Coming to a stop in the foyer, I wanted to kick myself. I hadn’t needed any of that stuff for two years.
Surely, I didn’t need it now. What I needed to do was forget about Hayden, because right now, he wasn’t important. Finding out who’d been behind the car crash was.
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered why someone would want Olivia badly enough to kill. And come on, kill me, too? When I’d been just a kid? Or maybe they’d planned to wipe my mind—
erase all of our memories of Olivia—but when she brought me back with a new “gift,” they changed their plans. Maybe they wanted to see what I could do, see how I progressed on my own.
I just couldn’t figure out the “why” behind it all.
Tucking my sketchpad under my arm, I rubbed my temples. Ugh. Lack of sleep mixed in with learning someone might’ve wanted me dead could cause one hell of a headache.
I headed into the kitchen to dump my hot chocolate and found Cromwell at the table, several newspapers spread in front of him. I couldn’t make a hasty retreat before his gaze flicked up from the papers.
“Hello, Ember.”
“Hey.” I ambled over to the sink and dumped the mug, feeling his heavy stare on my back the whole time. It took everything in me to not fling accusations at him. When I turned around, Cromwell leaned back in the chair. “Can I ask you something?”
He nodded. “You can ask me anything.”
“Is it possible my parents knew about Olivia’s gift? Before she did anything?”
Cromwell glanced down at one of the papers. “It’s possible, especially if Olivia wasn’t the first one in the family to have a gift.”
“You’re saying someone else could’ve had the gift? In my family?”
“The ability to have gifts hasn’t been proven to be hereditary, but there’ve been several instances in which more than one member of a family has shown a gift. Just like Phoebe and Parker.”
“No way,” I murmured. “Mom and Dad were super-boring and ordinary.”
“Not your parents, but perhaps your grandparents, an aunt, or a cousin?”
My entire family was boring. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I admit I had looked into your family tree a bit when we first brought you here. Mostly for my own curiosity.”
I came closer to where he sat. “Did you find anything?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Are you sure?” I asked quietly, finding it hard to maintain eye contact with him.
Cromwell smiled evenly. My insides went cold. “I’m a hundred percent sure.”
Beyond a doubt, I knew he’d lied. He’d found something—something he didn’t want to share. Cold crept over my skin, leaving little goose bumps behind.
He stood. “Can you follow me, please?”
I was more willing to walk off a cliff, but I didn’t have much of a choice. “Sure.”
Cromwell gave me a look like he knew what I thought, and I’d swear his lips curved into a real smile for just a second or two.
I ended up following Cromwell to his home office clear on the other side of the house. Located in the right wing, a part of the mansion I rarely ventured to, the study seemed sterile and lifeless.
Cromwell went behind his desk while I hovered in the middle of the room, unwilling to get any closer. I couldn’t help it. When I looked at him, I saw my dad smiling at me before he hit the gas and crossed the intersection. A shudder of revulsion crawled over me.
“Cold?” Cromwell asked as he pulled out a ring of keys. “It’s drafty in this part of the house.”
I didn’t answer.
He turned toward the credenza and plucked a key from the ring. “Your sister is convinced this part of the house is haunted. I’m almost positive that Gabe is behind it. He’s quite the prankster.”
I inched closer as he opened up a drawer and thumbed through several files. Craning my neck, my eyes brushed over the name on the first file: “Kurt Lagos.” It was pretty damn thick. So was the file behind his. At first, I didn’t register who it was because I only knew him as Hayden Cromwell. Not Hayden Gray. And then, files marked with the twins’ names, then Gabe’s, and finally, his nimble fingers skimmed over Olivia’s and mine.
Before he could catch me watching, I whirled around and pretended to study a painting on the wall.
With its rolling green hills and pastel colors, it reminded me of something I would’ve drawn before the accident, but I didn’t give it any more thought. My brain focused on why Cromwell had files on all of us, and what could be in those files.
A sudden desire overcame me. I wanted to run over there and knock him over so I could get a look at the file. I had a right to know what was in my file, as well as the others. Okay, maybe not the others, but at least Olivia’s and Kurt’s.
And Hayden’s.
“Ember?”
“Yeah?” I turned around.
“I think you might like this.” He held a black album. Resting on top of it was a silver frame.
Coming up next to him, my chest tightened as I saw what was in the frame. It was a picture of my family before the accident, happy and smiling. Dad had his arm around my shoulders and Mom held a squirming three-year-old Olivia in her lap. I reached for them wordlessly, wrapping my fingers around the edge of the album. My eyes remained glued to the picture in the frame. It’d sat beside my bed, and I’d believed that these pictures—these memories—were forever lost.
“Liz went through the boxes we had in storage and gathered up the pictures,” Cromwell explained.
“She put them in this photo album for you and Olivia.”
My hands shook as I brought the album and frame to my chest, holding them close. Slowly, I lifted my eyes and met his. Cromwell smiled tightly and looked away. “Thank you,” I whispered, voice hoarse.
Cromwell nodded.
There was nothing else to say. I turned and carried my precious bundle upstairs. I set the picture on the table beside the bed, my fingers lingering on the polished silver for a few seconds. Sitting cross-
legged on the bed, I opened up the album and started thumbing through the innocent, joyful years captured in the images.
Some of the pictures made me smile, like the ones of baby Olivia with her face beet-red, lips pulled open in a silent wail. And the ones of Dad and me making funny faces at the camera. Or my mom trying to cook, which always had been a humorous endeavor. But the photos also opened up a raw ache deep within my chest. I came to another picture at the back of the album and a burning rose in my throat. It was just the three of us: my parents and me, sitting in a pile of golden leaves, smiling blissfully.
We’d been a real family once. Sometimes I forgot that.
I slid the picture out of the clear plastic film, running my thumb over my dad’s ruggedly handsome face. The burning in the back of my throat took over and tears spilled down my cheeks. Holding the picture close, I curled onto my side and tried to remember why we’d been so happy in those pictures.
A few hours later, I dragged myself to the sink and splashed cold water over my face. Tears still lingered in my eyes, but I drew in a deep, steadying breath as I pulled my hoodie on and tugged my hair back into a messy ponytail.
Downstairs, I searched for Olivia. After viewing those pictures, I kind of wanted to spend some time with her. The low hum of the TV drew me to the largest of the recreation rooms in the mansion. My steps were slow and light as I treaded to the archway of the room.
No one saw me from where I stood, and I was relieved. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what my face looked like. Gabe sprawled across one of the recliners. Just the top of his curly head was visible. Parker sat across the room, reading a book, as usual. Curled on one side of the couch was my little sister, sound asleep.