by Nalini Singh
—Report prepared for the Psy Council (circa 2003)
HE’D HAD THE emergency overnight brain scans done at an anonymous facility, under a false name. Had even gone to the extent of wearing an expensive disguise, a disguise he only had because his now-deceased grandfather had insisted he always have one ready just in case. He’d felt foolish doing it, but as the head of a major Psy family, there was a high chance someone would’ve recognized him otherwise.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Dr. Mehra. The Gradient 9.8 M-Psy was deeply loyal to the family. The one who had awakened had learned the importance of loyalty by watching not his own parent, but Kaleb Krychek. One of the most ruthless and deadly men in the Net had never—not once—been sold out by his own people.
It had taken time and a careful reading of rare public comments made by Krychek’s employees, but he’d come to learn that Krychek had one rule with subordinates: Be loyal to me and I will be loyal to you. No capricious firings. No bad treatment. Mistakes forgiven as long as they were genuine and an attempt was made to fix it.
The simplicity of that structure had appealed to him. It’d taken time to roll it out across his own network—his grandfather had run their business units a far different way—but these days, he knew he had the loyalty of every single senior member of his staff. But he’d wanted no one to know of these scans . . . and the story they told.
The experienced neurospecialist who’d reviewed the scans, then spoken to him over the phone to get background, had made a chilling diagnosis. “There is evidence of damage in an area of the brain linked strongly with Psy abilities. High probability it’s the reason behind your descent into a fugue state.”
Fugue state.
A time when he was an automaton, driven not by his conscious mind but by the subconscious. A person in a fugue could do many things, become a wholly different individual. Whether he’d ever recover any memories of what he’d done was an open-ended question. Psy brains didn’t always react in medically predictable ways.
The M-Psy had urged him to return to the facility within the week, have further scans, but he didn’t need the scans to know the problem: his sprawling new power. He had to figure out how to turn it off, how to fix himself before it was too late and the damage to his brain had a permanent effect.
His wrist unit vibrated against his skin.
Glancing down, he froze. It was a message from Theo: Whatever you’re doing, I’d request you stop. I’m getting tired of the secondhand migraines.
Chapter 42
It is agreed: the survivors of Operation Scarab are to be eliminated. Their psychic power surges threaten to destabilize the PsyNet, and this cannot be permitted. Death is to be by humane methods.
—Psy Council (2004)
MEMORY WAS SITTING at her kitchen table at around four that day, working on nudging the spoon along a preset path, when Alexei turned up at her door, his eyes backlit by amber. “Want to go see more of the festival in Chinatown?” Golden and strong, with a smile that hit her in the solar plexus, he could tempt her anywhere.
Rising, she slipped her hand into the warm roughness of his . . . just as his phone buzzed. “Hello, squirt,” he said as he led Memory to the black SUV he was driving today. “Yeah? Well maybe I miss your face, too.” He grinned at the response. “Congrats on the win, by the way. I sent you a celebratory surprise. Should arrive tomorrow.”
Smiling at the happy emotions she could sense in him, Memory didn’t interrupt. Alexei spoke with the caller for a few more minutes before hanging up. “My cousin, Franzi,” he said after they were in the SUV and on their way. “Aunt Min’s daughter. Twelve years old and smart as a whip—she just won this major computronics contest.” His pride in his young cousin was adorable.
“They’re based in your den?” Memory loved seeing this side of him, the dangerous dominant who made time for a little girl who wanted to hear his voice—and who’d thought to send her a gift to celebrate an achievement.
“Yeah. Aunt Min and her mate, Gustav, followed me and Brodie when I got put in charge of that den.” A roughness to his voice. “Said it was about family.”
Memory already loved these three people she’d never met. “Tell me more about them.”
It was a topic on which her golden wolf had no hesitation speaking. She discovered that his aunt was a senior soldier, his uncle a lighting engineer, and that they’d met while his aunt had been roaming the world on her own. Alexei, too, had roamed as a younger wolf, and he shared stories about his adventures that had her laughing.
“I have a question,” she said much later, after a companionable silence had fallen between them. “How can Judd have helped Abbot if he’s a Tk?” Telekinetics caused destruction; they didn’t heal.
“Judd’s a special kind of Tk. Can move the cells of the body.” A sudden darkness in Alexei’s voice. “As a child, he was taught that his only value was as an assassin. A Tk-Cell can stop the heart, can kill in undetectable ways—but it turns out you can use the same skill in the exact opposite way.”
“To put the cells of the body back together,” Memory whispered, her fingers clasped tight in her lap. “Do you think I could . . . be something good?”
“You already are.” A scowling proclamation. “Remember Ashaya. Remember how she treasures the time you give her with Amara.”
Memory couldn’t argue with that. Neither could she forget what Amara herself had said to her: You’ve shown me elements of the world I never before knew existed. The scientist remained a psychopath, still spent time considering how she could use what Memory did as a tool of manipulation . . . but every so often, she’d display an unexpected humanity.
Such as when, after a session, she’d spent time fixing a scientific problem posted on an online forum by a small human community. The community could only offer naming rights to their tiny library as payment, and the work itself wasn’t cutting-edge enough to tempt the caliber of scientist required. Yet Amara had sat down and solved the problem.
“Might as well,” she’d said with a shrug. “It amuses me to know students will be studying at the Amara Aleine Library.”
Flip words, but she’d given up hours of her time.
Memory was still considering what that meant when Alexei parked his SUV in a lot attached to DarkRiver’s city HQ. “The cats are a lot more hooked into the pulse of San Francisco than us wolves,” he said as they got out. “This really is a feline city.”
She saw the curl of his lip, but knew by now that it was all for show. The cats and the wolves were blood allies—but they liked to pretend they couldn’t stand the sight of each other. Complete with innovative insults crafted with intense care. Grinning, she took his hand and suddenly realized she was now one half of a couple out for the night. A dream she’d only hours earlier believed impossible.
Rising on tiptoe, she kissed his bristly jaw. His responding smile was devastating, and she knew she’d take her golden wolf any way he’d trust himself to come to her. She’d love him with fierce devotion and raw honesty—and she’d hunt for ways to disprove his belief in the family curse. Not for herself, but because thinking himself a rogue-in-waiting wounded Alexei unbelievably.
“Memory!”
Jolted at hearing the sound of her name, she looked across the road and saw Sascha waving at her. Hunkered down on the ground beside her was a familiar dark-haired man with wide shoulders who appeared to be doing up the shoelace of a little girl with equally dark hair. She was holding on to his shoulders with tiny hands while she lifted her boot off the ground, as if to help him.
Sascha’s baby girl, not yet two years of age, wore a long-sleeved purple tunic over sparkly black tights. On the front of the tunic was a unicorn picked out in glitter. Her hair, soft but tumbled with curls, was in a jaunty ponytail. And in her hand, she carried a plas sword. Bright yellow, it matched the shield she wore on her back.
Memory wave
d back, not sure if she should approach or not. Alexei, however, was already stepping out onto the street, the area having been closed to traffic. “Luc,” he said when Sascha’s mate glanced up.
His eyes were a vivid panther-green in real life . . . and they made Memory shiver inside. Even if she hadn’t known she was looking at the alpha of DarkRiver, she would’ve known he was deadly. Power burned inside him, a hard slap against her senses.
“Alexei.” Rising to his feet, one of his daughter’s small hands clasped protectively in his, he held out the other to shake Alexei’s before shifting that feline gaze to Memory. His lips curved. “Ah, the creator of my new favorite wolf insult.”
Memory parted her lips to reply when a small voice piped up, “I’m Naya!” The little girl bounced on her shiny black lace-up boots, her eyes as green as her father’s. “I’m a danger!” She held up her sword.
“You look very dangerous,” Memory said solemnly, and was rewarded by a mischievous grin. She knew Naya’s physical dexterity was a changeling gift—Sascha had mentioned that changeling toddlers tended to walk much earlier than Psy, with humans also seriously outpacing Psy.
However, what she only now realized was that Naya’d also benefited from the Psy side of her DNA; the constant telepathic contact with her mother had accelerated her verbal development. The tiny girl’s speech wasn’t clear, but it was far more comprehensible than most children her age.
“Kitten,” Lucas said to Sascha, “why don’t you and Memory walk ahead, and Alexei and I’ll follow with our ferocious panther.”
Naya growled and showed her claws. Memory had to bite her lips to keep from laughing at the sheer adorableness of this tiny, unicorn-emblazoned, sword-carrying panther. Falling in beside Sascha, while Naya walked in between Lucas and Alexei, she said, “How do you ever discipline her? I’d have zero willpower against that face.”
“Luc does most of it,” Sascha admitted in a laughing whisper. “She knows I’m a soft touch.” The cardinal shook her head, her lips pressed tight. “The only thing I won’t bend on is anything to do with her safety, and she’s a smart cat, knows that. But otherwise, half the time, she’ll make me laugh while I’m trying to tell her not to do something, and it’s all over.”
Sascha’s cheeks creased, her eyes dancing. “Yesterday, while I was in the other room for five minutes, she changed into panther form, managed to climb up onto the kitchen counter, and, after shifting back to human form, opened the cupboard in which I keep the special fancy chocolate Lucas gets me. It’s too rich for her. I walked out to find her sitting naked on the counter, chocolate smeared all over her face and an innocent ‘I didn’t do it’ look on her face.”
Memory lifted her hands to her mouth, overcome by the sudden piercing knowledge that she’d one day like to be a mother to a naughty baby with her father’s wolf eyes. “What did you do?”
“I managed to give her a stern talking-to that time.” Sascha pushed her braid off her shoulder. “And my poor cub got a tummy ache later, so the chocolate stash will be fine for a little while—at least until she forgets.” Tenderness in every word. “I wouldn’t change her for all the world. She’s growing up wild and strong, with a pack full of friends.”
A small, warm body wriggled between them. “Mama.”
“Naya.” Taking her daughter’s hand on that singsong response that made Naya giggle, Sascha said, “Where’s your sword?”
“Lexie hold.” Bright green eyes angled to look at Memory.
She felt as if she was being weighed, judged, and when the little girl smiled and held out a hand, the joy she felt was a wave. “I can’t,” she said, her voice husky, scared the darkness in her would somehow hurt this innocent child brought up in love.
Sascha’s gaze caught hers. I don’t think you’re a threat to her, or I would’ve never called out to you, the cardinal said telepathically. But I appreciate the care.
Smoothing her hand over her daughter’s hair, Sascha spoke her next words aloud. “Memory’s a special kind of E, baby. She’s still learning how to control her powers and she has to be careful who she touches. Like how you’re learning not to use your claws or your telepathy while playing with your friends.”
“Memi, be good,” Naya instructed in a very serious tone. “No caws.”
Memory nodded. “No claws,” she agreed solemnly, and the five of them continued to move up the sidewalk. When Naya cried out, “Ro! Jule!” on a wave of sweet excitement colored by pure joy, she went to follow the little girl’s gaze . . . and a curdling fear bloomed in the pit of her stomach.
Sucking in a breath, she glanced around in a frantic search, but the crushing darkness was everywhere. It wasn’t the nothingness, wasn’t the abyss. This was far worse. It had taken Yuri, nearly taken Abbot.
“Memory? What is it?” Alexei’s voice seemed to come from the end of a long tunnel, echoing and faint.
A rough-skinned palm sliding over hers, strong fingers enclosing hers.
Heat, a primal power, an anchor.
Her lungs expanded, the scents and flavors of Chinatown exploding against senses that had threatened to go numb under the deluge of darkness. “The mind behind the attack on the compound,” she said as she raced to pinpoint the exact location of the threat. “He’s here. He wants to hurt Sascha, the other empaths.”
Listening to instinct, Memory turned to the left. Her eyes locked on a knot of Psy who’d been standing quietly together in readiness to watch today’s parade. All four had gone stiff, their eyes black. “It has them. Go.”
The pressure intensified the instant Alexei was no longer touching her.
She could barely breathe under the crushing weight of the shadowy darkness. He’d become stronger since the assault against Yuri and Abbot and the others. The air was too heavy, her lungs incapable of translating it into breath. When she felt a trickle at her nose, she lifted a fingertip to touch it . . . and it came away red.
“Here.” Sascha thrust a small pack of tissues into her hand. “Come with me.”
Alexei and Lucas were nearly at the knot of Psy—the quartet had just begun to stride toward a group of empaths. “Why are so many Es here?” Memory asked as she stumbled in Sascha’s wake.
In front of her, Naya was protesting and dragging her feet. “Mama! Ro! Jule!”
But Sascha was relentless—she lifted her squirming little girl up into her arms and ran toward a store. “Memory!” she yelled back when Memory became distracted by another wave of violent power.
Memory got moving, stepping into the store just behind Sascha and Naya.
“Mrs. Wembley,” Sascha was saying to the shopkeeper, a slender woman with Eurasian features, her hair cut into a blunt bob, the color an inky black. “I need you to take Naya into your basement and stay there.”
The other woman, her face unlined but a weight to her presence that said she was at least a couple of decades older than Sascha, didn’t ask any questions or voice worry about leaving her shop unattended. Her emotions, too, were streamlined—she switched modes from happy festival mood to protectively maternal within heartbeats. “Come on, munchkin,” she said, and reached out to take Naya.
But Lucas and Sascha’s daughter refused to go until Sascha put her on her feet, then hunkered down and pressed her forehead to Naya’s. “I need you to be a good girl for Mialin’s grandma, baby. There’s a bad person outside. I have to help your papa handle it so this person doesn’t hurt anyone.”
Tiny features awash in worry, Naya said something too fast for Memory to understand. But Sascha kissed her cub and said, “Yes, I promise I’ll make sure Roman and Julian and Nate and Tamsyn are safe. Go with Mrs. Wembley now.”
“We’ll go do some coloring in the basement room—it’s very nice, with a sofa and a soft rug,” Mrs. Wembley said as she led Naya away, one little hand tucked trustingly in hers. “You can help me with my latest page. It’s got so m
any colors, I get very tired.”
Naya’s response showed that she was the daughter of an empath and an alpha. “Mia come base’nt too?”
“Oh, you sweet baby, Mialin’s quite all right. She’s at home in DarkRiver territory with her mama and papa.”
The rest of their conversation faded as Mrs. Wembley and Naya disappeared behind a door that must’ve led to the basement. She heard the loud slide of a dead bolt, then three other clicks.
“Basement’s secured,” Sascha told her, her voice grim as she moved to the doorway of the shop.
Memory was already there, attempting to pinpoint the murderous mind’s next move.
“I spotted a high-Gradient E out there,” Sascha added. “I’ve telepathed her to begin crowd control while I attempt to aim a terminal field at the ones being used as puppets—I can’t spread the field far yet, so I have to target it.”
Crowd control. Terminal field.
Memory had no idea what those terms meant, but that didn’t matter at this instant. “What do you need from me?”
“See if you can work out if the person behind this is physically in Chinatown, or if he’s attacking via the PsyNet.”
Memory saw that Lucas and Alexei had the quartet corralled—all four of whom blinked as one right then and began to look around in confusion. “He’s moved on from that group.” Her mouth went dry, her heart thundering. “There are too many Psy here. Too many minds for him to grab, none of them as well shielded as the Arrows’.”
“You let us worry about that.” Sascha’s eyes were pure obsidian when they met Memory’s. “You focus on locating the threat—you’re the only one who can sense it.” The cardinal returned her attention to the street, and, a second later, Memory saw people stop in their tracks, their hands going to cradle the sides of their heads.