Page 44 of Gifted & Talented

All of which Thayer had pointed out to Meredith. Not in the context of her own ethical responsibility (irrelevant) but to point out the reality that despite Foster’s multibillion-dollar offer—despite Meredith’s ability to stand (attempts to stand) on her own merit—she still had not actually won. Because it was Meredith that Tyche would happily slaughter if it meant keeping her product—and their means of monetizing it—alive.

Thayer had known it because for all intents and purposes, hewasKip Hughes—he’d been the man at the top all his life, which Meredith could never be.

Thayer was right about her all along. And now Wrenfare, the thing she’d tried so hard to be good enough for, would transfer breezily to someone else.

Not that it mattered at the moment. Not that this feeling was grief, or that grief was merited under any circumstances. Not that the ache in her chest was any reasonable form of loss.

Meredith stared down at her screen, pondering what to say to the man who was first and foremost a traitor before he could be considered her ex.

What changed your mind?asked Meredith.

I didn’t change my mind, said Jamie.What made you think I’d changed my mind?

You mean you’re still publishing the article?

Yes

Even after hearing everything I told you yesterday?

Especially after that, yes

You seriously think I’m okay with you doing this?

No, I don’t imagine you’re ok with any of it. Nor, he added pointedly,am I ok with you trying to brainwash me, just so we’re clear

Right, this hasn’t been mentioned yet, but in case it’s crossing your mind that Meredith, who can change the brain chemistry of her test patients magically, might also be willing to alter the mind of her investigative journalist ex-boyfriend who may or may not be about to destroy her, the answer is yes, she did try that. Unfortunately (for Meredith), the reason she and Jamie Ammar broke up in the first place has a lot to do with how far Meredith will go to keep herself on top.

Meredith rolled her eyes.If you think I’m trying to brainwash you, why would you want to have coffee with me? And why would I want to see you again when you clearly have every intention to ruin my life?

No logical reason I can think of, replied Jamie,but when has that ever stopped us?

Fair enough, thought Meredith with a sigh. She thought again about Cass, about the glasses he wore when he used his computer, about how he looked shirtless, about how he promised her in very soothing tones that everything would be all right despite the fact that no, it wouldn’t, because her father was dead and nothing would ever be right again.

Then she hated herself no more or less than usual when she typed back,Fuck you, I’ll be there in five.

18

Even from a distance, Dzhuliya did not appear to have slept well. She was waiting for Eilidh in her car by 9:55AM, double-parked behind the carport at the bottom of the drive, and was staring into space as Eilidh made her way from the house’s staircase and over the stretch of creek ambling beside the empty single-lane road. In one direction was the winding trickle back to the center of town, the city equivalent of a country lane with its sleepy coffee shops and overpriced tourist traps; in the other, a steady climb into the woods, traversing nimbly from concrete lane to steep, well-trodden tendrils of redwood-lined trails. Eilidh considered her options, then rapped on the driver’s-side window.

“Hey,” said Eilidh when Dzhuliya rolled down the window. “Fancy a hike?”

Dzhuliya’s brows furrowed a bit, traveling from Eilidh’s leather sandals and thick, woolen socks up to the bun she’d piled messily atop her head. “Won’t that be hard for you? You know, with your back and everything.”

Ah, so she did remember that Eilidh had something of a life-altering injury, how marvelous. “I can handle a reasonably paced climb, provided you don’t need me to do any pirouettes. Come on, get out.” Eilidh stepped back into the road, letting Dzhuliya clamber out of the car with a slight grimace. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt, gym shorts she usually wore for twice-weekly rock climbing (not that Eilidh was keeping track of Dzhuliya’s workout accoutrements; it was just that they’d run into each other once in the bathroom on her father’s office floor when Dzhuliya was changing out of her work clothes for the gym, so, you know, amicable small talk)—and sneakers, Eilidh noted, so she shouldn’t be complaining.

For a moment, Eilidh wondered again what her feelings ought to have been about Dzhuliya—Could they, in certain lights, be considered friends? Was it normal, under the circumstances, to be friends? Perhaps not, givenDzhuliya’s less-than-enthusiastic reaction—when Dzhuliya suddenly turned a sheepish smile on Eilidh that was equal parts youthful and horribly aged. “Sorry I’m so out of sorts,” she said. “I just can’t believe he’s gone, but of course it must be so much harder for you.”

Eilidh ignored the sharp prod of a parasitic tail.

“Everyone grieves differently,” she said, thinking of how her brother’s version of grief involved having his wife and both members of his throuple around to coddle his problems while her sister seemed completely unaffected, prompting Eilidh to wonder yet again whether Meredith might actually be a complete psychopath. “Honestly, I don’t think it’s fully sunken in.”

They walked in companionable silence for a bit, the road crunching beneath their feet as they left the lane behind and ventured onto a foothill trail. Their strides were well matched; Eilidh was about the same height as Dzhuliya, though she didn’t slouch for vocational reasons and Dzhuliya now seemed to curl uncharacteristically into herself, folding in like there was a hinge in the center of her breastbone. Like one of those mahogany easels that hold picture frames.

The creek burbled a little as they went, the continuous sound of water a soothing monotony as Eilidh ran through a droning series of thoughts in her head—still desperate to talk, yet now wondering where to begin. The thing living in her chest was particularly present, sharp as hunger pangs. Not that Eilidh ever really knew what it wanted from her, but today it seemed particularly opaque, and everything seemed heightened by the mere fact of Dzhuliya’s presence.

The thing in Eilidh’s chest tightened like a cyclone around the very idea of Dzhuliya, pointing like an arrowhead, the buzz of a glaring neon sign. As if finally resolving the question mark of Dzhuliya (amicable? professional? perhaps something better or markedly worse?) might give Eilidh a sense of necessary clarity, maybe even a feeling that could be considered satisfaction, like finishing the Sunday crossword after wrestling with it for two years. There was a nagging sense of betwixtness for Eilidh when it came to the constancy, and mystery, of Dzhuliya; something not technically forbidden but not quite acceptable, either. Eilidh knew in an indeterminate way that her father lived in close proximity to whatever the answer was, and the thing in her chest gleefully wrung confusion from every battered pulse of her agonized heart.

Even that was bewildering—the way the occupant of her chest seemed atall times to have an unexpected aftertaste, part sweetness of longing, part violence of feeling. Some of it was about Thayer, probably even most of it, but it was Dzhuliya who was here now, and so for better or worse, it was Dzhuliya unto which the thing latched on. It throbbed and thudded with craving, with bestiality and zeal. Did she want to hold Dzhuliya’s hand or throw her into a river? Did she want to vanish Dzhuliya into smoke or float her gently on a cloud of her own making? Was this vengeful thunder in her chest or was it claggy, sickly sweetness?

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