A Deadly Web (8 page)

“I wonder if they meet as many kooks as we do,” Miranda murmured.

“Probably. Maybe why they hang back and watch for a while. The six-month window Brodie mentioned for new psychics is probably just allowing them the time to watch and find out if the psychic is genuine and what he or she can do. I’m betting Katie wasn’t on their radar until that Facebook post got shared by a few thousand
friends
—and it was just about six months ago.”

“After you’d already talked to her.”

“Which makes me wonder if my . . . spy network . . . is actually better than theirs.”

“You spent years building it. And you have an awful lot of people from all walks of life on the lookout for potential psychics. People who really know what to look for and who report to you pronto.”

Bishop frowned again. “Brodie seemed convinced that the enemy in all this makes use of at least some psychics to search for others.”

“Well, we have psychics who serve the same function. Even if that wasn’t how we found Katie, we do find psychics that way. Which is why we have our connection shut down
and
are both behind the shield.”

She always referred to it that way, as
the
shield rather than hers, even though it was one she had built to safeguard herself and her sister years before, after a serial killer had destroyed the rest of her family and left her and Bonnie in hiding.

In hiding in more ways than one.

It was a remarkable thing, her shield, and unique; Bishop completely trusted the protection it afforded them. But it did have its drawbacks, and one of them was leaving both of them with diminished senses.

Including their extra ones.

“We’ll find her,” Miranda said quietly, able to read her husband accurately despite that.

“Brodie said they’d never been able to recover a psychic once he or she was taken.”

Miranda Bishop smiled. “That was before we joined up.”

“Sir, Brodie has made contact with Tasha Solomon.” Alastair knew better than to sugarcoat it. Or add any unnecessary details.

There was a long, silent moment, and then Duran turned away from the window, with its view of downtown Charleston, and went to sit behind the big desk.

“When?”

“Just now. At the coffee shop.”

“She was receptive?”

“Seemed to be. Guarded, tense, but listening.”

Duran didn’t check his watch, but said, “It’s early.”

“Yes, sir. And the location is very public. So unless they move, we’ll have no chance of getting close for the duration.” He paused, then added, “Best-case scenario for us
is, of course, if they go to Solomon’s apartment. But she may be too wary for that.”

Duran was silent for a minute or so, the long fingers of one hand drumming almost silently on the surface of the desk. Then he said, “She sensed a threat and took action. She’s been cautious since then. But she hasn’t used her abilities under pressure.”

“Not so far as we know,” Alastair agreed.

“Maybe,” Duran said, “it’s time we all found out just what Tasha Solomon can do.”

—

“Why should I trust you?” Tasha asked Brodie.

“No reason I can think of,” he replied wryly. “Except that I’ve been in this a long time, I know a lot of the players, and my job as Guardian is to make sure you stay alive and out of their hands.”

“What would they do with me if they got me?”

“We don’t know. But the psychics who have . . . caught glimpses into their operation say it’s not something pleasant. At all. At best, you’d be their prisoner, possibly for the rest of your life, theirs to use.”

“What makes you believe that?”

“Because psychics have been disappearing for years, decades if our research is accurate, and so far none we’re reasonably sure were captured by them have ever turned up again. Alive.”

She blinked, the only outward sign of disturbance. “Have any turned up not alive?”

“It’s debatable. Bodies have been found, the apparent
victims of accidents, fires, drownings. Shallow graves far off the beaten path. Bodies too . . . damaged or decomposed to positively identify.”

“DNA,” she offered.

“Now, yes, we have that tool. But we seldom have access to bodies found, and they clearly do. DNA can be planted, records altered. They seem to be good at that.”

“And what is your . . . side . . . good at?”

“Protecting those psychics we manage to locate before the other side gets to them. There’s nothing official about us, Tasha. Nothing public. We don’t have badges or any kind of law enforcement credentials. We do have a few allies inside various law enforcement agencies, and sometimes they’re able to get valuable information for us. But we still work . . . out of view, behind the scenes. Trying our best not to draw attention to ourselves. That limits what we can find out.”

Tasha wondered if he had carefully avoided saying that they worked in darkness and secrecy, avoided using those words, because it sounded far too like how the others, the “them,” worked.

“So you have no idea what they would do with me if they ever got their hands on me. What about you? Your side? What are your plans for me?”

“I told you. I’m here to keep you safe.”

“For how long? Does whatever your side offers also mean the rest of my life?”

“That depends on you.”

“In what way?”

“I won’t lie to you, Tasha; there are no guarantees. In
the past, there have been psychics we believed were safe who were taken virtually under our noses. There have also been . . . psychic deaths.”

Tasha had a strong feeling he wasn’t repeating himself. “Psychic deaths. You mean deaths of the mind?”

His brows lifted slightly, as if in surprise, but he answered readily. “One thing we’ve learned is that if psychics push their abilities past their limits, past what they can control, especially if they’re panicked or afraid, the effort sometimes damages their abilities. And in a few rare cases we know about, psychics have been destroyed. Physically alive, but the mind, the personality, is gone. The body usually doesn’t survive long after that, even with medical intervention.”

Tasha heard something in his voice and tilted her head a bit unconsciously. “You’ve had personal experience with a situation like that, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” A muscle tightened in his jaw. “A young psychic in my care died that way. We were cornered by soldiers from the other side, but in a safe place, and help was on the way. She panicked. She was one of the ones who said she knew, felt, what they would do to her if they got her. And it terrified her in a way I can’t even describe. Before I could stop her, she . . . unleashed her abilities.”

“And it killed her?”

“Her particular ability, a very rare one, involved channeling energy. Electrical, magnetic, whatever. I’m not psychic, so I can’t be sure exactly what she did, but whatever it was, it killed one of the other side’s soldiers and seriously damaged the eardrums of at least one more.
They were wearing headsets, presumably to communicate with each other as they were moving to surround us.”

“So she used her abilities as a weapon.”

“She tried. She was even effective. But it cost her her life, Tasha. It destroyed her mind, and a few weeks later her body succumbed.” For the first time, he leaned forward, toward her, and rested his forearms on the table. “That’s not what we want, Tasha. We aren’t trying to assemble weapons, build an army, even a defensive one. There may come a time when the psychics we help are able to fight that way, but so far attempts have been mostly unsuccessful and sometimes fatal.”

“So how do you fight them?”

“Since we don’t know what their ultimate goal is, why psychics are so important to them, even who they really are and who’s behind them, all we can do is search for information and keep as many psychics as possible protected from them.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a strategy.”

“Some of us would like to do more,” he admitted frankly. “It’s a war, and we’d like to fight it like one. Openly. And there have been a few battles between our side and theirs.”

“Gun battles?”

Brodie nodded. “But only when it was absolutely necessary and we had at least a decent chance at controlling the fallout. Because until we have a better idea of their resources, their power, we have to be careful. Going public could do nothing except destroy our organization.”

“It’s an organization?”

“More or less. No name, not even an acronym. Formed around cells, a bit like the French Resistance during World War Two. The cells, made up of differing numbers of people, work independently, gathering intelligence in specific areas, sheltering and protecting psychics, recruiting allies. Reporting information to only one contact outside their cell and without any knowledge of who he or she reports to or who makes up other cells.”

“So if one cell is . . . compromised . . .”

He nodded. “We don’t all come crashing down. Very few in our organization know the whole setup.”

“How many are you?”

Brodie shrugged. “I actually don’t know, not for certain. Hundreds, at least. Maybe more.”

“Psychics and nonpsychics?”

“We’ve discovered that having nonpsychics in the cells makes us less vulnerable in some ways.”

She was quick to add, “And more vulnerable in others.”

“Well, most nonpsychics never learn to shield our minds, so if the other side uses any of their psychics against us—”

“You mean people they’ve captured? Psychics working for them?”

“Not sure about the former, but definitely the latter. He controls at least some psychics, and he uses them. Why they allow it, whether out of desire, belief in whatever their cause is, or fear, we don’t know. Duran is careful to keep their psychics under wraps, protected even when he
sends one out to use them against us, so we haven’t been able to . . . debrief . . . any of them.”

“Duran?”

“Far as we can tell, he heads up their field operations. He’s smart, he’s ruthless, and he commands a great deal of power. We don’t know who he reports to.”

“But you’re sure he isn’t the one calling the shots.”

“In the field, I believe he is. Doing whatever he needs to do in order to further their goals. But we—I—have always believed it is bigger than that, more complex. Many more players involved, and higher up the food chain than he is.”

“And it’s all about psychics.”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know why? Why the other side wants them?”

“We know they want to use them in some way, that they have a definite plan in mind. Just not sure
how
they want to use them. Other than to find more psychics, I mean.”

“Just psychics?”

“We don’t know. Maybe there’s a larger plan involving others. But we do know that for years, decades, their energies have been concentrated on finding and taking psychics. That’s what they do, and what we stop them from doing whenever possible.”

“Which brings me back to my earlier question,” Tasha said. “If I don’t decide to go it alone, if I accept protection from your side of this . . . war . . . is it for life? Will my life ever be normal again?”

“No,” Brodie replied bluntly. “No matter which choices you make, once they found out about you, once they noticed you, your life changed forever.”

—

Astrid opened her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry. She’s got good shields, and they’re up. Typical for born psychics, you know, especially when they’ve been approached by a stranger and told an insane conspiracy theory.”

“I know,” Duran said, without turning from the window. His gaze was focused on the corner of a coffee shop he could—just—see in the distance. “Keep trying. She’ll let those shields down any minute.”

“I thought she was cautious,” Astrid said.

“That’s why she’ll let the shields down.”

Astrid eyed him, too accustomed to his habits to take offense at having to address his back. “You sure?”

“Positive. Try again, Astrid. And keep trying.”

“Until what? Until I have a migraine or a nosebleed?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“You’re a bastard, Duran, you know that, right?” Her voice was on the edge of mocking.

“Of course. Keep trying.”

“Yes, sir.” Astrid relaxed in her chair, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

—

“So far,” Tasha said slowly, “you’ve talked about a mysterious conspiracy to abduct psychics and possibly use
them in some way, but you can’t tell me who they are or what they want with the psychics. You can’t tell me who’s in charge. You can’t tell me the endgame. You can’t even tell me much about this organization you’re supposed to be part of, a group fighting the supposed bad guys.”

“It does sound unlikely,” Brodie admitted.

“It sounds insane. No offense.”

“None taken. What can I do to convince you?”

Caught a bit off guard, she replied, “I . . . have no idea.”

“You’re a telepath,” he said. “So read my thoughts.”

“I thought you said most psychics couldn’t read you.”

“Unless I let them. I’m letting you. Once I let
my
guard down, most telepaths can read me.”

Tasha frowned, then shook her head. “Just because you honestly believe something doesn’t make it true.”

“Look deeper,” he invited calmly. “Look as deep as you need to.”

“It’s not fun, dropping my walls all the way,” she told him. “There aren’t a lot of people around, but there are some. And I’d have to sift through all their thoughts in order to find yours.”

His brows rose slightly. “You can read everyone around us?”

“Probably. Why does that surprise you?” She was still frowning at him.

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it was slowly. “It’s . . . unusual. Most telepaths have limits. The thoughts of each individual, the electromagnetic energy in the brain, produces a unique . . . signature. Think about
radio frequencies; not every receiver can pick up every frequency. To my knowledge, it’s the same with telepaths. You have a finite range of frequencies you’re sensitive to, therefore you can only read people whose unique electromagnetic energy signatures fall into your range.”

“I guess I’ve been meeting all those people, then.”

“Your whole life?”

A little impatient, Tasha said, “I tend to go to a lot of trouble to
avoid
trying to read people, especially in crowds. All I can tell you is that I’ve never not been able to read someone when I tried. Sometimes the thoughts are only surface, bits and pieces, phrases, and sometimes it’s hard to understand them because they’re jumbled or confused. But I’ve always been able to pick up something.”

If anything, Brodie just looked grim. “I see.”

She stared at him. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No. It’s just that you may have just answered a question I’ve had since we stumbled on Duran’s goons watching you.”