The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(48)

Because we are.

“I think you’re my aunt, Hillary,” I blurt out, unable to suppress my excitement.





Chapter 22


The look on Hillary’s face would be comical if it weren’t for the fact that I’m feeling exactly like she looks.

“I found out today that my biological mother’s name was Margret, and her last name was Taylor, like yours,” I explain, my heart pounding with excitement.

She looks me over, and I see the dawning recognition on her face. She must’ve noted the resemblance also.

“But—” she starts, then swallows, staring at me. “This is such a shock. You have to forgive me.”

“Yeah, I’m still kind of digesting it also.”

“Margie had a child?”

“She must have,” I say. “If I’m right, that is.”

“But that can’t be. Margie died more than twenty years ago. This has to be some kind of a mistake.”

I just sit there and let her ruminate on it.

“You do look like her,” she says after a pause. “And you look like our father . . . who’s your grandfather, I guess. But how is this possible?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, coming to a decision. “Before I tell you any more, you have to promise me that what I’m about to say will stay between us. Just us. Can you do that?”

I know it’s dangerous telling someone the whole truth, but all my instincts say that I can trust Hillary. She was not anti-Leacher even before she knew we were blood relatives. So she could’ve been okay with my ability to Read even before this. I was thinking of telling her eventually, when I got to know her better. This just expedites the whole thing. I could’ve enumerated the pros and cons for trusting her all night long, but it all comes down to a simple matter of being able to judge people—and I judge her trustworthy.

“This is very strange, but I know I’ll die of curiosity if you don’t tell me whatever it is you know. So yes, I swear on my sister’s grave that I will keep your secret,” she says in a hurried whisper. “Tell me everything.”

I tell her the whole story. I begin in Atlantic City, when I met Mira for the first time. I explain about how I learned to Read and then Guide, and how I discovered the truth about Liz. As I speak, Hillary listens with rapt attention, seemingly holding her breath in fascination.

“It all fits,” she says when I’m done, and I see a growing sadness in her eyes. “You couldn’t have known this, but your story fits exactly with what I know about my older sister.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about my mother?” I ask. “I mean, your sister? I only recently learned of her existence.”

Hillary nods. “I was little at the time, only about five or six,” she begins, “but I know she was a rebellious teen.”

I almost smile, listening. It must run in the family. I was definitely rebellious myself, and my moms would probably say I still am to some degree.

“She was not as bad as I later grew up to be,” Hillary continues, “at least according to my parents. Still, they said she was pretty bad. She was also very powerful, and from what you just told me, she might’ve had more Reach than me.”

“How do you figure that?” I ask, surprised.

“Don’t you see it? Your adoptive moms, how they said they couldn’t talk about your origins for years? How the subject almost became taboo?”

“Yeah . . .”

“That sounds like they were Guided not to talk about it by Margie,” she says.

“But that’s years.” Now that I understand the concept of Reach better, I realize how extraordinary my birth mother’s power must’ve been—and begin to feel better about Lucy and Sara keeping this important secret from me.

“Yes, amazing, I know. This Reach is exactly why my parents put extra pressure on her to marry and, more importantly, to breed with a person of their choosing—or rather that of the Elders’ choosing.” Hillary’s jaw flexes, and her expression darkens with anger. “Margie not only refused that, but she ran off with a non-Guide lover. That he was actually a Leacher isn’t something I knew, and I doubt our parents did either.”

“So what happened after?” I say, my chest tightening.

“They disowned her,” Hillary says through gritted teeth. “They tried to tell me I had no sister.”

“That’s horrible.” I feel anger rising within me, too. What kind of parents would do that?

“Yes, it is,” Hillary says furiously. “But I knew, of course, that I had a sister, and that she was my favorite person in the whole world. I’ve never forgiven my parents for that. Never.”

Her blue eyes fill with moisture, and I have no idea what to do. I want to comfort her, but I don’t know how. So I just put my hand on hers on the table and give it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” she says, blinking rapidly to contain her tears. “As you can see, this is still very painful for me. But I shouldn’t cry. This is a happy moment. Meeting you. Her son. My nephew.”

“And to think, we almost ended up flirting with each other,” I say in an effort to amuse her.

“Almost? Darren, darling, I’ve been flirting with you all evening,” she says, a hint of a smile appearing on her features. “But I quickly saw that you weren’t interested in me in that way, so I settled for making an awesome new friend.”