Brendan could see the stubborn resentment rippling across her face, hardening it like cement. Her lip curled ever so slightly as she said in a not-quite-so-polite tone, “I have spent quite a bit of time explaining my progress with the artifact and why that progress is taking so much time. There is no fault in Dr. Ramsay’s leadership. As she mentioned, my first encounter with the casket put me in a coma and I wasn’t cleared by the League doctor to re-engage until today.”
“And yet, today, you still didn’t manage to discern what the artifact wants,” Messina said.
“Because she was offended by someone else who was talking about her as if she wasn’t in the room,” Cordelia said. “I don’t even know whether she will be willing to answer questions, or if she’s even capable of that kind of communication. Right now, all she’s doing is showing me what she wants to show me. It’s not like I can bust in there and treat her like a hostile suspect.”
Cordelia sent a significant look at Messina and then around the room.
“Right now, I’m lucky she’s not melting my brain for daring to engage with her,” Cordelia added.
Messina stared at her for a long moment, tapping his manicured fingers against the surface of the table. “We’ve invested a considerable amount of resources in you, Ms. Canton, particularly paying attention to keeping your location a secret from certain outside parties. It would be a shame if we didn’t receive a return on that investment. Should you fail to grasp the urgency of this matter, fail to produce the desired results, it may no longer be in the best interest of the League to devote those resources to your protection, leaving you vulnerable to those outside parties.”
The cement of her facial expression cracked, and pure rage seemed to boil through. Cordelia was about to say something very foolish indeed. Brendan reached, lightning-quick under the table, twining his fingers through hers. Her head whipped toward him and it was all he could do not to jerk like he was being electrocuted.
Images and emotions shoved into his brain by the fistful. It was too much all at once and he was dizzy from the flurry of information. He couldn’t grasp onto one idea or picture, only hold on and try not to throw up on Messina’s shiny table.
She was so angry, so much more angry than frightened. She pictured herself leaping over the table, yanking Messina by his tie and smacking his face against the table over and over. This motherfucker—oof, it shouldn’t be so sexy to hear her say such a filthy word, but saints preserve him, it was—was threatening her. She was doing her best, she was doing exactly what the League asked her to, and he was threatening her. She’d worked for them for years, doing exactly what she was told, what she agreed to do when they hired her, and the minute she couldn’t produce instant results, he threatened to reveal her location to her mother. Her mother, who would jump on the opportunity to try to manipulate her, if not force her, back into the position of being her meal ticket. Cordelia should have known better than to believe she was safe, even ten years later. And she couldn’t help but feel this was Alex’s fault somehow, as if he’d told Messina that Bernadette was her weak spot, the best leverage to use against her. And why was Brendan even here? Her lack of success wasn’t Brendan’s fault. Were they going to turn Brendan into another bit of leverage? Threaten to hurt him if she didn’t work faster? She wouldn’t have it. She just wouldn’t—
Brendan pulled his head up against the weight of all those rushing thoughts, like raising his head through the surface of the water. He struggled to keep his face impassive as he realized what was happening. Instead of her feeling his emotions through touch, he was feeling her emotions. Her rage and despair and slipping between the bubbles of emotion like an eel, and then fear and affection for Brendan.
It was a small miracle. How was this even possible? This wasn’t supposed to be how her gift worked. She was a receiver, not a transmitter, but every flicker of her thoughts over his nerve endings was absolutely real and right. It only made him want her more. He’d never shared a flat with a woman, but he welcomed her into his head.
Messina was still talking, but Brendan could barely pick out the words. He loosened his grip on her hand and the flood of feelings and images slowed to a manageable trickle.
“You are mistaken,” Messina was saying. “There will be consequences for Mr. O’Connor if you do not produce the desired results. We do not keep people in management positions when they don’t fulfill expectations.”
A flash of irritation echoed through him, and he wasn’t sure if it was from Cordelia or himself. Calling his position “management” was a bit of an elegant overstatement. He “managed” three people and spent more time on a forklift moving cartons around than he did in an office. But the idea that he was going to be demoted because of some petulant asshole in a suit, who seemed to have no appreciation for how psychics worked, just pissed him off. And apparently, it pissed off Cordelia, too, which he appreciated.
“So, your options are to work harder, or find another position,” Messina said.
“Is that a hint that there is another touch-know waiting in the wings to take my place?” Cordelia asked.
Messina’s face remained impassive. “League staffing issues are not your concern, Ms. Canton.”
Cordelia’s lips tensed ever so subtly in an expression that might have looked angry, but Brendan knew she was smirking. “Understood. Can we please be excused?”
“I expect to see you both in the rift site workspace bright and early tomorrow morning,” Messina said.
“Thank you. Lovely to meet you,” Cordelia said briskly, rising from her chair and walking out without waiting for a response. Brendan didn’t trust himself to say goodbye, simply nodding at Messina and following her.
She’d cleared the front door before Brendan emerged from the interrogation room. He’d seen that kind of walk before, when his sisters or mother were steaming through their anger, arms stiff and backs rigid. She’d be halfway to her trailer before she realized he wasn’t behind her.
Maybe he’d wait to tell her about the transmitter issue. She didn’t seem to be in the mood for new information.
10
Cordelia
Messina’s arrival caused more chaos than Cordelia thought possible, and she’d spent years traveling with actual clowns.
It wasn’t just that he’d stomped all over Cordelia’s first real connection with the artifact or that he’d threatened her and Brendan. The easy friendships she was developing with the “ladies of the League” dissolved like smoke in the wind. Jillian was clearly trying not to meltdown in the face of this new officious intruder and how he seemed to be re-arranging the hierarchy of the League village. Every evening at five, Bael showed up at her office and practically dragged her home so she and the baby could rest. Sonja was quietly industrious while shooting poisonous glares towards Alex and Messina. Poor Dani kept disappearing into the woods with Zed on errands she couldn’t describe to Cordelia for her “own safety.”
Suddenly, the League village was a significantly less fun place to work. With five new housing trailers full of security officers—plus Messina’s own mobile McMansion—added to the “neighborhood,” people didn’t meet at the picnic tables for games or meals anymore. League employees seemed more restrained, scurrying from place to place with files under their arms, not dawdling for conversation. She supposed it made sense, considering the whole armed guard thing.