Page 97 of Twisted Shadows
That drew a soft huff from Cora, like that had surprised her. “You don’t belong in this place, Harley Quinn.” She was beginning to sound more alert, likely the corrupted empathy working quickly to rid the sedative from her system.
Aisha gestured around them. “You don’t belong inthisplace. You’re not supposed to be in medical unless you need the care, and you’re sure as fuck not supposed to be cuffed to a bed and sedated.”
“Think worse shit is happening here,” Cora murmured, arching her neck a bit as she looked up at the ceiling.
Aisha frowned. “What do you mean,worse shit?”
“Just a feeling.” Cora made a small gesture toward herself with the fingers of her cuffed hand. “Empath intuition. Whatever.”
“Not whatever,” said Aisha. “What do you think is happening here?”
“Why would you care?” Cora muttered.
Aisha frowned. “You think I don’t care what’s happening to the empaths here?” She began unwinding the scarf from her neck. “Obviously you can see this scar. It’s not my only one, and I bet an empath like you is already starting to guess how I got them.”
Cora turned her head back in Aisha’s direction, her gaze flicking over her with something like new recognition.
Aisha took a breath through her nose, keeping her voice steady. “Once upon a time, some very bad scientists thought it would be an interesting experiment to find out what my pain would do to my empath boyfriend.”
Cora seemed to still.
“Peter didn’t take it well. At all,” Aisha went on, hoarse herself now. “And he didn’t survive the transformation. So when I say that I know you’re a victim too, that what was done to you was more monstrous than anything you did, and that I care whether or not you’re okay, you can hear that I believe it’s the truth.”
Cora’s gaze was now on Aisha’s face. Finally, she said, “I’ve felt people, in my sleep, their emotions so strong they burn through this place. Some are new. Some are gone.” She tilted her head. “And the freak who runs this place is a sadist.” She met Aisha’s eyes. “I would know.”
Shit. “Okay,” Aisha said, as she rewound her scarf around her neck. “I’m going to look. And I’m going to get you out of this fucking basement,” she promised. “I’ll be back.”
She could feel Cora watching her as she left.
Reece followed Grayson down a couple halls until they found the office supply room, where they grabbed a couple empty laptop bags and loaded them with miscellaneous cords. There was a set of fire stairs nearby, and they took those up two flights and then used the key card to unlock the door at the twenty-sixth floor.
They poked their heads out, looking up and down a door-lined hall. At the far end was a door with large interior windows on either side. It looked like the office behind them took up the entire side of the building. Through the glass, Reece could see a desk with what looked like Marist’s personal receptionist behind it.
“So are we still office services?” Reece whispered.
“No,” said Grayson. “Now we’re from the Help Desk.”
Reece gave him a searching look. “We’re IT support?”
“That’s right.”
“Evan,” Reece said patiently. “I can pass for an intern on a coffee run or office services picking up the mail. I cannot pass for IT. I can barely work my phone. I am the reason help desks are necessary.”
“You got a better excuse for us to go poking around Ms. Marist’s office?”
Reece sighed.
He once again let Grayson lead the way as he knocked courteously on Marist’s door and then inched it open. “Excuse me, ma’am?” he said to the secretary. “IT got a call to service Ms. Marist’s printer while she’s in Seattle?”
The secretary had a harried look on her face as she glanced their way, confused. “You did?”
“We sure did.” Reece met her eyes, hoping his own looked innocent and sympathetic. “You must be so busy trying to deal with everything while she’s gone. We’ll try to be quiet and stay out of your way.”
The secretary’s face smoothed out. “Thanks, I am busy,” she agreed. “Do whatever you need to.”
Reece followed Grayson through the wooden door to the secretary’s right and into an office that was decorated almost aggressively professionally. Diplomas hung on the walls, along with tastefully bland art and a handful of framed photos. One wall was taken up by an enormous screen, which was currently dark.
“I don’t think I’d have pegged the president of Stone Solutions Canada to need a giant television in her office,” Reece said, keeping his voice barely a whisper as he and Grayson crouched down by the printer. “Doesn’t really fit with the rest of the decor.”
