Page 99 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

Chapter Thirty-six

Baxter

I swung around at the sound of metal clunking into place and saw Owen stepping back from the door, satisfaction written all over his face. Something—Lake—slammed against it, but the metal bar Owen had slid into position held firm, stopping the door from being forced open.

Instinct had me moving back down the few stairs I’d climbed, intent on undoing his actions and letting Lake through. Owen caught my arm before I reached the door, blue eyes, so much like my own, staring into my soul.

“Me and you,” he said. “You said it yourself. He has no part in this. So let’s leave him safely on the other side of that door, shall we?”

I yanked my arm free and nodded, cradling the spot with my other hand as though he’d left an indelible mark. It was an understatement to say I didn’t like him touching me. Even looking at him was difficult.

One of my favorite things as a child had been the house of mirrors at the funfair. I loved seeing my reflection warped and twisted into something that was me, yet wasn’t. I’d never left willingly. My parents always had to drag me out when they ran out of patience.

In retrospect, knowing what I knew now, maybe it hadn’t been impatience. Maybe seeing two similar faces staring back at them had unsettled them. Looking at Owen unsettled me, the experience incredibly reminiscent of looking in one of those mirrors.

His face was thinner, nineteen years having wrought their fair share of age-related changes between the two of us, but that wasn’t all. There were as many similarities as there were differences. The result was deeply disquieting.

I turned away from the door just as Lake gave up on trying to break it down and resorted to shouting instead. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to answer him and keep moving. More thuds followed, Lake quickly returning to his belief that brute force would win the day. I hoped he didn’t hurt himself.

I realized too late that now I was in front of Owen with no one to watch my back.

He laughed as I spun around, lifting both hands in the air just as he had when he’d first stepped out of the shadows. “Relax,” he said. “Let’s talk first.”

First wasn’t exactly reassuring, but it was better than nothing. I exercised caution, motioning for him to go ahead of me so I could follow. The stairs felt endless, but eventually we reached the door at the top.

Owen pushed it open and stepped out onto the roof. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed. The door swung shut behind me.

The night hit hard this high up, the wind ripping across the concrete and tugging at my coat. A couple of tall metal cabinets hummed to themselves, and rain-dark stains spread toward the drains. There was nothing else except pigeons, a musty smell, and the unmistakable sense that this wasn’t a place people were supposed to linger.

“I love it up here,” Owen said, striding across the space as if it were his domain.

You would hovered on my tongue, but I held it back.

“Sometimes I come up here just to think.”

Owen mentioning thinking had me attempting to tune into his thoughts again. He’d blocked me so far. This time was no exception.

Feeling the intrusion, Owen tutted. “That’s not very friendly.” He sat on a concrete block and patted the space beside him.

I stayed standing, keeping my distance. “You’ve been trying to read me, too.”

“And you’ve blocked me. Which, I guess, leaves us with no choice but to do this the old-fashioned way. Talk to each other and hope we’re both being honest.”

“I have no reason to lie,” I said.

Owen nodded. “Turn out your pockets.”

“I already told you I’m not recording you.”

“We’re establishing a trust baseline.”

I emptied my coat pockets, lining car keys, a half-empty pack of chewing gum, and a few stray coins that amounted to less than three pounds up on the concrete block.

“Trouser pockets,” Owen demanded.

“There’s nothing in them.”

He continued to stare. With a sigh, I turned them inside out, letting him inspect them before righting them again. “Now you. It works both ways.”