“Where’s the baby?” Hadley’s question ripped me out of my own memories and back into the cruel new reality that had become my life.

“The baby...died.” In its mother’s womb. The day my sister and parents were murdered in their own home.

Hadley blinked at me in confusion, and for a second I envied her the shattered misconception that babies couldn’t die. Too late, I realized I’d probably ruined that for her.

Then the implication of what she’d just said hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest, and I leaned back on the couch, breathing through the pain.

Hadley had seen my house. She’d seen the baby’s room. For whatever reason, and despite the questionable accuracy of her earlier prediction, she seemed to be tuned into my psychic frequency. Or something like that.

Which meant that she might have more visions, or prophesies, or whatever. She might be able to tell me the name of the man who killed them. She might even be able to help me find him.

I might not need Julia Tower after all.

“What else did you see?” I demanded so suddenly that she gave a startled little yip and sloshed chocolate milk onto her lap. “Did you see a man in hiking boots? Do you know his name?” All the police had been able to tell me was that boots like his—he’d left bloody footprints all over the house—had been sold at hundreds of stores, all over the country. Ballistics found no match for the bullets he’d fired. He’d left DNA, but it didn’t match anything in the database.

They had suspects, but no smoking gun. My family’s killer was a ghost.

When the child only blinked her startled, teary eyes at me, I made myself take another deep breath and calm down. She had no idea what I was talking about. She probably didn’t even understand her own Skill yet. She was so young. We’d have to start with something more basic.

“Hadley, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Here.” I took her milk and set it on the coffee table, suddenly glad that Ian’s hammering obscured our conversation. “I just want to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?”

She nodded hesitantly.

“Great. Thanks. Hadley, how did you know that the cradle and the striped room were in my house?” It was actually my parents’ house, but that was close enough. She’d somehow associated me with what she’d seen.

Hadley only shrugged.

“Okay. Did you see anything else...about me?” She shook her head. “Anything else about the house?” I was scaring her again. My voice was too intense. My grip on her hand too desperate. “Did you see any of the other rooms?”

“Just...” She squeezed her eyes shut as if she was trying to see it all again in her head. “I saw the living room. There was a guitar—a wooden one—on this metal stand. By a chair. The kind that you can lean back and put your feet up on.” She opened her eyes and met my gaze, and seemed pleased by whatever she found there.

My heart ached with every beat. “That’s my dad’s guitar. And his chair.”

Except that guitar was gone. Destroyed. A bullet shattered it the night my parents died. The police believed my father was actually playing it when the attack started.

I’d buried him with what was left of it. Other than his family, it was what he’d loved most in the world.

So how the hell could that guitar be in Hadley’s vision of the future?

It couldn’t.

Maybe she’d seen another guitar. Maybe even another room. But that was too much of a coincidence, wasn’t it? An acoustic guitar on a metal stand and an old-fashioned wooden cradle in a green, yellow and purple striped room?

I could only think of one other possibility, but before I could give it voice, footsteps thumped on the stairs. A second later, Kori jogged into sight on the landing, then headed straight through the living room and into the dark hall closet without a glance at anyone else. When she didn’t come back out a second later, I realized she was gone.

Kris and Anne, the Reader, came down a minute later. “Okay, I think we’ve come to a compromise about...what to do with you.” He sat on the arm of a chair across the room.

Distantly, I realized I should have been furious about that. None of them had the right to do anything with me, but that fact was hard to focus on, with the new possibility now taking up most of my attention.

“If you’re willing to—”

“Has she ever done this before?” I asked Anne after a brief glance at Kris. When the Reader only frowned at me, I nodded toward her daughter. “Has she ever had a premonition before today, or am I actually witnessing the birth of a Skill?” A very extraordinary Skill, if my hunch was right.

“As far as I know, this is the beginning of it.” Anne sank onto the couch on Hadley’s other side. “Why?”

“She...knows things. Things about me.” I took another deep breath. “About my family.”

“What kind of things?” Anne glanced at her daughter, but Hadley was watching cartoons again, ignoring the adults.

“She’s always been creepy, Anne,” Gran said from the doorway, and when I twisted to see her, I realized that she might have been listening the whole time. “But she seems to have taken that to new heights today.”

“Gran!” Anne snapped.

Gran shrugged, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “If that girl’s anything like Elle, she’s more conscious of how strange she is than any of us ever will be.” Then she turned and headed back into the kitchen, where Ian was still hammering at the window I’d broken and Vanessa was keeping him company.