Conduit Read Free Page A

her mom’s warnings
and secretly rendezvoused with her aunt after school for cookies and
conversation.
    Aunt Susan explained Emily’s talents to her and told stories
of her own abilities. She knew things Emily couldn’t explain, convincing her
that their gifts were real. Though the tales impressed her, she didn’t want any
part of special talents. She longed to giggle with other girls on the
playground, worry about math tests, and complain about unfair parents.
    Emily’s only problem with being like the other kids her age was
that she, like Aunt Susan, knew things she couldn’t explain. When she touched
Mrs. Wilton’s desk, she knew Ben Saunders stole her plastic apple with the silly
worm coming out of the side. The image of her mom sitting in a bar invaded her
mind whenever her mom came home late at night and told Emily she had worked overtime.
    During the last twenty-two years of living with her gift, of
learning to be around people without allowing their private thoughts to enter
her mind, of expanding and focusing her abilities, not once had Emily’s talents
included automatic writing. The words in front of her now, in the same handwriting
as the message last week, told Emily her talents were leading somewhere new, somewhere
she didn’t want to go.
    The words on the notepad jumped out at her again. Emily
absently reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a black elastic
band. She pulled her honey-colored hair into a loose ponytail, taking a moment
to focus on something other than the writing. She leaned her head against the
cool leather back of her chair and closed her eyes.
    Her talents came with more problems than she liked. Sensing
things she didn’t want and hiding her true self to the world to avoid
humiliation both had their share of stress in her life. But the things she didn’t
understand, the whisperings she couldn’t explain, made her wish for Aunt Susan’s
quiet explanations over a steaming cup of lavender tea. Then there were the words
appearing on her notepad that downright frightened her.
    Emily.
    At the sound of her name, her eyelids lifted. She expected
to see Cassie standing in the doorway again, but the hall leading into her
office appeared empty.
    Emily frowned and glanced around her cramped office. Everything
appeared in its place. Nobody lurked behind the lush houseplant shooting up
from the ceramic planter on the floor. The file cabinets appeared undisturbed. No
shadows crept across the sensible Thomas Kinkade print on the wall to her right.
No reflection jumped out of the decorative mirror on the opposite wall. Nothing
out of the ordinary.
    Nothing except the words on her notepad that were not in her
handwriting.
    She didn’t take coincidence lightly. In her world,
coincidence meant something was out of sorts, but she rose from her chair and
left her office in search of a rational explanation. The hushed voice that
called her name could have been Cassie or Beverly calling from behind a closed
door.
    Emily moved down the hall and through the smoked glass door
to the lobby of Monroe & Reid Investigators. Beverly stuffed a folded
invoice into an envelope and bopped her head to a song on the oldies station. Beverly
smiled at Emily. “I’m almost done with these invoices. Did you have any others
that you need sent out today?”
    “Mrs. Linder needs her final bill, please,” Emily said. She
hesitated and glanced around the lobby. No clients sat on the sofa or in any of
the chairs waiting to see her or Cassie. The magazines were tucked into the
wall rack. The coffee maker dripped out the last bit of a fresh pot for their
early morning clients.
    Beverly had been a wonderful addition to Monroe & Reid
last year, Emily reflected. She kept a tidy lobby and an organized appointment
book, all while doing to-the-penny bookkeeping. She even watched over young
ones without complaint while their parents met with Emily or Cassie. But not
once in her year of employment with the firm had