Stunned (The Lucidites Book 2) (16 page)

“Really?” I breathe in surprise.

“Really,” he says, a rare stillness in his eyes. After a moment he walks over the threshold, then turns around and looks at me directly again. “The thing is, that vision is so far away. So many choices that could make it or break it. I’m gonna try my darndest to ensure it happens, but you also have to work at it. We both know visions of the future are just potentials.”

I give a heavy sigh. “If nothing else then at least there’s a potential reality where I get what I want.”

Joseph inclines his head. “Yeah, now you’ve just got to decide what that is.”

His statement carries way more weight than I want to analyze.

“Good night, Joseph.”

“’Night, sis.”

Chapter Twenty-One

R
en storms into the lecture hall, takes a shallow breath, then twists around to face us. The bruise on his face is greenish, but the laceration is almost healed. His eyes are wild with hostility.

“Honestly, I don’t fear Pierre. He’s small potatoes in my opinion. I throw up a shield and I’m good against his attacks. However, one of his minions scares me to bloody hell. When it’s dark at night she’s my boogieman. She’s what I’m afraid is hiding under my bed or in my closet. She’s the closest thing to the devil I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen it all. She’s Allouette.”

Hate fleeces Ren’s face. Usually he has a little bit of disdain in every expression, but talking about Allouette brings him to a new level of revulsion.

“While you girls,” Ren says, sweeping his arms at all of us, “had posters of Justin Bieber pinned up in your room, Allouette chose to admire an exceedingly different kind of person. When she was a little girl, which was an awfully long time ago, she fancied none other than Zhuang. This brings up an important tidbit about this nasty little lady. While Dream Travelers age slower than Middlings, Allouette takes this to an extreme. When you’re in the Grotte and you spot a girl who looks about sixteen with long black hair and evil, dark eyes then you’ve just met Allouette. And let’s hope you’re prepared to meet her, or she’ll be the last person you see. She apparently has been using some of Zhuang’s strategies to preserve her youth.”

Focusing his attention on Trent, Ren continues, “If you’re going to do your job in the Grotte, then you better start practicing. Allouette is telekinetic. Your ability to move Roya around is notable, but it’s nothing compared to what Allouette can do. She makes you look like a kindergartener. I’ve seen her throw ten objects at once, turn over a cable car, and pull down a ship’s mast. She has a motivation that none of you have.” He stops, clenches his jaw. “She likes to watch people suffer. Nothing makes her happier than to inflict pain on another person.”

Trent, who usually looks like he’s just heard a joke, has a worried expression plastered across his face. Ren begins pacing.

“Your job, Trent, is to learn to intercept multiple fast-moving objects. Actually, let me be specific. You’ll need to divert sharp objects that will no doubt be aimed straight at your heart. This little French maiden is known for throwing knives with her hands. The Voyageurs really have the lamest hobbies. Can’t really expect much from people who dine on cave rats and mineral-heavy water. A diet of that sort no doubt robs them of their mental faculties.

“Allouette throws knives with incredible precision, and if you run then she uses her telekinesis to ensure it hits you.” Ren stops pacing, looking winded but pretends to hide it by eyeing his fingernails casually. “Your best defense is to rely on the combination of Trent and Roya’s abilities.”

My stomach churns with anxiety.

“Roya.” Ren doesn’t look up at me, just continues picking at his nails. “If you can see an approaching attack then maybe this will give Trent enough opportunity to stop it. Communication between the two of you is key,” he says in a monotone voice. “Honestly, your best bet is to hope Allouette is off sacrificing goats or whatever she spends her nights doing these days.”

After this chilling monologue I wish I’d come down with some disease that rendered me useless in this battle. An awful thing to wish for, but facing these people sounds like a worse nightmare than Zhuang, and that’s saying a lot.

We spend the rest of the time learning every single detail about Allouette that Ren thinks might be of importance. He’s of the mind that knowing everything about your enemy isn’t just wise, but also lifesaving. I’m not sure how knowing the assorted details of this deranged sociopath’s life is going to help when six knives are chasing me through a cave, but I take notes anyway.

“One last thing before you all pop off for recess,” Ren says in a hoarse voice. “The Voyageurs spend their energy training on offensive tactics. They’re aggressive; I hope you prats have gathered that thus far.” He gives that snide expression which is usually followed by a round of insults. Ren sighs heavily, looking momentarily defeated. “The Voyageurs don’t observe our laws and they don’t fight fair. Get over it. Expect it. They’ll do something that Zhuang would never have done to anyone; they’ll stab you in the back.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

N
eedless to say, lunch is the most subdued one yet. Before, when I was challenging Zhuang, it was my head on the chopping block. Now everyone’s facing what appears to be certain death. Maybe my team understands why I spent most of my free time alone.

Shuman begins our next training session by putting Trent to work right away intercepting objects being hurled at him. She and Pearl circle around him with a bag of squishy balls, throwing them as rapidly as they can. He has some luck with this, but if those balls were knives then his pretty little face would look much different now.

The rest of us pair up to practice shielding. There’s no big surprise when Joseph immediately teams up with Samara, leaving me with George. This makes the most sense anyway, since they both have active skills and Joseph and I have passive powers. However, the last thing I want is to work with George one-on-one. We haven’t really spoken since I blew up at him over the modifier.

“I don’t think I need to practice with you,” I say, not making eye contact.

He folds his arms and pulls his chin down. “Why’s that?”

“We’ve already practiced enough when preparing for Zhuang.”

He shakes his head. “No. That wasn’t shielding we were practicing. Actually, we were working on bringing down your natural shield.”

“Well, I think we both know if I want to I can keep you out of my emotions.”

“Here’s the thing, Roya. If in the past I’ve sensed your shield was up, I left you alone. But if I really needed to read your emotions then I’d try harder, the way the Voyageurs will.”

I’m both humbled and outraged by his remark. “Aren’t empaths rare? I doubt they will have anyone with your abilities.”

He studies me with shrewd eyes. I know as well as he does that shielding is no different against a telepath or an empath, or whatever other creepy psychic abilities a Voyageur might have. “I’m not going to ask you to work with me if you don’t want to,” he says, his tone cold, “which is the impression you’re giving off.”

“It’s true.” I pause, fix my eyes on his. “You’re the last person I want rummaging through my emotions.”

“Then use that as a motivator to keep me out.”

A frustrated sigh escapes my mouth. Where’s the robot in me now? It’s impossible to be my hardwired persona around George. Somehow his chemistry dismantles my mechanics, making me softer than I want to be.

“Roya, we’re here to help each other. We’re a team and we both need to practice. Do you want to do this together or not?”

My eyes search the ground. What I want to do and what I need to do are playing tug-of-war. Maybe I’m making this more difficult on myself than it needs to be. The mission comes first, right? “Fine,” I acquiesce. “Give me a moment to get ready first.” Steady breaths bring my focus inward. Around my body I envision an encasing. With deliberate force I push the barrier out a few inches until I feel it tightly cocooning the air around me too. I imagine the shield as green-tinted ballistic glass. With a confident nod at George I say, “I’m ready when you are.”

If I felt awkward before, then it’s multiplied by ten as I stare into George’s bronze eyes while he tries to break through my shield. Now that I’m aware I sense him pushing against the barrier. It’s like he’s rubbing at it, trying to determine a weak spot. Then without much notice it becomes harder to keep it solid. Panic races through me. I search for the focus to maintain the strength of my shield. I search his probing eyes. My shield collapses like a deflating balloon and he races unbarred straight into my emotional center.

“Damn it!” I say reflexively.

“Breathing will actually help you,” George says with a consoling smile. “It’s strange but true.”

“Thanks,” I say sourly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And try not to look at me the next time. I think I’m distracting you.”

“Oh, do you? There’s about a million distractions in my head right now.”

“Still, until you’ve practiced more you might want to try it with your eyes closed. It helps with focus.”

“What’d you read in me?” I demand.

George shakes his head. “That’s irrelevant to the exercise.”

A sudden undulant pressure takes residence in my chest. “I don’t care if it’s irrelevant, I want to know.”

“Why, Roya? All of a sudden you care? You’ve been walking around this place unshielded all week. And you know that more than anyone your emotions bombard me with a unique intensity. So why do you all of sudden want to keep them protected?”

Fighting with George like this feels incredibly satisfying. The pressure builds, about to breach the surface, and I invite it. “Because, George, I’ve changed. I want to know what emotions are swimming around the surface so I can get rid of them. I don’t want to be ruled by these…” I stop, stare off, searching for the right words. “By these weaknesses.”

“Is that what you think your emotions are, a weakness? You’ve got it all wrong.”

“I didn’t ask for your unqualified opinion. I asked what you read in me.”

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” he says with an impassive expression on his face.

“Thanks for the elaboration,” I say, searching for something else to argue with him about. I want to yell. And strangely I want him to yell back. Nothing feels like a better idea right now than to fight with George. I’m intoxicated by the urge. “Why is it that you always get to ransack my emotions, but I never get to return the favor?”

He drops his head, nostrils flaring. “Stop it, Roya.”

“Stop what?” I say with authority.

“I’m not doing this.”

“Doing what!?” I say, fanning the flames of the argument.

“I know what you want and in this case, I’m not giving it to you.”

Eyes burning, I say, “Because in all other cases when you read me you give me what I want? Is that right?”

“I would if you let me,” George says, taking a step forward. I immediately take one back, keeping the space between us. “But right now, I won’t fight with you. Don’t you see what you’re doing to yourself by cutting off your emotions? You may think you can be polarized, but it’s impossible. All that will result is this.” He motions at me like I’m an exhibit in his grand lecture. “You’re a floodgate, about to break.”

His words sting my insides, bringing aching tears to my throat. “All I’m trying to do, just like everyone else on this team, is stay focused.”

“There are other ways,” he says, his voice an urgent whisper.

Every word he’s said is right and it makes me angry. Now the yearning to attack George is unbounded. If I can just hurt him, then I’ll be absolved of the terror racing unleashed within me. It’s unfair. Unfounded. But when you’re split in two the irrational emotions gain a new power, no longer tethered between reason and love.

“Switch partners now,” Shuman says, cutting through the tension.

I turn without a second glance at George and march away. Joseph wears an ugly look of frustration when I pass him.

“You know your brother is a real jerk?” Samara says, eyeing him with disdain from across the gymnasium.

I’m fairly certain I need to stay out of this. I’m in a losing position on this one. “Everyone has the capacity to be a jerk.”

“You know better than anyone how insensitive and selfish he’s been lately,” she says, coaxing for my endorsement.

“Yes, Joseph isn’t acting like himself right now,” I agree, then redirect. “Did you by chance spy anything about the project he was working on?”

She shakes her head, eyes still boring into him. “No, Joseph’s thoughts are not centered on his professional projects right now. They purely revolve around personal matters.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t practice right now?” I say.

“No, this is good. I need to be able to do this when I’m charged or distracted.”

I’m not sure if it’s because Samara is angry or because I’ve gotten better, but I’m successful at holding the shield. It feels good to keep my thoughts private. Now if I can just do the same with my emotions.

Chapter Twenty-Three

In a hilarious turn of events

Roya Stark

to bobandsteve

Hello Bob and Steve,

Depends on one’s perspective whether my current state of affairs is considered hilarious. A stranger peering into my life would probably find it quite comical. I think it’s tragically humiliating, to say the very least.

I’m expected to use the modifier to rescue Aiden. Yes, I know what you’re saying. And yes, I’m referring to the exact same device which was used on my fake family. The same one I’ve been a strong opponent against. The one I’ve dreamed about destroying so that no more lives can be manipulated. And in a poetic turn of events, I’ll go into unsuspecting (albeit evil) minds and implant my own message.

What has my world come to that this is my reality? What happened to watching reruns of I Love Lucy and eating too much ice cream on Sundays? Is it too late to ask the universe to redeal my hand?