tell her to stay home with Emma and Isabelle."

"Do what you can." Gram hugs him with genuine tenderness. "Don't worry, dear. No one will get hurt. I promise."

"But on a positive note . . . at least now we know what Mom meant by us using our powers together." No matter how bad the situation, it feels good knowing I can make a vision happen—if I need to.

"That _is_ a good thing," Gram replies. "I'm sure it'll be _very_ useful when we understand how to use it. But right now, we need to come up with a plan. And it will take _all_ of us to do it."

Without giving it another seconds thought, I text Hunter with a nine-one-one, asking him to come over ASAP.

Once everyone's together, we work with Michael and Hunter to form a back-up plan for tomorrow night.

This whole thing is partly _our_ fault—so we _have_ to make it right.

#### Chapter 20

### THE BOTCHED EXORCISM

Aunt Morgan and Michael sit, pouting after yet another failed visit with his parents. And just as we expected, Mr. Russo refuses to listen to reason.

He's convinced it's all lies—so there's nothing they can say to change his mind. And to add insult to injury, now he thinks we've brainwashed his son. He's even refusing to speak to Michael as long as he's ' _tangled up with those devil worshipers again'_.

I sit in the living room, watching the surprising change in Aunt Morgan these last two days since she's been talking to Michael. And considering the goo-goo eyes they're giving each other, it's clear how much they're still in love, even after all these years.

How wild is that?

To lose the love of your life and spend the next two decades broken hearted—thinking he wanted nothing to do with you and the children you created—only to find out it was a lie and you've been hating the wrong person. Yeah, she's gotta be on a cloud.

Last night, I overheard Michael say he'd gotten married after college, but was never _in_ love with her. She was his best friend, so he thought it only made sense to get married. They were together for ten years, but his never wanting to have kids eventually destroyed their marriage. The pain he felt from losing his twins with Morgan was something he never got over—so he never wanted to try again.

But now he's found his way back to the woman he's always loved, and the children he always wanted, but lost.

I can't see what the future holds for Michael and Aunt Morgan, but my gut tells me they'll find a way to work through it. Being apart for so long has done nothing to diminish their feelings. It's extraordinary.

I guess it's never too late to start over.

I suppose I can even understand why the boys feel so strongly about _not_ helping Mr. Russo. But given the fact that we now know innocent people are involved—two of which are children—even the boys agree we have to do something.

According to my vision, we have mere _minutes_ to get them out once the fire starts. So we've spent the last few hours devising a plan that makes the most sense for everyone's safety.

We know the adults are together in the den when the fire breaks out, while Emma and Isabella are upstairs. And Michael thinks he can get his mother to let us know what room they're in after Natalia puts them to bed.

I keep trying to figure out the exact time this so-called "exorcism" takes place, but I can't trigger another vision. We know it's after dark, so we just have to sit around watching the house for the first sign of fire. Can you imagine? To make matters worse, the Russo den is the only room without windows, so we'll be lucky if we're not too late.

Oddly enough, everyone's in a good mood today. The idea of being able to use our powers, in light of this linking thing, has everyone buzzing with anticipation.

As usual, it's me who's the worrywart—so I can't get excited like they are. Not that I don't understand where it's coming from, because I do. My mind just refuses to let me think about anything other than what _could_ go wrong.

I sit on the couch watching Hunter shape-shift with my brother and cousins. It's surprisingly impressive to watch. I'm just not sure what I think of this whole thing yet. It's like nothing you can ever imagine.

He must feel my eyes burning a hole through his forehead, so he turns my way and smiles. My god, even after breaking my heart, he still manages to make me flutter.

I smile, turning the other way.

We're getting along okay, but it's still somewhat unsettling having Hunter know _everything_ about the family. My entire life I was never able to share our secrets with a single person. Now, not only does he _know_ about us, but he also has his own secrets, which we need to protect in return. It's a lot to handle.

Like the gentleman he is, Hunter's giving me plenty of space, but I'm still not myself. Yes, I made the choice to forgive him. And I can't blame him for doing the exact same thing I had done. So what's still holding me back? I miss holding him—and kissing him—yet I won't allow myself to get too close.

Is it possible hearing him say he'd fallen for me, freaked me out more than I realized? The night he told me, I was so overwhelmed by my vision, I suppose I might have over looked it.

I was so convinced this was just a crush. But now I know destiny has other plans.

It's uncanny how well Hunter gets along with my family. As I sit here admiring the bonds he's formed overnight, I'm reminded of what it was like _before_ he came into our lives. He's had an effect on each and every one of us. Is that part of the prophecy, too?

We try deciphering the riddles to figure out _who_ will play _what_ part in the prophecy. The only thing we know for sure is, tonight's plan is the pivotal event that puts everything into motion.

But no pressure!

I watch the four guys as they practice playing out possible scenarios. It's fascinating to see how they can link their powers. If I weren't so freaked out, I'd be joining in on the fun.

No one has any idea how things will work out tonight—or _if._ There are any number of things that could go wrong on this rescue mission, but I need to have faith in our abilities. We can do this—I know we can.

I force myself to stop fretting so I can spend some time with the ladies of the house. Another five minutes watching the guys and I might have testosterone-overload.

I drag my feet into the kitchen, finding the rest of the group going over the plan with Pap. Even though he can't make any magical contributions, he still wants to help any way he can.

"What's up with the face?" Pap asks as I plop on the bar stool next to him.

"Oh, you know me." I admit, shrugging with a sigh.

"Well, get over it for a few minutes and have some pie. Key Lime or Boston Crème?" His joyous grin makes it impossible not to smile.

"How about one of each?" I lean my head on his shoulder as he chuckles.

"Good call, dear. Who else wants a piece?" Gram opens the fridge, pulling out two heaping pans.

Everyone raises their hands. She shakes her head, grabbing a stack of paper plates and plastic forks from the pantry.

"Are the boys ready?" Aunt Morgan turns to look out towards the living room. "It'll be dark soon."

They were pretty much done when I left the room. "Yeah, I'd say so. They're just messing around now."

"Well, I'll go tell them it's almost time. I'd feel much better if we're ready and waiting before the sun goes down." Aunt Morgan tugs at her tight collar, heading towards the boys.

"Good idea. Let's hurry up with dessert and get everyone together on the front porch." Gram puts what's left of the pie back in the fridge.

We shovel down dessert then head out to get the group together.

On our way towards the front porch, Hunter grabs my arm. "Chloe. Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Once everyone goes out the door, I turn to him. "What's up? You aren't getting _nervous_ , are you?"

He shakes his head. "No, no. It's nothing like that. I'm used to these types of situations. Usually _much_ worse. It's just that, we haven't really _talked_ since everything was brought out in the open. I'm not sure how we are . . . and I really miss you. I didn't want us going into this without telling you how I feel." Predictably, he shoves his hands in his front pockets.

Oh my god, I've missed you, too! "I know what you mean. And I know I've been distant. I guess I just need time to digest everything. Not to mention the fact that I've been worried about tonight. And for the record, Hunter . . . I miss you _just_ as much. I was _so_ happy a few days ago, and then someone pulled the rug out from under me." I look into his eyes, seeing his pain over the distance he's caused.

My stomach ties up in knots to see him like this.

"Well, we have no way of knowing how this is going to work out tonight, but I need you to know . . . I love you. I don't want you to say anything back. I just need to make sure I tell you, in case something should go wrong." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "We haven't been seeing each other very long, but I knew I would love you from the very first moment our eyes met at the airport. I've never experienced anything like this, and I just hope you give me the chance to prove it to you one day."

Whoa!

My heart races, his words registering with undeniable clarity. I wasn't expecting this at all. There's so much swimming around in my mind, but I know this isn't the time to get into it. So instead of trying to find the right words, I reach out for his hands. The second our skin touches, all sense of reality disappears.

I tug his hands around my waist—then I wrap mine around his neck.

Our eyes only meet for a second, but it's all I need to make me forget my own name.

Up on my tippy toes, I search to find the sweetness of his lips. My legs tremble. I hunger for the taste of his mouth—but I crave his touch more than anything. As we get lost in the most delicious, passionate kiss, the sound of giggling breaks our trance.

"Are you kids coming out . . . or were you waiting for your personal invitation to come in the mail?" Pap chuckles, turning away from the open door.

I'm not ready to let go just yet, so I rest my head on his chest, continuing to hold on tight. I can feel he wants me in his arms, just as much as I want to be here. But we have an important job to do. The lives of innocent people are about to be in _our_ hands.

We dolefully pull ourselves apart without saying a word, exchanging a knowing glance as I grab his hand and lead him to the porch.

No one must be aware of what Pap walked in on. My family sits, watching the Russo house in pained silence, awaiting the moment of a reckoning.

Gram stands up. "Does everyone know what they're supposed to do?" With slow, deliberate eyes, she looks to each of us.

Everyone nods.

"Okay, good. Does anyone have any questions?" She eyes us again, but no one utters a word.

Hunter clears his throat. "Well, I don't have a question, but I _do_ have a suggestion."

"What is it, dear," Gram asks, wearing her pleasant, business-like smile.

"Well, even though I'm not _actually_ a fireman, I've still had a lot of training in emergency situations. So if we're planning to run into a burning house, it might be a good idea to wet our clothes first to avoid catching on fire ourselves."

"You know, I can't believe we never thought of that. We were so worried about getting everyone _out_ of the house, we never thought about it from that side of things. Terrific idea, Hunter. Dru, would you please grab the garden hose and pull it around to the front?" Gram points to the back yard.

"Sure thing, Gram . . . I'm on it." Dru jumps to his feet and takes off around the corner of the house.

"Also," Hunter adds, "we should have on pants and long sleeves to protect our skin. I know we plan on being in and out like lightning, but you just never know what might happen. I'd feel a lot better if we had on footwear and clothing that wouldn't melt, but I know it's too late for that. Just be as quick as you can."

"You heard him everyone. Hurry up and change your clothes. Chop-chop!" Gram barks the orders, smacking her hands together like a teacher.

A few minutes later, everyone's dressed and ready to go.

For thirty minutes, we wait for a sign.

Something. Anything.

Michael still hasn't heard from his mother about what room the kids are in—so we'll have to wing it.

My stomach knots, thinking of what we're about to do.

I look around at my family, all wearing the same apprehensive, furrowed brow. We've never done anything like this before. It's enough to freak _anyone_ out.

Michael stands up. "I'll be right back. Maybe I can see something." He walks over to his parents' house, turning back every few seconds to look at us. If _we're_ worried, he must be going out of his mind. His entire family is behind those walls.

He disappears around the side of the house.

Dru steps in front of us, his face turning snow white.

Within seconds, Michael flies back around the corner shouting, "Now! Now! I hear screaming inside! Go _now_!"

The instant the first words leave his mouth, we see flames emerge in the front.

Everyone bolts to their feet and Gram grabs the nozzle, spraying us down like a mad woman. Just as rehearsed, Dru, Dhelia, Ash, Aidan, Aunt Morgan and I, form a circle and join hands. Gram begins chanting something in the background, but the only thing I'm able to focus on is the sight of Hunter shape shifting into the most enormous bird I've ever seen. He darts across the lawn, gracefully taking flight as he makes it into the Russo's yard.

As Aidan begins Teleporting, the rest of us link-in with him—then disappear in a flash. The last thing I see is Hunter landing on the Russo's second floor balcony, changing back into his human form before kicking the window in.

We're blinded by darkness for only two seconds.

In the blink of an eye, we're standing in the middle of a burning room. The first thing I see, is the scaffolding they'd been using to paint, had fallen in front of the closed door, barricading any possibility of escape. _Now_ I understand how they became trapped in the first place.

I try scanning the room, but I can't see through the clotting smoke.

My eyes burn like they're full of acid as I struggle to find Michael's family.

Cries for help draw our panic-stricken attention to Mrs. Russo, Natalia, and two men, huddling together on the floor for protection from falling debris. As we move closer, the flames grow hungry, demanding something to feed on.

My chest constricts—from both fear—and polluted air. I brush it from my mind as screams come from somewhere close. As Dru, Ash, and I work our way towards the women—Aidan, Aunt Morgan, and Dhelia move in the opposite direction.

"Help us, please!" Mrs. Russo cries out in tortured desperation.

I lean down beside her. "That's why we're here. Where are the others?"

Mrs. Russo and her daughter try looking around, but the noxious scene before them makes it difficult to see.

"Ash, can you conjure up some wet rags?" I ask.

In a flash, he hands them dripping wet, white towels, which they use to cover their faces.

As we try moving them from the corner, a loud cracking sound of breaking wood gets my attention. I look up, just as a large beam begins falling from the ceiling. "Dhelia! Above you . . . look out!" I shout.

She turns as the beam loses its last hold, falling right towards them. Her eyes light up like a neon sign, sending the flaming piece of timber flying into the wall in the opposite direction.

Oh, thank god. That was close.

"My girls!" Natalia cries out, pulling the cloth away from her face. "They're in the attic. Please help them."

"Don't worry. Someone is already looking for them." I try to calm her, but I remember Hunter's only looking on the second floor. _Not_ on the top floor. Bile rears its ugly head at the thought of something happening to them. Or _him_!

"Dru, can you please do your thing?" I ask, hoping he can calm them long enough to get out.

"Consider it done, sis."

As he works his magic, the rest of the group appears with four other people.

"We need to get out of here _now_!" Aidan shouts, lifting his arm to block his face from the growing flames beside him.

We push them together, forming a protective circle around them. "Grab on to one of us. Hurry!" I yell.

In a flash, Aidan's teleportation zips us outside the blazing house and back on our front lawn. Everyone coughs to clear their throat, but it doesn't look like anyone has injuries beyond a few scrapes and misleading soot smudges.

Wow! How'd we get so lucky?

"Is everyone okay?" I ask, scanning their faces for something I might have missed.

"Yes, we're okay." Mrs. Russo's voice sounds hoarse and irritated.

As if somehow I feel his presence getting closer, I look up towards the balcony, just as Hunter appears through the broken window. "I can't find them," he shouts. "Where are they?" Trepidation remolds his handsome face.

"They're in the attic! It's two doors down from where you are on the right!" Natalia yells, wincing as she squeezes her raw throat, while tears stream down her ashen cheeks. "Dear god, _please_ help him find my girls."

My heart goes out to her. I know how unbearable it was to lose a parent. But a child? How would one come back from that?

Hunter's chiseled face, ingrained with alarm as he takes in the state of his surroundings. The entire house is in flames. He turns, leaping back through the window in search of the sleeping children.

"Peter! Where's Peter?" Mrs. Russo shouts, desperately searching the faces around her.

Everyone stops to look.

What the . . . . We missed Mr. Russo? "Aidan, please take me back inside. He's still in there." Dread now controls every inch of my body like a puppeteer.

"Chloe, no! It's too dangerous," Aidan says.

"The fire trucks won't be here for a few more minutes," Gram cuts in.

"We _can't_ leave him in there, Aidan." I place my hands on both sides of his face. "Please, we _have_ to save your grandfather. Trust me, you don't want this on your conscience."

I _know_ Aidan. I _know_ what's going through his mind.

But I can see in his eyes he knows I'm right.

He bounds to his feet the same second I do, then we join hands and disappear.

Once our feet make contact with the ground again, the searing heat warns me we're too close to flames.

"Mr. Russo! Where are you?" I scream at the top of my lungs while pulling down the sleeves of my wet shirt.

"Mr. Russo? Where are you? Granddad?" Aidan yells, taking me by surprise.

"I'm h . . . here," says Mr. Russo, so faint I'm surprised we even hear it.

As fast as we're able to cross the room through the flames, we make it to where he lay in a charred heap on the floor. He's beneath a large beam, burned more than you'd think possible for someone still breathing.

The pain this man must be in. My god, he didn't deserve _this_.

Tears flood my eyes as I see Aidan's horrified face. His bottom lip trembling.

We join hands, leaning down to lay our free ones upon Mr. Russo's scorched flesh. How is this man even still alive?

Seconds later, we're back with the others in the yard. I hear Mrs. Russo from behind me, screaming the instant she sees the overwhelming state of her husband. "Oh Peter, what have you done?" She cries, falling to her knees beside him.

"I . . . I'm so sorry." His words are breathy and forced.

Aunt Morgan grabs my arm. "Chloe, please do something."

I scan the faces of those who will surely know about my power if I choose to save him. But it doesn't matter. I have no choice. Despite the horrible things he's done to my family, I know I must save this man.

He has burns covering half his body. He shouldn't be alive.

I squat down on the ground next to him, placing one hand on his blistering, half-mutilated forehead—and the other against the melted fabric barely covering his seared chest.

His eyes open.

"C . . . Chloe?" As he recognizes my face, tears fall down his blackened cheeks.

I inhale past a scratchy throat, closing my eyes to let the healing power flow from my body, down through my fingertips. My head tingles from the energy and my palms feel like they're on fire. Is it warmth from the healing, or from the wounds lifting from his body? It's so hot.

Shocked gasps surround me, but I ignore it. I continue my mission.

But then a high-pitched scream from the distance breaks my concentration.

I look up to the second floor balcony where I'd seen Hunter two times before. He stands out of harm's way, with Emma and Isabella in his arms. The girls tremble, but otherwise seem okay.

"He found them. Thank god," cries Natalia.

As everyone looks up with relief stretched across their faces, the most spectacular, majestic, ivory wings emerge from Hunter's back.

My mouth falls open in awe.

He leans down, whispering something to the adorable little girls that brings a smile to their faces.

Hunter looks towards us before stepping off the balcony in one fluid motion.

And as the most magnificent wings with at least a ten-foot-span glide them through the air, the full moon appears from behind him—like he's surrounded by a glowing orb of light.

I've never seen a more breathtaking, exalted vision in my life.

He looks like an Angel!

_My_ Angel.

As if caught in a gentle breeze, they soar through the air, falling like a weightless snowflake unable to catch up with time.

Nothing else around us exists.

No hatred.

No fear of what the future might bring.

Only this beautiful moment remains.

All eyes glued to the image, as if being sent from above to answer their prayers.

Hunter lands on the ground just a few feet in front of me.

With my hands still on Mr. Russo, he sits up, his eyes glued to Hunter. "Holy mother of God. It's a miracle."

I shake my head. "No, Mr. Russo. It's _magic!_ "

With a smeared, ashen face, he turns to me. "How could you save a man who wanted to destroy you? Who has hurt your family so many times over the years?" His voice is but a whisper.

"Because it's not your fault. People fear what they don't know. But now you _do_ know, right?" I send him a sweet smile.

"Yes, I believe I finally do." He coughs. "I think I need to get up now." He tries to move.

"Not yet. You aren't completely healed." I try to hold him down.

He coughs a laugh. "That's okay. I need to suffer a bit for what I've done. A painful reminder will do me some good."

"Are you sure?" I can't leave him like this. It wouldn't be right.

"Yes, I'm sure. Thank you, Chloe." He looks up at Hunter. "And thank you, Agent Payne. I had no idea what you were."

Hunter retracts his iridescent wings, looking at Mr. Russo with an innocent grin. "I'm _whatever_ you need me to be, Mr. Russo. And you're welcome."

I catch Hunter's meaning, but it flies right over Mr. Russo's head. His assessment of Hunter isn't entirely accurate, but there's no need to open _that_ can-of-worms right now. If he wants to believe he's actually an Angel—I'll let him. No one needs to know he's a Shape-shifter.

Loud sirens interrupt this monumental moment. Only a little late, three fire trucks and two ambulances pull in. They rush to hose down the house, but it's unclear how much they'll be able to save. It's in pretty bad shape.

Gram and Pap brought a cooler with bottled water from the house, knowing we'd all need it from breathing in so much smoke. And because she's always on the ball, she even brought wet rags for everyone to wipe off their hands and face. She's _always_ ten steps ahead of the game.

While the paramedics check everyone out, the group thanks us for saving them. Both Mr. Russo and Father Gabriel apologize profusely for their actions, but now seem relieved they were wrong about who we are.

Gram's kindness even surprises me. She told the Russo's they were more than welcome to stay with us, but they declined considering everything they've already put us through. And what we've already done for them.

Hours later, everyone but the Russo's have gone home, and Mr. Russo asks if he can talk to us before he leaves. Even though it's late—we agree. Mostly out of curiosity to hear what he has to say.

Natalia and Tony decide it would be best if they head to a hotel to settle in. It was a traumatizing night for the girls.

Father Gabriel also decides to take off. He's had more than enough excitement and desires the solace he can only receive behind the sacred walls of his church.

As we head in the house, Hunter comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around me. Right now, I can't imagine there's anything that would feel better. Well, other than a bath that is.

Everyone takes a seat in the living room and Mr. Russo gets right to it. "I'm sure most of you don't know this, but more than three-hundred years ago, this land was shared by both of our families, just like it is now. The only difference is our family's belonged to the same coven. Apparently, they fled to New York just before the Salem witch trials in 1692, but they didn't actually own this land until sometime in the 1700's." He pauses, looking around the room at our shocked faces.

I can't tell who's more surprised. Gram or Mrs. Russo.

"That's right," he continues, "the Russo bloodline also comes from Witches. For hundreds of years they did wonderful things together. That is, until my great, great, great, great, great, grandmother, Raven Parsons, ruined _everything_.

"As legend has it, she somehow got involved in the black arts. One night, while calling on a power to aid her with her magic, she was possessed by a powerful demon who wanted to be reborn as a human.

"I'm not sure how long it lasted, but while it did, she was responsible for hundreds of deaths. She was later burnt at the stake for her crimes, but it was the family who suffered the most. It was because of _her_ that our family gave up the craft to find Christ and the Catholic Church.

"The promise had been made that someone from each generation would be a man of the cloth . . . to oversee the family and the land, to ensure no more magical misdeeds are done. I suppose you could say Father Gabriel is a 'guardian' of sorts." He pulls out the rosary beads Michael returned after the fire, rubbing the cross with his thumb.

"From the way it was always told . . . it was only the ancient Wiccan's who were truly good. It might be safe to say we were brainwashed to believe Witchcraft in _any_ form, is evil." He covers his heart with his hand. "Yes, I'm guilty of succumbing to this belief, and for that, I'm sorrier than you'll ever know."

Is this really happening?

"I know what my ignorance and prejudice has cost your family . . . and my own for that matter. Twenty-one years ago, I feared for my family and their safety. I'd hoped you weren't practicing magic, but when I found out you were, I panicked. There is _no_ excuse for the lies and betrayal . . . and I can never right the wrongs I have done. I just need you to know, after what I have seen here tonight, I no longer believe you're evil. You would have had every right to leave me burn in that fire for my sins. But despite my horrible misdeeds, you had enough compassion in your heart to save my family _and_ me. I don't know that I would have had such strength, had the tables been reversed.

"You went out of your way to warn us. Not once . . . but twice. Even when I didn't listen, you _still_ figured out a way to save us. So the way I see it, there is no way your magic could be bad when _that's_ how you choose to use it.

"I will be forever grateful and in your debt. If there is _ever_ anything I can do to repay your kindness _,_ please let me know." He pauses. "But before we leave you folks alone, there's just one question I have." Mr. Russo looks at Gram.

"What is it, dear? Ask away."

Mr. Russo's face turns red. "I just need to know . . . what on earth was going on the night I saw you through the windows in the back? It scared the daylights out of me, but now I wonder if I might have imagined it."

Gram laughs. "No, Peter . . . you didn't imagine anything. What you witnessed was another miracle of sorts. We brought Samuel home from the hospital that day because they told us he was brain-dead. But before we pulled the plug, I wanted to try a few spells to see if there might be something we could do to save him. What you witnessed . . . was us calling upon the power of our ancestors. What you saw was their spirits. It was _that_ night we learned of Chloe's gift to heal. You see, when her twin died at birth, her healing power transferred to Chloe. We had no idea." Gram smiles at me.

"One of those spirits was my daughter, Moira, and she shared that little tidbit with us. As you can see, Samuel is alive and well, thanks to Chloe."

Now it's _me_ who's embarrassed. I squirm. Man, I hate attention. Ugh.

"So you're a Healer _and_ a Seer? That's a lot of power and responsibility for one small girl . . . but also such a blessing. You _all_ are." He looks around the room at each of us. "You should be so proud of who you are. I only regret it took me this long to realize it. Don't _ever_ let someone make you feel less than special, just because they don't understand you . . . or your beliefs."

My family smiles at him. I'm sure from both relief and happiness at this unbelievable moment.

"I know it will take time, but I hope you can learn to forgive me. Especially Michael, Morgan, and my extraordinary grandchildren. You know, I was ready to die tonight. I had told myself it was time to give up. But then I heard a voice call out through the smoke and flames. It was the sound of hearing 'Granddad' that gave me the strength to speak up, and the will to live." With his eyes now full of tears, he looks across the room at Ash and Aidan with such pride.

Tears stream down his face as he hangs his head. Watching the display, you can only feel sorry him.

Ash and Aidan stand—then walk up to the broken Peter Russo and wrap their arms around him in a heartfelt embrace. When they let go, he's bawling so hard he can't speak. With his wife now at his side, he holds up his hand to wave before disappearing through the front door.

Both family's lives will be forever changed because of this night. How could they not be?

I watch as my family forgives the Russo's, _regardless_ of what they've done.

Without prejudice.

And without hesitation.

So what's _my_ problem? If these two families can find forgiveness after a lifetime of betrayal, surely I can forgive Hunter. I have to.

Apparently, he's my destiny.

As Hunter wraps his strong, loving arms around me, I realize— _everything_ truly does happen for a reason.

#### Epilogue

### PARANORMAL POKER

For days, we've been counting our blessings everything went so well with the big rescue. I'm still not sure if it was luck—or proper planning that was on our side.

Regardless, it could have gone _so_ wrong. _So easily_.

We are, without a doubt, on the uphill climb towards mending the fences with the Russo's. That alone makes it all worth it.

Getting things back to some semblance of normalcy is all I can think about these days. I still have a few months to enjoy my summer vacation before classes start at NYU, so doing normal nineteen-year-old activities sounds perfect. Especially with my hot new boyfriend.

Tonight will be the start of a new tradition in the Crawford house. Ever since I returned home, we talked about having game night with the family. And after much deliberation, we came up with the perfect game for a family such as ours: _Paranormal Poker_.

Gram wants us to practice using our magic on a regular basis, so we thought it would be more fun to make a game out of it. The rules for Paranormal Poker are . . . there _are_ no rules.

Since Hunter's on assignment tonight anyway, the event is family only. Just six Witches showing off their mad-skills.

As Gram rounds everyone up, I can't help but realize—for the first time in my life since I was a child—I'm _truly_ happy. In every aspect of my life.

I never thought this day would come.

For many reasons, it was a bumpy start after coming back to Long Island. But now I don't have a single complaint. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Hopefully, some of that luck will stick with me throughout this game. I _totally_ suck at cards.

"Alright, Sis. Get ready to lose your ass off." Dru smiles, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of his winnings.

I laugh at his over-eager arrogance, just as the rest of the crew walks in ready to play.

Pap will be the official dealer, while Gram observes. With two people on each side of the table, we're ready to begin a simple game of _Five Card Draw._

Pap shuffles, dealing the cards with the flip of his wrist.

I'm a bit unsure how much _my_ abilities can help me in this game—so I watch everyone else. To start, there isn't much to notice. But once they throw away the cards they don't want—it gets interesting.

A smirk forms on Ash's face.

Aidan bobs his head like he's pleased with himself, so he probably doesn't need to use magic at all.

Dhelia isn't so easy to read, but my gut tells me she's not happy.

Dru must sense someone has a great hand, so he folds in a huff, tossing the cards on the table.

Aunt Morgan, however, has a confused look on her face as she bites her lip.

I try to see if I can trigger some sort of vision to show me who wins. But I get nothing.

My hand sucks, so I also fold.

After that, everyone else lays down their cards.

No contest. Ash wins with three jacks.

"Before the next hand, I'd like everyone to tell me what, if anything, you were able to do?" As always, Gram's eager to learn about our abilities.

"Well, I couldn't see _anything_ , and I had a nasty hand," I tell her.

"Yeah, my hand sucked, too . . . but I knew Ash was gloating inside, so I was convinced his hand was good." Dru still wears a bit of a pout.

"Well, when Pap dealt my new cards, I tried to pull the ace out from the bottom so he'd grab it, but it didn't work." I've gotten used to Dhelia's look of annoyance. Squinty eyes. Pursed lips.

Aunt Morgan taps her nails on the table. "I had a decent hand, so I didn't try anything. Though, I did try to see if I could get a read off someone without touching them . . . but it was fuzzy. Definitely needs some work."

"I guess I had some decent success," Aidan adds, in a modest tone. "It wasn't enough to win, but I was able to link-in with Ash to change two of my cards. Was kinda cool."

"Really?" Gram's brows spring up. "You didn't need to touch him to share his power? That's _wonderful_ news. Perhaps the rest of you should try doing that next time."

"Okay, here comes the next hand." Pap deals.

Everyone discards what they don't want then wait for new ones.

I rearrange my hand. Perhaps I can try something different this time.

I close my eyes, concentrating on having a vision.

There's nothing.

I try to link-in with Ash to see if I can conjure a card.

Still nothing.

Perhaps I can link with Dru to _feel_ who's confident about their hand.

Nothing.

I open my eyes for a second, looking around at the rest of the group. There's an odd tingling sensation in my head, like faint electrical currents. I've never felt anything like it. Someone must be trying to link-in with me. Sneaky suckers!

It's Aidan.

The second my eyes meet the Teleporter's, I'm mentally catapulted into the future.

I'm in the same ballroom I've seen so many times in past visions.

Orchestra music plays as the handsome blonde man swings me around the dance floor.

I'm excited to be in his arms. I missed him so much it hurts.

He reaches for the amulet around my neck, holding it in the palm of his hand.

He leans down to whisper in my ear. "You're in danger, Chloe. I'm here to get you out."

What? Danger? I don't understand.

How can I be in danger at a place like this? "In danger how?" I ask, though I'm afraid to hear the answer.

"Look around you. These people aren't you're friends, Chloe. They're using you, and they plan to destroy you when they're finished." His eyes are so serious, but my inability to see his face through the mask sends an uneasy shiver up my spine.

I do as he asks, looking around the room at the other masked faces.

In the future, I know most of these people. I work with them every day. In my mind, I know this to be true. Even though right now, I don't know who they are at all.

As I try to understand what his warning means, the masked faces turn to look at me.

We continue dancing, but as we spin around the room in circles, the eyes on these familiar faces turn black-as-night.

Panic wells up in my chest.

What's happening?

I look back into the sparkling, emerald eyes of the man who holds me in his arms. "What's happening? Please get me out of here. I can't breathe."

The second the words leave my lips, there's a loud bang—like a gunshot.

With abrupt force, we stop.

His arms fall from around my waist.

What's going on?

Loud screams come from somewhere just behind us.

Then, without warning, he's gone.

He vanishes.

My head spins as everything goes dark.

When the lights come back on, I'm in the long hallway I'd seen before in a vision.

"Chloe, hurry. You have to save him." There's that voice again. I know that voice.

"Come on, Chloe, you can do it."

Wait a minute. It's my mother.

How did I not realize that before?

But something doesn't feel right.

Why are my hands wet?

I lift them and realize they're covered in blood.

Oh my god!

Where'd the blood come from?

Fear paralyzes me.

"Chloe, you have to hurry. There isn't much time."

I fall to my knees, my stomach threatening to revolt.

I clutch my belly, looking up to view my surroundings.

"Chloe, he needs you. Please, you have to hurry."

As I force myself to look up, I can see someone up ahead of me.

I can't tell who it is, but I know it's someone I care about. I feel it in my chest, my heart pounding out of control.

As I get to my feet and begin moving forward, I see there are five other figures standing there.

The closer I get, I realize they're standing around someone who's laying on the ground.

I try to move faster, but it's as if I'm moving in slow motion.

"I'm so sorry, Chloe." My mother's voice, riddled with sadness.

Why is she sorry? What happened?

"I'm almost there . . . I can help, just hold on," I yell, fighting to make my legs move faster.

I see their faces and recognize my family.

A few seconds later, I make it to them.

I look down and my heart stops instantly.

It's Hunter.

Oh my god, no!

He lay motionless, his tux drenched in blood.

"No! This can't be happening." Tears pour down my face.

I throw myself on the ground beside him, putting my hands on his chest to heal him.

"He was trying to save you, Chloe," Dru says.

As soon as the words register in my mind, it hits me.

The blond man I was dancing with—was Hunter! It had been Hunter all along, that's why I knew him so well—and why I missed him. He had shape-shifted into another person.

Oh my god, I'm such a fool.

I look down to see if Hunter's waking up, but there's no change.

"Please help me . . . I'm not strong enough. We need to link powers so we can save him. Please, help him!" I plead with my family. But they don't move. They just stand there staring at me.

He's lifeless beneath my sticky, powerless hands.

"Chloe, it's too late. He's gone. You can't bring back the dead," says Aunt Morgan.

"No, I can't lose him!" I shout.

As quickly as it began, the vision stops.

My eyes spring open and I yell, "Hunter can't die. No, I won't allow it!"

My clueless family watches in mournful silence.

It's in this very moment I realize, I'm truly in love with this extraordinary man—and he doesn't even know it.

We just found each other.

I can't lose him.

My pulse speeds out of control.

I can't foresee another loved one die. I can't!

I've spent years despising my visions. But for the first time, I now know they've become the most important part of who I am. And they _will_ help me change Hunter's fate.

Nothing—and no one—will _ever_ take this gift away from me.

_Or,_ the man I love.

# # #

Dear Reader:

Thank you so much for continuing this journey with me through The BirthRight Series. If you enjoyed it, please take a minute to leave a review (without giving away any spoilers or surprises) on your favorite retailer's website—or on Goodreads.com. Without reviews, it's nearly impossible to reach new readers. And if we ever hope to have a chance at getting the series turned into a TV show or movie one day, we need to get the word out there. Plus, the more reviews the series gets—will show me just how much you love it—so I can give each character from the series their own book. There's still so much more to tell.

Also, I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts. Feel free to send me an email anytime.

Thank you so much.

Brandi

BrandiHallAuthor@aol.com

### PURCHASE

### TEMPTED

#### A BirthRight Novel #2

### TANGLED

#### A BirthRight Novel #3

### BIRTHRIGHT

#### A BirthRight Novel Prequel

Coming 2015

The complete BirthRight Series Collection is available at all online retailers.
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### ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I'd like to give a special thanks to all the patient people who have supported me through this four-year journey towards publication. We were almost there once, and I truly appreciate the support when I chose to cancel my book deal. Because of that bad experience, I opted to do it on my own with this book, without looking for another publisher. It wasn't my initial goal to self-publish, but I promise, it's just the first step towards making my dream come true. This book might have been my first—but because of your patience and support—my future books will be so much better.

Thanks so much to my supportive family who helped me bring this sweet story to life: Shirl Hall, Penny (Sunderlin) Hood and Susan Martin. The ideas I bounced off you should have left some nasty scars. And thanks to my supportive big brother, Eric Hall, and his awesome girlfriend, Shawn Gentile-Scott. I wouldn't have published this book without the love and support of my family. I love you so much!

Thanks to my amazing beta reader friends who offered priceless feedback on the 1st draft of this book: Darlene Hahn, Paula Glenn, Erikka (book reviewer), John Scipione, Sharon Nelson, JL Verbeck, Jamie Hubler and Bart Palamaro.

Thanks to my former RWA critters who helped me cut, cut, cut: Rebecca Zanetti, Jennifer Dorrough, Laura Hogg and Venus Campbell.

A special thanks to the Feline Diabetes Message Board (FDMB) for helping me get my kitty in remission this summer so I could meet my book deadline.

Thanks to my beloved and extremely supportive uncle, Gary (Monk) Domanick. You are missed more than you know.

An extra special thanks to Michael Bair, my former mentor and boss at MSG Networks, who taught me how to believe in myself and gave me the courage to follow my dreams.

And thanks to my amazing friends—and my Avail Technologies family—who supported my dream so I could leave my job to focus on writing: Mark Krueger, Dorsey Houtz, Lisa Foreman, Carly Thomas, Brittany Amodio, Liz Shipman, Gavin Houston, Ryan Braithwaite, Holly Pilch, Brandi McGarvey, Mike Fleck, Ken Roth, Greg Lute, Doug Peterson, Deb Young, Gina Dixon, Kim Baker, Chad Huffman, Jim Cassidy, Jim Komenda, Todd Beaumont, Kiran Mody, Greg Kilbride, Chris Clugston, Chris Johnston, Conor Stanley, Aaron Tippet, Milo Thomas, Dean Ackard, Jeff Pogue, Zack Stimely, Dan VanClief, Rick Spangler, Kevin McKay, Troy Whitesel, Derek Leydig, Judy Stover, Tim Geibel, Eric Wolf, Bob Fiume, Ron Hansen and Destry Pollard.

