————
“Are you serious?” I asked Jilly as around me, everyone started talking at once.
“I’m not cooking my own Destiny by keeping a girl locked in my closet,” Cal was saying, “so really not everyone is doing it. I’m just saying.”
Milo was muttering, “This is not okay,” as Garrett said, “I don’t understand. Rochelle bought you?”
“From who?” Dana demanded. “Who sold you to Rochelle? And FYI, whatever it was that you signed, it’s not legal. You can’t buy or sell a human being here in Florida. At least not yet.”
All the while, Jilly was speaking over them. “If you drop that,” the girl said, her volume getting louder as she pointed to the blood bag and syringe still in Dana’s hands, “and it breaks or spills, she’ll just take more blood from me, which probably will kill me—she’s already taken too much. On second thought, why don’t you just fucking do it, because then at least this time I’ll be dead and it’ll finally be over!”
That shut us all up. This time…?
Of course that was when Garrett dropped the entire open bag of licorice-flavored Doozies. The colorful little balls clattered onto the tile floor in punctuation to our shock.
Dana spoke first. “Who sold you to Rochelle?” she asked again, as Garrett scrambled to pick up the spilled candy.
Jilly’s chin went up. “What does it matter to you?”
“It matters to me.” What do you know? Garrett had finally said something useful.
Jilly glanced over at him and her eyes filled with tears. But then her mouth hardened and she blinked them back. “Yeah, well, you’re an idiot.” She turned back to Dana. “I sold myself to Rochelle.”
None of us believed that.
“Okay. But who got the money that she paid?” Dana asked with a patience that I didn’t expect. “Your father? Or was it dear old Mom who sold you to be bled dry? Screw her, Jill. I’m emancipating you. Right here, right now. You’re officially free—you owe your parents nothing. So come on. Let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”
Jilly’s face got even tighter, and even though it was clear that Dana’s guess was dead right, I knew that Dana’s tough-guy approach wasn’t going to work on this kid.
Sure enough. “I’m not going anywhere,” Jilly said tightly. “Screw you.”
And suddenly, I knew what was keeping her there. “You have, what, a brother or maybe a sister?” I asked.
“Brothers,” she answered sullenly.
“What are their names?” I asked. “Older? Younger?”
“Ronny’s my twin,” Jilly said flatly. “And Jack…” Her face crumpled, but only for a second before she was back to her default almost-bored expression. But the crack in her voice gave her away when she said, “He’s only two.” She shook her head, correcting herself. “Three, by now.”
I remembered that family I’d met in the Sav’A’Buck parking lot—gaunt and shivering in the cold morning air. Their hunger evident in their empty eyes… “And your mom and dad were both out of work. Maybe even…homeless?”
“Maybe.” She mocked me. “What do you know about it?” She included Garrett in her scathing look. “Stupid rich kids.”
Milo pretended he believed that selling herself to save her family had been her idea as he asked, “So you sold yourself to Rochelle in order to feed your brothers?” And who knows? Maybe it had been Jilly’s idea. But the fact that her parents had actually let her do it…? That was not okay.
Jilly shook her head, and when she answered Milo, I could tell that she trusted his quiet calm and she opened up a little. “I was sold to a D-farm. The farm rents me to Rochelle. She’s my second mistress. The first one jokered pretty fast. It happened while she was at work, so I survived.”
“And when she died—your first mistress—you didn’t somehow earn your freedom?” Milo asked, and Jilly just laughed her disgust at what was clearly now his stupidity, too.
“Or try to escape?” Calvin chimed in.
“That wasn’t the deal,” she told us grimly. She could see we didn’t understand, so she made it super simple. “The D-farm owns me, and they rent me out to the client. If the client dies—when the client dies, because they all die, they’re stupid Destiny addicts, right? But if I happen to survive when the client, my mistress, finally jokers, then I have to go back to the farm. They get me into shape, fatten me up, let whatever injuries heal—and then they rent me out to someone else—another addict. Lather, rinse, repeat.”
“So Rochelle pays, what, monthly rent for you?” Dana clarified, exchanging a glance with Milo. I knew what she was thinking. That explained why Rochelle pawned her jewelry and left an envelope of cash in her car’s wheel well—in exchange for what had seemed like nothing in return.
But was, in fact, a rental payment for the blood from this girl who was her slave, locked in a closet in her house.
“I don’t know how it works.” Jilly shrugged. “I don’t care. What does it matter?”
“So…when will you be free?” Milo asked.
“Never,” Jilly said. “The contract was for life. Most of us don’t live long.”
“So just don’t go back,” Dana said. “When Rochelle finally dies.”
In response, Jilly held out her hand, and there, on the inside of her forearm, about halfway between her wrist and the inside of her elbow, was a small bump.
“It’s a tracking device,” she told us, and she was so pale that I could see its greenish light flashing from beneath her skin.
“But you told me that was a blood-sugar monitor,” Garrett said.
Jilly gave him a withering look of disdain as Dana said, “It’s not very deep. Someone give me a knife. I’ll cut that shit out of you right here, right now.”
“No!” Jilly pulled her arm back, cradling it against her chest. “If I do that—if I break the agreement, they’ll kill my family.”
“And what will your parents do?” Dana asked harshly. “When they run out of money again? Sell Jack? Or maybe they’ll have another baby and hope it’s a girl with G-T powers so they can sell her, too?”
Jilly flinched. “They got enough cash to start over. Buy a place to live. My dad got a job as part of the deal and…” She shook her head. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“Yeah, because they’re such upright citizens,” Dana countered.
“Just go,” Jilly said wearily. “Get out of here. You don’t understand.”
She was right. We didn’t understand. We couldn’t. But then Milo surprised me by quietly saying, “I understand.” He looked so sad as he sat down on the floor, his back to the wall of the closet, just like Jilly. “What if we reach out to them?” he asked her. “Your family? Maybe they have enough money saved now—maybe they could buy you back.”
“Get real, Miles.” Dana scoffed at that. “You honestly think that’s gonna happen?”
But Garrett latched on to the idea. “Maybe they feel awful. Maybe, even if they don’t have the cash, they’d be willing to, I don’t know, maybe…go into hiding so that you can escape…?”
Jilly was unmoved. “You’re a moron, Garrett. I’m already dead to them. Besides, I have no idea where they are. It’s not like we exchange birthday cards.”
“I can find them,” Cal said. “I just need your last name.”
“Fuck you,” she said.
“Is that with an F or a P-H?” Calvin tried to make it into a joke, but Dana had had enough.
“Okay,” Dana said. “I’m done. Let’s just grab her and go. We’ll cut that thing out of her arm after we’re out of here. Garrett, Skylar.”
“No!” Jilly said as both Garrett and I went into the closet—more out of reflex than an actual desire to manhandle the girl out of Rochelle’s house.
But the moment I stepped inside that claustrophobic little space, I was immediately hit with waves of
nausea. It was more than just a memory of last night’s bad dream. Whatever I was feeling was psychically enhanced.
And even though the last thing we needed here was more drama, I was so overwhelmed that I fell to my knees. Somewhere, Morgan was rolling his very green eyes.
But it was beyond weird—like I was suddenly back in that nightmare. I was in that closet, feeling sheer terror as I waited there for the man with the belt to come back and beat me senseless.
“Who is he?” I blurted as both Dana and Milo rushed to help me. I shook them both off—although it was entirely possible that Milo recoiled with horror. Again. But this time, at least, I understood why he’d let go of me as if I’d burned him. My head was filled with images from that awful dream.
“Oh, my God,” Milo breathed as Dana got in Jilly’s face.
“Cut that shit out,” Dana ordered. I could tell she was ready to kick Jilly’s butt—thinking it was something that the girl had done that had brought me to the floor.
Jilly got defensive. “I’m not doing anything. I’m not allowed—it’s in the contract. No G-T behaviors while under the client’s care.”
“Who is he?” I asked again, this time aiming my question at the younger girl.
Jilly looked at me, her eyes quizzical. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sky, no,” Milo said, but I spoke over him.
“The man,” I continued. “With the belt. Does he work for Rachel? Did she hire him to come in here and hurt you?”
There were a variety of special hormones and enzymes in a Greater-Than’s blood. I don’t know the exact details of the science, but I did know that adrenaline, which was created by fear and pain, produced more of those hormones and enzymes. In plain English, that meant if you terrified and tortured a G-T right before you drew her blood to use it to cook Destiny, you ended up with a way more potent batch of the drug.
But Jilly was staring blankly at me. “There’s no man,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sky,” Milo said again, but again, I was already talking over him.
“The man,” I repeated. “The one who beats the crap out of you.” I turned to Dana. “I saw him in my dream!”
“Skylar.” I finally looked over to find Milo gazing at me, shaking his head. “There’s no man with a belt. Not here. Not now.”
As I stared at him, I realized…whatever this was that I was feeling, it was…coming from him…?
“That was my nightmare,” Milo told me quietly, and I didn’t need to be touching him—I could tell he was ashamed. In fact, he looked like he actually might start to cry. But his gaze didn’t waver as he locked eyes with me. “The man with the belt and the scabs on his knees? That was my stepfather.”
“The one with the dog?” I whispered.
Milo nodded. “Yeah, he had the dog, too,” he told me. “He sometimes made me feed him, which…sucked. But at least he let me out of the closet to do it, right?”
He was trying to make a joke, and I felt my eyes fill with tears. Last night’s dream had been Milo’s nightmare?
“I spent seven months locked in a closet about the same size as this one,” he told me as he looked around the tiny space. “It was after my mother died. It started because he didn’t like it when I cried. At first, he’d let me out when I stopped, although sometimes he forgot. It became his default punishment—the beating was optional.”
We were all silent, Jilly included, so Milo kept going. “When I was nine, someone broke into the house and stole his stash, and he blamed me for it. For seven months, he only took me out of that closet to beat the crap out of me or to, you know, feed the dog—and myself. I ate dog food for about that long, too. When I ate.” He turned to look at Jilly. “This is not okay. I know you signed a contract, and you think that means you have to stay here, in Rochelle’s care—”
She cut him off. “I know you think I’m crazy—”
Dana cut her off. “You’re not crazy,” she said. “You’re a victim of some serious abuse, and you can’t think clearly. You’re starving; you’ve lost too much blood—so I’m gonna do your thinking for you. You’re going to have to trust that we’ll find your family and at least get your brothers to safety.”
“What are you doing?” Jilly asked, panic in her voice as Dana used her telekinesis to lift the girl up. Her arms were still wrapped around her knees. Dana had her pinned there—she couldn’t get her arms free or straighten her legs. “Stop it! Don’t! Don’t!”
I scrambled to move back out of the closet—Milo and Garrett did, too—as Jilly began to howl. It was a primal noise, unlike anything I’d ever heard, and we all clapped our hands over our ears. Except, Dana, that is, who was blasting out her TK as Jilly struggled to get free.
Books exploded out of the bookshelf and we all ducked, but I got slapped in the face with a battered and ancient paperback copy of the first Harry Potter book. There was symbolism there. I just wasn’t sure what it was.
I nearly tripped over Calvin’s chair—he alone was moving closer to Dana, as if he could somehow help.
“Dana, you need to calm her down,” I warned, shouting to be heard over Jilly’s wailing.
“Gee, thanks, Bubble Gum,” Dana said from between gritted teeth. “I never would’ve thought of that.”
I’d experienced Dana’s G-T version of a straitjacket, and I’d barely been able to move my head. But Jilly must’ve had some serious countering skills. As I watched, she got first one leg free and then other, and then suddenly both of her arms. She flailed wildly as Dana still managed to keep her hovering about two feet above the ground.
The ceiling fan directly overhead kicked into overdrive and started to creak, its lights flickering on and off, as if an electrical surge was threatening to shut down the power entirely.
“Jilly!” Dana exclaimed. “Stop this!” I could see the vein pounding at the side of Dana’s temple.
But then, Dana levitated, too—but instead of hovering, she flew backward and crashed against the wall, her back hitting with a loud and painful-sounding thunk.
She landed gracefully, both feet on the tile floor—but so did Jilly, who’d broken free from Dana’s control. For a moment, both G-Ts looked freaked. But then Dana’s expression changed. And she switched to full-on pissed off in two seconds flat.
“Enough,” Dana hissed as she stared intently at Jilly. Her eyes were narrowed, chin down. I knew that expression well by now. Dana was trying to mind-control the younger girl.
But whatever G-T powers Jilly owned, they were stronger than Dana’s mind control.
Because Jilly didn’t tilt her head to the side and comply, walking out of the house with us. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared back at Dana in the same fashion, even as she very slowly and deliberately backed up, right into that closet.
It felt like the very air around us was vibrating.
All of the lights were flickering now. I looked up, because as the fan blades spun faster and faster, the base began to loosen from the ceiling. Books were one thing, but I didn’t want that crashing down on us.
But then, without warning, the closet door slammed shut. Jilly was trying to lock herself back inside.
Dana used her own TK to yank the door open, and it creaked on its hinges.
“Stop!” Dana hollered.
“No!” Jilly shrieked.
The groaning creak of the door was enough to make me believe that, if the two girls kept it up, the wood would crack in half, right down the center.
Overhead, the ceiling fan was still picking up speed. One of the bulbs from the light fixture exploded, and tiny pieces of glass rained down onto the floor as we all ducked.
“This needs to end!” Milo shouted, and I knew it was time for me to step in and help Dana, who was still using that closet door as a G-T tug-of-war.
I knew that I could use my liquid-based TK to move people—human beings were essentially walking bags of H2O. I’d done it before. In fact, I’d saved Garrett’s life with my power just a few months earlier. I just wasn’t very good at it, especially when I was stressed.
Like right now.
Still, I focused on the water and blood inside Jilly’s body. I could do this. I knew I could move the girl, and with Dana’s less finicky TK, we could get her out of here and…
Keep her locked up where?
Okay, that wasn’t helping. I had no idea what we were going to do with Jilly after we got her out of Rochelle’s house, but I trusted Dana. She’d figure it out. Right now I had to focus on the water inside of Jilly. And so I focused. And focused…
And, with a blast of energy, the closet door opened with a huge bang, because Jilly came flying out of the closet. Jilly—and a crapload of other things from that back room. I couldn’t even tell what was happening at first—but I knew that I was the one who had moved it all.
And then I saw the bag of plasma that Dana had been waving around earlier. It came right at me, and I ducked.
“Holy—” It was Cal who spoke first.
“Calvin!” Dana’s voice rang out this time, and it was filled with a combination of despair and horror.
I realized that my eyes were squeezed tightly shut, so I opened them. And I saw that I was crouching down, in a position similar to the one we had found Jilly in when we’d first opened that closet.
I couldn’t process what I was seeing at first—other than the fact that there was broken glass from that lightbulb everywhere, and that Dana was lying on the ground, covered in blood.
It’s not her blood. Milo was next to me then, helping me up, and his thoughts came through with his gentle touch. Are you okay?
I am. Are you? I realized that the bag of plasma had hit Dana and broken. As we watched, she scrambled up to her hands and knees, skidding in the gore as she headed for Calvin, whose wheelchair had been knocked onto its side.
“I’m all right,” Calvin said. “I’m all right. Really.”
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