Possession (20 page)

“He seemed quite on edge.”

“You seemed to push him
over
the edge. What did you do to him?” I demanded.

She looked away. “Nothing.”

“Why was he screaming ‘get out of my head’?”

“I have no idea.”

“He was wearing a protection pouch. He said it
helped keep people’s thoughts from coming in.”

She was looking down at her shoes.

“Wendy, seriously, what did you do to him?”

“I didn’t actually mean to do anything. He had
protection, but he broadcasts so loudly. He has no control over his abilities.
It was painful. Physically painful, like someone was standing right next to me,
shouting in my ear.”

I could understand that. “So you did something to
stop the shouting?”

“I just…I shouted back. That’s all.”

“And he could hear you even with the protection
pouch?” How was that possible?

“I guess he could.”

Now she was lying to me. She might be able to read
minds, but she wasn’t a particularly accomplished liar. “You must be strong.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Do they…
rank
your people? Measure your strength levels or something?” When she didn’t
answer, I just kept staring at her.

Eventually she spoke up. “They do give us ratings.
From the time we are young.”

“I’m not familiar with the system. How does it
work?”

“They rate it like IQ. A hundred is average. A hundred
and thirty is above average.” She looked off into the distance. “I would say
Andrew is a hundred and thirty.”

Andrew was high, which explained the hard time he
had keeping the voices out. “What are you?”

“I’m…a bit higher than that.”

“How much is a bit?”

She looked uncomfortable. “I’m up in the one-hundred-seventy
range.”

I whistled at her answer. “That seems powerful.
How does a person go about keeping someone of your level from reading his or her
mind, if pouches don’t work?”

She didn’t answer.

I knew she didn’t want to talk about it. Everything
about her body language was screaming that she wanted to be anywhere but here.
But I wasn’t going to let it go. “Has anyone been able to keep you out?”

After an awkward beat, she finally admitted, “No.”

She’s incredibly powerful, and no one can block her
out. Great. “Aren’t people uncomfortable with the fact that you randomly pick
up thoughts from their heads?”

“I don’t spend a lot of time with normal people. I
spend time with my kind, and I’ve spent a lot of time with…you know.” She
gestured around the room.

“In asylums with the insane.” I imagined that the
insane didn’t complain, because who would listen to them if they did? “How does
your own kind keep you out?”

“We aren’t like healer clans. Readers don’t live together
in groups. Your people get together and have gatherings… My people aren’t like
that. We are individuals. Loners. My father’s not a reader. My mother…she
wasn’t around.”

“But the governess and the tutor? Surely you could
read their thoughts?”

She gave me a half smile. “They never seemed to
mind.”

I bet they didn’t if Daddy was throwing money at
them.

“I’m sorry if I’m making you feel uncomfortable,”
she said.

Her eyes met mine, and I had to force myself not
to take more steps away from her. “It just so invasive. Can you do something
else instead?”

“What do you mean?”

I thought back to the lake when Luke was trying to
connect with a drowning victim—Sarah. He had told me not to concentrate
on the ghost. He had told me to sing a song in my head. “Think of a song. Or…go
over baseball batting averages.”

The last one made her smile. “Okay, I’ll try. I’ll
try not to pick your brain, if I can help it.”

“Thanks.”
Is
she thinking of a song right now?
She might just start to humor me and keep
her comments to herself. If she doesn’t parrot my thoughts back to me, how will
I know if she’s reading them? I gave her an uneasy look. “We can go out to the
garden in a couple of hours. But until then the common room is pretty big. If
you were on the other end of it, would it be enough distance between you and
Andrew so he wouldn’t freak out?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Let’s go tell our watchdog we want to hang out in
the common room.” At least with a room full of people and all their thoughts
firing at her, maybe she would have less time to pick up on mine.

Another thought occurred to me. “Andrew seems to
really struggle with his power—every time I’m around him, he seems so anxious
and scattered. But you’re stronger then he is, and yet you are very calm and
collected.” She looked uncomfortable, and her right hand unconsciously rose to
grip her opposite forearm. The cuff of her shirt lifted, and I could again see
the crossed hatch of scars. There were dozens of the fine white lines in only a
few inches. She answered quietly, her eyes focused on the floor. “We all have
our own way of dealing. I’ve been worse than him in the past, but I found ways
to cope. But I’m still in here, aren’t I?”

I felt a rush of guilt over asking her, and a
sudden rush of empathy. Would I be able to handle the influx of thoughts that
must come from a building full of crazy people? I doubted it. I found myself
wanting to make it up to her, and I forced some cheerfulness into my voice as I
said, “Let’s go find some cards. Do you know how to play poker?”

I marched toward the door, and Wendy followed,
nodding shyly.

* * *

We entered the common room with our watchdog tagging close
at our heels.

The watchdog made himself comfortable at a discreet
distance, far enough away that he wasn’t intruding, but close enough that he
could keep tabs on us.

Dean was across the room. As soon as he spotted me,
he headed in my direction. I thought about avoiding him, but how realistic was
it to try and avoid someone when locked in an asylum? He gave Wendy a smile.
“Hey.”

She didn’t bother to answer, but instead stared at
him again with that odd look on her face.

“Do you mind if I have a word with my friend?” Dean
asked her.

Friend
.
It was odd to hear him use the term. I barely knew Dean and yet each time I was
with him he acted as though we were old acquaintances. He had been listening in
on my life all this time, but I had no clue who he really was.

“No problem,” Wendy answered, not bothering to
look at him. She moved away.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Dean grabbed my
hand. “Where have you been?”

I shook off his hand and took a step back. “None
of your business.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Ever since he kissed me, I had felt uncomfortable
around him. But I wasn’t about to admit that to him. “I’ve been busy.”

He looked over at Wendy. “With your new roommate?”

“They assigned her to me. I didn’t have a choice.”

“What happens when we go to escape? Is she coming
with us?” I could tell by the look on his face that he was hoping my answer was
no.

Wendy was odd, but considering the amount of time
she had spent in these types of places, who could blame her? If I had been in multiple
asylums, would I have been able to keep my sanity? “If she wants to come, she
can come.”

His eyes narrowed at my answer. “We can’t have a
parade of people with us.”

“Two, three, four—what difference does it
make?”

His expression was serious now. “The more people who
know about our plans, the more likelihood the staff will get wind of it.”

I had a hard time believing Wendy was going to go
off and start gossiping to the staff. “You think Wendy would rat us out?” She
was odd, but she didn’t seem like the type that would turncoat the first chance
she got.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I
don’t know her, and I don’t trust her.”

He looked like a pouty three-year-old. I couldn’t
help but smile. “You don’t like her because she thinks you’re an abomination.”

“Sure, laugh it up. It’s all fun and games until
the crazy chick decides to go all
cleansing
on our butts.”

Cleansing.
A term used by the religious cult, the Redeemers. They abhorred anyone that
possessed magic talents. They considered our gifts unnatural.

My teasing mood faded. I was starting to get annoyed.
“She’s not crazy. Why would she want to cleanse us? She has powers of her own.”

“And how do you know she’s not crazy?” he demanded,
ignoring my logic. “You’ve only spent a couple of hours with her. Crazy people
don’t always show it. Some people are only nutty under the surface. She’s in an
asylum
.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “So are we.”

He uncrossed his arms and took a step toward me.
“Look, enough about your new roomie. I want to talk about us.”

The term
us
made me stop and just stare at him. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Ever since I kissed you—”

I put my hand in the center of his chest and
stopped him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We can’t act like it didn’t happen.” He didn’t back
away; instead he kept the pressure of his chest firm against my hand. I could
feel his heart beating through my palm.

“As far as I’m concerned, it was an accident.” I
wanted to stop talking about it, thinking about it.

That made him smile sardonically. “My lips
accidentally
brushed up against yours?”

The way he was looking at me made me
uncomfortable. His eyes were devilish, as if we were sharing a dirty little
secret.

“We don’t have to talk about it, because it’s
never happening again.”

“It’s not?” He raised his eyebrows mockingly.

I shook my head. “It can’t.”

“Because of Luke? And what if Luke was out of the
picture?”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Was it a
threat? “Are you planning to try and push him out?”

The anger left his face and he suddenly looked
sincere. “I promised you I wouldn’t. I’m giving you a chance to find a solution
to this…to our problem.”

“Do you really think we can find a spell to help
Luke hop into another body?”

“I think it’s worth a shot. I think it’s a better
plan than his. He’s still looking for a spell to force me out so he can take
control.”

I shook my head. “He won’t do that.”

I could tell by Dean’s expression that he didn’t
believe me.

Dean leaned in and whispered, “If he finds a spell
and he goes to use it, I’m supposed to believe you’ll stop him?”

I turned away, feeling guilty. Just an hour ago
I’d thought about how much easier my life would be without Dean. Even if I
wanted to, could I be so unfeeling to actually help Luke get rid of him? Those
blue eyes were staring into mine.
I can’t
hurt Dean. I won’t hurt him if I can help it.
“He won’t do it. Luke’s not
like that.”

The anger returned and filled his eyes. “He’s not
above surviving. People have done crazier things to stay alive. When it comes
to survival sometimes it’s every man for himself.”

I didn’t answer.

His voice turned soft again. He started to reach
out to take my hand but then stopped himself. “I don’t know what’s going to
happen. I don’t know if we’re going to get out of this place. But I know I
don’t want you to keep avoiding me. You’re all I’ve got in here. And I don’t
want to lose you.” For the second time in an hour I felt guilty. Dean had been
an unwilling pawn in my plans, and as much as I hadn’t intended to do him harm,
my actions had placed him in an impossible position. The least I could do was
to be civil.

“You won’t lose me.”

He gave me a smile. “So…friends?”

I smiled back. “Friends.” And I made an
internal—if somewhat desperate— promise to myself that that’s all
we would be.

A cool breeze washed across my face. A voice
whispered in my ear, “
Help us
…”

Dean looked at me. “Someone’s here. I can feel
them…a spirit.”

I nodded. “It said, ‘help us.’”

He looked around. “But nothing else?”

“No.”

“Can’t you help it cross over into the light?”

I could help it…but I didn’t want to. The spirits
were the only ones that had the answers to our questions. “They might be able
to help us figure out what’s going on.”

“You think we can learn the truth from the
ghosts?” He sounded skeptical.

I didn’t blame him. So far they hadn’t been much
help. “They’re powerful enough to give Andrew visions. They’ve come into my
dreams, and I’ve seen things. As long as they’re around, we have a chance of
finding a piece that might break this puzzle loose.”

The breeze blew close by again.

Dean spun around. “And if we don’t find it before
we leave? These spirits will be tied here for eternity if someone doesn’t set
them free.”

I would leave them be as long as there was a
chance they might give me more visions, give me answers. Dean was watching me closely.
“I agree that the right thing to do is help them cross over, but if we do that,
we’ll lose any chance of finding answers,” I said. “We
need
answers. I don’t want innocent people to die any more than you
do.”

He seemed surprised at my answer. “I’m glad to
hear it.”

“I just can’t risk losing… I won’t let anyone I
care about be put in danger again.”

“So you still don’t want to figure out whatever’s
going on? It won’t bother you to walk away? To leave this whole mess
unfinished?” he demanded.

Suddenly I felt an urge to explain myself to him.
I knew wanting to get out was selfish. People were being murdered. Maybe we
could stop the killer. I didn’t
want
to leave these people to be slaughtered by a psychopath. But going after the
killer meant risking our lives. I had lost so much. So many of the people I
cared most for in the world had died. Dean didn’t know what that kind of loss
did to a person. How it ate at your insides. How it filled you with an
overwhelming fear. A fear that at any moment, whatever you had left in the
world, whoever you loved, would be ripped from you. I knew better than anyone
how your world could change in a heartbeat. How happiness was fleeting. He
didn’t. I didn’t have to justify myself or my actions to him.