Chapter Nine
The public is not supposed to believe the Dead Man exists, but we atEyes on Empathsare NOT the public. We know the Dead Man is real and we pride ourselves on separating fact from rumor.
Fact: He has complete autonomy when it comes to anything involving empaths
Fact: He’s selfless and dedicated in his mission to protect the innocent
Rumor: His middle name is Miguel and he’s really hot (butEyes on Empathsis hoping this is fact, for obvious reasons)
—Gretel Macy, blogging forEyes on Empaths
Grayson looked ridiculous in Reece’s car.
“Is your head actually touching the roof?” Reece asked, as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Jamey hated riding with him, and Grayson was even taller and more muscular. At least Reece still had enough room, since Grayson had twisted himself into an odd angle that kept his broad shoulders out of Reece’s space.
Grayson only held up Liam’s blazer and glasses, his face as unreadable as ever. “Whose are these?”
“What makes you think they’re not mine?”
“They’re nice.”
Reece rolled his eyes and put the key in the ignition. “There’s nothing wrong with hoodies.”
Grayson used one long arm to move Liam’s stuff to the admittedly spacious area behind Reece’s driver’s seat. “Is that really what you think?”
“I’m not taking fashion advice from someone called theDead Man.”
“I wouldn’t believe you take fashion advice from anyone.” Grayson gestured with his phone. “Is there a good reason the tracker for your car says we’re next to the ocean right now?”
Reece leaned in. “If the Empath Initiative doesn’t want me to find its tracker,” he said, with cloying sweetness, “tell them not to put it in my engine.”
“I advised them to put it in your trunk this time.”
“That’s where my engine is.”
Grayson seemed to consider this. “Speaking of tracking.” He held out his hand. “Your phone.”
“Why?” Reece said suspiciously.
“So I can make sure no one can find us through it.”
“Maybe I want Jamey to know where I am.”
“Maybe your big sister isn’t the only one who might try.”
Reece grudgingly passed the phone over. As Grayson messed with it, Reece turned the key. Thumping bass filled the car, and Grayson twitched, exactly like Jamey always did.
Reece immediately reached over and turned it off. “Jamey has sensitive ears too,” he said, when Grayson looked his way.
As Reece put on his turn signal and pulled the car away from the curb, Grayson eyed the duct tape on the ceiling, the sticky and discolored console full of candy wrappers, the broken glove box, and then, worryingly, the stereo.
“No country,” Reece said firmly.
“Did I say something?”
Somethin’. Now that he was getting used to the creepy flat voice, Reece was annoyed to realize he did, in fact, enjoy the accent. “No music when I drive.Onlywhen parked. No distractions from you, period.”
“How are you not distracted bythis?” Grayson gestured at the candy wrappers, which in fairness were overflowing from the console. “This is a car, not a piñata, even if it’s about the same size, and the whole thing smells like fake fruit. I’m gonna have to crack a window and it’s thirty-six degrees out there.”
