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  I sit up, but don’t bother to look around. It doesn’t matter if anyone saw me; nothing matters now. Damp strands of hair fall into my face but I shove them away and push my hands into my pockets, grasping for my phone.

  I don’t stop, don’t think, and don’t let myself reconsider. My icy-cold fingers dial the number and, as it starts to ring, I get to my feet, hanging on to the truck for balance.

  “Hello?”

  A man.

  I was expecting a girl.

  A woman.

  Despite what Sierra said, deep inside I was certain it had to be another Oracle. “Hello?” My voice cracks as I answer and I have to clear my throat a few times before I can speak clearly.

  The man on the other end says nothing, just waits.

  “It’s Charlotte,” I say once I can speak again.

  I hear a long, slow breath and he whispers, “Finally,” so softly I barely hear it. “Did you see the next one?” he asks in that same, calm voice.

  “Yes,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.

  “I need to meet with you.”

  I swallow hard and force my emotions back. “How do I know you aren’t the killer?”

  He laughs now, a soft, bizarre sound considering the circumstances. “Charlotte, how stupid would I have to be to try to kill an Oracle?”

  Every muscle in my body stiffens.

  Never reveal that you are an Oracle to anyone except another Oracle.

  He pauses and when I don’t say anything he continues: “You know you’re not going to die today, don’t you?”

  My silence is answer enough.

  “If it makes you feel better, you choose the place. It can be as public as you want so long as it’s somewhere we can talk without being overheard.”

  It’s still so soon after the vision that my brain and my body are moving at half speed. I should have waited to make the call until after I had recovered.

  But then I might have changed my mind.

  “The food court,” I finally decide. “At the mall.”

  “When?”

  “I’ll head there now. How will I recognize you?”

  “I’ll find you. I know you.”

  The way he says “I know you” makes a trickle of fear shiver up my spine. But I chide myself for it. Of course he knows me. He knew me well enough to learn my cell number. He’s been watching me closely enough to know that I warned Matthew.

  Of course he knows who I am. But the words make it real.

  “Ten minutes,” he says, and then the line goes dead.

  What have I done? But my fingers clench and I push my phone into my pocket. “Something,” I mutter to myself as I duck my freezing and still-damp head and turn in the direction of the mall. “I’m doing something.” Of course, the last something I did might have made things worse. But I shove that thought away. I can’t be afraid.

  It only takes me about twenty minutes to walk to the mall, which is plenty of time to feel thoroughly frozen. Coldwater’s mall is more like one hallway of a real mall, with a mini food court stuck onto the end. There are about ten tables spread out around an alcove with several skylights that are quite pretty in the summer, but make everything feel even colder in the winter. I pick a table at the edge farthest from the stores and restaurants. Everyone can see me, but the nearest seat is about ten feet away. It’ll work.

  I sit there like I’m just ditching school to meet a college boyfriend. Like I’m sneaking off for some typical teenage mischief, not supernatural lifesaving. At least I hope it’s lifesaving. If this guy can really show me how to stop this, then it’s all worth it.

  Because I’m not sure my mind can handle another kid dying. A kid pretty much just like me.

  I sit alone for a few minutes before I realize someone’s looking at me. I raise my head to get my first look at the man who thinks he can save our town from this monster.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

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  TEN

  I’m not sure what I was expecting—not really certain if I was expecting anything at all. But he’s so nondescript my eyes slid right past him the first time I glanced his way and he only caught my attention when I realized he was looking at me. He’s basically average: average height, average build, average age if such a thing exists. Maybe midthirties, I decide as he gets closer. But his hair is prematurely peppered with gray, so at first he looks much older. He’s wearing nice jeans—the kind that are almost as dark as slacks—and a black peacoat that looks like half the coats in Coldwater. He’s neither handsome nor plain, but has a strange kind of in-the-middle face.

  I expect him to smile when our eyes meet. For him to try to put me at ease, get me to trust him. But the somber expression stays there as he drops into the seat across the small table from me.

  “Hello, Charlotte,” he says, and I instantly recognize the voice from the phone.

  “I don’t know your name,” I say. It’s kind of a rude way to greet him, but since he’s ignoring the meaningless niceties of meeting someone for the first time, I follow suit.

  “Call me Smith,” he says. “No, it’s not my real name,” he adds before I can scrunch my face up into a look of suspicion, “but you’ll forgive me if I’m not inclined to give true information to an Oracle whose aunt has such close ties to the Sisters of Delphi.”

  I pull back, staring at him with shock and fear. It’s one thing to know about Oracles, it’s another to know about my relative and the role she plays in a secret society. A secret society I barely know anything about.

  “Don’t do that,” Smith says, holding up a hand. “People will start looking at us. Stay neutral.”

  “How do you know about my aunt? And the Sisters?”

  “I know a lot of things. And let’s just say your Sisters of Delphi wouldn’t mind at all if I ceased to exist because of it.”

  I sit silently, my nerves crackling.

  He doesn’t speak again, doesn’t rush to fill the silence, and I realize he’s not going to offer up information. I’ll have to ask. “How did you know about me?”

  “I learned the signs of an Oracle a very long time ago, Charlotte.”

  It’s disconcerting the way he keeps using my real name when we both know the one he gave me is fake. “How?”

  He loosens his scarf—like he’s settling in for a long chat. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. “When I was very young, I lived a few houses down from a girl who was an Oracle. We were best friends and when she started having foretellings, she did what any kid would do: she told her buddy, Smith.” The start of a smile lifts the corners of his mouth for about half a second, but the haunted look in his eyes cancels it out. “Her mom was an Oracle too, and took her in hand as soon as possible, teaching her the same things I imagine you were taught.” He waves his hand toward the table as though there were a pile of items on display. “Fight the visions, don’t ever tell anyone who isn’t an Oracle what you can do, never ever, ever change the future. And she was very dutiful. With one exception.”

  “You?” I say after a long pause.

  He nods. “I watched her suffer through the same kind of things you probably go through—spacing out in the middle of class, everyone thinking she was a weirdo, feeling like she could never have friends.”

  I swallow, empathy filling my chest as I compare that to my own solitary childhood. My solitary life: it’s not like that part ended along with scraped knees and cooties.

  “I did what I could,” he says, looking out at the food court again. “Shielded her when she had a spell. Took her to prom when no one else would. Supported her lies when she told people she was epileptic. But her senior year something happened. I suppose the Sisters got to her. Threatened her somehow. She staged a huge fight in the middle of school. I knew it was forced, of course—I knew her better than anyone else in the world—but afterward, she wouldn’t speak to me. Not even o
n the phone. When I left for college, I sent her letters and they were all returned unopened. For several years, I thought our friendship was just over.”

  “Did she come back?” I ask, knowing the end of this story isn’t “happily ever after” and wishing it was anyway. Not for Smith’s sake, necessarily, but for this other Oracle girl. But I know better. We don’t get happy endings.

  Smith swallows visibly and shakes his head. “No. But the accidents started.” He runs his fingers through his already tousled salt-and-pepper hair and looks decidedly uncomfortable. “I don’t have any proof, of course, but I think that when I kept trying to get in touch with her, the Sisters decided that if I wasn’t going to go away on my own, they’d make me go away.”

  I want to tell him he’s lying. That an organization my aunt would belong to wouldn’t actually kill someone, but I can’t get the words out. “What does that have to do with me?” I ask.

  His head jerks up almost like he’d forgotten I was there. “At some point, I realized I wasn’t going to last very long if I didn’t disappear. So I started traveling. Bounced from town to town. Eventually I came here. Sometimes I wonder if I was drawn to this place. I’d been around a couple of weeks when I was walking past the playground at your school. You must have been nine or ten. I wasn’t watching you—I was just seeing kids out playing and remembering the times I had with my friend. And then a girl fell off the monkey bars.”

  He looks me in the eye now and I know what’s coming next.

  It’s where everything with Linden first started. It’s one of my most precious memories and it makes me feel sick to hear it coming out of someone else’s mouth.

  “She lay there, staring off into space. And I knew that look on her face. I’d seen it hundreds of times before. The scene played out just like I knew it would. All of the kids walked away, trying to avoid the freak.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers knit together.

  “I probably would have run again, right then,” he says. “Disappeared—found an Oracle-less town to live in. But I saw a boy sit beside you and help you up, right before the teachers realized what was happening and intervened. It was me and . . . and her all over again. I couldn’t look away.” He shrugs and clears his throat. “I’ve watched out for you from a distance ever since.”

  I stare hard at him, trying to decide how much of this is true. Obviously some of it is; how else could he know that story? And know exactly what it meant. But the idea that some stranger has been watching me since I was ten creeps me out. “Why don’t I recognize you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you’ve been around,” the word comes out a little mockingly, but Smith doesn’t seem to notice, “shouldn’t I recognize you?”

  “I’m good at blending in,” Smith replies. “Besides, it’s not like I’m some sick stalker who scopes you out constantly. I see you every few months. Very casual.”

  It doesn’t quite ring true. “But you knew I saw Bethany’s death. And you knew I tried to warn Matthew. Those aren’t exactly casual observations,” I say, getting a little heated now.

  “I didn’t actually know you saw Bethany,” he says, looking chagrined. “I guessed.”

  “You texted me!”

  His jaw tightens. “I shouldn’t have. I was angry. But by the time I thought better of it, it was too late.” He looks up and meets my eyes again. “I’ve watched you more closely since her murder though. I just pretend I’m someone’s parent at the high school.” He points at his hair. “I look older than I am. And no one questions strangers in the hall right before and after school hours; a lot of parents are walking their kids all the way inside the building these days. I . . . I saw the look on your face when you talked to the tall, black boy. Matthew. You can’t hide that desperation. I knew something was going to happen to him. And after the murder, when they reported that it was a teenage boy, well, it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. I should have gone right to you that day, but I was afraid I would freak you out.”

  And he would have.

  “I want to end this, Charlotte. Otherwise I’d have let you continue on your little Oracle life doing what every other Oracle in the world does.”

  “You said you could help me stop it.”

  “I can.”

  The strength of those two words—his confidence as he says them—strikes me into stillness. “But . . . but you’re nothing special.” I don’t apologize for my rude words. It’s the truth. He’s not an Oracle; he’s just a guy.

  “No,” he says, without flinching at my insult. “I’m not. But I knew someone who was special and we used to experiment and explore. More than that. We learned things no one else in the whole world knows.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll teach you—if you’ll stop this.”

  I stare at him for a long time. I can’t just jump at false hope. “You’re a stranger who knows all about me. Not to mention you know an awful lot about these murders. I have to say, that doesn’t inspire trust.”

  He rakes his fingers through his hair, looking as harrowed as I feel. “I know. I know. How else can I convince you?”

  The desperation in his eyes is so deep, so startling that I almost want to believe him right then and there. But this is too important a decision to make based on ten minutes of acquaintance.

  “I just, I have to think. I have to plan. I have to . . .” My voice trails off. It’s not like I know what the hell I’m doing either.

  He nods shortly, but looks nervous. “I can give you time if that’s what you want. But before we do this, you have to promise you’ll keep my secret.” He meets my eyes, intensity glowing from his dark-brown irises. “You cannot tell your aunt about me. Or about anything we do. My life is at stake here. If the Sisters figure out—” His voice cuts off and he leans back abruptly, clearing his throat. A heavy silence lies between us for a long moment. “They can’t find me again,” he finishes in a whisper full of terror.

  “I won’t tell,” I assure him. “Even without you in the picture, Si—my aunt would be furious that I was doing anything. Even thinking of doing anything.” I don’t want to think about the Sisters. About what they might do. A coldness that comes from inside me makes me pull my coat tighter and shiver. “How exactly do you think you can help me?”

  He licks his lips and then pulls his chair closer to the table, leaning his head in close to me. “Have you ever revisited a vision?”

  I just stare at him, not sure what that even means.

  He reaches into his bag and brings out a small glittering stone, strung on a silver chain so tarnished it’s almost entirely black. “This is a focus stone. Have you seen one of these before?”

  I shake my head, but I’m mesmerized by the glinting gem that seems to be colorless and every color in the world all at the same time. It’s the size of a large grape and cut into a teardrop.

  He caresses one of the large facets of the stone as he continues. “It has no power by itself, really. It helps enhance your abilities.”

  “What abilities?” I say, but I have to force myself to breathe steadily. Maybe this is what the pages of Repairing the Fractured Future are talking about. What I always suspected was possible. Abilities beyond simply the visions.

  He hesitates. “There are so many things that an Oracle can do. It’s not just about seeing the future; you can have an active role in creating the future.”

  I hold my breath now, my eyes fixated on the stone, but I say nothing.

  “This stone will allow you to revisit a vision you’ve already had, and change it.”

  “Keep Jesse from dying,” I whisper, understanding now. I hold out my hands. “May I?” His nod is a bit jerky, but he places the stone in my hands.

  It’s warm. Warmer than a few minutes in his hands should have made it. It frightens and exhilarates me all at the same time. “Where did you get this?”

  “I didn’t. Sh—she never told me how she got it. Thought it was too dangerous a secret for even me to know.”
/>   “Your Oracle friend?”

  He nods.

  “What was her name?” When he hesitates, I raise my eyebrow. “You want me to trust you to teach me forbidden powers and you won’t even tell me her name?”

  “Shelby,” he whispers, like it hurts him to say it.

  I stare at him, wondering if he’s telling the truth. About any of this, really. “I can’t do this right now. I need to think.”

  Smith looks disappointed, but he doesn’t argue. “Don’t wait too long,” he says.

  “I want to take this with me,” I say, curling my fingers around the stone when he reaches out for it. His hand clenches into a fist for a second before he pulls back and slips it under the table again.

  “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking.” He inclines his head toward the stone. “That is one of the most powerful items on the face of the Earth. I’ve spent over a decade of my life hiding it. Protecting it, really. If anyone finds it—if your aunt sees it—both of our lives are at stake.”

  “If you want me to trust you, you need to trust me too. Let me take the necklace, and I’ll make a decision.” My voice comes out much more steady than I feel. “And either way, I’ll give it back.” I can tell he doesn’t like it, but I’ve put him in a position where he has no choice. Not if he wants any shot of working with me.

  Still, he hesitates. Then he reaches into his bag again and holds up a small velvet bag. “Be careful with it,” he says, his voice low and serious. “And I don’t recommend trying anything. I’ll teach you everything I know if you decide to trust me, but you could mess up a lot of stuff if you dive in on your own.”

  His words chill me because they ring with such truth. Powerful and dangerous. That’s what this thing is.

  Unless, of course, he’s completely crazy. Then it’s just a shiny piece of costume jewelry.

  That’s what I need to figure out.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

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