“Everything will be fine,” Seth told Jenny.
“Everything certainly will not,” Seth's mom said. “I just have no words for what you've done. All that money you took.”
“I needed it,” Seth said.
“Haven't we taught you anything about values?” his mother asked, as she opened the passenger-side door. “About morals?”
“Not really,” Seth said.
Jenny didn't know what to say—it was clear she wasn't welcome here, and she felt like anything she said would only make it worse. So she kept quiet in the back seat and gripped Seth's hand tight as they drove through the community. The homes here looked huge to her, but they were mostly concealed behind stone walls and groves of trees.
They parked in front of a three-story house with little spires and gables, white stonework and blue trim, and lots of windows. Jenny followed them inside. The interior had huge cathedral ceilings, glass walls looking out on the ocean, lots of bright colors , blond wood, comfy overstuffed furniture, and a few indoor trees. It seemed like Seth's parents had taken pains to make this house as different as it could be from the Fallen Oak house. Jenny didn't blame them—even at its best, Barrett House was about as cozy as a Transylvanian mortuary.
They entered a spacious, atrium-like living room with broad skylights, which now showed a few stars instead of the sun.
“Seth, my office,” Seth's dad said, approaching an open-air staircase to the second floor.
“No,” Seth replied.
His dad stopped and looked back at him. “Let's go.”
“This involves everyone,” Seth said. He walked to the wet bar at the corner of the living room. “And it requires drinks.” Seth opened a bottle of Woodford Reserve and splashed it into two glasses. He reached for a bottle of Grey Goose. “Vodka for Mom...”
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Seth's dad asked. His face was glowing red, reminding Jenny of the pan of hot coals. Jenny glanced at Seth's mom, who looked angry, too. For a moment, the four of them stood scattered around the living room, saying nothing.
“Jenny, you want a Grey Goose?” Seth asked.
“Um...If everyone else is...” Jenny looked at Seth's mom, but the woman was ignoring her and staring at Seth. Jenny shrugged, but Seth had already poured her a drink and placed the four glasses on a tray.
His parents stared as he carried them to the center of the room, where a huge loveseat faced a matching sofa. He placed the tray on the coffee table, between two vases of fresh-cut flowers. Then he sat down on the loveseat and sipped his drink.
He looked around the room. “What's everybody waiting for?”
Jenny walked over and sat down beside Seth, but she didn't touch the vodka waiting on the table for her. She would be the last one to drink, if she did. Mrs. Barrett already hated her enough.
Gradually, Seth's parents made their way to the sofa and sat down, sharing worried, puzzled looks with each other.
Seth raised a glass. “To Florida. It might be a cheesy place, but it beats the hell out of Chiapas.”
Nobody joined his toast, but Seth drank as if they had. He set down his glass.
“Okay,” he said. “Mom. Dad. Here's the thing. Jenny and I have, like, powers.”
His parents gave him blank looks.
“What the hell are you talking about?” his dad finally asked.
“Of course, you're not going to believe me,” Seth said. “So, um...Jenny, can you go over to the kitchen and grab, say, a butcher knife? And a towel? Not one of the monogrammed ones, though. Mom just uses those to decorate.”
“Okay...” Jenny walked past a pair of columns and into the brick kitchen, where the tall windows were open to the ocean breeze. She found the block of knives and a dish towel featuring a grinning cartoon duck wearing sunglasses. She had a pretty good idea of what Seth had in mind, and this looked like a towel Mrs. Barrett might not mind losing to bloodstains.
Jenny returned to the living room and set the butcher knife and towel on the coffee table in front of Seth.
“What is this about?” Seth's dad asked.
“I'll have to show you so you'll believe me.” Seth reached out his left hand toward them, turning it back and forth. “This is my real hand. What you're about to see is completely real. There's nothing up my sleeve, obviously, since I'm wearing this cheap tourist T-shirt from Cancun.”
Seth folded the towel and lay his left hand on it. With his right hand, he raised the butcher knife, point down.
“Seth, what are you doing?” his mom asked.
“Just watch.” Seth took a deep breath, then plunged the butcher knife through the center of his hand.
“Seth!” his mom screamed, reaching for him.