I shifted in my chair, leaned forward in enthusiasm. “Okay, so, if I’ll become that much more powerful, what am I capable of while still alive?”

“I wish I knew. It’s hard to know for certain. Like I said, most of your kind don’t live long.”

“But you’ve told me repeatedly I’m capable of more.”

“And you are. That doesn’t mean I know exactly what.”

I decided to reword my question. “I’ve been told twice now that I am capable of anything I can imagine.”

“That’s true.”

Well, this wasn’t frustrating at all. “I can imagine a lot,” I said, challenging him. “So, can I shoot fireballs from my hands, because I can totally see myself doing that.”

The look he offered me was full of both humor and affection. “No.”

“Then I’ve been lied to.” I copied him and tossed a foot onto the table. Denise would be horrified.

“Who told you this?” he asked.

“The Englishman, for one, and Sister Mary Elizabeth, for another.”

“And she lies to you often?”

“No,” I said, frowning defensively.

“She did not say you could do anything you can imagine. She said you are capable of anything you can imagine. Not the act, Dutch, but the consequence.”

“I don’t understand the difference,” I said, feeling thick.

“Think about it. If you could shoot balls of fire from your hands,” he said, pausing to laugh, “what would happen?”

I looked away from him in disgust. “I don’t know. I could make a car explode, maybe.”

“Then that is what you are capable of. The consequence, Dutch. The result.”

His meaning started to take root in my mind, muddled as it was. “So, if I wanted to blow up a car, I could do it, I just couldn’t do it throwing fireballs from my hands.” I squinted, tried to get a firm grip on his meaning, lost it, clawed to get it back, let it slip, gave up with a heave of resignation. “Nope, I don’t get it. But the bottom line is, if I can imagine it, I can do it, right? So, I can kill people with my mind?”

“If you believe you could live with yourself afterwards, sure.”

“That’s a good point. Can you kill people with your mind?”

A soft grin spread across his face. “Only if my mind tells my hands to carry out its orders.”

The smile that I felt widen had to look as diabolical as I felt. “So, I can do more than you can?”

“You always could.”

I hadn’t gotten this many answers from Reyes in, well, never. I decided to tease him a bit. “You still owe me a million dollars.”

“Take off your clothes.”

“No.”

“I’ll give you a million dollars to take off your clothes.”

“Okay.” I lifted my sweater, then paused. Pulling it back down, I said, “I thought you didn’t have any money.”

“I don’t. But you can still take that off.”

“I have more questions,” I said, ignoring him.

“I’d have more answers if you’d take that off.”

I got the feeling the only reason he wasn’t closer to me, running his fingers up this sweater himself, was because of his injuries. They must be really bad. “I have to tell you about Garrett.”

“I’m breathless with anticipation.”

“He went to hell.” When Reyes didn’t comment, I said, “He met your dad.”

He turned the bottle on the table until he could read the label. “Dad doesn’t usually entertain visitors.”

“He made an exception. He showed Garrett what you were like growing up. Serving in his army. Rising through the ranks. He said your father showed him what you did.”

“My father showed him all this? The greatest liar the universe has ever known?”

“Are you saying what he saw wasn’t true? It didn’t really happen?”

After a thoughtful pause, he said, “I was a general in hell, Dutch. What do you suppose that entailed?”

I dropped my gaze to the matted carpet. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“So you can hate me even more?”

I looked up in surprise. “I don’t hate you.”

His jaw flexed in reaction. “There is a fine line between love and hate, or haven’t you heard? Sometimes it’s hard to decipher exactly which emotion is strongest.”

I raised my chin. “I don’t love you either.”

He lowered his head and watched me from underneath his dark lashes. “Are you certain? Because the emotion pouring out of you every time I’m near you is certainly not disinterest.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s love.”

“It could be, I promise you. Take off that sweater and give me ten minutes, and you’ll believe beyond a shadow of a doubt you’re in love.”

13

Drink coffee!

Do stupid things faster and with more energy.

—T-SHIRT

After several rounds of why I should and should not take off my sweater, I decided to give it a rest. Literally. I lay down on the bed only to discover it was straight out of an episode of The Flintstones. Rock-hard mattress. Rough, scratchy bedspread. Lumps where dinosaurs apparently slept. But I was tired and Reyes didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere for once in his life.

I watched as he walked around the table to join me, his movements forced, painstakingly cautious as he tried to walk with as little agony as possible. I had never seen him in so much pain. His T-shirt had several large circles of blood and several smaller blotches. I didn’t bother offering to take him to urgent care. He wouldn’t have gone if I’d put Margaret to his head and insisted.