[Ganzfield 2] Adversary (5 page)

Trevor shrugged. “Some things are scarier than others.”

*   *   *

February is cold and grey in New Hampshire. People draw into themselves, becoming cold and grey as well in response to the long, dark winter. Ganzfield’s sparks seemed to enjoy the season more than most other people, though. Maybe it was because it was easier for pyrokinetics to stay warm; maybe it was because the early sunsets made their games of Fireball more dramatic. In the winter, the sparks played out on the thick ice of the lake, which brightened the game further. It also added the risk of sliding into open water through the goal-holes cut in the ice. So far this winter, only Harrison and Ellen had been dunked. Each was quickly fished out and warmed by the collective flames of both teams.

Some huge blocks of ice had appeared in the middle of their little community in early January. Most were several feet high—the tallest towered over the little cinderblock buildings. I never found out how they’d been acquired, but over the next weeks, a few sparks carved them with projected flames. The resulting ice sculptures—mostly smooth, clear abstracts—were eerily beautiful.

Drew had decided to use Trevor’s birthday as an excuse for the latest party. He didn’t need much of an excuse—two weeks ago, Drew had organized a celebration of “Groundhog’s Day Eve.” Tonight, a huge bonfire lit the narrow beach where the circle of damp sand held a couple dozen people. Fireball was played like soccer, only the three-foot-wide ball remained suspended above the ground by a flame-reactive form of telekinesis. The blazing sphere lit the ice beneath it, reflecting a mirror image against the dark surface. A sizzling hiss and a plume of steam accompanied each scored goal.

After the game, the sparks took turns sculpting the bonfire in a kind of performance art. It ranged from the simplicity of shadow puppets to more artistic and complex forms. The evening’s activities then turned into a contest of fire-walking. The sparks stepped through the fire, using their ability to bend the flames around themselves. Other sparks called out encouragement, advice, or trash-talk.

Katie Underwood made the blaze twirl around her like an elegant ball gown that nearly kissed her skin. She received exuberant applause for her efforts.

A chunk of Grant McFee’s jeans blackened before he could think out the flames, resulting in good-natured boos and laughter. Considering the sparks could still get burns, and an inhaled breath at the wrong time could pull superheated air right into their lungs, this was not a pastime for the meek. So, of course, it was exciting to watch. We had a great time. Finally, Drew brought out Trevor’s cake, lighting the excessive display of candles with a magician’s flourish.

The icy air seemed to bite us as Trevor and I headed back to the old church. We walked on the familiar path through the skeletal, winter woods. Thousands of stars sparkled like spilled glitter through the empty branches above us.

The new heating system had transformed the church into our warm, private sanctuary. We took our turns in the bathroom, both dressed in unsexy, flannel PJs and thick socks against the eddies of cold that haunted the corners of the old building. Trevor flipped off the lights, and then joined me up in my loft by vaulting up over the rail, the same way other guys might jump over a waist-high fence. He ducked in under the metalwork canopy and we pulled close under my quilt, lying face to face on my shared pillow.

I felt a sudden twist of hesitation in my gut.
Trevor?
I lightly stroked his cheek with my fingertip.
About this no sex thing…
His mind flared with wary, yet excited interest. This was a sensitive topic for us. Trevor was the unplanned child of a teen mom; he worried that a similar experience would ruin our lives. And Dr. Williamson had gotten Trevor’s word that we wouldn’t. It was the main reason I was allowed to stay here in the church with him.
I’ve been thinking—

We can’t.

I know, but—

But?

What about in the lucid dreams?

I felt his pulse bounce up as his eyes widened. The pros and cons flashed through his mind. There really weren’t any cons—no risk of pregnancy, at least, which was his main issue. Did it break his word to Dr. Williamson? He wasn’t sure. I felt the matter was grey enough that we could argue our way out of an accusation, if it came to that.

You want to?
He filled with a combination of nervous, lusty hopefulness, feelings of unworthiness, and fear of rejection.

Yes.
I leaned forward and kissed him deeply, opening my mind to him, letting my intense love for him wash away his insecurities. His anxieties trickled into nothingness as his tongue traced lightly along my upper lip. I moaned. One of his hands cradled my neck while an invisible arm encircled my body, pulling me closer. His unseen touch caressed me as though I was wearing nothing at all.

Hot, buzzing-red energy tingled across my skin. I could feel Trevor’s mind fill with tender, yet primal impulses; ideas that made me quiver and melt. I opened my thoughts further to his, letting my passion flow over him. The church went dim and the world fell away. Suddenly, we were two beings of energy, merging in an explosive series of waves that tumbled us together until we shattered into a thousand fizzy little fireworks that seemed to linger in the trembling of our newly-returned bodies.

And we were still two fully-dressed virgins.

Each time we soulmated, our mental and emotional connection became more perfect. Trevor and I still lay face to face on the pillow. My right hand still rested on his cheek. I could feel his skin, covered with sandy-textured, end-of-day stubble beneath the pads of my fingers. Simultaneously, I also experienced that same contact from Trevor’s perspective—my hand on his cheek, the fingers warmer against his skin than the surrounding air. The physical effects of soulmating on his body—as well as my own—filled me, and I knew he felt what I did. Our thoughts sped between us without a need for words; there was just an instant
knowing
.

I loved him so much: his quiet strength, his goodness, his openness. There were no boundaries between us—we even shared each other’s dreams. Trevor and I could simply be together and we felt whole—complete. There was a joy and peace to it that I’d never known before I’d met him.

Amazingly, he felt the same way about me.

The thought occurred to me that we might someday have difficulty with the actual sex part. We were so open to each other’s minds that we connected as energy before we ever did anything too controversial.

Without realizing it, we drifted to sleep in each other’s arms.

*   *   *

That was a mistake.

The floor smacked against me, jarring me awake. My mind felt stupidly fuzzy.

Dark. Someone pushing me.

Trevor lay dreaming in my bed, batting invisible arms at nebulous things. I made the connection as I was thrown hard against the wrought-iron railing of the loft, which creaked a whiny, metallic protest.

Crap! Get down the ladder. Fast!

The unseen push came as I was halfway to the ground. My socks slipped from the narrow metal steps. I held on for a fraction of a second before I went down, landing hard on my left leg. Something made an audible snap above my ankle. The pain lanced through me as the leg collapsed and I fell hard against the wooden floor.

My scream woke Trevor. “Maddie? Maddie!”

I managed a whimper. He was down beside me in a second.

It’s my leg.
I couldn’t speak.
I think it’s broken.
I tried to keep the pain from leaking through the connection between us, but I felt a lot of it bouncing back from him, as though we were caught in a feedback loop of agony.

Trevor gathered me in his arms, using his ability to hold the broken limb steady. Even so, his every step sent another jolt of excruciating pain from my ankle up to my hip. I squeezed my eyes shut and balled my fists. The frigid walk to the infirmary left me shaking badly, although that also could’ve been from shock. Tears that felt like ice left trails on my cheeks. In this weather, maybe they actually had frozen.

Matilda looked up from her book as we came in. Trevor carefully placed me on the exam table. Every movement hurt with a terrible sense of wrongness, like shards of broken ceramic grating under my skin.

“What happened?” Matilda pulled up the leg of my PJ-pants and peeled off my sock. The edges of the shattered bone scraped roughly against each other as she put her hands on my calf. I moaned and gritted my teeth. Swelling had already turned my leg an ugly red and purple, and seeing the unnatural angle of my foot made my stomach heave.

“I …fell off…the ladder…of the loft.” Pain pulsed through my mind, blotting out most of the dorm resident’s dreams, although a few of them gently pushed on the edges of my consciousness.

Matilda concentrated on the leg, sending little feelers of energy into the damaged portion. After nearly a minute, she said, “Broken in two places. We’ll need to set the bones properly before I can heal them.”

She looked at Trevor, considering how his ability could help. Trevor clasped one of my clenched fists against his chest. He stroked my hair as his muddy-yellow guilt and nausea bombarded me.
Did I do this to her? Oh, God. Did I hurt Maddie like I hurt Reed? I’m dangerous. I shouldn’t be around people.

He didn’t hear Matilda the first time.

“Trevor,” she repeated in her softly-accented voice. “I asked if you could use telekinesis to move the bones back into place. You can work through solid matter, isn’t that correct?”

Trevor nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“It would go much faster and cause Maddie less pain if we work together. I’ll focus in as you pull the bones back into position. When I tell you they are in alignment, you hold them in place while I heal them.”

The next bit hurt like liquid hell. Matilda held my foot. Trevor pushed his emotional turmoil down so he could concentrate on helping me. I subdued my scream into a high-pitched whimper.

“That’s it. Hold it there.” Matilda, shot electric tendrils through my calf, speeding the knitting bones then repairing the soft tissue and reducing the swelling.

I felt my lungs inflate to full capacity as the pain subsided. The tension ebbed. My leg felt hot and it pulsed with tiny, electric aftershocks.

“I want you to stay in the infirmary for the rest of the night. Don’t put any weight on that leg until I have a chance to check it in a few hours,” Matilda said.

“It feels healed.” I’d thought Trevor and I would be free to leave. His emotions twisted painfully, wringing his soul. I needed to help him.

Sudden awareness of the pain in his feet distracted me—I hadn’t noticed it over the scream from my leg. “Matilda, could you take a look at Trevor’s feet, please?” Trevor looked down, noting with surprise that he was wearing only wet socks. Matilda treated his feet before frostbite could set in.

You’ve been carting a lot of people with leg injuries to the infirmary lately.
I tried to joke with him.
You’d think grabbing your boots would be second-nature by now.

He wasn’t in a laughing mood. Trevor gathered me carefully in his arms again and carried me into the next room—the one-story annex off the infirmary that held a half-dozen cots in a long row. In the last bed, someone pretended to sleep.

Trevor? Are you all right?

I have to get away from her,
he thought to himself.
As far away as possible.

I forced down a bubble of hurt and panic.

“I can’t stay here.” Raspy desperation filled his words.

Trevor, I can’t stay here, either. Please don’t leave me.
I needed to talk with him, to be with him, to take the pain and guilt and horror from his mind. I gripped his hand harder when he tried to pull away. His eyes met mine; they were filled with anguish.
Please,
I pleaded.

He paused for a second, and then nodded. “Wait here for a few minutes. I’ll be back.” Trevor planned to use his ability to lift himself from the snow, walking with invisible hands under his bare feet, almost like those cups-on-strings stilts that kids use. He’d get our boots and coats from the church and return for me.

As Trevor moved away, the cloud of his emotions cleared from my head. I was able to breathe a little better without them. We’d gotten careless. We wouldn’t do it again. We just needed to talk about it and he’d understand it was okay. Once I’d worked that through, I relaxed and finally noticed the intense confusion of the other person in the little annex. He must be new.

“So, why are you pretending to be asleep?”

Oh, so she CAN talk
. His head came up. In the light coming through the infirmary door, I saw that he was a good-looking guy with black hair and vivid blue eyes. Back before I’d met Trevor, I might’ve been attracted to him. “How could you tell?”