The problem was that no one else could do what the Es could.
Now it appeared even their efforts hadn’t totally stopped the insidious disintegration of the psychic fabric of the PsyNet. They’d given the PsyNet a fighting chance, but it was struggling not to fray apart. Yet . . . despite his first thoughts, this didn’t feel like a resurgence of the disease. Rather, it seemed an indication of a deeper issue, a structural weakness that had permitted the disease to take hold in the first place.
“Is it because there aren’t enough Es at this location?” he asked the NetMind, because if that was the case, the Es could rearrange themselves to fix the damage before it became critical.
The NetMind sent him a sense of the negative.
The DarkMind, meanwhile, swam into the dead space, becoming at one with it. The two were created of the same primordial soup—all the rage, anger, jealousy, and other dark emotions the Psy race had refused to feel for so long. Only it hadn’t ever disappeared. It had simply collected in dark pockets of the psychic network until it split the NetMind into a stable innocence and a murderous darkness.
Today, neither half could tell him why the PsyNet was breaking apart, filament by filament, even as the Honeycomb fought to hold it together, even as the sparks of color that were the emanations of the Es spread through the black night of the spaces between minds.
The PsyNet should’ve been healing. Instead, it was simply dying more slowly.
Chapter 8
SASCHA HUNG UP after a troubling conversation with Ivy Jane. Her fellow E and president of the Empathic Collective had called to discuss the information she’d just received from Kaleb Krychek. Coming on top of the possible threat to Naya that Lucas had warned Sascha about earlier that day, it left her worried on multiple levels.
Naya was her first priority and always would be, but there were tens of thousands of children in the PsyNet, too. Even if the Honeycomb meant the PsyNet wouldn’t collapse on them as it had done in sections prior to the awakening of the Es, the disintegration and hidden weakness within had to be having an impact on all those developing young minds.
It frustrated her that she hadn’t been able to give Ivy any answers. Part of it was because she’d been out of the PsyNet since her defection and was receiving all data secondhand, but mostly it was because they were all stumbling in the dark. No one knew the exact extent of the damage done by a hundred years of forced conditioning, of erasing emotion.
“Coming,” she said when Naya made a questioning noise from the living room.
It would’ve sounded like “da mi” to most people. Sascha knew her daughter was asking after her milk. Setting aside the issues preying on her mind for now—Naya was far too good at picking up emotional nuances—Sascha breathed deep to calm herself. “On its way, sweetheart.”
She’d just brought out the milk to warm it on a low setting on the cooker when Ivy called. Naya liked it when Sascha made her milk that way, especially if she dusted it with a little dark chocolate.
“Her mother’s daughter,” Lucas said with a sinful grin each time he saw Sascha sprinkling chocolate onto Naya’s milk. Not a lot, never enough to harm their baby’s health. Just the tiniest taste to make this a sometimes treat now that Naya was almost one and starting to become more adventurous with her food choices. The milk would hold Naya over until Lucas arrived home and they could have dinner together—changelings tried to have meals together with their cubs whenever possible.
Naya’s mind touched hers right then, sending her hungry thoughts.
Sascha’s lips tugged up at the corners, all stress suddenly melting away. “I know you’re not starving, munchkin,” she said, layering her response with emotion so Naya would understand her meaning.
Her and Lucas’s baby was smart, but she was still a baby.
Guilty giggles sounded from the living area. Even as her smile deepened, Sascha told herself to be firm. It was extremely difficult when Naya was smart enough to know she could get out of trouble by being adorable, and when Sascha was terrified of ever hurting her baby’s heart as her own had been hurt when she’d been a vulnerable child. Consciously, she understood that gentle correction was nothing like the harsh lessons she’d been taught as a child, but it took real effort of will for her to put that into practice.
Every time she began to backslide into being too permissive, she reminded herself that Naya was a happy, settled child who knew she was deeply loved. She asked for affection whenever she needed it, with zero expectation that she might be refused or rejected—that idea was simply not part of her worldview, exactly as Sascha wanted for her. She was also secure enough to be naughty.
Lucas had had to chase Naya around the aerie at bedtime last night—her walk might still be a little shaky, but she was a rocket when it came to crawling. Dressed only in a diaper, she’d laughed uproariously and said a loud, firm “No” each time Lucas caught her and put her in her crib.
After which she’d clamber out—she’d figured out how to escape a month earlier—and the game would begin again. Of course, since Lucas was a cat, he’d been having just as much fun as their daughter. Sascha, meanwhile, had sat in the living room with a cup of hot chocolate and just indulged in the sight of her mate playing with their cub.
She’d had to pretend to be stern when Naya ran over and pleaded her case with loud sounds and wild gesticulations of her hands. “No, Naya,” she’d said, biting her tongue in an effort not to laugh. “It’s time for bed. Go with Papa.”