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  Thinking about the powers was no better, however. It would take at least two days for the sample to reach the lab, and then another few while they processed the results. Henry didn’t even know what to tell them to look for, or how to look for it. Should they just keep an eye out for anything weird, in general?

  What had his grandfather told them to look for?

  Henry hated playing the waiting game, but it seemed like his only real option. The lab would call him as soon as they knew something and then send him the long form of the results in the mail. There was no way to speed the process. He was stuck.

  For a lack of anything else to do, Henry opened his desk drawer. Stuck inside were a few of the files he’d squirreled out of his grandfather’s filing cabinet when the old man wasn’t looking. Sneaking felt juvenile, but he couldn’t just … leave this alone. It was medically amazing, but even more than that, it affected Ruth. Henry would do whatever necessary to help Ruth.

  He opened up the files, reading through the information again, looking for any clue as to what was going on. Before he’d learned Ruth actually was at the Firelight Festival, Henry had been certain he’d discovered an important clue. Her lack of access to the fog had seemed like a revelation. The fact that she had been hit by it, no matter in how small a dose, had really shot a hole in his theory.

  There had to be something connecting all these individuals. Lots of people had gotten ill from the fog, but only thirty or so of them had nearly died from their exposure, and they were all the ones exhibiting powers. He opened all the files on his desk, looking at them side-by-side. What did Briggs, Clayton and Greg, Frank have in common with Powell, June and Roberts, Lucy?

  Besides the mysterious BBC number, there was nothing. They’d grown up in different places, they had different professions. There was no overlap in their powers. He took a closer look at Clayton’s file. Healthy, good blood pressure, type O-negative blood—

  The thought gave him pause. Hadn’t he seen something similar on June’s paperwork?

  Henry glanced at June’s results. June Powell’s blood type was O-negative. He looked at Frank Greg’s file: O-negative. Lucy Roberts: O-negative!

  He knew that there was an especially high concentration of the O-negative blood type in Independence Falls. So many of the people in town were descended from the town’s original founders, Mamie Watkins and her sisters. Only a small percentage of the world’s population had O-negative blood, but in Independence Falls it was common.

  Gathering up the files, Henry hugged them close to his chest and poked his head out into the hallway. He could see Mrs. McClure at her desk, head bent over her calendar, paying him no mind. His grandfather was with a patient, his voice coming out as a muffled, indistinguishable murmur from exam room three.

  Henry darted down the hall to Dr. Pinkerton’s office, opening and closing the door as quietly as he could. He slipped the old files into their spots and quickly ran his fingers through everything else in the cabinet. He found Sokolov, Ivan: he was O-negative. So was Sharpe, Evelyn.

  He picked out another name: Williams, Peggy. The mother who would not let him alone had suffered headaches and an upset stomach in the days following the Firelight Festival. He remembered it clearly because his grandfather had demanded that Henry be the one to tend to her, and she had complained incessantly. She’d not been the only one to experience those symptoms, either. The fog had not been kind to anyone who had been unfortunate enough to be in its path, but it had been life-threatening to only a few.

  Mrs. Williams was B-positive.

  Henry replaced the file and then flipped to the B’s, but Ruth’s name wasn’t there. That wasn’t exactly surprising, considering her father’s stance on medicine, but it was still disappointing. He could always perform a blood typing test himself—it wasn’t nearly as complicated as most of the labs required in this kind of work, and they had the ability to carry it out in the office.

  It felt unnecessary, at this point. He was nearly positive that Ruth’s blood type was O-negative, but nearly positive wasn’t enough. He closed the filing cabinet and slipped back to the cool storage in the far back of the office. He had a test to complete.

  An hour later, Henry had his answer: Ruth was O-negative, just like the rest of them. All of them, every single person who had been seriously ill.

  Dr. Pinkerton had just finished up a consultation and was heading to refill his cup of coffee when Henry pounced. He practically dragged the older doctor back to his office, locking the door behind them.

  “What’s going on, Henry?” Dr. Pinkerton asked. His voice sounded hoarse today, and his color wasn’t good. He needed a few weeks off, in Henry’s professional opinion, but Henry knew better than to give it.

  In response, Henry turned to the cabinet and began to pull out the files for every powerful person he could think of. He threw them onto Dr. Pinkerton’s desk and then opened them, pointing at the blood type. “They’re all O-negative. All of them. Granddad, did you know?”

  Dr. Pinkerton’s face was thunderous. “I thought I told you to leave this.”

  Henry looked away. It was difficult to endure his grandfather’s angry, disappointed eyes. He hated upsetting the man, but this was too important to give up on. Ruth needed to know what was happening to her. She was counting on him.

  “I can’t walk away from this, not right now.” Henry sighed. “I cross-referenced with some of the people who got sick but not deathly ill. They all had another blood type, and unless they’re hiding it really, really well, none of them have powers.”

  His grandfather sank into the chair behind his desk, rubbing at his temple. “Why can’t you trust me on this? I’m handling it.”

  That stung; it wasn’t that Henry didn’t trust his grandfather. He did. He trusted his grandfather more than anyone else in his world. There had never been anyone who had been so steadfastly on Henry’s side.

  But he wasn’t blind. Dr. Pinkerton was acting odd. He knew more than he was saying, and he was trying to keep Henry out of it. It was unfathomable, but somehow, his grandfather had developed secrets from him.

  “I want to help you, in whatever way I can.” It was the only way he could think to answer the accusation.

  Dr. Pinkerton leveled a stare at Henry. His eyes looked sad. “I don’t know how else to tell you that I don’t want your help on this. I feel like I’ve said it a hundred ways.”

  Henry nearly buckled under the weight of the words. It was one thing to be excluded for some unknown reason. It was quite another to be unwanted. Henry had been unwanted his entire life, and he had always assumed he’d risen above it, with the unconditional love and support his grandfather gave him.

  And now his grandfather was saying all the same things his mother couldn’t be bothered to articulate.

  With a shaky breath, Henry said, “And if I continue working on this on my own?”

  Dr. Pinkerton dropped his head into his hands, scrubbing at his face. When he looked up, he seemed weary, tired. Even more so than he had when he’d first sat down. “I don’t know how you’re planning to do that. I’ve already had all the samples we took processed.”

  So his grandfather still didn’t know about Ruth. Good. It would be better to keep it that way. Henry resisted the defensive urge to gloat and instead nodded solemnly.

  “So that’s it, then?”

  His grandfather got to his feet. “Henry ….”

  “No, don’t try to placate me. You’re deliberately keeping me out of this, you won’t tell me why—” The anger rose up in Henry, hot and fast, and he was near to bursting with it when Patrice suddenly entered the room.

  She paused in the doorway. The tension was so thick it felt palpable, and she went rigid as soon as she entered. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Henry glared at his grandfather. “You’re not interrupting anything, trust me.”

  Patrice gave a skeptical hum. “If you say so. Henry, dear, you have someone who wants to see you. Do you have time to ta
ke a consultation?”

  Neither Dr. Pinkerton nor Henry looked away. But then Henry felt himself give, and he dropped his chin. He couldn’t fight with his granddad, not really. It was always too much.

  “What room?”

  “She’s in room two,” Patrice said, turning to leave. “Her chart is on the door.”

  Henry nodded stiffly, and started to walk out of the room. He heard his grandfather call out behind him.

  “Henry!”

  Henry halted, but he did not face Dr. Pinkerton. He couldn’t.

  “This is the last we’re going to talk about this, all right? I mean it.” His grandfather sounded stern. “And I still expect to see you tonight at dinner.”

  Henry stalked out of the room, closing the door to the office behind him with more force than necessary.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ruth

  When Henry stormed into her exam room, Ruth nearly jumped. He was tightly coiled, and his face was dark and angry. She’d never seen him look so intimidating, and she didn’t like it. She was sitting on the edge of the metal table, and when she flinched back, its edge dug into the backs of her calves.

  As soon as he realized it was her, the tension melted away. Henry’s shoulders rounded. He slumped toward her in relief, and Ruth thought, There you are.

  “Henry,” she said, reaching her arms out. He stopped only to lock the exam room door and then moved into them, resting his head atop hers. She liked the way they fit together, natural as breathing. For a long moment, she simply held him, felt the tautness in his shoulders disappear. She rubbed a soothing hand up and down the dips of his spine. “Are you all right?”

  He laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be asking you that.” He pulled back. Ruth was glad to see his face. It was still a little too drawn, too serious, but he seemed less upset than he had when he’d first entered, and that was important.

  His hand came up to trace down her cheek, his touch light and reverent. “What’s going on?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Couldn’t wait to see me?”

  Ruth flushed. That was true enough. She really couldn’t wait to see him again. However, that was not why she’d sought him out. She needed to get away—had needed to for a while—but when she’d woken up and thought she’d created another inadvertent fire again, she realized that time was not on her side. She was finally ready to take that step.

  “I thought I’d burned myself again this morning. In my sleep, I mean,” she confessed, dropping her eyes to her knees. “I didn’t, thankfully, but I thought … what if I had? What if I’d ruined the rest of my clothes, or burned down the house? That could happen at any time. I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “That’s not true.” Henry thumbed over her cheek, his touch a soothing balm on her soul. “You’re working on things, getting better. I mean, just last night—”

  “Working this kind of mental muscle, getting that control, it isn’t a quick process. Or, at least it hasn’t been for me. If anything were to happen ….” She shuddered. “Henry, I’m frightened. My father’s going to be upset no matter what happens. I can’t even imagine what he’ll do, but … this way I have a chance to hide, and the law will be on my side.”

  The look on Henry’s face, the blue of his eyes—they were soft, loving. She felt his hands go to her shoulders and trail down her arms until their hands were twisted in each other. His presence was a comfort to her. Even just standing before her, saying nothing, she felt relieved. He leaned in to brush a kiss across her forehead. “You’re so brave.”

  “Stop,” she said, even as she smiled to herself.

  He grinned in return. “Never.” He brought her right hand to his mouth, kissed her knuckles. “When do you want to do this?”

  “As soon as possible, I guess.” The regret was thick in her chest. Logically, she knew her father was dangerous to her. She was even starting to see he always had been, that his presence was too much in her life, that he’d choked out any tendrils of growth in her. He had done it in the name of a God Ruth wasn’t sure he even recognized. It certainly wasn’t the loving, forgiving God she knew.

  Knowing all of that didn’t make it easier to leave after a lifetime of dependence on him.

  “Meet me tonight,” Henry said. “This evening. We’ll go to Officer Harris. He’s like you now, did you hear?”

  She shook her head. “He has powers?”

  “Some kind of super strength, or that’s the rumor. He’ll be sympathetic to your situation, and he’ll definitely help.”

  Tonight? But that didn’t work.

  “Your dinner, Henry. With your grandfather and your mother.”

  A shadow crossed his face. “I’m not going. I’ve already decided.”

  “What? But ….” He turned his face from her, and she reached out to cup his cheek and draw him back toward her. “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, not now. For now let’s just … let’s meet up this evening. My house, seven o’clock? And we’ll go to the police together.”

  If he didn’t want to talk, she wouldn’t make him, but his silence worried her. Something had happened, and she was determined to help him figure it out just as he had helped her with her own problems.

  But for now, they had a plan and they had each other, and it was more than Ruth had ever had before. She leaned forward so her head rested against his chest and breathed in his scent, warm and sweet and so uniquely him.

  “What were you dreaming about?” His voice came from above her, curious. “Is there a similarity between the dreams you’ve been having, something that sets off your powers?”

  Ruth was very, very glad he couldn’t see her face. She brought a single finger up, traced it down his chest. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” He sounded a little amused. “Can you be a bit more specific? If we know what’s triggering it, we can work on it next time we practice your powers.”

  At that, Ruth snorted against his chest. She couldn’t help it. “I think we certainly could.”

  Taking a step back, Henry looked down at her. He was so much more relaxed than he had been just a few minutes ago. She couldn’t stop the goofy grin that pasted itself across her face at the sight of him, at the way her heart kicked against her ribs in double time.

  “Ruth, was this a … certain kind of dream?”

  There was something delicious in the knowledge of it, suddenly, in the way it made Henry’s pupils go wide with arousal. She traveled her hands up his side and curled fists into his white coat, dragging him back against her. “Maybe.”

  Henry groaned in her ear. Her breath caught in her throat. “That is …,” he cut himself off. “You are so ….”

  She put her arms around his waist. “Finish your sentences.”

  He huffed out a laugh, his breath hot against her skin. “I have a better idea.”

  Henry settled between her parted legs as if he was supposed to be there, and dipped his mouth to hers. Ruth felt an itch inside her, an echo of the feeling she’d had when she’d awoken that morning, buzzing under every inch of her skin. She pulled him as close as possible, shivering when his hands traced the curve of her sides.

  His hands were so strong, and his body flat and lean against her own. The pressure of his hardness brushed against her sex, and she felt it all the way up her spine.

  Henry groaned as he pulled back. “This is so unprofessional.”

  Ruth’s first thought was that she didn’t care about that at all, but she managed to bite her tongue before she expressed it. This was where Henry worked. She needed to respect those boundaries, even if she really didn’t want to.

  She disentangled herself from his arms, and he moved back a step. There was still very little space between them, but it was better than it had been. Better, but worse. “Sorry,” she said. She didn’t feel especially sorry, but she thought she ought to.

  He shook his head. “We got carried away. It�
��s fine.” He fiddled with his hair, trying to put it back into some form of order, and straightened his shoulders. “I’m sorry your dream scared you.”

  The dream fell over her again—not the pleasant memory of the tight, hot feeling inside of her, but the dread of waking up and not knowing whether or not she had burned everything again. If she didn’t learn to control herself, it was only a matter of time before she hurt someone.

  What was worse—as soon as she’d seen Henry, she had struggled to remember why she was here. Her hormones were going crazy. He was on her mind every moment, his bright eyes and his tousled hair, the surprising strength of his body ….

  She shook her head. She couldn’t even worry properly, she was so focused on him!

  Ruth sighed. “It wasn’t the dream that worried me, it was the aftermath. I want to practice again. Tonight after we see Matt, let’s go to the lake and practice like we planned.”

  “We can work on keeping your emotions in check.”

  “I don’t think my emotions are ever in check around you,” she blurted without thinking. She went red with embarrassment at the thought, but she didn’t miss the pleased look on his face as he bent forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Tonight, then, at my house.”

  “All right.” She frowned, suddenly. “And we’ll talk about whatever happened with your family?”

  Henry shook his head, waving her concern away. “It doesn’t matter. My grandfather and I aren’t seeing eye to eye about something. We’ll work it out.”

  He didn’t seem entirely convinced by his own words, but Ruth knew better than to push him right now. She slid off the table and into his arms, holding him as tightly as he was holding her.

  “I’m sorry you’re upset,” she told him. His grip on her grew tighter, and he whispered a grateful “thank you” into her ear.

  Ruth floated her way home. It seemed as if her feet barely touched the ground once. She was lighter than air, the happiness inside of her making her more buoyant than she had ever felt in her entire life. She would get away from the toxicity of her home, and see Henry, and they would practice her powers, and probably kiss, and everything was finally, finally going right in her life.