The cat seems to be in a much mellower mood with a full belly. And it clearly lacks a sense of stranger danger, because all I get is one quick investigative sniff before it crawls into my lap and curls up, purring as I stroke its fur.
“It’s so not a superpower. I never know when I’m going to pick someone up. They aren’t always nice. It can take a very long time to make them go away. And when they do go . . .” A small shudder runs through me. “Well, let’s just say that I have to process the bad memories, too. How they died. All combined, it makes it tough to lead a normal life. It makes you a freak.”
Aaron’s eyes are sympathetic. “I get it. Really, I do, Anna. Do you have any idea how many people in the average high school are actively thinking about punching, maiming, or murdering someone at any given moment? I mean, they don’t usually act on it—ten minutes later they might even be friends again. But I spent most of ninth grade in a state of hyperalert, nervously watching the girl who was thinking about stabbing her rival with a nail file, or the guy who was thinking about pummeling me for staring at the girl with the nail file. Or the pissed-off teacher who was thinking how nice the vice principal’s head would look mounted on his wall. I quit school at sixteen, over major objections from my mom, and took the GED. You could not pay me to walk back into one of those asylums.”
“You’ll get no argument from me. Unfortunately, I have to finish up two more classes this year before they’ll let me es . . . cape.”
How have I managed, in the space of a few minutes, to go from glancing around for possible exit routes to petting a sleeping cat while I chat with this guy I barely know about our shared freakdom? Especially when he hasn’t answered several important questions.
I yank myself back on track. “You still haven’t explained why you were watching the building today. Or how you knew about the van last week. I mean, you aren’t picking up danger vibes at random from all over the Metro area, are you? Did Porter ask you to keep an eye out?”
“No. Porter doesn’t even know about my premonitions. My grandfather knows. In fact, he’s probably where I got it from, although he gets these . . . I guess you’d call them hunches, gut feelings, whatever. My dad did, too. And Taylor—she’s my younger sister—she has . . . something going on herself. I’m surprised Molly didn’t already know that about me, because anything my sister knew, Molly knew. They were really close, so you’re probably going to get a lot of strange stories coming through once your ‘data dump’ is complete. My mom knows. My brother—technically, my half brother—he knows, but doesn’t admit he knows, if that makes sense? He’s kind of like Porter in that respect. Doesn’t exactly embrace anything he can’t pin a name on. Daniel just likes to believe that I’m really, really observant.
“And,” he continues, “that’s exactly what my grandfather tells people who hire us if they ask. He thinks people will be more comfortable with the idea that I’m freakishly attentive to details than with the notion that I can freakishly sense when someone’s about to go medieval.”
“You’re a private detective?”
“Yeah. Although in Maryland, I’m technically a detective’s assistant—too young for a license. Plus I generally try to stay well below the radar.”
“So, you’re sort of like a reverse Shawn Spencer? The guy on that show from a while back who claimed to be psychic, but he’s really just seeing the stuff other people could see, if they paid closer attention?”
“Sort of.”
“Do you have a cool black sidekick who’s actually smarter than you and keeps you grounded in reality?”
He smiles. “You aren’t the first to make the Psych connection. Taylor suggested Molly for the Guster role, before . . .” He clears his throat and continues. “But, no, I fly solo on investigations and then just hand whatever I find over to Sam. I’m . . . not exactly a people person.”
“And who exactly is Sam?”
“My granddad.”
“Oh. So, Porter hired you and your grandfather to watch me?”