Micki looked at him sharply. He understood why—she was worried what happened with Parker might happen here.
“Okay,” Angel said and jumped to her feet, “but I’ve got to pee first.”
Micki told her where the bathroom was, then turned to Zach. “Are you crazy? Don’t do this.”
“I have to.” He took a deep breath, rubbed his hands together. “They were talking about the Dark Bearer’s energy. It must have been all over her.”
“Which is why they didn’t touch her. And why you shouldn’t either.”
“I can do this.”
“What if you kill her?”
“It’s more likely she’ll kill me.”
“Great. I’m so reassured.” She stood, crossed to the window, then marched back. “I was there. I saw what happened. This isn’t a good idea.”
“That thing with Parker, it’s something only he and I can do. I can transmit what I’ve picked up to him. This isn’t a transmission.”
“What about Miller’s apartment? Getting too close to that thing’s handiwork knocked you on your ass. And at Putnam’s—”
“It’s been what, ten days since her encounter with it? Time diffuses the energy. Besides, I’m right here and not feeling even a ripple.”
“What are you hoping to learn?” she asked.
“I’m hoping to get a look at the thing that was after her that night. See if it was the same thing that killed Knight.”
“What do you mean?” They turned. Angel stood in the doorway; eyes wide, face pasty. “It . . . that thing killed Brite?”
She didn’t know Knight was dead.
As they gazed at her, her eyes filled with tears and her chin began to wobble. Mick went to her. Put an arm around her and led her back to the couch. “I’m sorry, sweetie, we thought you knew.”
She shook her head, turned her face into Mick’s shoulder. But she didn’t cry.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly.
“I didn’t like her very much. I feel bad about that.”
“Don’t,” Zach said. “I met her. She wasn’t an easy person to like.”
“But she took me in. She didn’t want to, but she did.” Angel blinked back tears. “You don’t think that it was my fault that she—”
“No,” Micki said. “Absolutely not.”
Zach crossed to where they sat, squatted down in front of the girl. “If you didn’t know Brite had died, why did you leave her house and go to Fran’s?”
“She told me to leave. That it was coming for me.” She paused. “In my head.”
“Telepathy,” he said. “When was that, Angel?”
“I don’t remember. The days . . . I get confused.”
“Deep breath,” Micki said. “Clear your mind. Count back.”
She stilled, Zach heard her deeply drawn and expelled breaths. One. Two. Then three.
“A few nights ago. Saturday. I was watching Saturday Night Live. It was almost over.”
Saturday. The night Brite Knight died. Zach fitted the timeline pieces together: SNL ended at midnight, the time he and Brite were scheduled to meet, when she had turned and run.
Run not from him or because she had sensed Mick’s presence. But from the Dark Bearer.
She had been running for her life. And maybe for Angel’s, too.
Zach looked at Micki. She had put all the pieces together, as well.
“Why’d you go to Fran’s?”
“She’s my only friend.”
“Why not Eli?”
“I didn’t know where to find him. He said he was a graduate student at Tulane. But that’s all I knew.”
“And he didn’t try to contact you. In any way?”
“If by that you mean . . . telepathy, no. I tried to reach him that way, but it didn’t work.” Her voice quivered. “I thought maybe if Brite could do it, I could, too.”
“It takes practice. I’m not very good at it and I’ve practiced a lot.” He held out his hand. “You ready?”
She looked nervous. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
She started to take his hand, then jerked hers away. “Wait! What should I do with my mind?”
He smiled and tapped her forehead with his index finger. “Keep it right in there.”
She rolled her eyes. “I mean, what should I think about? That thing?”
During Sixer training they’d experimented with their gifts, trying every variable and variation to learn what worked—and what worked best. The only thing that had seemed help—or hinder—his memory retrieval was time: closer to the actual event, the stronger the psychic vibration.
But that had been before Mr. Big-and-Badass had come on the scene. The rules of the game had changed. He just wasn’t certain what they had changed to.
“No. Don’t try to conjure it or the memory. Relax. Pretend you don’t know who I am or what I’m trying to do.”
“Okay.” She let out a long breath, then grasped his hand. A series of images cascaded across the back of his eyes. A baby, abandoned on the steps of a church. A little girl with big brown eyes and dark hair. Crying. Hiding. A man with a belt looking for her . . . the streets. Alone . . .