by Nalini Singh
Payal jerked away. Not because it felt bad. But because it didn’t. She wanted to crawl into his lap, take off his tee, bare her own body, and rub skin against skin.
It was a red warning sign.
And still, she stayed.
Canto continued to scowl. “Have you had scans to make sure it’s not due to a recurrence of your childhood tumor?”
All at once, she’d had enough of secrets with her 7J. If she couldn’t trust Canto, then she was so badly broken that she could have no hope of a life beyond mere robotic existence.
It would mean her father and brother had succeeded in breaking her.
No.
“I have small tumors the surgeons were never able to remove—they’re in a location that can’t be excised without the risk of significant and irreparable damage to my mental capacity and possible physical function.”
A muscle ticked in Canto’s jaw. “Are they growing?”
“No. A type of chemotherapy keeps it in check.” Her pulse beat in her mouth, her skin too hot, then too cold. “Unfortunately, the ‘recipe’ was created by a chemist hired by my father. That chemist then conveniently died. I’ve attempted to have other chemists reverse engineer it without success.”
“He’s using it as a leash, isn’t he?” Canto’s voice was an unsheathed blade. “That’s why we sense Pranath Rao’s stamp on many of your family’s actions, though you’re the CEO.”
“Don’t use this knowledge against me, Canto.” It was the first time she could remember asking someone not to hurt her.
Canto moved quickly, shifting his chair so that he was right next to her. Reaching out, he cupped the back of her neck when she didn’t make any move to stop him. “Understand this, Payal. I will protect you always. Never will I hurt you.”
No one had ever before cared if she was hurt or used. It was too much . . . almost. “I have to go,” she whispered, but didn’t wrench away. “It’s time for a dose.”
Eyes full of constellations shifted to pure darkness. “How long between doses?”
“It should last seven days, but things can be accelerated by power usage—and we’ve had to deal with two major incidents.” She’d used too much psychic energy in too close a time frame.
“Can you get me a sample?”
“I’ve hired the best of the best in the world.”
“You haven’t hired everyone.” His fingers tightened on her nape, the heat of his skin a rough warmth. “Give me the chance to try to set you free.”
The offer froze her blood, then shattered it, tiny shards ricocheting around her bloodstream and smashing into her already fragmented shields. Making a sharp, pained sound, she gave in to clawing need and pressed her lips to his, her hands on the wall of his chest.
She didn’t know how to kiss, but the contact, the way his hands came immediately to cup her face, it was everything. So many years of loneliness inside her, so much need. I’ll overwhelm you, she warned. I’ll take and take and take.
Take as much as you want. His hand wrapping itself in her ponytail, the taste of him turning her hunger into an addiction. I’ll always have more for you.
Madness sparking like electricity in her veins, she broke the contact as fast as she’d made it. “Please don’t forget me, Canto.” Words torn out of her. To ask someone to care for her enough to remember her, it was the hardest thing she’d ever asked of anyone. If Canto forgot her . . . she’d break.
She teleported out before he could answer.
The Architect
I am God. Death is meaningless.
—Suicide note left by participant in Operation Scarab (circa 2003)
THE ARCHITECT STARED at the back of her hand, at the fine blue veins that made her heart pump, her brain work. How was it possible that someone like her, someone of the ascendent race, was still bound by flesh?
Picking up a letter opener with a razor-sharp edge, she cut a line on her skin. Blood blossomed wet and a bright, bright red. She tilted her head, watched the line of it form, bubble, then slowly drip down the side of her hand when she angled that mortal thing of bone and skin and distasteful organics.
She was beyond this, her body nothing but a weight holding her down.
There had to be a better way to exist, to grow, to become all that she was meant to be.
Chapter 29
To the end.
—Motto of the Anchor Society (1701)
IT TOOK A full hour for Payal to rebuild her carapace enough to face the world without feeling like a turtle without its shell. Armored in a fitted gray dress and heels of dark scarlet that matched her lipstick, she teleported straight from her bedroom to her office just before nine thirty.
Her brother was seated in her visitor chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands clasped over the white shirt he’d paired with a navy suit. She felt no surprise; Ruhi had messaged her a half hour prior, when Lalit first turned up.
He’d once sat in her chair. She’d teleported him to the visitor one.
He’d never forgiven her for the “humiliation”—but that was par for the course with Lalit. “How can I help you?” she asked after taking her seat.
“Wanted to see how you were doing with my own eyes,” he said with that chilling smile. “You know Father is worried, don’t you? When you took on this position, we all assumed you could keep the anchor business from interfering.”
He’d always been better at words than her, better at doing verbal damage. But this time around, his words were so foolish that she reconsidered his intelligence. “I’ll be sure to allow the PsyNet to collapse next time.”
His smile didn’t fade. “All at once you’re so important that the PsyNet will collapse without you.” Rising to his feet, he buttoned his jacket. “I think you need another psych consult, little sister. Looks like your delusions are taking over.” Then he reached out and, holding eye contact, deliberately nudged her pens out of alignment. “Oops.”
Payal didn’t fix the small incursion of chaos. Her need for balance wasn’t a compulsion. It could’ve been, but that would’ve given Lalit a weakness to exploit—and that was the one thing Payal would not do. “Did you finish the financial report?” She picked up an organizer. “Father wants it on his desk today.”
“Of course. I know how to do my job.” He teleported out instead of using the door.
Picking up one of the pens he’d misaligned, she looked at it, then put it back without fixing the error. A test to make sure she wasn’t becoming tied to compulsion.
Rising, she walked to stand by the glass doors that looked out over Delhi. The city was wide awake, the markets in the distance going full bore, and the chai-wallah at the far corner already pouring steaming hot cups of tea for commuters.
Once centered by the beat of her city, she returned to her desk and asked Ruhi to contact Kaleb Krychek’s office to set up a meeting.
Her intercom buzzed a bare minute later. “Ms. Rao.” Ruhi’s voice was pitched high. “Mr. Krychek is in the outer office.”
Payal had heard that the cardinal could lock onto faces as well as places. Polite of him to lock onto Ruhi’s face rather than Payal’s; interesting, however, that he’d had Ruhi’s on file. “Send him in.” To rise or to sit, it was normally a calculated choice, but since he’d been polite, she did the same and met him halfway across her office. “Thank you for the quick response.”
He was a handsome man. In a league far beyond Lalit’s surface flash. Black hair, cardinal eyes—and a sense of confidence so deep that he had no need to posture and play games. Power pulsed off him.
Payal felt neither attraction nor fear. No, what she felt was a cautious sense of hope that he’d be sensible, listen to what she had to say.
Leading him to the small meeting table to one side of her office, she took one seat while waving him into the opposing one. Cardinal eye
s met her own, impenetrable and unreadable. Kaleb Krychek had that down to an art. He was also unquestionably one of the most powerful people in the PsyNet. Yet he had a bond with another Psy: Sahara Kyriakus. That meant he had an emotional link. A weakness.
But no one would dare call Kaleb Krychek weak. Even outwardly relaxed, the force of his psychic strength was a weight in the air; Payal had no illusions about who would win a battle between the two of them. She was a cardinal. He was obsidian death. But that wouldn’t stop her from going toe-to-toe with him when it came to Designation A.
Kaleb was dangerous but he was no psychopath.
“This is important,” he said, and raised an eyebrow. “We’re not used to anchors speaking up.”
“A choice made in the past that is no longer relevant.” She threw her telepathic voice toward Canto, her need for him a raw bruise.
It was as if he’d been listening for her all this time, because he responded at once: Payal.
I’m with Krychek. Stand by for questions. It was hard, so hard to find a way to tell him what he was to her, but she could do this, could be practical and logical and hold on to him using their shared need to protect the Net.
“True,” Krychek said. “Tell me about the Substrate you mentioned to Aden.”
“The Substrate is where anchors exist. In simple terms, it’s the foundation of the PsyNet.”
“The fractures we see, have they been on an upper level?”
“No, the breaches go all the way through. Anchors have assisted you with every breach in one form or another.” She continued on when he didn’t ask further questions. “Designation A wants a seat at the table. You can’t discuss the future of the PsyNet without an anchor presence.”
His expression cooled, black ice to him. “I thought you’d decided to stay out of politics.”
Realizing her misstep, she contacted Canto. He thinks I’m trying to get into power.
Tell him to contact me if he wants verification of your status as the A rep.
Payal relied on no one. But she had no difficulty relying on Canto, her 7J who’d never forgotten her. “You can contact Canto Mercant for confirmation that I’ve been chosen to represent Designation A.”
No visible signs of surprise, but she hadn’t expected any from a man as pitiless and experienced in politics as Kaleb Krychek. He just said, “I didn’t realize anchors talked to one another.”
“You aren’t all-knowing and all-seeing,” she said, because Krychek understood power, understood standing your ground.
“What do the anchors want?”
“A seat at the table,” she repeated. “We aren’t political, not in the way you believe. Santano Enrique was a true outlier. I never aimed myself at the Psy Council—that was more my father’s ambition.”
“If this isn’t about politics, then why a seat at the table?”
“Because none of you, not even the empaths, understand the Substrate. You can’t even see it. There are also major issues with Sentinel.”
“You’re well informed. Or should I say, Canto is.”
“I’m the voice of the As.” She didn’t break the eye contact. “Don’t try doing an end run around me—you won’t succeed. As for the politics—once we have this situation under control, I would become a silent member of the Ruling Coalition except when it comes to anchor business. Our priority is the health of the PsyNet.”
Kaleb got to his feet. “I’ll organize a meeting of the Coalition to discuss your request.”
Having risen with him, Payal went to answer when a massive shake tore through her body. It felt like a physical quake, but she knew it wasn’t. The PsyNet was fracturing again, and somewhere close.
It was dangerous to leave her body unguarded around Krychek while she jumped into the psychic plane, but she was an A. There was no choice.
She jumped.
The Substrate twisted around her, but her area held strong. Following the chaos east to Uttar Pradesh and the beginning of Chandika Das’s zone, she felt her blood run cold. Canto, Chandika—the anchor on the eastern edge of my zone—is dead.
* * *
• • •
KALEB reacted out of instinct when Payal’s body went liquid. Catching her using his Tk, he placed her back in the chair. The only reason he wasn’t in the PsyNet was that it was Aden’s turn to take the breach—it went against his natural instincts to hold back, but it would do more harm than good if they were both wiped out.
Then he took a look in the PsyNet.
Unadulterated chaos, an entire section of the Net spiraling inward. Aden, do you need assistance?
Yes. It was short, clipped.
Kaleb took a moment to lock Payal’s office from the inside before he shot his mind into the psychic space. He could’ve teleported to the security of his home, but Payal was clearly more vulnerable than he was right now; even while on the PsyNet, he had a level of awareness of the outside world and could react to danger.
Kaleb.
He didn’t recognize the painful clarity of the voice that hit his mind as he entered the PsyNet, but it had to be a cardinal if he could make himself heard though he was a stranger. Kaleb’s mind was well-shielded against unwanted contact.
It’s Canto. Sending confirmation of my identity to your phone.
The other man’s telepathic voice had a rare quality that was hard to put into words, but it reached places in Kaleb that weren’t exactly comfortable. Do you know why Payal’s unconscious?
It’s what happens to anchors when we do a major Substrate repair. We can’t exist on both planes. We have to choose one.
That was another thing Kaleb hadn’t known about anchors. Perhaps the very reason they’d begun to prefer to live lives of isolation, where no one could harm them while they were vulnerable. So many things concealed, kept secret—or just forgotten.
How is she? Canto made no attempt to hide his taut concern—because to the Mercants, Kaleb was now family. And no Mercant ever betrayed another. She’s barely recovered from the previous incident.
Seemed physically fine when I checked.
Good. Don’t leave her alone.
I won’t, he promised, because it was rare for a Mercant to ask a favor of him—and Canto in particular had never before done so, while feeding Kaleb interesting tidbits of information through Ena. Ena always gave credit where it was due, so Kaleb had known of Canto long before he found out the other man was a hub.
The reason for the psychic quake is the death of a neighboring anchor, Canto told him.
Their fail-safes should’ve kicked in. Kaleb frowned. Why aren’t they holding the Net steady until an anchor like Payal can step in?
Canto’s answer was a thing of death and devastation. There aren’t enough anchors anymore. Chandika Das was old—as a result, her anchor point was already on our critical short list.
We just didn’t expect to lose her so soon. Crisp, clear, with a rough edge of sorrow. Her sub-anchors were already taking incredible pressure as a result of her age and health—they’re too worn out to hold on now that she’s gone. The entire zone is unraveling from the center.
On the PsyNet, Kaleb saw a voracious spiral, with Aden fighting to keep it from pulling more minds into its murderous fury. Is there anything we can do to make things easier for the As attempting a fix?
Do what you’ve always done. The more you do on the Net level, the less strain on the Substrate.
Kaleb was already working with Aden. He didn’t mention the loss of an anchor to the leader of the Arrow Squad—Aden’s brain was already at full capacity. This information could wait. But the knowledge pulsed at the back of his head. He’d known they had an issue with anchors, but not that it was at a deadly juncture.
Because anchors were always there.
The foundation of the entire Psy way of life.
A knock on the door
to Payal’s office. He ignored it, while using a minute percentage of his telekinetic power to press against the door so no one could get inside.
A bead of sweat dripped down Payal’s temple.
Kaleb closed his eyes to better focus on the repair.
Each mind that blinked out as it disappeared into the spiraling void was a person who had ceased to exist, their biofeedback link disconnected without warning.
Kaleb kept his mind calm, black ice on which nothing could stick. It was the only way to work in this type of a situation. He couldn’t think of all the people lost; he had to think of those who still had a chance of survival.
Because Sahara had asked him to save the Psy instead of condemning them to the darkness—and Kaleb kept his promises.
Chapter 30
Payal Rao: Anchor—Delhi. Actual zone is the largest in India, stretching as far as Budaun in Uttar Pradesh on her eastern border. I’m still working on figuring out her reach in the other directions, but it’s apt to be of similar significance. If she falls, it will cause a chain reaction across Asia.
—Inventory of anchors created by Canto Mercant (2082)
AS AN EMERGENCY measure, Payal took Chandika’s place, becoming the sun with her stars around her. The hub and the subs. She could only maintain the position for a short burst of time before her own region began to collapse, but this area was in a dire situation.
Chandika’s death must’ve been sudden, else she’d have contacted her neighboring hubs to set up a succession plan—though what they might have been able to do, Payal couldn’t imagine, not when their zones were already edge to edge.
She wasn’t the only neighboring hub who’d responded. Prabhyx, Shanta, and Virat—all of whom Payal knew because she made it her business to know her region—had also just appeared inside Chandika’s zone. This close, they could talk to each other as most Psy did on the PsyNet. “We need to cover this zone,” she said. “There is no replacement.”