When the dudes with the black suits whacked me on the head and stuffed me into their souped-up SUV, I panicked. I hadn’t been totally honest with Milo at her concert. Yeah, it was true I couldn’t heal Gabe’s grandma’s arthritis, but I’d left out being mind-jacked by someone with a serious hard-on for charts and numbers. I had a freaky suspicion that the Real Me was some kind of wizard/astrophysicist, because after a couple days of data scrolling through my mind, my superpowers rushed back even stronger. I hadn’t left anything out this time, when I told Milo what happened. Except how easy it was for me to take control of their car. The Harley had been the closest vehicle to me (I knew the exact distance in millimeters) and the easiest to manipulate. It was slower than the SUV that had been spinning at that moment, tires screeching as it turned to come back for me. But I also knew the town grid completely, and I’d been able to clog their fuel injector, which meant that ten minutes after our little chase started, I had lost them.
