Threader (17 page)

A cautious look crosses Blake's face. ‘By the time I regained consciousness, we'd travelled almost halfway there. Your thread must have amplified my talents twofold, because I'd never travelled so far so quickly. When I came around, I knew I had to get you to a medical centre.'

‘You weren't unconscious for long,' I say. ‘A few minutes at the most. Yet, you thought the best plan was to keep going and take me to another country?'

‘You were hurt, so I knew it was the best decision.' Blake looks like he's about to say more, but then his lips press tight.

‘Okay. Whatever.' I start to walk off, figuring he's not going to tell me the truth.

‘Wait, Josie—'

‘Just leave me alone.' I push past him. ‘Like you're supposed to, remember?'

Walking off, it takes all my willpower not to glance back. I listen for the sound of him following, but there's nothing but distant snatches of conversation and laughter from inside the canteen. Finally, I can't stand it and glance over my shoulder, but he's gone, vanished into darkness.

On the weekend, Cora twists my arm until I agree to go shopping for an outfit to wear to the fundraiser. As we ride the bus into town, my thoughts rotate around why I've been invited to such a prestigious event in the first place. Would I be asked to perform somehow? Prove I'm academy material?

We exit at a quaint shopping mall area with wrought iron lampposts and a fountain in the middle. Our first stop is at a cafe, where Cora and I buy overpriced milkshakes that taste like heaven. While I sip my drink, I relay my conversation with Wendell and her suggestion about shock-wave therapy. Cora pats my arm. ‘I'm sure it won't be as bad as you think.'

I sip my milkshake as she launches into another story about her slider buddy, Jeremy. It sounds like she's developed a serious crush and I nod my head at the appropriate times, only half listening. I'm both relieved and disappointed that Blake's going to be away this week, though his assurance that he'd see me at the fundraiser made my stomach go all fluttery. Because, obviously, my stomach isn't up to speed on the stakes here. Blake Galloway is a total no-go zone.

We finish our drinks and now adequately sugared up, I try to muster some enthusiasm for our shopping venture. We're both staring through the window of a shoe shop, watching a sales holo-display of the latest heels that are way out of my price range. A blue beam suddenly scans across my feet, registering my presence. Instantly, a discount sign appears above the heels and the singsong tones of the holo-display ring out.

‘
Are you interested in this product?
'

Cora ignores it, talking about some fashion trend she's been following, while I nearly swallow my tongue at the shoe's discounted price, which is still astronomical.

‘Josie Ryder. Fancy meeting you here.'

I turn to see Olivia Galloway behind me. She wears a simple navy blue dress that I'd be willing to bet cost more than the weekly rent at Bobby's store. Tina stands beside her, holding a handful of shopping bags and looking tired.

‘Ms Threader and her trusty sidekick.' A thin smile spreads across Olivia's face. ‘What do you think of this friendship, Tina? A threader who can't thread and a slider who can't slide.'

Tina smirks. ‘Well suited, I think.'

‘A real meeting of minds and inabilities,' Olivia says, then laughs, as if we were all sharing a great joke. Her eyes drop to our empty hands. ‘What's the matter, ladies? Can't find what you're looking for?' She comes alongside me and links an arm through mine. ‘You don't mind if I borrow Josie, do you, Cora?' She nods at Tina. ‘Why don't you take Cora for a slice of cake. Your treat.'

Before I can protest, we're walking off. I'm about to pull away when Olivia murmurs, ‘I want to talk to you about the fundraiser. First time I'm going, you know, and I'm very excited.'

I glance back at Cora and mouth an apology. She looks momentarily crestfallen, then gets distracted by something Tina says to her.

‘It's so lovely that you've been invited as well,' Olivia says, pulling my attention back. ‘But it must be intimidating to know everyone will be watching you.'

‘They will? Is that why I was invited?' I manage to disentangle my arm from hers. ‘To perform tricks?'

Olivia smiles. ‘Kind of hard if your talent doesn't work.'

I throw my hands up. ‘Does everyone know this?'

She guides me around a corner where the walkway ends in a high-vis screen that projects a quiet forest grove, dotted with benches.

‘I do hope Blake hasn't been bothering you. I know he was told to keep his distance. But being the eldest of the family, he's got a nasty stubborn streak. He and Daddy always used to fight after Mother died. He was such a disappointment to Daddy when he joined the army instead of continuing his education at the academy.' Her gaze sweeps over me, her face a stone mask. ‘What are you going to wear?'

The question catches me off guard and I hesitate, thinking quickly. Cora has a shapeless black dress in her wardrobe that I have my eye on. Maybe with a nice belt, you wouldn't notice the material looked a little tired.

Olivia's well-plucked eyebrows twitch. ‘Please tell me you're not letting your cardigan friend dress you.'

‘Cora's taste isn't so bad.' I valiantly try to defend my friend, even though today she's wearing a cardigan with a teddy bear print and ballet shoes with cat faces, complete with buttons for eyes and leather stubs for whiskers.

‘You can't go looking cheap,' Olivia says crisply.

‘I'll wear something appropriate,' I assure her in a frosty voice. ‘I don't intend to embarrass myself.'

Olivia grabs my arm and pulls me along with her again, walking away from the vis-screen and towards a shop with elaborate pillars standing guard out front. ‘Of course, one never
intends
to do that. Let me show you this dress that I think will look perfect on you.' There is a wisp of a smile on her lips, which I find terrifying.

‘I can't just leave Cora,' I protest.

Olivia's grip tightens. ‘Nonsense. Cora is just fine. You should worry more about yourself, because if you show up in a cardigan of any description, no one will take you seriously. From the way Aaron talks about you, it would appear you've got quite a bright future with Galloway Industries, once you graduate, of course. This makes you important to my family. I don't have to like you, I don't have to be your bosom buddy, but I'd like to make sure you at least look the part. It really is for the best.'

The shop Olivia drags me into is intimidating, with curtain draped walls, marble flooring and shop assistants in crisp white uniforms. Before I can protest again, I'm being fitted into a sparkly red dress that drops to my knees and doesn't have a price tag. Olivia sits in a comfy armchair, staring down at her slate. It's not a flexi model, but sturdy instead, with creamy handles and edges encrusted with what looks like diamonds. I try not to think too long about whether the diamonds are real.

I turn around, hungrily eyeing the dress in the mirror. Olivia looks up from her screen to run a critical eye over me.

‘I think this will be acceptable,' she says.

I meet her appraising gaze in the mirror and my fantasy crumbles. ‘I can't afford this.'

Olivia's eyes drop back to her slate. ‘That's why you're going to let me buy it for you as a gift.'

‘Right,' I snort. I have enough smarts to know when I'm being played.

‘I'm serious.' Olivia closes her screen and tucks the slate into her handbag. Rising up and stretching like a cat, she prowls across the shop floor to stand behind me. Her eyes run over my hair with a considering look. ‘It's important to impress. To show you fit in.'

My fingers skim the soft material at my hips. ‘You think I don't know that?'

Olivia purses her lips. ‘How about a trade, then? This dress for a later favour.'

‘What kind of favour?'

In the mirror, her reflection smiles at mine, but there's no warmth in it. ‘I heard that you've met my ex-boyfriend, Archer.'

I turn to face her. ‘I've seen him around.'

Olivia's face twists. ‘Sure you have. And I've seen him sniffing around you. Let me tell you, he's a mangy dog who'll chase anything in a skirt. Especially a skirt who he thinks might help his status. Then once he's got you, he gets bored and just like that—' she clicks her fingers, ‘—everything you had together is gone. Like you never existed.'

She spins me back to face my reflection and leans over my shoulder, eyes locked with mine in the mirror.

‘Archer broke my heart,' she whispers. ‘Worse still, he humiliated me. Publicly.' Her reflection smiles again, as if she's practising. ‘For that transgression, I'm going to clip his naughty primal balls. And you're going to help me.'

Feeling guilty for abandoning Cora earlier, I spend a few more hours with her at the shopping centre after Olivia leaves, Tina trotting behind her. When Cora queries me about the horrendously expensive shopping bag I'm holding, I have to confess Olivia helped me find something. What I don't tell her is my plan to return the dress after the function, cancelling my debt to Olivia. Cora gives me a worried look and I quickly change the subject. By the time we get back to Helios, I find myself ten minutes late to my session with Wendell.

When I get to the assessment room, Wendell is speaking to a woman with a long braid of black hair. They both stop talking when I enter the room.

‘Josie, this is Amy Vogel,' Wendell introduces us. ‘She's a contractor we've asked in to help us.'

‘Hey there, sugar. Just call me Vogel.' The dark-haired woman shakes my hand in a firm grip. Her eyes are a cool grey and her wide lips are a slash of blood red.

‘Vogel is a telepath,' Wendell explains. ‘As I explained before, she'll help us find a way to break this lock.'

Vogel's lips spread in a wide smirk. ‘There are many things I excel at, but the only one I'm allowed to put on my business card is my specialisation in retrieval of information.' She pauses, then adds, ‘I'll admit I've never done anything with a threader before. Makes me feel like a virgin all over again.'

‘What's the plan?' I ask, nervous as I recall Blake's warning about Vogel's techniques being painful.

‘From the information we've gathered,' Wendell says, ‘we believe a locked thread can be broken through the prolonged engagement of stress hormones, which control your fight or flight response.'

‘I'll start with a baseline test,' Vogel tells me. ‘Gauge how strong you are. A little slap and tickle before the main event, just so I know your limits. Then I'll locate this lock of yours, find its weak points and try to break it.'

I think of my puzzle-chest and wonder if Vogel is strong enough to break into it. The thought frightens me. ‘Are you going to look at my memories?'

To my relief, Vogel shakes her head.

‘No, sugar. You keep your secrets, though I doubt they're as tasty as mine. I'm only looking for the lock and ways to break it. Today though, it's just a strength test. All you gotta do is resist my TP for as long as you can.' She leans forward. ‘And I really want to hear your verbal consent before I begin anything.' She looks over at Wendell, giving the techie a slow wink. ‘Not that I don't trust your divine mentor here, but I'd like to hear it from your own sweet lips.'

‘My verbal consent?' I repeat, confused.

‘This process won't be easy, Josie,' Wendell explains. ‘I think Vogel needs to understand just how much you want this.'

From the serious look in both women's eyes, I realise there might be some real danger involved. But I don't hesitate.

‘I'll do whatever it takes,' I tell Vogel.

The telepath relaxes a fraction. ‘Good, good. Just wanted you warned, fair and square. These measures aren't for the fainthearted, you know.' She reaches out and pats my cheek. ‘But we should be able to come out of this with all your pretty parts still working.'

Wendell clears her throat, bringing our attention back to her. ‘And most importantly, these sessions should be regarded as confidential.'

Vogel holds one hand across her heart, the other in the air. ‘You know me, sweetie, I am the soul of discretion.'

‘I understand,' I tell Wendell, then scrub my sweaty palms against my legs and tell myself I'm strong enough for anything they throw at me. I'm a Ryder, right?

Wendell indicates a pair of chairs. ‘Are you ready to begin?'

Vogel and I sit, our knees touching as we face each other. My palms start to sweat again and I focus on taking deep, clean breaths. Wendell stands a little way behind Vogel, watching us.

‘Now, I'm going to start the baseline test.' Vogel's previous light-hearted manner evaporates now and she rests her hands against the side of my head. Her eyes close and I feel weird just staring at her, so I close my eyes as well. Something tickles my mind and then her TP smashes into me like a fist of iron, a metal clanging sound filling my ears. Both my talents surge out, ready to defend and clash with Vogel's TP. The talents twist around each other, assessing and struggling for footing. Though I know this is a strength test, I instinctively pull back at first. The retreat only lasts a moment, before my talents fight back, hating the intrusion, and my thoughts churn uncomfortably, as if Vogel has stuck a wooden spoon in my skull and started stirring. My thoughts collide and an imprint of an image flares bright behind my closed eyes: an amorphous braid of burning light, extending deep into myself.

I want to break the contact with Vogel, because the light I'm seeing frightens me. But my limbs are locked, muscles frozen. My eyes open and I find Vogel watching me now, her grey eyes calm and assessing. It's hard to judge the distance of time as we sit facing each other. As our talents wrestle, a thought stirs from the recesses of my mind. That my volunteering might be something of a novelty to Vogel. That most people she deals with don't go through this willingly.