Dead Silence (29 page)
It wouldn’t be easy though. But that’s why he was there. That was his job, to fix things. That’s what leaders did. What fathers did.
And he understood his role. He’d known from the beginning that the others—his lost children—looked up to him, that they needed him.
Without him, they were nothing.
With him, they were a family.
His
family.
They’d already had to get rid of one member, their newest member . . . their little Butterfly. All because of Colton. Because he’d wanted a girl. Because he couldn’t be patient.
They couldn’t afford to lose any others.
He
needed to stay clearheaded and focused. It was his job to keep them on track.
Boxer would get over the girl. Kisha too. But he’d have to watch Colton. Colton was getting out of hand. He couldn’t allow Colton to jeopardize them again.
He couldn’t let Colton think he had the upper hand.
He
was the father . . .
Maybe Colton needed a reminder.
“I’M SURPRISED YOU CALLED. YOU DIDN’T LOOK so good back at the Center, I thought you’d probably go home and crash.”
Violet surveyed Krystal’s striped tights and her bright purple boots. She imagined herself trying to pull off the same look and knew she could never do it, that she’d only seem ridiculous. Yet Krystal rocked it, wearing her black lace-up bustier dress with the deep purple ruffles that peeked out from beneath the thicker layers of black that covered them like sable clouds. “I was hoping we could talk,” she said, looking around The Crystal Palace.
Usually it was quiet here, a place where people came to get their palms read, and shop for incense, healing stones, and massage oils in peace. But tonight, there was something going on, and the place was more packed than Violet had ever seen it.
“Oh yeah, sorry about that. Séance,” Krystal said, nodding toward the crush of people milling together among the shelves and tables and displays.
Violet took a closer look at their faces, and noted their shared swollen eyes, and the way they clung to one another, holding hands and offering whispers of support.
Krystal lowered her voice into what should have been a whisper, but was still too loud, drawing more than one set of eyes her way. She pointed at a couple standing together, and Violet realized they were at the center of the congregation. “They’re trying to figure out why their son killed himself.”
“Uh . . . oh, sorry, is this a bad time then?” Violet asked, shifting nervously now as even more of the people turned to look their way. She felt suddenly like she was interrupting something very private. “I can come back . . . you know, later.”
Krystal scoffed at the idea, dismissing it with a wave of one of her fingerless-gloved hands. “Nah. I’m not performing the séance. Mystique is doing it.” She pointed again, indicating a small woman who was seated on a pile of colorful throw pillows surrounding a short, round table.
Violet had done her best to avoid Mystique—the shop’s owner—ever since their first unfortunate meeting. Krystal had introduced Violet to the woman, who was older than both of the girls, closer to her mom’s age, as a “friend,” never mentioning anything about the team or that Violet had an unusual ability of her own. Not that she’d expected Krystal to share that kind of information with her boss . . . those matters were meant to stay private. Secret.
But Mystique had misunderstood Krystal’s use of the term
friend
, deciding that Violet must be Krystal’s latest
girlfriend . . .
of whom, apparently, there had been more than a few. She’d started asking Violet all about her background, her family, where she’d grown up, and where she went to school. It wasn’t until she’d started asking about Violet’s former “friends,” and what her intentions toward Krystal were, that Violet realized what she was really getting at, and by then she’d backed Violet all the way up against the counter and was practically breathing down her neck.
Trapped, Violet had searched for Krystal, hoping her friend might bail her out of the sticky situation. But Krystal, Violet realized when she spotted her leaning against a rack of lotions and body sprays designed to open up your chakras, was grinning back at her, amused by Mystique’s interrogation techniques.
It seemed to Violet that a woman like Mystique, who claimed to have psychic abilities, should have realized that Violet was freaking the hell out . . .
and
that she wasn’t Krystal’s girlfriend. You know, just for the record.
Now, as Violet caught sight of the woman hunched in front of the table, she felt trapped again by her black, weasel-like eyes. She wanted to search for a way to escape that beady gaze, feeling like Mystique was trying to peer inside of her. She was grateful for the mass of people who surrounded the table. Mystique had other matters at hand to contend with that didn’t involve questioning Violet about her sexual history.
“Come on,” Krystal said, reaching for Violet’s hand and dragging her through the plastic beads that separated the cluttered storefront from the even more cluttered storeroom in back. “I needed a break anyway, that kid wouldn’t shut up. All he wants is to be left alone, and for his parents to stop blubbering over him.” She plopped down onto a stack of boxes and reached for a can of Diet Coke that was already opened, a straw with a purple smear of lipstick circling its top sticking out of it.
“Wait, do you mean he’s in there . . . the boy who killed himself? With his family?” Violet asked, waving away the can when Krystal held it out to her. “Does Mystique know? Will she tell them, you know, to . . .” She made an uncertain face, not sure what, exactly, Mystique should tell the grieving parents. “To move on or whatever?”
Krystal nodded, as if that much were obvious. “I told her. She’ll pass the message along to them. It’ll make ’em feel better to know he’s okay.”
Violet cocked her head. “But
she
can’t . . . or
can
she . . . ?”
Krystal waited for her to finish her sentence, but when she didn’t, Krystal filled in the blanks for her. “
Hear him?
No. I’m not sure what Mystique does or doesn’t hear, but she definitely didn’t hear
this
kid, otherwise she’d’ve needed a break too.” She sighed, taking another long sip from her straw. “So, what’s up?”
“I wanted to ask you something.” Violet reached into her purse and drew out her grandmother’s journal. “Actually, I wanted to
show
you something.”
She plucked the picture from beneath the cover and held it out to Krystal, watching as Krystal took it from her. “What am I looking for?”
“Just tell me if anyone looks . . .
familiar
.”
Krystal looked back down, and Violet waited. Krystal’s eyes moved over the image, starting from one side, the side where Violet’s grandmother was, and moving across it. Within seconds, she glanced up, a sly grin on her face, as if she’d just solved a complicated riddle. “That’s Dr. Lee, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but that’s not who I meant. Keep looking.”
Frowning, she turned to the picture again. And then she froze, her face creasing with concentration, or maybe it was confusion, or disbelief, Violet wasn’t entirely sure which. “That’s my mom,” she said, reaching out to tap the photo of a soft, nondescript-looking woman with mousy blonde-brown hair and full hips. She looked nothing at all like Krystal, who was garish and bold, and was at least partially of Asian descent. “Where did you get this?” And then as if puzzling it out, she asked, “Why is my mom in a picture with Dr. Lee?”
Violet reached over and took the photograph, not comfortable with anyone else holding it for too long. She didn’t want it destroyed—the only piece of tangible evidence she had that the Circle of Seven had been real. “That’s what I wanted to talk about. Your mom. Dr. Lee.” She pointed to the picture. “My grandmother.” She moved her finger. “Rafe’s mom. They all knew one another. They all belonged on a team that called themselves the Circle of Seven.” She glanced up at Krystal, who still wore the same bewildered expression on her face. “They all had abilities, I think. Like us.”
Even after spending nearly an hour talking the whole thing over with Krystal, who was as baffled as Violet was by the discovery that their family members had known one another, Violet didn’t have any more answers. She’d already known that Krystal’s mom had been able to talk to ghosts the same way Krystal could. Krystal had told her that back when they’d first met.
She was sure now that it wasn’t just chance that her grandmother, and Rafe’s and Krystal’s moms, were all on the same team as Dr. Lee. And that now she and Rafe and Krystal were all working together too.
She also didn’t think it was a coincidence that Sam’s grandmother had looked familiar . . . as impossible as it seemed.
Her team had been brought together, the same way their relatives had been.
But by whom? And why?
When she got home, she called Rafe and told him about Krystal’s mother. He needed to know everything she did. She could no longer pretend she was in this alone. If Dr. Lee wanted her to be on a team so badly, then she’d stop fighting it and be the best darn team member she could be.
No more secrets . . . no more lies.
At least as far as those she trusted were concerned. And right now that list included Rafe and Krystal and Sam. Gemma, she still wasn’t sure about, but Violet had no doubt that, whether she knew it or not, Gemma had a family member in the photograph that she kept hidden inside her grandmother’s journal. Growing up in the foster system meant that, whoever Gemma’s parents had been, they’d either been unwilling, or unable, to care for her.
Violet wasn’t sure which would be more difficult to accept. No wonder Gemma had such a chip on her shoulder.
But for now, at least, Violet wasn’t exactly ready to confide in Gemma.
Sara was also on the iffy list. Sara had saved her life on more than one occasion, but she couldn’t get over the feeling that Sara might be withholding information from her. Crucial information about why she’d been recruited in the first place and who ran the Center.
Until she knew for sure, she decided it was better to keep Sara on a need-to-know basis.
She broached the Sara subject carefully with Rafe, feeling a twinge of guilt. “How are things going on your end?” she asked, after she’d finished telling him about her meeting with Krystal at The Crystal Palace. “Did you talk to Sara, or . . . find anything . . . helpful?”
“I told you. I don’t think she knows anything.” After a slight hesitation, he added, “But I searched her room this afternoon, while she was still at the Center, and I came up empty.” Violet knew Rafe didn’t want to spy on his sister like that, but she also knew he understood how important it was to figure out who they could trust. “I found some of our mom’s things, and I even went through those, but . . .” There was another pause. “Nothing. All I get when I touch Sara’s things is this sense that she believes in what she’s doing, and sometimes I get flashes of old memories. I feel like I’m eavesdropping on things I shouldn’t be watching—personal moments. But nothing incriminating. I think she’s clean, V.”
“I’m sure she is,” Violet agreed, and meant it. “But we still need to be careful.”
He laughed. “You’re paranoid.” It was an accusation, but Violet didn’t respond. She didn’t have to, because Rafe was talking again before she could defend herself. “So now that we’ve got all that outta the way, you ready to tell me what the hell was goin’ on between you and Boy Wonder back at the Center?”
EVAN STAYED BACK, HIDING IN THE SHADOWS. HE knew he wouldn’t have to wait for long; Colton would be out of cash soon. He’d only had twelve bucks going in, and twelve bucks didn’t go very far in place like this.
But it would be just enough to keep him off balance.
He knew that much from years of watching his mother scrape together change, searching beneath couch cushions and under floor mats, even raiding his piggy bank, before she’d drag him down the street to the crumbling house, the one on the corner that even a six-year-old knew was where the drugs were sold. She’d make him wait outside on the sidewalk while she went in with her pockets jangling.
