In theory—in theory—if her father knew what the Foxfire was capable of, or what Merchantia researchers suspected it was capable of, then the most valuable aspect of the fungus was what? Its aggressive nature was not really marketable. But telepathy? That . . . that was priceless. As a scientist, she couldn’t even pin down the most marketable aspect because it was all marketable. And dangerous.

Telepathy. Regeneration. The Foxfire had kept Rayan alive despite a mortal head wound; if that healing property could be extracted and controlled . . . something like that would change medicine forever. What CEO with a hungry board could resist?

Her task bar chimed, alerting her to a new message. Of course Edison wasn’t asleep, he never would be. Well, she wasn’t exactly busy, so she opened the message and noticed the attachment. It was kind of sweet, even if she couldn’t download it. No signal. No network. She copied the title and searched her hard database, finding it easily among popular songs from the last five years. It had made a few “best of” jazz playlists. Rosalyn closed her eyes and put the song on repeat, then she composed one last message before trying to sleep.

Thanks for the suggestion. If this actually works I might have to burn you for witchcraft.

Not five seconds later his icon blinked with a new message.

Can’t burn what’s already scorching hot. OH.

Rosalyn snorted, shaking her head and draping one arm over her mouth, laughing into her forearm.

You really have to let this go.

This time his reply took longer. Why? Got big plans?