Finale

honorable talent to excel at. If I could have any trophy displayed on my dresser, I wouldn’t voluntarily choose one for corrupting people’s minds.
    “Then I guess we’re done here?” I asked.
    “Until tomorrow,” Dante said, his expression still dazed. “Good work, Nora.”
    I jogged the rest of the way home at a normal human pace—an excruciatingly lagging six miles per hour—because the sun had started to rise, and while I didn’t sense any humans
in the vicinity, it didn’t hurt to be prudent. I came out of the woods, crossed the street to the farmhouse, and stopped abruptly at the base of the driveway.
    Marcie Millar’s red Toyota 4Runner was parked directly ahead.
    With an ever-increasing tightening of my stomach, I jogged up the porch. Several moving boxes were stacked by the door. I shoved my way into the house, but before I could get a word out, my mom
jumped up from the kitchen table.
    “There you are!” she exclaimed impatiently. “Where have you been? Marcie and I have spent the past half hour trying to figure out where you could have run off to at this
hour.”
    Marcie sat at
my
kitchen table, hands cupped around a mug of coffee. She gave me an innocent smile.
    “I went jogging,” I said.
    “I can see that,” Mom stated. “I just wish you would have told me. You didn’t even bother to leave a note.”
    “It’s seven in the morning. You’re supposed to be in bed. What is
she
doing here?”
    “I’m right here,” Marcie said sweetly. “You can talk to me.”
    I settled my eyes on her. “Fine. What are you doing here?”
    “I told you. I’m not getting along with my mom. We need some breathing room. For the time being, I think it’s better if I move in with you guys. My mom doesn’t have a
problem with it.” Not looking the least bit disconcerted, she took a sip of coffee.
    “Why would you think that was a good idea, let alone a reasonable one?”
    Marcie rolled her eyes. “
Hello.
We’re family.”
    My jaw fell open, and my eyes immediately cut to my mom. To my disbelief, she didn’t look rattled.
    “Oh, come on, Nora,” she said. “We all knew it, even if no one was willing to say it. Under the circumstances, Hank would want me to take Marcie in with open arms.”
    I was speechless. How could she be kind to Marcie? Could she not remember our history with the Millars?
    This was Hank’s fault, I seethed inwardly. I’d hoped his grip on my mom would end with his death, but every time I tried to talk to her about him, she adopted the same serene
attitude: Hank was coming back to her, she
wanted
him to, and she’d wait stalwartly until he did. Her bizarre behavior was further evidence of my theory: Hank had employed some crazy
devilcraft mind-trick on her before he died. No amount of arguing on my part would penetrate her picture-perfect recollection of one of the vilest men to ever inhabit our planet.
    “Marcie is family, and while the circumstances are a bit sticky, she was right to come to us for help. If you can’t count on family, who can you count on?” Mom went on.
    I was still staring at my mom, frustrated by her sedate attitude, when a second light went on.
Of course.
Hank wasn’t the only one to blame in this charade. How had it taken me
this long to catch on? I swiveled my eyes to Marcie.
    Are you mind-tricking her?
I said accusingly to her mind.
Is that it? I know you’re doing something, because there is no way my mom in her rational mind would let you move in
with us.
    Marcie’s hand flew to her head, and she yelped. “Ow! How did you do that?”
    Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’re a Nephil, remember? You can perform mind-tricks and you can mind-speak. Whatever this little act is? I see right through it. And there
is
no
way you’re moving in.
    Fine,
Marcie fired back.
I know about mind-speak. And I know about mind-tricks. But I’m not using them on your mom. My mom justifies all her crazy behavior by saying my dad
would have wanted it that way too, you know. He probably mind-tricked both our moms before he died. He wouldn’t have wanted our families fighting. Don’t blame me just because I’m
an available target for your anger.
    “Marcie, I’ll have the spare bedroom cleared out for you by the time you get home from school this afternoon,” Mom said, looking daggers at me. “You’ll have to
forgive Nora for being so ungracious. She’s used to being an only child and getting her way. Maybe this new living