"And she overheard?"

"She was supposed to. That was part of the brainwashing. To her face, they were loving and kind, shielding her from the awful truth. But they found ways to let her know her mother didn't want her. It… did things to her. Again, not an excuse. Mitigating circumstances."

"Did her mother sell her?"

He shook his head. "She brought Adele to the kumpania. She'd heard about them and followed the trail through her clairvoyant contacts. She thought they could both live with the kumpania. But her mother was a pale 'cido – a clairvoyant by blood only, no powers. To the kumpania, that made her a burden. A liability even."

"So they killed her."

He nodded.

"Does Adele know?"

"I doubt it. She thinks the big secret is that she was sold, not abandoned. Growing up, thinking your mother sold – " He shook his head. "Mitigating factors. Karl? That's it up ahead. Slow down so I can get a look, see what's changed."

Hope doubted anything had. The place looked like a commune out of the sixties. For the last ten minutes they'd been driving past large houses on lots of an acre or less. In this part of Southern California, those were considered palatial estates. She could only imagine how much the kumpania property was worth.

A fringe of forest hid the property from the neighbors, though it wasn't anything she'd suspect would offend them – a collection of buildings, neat and pretty, surrounded by flower and vegetable gardens. There was even a small, whitewashed barn with chickens and goats. Picture-perfect commune living. The neighbors probably found it quaint, drove their visitors by for a look, the way Pennsylvanians did with the Amish.

There was a metal gate – painted gleaming white and entwined with vines. From here, it seemed it could be opened by hand. When Hope said as much to Rhys, he nodded. "It's not locked. But there's a camera there, in the birdhouse. And an alarm will sound in the main house when the gate opens."

Hope was about to ask why clairvoyants needed a security camera. Then she answered her own question – their powers fixed on specific people, not locations or objects.

"So we're going in the front door?" she asked.

"I want to make this visit as civil as possible. I'm here to take Adele and tell the kumpania about her and the Cabal. That's it."

"Warn them and let them run."

"Most of the kumpania is exactly what they purport to be – a peaceful group dedicated to protecting and nurturing clairvoyants."

"And the rest…?"

He adjusted his cap. "Someday I'll deal with that. I've been working on it for thirteen years, and it's not an institution I can dismantle today. For now I need to give them an escape route, so they don't panic. If things go wrong too fast, they have a predetermined course of action to follow, like most cults."

"Waco?"

"Jonestown."

Hope rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. In school, she'd read a reference to Jonestown, and – being fascinated by the macabre – had looked it up. She could still see the photographs, the halls and rooms of corpses, the children, all the dead children. She stared at those kumpania houses now and they didn't look nearly as quaint.

Karl turned into the drive.

"I'll get the gate," Rhys said. "Before I do, though, I need to warn you again. As open and neutral as I try to make this meeting, we're dealing with a lot of tension here and a lot of distrust. Hope, you have that gun I gave you?"

Hope nodded.

"Absolute last resort," Rhys said. "The moment you pull that gun, you've shut down negotiations, and there are more of them – with many more guns. They'll be on edge already, seeing me after all these years. A visit from the grave."

"They thought you were dead?"

He nodded and opened the door.

"That could help," Hope said. "A shock, yes, but a good shock."

"I don't think so." He got out and leaned his head back in. "They're the ones who tried to kill me."

Adele pulled the backpack from its hiding place in her bedroom, where she'd kept it packed since learning she was pregnant. She didn't really believe Rhys was on his way. He wasn't a fool. Maybe he would have come back someday, for his son, but Colm was dead and he'd never known about Thom. Rhys hadn't been part of the kumpania long enough to be trusted with the secret of the seers.

She'd always suspected the kumpania was behind Rhys's supposed death. Earlier, when she said she'd seen him, Niko had admitted it, saying she was old enough to know the truth, how they'd let this durjardo into their midst, given him one of their daughters, a job, a new life. Rhys had repaid them by trying to kidnap Adele and Colm and sell them to the Cabal. He was a monster, and they'd had to kill him.

All Adele remembered was Rhys coming to her late one night, Colm sleeping in his arms, telling her it was time. For weeks he'd promised to get her out and find her grandmama. It had been their secret.

Niko and the other men had caught him and hauled him before the phuri, while Colm and Adele were bundled back to bed. Then Rhys had been gone. The kumpania said he'd been exiled and, a few months later, died in a car accident – a fitting punishment from the gods.

Even when Adele had been old enough to suspect the kumpania had murdered Rhys, she'd cursed him. He'd promised her freedom and he'd failed. He was weak. He hadn't been willing to take chances, to make the bold moves.

Maybe he had planned to sell them to a Cabal. It didn't matter. Whatever happened thirteen years ago, Rhys would be a fool to return. Yet the phuri were convinced he was coming to see Neala now that their son was dead. Sentimental and silly. Why would you want to grieve with the wife who'd tried to kill you?

Unless…

If Rhys had escaped and the kumpania had been convinced he was dead, he couldn't have done it alone. Who would have helped him, if not Neala?

She remembered how Neala had acted when told her husband might still be alive. She'd been quick to protest. Too quick.

Adele straightened, backpack dangling from her arm.

If Neala had rescued Rhys from a death sentence, that would be treason. Prove it, and Adele would be rid of her enemy. She wouldn't need to run.

No, after what Adele had seen in Neala's face, she knew the woman wouldn't rest until Adele paid for Colm's death. Threat of exposure for treason wouldn't stop her. And now if Rhys was coming, if Neala told Rhys she thought Adele was responsible for Colm…

Time for Adele to settle her future as she should have done the moment she'd realized that killing Portia Kane hadn't solved her problem. Get out, contact Irving Nast and finish the negotiations. Don't let him know she was panicked. Use his greed to cut a fast deal.

The kumpania wouldn't come after her right away. They'd be too busy grieving for Colm and worrying about Rhys. They'd presume, in her own grief, she'd run. By the time they started their search, she'd be safely with the Cabal.

She heard Hugh shout outside. A car door slammed. She raced to the window.

It was Rhys. Worse, he'd brought Robyn Peltier's friends.

All three had their hands up – Rhys and the young woman holding theirs high, the dark-haired man's at chest level, a halfhearted effort as he surveyed his surroundings.

Rhys was talking. Adele cracked open the window. Someone answered – Bernard, she thought, but couldn't be sure. Hugh and whoever was with him were on the front porch, out of her sight line.

"Who're they?" Bernard demanded, turning to Rhys.

"Delegates from the interracial council."

The council? No way. Rhys was bluffing, and she had to run down there and warn -

How? The kumpania knew nothing about Robyn Peltier. Explaining that these were Robyn's friends would do no good.