I must look as wretched as I feel, because Jay squeezes my shoulder, and his voice turns even more gentle. “Let’s go sit by the pool. It’s still shady this time of day, and we can do some research on my laptop.”

“Research? About my grandmother? You think I inherited some kind of ability from her?”

“It’s possible.”

“But how would that explain the fact that you and Cody are so vulnerable to it?”

“Do you remember when I told you that my ears are really sensitive?”

“Yeah…”

“Cody’s ears are the same. Jordan’s are too, now.”

“Okay, and why is that?”

“Oh god.” He rubs his forehead and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’ve told this to so many people, but it feels extra weird saying it to you. You’re going to laugh. Or maybe scream and run—” He releases a sharp, breathless chuckle.

“Just spit it out.”

“Let me get my laptop first, okay? You go sit by the pool, and then we’ll…we’ll have that talk I promised you. The big one. All the secrets, yours and mine. We’ll sort everything out.”

I want to know right now. My stomach keeps knotting and untwisting, and my fingernails are digging deep into my palms. Before I can answer, Jay’s phone buzzes.

“I have to take this.” His beautiful brown eyes meet mine, pleading for patience, and I can’t resist.

“Go ahead, answer it. I’ll wait for you outside.”

He nods, flicks his finger over the screen to accept the call, and walks around the corner to the stairs. I turn toward the back hallway, the one that leads to the side door and the pool area. But then I hear Jay’s voice, threaded with irritation. “Parke? Again? That guy is becoming a serious problem. We can’t have any more gluttons running around the mountain. It’ll wreck everything.”

Slowly I edge toward the sound of his voice. He’s headed upstairs, but I manage to catch a few more sentences.

“Remind him of the contract he signed. He agreed to certain rules, and if he keeps breaking them, I’ll do what I have to do.”

I’ve never heard him use a tone so dark before.

A pause, and then, “I can and I will. I’ve done it before. I’m not as soft as you think, and you should keep that in mind, Keziah.”

The threat sends a shiver over my skin. I strain to hear his next words, but he’s all the way upstairs now.

Frowning, I meander along the hall toward the pool area. The back door opens into a screened porch draped with sheer white curtains that whip and waver in the breeze. I walk between them, feeling as if I’m passing through a bank of pale clouds into another realm, a place where everything is different and anything is possible. Whatever Jay has to tell me, and whatever we discover about my power, those things are going to alter our reality. It’s up to us whether they dissolve our relationship or make us stronger.

The pieces of the puzzle are drifting together in my mind, but they’re moving too slowly. The brain fog I’ve felt since George’s death hasn’t quite lifted yet. Honestly, I’ve been off my game ever since I found out Jay was here on Glassy Mountain. I know I’ve got some bad shit to deal with, but is it also possible to be traumatized in a good way? Because I think Jay’s reappearance has traumatized me. And that, along with the added trauma of Tom’s return and George’s death, is slowing me down, keeping me from seeing the truth. If only I could brush away the mental fog like I brush aside these curtains.

I step outside onto the patio. It’s a stunning sweep of glittering white concrete, with the pool nestled like an enormous blue jewel in its center. Curved lounge chairs sit in neat rows, each with a fat white towel folded on the seat. Tropical plants drape themselves over the tiled edge of the low wall, and at the far end of the pool, a fountain bubbles endlessly, sending ripples across the surface.

It’s a beautiful place to share secrets. And Jay is about to share his with me. He’s going to tell me everything, answer all the questions that have been burning in my mind since he came back—

A ringing blow to the back of my head shatters my thoughts. My eyes spark white, my breath sticks in my throat—I’m already falling when someone shoves me, hard. When I hit the patio, my head bounces off the concrete. Just like George, my brain whispers muzzily.

My skull is full of bright, hazy pain, but I’m not unconscious. I can’t control my movements, though—my limbs are slow and useless. Someone rolls me onto my stomach, and thin frantic fingers wrap a length of rough nylon rope around my wrists, around and around and then a knot, and then around again a few more times and another knot.

My vision is clearing, but all I can see is the white concrete of the patio and a diamond-blue sliver of pool. My attacker jerks my head back, stuffs a ball of rough cloth between my jaws, and whips another strip of cloth across that, working it back until it’s drawn tight against the corners of my mouth, knotted at the back of my skull. The wad of cloth touches the tender flap at the back of my mouth. My throat and stomach revolt together. Suddenly I realize why it’s called a gag. I inhale through my nose, because if I vomit now, I’ll choke and probably die.

“I didn’t expect you to be here. I thought it would just be him.” The taut, panicked voice is Myrtle’s. She tugs at the ropes around my wrists. “Not my best work, but it’ll have to do.” She pushes me over onto my side. Her blue eyes are bright, glassy with tears. “Tom said this was the only way. See, Gatsby told my brother to climb that cliff. Egged him on, when he knew George couldn’t make it. George will never get justice because Gatsby has money, and that’s all that matters to the crooks in law enforcement.”

The weird thing is, she’s right about the crooked cops, at least the ones around here. But she’s wrong about Gatsby’s guilt. If she hadn’t gagged me, I could have explained that the person who sent George up that cliffside was me. My head is starting to clear, but when I try to move, to buck against the ropes, a searing white-hot pain races through my neck and skull. I whimper and go still.

“Why did you have to be here?” Myrtle gasps with effort as she drags me behind the grill, triggering more flashes of pain in my neck. “Fuck…fuck… This is all wrong, this is so messed up… Shit, I don’t know what to do!” She pinches her lips together, then swipes a tear from her cheek with the back of her trembling hand. “Look, I don’t want to shoot you, but… Fuck, why isn’t Tom here? He promised he’d help me with Gatsby’s body afterward, so I guess…I’ll just tell him we got a two-for-one deal.” She laughs suddenly, a shrill bubble of nerves.

Okay, so she and Tom have a sick Harley and the Joker thing going between them, and I’m pretty sure Tom plans to leave Myrtle holding the losing hand. There’s no way he’s helping her dispose of any bodies. I had no idea she was this deluded, or disturbed. But I guess grief can twist what’s already there and make it worse. And who knows what manipulative crap Tom has been feeding her to work her into this state.

Myrtle backs away from me and pulls a handgun from the back of her belt. I think it’s a Glock, but I hate guns, so I don’t really know much about them.

“You understand that I don’t want to do this.” Her eyes are wide, bloodshot, fractured with pain. “I have to. Otherwise he gets away with it, like all these rich fucks get away with screwing up everybody else’s lives. And you’re here now, you’re a witness, so that means… You know.” She grits her teeth, hissing sharp breaths through them. “I got no choice. I’m not going to prison for doing what’s right.”

I have to warn Jay. He’s going to walk out here any minute with his laptop in his hands and those innocent brown eyes in his beautiful face, and then she’s going to shoot him for something that wasn’t his fault.

I shift my body, even though more agony spears through my brain and neck. My hands writhe, scraping and squirming against the rope.

Myrtle has backed farther away, but my movements attract her attention. “I should hit you again, knock you out for real this time.”

She takes one step toward me—and Jay’s voice wafts from the doorway of the screened porch. “Myrtle? It’s Myrtle, right?”

“That’s right, bastard.” Myrtle’s voice breaks, but she snaps the gun into position, bracing it with both hands.

“What’s going on, Myrtle?” Jay says. I can’t see him yet, but I can hear him—calm and cool.

“You killed my brother, you piece of shit. You told him to climb that cliff.”

I want to scream at Myrtle, to tell her Jay wasn’t the one who prompted George to climb. But with the gag sawing the corners of my mouth, scraping my tongue, I can’t do more than choke and moan and writhe. Tears run hot down my cheeks, soaking into the fabric.

“You know I didn’t kill him.” Jay’s voice is moving, as if he’s slowly circling the pool’s edge. Myrtle moves too, maintaining her aim, keeping the water between them.

“Words can kill,” she says. “You egged him on.”

“I encouraged him when he was already more than halfway up. I wanted him to make it. I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

“Stop moving, or I’ll shoot you.”

“It’s okay,” Jay says softly. “We’re just talking, you and I. Tell me, Myrtle, where’s Daisy?”

“Maybe she’s dead. How would that make you feel?”

A throaty growl rips through the air, and for a second I wonder if Jay has a dog I don’t know about. And then I realize the sound came from him.

“You didn’t kill her,” he says. “I can hear her heart beating. But she’s frightened and in pain, and someone will have to pay for that.”

“You’re such a freak.” Myrtle is still moving, inching closer to where I’m lying behind the grill. I wrench at my hands, wishing I knew how to dislocate my thumb bone or whatever people do in movies to get out of ropes.