Everything that transpires afterward is a blur. A large amount of water splashes against the man’s head and bubbles around it, drowning him while the rest of his body remains untouched. Tommy grabs hold of my hand. We dart out of the bathroom. Conin pushes against my shoulder, teaming up with Tommy to usher me out of the house as he trails close behind. We burst out into the night.
Chapter 12
Conin
Cars line the curb of the street as far as the eye can see. I promptly forget where I’ve parked mine, which jolts me into a panic. High school students dot Emery’s yard and send amused looks our way for our sudden outburst. I twist my head back and forth excessively, but I can’t seem to recall where I’ve parked, nor do I see the Chrysler in the endless lineup.
“Conin, over here!” Ezra says.
Tommy takes his wrist and pulls him forward. He gesticulates his hand in rapid movements to follow. Neither Thax nor the stranger he arrived with have come to pursue us. I’m going to hope they’re trapped in the unceasing pool of partygoers. If I hadn’t pushed everyone aside, we might have been goners. Who knows what the hell that recidivist was capable of? Granted, I watched Tommy bend water to his will and drown that man in an airborne sphere. Which means Tommy is also a recidivist.
Do Ezra and Thax possess special abilities, too? Is that what Thax was on about?
I fumble for my keys and unlock the car through the driver’s door. The other two pile in—Ezra in the passenger seat and Tommy centered in the back row. He leans forward and curves his fingers over the backrest as the vehicle roars to life. I swerve the car out and press on the accelerator. Minutes later, we’re cruising out of Emery’s neighborhood.
Streetlights swim past us the longer I drive aimlessly ahead. Everyone’s quiet, but I can’t take it anymore.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I say with fake composure.
Tommy shoots Ezra an incredulous glance.
“Does he not know?” Tommy asks.
“No,” says Ezra.
He’s paper-white—jaw locked, fingers clenched tightly. He just continuously shakes his head like he can’t believe his answer, either. Ezra’s ruminating, lost somewhere deep in his mind.
“Good god,” Tommy sighs. He sits back and raises shuddering hands to the nape of his neck. “Ezra, tell him. He needs to know.”
Ezra huffs, consuming air through the thin gap in his mouth. He’s transfixed on the road ahead. Shadows watch connivingly from the sidelines. I half expect Thax and the stranger to manifest from one of the pitch-black pools. The steering wheel slickens under my touch. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails.
“I’m a recidivist,” Ezra mumbles. It’s faint, barely audible over the roar of rolling tires.
I heard what he said, but I’m having a difficult time processing this world-shattering confession. A part of Ezra I never knew—a secret he kept from me our entire lives. And I know I shouldn’t, I know it’s not my right, but I feel incredibly betrayed. How could I not see through his deception? How was he able to hide his powers all these years?
No.This isn’t about me. Ezra’s life is in potential danger and I’m being selfish. If he didn’t say anything, there must be a reason.
“Okay.”
Ezra’s dubious expression swivels to me. He’s right in believing it wasn’t that easy. I need to know more.
“So,” I say, “you have powers?”
He nods. Although I’m driving, he’s aware my attention is focused on him. His adam’s apple bobs. In a hoarse voice, I hear my best friend of fourteen years admit what he is.
“I’m a faux . . . which means I can shapeshift and take on the form of anyone.”
“Right.”
Ezra’s crestfallen. What the hell do I say?
I refuse to believe Ezra embodies what recidivism means. Our government has fed us lies so we can turn on our most loved ones, to snuff out the people they’re so afraid of. It infuriates me.
“I don’t know who the man was that came to the party with Thax. But he . . . I found him in the mirror. No one was in the bathroom when I walked in. I turned around and he was gone. When I looked back, he was still standing in the mirror,” he says. “He said Thax turned me in. I don’t know to whom, but whoever it is is willing to pay a large amount for my powers. I’m not sure who he means. Or why.”
“The man at Emery’s is Callum Finch. It was quick, but I knew by the scar on his cheek. If you said he can transport through mirrors, it can only be him,” says Tommy. I honest-to-god forgot he was in the car with us.
Putting a name to the perpetrator unsettles me further, somehow solidifying our predicament into something more real. I shiver in the cold of the air conditioning.
