Manipulating emotions? Calming? Tapping into emotions?
That’s why Noel affected him so badly.
That’s why I always felt better around him.
That’s what has been poking at the edges of my thoughts and I’ve been ignoring in favor of more important things.
“What do you mean she’s special to you?” Morton asks, his voice calm for the first time.
Griffin seems to have been expecting another argument and struggles to respond. “I…she…being near her…I don’t know how, but she…quiets things.”
“As in…”
There’s a moment of hesitation before Griffin answers. “I can’t feel anyone else’s emotions when I’m with her, unless I reach out to someone on purpose. Otherwise, all I feel is her. She shuts everyone else out, and even though her emotions alone are a maelstrom…everyone else is quiet.” The relief in his voice has a strange effect on me. Any anger I had at him for keeping from me his talent and true reason for being here dissolves at the peace beneath his words.
“So,” Morton says slowly, “you were serious when you asked if I could get you transferred down here?”
Griffin doesn’t answer right away. “Can you?” There is a hint of pleading in his voice and it breaks down the last of my frustration and confusion.
“It’ll take me some time,” Morton says, “but I can do it.”
Griffin’s relief is audible.
The argument about me and the wisdom of getting me drunk seems to be over. I’m not totally sure why, but it is.
“Can you stay with her?” Griffin asks. “I just…need to get some air for a while.”
“Go. She’ll be fine.”
Griffin doesn’t waste any time. I hear the front door open and close a few seconds later.
Unsure of what to do now, I just lay there without moving, hoping Morton will go away so I can pretend to wake up and escape back to my own apartment. That plans lasts all of ten seconds.
“Move over,” Morton grumbles. “I know you’re awake.”
Covering up the flush running up my neck with a blanket Griffin must have laid over me at some point, I say, “Well who could sleep with all your yelling?”
He shoves me up to sitting and collapses on the couch next to me. The dim hazy light filtering through the closed blinds says it can’t be more than a few minutes past sunrise. He looks exhausted, especially when he leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes. “Timothy is upset, but all right,” he says. “He asked me to tell you he’s sorry for saying he hated you. He knows it was his dad’s choice to sacrifice himself. He wants to see you when you’re up to it.”
I’m so sick of crying, but I can’t help myself. Griffin was right. Morton feels my shoulders shaking against his and puts his arms around me. He doesn’t say anything else. Neither do I.
“How did you know I was awake?” I ask when my relief that Timothy doesn’t hate me finally overpowers my tears.
Morton sighs. “You’re a very loud thinker.”
“What?”
He scoffs. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet.”
I pull back and stare at him. “You can hear my thoughts?” My eyes widen as I remember how many times I’ve complained about him or wished I could punch him in the nose.
Morton starts laughing, hard. I can’t remember if I’ve ever heard him laugh at all, but I’m positive I’ve never heard him really laugh, like belly laugh. I find myself smiling when I realize he sounds like Griffin. I’m still embarrassed, and kind of pissed, but can’t think of anything else to say.
“I can control it,” he says. “Now, anyway. I don’t listen to people’s thoughts unless I absolutely need to. Your complaints about me are safe…most of the time.”
“That is so not fair.”
Morton shrugs. “To either of us…but you know how these things go.”
Yeah, I do. None of this is fair. The universe, or whatever, gives you this so-called gift, then it proceeds to ruin your life and most likely the lives of everyone you know. From things Morton has said, his childhood was way worse than mine, and it sounds like it didn’t get better very fast. I can imagine, unfortunately, what the people in his life must have thought about him when he’d inadvertently use his ability. He wasn’t joking when he said his psychiatric file is more of a mess than mine.
“So you’re a telepath and Griffin is an empath.”
Sighing, Morton leans his head back against the couch. “Don’t be too mad at him, okay? I asked him not to tell you.”
“I’m not mad, but why not?”
“Because you wouldn’t have let him help you,” he says drily.
I start to argue, but shut my mouth immediately. If I had known why I felt the connection to Griffin that first day in Morton’s office—and that Morton had asked him to come here specifically to help me not fall apart—I would have been pissed. I would have seen it as him thinking I was weak or incapable. How many times had I refused to call Morton when I needed help, or even let him get me excused from classes after I got out of the hospital?
When he realizes I’m not going to fight him on that, he asks, “What did Griffin say that finally broke through to you? You’re still not great, but you’re not about to split open.”
“He told me…it’s okay to screw up.”
“I’ve told you that a million times,” he grumbles.
I smile and relax into the couch. “Yeah, but he said it better.”
Morton scoffs. “You are like one of my daughter’s. Always taking sides against me and causing an unending fit of trouble.”
I doubt anyone but Griffin will ever understand our relationship, but I couldn’t care less.
“Why not Griffin?” he asks.
Confused, I glance up at him and am not sure what to make of his pensive expression. “Why not Griffin what?”
“Why don’t you…like him?”
“Aren’t you the one who was threatening to skin him alive if he ended up in bed with me?” I ask with a laugh. Which, I suppose he has done, several times, even if not in a sexual way. Even that Morton had been against at first.
“I know,” he admits with a shake of his head, “but why not?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. We’re just not interested in each other. Why do you care, anyway?”
He closes his eyes and pulls me back under his arm. “I guess I…wouldn’t mind so much if you really did become part of the family. You’re a good kid, and Griffin’s happier around you.”
Hearing that almost makes me wish I were attracted to Griffin. Warmth spreads through my chest and I lean against him a little more. It’s not often that I’m wanted like that. My throat constricts as his words really sink in. Morton doesn’t give a lot of details about his family, mainly because he’s protective of them. He loves them with the ferocity of a person who knows what it feels like to be abandoned. That’s a privileged group to belong to, and he just extended an invitation.
“Trust me,” I say over the lump in my throat, “if anything ever changes between Griffin and me…you’ll be the last to know.”
Chuckling, he squeezes me almost painfully before relaxing and letting me rest my head against his shoulder again. Whatever is coming for me next, I don’t have to face it alone.
32: The Key
(Griffin)
I can’t stifle my anxiety as I reach for the doorknob. Manipulate other people’s emotions, sure. Keep control of my own? That’s always been a little more difficult. I have to face her, though. We have too much to still do for me act like a pansy and hide from Echo. Pushing the door open, I immediately reach for my ability and test the emotional temperature of the room.
A muted pocket of worry—Dad, asleep on the couch.
Next to him…amusement? Echo stares up at me from where she’s scrunched against Dad, half asleep but fully aware of my presence. “Your dad snores,” she says quietly.
“Yeah, I know.” I step fully into the apartment and close
the door behind me. My confusion is probably plain on my face. Echo seems amused by that as well.
“Did you also know your dad was secretly hoping we’d get together? I have his approval to join the family, should you ever be interested in proposing,” Echo says and she carefully extricates herself from beneath Dad’s arm.
I stare at her dumbfounded. “What?”
She chuckles. I’m completely at a loss when she stands and approaches me. Finally, a hint of nerves flutters through her, but it’s smaller than it should be, and the absence of the anger or betrayal I was expecting is confusing me. I don’t even know how to react when she throws her arms around me. Auto-pilot kicks in and I return her hug, but I’m completely bewildered.
“I’m not mad,” she says.
I was pretty sure she woke up during my argument with Dad, but I was so focused on following his emotions and trying to control my own that I wasn’t sure when she woke up or how much she heard. So, I’m not sure what she’s referring to right now. “You’re not mad about what?”
She sighs. “About any of it. I was at first, but…I get it. Besides, you’re special to me too, and I’m not going to throw that away just because you listened to your dad about hiding your ability and used it to keep me from losing my mind. I’m not really an ends justify the means kind of person, usually. This deserves an exception.”
I know I should back off, not invade her emotions if I don’t need to but, damn it, I can’t help it. She shivers when I let my power flash through her. I expect to find some deceit, some hidden emotions. I don’t. She’s still miles from a clean bill of psychological health, but the destructive emotions that were controlling her last night are at a more manageable level and she’s relatively at peace in this moment.
“How did I not notice you doing that before?” she asks when I pull my power back.
“Because I’m normally much more subtle about it,” I tell her. I shake my head, still unable to understand why she isn’t furious with me.
She shivers again. “How do I make other people’s emotions go away for you?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea. It’s never happened before. Maybe it’s some sort of compatibility between our gifts.” It’s something I want to explore, but really don’t have any clue where to start. The idea of compatibility sticks in my mind and what Echo said earlier comes back to the front of my thoughts. “Did he really say that about us getting married? Why would he think that?”
Echo laughs. “I tried to tell him it wasn’t going to happen, but I think he’s still holding out hope.”
“You’re too young for me, even if I were attracted to you.”
Snorting at me, Echo shoves me away and steps back. Her arms circle around her body on instinct, protective as uncertainty wells in her. I panic, thinking it’s all finally hit her and she’s going to hate me.
“Does Malachi still hate me? He says…I just worry he’s lying and he still hates me.” Her chin drops and she is suddenly consumed with guilt, sadness, and fear.
I wouldn’t normally betray someone’s emotions to another person, but Echo has been torturing herself over what happened with Malachi and she needs an answer to this just as much as she did about Timothy and everything else she’s been blaming herself for. Pulling her back into a hug, I say, “No he doesn’t hate you. He’s sad to have lost you as more than a friend, and it hurts him to see Kyran with you, but he’s forgiven you and forgiven himself. Please let go of that guilt so you can both move forward.”
Her body sinks against mine. A moment later her arms tighten around me and I know she’s trying to hide her tears from me. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I hold her for several more minutes until she’s ready to move forward. When she pulls back, her eyes are a little red, but she squares her shoulders. “Well, should we get back to work? We’ve still got a bunch of Devourers to lock up and…” Echo gasps, her eyes flying wide. “The Key! Where did it go? He gave it to me last night. No, no, no. What happened to it? I lost it!”
She starts patting herself down, as if it might still be on her person somewhere. When she spins around to find what isn’t here, I grab her shoulders. “Echo, Kyran has it. Calm down.”
“What?”
“Kyran has it,” I repeat. “You had it in your hand when you came back last night. You dropped it on the bed when you woke up and Kyran picked it up. He has it. It’s not lost.”
Exhaling in relief, Echo presses a hand to her forehead. “I almost gave myself a heart attack. Thank goodness for Kyran.”
For more reasons than just one when it comes to Echo. I shake my head. Not that I would have had anything against dating Echo if a spark had been there, but she needs Kyran in her life. I haven’t pinpointed exactly why just yet. It’s more than his complete acceptance of her and no fear for what she can do. There’s something even more basic than that. I’m not one who believes in love at first sight, or even young love. Almost unfailingly, young love is nothing more than a heavy dose of lust. Love doesn’t happen overnight, regardless of what books or TV try to tell you. Kyran…I don’t know.
Pushing away thoughts like that, I refocus. “I’m sure the others are already up trying to figure out what you brought back. Ready?”
Echo points at Dad’s sleeping form. “What about him?”
“Leave him,” I say. “He was at the Bridger’s most of the night calming Timothy and his mom down. He freaked her out pretty good last night.”
“I bet,” Echo says with a sad shake of her head.
We leave Dad comatose on the couch and head back to Echo’s apartment. I really would have liked to get a shower before getting back to work, but I’m not quite ready to leave Echo alone just yet. Dad passed out on the couch doesn’t count as supervision. I’ve learned to trust my ability to sense and read emotions. I can feel that she’s stabilized, for the most part, but I’m still hesitant to leave her alone for too long. I feel even more justified in that when we reach the door and she moves closer to me. Anxiety over facing her friends flashes through her. Embarrassment as well, though her sneaking out last night was a far cry from bolting from the apartment in a mad rush as she did after sleeping with Malachi.
“They all understand,” I tell her.
She nods, but waits for me to open the door.
The moment the door swings open, heads pop up like baby birds in need of food. They’re spread all over the living room amid stacks of paper and books. For several seconds they all just stare, some worried, some relieved, some uncertain. Kyran is the first to extract himself from his research and step over a pile of books to get to her. As soon as he reaches out, she folds into his embrace and the entire room seems to take a breath. Malachi looks away from them, but is more relieved than hurt by their affection.
Echo pulls back after a moment and asks, “You have the Key, right?”
Nodding, Kyran reaches over Malachi and grabs something from off the table. I didn’t get a very good look at the token last night. I was too focused on monitoring Echo’s emotions and making sure she didn’t do something she’d regret. When Kyran holds it out to Echo, I study it as closely as she does. The stone Ankh fits in the palm of her hand. It seems too small to be so important. The token isn’t elaborate, merely a dark stone carved in the simple shape of an Ankh. The surface has been roughened by time, and I can’t help wondering just how old it is.
“How did you bring it back?” Kyran asks.
Echo shakes her head. “No clue.”
“Did he do something, or did you?”
Shrugging, Echo answers without taking her eyes of the key. “I forgot I even had it. I was too busy trying to keep Timothy and me from being obliterated to do anything.”
Kyran doesn’t buy that. “You do stuff without meaning to all the time.”
Not really having a reason for that, Echo moves on. “What on earth are we supposed to do with this?” Echo asks.
Kyran sighs. “We know it’s in the book from what Timothy said, so
mewhere, but we haven’t found it yet.”
“We have to,” Echo says. “Before tonight.”
Everyone is suddenly on edge.
“Why by tonight?” Kyran asks. Malachi and Echo share a look, already knowing the answer.
“Because if we don’t,” Echo says, “Timothy is going to die.”
33: Just the Messenger
(Echo)
I’ve never seen Zara this focused on something academic. To her, this is probably in no way related to the homework she despised. I didn’t even know she knew how to make a spreadsheet, but she’s got names of symbols, their meanings, stories associated with each, and anything else she can think of all put into cells, converted to charts and graphs to better compare what they all have in common. The themes are clear.
Life, spirit, knowledge, balance, protection, memory.
What they all have to do with each other, way fuzzier.
My eyes blur as I scan endless pages of notes and printouts, searching for a single image. It’s the last symbol in the Caretaker’s name, or description. Whatever it is. I’m confused why this one character in the book doesn’t have a proper name. Osiris gets his own symbol. Why can’t I? Or whoever this string of symbols is referring to. I’m beginning to think more and more that this isn’t talking about a specific person, but a role.
I’m totally lost on whether there is actually a real Osiris and Seshat and Anubis. That doesn’t make sense, but what do I know? It seems more likely that they’re like Timothy, and it’s an endless string of people associated with the spirit realm. But if I’m part of that—Egyptian lore aside—why doesn’t this figure have a real name? That thought takes me back to wondering if it isn’t a name at all, but a role, a description of what this person is supposed to be doing.
In Lucy Coulter’s scribbling, the symbols are in a big clump, haphazardly drawn in one corner of the lined notebook paper. In Kyran’s list, they’re in a nice straight line. I search through the stacks around me in search of the photocopies of the ferryman’s book. Kyran highlighted all the instances of this particular string of symbols, and I realize they’re always in the same order. After having spent half the morning reading translations from the ferryman’s book and from the translations of the Book of the Dead posted online, my theory that this isn’t a name seems even more likely. What is it trying to say, though?
The Ghost Host: Episode 2 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 28
