So many things my Grandmother had never told me. I wasn't sure if I should be angry or confused. Why was she keeping me in the dark? My G.o.d, that's amazing.

He grinned.

"Why didn't she tell me? Why hasn't she let me develop these abilities?"

His smile faded. "Some people are frightened of what they can do."

I laughed, a forced, hard sound. "My Grandma's not afraid."

He looked at his cup, tracing the rim with his finger. "Your Grandma's different. She's never fully accepted what we can do."

I stiffened. "You say that like you know her."

He looked up at me. "I know of her." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Decades ago, Mind Readers stuck together. Almost like a family. They lived and worked as a group. Unfortunately, there was some falling out and they divided. Some went the way of your Grandmother, going into seclusion and hiding. Others went with Aaron, not hiding, but being proud of what they could do. I don't really know the details, but I do know your Grandmother wants to keep her powers to herself."

For some reason I felt the need to defend the old bat. "Maybe she has a reason for hiding. You saw how the school treated me, how it backfired."

He latched onto my hand, his grip strong and sure. "No. You saved countless lives today, Cameron, don't ever forget that."

He was right. I was being selfish by worrying about my social standing and not proud of the fact that I had helped put a murderer behind bars. "But how can we fit in?"

He shrugged, his gaze shining with excitement. "Why should we? We don't have to fit in. We don't need others. Humans don't understand us."

I pulled my hand from his. I couldn't think straight when he was touching me. "You say humans like we aren't."

He blinked a few times, as if surprised by my comment. Without responding, he glanced outside onto the wet streets, deep in thought. "Maybe we aren't. Who knows."

What the heck was he saying? How could we not be human? We were quiet for one long moment, my mind spinning with confusing possibilities. "What do you know?"

He looked directly at me. We know the ability to read minds is pa.s.sed down in the family, although it can skip generations.

I nodded. That certainly made sense. My Grandma.

Your dad.

I stiffened. I hadn't realized Dad could read minds, but then I didn't know much about Dad and Grandma didn't speak about him. I'd always a.s.sumed it would be too painful, having lost her only child. The only thing I knew for sure was that he'd died in some freak accident.

My dad could read minds?

He nodded. Your father was great, Cam. One of the best. The things he could do... He shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. He's the stuff of legends.

I wasn't sure whether to feel proud or confused. Honestly, I wasn't sure what to think about a man I hardly knew. "Why didn't Grandma tell me?"

"Your father was killed, murdered and she doesn't want the same thing to happen to you."

"What do you mean?" My voice was growing shrill again and I had the sudden, odd urge to cry.

"There are people out there who are afraid of our powers, people who want to use us and if they can't, destroy us. People we call SPI, Society for Paranormal Investigation. Years ago, many Mind Readers used to work with SPI. Then they turned on us, wanted to control us. The battles have died down in the past ten years or so, mostly because we've gone into hiding."

It was all too much. I'd gone from being thrilled, realizing there were more people like me, to terrified I'd be hunted down. "So then my Grandma was right to hide."

"No," his voice was hard, insistent. "There's power in numbers, Cam. Besides, by not being able to use your powers to your fullest ability, you're just a sitting duck, waiting for them to find you."

A shiver of unease raised the fine hairs on my arms. "We've been okay so far."

"Have you really?" When I didn't respond he sighed and raked his hand through his hair, the strands shifting and shimmering under the light of the cafe. "G.o.d, Cam, they're coming. Rumors are circulating that they're on the move again, searching for ones with the ability."

Fear settled in my gut. "Why?"

He shrugged. "The world is changing, with everything going on in the Middle East, my bet is the government wants to use us again."

"Would that be so bad?"

He released a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "Yes. We can't trust them. Not after what they did to us in the past. You think you have no freedom now, wait and see if they get ahold of you. Your life will no longer be your own. And if you even think of rebelling they'll know and they'll make you regret it."

Regret it. That definitely sounded like a threat. Grandma had told me Dad was accidentally shot by the cops. That memory combined with my newfound knowledge made me suddenly sick to my stomach. "S.P.I. killed my father?"

Yes.

The word whispered softly through my mind and I wondered for a moment if I'd imagined it. But no, there was Lewis looking so serious that it must be true. My father. A man I knew nothing about...dead because of some abnormality he'd been born with. Something he'd pa.s.sed to me. I wrapped my arms around my belly, my chest feeling suddenly hollow.

Lewis reached out, laying his hand on the table, an offering of comfort. I paused for only a moment, then settled my hand atop his. His grip was strong, sure. "Your father would want this, Cam. He'd want you to know how to use your abilities. He'd want you to be protected and to know how to protect yourself and your Grandmother."

I didn't know what to say, who to believe. Lewis, a boy I barely knew, wanted me to believe him, but I couldn't, not until I talked things over with Grandma. "No offense, but how do you know what my father would want?"

"Aaron knew your father."

I sucked in a sharp breath. Over the years, I'd thought many times about my dad, what he was like, what he believed in. I'd never even seen his picture. Did I look like him? I certainly didn't look like my mom. And here was Lewis, telling me this man named Aaron knew my dad.

"Cam, you're a sitting duck right now. Think what you could do, who you could help. There would be no one to judge you where we live. Come with me, Cam."

Leave Grandma? The thought was shocking. "Where would we go?"

"To see Aaron. He'll train you, he'll protect you."

The urge was strong. I was like a kid in front of a candy store full of temptation. It would be so easy to merely slip back into my old life. To pretend I was normal. I could laugh off Annabel's rumor, say she was as insane as her boyfriend, somehow get back into Emily's good graces. Yet, how happy had I truly been pretending to be someone I wasn't?

"Think of the people you could help," he insisted, but I was still bitter about Annabeth's reaction.

"Maybe they don't want my help," I muttered, annoyed at the confusing thoughts rumbling through my mind. Too much had happened in the last few days. I needed time to think.

He was silent for one long moment. "I'm leaving tomorrow, Cam. I'm going back."

I felt his words like a slap in the face. He was leaving? Leaving me? I'd only just found him and already he was leaving. "What? But you can't!"

"I came here for you." His words excited and scared me. He looked out the window and so I looked too. The rain was tapering off, the sun breaking through the dark clouds, but I felt heavy, drained. A police car parked in front of the building, reminding me of my father's supposed death.

"What about school?" I whispered.

He smiled. "Cam, I'm eighteen. I graduated last year."

Shocked, I could merely sit there and stare at him. He'd lied to me? To the school?

His face grew serious and he reached out, taking my hand in his. "Tomorrow, I'll come by your house to pick you up. Eight in the morning. Come with me...please."

"What about my schooling?" I was frantically trying to find some reason to stay, fear of the unknown sharp and bitter. Yet even as I fought for an excuse, I realized I had nothing holding me here.

"You'll be home schooled, like I was. You've only got half the year left anyway."

His gaze slid across the cafe, landing on the waitress who was whispering something to a man seated at a table. She looked upset, he looked angry. "Let me ask you something. Does that woman deserve to die?"

I jerked my head toward him. "What kind of question is that?"

"She has a child, a little girl who's five. It's only the two of them. She wants to go to college, but can't afford it. She's hoping if she keeps working, she can save enough. But she worries that while she's working, she's not spending time with her child. The worst thing she's done is get pregnant at seventeen. She wanted to keep the baby, her parents didn't want her to and kicked her out of the house. It's only been those two since."

He looked at me, his gaze piercing and direct. "So, does she deserve to die?"

"No," I whispered, my voice harsh. "Why are you asking me that?"

"Because that man is her ex-boyfriend. He's jealous, ridiculously jealous. He's. .h.i.t her and she broke up with him just last week because of his temper."

The words shocked and angered me. I knew he was going somewhere with this conversation and I wasn't sure I wanted to head that way with him. "And?" What wasn't he telling me?

"That man has a gun. He's going to wait until she gets off work tonight and he's going to kill her."

My heart froze. For one brief moment I saw Savannah's pale, lifeless face.

"Her daughter will go to foster care, of course, because she'll have no one to take her in." He drank the rest of his coffee and then leaned back, letting the words sink in. "So tell me, Cameron, does she deserve to die?"

No! I yelled at him in my head, as tears stung my eyes.

"We can stop it from happening."

"How?" Dare I trust him? He'd told me that we could help Annabeth, and look how well that turned out. Sure, George was behind bars, but I wouldn't be surprised if the town showed up at my house with pitch forks and torches.

Lewis stood, threw a few dollars on the table. "Eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

He was leaving and as he made his way across the cafe, I let him go, too stunned to stop him. I watched him out the window as he strolled so confidently down the sidewalk. When he came face to face with the Police Officer, he paused, his lips moving. The officer glanced at the cafe and pulled out his walkie talkie.

Lewis looked into the window, directly at me. Go, Cam, he's calling for backup.

He'd told on the waitresses' ex-boyfriend. He'd saved yet another life, while I sat here like a scared little girl, doing nothing. I grabbed my backpack and calmly made my way out of the cafe, past the cop who was thrilled to have something interesting to do on this dreary day. They weren't taking any chances as they'd already had one shooting at the cafe.

I had to find Lewis. He couldn't leave me like this, with so many unanswered questions.

I rushed around the corner.

But Lewis was gone.

Chapter 8.

I'd stayed out late, sitting in the park until eleven, knowing Grandma would be sleeping when I came home. She couldn't read my thoughts while she slept. For hours my mind had warred with my heart. I wanted to go, I wanted to know what I could be. But I was afraid. Afraid to leave what I knew.

I finally gave up and returned to our little cottage around one in the morning. But being home, out of the cold and dreary weather, offered no comfort. I paced my room, walking over the wooden floorboards until the sky turned light and mysterious shadows morphed into furniture.

I'd done what I could with my small domain; painted the walls a Caribbean blue, dreaming of warmer climates. But the floorboards creaked and the window leaked cold air reminding me of where I truly was.

Even though I was embarra.s.sed by how small and outdated our home was, I'd lived here most of my childhood and I couldn't help but fight the tears at the thought of leaving. And I was leaving. I suppose I'd known that even before Lewis had left me in the cafe. But it wasn't until three a.m., with the moon high, when I'd finally admitted the truth to myself; I couldn't stay here any longer.

As the moonlight began to fade, I flicked aside my white curtains to look out onto the quiet neighborhood where mostly old couples had retired. Gray dawn was giving way to yellow light. The sun just peeking over the horizon. The promise of a new day, a new beginning. Under the brilliant rays of the sun, the pavement sparkled with light, with hope. I'd showered and dressed, a suitcase packed since 4 a.m. Now, it was time to say goodbye to my life.

There was only one young couple on our block; a married couple with a five year old girl. I watched as the man made his way down their front drive to his car, headed to work. A perfect, happy family. We could have had a life like that if...if what? If my father hadn't been killed? If Mom hadn't been a druggie? I didn't even know where my father was buried. No one had bothered to tell me. The anger I'd been trying to keep at bay flared to life, giving me courage.

Grandma had made me think I was a freak, alone in this world. Someone who should be ashamed. She hadn't told me my father could read minds. Now I had the opportunity to learn more about my dad. Lean about who I was, but more importantly, who I could be. I knew if it were up to Grandma, I'd live here the rest of my life, hiding my true self. But I couldn't take that any longer. It was time to live.

The soft clatter of utensils against pans alerted me to Grandma's presence. She was awake, which meant she probably already knew what I was planning. My heart skipped a beat. She wasn't going to let me go without a fight. I reached for the Swiss Army Knife on my bedside table and slipped it into my pocket. The piece was old and worn from age, but it was the only thing I owned that had once belonged to my father. Steeling my nerves, I pulled my suitcase into the hall, leaving it there. Wearing her long, gray robe, the same robe she'd worn since I could remember, Grandma stood at the stove frying eggs. She had her routine to do and nothing would stop her, not even me.

She had to hear my thoughts; I couldn't keep them to myself. Yet, she didn't say a word when I settled at the kitchen table. Her silence made me nervous. She pushed the eggs onto a plate and placed them in front of me. The same plates I'd used most of my life, beige with brown roses. How many meals had I had on these outdated dishes? My stomach revolted at the thought of eating. Instead, I took a gla.s.s of orange juice and drank deeply. But the acid only made it worse. I pushed the plate and gla.s.s away. What to tell her? How to explain? Then again, why even bother when she knew. And I could tell by her stiff movements that she knew.

"You're not leaving," she finally said.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing so fast I couldn't grasp hold of a statement, but one thought remained clear, Grandma could read my mind. She knew what I was planning to do. She knew even before I said it.

"And what if I want to see what they can offer?"

She slammed the pan onto the stove, making me jump. Rarely did she lose control. "d.a.m.n it, do you have any idea what you're getting involved with?"

I surged from my chair, anger propelling me into action. "No! I don't because you've never told me anything."

Still she didn't face me. "You've never asked."

She wasn't even going to deny these Mind Readers existed, wasn't going to pretend they were dangerous. Which meant everything Lewis had told me was probably true. I released a harsh laugh. I'd asked her plenty of times. Maybe not recently. But I had years ago, before I'd given up. "When I was a child I-"

"You were too young then."

My fingers curled into the back of the chair. Her voice was calm again, as if she was in complete control and it made me furious. "Of course, you always have an excuse." The same words she'd used on me whenever I got in trouble.

Why didn't you tell me my father was murdered by SPI? I was so angry, I couldn't say the words aloud.

She was quiet for a moment, quiet and still. But I knew she'd heard. I'd surprised her. We'd never chatted via our mental voices before. "You didn't need to know."

"He's my father!"