The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(22)

“Yeah, just so they can make sure we don’t openly use our skills,” Mira says with a touch of bitterness.

“I think they have other ways to enforce that,” Eugene says, glancing at his sister. “Besides, we all know how stupid it would be to reveal our existence to the rest of the world, half-bloods or not. No, they’re genuinely less traditional here. At least now they are. But when you were born, Darren, things could’ve been worse.” He gives me a sympathetic look.

“None of this explains why my mom didn’t tell me about Readers, though,” I say, still bothered by the thought of Sara hiding such important information from me.

“Maybe she was ashamed of being shunned,” Mira suggests, shooting me a look that suggests she’s not entirely over my stalking her. “Or she didn’t want you to learn how to Split and Read. Maybe as you were growing up, she decided you wouldn’t be able to keep the Readers’ secret. No offense, but you don’t look like the kind of guy who can keep your mouth shut.”

“But she must’ve realized I’d discovered it. I as much as told her that as a kid,” I say, refusing to rise to the bait. I have more important things to worry about than Mira’s sharp tongue. I’m tempted to go to Staten Island right now, but I know it makes more sense to learn more from these two first, so I can ask my mom the right questions. Maybe then I’ll be able to get answers and understand what happened.

“I’m sorry,” Eugene says with a hint of pity.

“Oh, poor Darren, Mommy didn’t tell him,” Mira counters, her voice dripping with venom. “At least she’s alive. Maybe that’s why she is alive—because she knows how to keep a secret. She doesn’t run around asking troublesome questions like our idiot father.” As she says this, her hands ball into fists, and I see her blinking rapidly, as though to hide tears. She doesn’t cry, though. Instead, she glares at her brother and says caustically, “The father whose steps you seem determined to follow, I might add.”

“I thought you supported my research,” Eugene says, clearly hurt.

She sighs and falls silent as we pass through a small crowd gathered in front of some yogurt place. “I’m sorry,” she says in a more conciliatory tone when we’re through. “I do support what you’re doing. I support it to spite the f*ckers who killed Dad—and because it could give us a way to make them pay for what they did. I just can’t help thinking that all of this could’ve been avoided if he’d just researched something else. Alzheimer’s, for example.”

“I understand,” Eugene says.

We walk in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. I feel like an intruder.

“No offense, Darren,” Mira says as we stop at a traffic light. “It’s a difficult subject.”

“No problem,” I say. “I can’t even imagine how you feel.”

We walk in a more companionable silence for another block or so.

“Are you leading us to that diner again?” Mira eventually asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Yes,” Eugene says, a faint smile appearing on his lips.

Mira rolls her eyes. “That place is a real dump. How many cases of food poisoning does it take for you to realize it? Let’s go to the sushi place on Coney Island. It’s closer.”

“Right, raw fish is the solution to health concerns,” Eugene says, unsuccessfully trying to mimic Mira’s very distinctive brand of sarcasm.

They fight about the place for the rest of the way. I’m not surprised at all when Mira gets her way. She seems like the kind of person who always does. I don’t mind in this case, though. If choosing the place had been up for a vote, Mira would’ve had mine as soon as she mentioned food poisoning.

Listening to their bickering, I wonder how interesting it must be to have a sibling. Or frustrating. I mean, what would it be like to have a younger sister? Especially one who’s as reckless as Mira? I shudder at the thought.

“Table for three,” Eugene tells the waiter when we enter the place.

“Ilona?” A deep voice says, and Mira winces. “Ya tebya ne uznal.” Or at least that’s what it sounds like. It’s coming from a tall, well-built guy with a tattoo in the shape of an anchor on his muscular forearm.

Mira walks over to him, hugs him, and kisses him on the cheek. They start talking out of earshot from us. Eugene crosses his arms and eyes the guy suspiciously.

“Can we get a table as far away as possible from that man?” he asks the waiter.

“I can put you in the privacy of one of our tatami rooms,” the waiter offers.

“Thank you,” I say, and slip a twenty into his hand. “Please make it the furthest one.”

Mira heads back to us. She puts a finger to her lips when her back is to the guy.

We are quiet until we get to the tatami room.

“I will not discuss it,” Mira says when we sit down.

Eugene glares at her. She doesn’t even blink, opening her menu and pointedly ignoring her brother.

“I thought I told you not to do that anymore,” Eugene says in a hushed tone. “I thought I told you not to deal with thugs. You won’t find him—but you will get yourself killed. Or worse.”

“Ot-yebis’ Eugene,” Mira says, her face getting flushed. Whatever she just said, Eugene takes a breath and stops talking.