The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(43)

“That’s a good idea about the phone, Thomas,” I say. “I should’ve thought of that. As far as getting out of town, my family is here, and so is my work. Where would I go?”

He shrugs. “Take a vacation. Visit friends or relatives you haven’t seen in a while. Though, if you want to be completely safe, you should probably stay clear of your immediate family for the time being.”

“I don’t think I like that plan,” I say, frowning. “I don’t want to stay in hiding forever.”

“Well, if you had more information—”

“I might be able to obtain it,” I say, starting to feel hopeful. “I can’t commit to anything, but if I did find out more, do you think you’d be able to help me deal with this person?” I know it’s a lot to ask, but I could really use someone like Thomas on my side.

“Sure.” He hands me a business card. “Here’s my number. If you learn who this mystery Guide is, let me know immediately.”

“I will, thanks,” I say, and put his details into my phone. By habit, I call his number, so that he has mine. When the call connects, he looks at his phone and grunts approvingly.

“You know,” he says, looking back at me. “If this whole thing is true and you figure out who this Guide is, he or she will try even harder to get rid of you.”

“I don’t think this person could be trying any harder,” I say, meaning it to be a joke, but Thomas responds with a stony expression.

“The attempt on your life was very subtle,” he says. “Our ability, if misused, can be much more harmful. If someone tried to kill you without subtlety, every member of that hospital staff would’ve tried to go for your throat. It wouldn’t have been pretty.”

I picture that with a shudder. He’s probably right. The Pusher was being subtle because he knew there were Readers around, and he was trying to keep his or her identity a secret. Had secrecy not been part of it, things might’ve gotten truly ugly. Then again, I can do what the Pusher can—and I’m reasonably certain the Pusher doesn’t know it.

“Do you think there is a chance this Guide might be in this room?” I ask, because I have to at least pose the question. I don’t think it’s Thomas, since Liz appears to trust him, but the other people in this room are still unknown to me—Bill excluded, of course.

“No, I doubt it,” Thomas says. “I know everyone here, and I don’t think any of them are capable of something like that. Not to mention, they would have no reason to be after you.”

“Can you think of anyone who would have a reason to be after me?”

I expect Thomas to say no, but he looks thoughtful instead.

“Are both of your parents Guides?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I’m still learning about them, but probably not both of them.” This is as close as I dare get to the truth of my origins. “Why?”

“Well,” he says slowly, “when I joined this group, I was warned about the Traditionalists. I was told they might go after me—which hasn’t happened. So if you’re not a pure Guide, they could be behind this. Though in your case, I’m not sure how they would know about your heritage.”

“The Traditionalists?” I ask, confused. “Liz mentioned them before, but she didn’t give me much detail. Why would they want to come after you?”

“They’re extremists who have some archaic attitudes about purity of blood, and they’re against marrying outside the Guide community, among other things,” he says with distaste. “In a way, they’re like those inbred Leachers. So you can see how I could be their target. You can tell I’m not ‘pure’ by just looking at my face.”

“I see.” I have a growing conviction that I’m not going to be a fan of these Traditionalists, even if they’re not the ones trying to kill me.

“I wish I could tell you more about them and why they might target you, but I know very little. Like you, I didn’t grow up with this stuff,” Thomas says, and I remember Liz mentioning that he was also adopted. Despite his stoic demeanor, he must see us as kindred souls, given that our stories are so similar.

I want to hear about his background, but first, I need to find out more about these Traditionalists. “Is there anyone I could talk to about them?” I ask, and Thomas nods.

“You can try talking to Hillary,” he says. “She knows more about this than most of us.”

“All right, I will, thanks.” I wonder why the tiny girl knows about this, but that’s a topic I’ll broach with her.

Thomas looks at me, falling back into his silent pattern, so I ask, “What did you mean when you said you didn’t grow up with this stuff?” Since I’m not sure whether Liz meant to reveal his adopted status to me, I figure it’s best to pretend complete ignorance. I don’t want to get her in trouble.

He hesitates for a moment, but then he says, “Like you, I was adopted. My parents didn’t tell me this until I was six years old.” As he says this, I catch a glimmer of some emotion behind his expressionless mask.

“That’s amazing,” I say. “This is something we share. Well, almost. I guess the difference is that I always thought I had one biological parent, Sara. I assume you learned that both your parents were adoptive?”