"My lost underwear!" I pulled out the lace panties and got up to put them with my other clothes.
After a quick shower—Pilar and Amari used most of the hot water—and some fresh clothes, I finally felt like I could look at the manuscript with fresh eyes. I opened the laptop, excited to make progress with edits.
My stomach dropped.
The only thing in the manuscript document was a name and time: Gunnar Ahlstrom, noon.
I web—searched his name and found nothing. No shred of social media or news on the mystery man. That was fine. If Gunnar wanted to talk to me about why he kept stealing my work, then I'd be happy to oblige.
Things were a lot easier to deal with and analyze without Brody feeding me compounded emotions. Yesterday, this would have put me on the floor sobbing or had me melting metal chairs. But today, I could see clearly. I had multiple backup copies and Elle already knew I needed to push back. A little more wouldn’t hurt.
At least, that's what I told myself on the walk back to my condo to get my car. Most of me felt that way, but a small part of me wanted to huddle in the corner, terrified of what this Gunnar-person had to say.
I hopped over the uneven pavement that hobbled me before, half expecting to see Lucy waving to me.
She wasn’t there.
I started my car and headed to the Corporation's main headquarters.
I'd passed the building a hundred times, never really paying attention to how badly it stuck out - how much the aesthetic contrasted with the buildings around it. In the middle of the governmental section of The Circle—full of neoclassic Greek architecture—was a metal-and-glass skyscraper. Much like Brody's offices, the building fit so poorly with its surrounding that it was hard to notice anything else. Once you noticed, it was all you noticed.
I found the mystery man's name on the IGF Corp. directory in the lobby. Nobody knew what IGF stood for, so everyone referred to the governing body as the Corporation.
After a nausea-inducing ride in a glass elevator that took me to the top of the building, I was sitting in his reception area.
Gunnar Ahlstrom. The name brought to mind a dougy-middled, nearsighted man with poor posture or bad teeth - I wasn't sure which.
"Mr. Ahlstrom will see you now," said his pinched-faced receptionist at exactly twelve o'clock.
I couldn't have been more wrong. Through the heavy, dark, wooden doors stood not a poorly aging, lump of a man, but a damned Nordic god. He was at least six inches taller than me, putting him at 6'5”—broad at the top, lean in the middle, and shovel-jawed.
I'd always found that particular turn of phrase awkward and clumsy, but seeing this man's jaw - there was no other way to describe it - it was why the term was coined. Gunnar's steely eyes and platinum hair only added to the Scandinavian vibe. He stood gracefully, especially for a man of his size, in the middle of his office. Arms at his sides, and a smile on his lips, he welcomed me. "Please, come in," he said, his rich and smooth voice sincere with the sentiment. He gestured to the wing chairs in front of his desk.
After I was seated, Gunnar arranged himself behind his desk. Competence radiated from every detail of the mid-forty-ish man’s movement.
Most of my anger and panic had fizzled, but what remained sat hard and resolute at the bottom of my gut.
"Why do you keep stealing my work?" I asked, tone flat, eyes cold.
"Right to it, then?" he asked and tried to hide a smile.
I cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Zora Joutsen," he said, emotion wiped from his face and voice. "I haven't stolen your work. I've simply erased it."
"And why is that?"
"Because you insist on causing problems with it."
I waited for him to continue. I refused to play conversational cat and mouse.
We sat silently for a full minute, neither moving. I stared at the line of his thin lips, waiting for what I knew would come, what always came - the moment they caved. I saw the smallest upward twitch of his mouth and stole a quick glance at his eyes. He was smiling with them.
This was fun for him.
"There are things you don't understand, Ms. Joutsen. Between practitioners and nons, there must be a delicate and furiously maintained balance."
"That is the point, isn’t it?" I snarked at him.
The faintest flicker of laughter played in Gunnar’s eyes. But he said nothing.
This wasn't getting me anywhere. I didn't actually care why he'd taken it.
"Give it back," I said.
This time Gunnar couldn't contain his smile. "You are exactly as Lucy said."
I couldn't resist that one. "And what did Lucy say I was?"
"Formidable."
I had no response for that. Shit, I didn't have a thought in my head about that.
39
"Where is Lucy?" I asked.
"Ms. Steig is being debriefed in isolation. It seems she's shared more with you than she should have."
Gunnar caught the worry on my face before I could conceal it. "Concerned for your friend - isn't that noble? I'm curious, Ms. Joutsen. What is it about you that made her want to betray the Corporation?"
"Lucy didn't say anything to me that I didn't accuse her of first."
"That I believe. Lucy is very good at walking the line. Yet somehow she can do exactly what was expected of her and still end up on the wrong side, as evidenced by your unexpected presence, in my office, questioning me."
Holy shit! Gunnar hadn't set up this meeting, Lucy had! I was a surprise to him.
It would have been nice if Lucy had told me I had the upper hand.
“Oh. I see you didn’t know that detail.” Gunnar smirked.
"Lucy and I have a mutual respect, and that's all you need to know," I said and rose from the exceptionally comfortable wing chair. Gunnar, ever the gentleman, stood as well. "Lucy, however, is not why I've paid you a visit today, Mr. Ahlstrom. You keep taking my work. I'm sure you understand why I find that frustrating. I wonder if there's a way we can come to an agreement. Some type of arrangement that suits us both."
"Not likely," he said, arms crossed but eyes still shining with a playful glint. "We want the opposite of what the other wants. No compromise is possible," he said smoothly.
With the same smoothness, I said, "Compromise is always possible, Mr. Ahlstrom."
"Don't do that," he said, tone suddenly sharp. For the first time, something other than polished manners crossed his features. Anger. He was angry with me.
"Don't do what?" I asked, genuinely baffled by his mood swing.
"Don't mirror me; don't try to placate me by imitating my speech, my mannerisms."
I hadn't done it on purpose, but mimicry, when done well, was the fastest way to gain rapport. It usually happened naturally, which it had in this case. I just hadn't realized I was doing it.
"Be yourself; don't be what you think I want to see."
"Don't flatter yourself, Gunnar."
And with the use of his first name, he was twinkly-eyed and charming again.
"As I was saying, you want to publish a book that I can't let the public see. There is no compromise, Ms. Joutsen. And quite frankly, I'm shocked by your arrogance."
"Arrogance?"
"Yes, arrogance. Who do you think you are to decide that non-practitioners need help? And even if they did, what makes you think you're qualified to do so?" he asked with a smile.
That hit me low and hard, pricking to life a tendril of stuffed-away heat.
Gunnar noticed and sniffed the air, like a dog catching a wild scent.
"Did I hit a nerve? Are we getting a bit bothered?"
"I've come into a new aspect of my power and don't have full control of it yet," I said. Stuff, stuff, stuff! "But to answer your question," I started, and clasped my hands in front of me to keep from absently melting his furniture. "Nons feed on us because they are looking for the way to their power. I thought my book would be a way to keep them from energy-abusing us. As far as my qualifications—"
“I’m well aware of your so-called qualifications,” Gunnar said, bouncing hard on the last word.
“What does that mean?”
“Zora Joutsen, daughter of Soraya and Mikko Joutsen,” he started, as if reading from an unseen file. “Father left at age four, mother at age fourteen, both to initiate. In and out of three temporary homes in two years before running away. You were able to escape the state system, but not ours.”
“And?” I asked, annoyed at the memories his recounting had birthed.
“You’ve seen your mother lately, yes?”
I pursed my lips at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Staven-kom are very rare, Zora.” The softness in his tone and gentle way he said my first name was off-putting.
“So I’ve been told.”
Gunnar paused a moment. "Ms. Joutsen,” he started, tone and affect back to normal. “You've only painted half the picture. Let's say you do publish this book, and anyone who is wanting can find a way to self-initiate. Then what?”
I touched my rib. Gunnar noticed. “Then there’ll be no energy abuse. Nons won’t feed off us anymore, and eventually, practitioners will stop self-isolating.”
“You’re absolutely right. Given time, all those things will most likely occur. But then what, Ms. Joutsen?” Gunnar asked without pausing. “Then we'll have a nation of people who can't be around each other, who devolve into near savages when their energies mingle. What have you to say about that?"
Nothing. I had nothing to say about that.
Shit.
There was so much more to this story.
40
"I remember what it was like to be young and eager, wanting to change the world. But eventually you realize, you can only change yourself."
Gunnar's final words replayed, looping endlessly as I drove to Brody's office. Brody was good at seeing the big picture and could help me come up with an action plan.
Because I was writing this book whether Gunnar liked it or not.
"Zora? Are ya there, honey? Hello?" came my editor’s voice from the car speakers, startling me into a curb-grazing swerve.
"I'm here, Elle." I hated Bluetooth. I never noticed incoming calls, so I never had enough time to dismiss them. And I hated talking on the phone, especially in the car.
"Good. Listen, I got your email. The plan was to capture the summer-reading demographic with a targeted release date and tour."
"I remember."
"Well, if we push back we're going to miss that window."
"I realize. I don't have another option."
"Honey, if you were Anne-fucking-Rice I might be willing to put myself on the line and push your date. Your sales are consistent and excellent, but not enough for the house to take the hit that pushing would cause. Figure it out," Elle said, and ended the call.
Fuck. I’d never heard that side of Elle before. I’d also never tried to push my deadlines, either.
Gods, I hoped the unedited draft was still hidden on Amari's machine.
I used the rest of the drive to stuff. The worry, the feelings, the fear, I stuffed all of it away so it couldn’t weigh on me. I didn't care what Soraya had said. I didn't want to feel all my feelings, especially the unsure and doubtful ones. I'd rather stuff.
When I reached Brody's floor, I felt marginally more composed if only on the exterior. Self-doubt was only one well-aimed remark below the surface.
I was no more than ten steps from Brody's glass-walled office when all three of his sisters stepped in front of me.
"I don't have time for this now, ladies. I really need to talk to Brody," I said, and tried side-stepping them.
Wearing their versions of pissed off - complete with angry emerald eyes - they collectively put themselves in my way again. Even Blaire crossed her arms and set her jaw at me.
"We heard what you did," Bailey said, her angular, elven features twisted in disgust. Blake nodded in agreement.
"I didn’t do anything."
"Then why is Brody sulky and silent?" Bailey asked and pointed to her brother.
Bent over his desk and a gray tinge to his complexion, Brody looked broken. He'd taken it harder than I thought.
Shit. I did not have time for this. I pushed myself between Blaire and Blake and marched into Brody's office.
The three sisters followed close behind.
"Not now, Zora," Brody said when he heard me enter through the open door.
"Gods, Brody. If you’re going to be a baby at least shut the door so no one can see you.”
“Hey!” Blake started, “Get out! Get the hell out! You’re making it—”
“Quiet,” I said and cut off the barrage with an icy look and a zing of energy.
“You knew this was coming. You knew the bonding process wasn’t a permanent thing. And what the hell did you tell your sisters?"
"The truth," he said, eyes glued to the wood of his desk.
"He said you won't teach him anymore. You cut him off before he was ready," Bailey accused.
I sat on the edge of his desk, annoyed at Brody’s half truth. "Gods, Brody. Why do you make such a big deal of things?"
That earned me the darkest look I'd ever seen on his features.
At least it was eye contact.
"I never said I wasn't going to teach you anymore. It was just time for you to leave the nest, that's all. I pushed you out so you could fly."
"Really? A baby-bird analogy?" he asked.
OK, it was lame, but that didn't make it untrue. "I'm sorry it's uncomfortable, Brody. But it was inevitable."
"I don't feel ready."
"Of course not. You aren't. But you wouldn't have grown or learned any more while we were still so linked. I'm still here, we’re just not stitched at the hip."
Brody nodded, accepting my sentiment as genuine, which, in turn, calmed his sisters.
"How much do they know?"
"Everything. I don't keep secrets from my family."
"That's not against the rules, is it?" Blaire asked.
"Oh, it definitely is," I said. "But we're about to bust through all the rules," I told Brody and his sisters about the newly disappeared manuscript, the meeting with Gunnar, and what teaching the masses to self-initiate could potentially mean.
Bailey started talking about the logistics of it. How many units I actually sold versus how many people would only take the book at face value. "What does that leave, a few thousand that read it, get it, and eventually become practitioners? I don't see how that's such a big deal."
"It's the compound effect," offered Blake. "Those few thousand will teach others, who will teach others, and in a generation, most of the population will have initiated."
"And then they'll devolve when gathered in large groups," said Brody. "It doesn't look good."
"You're all missing the simplest solution," Blaire said from the corner, making us all turn to meet her serene expression. "If you can teach people to self-initiate in your book, then you can also teach them to block their energy the way you and Brody do."
Shit, that was brilliantly simple. Why hadn't I thought of it? But that only solved one of my problems.
"That's fantastic, Blaire. But what do I do about keeping it from getting stolen again?"
She smiled at me and pointed to the antique side table against the wall of windows.
41
"I can't write a novel on that!"
"Why not?" Blaire asked
"Because there's no backspace! If I make one mistake, I'll have to type the whole page."
"We'll get you some whiteout," Blake said dryly from the sofa.
"I don't see another option," Bailey agreed.
"Then it's settled," Brody said.
"Wait a minute. How do we know it even works?" I asked.
"Oh, it works. I restored it myself," Brody assured me. "It even has a new ribbon. I'll order a few backups and have them overnighted, just in case."
"Glad that's taken care of," Bail
ey said and funneled her sisters from the office. "Keep us updated," she said, closing the door behind her.
"I can't write a novel on that," I repeated.
"You're going to have to," Brody said, simply and shooed me off the corner of his desk, but not before seeing my stubborn expression.
Instead of letting me sulk about it, Brody changed the subject.
"How did your girl-talk with Pilar go?"
I stared at Brody in amazement. I'd never met anyone so selfless. Instead of letting me wallow, he brought up a topic that was certainly more uncomfortable to him than adjusting to a typewriter was for me.
I decided right then and there I'd be as careful with him as I could.
"You two just need to communicate better." Before Brody let his feelings seep into his posture, I grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the chair. "Come over here," I said, and tugged him to the leather sofa. "I've already told Pilar everything she needs to do to help the situation. Now it's your turn." Brody's shoulders inched toward a slump, but I didn't let them get far. "Don't worry. Your part is much more fun than hers."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, Pilar has to work on verbal communication, telling you when, how, and if it's too much energy. But you get to work on anticipating it."
"I'm not sure I follow."
I took a moment to figure out how I wanted to approach the topic. "What are you thinking about when you're with Pilar?"
Brody shifted in his seat. "Really?" I nodded. "Mostly, I'm thinking about keeping my energy contained, not hurting her, and lasting long enough."
"Totally normal and completely wrong. While you're busy worrying about doing everything right, you're completely absent from the moment. What Pilar needs—hell, what everyone needs when being intimate—is presence."
Brody didn’t follow, but he was eager and willing. "OK, how do I do that?"
"Lots of ways. You can start with couple’s breathing. One of you exhales as the other inhales; you're literally breathing one another's breath and energy. Soft-gazing helps ground a couple in the moment as well as to each other…and then there's this," I said, and pushed up his sleeve. I touched the skin of his inner arm exactly the way he liked. He melted under me.
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