Mind Games (Mind Games 1)

I let out an exasperated breath. “About Clarice. She needs to know what I know.”

“And what do you know?”

I’m too excited to lie. “Clarice was evil! We never knew if Clarice would have been the one to kill me, but I’m pretty sure it would have been her. And besides that, she did all sorts of other things. Even Ms. Robertson thought she was evil, and that’s saying something. Where’s Fia?”

There’s a long pause, and I wait, buzzing, to tell Fia. But then it’s still James on the line. “What do you think knowing this will change?”

“Everything! Fia doesn’t have to feel guilty, she doesn’t have to let it eat her alive!”

“I don’t think you understand your sister. She didn’t kill Clarice because Clarice was evil. She killed Clarice to protect you. Clarice could have been Mother Teresa and Fia would have done the exact same thing.”

“But…if she knew—”

“It wouldn’t change anything. Fia made her choices based entirely on you, and it didn’t matter who was on the receiving end of the death sentence. She chose you, Annabelle. Over Clarice. Over anyone. Even over herself. Nothing will change her feelings about what she did, because she knows she’d do it again. That’s what she can’t live with.”

I drop onto the couch. “But she should know.” It makes it better. It does.

“I think you’re the only one whose guilt is eased by knowing about Clarice. Don’t pretend it will help Fia. Now, she’s sleeping and I hate to wake her. Is there a message you want me to deliver?”

“No,” I whisper, and hang up the phone.

FIA

Tuesday Afternoon

I’M SITTING IN A LOBBYLIKE ROOM (FIRST FLOOR, two exits—one we came through, the other probably leads outside faster—five windows, freestanding chairs that can break a window or a head) on a couch with Adam. Sarah—brown hair brown eyes is named Sarah—brought me a cup of coffee, a muffin, and some aspirin. No one has a gun on me. No one is expecting me to run.

And…I don’t feel like I should.

“Well, I’m confused.” I lean back into the corner of the couch and tuck my feet up underneath me. I see Adam’s eyes flick to my legs and then away as his face reddens because he is embarrassed he looked, and it is adorable. Also it makes me wish I had a longer skirt on. Or pants. Then he wouldn’t have to be embarrassed. I want to be a girl he doesn’t have to be embarrassed around.

I wonder what it would be like to be with a boy who blushes when he looks at my skin.

“I was confused when they found me, too,” Adam says, grinning. He grins with his whole face. It’s kind of beautiful.

“Yeah, about that. What happened to being dead?” I narrow my eyes and punch him lightly in the shoulder. “I want a refund. I gave you all my money.”

“Oh!” He reddens further and stands up. “It’s in my bag, I’ll go—”

I roll my eyes. He’s so sincere. “Kidding. Sit down. I didn’t want you dead. This works, too, I guess. I just want to know how you got here. You had very specific instructions.”

“We found him yesterday afternoon. I was watching very closely for him, and I saw him going to the Chicago library constantly to check his email.”

Dumb Fia. DUMB. I can’t believe I forgot to tell him not to plan anything and not to be predictable. Tap tap tap my finger on my bare leg, I am so glad he’s not dead.

“So you guys weren’t trying to kill him in that alley.” I glance over at Cole (sitting in a chair—not close like Sarah but near one of the doors—watching the whole room like he isn’t watching it). “Sorry about that.”

He smiles, but, unlike Adam’s, his is a lie and doesn’t touch his eyes. “You didn’t know. And you weren’t the only one who drew blood.” He looks pointedly at my bandaged shoulder, which still hurts but not as much as my head and my head is entirely my own fault.

“Lucky shot.”

This time his smile does touch his eyes.

“So, what do you want with Adam?” I ask.

“We’re very interested in his brain research. Why did the school want him dead? This seems like the exact thing they would be interested in, too. Right now they’re hit-and-miss with finding girls, but if what Adam is working on pans out, it will give us a direct link to women with psychic abilities. It doesn’t make sense for them to order a hit.”

Because Keane wasn’t behind the hit. Annie was. “Keane’s going on advice from psychics. They aren’t exactly reliable.” I don’t mean it as a dig against Sarah and cringe after I say it, but she nods.