Cheat the Grave by Vicki Pettersson Page B

slouched. Better to observe the dynamics of power from Olivia’s usual position. Window dressing.
    â€œDon’t tell me I’m late.” The whiskey-strong voice was as smooth as ever.
    â€œAlmost an hour,” said one of the men meekly, earning a hard look from the others.
    â€œYou’re not on the board,” John said shortly.
    He was the board, I knew, eyes racing over every face.
    The Tulpa smiled, unperturbed. “Xavier never seemed to mind. He rather appreciated my advice. Benefited from it too.”
    â€œXavier’s dead.”
    â€œSo severe, John.” The Tulpa rolled up to the opposite end of the table, one corner of his mouth lifting so a dimple flashed. “You should be more sensitive. His grieving daughter is sitting right here.”
    Silence rang, and I pretended to startle awake. “Sorry. Are we done?” I ran a hand through my hair, but paused halfway through a stretch. “Who are you?”
    The Tulpa inclined his head. “I was your father’s consultant in all matters of business. We met at his wake, remember?”
    Clearly. He’d been at Xavier’s bedside, keeping vigil with the corpse. Seeing if there was any lingering soul energy he could suck out and use as personal power .
    â€œThat day is a bit…fuzzy,” I said lightly, looking down at my hands.
    â€œUnderstandable.” His voice smoothed out even further. Backing up, he pushed a couple of finger levers and headed my way. “Mind if I sit to your right?”
    I’d rather pull my own tooth. Fortunately, John minded as well.
    â€œThis meeting is for board members only.”
    â€œXavier never minded as long as I helped make him money.” The Tulpa’s pale face took on a new shape, almost menacing, as his brow quirked up. “If I recall correctly, neither did the rest of you.”
    â€œWell, I’m the senior board member now.” John sniffed. The others looked back to the Tulpa, like it was his volley.
    I tilted my head. Wasn’t I the senior board member?
    The Tulpa rose from his chair slowly but steadily, catching the eye of each board member, who gazed back as if mesmerized.
    â€œMaybe,” he said in a liquid whisper, “we should vote on the matter.”
    And like machines, everyone lifted their pens. I felt a pull too, and looked down, horrified to find the hand previously gripping Warren’s phone snaking toward my gold pen. It wasn’t done as quickly as the others, but the impulsewas still there. Shit. I looked up to find the same confusion marring some of the men’s faces, while others had hands already poised over their pads as if waiting for dictation. I followed suit and pretended to wait as well. It wouldn’t do if Olivia Archer were seen as strong-willed. The Tulpa found anyone in control of their own mind an irresistible challenge.
    â€œI love democracy,” I quipped, though it might have been overkill. The Tulpa’s gaze left John’s, who I saw slump out from the corner of my eye, and locked onto mine.
    â€œThen you, as the controlling partner and figurehead of Archer enterprises—not to mention the only lady in the room—should vote first.”
    Heads swiveled my way. They should form a synchronized swim team, I thought, though even my dry humor fell away when I saw the blankness shellacking their gazes. I felt that pull again, the Tulpa willing me to press my pen to the page, and let my gaze gloss over as well. I didn’t know why I had partial resistance to this—perhaps because he was my father?—but I wasn’t complaining. And yet, I hesitated. “But, sir. I don’t even know your name.”
    It was a sore spot, not one I could afford to push even were I still an agent, but I couldn’t help it. The Tulpa didn’t, and would never, have a name. So even though the words were delivered with the sweetness of pure cane sugar, I knew they stung. Leaning