“Thank you.”

Nellie smiled at him, then looked at the others. “This . . . unsub . . . had to know Simon is a Cavendish, an elder, and so a telepath, probably a strong one. Wouldn’t he have expected him to reach out?”

It was Finn who said thoughtfully, “Maybe not. We’ve all been having trouble using our Talents in the last few weeks. Maybe he needed to know if Simon could reach anyone.”

Miranda said, “Maybe because the energy we’ve all been aware of is his doing and he’s not sure how effective it is.”

“Or,” Bishop said, “it’s affecting him, affecting his own abilities, and he wanted to know if any of us have the same problem.”

“So I was a lab rat.” Simon managed a smile. “A very lucky lab rat.”

Finn glanced at Bishop, then said, “We mean to make sure your luck holds. I’ll have a deputy outside the door here, and when you’re discharged, you’ll have an escort.”

Uneasy now, Simon said, “You mean he might not be finished with me?”

“I mean we’re not going to take any chances. We’re doing our best to keep a close eye on all the elders, especially when they’re in transit. Listen, the doc wants to keep you here at least until afternoon. Get some rest, okay?”

Simon didn’t bother to deny that being held for long hours in a nearly airless box that could very well have become his coffin had been exhausting. Instead, he merely smiled, thanked them all again, and settled back to rest.

They left his room and gathered in a waiting room just down the hall, the area nearly deserted at such an early hour. The sun had not yet come up.

Finn didn’t have to ask if the others, like himself, were up for the day. He merely said to Bishop, “Does this help us at all?”

“Maybe. That he was drugged is a new wrinkle—we believe—but the drug used, like so much these days, can be easily found and obtained on the Internet. Backtracking every citizen in Salem looking for that purchase would take far more time than we have.”

Nellie perched on the arm of a chair, absently petting Leo when he sat by her feet. Nobody had questioned her dog’s presence in the hospital, which vaguely surprised her. “Two people dead so far—that we know about. One of them this week. I’m sure I don’t have to tell anybody how glad I am that Simon is safe, but burying him alive for whatever reason doesn’t seem to fit with the rest. Am I the only one waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

“No,” Hollis said instantly. She was frowning. “I really don’t understand this . . . test, or game, or whatever it is. Keeping Simon alive, making sure he’d be alive all those hours. Except for the bump on his head and ligature marks from those zip ties, he doesn’t have a mark on him. From brutal torture and dismemberment to that? It doesn’t make sense. And another thing. We’re sure the first two victims weren’t psychic, and there are plenty of members of the five families who aren’t. Simon very definitely is. Why grab a strong telepath, mess around with some kind of injection and oxygen tanks, and then hang him out like bait on a hook?”