There should be some way to tell, Kait thought. Some test or something…
Kait sat up.
Then, quickly but as stealthily as possible, she slid out of bed and picked up her duffel bag. She took the bag into the bathroom and locked the door.
With the light on she fished through the bag until she found her art kit. The sealed Tupperware had survived the creek, and her pastels and erasers were safe. The sketchpad was damp, though.
Oh, well. Oil pastels didn't mind the damp. Kaitlyn picked up a black pastel stick, held it poised over the blank page, and shut her eyes.
She'd never done this before; trying to make a picture come when she didn't already feel the need to draw. Now she made use of some of Joyce's techniques, deliberately relaxing and shutting out the world.
Clear your mind. Now think of Lydia. Think of drawing Lydia… Let the picture come…
Black lines radiating downward. Kaitlyn saw the image and let her hand transfer it to the paper. Now some black grape mixed in. Blue for highlights—it was Lydia's hair. Then pale fleshtones for Lydia's face and celadon green for Lydia's eyes.
But she felt she needed the black again. Heavy strokes of black, lots of them, above and around Lydia's portrait, forming a silhouette that seemed to be cradling Lydia, encompassing her.
Kaitlyn's eyes opened all the way, and she stared at the drawing. That broad-shouldered silhouette with body lines that swept straight down like a man in a coat…
In one furious motion she was on her feet.
I'll kill her. Oh, my God, I'm going to kill her…
She jerked open the bathroom door and headed for the guest room.
Lydia was a slender shape under the covers. Kait turned her over and grabbed her by the throat.
Lydia made a noise like Georgie Mouse. Her eyes showed white in the darkness.
"You nasty, spying, sneaking little weasel," Kait said and shook her a few times. She spoke softly, so as not to wake Anna's parents, and put most of her energy into the shaking.
Lydia made more noises. Kaitlyn thought she was trying to say, "What are you talking about?"
"I'll tell you what I'm talking about," she said, punctuating each word with a shake. Lydia was gripping her wrists with both hands, but was too weak to break Kait's hold. "You're working for Mr. Zetes, you little worm."
Squeaking feebly, Lydia tried to shake her head.
"Yes, you are! I know it. I'm psychic, remember?"
As Kaitlyn finished speaking, she sensed activity behind her. It was her mind-mates, crowding in the doorway. So much emotion, so close, had gotten through to all of them even in their sleep.
"Hey! What are you doing?" Lewis was saying in alarm, and Rob said, "Kait, what's happening? You woke everybody up…"
Kaitlyn barely turned. "She's a spy!"
"What?" Charming in too-big pajamas, Rob came to stand beside the bed. When he saw Kaitlyn's grip on Lydia's throat, he reached instinctively. Lewis was right behind him.
"Don't, you guys. She's a spy—aren't you?" Kaitlyn tried to bang Lydia's head against the headboard, but didn't have enough leverage.
"Hey!"
"Kait, just calm down—"
"Admit it!" Kait told the struggling Lydia. "Admit it and I'll let you go!"
Just as Rob was putting his arms around Kait, trying to pull her away, Lydia nodded.
Kaitlyn let go. "I did a drawing that showed she's working for Mr. Zetes," she said to Rob. To Lydia, she added, "Tell them!"
Lydia was coughing and choking, trying to get enough air. Finally she managed to wheeze, "I'm a spy."
Rob dropped his arms, and Lewis looked almost comically dismayed. "What?"
A wave of ugly emotion came from Gabriel. Images of Lydia being chopped into little pieces and thrown in the ocean. Kaitlyn winced and for the first time realized that her hands were sore.
The others had gathered around the bed now. Anna was somber, and Lewis looked hurt and betrayed. Rob crossed his arms over his chest.
"All right," he said to Lydia. "Start talking."
Lydia sat up, small and ghostly in her white nightgown. She looked at each of the five rather threatening figures surrounding her bed.
"I am a spy," she said. "But I'm not working for Mr. Zetes."
"Oh, come off it," Kaitlyn said, and Gabriel said, "Of course you're not," in his silkiest, most sinister manner.
"I'm not. I don't work for him… I'm his daughter."
Kaitlyn felt her jaw sag. Unbelievable—but, wait. Joyce had mentioned that Mr. Zetes had a daughter…
She said the daughter was friends with Marisol, Rob agreed.
Kaitlyn remembered. She also remembered thinking that any daughter of Mr. Zetes's would have to be old, strangely old to be friends with Marisol.
"How old are you?" she said suspiciously to Lydia.
"Eighteen last month. Look, if you don't believe me, my driver's license is in my purse."
Gabriel picked a black Chanel purse off the floor and dumped its contents on the bed, ignoring Lydia's murmur of protest. He extracted a wallet.
"Lydia Zetes," he said, and showed the driver's license to the others.
"How did you get here?" Rob demanded.
Lydia blinked and swallowed. She was either on the verge of tears or an excellent actress, Kaitlyn thought. "I flew. On a plane."
"The astral plane?" Gabriel asked. He was very angry.
"On a jet," Lydia said. "My father sent me, and I got the car from a friend of his, a director of Boeing. My father called and told me where you'd be—"
"Which he knew because he set up a trap for us," Rob interrupted, seizing on this. "A trap with a goat. He knew if we didn't get killed in the accident, we'd be stranded—"
"Yes. And I was supposed to come along and help you—if any of you were still alive."
"You—little—" Words failed Kaitlyn. She grabbed for Lydia's throat again, but Gabriel was faster.
"Don't bother with it. I'll take care of her," he said. Kaitlyn sensed cold hunger.
Everyone in the web knew what he meant. The interesting thing was that Lydia seemed to know what he meant, too. She flinched, scooting back against the headboard.