after him, as loud as I could. Star River, Texas! I pushed the words at him as he dashed triumphantly down the hallway at a speed just slower than a sprint. Star River!
He pulled his phone from his pocket as he rounded the corner. To look up information on Star River, no doubt.
Kellan was going to go to Star River, Texas.
Good. That was exactly where I wanted him to go.
Because that pink starburst wasn’t a star. It was a water lily.
That wavy blue line wasn’t a river. It was a brook.
While Kellan was hundreds of miles away in Star River to lie in wait for Jillian and Logan... Jillian and Logan would be coming to Lilybrook.
* * *
Less than an hour later, Tristan and I stood at his bedroom window, looking out at the sunset. In the distance, a little plane coursed past a white cloud. Tristan raised his childhood binoculars to his eyes.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“That’s it.” He handed me the binoculars to look for myself. I adjusted the binoculars, and...yes, there it was: a white plane, marked with NWSL in navy along the side. The APR’s plane was heading south, flying John Kellan and his team to a tiny impoverished town in Texas named Star River.
“Kellan moves fast,” I said.
“When he wants to.” Tristan stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You did good, Clockwise. You used Kellan’s telepathy against him.”
I twisted around so I faced him, then stood on tiptoe to kiss the soft spot on his neck, right under his ear. “Did you write the email?”
“All I have to do is hit send.” Holding me against him with one arm, he reached over to his computer and pressed the enter key. “Done. If any of the psychics in my database get a visit from Jillian and Logan, they’ll send them to Lilybrook.”
If a teenage brother and sister come see you, the email read, tell them to go to Lilybrook, Wisconsin. Tell them they’ll be safe here, and there are people who can help them.
“I just hope it works,” I said.
“It will. It may not happen with the first psychic they visit, but it will happen.”
“They need to get here fast. Before Kellan realizes I tricked him. He’ll realize something’s wrong when we don’t show up in Star River ourselves.”
“I’ll take care of Kellan.” Dennis came in, carrying a battered leather suitcase. Deirdre stood behind him, her hand flittering nervously to her throat.
“I’m going to Star River too,” Dennis continued. “I’ll tell Kellan that Deirdre refused to let you two go, so I came instead, to make sure he doesn’t harm Jillian and Logan when they get there. Heath Van der Sande is coming as my safeguard. It’s standard APR procedure, and Kellan won’t be able to get into my mind to read the truth.” He met my gaze. “We’ll stay as long as it takes, Tessa.”
“You’re okay with this, Mom?” Tristan asked. “Dad going on a case? It could be dangerous. It could be stressful on his heart.”
“It was her idea,” Dennis said.
Deirdre gave a resigned sigh. “Retirement made your father bored and miserable.” With an open palm, she placed her hand on his chest, right over his heart. “I’d rather he be happy. Happiness is good for his heart.”
Dennis put his arm around her and kissed the top of her frizzy head. Tristan strode across his room. “Thanks, Dad.” As the Connellys hugged each other goodbye, I stayed back. Then I remembered that I was part of this family too.
I leapt across the bedroom and tried to wrap my arms around Tristan, Dennis and Deirdre at the same time. It didn’t work, so they opened their arms for me, and hugged me too.
The plan was to act like we were waiting for word from Star River that Jillian and Logan had arrived. To act nervous. Anxious. Afraid.
I didn’t have to act.
It had been five days since Dennis and Kellan left for Star River. Tristan kept in contact with our network of psychics around the country, and Dennis kept in contact with us. His messages were short: “Nothing happened today,” or “No activity.” The negative messages were good: it meant Kellan hadn’t caught on to our subterfuge.
To keep up appearances, Tristan and I went to school, and Deirdre went to work. Every day after school, though, Tristan and I camped out at Hawthorne’s in a booth at the front window until the diner closed at midnight. Main Street’s wooden Welcome to Lilybrook—a Friendly Place to Live sign was visible from where we sat. If—when—Jillian and Logan came to Lilybrook, they would drive past that sign.
Though visions, I had gotten to know the previous inhabitants of this booth very well. Bernie Jessup and Mandy Klein shared a sundae here in 1973. A kindergarten soccer team in yellow uniforms celebrated a victory here in 1995. Two weeks ago, while Tristan and I were driving back to Lilybrook from Lady Elke’s, Nathan Gallagher and Winter Milbourne had occupied this booth after leaving the APR. Nathan had just been put on probation for blocking Tristan’s premonitions. Then they’d heard what had happened in Lady Elke’s shed that day, and they were furious that we’d dragged Melanie along.
I smothered that last vision with fog and stared outside, willing Jillian and Logan to drive past the wooden sign.
So far, two psychics—one in Wyoming and one in Minnesota—had contacted Tristan. They had both been visited by Jillian and Logan, and they both had directed them to Lilybrook.
Every day, we waited. Every day, they didn’t come.
But they would come. Brinda Lakhani had predicted it. I carried her drawing of a pink lily over a blue brook with me, wherever I went, along with Jillian’s ballet shoe and Logan’s sheet music.
They will come. I repeated that to myself with every step I took, with every breath, every heartbeat. They will come.
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