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but peanut butter sandwiches. I factored in the cost of a hotel room for a few nights. Maybe three weeks. It could work. Malik was watching me.
    “When can I start?”

Chapter Three
    I stayed until opening time and several hours afterward, shadowing Malik. It was a weeknight, so it wasn’t busy, and Malik taught me a handful of simple drink recipes as he took orders. He sent me home at midnight, with the promise I could start in earnest tomorrow afternoon.
    The streets around my bus stop were busy enough, but as I got closer to my soon-to-be-ex-apartment, they grew more and more deserted. It hadn’t used to be this way, but the new developments had chased out most of the local bars. The empty construction sites looked like the shells of cities abandoned after a bombing, ragged with steel scaffolding and holes in the earth. My fiddle case felt conspicuous in my hand. I sped up.
    If I still had my powers, I would mentally scan the area for anyone with suspicious intentions. And if anyone tried to attack me, I would put the fear of the devil in them. Hell, my brother once scared a would-be mugger so thoroughly with a floating garbage can, the guy turned tail and ran smack into a parked van. Knocked himself right out. Without my powers, I felt helpless.
    My building came into view, and I relaxed. Almost there. I jogged across the street, almost tripping over the curb in my hurry to get inside, and froze. There was a man standing in front of my door. Wearing a full-face ski mask. Pointing a gun at me.
    “Gimme your purse.”
    I dropped it right where I stood. The man advanced on me, gun trained on my chest, I put my hands up and tried to back away, but came up hard against the construction barrier cordoning off the intersection.
    “I said gimme your purse!” His voice was shaking. He gestured at me with the gun.
    In these situations, people always told you to hand over whatever the man with the gun wanted. And I would’ve. I wanted to. But my muscles weren’t responding to my brain. I stood there, frozen on the pavement, and the man in the ski mask flung his hand toward me and delivered a telekinetic jab to my gut.
    A converter.
    I doubled over, wheezing, and he looked at me with panic in his eyes. He hadn’t meant to reveal himself. “Come on, you stupid bitch!” He backhanded me across the face, and I staggered sideways. Then his hand was on my neck.
    That same tingling feeling I’d felt at Simon’s bloomed over my skin. I raised my arms up and tried to shove him away, but he held on. He wasn’t exactly choking me, but that didn’t make me any less panicked. I raked his hands with my fingernails, feeling his skin tear, and an inexplicable rush of energy surged through me.
    The man shrieked and released me, staring at his hand. It had gone bright red with blisters.
    “Oh my God!” I stepped forward in unthinking horror, and he fell on his ass on the concrete. “Are you okay?” I asked stupidly.
    “What the fuck!” He scrabbled away from me like a crab, screaming, and I realized I was advancing on him. While I was trying to figure out whether I should run or call the police, he got to his feet and took off running with my purse.
    “Hey! Give that back!”
    The only sound was his footsteps on the empty street as he rounded the corner and disappeared behind the one-hour dry cleaners.
    I leaned heavily against the plate glass window of the Center. He’d taken my purse, including my wallet and my keys. I was stuck outside in the middle of the night in a thin jacket and uncomfortable shoes, and I felt as though I was about to pass out from shock and adrenaline
.
    My cell phone, thank God, had been in my back pocket instead of my purse. I called Malik. It went straight to voicemail, and I called again. Still nothing. He was probably listening to his headphones while he cleaned up the bar. Maybe he was already asleep. I banged my head against the glass door, wishing I was still telekinetic so I could just pick the