thing you could’ve done was kill me. The visions might leave me one of the walking dead.”
“Why are you so scared of them?” Sascha asked.
“I don’t feel fear.” Faith jerked to her feet. “My PsyClan has always ensured I was taken care of. Why would they want to handicap me in any sense?” She knew, she could reason it out, but she wanted someone else to be the one to vocalize it.
Vaughn shifted and she caught the movement with the corner of her eye. “You know the answer to that.”
She should’ve guessed he’d never let her take the easy way out. “Money.” Her PsyClan had sold her out for money. “Why am I the first to . . . break?”
“Maybe you’re not.” Sascha stood to face her. “Maybe you’re simply the first one who hasn’t been found out and silenced.”
Faith saw the truth Sascha was too kind to point out. “You mean rehabilitated, don’t you?”
“Or perhaps worse, given your value. Any strange disappearances in your family tree?”
“My grandmother was last seen shortly after she gave birth to my father. And five years ago, one of my cousins vanished—Sahara was only sixteen.” She let herself think about what that might mean. “You think the Council or the PsyClan might be keeping them captive, working them when they’re lucid and letting the dark visions ravage them when they’re not?”
“I don’t know, Faith. I’m not an F-Psy.”
Faith felt Vaughn walk to stand behind her. Somehow that gave her the strength she needed. “I am. And I know that even in the madness, there are moments of clarity. My paternal aunt is held in a care facility—she went conventionally insane during her sixth decade—but she continues to make million-dollar predictions four or five times a year. More than enough to pay for her care.” To make her comfortable in her madness.
The last time Faith had seen her aunt, it had been via a communication screen—Carina NightStar could no longer bear any kind of immediate sentient contact. What she’d seen would haunt Faith till the day she died. The icy Gradient 7.5 Psy who’d been one of her trainers, a woman with a record of almost eighty-five percent accuracy, had turned into a creature that no longer looked human. She’d chewed off her own lips and bitten and scratched herself so many times that they’d had to remove most of her fingernails and teeth. Her clothing had been torn, her hair matted. Something strange and wrong had skittered behind her eyes.
“But unlike my aunt, the ones who saw the dark visions could never be allowed to speak to the rest of us. It would bring the success of the entire Protocol into question. They’d have to be locked away, caged before they fell victim to the mental degradation.” Faith began to see the true inhumanity of what it was these changelings were asking her to accept.
“Caged Psy can still forecast. In fact, they’d be the perfect tools—machines no one knew existed, their treatment subject to no laws. And if certain other segments of conditioning were deliberately broken, it would leave them open to everything . . . including visions of plots or rebellions that might come in very useful to those in power.”
“Faith,” Sascha began.
“I’m sorry.” She raised a hand. “I need time to process everything I’ve learned so far.”
“You might not have a lot of time left.” Sascha’s tone was anything but harsh.
“Will you see me again? I think I can get away in five days or so.”
“Of course.”
Faith wondered if in those five days she might make some sense out of the pack of lies upon which she’d apparently been raised. What was true and what was false? The changelings might be right in some matters, but who said they were right in everything? Their loyalties were different, their lives controlled by emotion.
Maybe they were wrong. Maybe her own people didn’t only see her as a money-making asset. Maybe.
Vaughn escorted Faith to the edge of the trees. “Will
“Why are you so scared of them?” Sascha asked.
“I don’t feel fear.” Faith jerked to her feet. “My PsyClan has always ensured I was taken care of. Why would they want to handicap me in any sense?” She knew, she could reason it out, but she wanted someone else to be the one to vocalize it.
Vaughn shifted and she caught the movement with the corner of her eye. “You know the answer to that.”
She should’ve guessed he’d never let her take the easy way out. “Money.” Her PsyClan had sold her out for money. “Why am I the first to . . . break?”
“Maybe you’re not.” Sascha stood to face her. “Maybe you’re simply the first one who hasn’t been found out and silenced.”
Faith saw the truth Sascha was too kind to point out. “You mean rehabilitated, don’t you?”
“Or perhaps worse, given your value. Any strange disappearances in your family tree?”
“My grandmother was last seen shortly after she gave birth to my father. And five years ago, one of my cousins vanished—Sahara was only sixteen.” She let herself think about what that might mean. “You think the Council or the PsyClan might be keeping them captive, working them when they’re lucid and letting the dark visions ravage them when they’re not?”
“I don’t know, Faith. I’m not an F-Psy.”
Faith felt Vaughn walk to stand behind her. Somehow that gave her the strength she needed. “I am. And I know that even in the madness, there are moments of clarity. My paternal aunt is held in a care facility—she went conventionally insane during her sixth decade—but she continues to make million-dollar predictions four or five times a year. More than enough to pay for her care.” To make her comfortable in her madness.
The last time Faith had seen her aunt, it had been via a communication screen—Carina NightStar could no longer bear any kind of immediate sentient contact. What she’d seen would haunt Faith till the day she died. The icy Gradient 7.5 Psy who’d been one of her trainers, a woman with a record of almost eighty-five percent accuracy, had turned into a creature that no longer looked human. She’d chewed off her own lips and bitten and scratched herself so many times that they’d had to remove most of her fingernails and teeth. Her clothing had been torn, her hair matted. Something strange and wrong had skittered behind her eyes.
“But unlike my aunt, the ones who saw the dark visions could never be allowed to speak to the rest of us. It would bring the success of the entire Protocol into question. They’d have to be locked away, caged before they fell victim to the mental degradation.” Faith began to see the true inhumanity of what it was these changelings were asking her to accept.
“Caged Psy can still forecast. In fact, they’d be the perfect tools—machines no one knew existed, their treatment subject to no laws. And if certain other segments of conditioning were deliberately broken, it would leave them open to everything . . . including visions of plots or rebellions that might come in very useful to those in power.”
“Faith,” Sascha began.
“I’m sorry.” She raised a hand. “I need time to process everything I’ve learned so far.”
“You might not have a lot of time left.” Sascha’s tone was anything but harsh.
“Will you see me again? I think I can get away in five days or so.”
“Of course.”
Faith wondered if in those five days she might make some sense out of the pack of lies upon which she’d apparently been raised. What was true and what was false? The changelings might be right in some matters, but who said they were right in everything? Their loyalties were different, their lives controlled by emotion.
Maybe they were wrong. Maybe her own people didn’t only see her as a money-making asset. Maybe.
Vaughn escorted Faith to the edge of the trees. “Will
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