by Trisha Telep
“Hey, you can use this two on that red three.” I leaned across the table and pulled a card from Sharise’s hand, letting my fingers brush hers in the process. I’d gotten very little from her before, but this time I got absolutely nothing. Not a single whiff of fear. Not even the brief spine chill I’d read from her the first time. All I felt from her now was a thick, smoggy kind of peace and acceptance of her past crimes and her conscious decision to move past them.
Sharise stared at me like I’d just snatched a bite of food from her fork. “I got it.” She plucked the card from my hand and played it, then went on with her game without another glance in my direction. Pointedly ignoring me. I might not have freaked her out, but my interference in her Solitaire game was definitely unwelcome.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, and stood and wandered away from her table, as confused by her complete lack of fear as I was disappointed to have lost her company. Sharise seemed cool enough— she was certainly nicer than anyone else I’d met at Holser. But making friends with her, if that was even possible for me, would have been like getting to know my hamburger right before lunch.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
Speaking of human hamburgers, I still hadn’t found a meal...
Across the yard, a girl I didn’t know sat on another concrete bench, while a second girl, perched on the table behind her, braided long strands of her hair. I accidentally-on-purpose bumped their table as I passed and knocked a bag of tiny, neon colored rubber bands to the ground.
“Sorry.” I knelt to pick them up, and when I handed them to the girl on the bench, our hands touched. I looked into her eyes and felt ... nothing. No fear. I saw only patience and a weathered acceptance of Holser House and the part it played in her rehabilitation.
Really? Patience? Acceptance? And no fear?
“What’s your problem?” The girl asked, without any real venom. That’s when I realized I was frowning at her, still holding the bag of rubber bands while she tried to pull them from my grip.
“Sorry,” I said, for the second time in as many minutes. I backed away from the table and into the shade of one of the few trees on the property.
I might not be the poster child for normality, but I’d looked into the eyes of at least a hundred girls my own age in the last couple of years and had seen fears ranging in severity from the stereotypical dread of being dumped in public to the shy, quiet girl’s terror that her brother would lose his temper again and beat her to death in her own room. I’d also felt all kinds of paranoia, insecurity, and rage. But I’d rarely ever felt simple, overwhelming patience and acceptance from a normal teenage girl. Much less two in a row. Two parolees, who should—logically—have more to fear and resent than your average high school kid.
In fact, the only time I’d ever felt anything like what I was getting from Sharise and the other girl was when...
“Sabine?”
I glanced up to see a tech I didn’t recognize holding a clipboard and squinting out at the yard from the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“Your brother’s here to see you. He’s in the common room.” Then she stepped back inside and let the door slam shut behind her.
Brother? Then I smiled. Nash...
Sharise raised one brow at me as I pulled open the back door, but I only shrugged. She knew I had no family, but she wouldn’t tell anyone. She was feeling too peaceful to start any trouble. I happened to know that for a fact.
It took all of my dwindling self-control not to race down the hall, but I didn’t want to look too eager. I mean, how happy would a girl really be to see her own brother?
I stopped in the common room doorway, and there he was. He turned when he heard my footsteps, and his hazel eyes lit up, one side of his mouth curled into a half-smile.
“Hey, sis.”
I almost laughed out loud. My relationship to Nash could in no way be described as ‘sisterly.’ I made myself take the next few steps one at a time, and then I merely wrapped my arms around him, instead of running to jump into his arms.
He squeezed me tight and whispered into my ear. “You don’t seem very happy to see your only brother.”
I whispered back, “I might be, if I had one.”
“I’m kind of glad you don’t. He probably wouldn’t like what I’m thinking about his sister right now.”
I grinned as he let me go, then glanced around to find the two separate groups of visitors watching us curiously. “Come on.” I started to grab Nash’s hand and then stopped myself and tugged on his short sleeve instead. I wasn’t sure whether we were allowed to have visitors in our rooms, but I was certain that if we got caught, no one at Holser would ever mistake Nash for my brother again.
Still, a few minutes alone with him would be worth the risk.
From my room, I glanced up and down the hall to make sure no one was looking and then closed the door and turned to face Nash. He was there in an instant, in my arms again for a real greeting this time. “Damn, I missed you. School sucks when you’re gone.”
I grinned and pulled him closer. “School sucks anyway.”
“Well, it’s worse now.” He kissed me like I was the only source of oxygen in the room—like he’d die without me—and something in my chest ached so fiercely I thought my lungs would pop. I hadn’t felt right since I’d last tasted him five days ago, four hours before the cops picked me up outside the mall, drunk and very, very disorderly.
And I wouldn’t feel right again once he left. I never felt right without Nash. He was the only person in the world who wasn’t afraid of me, or repulsed by what he saw in my eyes. He wanted me, even knowing what I was. Even knowing what I had to do to survive. He loved me.
And I loved him more than I had ever, in my entire life, loved a single living soul.
When I finally pulled back—more for lack of air than anything else—Nash smiled at me, but didn’t let go. “So, I guess you think you’re badass now, huh? An ex-con parole violator?”
“Whatever. I probably would have gotten probation again, if I hadn’t broken that girl’s jaw while I was waiting for my court date.”
His brows rose, but he didn’t look truly surprised. “You broke somebody’s jaw?”
I shrugged. “She had it coming.”
“You should join the football team,” he said, and I laughed.
“You just wanna tackle me.”
His gaze smoldered. “We don’t need pads and helmets for that.”
“No, but we might need a door that actually locks. Speaking of security measures, how’d you get in here, brother? ”
Nash smiled and sank into the only chair in the room. “I have a way with words.”
“The understatement of the millennium...” I straddled him in the chair and stared down into his eyes, trying to convince myself that he was real. That he was actually there, in the flesh, beneath me. If I could have a dream, that would be it. “So, what? You just showed up at the door and Influenced your way in?”
“Nah.” His grin deepened. “I called first and got myself put on your approved visitors list. Then I showed up at the door...”
“Your Influence works over the phone?” Nash was a bean sidhe —or banshee, to the uninitiated—the little known male of the species. The females were more famous in folklore, because of the girlie, nerve-shredding screech they let loose when they sensed someone near death, but the male bean sidhe’ s ability is actually much more powerful. And convenient. With nothing more than the sweet, seductive sound of his voice—his Influence—Nash could convince just about anyone to do just about anything. The best part? They thought they actually wanted to do whatever he talked them into. It was like hypnosis, only better.
Unfortunately, the effect wore off almost as soon as he stopped talking. So if we were caught, he could probably talk us out of serious trouble for the moment, but later, I’d no doubt get written up and lose some privileges.
But Nash was still worth it.
“Apparently. Tod didn’t
think it would work over the phone, but I never pass up a chance to prove him wrong.”
“He knows where you are? Is he gonna tell your mom?” It was a good hour’s drive from Nash’s house to Holser, and he’d only had his license for a month.
“Nah, but he’ll probably use it against me next time he wants to get out of mowing the lawn.” He smiled and ran his hands up my sides. “So how happy are you to see me? I’m guessing this place really sucks?”
“Extremely, on both counts.” I kissed him again. His hands roamed upward, but I pushed them back down reluctantly. “We’ll only have a few minutes alone.”
He scowled. “This place does suck. At least the eating’s probably ... plentiful though, right?”
I frowned. “More like pitiful, if today’s any indication.”
“What does that mean?”
I climbed off his lap and sat on the edge of the bed to get comfortable. “Thursday night, I visited the girl next door—who is screwed up beyond belief, FYI—and had a pretty heavy meal. Last night, I abstained. But then today, I was looking for something appetizing outside right before you got here, and I found ... nothing.”
“Nothing good?”
“Nothing at all. No fear, no panic, not even a taste of chronic discomfort. They’re all ... content.”
“Wait. All of them?” Nash scooted the chair forward until his knees hit the mattress between mine.
I shrugged. “The two I tried, anyway.”
“Well, that’s hardly the entire population. Still, what are the chances of two in a row? This is a halfway house, not a birthday party. If the residents were shiny, happy people, they wouldn’t be here.” He caught my frown and amended. “Present company excluded.”
Yet we both knew I was neither shiny nor particularly happy, at least when he wasn’t around. “According to the director, I’m the only hardened criminal—most of the others are here for possession with intent or truancy. But yeah, there should be some major fear in here. Or at least regret or anger. But I’m getting nothing but peace and acceptance. It’s creepy.”
“Are you feeling okay? Getting enough sleep?” Nash asked. I rolled my eyes, and he shrugged. “Okay, any sleep?”
“Nash, I don’t think it’s me. I think it’s them. I think something’s wrong with them.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s just a hunch, but this place doesn’t feel right. I’ve been here for two and a half days now and haven’t heard a single person yell. No one’s arguing over chores or showers or food or the phone. No one’s arguing about anything. They’re all just ... getting along.”
“But isn’t that a good thing? You know, rehabilitation and all?”
“They aren’t rehabilitated. They’re lobotomized. Or at least, neutered.”
“Bina, how do you neuter people? And girls, at that?”
“I don’t know, but that’s what’s happened. They’ve lost their balls. And you can’t tell me they never had any, ’cause if you’ve never caused any trouble, you don’t end up here in the first place.”
“Well, you certainly haven’t been neutered. Or lobotomized.”
“Yeah, I seem to be the exception. And the only other thing I’m the exception to is humanity.”
“You think you’re immune to whatever’s wrong with them because you’re a mara?”
I shrugged again. “I’m kinda thinkin’ out loud here. But yeah.”
“Okay, but what if you’re wrong? What if whatever’s wrong here is only affecting you? Throwing off your empathy?”
“I guess that’s possible.” Especially once I thought about it. “They don’t seem very scared of me. At least, not today...”
“We need a test. Try it on me. Read my fears.”
“Nash, that’s not a good idea.” We’d been down that road; it ended on the edge of a very steep cliff, and I wasn’t sure either of us would survive the fall.
“Just try it. I can take it. You know that.”
Yeah, I knew. That was one of the reasons Nash and I were perfect for each other. I could read his fears—could even feed from them, if I absolutely had to—but because he wasn’t human, he could stop me whenever he wanted. I literally couldn’t hurt him, which was all I could ever have asked for in a boyfriend. Though he was so much more.
And while he could certainly use his Influence on me, I could feel what he was doing because I wasn’t human. With a little practice—at his suggestion—I’d learned to break his hold on my willpower. Which meant he couldn’t hurt me either.
We were both weird and scary. When I was being truly honest with myself, I had to admit we were monsters, both manipulating people for our own benefit. But we were a matched set of monsters. We balanced each other out. Kept each other in check.
Nash and I were made for one another.
“Okay, are you ready?” I asked, hesitantly.
He nodded, and his eyes took on this weird look they sometimes got—like the colors in them weren’t quite steady—and he grinned. “Yeah, but make it fun, Bina.”
I returned his grin with a sultry one of my own. “Fun” was the least I could do.
As one of several kinds of empaths, I can typically read people’s general emotional state at a glance, no matter what they’re trying to hide. But it usually takes some small amount of physical contact for me to accurately read someone’s fears—to get the nitty gritty details. With everyone else, that contact had to be subtle and small to keep from completely freaking them out.
With Nash, I got to be truly hands-on.
I climbed onto the chair with him again and kissed him, long and deep. His mouth opened against mine, and my tongue met his. Dimly, I felt his hands on my hips, anchoring me on his lap, but then all that faded into the background in a single instant.
I saw his deepest fear in that moment, and it looked like ... me.
Huh? Nash was afraid of me? That was new. And weird.
In his mind—or maybe somewhere deeper and darker, wherever fear truly lives—I lay on his bed, in his room, in only my Cowboys tee and underwear. I remembered that night.
But why would he be scared of that?
As I watched, he lay on the bed next to me, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. I remembered that too. He was so warm, and he’d smelled so good.
But this was Nash’s fear-memory, not mine, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when what I remembered didn’t happen next. Instead of kissing me and touching me and looking at me like the world suddenly existed only in my eyes, this fear-Nash climbed on top of me and...
The fear-me tried to stop him, but then he leaned down and whispered something in my ear, and my hand fell limp at my side. I stared at the ceiling over his shoulder as his mouth and hands wandered.
And that’s when I understood. He wasn’t scared of me. He was scared of himself. Nash was terrified that he’d Influenced me.
No!
I pulled away from him and stared, my lips still warm from his. “No. Nash, that’s not how it happened.”
His brow furrowed. “What did you see?”
“Us. That night...” I swallowed, then met his gaze so he could see the truth in mine. “You’re afraid that you made me.”
He closed his eyes, and his head fell against the back of the chair. “Or that I will make you.”
