Tangled Thoughts

by Cara Bertrand

  It was time to break this other noose. I understood now that finding freedom wasn’t a one-time deal. Freedom was a journey, a series of choices, and sometimes what holds you back turns out to be yourself.

  I thought once more about Carter, about how I loved him. That was something I didn’t have to let go—loving him. It would always be a part of me, locked into a private place in my heart just like his necklace was locked away in my room. But loving Carter wasn’t all I was ever going to do or be.

  And, I realized, though I would always love him, maybe I wouldn’t only love him.

  Finally, I said, “I think I could be.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Carter

  College had so much vacation time it was a wonder anyone learned anything. After my New York sojourn, I went back home again, still days before my return to DC. It was busy in the store as the Academy students filtered back to campus after being away for all of break. Chelsea Agro was one of the first to arrive.

  She sat behind our counter, watching me with a little frown on her face. Seeing her there, with that look on her face, reminded me intensely of Jillian. I forced myself not to look away before I ducked under the counter and sat next to her.

  “Hey, Chels. Welcome back. Aunt Mel says you’re doing a great job here.” In a rare show of generosity, Dr. Stewart had helped solve our staffing issues with an allotment of student work hours. Applications had been legion. For the first time ever, Aunt Mel had an overrun of help.

  “Thanks,” Chelsea said. Her voice was small, like she was, and sweet. Her dark hair was longer than last year, but except for her big brown eyes, she didn’t seem any bigger. Or maybe it was just that I’d grown some, too. Going under the counter was harder than it used to be. “I like working here. A lot. Sometimes I help even when it’s not my turn. Mom says it’s okay, as long as my grades are good. Melinda lets me take some of the galleys.”

  I smiled. “I’m glad they’re going to a good place. And that Aunt Mel has such good company.”

  “She misses you.”

  “I miss her too.”

  Chelsea paused, like she was going to say something else and changed her mind. “I saw you on TV.”

  “Yeah? How’d I do?”

  “Good. Super good. You were, like, so funny.”

  “Honest?”

  She nodded emphatically. “Yeah, honest. We all cheered when they started talking to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Watching the press conference, or any of the times the camera had caught me since, was like torture. So of course I’d done it repeatedly. What surprised me most was how decent even I thought I performed. I was a better actor than I gave myself credit for. It made me wonder how many others were.

  Chelsea darted a glance at me and away, the little frown returning to her face. I had a feeling she wouldn’t tell me whatever she really wanted to say unless I encouraged her. “Is something the matter?” I asked.

  Chelsea’s eyes widened and she looked down at her hands, shaking her head. “No. It’s just”—she glanced out at the lounge and raised her chin a fraction—“not the same.”

  The not the same she indicated was Lex, who was laughing on one of the good couches, just like old times. Alexis had needed zero convincing to ditch her parents and come with me to see her Northbrook friends before we went back to school. Plus, I felt better about the flying when she was with me, though I didn’t tell her that.

  I didn’t say anything for a moment. I hadn’t forgotten that little Chelsea was a Cupid. Lainey called them love detectors. Finally, I said, “Not the same how?”

  Chelsea shook her head again. “Just, you know—I’m sorry. I should keep my mouth shut. Mom tells me that, too.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Damn curiosity to hell.

  She took a deep breath and went on. “It’s just, I liked her, you know? Lainey. She was always so nice to me.”

  “I liked her too.”

  “I know.” Chelsea nodded. “And I—I’m sorry. It’s not the same. With Alexis. You’re mostly an orangey shade, and she’s, well, she’s really hard to read. She doesn’t know what she feels about anyone. She feels more about you than anyone else though,” she added quickly. “So there’s that. She always has.”

  “And orange is bad?”

  “No! It’s not,” she said slowly, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “It’s just—God I can’t believe I’m saying this to you, but it’s more…physical,” she practically whispered, darting her eyes at me and away again. “But it’s more than that. Pure lust,” she whispered the last word again, “is yellow. Plenty of married people are shades of orange.”

  I twirled a pencil from the counter across my fingers and thought about that while Chelsea rang out a customer. What she said seemed accurate, maybe better than I’d hoped. I tried not to think too hard about my feelings for Lex out of fear they were less than they should be.

  “And Lex?” I asked when we were alone again, part out of curiosity and partly to delay talking about Lainey.

  Chelsea thought for a moment. “It’s not bad either, not really. Before she used to feel what we call covetous of you. And now that you’re together… she feels so many different things nothing has settled. She’s, um, plenty orange too though.” Chelsea rushed through the last words and I looked down at the counter to try to hide my grin. “I think,” she went on, “that Alexis is really strong willed and everything is a competition, even her feelings. Like Brooke? She loves her—in the friend way—but it’s a fight between the kind of love that makes you happy for someone or jealous of someone.”

  I regarded Chelsea, with all her self-possession and maturity yet only in the eighth grade, and couldn’t help thinking of Jillian again. “That sounds about right,” I finally said and Chelsea’s face went pale.

  “God, I must sound—I don’t mean it in a bad way—I was just—”

  “Chelsea.” She stopped fidgeting and looked back at me. “You sound incredibly perceptive. And mature, I might add. I’ll never look at oranges the same again.”

  “Oh, God.” Blood rushed back into her face. I tried not to laugh but couldn’t keep from smiling.

  “Sorry,” I said and bumped her lightly with my shoulder. “And I’m glad you’re here to keep Aunt Mel company. She loves to talk about love.”

  Chelsea grinned back. “I know.”

  After another customer and a few moments to prepare myself, I finally asked, “So how is it different?”

  “What?”

  I cleared my throat. When I realized I was playing with the pencil again, I put it down. “It’s not the same, you said. And I wondered…how.”

  “Oh! Oh.” She toyed with one of the levers on the ancient register. “Are…are you sure you want to hear it?”

  The longer I talked to her, the more I liked Chelsea. “You are perceptive. But yeah, I’m sure.”

  She took a breath. “It used to be perfect,” she said and I think I flinched. If Chelsea noticed, she didn’t show it. Her game face was better than mine. “It really was. Just pure, perfect red. Those are the highest forms: red, gold, and white. And you guys glowed. I liked to watch you—sorry, that sounds creepy—but it’s just because it’s so rare. Your aunt and uncle are like that too and I thought, how lucky to have two couples who really loved each other.”

  “I guess Lainey didn’t really feel the same way.” I slipped off the stool and leaned my elbows on the counter.

  “That’s the thing,” Chelsea said, “she did.” My eyes snapped back to her and then away again.

  “Something must have changed.”

  Chelsea nodded. “Something, I guess, but it wasn’t how she felt about you. I was at graduation. So I saw you, that day. The two of you, on the field. Nothing had changed. If anything, it was stronger. And, well, I heard later that she—what happened—and it made no sense to me. So—I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t have said all this. Sorry. Sometimes I wish I was a real Empath. I’d know so much more.”
She shrugged her little shoulders and returned to toying with the register.

  “Hey.” I bumped her again. “Don’t apologize. Never apologize for your gift, or for being brave enough to talk about it. Most people are afraid to talk about emotions. I…appreciate it.”

  “Did it help?”

  “No.” I laughed, a real one, and she smiled big enough to show me all her braces. “But I’m glad you told me. Your gift must be very strong if you’re so good with it this early.”

  Chelsea blushed again. “I practice a lot.”

  “Good. Remind me to introduce you to my uncle. He’d love you.”

  “You mean Senator Astor?” Chelsea looked at her hands. “I think I’d be too scared to meet him.”

  “What? Why? He really would love you.” After a second, she met my eye, and in her brown ones I saw all the thoughtfulness of a girl who pays attention all the time.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said. “He’s silver. Always silver. About everything, even you.”

  “What’s silver?”

  “Covetous,” she said. It came out breathy and soft, but I felt like I’d been slapped. I must have looked like it too, because Chelsea’s eyes went enormous. “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Mom will be so mad! I’m sorry,” she repeated, before she slipped past me to busy herself in the store.

  When she glanced back over her shoulder, I hadn’t moved.

  I still hadn’t moved when my always-quiet Uncle Jeff came up behind me. “Ready to go?” he said, and I startled. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  FOR ALL IT seemed contrary, I found a peacefulness to holding a gun. At the range, I guaranteed myself total concentration and a respite from whatever noise was crowding my head. Coupled with the private thrill of being able to use all my gifts in a public place made shooting one of my top three favorite things to do.

  It was also the thing Uncle Jeff and I did together, and the time I felt closest to him. After my talk with Chelsea, I was more glad than ever I’d asked him to go. We were lucky to snag the private range for an hour this afternoon.

  I hesitated at the door. She was already in my head from earlier, and I couldn’t help but think about Lainey. Last time we’d been here, something strange had happened. She told me this story: she dropped a bullet, I slipped on it. I hit my head hard enough to momentarily knock me out.

  When I came to, she was crying harder than seemed necessary for a pretty minor accident. I had a wicked headache, but not even a lump or bruise or any memory of the fall. She’d claimed she was so upset over her clumsiness and how it could easily have been worse. But for maybe the first time, I didn’t believe her.

  I remembered—something. I remembered turning, not falling. I remembered her eyes going wide like she was afraid—of me, not for me. I remembered the clock over the door. The placement of the hands and how it seemed like too much time had passed for what little happened. I remembered—

  “Plenty of spaces in the main room,” Uncle Jeff suggested benignly.

  I shook my head. “No, I’m good.” I pulled the door handle and it flew open with a whoosh, so hard I almost stumbled. “I’ve missed this place.”

  Three quick rounds of fifteen later and I had shaking arms and a light sweat going. In other words, I finally felt pretty good.

  Three rounds after that, Uncle Jeff said, “So. Do you want to talk about it?”

  The thing about being quiet all the time is it makes you observant.

  “About what?” I stalled.

  “Whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

  Did I? If anyone would listen, it would be Uncle Jeff. More than what Chelsea had said, more than being here, I had this growing feeling of—something. Something I couldn’t fully explain. Finally, I said, “Have you had any luck? With what we talked about in November, the…Marwood question.” I said Marwood question, like it wasn’t about Lainey, or by extension, his half brother.

  Uncle Jeff didn’t raise an eyebrow at my verbal tiptoeing, like Aunt Mel would have. He shook his head. “There’s nothing left for me to find, or if there is, we don’t have access to the places I’d need to look.” All the relevant people were dead, and their things lost or inaccessible. If Uncle Jeff, with his Venator’s gift for finding things, couldn’t track down the answer, there was no way I could.

  “So what’s next?”

  “There is an ‘easy’ way to find out.” He paused for only a moment in his reloading to look at me. “DNA.”

  DNA. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. “You can do that?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Zeus will do it.”

  “Discreetly?” Ezekiel Usunat, affectionately known as Zeus, was the Perceptum’s geneticist. Members often chose to contribute their DNA to the project. As lead investigator of unreported Sententia, Uncle Dan worked with him often.

  “For me, yes.”

  “What about getting the DNA?”

  “It’s only the Marwood side that’s…problematic.” He paused. “I don’t suppose you have anything that might…?” I shook my head. Definitely not anymore. “If we can get it, I can have it tested against my brother. The family markers will show, or not.”

  “I’ll get it,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

  Uncle Jeff nodded. “I know you will.”

  He finished his reload and snapped the clip in place but hesitated before donning his sound gear, waiting for me. I was only halfway done. I could reload in my sleep, or with my eyes closed. My fingers knew what to do. But they weren’t doing it. Embarrassed, I quickly packed the rest of the clip.

  “It’s okay, you know,” Uncle Jeff said.

  I glanced over at him. “What is?”

  “How you’re feeling.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’ve stopped reloading again.”

  Shit. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “I heard a little bit of what Chelsea was saying.”

  My fingers stilled again. I took a breath. It was weird, but something about this distracted reloading felt…familiar. I couldn’t understand the sense of deja vu that settled on me, like my fingers had disobeyed me once before. I stared at the wall of the shooting lane because I couldn’t look at Uncle Jeff when I asked, “Do you think she was right?” My voice was smaller, younger than I remembered. I cleared my throat.

  “She’s a perceptive girl.” He paused. Slowly, he said, “My brother is a lot of things. Perfect isn’t one of them. None of us are. It’s okay to recognize that.”

  I nodded. I wanted to respond, to say something that would make at least one of us feel better, but I couldn’t stop staring at the wall. My brain automatically did calculations and comparisons even when I didn’t ask it to. I could tell you there were seven new holes since the last time I was here.

  No. There were eight.

  Seven, my brain insisted. One was already there.

  I stared at the wall until I could see it, could understand what my brain was telling me and what it had recorded. In the commotion, I hadn’t consciously noticed. I mentally layered images until the truth appeared:

  One new bullet hole had appeared in the wall between when Lainey and I entered the room and when we left.

  Except I didn’t remember the shot.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Lainey

  Returning to campus was strange and disconcerting. Everything felt different. Everything was different. Even me. It was freezing out, icy and gray, having finally snowed while I was gone. City snow was ugly, clumped and dirty within hours of falling, not at all like winter at Northbrook. The wind bit with teeth that were sharp, gusting up between buildings and slamming you when you turned corners.

  Under my coat and hat, I was tan, still warm inside from vacation and the rapid pounding of my heart. Anticipation made my pulse race and palms sweat as soon as I returned to the city. I didn’t know if I dared to hope for anything with Jac
k, after how I’d left him.

  But at the same time, I felt new. Freer. It was like by taking off the necklace, I could breathe again. I’d trapped myself on top of a mountain and grown used to it there. When I finally came down, I realized how thin my air had been. Possibility felt like something I could reach out and not just find, but take.

  I closed the door to my room and sighed. Nat really was gone, her side of our room barren and depressing. I tossed my coat on her naked bed. Could I have done more to help her? I mean, I’d known she was unhappy. I wondered if this would be my curse forever, wishing I’d helped someone more when I had the chance. But at the same time, I couldn’t have forced her to classes or to be happy either. Nat, I reminded myself, wasn’t ultimately my responsibility. I flopped back on my own bed and called Amy.

  “Do you want to move in with me?”

  “What?”

  “My roommate is gone. If they’re replacing her, the new girl hasn’t shown up yet. Classes start in the morning, so…”

  “Let me get this straight—you basically have a single now, you’re in college, and you want someone to move in?”

  “Well, yeah.” Though mostly I just wanted her.

  “You’re crazy. Oh, that’s right.” She snapped her fingers. “I forget you already have a single. In a building down the street. With a doorman.”

  “The whole reason I’m here is to have roommates.”

  “You have two.”

  “But now my bedroom is ugly and lonely.”

  “Invite Jack over. Then it will be neither.”

  If only it were that easy. “He probably doesn’t want to see me.”

  She made this clucking sound. “You don’t know that, heartbreaker. You just need to apologize.”

  I flipped over onto my back. “I don’t have his number.”

  “You realize this is the 21st century, right? There are other means of communication. And also, seriously?”

  We never exchanged them. We used email for class and then, when we met at the club, I thought it seemed…special, maybe even daring, just to show up at the time he said and assume he’d be there. It would have ruined the feeling to have called to confirm, texted I was on my way, etc., etc. But then, I went and ruined it anyway. I didn’t want to say any of that to Amy, so what I said was, “Do you think I’m self-absorbed?”