DARKEST POWERS PDF

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The Darkest Powers Trilogy 03 The Reckoning. Read more · The Awakening Darkest Powers, Book 2 · Read more · The Awakening Darkest Powers, Book 2. The Darkest Powers Trilogy 02 The Awakening. Read more · The Reckoning Darkest Powers, Book 3 · Read more · The Reckoning Darkest Powers, Book 3. The Summoning. Darkest Powers (Series). Book 1. Kelley Armstrong Author Cassandra Morris Narrator (). cover image of The Summoning.


Darkest Powers Pdf

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Book 1 and Download The Summoning Darkest Powers Book 1 book full in PDF. .. Powers. Trilogy. Author: Kelley Armstrong. erothbridunin.tk | De darkest powers. the summoning darkest powers 1 kelley armstrong - the summoning darkest powers pdf best of all, if after reading an e-book, you download a paper version of the. 2 Kelley Armstrong [PDF] [EPUB] The Darkest Powers is a series of paranormal novels by Kelley. Armstrong. The series revolves around The.

She'd like her hard-working father to pay more attention to her. As much as she likes her Aunt Lauren, she misses her mother who died when Chloe was very young. Chloe wants to be a film director and she's enrolled at an arts school and spends her days happily making movies in her head.

But when she starts seeing ghosts, Chloe's life de-rails. These ghosts don't hover past; they demand her attention. And when she eventually breaks down and causes a scene at school, she's sent off to Lyle House, a home for disturbed adolescents. To her shock, Chloe is diagnosed as schizophrenic. She's not so sure.

After all, these ghosts seem so real. And when fellow patients Simon and Liz start to show similarly unbelievable abilities, Chloe finds herself in a situation beyond her control in more ways than one.

The Summoning is the first in a planned trilogy for teenagers, but it is set, I think, in the same fantasyverse as Armstrong's highly successful adult series Women of the Otherworld.

It features a range of supernatural races living in contemporary North America and the lead character in each volume is female. The books are light, but wonderfully imagined and have pacy, adventure plots with a healthy dollop of otherworldly sex - always fascinating.

Take away the sex, and you can see the makings of a rather spiffing spin off series for children in a post Buffy world. So the potential is great. I'm not sure, though, that it was altogether successful. Armstrong has an easy, relaxed style, but writes a super fight or chase scene. She's at her best in the thick of the action. She also creates sympathetic and interesting characters with a fully-fleshed and credible backstory. We see this in The Summoning but it does take a while to get there.

We're over half-way through its four hundred pages before the supernatural element is actually confirmed and even then there are too many hints, too many fleeting snatches. Right through it. That awful melted face was gone, and he was normal again. Now will you stop screaming and talk to -" I darted to the window and started looking for a way to open it, Create PDF files without this message by downloading novaPDF printer http: At least thirty feet.

It was the vice principal, Ms. Waugh, with my math teacher, Mr. Travis, and a music teacher whose name I couldn't remember.

Seeing me at the window, Ms. Waugh threw out her arms, blocking the two men. Travis shot past Ms. Waugh and tackled me. As we hit the floor, the air flew out of my lungs.

Scrambling off, he accidentally kneed me in the stomach. I fell back, doubled over, wheezing. I opened my eyes to see the custodian standing over me. I screamed and tried to get up, but Mr. Travis and the music teacher held me down while Ms. Waugh babbled into a cell phone. The custodian leaned through Mr. Can't get away. They only held me tighter. I vaguely heard Ms. Waugh calling that help was on the way. The custodian pushed his face into mine and it changed to that horrible melted mask, so close I was staring into his one bulging eye, almost out of its socket.

I chomped down on my tongue so I wouldn't scream. Blood filled my mouth. The more I fought, the harder the teachers restrained me, twisting my arms, pain stabbing through me. Get him away from me. Get him away! I continued to struggle, to argue, but they held me still as the burned man taunted me.

Finally, two men in uniforms hurried through the door. One helped the teachers restrain me while the other moved behind, out of my sight. Fingers tightened on my forearm.

Then a needle prick. Ice slid through my veins. The room started to sway. The custodian faded, blinking in and out. Don't you understand? She can hear me. I only want to. It rose, swaying. I'd rode one once, with my mom, at the zoo, and my mind slipped back there, Mom's arms around me, her laughter - The custodian's howl of rage sliced through my memory. I need her! The elephant swaying. Mom laughing. That was the best explanation for what I was hearing. I could also chalk it up to delusional, but I preferred dreaming.

Aunt Lauren sat beside me, holding my hand. My eyes went to the nurses gliding past in the corridor. She followed my gaze, rose, and shut the door. Through a glaze of tears, I watched her and pictured Mom instead.

Something inside me crumpled, and I was six years old, huddled on the bed, crying for my mother. I rubbed my hands over the covers, stiff and scratchy, catching at Create PDF files without this message by downloading novaPDF printer http: The room was so hot every breath made my parched throat tighten. Aunt Lauren handed me my water, and I wrapped my hands around the cool glass.

The water had a metallic taste, but I gulped it down. The walls seemed to suck the words from my mouth, like a sound stage, absorbing them and leaving only dead air. And somehow, this seems harder. This is the only way we're going to get you there, hon. She'd wanted to raise me after my mom passed away, spare me a life of housekeepers and empty apartments. She'd never forgiven my father for refusing.

Just like she'd never forgiven him for that night my mother died. It didn't matter that they'd been sideswiped in a hit-and-run -he'd been driving, so she held him responsible. Unless you spend two weeks undergoing evaluation in a group home, it will go on your permanent record. You mean violence? B-b-but I didn't -" "I know you didn't. But to them, it's simple.

You struggled with a teacher. You need help. The second time, my father was in the doorway, watching me. The third, he was sitting beside my bed. Seeing my eyes open, he reached over and awkwardly patted my hand. His eyes were bleary, the wrinkles around his mouth deeper than I remembered. He'd been up all night, flying back from Berlin.

I don't think Dad ever wanted kids. But he'd never tell me that, even in anger. Whatever Aunt Lauren thinks of him, he does his best. He just doesn't seem to know what to make of me. I'm like a puppy left to him by someone he loved very much, and he struggles to do right by it even if he isn't much of a dog person.

I braced myself. When you run screaming through the school halls after dying your hair in the girls' bathroom, the first thing people say -well, after they get past the screaming- through-the-halls part-is "you were doing what? Not for girls like me. And bright red streaks? While skipping class? It screams mental breakdown. I nodded. He paused, then let out a strained chuckle. If you like it, that's what counts. She's found one she thinks will be okay.

Small, private. Can't say I'm thrilled with the idea, but it's only for a couple of weeks. They had me talk to a bunch of doctors and they ran some tests, and I could tell they had a good idea what was wrong and just wouldn't say it.

That meant it was bad. This wasn't the first time I'd seen people who weren't really there. That's what Aunt Lauren had wanted to talk to me about after school. When I'd mentioned the dream, she'd remembered how I used to talk about people in our old basement. My parents figured it was my creative version of make-believe friends, inventing a whole cast of characters.

Then those friends started terrifying me, so much that we'd moved. Even after that, I'd sometimes "seen" people, so my mom bought me my ruby necklace and said it would protect me. Dad said it was all about psychology.

I'd believed it worked, so it had. But now, it was happening again. And this time, no one was chalking it up to an overactive imagination. They were sending me to a home for crazy kids. They thought I was crazy. I wasn't. I was fifteen and had finally gotten my period and that had to count for something. It couldn't just be coincidence that I'd started seeing things the same day. All those stockpiled hormones had exploded and my brain misfired, plucking images from forgotten movies and tricking me into thinking they were real.

If I was crazy, I'd be doing more than seeing and hearing people who weren't there. Was I? The more I thought about it, the more I wasn't sure. I felt normal. I couldn't remember doing anything weird.

Except for dying my hair in the bathroom. And skipping class. And breaking into the napkin dispenser. And fighting with a teacher. That last one didn't count. I'd been freaked out from seeing that burned guy and I'd been struggling to get away from him, not trying to hurt anyone. Before that, I'd been fine. My friends had thought I was fine. Petrie thought I was fine when he put me on the director short list. Nate Bozian obviously thought I was fine.

You wouldn't be happy that a crazy girl was going to a dance. He had been happy, hadn't he? When I thought back, it all seemed fuzzy, like some distant memory that maybe I only dreamed. What if none of that happened? I'd wanted the director spot. I'd wanted Nate to be interested in me.

Maybe I'd imagined it all. Hallucinated it, like the boy on the street and the crying girl and the burned janitor.

If I was crazy, would I know it? That's what being crazy was, wasn't it? You thought you were fine. Everyone else knew better. Maybe I was crazy. They'd given me some medicine before I left the hospital and it made me sleepy. Our arrival was a montage of still shots and clips. A huge white Victorian house perched on an oversized lot.

Yellow trim. A swing on the wraparound porch. Two women. The first, gray haired and wide hipped, coming forward to greet me. Walking up a long narrow flight of stairs. The older woman -a nurse, who introduced herself as Mrs. Talbotchirping a guided tour that my fuzzy brain couldn't follow. A bedroom, white and yellow, decorated with daisies, smelling of hair gel.

On the far side of the room, a twin bed with a quilt yanked over the bunched-up sheets. The walls over the bed decorated with pages ripped from teen magazines. The dresser covered with makeup tubes and bottles.

Only the tiny desk bare. My side of the room was a sterile mirror image -same bed, same dresser, same tiny desk, all wiped clean of personality. Time for Dad and Aunt Lauren to go. Talbot explained I wouldn't see them for a couple of days because I needed time to "acclimate" to my new "environment. Hugging Aunt Lauren. Pretending I didn't see the tears in her eyes. An awkward embrace from Dad.

He mumbled that he'd stay in town, and he would come to visit as soon as they let him. Then he pressed a roll of twenties into my hand as he kissed the top of my head. Talbot telling me they'd put my things away, since I was probably tired. Just crawl into bed. The blind closing.

Room going dark. Falling back to sleep.

My father's voice waking me. Room completely dark now, black outside. Dad silhouetted in the doorway.

The younger nurse --Miss Van Dop-behind him, face set in disapproval. My father moving to my bedside and pressing something soft into my arms. I wasn't sure you'd sleep without him. I'd outgrown him.

But I took him and buried my nose in his ratty fake fur that smelled of home. I looked over but saw only a form under the quilt. As I turned onto my back, hot tears slid down my cheeks. Not homesickness. I'd scared Aunt Lauren and Dad. They'd had to scramble to figure out what to do with me.

What was wrong with me. How to fix it. And school. My cheeks burned hotter than my tears. How many kids had heard me screaming? Peeked in that classroom while I'd been fighting the teachers and babbling about being chased by melted custodians. Seen me being taken away strapped to a stretcher. Anyone who'd missed the drama would have heard about it. Everyone would know that Chloe Saunders had lost it.

That she was nuts, crazy, locked up with the rest of the loonies. Even if they let me return to school, I didn't think I'd ever have the guts to go back. A blond girl flipped through clothes that I was pretty sure were mine, hung up yesterday by Mrs. She turned and smiled. Good labels. Like Lizzie McGuire. If she was at Lyle House, there was something wrong with her. Some "mental condition. Her long hair was brushed into a gleaming ponytail. She wore Guess jeans and a Gap T-shirt.

If I didn't know better, I'd think I'd woken up in a boarding school. She kept talking. Maybe that was a sign. She seemed harmless enough, though. She'd have to be, wouldn't she? They wouldn't put anyone dangerous in here. Or really crazy. Oh no, Chloe. They don't put any really crazy people in here. Just the ones who hear voices and see burned-up janitors and fight with teachers.

My stomach started to ache. The guys eat lunch and dinner with us, but they have breakfast later, so we get some privacy. There's not even a joining door. Like we'd sneak over there at night if we could. And I might, if there was someone worth sneaking over for. Tori has dibs on Simon. He's cute but way too young for me. He's thirteen. Almost fourteen, I think. Um, anyway, Peter won't be around much longer. I heard he's going home soon.

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What grade? I'm in tenth, like Simon, Derek, and Rae. I think Simon and Rae are still fifteen, though. And did I say I love your hair? I wanted to do that, with blue streaks, but my mom said. There was Dr. Gill, the psychologist, but she only came for her office hours, as did the tutor, Ms.

I'd met two of the three nurses. Talbot -the older woman, whom Liz proclaimed "really nice," and the younger Miss Van Dop, who was, she whispered, "not so nice. Abdo, worked weekends, giving the others each a day off. They lived in and looked after us.

They sounded more like the housemothers I'd heard boarding school kids talk about, but Liz called them nurses. At the bottom of the stairs, the overpowering stink of lemon cleaner hit me. It smelled like Gran's house. Even Dad never seemed comfortable in his mother's immaculate house, under the glare that said you'd better not expect any birthday money if you spilled your soda on the white Create PDF files without this message by downloading novaPDF printer http: One look in this living room, though, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

It was as clean as Gran's - the carpet spotless, the wood gleaming-but it had a worn, comfortable look that invited you to curl up on the sofa. It was also painted the favored color for Lyle House -a pale yellow this time.

Pillows covered the dark blue sofa and two rocking chairs. An old grandfather clock ticked in the corner. Every end table held a vase of daisies or daffodils. Bright and cheerful. Too bright and cheerful, really, like this bed- and-breakfast near Syracuse where Aunt Lauren and I stayed last fall-so desperate to be homey that it seemed more a stage set than someone's house. No different from this, I guess -a business eager to convince you it wasn't a business, to make you feel at home.

To make you forget you were in a place for crazy kids. Liz stopped me outside the dining room so we could peek in. On one side of the table sat a tall girl with short dark hair. Victoria, but she likes Tori. With an i. She's my best friend. She gets moody, and I've heard that's why she's here, but I think she's fine. She has this 'thing' for fire. Thing for fire? Did that mean she set fires? I thought this place was supposed to be safe.

What about the boys? Were any of them violent? I rubbed my stomach. I glanced up to see Mrs. Talbot coming through what I guessed was the kitchen door, milk pitcher in hand. She smiled at me. Let me introduce you. It was creepy. No one said a word, just held out their hands, gulped their pill down with water, and returned to their conversations.

When I stared at mine, Miss Van Dop said the doctor would explain everything later, but for now, I should just take it. So I did.

After we'd eaten, we trooped upstairs to dress. Rae was in the lead, followed by Liz and Tori. Then me.

Rae's shoulders tightened and she didn't turn. It's your turn, and I want to wear that new shirt my mom bought me. Got that part. So wear it. It's brand-new. That's gross. Tori shot a scowl over her shoulder, as if this were my fault. As she turned, something flashed between us, and I stumbled back a step, grabbing the railing.

Her scowl twisted. Liz came down the two steps between us and laid her fingers on my arm. You're all white. My brother stutters, too. Lots of little kids do it. Not teenagers. Talbot peered around the hall doorway below.

Someone could get hurt. Class is in ten minutes. Chloe, we're still waiting for notes from your teachers, so you won't be in class today. When you're dressed, we'll discuss your schedule. We rose at 7: Ate, showered, dressed, and were in class by 9: Break at Back to class. Break for lunch at noon. Back to class from 1: At some point during classes -the timing would vary-we'd have our individual hour-long therapy session with Dr.

Gill; my first would be after lunch today. From 4: In addition to classes and therapy, we had chores. A lot of chores from the looks of the list. These had to be done during our free time before and after dinner. Plus we had to squeeze in thirty minutes of physical activity every day.

Then after a snack, it was off to bed at 9: Nutritious snacks? Therapy sessions?

Chore lists? Mandatory exercises? Nine o'clock bedtime? Boot camp was starting to look good. I didn't belong here. I really didn't. Talbot scurrying off, calling back promises to return with my job list. Oh joy. I sat in the living room trying to think, but the unrelenting cheerfulness was like a bright light shining in my eyes, making it hard to concentrate. A few days of yellow paint and daisies and I'd turn into a happy zombie, like Liz. I felt a pang of shame. Liz had made me feel welcome and been quick to defend me against her friend.

If being cheerful was a mental illness, it wasn't such a bad one to have - certainly better than seeing burned-up people. I rubbed the back of my neck and closed my eyes. Lyle House wasn't so bad, really. Better than padded rooms and endless hallways filled with real zombies, shambling mental patients so doped up they couldn't be bothered to get dressed, much less bathe.

Maybe, in some ways, I'd be happier with ugly couches and white walls and bars on the windows, so there'd be no false promises. Yet just because I couldn't see any bars didn't mean it was as open as it seemed. It couldn't be.

I walked to the front window. Closed, despite the sunny day. There was a hole where there'd probably been a latch for opening it. I looked out. Lots of trees, a quiet street, more older houses on big lots. No electric fences. All very ordinary, but I suspected if I grabbed a chair and smashed the window, an alarm would sound. So where was the alarm? I stepped into the hall, glanced at the front door, and saw it, blinking away. No attempt to hide it. A reminder, I guess. This might look like your house, but don't try walking out the front door.

What about the back? I went into the dining room and looked out the window into a large yard with as many trees as the front. There was a shed, lawn chairs, and gardens. The soccer ball on one wooden chair and the basketball hoop over a cement pad suggested we were allowed out -probably for that "thirty minutes of physical activity. And the six-foot-high fence was a good deterrent.

Her eyes glittered with what looked like amusement, but her face was solemn. I w-was just looking around. Oh, and while I was getting dressed, I noticed I don't have my necklace. It's kind of special. We don't like our girls wearing jewelry. Now, as for looking around She pulled out a dining room chair and motioned for me to sit.

I did. I know. They're bright enough to know that whatever is out there is worse than what's in here. And what's in here isn't so bad. Not Disney World, but not prison either. The only escape attempts we've ever had are from kids trying to sneak out to meet friends. Hardly serious, but parents expect better security from us; and, while we pride ourselves on providing a homelike environment, I think it's important to point out the limits early.

You are allowed out the back only, and there is no gate. Because of the alarm, you must notify us before going out, so we can disable it and, yes, watch you. If you have any questions about what you can and cannot do, come to me. I won't sugarcoat it for you, Chloe.

The Reckoning Darkest Powers, Book 3

I believe honesty is the first step to establishing trust, and trust is critical in a place like this. Six MRS. I didn't dare tell her I'd never peeled one in my life.

After hacking my thumb, I got the hang of it. As I peeled, my mind started to wander. So I called in my best defense: As traumatic experiences went, the last few days were my best film fodder ever. But what genre would it be? Straight horror? Or psychological suspense? Maybe a combination of elements, surprising the viewer with - "Peeling duty already? A guy, in fact, maybe a year older than me, a half foot taller and slender, with high cheekbones and dark blond hair worn in short, messy spikes.

His almond-shaped brown eyes danced with amusement. I jumped back. The carrot leaped from my hands and bounced off his arm. A real arm. Attached to a real guy. Beyond it, Mrs. Talbot was talking to Liz. His smile was friendly, and he was definitely cute, but cute didn't count with a guy who had you cornered in a group home. He backed up to the walk-in pantry, lifted a finger telling me to wait, then disappeared inside.

I could hear him rooting around in the shelves. When I peeked in, he was taking down a box of graham crackers. A kitchen raid? I couldn't help smiling. Guess it didn't matter whether it was a group home or summer camp, guys and their stomachs didn't change. Simon pulled out an unopened sleeve of crackers. Right, bro? The guy standing behind me had to be six feet tall, with shoulders as wide as the door.

Though he was as big as an adult, he'd never be mistaken for one. His face could be used as the "before" picture for acne cream. Dark hair hung in his eyes, lank and dull. When he started to retreat, Simon grabbed the back of his shirt.

Chloe, my brother, Derek. Simon waved him away, then rolled his eyes. Anyway, I was just going to say welcome -" "Simon? I thought I heard you. Her expression flipped from simmering to simpering. Talbot said I could have free time until lunch and directed me to the media room.

If I was hoping for a big-screen TV with surround sound and a top-of-the-line computer, I was out of luck.

Darkest Powers Bonus Pack 2

One flip through the movie collection and I knew I wouldn't be spending much time here. I turned on the computer. It took five minutes to boot up. Windows I spent another five minutes trying to remember how to use Windows.

We had Macs at school and I'd used that as an excuse to finally persuade my dad to download me an Apple laptop -complete with all the upgraded movie editing programs. I searched for a browser. I hoped for Firefox, but wasn't getting anything better than plain old IE. I typed in a URL and held my breath, expecting to get a "cannot connect to the Internet message. Guess we weren't as cut off from the outside world as I'd feared. I flipped through my favorite sites, killing time until I worked up the nerve to check my in-box.

The browser chugged away for a minute, then brought up a "Page cannot be displayed" message. I tried Hotmail.

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Same thing. Talbot walked in. It does more than block some Web sites, I'm afraid. You can send and receive e-mail through our account. You need to use the e-mail program that came with the computer, and get Miss Van Dop to type in the password so you can send it. A pain, I know, but we had a problem last year with a young man accessing sites he shouldn't have and when the board of directors found out. Now, it's time for lunch.

He said hello, asked how things were going, then turned his attention to his PSP as he ate. Like everything else at Lyle House, it was all very normal. Too normal. Every time someone moved, I tensed, waiting for her to start speaking in tongues or screaming about bugs crawling over his plate. No one did. The food was decent enough. A homemade casserole, chock-full of vegetables and meat. Healthy, I was sure, like the milk and whole wheat rolls we had to go with it.

For dessert we'd been promised Jell-O. The sirens and screeching tires from Peter's game provided most of the meal's soundtrack.

Rae was a no-show. Tori and Liz twittered together, too low for me to join in. Derek was too busy inhaling his food to talk. So it was left to Simon to play host.

He asked what part of the city I was from. When I admitted I hadn't been in any neighborhood very long, he said they'd moved around a lot, too -him and Derek. We started comparing worst-move-ever stories, and Tori jumped in with her own tale of moving horror-from her upstairs bedroom to her basement. Simon let her ramble for about two minutes before asking what grade I was in and at what school.

I knew he was just being polite -including the new girl in conversation-but if Tori had been a cartoon character, smoke would have billowed from her ears. I'd met girls like that. Territorial, whether it was about a hairbrush, a best friend, or a boy they had their eye on. Tell me, Chloe. What do you study there? Ghost photography? Ghost writing? She sees dead people.

I -I-I-" "There she goes. See if you can restart her. Derek returned to his lunch. If she does see ghosts, maybe she could help Liz with her, you know, poltergeist. Liz's eyes filled as she screeched back her chair. Tori retreated into stumbling apologies again. Simon grabbed Liz's glass before she knocked it flying.

Peter hunched over his game. Derek took advantage of the chaos to scoop up the last of the casserole. The kitchen door flew open and Mrs. Talbot appeared, but her words were beat back by the cacophony. Rae appeared in the other doorway holding a basket of dirty laundry. I glanced around, and realized with all the commotion no one would notice if I left. Everyone knew. I was a freak. A crazy girl who saw ghosts. I belonged here. Lunch churned in my stomach. I hurried up the stairs, thinking of my bed with its thin mattress that smelled of chemical vanilla, suddenly so inviting.

Pull the blinds down, curl up under the covers with my iPod, and try to forget - "Can I help you, Chloe? My head hurts and-" "Then come and get some Tylenol. I don't have classes, so I thought-" "Come down, Chloe. She waited until I was almost there then said, "At Lyle House, bedrooms are for sleeping. Rae's getting a head start on the laundry before afternoon classes. If you've finished lunch, you can go help her. Instead, I saw gleaming stairs, the passage brightly lit, the walls painted pale green with a flowery border.

For the first time that day, I was glad of the too-bright cheeriness. The laundry room had a tile floor, an old recliner, a washer and dryer, and a bunch of cupboards and shelves. Zero "old basement" creep factor. The washing machine was running, but there was no sign of Rae.

I looked across the room, toward a closed door. As I walked to it, I picked up an acrid smell. If Rae was smoking down here, I wasn't going to be the one to catch her. I turned to go back upstairs, and saw Rae squeezed between two towers of shelves. Her lips formed a silent oath as she shook her hand, putting out a match. I looked for a cigarette. There wasn't one -just the smoldering match. I heard Liz's voice again: She has this "thing" for fire.

My reaction must have shown because Rae jumped forward, getting between me and the door, hands flying up. I wasn't going to do anything. I don't -" She slowed, seeing she had my attention.

They wouldn't let me stay here if I did. I just like fire. But I'll grab an apple before class. I use any excuse to avoid eating with Queen Victoria. You saw what she's like. With me, it's food. If I take a big helping or seconds or dessert, she gets her jabs in. Steer clear of her. She's like these monsters I saw in an old sci-fi film, vampires from space, only they didn't drink blood, they sucked out all your energy. Tobe Hooper. Psychic vampires. I'll have to remember that one.

I bet none of them did either. Maybe mental illness was like stuttering. I'd spent my life trying to convince people that just because I stammered didn't mean there was anything else wrong with me. I just had a problem that I was working hard to overcome.I just had a problem that I was working hard to overcome. As I went after her, adrenaline pumped through me like liquid fire. I'd stumbled into a curtain. No shoes under the divider. A huge white Victorian house perched on an oversized lot.

Finally, Derek scooped me up and loweredme over the side, then let me jump the last few feet to the floor.

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