But my maneuver didn’t pay off, because all I got from Farah was blankness while she pretended to diagnose the sharp, colorful angles of the art.
Wendy had come back from the window to confront Noah. “You’re a real fuckroid sometimes. Why would you even say something like that?”
The kid shrugged. His whole demeanor had changed, his shoulders stiff, like he regretted going too far with his teasing but wasn’t about to admit it.
“God,” Wendy said. “This damned family. Sometimes I hate you guys.”
“That’s never obvious.” Back to normal, Noah went to put the cue stick back in its wall holder. “Maybe you should just trade us in, Wendy. Or maybe your real family will call from Beijing and want you back someday.”
“Maybe yours will ride across the border on a burro and pack you off.” She added something in Chinese, I think, and whatever it was, it sounded nasty.
As she rushed out of the room, she had a look on her face that told me she regretted what she’d said. Noah was back to regretting, too. But Farah?
She’d mentally checked out, probably so used to these arguments that she didn’t pay attention anymore.
As Noah came back to the table and shoved the rest of the pool balls into pockets, I wondered if Wendy would’ve carried through with describing to her siblings what’d been in those pictures she’d shown to Gavin.
Oh well.
Before Noah headed toward the door, he checked on Farah with a glance. When she didn’t acknowledge him, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, then went on his way, his hair hiding part of his eyes.
Farah rubbed her hands over her arms, still standing in front of me, clueless that she was looking at more than a painting. This might be a good time to try some empathy on her. I was feeling really strong tonight, thanks to the power surge I usually got whenever fake Dean touched me.
I eased away from the painting, and just before I reached out to touch Farah’s face, she pulled away, feeling my chill.
Then she shook her head, like she was telling herself it’d just been a gust of wind from a seal that needed replacing on a window, and ran from the room the best she could in those Charro pumps.
A burst of energy flew through me. Was it because of her fear?
Whatever, it felt good. Just like it used to feel to get a blast of adrenaline when I was in a close volleyball game.
Giving slow chase, I left the study behind. I didn’t like it in there anyway, mostly because of Gavin’s dream. But also because of how Wendy, Noah, and Farah had left the room with that dysfunctional vibe that seemed to be the hallmark of the Edgett family.
Where was Daddy when you needed him?
It occurred to me that I would have to find another computer to use, instead of Amanda Lee’s, if I wanted to research the man. Would a library have one?
Anyway, I’d see about that later. Right now, though, Farah was still close by.
Flying out of the room, I heard her down the hall, and as I passed the game room with all the high-tech equipment, I saw her pacing, her cell phone to her ear.
“James,” she said. “Please tell me you’re home. Call me right back. Or I’ll try you again, just in case you couldn’t get to the phone.”
She was leaving a message. I knew all about these new phones and how they worked, thanks to Amanda Lee.
After redialing, Farah paced, her fingers playing with her ponytail. Then a man’s faint voice came on the other end of the line. I focused my energy on James, hearing him loud and clear in the air. He sounded put out that Farah had called.
“What’re you doing right now?” she asked. “I need to see you so badly.”
The boyfriend she’d been arguing with the other night said, “Jesus, then just come over. You don’t need an invitation.”
“Be there soon,” she said, either totally missing his impatience with her or ignoring it.
He hung up, and she didn’t go anywhere… until she looked around, like she felt me nearby.
“Rum Tum Tugger?” she asked.
Huh? Oh yeah. The cat.
“Tug… ger…” I could tell she was hoping it was her pet she felt in the room.
When the animal didn’t show itself, Farah scuttled away, and I got another rush of energy from her unadorned fear, then went after her.
As a fancy glass grandfather clock downstairs struck nine o’clock, I flew behind Farah as she ascended the grand staircase. She kept looking around for whatever was probably sending bumps over her flesh.
And I kept buzzing with the rush.
In her room, she grabbed her purse and keys as I prepared to corner her for an empathy session.
But then a visitor showed up at her door. Guess who.
Every time I saw Gavin—the rich guy with the face of a fighter, a face that didn’t belong in this mansion—I paused, struck by his life force.
“You were supposed to stop by my room,” he said. “That was a half hour ago.”
“I got sidetracked.” She tucked her prim little purse under her arm. “And I’m busy now.”
He nodded slowly, and I got the feeling he wasn’t happy with her.
“When will you not be busy, Farah?”
She hadn’t looked at him since he’d come in. “I can’t say. Tomorrow morning. Afternoon.”
He made a dismissive motion and started to leave her room.
She went after him. “Don’t act like that, Gav.”
“Like what? Like you have no interest whatsoever in helping me with Noah and Wendy?”
“You’re mad at me?”
“I’m just…” He laughed a little, then gritted his jaw. “I’m done with even asking you. Go to James or whatever his name is.”
She lifted her chin, and as Gavin walked away, it trembled.
“Don’t you care that you’ve never met him?” she asked.
“What you do outside this house is your business, Farah. Have fun with him.”
The air just hung there, heavier than I was.
“You bet I’ll have fun,” she finally said. “A lot of it.”
When he didn’t even offer a backward glance, she hurried toward the staircase, like she was desperate to leave the House of Usher.
As for me, I forgot all about Farah and went after Gavin, my main target. I tracked him to his room and whooshed by his boots just before he closed his door.
He went to sit at that big marble desk by the ocean-view window, where a laptop computer waited. His blue eyes were even paler in the glow of the screen, his features rough as he gazed at wherever he was seeing.
I flowed behind him, already knowing what would be capturing his attention.
Me.
And I’d bet the shirt on my back that he’d only been wanting to show Farah Wendy’s camera work, then discuss either the fact that (A) their house was haunted or (B) Wendy had some issues.
He was inspecting the computerized photos with such intensity that I suspected he was taking proof of a ghost seriously. And why wouldn’t he after I’d already been at him with the knocks on the wall and my shady voice?
He clicked on to another picture and a zap of worry flicked through me, causing the computer screen to blink. I’m not sure it was even something the human eye could catch, because Gavin didn’t seem to notice. But there I was in one of the pictures Wendy had taken, a cloudy shape hovering near her ceiling. A faint outline of a faceless woman who looked as if she was suspended in a pool, floating facedown, her hair spread out.
Almost… angelic. Me.
I couldn’t help myself—I curved around, to the front of the computer as it fritzed, wanting to see what his expression looked like now.
Was it right to say that he was… taken with the image in the photo? Enthralled?