That lawn lay behind a sprawling and graceful home painted a rich, creamy white. It held hints of plantation-style architecture but had entire walls formed of glass—natural light would flood the interior on sunny days such as today. With its wide doors open to the lawn, the green space appeared an extension of the home.
Outdoor furniture dotted the grass, the seating arrangements comfortable, but the lawn was clearly only one part of the grounds. Several paths disappeared behind hedges and natural-appearing clusters of trees; they broke up the gently undulating landscape so it was impossible to tell how extensive the grounds actually were. Ivy had the feeling any guess she made would be a gross underestimation. She couldn’t hear the sound of a single vehicle, much less see any other indication of civilization nearby.
The temperature and foliage didn’t tell her much about the location, except that it was in the same hemisphere as New York, but more temperate. While the area was free of snow, she did still need the coat she’d put on over jeans and her white cowl-neck sweater—though that would no doubt change as the sun rose higher in the sky.
Despite the cold, people sat quietly in the seating areas, some in groups, several alone. All were dressed in ordinary civilian clothes. A few were reading, others stared out into space, one rocked back and forth . . . but no one was actually isolated. Men and women she assumed were caretakers moved quietly from person to person, group to group, never intruding, but always there should one of the patients have a need.
Ivy also noted the touches—on the shoulder, on the arm. “Anchoring,” she said aloud. “The touches are to remind the patients of the here and now.”
“Probable,” Vasic answered, “given that the majority are apt to be F-Psy.”
Foreseers, Ivy remembered, were at high risk of falling forever into the visions created by their extraordinary gift.
One of the caretakers came toward Ivy and Vasic. She wore a simple gray pantsuit paired with a pale yellow shirt, her golden brown hair in a single tidy braid, and her skin a warm caramel shade. There was a sense of calm responsibility to her that made Ivy believe the woman was in charge of the entire complex.
“I’m Clara Alvarez,” she said on reaching them. “I manage Haven. Anthony told me to expect you.”
Vasic’s fingers brushed Ivy’s hip. “I’m Vasic, and this is Ivy.” A nod toward where their dog was sniffing at Clara’s shoes. “And that is Rabbit.”
The woman leaned down to pet Rabbit with hands gloved in thin black. Ivy had seen gloves like that before. Frowning, she tried to remember where. The gloves . . .
She must be a former J-Psy, Vasic replied.
Of course. Ivy had caught glimpses of Justice Psy while she’d lived in Washington with her parents. She didn’t know why Js wore the gloves, but she assumed it had something to do with deteriorating mental shields. Clara, however, didn’t appear stressed in any way, a tranquility to her that was soothing against Ivy’s senses.
“If you’ll follow me,” she said now, and stood to lead them down a pathway to the left. “Samuel prefers to sit in the rose garden, even with the plants not much more than sticks at this time of year.”
As they walked, she said, “I’ll introduce you, then leave. Whether he chooses to speak or not is up to him—he’s been largely silent since waking from the coma.” Stopping beside a weathered pine table on which sat a small red toolbox, she looked at Vasic. “This is the personal and somewhat idiosyncratically stocked toolbox we recovered from Samuel’s home. He hasn’t touched it though we leave it in his quarters, but you should store the image so you can retrieve it, just in case.”
“I have a lock.”
“Don’t push him,” Clara continued once they began to walk again. “It may be that he no longer has the capability or the knowledge you need.” She stopped, held their gazes with warm brown eyes that were deadly serious. “He was a brilliant, gifted man, you understand. If he’s lost that and is aware of the loss, he may simply choose not to face that part of his life. It is his right.”
“You’re very protective.” Ivy felt a deep sense of respect toward the other woman. “Are you close to him?”
“There is no romantic relationship. My husband would take issue.” With that startling and rather wry comment, Clara began to walk again. “But I see in Samuel something that resonates.
“A Justice Psy has a use-by date,” she said, expression difficult to read. “I’m living a second life now, but many never do. I don’t wish to steal Samuel’s second chance from him by forcing him to compare the man he is now with the man he once was.” A potent statement, for all that Clara never raised her voice. “His value is not diminished; it is just different.”
“We understand.” No wonder Anthony Kyriakus had chosen this woman to run Haven, Ivy thought. She was extraordinary, a quiet warrior.
“We will do no harm,” Vasic said to Clara. “We’ll simply sit with him until it becomes clear whether or not he wishes us to stay or go.”
Clara nodded and led them around a hedge and into the dormant starkness of a rose garden in winter. Seated on the other side, on a bench situated beneath the shade of an evergreen with spreading branches and fine needles, was a thin man who might have been in his early thirties.
Dressed in wheat-colored slacks teamed with a simple blue shirt, the dark blond strands of his hair disordered by the breeze and what looked like a windbreaker discarded by his side, he stared out at the garden through old-fashioned wire-rimmed spectacles. They were unusual when eyesight could generally be corrected without issue, but Ivy didn’t get the impression the spectacles were an affectation.
“Samuel.” Clara placed one gloved hand on his shoulder when they reached him. “These are the guests I told you about. Ivy, Vasic, and Rabbit.”
No response from Samuel Rain.
Giving them another solemn glance to reiterate the ground rules, Clara walked away. Ivy took a deep breath of the crisp air, painfully conscious that she couldn’t sense Samuel Rain on the empathic level. It was as if he’d gone so deep into himself that he no longer existed.
“Woof!” Rabbit dropped a stick at her feet.
“Rabbit.” Affection blooming in her, Ivy bent to pick it up. “Where did you get this? If you’ve messed up their garden, we’ll both be in trouble.”
Vasic was the one who answered. “I saw him find it beneath the tree to the right.”
Glancing at Vasic, she telepathed, Maybe it’s better if we don’t crowd Mr. Rain?
Vasic took the stick she handed up. “Come on, Rabbit,” he said, leading their excited dog to the left of the rose garden and to a rectangular area of open ground. It was within sight of Samuel but not in his face.
Meandering through the sleeping roses as her man and their pet played, Ivy read the small weatherproof card by each bed, examined the accompanying images—an exuberant peach rose was planted next to a vibrant yellow one, which in turn was beside a sexy red. Then and there, she decided she’d plant a flower garden at the home she made with Vasic.
Do you think you might want to settle at the orchard? It was a place she loved, but she’d go anywhere with Vasic.
I’m home with you, Ivy.
Undone, she went to turn toward him and was almost bowled over by Rabbit as their pet ran through the garden pathways to drop the stick in front of Samuel Rain. When the man didn’t respond, Rabbit nudged at him with his head. Her heart melted. “Come here, Rabbit,” she said, patting her thigh. “Samuel wants to sit quietly today.”
Rabbit tried one more head butt before picking up his stick and coming to Ivy for a scratch. As he ran back to Vasic, Ivy looked up . . . to see Samuel Rain’s eyes on her Arrow. Ivy’s pulse thudded, but she didn’t make any sudden movements. Until the engineer stood up and strode toward Vasic.
She took the other path to reach him at the same time.
Not saying a word, Samuel Rain grabbed Vasic’s gauntleted arm and stared at it. “Are you mad?” he asked in a tone so sharp it could’ve sliced flesh. “This isn’t ready for human integration.”