hear first, but the bad won’t make sense without the good.”
She tensed. “What is it? I don’t think I can handle any more bad news.”
Sam thrust the paper at her, a magazine-type deal. An entertainment paper. She took the offering tentatively. Muse sat on the opposite sofa and clasped her hands in her lap, watching them. The corner of her mouth jerked. She blinked rapidly.
“That him?” Sam asked. “I mean, obviously you’re fraternal.”
The headline at the top of the page said, MYSTERY TWINS ARE IN TOWN. Underneath the headline were separate pictures of her and Jason.
“I don’t know how they got one of Jason’s head shots,” June said, “but yeah, that’s him.” Her picture was from one of the advertisements for her shop. She didn’t care how they got it. She did wonder what the hell made them “mysterious.”
“They ran those pictures in the Tribune earlier this week,” Micha said. “You have no idea how tenacious reporters in this city can be, especially Ethan Roberts.”
June looked up at Sam, her stomach jumping. “He’s alive, isn’t he? You saw him.”
“I didn’t. But the telepath who talked to John McKormic did.”
She dropped the paper in her lap. She feared she might do something stupid, like start crying. “Did he look all right? Is he okay?”
“I don’t know the state of health he’s in, but he’s definitely alive. My spy couldn’t talk to Mr. McKormic too long without arousing suspicion.”
Micha gripped June’s shoulder.
“Wait… What’s the bad news?” Her stomach dropped.
“The bad news is, I don’t know how the hell we’re going to get him out of there.” Sam scowled darkly, as if this were more a personal affront to him than an agonizing revelation for her. “They’re keeping him in the Special Projects department, which is under heavy security. And I don’t have any people in the Institute who have clearance for that floor. They’re extremely paranoid about who has access.”
“I’ll go in there myself if I have to,” June said. “I have to get him out.”
“Sure you will. Going in there is not going to save him. The only thing that’ll happen is you’ll be caught as well.”
She wanted to punch something, hard. Hard enough to break all the bones in her hand, make the pain distract her from the horrible sickness in her stomach, the certainty she had made the wrong decision running away. Micha still had his hand on her shoulder, and he squeezed again, tighter.
“Just hold on to your panties,” Sam said. “I’ll come up with something. I’m the smartest man in this city.”
* * * *
Evening fell, the world outside the windows murky and dotted with glittering lights. Micha had dozed off on one of the sofas. Sam had been making phone calls—she assumed—beyond a set of closed French doors on the other side of the room. He had sent Muse off on another mysterious “patrol.” June couldn’t stay still, pacing and smoking, getting dangerously close to running out of cigarettes. Finally, the doors opened and Sam strode out. She glimpsed a bedroom beyond.
“There’s going to be a press conference in half an hour,” Sam said. “They’re going to talk about Rose Bellevue.”
Some political talk show was on right now. “That ought to be interesting.” Maybe they would talk about her and Jason as well.
“Eric Greerson wants to say something, since today was her funeral. So kind of him.”
“Who’s Eric Greerson?”
Sam made a face, as if something vile had been shoved under his nose. “Eric Greerson is the head of the Institute. The second one in the decade it’s been open. The former head, Michael Paulson, was known for being indecisive and didn’t like confrontation with dissidents, so they replaced him. Eric is just another fool in what’s sure to be a long line of them. He doesn’t know what’s going on at the Institute right under his nose.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’ve met him. He’s a
She tensed. “What is it? I don’t think I can handle any more bad news.”
Sam thrust the paper at her, a magazine-type deal. An entertainment paper. She took the offering tentatively. Muse sat on the opposite sofa and clasped her hands in her lap, watching them. The corner of her mouth jerked. She blinked rapidly.
“That him?” Sam asked. “I mean, obviously you’re fraternal.”
The headline at the top of the page said, MYSTERY TWINS ARE IN TOWN. Underneath the headline were separate pictures of her and Jason.
“I don’t know how they got one of Jason’s head shots,” June said, “but yeah, that’s him.” Her picture was from one of the advertisements for her shop. She didn’t care how they got it. She did wonder what the hell made them “mysterious.”
“They ran those pictures in the Tribune earlier this week,” Micha said. “You have no idea how tenacious reporters in this city can be, especially Ethan Roberts.”
June looked up at Sam, her stomach jumping. “He’s alive, isn’t he? You saw him.”
“I didn’t. But the telepath who talked to John McKormic did.”
She dropped the paper in her lap. She feared she might do something stupid, like start crying. “Did he look all right? Is he okay?”
“I don’t know the state of health he’s in, but he’s definitely alive. My spy couldn’t talk to Mr. McKormic too long without arousing suspicion.”
Micha gripped June’s shoulder.
“Wait… What’s the bad news?” Her stomach dropped.
“The bad news is, I don’t know how the hell we’re going to get him out of there.” Sam scowled darkly, as if this were more a personal affront to him than an agonizing revelation for her. “They’re keeping him in the Special Projects department, which is under heavy security. And I don’t have any people in the Institute who have clearance for that floor. They’re extremely paranoid about who has access.”
“I’ll go in there myself if I have to,” June said. “I have to get him out.”
“Sure you will. Going in there is not going to save him. The only thing that’ll happen is you’ll be caught as well.”
She wanted to punch something, hard. Hard enough to break all the bones in her hand, make the pain distract her from the horrible sickness in her stomach, the certainty she had made the wrong decision running away. Micha still had his hand on her shoulder, and he squeezed again, tighter.
“Just hold on to your panties,” Sam said. “I’ll come up with something. I’m the smartest man in this city.”
* * * *
Evening fell, the world outside the windows murky and dotted with glittering lights. Micha had dozed off on one of the sofas. Sam had been making phone calls—she assumed—beyond a set of closed French doors on the other side of the room. He had sent Muse off on another mysterious “patrol.” June couldn’t stay still, pacing and smoking, getting dangerously close to running out of cigarettes. Finally, the doors opened and Sam strode out. She glimpsed a bedroom beyond.
“There’s going to be a press conference in half an hour,” Sam said. “They’re going to talk about Rose Bellevue.”
Some political talk show was on right now. “That ought to be interesting.” Maybe they would talk about her and Jason as well.
“Eric Greerson wants to say something, since today was her funeral. So kind of him.”
“Who’s Eric Greerson?”
Sam made a face, as if something vile had been shoved under his nose. “Eric Greerson is the head of the Institute. The second one in the decade it’s been open. The former head, Michael Paulson, was known for being indecisive and didn’t like confrontation with dissidents, so they replaced him. Eric is just another fool in what’s sure to be a long line of them. He doesn’t know what’s going on at the Institute right under his nose.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’ve met him. He’s a
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