Well, shit. Jamey hadn’t been planning to tell him that theory, that most scientists thought the corruption caused the change so the sibling would protect the pacifist empath.Parasitic relationship, Grayson had said the scientists hypothesized, but she was never going to say that word to Reece. “You’re notweak,” she said. “And the idea that the corruption was behind the change is fucked up. It is fucked up to think a tiny kid could be capable of that, even unconsciously.”
Reece’s voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m capable of anymore, Jamey.”
“Hey,” she said. “Knock it off. You’re not going to become corrupted. Grayson’s whole job is to stop that from happening, and even if he somehow failed, you’ve got me. I got an hour-long lecture from you because I once went out of turn at a four-way stop sign. If I let you burn down Seattle, you’d never let me hear the end of it.”
“Not funny,” said Reece.
“Kind of funny.”
“...maybe,” he grudgingly admitted. There was a pause, then he said, “But you do need to know that when two cars arrive at a stop sign at the same time, the person on the right—”
“Oh my God,stop. I got my lecture already and we’re not doing it again,” she said. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”
“It’s my email. I keep getting—” Reece seemed to stumble on his words. There was a pause, and then he said, “I, um. I keep getting locked out; you know how bad I am with tech. But it’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said quickly. “I think I just need to reset my password or something.”
“Okay,” she said. “Let me know if I can help.”
“Of course I would let you know if I needed your help with something,” Reece said, still quick. “Have a good trip, and don’t let Liam text and drive. And don’t you text and drive either. And if you have to have music on, keep it at a reasonable volume and—”
“Bye, Reece,” she said pointedly, and hung up.
At the university hospital, Grayson lingered in the parking lot for a moment, checking his messages. EI said the blood tests he had asked for were delayed, but they had the lab’s every assurance that they would be done as soon as possible.
He’d never had any issues with delays before.
Eventually Grayson went into the hospital and followed a petite resident in blue scrubs down to the basement morgue, leaning against the back wall of the elevator so he didn’t loom over her.
“Does the staff who looked at the empath have any thoughts?” Grayson said, as he held the elevator door for her.
The resident glanced up at him. “You read the report, right?”
“I did,” he acknowledged. “But it helps to hear theories.” And it helped him gauge how much the staff might know and how much cover-up was gonna be needed.
He got the door to the morgue for her, and they entered. “Her fingernails are a mess,” she finally said.
Grayson raised his eyebrows.
“I mean, I know empathssaythey wear their gloves all the time,” she said, more quickly. “But her nails look all chewed up, like she’s a nail biter, and how could she be biting them if she was wearing her gloves? Are we sure theyreallywear them all the time?”
An image of Reece rose in Grayson’s mind, curled up on the passenger seat of the truck, bundled in the sweatshirt Grayson had tossed in the backseat long months and miles before. Reece had been chewing on his thumb, because sometimes even empaths who dutifully wore their gloves sought outlets for their anxiety.
Granted, Reecehadn’tbeen in gloves at that moment, and that particular bout of anxiety was probably because he’d caused a world of trouble that night. He’d been cute in that hoodie, though.
A few minutes later, Grayson had on a pair of latex gloves at least two sizes too small. The resident had wheeled out Marie Pelletier’s body on its stainless steel table, covered to the neck with a sheet. Ms. Pelletier had the brown curls she’d had in her social media pictures, but her features were less recognizable, scraped and bruised, nose maybe broken from a face-first fall.
The resident disappeared into the room’s tiny office as Grayson stepped over to the body and picked up the empath’s left hand. Contrary to AMI’s ramblings, there was nothing you could immediately see with your naked eyes to know an empath’s hand from anyone else’s. They had extra friction ridges, which made ink fingerprints appear smudged and inconclusive. Marist had promised that Stone Solutions Canada had received digital versions of Ms. Pelletier’s for analysis.
The resident had been right, though. Ms. Pelletier’s nails were bitten to the quick.
Grayson lifted her right hand, then hesitated. It was hard to pick out in a hospital morgue that used chemicals to stave off decay, but the scent from the glove was here too.
He bent closer. It was stronger than it had been in the glove and seemed to be coming from the back of her hand.
He glanced up, but the resident had closed the office door, her profile partially visible through the office’s glass window.
