Page 56 of The Diamond in the Rough

Even if these memories, too, were blending together so that I was less likely to have one take control of me, at least after a few days had passed.

I settled on the very edge of one of the chairs, careful not to let my hands touch it, even though I was wearing gloves. Across from me, Violette sat just as awkwardly in another chair and stared at me.

“When did you get out?” she asked, finally.

I could answer that one. “Four years ago.”

“Did you—” She stopped, then tried again. “Did they have school, where you were?”

I shook my head. “I got my GED last year, and I’ve been taking online college courses. But no, no school at Tranquil Brook.”

She toyed with a bracelet on one wrist. It looked expensive. “They never visited you, did they?”

“Who?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew.

“Our parents.”

“No.”

She nodded, having expected that answer just as I’d known who she meant. “I found out you existed at the reading of the will,” she told me. “They’d left moneyto keep our son in his current state and condition, but they didn’t say what that meant,” she said, her tone disgusted. “I had to get the lawyer to do some digging to even find your name. But when he contacted the place, they said you were in no condition for visitors or conversation.”

I blinked, a chill running down my spine. “When was this?”

She shrugged. “A couple weeks ago.”

I frowned. “But Tranquil Brook was shut down fouryearsago,” I protested. “They couldn’t have—” I went cold.

Sylvia!

I’m here, sunshine. What’s wrong?

Someone is pretending Tranquil Brook still exists,I told her.Someone told a lawyer that I was still being held. Took money, probably.

We need to tell Ward.

Yes,I agreed.And Hart.

She left, and I saw that Violette was rubbing her arms. “You felt her,” I said.

“What?”

“The chill,” I replied, gesturing toward her hands. “You felt her.”

“Her?”

“Sylvia,” I replied. “She’s a ghost.”

Violette’s eyes went wide again. “You can see ghosts?”

I nodded. “You can’t.” It wasn’t a question. But she could feel them, or she wouldn’t have been cold. It was warm—early April and nearly seventy outside, and Ward and Mason tried not to overextend the AC by turning it on below about seventy-five degrees.

Violette shook her head, her expression troubled.

“What can you do?” I asked her.

She drew in a long breath. “Nothing I want to do,” she replied, and her tone was deeply bitter. “I wish I couldn’t see it,” she blurted, then. “The magic around people.”

“What color is mine?” I asked her. I wanted to know if she was a witch like me, or a warlock like Ward. Like my uncle had probably been.