Psy (Alien Castaways #3) - Cara Bristol Page 0,43

at the musty, dusty smell, unable to fathom why she ever wanted to work at Timeless Treasures. The store didn’t sell anything but old junk, and busybody Verna kept butting her nose into other people’s business. Surprisingly, when she had texted her to announce she was quitting, Verna hadn’t tried to talk her out of it, only saying she should come in to pick up her final paycheck.

The biddy stood behind the counter. “Good morning!” Her overly cheerful greeting grated on Cassie’s nerves.

She scribbled. Morning.

“So you’re leaving, huh?”

She nodded.

“You got another job lined up?”

What business was it of hers? Moving with Mom back to Boise.

“Rather sudden, isn’t it?”

She should have guessed Verna would give her the third degree. You have my check ready?

“Meant to do that! Time got away from me this morning.”

Cassie wondered what was so all-important she’d missed opening the shop on time. The window sign was still flipped to CLOSED.

Her former boss pulled a ledger from underneath the counter. “I’ll figure out your hours and cut you a check while you clear out your locker. I think you left a fleece jacket and a few other things. Won’t take but a minute.”

Cassie sighed impatiently then strode into the back room.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Psy stepped into view. “We need to talk.”

Damn that meddling Verna. She set me up.

Damn Psy. Why couldn’t he take no for an answer? Getting involved with him had been the biggest mistake of her life. She huffed and scrawled, Nothing left to say.

He grabbed her pad and tossed it aside. “No writing.”

He surged into her head, his consciousness spreading, twining around hers, invasive…foreign, confusing. She wasn’t supposed to allow this; she was supposed to block him, because…because…he would hurt her, he would ruin everything. But his presence felt…comfortable, familiar, right. No, not right. Wrong. Very wrong. But… But…

Get out! Leave me alone! She tried to expel him the way she had when he’d come to the house, but he refused to leave, his essence, that comfortable intimacy spreading deeper into her mind.

I’m not leaving until we talk.

She couldn’t talk to him. Shouldn’t talk to him because she wanted to go to Boise, and he would stop her. He was bad. Being with him would hurt her. He’d played with her, fooling her into thinking she might be able to speak, when she couldn’t. He was a liar.

She spun around for the exit, but he blocked her passage. “Gahrhrr!” she grunted, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to force him out of her mind. Somebody had taught her how, warned her…who? Who… Forget who. She was getting distracted. He was doing something to her mind. “Gahrhrr!” Leave me alone! Why are you doing this to me? She grabbed her head, her fingers digging into her scalp in frustration and fear. She couldn’t run; she couldn’t hide. Like an invader, he stormed through her head, pillaging her private thoughts…

* * * *

Cassie mentally screamed at him, each angry demand, each terrified plea driving spikes of agony through his entire being. When a Verital forced his way into another’s consciousness, it caused the marauder extreme discomfort. However, knowing his presence terrified his genmate hurt worse than any pain arising from breaking the Code of Honor.

Hopefully when he restored her memory, she’d forgive him. She had been violated in the worst possible way by Rosalie who’d replaced truth with false ideations and emotions then set up barriers of resistance that would be triggered if anyone tried to undo it. Rosalie’s mind control abilities were more developed than he’d realized. Small wonder. She had two decades of practice.

The brainwashing had to be reversed. He could have done it secretly without Cassie’s knowledge, but ethics wouldn’t permit it, and he hoped she would realize deep down he was trying to help her.

I hate you. I hate Verna for helping you. Cassie, in her right mind, would never have meant those words, but they pierced like a knife anyway.

Her anger, her fear, her resistance, his guilt over violating the code urged him to rush, but he forced himself to proceed methodically, to perform a thorough examination. He peeled away conscious memory layer by layer, until he could see the foundation. He followed the linkages.

Rosalie had been busy—but sloppy. Instead of erasing memories, she’d layered new constructs atop original feelings and thoughts, until lies buried the truth. One by one, he deleted the falsehoods.

I don’t need or want a job. Delete.

Verna is not my friend. She intends to separate