The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions Book 2) (17 page)

Her reaction is so violent and sudden that I don’t have time to say anything else. Grabbing a chair, she starts whacking Arkady’s frozen body with it, over and over.

Then she puts the chair on the floor and sits down on it, propping her elbows on her knees and covering her eyes with her palms.

“Mira,” I say softly, approaching her. “If you want, I can try to make him drown himself in that cold pool over there.”

I don’t know if I can actually do what I just said, both from a practical standpoint and from an ethical one. But trying it will certainly make more sense than beating up a man in the Quiet—an action that will have no impact in the real world.

“No, don’t.” Lowering her hands, she looks up, her eyes glittering brightly. “He’s the key to the fucker who’s pulling the strings.”

I exhale, relieved she didn’t take me up on my hasty offer. I might’ve balked at doing something
that
cold-blooded.

“So you want to go to the meeting at the Brooklyn Bridge?” I ask as she gets up from the chair.

“Yes. Once he brings us to the Pusher, I’ll kill them both.” Her voice is cold and sharp. “If we kill him now, the Pusher might get spooked.”

“Okay, but—”

“Let’s get back to the car. Let’s not get into any particulars just yet,” she says, striding toward the door.

I reluctantly follow her. As much as I want to catch this Pusher, I’m really not looking forward to confronting Arkady and his colleagues.

“Sorry about earlier,” she says over her shoulder. “I just needed to vent.”

“Of course, no worries,” I say, and then we walk in silence for a few moments.

When we reach the car, I touch my neck through the open Lexus door, and the world comes back to life.

“Please let me drive,” Mira says as soon we’re out of the Quiet.

Given her mental state, I decide to comply. Arguing with an angry Mira doesn’t seem like a good idea to me. The girl definitely has a short fuse. Besides, I have some phone calls to make, given where we’re heading.

As soon as she’s behind the wheel, she floors the gas pedal, causing the Lexus to make a tire-screeching sound.

I take out my phone, happy to focus on something other than the streets of Brooklyn that are flashing by the car window much too fast.

“I’m calling Caleb,” I tell Mira as I locate his number in my phone.

“That’s a good idea,” she says approvingly. “I was going to ask Julia to do this at the hotel, but this is even better. You two have a nice rapport.”

“If Caleb and I have a nice rapport, I shudder to think how he treats people he dislikes,” I say and dial the number on my screen.

The phone rings for a while. I wait.

Then it connects, but no one says anything on the other line.

“Hello?” I say carefully.

“Who? Oh, Darren.” I hear Caleb’s surprised tone. “Miss me already?”

“I can use your help, Caleb,” I say, ignoring the jibe. “
We
can use your help.”

“Oh, cutting right to the chase? I like it.” Caleb sounds a bit less sarcastic. “What do you—the plural you—need?”

“Some of your unique help tonight,” I say. “There’s this—”

“Darren, let me stop you right there,” Caleb interrupts. “I’m not in town. In fact, I’m out of state.”

“Shit,” I say.

“What’s going on, Darren? Is it something serious?”

“Yes, it is, but I don’t want to go into it right now,” I say. “Not over the phone. I’ve got to think of something else.”

“Are you in trouble? I can put you in touch with Sam or one of my other people.”

“Sam the Asshole? You’re kidding, right?”

“Sam’s in charge in my absence, so he’s the logical choice.”

“No, thanks. I think we’ll manage.”

“Suit yourself—there’s nothing I can do that Sam can’t. The man is a machine. If I weren’t the one with charisma, he’d be in charge,” Caleb says, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“I appreciate that,” I say. “And I may call you back about it, but I really think I’d rather work with someone I know.”

Mira parks the car in the hotel parking lot, so I tell Caleb I have to get off the phone.

“Sure,” he responds. “Let me know if you change your mind about Sam or if there’s anything else you need.”

“Well,” I say as Mira exists the car, “I do have one quick question . . .”

“What is it, kid?”

“Do you know a guy named Mark Robinson?”

There is a moment of silence. Then: “Why do you ask? Where did you hear that name?”

“Jacob mentioned him,” I say noncommittally.

“Hmm, that’s odd. He’s ancient history. One of our people who was murdered. A nasty affair. Do you know why Jacob mentioned him to you?”

“No,” I say. Then, cognizant that Mira is about to come back and drag me out, I add quickly, “Thanks, Caleb. I’ll call back later if we end up needing Sam.”

“Okay.” He hangs up, probably still wondering about my weird question. I guess he has no idea Mark had a son.

I phase into the Quiet and take a moment to digest what I just learned.

My father was a Reader. There is no doubt about that now. And my mother was a Guide. What I suspected ever since discovering my Guiding abilities has now been confirmed. And the theory of my parents being killed for their forbidden union is beginning to sound more plausible.

I phase back out and join Mira outside.

“So, judging by what I overheard, Caleb isn’t available?” Mira says as she briskly walks toward her room. She’s texting as she goes, and I assume she’s communicating with Eugene.

“Yeah. Caleb offered the help of that Sam guy, but I wasn’t sure about that idea.”

“You did the right thing. Sam and I, we don’t have good history,” she says through clenched teeth.

“Oh?” I ask, hoping that this is not an ex-boyfriend or something along those lines.

“He beat up my brother,” she says angrily. “It was on Jacob’s orders, most likely, but still, there’s no way we’re going to deal with him.”

“Shit. Sounds like we wouldn’t want him involved, for sure. I’ve met the guy twice now, and I know he’s a jackass. I just didn’t realize to what extent.”

We make our way to Mira’s room and find Eugene waiting by the door. She lets us in, and we all grab seats around the room. Loveseat for Mira, an office chair for me, and Eugene sits on the bed.

“I think I should talk to Julia,” Eugene says once we bring him up to speed on the whole situation. “If not Sam, she might know someone else who can help us.”

“If you tell Julia about this, she’ll most likely want to come,” Mira says. “And I suspect you wouldn’t want that.”

“She wouldn’t; she just got out of the hospital,” Eugene says, but there is uncertainty in his voice.

“Even assuming that she would do the prudent thing and not join us, there is another problem with getting her involved,” Mira says. “It might end up pulling her father, Jacob, into this, and I don’t want to do that.”

“Why?” I ask curiously.

“Because of his fear of exposure,” Mira says. “This meeting is happening in a very public place—meaning that there’s a chance that the confrontation with the Pusher could involve a lot of civilians.”

“It’s not like Jacob is this great humanitarian,” Eugene chimes in. “It’s just that, as you learned the other day, he’s obsessed with keeping Reader existence hidden. He’s a Purist.”

“Exactly,” Mira confirms. “The last thing we want is him stopping us from acting.”

“But the three of us stand no chance,” Eugene says, his shoulders sagging. “So we might want to risk talking to Julia.

“The two of us,” Mira corrects. “There is no reason for Darren to join this. It’s not his fight. And not Julia’s either—so no Julia.”

“I’m going to help you,” I surprise myself by saying. “You forget that this Pusher tried to have me killed.”

He also might’ve killed my parents, but I don’t mention this. That might be a topic for later.

“Okay, but that’s still just the three of us,” Eugene says, looking at me gratefully.

The look Mira gives me is harder to read. She seems to be reevaluating me again. I’m reevaluating myself too. Mira just gave me a way out, and instead of taking it, I’m volunteering to join them. And dealing with the Pusher who tried to kill me is only a fraction of my motivation. The bigger part is staring expectantly at me with those beautiful blue eyes.

“There might not just be the three of us,” I say, growing uncomfortable with Mira’s intent stare. “But before I get into that, I need to ask you: what’s a Purist? You said Jacob was one. What does that mean?”

“Purists are Readers who try to stick to archaic traditions, such as assigned mating,” Eugene says bitterly. “Their biggest fears are things like exposure to the outside world and dilution of the Reader blood.”

“The only good thing about them is that they want to exterminate Pushers,” Mira says.

That one hurts. And doesn’t bode well for what I’m building up the courage to tell them. It especially hurts because I no longer think of myself as
that
kind of Pusher. The Pusher she hates would hate her also if he’s a Traditionalist. It’s ironic how much these Purists sound like the Traditionalists Thomas and Hillary described. I almost regret we can’t get Jacob involved. It would be a sort of poetic justice to let the two orthodoxies fight it out. They sound like they deserve each other.

“Mira,” Eugene says uncomfortably, “you don’t mean that. Darren is a perfect example of why thinking that way is wrong.”

“It’s okay, Eugene,” I say graciously. “I kind of understand Mira’s hatred for Pushers. I mean, I hate the guy who tried to kill me in the hospital. But it’s also a fact that not all Pushers are the same. In fact, I think only a tiny minority are like that fucker.”

“I didn’t mean you, Darren.” Mira drops her gaze, as if embarrassed. “You’re something else entirely.”

“And if I were as much a Pusher as you are a Reader, would you try to kill me again?” I say, deciding to put my cards on the table.

“You know that I wouldn’t.” She looks at me again. “In any case, you said you don’t even know who or what you are.”

The good news is that she isn’t taking out a gun. Yet.

“Right, I didn’t,” I say carefully. “But I learned more about myself yesterday—and even more just a few minutes ago. Most importantly, I learned that not all Pushers—or Guides, as they call themselves—are the evil monsters you think they are. In fact, most of them are regular people, just like me and you.”

In the dead silence that follows, I tell Mira and Eugene an abbreviated version of what happened yesterday. About my shrink, about my aunt, about Thomas.

“So these Pusher Traditionalists are like our Purists?” Eugene says, staring at me.

“Yeah, and they sound just as fun too,” I say.

“So it must’ve been one of
them
who killed Dad because of his research,” Eugene whispers.

“I’m not sure you should blame whole groups of people, be it Pushers or Traditionalists among them,” I say cautiously. “It might be just one crazy Pusher who took it upon himself to hire the Russian mobster we Read . . .”

“So you yourself are really a Pusher?” Mira says, clearly having a hard time digesting my story.

“I prefer Guide, but yeah, at least halfway, on my mother’s side, I am. I still don’t know much about my father, except I just confirmed that he was a Reader.”

“But that’s forbidden,” Eugene says, his eyes widening.

“You’re not one to judge,” I say defensively. “Don’t your people think half-bloods are forbidden, too?”

“It’s different,” he says uncertainly.

“Is it? Why couldn’t you date Julia?” I say.

Eugene doesn’t respond, and Mira seems to be trying to drill holes in me with her gaze.

“You lied when you said you were not feeling well when we spoke yesterday?” she finally says. To my surprise, that seems to upset her more than my being a Reader-Pusher hybrid. “You were actually going to a
party
?”

“I’m sorry I lied to you about that,” I say to her honestly. “I just didn’t think you’d like it if I told you the truth. ‘Sorry, Mira—can’t hang out, going to a Pusher party.’”

Eugene lets out a nervous chuckle and gets a furious look from his sister.

“And how do we know you’re not lying right now, or haven’t been lying to us all this time?” Mira says, turning to glare at me. “You lie so well when it suits you. How do we know this isn’t some kind of a Pusher trick?”

“A trick to do what, exactly?” I’m getting tired of constantly being accused. “Hand you the Pusher who killed your parents?”

“He’s right, Mira,” Eugene says soothingly. “I don’t see what possible nefarious Pusher purpose could be served by all this.”

“Fine. Let’s say I believe you.” Mira’s expression doesn’t soften. “What does it change? What do I care if some Pushers think they’re good and call themselves Guides? It doesn’t change the fact that one of them should die today. It doesn’t change our lack of plans. And no matter what you say about the few people you’ve met, the fact remains that they, like you, can fuck with people’s minds—and that’s wrong.”

“It does change things because I have a plan in mind,” I retort. “And Reading can also be said to be fucking with people’s minds. I think a lot of people would rather be made to do something than have their deepest secrets stolen.”

“Just like a Pusher to twist the truth,” Mira says angrily. “Mind fucking is obviously—”

“Mira, please stop,” Eugene interrupts forcefully. He’s using that rare ‘big brother knows best’ tone of voice. “Let Darren tell us how we can deal with the situation at hand. We can exchange xenophobic drivel later.”

“Fine,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “Do enlighten us, Darren.”

“Okay,” I say. “Thomas, the
Guide
from the Secret Service I mentioned earlier, offered to help me. Originally, it was in the context of what to do if I learned the identity of the person who tried to kill me at the hospital. Still, I’m sure he might be helpful in this situation, too.”

“And you think you can trust him?” Eugene asks doubtfully. “You only met him yesterday.”

“And he’s a Pusher,” Mira mutters under her breath.

“I think I can trust him, yes. If I didn’t trust him, it would certainly be for reasons other than his being a
Guide
,” I say, emphasizing the politically correct term. “The person I
really
trust is my aunt, but I don’t want to involve her in this situation.”

Mira gets a look of concentration on her face for a moment. “Fine. I just talked to Eugene, and he convinced me to give this insane idea a shot.”

“You talked—” I begin, but then I understand. She phased into the Quiet and pulled her brother in for a private conversation again.

“I’m sorry about that, Darren,” Eugene confirms my suspicion. “We had to think about such an unusual proposition. I vouched for you because I now see you as a friend. I hope I don’t regret it.”

“So you didn’t want to trust me,” I say, looking at Mira. Figures.

“If she didn’t, she wouldn’t,” Eugene says. “Mira doesn’t—”

“Shut up, Zhenya,” Mira says, giving him an icy stare. “Don’t you understand the concept of a
private
conversation?”

“Let me check to make sure Thomas even wants
to help us,” I say. “Otherwise, this is all pointless.”

Since no one objects, I take out my phone and call Thomas.

“Thomas, this is Darren,” I say as soon as he picks up. “You said to call you if I needed help with the Guide who’s trying to kill me.”

“I did. What’s going on?” Thomas sounds instantly alert. “Did you learn his identity already?”

“Not exactly,” I say, trying to get my thoughts organized. “But I do know where he’ll be later today, and I want to confront him. I’m with some friends of mine, but it’s only the three of us.”

“Okay, hold your horses,” Thomas says. “Start from the beginning.”