36.
“Who was that guy?” I stumbled behind Jag, trying to shake his grip on my arm.
“Why? You see something you like?”
I blinked. “He’s a Thinker.”
“Of course he’s a Thinker. That was Assistant Counselor Haws.”
“I thought we didn’t cooperate with Thinkers.”
Jag marched down the hall at top speed. “Well, we do with certain types, obviously.”
I ran to catch him. “Will you slow down? And stop biting my head off.”
He stopped suddenly, and I collided with his outstretched arm. “Let me do the talking.” Then he turned and pushed open a door I couldn’t see.
I rubbed my ribs while Jag settled into one of the oversized armchairs. He crossed his legs and leaned back like he was expecting company that was beneath him. I’d only seen him look like this once—just before his little chat with Zenn. He gestured to the chair next to him, raising his eyebrows. His look said, Sit the hell down before she gets here. Don’t embarrass me, don’t talk, basically don’t be you, Violet.
I sat, determined to keep my mouth shut. I’d show him.
“Jag!” A woman came through a concealed door beside the desk, and all I saw were the two long pieces of hair in the front that she’d dyed purple. I had instant hair-jealousy.
She bounded forward, a mix of nervous energy and happiness on her face. “Where’s Pace? When is he coming?”
“Hullo, Gavin. Soon. Hopefully today.” Jag smiled and stood to embrace her. He had a few inches on her, but she was probably a couple years older than him.
Her fingers moved over Jag’s chest as if the fibers of his shirt needed adjusting and she had to touch him everywhere to do it. She leaned in and smelled him, her face inches from his neck.
“Ah, my gel,” she said. “Smells nice on you.”
He grinned and stepped closer to her, their knees almost touching. Now a different kind of jealousy burned through me, hot and fast.
“Gavin, I brought a friend to meet you.” Jag took a step back and gestured to me.
I stood up hesitantly.
Gavin radiated the same playful seriousness as Jag, with something intriguing hiding just under the surface. “Jag. Things are still unsettled. I can’t—” She stopped when she looked at me, as if seeing my face meant she couldn’t speak.
“You have to find a way, Gavin,” Jag said. “This is Vi.”
Minding my manners, I held my hand out. “Hello.”
Gavin’s face paled, her eyes hardened, her smile vanished. “Vi?” she asked, her eyes darting between Jag and me. “The Vi?”
Having “the” put in front of your name automatically increases your status. Like The President or The Director or The End. Think about it. It wouldn’t be the same if it were just End. I felt like it was The End for me because it clearly wasn’t a good The.
“Gavin,” Jag warned. “We don’t need to freak her out.”
Annoyed that Jag knew something that would freak me out, I said, “Too late. Freaked-out-Vi, right here.” My hand hung in midair and I pulled it back.
Gavin seized it.
My mind froze.
Gavin’s eyes closed and her shoulders hunched. Several seconds passed. My lungs cried for air.
“Oh!” She released my hand and her control over my mind. She seemed faint and Jag helped her to his chair.
Gasping for breath, I had no idea what was going on. My stomach lurched.
“Let’s go. Gavin needs a minute.” Jag put his hand on my arm to guide me toward the door.
I stopped, sensing something in Gavin. “No. I’m not going.” I moved across the room, and the memory became stronger. She was thinking about the pink birthday cake with the purple frosting.
“That’s my memory,” I said. “Did you steal it from me?” That was my favorite birthday memory, so strong that I’d re-created the cake just a few days ago. She couldn’t have it. “Did you?”
“No, Vi,” she said. “You still have it. You’ll always have it.”
“Then why do you have it?”
“Same memory,” she whispered. “Different person.”
“Huh?” I asked. My frustration and confusion boiled together, and I turned to Jag for an explanation.
“No way.” He shook his head. “No way!” He knelt in front of Gavin and examined her face. “Damn,” he whispered. But it was a good “damn.”
He stood up and moved away from Gavin. “You better tell her. She’s gonna start hitting in a minute, and I hate being her punching bag.”
Gavin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Violet Schoenfeld. I always knew I’d see you again. You look great, little sister. Love the hair. It’s different, but suits you.”
I stared at the girl with the wicked-awesome hair and bright eyes.
“Remember when we bawled like babies the day I left?” she asked, my favorite smile arching her mouth.
Words battled to come out, but my voice died in my chest. My lungs stopped functioning. The room started to spin. Jag used his voice to convince me to breathe.
Tyson?
Impossible. But her eyes . . .
Tyson is dead.
I’d always believed that. Always.
My vision blurred, and Jag’s voice became fainter and farther away until there was nothing at all.
No older sister who’d been missing for three years, eight months, and thirteen days.
No boyfriend who loved me and had reunited me with the one person I longed for the most.
Only darkness, and I was alone with myself.