She came over to help, taking one of the electrodes off the worktable next to him. “Yes. New job. Garage organization, which isn’t always my favorite.”

  “Why not?”

  She made a face. “Honestly? Spiders.”

  He laughed. “Fair point. Will you be gone all day?”

  “Most of it, yes.” She pressed the electrode to his skin. “I imagine this will take at least two days but could be three or four.”

  “Big job.” He relaxed under her touch.

  “Big garage. Filled with stuff, too. I’ll text you the address so you know where I am in case … something else comes up.”

  He knew she meant the fires. He took hold of her hand and brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

  “Trust me, I am.” She gave him a quick smile. “Head, heart, chest. Anywhere else?”

  “No, that’ll do it.” He picked up the syringe he’d prepared and made a fist so that a vein popped out, then he injected himself. He disposed of the syringe in the sharps container and flexed his fingers.

  He swore he could feel the solution entering his body. Not just the solution, really, but the sense of well-being that Izzy had filled it with. He picked up his book from where he’d put it upon entering. “I should get downstairs.”

  She nodded, looking a little sad. “I know you don’t want to go down there.”

  She was right. He didn’t. “It’s just because I’d rather spend time with you.”

  “I know. Me, too. But soon, Edgar will be behind you.”

  He gave her a quick kiss. “I pray you’re right.”

  They went hand in hand to the basement door. He used his palm to unlock it, then kissed her again. “See you in the morning.”

  “In the morning.” She patted his chest, then stepped back.

  He closed the door, making sure it was locked, and walked down the steps. He settled onto the mattresses, sitting with his back against the wall, and opened up his book.

  It was a good book, a biography on a real-life double agent who’d spied for the UK while supposedly working for Russia during the Cold War. Fascinating stuff, but he’d been halfway through it when he’d taken it off his nightstand and now wasn’t far from the end.

  Which meant he’d been reading for at least two hours already. Probably more like three and still no sign of Edgar. Not even any little niggles that Edgar might be on his way. Henry knew that, these days, that meant nothing.

  Edgar had changed, or at least been influenced by all the new treatments Henry had been trying, so he could never really tell anymore if Edgar would appear or not.

  Henry went back to his book, coming to the end soon after. He closed it and set it on the floor. He still had some magazines to peruse, but he wanted a break from reading for a bit. He lay down on the mattresses and stared at the ceiling, his mind going to Izzy’s situation.

  Hard to think of much else lately.

  He closed his eyes to better picture the map he’d hung in his office. He could see the three colored thumbtacks he’d used to identify the locations of the fires. Blue, green, yellow. All forming a small, half-moon shape.

  What did that mean? Because it really felt like it ought to mean something. Or was he trying too hard because he was so desperate to help Izzy?

  Maybe. But what else did he have to do but lie here and think? He might as well see what he could come up with.

  Most nights that Edgar didn’t show, Henry just thanked his lucky stars and caught up on his sleep, but there was too much going on in his head for him to sleep just yet. And it really didn’t feel like Edgar was going to show up.

  Why would the firebug start the fires so close together? Was there a pattern they were trying to create? If so, what was it? A full circle? That would mean at least three more fires. Maybe more.

  Not good, if true. Out of habit, he reached for his phone to text Deacon about that theory, remembering as he touched his empty pocket that his phone was in the lab for safekeeping. He growled in frustration.

  Edgar was such a giant pain in the neck. Henry wasted so much time because of him. It wasn’t fair. Not when Izzy was now paying for Edgar’s intrusions, too.

  He slapped his hand on the top of the mattress, irritated beyond measure. He sat up. Maybe he’d run up to the lab, send Deacon that quick text, then come right back down. It wouldn’t take five minutes.

  And if he felt like Edgar was about to show up, he’d get back into the basement immediately.

  He knew he was taking a risk, but if Edgar did show up, there was every reason to believe he’d just pass out and stay where he was until Henry returned.

  Henry was an intelligent man. He understood what he was doing was called rationalizing, because he wanted to justify doing something he probably shouldn’t.

  But years of doing exactly what he was supposed to do had suddenly gotten very old, very fast.

  Henry got up and walked toward the steps.

  Izzy drifted in and out of sleep, the excessive amount of chocolate she’d eaten giving her interesting, vivid dreams but also making her restless. She finally stopped pretending she was asleep in the hopes that sleep would actually take over and opened her eyes.

  It was a few minutes after midnight.

  She sighed. If she couldn’t get back to sleep, she had a long night ahead of her. A long night of thinking about Henry and how he was doing, and, of course, then there were the fires that Deacon still didn’t have another suspect for.

  Whoever was really setting them deserved whatever consequences would be coming to them. Although she had no idea what those would be in a town that didn’t have a standard police department. Did Shadowvale even have a jail?

  Her mind kept going down that rabbit hole. Maybe if someone was found guilty, they stripped that person’s powers. If the guilty was a supernatural. But then … if their powers were connected to their curse, wouldn’t removing their powers actually be a good thing?

  She frowned at the ceiling. Could someone be doing this just to get their powers taken away? How bad did your curse have to be to set fires in the hope of being punished?

  She let out a hearty sigh at her excessive imagination. She didn’t even know if having your powers stripped was the punishment for anything. She was obviously overthinking this. Easy to do when sleep wouldn’t come.

  She rolled over, stuffing one arm beneath her pillow in an attempt to get comfortable and go back to sleep.

  She closed her eyes. Thought sleepy thoughts. But nothing happened except her brain went straight to Henry. Was he Edgar right now? And was Edgar sleeping?

  What she really needed was a cat. If she had a cat, she could snuggle it and it would purr and that would probably put her right back to sleep. Nature’s lullaby. Or something like that. At least a cat would be company.

  She rolled to her back again. All this thinking was getting her nowhere. Not any closer to sleep, anyway. Maybe she should just get up and go finish organizing the lab and office. There was definitely more to be done.

  The thing was, no matter how organized she got the two spaces, as long as Henry continued to use them, they would only stay organized for so long.

  She laughed softly and shook her head. Maybe Henry was doing that on purpose to keep her around. If so, he didn’t have to. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not unless he was going there too.

  With a resigned groan, she tossed the covers back. It was chilly in the apartment, waking her up even more. She’d only work for an hour, tops. Or until she felt tired enough to sleep. Then she’d come back up and go to bed. Otherwise, she’d be in rough shape for her job tomorrow.

  But this way, she could check on Henry, too. Or Edgar, rather. Two birds, one stone and all that.

  She pulled on a pair of comfy joggers that were almost like pajamas, along with a sweatshirt. After tying up her sneakers, she put her coat on so she’d have pockets for her keys and phone.

  It was cold outside, making her glad for her coat, even though she was only going down one flight of steps. Henry kept the lab a little cold, too. He said it was better for all the equipment and computers.

  It didn’t bother her since she’d learned to dress accordingly.

  At the lab door, she pressed her hand to the lock panel and waited for it to open. When it did, she pushed through. She hung her coat near the entrance where Henry also hung his lab coats. But after that, it was straight to the computer to check on him or Edgar, whoever was down there now.

  She had to move the mouse to wake the screen. When the cameras came into view, she squinted, unable to see Henry or Edgar. Where was he? The basement was essentially a cube, and thanks to the four cameras, there was no area of it uncovered. All the cameras were operational, too.

  Neither Henry nor Edgar was there. Had Henry been called away by Deacon? Or had Edgar shown up and managed to break out?

  She checked out the basement door, but it showed no signs of being breached. She went back to the cameras for another look. Had she missed him somehow? But no. The basement was empty. She needed to see for herself.

  At the basement door once again, she put her hand to the lock screen and waited for it to unlock, but instead it clicked with a different sound. She knew what that meant, but that couldn’t be right. She grabbed the handle and pulled.

  Nothing happened, because she’d just locked the door, which meant it had been unlocked. There was only one explanation for that. Henry had come up from the basement and left it unlocked.

  So where was he? And why had he left the basement? He must have decided Edgar was a no-show. Had Henry gone to bed then? That seemed like a good probability. He was most likely upstairs right now, snoozing away.

  At least one of them could sleep.

  She shivered. The lab really was chilly. Making a slight change of plans, she decided to work in the office, straightening things up. It was usually a little warm in there. She grabbed her coat, locked the lab, and went into the part of the building where the office was.

  The light in Henry’s office was on, shining into the hall that led to the patient rooms and reception area. Maybe he was working.

  She stuck her head in to see. But Henry wasn’t in there. And the office looked like it had been vandalized. His chair was broken into several pieces. The desk was tipped over, and the new lateral file had been pulled down on top of it, opening the drawers and spilling some of the contents.

  Her heart sank. This was Edgar’s work.

  She took a step inside, and her foot connected with something. She glanced down to see Henry’s phone. The screen was cracked. It hadn’t been that way earlier.

  Her pulse quickened. Henry might have decided to come in here to work, but it was plain to her that Edgar must have arrived shortly after. She grabbed Henry’s phone and put it in her pocket.

  Edgar could be anywhere by now. She had to find him and talk him down before he hurt someone. Or himself. But where would he have gone?

  A map on the wall caught her eye. She stepped over part of the desk chair to get a better look. Three bright pushpins picked out addresses that seemed familiar. The locations of the fires. It had to be. And Henry had to have done this. Edgar didn’t have the dexterity.

  Could Edgar have gone toward that neighborhood? There was only one way to find out. She pulled her coat on as she ran for the door. She jogged out of the alley and around to her car. This was no time to be on foot. She needed to find Edgar fast.

  She jumped in, shivering some more as her hands came in contact with the freezing steering wheel. There was frost on the windshield too, making it impossible to see.

  She didn’t have time for this right now! She let out a grunt of frustrated anger and a little frost melted. Had she done that with … her breath? That was a logical explanation, except that she hadn’t breathed that hard. She didn’t think her breath was hot enough to do that.

  So how had it happened?

  There was only one other answer. Her emotions. Her anger. She focused on the frosted windshield, channeling her frustration with Edgar being on the loose, with whoever was setting fires, and all the suppressed anger about her brother.

  In an ever-widening pattern, the frost cleared nearly to the edges of the windshield. Impressive. And good enough. She didn’t need it to be completely gone. She started the engine and drove down Fiddler to the area where the last fire had been. As she got close, she slowed to scan for signs of Edgar.

  Felled trees, broken fences, smashed cars, anything like that and she’d be on the right track. She took the next right to bring her closer to the last fire and slammed on the brakes, even though she wasn’t going very fast.

  His back to her, Edgar stood in the middle of the street with a torn-out mailbox in one hand and a snapped streetlamp in the other.

  He turned slowly, his gaze coming to rest on her vehicle. He snarled, baring his teeth and letting out a shiver-inducing growl.

  So much for Magic Potion Number Two.

  Izzy put the car into Park but left it running in case he took off and she had to go after him. She eased out slowly, not wanting to upset him more than he already was. “Hi, Edgar. It’s me, Izzy. Remember me?”

  “Edgar remember.” His eyes narrowed, and suspicion rolled off him. He clung to the mailbox and streetlamp, both of which could easily become weapons. “Why Izzy here?”

  It was good that he remembered her. And while he didn’t seem overjoyed by her presence, he hadn’t bolted, either. Still, she’d feel better if he put the mailbox and streetlamp down. “I was going to visit you in the basement, but you weren’t there.”

  “Edgar in office.”

  She nodded. “Yep, I figured that based on the mess you made in there.” She crossed her arms and gave him a stern look. “A mess I’m going to have to clean up.” That wasn’t completely true. Henry would help. But she needed to play on Edgar’s emotions as best she could, and being disappointed with him had worked before.

  She went still. His emotions. What was she thinking? She could manipulate them with her abilities, which was good, because she needed to bring Henry back as quickly as possible. The best way to do that was through contact. She needed to touch him.

  “Edgar not sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” She smiled and inched closer. “I know sometimes you do things because you can’t really help yourself. It happens. We’re still friends. If you still want to be friends?”

  He seemed unsure how to answer.

  She held her hand out. “I still want to be friends.”

  He dropped the streetlamp and reached his hand toward her. Progress. She kept an eye on the mailbox all the same.

  As soon as he was close enough, she laid her hand over his and pushed as much calm and peace into him as she could manage.

  Edgar flinched and let the mailbox go. Instinct kicked in, and she grabbed his hand, forcing emotions over him like she was turning on a fire hose.

  He roared in anger as that same emotion blasted out of him, nearly knocking her down. Then, with greater speed than she’d realized he possessed, he picked her up and shook her like a rag doll.

  “Edgar, no!” But it was too much. Izzy blacked out.

  A strange swaying motion brought her around. She opened her eyes and did a quick physical assessment. Her head and body ached a little, but otherwise she was fine. Except everything was upside down.

  She was hanging over Edgar’s shoulder as he plodded down the street. She had no idea where he was going. Wouldn’t have mattered. Nothing she might say would stop him. She had only her empath abilities to help her now.

  But this time, she needed to be subtle about it. Trying to fill Edgar with a blast of peace and calm clearly hadn’t worked the way she’d intended.

  Lesson learned.

  Time to try the slow and steady approach, and since she was touching about as much of him as she could ever hope to, this was the best opportunity she was going to get.

  She closed her eyes and read him as thoroughly as she could. She let all of his pain and anger and destructiveness into her until the emotional line between her and Edgar blurred and they were essentially sharing one spirit.

  All the while, he continued to walk.

  With care and patience, she unfurled tendrils of peace, hope, happiness, and love into Edgar. She used tiny threads of those emotions, so small that they barely made a dent in the chaos swirling inside him, but they didn’t need to. Not yet.

  She wove the threads deep into him, into his heart and soul. She wrapped him in them, twisting them around all the hurt and pain. And once she had a web of them built, she turned the threads into yarn and the yarn into rope, until there was no room for the anger and hurt and chaos.

  He stopped walking. “What … Izzy … do …”

  He fell to his knees. Izzy slipped off his shoulder, landing on her feet, but she kept her hands on his shoulder, keeping the connection alive, keeping the good emotions flowing.

  She stared into Edgar’s eyes. “Henry, are you in there? Come back to me, Henry.”

  But Edgar was fighting her. She could see it in his eyes, just like she could feel it in the exchange of emotion between them. She needed to do more.

  In the same way that she’d taken support from Henry at the restaurant, she pulled the darkness out of Edgar, taking it upon herself. Her stomach knotted and her bones ached as it filled her, but still she opened herself to it.

  It clogged her throat, clawed at her insides, and made her want to retch. She breathed open-mouthed to get air. Her brother felt close, but it was just the darkness, mimicking him, playing on her memories, stirring up bad feelings.

  She fought to keep herself afloat on the murky sea of misery and pain threatening to overtake her. She focused on Henry. On her reason for doing this. On his goodness. His smile. His laugh. Her love for him.

  The tide of terror stopped rising.

 

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