But then the expression on his face turned into a wry smile.

“What’s the matter, Cowgirl?” he said. “Jealous?”

“Just wait a minute, Rex. Please?”

He looked down at his captive boot and raised one eyebrow.

Melissa turned his ankle loose, realizing that she was half kneeling on the stairs, like some drunk trying to crawl up to bed. She took a deep breath to calm herself and turned away from Rex, sitting down on the steps. Then she pointed one black fingernail at the spot next to her.

After an infuriating pause, as if his oldest friend in the world was so hard to deal with, the staircase began to creak and shift under his weight as he descended. He sat down beside her.

“I’m not jealous of Madeleine,” she said. “But you used to be, remember?”

“Vividly.”

Melissa snorted. “Glad to hear that. I’d hate it if you gave up jealousy. It’s probably the only thing in the world everyone’s good at. Everyone besides me, of course.”

“Of course.”

“This isn’t about me, though. It’s about us.” Melissa winced at her own words and glanced up at him. His eyes had gone back to normal, at least. She had the foul feeling in her stomach that she’d tasted so many times in Bixby High girls, that sour paranoia that their boyfriends’ interest in them was evaporating. Melissa had always written them off as dorky and contemptible; she’d never realized that rejection was so painful.

Of course, things were bound to be awkward when your boyfriend was changing into a different species.

She took his hand, and his taste filled her. She focused on the surface of his mind—the steady, calming thought patterns of Rex Greene. Even during all those years she’d been unable to touch him, his surety and seer’s focus had always been something Melissa could cling to. The old Rex was still in there.

Of course, that familiarity only made the other part of him more disturbing. How could something so comforting and reassuring be wrapped around such darkness?

“Let me try again.”

“We already tried. It’s useless.” He shrugged. “And who knows? Maybe Madeleine can’t get inside me either. But it’s been a week; I don’t want what I got from the darklings to fade before she has a chance to look for it.”

“Believe me, Rex. It isn’t fading.” The blackness at his core was as solid as tar.

“Well, it isn’t any clearer either, Cowgirl, no matter how many times we’ve done this. We need Madeleine’s help. Samhain is only sixteen days away.”

Instead of answering, Melissa pushed herself farther into him, letting her thoughts flow across the human surface of his mind.

This time she didn’t try to crack the darkness at his center. Rex was probably right: whatever the darklings had left behind was too inhuman for her to reach. Melissa instead offered her own store of implanted memories, the accumulated legacy passed from hand to hand across the generations.

Before he went up to the attic, Rex had to know what mindcasters were capable of.

Melissa took Rex to a place in the core of those memories, an event that mindcasters had shared since the old days. A long time ago, back even before the earliest Spanish settlers had come to Oklahoma, long before the Anglos and the eastern tribes, there had been a gathering. Mindcasters from several tribes had met before a large fire to exchange images of far-off places they’d seen—east to the still waters of the Gulf of Mexico, north to where the Rockies reared up; one had traveled as far as the Grand Canyon. Since that first meeting the memory had been added to, layered with more images as it had been passed from generation to generation. It was as if the gathering had grown to a thousand mindcasters, all of those who had ever come to Bixby and discovered their power, until finally it had made its way to Melissa.

“Wow,” he said after a moment of marveling at it all.

“And not a hint of guilt,” Melissa said softly.

“What do you mean?”

“None of them thought that mindcasting was a bad thing, Rex. Of those hundreds of minds, not one thought it came with any cost.”

Rex pulled his hand away, shaking his head to clear it. “So you’re saying Angie’s wrong? That the Grayfoots fooled her somehow?”

“No.” Melissa glanced over her shoulder toward the top of the stairs, reassuring herself that Madeleine wasn’t within listening range. “Since Angie gave us her little lecture, I’ve been sifting through the memories for the kind of thing she was talking about—destroying people, altering minds for profit, mass manipulation. But I haven’t found them.” She drummed her fingers on her knees. “For some reason, though, I still think she’s telling the truth. Does that make any sense?”

Rex nodded. “Maybe they passed down an edited version.”

“What they passed down was unbelievable smugness, Rex. They never questioned what they were doing. I don’t think they could question it.”

“How do you mean?”

She reached for his hand again and showed him an unpleasant memory from only a few weeks before—the moment when she had touched Dess against her will and pried the secret of Madeleine’s existence from her. Melissa forced herself to linger over how Dess’s mind had been locked by the old mindcaster, effortlessly twisted to hide what she knew. And how Melissa had torn it open.

When she felt a chill run through Rex, she released his hand.

“Why did you show me that?” he asked.

“Because you have to remember what we’re capable of,” she said. “Mindcasting doesn’t just affect normal people. It can be used against other midnighters too.”

“I know.” His eyes narrowed. “But what does that have to do with Bixby’s history?”

She looked up at him. “Before us five orphans came along, every midnighter grew up surrounded by mindcasters, all of them sharing thoughts every time they shook hands. But what if it wasn’t just news and memories they were passing on? What if they were passing on beliefs? And what if at some point they all decided to believe that midnighters never did anything bad?”

“Decided to believe?”

Melissa leaned closer, speaking softer now, imagining the old woman upstairs listening from just around the corner. Melissa had chosen Madeleine’s house to have this conversation with Rex for one simple reason: inside its crepuscular contortion, their minds couldn’t be overheard.

“Over the centuries,” she said, “midnighters started to believe whatever they did was okay, just like people who owned slaves used to think they were being ‘good masters’ or whatever. Except unlike slavery, nobody from the outside ever questioned what the midnighters were up to in Bixby. It was all secret, and anytime doubts cropped up, there were mindcasters around to squash them. It was like some clique of cheerleaders going through high school together, all thinking the same way, talking the same way, believing they’re at the center of the universe… but for thousands of years.”

She looked into his eyes, hoping that he would get it.

“Until we came along,” Rex said.

“Exactly. We’re more different from our predecessors than we thought, Rex. Maybe they really did all that evil stuff, but they didn’t know they were being evil. They couldn’t know.”

“You haven’t asked Madeleine about this yet?”

Melissa shook her head. “No way. I haven’t let her touch me since Angie gave her little speech.”

Rex smiled softly. “So you’re an Angie fan now, are you?”

“Not really, but she has the same good point that most scumbags have: she makes me feel a lot better about myself.”

“Because you never kidnapped anyone?”

“Oh, much better than that.” She placed her palms together, hoping that the realization would still make sense once she’d said it aloud. “Madeleine always says I’ll never be a real mindcaster—I started too late. Those memories are just figments to me; to her they’re like real people.” Melissa shook her head. “But what if it’s a good thing that I never got indoctrinated? What if I’m not the first crazy mindcaster in history, Rex? What if I’m the first sane one?”