warned. No touching me, for your own safety.”
“No touching.” Mia shook her head, staring warily at her now.
“I am sorry,” Juliana told her again. She lay back on her new bed, looking up at the pastel-pink ceiling. She’d felt the possible beginning of a friendship with the girl, but now she’d scared her away. Everyone else had something useful: Sebastian could heal, Alise could make people happy, Mia could see the future. Only Juliana had a useless curse, one that could only hurt people.
Even among the freaks, she was a freak.
Chapter Nineteen
Ward approached the grimy concrete building housing the nightclub, as well as a bail bond place and a pawn shop that had both closed until morning. The club was in the half-buried basement of the strip mall, and its entrance was at the back, not visible from the road. Broken bottles littered the gravel parking lot, which was crowded with cars even though it was the day after Christmas.
Two doors led into the basement. One of them had been surrounded by chainlink to form a smoking pen, where a few kids in spiked, dark mesh clothes smoked cigarettes. A boy whose earlobe had been stretched to grotesque proportions was making out with a girl who had a long needle through her eyebrow.
His target, Tommy, sat on a stool by the other door. It was propped open, and the sound of a loud band slamming their instruments pulsed out from inside the dark club.
Ward approached Tommy, flanked by Buchanan and Avery, who stayed a half-step behind him. They all wore thick leather gloves tonight, and he’d warned them not to touch Tommy at all if they could avoid it. The boy’s touch could shatter a man’s mind with fear.
Tommy looked them over sullenly as they approached, studying their dark suits and ties. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a couple of days, and his long hair was dirty and tangled.
“I don’t think this is really your scene, guys,” Tommy said as they stood before him. “Somewhere in Orange County, an Applebee’s is calling your name.”
“We didn’t come for the music or ambiance, Mr. White,” Ward said.
Tommy sat up on his stool, and his eyes widened. He glanced among the three of them, probably realizing that he couldn’t win a straight fight, and would need his power if he wanted to escape. Ward didn’t want him running just yet.
“Settle down, we’re not here to hurt you,” Ward told him. “That is your name, isn’t it? Thomas White? Also known as Thomas Krueger? Currently going by Thomas Voorhees. Cute.”
“Who are you?” Tommy asked.
“We are with the Department of Defense,” Ward said. “We know you escaped from a maximum-security penitentiary in Louisiana, and the guards there would just love to have you back. We also know that you killed your foster father, Ben Tanner, just before you went and caused that riot in Charleston. Your foster mother says you were a very disturbed boy.”
“You talked to her?” Tommy asked.
“She’s doing well with Mr. Tanner dead, I’d say. Spent some of the life insurance money on a candy-pink Le Baron convertible. Didn’t you think she looked well, Buchanan, in that red Christmas dress?”
“Yes, very healthy,” Buchanan replied.
Tommy shrugged, as though indifferent to his foster mother’s fate.
“Have you ever played Monopoly, Tommy?” Ward asked. “I’m offering you a little orange Get Out of Jail Free card. We can expunge your entire criminal record, make you a free man. No more scurrying around in the dark.”
“In exchange for what?” Tommy asked. He had a cornered-rat look in his eyes, still deciding whether to fight or flee.
“In exchange, you serve our country. You apply your fear-inducing ability toward protecting American interests around the world. Surely you don’t want to do this for the rest of your life.” Ward pointed inside the dark, loud club.
Tommy shrugged. “This job’s okay.”
“It’s okay? Son, you have a tremendous power inside you. You’ve got to have some ambition, don’t you? You could be out there making the world safe for America. You could be a hero instead of a criminal. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“What’s it pay?” Tommy asked.
“Pay?” Ward shook his head, exasperated. He was ready to punch the kid in the nose. “We’re talking about you finally doing something worthwhile with your life. You’ve got to look at the bigger picture here.”
“So the pay sucks,” Tommy said.
“It has to be more than you’re making here,” Ward said. “Room, board, medical, and we’ll pay you what we pay the Special Forces