Page 31 of Out of My Flocking Mind

So instead, I looked toward the table where he’d worked.

“I finished,” he said, clearly knowing my next question.

I forced myself to my feet, hating just how bad I felt. Not that it mattered—I could whine and bitch later. For now, I needed to work. I headed for the table, finding not the mess of the night before. Instead of the sugar, the now clear Cloud was already in a number of small bags, the same size and shape as the ones sold by Trey.

The main difference? I picked one up, impressed that it appeared even more pure than the shit Trey had sold. On the front was a different sticker, white with a line art image that made me give Harrison a dirty look.

“Really?”

“I thought it fitting.”

Hard to argue that as I peered at the simple design of a crow, the lines flowing and ethereal. “I guess you have a point,” I admitted. “It’s not like this will work if they can’t track the product back to a single supplier.”

“This is your bad idea—I thought you’d want your symbol on it.”

I shook my head, too tired and my headache too bad to argue with him over it. Instead, I sighed and looked at the baggies. “How much is there?”

“I created thirty-two bags. Cloud is only good for a few days after created, so making more than we can sell will do us no good. This much should get the other supplier’s attention, however. Assuming you can find buyers, that is.”

“Are you doubting me now? Trust me, I can find people to buy it all. No problem. I’m good at that.”

He pressed his lips together, seeming far less sure than I felt. Then again, Harrison struck me as the type who had no idea how many people would buy shit like this. The truth was, finding buyers wasn’t that difficult, not when it came down to it. So long as the product was good, buyers would always be lining up.

And no matter how much I enjoyed ribbing on Harrison, I had zero doubts that he could make a good product. If it really was all about the power of the Mind who created it, then he’d have no problem making some good shit.

“So tomorrow I’ll bring this.” I gestured at the bags on the table. “If it only lasts a few days, by the end of the week, the other supplier should catch wind of the new players.”

“Which means you need to remain vigilant,” Harrison pointed out. “You need to ensure you are not more than a few hundred feet away from me at any time. A Mind using this could do serious damage in a matter of seconds.”

I waved off his concerns. “I get it, but you worry too much. I’ll be on campus, so it’ll be fine.”

He pressed his lips together, then shook his head. “Well, you should sleep more.”

“I slept all night.”

“Not well, and judging by your pale skin, it wasn’t enough.”

“You’re worse than Galen,” I muttered.

“Perhaps, but I can’t say I don’t better understand him, now. I used to wonder why he worried for you so, why he always appeared worn out when dealing with you. I believe you may have removed years from my life already, and as you know, Minds still have normal life spans. It makes it a more troublesome thing for me than it does for Galen.”

I waved off his concerns—or complaints—but I couldn’t quite ignore his suggestion.

He was right—I felt like shit. While the thought of sleeping again sounded about as good as cold, canned meat, I knew it was still what I should do.

So I took myself toward my room, ready to fall into my bed and try to finally rid myself of this lingering exhaustion.

Just what the fuck is wrong with me?

Chapter Eight

Sleep had made me feel slightly more alive, but it hadn’t fully removed my headache. It wasn’t like I could just take the day off, though, so here I was, back at the school.

Except this time, I wasn’t just a yard narc. Instead, the baggies in my pocket showed just how useful I could make myself. Three days into our little business endeavor and I only had a few packets left. Maybe I should have felt bad about selling them drugs, but as it was, I did what needed to get done.

I told myself to think of it as the greater good, that this was to solve a larger and more dangerous problem. At least this shit wouldn’t put innocents in danger, meaning it was only the user who had to worry. That shouldn’t have made me feel better—and it didn’t make me feel much better—but it was better than nothing. If we could stop the selling of Cloud, it was worth a few stupid kids getting high, right?

That’s what I told myself to make me feel better.

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