Free Earthquake by Unknown Page B

have any of my hang-ups. The candle last night and breakfast this morning were just the start of his creations. Since then, he’s made a garbage can, a shoe rack, an entirely new
wall
to set the kitchenette off from the rest of the room, and a full set of some kind of expensive soap plus cologne and deodorant. And he’s done so completely casually. Like it’s his right and he’s been missing out on it for the last eighteen years. Like he has to make up for lost time.
    “So, do you think we’re supposed to simply wait here until they come fetch us?” Logan asks.
    Fetch?
He speaks just a little differently now. I think it’s a hybrid of modern Logan and his past selves. Rather like his clothes. Which he also made. He’s wearing cargo pants and a T-shirt, but those are definitely Quinn’s comfy riding boots peeping out from beneath, and he just pulled out a gold
pocket watch
to check the time.
    And his hair is longer. Not as long as when he was Quinn, but not the short—probably mother-mandated—cut he was sporting before. He has taken to his abilities so easily. Easier than I did.
    Easier than I
do
.
    I’m still wearing my jeans from yesterday. New underwear was a must, and my shirt was seriously sweaty, so I replaced that too, but it just feels weird.
    Elizabeth—my therapist in Portsmouth—did say my memory process would be more difficult. I was worried it would be painful for Logan too, but it didn’t seem to be at all. Watching him awaken was incredible! I could
see
the changes—could see in his eyes how much information was suddenly inside his brain! But it didn’t hurt him. I still cringe at the memory of how agonizing my own awakening was.
    I guess that’s not the only difference though. Maybe getting used to my powers is one of the side effects. Thinking of
how
to use them.
    Like those doctors. Seriously, wow.
    “Yeah, I guess we have to wait,” I finally answer, folding my arms over my chest like I’m cold. “I don’t think I have to tell you that I don’t like being here.”
    “I know,” Logan says softly. “But it’s better than being in Reduciata custody.”
    “Is it?” I ask. I don’t feel like we have enough information to judge.
    “Slightly. I guess it’s the lesser of the two evils.”
    I open my mouth to say something like, “Cheerful,” when a pounding on the door interrupts me. We share a long look and then go together to the door and pull it open.
    “Morning!” An excited and overly loud voice echoes in our room, shattering my momentary relaxed state. A woman, probably somewhere in her twenties, is holding a tray of something—food, I assume—and she shoves her way through the doorway and sets it on the floor. “I saw this by the door and figured they just left it there once the lights went out. Gave me an excuse to come in and say hi!”
    I’ve hardly taken a breath when she straightens and is suddenly standing with her nose about two inches from mine. I stagger and almost fall getting away from her, but Logan manages to wrap a hand around my upper arm and hold me steady.
    “Are you
her
?” the woman asks, her eyes childishly wide. To my horror she lifts the hair on the right side of my head to expose my scar, her fingers feeling as hot as fire as they brush across the sensitive skin. I clamp my hand down over my scalp and jerk my body away, but I’m too late. Gods, I wish my hair were longer.
    “You are!” she says, letting loose a high-pitched squeal again, and all I can think is that I want to get away from this person no matter what it takes. “Everyone here has been hoping we would find you,” the woman continues, her almost black eyes dark and wide, reminding me very much of Bambi. “Welcome. If there’s ever anything you need . . . oh, look at me, offering my services to someone like
you
,” she says with a laugh, her hands gesturing at me from head to toe as though I were some physical specimen on auction.
    “I’m sorry, do I know—”
    But