Touched - By Cyn Balog Page 0,83

me. And so what I want you to do is—”

“He hates you? Why?”

“Long story. Basically, he wants me to get what I gave him. So what I need you to do is—”

“I am not dealing in that nonsense,” she said. “It’s all about people wanting to play God. Your mother thought she could play God, and she learned she was wrong. There’s only one God, and I know I’m not him. You need to talk it out with this Reese person.”

“No, Nan. It’s not nonsense. Bryce Reese won’t listen to reason. And we are going to die. You have to.”

She stood up. “I don’t have to do anything,” she said softly, turning her back on me and walking into the kitchen. “And I won’t.”

I just stared at her.

“And it is nonsense,” she whispered. “It ruined both of you. And I’ll have no part in it. Not ever.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but her tone was so cold, so final, I knew it would do no good. “Then we’ve got to go. We’ve got to get out of here. Hide, or something.”

She snorted and jutted her chin upward, towards my mom’s bedroom. “Good luck getting that one to go anywhere.” She picked up a tray with a half-eaten sandwich on it, then placed it on the kitchen counter. “You hungry?”

I clenched my fists to keep from latching on to something hard and throwing it at her, then walked up into the stairwell. My mom was standing on the landing, in the doorway. “What?” I asked her.

She narrowed her eyes. “What were you saying to your grandmother?”

I shook my head. After all, Nan was right. If my mom wouldn’t go anywhere for her son’s own funeral, she wouldn’t go if I told her she needed to get away, even if it meant her life. Not that running would make any difference.

“I was wrong,” she said, her tone light. “It wasn’t yours.”

I stared at her for a minute, annoyed that everything she said always had to be so cryptic. “My what?”

“Your funeral.”

I’d already started to head back downstairs, since I was so sure I didn’t want to hear what she had to say. But I stopped in midstep. “What? Whose was it, then?”

The thing was, I didn’t have to ask that. It didn’t really matter. There would be more funerals. Many more. And eventually, mine would be one of them.

I said, “I’m going to die, too. Because I don’t remember anything after—” My voice hitched when I was suddenly struck blind by two strong beams of light, streaming in through the sidelights at the front door. A car was here.

I didn’t need to be able to see the future to know that Taryn had successfully performed her first Touch. And that something terrible had begun.

As I peered out the window, the headlights flickered off. A You Will was just coming through when images began to play in my head, hot and rapid, making me dizzy.

Flashing lights and rain on glass. A horrible squealing tore through my eardrums.

I strained to see the automobile in the darkness, but the rain made patterns on the pane, distorting everything beyond. Something moved in the darkness and suddenly someone rapped on the door.

“Nick?” a voice called out. Taryn.

By then my heart was in my throat. I swallowed it and unbolted the door.

“Are you okay?” we said in unison. And then, to confirm how eerily alike we were, we both exhaled and said “I’m fine” at the same time.

I ushered her into the hallway. She had her scarf over her head like a peasant girl, but she was still drenched from head to toe. Water dripped off the end of her nose. But she was alive. Her skin was glowing again and her eyes were back to normal. I didn’t have to ask her if the Touch had worked, but I did anyway. “Did everything go all right?”

She pulled the scarf off her head and her curls sprang out, vibrant once more. “I did it. But I can’t say that anything is right. Just like I thought, Bryce used the Touch on Pedro and you the second he got it. You shouldn’t be here. You need to hide or something.”

I shook my head. “My family won’t leave. And I can’t leave them.”

Her eyes widened. “You have to make them understand that—”

At that moment, Nan stepped into the hallway. “I do understand,” she said.

Taryn looked from me to Nan, questioning.

Nan smiled like she was a hostess, greeting guests at