Nichols suppressed a noise of frustration. It had taken ages to get Director Holt Traynor of the Empath Initiative to agree that Evan Grayson was too dangerous to live, that they needed to focus on creating emotionless soldiers without Grayson’s lingering protective instinct toward empaths. But now Traynor was missing, and others simply didn’t understand. “I don’t believe Grayson isunique,” Nichols said. “He’s an experiment. His immunity can be duplicated in someone without his complicated loyalties.”
Charles glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “You still think so?”
He said it simply, curiously. Not a challenge; a genuine question.
“Yes, I do,” Nichols said. “I was close, at Polaris. The irony that it was Evan Grayson’s brother who destroyed our facility is not lost on me.”
Charles picked up one of the Maybach’s custom flutes from the console. “I have always appreciated your work with Polaris,” he said. “Most people wouldn’t have the stomach for what needs to be done to truly understand the corrupted empaths. Even a man like Holt doesn’t want the details.”
Nichols let his gaze rest disinterestedly on the back of Huang’s head on the other side of the divider. That was true. Traynor of the Empath Initiative understood the danger normal humans faced from corrupted empaths—understood the vital role Polaris had played in the empath ecosystem. But when it came to Nichols’s experiments, Traynor had always chosen plausible deniability.
Don’t tell me how the sausage is made, Traynor would say.Just tell me how much money you need and show me where to sign.
“It’s unacceptable to have Polaris inoperative,” Charles went on. “Knowing minds like yours are solving our biggest empathy problems brings me quite a bit of peace.” He reached into the laptop bag at his feet and withdrew a large padded manila envelope, which he held out to Nichols. “Here.”
“What’s this?” Nichols said, taking the envelope. He could feel the outline of two small vials inside, along with something larger that gave beneath his fingers with the softness of fabric.
“The envelope contains a potentially useful item,” Charles said, “along with a sample of the laboratory materials that were saved from Polaris.”
Nichols’s fingers tightened on the envelope. Some of his research had survived. Charles wouldn’t give this back to him freely, though. “I take it you have a request of me.”
“I have been fighting empaths longer than the three children who broke into Stone Solutions last night have been alive.” Charles steepled his fingers. “They were after delivery records; I protected those, but it seems plausible to think they may be after the contents of said deliveries, most likely thematerials for the gloves that keep the rest of us safe. Those materials are also well-protected, but it seems prudent to take some extra steps to protect the access codes and prevent the empaths from interfering.”
Nichols tilted his head, waiting.
“I have a favor that needs to be entrusted to the right partner,” Charles said. “And as you know, I always repay my favors.”
Chapter Five
To: [REDACTED]
From: [email protected]
Subject: BOD meeting
An impactful strategy meeting for the Stone Solutions Board of Directors is planned for this evening. An event of this caliber clearly cannot be held at Stone Solutions until security is strengthened and the lobby windows are replaced, but AMI has graciously agreed to host the meeting at their downtown headquarters.
Obviously AMI is not responsible for empathy defense, and so of course is not quite as secure as Stone Solutions itself.
I’m sure you remember which empaths are responsible for Stone Solutions’ current state.
And who is responsible for those empaths currently being free.
Stone Solutions would appreciate the Dead Man’s presence at the meeting.
“‘Stone Solutions would appreciate the Dead Man’s presence,’” Grayson repeated, reading over Vivian Marist’s email.
Surely looking for the empaths was a better use of his time? But while they could split hairs over whether Cora Falcon’s current freedom was Grayson’s fault, his horse wasn’t very high when it was his own brother who’d sprung her from Polaris. And Reece being corrupted and free was, of course, entirely Grayson’s fault, so he settled for sending Marist a politeyes, ma’amin response before getting back on the road.
American Minds Intact’s headquarters was in a nondescript downtown high-rise, halfway up a hill and not far from the water. Soon enough, Grayson was pulling his rental Prius along a stretch of yellow-painted curb on the busy street, just past the overpriced AMI shop that took up half of the building’s first floor. Clothes with the AMI logo were displayed in the window: a tote bag that readOur Minds, Our Business; stainless steel travel mugs with the AMI logo; a mannequin wearing a hooded sweatshirt in the neon yellow of a safety vest withEmpathy Is Danger-yspelled out in big letters. They sure were scraping the bottom of the barrel when it came to slogans.
He was early for the meeting but climbed out of the car anyway, ignoring the AMI store in favor of the coffeehouse next door. He got a latte and stepped back out to the sidewalk, standing under the coffeehouse’s awning and out of the flow of relentless foot traffic as he pulled out his phone. He’d gotten more emails, but his thumb went, unbidden, to the texts from Reece.
Reece:No more Mr. Nice Dead Man, is that what you’re trying to say? Please.
Reece:If you’re so sure you can handle bad empaths, come and get me then.
“‘No more Mr. Nice Dead Man’?” Grayson repeated out loud as he sipped his coffee. “When have I ever beennice?”
