Gretel got to her parents’ home in the early evening, absently drinking her mom’s kombucha as she sat at her dad’s desk in his home office and booted up his laptop.
“Charles, this an absolute outrage!” Beau was in his bedroom, but his voice was raised enough to echo through the house. “I can’t believe you’ve come out of retirement to try to talk me into this. Not for one instant will I stand for it!”
Gretel set her drink down as she put in her dad’s password.Charleswas also a popular name, likeAlex, but based on the context, she was pretty sure the Charles on the other side of the phone was Charles Stone—and he’d royally pissed off her dad.
She unlocked the laptop screen. Almost immediately, an advertisement for Stone Solutions popped up on the open browser. She irritably clicked it closed as Beau’s voice came through the walls again. “Oh, you’re bringing upmyindiscretions now? So Lucien becomes a senator whilemycharacter is under assassination?”
Gretel winced. She was well aware neither of her parents was a model spouse, but she had no desire to be reminded of her dad’s many affairs, just like she really didn’t want to write a blog post about Washington’s new senator when he’d had a public fling with her mom.
She tried to tune out her dad’s call as she browsed his cloud drive. She opened the folder for November and scrolled through files from the night of the AMI meeting. “Yes,” she said under her breath as she found a scan of the sign-in sheet for the press and opened it.
There’d been a decent amount of press at the meeting: a few reporters, a kid named Connor Kendrick from an unspecified high school, and some names she recognized from social media. And then, near the top, an entry in neat handwriting:
A.G., Untitled Blog
Beau shouted from the bedroom again. “You’re lecturingmeabout share prices? When Stone Solutions pulled that little green stunt today and sent the stock careening? Stop changing the subject, Charles, and listen to me: AMI willneverput its support behind Lucien Braun as senator, you hear me? Never.”
Gretel pursed her lips, eyes on the letters A.G.
I haven’t been bold enough to name it, Alex had said of his blog.
“And speaking of share prices,” Beau said with an edge of real malice, “several of the other directors had questions about that October 8-K. Roger brought it up privately to me yesterday, actually used the wordsuspicious. But of course,Icame to your and Cedrick’s defense. I said, ‘It’s nothing to worry about. There’s no one more trustworthy than the Stones.’ But perhaps I should call Roger next and tell him I was wrong?”
Gretel stilled. Beau’s conversation had just taken a very interesting turn.
There was a long moment of silence. Then her dad spoke again. “Well, I certainly am relieved to hear that.” Beau sounded very smug. “I appreciate that you see things from my point of view now.” He paused for a moment. “Why yes, Adele and I are free for dinner tonight. Generous of you to offer. And of course we can meet at AMI before; we’ll get that pesky press release handled, and then we can all enjoy the evening and pretend this conversation never had to happen.”
Beau’s voice was growing quieter now, as he was apparently placated. Gretel mentally filed away the words she’d heard to look into later and focused on her screen. “All right, then,A.G.,” she muttered as she cracked her knuckles. “Let’s find your blog.”
A few clicks in a search engine later, Gretel was looking at an unassuming blog that seemed to be mostly articles and a handful of pictures: never of A.G., but of landscapes and citiesin the western US. She followed the link for an entry the same day as the November AMI meeting.
AMI likes to say that all monsters claim to be harmless and that’s how they lure you under the bed. Of course, AMI members also think monsters only exist as foils to the heroes: that they are and have always been monsters, intrinsically evil, born not made.
No one learned anything fromFrankenstein.
Gretel leaned back in her chair. Her dad did say that when he was talking about empaths and their pacifism. And A.G. was also right that her dad saw himself as the hero fighting the empaths. Did Gretel see herself that way too? She’d seen Reece Davies bruised and bloody because he wasn’t willing to fight back; counting herself among those who beat up on pacifists incapable of self-defense wasn’t a particularly pleasant thought.
She scrolled back up to the top and the more recent entries, until she came to one that made her pause.
Sugar and spice and everything vice; we keep telling you it’s what empaths are made of.
Maybe it’s time for more folks to learn it for themselves.
It was dated the same day Alex had sent her the picture of Officer Stensby and Keith Waller outside of Cedrick Stone’s office.
“And everything vice,” Gretel repeated out loud, frowning.
What the hell did that mean?
And who waswe?
Chapter Eleven
To: Marist, Vivian
From: Whitman, Vanessa
Subject: the yacht last weekend
