His chin lifted, not much, just enough of a reaction to tell me I’d caught him off guard and that he didn’t like it. A pleasant smile erased the look and he eased back in his chair.
“It is an experiment, Chloe. I know how that must sound, but I assure you, it’s a noninvasive study, using only benign psychological therapy.”
Benign? There was nothing benign about what had happened to Liz and Brady.
“Okay, so we’re part of this experiment….” I said.
“Being a supernatural is both a blessing and curse. Adolescence is the most difficult time for us, as our powers begin to manifest. One of the Edison Group’s theories is that it might be easier if our children don’t know of their future.”
“Don’t know they’re supernatural?”
“Yes, instead allowing them to grow up as human, assimilating into human society without anxiety over the upcoming transition. You and the others are part of that study. For most, it has worked. But for others, such as you, your powers came too quickly. We needed to ease you into the truth and ensure you didn’t harm yourselves or anyone else in the meantime.”
So they put us into a group home and told us we were crazy? Drugged us? That made no sense. What about Simon and Derek, who’d already known what they were? How could they be part of this study? But Derek clearly was, if what Brady said was right.
What about that thing calling us Dr. Lyle’s creations? What about Brady and Liz, permanently removed from this study? Murdered. You don’t kill a subject when he doesn’t respond well to your “benign psychological therapy.”
They’d lied all along—did I really think they’d fess up now? If I wanted the truth, I needed to do what I’d been doing. Search for my own answers.
So I let Dr. Davidoff blather on, telling me about their study, about the other kids, about how we’d be “fixed” and out of here in no time. And I smiled and nodded and started making my own plans.
Five
WHEN DR. DAVIDOFF WAS done with the propaganda, he took me to see Rae, who was still in that makeshift game room playing Zelda. He opened the door and waved me in, then closed it, leaving us alone.
“Game time over?” Rae said, turning slowly. “Just let me finish—”
Seeing me, she leaped up, controller clattering to the floor. She hugged me, then pulled back.
“Your arm,” she said. “Did I hurt—?”
“No, it’s all bandaged up. It needed some stitches.”
“Ouch.” Rae took a long look at me. “You need some sleep, girl. You look like death.”
“That’s just the necromancer genes kicking in.”
She laughed and gave me another hug before plunking back down in her beanbag chair. Despite our long night on the run, Rae looked fine. But then Rae was one of those girls who always looked fine—perfect clear copper skin; copper eyes; and long curls that, if they caught the light right, glinted with copper, too.
“Pull up a box. I’d offer you a chair, but decorators these days?” She rolled her eyes. “So slow. When the renovations are done, though, you won’t recognize the place. Stereo system, DVD player, computer…chairs. And, as of tomorrow, we’re getting a Wii.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I said, ‘People, if I’m helping you with this study of yours, I need a little love in return. And a GameCube ain’t gonna cut it.’”
“Did you ask for a bigger TV, too?”
“I should have. After the whole Lyle House screwup, they’re tripping over themselves to make us happy. We are going to be so spoiled here. Of course, we deserve it.”
“We do.”
She grinned, her face glowing. “Did you hear? I’m a half-demon. An Exhaust—Exustio. That’s the highest kind of fire demon you can be. Cool, huh?”
Being a half-demon was cool. But being a half-demon lab rat, teetering on the brink of extermination? Definitely not cool. As much as I longed to tell her the truth, though, I couldn’t. Not yet.
Just last night, Rae had been lying on her bed at Lyle House, trying to light a match with her bare fingers, desperate for proof she had a supernatural ability. Now she’d discovered she was a special kind of half-demon. That was important to Rae in a way I couldn’t understand—in a way that I just had to accept until I had more proof that this wasn’t the best thing that ever happened to her.
“And you know what else?” she said. “They showed me pictures of my mom. My real mom. None of my dad, of course, being a demon. Kind of freaky when you think about it. Demons aren’t exactly…” For the first time, worry clouded her eyes. She blinked it back. “But Dr. D. says that it doesn’t make you evil or whatever. Anyway, my mom? Her name was Jacinda. Isn’t that pretty?”
I opened my mouth to agree, but she kept rambling excitedly.
“She used to work here, like Simon’s dad. They have pictures of her. She was gorgeous. Like a model. And Dr. D. said they might even know where to find her, and they’re going to try. Just for me.”
“What about your adoptive parents?”
The clouds descended again, lingering longer, and I felt bad, being the one to bring her down. First telling Liz she was dead, then making Brady relive his final evening, now reminding Rae of her parents…I was trying to get answers to help all of us. But it felt cruel.
After a moment, Rae said, “They aren’t supernaturals.”
“Oh?”
“Nope, just humans.” She gave the word an ugly twist. “They said when my mom left here, she cut off all ties with the group. Somehow I got put up for adoption. Dr. D. says that must have been a mistake. Jacinda loved me. She’d never have given me up. He says that story my adoptive parents told me, about her not being able to keep me, was a lie, and if the Edison Group had known about the adoption, they’d have found me parents like us. By the time they tracked me down, though, it was too late, so all they could do was monitor me. When they found out I was having problems, they contacted my adoptive parents and offered me a free stay at Lyle House. I bet it’ll probably be weeks before my folks even notice I’m not there anymore, and then they’ll just breathe a big sigh of relief.”
“I can’t see—”
“I was at Lyle House for almost a month. Do you know how many times my parents came to visit? Called?” She held up her thumb and forefinger in an O.
“Maybe they weren’t allowed to visit. Maybe they left messages that you never got.”
Her nose scrunched. “Why wouldn’t I get them?”
“Because your adoptive parents aren’t supernaturals. Having them interfering would complicate things.”
Her eyes grew distant as she considered this. A spark flickered through them—hope that she’d been mistaken, that the only parents she’d ever known hadn’t abandoned her.
She gave her head a sharp shake. “No, I was trouble, and Mom was glad to get rid of me.” Her hands gripped the beanbag tight, then released it and patted out the creases. “It’s better this way. I’m better this way.”
Better a special half-demon embarking on a new life than a regular girl, sent back to her regular life with her regular parents. I reached over and took her game controller.
“How far have you gotten?” I asked.
“You set on beating me, girl?”
“Absolutely.”
I had lunch with Rae. Pizza. Unlike Lyle House, here they seemed more concerned with keeping us happy than keeping us healthy.
Maybe because they aren’t planning on keeping us alive?
Talking to Rae, hearing her excitement, I had enough distance from the pain and betrayal to face a very real, very disturbing possibility.
What if I was wrong? About everything?
I didn’t have any evidence that the people here had actually killed Liz and Brady. Liz had “dreamed” of being in some kind of hospital room, restrained. For all I knew, she’d died in a car crash when they were bringing her here. Or she’d committed suicide that night. Or, in trying to restrain her, they’d accidentally killed her.
Liz and Brady just happened to both die accidentally after leaving Lyle House?
Okay, that was unlikely.
Rae’s birth mom and Simon’s dad both happened to have a falling-out with the Edison Group and fled, taking their study subject kids with them?
No, there was definitely something wrong here. I needed answers and I wasn’t going to find them locked in my cell. Nor was I eager to meet that thing in my room again.
Just as I thought that, Dr. Davidoff arrived to take me back there. As I followed him down the hall, I scrambled for an excuse to go someplace else in the building, any way to add details to my mental map of the place.
I considered asking to speak to Aunt Lauren. I’d have to pretend I’d forgiven her for lying to me my entire life, betraying me, and tossing me to the mercy of the Edison Group. I wasn’t that good an actor. And Aunt Lauren wasn’t that stupid. There was a reason she hadn’t tried to see me. She was biding her time, waiting until I got lonely for a familiar face, desperate for excuses. Until then, she’d stay away.
There was one other person I could ask to speak to….
The thought made my skin crawl almost as much as the thought of seeing Aunt Lauren. But I needed answers.
“Dr. Davidoff?” I said as we approached my door.
“Yes, Chloe.”
“Is Tori here?”
“She is.”
“I was thinking…I’d like to see her, make sure she’s all right.”
Six
DR. DAVIDOFF DECLARED THAT a “splendid idea,” meaning he had no clue I’d figured out that Tori was the one who’d tipped them off to our escape. As for getting a better look at the place—that plan didn’t work so well. Her cell turned out to be only a few doors from mine.
The doctor ushered me in, then locked the door. When the bolt slid home, I inched back, ready to scream at the first sign of trouble. At my last up-close-and-personal encounter with Victoria Enright, she’d knocked me out with a brick, tied me up, and left me alone in a pitch-black basement crawl space. So I could be forgiven if that locked door made me nervous.
The only light in the room came from the bedside clock. “Tori?”
A figure rose from the mattress, her short hair a halo of spikes. “Huh. I guess if stern lectures don’t work, they can always resort to torture. Tell them I surrender, as long as they take you away. Please.”
“I came to—”
“Gloat?”
I stepped toward her. “Sure. I came to gloat. Get a good laugh at you, locked in a cell, just like I am down the hall.”
“If you say ‘we’re in this together,’ I’m going to hurl.”
“Hey, we wouldn’t be in this at all if it wasn’t for you telling the nurses on us. Only you didn’t count on getting locked away yourself. That’s what we call dramatic irony.”
A moment of silence. Then she gave a harsh laugh. “You think I ratted you out? If I’d known you were running away, I would have packed your bag.”
“Not if I was leaving with Simon.”
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “So in a fit of jealous rage, I spill your plans, getting you and the guy who rejected me sent away to a mental hospital? What movie is that from?”
“The same one where the cheerleader knocks out the new girl with a brick and leaves her in a locked crawl space.”
“I am not a cheerleader.” She spat the word with such venom, you’d think I’d called her a slut. “I was going to let you out after dinner, but Prince Not-So-Charming got to you first.” She slid from the bed. “I liked Simon, but no guy is worth humiliating myself over. You want someone to blame? Check the mirror. You’re the one who stirred things up. You and your ghosts. You got Liz sent away, got Derek in trouble, got me in trouble.”
“You got you in trouble. I didn’t do anything.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
She stepped closer. Her skin looked yellow, and purple underscored her brown eyes. “I’ve got a sister just like you, Chloe. She’s the cheerleader, the cute little blonde, bats her eyelashes and everyone comes running. Just like you at Lyle House, with Simon tripping over himself to help you. Even Derek rushed to your rescue—”
“I didn’t—”
“Do anything. That’s the point. You can’t do anything. You’re a silly, useless Barbie, just like my sister. I’m smarter, tougher, more popular. But does that matter? No.” She towered a head above me, staring down. “All anyone cares about is the helpless little blonde. But being helpless only works when there’s someone around to save you.”
She lifted her hands. Sparks leaped from her fingers. When I fell back, she grinned.
“Why don’t you call Derek to help you now, Chloe? Or your little ghost friends?” Tori advanced, the sparks swirling into a ball of blue light between her raised hands. She whipped her hands down. I dove. The ball shot over my shoulder, hit the wall, and exploded into a shower of sparks that singed my cheek.
I got to my feet, backing toward the door. Tori raised her hands and swung them down, and an invisible force knocked me over again. The room shook, every piece of furniture rocking and chattering. Even Tori looked surprised.
“Y-you’re a witch,” I said.
“Am I?” She bore down on me, her eyes as wild as her hair. “Nice for someone to tell me. My mother insisted it was all in my head. She shipped me off to Lyle House, had me diagnosed as bipolar, and gave me a cartload of meds. And I gulped them because I didn’t want to disappoint her.”