Claire stopped chewing long enough to ask, “So that’s not true either? I thought that was kinda cool.”
“You know we’re probably getting an F, don’t you?” Violet finished, ignoring Claire.
“An F . . . for introductions?” Rafe turned to Jay then, petitioning for an ally. “Come on, man. Help me out here. She’s being a little dramatic, right?”
Violet glanced up at Jay and saw a flicker of something she recognized all too well, the hint of amusement. Her lips tightened as she locked eyes with him.
He raised his brows, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Leave me out of this,” he said to both of them, laughing just a little too easily. “I don’t wanna get involved in your battles.” And then he grinned at Violet, looking intentionally contrite. “That was the right thing to say, wasn’t it?”
Across from them, Chelsea pretended to cough the word “whipped” while Gemma cupped her chin in her hands as she watched Jay and Violet with more interest than she should have. “Is she always this . . . controlling?”
Violet glared at Gemma, but it only made Gemma’s lips bow upward. A smile that could pass for a sneer, depending on who it was directed at. And when she looked at Violet, it was definitely a sneer, no matter how pretty it was.
Inside, Violet felt her emotions churn at the prospect of spending even another hour, let alone a week or an entire semester, under the same roof as Gemma and Rafe on a daily basis. They were her teammates, sure, but they were also stirring up trouble in the part of her life she’d always considered her own. The one she tried to keep separate from the secrets of the team and her ability.
After stopping at the office to talk to the counselor about the possibility of changing some of her classes so she wouldn’t have to spend the majority of her school day with Rafe, she reached the biology lab just after the bell sounded . . . which meant, on top of everything else, she was tardy.
It also meant there were only two seats still available by the time she’d arrived. She was surprised to find that Gemma was in this class with her. She hadn’t bothered to look at the other girl’s schedule. In fact, it hadn’t even crossed her mind they might actually share classes together.
The other thing that threw her off was that the seat next to Gemma was one of the two that remained vacant. Considering Gemma had been the star of the show today—at least where the boys were concerned—she would have expected to find them clamoring to sit beside her.
But when Violet glanced at the seat, she realized why it was still open. Gemma’s designer book bag was already sitting there, and Gemma had already started unpacking her stuff and spreading out. It was clear she intended to take up more than her fair share of the lab table.
Gemma looked up as she opened the cover to her binder, which was an embossed alligator print that matched her book bag. Violet rolled her eyes and made her way toward the only other open seat in the lab.
But she faltered mid-step when she saw who was sitting in the spot beside it.
Grady Spencer.
Grady, who Violet had known since elementary school . . . who she’d played tag with on the playground and ridden bikes with and learned to skip rocks with at the lake.
He was all those things, and more. But he was also the same Grady Spencer who’d tried to kiss her last year . . . even after she told him she didn’t want to be kissed. Even after she insisted he stop. He’d been aggressive and forceful, and had crammed his tongue inside her mouth. Even now the memory made her heart race and her palms sweat.
Seeing him there, she felt trapped.
Grady hadn’t noticed her, as he dug through his backpack, his gaze down. But he would . . . any second now. And then he’d see the panic on her face, and he’d know that he was the one who’d caused it.
She wondered why she even cared what Grady thought. He had caused it. It was his fault she felt this way. His fault she stood frozen in the middle of the classroom, unable to take another step. Unable to even think.
Maybe he should know how she felt about him. How torn she was between the Grady he’d once been when they were kids . . . and the Grady who’d pawed at her, drunken and belligerent, refusing to believe she didn’t want him the way he wanted her.
She looked around, sure that everyone must be watching her now. How could they not be? How could they not see the dread coming off her in anxious waves?
But they weren’t. No one in the class even glanced her way.
Except for Gemma.
Gemma was watching her, her expression more intrigued than usual. Her lips taut and her eyes intensely curious.
And something else. Something more . . .
Violet wasn’t sure what it was she saw there. If it had been anyone other than Gemma, she would’ve thought it was worry. But this was Gemma she was talking about.
Violet blinked, certain her imagination must be playing tricks on her. Certain it was merely the panic of facing Grady, distorting her perception and screwing with her mind.
But when she looked again, it was still there, the look. And this time she was convinced it had to be real.
And then Gemma did something else unexpected. Violet watched in disbelief as the other girl reached over and removed her book bag from the chair. After a moment, probably only the span of a breath really, when Violet didn’t react, Gemma lifted her eyebrows and nodded toward the empty chair beside her.
And Violet knew: Gemma was telling her to sit in the open spot.
But why? Violet wondered, even as she backtracked in her own footsteps, trying not to breathe an audible sigh of relief that she wouldn’t be forced to sit next to Grady.
It didn’t matter really. Violet didn’t have the luxury of being choosy; she took the seat wordlessly, not sure what she could say to the other girl.
She frowned as she pulled out her own spiral notebook—a plain one with a flimsy green cover—and dropped her backpack on the floor. She knew how Gemma felt about her.
What was it she’d said exactly, that Violet reeked of the dead? Was that how all empaths felt about her? That she carried the scent of death on her wherever she went? She supposed she’d have to wait until she met another empath, someone who could sense the emotions of those around them, to find out. So far, Gemma was the only one she knew.
She glanced sideways at the blonde girl, who was staring straight ahead now, almost as if she were intentionally ignoring Violet. In spite of herself, Violet couldn’t stop from asking, “Why?”
For a moment she thought Gemma wasn’t going to answer her as she continued to look forward at the space where the teacher was already introducing herself and explaining the ins and outs of Anatomy & Physiology. But Violet didn’t believe Gemma was as captivated as she appeared to be by the teacher’s explanation.
Just when she’d decided it was pointless—the other girl wasn’t going to answer her at all—she heard Gemma sigh and say beneath her breath: “Whatever that guy did to you, it must’ve been pretty messed up.” She turned her pointed chin just the scantest amount to appraise Violet’s reaction, and seemed satisfied when Violet’s eyes widened. “I honestly don’t think I could spend an entire semester in the same room with the kind of tension you were feeling. You were making me uncomfortable.” She looked forward again, indicating the conversation was over. “And you’re welcome.”
CHAPTER 3
VIOLET SAT IN HER USUAL SPOT. THE SAME CHAIR she sat in every Monday afternoon. She listened to the ticking of the clock as she tapped the toe of each shoe to its rhythm. First one foot, then the other, then the first one again. She leaned forward and watched them, as if this were the most fascinating piece of choreography she’d ever laid eyes on.
It wasn’t. In fact, she was bored to tears, mentally counting down the minutes until her session with Dr. Lee would finally come to an end and she’d be put out of this particular brand of misery.
Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .
Is it possible to actually die of boredom? Violet wondered, as she fi
xated on the toes of her sneakers, forcing her gaze to remain down. But she could feel the good doctor looking at her. Watching her. Waiting for her to grow tired of this latest delay tactic.
Last month, during one of her sessions, she’d told him she had to use the restroom, and she stayed in there for almost the entire hour—longer than anyone should ever have to stay in a bathroom. He’d seen through her little ruse, of course, and at her next visit he told her, even before she’d made it out of the waiting room and had the chance to ask, that his restroom was “out of order.” She hadn’t tried that trick again.
She sighed as softly as she could. Her shoulders were starting to ache from hunching forward and she wanted to stretch them, just a little.
She waited for as long as she could, until the crick in her neck was screaming for relief, and then she decided to take a chance. She arched her back, rolling her neck ever so slightly from side to side, relishing the stretch in her sore muscles. Her mistake had been in miscalculating Dr. Lee’s position. In not realizing that he’d shifted in his chair, so he was leaning toward her, and without meaning to, she accidentally made eye contact. It was fleeting, and Violet looked away again just as quickly as possible, but it was too late. Her reprieve had come to a bitter end.
She sagged, slouching back in her chair, not willing to admit how badly her back had been aching. “Fine,” she told him, glancing at the clock. “We only have five minutes left anyway. Might as well get this over with.”
Dr. Lee pressed his fingertips together, the way he always seemed to do when he was thinking about what he wanted to say. After a moment, he asked, “I take it you’re sleeping better?”
Violet shrugged. “I sleep enough.” But then she realized that her lie would get her nowhere; she needed him to give her another prescription. Her shoulders fell as she admitted, “But I could use a refill.” She searched his face, looking for any sign that he was satisfied to have something she needed.
If he did, his smugness didn’t show. “And what about echoes this week?” His bushy brows raised, same as always. He was like the clock in that regard—predictable. Tick-tick-ticking away.
She shrugged, a non-answer, knowing what was coming next: He reached up and tapped his lips. “Did you run across anything? Do you still feel like you have your impulses under control?”
Violet tapped her feet again. She knew what he wanted to hear. That she was doing great. That everything had changed since she’d met him.
Thanks to you, Dr. Lee, those pesky echoes never bother me at all. You’re my hero! Or something to that effect.
Problem was, it was true . . . more or less. Dr. Lee was the one who’d made her ability bearable. He’d taught her the breathing techniques and meditation and had even used hypnosis, all of which helped her not just to overcome the fog of depression and unease and just plain desolation that had once developed in the wake of discovering a body. That used to haunt her, making her drift through her days, as if she were a shell of her real self . . . until the body that was plaguing her was buried at last.
Until it found peace.
But now . . .
Now she felt something different. There was still a certain cloudiness, a sense of being weighed upon by the dead. But it was nothing like she used to experience. Nothing like before she’d met Dr. Lee.
And together with Sara, they’d taught her the importance of working as a team. Of not wandering into dangerous territory—even when the pull of an echo was strong—without waiting for backup.
Under any other circumstances, in any other lifetime, she would have praised him for that. Instead, she shrugged again, trying to look as taciturn as possible. “I can handle myself” was all she said.
“Good. That’s good to hear,” he said, smiling as if she’d just led a cheer in his honor. “I guess that’s about it.” He got up to go to his desk and Violet waited as he slid open the locked drawer where he kept his prescription pad. “Oh, and Violet? One more thing.”
“Yeah?” she said absently.
“How was school? You started today, right?”
Violet cringed. She wanted nothing more than to get this appointment over with and get out of here, but there was something in the way he asked the question, in the way he’d kept his back to her as he’d posed it. “Fine. Why?”
He closed the drawer, sliding the key in the lock methodically, as if this were the most important task he’d ever taken on. And then he turned back around, his eyes boring into her. “I just wondered how it was having Rafe and Gemma there.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in, but when they did Violet shook her head. “Was it you? Are you the reason they’re at my school?”
When he nodded, Violet gripped the seat of her chair, her fingers digging into the upholstery. Her voice was filled with quiet disbelief. “But . . . why?”
“Because, Violet. You’re not keeping up your end.” His lips parted and he was no longer the benevolent psychiatrist he pretended to be here in his office. “Being part of the team isn’t just about coming to your scheduled appointments and showing up at the Center when Sara calls you. I expect you to commit to this. Your team needs you.” He held out the prescription for sleeping pills to her, and for a moment she just stared at it. Inside, she was shaking, and it took a moment to register that she was shaking on the outside as well. When she reached out to take the paper from him, her hands trembled violently.
But when their fingers brushed, his voice softened. “And whether you believe it or not, you need them too. Having Rafe and Gemma at your school is just another part of being on the team. It’s our way of making sure you’re okay.”
She wasn’t sure if it was his tone or his touch, or whether she was lapsing into some sort of shock, but she could practically feel the concern radiating from him, and it made her believe what he said as acceptance washed over her. His words made sense to her.
He was right, of course. She was being stubborn to believe otherwise. They were her team, and she knew they only wanted what was best for her. She nodded back at him, letting his conviction calm her.
He placed his hand on her elbow, and he patiently led her to the door.
“I’ll see you next week,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything before then. . . .” It was the same thing he’d said every time since the first time she’d come to see him.
She didn’t have to respond because she was already in the waiting room, the door closing behind her.
Violet tried to shake off the feeling that she’d been played.
Sitting in her car in her driveway, parked far from Dr. Lee’s office, she couldn’t remember why she’d let him convince her it was okay for Gemma and Rafe to be spying on her at her own school.
It seemed they were there to stay. Whether she liked it or not. And she most definitely did not.
Chelsea didn’t seem to mind though. It had been sort of weird to watch her friend in the halls between classes, focusing so much energy on Rafe. Watching as she held one-sided conversations with the less-than-chatty loner and then laughed giddily at his nonexistent jokes as if he’d just charmed the pants off her. It was even weirder though as, by the end of the day, Chelsea seemed to have drawn Rafe out of his shell. Rafe, who preferred to brood and be left alone. Rafe, who hated pretty much everyone.
Violet actually saw him smile at Chelsea. It was small, practically invisible unless you were looking for it, and maybe Violet shouldn’t have been looking at all. But she had been . . . and she’d seen it.
The barest flash of teeth, the stark glint of amusement almost hidden behind his thoughtful blue eyes.
She’d turned away then, ignoring the pang, as the stone that had been there all day settled more heavily in her gut. She shouldn’t care.
So what did she feel? she wondered. Certainly not the warm sense of acceptance she’d felt less than an hour ago, when Dr. Lee had assured her it was all for the best. She glanced at the brand-new bottle of pills she’d picked up from the pharma
cy on her way home, wondering if Dr. Lee had somehow managed to drug her while she was at his office.
Whatever the sensation had been, it had worn off now.
She stepped outside, relishing the fact that although it was getting late, summer temperatures still lingered and she didn’t need a jacket just yet. As it grew dusky, the sky was still tinged at the edges with fiery pinks and oranges that found their way up from the edge of the world, clinging to the undersides of the few clouds she could see, making them look like fat, sticky mounds of cotton candy.
“Vi?” She heard her mom call out to her as she slipped through the front door, and even though she’d meant to skulk up to her room and hide, she drew up short, knowing her mom would want to hear all about her first day back at school.
When she came into the family room, she saw her mother curled up on the sofa. “I made you some tea.” She held her own cup, and Violet tried to recall a time when her mom wasn’t drinking hot tea . . . even during the most sweltering days of summer. “It’ll help you relax.” Her mom smiled. “Maybe you’ll even sleep better tonight.”
“That must be some magical tea,” Violet said, a devilish grin finding her lips as she leaned her shoulder against the wall. She watched her mom pour another cup and slide it across the coffee table toward her, inviting her to sit.
“Not magical, just chamomile,” she answered, and Violet studied her mom’s fingernails, the polish beginning to chip and peel. Violet curled her fingers, hiding her own bare nails as she wondered if her mom—or anyone else—had noticed that she hadn’t painted them since her abduction. Since Caine had painted them for her. “And peppermint. It’s good for your sinuses.”
Violet smiled at her mother, shoving away from the wall and joining her on the couch. “My sinuses are just fine, thank you very much.” She picked up the cup and inhaled the steam coming up from it, infused with the scent of mint and the sweet smell of chamomile leaves. She leaned back, putting the cup to her lips and sipping. She didn’t tell her mom that she’d sleep fine tonight, that she had something stronger than tea to tide her over.
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