“Yeah, that’s a much more succinct way to put it.” She crossed her arms and finally opened her energy drink. “A bit sterile, though.”
I saw the possible paths of our conversation stretching out and splitting off from each other like branches in those video games Jackson liked to play. Suddenly, there was this pressure within me to pick the right one or I’d ruin the conversation.
Which was stupid, of course.
I guess I’m understanding what Penelope said about my anxiety…
“How does seeing emotions allow you to do the things you do?” I said finally.
“Pardon?”
“The things you said to me, Chris, even knowing that the assassin was in Jackson’s penthouse. How could emotions tell you all that?”
“When I say I can see them, I’m not being metaphorical, Paul, I’m being literal. For example, right now, I can tell you’re angry. I can tell you’re ashamed. I can tell you’re conflicted. And I can tell you’re fond of me.” Although her tone was matter-of-fact, her expression was one of distress, which made my alpha side want to comfort her, to provide and soothe.
Stupid animal instincts.
“Now, I understand that sounds relatively simple, and you probably just imagine words appearing in my vision or something like that, but it’s not that at all. Your anger right now? It’s like ozone rippling through the air after a lightning strike. Not violent, not loud, but a pathway forged by old wounds.
“And the shame? That’s this moldy, decrepit sort of yellow gas that’s billowing toward me like an actual cloud of smoke. Notice that I’m breathing through my mouth? It’s because my power tells me that I can taste it, even choke on it.
“Fondness? It used to be a bright and lively tree, branches tangled but stretching anywhere, with unlimited possibilities. Now those branches are bare, the leaves have fallen into shades of rotted brown and black on the ground, and the roots have all but curled in on themselves.
“And that doesn’t count the echoes of when you were here before, or that of people on the street, or even people driving by. My world is a constant explosion of other people’s stories, and if I’m not careful, they affect my own more often than not.”
“I...” I had to swallow, my brain trying to recontextualize everything I had experienced so far with that new information. “So, when you were in the office...”
“I saw all the pain of every person in that room. I saw their shock, their fear. Mind you, it was faded, but it was still there.”
I could feel my heart picking up in my chest. Cherry had still lied to me, but also, I felt like I was getting a peek behind thecurtain at the real truth. And, as horrific as it was, it made me feel closer to those who I had lost.
“But now that I’m being honest with you, I can tell you something else I saw.”
“Oh?” I asked, my voice barely more than a croak. What could possibly be relevant to reveal in this moment?
“When I went to the desk, it was almost like a lighthouse in the middle of an ocean of pain and violence. I didn’t know what it meant at first, until I got to that drawer.” She didn’t have to clarify what she meant, because I knew exactly what she was talking about as soon as the words left her mouth. “Even though a lot of those items were years old, I saw layers and layers of love, pride, and affection radiating from every single item. To me, they were glowing, and I saw a history full of so much fondness and love that I knew I had to help you.
“Yes, I lied. And I know that was wrong. But I am being one hundred percent truthful when I say I want to help you more than anything. I want to make a difference in people’s lives, just like my mother did. What’s the point in having this power if I don’t?
“And whoever killed your brother and your father had no emotional signature whatsoever. They weren’t happy, they weren’t angry, they weren’t afraid, they weren’t triumphant. Nothing. And as far as I know, even in legend, no living thing just doesn’t have emotions like that. The closest I could even think of is a golem, which means that we would have to find whoever sent it or constructed it.”
“That’s why you were canvassing so many people at the market? You were trying to find anyone who didn’t have emotions you could see?”
“Yeah. And I’ll give it to the Whisper, hers were very hard to spot. I really did think it was her. But once she got to safety, they were basically neon flashing signs above her head.”
“But what about the other things?”
“Other things?”
“You knowing about me being a middle child and Chris having plans to petition our father to replace Luther as his heir. Even the assassin.”
“Huh? Oh, that was just my ADHD.”
Now shehadto be shitting me. I sent her a look, and she looked confused again. “Your attention deficit disorder?”
“Attention deficithyperactivitydisorder, thank you very much,” she shot back. “The hyper part is just as important as the deficit part. And yeah. Like I said, my mom was really good at reading people from their body language, their word choices, and even little things she saw them doing in her future-sight. She taught me everything she could. You combine that with hypervigilance and thoughts that go a thousand miles an hour at all times without stopping… Well, I just notice things.”
“You just notice things,” I repeated. Apparently, I’d turned into a parrot shifter.