Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own any of these characters. These belong to Nalini Singh, writer of the Psy-Changeling series.

Note: This chapter is not edited. My Beta is having some computer issues. Thanks to Zhian'tara for helping with his story. She helps me brainstorm, edits each chapter and helps me get all the information correctly.

Chapter 25. The Redheaded Woman

One week later, Nikita stood outside Anthony's home and headquarters of the NightStar PsyClan facilities. She stood beside her vehicle staring at the majestic entrance door. It was a large wooden door decorated with ornate carvings around the frame. Under Silence, this kind of art would have never been approved.

"Are you coming in, Nikita?" someone said.

Nikita tore her eyes from the opulent door to find Leon staring her way. He cradled a pile of books in his arms and had a heavy looking satchel strapped over his shoulder. Anthony's brother stood with a shoulder higher than the other, the backpack too heavy for him to keep himself straight.

"Yes," she said, taking a deep and slow breath before pushing forwards. Leon's eyes stayed fixed on her while she walked over, waiting.

"The door was Faith's idea," he said, following her pace and walking up to the home by her side. "We are remodeling all of our facilities. Do you like it?"

"So soon after the fall of Silence," she replied. "It's very optimistic."

The man nodded, and a ray of light reached his eyes. They passed the threshold, letting the door swing closed behind them. Leon paused to adjust the books in his arms and the satchel. He looked up at her, a question marred on his face and betraying his failed conditioning.

"How are you doing, Nikita?" He asked. "Is the program helping?"

"I'm not sure," she said, "how it's supposed to feel?"

"It's in exploring those feelings that you will get the answer," he replied. "You and Anthony appear to be spending a lot of time together."

"He says it's supposed to help," she replied, knowing that she didn't have to answer him. He hadn't asked a question, but her muscles had tightened at the mention of Anthony. "Has he spoken to you about it?"

"No," he said, squaring his shoulders and retreating his gaze. "Would you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" She asked in turn, quickly understanding that Anthony's brother was sharp and observant. They were approaching the quad, a grand launch area where the Psy F had the chance to rest and meet with other counterparts. Nikita took note of all the new additions, the plants, the windows, and the plush sofas now taking over the space.

Anthony stood, hands in the pockets of his slacks and his head inclined while he talked to an older human female. When he looked up, there was light in his eyes, and a minuscule smile appeared on his face.

"Nikita," he said.

"Anthony," she said.

The woman standing next to her gasped, pushed back her shoulders and stood still, her eyes wide. Nikita eyed the woman, who now stood pale and paralyzed next to them.

"Ms. Brown," Anthony said. "Nikita is the dinner guest we discussed."

The woman curtsied. The last time Nikita had seen a person curtsy was in a television commercial. But, she understood. It wasn't the first time people reacted this way to her presence. Anthony dismissed the woman, instructing her to call Leon if she had any questions. The latter parted from them as they approached the private annex to the facility, which was Anthony's own private space and home.

"She doesn't know you," he said, glancing her way and reaching out with a tentative hand. She tried not to jerk away when his hands grabbed hers and he enlaced his fingers around her own. She did flex her hands and fingers but didn't pull away.

"She's smart," Nikita answered. "There are many reasons why she should fear me."

Anthony strengthened his hold on her hand, "She should be afraid of me too."

"You are not like me, Anthony." Nikita didn't know why she had to keep reminding him of the fact. The knowledge seemed so obvious. "You, at least, have morals and a conscience. I don't."

"It's a very insightful observation for someone without a conscience," he replied, quickening his steps and guiding her through the long corridors.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I want to kiss you," he pathed.

"I don't think that's appreciated," she said, making an effort to pull away her sweaty hand, but he didn't let go. There was a gnawing in her stomach, like the fluttering of wings. "Anthony."

"We probably have ten minutes before dinner," he said.

"Why are you acting like a human teenager?" She was not about to walk away, but she wasn't used to this kind of behavior from him. They went up the stairs leading to the attic study, where he kept his books and hid from the world.

The books still took over most of the space, but the room seemed wider this time. There was a new deep blue sofa pressed against the wall. A vase of sunflowers sat on a corner table. It smelled of flowers. A few weeks ago, all of the stimulating would have been too dangerous. There was a reason she lived in a clean and practical space.

"Come here," Anthony said, swinging the door closed.

"I'm not that kind of person," she said.

"What kind of person?" he asked, striding closer. She stepped back slowly, a part of her curious about his conduct. It was a whole new side to him. There was a glint in his eyes.

"The kind of person who comes when told," she said, wanting him to understand. She might not be the leader of the Net, and she did not know much about emotions. Nonetheless, she knew that she didn't have the kind of personality of someone who would submit.

"I don't come when I'm told either," Anthony said, "but I would come for you."

"Anthony," she said, but her eyes were on his lips, which she knew were soft.

"Yes?" he asked, taking both of her hands in his and hovering over her face. Nikita felt the heat of his breath mixed with hers.

"How's Tanique?" she asked. Nikita's mind, attempting to hold on to reason, had remembered that Anthony's son had inherited his father's gaze.

"He's doing well," Anthony whispered, "You will see him in a few minutes. Nikita?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to kiss me?" Anthony's question hung in the air. Once she remembered how to breathe, Nikita shut her eyes and kissed him.

RS -

"Are you adjusting to the new changes in the Net?" Anthony asked a few minutes after their kissing. She had spent some time fixing up the lipstick she had chosen to wear that evening. Psy wore makeup only as a way to look polished and groomed. It worked wonders in boardrooms, where a perception of power was important. The light pink lip color she had put on was the brightest in her neutral collection, but it had stained.

"I don't have a choice," she responded, dragging her gaze from the floor and looking up at him with keen eyes. "Do I?"

"You should not feel any strong aftereffects," he said, rubbing a napkin over his lips with both hands before returning her gaze, "Your shields are solid."

"So are yours," she said, following him down the corridor leading to the new dining room. There were many windows and paintings added to the hall. The NightStar facilities had always leaned away from Silence protocols, but the fall of Silence had liberated them. The proof was on these walls.

"Leon said your daughter has been helping in the remodeling of this place," she told him.

"Yes, we are remodeling all facilities," he answered. "It's how the marble and obsidian heart sculpture came me."

She was about to speak, but the words got caught in her mouth at the sight of Kaleb Krychek and Sahara Kyriakus through a window. The couple was walking side-to-side, Sahara's arm intertwined with Krychek's.

"Would you like to go so swimming before dinner?" Anthony asked, following her gaze. "We can eat later, just the two of us."

"Hello, Ms. Duncan." Anthony's son, Tanique sauntered in through a merging hallway. The young man's arm was in a sling and pressed against his shirt. Tanique's demeanor reminded Nikita of her daughter. She nodded, acknowledging his presence, her eyes on his arm.

"The bone was shattered," he informed her, dropping his shoulders. "The doctors casted it to ensure proper healing. Have you seen these new paintings?"

"I would have thought these would be too much stimulation for you," she replied. "How do you manage?

"I do my best not to touch the art," he said.

"Yes, he tries," Anthony said, adding emphasis to the last word. Tanique met his father's face, an unvoiced argument in the intensity of their eyes. When Anthony looked back her way, he sported that smile of his, the one she liked for him to carry.

"My father would prefer I don't exhaust my psychic abilities until I'm healed," Tanique answered, offering an explanation.

"It's a logical argument," she said and watched as her response brought a glint to Tanique's eyes that resembled his own father's. The boy had inherited his father's sharp features, his height, and his eyes.

"We have a few pieces I think you would find interesting," Tanique said. "If not today, then whenever you get a chance. Besides, my father appreciates your company."

Nikita glanced over at Anthony to find his gaze. The glint was in his eyes too, and she fixed her eyes on him, examining the light that lived in this family. She had no doubt in her mind that Anthony and his family would thrive without the rules of Silence. It would flourish.

"Hello, Uncle Anthony." Sahara's voice, melodious, resonated over the walls. She walked with the grace of a dancer, the way she had seen on the street festivals in Spain during a business visit. The younger woman glided toward Tanique, a white toothy smile on her face, and she embraced him briefly.

"Hello, Ms. Duncan," she said.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Anthony asked the couple.

Krychek announced that he needed to handle come important business, and he couldn't stay for dinner. He "popped" away before dinner was served. Sahara stayed. The young woman had a lively conversation with Tanique all through dinner, which turned out to be better than expected. Ms. Brown, Anthony's new house chef, brought out an eclectic array of sweet and savory food for them eat. Nikita tried to avoid tasting those that seemed strong in flavor. Anthony did the same.

The table conversation was dominated by the topic of remodeling all the facilities in NightStar PsyClan, and she learned that Sahara was also involved in making these changes. The young woman neither spoke to Nikita directly, nor gave any indication that she wasn't welcome.

"Ready for a stroll?" Tanique asked, after the last of the plates were taken away, including a sugary piece of flan, which she had invested in eating slowly. It had a potent flavor in her mouth, but she didn't think it appropriate to ask for it to stay on the table. So, she let the frighten woman take it away with shaky hands.

The two of them left Anthony, Sahara, and Leon, who were attempting to agree on something that was related to the renovations. Soon, Nikita found herself striding into a dark a ballroom, with aged velvet wallpaper and paintings hanging from each corner.

"This used to be a ballroom," Tanique said, "before Silence."

Nikita attempted to imagine a version of the world where Psy gathered in this room to dance and to laugh. The opulent chandeliers on the ceiling must have shone down on them like the sun.

"The paintings on the wall are mostly ancestors of the Kyriakus line," he continued, his hands crossed on his back as he walked, "and most were painted by Psy artists of the time."

"These paintings survived the purge," she stated, slowing her stride, turning her head over her shoulders before twisting her body to cover all of the art on the walls.

"I think…" Tanique paused. "I prefer old things."

Anthony had once told her that Tanique's abilities were often sought by law enforcement. Much like Sofia, Tanique's life was filled with stories of tragedy. Old things, she thought, carried history, and perhaps, joy.

"Nikita." It was that voice again. It one she had come to know intimately. It was the voice that haunted her sleep, woke her up at night and threatened to crumble what was left of her Silence. "Come."

She looked over her shoulders, searching for the source. The voice had never been this clear. She expanded her psychic mind in an attempt to read the number of Psy minds in the room only to find that they were alone.

"Nikita. Here lays the secret. Come." She took a step forward, letting Tanique follow in her steps. The paintings on the walls lined the hallway towards the other side of the room. "Here lays the secret. Come!"

"Did you hear that?" She asked Tanique. The young man let his gaze wander around the room before coming back to her.

"I didn't hear anything," he said. Suddenly, the air in the chamber became cumbersome and cold. Nikita touched her wrists, feeling something there that she could not see, something metal and cold.

"Come, child. Here lays the secret." She continued walking, quickening her steps, her eyes focused on the end of the last wall in the ballroom. As she approached, she made out a painting mounted in an ornate frame. It was the profile of a woman, her skin fair and freckled, with burning red hair. She looked so familiar.

"Here's the secret," the woman's voice said, "the secret I can't speak about."

Nikita rubbed her forehead, feeling something old and tight wrapped around her head, but there was nothing there either. "Who's this?" she asked.

"It a recent painting," Tanique responded. "She's my grandmother, Signora Marine Kyriakus."

"Marine? Like your sister?" she asked, just to verify this new information.

"Yes," he said.

"Tanique," Anthony's voice filled the room before she could even hear his steps. The walls of the old ballroom carried his voice in an echo. "You should be resting."

"I thought Nikita would be interested in some of the things in this room," he said, his voice soft. He stood in front of his father, cradling his arm. "It's full of antiques, and she has such a good grasp of the medium that I wanted to know her opinion on the pieces."

"You should rest, son," Anthony suggested, his voice mimicking his son. "There's a call from a law enforcement agent on the communication channel for you. You might have more work soon. Nikita will be back."

Tanique glanced over at Nikita, where she stood with a hand wrapped around her left wrist and her eyes focused on the picture hung above. She returned his gaze and nodded.

"Yes, we can catalog during my next visit," she said, and with that said, Tanique expressed his thanks and excused himself from the room. When Nikita looked up at Anthony, she couldn't remove her eyes from him.

"You think I'm overprotective," he stated, studying her gaze.

"Are you?" She replied.

"I locked my daughter in a safe house that turned out to be her prison," he said.

"I took my daughter to a rehabilitation center when she was six," she replied. Anthony's shoulder's dropped. He stood straighter, inserting his hands into his pockets.

"Thank you," he said, "for sharing that information with me."

"Anthony," she said, turning to face him fully, facing away from the picture of the redheaded woman, whose face she now had etched in her mind. She dropped her arms and fisted her palms. "What happened to your mother?"

"She was kidnapped when I was only a baby," he said, his chest expanding with air and dropping very slowly.

"Was she ever recovered?" Nikita asked because this was critical.

"No," he said solemnly. "Why do you ask, Nikita?"

"I think your mother has been speaking to me," she replied in a whisper, realization hitting hard at the back of her mind.

"Nikita, that is impossible." He leaned closer to her face, his lips set in a thin line. The glint in his eyes she had seen all day was gone too. "If alive, my mother would have been about 100 years old."

"Most of us live up to 130," she replied.

"Why should her kidnapper need a 100-year-old woman?" he asked. "Regardless, most F-Psy become insane in old age, and she had already shown signs of insanity before her abduction. Why would they keep her?"

"Anthony." Nikita's tone was firm. She dared grab his shoulders, looking up at him and demanding eye contact.

"The night of the outbreak in New York City," she said, remembering woman's voice had been the most prominent among them. There should have been no way she could have picked up the sounds of the city of New York. "She spoke to me earlier that day, said the streets would be covered in blood. I believe she was warming me."

"How could that be?" Anthony appeared to think on the information. He looked up at the painting of his mother with slightly narrowed eyes.

"The moment I walked into this room," Nikita continued. "I heard her voice. The day at the pool, you said the woman who appeared in my head seemed to be an F-Psy. She was strapped to a machine. I felt it. The medal felt cold around my wrists."

She explained to him what she had heard, feeling on her hands and forehead. The woman's voice had been so clear, calling out to her in this direction. Anthony stood in silence for a few minutes, listening and examining the picture on the wall. Finally, he took a seat, ran a hand through his hair, and held her gaze. She sat in the opposite chair, resigned.

"What do we do now?" he asked, and she felt her heartbeat picked up once again.

...

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Also, I love getting your comments and reviews. I'm always curious about what you guys think is going to happen or about the story itself.

Best,

Steph