I bided my time, talking for about half an hour. There was a lot to tell. I learned a little from her by the questions Dr. Meng asked—what interested her and what didn’t. She was particularly interested in the cultists. She didn’t know much about them. I told her all about Gilling and his crew. I left out, naturally, everything about the finger that was hanging around my neck. She didn’t need to know I could resist her magic.
The part she liked best, oddly enough, was when I told her about placing the photo against McKesson’s shoulder and firing a bullet into it. She laughed aloud, saying that she wished she could have been there to see that. I gathered that the Community members all relied on McKesson—he was something like a shared Igor for them all—but none of them liked him.
At one point she turned and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. I paused.
“Continue,” she said, glancing back at me.
That imperious order left me with a flash of anger. I don’t know why that particular moment caused me to feel such rage. Maybe it was the arrogance, the automatic assumption I was her plaything, her puppet.
I struggled to continue my story in an even tone of voice. While I did so, I reached up and ripped loose my talisman. The strap didn’t break, but the weak metal clasp we’d attached to the bottle did. I slipped the thing down into my lap and held it there in my fist.
Next, I quietly popped the magazine out of my .32 automatic, letting it clatter onto the floor. Before she could turn around, I quickly took the photo of my supposed family and threw it on the desk between us. When she turned back, she noticed it. Her eyes slid up to me, and once again she was frowning.
“Where did this come from?” she asked.
“From my pocket,” I said.
Dr. Meng stared. “I didn’t tell you to put it here. Is it part of your report?”
Finally, at long last, I allowed myself to smile. In fact, I grinned broadly. The grin turned into something feral, the kind of grin the wolf must have had when it ate good old Granny.
“No, it’s not,” I said. I slowly lifted my gun and aimed it right at her. The look on her face was worth a year’s pay to me. “I’m sorry, but I have a confession to make. I’m not in your power. I haven’t been since I walked in.”
She stared at the gun in absolute horror. That single expression made my day. I could aim the gun at her now because it was unloaded—but she didn’t know that.
“But how?” she said.
I shrugged. “New objects,” I explained.
“Why would you pretend?”
“To see what you asked about. How much you knew.”
“So, your stories were real?”
“With a few omissions, yes. Now I want to know some things. Let’s call it your report.”
“I’ll grant you one question for initiative,” she said.
I eyed her. She still sounded self-confident, but that could have been an act. I decided to ask my question regardless. “Why did you send me out there to wander around?”
“I thought that was obvious. To locate rogues with objects and mark them for death.”
“Death,” I said, somehow surprised to hear her admit that was the mission. I felt hot and mildly sick. I really had been an assassin of sorts. The hound leading the hunters. “So you fed this information to the Gray Men? They weren’t trying to kill me all this time, they were trying to kill the people I located?”
Meng shrugged. She eased herself into her chair across from me. I let her do it. I reached out to her desk and tapped the picture.
“Is this my family?” I asked her.
“I honestly don’t know. You had it with you when we picked you up. It was your sole object, your qualification as a rogue.”
“What does the photograph do?” I asked.
She smirked at me. “Haven’t figured that out yet?” she asked. She reached toward it, slowly stretching her arm across the table. As if by chance, she brushed against her bronze statuette. My empty gun tracked her movements. I realized she was about to give mind control another try. I didn’t blame her.
“Go ahead and make your move,” I said confidently. “If it will help you accept this reversal, I’ll allow it. Try to give me another command.”
Meng grabbed the statuette with desperate fingers. This time I was sure I saw a tiny white flash. But I didn’t feel any effects.
“Jenna, kill him,” Meng said, her voice low like cat’s growl.
I realized, in shock, that she’d never intended to influence my mind again. She had failed with me, but Jenna was still in her power. I felt small hands reaching for me. I pushed Jenna away, but she kept coming, so I shoved her down. She bounced back up, making strange sounds deep in her throat. Her face was—insane.
I turned back toward Meng and realized she was in the act of leaving. She had opened a door I hadn’t realized was there. I wouldn’t call it a secret door, but it was covered by a bulletin board and the door handle was unusually low. It swung open to reveal a dark space beyond.
“Don’t make me kill you,” I said to Meng.