been experimenting with mental manipulation under her grandfather’s sponsorship.
Then there’d been an accident. What had happened?
She scanned in the list of names from the personnel records.
The computer’s search results weren’t as quick or thorough this time. A few of the names still came up with blanks. The names that hit, though, hit big.
OLYMPIAD PERSONNEL FILES: CLASSIFIED. HISTORIES, NEXT OF KIN, ETC.
Jacob West, President, West Corp: son, Warren West (aka Captain Olympus)
Anna Riley, stenographer, West Corp, Leyden Industrial Park: daughter, Suzanne (Riley) West (aka Spark)
George Denton, machinist, West Corp, Leyden Industrial Park: son, Robert “Robbie” Denton (aka the Bullet)
Emily Newman, technician, West Corp, Leyden Industrial Park: son, Arthur Mentis. (Note: Emily Newman immigrated to London where she met her husband, Nicholas Mentis. Arthur Mentis came to Commerce City for medical training.)
Four out of twelve of those present at the accident had children who were superhuman. Then what about Analise’s parents? Breezeway’s? Barry Quinn’s? Any of the other superhumans? Their grandparents?
In her father’s world, coincidence didn’t exist. It couldn’t exist. All that remained then was finding the strands that connected various parts of the web. One strand showed thick and obvious.
If Simon Sito fathered a child, was that child superhuman? Was that child Paulson? If so, what could Paulson do? Or was he like her—a dud?
“I’d have thought you’d be resting.” Dr. Mentis stood in the doorway. “You’re still injured, even if you don’t want to admit it.”
Her face burned in a panicked flush. Quickly, she shut down the computer file. She hadn’t heard Arthur enter the room. She’d been too wrapped up. Or he moved too quietly. Or he’d convinced her mind that she didn’t hear him. Paranoid, paranoid …
Either in response to his suggestion, or her own shock, a headache launched itself through her skull. The stitches on her cut throbbed; she could feel them.
“I had a couple of things to look up.” She had no reason to feel guilty. She’d been invited here.
“What have you found?”
“I’d have thought that would have been old news by now. We have more urgent questions, don’t you think?”
She hesitated to ponder those questions, and how the one connected to the other, when he could see those thoughts laid bare.
“I’ve been to see Mayor Paulson,” he continued. “I came in with the crowd for his press conference this morning. I was hoping to learn what was behind all those snappy sound bites and high ideals he’s always spouting off about. Do you know what I found?”
“What?”
He started pacing a long, slow circuit around the room. “Nothing. I found absolutely nothing at all. His mind was blank to me. I couldn’t read him.”
Just like the Destructor. Like Sito. She now recognized the tension in Arthur’s frame—he was afraid. That knowledge tingled across her skin. Dr. Mentis was never afraid. He was never anything.
“Oh my God.”
“You know what it means, don’t you? You’ve suspected it for some time.”
“I’d rather not talk about it. I still don’t know anything for sure.”
“That’s a bit disingenuous. You know plenty, but you’re not saying what.”
She wouldn’t fall into that trap. She wouldn’t say a damn word.
He didn’t stop walking. “Celia, what are you trying to hide?”
Nothing, she wanted to say, but didn’t. She wondered why she didn’t just say it, knowing Arthur could read the thought behind her eyes.
“I’m not trying to hide anything. I just—I just want to be sure before I say it.”
“I’m worried.”
The fact that he’d admit to an emotion of any kind shook her. “There’s a lot to worry about.”
“I’m worried about
And she knew. The thought was simply there, and it wasn’t hers.
“So what if I am?” she said, her voice cracking. “You don’t have to ask any questions. You just know.”
“I try to be polite.”
He always said that. But this didn’t feel like politeness. It wasn’t enough for him to read the answer in her thoughts, he wanted her to say it. This inspired in her a contrary desire to push him. What would she have to say, how mean would she have to be, before he reacted? That was the teenager again, the angry girl Celia had never quite escaped. She shouldn’t be like that, not with him. There was a time he’d been her only friend.
“Maybe I’d like to try and keep a few secrets. I don’t have much of anything else.”
Mentis stopped pacing and laughed softly, as sinister an expression as she’d heard from any criminal. “There are no secrets around me.”
“Only the ones
He murmured, “Why can’t you, Celia?”
All she had to do was say it.
His emotions were palpable. His mind expanded to take in what lay around it, and the people around him felt the impact of it. She could feel him—she wanted to run to him, throw herself at him, pull his arms around her, hold him.
Or was that what he was thinking about her?
She turned away as her tears fell, and covered her mouth to keep the sob from breaking free. Why couldn’t she just say the words?
Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets and, shoulders hunched and face returned to its imperturbable mask, left the room.
TWENTY-THREE
HOWEVER much she wanted to, she didn’t take one of her prescribed painkillers. She needed to be awake. She had work to do. It was a good excuse to distract her from Arthur. So she took a couple of plain aspirin and parked at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and her cell phone.
“I’d like to speak to the District Attorney, please.”
“I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting right now, I can take your number and—”
“Tell him it’s Celia West.”
The woman paused; the click and rustle of office background noise sounded over the line. Then, “Could you hold for a moment?”
As Celia had hoped, her name did hold some weight … although what kind of weight remained to be seen, especially now. After the bus incident she’d hoped to have some currency to cash in.
The receptionist came back on the line. “I’m transferring you to his office now.”
“Thank you,” Celia said, suppressing a sigh of relief.
He came on the line and didn’t bother with a greeting. “Celia. You left the hospital before I could check in
