Part 20 (1/2)

”What is with him?” Jason asks as he watches Rei suspiciously over his shoulder.

”He thinks I'm his little sister,” Taylor sighs.

”But you're not, right?” Jason is confused.

Even Taylor smirks. ”No, Jason. I'm not.”

As soon as they're out of sight, I materialize just long enough to let Rei know I'll follow her. Three people do a double take in Rei's direction.

Jason takes her to the nearest McDonald's, which is seven miles away. They sit next to each other in a booth, and he practically inhales a large order of everything while Taylor picks at his fries and sips a small diet soda. He does nothing to discourage her foot from roaming up and down his leg.

He seems to be forgetting how terrifying I truly am.

Thanks to a large root beer, nature calls. ”I'll be right back,” he says, and he leans in and gives her a sloppy, double cheesy kiss right on the lips. Ack!

I'm waiting for him when he comes through the door of the men's room, his hand on his fly, ready for action. I swear all I did was smile at him, and d.a.m.n! I wish I had a camera! The look on his face when he sees me is priceless, and then I crack up laughing because now Seth and Jason have something in common! Wetness blooms around the front of his pants.

He doesn't even let her know he's leaving; he just bolts out the side door. After about five minutes, Taylor asks one of the staff to check the men's room. When she realizes his car is missing from the parking lot, her face turns a shade of magenta I didn't realize I was capable of.

She dials her cell phone fast and her words fly like bullets. ”Cori? It's Anna. Can you pick me up? Jason Trent is the biggest...”

For once, I agree with Taylor Gleason completely.

CHAPTER 30.

Rei is stressed out. In addition to everything that's going on, he's got a research paper due tomorrow. There are books spread out all over his bed, but when I materialize in his room, I find him pacing back and forth instead of reading.

As soon as he sees me, he practically pounces. ”Are you okay? Where are they? I've been kicking myself for not following them!”

She's fine. He took her to McDonald's. I surprised him in the men's room and I scared him so bad, he wet his pants. He left without her and Cori had to pick her up.

Rei's shoulders relax. ”Okay. Well that's one good thing that happened today.”

It's Wednesday. Aren't you supposed to be at your aikido cla.s.s?

”Yeah, but I have to get this paper in by tomorrow since I'll be in court on Friday. Want to help me?”

Sure.

”Will you search history of the U.S. election process and print out a few that look good?”

While they're printing, I give him the highlights of Taylor's deposition, and Rei looks up from reading and nods from time to time. I conveniently leave out the part when I materialized in front of the district attorney. He's stressed enough as it is.

His headache is back. As soon as I see him knead the center of his forehead with his thumb while he reads the printouts, I reach out and let whatever energy I have transfer from my fingertips to his temples.

He smiles without taking his eyes off the paper he's reading. ”Do you know what you're doing?”

I'm trying to help you get rid of your headache.

”You did. It's gone.” He looks up at me and his smile is sweet, but weary. ”It went away as soon as you touched me. You did it a few other times before today, but I wasn't sure if you were doing it on purpose.” He holds his hand up toward me, palm out like he wants to high-five me and I match my hand to his, each of my fingers mirroring his. He considers our hands. ”You feel like you're purring. Do I feel like that to you?”

I nod.

”You know, my mom had to take cla.s.ses to learn how to do Reiki. How did you figure this out?”

I shrug.

”I think my mom should let you work on some of her clients.”

I stretch one hand out to reach the keyboard from the bed. Your mom won't even let me teach a kids' yoga cla.s.s.

”Hey...” Rei looks from me to the keyboard, then back to me. ”I didn't know you could reach that far. Is that something new you can do?”

In all the excitement yesterday, I forgot to show Rei my new trick. I nod.

”Cool. And she didn't let you teach the kids' cla.s.s because she's obsessive about yoga fundamentals and she knew you'd focus on fun stuff. But this is different. Trust me, you can get rid of a headache a lot faster than my mom does,” he admits.

I raise my eyebrows, but this confession pleases me more than he could ever know.

”It's true,” he insists. ”I know I tease you about being magical, mystical, Auracle girl, but so much of this metaphysical stuff just comes naturally to you, Anna. It's like a gift.”

I wish I had a camera, because Rei has this look of tender admiration on his face, and I want to remember it forever. I look at our hands, flesh and spirit, still touching. I don't want to disappoint him, but I think he should know the truth.

I don't know if I'll be able to do any of this when I get my body back.

I don't even know if I'll get my body back.

I don't type that, but Rei must know what I'm thinking. ”We'll get her out of you,” he promises. ”Whatever it takes, we will get her out of you, Anna. And when you're back where you belong, I'm going to give my mother one h.e.l.l of a headache so you can show her what you've got.”

I have to laugh at that. Rei has already given Yumi more headaches this week than he has in his entire life. And as much as I would like to hang out and listen to Rei say nice things about me, he still has to finish this stupid project, so I offer to help. Two hours later and I'm still confused about why the electoral vote trumps the popular vote and what the founding fathers were drinking when they came up with the idea for the Electoral College. Finally, I make an excuse that I need to check on Taylor. Considering I have a project due in history that's similar to Rei's, maybe I'll get lucky and find Taylor doing something useful, like my homework.

Things are quiet at my house. My mom is out for a real estate banquet tonight, and my father slumps in his chair, the blue glow from the television reflecting an eerie green off the whites of his eyes. He raises the gla.s.s to his mouth and drinks, swallows, scratches places best left unmentioned, and returns the gla.s.s to the watermark etched onto the cheap wooden table over the course of hundreds of days and nights just like this one.

My bedroom is no longer familiar. Everything on my bureau is gone, replaced with Taylor's stuff. The big yellow Pikachu pillow Rei gave me for my tenth birthday is nowhere to be found, and there's a new comforter on my bed that's a sorry shade of lavender. She looks so at home sitting on my bed, reading an article from a fas.h.i.+on magazine, an open bag of chips and a nearly empty bottle of vodka beside her.

That is not helping me in my quest to avoid becoming an alcoholic. I hover in the corner, invisible, and watch her flip pages languidly and suck down vodka. When she drains the last mouthful, the f-word flies out of her mouth along with a huff of annoyance.

She contemplates the door for a while before she reluctantly stands. The selection of clothes in my closet is alien to me, but she immediately reaches for a short, silky leopard print robe. She slides her arms into the sleeves, ties the belt loosely around her waist, and flips her hair out of the collar before she opens the bedroom door and slithers out toward the kitchen.

My father acknowledges nothing but his gla.s.s and the television. Taylor steals into the kitchen, watching him suspiciously as she tiptoes past. Under the kitchen sink, there are cleaning supplies and extra bottles of my father's liquor, courtesy of Mom, the Enabler. She decided years ago that life was much easier in the Rogan home if there were always a few extra bottles of ”daddy's juice,” so she buys it by the case. Taylor opens the cabinet below the sink quietly, but gla.s.s clinks against gla.s.s as she lifts out a bottle of whiskey.

There is nothing in this world my father is responsible for, except those bottles. I've heard a mother will wake up instantly from a deep sleep at the sound of her baby's whimper, so maybe my father does have some paternal instinct after all, just not where I'm concerned. He snaps to attention and turns slowly toward Taylor, but there is no place to hide in my tiny house.

I watch her shoulders droop as she carefully closes the cabinet door and hides the bottle behind her. Now my father struggles to his feet, holding the arm of the recliner for support as he squints into the kitchen.

”Wha's tha' in your han'?” Under the fluorescent kitchen light, his skin is the color of an overripe banana and his nose looks like a strawberry. All the blond in his hair has faded and thinned, so it looks like a fine layer of greasy mold covering his head.