Ghostlight Read Free Page B

“Do you think I enjoy being reminded that Thorne Blackburn is my father? Do you think it makes me happy? ”
    â€œWell it could be worse; he could still be among us. As it is, he’s strictly my department. Lighten up, Truth—it isn’t like Thorne’s Jack the Ripper or anything. Professor MacLaren thinks he’s a pretty interesting figure, actually, worth studying. Maybe you ought to consider—”
    Truth felt unreasonably betrayed. Although most of the people at the Institute knew she was Thorne Blackburn’s daughter—his bastard daughter, in fact—anyone she knew at all well knew better than to bring it up. Certainly Dylan did. Or should.
    â€œWell, I don’t have your sainted Professor MacLaren’s tolerance for cheats and monsters!” she interrupted hotly. “Maybe you ought to consider people’s feelings before marching in with your fund of good advice!”
    Dylan’s easy smile faded as he studied her face. “I didn’t mean …” he began.
    â€œYou never mean anything!” Truth shot back viciously, conscious only of a desire to strike back at someone, anyone. “You’re just some kind of freelance superhero, playing ghost-breaker and not caring what you do so long as it gives you a dramatic exit line and a cheap laugh. Well, I’m not laughing.” She closed her hands into painful fists, willing herself not to cry.
    â€œYou’re going to get awfully lonely up there on your pedestal,” Dylan said softly. Before she could think of
another thing to say he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him.
    He killed my mother, he killed my mother, he killed my mother—
    Truth sat at her desk, her eyes tightly shut against the tears she would not permit—because they were useless, because they were childish, because they would change nothing at all. Why didn’t anyone understand what Thorne had done to her? He’d taken everything, everything … .
    She hadn’t expected Dylan of all people to take Thorne’s part. She should have, Truth told herself. He was obviously another Thorne fan—and why not? They were two of a kind.
    But even as upset as she was, Truth knew that wasn’t fair. Dylan was just … too happy, Truth finished lamely. Dylan Palmer did not seem to ever have internalized the knowledge that life was a horrible business filled with nasty surprises, in which the best you could hope for was not to be hurt too badly.
    But how could he possibly take Thorne Blackburn at face value? The man—Thorne—was a self-confessed fraud!
    Truth managed a grimace of wry humor; honestly, sometimes psychic researchers were the most gullible people on earth. Every event was genuine until proven otherwise; from crop circles to Uri Geller, people like Dylan approached them with boundless credulity.
    She drew a quavering breath, slowly regaining her self-control. It was just as well they did, she supposed, or else the disenchantment of discovering only fakes and coincidences year after year might be too hard to bear. She shook her head. Dylan had been a little out of line, but his bad manners hadn’t warranted the response he’d gotten from her. She’d have to apologize.
    I need a vacation. As her mind formed the words, Truth realized how tired she was. She’d spent the summer
shepherding her project through to completion on top of her regular workload—why shouldn’t she get away from Taghkanic while the first rush of fall term was going on? She could come back when it was quiet—well, as quiet as it ever got, anyway.
    The phone rang.
    Truth stared at it with guilty fascination. It was probably Dylan, phoning from his office to finish telling her off. But when she looked down at the phone, she realized that it was one of the outside lines that was ringing. She picked up the phone.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œTruth?”
    â€œAunt Caroline?”
    Truth