Ignited by Lily Cahill Page B

speak, now and again. Their biggest crime was being a family of immigrants in a small town.
    Years of experience had taught Henry there was no point in arguing. If he spoke up, she’d shut him down. If he made good points, she’d ignore them. It was just an exercise in exhaustion, and tonight, Henry did not have the will to fight it.
    It could have been worse, he told himself, thinking of Ruth. His mother had never hit him, or anything even close. He’d never gone without something he physically needed. His grandfather had always given him ample attention. Compared to some, he’d had a charmed life.
    It was possible to live without a mother’s love.
    It could be much worse. His blood boiled, thinking about the red hand print that had stood out on Ruth’s sweet face. No, he had nothing to complain about. Something burned in him as he remembered the way her father had dragged her out by the arm, the look of pain and distress on her face.
    He still hadn’t seen her. Was she all right? Did she need help?
    Henry resolved to find out the answers to those questions.
    His mother didn’t seem to notice his struggle, as she went right on speaking to her father as if Henry had never added to the conversation.
    “Dad, don’t you do the follow-ups with these patients? Do you have any idea what is happening with them, and why the fog created such a reaction?”
    Henry stared at his grandfather expectantly. Was he going to mention the mysterious markings Henry had seen on the blood test results—the BBC , whatever it was?
    “No, we’ve no idea,” Dr. Pinkerton said, sighing. “There’s nothing strange happening, that we can see. At this point, we don’t even really know if the fog is to blame, although it still does seem like the most likely cause.”
    Nothing strange? That was impossible. The BBC result was only on the records of those who had been the most dangerously ill—the people who were now exhibiting powers. His grandfather had to know something about it, otherwise how would he have known to look for such a result in the first place?
    What was going on?
    He couldn’t ask here. His mother would either turn the conversation away from him, or his grandfather would refuse to answer. Either way, nothing productive would happen.
    “I think I ought to get going,” Henry said. “I feel a bit of a headache coming on.”
    Dr. Pinkerton’s weathered face pinched into a frown. Over the years, the lines there had deepened, and his hair had gone from dark brown to a snowy white. But to Henry, he still looked just the same as he always had. It was strange to see a frown on a mouth so used to smiling.
    “Would you like a ride home?”
    “But Dad, I haven’t seen you since last week,” Louise broke in. She didn’t even turn to look at Henry. He hadn’t really expected her to.
    “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll walk home and give you two some time to catch up, okay?”
    Still frowning, Dr. Pinkerton nodded. “If you’re sure.”
    “Good-bye, Henry,” his mother said, voice hurried in a way that implied she hoped he would match its pace.
    “Goodnight,” Henry said. He backed out of the room and went through the front door out into the cool night air. He took a deep breath and filled his lungs, letting it out slowly. Walking alone at night always cleared his head, helped him to sort out his problems. As Henry’s best shoes crunched along the gravel on the shoulder of the road, it was clear what he needed to do.
    He needed to figure out what was happening with the blood test results. The solution to that was easy enough: ask. Offer to help. Get involved. Maybe if he showed initiative, his grandfather would welcome him on to the project.
    But more importantly, he needed to make sure Ruth Baker was okay. He knew his conversation with her had caused the incident he’d witnessed. He owed her an apology … and his help.
    And if he just happened to think she was rather pretty and couldn’t stop picturing the way her