Zeke didn’t have to worry.His Talent made him impervious to psionic attack.Delgado couldn’t crack him if he tried.Still, Zeke was nervous.
They usually were.
Delgado slid over into the driver’s seat.“All right, Miss Price,” he murmured.“Come on out and show me that pretty face again.”
CHAPTERFIVE
“Hey,Dad.I’m going for a run and then we can do some errands,” Rowan braced her foot on the second step, tying her shoe.Let’s hope the laces don’t break.She made sure the MP3 player was securely clipped to her sports bra.
“Ruin your knees running like that,” he called back.Rowan grinned.
“I run on a track, Dad.And I wear proper shoes.My knees are fine.”
“Be careful.”He shuffled out of the kitchen, holding his coffee cup.“I’ll be ready by the time you get back.”
“No hurry.”She bounced up to him and gave him a kiss on his leathery cheek.This close, she could see the deep crow’s feet near his eyes and grooves at the corners of his mouth, the ravages of time on his face.“We’ve got all day.Be good.”
“You too, princess.Did you stretch out?”He sounded worried.
“Of course I did, Dad.”She rolled her eyes, sounding like a teenager again for the first time in a good twelve years.“I’ll be back in an hour or a little less.”
“Be safe, sweetheart.”
She gave him another kiss and went out the front door.The cold made her suck in a quick breath, since she was wearing tight bike shorts.She got to the sidewalk, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her running jacket.
When she made it to the corner, she glanced at the Howell’s house.There was a blue van parked out front, a rundown thing.Maybe someone was visiting.Rowan settled the earpieces in her ears and punched the “Play” button.
Ten minutes later, she was at the high school, cutting through the soccer field and heading for the track, her arms swinging and her breath coming in long deep swells, pluming in the chill air.As soon as she hit the track her stride lengthened, and she began to run.
Running was always best.Her feet pounded the track as she paced herself, a Bach cello suite echoing in her ears.As usual, the outside world fell away, her attention narrowing to the steady beat of her feet on the track, the rhythm of her breath, aching in her calves, her pulse pounding in her wrists and throat.Her ponytail bounced and her hands curled into loose fists.
By the time the music shifted through Chopin and into techno, she was sweating freely, steaming in the chill air, every worry fading.Work, worry, her father’s trembling hands, the waves of other people’s emotions threatening to drown her, all left behind.The patients on the ward, their insanity burrowing inside her skin, her own freakish abilities threatening to escape her control—all of it was left in the dust as she stretched herself out and let herself fly, or the closest to flying she could reach.
Nine laps later, when the music slipped back through its cycle and turned into Debussy’sClair de Lune, she slowed regretfully, but her breath came in harsh tearing gulps and her legs were on fire.She tore the ponytail holder out of her hair, walked around the track until Satie’sGymnopediecame through the earpieces, and then she turned toward home.
Deep breaths.Deep breaths, keep breathing.
Her mood had lightened considerably.Her hair bannered back on the breeze as she slowly walked back home, feeling the burn in her legs and side.The stitch on her left side returned, but it receded as she breathed through it.
The blue van was still there.It just looks wrong.But that’s silly, Rowan.Stop it.You’ve got a day of errands to run and dinner to cook.So just stop being an idiot, okay?
Still, the van bothered her… and gooseflesh slid down her back again.Maybe it was just the cold.
She bounced up the porch steps and into the house.“It’s me, Dad,” she called.
“Hey, princess.How was the run?”
“Fabulous.”She took a deep breath in.It smelled like garlic.“Are you making more chicken soup?”
“And some bread.Hilary’s coming for dinner.”
Bless you, Dad.“Sounds good.”It had been at least a week since she and Hil had indulged in a good gossip session.Maybe they could go out to a movie.She unclipped the MP3 player and wound up the earplug cord.“How’s Tuna?”
“Fine and frisky,” Dad said.“Should be no trouble.Hey, Hilary wanted you to call her back.”
She always wants me to call her back.We’ve been burning up the phone lines since fourth grade.Should have bought stock in the phone company.“I will, right after my shower.”
He made a sound of assent, and Rowan bounced up the stairs, suddenly feeling lighter and freer than she had in a long time.Everything was going to be all right.On a crisp winter morning with an endless blue sky, a morning run and a day of errands was the best of all possible worlds.
