Part 4 (1/2)

Uncontrollable powers. Emotion based.

I remembered Tori sobbing that she couldn't help it, that when she got mad, things just happened. Like Liz. Like Derek. Like Rae. Like me?

I skimmed over the next page. It detailed how they'd handled these ”unsuccessful” subjects-put them into a group home, tried to medicate their powers and convince them they were mentally ill. When that failed...

The powers of supernaturals increase through p.u.b.erty, meaning the powers of these failed subjects will continue to grow. It can be reasonably hypothesized that their powers will become more volatile and uncontrollable, threatening the lives of the subjects; the lives of innocents around them; and, perhaps most important, posing an immense exposure risk to the entire supernatural world.We undertook this experiment in hopes of bettering the lives of all supernaturals. We cannot, through our actions, endanger that same world. As responsible scientists, we must accept responsibility for our failures and deal with them decisively to minimize the damage. While the decision was not unanimous, it was agreed that if the predetermined rehabilitation process fails, the subject must, with deep regret, be terminated quickly and humanely.

At the bottom was a list of names. Beside each was their current status.

Peter Ricci-rehabilitatedMila Andrews-rehabilitatedAmber Long-terminatedBrady Hirsch-terminatedElizabeth Delany-terminatedRach.e.l.le Rogers-rehabilitation progressingVictoria Enright-rehabilitation progressing And finally, at the bottom, two names.

Derek Souza-???Chloe Saunders-???

I don't know how long I stared at that list-and those question marks-before something hit my skull. I spun as a stapler bounced onto the carpet.

”Cafe mocha,” said Dr. Davidoff, right outside the door. ”Decaf, nonfat.”

As I logged off, my gaze flipped between the reading room door and the kneehole under the desk. The kneehole was closer, but then I'd be trapped. A spurt of courage sent me lunging for the door. I made it-to the door, not through it into the reading room-as the hall door clicked open. I wheeled and pressed myself against the wall, beside a tall bookcase. I was out of sight but just barely. the door, not through it into the reading room-as the hall door clicked open. I wheeled and pressed myself against the wall, beside a tall bookcase. I was out of sight but just barely.

I reached for the reading room doork.n.o.b. If I opened it wide enough to get through, though, he'd notice.

Go to the desk, I pleaded. I pleaded. Check your e-mail. Check your voice messages. Just please, please, please, don't check on me. Check your e-mail. Check your voice messages. Just please, please, please, don't check on me.

His footsteps headed straight for me. I plastered myself to the wall and held my breath. His arm appeared. Then his knee. Then- He stopped. The arm and knee turned toward the desk. He bent and picked up the stapler.

Oh, G.o.d. He knew. I had to come clean. Make up a story and turn myself in before I was caught. I stepped forward. A chattering broke the silence. My teeth? No, the pen holder on his desk was shaking, pens and pencils rattling.

Dr. Davidoff stared at it, his head tilting as if to say, Am I doing that? Am I doing that? He caught the pen holder. It stopped shaking. As he pulled back his hand, the mouse rolled across the pad. He caught the pen holder. It stopped shaking. As he pulled back his hand, the mouse rolled across the pad.

”Well?” a voice said by my ear. ”Are you just going to stand there?”

Liz stood at my shoulder. She jabbed her finger at the door.

”Go!”

I made sure Dr. Davidoff had his back to me, then eased through the door.

”Lock it!” she whispered.

I reached around and turned the lock. The pens chattered again, covering the click of the door latch.

Liz stepped through the wall and waved me to the chair like she was shooing a cat. I'd barely settled in with the book when the door opened.

Dr. Davidoff took a slow look around the room. I followed his gaze, frowning, like I was wondering what he was searching for. I forced myself to look past Liz perched on the side table.

”Dr. Davidoff?”

He said nothing, just looked around.

”Did you forget something?” I asked.

He murmured about checking on dinner, then left after pausing at the door for one last, slow look around.

”Thank you,” I said to Liz after Dr. Davidoff had locked me in again. ”I know you're mad at me, for saying you're dead-”

”Because I'm obviously not dead, am I? You said the reason I couldn't touch stuff or move it was because I was a ghost.” She smiled smugly, pulling her knees up and hugging them. ”So I worked really hard at moving stuff. If I concentrate, I can. That means I must be a shaman.”

Earlier I'd tried to explain why I hadn't told her sooner that she was a ghost. I'd said I'd thought she might be a shaman, because Derek said they could astral-project-appear without their bodies.

”They've got me drugged up,” she continued. ”That's why I keep getting all confused. I can't wake up, so my spirit is moving around instead.”

She dangled her legs again and made figure eights with her feet, watching the giraffes on her socks dance. She didn't believe what she was saying. She knew she was dead. But she wasn't ready to face it.

As for being able to move objects, Dr. Davidoff had said one kind of ghost could: a telekinetic half-demon. When Liz got mad, objects had attacked whoever she was angry at. Now, as a ghost, she'd finally learned to harness her power.

In life, Liz thought she had a poltergeist. In death, she was one. She just couldn't accept that yet. And I wasn't going to force her.

Eight.

W E HAD SPAGHETTI AND E HAD SPAGHETTI AND meatb.a.l.l.s for dinner. Rae's favorite. I couldn't eat, only sipping at a gla.s.s of flat c.o.ke, but she didn't notice my loss of appet.i.te. She was like a kid on her first day back from camp, with so much to tell that it burbled out in one endless stream. meatb.a.l.l.s for dinner. Rae's favorite. I couldn't eat, only sipping at a gla.s.s of flat c.o.ke, but she didn't notice my loss of appet.i.te. She was like a kid on her first day back from camp, with so much to tell that it burbled out in one endless stream.

She'd had a training session, a demonology lecture, and a long talk with Dr. Davidoff, who told her all about her mother and their hopes of contacting her. And as she talked, all I could think was, We've been genetically modified. We're Frankenstein monsters We've been genetically modified. We're Frankenstein monsters-failed Frankenstein monsters. And I have no idea how I'm going to break it to you. Frankenstein monsters. And I have no idea how I'm going to break it to you.

”I saw Brady today,” I finally blurted.

Rae stopped, fork raised, dangling spaghetti strands swaying. ”Brady? Seriously? He's here. Oh my G.o.d, that is so cool.” Her grin blazed. ”And you know what the first words out of that boy's mouth are gonna be? 'I told you so.' He kept saying there was nothing wrong with him, that something weird was going on-”

”He's dead Rae. I contacted his ghost.”

She blinked. One slow blink, and then it was like someone paralyzed every muscle in her face, and it went completely still, her eyes empty, expressionless.

”I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blurt it out like-”

”Why would you make up such a”-she seemed to chew over her words, searching for the best, before spitting out-”vicious lie.” lie.”

”Lie? No! I'd never-”

”Why are you doing this, Chloe?”

”Because we're in danger. We've been genetically modified and it didn't work. The Edison Group killed Liz and Brady and-”

”And it's only a matter of time before they kill us all. Mwah-ha-ha! Mwah-ha-ha! You really do watch too many movies, don't you? And now those boys have brainwashed you with their conspiracy theory c.r.a.p.” You really do watch too many movies, don't you? And now those boys have brainwashed you with their conspiracy theory c.r.a.p.”