"I told you she wasn't exactly running things anymore," Gabriel said under his breath, slanting a quirky glance at her.
Oh. Kaitlyn shrugged and poured herself a bowl of Captain Crunch.
When they were finished eating, Joyce said, "Right, go upstairs and get yourself cleaned up. You can go in Lydia's room for now-then we'll see about further arrangements when he comes tonight."
Kaitlyn was surprised. "Lydia's living here?"
"I told you," Gabriel said. "Under her father's thumb."
As she and Gabriel reached the landing, Kait said, "Which room do you have now?"
"The same as before." He indicated the best room in the house, the big one that had cable hookup and a balcony. Then he gave her an evil glance. "Want to share it with me? You can use the Jacuzzi. And the king-size bed."
"I think Joyce would put her foot down about that," Kaitlyn said.
She didn't know which room was Lydia's, but she knocked lightly on the door of the room she used to share with Anna. Then she looked in.
Lydia, small in an oversize T-shirt, was just getting out of bed. She saw Kaitlyn and squeaked. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for an exit, then she took a sideways step toward the bathroom door.
Kaitlyn chuckled. In a way, it was a relief to see someone more scared than she was. "What's the hurry?" she said, feeling lazy and dangerous. Like Gabriel.
Lydia seemed to be paralyzed. She wriggled a little, like a worm on a hook, then she blurted, "He made me do it. I didn't want to leave you in Canada."
"Oh, Lydia, you're such a liar. You did it for the same reason I did. You wanted to be on the winning side."
Lydia's cat-tilted green eyes opened even wider. She was a pretty little thing, with a pale and delicate face and a heavy shock of black hair. Or she would have been pretty if she hadn't always looked so guilty and slinking, Kait thought.
"The same reason you did?" Lydia breathed. "You mean-Father brought you here-?"
"I came on my own, to join you guys," Kaitlyn said firmly. "Joyce said I could share this room." She swung her duffel bag over the twin bed that wasn't rumpled, and dropped it with a thump.
She'd expected Lydia to look awed or understanding. Instead, Lydia looked as if she thought Kait was crazy.
"You came on your own ..." Then she stopped and shook her head. "Well, you're right about one thing," she said. "My father is going to win. He always wins." She looked away, lip curling.
Kaitlyn eyed her thoughtfully. "Lydia, how come you're at the Institute? You're not psychic-are you?"
Lydia shrugged vaguely. "My father wanted me here. So Joyce could watch me, I think."
And you didn't really answer the question, Kaitlyn thought. Gabriel had said that if Kait had picked up the red-haired man's thoughts, either she or the red-haired man must be slightly telepathic. But Kaitlyn had been able to tell how Joyce felt about her, and now she was getting strong feelings from Lydia. It wasn't that she could tell exactly what they were thinking; more that she could get a sense of their general mood.
So I'm a telepath? It was a weird and unsettling thought. Telepathy in the web didn't count; Gabriel had hooked them together. But to sense other people's feelings was something new.
Like just now she could tell that Lydia had a lot on her mind-which meant she might be induced to talk.
"So what's it like around here?" Kaitlyn asked casually.
Lydia's lip curled farther, but she just shrugged again and said, "Have you met the others?"
"No. Well, I mean, I've seen their astral forms before, on the way to Canada."
"You'll probably like those better than their real forms."
"Well, why don't you introduce me?" Kait suggested. She wasn't really as interested in the dark psychics as in the routine around here-something that might give her an idea where Mr. Z kept the crystal. But any information would be helpful, and she figured it was better to be aggressive in meeting
Mr. Z's new students. She didn't want them to think she was afraid of them.
"You want to see them?" Lydia was afraid of them.
"Yeah, come on, show me the psychic psychos." Kaitlyn kept her tone light and was rewarded with a faint, admiring grin. "Let's tour the zoo."
In the hallway, they nearly ran into Joyce. She glanced at them and then knocked briskly at the door of what had once been the common room for Kait's group. Without waiting for an answer, she threw the door open.
"Everybody up! Renny, you have to get to school; Mac, we start testing in ten minutes. If you want any breakfast, you'd better move it."
She moved on, to yell at another door. "Bri! School! Frost! Testing!"
Kaitlyn, with a clear view of the first room, had to keep herself from gasping.
Oh, my God, I don't believe it.
The room was now a bedroom-sort of. Like a bedroom from a flophouse, Kaitlyn thought. No, worse. Like a bedroom from one of those abandoned buildings you see on the news. Across one wall the words "NO FEAR" were spray-painted. Spray-painted. Most of the curtains were down and one of the windows in the alcove was broken. There was a large hole in the plaster of one wall and another in the door.
And the room was filthy. It wasn't just the motorcycle helmet and the traffic cones on the floor, or the stray bits of clothing draped over every piece of furniture, or the cups overflowing with cigarette butts. There were cookie crumbs and ashes and potato chips mashed into the carpet, and mud on almost every-thing. Kaitlyn marveled at how they'd managed to get it so dirty in such a short time.
A boy wearing only boxer shorts was standing up. He was big and lanky, with hair so short it was almost nonexistent, and dark, evil, knowing eyes. A skinhead? Kaitlyn wondered. He looked like the kind of guy you would hire as an assassin, and his mind felt like the red-haired man's.
"Jackal Mac," Lydia whispered. "His real name's John MacCorkendale."
Jackal eyes, Kaitlyn thought. That's it.
The other boy was younger, Kaitlyn's age. He had skin the color of creamed coffee and a little, lean, quick body. His face was narrow, his features clean and sharp. The glasses perched on his nose did nothing to make him look less tough. A smart kid gone bad, Kait thought. The brains of the operation? She couldn't get a clear feeling about his mood.