When she thought she was alone again, Violet opened her eyes, but her mother was propped against the doorframe, light filtering in from the hallway behind her, outlining her like an apparition. “I knew you were listening.”

Violet’s expression was wooden as she answered. “Just because I understand your reasons doesn’t mean I have to accept them.”

Chapter 18

VIOLET WASN’T SURPRISED THAT NO ONE HAD come in to wake her. She’d assumed her parents were letting her take a sick day.

But it was worth it. The last thing she wanted to do was to explain her black eye each time she changed classes. And what was she supposed to say, anyway? That she got beat up by a gang member? One who’d been killed by a former FBI agent, the lady who ran the team of psychic investigators Violet worked for?

Maybe she’d just say she ran into a door; that seemed infinitely more plausible than the truth.

She came downstairs to an empty house. Her mom had been working more now that summer was approaching—her busy season, when the seasonable weather brought shoppers out to the local farmers’ markets in droves. She was already out in the converted shed she used as an art studio. Violet worried about trying to eat anything, her stomach still churning in the same way it had after the first time she’d taken Dr. Lee’s sleeping pills. Eventually she settled on some dry toast, choking it down with hot tea.

She took a sip and thought about Casey Atkins. Ever since her mom had told her about the girl, Violet couldn’t stop thinking about her. She felt terrible, both helpless and useless. What good was her ability if she couldn’t help anyone with it?

Her phone alerted her to a text, and as she checked it she realized she’d missed several messages. She felt her stomach knotting tighter and tighter as she scrolled through them. She didn’t know if it was good or bad that she was getting used to the pangs she felt whenever she avoided Chelsea and her other friends, but reading the texts inquiring as to why she wasn’t at school sent a fresh surge of regret coursing through her.

But there was also one from Rafe:

I hope you’re okay.

It was just that single message, but it reminded Violet that she wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt. With everything that had happened yesterday, she’d nearly forgotten about Rafe.

She punched out a quick response:

Don’t worry about me. I’ll come see you as soon as I can.

Closing her phone, she poured a glass of milk and tried to swallow the guilt that burned more than the stomach acids reaching up her throat. And then she grabbed her mom’s car keys and rushed out the front door.

Violet felt strange sitting in Dr. Lee’s office without an appointment, like she was breaking some sort of grown-up protocol. Fortunately for her, no one really considered her a grown-up yet.

Nervously tapping her foot, she listened to the music coming through the speakers overhead. She recognized it as the same looped CD that always played in Dr. Lee’s waiting room. Dull was the operative word for his musical selection, Violet thought, but she assumed that was sort of the point. It was meant to be background noise . . . probably meant to be calming and unremarkable.

When Dr. Lee opened the door to his office, Violet jumped to her feet. “Um, hi, Dr. Lee.”

His bushy brows gathered at the bridge of his nose. “Violet? What are you doing here? We didn’t have an appointment, did we?”

“No. I, uh . . . I was hoping I could, um, talk to you for a few minutes.”

He examined her face, the way everyone did now, and she tried not to bristle beneath the scrutiny. It was natural, she supposed, that kind of curiosity. “I’m sure I could spare some time for you.” He stepped aside, his professional voice ushering her inside. But once the door closed behind them, that tone changed. Instead of taking his usual seat, he moved to stand in front of her, frowning sympathetically. “I heard about what happened, but this is . . .” He took a breath, screwing on his shrink face again. “Well, it’s hard to look at.”

“It’s better than it looks.” The words had become like a running mantra for Violet, her way of telling everyone she was okay. But then she shook her head as she dropped onto the leather couch, a spot she’d always purposely avoided, deciding this wasn’t the time for false assurances. And the truth was, pretty much everything sucked right now. When she opened her mouth, her voice came out sounding tearful and pathetic. “I got my butt kicked by a gang member. And I think my parents are making me quit the team . . .” Tears stung her eyes as her words tumbled over one another. Dr. Lee passed her a tissue. “I don’t blame them, really. Look at me. If I were them, I’d probably blame Sara too. But it wasn’t her fault.” She blew her nose.

Dr. Lee waited, crossing his legs.

“But the thing is, I’m not sure I can listen this time. I’ve always been so good . . . or at least I try to be. But this time . . . this is different. I mean, sure, I’m a little banged up.” She let out a watery laugh. “Okay, a lot banged up. But I just don’t think I can quit the team.”

Dr. Lee uncrossed his legs but remained silent.

Violet didn’t pause. “I need them. When I’m with them . . . it’s the only time I don’t feel like some sort of . . . freak.”

“Freak.” He repeated the word—her word—letting it linger between them.

“Yeah.” She nodded, letting her hands fall into her lap, her fingers clutching the tissue. “When I’m with them, I feel like . . . I’m not alone. That someone . . .” She shrugged. “Gets me.”