Cold Kiss

more insane.
    “I love Wren,” Danny repeats, but this time he sounds as if he needs to be convinced. He looks at me, dark eyes huge and flat, and then at Gabriel, and his brow pulls up into a frown. “Wren?”
    “Did you tell him about the comic strip?” I say quickly.
    It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and something he loves, but he’s not going to be distracted now. He shifts on the sofa, grabbing my hand again, and I wince at the strength of his grip.
    “Wren?”
    The unspoken question is clear—who is this guy? Danny was never the jealous type, not that he had any reason to be, but this isn’t really Danny, not anymore. And the part of the boy I loved that’s still in there is confused and betrayed and horrified already.
    Gabriel is still, tense, and I can’t tell if he’s ready to bolt or jump at Danny. I don’t want either to happen, so instead I carefully tug at Danny’s hand, pulling him to his feet as I stand up.
    “Why don’t we go in the bedroom and talk alone?” My heart stutters awkwardly in my chest, but only because I’m planning to do all the talking, and I’m already scrambling for the right words.
    For a moment, he doesn’t move, and his gaze is trained on Gabriel. It’s as if he just realized the kid talking to him all this time must have some connection to me, and the expression on his face is beginning to frighten me. “Danny.” I concentrate, throwing a little of my power behind the word, and it hums in the silence, a vibrating echo, until he swings his eyes toward me. His face softens, just enough, and I pull him into Gabriel’s bedroom while he’s cooperative.
    It’s stupid, but my first thought when I shut the door behind us is that I’m seeing Gabriel’s room for the first time without Gabriel. With, in fact, another boy. A boy I still love.
    Rooms are important, I think—or maybe I’m just a snoop. But they’ve always fascinated me, the things you see in someone’s bedroom that you might not have expected. The huge poster of a shirtless Taylor Lautner in Darcia’s bedroom, for instance. The book on financial freedom for women beside Aunt Mari’s bed.
    But there’s no time to think about the lack of things in Gabriel’s room, which is the most startling aspect of it. Instead of a secret teddy bear or, like, appalling boy band CDs, there’s almost nothing but his clothes, a dresser, and his bed.
    And the bed is where Danny pulls me right away, sitting down abruptly and pulling me after him. I don’t try to wrestle away—my power was always stronger when we were touching. I think back then it was just love, sheer happiness bubbling out, the same way my power pushes restlessly at me when I’m angry or upset.
    Now, who knows? I’m feeling all of those things anyway.
    “Wren, I want—”
    I cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips. “Shhh.”
    He blinks once, waiting, and I gather everything inside me, sweeping it all into my center where I can feel it grow into a deep pulse of power. Sleep, I think, focusing the unspoken word at him. Sleep easy. I’ll wake you. Sleep until then. Sleep easy.
    I’ve never done anything like this before, not without speaking aloud, but it seems to work. After a moment, he blinks again, sleepy-eyed now, and his arms begin to relax. In another minute he’s slumping, and I catch him before he falls like a mannequin onto the bed.
    Once he’s down, he doesn’t move, even when I slide carefully off the mattress. I know he doesn’t feel the cold, that he’s not even really asleep, but I can’t help myself—I glance around until I find a big bath sheet on the floor that I can gently drape over him before I leave.
    Gabriel walks out of the kitchen when I shut the door to his bedroom.
    “Okay?”
    I nod, even though it’s really not.
    “You look like you’ve been awake for about a month,” he says, and brushes hair off my forehead.
    “I hope you don’t say that to all the girls,” I say a little weakly, but I manage a smile. He doesn’t look much better, and when I glance at the clock it’s only six. I have no idea where to go, what to do, and all I can think of is passing out for the next week or so, and hoping to wake up and discover it was all a really bad dream.
    “I made tea,” Gabriel says, and walks back to the kitchen to get a mug. It’s still steaming, and I carry it into the living room. It’s dark already, and without the lights on the room feels like a hiding place, safe and quiet