Dead Silence
Page 68
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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?”
SPARE THE ROD
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.
And when she’d come back out again, she’d be a whole different person. Not the mom whose face had been tense and sweaty and gray, the one who’d given him an almost indifferent peck on the cheek. No, this mom would be flushed and would kiss him with lips that were too wet and too enthusiastic. It was her eyes that always got him, though . . . they were far too shiny. These were not his mother’s eyes.
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?”
SPARE THE ROD
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.
And when she’d come back out again, she’d be a whole different person. Not the mom whose face had been tense and sweaty and gray, the one who’d given him an almost indifferent peck on the cheek. No, this mom would be flushed and would kiss him with lips that were too wet and too enthusiastic. It was her eyes that always got him, though . . . they were far too shiny. These were not his mother’s eyes.
