The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)(19)

Stewart rounded on Mark, focusing the full weight of his sharp-eyed glare on him—tall, handsome, broken Mark. Her water brother. Out of the three of them, he was the one she counted on the most. Which is why she’d put him in charge—insisted he go to the motel when she couldn’t because … because … because she was broken, too, and had been fighting her demons, unable to help her brothers.

“Really?” Stewart spoke sarcastically. “More to it than that? You mean more like the fact that because of you Foster and Tate are together out there somewhere causing unimaginable harm—maybe to themselves, maybe to others?” Stewart had stopped in front of Mark; with each question the doctor fired, he moved closer and closer until he stood almost nose to nose with the younger man.

“Father, it wasn’t his fault.”

Slowly, with a grace that belied his age and always reminded Eve of one of his pet snakes stalking a feeder mouse, Stewart turned from Mark to approach Matthew.

“Wasn’t his fault? Then whose fault was it? You and your brothers—men who are thirty-six years old—failed to do the one thing I asked of you? Failed to bring me two teenagers. Explain it to me. I want to know.”

Eve closed her eyes. No, Matthew! Just stay silent!

“I … I called the tornado like Eve said I should. But then we had to wait, like you told us to, and see how the kids would react. Father, if, uh, if we’d, um, grabbed them before the game—or at least one of them—things would’ve been different.” Matthew seemed to shrink as he fidgeted. He couldn’t meet Stewart’s eyes, and instead sent his father apologetic, nervous glances.

Stewart’s voice was deceptively soft. “Are you blaming your sister for your shortcomings?”

Matthew’s throat swallowed convulsively. “No,” he corrected hastily. “I’m not blaming Eve.”

“Then you must be blaming me.”

Eve held her breath, wondering which Rick Stewart they were dealing with: the one she worshipped or the one she feared. Unconsciously Eve rubbed the place on her forearm hidden by the long sleeves of her shirt. The instant she realized what she was doing she dropped her arms to her side, fisting her hands so they would not be tempted to stray again.

“Nobody blames you, Father,” Luke spoke up.

Stewart’s gaze went from Matthew to Luke, and then rested on Mark. He blew out a long breath and put his hand on Mark’s shoulder, causing the man to flinch.

“Of course you don’t blame me. You’re my sons. You have more loyalty than that, don’t you, Mark?”

“Yes, Father.”

Along with the three brothers, Eve released the breath she’d been holding as she moved from the shadows at the side of the room to Rick Stewart. She slid her hand in his and looked up into his intelligent brown eyes.

“It was my fault, Father. I let things get out of control. At first I only saw Cora, and when Foster finally joined her, the wall cloud was forming the tornado. I thought they’d react more normally—run for the school like almost everyone else. By the time I realized I was wrong it was too late. Foster and Tate had joined and fully manifested air, and caused a major splintering of the tornado. It was like a war zone, Father. I’m so, so sorry.”

Stewart pulled her into the circle of his arm, his gaze fond—his touch gentle and fatherly.

“Sweet Eve, you are not to blame, though I do not understand why you weren’t at the motel with your brothers.”

“I would have been. I meant to be with them, but I lost control.” Her eyes beseeched him to understand.

“We’ve talked about this. Over and over. Until I find the cure for your hallucinations … and for the symptoms of your manifested elements,” Stewart paused and included the brothers in his gaze. “You must keep reminding yourselves that what you see is simply not of this reality and learn to push through the discomfort your elements cause.”

“Father, I tried. I was handling it. But … but then I found Cora. She was dead and I lost control.” Eve blurted the last part and then froze, waiting for Stewart’s reaction.

Slowly, he took his arm from around her shoulders. He moved several steps away from the four of them and leaned against the sleek glass desk that sat before the wall of state-of-the-art laboratory equipment that dominated the room. Stewart ignored the brothers and spoke only to Eve.

“Tell me.”

“It was her heart. You read the report we found last year when Luke hacked the clinic’s records—right before it sold and she and Foster went off the grid. The cardiologist advised surgery and a total lifestyle change to try to repair the damage to her heart, but she disappeared instead. You said it then—Cora Stewart has a time bomb ticking inside her chest. Father, you were right. You are always right.”

“Mark, Matthew, Luke … leave us,” Stewart said. But before the brothers could hastily exit, Stewart’s deep voice bellowed, “Mark—a moment, please.”

Mark paused as his brothers threw relieved looks over their shoulders as they bolted from the room.

“I know you, Mark. I see you, truly see you.”

“Yes, Father. I know you do. And I am sorry I disappointed you today.”

Stewart made a sharp, dismissive gesture. “That is a mistake you will correct—I have no doubt. Tell me, Son, what would happen to you if you left us and went out on your own?”