"Could your mom see them?" he asked.
"No, although she could see and talk to ghosts." I paused, studying him. "I thought you didn't believe in my mom's gifts."
"No, I didn't believe the history she told everyone—a history I all but debunked, as we know. I never refuted the fact she possessed some psychic skill."
I snorted softly. "Some? You have no idea just how powerful my mom was."
"If your skills are any indication, I'm guessing that's true."
And he'd reached that conclusion without ever seeing half of my skills. Especially not my Aedh side—which is why I'd sidestepped mentioning it.
"What about demons, then?" he continued. "Can you see them, too?"
I hesitated. "Yes. But they're not that commonplace—hell is a pretty efficient prison."
At least until the keys had been created.
Jak scraped a hand across his bristly jawline. "I've learned more about this weird and wonderful world of ours in the last ten minutes than I did the last twenty-nine years."
"And it's information you will never repeat." Rhoan gave Jak his guardian expression—the one that held no emotion and yet still spoke of all kinds of hell waiting for you if you dared disobey. "None of this is information we want known by the general population. We couldn't afford the panic."
"But they have a right—"
"And I have the right," Rhoan interrupted, voice terse, "to call in a telepath and erase your memories if you do not agree to keep this silent."
Jak glanced at me, his expression disbelieving. I could only smile grimly. "I've seen it done. And the fact that you possess mild telepathy skills yourself won't save you."
"Well, this sucks." He blew out a frustrated breath. "What about the Nadler story? Will I be allowed to print any of that, or am I wasting my time?"