But then she remembered how her grandmother had been trapped, the same way she was. “No,” she mouthed at first. And then, this time louder, with more conviction. “It’s exactly the road I want to go down,” she insisted.
She reached into her purse and drew out the photograph, her heart hammering loudly, painfully. “This,” she said. “This is what I know.”
Dr. Lee stared at the image, and Violet waited.
Her hand was trembling, and she knew he noticed it too, but she continued to hold the photo out, and continued to wait for him to speak first. The ball was in his court. She was the one who needed answers now.
Eventually, he moved, his hands unclenching as he reached for the picture, taking it from her fingers. And still, he remained silent. Still, he just stared at the faces in the photograph.
“She was a lovely woman”—he didn’t look up when he said it—“your grandmother. Funny and warm. Irreverent. People liked her.
I
liked her,” he added.
Violet wasn’t prepared for the flood of emotions that discussing her grandmother would cause. She’d thought she was ready for whatever he threw her way—threats, warnings, challenges, even anger. But what she hadn’t expected was the kind of tenderness she heard in his voice.
She had to remind herself that he was a master at manipulating others, that he’d fooled her before.
“So that is you? In that picture? You were part of the Circle of Seven?”
He let out a derisive laugh. “The Circle of Seven? I haven’t heard that name in years. What a joke. They had no business naming themselves . . .
naming us
. We weren’t a club or a team, not the way they wanted us to be. We were just a bunch of people with uncommon abilities.”
“Like us?” Violet bit out. “Like the team you won’t let me quit?”
Dr. Lee seemed to snap out of whatever reverie he’d been lost in, as if remembering he wasn’t alone with his own thoughts, that Violet was still there too. “No.” He said it quickly, with a jolt of finality. “Not like you kids at all. We had no idea what we were capable of, what we could do with our abilities. No one did, really. We were floundering then, struggling to figure out how to work together. You kids are better at it. You kids have found a purpose and are using your abilities to help people. To stop killers and solve crimes.”
She nodded, not sure why she was agreeing with him. But in the back of her mind she reminded herself of what he could do. She couldn’t let him manipulate her emotions.
“Does Sara know? Does she know that her mother was in the Circle with you? With my grandmother?”
Whatever advantage Dr. Lee felt like he’d regained slipped as his composure faltered. “Sara’s . . . ? How did you . . .” And then his lips pressed together. “Rafe,” he whispered menacingly.
He didn’t remind her about his warnings, but cold sweat broke out on her upper lip as she waited for him to tell her she’d broken the rules, that her family was in imminent danger.
“Who else have you told?”
She couldn’t lie. There was no going back now. “I know that Krystal’s mom was in the Circle too. I know that it’s not a coincidence that you found all of us. And I know . . .” she said, her eyes flitting nervously to his. “I know that Muriel isn’t dead.” Violet held her breath as she waited for his response, expecting the worst.
But he simply nodded, his expression smoothing, growing solemn. “Yes . . . Sam’s grandmother. I remember when I first heard the news that she was dead. I went to her funeral, you know, just like everyone else did. Officially, we were told it was a car accident. Unofficially, it would have been impossible
not
to hear the whispers of the others in the Circle; I knew what they believed. And their suspicions were the beginning of the end for us. As trust disintegrated, we began to turn on one another. I tried my best to . . .
ease
their worries. But my reach only extended so far. Eventually, we had to disband.”
“But why fake her death?” Violet asked, still wanting to know.
She expected him to tell her to mind her own business, that she’d overstepped. On the contrary, he answered as easily as if she’d always been permitted to know such things. As if he’d never threatened her in the first place. Or maybe he was just tired of keeping the lies to himself. “As it turns out, Muriel had learned too much about our organization—about what those in charge were up to: blackmailing industry leaders, corrupting corporations. She was
persuaded
to relocate, and to never contact anyone in the Circle again.” Violet hated the way he emphasized the word
persuaded
, and she couldn’t help thinking of old-time thugs with trench coats and broken noses.
He continued, unaware of the way she shuddered inwardly. “She was kept away for years; even her name was changed. But when we discovered that her grandson was
special
too, we contacted her. When Sam’s parents agreed to our terms . . .” His voice drifted off, and again, Violet got that sick feeling of Sam being haggled over, like a commodity. She waited a long time, while she considered all the things he’d just told her. “Violet—” he started to say, then stopped himself. “I’m not the one you have to worry about,” he said at last, his voice no longer filled with menace. “I’m not in charge; I only do what I’m told. I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m trying to help you.” He frowned. “Don’t you get it, your team has done some great things? Look at what you’ve been able to accomplish.”
He sighed, his shoulders falling. “I’m warning you, Violet, the fewer people who know, the better. I’m saying this for your own good.”
“Can I ask why you stayed . . . when everyone else split up? Why did you stay on?”
A wan smile tugged at his mouth. “My father. He was the one who started this whole thing. My ability—whatever you call it, this thing I can do—my father had it too. He had grand ideas about finding a way to use it. About finding others and gathering them together to form some secret society, so we could use our abilities to . . .” His smile spread into a slow and twisted grin. “To take over the world, you could say.”
“And now?” Violet asked, feeling uneasy, like she already knew too much.
Dr. Lee sighed. “Now he’s dead. Now things have changed and it’s a different organization. I’d like to think that those changes are all for the better.”
She was cautious with her next question, not sure she was ready to hear the truth. “Would they have hurt my family or
relocated
me, the way they did Muriel? If I hadn’t stayed on the team like I was warned?”
Dr. Lee was quiet, that same kind of long pause that made her think she might not like what she heard. “I can’t answer that, Violet. I don’t know everything.”
She’d read enough of her grandmother’s journals to know that if he’d wanted her to feel calm, she would have. But he didn’t. She knew because of the way her pulse raced, and how her stomach twisted in agonizing knots, and the chill that shivered over her skin.
“Go home, Violet,” he said at last, surprising her by handing the photograph back to her. “Just”—he shook his head, turning to unlock his car—“go home.”
After her meeting with Dr. Lee, Violet continued to turn the information over in her mind until she realized it didn’t really matter. He’d told her all he was going to . . . revealing half-truths and doling out vague advice.
Violet wished her grandmother could have lived long enough to know the truth: that Muriel hadn’t died after all.
In her bedroom, she set her purse down, and noticed the flyer Sam had given her poking out from beneath it, right where she’d left it on her dresser. She pulled it out and examined it, momentarily forgetting all about Dr. Lee and the Circle of Seven.
The night of the concert, Violet had lain awake for several hours, thinking she must have missed something crucial, some bit of information that would link the band to the girl. She felt as if she had all the right information—all the pieces—she just couldn’t make them fit.
The brimstone cross.
The band . . . Safe Word.
Veronica Bowman.
Even the missing echo seemed to taunt her, despite knowing the reason for its absence.
But there wasn’t much she could do, at least not from the solitude of her bedroom, about the girl or her brother, so she decided to go online, to get as much information as she could about the cross and the band.
When she typed
brimstone cross
into Google, the first entries that popped up referred to its symbolism in satanism, just as Sara had mentioned. There were plenty of images to scroll through—drawings, jewelry, tattoos. But nothing more than what she already knew.
When she’d finished reading through the articles she could find, she typed in the name of the band,
Safe Word
. This search was harder, and had to be revised several times, since
safe word
was a bondage term, and brought up hundreds of images, including guys in leather masks, handcuffs, and whips.
When she added the term
Seattle band
to the search, she found what she’d been looking for.
There were Facebook and MySpace pages, and YouTube videos. She clicked on the videos, and immediately realized she was watching the right guys. This was the same band she’d seen at the club the other night. The same group with the brimstone cross on their drums.
She watched each video closely, trying to search for anything that might tie them to Veronica or her death. She searched for the girl during the crowd shots, pausing and going back and rewatching them as she studied each face.
It took her close to an hour to watch all five of the official videos that were posted, and another two hours to go through the fan-posted ones.
When she finished, she felt like she was no closer to an answer than when she’d started.
She clicked over to their Facebook page.
It was the first post on their Wall that made her stop, her fingers hovering over her mouse.
They were playing again. Tomorrow night in Tacoma at another all-ages club.
The decision was easy: She was going. And she was taking someone with her, although not Rafe or Sam. This time she’d be taking someone from a
different
team.
When the phone was picked up on the other end, Violet grinned. “Hey, remember when you said you wanted to be my sidekick?”
Violet tugged at her black shirt, admiring the hot-pink skull that dripped down the front of it. It wasn’t bad to look at, but it stretched too tight across her chest, like she was wearing a child’s size version. “We look ridiculous, Chels.”
“Are you kidding me? We look awesome! I might just make this my regular style.” She stood behind Violet at the mirror, and Violet glanced back at her, appraising Chelsea’s black eyeliner and combat boots. Somehow Chelsea managed to make the look work, and her toned legs looked hot in the fishnet tights, even if her skirt was entirely too short. The leather bands on her wrists were a nice touch too.
Violet looked back at herself, studying the makeup Chelsea had painstakingly applied on her to go with the outfit.
Smoky eyes
, Chelsea had called them.
Whore-y eyes
, Violet had joked, staring at the raccoon effect Chelsea had created.
“Besides, we can’t just walk in there in our regular clothes . . . we need to try and blend. Otherwise everyone’ll know we’re there for clues,” Chelsea countered.
“Clues?” Violet asked, unclasping the spiderweb necklace, deciding it was a bit much. “This isn’t an episode of
Scooby-Doo
. We’re not there to unmask the ghost of Old Man Wheezer or find out who’s haunting the abandoned amusement park. This is serious.”
Chelsea puckered her black lips, her reflection staring back at Violet indignantly. “And I’m taking it seriously. Dude, stop worrying. I’ve got this.”
“I hope you’re right. Besides, I doubt we’ll turn up anything anyway. I just didn’t want to go alone.”
Chelsea turned on the chunky heel of her boot, wrinkling her nose. “Yeah . . . about that . . .”
Violet frowned, not liking her friend’s tone, or the implication that she was withholding something. “About what, Chels?”
“That thing about not wanting to go alone . . .” The end of her sentence lilted up, almost as if she were afraid to finish it.
Violet’s face flushed and she could feel her cheeks turning red. “
Who?
Who did you tell? Did you invite someone to come with us?”
Chelsea bit her lip, wincing dramatically. “Well . . . yes and no. I mean, yes, I told someone. And, no, I didn’t, technically, invite him.” She grimaced as she rushed through her last words. “But he
is
coming. He insisted.”
Violet threw her hands in the air. “Oh my god, spit it out already! Who then?”
“Rafe,” Chelsea admitted guiltily. “It wasn’t my fault really. I thought . . . since he knew . . . it was no big deal. So I was telling him about the band, and he got all weird about it, and asked me how I knew about them. Then he made me tell him when we were going, and he . . .” She lifted her shoulders, trying to look innocent, but looking anything but. “He invited himself.”
“Geez, Chels,” Violet groaned. So much for her plan of making Chelsea her sidekick, she silently mocked herself. “I knew you liked him, but I thought you
got
that I didn’t want anyone else to know. That was kinda the point here.”
Chelsea sighed, an overly loud and theatrical sound. “Yeah, well, I don’t think it matters whether I like him or not,” Chelsea said, her expression turning momentarily serious. She didn’t look accusatory, or even dejected, just matter-of-fact when she said it. “I think we both know who Rafe likes.”
Violet blinked as she faced her friend, wondering how she’d known. She wanted to deny what she knew Chelsea was saying—to say that she hadn’t noticed Rafe’s feelings toward her—but somehow she couldn’t muster up the lie, no matter how hard she tried. She’d worked too hard to be honest with Chelsea.
Before she could come up with anything, there was a knocking at her bedroom door, three quick raps that Violet would recognize anywhere. Her eyes widened as she stared at Chelsea.