Sensing emotions

I wanted to believe her, but the smoky forms kept multiplying. The whole graveyard seemed to have risen—hundreds of souls from unmarked graves, their names forgotten, their identities erased over the centuries. They thought in Dutch, English, French, and Algonquin—a chaotic chorus I couldn’t follow, but the emotions were clear enough. They wanted to tear us apart. They were just waiting for a sign from Peg-Leg Pete. Annabeth straightened. She looked right into the sooty eyes of Peter Stuyvesant. “You will help us,” she commanded. “Follow me.” Stuyvesant’s dust particles churned with resentment. But I felt something else now, too: curiosity, cold amusement, a cruel desire to see how long Annabeth could hold herself together before she broke. His response hissed in my mind. Go on, then, girl. Annabeth turned and led us out of the graveyard.

WotG pg.227-228