Tremble (Denazen #3)(15)
I leaned over to get a better peek. It was a pencil drawing—if you could even call it that. It looked like two guys arguing in traffic. The figures were borderline stick with overly large heads and exaggerated features. All it was missing was the big, yellow, smiley face sun, and it would take first prize in the kindergarten refrigerator art awards. “It’s, um, nice.”
Ashley rolled her eyes and snatched the picture back, cradling it protectively. “It’s horrible.” She flopped on the couch beside Alex. “I’ve been drawing and painting since I was eight. The only thing I’ve ever wanted to do was become an artist like my mom.” She waved the paper back and forth. “But I suck. No matter how much I practice, I suck.”
“I wouldn’t say suck,” Alex said encouragingly. “You might need a little more—”
“Practice? No.” She thrust one of the other sheets at him. “Not anymore.”
Alex stared down at the paper, mouth falling open as Fred, the happy-faced labret bead, wobbled from side to side. Holding it up so I could see, he asked, “Dez, do you see what I see?”
This drawing was nothing like the first. It was shaded in black and blue ink, giving it an eerie noire quality, with crisp lines and flawless, almost photographic, detail. “You did this?”
The difference in skill wasn’t the only noteworthy thing about the drawing. One of the people in it was of interest. Serious interest. “Able,” I whispered. She had the details down so perfectly. I could see the subtle shift in his nose—one of the only ways I could tell apart him and his twin brother, Aubrey. From the picture, it looked as though he stood at her front door talking to a man I guessed was her father. “When did you draw this? When did it happen?”
“That’s where things get even weirder. I did this drawing two days before it happened—”
“Before it happened?” Alex asked. “But you said—”
He was hung up on the how, which was stupid. Wasn’t it obvious? It was the Supremacy side effects kicking in. A surge in ability right before we went over the deep end. I was more interested in the what. “When did this guy come here? Do you have any idea what they said?”
She shook her head and took the drawing, returning it to the safety of her pack. “I only caught enough of a glimpse to know it was the same as my drawing. I was too freaked to stick around.”
“The guy in that picture is dangerous.” Alex lost his grin. “You’re in a lot of trouble. You’ve got to let us help.”
She hesitated before coming back and settling next to Alex on the couch. “I know something’s not right. I’ve had a feeling for a while now…” She turned to me. “But my parents love me. They’re not going to let anything happen. Before I do anything I need to talk to them.”
“That’s a bad idea,” Alex said, standing. “They could—”
I grabbed his arm and reached past her to rip off the corner of the newspaper on the coffee table. Snagging the pen beside it, I jotted down both our cell numbers—Alex’s and mine—and handed her the piece of paper. “Like Alex said, we’re not here to force you into anything, but I strongly suggest you think about this—fast. These are our cells. If you change your mind or need anything, call.”
Then without looking back, I walked out the door.
6
After Alex and I made it back to the cabin, Ginger gave us the next name. Conny Delgeto. The information said the girl could manipulate sound—which I thought was kind of vague. Did that mean she could throw her voice? Or possibly mimic someone else’s? Was she just really good at animal calls? I found it annoying, not to mention dangerous, not knowing exactly what we were walking into. Just because Ginger had an inside line to the future didn’t mean I wanted to stumble around blind.
Brandt was awake, and I suggested he come with me instead of Alex, but Ginger insisted she had something else for him to do. I didn’t buy it. The old woman seemed to live to make me miserable.
Conny’s house was several towns over, and it ended up taking us almost three hours to get there because about twenty minutes after we left the cabin, it started sleeting. After he’d gotten his license in ninth grade, Alex had a pretty nasty accident in the snow. Ever since, wintertime driving was something he approached with the utmost caution, which was funny, since he was hell on wheels the rest of the year. There was a growing collection of tickets threatening to overflow the glove box, and I was certain that somewhere out there was an officer with a bench warrant for his arrest.
“Please try and be a little less aggressive with this one,” Alex said, slamming the driver’s side door. He’d been quiet since we left Ashley’s this morning, and I knew he was annoyed with how I’d handled things.
I didn’t answer. I hadn’t been aggressive; I’d been honest. If I were her, I would appreciate not having the whole thing sugarcoated.
Then again, not many people were like me.
We stopped at the foot of the driveway. The Delgeto house was a sprawling Victorian with a perfectly manicured lawn riddled with holly bushes. There was a large pine in the middle decorated with red and blue balls and sporadic tufts of tinsel, topped with a gaudy angel dressed in gold. “No cars. Maybe no one’s home?”
“Place does look deserted, but it’s almost four. They’re probably still at work.” The house was dark, the only source of light coming from a single bulb above the front door. Alex inclined his head toward the garage and stuffed his cell into his back pocket. The door sat off the ground several inches. “Shall we?”