Violet was still letting everything sink in, feeling more than a little blindsided by what Sara had told the admissions lady about being Rafe’s sister. Low voices around her buzzed of car accidents and heart attacks and sick children and broken limbs. She tried her best to tune out their words—along with everything else she could sense.

And then there was that other thing . . . Sara was Rafe’s sister? How was that possible? How had she not known that? But it all made sense now. Why they seemed to understand each other so well.

Violet couldn’t stop thinking about it. Or him.

She’d settled back into her spot in the corner, leaning her head back and drawing her knees up to her chest, doing her best to get comfortable. She didn’t look up until she heard a familiar voice. Unfriendly and cold, but familiar nonetheless.

“Great,” the girl muttered venomously as Violet jerked her head up. “Figures you’d be here.”

Unlike Sara, who’d walked in looking harried and rumpled, Gemma dazzled beneath the glare of the emergency room lights, right down to her shimmery silver top and matching handbag. Violet glanced down at her own small purse with its pink bejeweled skull and crossbones. She’d never really cared before that it was outdated, even when her friends had made fun of it. Her grandmother had given it to her, one of the last gifts she’d given Violet before she died. The skull and crossbones were an inside joke about their shared ability.

Gemma quickly closed the distance between them, the heels of her ankle-length boots clicking on the white tiles in clipped, angry bursts. She perched delicately on the edge of one of the few open seats in the waiting room, next to Violet.

“How did you know we were here?” Violet asked, mystified by the other girl’s presence.

Impatiently Gemma stared at her. “Sara told me. So?” She scowled at Violet, her voice razor-sharp. “What happened?”

The vehemence in her voice made Violet wince, as if she’d just been slapped. Whatever she’d done to Gemma, the other girl had no intention of forgiving her anytime soon. But that so wasn’t the point, Violet thought, her own anger starting to simmer now. Here they were, sitting in the emergency room with no idea how Rafe was. She still had no word from Sara or the doctors who’d been working on him, and the longer they were gone, the more worried Violet became. “I don’t know what your problem is, Gemma, or what I ever did to you, but if you have something to say to me, then spit it out.”

Gemma glowered at Violet for a long, hate-filled moment; then finally, she shrugged. “It’s not really you,” she said at last, but her voice was no less caustic. She sighed as she crossed her long legs, cocking her head as her eyes narrowed to dark, perfectly lined slits. “I mean, technically it is, I suppose, but I doubt it’s your fault, really.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Gemma?”

Lowering her voice, Gemma’s lips curled into something between a snarl and a smile. “In case you didn’t know, I’m empathic,” she explained, her tone haughty, practically demeaning. And even though Violet wasn’t sure what the other girl was getting at, her hackles were up now. “Which means I can sense things from other people.”

Violet tried to mimic Gemma’s glare as she narrowed her eyes. “And your point is . . . ?”

“It means I absorb what others around me are feeling. And because of that, more than anyone else I’ve ever met, it’s hard to be around you.” She wrinkled her perky little nose, and Violet wanted to punch her in it, right then and there. “To put it frankly, Violet, you reek of death . . . and it’s revolting.”

Violet had no idea what to make of that. She’d been called a lot of things, been teased as a little girl for having curly hair and gangly legs, but she’d never thought about the implications of her own ability tainting her in that way. She was still gaping when Gemma suddenly jumped up from her seat and shot across the waiting room. At first Violet didn’t even realize what was happening; she thought she was the one who’d chased the other girl away. Her and her creepy ability.

I reek of death. Not exactly the words every girl dreamed of hearing.

When she glanced in Gemma’s direction, she realized Sara was back, talking to Gemma. Violet stood on legs that felt far too unsteady and crossed the space between them. But she froze, her heart slamming against the walls of her chest, the moment she saw the stricken expression on Gemma’s face, and the streaks of mascara now tracing their way down her cheeks.

Lead pulled at Violet’s feet, weighing them down and pinning her to the ground. “What—what happened?” Violet stammered. “Is he . . . ?” She struggled for the right words, her voice causing Gemma to look up at her. The other girl swiped at her eyes, her expression turning suddenly fierce as she smeared her makeup even more. “Is he worse?” Violet asked at last.

Gemma shot Violet an angry look. “He’s fine.” The words sliced through the air. “He’s an ass**le, but he’s fine.”

Sara put her hand on Gemma’s shoulder, her expression pained. “Gemma,” she warned before turning to Violet. Her brow creased. “He’s okay,” she explained to Violet, her voice patient. “He’s beaten up pretty bad, and they’ve got him somewhat sedated, but he’s going to be fine. He’s asking for you.”

Violet glanced uncomfortably at Gemma.

“Happy?” Gemma snapped. “You’re still the only one he wants to see.”