Except for a limited number of warped Psy driven by perverse desires or greed, most Psy were like her and automatically “bounced” as soon as they detected a human mind. Having another person’s entire psychic presence—thoughts, dreams, nightmares, random pieces of sensory data, echoes of a million conversations—screaming into the brain was not a pleasant experience.
This was not her bedroom.
In fact, it wasn’t like any room she’d ever seen. The walls were exposed stone that had been smoothed out only enough for safety. It appeared as if this place had been—literally—hacked out of the stone, then the ones who’d done the hacking had shrugged and said they were done.
Sitting up, she looked around.
The room held no threats as far as she could see, though the front door wasn’t deadbolted and there was a door to the side she’d have to check. Other than the bed on which she sat—a bed covered with a soft sheet that was nonetheless not as soft as the blanket half-pooled at her waist—there was an armchair in one corner beside a standing garment rack on which hung a number of clothes.
An aged wooden trunk sat underneath the clothes.
Within easy reach of the bed was a small side table placed against the wall. It held a digital clock, the phone she remembered sliding into the pocket of her suit coat that morning, a sealed bottle of water, and a covered tray.
Leaving that for the moment, she focused on the clock. If it was correct—and a quick check on the PsyNet confirmed that yes, the clock was precisely correct—it was now five a.m. on the day after her last memories.
As if the thought had triggered a cascade, the memories rushed back: Valentin, poison, her grandmother, the hospital, small gangster bears, muscled warmth around her, a bass heartbeat against her ear.
Silver allowed the deluge to crash over her before slowly separating out the fragments until she understood where she was and why. The next thing was to test her body. Swinging her legs out over the side of the bed, she tried to stand up on the large rug on which the bed sat. A tremor, two, but she managed to stay upright.
Walking to the door beyond which she could sense no minds at all, she opened it to reveal sanitation facilities. Silver wasn’t used to being dirty in any sense, and right now, she felt exactly that. The antiseptic scent of the hospital clung to her—but below that was the faint hint of perspiration from when the poison first hit her.
A shower was a priority.
Decision made, she walked back to the door to the room, threw the bolt on this side. It was solid. Made sense in a clan of bears. From what she’d seen in the reports on those Moscow bar incidents, bears broke things without trying.
Only once she felt secure did she examine the clothing. None of it was hers, but it looked as if it would fit. A few pieces appeared crisply new while others were used but clean. In the trunk was underwear meant for someone of her size; it was still in packaging that bore the name of the boutique Silver most often utilized.
Her grandmother must’ve sent through the new items.
A quiet alert pinged against her mind, telling her she had telepathic messages to which she needed to attend. They were currently corraled in a psychic vault. The vast majority of telepaths couldn’t form this type of “waiting area”—only the high-Gradient pure telepaths had the capacity, and even most of them found it too much work. It was, but Silver had always found the work worth the convenience.
She scanned through the translucent bubbles in the vault. Each represented a separate message, kept neatly segregated from its neighbors so as not to risk a garbled crossover. For now, Silver ignored all the messages but two.
The first one was from Ena.
Silver, Alpha Nikolaev organized for a StoneWater bear in Moscow to drive some clothes to you. All are new, purchased by my own hand. It struck me during the shopping expedition that contact poisons may have been placed on your less-used garments as a fail-safe. I will have them tested.
The message ended as Ena’s messages always did—with nothing but a crisp silence. Silver knew her grandmother was right to be careful, but contact poisons were unlikely; she had a small, functional set of clothes that she utilized efficiently. Had a piece been compromised, she’d be dead by now.
She opened the second message that had caught her eye.
Silver. Grandmother isn’t saying anything, and I can’t bring myself to believe the ridiculous “political friendship visit” to the bears touted in the media. Cousin Ivan tells me you’ve disappeared from your apartment. I can feel you, know you’re alive. Are you under duress? Do you need assistance?
Ena had told Silver not to trust anyone, but this bond was one nothing could corrupt. If Arwen ever decided to kill Silver, it would mean their family was broken on a fundamental level. She replied without hesitation to the brother who’d been born at the same time as her but who wasn’t her twin.
Their father was the Mercant. He’d signed fertilization and conception contracts with two women. By chance, their pregnancies had occurred within days of each other, one conceiving earlier than expected, one later. Silver and Arwen had been born in the same hospital, only ten minutes between them.
He’d always been an indelible part of her life.
Arwen, she said, reaching out with her mind because her brother wasn’t a powerful telepath, his psychic strength lying in another area. To have reached her to leave the message, he must’ve pushed himself to the point of severe physical pain. I’m fine. There was an attempt on my life, but it was unsuccessful. Please make sure no one gets to Grandmother. If an enemy wanted to hurt the Mercants, taking out either Silver or Ena would do it.
Eliminating Arwen would also have a catastrophic effect, but most people didn’t realize that yet.
Her brother responded at once, as if he’d been awake and listening for her. I’ve spoken to Grandmother in the time since I sent you the message. I’m . . . glad you didn’t take her prohibition against trusting anyone to apply to me.
Silver didn’t chide him for believing that she might; Arwen was on his own journey, and it was a difficult one. Did Grandmother share all the pertinent details?
Yes. After a certain amount of discussion—whereupon I pointed out that if she didn’t tell me what was going on, I’d hack your mind and find you anyway.
Recalling Valentin’s words about “rough and tumble,” Silver chose a pair of black jeans that weren’t new and that Ena was unlikely to have sent. The new pants were all sharply tailored, as per Silver’s usual preference, and totally unsuitable for this rugged place. She paired the jeans with a crisp white shirt that had her grandmother’s stylistic fingerprint all over it.
To her brother, she said, You haven’t been able to hack my mind since we were four.
I haven’t tried since then. A pause. I’ve been going over the security footage. The only non-family visitors you had in the operative window were Monique Ling and Alpha Nikolaev.
Monique only got as far as my living area and I never left her alone.
And you never let Alpha Nikolaev in at all.
Placing underwear with the clothing on the bed, Silver said what Arwen couldn’t. There is no question then. It was family.