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“How?” Killian demands.
Caz pauses before looking at each person in the room, and then me. “Because I can hear her thoughts—well, the important ones, it seems.”
“What?” Killian asks, irritated.
“If she were here to harm me, I would know it, Killian. She and I have already gone over this. I don’t know what kind of fuckery it is, but we can hear each other without saying a damn thing.”
“You mean like telepathy?” Juniper asks, perking up on the bench.
“Exactly,” Caz answers.
“Just like the woman from ninety years ago, only it wasn’t with Caz. It was with Tepper,” Maeve says, looking me over.
“Who’s Tepper?” asks Caz.
“He was a friend from Whisper Grove. I met the old Willow through him. He was close friends with your mum.”
“And where is this Tepper now?” he asks.
Maeve lowers her gaze. “Dead.”
I don’t know why, but my eyes lock on Caz’s when Maeve says that, goosebumps sweeping across my skin.
“So let me get this straight. There’s someone in this room who can get into Caz’s mind? Shit!” Rowan laughs, nudging his brother in the ribs with his elbow. “We can use that, brother! Talk about a loaded gun!”
Killian folds his arms, still frowning, finding none of this amusing.
“Unlike her, I can control my thoughts,” Caz informs them.
“How?” I ask again because he’s never explained it.
“I practiced when I first started hearing you. Months ago. I didn’t know who you were, didn’t trust you, and I knew deep down I wasn’t going out of my damn mind, so I learned. I had my own mind and I wanted to keep it to myself, just like everyone else gets to.”
“Yeah, buthow? How do you block me out?”
He shrugs.
“How can I blockyouout?”
A smirk tugs at the edges of his lips. “Practice, I suppose.”
I groan in frustration. That answer doesn’t help me.
“If all of this is true,” Maeve interjects, stepping forward, “then I think the bigger question is why is shehere? Why now, during the middle of this feud with Ripple?”
Caz studies Maeve before shifting his eyes to the left. “I’m trying to figure that out myself.”
The room falls silent. We bounce our eyes over each other, listening to the music amplify from the bar, the rambunctious chatter gravitating down the hallway and sneaking into the office.
“I know who we can go to,” Maeve finally says. “But you won’t like it.”
Caz narrows his gaze, looking into Maeve’s gray eyes, and Maeve cocks a brow, giving him a silent answer that I can’t grasp.
“No,” Caz growls, pushing out of his chair.
“She can help us, Caspian. You know it.”
Caspian? Is that his full name?
