Blaze of Memory

CHAPTER 24

Katya ate everything sent to her over the next three days. She didn’t try to escape—though she did secrete away the over-the-counter pain and flu medication she found in the bathroom, not that it would do her much good—and she didn’t try to use telepathy. Instead, she concentrated on strengthening herself using exercise routines she downloaded off the computer console on the wall. That computer only allowed her to access the most basic of sites, but that was fine. She had what she needed.

Pushing all the furniture in the living room to the walls, she made a space where she could stretch out and begin to put her body back into shape. She even cleared away the glass and porcelain shards, loath to let Dev see how deeply he’d hurt her. Her focus was on getting strong enough that she could take the opportunity to escape when the chance came.

And then . . . she had a nightmare to face.

On the fourth day after she’d been knocked unconscious, Dev finally returned. She ignored him as she began to go through her stretching routine. He came to a stop at the edge of the cleared space. “Pack your stuff. We’re moving.”

Excitement uncurled in her gut, but she kept her face expressionless. “Where?”

“You’ll be near Ashaya.”

She was already shaking her head. “We discussed this. I can’t be trusted around her.”

“That’s why you’ll voluntarily take a mild sedative.”

Her stomach dropped. “No.” It would disorientate her, leave her helpless. And she was through with being helpless.

Dev folded his arms across that chest she’d slept so peacefully on mere days ago. “Fine. Be ready by ten.”

She could feel her fingernails biting into her palms. “Who’s going to punch me to put me to sleep?” she asked, furious enough to draw blood. “You?”

He walked out without answering, shattering her new-found calm.

Tag was waiting outside Katya’s room when Dev walked out. “Didn’t go well?”

“She won’t take a sedative.”

“Did you really think she would?”

“No.” He wouldn’t have either. “But since both you and Tiara are going, she needs to come with us when we go see Sascha. And no way can I take her in when she might be a threat. Lucas’ll slit my throat.”

“There is another option,” Tag pointed out. “Glen could put her into a medically induced coma while we’re gone.”

Dev felt his entire body hum with violence. “We do that, it’s torture.” It’d break her, put her back in that room where she hadn’t been able to see, hear, touch.

“Yeah.” Tag blew out a breath. “You have a little bit of telepathy—can you tell when she’s using her abilities?”

“Now that I know to watch for it—if I’m close, yeah.”

Tag straightened his big body away from the wall. “Then stay close. Close enough to physically incapacitate her if necessary.”

Dev’s stomach roiled.

“I’ll do it.” It was a quiet offer from a man who knew Dev better than most.

“No.” He stared at the door he’d only just stopped himself from slamming minutes ago. “She’s mine.”

“Your responsibility, you mean.” It was a very deliberate reminder.

“Don’t worry—I’m not being led around by anything other than the brain in my skull.” Not anymore.

“Well, she’s a pretty thing now that she’s started to fill out.” Tag shrugged. “And we all know how you are with the helpless ones.”

“But she’s not exactly helpless, is she?” He almost felt a sense of pride in her. God, how fucked up. Yet . . . if she had been telling the truth—if she’d survived not only torture, but the destruction of her mind, her personality itself, shouldn’t that be a cause for pride?

“No.” Tag’s agreement poured cold water over his thoughts.

“What are you going to tell Lucas?”

“The truth.” He forced himself to look away from the door, from the fury of a woman who was no longer the broken creature he’d found, but someone far more dangerous. . .far more compelling. “If necessary, I’ll inject her with sedatives myself.”

Again, Tag shrugged. “Dev, don’t torture yourself like this. Give over the responsibility to me.”

“No.” Flat. No room for compromise. “You need to control Cruz—that’s much more intensive—Tiara can’t do it on her own.”

“Yeah. Kid’s still wide open if we’re not blocking him.”

If only, Dev thought, they could neutralize Katya as easily. It would make her far less of a threat, but Katya wasn’t simply Psy, she was an adult. Even if Tag or Tiara could block her, she’d fight them, and in doing so, drain energy they needed to ensure Cruz’s safety. “If Katya let you into her mind,” he said to Tag, “if she was able to drop her telepathic shields, could you block her?”

“I’d have to be monitoring her the entire time,” Tag said. “She’d hate it. It’s different with Cruz—he puts on that sullen act, but there’s acceptance there. He knows he needs the shields we put around him. They make him feel safe.”

“But they’d make Katya feel violated.”

“That and trapped.”

“Then we won’t consider it.” It was an instant decision, made in the primitive core of his soul. “She’s already been cut off from the PsyNet. We do this, we effectively maim her.”

“So you believe her story?”

“I don’t know what to believe.” Looking up, he caught Tag’s expression. “Say it.”

“You know what I’m going to say.” Tag shrugged. “You need to hand her off to someone else—her feelings shouldn’t count here. We need to contain her in the most effective way possible.”

Dev knew that. He also knew it wasn’t happening. She was his—whatever happened, he’d allow no one else to interfere. “Maybe this time, the Council did it right.” He began to head away from Katya’s suite.

“Maybe.” Tag fell in beside him. “And maybe they don’t know you as well as they think.”

“You mean I’m not a sucker for hurt women?” He’d been rewired that way the day after his ninth birthday. No one would ever be able to pull that wiring out.

“You might have a weakness,” Tag replied as they stepped into the elevator, “but it won’t stop you from doing your job as director.”

“So the fact that I’m a stone-cold bastard is my salvation?”

Tag’s smile was thin. “The last board was full of nice men and women. The Council almost ate us alive. I’d rather trust a shark at the helm.”

Letter dated September 1, 1976

Dear Matthew,

You played with your father and Emily today, all three of you laughing so hard you made my soul burn with joy. Your father is managing to remain lucid for hours at a time, though I wonder at what it costs him.

Today he received another blow when your uncle Greg decided for Silence. I don’t think your father expected his brother to take that step, but Greg’s foreseeing abilities are stronger than David’s. The nightmares in his eyes . . . I wish I could help him. But I’m an M-Psy, a scanner.

Some people say that’s why I don’t understand the importance of Silence, but dear God, how can they think that? I’m married to an F-Psy, mother to two little telepaths. I know the exact cost—down to the last tear, the last shred of fear, the last little bit of light in your father’s eyes.

I even said to him that perhaps Greg was right, that perhaps Silence might help those with his gift. He didn’t get angry. He knows too well that I love him to the core of my being—the idea of watching his mind fragment, break under the weight of the darkness of his visions. . . it shatters me. Do you know what he said, Matthew?

He said he’d rather die a madman than live by wiping out everything that makes him who he is. He’d rather live one day with his love for me, you, and Emily in his heart than a lifetime without feeling that “wild, endless fury.” Your father is a poet at times. I bet you didn’t know that. I’m smiling as I write this, knowing we’ve made up our minds. We’ll stand against Silence. But Matty, I fear that we might be in the minority.

With all the love in my heart,

Mom