My jaw drops, and my face burns way more than I want it to. I so regret thinking he was cute. “You’re dead.”
“Yeah, right.” He stands, holds out a hand for me. “I have a feeling you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
I get up on my own. “You have no idea.”
His smile turns smug. “So you’re saying you’re a criminal and not some spoiled syndicate princess?”
I freeze.
“You know, I always wondered why people assumed Jonas wouldn’t use such a valuable power, even if it meant manipulating his own daughter. Yet the way you avoided talking about him makes it seem like you’re not exactly Daddy’s little girl.”
“That’s not true,” I say, though all I can think is, Crap, crap, crap.
“No?” He comes in too close, sending an unwanted tingle down my spine. “You know what I think? You’re on the run.”
I can’t seem to find air. How could he guess that? Was I that obvious? I’ve been working so hard to keep up appearances, but I was distracted with Graham and the learning disability stuff. I let my guard down. But I can recover—he can’t see my face.
“Why would I run?”
He shrugs. “Maybe you’re sick of doing your dad’s dirty work?”
For a second I wonder if Seth’s a mind reader, but then he would have known for sure I had a learning disability without the worksheet. “Look, I just hate the way people talk about my dad. You don’t know him. You have no right to judge him or me. So if you start telling people—”
I go rigid when he puts a hand on my shoulder like it’s no big deal. Maybe he really doesn’t care about abilities. “Chill. No threats necessary. I’m not gonna spread rumors about you. But for what it’s worth, if you were escaping, that’d be pretty amazing.”
I can tell he means it, and that throws the entire horrible conversation on its head. It’s official—Seth confuses the hell out of me. “Swear you won’t.”
“I swear it. Now let’s get to work.” He heads into the classroom, leaving my head spinning.
Chapter 8
Math tutoring may have been awful, but at least it was a decent distraction. As I pack up my things, all I can think about is Graham. I can’t help but picture him at the house, perched somewhere high waiting to scare the crap out of me. His sick laugh plays in my head, and I shiver.
Maybe I should make for the desert now, except I don’t have food, a way to contact Miles, or survival training. The little things.
“You didn’t have to come just because I yelled at you,” Bea says. “Not that I’m complaining.”
A smile creeps onto my face. I still don’t get why she wants me around, but maybe I shouldn’t ask anymore. “Sorry. I’m not used to people being … nice.”
She sighs like she knows what I mean. “What are you doing now? More library time, or you wanna hang out?”
“Oh, sure.” I stuff my notebook in my bag, a flood of relief washing over me. This is perfect. I have a place to go, and I can at least stretch it out to the evening. Maybe I can form some kind of plan by then.
Bea’s eyes narrow. “Are you sure? You sounded … hesitant.”
“No! I want to.” My face warms. People always have a hard time interpreting my intentions without facial expressions to guide them, which is handy when I don’t want them to. Not so much right now. “Um, I just need to go to SuperMart. You wouldn’t mind going, would you? My mom took the car for the day.”
She laughs. “That’s fine! C’mon, I have a feeling you’ll love Sexy Blue.”
“Sexy Blue?”
She smiles wide. “You’ll see.”
Sexy Blue is a beat-up Bronco with no windows except the windshield, which is cracked. Bea is dressed well—cute, short shorts and a billowy teal tunic—so the dusty black seats and tacky giant dice on the rearview mirror surprise me. “My brothers totally beat her up, but she’s still hot, huh?”
“Of course.” I snap the tough, grimy seat belt over my waist. “So you have brothers?”
“Three older, one younger. My parents are hard-core Catholic, which means no birth control. Mom was basically pregnant for five years, had us all one after the other.” She jams the key in the ignition, and Sexy Blue roars to life like a tiger.
“Wow, big family.”
“Yeah, we’re a regular litter.” She laughs. “Actually, some people call us The Pack.”
“Really?”
She nods. “We’re really close, since a lot of kids in town weren’t allowed to play with us. That’s what happens when you come from a gifted family, right?”
“I guess so.” Most of the people I knew in Vegas were from gifted families, but I can understand a community of mostly normal people discriminating against the more gifted population.
“Anyway, what about you?”
I tense, unsure of what to say. It’s not like I can tell her all about that time I went to California to help kidnap one of Valerie Sutton’s brainwashers, just because Dad said we needed one and Val had too many. It’s bad enough I’m a syndicate baby. She’d think I was horrible if she knew what I really did. “What do you want to know?”
She shrugs, a casual movement that makes it feel like we’ve known each other for more than a couple weeks. “Siblings?”
“Two older brothers. They’re nineteen and twenty-two, so they don’t live with us anymore.” I neglect to mention the dozen or so half siblings I have. I try to pretend they don’t exist, which is fairly easy because I rarely see them. Dad’s smart enough to keep his women separated—heaven forbid they gang up on him. I accepted a long time ago that Mom and Dad would never get married, but it’s still gross to think about how many other women and children he has, how he plays with their minds like he does with ours.
“Cool.” Bea takes the turn sharp, and I grab the windowsill so I don’t slam into her. She drives faster than a getaway man, but I don’t complain. I don’t want her thinking I’m a wuss or something. Besides, there’s no air-conditioning and my butt is sweating way too much. The wind she generates barely takes the edge off the heat.
“So …” She grips the steering wheel tighter as she glances at me. “How’s the invisible gig?”
I hold back my surprise. No one ever asks or points it out, just like they don’t point out the blue people or the ones who smell like turpentine. “What do you mean, exactly?”
She scrunches her face. “My voice thing isn’t so obvious. When we go to Tucson or something, no one knows and I can be normal for a while. I’m just curious what it’s like not being able to hide it. I mean, you’re the Invisible Girl. How does it all work?”
I watch her long hair fly in the wind. It’s none of her business, but if I’m being honest I’ve always wanted someone to ask, to treat me like I’m normal. Miles is the only one who acts like it’s no big deal, but Bea’s trying.
I take a deep breath. “The doctors don’t really know how it works, except that the mutation likely affects my pigment. They have a few theories, but they can’t exactly study invisible blood or do surgery. They’ve tried dyeing me, but it disappears once I absorb it. All they know is everything my body makes is invisible—spit, blood, pee …”
“Wait, your spit is invisible?”
“Yeah.”
“Spit on me! I want to see!” She bounces in her seat.
“You won’t see; that’s the point. I’m not spitting on you.” I can’t help but smile at the ridiculous request.
“C’mon! Do it! Would it look wet on my shirt? Or would I just feel it?”
“You wouldn’t see it at all.”
“I have to see! Please!” She shoves my arm. “I’m asking you to spit on me. How often are you allowed to use your invisible spit?”
“Fine.” She has a point. I haven’t spit on anyone since I was a kid, and even then I only used it on Graham. I work up a good loogie and spit. She flinches, which is the only way I know I hit her. After touching the spot, she looks at her fingers with amused disgust.
“It doesn’t even glisten, but it sure feels wet. Wow.” She wipes my spit on the seat. “So what about eating? Could I see food in you?”
“No. Well …” I sigh, embarrassed. “If I ate with my mouth open you could see it for a second. Once it blends with my spit it goes invisible, and anything inside me can’t be seen.”
She laughs. “That’s a relief. I was totally picturing this lump of mushy food under your shirt.”
I snort. “Gross.”
Her laughter dies out, and her eyebrows cinch together. “So no one has ever seen you?”
“No.” It comes out harsher than I intended, but I didn’t expect her to go that far.
She winces. “Sorry. I’m not good with boundaries.”
“Don’t worry about it. And no, no one has ever seen me. Not the real me, at least. I don’t think X-rays and infrared count, because it’s not my actual face, just a vague image.”
She purses her lips. “Well, I bet you’re banging hot. Your body is, from what I can tell of your clothes.”
I stare at her, trying to convince myself I heard right. Then I laugh. Hard.
Her perfect eyebrows arch. “What?”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever said to me.” Bea is just plain crazy—that’s why she’s being so nice. Still, I like her.
“Whatever.” She parks at SuperMart, and I can’t believe we’re already here. It doesn’t seem like we drove all the way across town. “Let’s get your crap. You better not expect me to pay for it, since I already gave you a ride.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Her smile is different, this sly grin that says she’s joking.
We head into the store, which is the only place in Madison to get anything from the outside world. The other businesses have been here for decades, like the old diner and bowling alley on Main Street, or the community pool I haven’t had the guts to go to. SuperMart looks new. The red dust hasn’t seeped into its facade yet.
I head straight for the electronics in search of a phone I can buy without too many strings. I find the perfect thing—thirty days, no contract, one-time fee.
Bea frowns. “That thing is a piece of junk.” She holds up a flashy pink one I’d have picked myself. “What about this one?”
“I don’t have a lot of cash.” I only brought what I could find in my room when we escaped, and that was a few hundred.
She tilts her head. “You don’t?”
I gulp. For a second I forgot she doesn’t know why I’m here. She probably thinks I have all the money in the world. I would if I had Dad’s credit card. I search for a good excuse, any excuse. “Uh, I didn’t plan on being here so long.”
“Right.” The reality of this little friendship flits across her face—she’s talking to syndicate royalty—but then it’s gone again. She holds up the phone. “This is the one I’d get if I had the money. Mom and Dad can’t afford five cells, and I’m not working at Taco Bell, you know?”
I laugh wryly. “Taco Bell doesn’t sound so bad.”
She bites her lip, and I fear I’ve said too much for us to ever really be friends. She has to know affiliating with me is dangerous. “Sorry. I must sound like a jerk.”
“What?”
“It’s just …” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I swear I’ll figure out this friend-that’s-a-girl thing. What else do you need?”
“Just some food and stuff.” I pay for the phone there, since the salesperson won’t let me leave the area otherwise. Then I head for the aisles, trying to figure out why Bea hasn’t run for the hills yet. Whatever good vibe happened in the car seems to have died, and in its wake is some serious awkward silence. I grab a bunch of granola bars and Pop-Tarts, but not as many as I would have if Bea weren’t there. I can feel her watching, thinking.
“Do you like movies?” she finally blurts out.
I try not to laugh. This could not get weirder. “Yeah, I do.”
“We, uh, do a movie night at my house every Friday. I swear it’s not as lame as it sounds. My parents usually duck out. Brady and—”
“Wait.” I stop on my way to get water. “Is that why you stopped talking? You thought I’d think you weren’t cool?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. There’s probably a million exciting things to do in Las Vegas. Madison isn’t exactly the center of awesome. Hell, it’s not even the center of vaguely entertaining.”
I can’t help but smile. It’s like we’re both trying not to step on the other’s feet. “You think I got to do anything fun with people always watching me? Of course I’ll come.”
She smiles. “Great. Except for the fact that Brady will so rub this in. He swore you’d say yes.”
My cheeks warm. Brady wanted to invite me, too? Before I can reply, a guy floats into view and all the good feelings vanish. I shove Bea down the nearest aisle, abandoning the cart.
She stares at me. “What the hell?”
“I gotta go. Now.” I can’t seem to get air. This can’t be happening.
“What? Why?”
My voice is a whisper, as if he’ll hear me across the store. “Graham.”
Chapter 9
“Who?” Bea searches between my rims, confused.
I regret bumming a ride off her. She shouldn’t be involved, but she is and now I’ve put another person in harm’s way. I take a deep breath. “He’s my brother.”
“I take it you guys don’t get along,” Bea says.
“Not exactly.” I’m glad she can’t see how I shake, because I’m seriously freaking out. Knees knocking, lip quivering, and all. Bea peeks around the corner, and I pull her back. “Don’t!”
“Calm down, he’s browsing for chips. He probably doesn’t even know you’re here.” Her hands go to her hips. “Besides, he doesn’t know who I am.”
I stare at her, shocked by the fearlessness in her eyes. “Bea, I’m sorry I can’t explain, but I have to go right now.”
She nods. “I’ll create a distraction, just in case.”
For a second I’m speechless. She can’t actually want to protect me. “No, you can’t.”
The grin on her face is positively impish. “Oh, yes, I can.” Her voice sounds exactly like mine. “It’s my specialty, actually.”
I almost choke on my words. “You don’t get it. Graham … he’s not good, Bea. He’d kill you if he found out.”
“He’s not going to find out.” Her eyes meet mine. “I knew it. You’re trying to get out of your syndicate, huh.”
First Seth and now Bea. “Is it that obvious?”
She shakes her head. “Not to people with average abilities. They don’t know what it’s like to be seen as a tool. How … hollow it makes you feel.”
“And you do?”
She looks down. “We may not work for Juan’s syndicate, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want us. You know how useful a voice contortionist can be; Juan could fabricate any sound with my voice, put out fake threats, trick people over the phone, whatever. He wants our whole family—my dad pays him off every year to keep him away. We may be poor, but it’s worth it.”
“It is,” I whisper. Paying a syndicate to ignore you isn’t new to me. Dad’s brute squad collects dues every month.
“So I’m helping, no matter what you say.”
I get this overwhelming urge to hug her, but I hold back. I never thought anyone else could relate. “Don’t use my voice. He can’t know you’ve seen me.”
She nods. “Go. Tell me you’re safe if you can?”
“Sure.” I gulp down the lump in my throat. “Thanks, Bea. You are—”
She waves me off. “Just go! I get it.”
I head for the exit, knowing I don’t have time to buy food and water like I wanted. I have to get as much distance between Graham and me as possible. He flies fast, and he won’t be at the store forever, no matter what Bea does to distract him.
As I reach the exit, a piercing scream comes from the back. I don’t turn to look, don’t stop. I have to m
ake Bea’s risk worth it.
So I run. I run as hard as I can even though it feels like hell outside.
A few people stare. I hope they think I’m just in a hurry—at least the panic can’t show on my face. I turn onto a quieter street, but keep heading for the desert. I need to get to that run-down group of buildings I saw last week. It’s not much, but it’s shelter and it’s remote, which makes me feel safer.
I only stop when I find a green park, complete with shady trees and, most important of all, a water fountain. I drink until I can’t anymore, and I’m so desperate I fill a crinkled bottle I find on the ground. It might be gross, but I’ll be glad for it later.
Then I huddle under a bush and pull out my new phone. I curse when I realize my service hasn’t been activated yet. I don’t have time to wait around here, but who knows if I’ll get service that far from town?
I make for the desert anyway. My sandals are so not meant for running; I can already feel blisters forming around the straps. Sweat runs down my back. I almost pull my dress off, but it would only help for a second. The sun would soak into my exposed skin, sucking the water out of me faster. I look to the sky every few minutes. Something flickers overhead, and I stop. Squinting into the sunlight, I catch the distinct flap of wings.
Stupid hawk.
But I can’t help wondering if Graham will check the desert. When I don’t show up tonight, will he suspect I’ve made a run for it? Probably. And he’ll be pissed.
When I find the boulder from my first run, I plop down in the shade and pull out the phone, waiting for service. It kicks in just as I’m starting to cool off. Miles doesn’t answer, so I leave a message. “This is Brittney. I need you.”
My phone rings not a minute later.
“I think you should be in counseling, Brittney,” Miles says.
Even his voice isn’t enough to calm me. “Graham’s here.”
He curses. A lot. “Did he see you?”
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