connected to Pithica in … a long time. This seems different, but I can’t place how. And Pithica—they were always refining new technologies. I don’t know.”
Making new types of psychics. Holy hell.
“We had a deal,” I croaked.
Rio had brokered it, to save all our lives: Pithica wouldn’t kill us, and we would stop our efforts to destroy them. It wasn’t one I would have said yes to, given the choice, but they’d enforced my agreement with a mental block that made it impossible for me to work against them.
I’d insisted Simon remove the actual block months ago. But still—I’d hesitated. I’d told myself that Pithica hadn’t only threatened my life and mental sanctity, but Arthur’s and Checker’s, and without a plan, putting a toe in their direction would immediately equal us all being snuffed from the face of the Earth. They were too powerful.
Maybe that was logic. Or maybe it was fear.
Find Arthur, I commanded myself. Finding Arthur is the first step, no matter what. If we had to regroup after that to take on people who could literally rewrite our thoughts …
“I’ll try to figure out more,” Simon said. “The man you can’t remember—focus on his face. That will help.”
I did, and as soon as Simon told me to, I found it easier. The details of my client’s features started to clear. Asian, I thought. And Australian—for some reason, now that I’d remembered him, I didn’t have the least bit of trouble with his voice. Only his appearance.
“Who the fuck is this guy?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Simon said again.
“He blew up my office.” It was coming back to me now, in hazy half mirages. Had he been working with D.J.? “He tried to kill me, and then I forgot him. After locking him up.”
You don’t see me, the man had said. He’d meant it literally.
But I also remembered him being … out of it, not quite making sense … like he’d been manipulated himself. Or was that just my malfunctioning neurons making it seem so?
“Cas,” Simon said. “I reiterate my offer to help.”
Oh, Christ. I hated needing Simon’s help.
“Yeah. Okay,” I said. I gave him the address. “Go get me some fucking answers. Are you going to be able to tell him to stay put, by the way? And not to blow you up?”
He knew by tell I meant force. He hesitated.
“Seriously? This guy might be working for Pithica! You can’t tell me you have moral qualms about using your goddamned psychic powers against another psychic—”
“I don’t think he is one,” Simon said. “Not in the same sense that we are. It’s something different. And if he isn’t—you know I can’t do that sort of thing. No matter what.”
Can’t or won’t? Simon and his mewling ethics. “I’ll send Rio with you,” I said. “There’s even the off chance he won’t be affected by whatever this is.” Rio was immune to Simon’s brand of telepathy, but even if this was something different, well, I had been able to interact with the guy for some small period of time. Rio would be able to handle keeping him in place. And he’d make sure our prisoner didn’t try to kill Simon. Not that people did attack Simon, usually—even if he didn’t make a concerted effort to keep himself safe, telepaths’ thoughts had a lot of unconscious bleed.
Yet another thing I hated about them.
“Go update Rio,” I said. “Tell him he’s with you after he clears us here, and that this might be Pithica, but we’re not sure yet.”
Simon opened his mouth, probably to say something about Rio having told us to stay down here because of possible bombs, but then he took in my face and started across the parking lot.
“This could get real bad, couldn’t it?” Pilar said softly. “I’ve heard you guys talk about the Pithica telepaths and how they—they can just make you believe anything, can’t they? And you think it’s your own thoughts?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Can Simon help us against that, do you think?”
Who knew. I should probably ask him, just to plan contingencies, but getting a straight commitment out of the man without being condescended to was like trying to force a chaotic system to behave, and just the thought of trying to coordinate a defensive plan with him made my mouth sour.
I leaned against Pilar’s car to wait. Someone cackled in the back of my head, but I told myself it was psychosomatic.
“Hey, are you going to be okay?” Pilar asked, as if she were the