“Okay,” Foster wrung out the bottom of her shirt one last time before joining him in the cab. “But that means no more freaking out on me or trying to jump out of the car.”
“Truck.” He winked. “Got it. And, hey”—Tate sobered—“I’m really sorry about your mom. I shouldn’t have acted like she wasn’t important to you. And, um, about your other parents and your adoptive dad, too. That really sucks.”
“Yeah,” Foster’s chest tightened. “Thanks. And I’m sure you’re sorry about calling me a bitch as well.”
“Actually,” Tate stuck a wad of beef jerky in his mouth and flopped back against the seat. “I still stand by that one.”
Clenching her teeth, Foster took yet another deep inhale. “And Douchehawk strikes again.”
7
EVE
“Let me get this straight. Not one. Not two. But three—three adults—grown men who have the ability to control wind, water, and fire somehow couldn’t manage to control two teenagers? Do I have that right, Eve?”
Holding to calmness and serenity, Eve had hung back when they entered the beach home on Sunset Key, just a short boat ride from the private airport on Key West where their jet lived, always ready to take them to the mainland. She continued to keep her thoughts to herself, as she had on the quick trip from Missouri to the research island. Eve didn’t respond to the question, but remained very still in the shadows watching the man who was the center of her world pace back and forth in front of the three men she called brothers. Just let him talk, Eve prayed silently, hoping her brothers would’ve learned by now. Let him vent his anger and be rid of it—then we can try to reason with him.
“Father, there was more to it than that.”
Mark spoke up immediately, proving to Eve once again that prayers were never answered. There was nobody “up there” listening. The only religion in the room was science, and Doctor Rick Stewart was their only god.
Stewart rounded on Mark, focusing the full weight of his sharp-eyed glare on him—tall, handsome, broken Mark. Her water brother. Out of the three of them, he was the one she counted on the most. Which is why she’d put him in charge—insisted he go to the motel when she couldn’t because … because … because she was broken, too, and had been fighting her demons, unable to help her brothers.
“Really?” Stewart spoke sarcastically. “More to it than that? You mean more like the fact that because of you Foster and Tate are together out there somewhere causing unimaginable harm—maybe to themselves, maybe to others?” Stewart had stopped in front of Mark; with each question the doctor fired, he moved closer and closer until he stood almost nose to nose with the younger man.
“Father, it wasn’t his fault.”
Slowly, with a grace that belied his age and always reminded Eve of one of his pet snakes stalking a feeder mouse, Stewart turned from Mark to approach Matthew.
“Wasn’t his fault? Then whose fault was it? You and your brothers—men who are thirty-six years old—failed to do the one thing I asked of you? Failed to bring me two teenagers. Explain it to me. I want to know.”
Eve closed her eyes. No, Matthew! Just stay silent!
“I … I called the tornado like Eve said I should. But then we had to wait, like you told us to, and see how the kids would react. Father, if, uh, if we’d, um, grabbed them before the game—or at least one of them—things would’ve been different.” Matthew seemed to shrink as he fidgeted. He couldn’t meet Stewart’s eyes, and instead sent his father apologetic, nervous glances.
Stewart’s voice was deceptively soft. “Are you blaming your sister for your shortcomings?”
Matthew’s throat swallowed convulsively. “No,” he corrected hastily. “I’m not blaming Eve.”
“Then you must be blaming me.”
Eve held her breath, wondering which Rick Stewart they were dealing with: the one she worshipped or the one she feared. Unconsciously Eve rubbed the place on her forearm hidden by the long sleeves of her shirt. The instant she realized what she was doing she dropped her arms to her side, fisting her hands so they would not be tempted to stray again.
“Nobody blames you, Father,” Luke spoke up.
Stewart’s gaze went from Matthew to Luke, and then rested on Mark. He blew out a long breath and put his hand on Mark’s shoulder, causing the man to flinch.
“Of course you don’t blame me. You’re my sons. You have more loyalty than that, don’t you, Mark?”
“Yes, Father.”
Along with the three brothers, Eve released the breath she’d been holding as she moved from the shadows at the side of the room to Rick Stewart. She slid her hand in his and looked up into his intelligent brown eyes.
“It was my fault, Father. I let things get out of control. At first I only saw Cora, and when Foster finally joined her, the wall cloud was forming the tornado. I thought they’d react more normally—run for the school like almost everyone else. By the time I realized I was wrong it was too late. Foster and Tate had joined and fully manifested air, and caused a major splintering of the tornado. It was like a war zone, Father. I’m so, so sorry.”
Stewart pulled her into the circle of his arm, his gaze fond—his touch gentle and fatherly.
“Sweet Eve, you are not to blame, though I do not understand why you weren’t at the motel with your brothers.”
“I would have been. I meant to be with them, but I lost control.” Her eyes beseeched him to understand.
“We’ve talked about this. Over and over. Until I find the cure for your hallucinations … and for the symptoms of your manifested elements,” Stewart paused and included the brothers in his gaze. “You must keep reminding yourselves that what you see is simply not of this reality and learn to push through the discomfort your elements cause.”