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“What did you do?” she whispered to Arthur.

Slowly, his arm lifted to point toward the bodies with the tip of the knife. 

“I don’t want to look,” she said, but she couldn’t turn away, couldn’t stop her eyes from crawling up the battered bodies that barely looked human any more. Their faces were like masks, obscuring whoever they might have been before this night. 

“Why do I have to see?” she wailed, and Arthur began to laugh.

The dream fluttered, like a reel changing in a movie. 

When it clicked back into focus, Briar could see her own eleven year old body, dead under Arthur’s knife.

She awoke, clammy with sweat, and for a moment didn’t know where she was. 

Then she heard the racketing snoring coming from Charlie’s parents’ room, and she remembered. Charlie’s house. Charlie’s old room. His old bed.

Her heart was racing. She felt nearly sick. She tossed back the covers, unwilling to stay in the bed where that dream had come to her. She was tired, so tired, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. 

She couldn’t risk going back there. 

She opened the door to the bedroom, highly conscious of the snick of the doorknob as it opened. Charlie’s house had the same layout as her own, but everything was slightly different—bare wood on the stairs instead of a runner, tables where she expected none, a tiny difference in the angle of the light coming in the front windows. 

Still, she negotiated her way to the kitchen in darkness. She turned on the tap as quietly as she could, filled a glass, drained it, then filled it again and pressed it to her forehead. Her heart was still pounding.

This dream felt different from the rest. She had blamed her father for everything, even his own death. But her conversation with Lt. Cavanaugh reminded her that there is always more than one truth. 

Her father had been a terrible man. Terrible things had been done to him. Her brother had been a hero. But when he saw their father beating their mother, he could have picked up a phone to call for help, instead of a knife. 

For the first time in a long time, she thought of the way her father had been before the war. She could remember shrieking with giggles as he carried her on his shoulders, or sitting in his lap telling him stories out of her fertile imagination. He hadn’t been a monster then.

Her power had showed her that objective truth was nearly impossible to determine. Perspective changed everything.

She heard the distinctive thump of Charlie’s cane before he came in to the kitchen. She turned to see him rubbing a hand over his sleepy face. 

He was wearing only boxer shorts and a Watkins High T-shirt. His scarred leg was in full view, but he didn’t seem bothered that she could see it. His hair was sticking up, and he had a pillow crease dug into the side of his face.

“Nightmare?” he asked, his voice gruff and sweet.

She was so grateful to see him, she couldn’t speak. She simply nodded, then walked into his open arms.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her toward his bedroom at the back of the house. “Come sleep with me.”

“We can’t,” she said, scandalized. “Your parents.”

“I didn’t mean that. Although I like that your mind goes right for the gutter.”

Just being with him, she felt lighter. Safer. “I shouldn’t even go in your room. It’s not proper.”

Even as she said it, she followed him into his room. It was dark, then even darker as he shut the door behind her.

“We’re not going to do anything,” he said, leading her across the room to his bed. “But I promised to hold you when you have nightmares, and I intend to keep that promise.”

She glanced at the door. His parents had been so hospitable, and she couldn’t pay them back by sneaking into their son’s bedroom. “I should go back upstairs.”

“Sure. Later,” he said, tugging her down to lay beside him on his bed. “But for now, just hold on to me.” 

When he tucked her in to the curve of his body, laid one arm over and pulled her tight, her heart rate finally slowed. 

She whispered into the dark, “Charlie, you’re the only thing in my life worth holding on to.”

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She’d just wanted to bask in his warmth and solidity for a while. But the next thing she knew, birds were chirping outside of Charlie’s window.

Her house had the same layout as his, and she knew where they were; the small back room off the dining area that, in her house, was used as a sewing room. It was neat; unlike her room, there were no clothes strewn about or mementos cluttering the surfaces. Where her walls were festooned with pictures cut from magazines and school photos, his walls were bare. 

She wondered if that was a consequence of Charlie’s injury, or if he had always been that way. Charlie said he had moved down here after his accident, when the stairs became too difficult for him to manage. The room felt sterile to her, as unlived-in as the hotels where she stayed when she visited Arthur. 

Then her eyes fell on his books. They filled two bookshelves and spilled over onto the floor. They were dog-eared and battered—probably from Charlie’s habit of jamming a paperback into his back pocket. 

Here was the life she’d been looking for. So many titles she could barely make out. So many ideas bouncing around in Charlie’s head, thoughts he couldn’t share with her. 

The idea made her sad. 

Behind her, Charlie stirred slightly, pulling her closer. She was suddenly aware that some parts of him were awake sooner than others; his erection was pressing into her backside. 

Experimentally, she undulated her hips. Charlie grunted and one lazy hand slid up to cup her breast. 

“Are you awake?” she whispered.

“No,” he murmured. His hands were still lazy, but they were beginning to roam enticingly. “I’m having this incredible dream.”

“Stop,” she said, slapping his hands away. “Your parents are right upstairs.”

He lifted himself to check the bedside clock. “Nope. It’s Monday. They’re both at work already. We’re alone.”

His hands began to wander again. He was so warm, so sleepy and languorous, that she found herself giving in to his touch.

By the time he slipped a hand between her legs, she was achingly ready. She spread her legs to give him more access and he shifted lower. 

Then he was inside her. 

It was slow and lazy, as if the narrow bed were a boat riding a broad river of passion. Time spun out as he stroked inside her, pressing sleepy kisses to her back and shoulders. 

The first orgasm took her by surprise and left her shuddering. He moaned and propped himself up on his elbow so he could watch her. The blanket had fallen off the bed somehow, but she wasn’t cold; her body was on fire, and he was just stoking her higher and higher. 

Still, he kept up the slow pace, his hips moving rhythmically against hers. His eyes were lidded, dark with passion. “Again,” he commanded, pressing his hand over the spot where they were joined. 

Briar couldn’t help it; she exploded. 

She sobbed his name, trying desperately to take more, to drive him as crazy as he was making her. It was no good; she was nearly helpless in this position, unable to touch him in turn. 

“Please kiss me,” she finally managed. “Please, I need you.”

He obliged her, melding his mouth with hers. She kissed him desperately, trying to say all the things he brought to her that were beyond words, beyond conscious thought. 

His strokes picked up and she thrust back at him, wanting everything from him, every part of him. He tore his mouth from hers, laying back onto the bed so he could get the leverage he needed. 

His arms were banded around her now, stroking ceaselessly over her breasts and throat and thighs as he drove into her, faster and harder, harder and faster, until she shattered once more. Dimly, she was aware that he had frozen, spilling himself into her, and she welcomed it, welcomed the feel of him losing control. 

“That has to be the best way on earth to start a day,” Charlie said, still breathless.

She twisted around so she could see him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he said, and kissed her again. “What should we do today?”

Briar stretched luxuriously. All the remnants of the previous day had been washed away. She felt ready to take on the world. “I need to take some scarves and such into Mimi’s. If she can get me a good price, I’ll start looking at apartments in town.”

“You can stay here as long as you need to. My parents won’t mind,” Charlie said.

“That may be true as you see it, but I can’t stay here forever.”

“Why not?” he said, snuggling her closer. “We could start every day like this.”

“Only if we were married,” she said, before she thought better of it.

He raised one eyebrow. “Is that a proposal? I accept.”

She rolled her eyes at him, then sobered. “I also need to go speak to Lt. Cavanaugh about the life insurance money.”

He rubbed at her down-turned mouth. “Why does this windfall make you sad?”

“It came at too high a cost,” she said. 

“I’ll go with you,” he said. “And then there’s some books at the library I want you to see.”

She felt the heat of shame crawling up her cheeks. “Charlie, you know I can’t read them.” 

“That’s exactly what I have to show you. I found something the other day, and I think it is describing your symptoms. You said that when you try to read, the words switch and flip in front of your eyes, right?”

“Yes,” she said cautiously.

“Letters change direction? Sometimes the page looks like it’s spinning.”

“How did you know?”

“This guy describes it in his book. He calls it dyslexia.”

In spite of herself, she was curious. “Is it a disease?”

“Not exactly. Some sort of difference in your brain. There are exercises you can do to make things easier.” 

“Oh, Charlie. I’ve gotten my hopes up so many times. What if it doesn’t work?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll read to you.”

“What?”

“You said you understood when Norine read to you, right? So I’ll just take over. We’ll read books together.”

“You … you would do that?”

“Definitely. I can’t wait to hear what you think about Henry Miller.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Didn’t he write dirty books?”

“Gee, maybe,” his voice innocent though his smile was straight sin. “Let’s find out together.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Charlie

They walked the few blocks into town holding hands. Charlie couldn’t believe how happy he felt. The future, which had seemed murky and bleak for so long, was now lit by Briar’s presence in his life. They still had choices to make, but he had already decided that no matter what happened, they would face it together. 

When they got to the recruitment center, there was a line out the door. It looked like even the people without powers were eager to sign up. In the few days since Lt. Cavanaugh’s speech, Independence Falls had experienced a surge of patriotism. The American flag that always graced the town hall had been joined by dozens of new flags up and down the street. 

Some of the older men in town had broken out their old uniforms, and they were shaking hands with the young soldiers and showing off their medals. Young boys, who were far too young to actually join the military, were playing soldiers in the streets. 

Something about the palpable relief amongst the townsfolk struck Charlie as hysterical. In one fell swoop, Lt. Cavanaugh and Col. Deacon had provided them with an explanation for the strange powers that people had developed, as well as given them a reason to support their fellow citizens. The tension that had wound tight over the last few months had finally broken.

Mayor Watkins-Price was standing near the almost-rebuilt fountain, watching her town with satisfaction. Standing next to her was Will Briggs, straight-backed and proud in his brand new uniform.

Will noticed Charlie and jogged across the square to see him. “Good to see you’ve come to your senses,” he said as he came up, gesturing to the recruiting office. 

Briar flinched. “I’m not here to join,” she said, horror in her voice.

Will stopped and cocked his head. “Why not?”

Knowing Briar’s list of reasons was long and complicated, Charlie turned the question back on Will. “I never knew you wanted to join the army, Will. You always said you wanted to be mayor of Independence Falls before you were thirty. Doesn’t this throw a wrench in your plans?”

Will dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Not a wrench. A fruitful and interesting detour. I signed a four-year contract, and Meg signed up for two. We can still get married as planned this winter. Military service is always good for a politician.”

“What about your job?”

“The mayor says it’ll be here when I’m done. She wanted to tell me about it all last week, ever since Deacon ordered the medical testing. But he insisted that she keep it under wraps until he got everything organized. It’s a pretty huge change, allowing us to join up with this kind of flexibility and freedom.”

“Four years is a long time,” Briar said. “Anything can happen.”

Will smiled ruefully. “The way I see it, it already did. I didn’t ask for my powers, but the army is giving me a way to use them for good. And Meg … well, she could use the training. It might give her more control over what she can do. Isn’t that better than trying to bury her power?”

Charlie wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or not, but he nodded in agreement. “If it was the right choice for you, I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Will said. “What about you, Charlie? You going to join up with me?”

Charlie glanced at Briar, whose face was mutinous. “Still up in the air,” he said.

Will looked over his shoulder as the mayor called his name. “Well, don’t wait too long. We start training next week and I wouldn’t want you to miss your shot.”

“You’re still thinking about joining the army?” Briar said as Will walked away.

“Maybe. It’s a possibility.” He took the plunge and said what he’d been thinking for days. “I think it would be a really good option for you, too.”