The Psy-Changeling Collection (250 page)

Chilled, he was about to leave the room when he noticed her eyes moving rapidly beneath her lids. “Psy,” he murmured, “aren’t supposed to dream.”

“
Tell me
.”

She swallowed the blood on her tongue. “I’ve told you everything. You’ve taken everything.”

Eyes as black as night with a bare few flecks of white stared down at her as mental fingers spread in her mind, thrusting, clawing, destroying. She swallowed a scream, bit another line in her tongue
.

“
Yes,” her torturer said. “It does seem as if I’ve stripped you of all your secrets.”

She didn’t respond, didn’t relax. He’d done this before. So many times. But the next minute, the questions would begin again. She didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know what he searched for. All she knew was that she’d broken. There was nothing left in her now. She was cracked, shattered, gone
.

“
Now,” he said, in that same, always-patient voice. “Tell me about the experiments.”

She opened her mouth and repeated what she’d already confessed over and over again. “We doctored the results.” He’d known that from the start; that was no betrayal. “We never gave you the actual data.”

“
Tell me the truth. Tell me what you found
.”

Those fingers gouged mercilessly at her brain, shooting red fire that threatened to obliterate her very self. She couldn’t hold on, couldn’t protect them, couldn’t even protect herself—because through it all he sat, a large black spider within her mind, watching, learning, knowing. In the end, he took her secrets, her honor, her loyalty, and when he was done, the only thing she remembered was the rich copper scent of blood
.

She came
awake with a jagged scream stuck in her throat. “He knows.”

Brown eyes looking down into hers again. “Who knows?”

The name formed on her tongue and then was lost in the miasma of her ravaged mind. “He knows,” she repeated, desperate that someone understand what she’d done. “He
knows
.” Her fingers gripped his.

“What does he know?” Electricity arced like an inferno beneath his skin.

“About the children,” she whispered, as her head grew heavy again, as her eyes grew dark again. “About the boy.”

Gold turned to bronze and she wanted to watch, but it was too late.

PETROKOV FAMILY ARCHIVES

Letter dated January 17, 1969

Dear Matthew
,

At today’s meeting of government heads, the Council proposed a radical new approach to the problems we’ve been facing. I knew it was coming, but still, I can’t quite imagine how it will work
.

The aim of this new program would be to condition all negative emotion out of the coming generation of Psy. If we could cure rage, what a boon that would be—so much of the violence could be stopped, so many lives saved. But the theorists have gone even further. They say that once we have a handle on rage, we may be able to control other damaging emotional events—things that cause the fractures that lead to mental illness
.

I’m cautiously optimistic. God knows, this family has paid the price for its gifts one too many times
.

With all my love
,

Mom

CHAPTER 2

He knows
. . . About the children. About the boy
.

Having forced himself to wait till nine, Dev coded in a call to Talin with impatient hands, his shoulders tight with strain. The blonde woman had fallen straight back into unconsciousness after uttering those words, but Dev hadn’t needed anything more—his gut told him there could be only one answer.

“Dev?” Talin’s sleep-rumpled face appeared on the transparent screen of his computer, her yawn unsurprising given it was just hitting six in her part of the country. “I thought our meeting was at ten thirty Eastern.”

“Change of plans.” He considered his next words with care. Talin was pragmatic, but she was also very attached to her charges. “I need to ask Jon something.”

She made a face. “He’s not going to change his mind about entering a Shine school. But I make sure he reads everything Glen sends him, and the Psy in the pack are helping him train his abilities.”

“He’s settled in DarkRiver.” Dev had come to that
conclusion after a personal visit to the leopard pack’s home base in San Francisco. “I think that’s the best place for him.”

“Then . . .?”

“How many people knew about Jon in the Psy labs—after he was kidnapped?” The boy was—genetically speaking—over forty-five percent Psy and had been born with a unique kind of vocal ability. Jonquil Duchslaya could literally talk people into doing whatever he wanted. It was a gift many would shed blood to control.

Tiny lines fanned out from the corners of Talin’s eyes as her gaze sharpened. “Ashaya, of course. She was the head scientist.”

Ashaya Aleine was also now mated to a DarkRiver leopard, and would do nothing to put either Jon or other Forgotten kids in danger. “Who else?”

“No one alive.” Talin’s voice vibrated with the echo of purest rage. “Clay took care of Larsen, the bastard who was experimenting on the children. And you know the Council destroyed Ashaya’s lab after she defected, killing all her research assistants.”

Ice speared through his chest, cold, rigid, deadly. “How certain are you of that?”

“DarkRiver has contacts in the Net. So do the wolves,” she added, referring to DarkRiver’s closest ally, the Snow-Dancers. “There wasn’t even a hint of a survivor.”

But the Psy, Dev knew, were adept at keeping secrets. Especially Psy like Ming LeBon, the Councilor rumored to have been behind the destruction of the lab. “If I send you a photo, can you see if Jon recognizes the person in it from his kidnapping?”

“No.” An absolute answer, her expression as fierce as that of the leopards in her pack. “He’s finally starting to act like a normal kid—I don’t want to remind him of what he went through in that place.”

Dev had known Talin long enough to understand that she wouldn’t budge. “Then I need Ashaya’s number.”

“She was pretty broken up about losing her people.” A pause. “Just be careful with her.”

Dev heard what she wasn’t saying. “You afraid I’ll beat the answer out of her?”

“You’ve changed, Dev.” A quiet response. “Become harder.”

It was an accusation he’d faced many times in the past few months.

You heartless bastard! You put him in the hospital! How can you live with yourself?

Shelving the knife-edged memory, he shrugged. “Part of the job.” That was true as far as it went, but even if he stopped being the director of Shine tomorrow, his ability would ensure the spreading cold in his soul. Paradoxically, that very ice made him the best person to run Shine—he knew how the Psy thought.

“Here.”

He noted the number Talin flashed on the screen. “Can we postpone our meeting?”

A nod. “Let me know what you find out.”

Ending the call, Dev coded in Ashaya’s number. It was answered on her end by a gray-eyed child with silky straight black hair. “Hello. May I help you?”

Dev hadn’t thought anything could make him smile today, but he felt his lips curve at the solemn greeting. “Is your mom around?”

“Yes.” The boy’s eyes sparkled, suddenly more blue than gray. “She’s making me cookies for kindergarten.”

Dev couldn’t quite reconcile the idea of Psy scientist Ashaya Aleine as a mother who made her little boy cookies at six fifteen in the morning. “Shouldn’t you still be asleep?”

Before the boy could reply, a frowning female face filled
the screen. “Who are you talking—” Her gaze fell on him. “Yes?”

“My name is Devraj Santos.”

Picking up her son, Ashaya hitched him over her hip. The boy immediately snuggled his head onto her shoulder, one little hand spread on the pale blue of her shirt. Intelligent eyes watched Dev with undisguised interest.

“The Shine Foundation,” Ashaya said, adjusting the collar of her son’s pajama top with the absent movements of a mother used to doing such things.

“Yes.”

“Talin’s spoken about you.” She tucked back a strand of curly black hair that had escaped her braid. “What can I do for you?”

Dev’s eyes flicked to her son. Taking the hint, Ashaya kissed the boy on the cheek and smiled. “Keenan, you want to cut out some cookies while I talk to Mr. Santos?”

An enthusiastic nod. Mother and child disappeared from the screen for a minute, and as he waited, Dev found himself wondering if he’d ever hold a child of his own in his arms. The likelihood was very low—even had he trusted his genetic inheritance, he’d done too much, seen too much. There was no softness left in him.

Ashaya’s face returned to the screen, her eyes filled with the remnants of laughter. “We’ll have to be quick—Keenan’s very good, but he’s still a four-year-old alone with cookie dough.”

Knowing he was about to wipe that shimmering joy from her eyes, he didn’t try to soften the blow, didn’t try to sugar-coat the implications. “I need you to see if you can identify someone.” Then he told her about the woman he’d found dumped outside his apartment door.

Ashaya’s face went pale under that dusky skin. “Do you think—”

“It could be nothing,” he interrupted. “But it’s a possibility I have to check out.”

“Of course.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “If the Council knows about the unique abilities being manifested in the children of the Forgotten, there’s a chance they’ll begin to try to experiment on those children once again.” A pause. “I think Ming would kill them if he couldn’t use them.”

Dev’s jaw tightened. That was exactly what worried him—the Council would never countenance the idea of another group with access to psychic powers—much less the increasingly strong ones being manifested in some of his people. “Is this line secure?”

“Yes.”

He sent through a photograph. “She may not look like she used to.”

Nodding, Ashaya took a deep breath and opened the attachment. He knew the instant she recognized the woman in the photo. Crushing relief, anger, and pain—it all swept over her face in a violent wave. “Dear God.” Her fingers covered her mouth. “Ekaterina. It’s Ekaterina.”

CHAPTER 3

The Psy Council
met in their usual location—a mental vault deep within the PsyNet, the psychic network that connected every Psy on the planet but for the renegades. An endless vista of black, each Psy mind represented by a single white star, the Net had a stark kind of beauty. But of course, those within the Net no longer understood beauty.

Like their Council, they understood only logic, practicality, economics.

Shut inside the solid black walls of the vault, Nikita looked to Ming. “You had something to discuss?”

“Yes.” The other Councilor’s mind was a blade, precise, ice-cold. “I’ve been able to retrieve some of the data Ashaya Aleine obfuscated before her defection.”

“Excellent.” Shoshanna Scott’s mental voice was as coolly elegant as she was in person. That was why she was one of the two public faces of the Council. Her “husband,” Henry, their relationship a front to pacify the human and changeling media, was the other half. Though, Nikita thought, the two hadn’t been working as a cohesive unit these past months.

“Anything we can use?” Shoshanna again.

“Possibly.” Ming paused. “I’m uploading it now.”

Streams of data scrolled down the black walls, a silver waterfall comprehensible to only the most powerful Psy minds. Nikita absorbed the information, scanned through the salient points. “This concerns the Forgotten.”

“It appears,” Ming said, “that their most recent descendants are being born with abilities unseen in the Net.”

“That’s hardly surprising.” Kaleb’s smooth voice.

Nikita considered him the most lethal member of not only the Council, but of the Net itself. At present, he’d allied himself to her on certain issues, but she was in no doubt that he’d kill her without hesitation should it prove necessary.

“Councilor Krychek is correct,” Tatiana said, speaking for the first time. “We’ve made a practice of eliminating mutations from the gene pool except where those mutations are essential to maintaining the functionality of the Net.”

Nikita knew the dig was directed at her, a reminder of her daughter’s unacceptable genetics. “The E designation isn’t a mutation,” she said with a calm that had been conditioned into her from the cradle. “Empaths form a critical component of the Net. Or have you forgotten your history lessons?” The last time the Council had tried to suppress the E designation—by destroying all embryos that tested positive for the ability—the PsyNet had come critically close to collapse.

“I’ve forgotten nothing.” Tatiana’s voice was utterly without inflection. “Getting back to the issue at hand—the deletion of mutations has made our core abilities stronger, purer, but with the inevitable side effect of stunting the development of new talents.”

“Is that really a problem?” Anthony Kyriakus asked, matter-of-fact as always. “Surely if the Forgotten had developed any dangerous new abilities, they would have used them against us by now.”

“That was my conclusion,” Ming said. “However, if no one disagrees, I’d like to devote a small fraction of Council
resources to monitoring the Forgotten population for evidence of more serious mutations—we need to ensure they never again become what they once were.”

There were no objections.

“Nikita,” Tatiana said as Ming’s data disappeared from the walls, “how is the voluntary rehabilitation going in your sector?”

“The pace is steady.” Allowing the populace to choose to have their conditioning checked—and, if necessary, bolstered—rather than coercing them into it, had reaped dividends beyond anything Nikita had expected. “I suggest we continue to permit people to come in voluntarily—the Net is already becoming calmer.”

“Yes,” Henry said. “The eruptions of violence have ceased.”

Nikita hadn’t been able to unmask the individual who’d orchestrated the recent surge of murderous public violence by Psy, but she knew it had most likely been someone in this room. If that individual’s goal had been to drive people to cling to Silence, he or she had succeeded. But those bloody events had left a psychic echo—the Net was a closed system. Whatever went in, stayed in.