Read The Reviver for Free Online Page A

several.’
    *   *   *
    It was the only sure-fire way, Never Geary knew, to get Jonah out for anything remotely social. Ambush.
    When they first met, Jonah had been nineteen, Never a twenty-five-year-old hardware whiz who’d been working in the Quantico lab on forensic data recovery, then insinuated himself into Sam’s trial forensic revival unit and realized he’d found his niche. To begin with, his and Jonah’s relationship had been more of an older-brother thing, but it hadn’t taken long for them to become friends.
    And Never knew his friend well.
    He fended off Jonah’s request to shower and change, which he recognized for what it was – an excuse to return to his apartment and attempt to talk Never into having a quiet drink there. At last, they were sitting in a dim corner of one of the few bars Jonah liked. Not busy, especially on a Monday evening, and cosy. The kind of place you could go to and still hide, Never thought. Just the kind of place Jonah would like.
    On the flight home that morning, Never had been worrying, not knowing what to expect. Jonah had always seemed fragile to him – especially after his breakdown. Here, in the wilds outside the haven of his apartment, he was quiet and withdrawn. Not for long, Never thought, buying the first round. Tray in hand, he returned to the table.
    Jonah looked up at him and raised an eyebrow when he saw what was on the tray. A pint of Guinness each, and their favourite chasers – whiskey sour for Never, and a shot of tequila for Jonah.
    ‘I wasn’t planning on getting drunk,’ said Jonah. ‘We do have work tomorrow.’
    ‘We’re not getting drunk, we’re getting relaxed. This, ’ he said, lifting his sour, ‘is to knock down my jet lag. That, ’ pointing at the tequila, ‘is to take the fucking frown off your face.’
    Jonah shrugged and lifted his drink, and Never thought there was the ghost of a smile creeping onto Jonah’s lips.
    By the time the pair had started on their second round of drinks, Never was dishing out conference dirt.
    ‘Pru got massively drunk on the first night,’ he said, ‘and by God you should have seen the fella she ended up with. Definite groupie.’
    Reviver groupies were a bizarre breed, seeking out close encounters with reviver kind. Many of them had chill; apparently that was the point.
    Chill, the sensation that most non-revivers got from the touch of a reviver, came in many degrees, depending both on the reviver and the sensitivity of the person. Typically, it was a moment of cold, like a hand plunged into icy water, fading as soon as contact was broken. At its worst, it was a bitter ache that filled every part of you, leaving behind it a taint of death and a deep fear.
    Half of the FRS staff who weren’t revivers didn’t get chill at all, Never Geary being one. It meant he had no direct experience of how it felt, but Jonah certainly did; both the reviver and the person they touched experienced much the same thing. Some revivers wore gloves routinely to avoid it. Jonah’s own level of chill was particularly severe. It wasn’t something the light gloves revivers favoured could mask. He wore leather gloves when they wouldn’t be conspicuous – in cool weather, when he was outside – but the rest of the time he found any kind of glove hot and restrictive. Instead, he preferred to be very careful.
    The idea that anyone would seek out even the mild form of chill gave Never the creeps, but with Pru it would have been strong. Sufficiently drunk and she wouldn’t feel it, but Never and Jonah both knew just how drunk that would mean.
    Conferences were common enough – as a co-designer of the standard revival recording protocol, Never typically attended three or four a year. Pru Dryden attended even more. Overall, she was probably the best reviver they had. Not the same level of raw revival ability as Jonah, but she was unflappable in court and her revival questioning was always canny and precise.
    Jonah avoided