I don’t think.

 

I don’t have time. There’s a picture in my head—a flicker of a picture—and metal bands appear from nowhere, wrapping around Elizabeth’s body, around her hands, forcing the gun from her fingers. More bands. And more. Iron. Cast iron, I realize, and it feels vaguely familiar, as if I’ve done this very thing before.

 

But now I can’t stop. More metal wraps around Elizabeth—her arms, her shoulders. Soon the weight drags her to the ground.

 

“Tavia, you . . . holy crap, what did you do?” Benson stares in horror at the uneven contraption holding Elizabeth to the floor.

 

“I don’t know. It just . . . it just happened.” Again. What is wrong with me that I can hurt people without even consciously thinking about it!

 

Shaking the thought away, I scoop the files from the floor. “Come on! We only have five minutes.”

 

“Tavia! Stop! Talk to me!” Elizabeth calls, but I ignore her as I scoot through the doorway and sprint to my room, Benson close behind. “You don’t understand what this all means. There’s more than you could possibly know.”

 

“Tavia, stop, you need to slow down and think about this.” Benson’s face is white and his words tumble like white water. “What exactly are you doing?”

 

I scarcely hear him as I stuff socks, underwear, and my favorite jeans in my backpack. “I have to get out of here. I need answers,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. A pair of red bikinis drops to the carpet and I don’t feel even the barest twinge of embarrassment when Benson looks down and sees them a second before I snatch them up and stuff them in with the rest of the clothes.

 

We are way beyond that.

 

“Tavia, seriously. Where are you going to go?”

 

“I don’t care. Away. That’s all that matters. I have to go now!”

 

“Go where?” Benson demands, grabbing my shoulders to make me look at him.

 

I don’t want to—I let my eyes dart to the ceiling, his shoulders, the window, anywhere but his soft blue eyes. He gives me a gentle shake and I can’t avoid it anymore. I let my gaze rise to meet his.

 

“Where?” he repeats. “And what are we going to do with her?” He inclines his head to where I can still hear Elizabeth calling me, begging me to come back.

 

“They killed my parents, Benson. Reese, Jay, and Elizabeth—they’re all involved. They murdered them. They got me on that plane! I know that Reese and Elizabeth are working together; they’re just trying to get something out of me and then they will Fry. My. Brain.” A sob builds up in my throat as hopelessness washes over me. “If I don’t leave, I’m as good as dead.”

 

He says nothing, but his hands loosen on my shoulders, and when I pull away to stuff things in my backpack again, he doesn’t try to hold on. “Can I stay with you for a few days?” I ask on impulse. “I guess,” he says. “But . . .”

 

I’m not sure I can stand to hear what he wants to say. I’m already so overwhelmed my fingers are trembling as I dig into a sock and pull out the money that represents the extent of my personal fortune.

 

It’s less than forty dollars.

 

I’m so screwed.

 

Maybe Benson will lend me some.

 

No. I can’t. I can’t ask him for anything else.

 

Maybe I shouldn’t even stay with him. What if they decide to just murder him too?

 

“I’m going to see if Reese and Jay have any money sitting around in their room.” I should just say what I mean: I’m going to see if I can steal some money from Reese and Jay.

 

What else can I do?

 

I guess if I had to, I could magic myself some money when I went to buy something, but when it disappeared five minutes later, wouldn’t I still be a thief ? I can hurt people and steal stuff. Why the hell is this happening to me?

 

If I have to take something from someone, at least I know Reese and Jay are the bad guys.

 

So why do I still feel guilty?

 

Maybe because I know my mother wouldn’t be proud of me at this moment, and that thought makes me want to die inside.

 

After a quick glance down the hallway, where I can still hear Elizabeth yelling, I go and stand in front of Reese and Jay’s bedroom door. When I reach for the knob and turn it, it gives easily.

 

They didn’t lock it.

 

They trust me.

 

It’s a thought so jarringly dissonant from my actions that I stop, hand still poised on the knob as I try to think clearly. Why should they trust me? Do they think I’m that ignorant? Or do they think I’m so under their control that I couldn’t possibly be dangerous?

 

Do they control me? Even after everything that’s happened, the fact is that I don’t know what I am.

 

And they do.

 

The door skims across the carpet as I push it open, a whisper in the silent bedroom. They have a chic, deco-style room with a sleek black king-size bed and square silver bedside tables. Wondering if I’ll leave footsteps on the carpet—and then deciding it doesn’t matter—I stride first to Reese’s side of the bed, then Jay’s.

 

The top of Reese’s table is empty except for the lamp. I’m not surprised. Bedside tables tend to reflect a person’s personality more accurately than any clinical test, in my opinion. Sparse, elegant, and organized. That’s Reese.

 

Still, a peek into the table’s shallow drawer nets me seventeen dollars, crisply folded.

 

Jay’s side is more profitable—forty-six dollars—but also a thicker, more crumpled wad. It’s probably been weeks, maybe months, since he cleaned up the pile of junk he’s clearly been emptying from his pockets each night.

 

I have about a hundred dollars.

 

That won’t last long. But it’s a start.

 

I turn and Benson is waiting for me in the doorway. His eyes are concerned.

 

Of course they are. I just used my supernatural powers to incapacitate a grown woman and now am stealing things and running away like a crazy person.

 

I slide past him without looking and stuff the cash in the small pocket of my backpack. I look around my room, wondering what else to bring. Is it stealing to take the laptop they gave me? That seems worse than the money I just filched. But the computer technically is mine.

 

I pause. What if it’s bugged?

 

Not bugged exactly, but what if they can find me through it? You see that kind of stuff in crime shows all the time, and I honestly don’t know if that’s one of those “facts” they’ve grossly exaggerated or if it’s actually true.

 

Still.

 

Making a split decision, I grab it and shove it into my backpack, then yank the zippers closed before I can change my mind.

 

I can’t look at my art supplies. They feel important again. Necessary—like I can’t find Quinn without them.

 

And I have to find Quinn if I want answers.

 

But I can’t take them. There’s just no room.

 

And now I have to decide: Phoenix or Camden?

 

Quinn told me to meet him in Camden, but Reese seemed to think there was something important in Phoenix. Something to do with me. But . . . Phoenix is a big city. I wouldn’t know where to start. I’ve never been there before.

 

I sigh. Somehow I always wind up forced to trust Quinn. Quinn who never stays, who never answers questions.

 

Who makes my heart leap and my blood warm.

 

Camden it is.

 

“I’m ready to go,” I say to Benson, and I hate that my voice wavers. I feel weak, confused. I can create things out of nothing—I should feel strong and in charge.

 

But I don’t.

 

“Tavia, we . . .” Benson pauses and licks his lips nervously. “We should get out of the house,” he finishes, though I know that’s not what he was going to say.

 

We walk out into the hallway and Elizabeth yells, “I think they’ve found you, Tave. You’re not safe out there. The Reduciata will get you— they want you more than any of our other Earthbounds. They—”

 

“Earthbound,” I whisper, not hearing the rest of Elizabeth’s sentence. I’ve heard the word before—in Elizabeth’s phone conversation with Reese. But it’s something more. A word that echoes in whispers in my head. Earthbound . . . Earthbound . . .

 

Benson is tugging lightly on my hand. “We have to go.”

 

“Please,” Elizabeth adds in a softer voice—but one I’m obviously meant to hear, “you don’t know how to use your powers well enough to truly protect yourself.”

 

I gasp and whirl around to face her. She knows.

 

A phrase rises into my mouth and spills off my tongue before I can stop it. “Sum Terrobligatus; declarare fidem.”

 

Elizabeth’s eyes grow so wide I can see the whites all around them.

 

But she says nothing.

 

Anger boils inside me and I stoop to pick up the gun she dropped and turn it around on her. “Declarare fidem!” My hand shakes—a hand that doesn’t feel like mine. What are these words? What am I doing? I choke back a sob as everything I thought I knew about myself blows away.

 

I’m a monster.

 

“Curatoria,” she gasps.

 

“What did you just say?” Benson whispers.

 

“I have no clue,” I whisper back.

 

And I don’t. But I should! I’m sure I should! The same way I ought

 

to know the meaning of all the words Elizabeth just said. Pushing those thoughts away, I cock the pistol, letting the eerie click fill the office. “You want me to trust you; why were you pointing a gun at me?”

 

“Because I didn’t know how much you knew about your powers,” Elizabeth answers instantly, her neck craned awkwardly to look up at me. “How much control you had.”

 

I don’t like it, but what can I do? I might have been dangerous. I probably could have killed her. I wonder if she kept that gun in her office too, if she got nervous every time I walked into her waiting room.

 

Her empty waiting room.

 

It’s always empty.

 

I am such an idiot.

 

Why is it that I always see everything after it’s too late? The waiting room has been empty every single time I have ever come

 

in to see her—except, occasionally, for Secretary Barbie. Every. Time. Even when I drop by unannounced. I guess I figured no one ever stuck around because, seriously, who wants to be caught in a shrink’s office?

 

But I should have seen it sooner. “I want answers!” I say fervently. “And if you lie, you will never see me again.”

 

To my surprise, Elizabeth smiles. Not a mocking, cruel smile, but a gentle, relieved one. I don’t get it and for a moment it knocks me off-kilter.

 

But I dig my toes into the ground for better balance—an old Yoga trick. “I won’t,” Elizabeth says, holding statue still—probably not an easy task.

 

I swallow a lump in my throat. I can’t start feeling guilty now.

 

“Do you have any patients other than me?” Begin with one I’ve already figured out.

 

“Not at the moment.”

 

I rock back a little on my heels, utterly shocked at her honesty. “Are you really a doctor?”

 

“A psychiatrist? Yes.” She laughs lightly, then grimaces as her body shifts. “Trust me, med school was no walk in the park.”

 

“Then why are you working for Reese? And don’t even try to deny it,” I warn. “I heard you two talking on the phone yesterday.”

 

“Perfect. Just perfect,” she grumbles, then turns her attention to me. “I’m not denying that I work with Reese,” she says carefully, “but in the spirit of complete truth here, I don’t work for her. We work for the Curatoria.”

 

The unfamiliar word again. I ignore it—pretend I know exactly what it means. “Why the charade?”

 

“To give you a chance to heal before—”

 

The front door bursts open, cutting off her words. “Don’t shoot!” Jay yells. “Tavia, please, you don’t want to do this!”

 

My borrowed gun swings to Jay, then back to Elizabeth. I can feel Benson behind me, silently willing me to be cautious, but there’s two of them now and I don’t know who’s the bigger threat.

 

Jay, I decide; Elizabeth’s contained—at least for now, though the metal has got to start disappearing soon. I turn to face Jay as he reaches the top of the stairs.

 

“Don’t shoot,” he gasps, raising one hand, the other clutching his side. “It’s just me.”

 

As if that makes any difference.

 

“Mark, she knows,” Elizabeth says.

 

Mark?

 

“Liz,” he scolds, his eyes wary. And tired. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. I probably look the same. He glances between Elizabeth and me and I can tell he’s trying desperately to catch up.

 

I don’t intend to give him the opportunity.

 

“Why are you here?” I ask in a deadly whisper, taking half a step toward him, gun extended.

 

“Because you broke into Reese’s office,” Jay says, his hands raised in front of him.

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“There’s an alarm on everything in this house, Tave. That’s why both of us are here.”

 

I grit my teeth, hating that I didn’t think of that. “Why the hell is everything so safeguarded?”

 

“Well, consider—”

 

“Tavia?” Benson’s voice interrupts me, filled with panic. My eyes dart away from Jay for a second and I see the bands holding Elizabeth beginning to dissolve.

 

I close my eyes and new bands form, prompting a quiet squeal of pain from Elizabeth.

 

“Tave, Jay!”

 

My gun swings back around to Jay, who apparently attempted to take advantage of my back being turned. His arm is raised, but as soon as the barrel of the gun points his way again, he mutters a curse and lets his hands fall.

 

Shackles form around his ankles, wrapping around the banister and pinning his feet into place.

 

“Come on, Tavia, this is ridiculous,” Jay says, looking more annoyed than threatened by his bonds.

 

I set my jaw and point the gun again, hating myself for it even as I know there’s nothing else to do. “Don’t follow us or I’ll use this . . . or worse,” I add, feeling really stupid, but they seemed truly afraid of my abilities. “Come on, Benson,” I say, shouldering my backpack. “We have to go now.”

 

“Don’t go with him,” Elizabeth shouts. “You know who you need to find and it is not Benson!”

 

“I’m not listening to you anymore,” I hiss at her.

 

“Please, Tavia, don’t let him confuse you. You’re meant for another. I know you can feel it.”

 

I clap my hands over my ears and start down the stairs.

 

“Tavia, wait, don’t leave,” Jay says, and I almost turn at the panic in his voice. “My work, we’ve found connections between the Reduciata and the virus, and if you walk away, I’m not sure I—”

 

“I can’t—I can’t listen to either you anymore,” I yell, cutting him off. “I can’t believe anything you say.” And if I don’t leave now, who else will arrive? How many people can I really hold off with my ephemeral magic tricks?

 

I glance around the living room and kitchen as Benson and I pass through to the garage door. So many memories. Good ones. The awkward but strangely motherly moments with Reese, hilarious times with Jay when, for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a brother.

 

All lies.

 

Before anger can suffocate me, I turn my back on everything and head out to the garage, slamming the door on my old life.

 

As soon as I’m out of the house, I let Elizabeth’s gun clatter to the cement.

 

Benson opens his mouth—he probably thinks we should take it with us—but I silence him with a look. I can’t. I just can’t. I hate being dangerous just by being me; I won’t carry a weapon on top of that.

 

Acknowledging my refusal, he instead pulls the huge bundle of keys out of his pocket. “We’ve already broken and entered; how do you feel about grand theft auto?”

 

“You think we should take Reese’s Beemer?” I ask, recognizing how ridiculous my words sound, as though this were the most awful thing that’s happened today.

 

Benson swallows. “Not really. But my car’s at the library, and I don’t want to expose you to whatever’s out there. I guess you could try to make one, but . . .”

 

“It’ll disappear in five minutes,” I say, cutting off his answer before I have to consider actually doing it.

 

“Right,” he agrees. “Besides, it’s black; it’s not flashy. It’ll work.”

 

I stare at the sleek, shiny vehicle. “She’s going to call the cops.”

 

“She won’t.”

 

“It’s an eighty-thousand-dollar car, Benson. Trust me—she’s going to call the cops.”

 

He turns to face me. “No. She’ll chase you down on her own. And now she’ll have to find a car to do it. No cops; she won’t risk exposure.”

 

“That’s one hell of a gamble,” I say softly.

 

“Let’s chance the odds.”

 

I hesitate, not wanting to hurt Reese and Jay more than I already have.

 

“Tavia,” Benson urges, “they may have been complicit in the murder of your parents.”

 

“Fine,” I say, swallowing the pain that comes with his reminder. “But I drive.” Because if someone’s got to steal a car, it’s going to be me.