“I can check, but it’s unlikely. Very few people in the present administration even know we exist, and our handlers would prefer to keep it that way.” She paused. “What about the Finder?”
“The mysterious Mr. Grey?”
“Yes. Given that he located Damian, despite the lack of records on the boy’s existence as a Crow, someone must have told him something. I’d be curious to know exactly what.”
“You’re not the only one. Unfortunately, Mr. Grey is in the wind. You know how Finders are. In all likelihood, we won’t hear from him until the next student shows up on our doorstep… or until someone stumbles across his corpse.”
“If you need him located sooner than that…” Her lips twisted into that half-smile. “I know a woman.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I need you here, keeping tabs on our young Crow. For as long as he remains a student at least.”
“There’s every chance he makes it to graduation.”
“Really? You think he could become a Cape?”
“It’s a possibility. Some of the basics are there. He has a well-developed protective instinct, and a selfless streak I’m not sure he even recognizes. But…”
“But?”
“He’s eighteen, stubborn, slow to trust, and proud. Worse, he’s carrying a lot of anger around with him. Not unlike my other patient, if we’re drawing parallels. But where Alan’s issues are purely psychological, there is the ever-present unknown of how Damian’s power will affect him. This is new territory, even for me.”
“Don’t let the professors at Stanford hear you say that. You’ll tarnish the reputation of our alma mater forever.” Bard’s grin quickly fell away. “If he did graduate, what team would choose to add a Crow to their roster? The public relations cost alone…”
“Not every Power who serves does so as a Cape.” Alexa’s voice was quiet.
“Your agency would have him?”
“Provided his nature doesn’t consume him, I think he deserves the opportunity.”
Bard paused, dark eyes scanning the woman on the far side of the office. “You actually like him.”
“Oh Jonathan.” She laughed softly. “I like everyone. It’s one of the reasons I am so good at what I do.”
“Therapy?”
She shrugged. “That too.”
CHAPTER 47
“You’re looking better today, Damian.”
“Am I?” I rolled my shoulders and tried to relax, but the couch in Dr. Gibbings’ office was somehow less comfortable than usual.
“Yes.” Alexa was all in black, as always, although she had draped her suit jacket over the back of her chair in acknowledgement of the August heat. “I’d like to spend today’s session discussing whatever it was that has been troubling you for the past few weeks.”
“I thought whatever we talked about was supposed to be up to me?”
“Normally, yes. But let’s not pretend that your behavior lately has been normal.” There was no humor at all in Alexa’s black eyes. “I don’t need to know every aspect of your life, but when it comes to your power—and your mental health—there cannot be secrets between us.” When I continued to hesitate, the corners of her mouth turned downward. “I chose not to make an issue of you missing last week’s session because of the way the semester ended, but that grace period is over, Damian. This isn’t baseball; you don’t get three strikes.”
For those of you who were born post-Break, baseball was an archaic sport from Dr. Nowhere’s time, involving three teams armed with bats, each trying to capture the other teams’ bases. In the absence of Healers, the only thing preventing mass casualties was the ‘three strikes’ rule, which defined a limit on how many times a given player could be hit. I’m still not sure how balls figured into the whole thing, but given that my own testicles want to crawl up into my body just thinking about it, I’m okay with remaining ignorant.
All of which is a tangent, of course; a distraction from the fact that, even now, I’m not sure how to describe the thoughts and emotions that filled me when Alexa pushed for details. Part of me wanted to refuse, of course… as much because I didn’t like being told what to do as because I was worried on how she would react to the truth. Part of me was angry at being backed into a corner, part of me was still hung up on the counselor’s own lie of omission, and yet another part of me thought I should have told her everything back when all the shit had started.
I don’t know which of those emotions made sense—or if any of them did—but it was the last one that ended up resonating. I didn’t think Alexa could have done anything to help with my ghost problem, but if I was really, truly going to trust her with my sanity, then lying was just about the dumbest possible thing I could do.
So I looked across the room into Alexa’s coal-black eyes and told her about Shane and the other ghosts. I told her about my last month of classes and of the way it all had come to a head that past week.
I told her about Sally.
•—•—•
I don’t know how long the story took to tell. It had been four days since I’d met Sally in the clearing, but only a day since I’d reached out and found her gone, and I still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened to all the time in between, or why I hadn’t been hungry or thirsty despite losing a half-week to a single conversation. With all of that so fresh in my mind, my grasp on time was a little bit shaky, but I’m pretty sure we’d exceeded our session’s designated hour by the time I finally trailed off.
Alexa hadn’t moved once during my recitation—she hadn’t even blinked—but just as the silence between us reached maddening proportions, she stirred. One slender eyebrow, black as night against her pale face, slowly crept upward.
“You spoke with
