“Quite.”

“But how did you know I was staring at you?”

Frey moves to her side. “She’s an empath, Anna. She feels what you feel, but she only sees through touch.”

She’s standing in front of me, those wide eyes calm, expectant.

“Can you project what you see?” I ask her. “Would I see it too?”

“Ah,” she says. “It’s been awhile since you’ve seen your reflection.” She tilts her head. “But not that long, I suspect. It’s your first visit here.”

It would be interesting to get an idea how I’ve changed since I’ve become vampire. I know what my parents and David say. But to actually see an image is tempting.

I take a step back. “Later, maybe,” I say.

I expect a flicker of disappointment or irritation to ruffle the perfect serenity of her face, but the only irritation comes from Frey.

“What’s the matter, Anna? Afraid of what you’ll see?”

I’m getting tired of his attitude. I’ve already apologized for biting him. What more can I do? Bitterness and a tinge of warning creep into my tone. “I’m here to see Trish. Not play mind games.”

Frey ignores me. He touches the empath’s arm very gently, drawing her attention to him. “I’m sorry, Sorrel. Anna hasn’t been otherworldly very long. She doesn’t easily accept what is.”

Sorrel? An empath named Sorrel? I’m trapped in a Star Trek episode. A small bubble of laughter escapes before I can stop it.

Frey rounds on me. This time he says it. “You're an idiot, Anna.”

But Sorrel places a hand on his arm. “No, Daniel. Anna is right. She is here to see her niece and assure herself that the girl is unharmed.”

My attention snaps to Sorrel. “My niece?”

Sorrel smiles and her hand brushes mine. The smile and the touch wash over me in a golden wave that warms my blood and calms my agitation. “Yes.”

And with that single word, the irritation I’ve felt for Frey, the anxiety over Trish, the rage directed at what’s been done to her melts away like ice in the desert. It’s just gone. And with it all desire to seek retribution fades into nothingness. All I feel is peace.

A trick? I shake my head to clear it. Nothing happens. I remain trapped in a vapor lock of serenity.

“Stop.” It takes tremendous energy to form the word.

Sorrel quirks an eyebrow.“Stop?”

“Yes.” My voice doesn’t sound right. The edge is gone. I want it back. “Don’t do this. I expect you mean well. But I want you to remove whatever spell you’ve cast on me.”

Frey takes a step toward me. “It’s not a spell, Anna. It’s Sorrel. Her presence. Her gift is to draw pain and replace it with serenity.”

“Then make her go away.”

I expect Frey to argue, tell me that I’ve lost my mind.

But he doesn’t.

He looks instead at Sorrel.

And she looks at me. “I understand, Anna. There are things you must feel in order to do what you must do. I will leave you to your visit. But later, if you change your mind-”

She lets the words hang in the air between us like a promise between lovers, freely given and open-ended. I believe her. I also know the kind of tranquility she offers has no place in my world. I think she knows it too.

She starts to leave, but I stop her. “Wait. Before you go, how do you know about Trish? How can you be sure she is my niece?”

The empath raises a hand as if to touch my cheek, but draws it away before making contact. “It’s in the blood,” she says softly.

Frey follows Sorrel out the door, and with her departure, my head clears. Just like that. I’m myself again and all the pent up emotion of the last few days comes surging back. It feels-good.

For the first time, I notice the room. It’s not very large, maybe ten by ten, furnished only with two big buff-colored leather chairs placed facing each other. That’s it as far as furniture. No tables or lamps. I glance up at the ceiling. The same powerful overhead lights as the room outside, filling what I imagine would be a pretty dark space with artificial sunlight. But where I expect to hear the hum of fluorescent or incandescent bulbs, there’s only silence. Strange from so powerful a light source. But maybe it’s some kind of solar thing, funneling energy from the outside. There’s also an odor-not unpleasant-like a subtle perfume. A hint of lavender, a hint of citrus.

I have only an instant to consider this before the door opens again and I prepare myself for what is sure to be another rant from Frey.

But it’s not Frey.

It’s Trish. She grins when she sees me and waves a hand.

“Isn’t this place cool?” she says. “I can’t wait for my mom to see it.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I barely recognize the girl standing in front of me. Trish is smiling, her eyes bright and her face radiant. Gone is the aura of sadness and fear that surrounded her before. She’s wearing a clean pair of jeans with a crisp white blouse and a pair of loafers on her feet. Her hair is brushed back from her face and shines with a healthy glow. She smells faintly of the same scent-lavender and lemon. Could it be soap or shampoo?

She looks happy.

Sorrel again?

I take a step toward her. “Are you all right?”

She nods. “Of course. Everyone is so nice. Mr. Frey was right when he said I’d be safe here.” She lowers her voice in a conspiratorial whisper, though the smile never wavers. “I’m not sure what this place is exactly. Mr. Frey said it was some kind of secret headquarters, like you see in movies. But I’m not supposed to know any more than that or he’d have to kill me.”

She giggles at a joke I don’t find the least bit funny. Just as I wonder about Trish’s demeanor.

I motion to one of the two chairs and beckon Trish to take a seat. She does. I follow suit, facing her, feeling like a counselor in a therapy session. Maybe that’s what this room is used for.

But I don’t know how to begin this session.

Trish is looking at me, an amused half-smile touching the corners of her mouth. “I figure you’re here because things are better now, right? You’ve caught those men and it’s safe for me to go home. Ryan must be going crazy. I wasn’t allowed to call him from here. Mr. Frey said he would let him know that I was all right. Ryan wouldn’t believe him, though. He’d want to talk to me himself, so we’d better stop by his house on the way home.”

Her words run together in a bubbling torrent of joyful speculation. She seems to have completely forgotten her mother’s part in what happened to her-or to have excused it. I can’t believe that one any more than I can understand the other.

“You want to go home?” I ask her gently.

She nods. Something in my expression must trigger doubt then, because the smile falters, a flicker of uncertainty dims the brightness in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

I wait a heartbeat too long to answer.

Trish jumps to her feet. “Has something happened to my mother?”

I wish I could come up with some way to make this easier for her. I actually consider reminding her of the reason she’s here, but that would be replacing one horror with another. I push myself up out of the chair.

“Trish, I’m sorry. Something has happened. Your mother was killed last night. The police are looking into it. And I will, too, of course.”

I realize I’m rambling, the same way Trish did moments before. But Trish is staring at me, empty-eyed and slack-jawed, all traces of life gone from her face. I take a step toward her, but she backs away.

“I’m really sorry, Trish. I wish I could make this easier for you. Your grandmother is here. She doesn’t know where you are. If you’d like, I can get a message to her.”

As I speak the words, I want to bite them back. Why did I say that? I can’t imagine that cold, arrogant bitch being of any comfort to Trish. I just don’t know what else to offer. Trish doesn’t know about the relationship she has to my family. I’m afraid telling her will only add to her confusion about her mother.