Chapter Twenty-Nine
. . . and while some have called our research “sensationalized,” a survey of diverse mythology suggests sexual demons were
believed to prey on mortals, drawing their own energy from their partners’ pleasure. In this paper we will argue that through
their emotional absorption, empaths possess this same quality . . .
—Excerpt from Empaths: The Modern-Day Incubus, a privately funded study
Lumen Field was eerily silent after midnight, with a ghostlike quality to the endless rows of seats. Sean Lennox and his team
were in a press box rented for the day, a security camera broadcasting to a large monitor and several empty pizza boxes and
energy drink cans scattered about the room.
Lennox himself had been watching the camera for several minutes, but the empaths weren’t doing anything. Just huddled together
in the Stone Solutions luxury box on another level, hugging and comforting each other.
He counted their bent heads again. Definitely twelve. Hadn’t they only grabbed ten in Bellingham?
The door to the press box opened, and Charles Stone stepped inside. “Well done, Sean,” he said to Lennox. “I trust everything is in order?”
“Absolutely. No issues at all transporting the empaths here.” He wasn’t gonna fucking say anything about the numbers. More
empaths could only be a good thing.
“Excellent,” Charles said. “And are we ready to broadcast to the empaths?”
Lennox nodded. A moment later, Charles was seated at the table in front of a laptop. “Go ahead and put me through.”
Lennox clicked through, and a moment later, the empaths were all looking up and over at the television in the suite.
Charles leaned forward. “Hello, empaths. I trust you’re comfortable enough, although perhaps wondering why you’ve been locked
into our corporate box at Lumen Field?”
The empaths exchanged confused looks, some of them nodding.
Charles steepled his fingers. “Tomorrow, our home team will be playing one of their rival teams. We expect a very full stadium,
but in that stadium, we unfortunately also expect some violent and dangerous elements to appear.”
The empaths collectively gasped. Several covered their mouths in horror. Lennox rolled his eyes. Fucking little drama queens.
“It is essential that you remain in that box and make no attempts to communicate with the press or anyone else, or quite a
lot of people may be hurt,” Charles said. “Or worse.”
There was outpouring of protests from the empaths, cries about the danger to the stadium. “Why is this happening?” one of
the empaths demanded.
But Charles had already ended the call, the screen in front of him going black.
“I’m handling the transportation, but I want every man we have watching this stadium tomorrow,” he said to Lennox.
“Because when the crowd needs a scapegoat—as they always do—they will learn that empaths were present at the game. And they’ll be there to take the blame. ”
Lennox nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“And make sure the empaths don’t actually see any violence,” Charles added.
Lennox wrinkled his nose. “Why?”
“The threat of violence is a very useful and powerful tool for manipulating empaths,” said Charles. “Exposing empaths to actual
violence, however—well. You had best be prepared for the consequences.”
He looked at his phone and frowned. “Why the hell haven’t I heard from Victor?”
Fury as he sees Evan in chains on that table—
Vengeance as he sets the thralls loose on the lab—
Fear as they slide down the mountainside, because even the best drivers can’t win against Mother Nature—
Certainty as he knows he has to protect his passenger—
Emotions and thoughts came to Reece as if from a distance. His eyelids didn’t seem to want to open, but there was velvet softness
under his cheek, smooth fabric against his shoulder, comforting weight on his back. A soft and steady pulse under his ear,
like the rhythm of a heartbeat.
Evan, his mind nudged.
Reece’s empathy was reaching out before his thoughts could take form, searching, wanting—
And then everything was black.
Jason Owens’s mansion was at the end of a residential street on Mercer Island.
Jamey remembered the location from the day she’d been called to his murder scene.
Tonight, a light snow blanketed everything, more flakes still falling on her windshield as she pulled her car along the curb and peered at what she could see of the house ahead, the four-car garage, the driveway.
It seemed empty, but then, if the empaths were here, they wouldn’t exactly be advertising it. And if the empaths were here, they were going to pick up on her emotions. There was no point in trying to hide.
She got out of the car and made her way toward the house under the dusting of tiny snowflakes. The neighboring homes had their
lights dimmed too, the residents probably enjoying their winters somewhere tropical, and the night was quiet other than her
footsteps on the pavement.
She headed for the front door and knocked. She waited, ears pricked for any sound, but all was silent. After a long moment,
she tried the knob and found it unlocked. But then, empaths who could feel others approaching didn’t exactly need to lock
the door.
She stepped into the house. It was eerily still, in a way that raised the hairs on her neck. She left the lights off, moving
through the rooms based on her memories of her one previous visit. She paused in the study, where the faint scent of ash lingered
in the fireplace; someone had lit the fire within the last couple of days.
Eventually she found the kitchen, which was a little lighter from the glow coming off the snow outside the large windows.
Her eyebrows went up as she made out the faint shapes on the kitchen table: the silhouette of a laptop, the pale glow of papers.
Keeping her steps silent, she approached the table. “Here we go,” she said under her breath as she pulled a flash drive out
of the side of the laptop. She used her phone flashlight to illuminate the papers, fanning them out.
Deliveries to Stone Solutions, one of them was titled in handwriting. Below it, Jamey could see more handwritten notes from the past couple weeks. Someone
had circled a company called Metallic Tailors and added three question marks.
Jamey folded up all of the papers and pocketed them along with the flash drive. She had just closed the laptop, ready to take
it, when the faint sound of footsteps came from down the hall.
Jamey straightened, drawing her gun. “Who’s there?”
The footsteps continued without hesitation, coming closer.
She moved into the kitchen, behind the island, as the footsteps reached the doorway, and then abruptly she was staring into
the blood-streaked eyes and menacing expression of a clearly thralled Officer Kosler.
Well, shit.
Kosler roared as Jamey lunged forward and got ready to kick some thrall ass.
Wake up.
Come on.
Wake UP.
Reece’s thoughts broke through the darkness again, a little louder, a little clearer. The distant rhythms were still there,
a heartbeat, the rise and fall of breath. And the sensation of that soft skin, of muscle, of warmth beneath him.
He was warmer now too, his core temperature rising, the presence of another person making his empathy perk up. There was still
a gentle weight on his back, pleasant and secure.
Arms, his mind supplied. Evan’s arms are around you.
Wake the fuck up and make sure he’s okay.
Reece twitched.
Grayson’s arms? Around him? Where were they? The truck still? Why was it so dark?
Reece tried to open his eyes.
But his empathy was faster, on fire at the thought of touching Grayson, reaching for him, desperately wanting—
And then everything was black.
Alex huddled behind one of the couches in the Stone Solutions’ luxury box, Cora at his side. The other ten empaths were in
a tight knot in the center of the room, some of them sniffling.
“I don’t understand why Stone Solutions would do this.” On the couch on the other side of Alex, Mireya Gomez was curled in
a tight ball, her head in her hands and her face stained with tears. Dawson Jones was next to her, also looking crushed. “Why
would they want to hurt anyone?”
Alex exchanged a covert glance with Cora. They’d kept their heads down during Charles Stone’s broadcast, but if Charles spent
any time watching the camera, they’d be recognized.
They had to act.
“We still have our phones, and the spreadsheet of all these empaths from the flash drive,” Alex said under his breath. “The
one with their trigger points.”
“We do,” Cora acknowledged. “What are you thinking?”
“Can you cut the camera?”
She nodded. Their captors hadn’t bothered to do anything complicated; they’d set up a webcam in the middle of the room and
warned the empaths that if they cut the feed, they’d be forced to watch each other bleed.
The pacifists had been whimpering putty after that. Alex and Cora had added another tally to their list of reasons their captors
were going to regret this night.
Keeping behind the furniture, Cora snuck across the room on hands and knees, and pulled the plug on the webcam.
As the red dot faded from view, Alex stood up and cleared his throat. “Hey, y’all,” he said, finding a sympathetic tone. “How are we doing?”
Dawson and Mireya exchanged a look with each other and the others. “Not very good.” Mireya sniffed. “You’re one of the two
who joined us at the pulp mill, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Alex palmed his phone. “I know this is bad. But I’m afraid things might get a lot worse.”
Dawson furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
Alex held up his phone. “I have a copy of a spreadsheet created by Stone Solutions,” he said quietly. “It has all of our names,
and the names of our loved ones—and a plan for how to kill our loved ones in the most horrible way possible.”
The room went instantly, deathly silent.
Alex glanced at Cora. Her eyes were haunted, the way they always were when the loss of her fiancé hurt fresh.
“Cora and I have a story to tell you about Stone Solutions, and the people we loved most in the world,” Alex said. “It’s not