Free Nightshades by Melissa F. Olson Page A

end? Is he creating an army? Planning some big infection?”
    “I don’t
know,
” she said, sounding as frustrated as he felt. “You don’t get it: When I said this isn’t how we do things, I meant it.” She shook her head. “Even centuries ago, when our existence was just sort of generally accepted by the human public, taking a lot of people from the same area, this close together, was never something shades did. It was considered . . . uncouth. And too high profile. It’d be like a human hunter walking into a zoo with a rifle and shooting a buffalo, then dragging it home. If a shade wants to make a new fledgling, there are far subtler ways.”
    “Were you around back then?”
    She didn’t respond. In her long, long life, Lindy had told very few humans what she was. The ones who did find out, however, always wanted to know her age. By now she knew better than to give it.
    “Okay, fine.” Alex shifted in his seat, and to her surprise, he added, “Maybe that was a rude question. Maybe when you get to know me a little better, you’ll trust me with the answer. Fair enough?”
    She nodded.
    “Meanwhile, what else can you tell me about your brother?”
    “Hector,” she said softly. “His name is Hector.”
    McKenna gave her a brisk nod. “Thank you for that. Last name?”
    “No idea what he’s using now. It doesn’t matter, really; he won’t be mainstreaming, like I was. He’ll be way off the grid.” She gestured at the file. “My guess is he’s in a rural area outside Chicago. He’d need space and privacy to transmute the teenagers.”
    Frown. “Tell me about that process, please.”
    Lindy glanced around again, but no one was paying any attention. “Transmuting someone is very difficult,” she said in a low voice. “The process involves bleeding the person out and inserting saliva into their heart. The heart itself, not just the bloodstream. In the past, this could get very . . . messy. Nowadays it can be done with syringes.”
    “Okay.” He was scribbling notes again, so she paused for a second to let him catch up before continuing.
    “But shades of a certain age can take it a step further.” She reached out—he managed not to flinch—and touched his tie, right over his heart. “If I put my
blood
in there, too, I can create a connection that goes deeper even than the elder-fledgling bond. I can talk to you. In your head. And know where you are at all times, within about . . . oh, a city block.”
    His pen went still, and when he looked up there was shock all over his face. “You’re talking about telepathy.”
    She nodded. “But it’s one way only. The theory is that this ability developed so an elder could give his fledgling orders in battle.”
    “That’s . . . we didn’t know that.” His eyes went distant for a moment. “Someone could be talking to Ambrose? Or Ambrose could be talking to someone else?”
    Lindy hesitated. Did she want to reveal her connection to the captured shade? No, she didn’t want McKenna drawing any kind of similarity between her and that little worm. He must have been the one who had given McKenna Lindy’s name, which meant Hector had Lindy’s current name and had told his pet sycophant. But why would Ambrose give it to the BPI, when Hector already had people after her? Unless Ambrose had done it without Hector’s permission.
That
would be interesting.
    “In theory,” she said finally.
    He eyed her with sudden interest. “Does your elder send
you
messages?”
    The memory was like an assault: her father, with blood on his mouth and his tunic, screaming at them to run. “My elder is dead now,” she said shortly.
    “Do you have . . . um . . . fledglings?”
    “Not anymore.” Her tone made it clear that she didn’t want to discuss it any further, and McKenna was still trying to win her over—he didn’t push. She respected him for that, and it made her next decision a little easier. She pushed out a breath she didn’t need to take. “Look,