It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault.

No, I tried to tell the wolf’s voice. I didn’t tell him to go there. He insisted on going. It should have been me in the corridor. He shouldn’t have gone.

It’s his fault!

Gabriel cried out like he’d been stabbed with a sharp pain. His hands lifted off mine and the intense power dissipated with a sudden surge that made my eyes pop open from the shock. Gabriel stumbled away from the bedside, his hand clasped over his cheek.

“Are you okay?” I asked between panting breaths.

Gabriel moved his hand away from his face. The scar on his cheek looked like a fresh cut now, oozing blood. The once faded bruises on his jaw now looked fresh and painful, like someone had slammed a mallet into his face several times. Gabriel looked at his bloodstained fingers. “I need to take care of this,” he said, and staggered toward the door. “I am sorry. I thought you were ready.”

He left through the sliding door before I could ask him if he needed my help.

You did that, the wolf said in my head. I looked down at my father. What if I’d hurt him more, too? My fear was confirmed a few seconds later when one of his monitors started making a frantic beeping noise.

Two nurses rushed into the room. I felt numb, completely unable to react, as they pushed me away in order to get to his bedside.

ANOTHER HOUR LATER

I stayed outside the room, watching through the small opening of the curtained glass window, until the doctor was able to do something to Dad to make that horrible beeping monitor noise stop. One of the nurses told me I could go in for one more short visit, but then I must go home. I knew the drill from last year when Daniel had been trapped in one of those hospital beds. Even though the ICU had open visiting hours, I was still a minor, and I wasn’t allowed to stay here at night. I’d nodded and told her I would go, but it still took me another few minutes before I could tear myself away from Dad’s bedside.

I wanted to squeeze his hand to let him know I was leaving, but I hesitated, afraid my very touch might hurt him again. Instead, I left a note on the table by his bed just in case he woke up and I wasn’t here. I didn’t want him to feel as abandoned as I did at the moment.

I left the ICU and went out into the lobby. I started toward an elevator that would take me down to the main floor so I could leave the hospital. But I stopped in front of the closed elevator doors and stared at the triangular up and down arrow buttons—not knowing which one to push. Down would take me to the exit. Up would take me to the psych ward.

To my mom.

When Dad and I came into the ER from the ambulance, someone had asked me where they could find my mother. When I told him where she was, the man said they’d have to call Dr. Connors first and let him decide if my mother should be informed about what had happened.

The fact that she hadn’t come down here to see Dad yet didn’t bode well to me.

I knew if Dad had been awake, he would have told me to go visit her, just like he’d wanted me to visit Jude. I hadn’t seen either of them since I’d come home from the warehouse, and I knew Dad would have said something about how, by not visiting them, I wasn’t acting like myself. Just like April had.

The thing is, Dad had been my go-to parent for the last few years, but there had been a time in my life when Mom had been my rock. Back when I still wore pigtails and lived off of peanut-butter-and-honey sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Back when I thought a mother’s kiss could heal any hurt, whether it was a wound of the flesh or of the heart. I longed for the days when I could bury my head against her side and she’d stroke my hair, telling me everything would be all right.

I’d spent the last year shutting her out. Keeping her away from my secrets. Maybe it was out of some noble idea of protecting her. Maybe I thought she was too fragile to handle it. Or maybe the real reason I’d kept her in the dark was because I worried that she’d be afraid of what I’d become.

But as much as I’d grown and changed recently, no matter how strong my powers made me—I knew now that I still needed her.

But would she still want me?

It took what little strength was left inside of me after the failed power transfer to muster up the courage to do what I did next: I stretched my fingers out to push the Up button, then waited for the ding of the elevator doors. As much as I dreaded what was about to happen, I knew what needed to be done. It was time to tell my mother…well, everything.

Chapter Eight

INSIDE OUT

UP THE ELEVATOR

An old beige phone hung on the wall outside the locked psych-ward door. A sign instructed me to pick it up and dial a number for assistance. “I’m here to see Meredith Divine,” I told the nurse who answered. I hung up the receiver as the door buzzed and swung open on a mechanical arm. I took a few steps into the ward and was greeted by a wide hallway with pale green walls, the smells of stale vending machine candy and ammonia, and another sign that read, high flight risk area. ensure door closes completely.

I did as I was told and watched as the large door closed behind me. I felt a sudden impulse to pull it open again—and make a run for the parking lot.

I can’t do this.

The handleless door locked with a heavy click. It was too late to turn back now. I’d have to visit the nurses’ desk to get the door opened again. I might as well ask about my mother.

I made my way down the hallway, passing a young woman perched on a bench that looked like it should have been replaced sometime in the 1980s. She braided a long lock of her hair in front of her face, rocking back and forth. I entered the main area of the ward and signed in at the desk. I could see a glassed-in room where a group of people sat in a circle of chairs. A man dressed in khakis and a button-up shirt seemed to be leading some sort of discussion. Everyone else was dressed in plain gray sweats, like the woman I’d passed in the hallway. Patients, I assumed.

“You said you’re here for Meredith Divine?” asked the woman behind the desk. Her name tag said latisha. Her eyes held a look of recognition in them when she said my mother’s name.

Before Mom started to lose it, she’d been a nurse at an outpatient psych clinic in Apple Valley, but sometimes she’d filled in here at the main treatment center, whenever Dr. Connors needed substitute staff. I’m sure there had been a lot of talk among the ward nurses about one of their own being a patient now. That kind of gossip would have killed my mother if she were fully with it. Reputation had meant everything to her.