My magic.
I had never seen it before, though Daniel had once told me that I glowed like a fallen star to his eyes. But somehow, harnessed by the mystic, I could see my magic radiating from her fingers. It was an easy guess that she’d coated them in blood that had been harvested from me years before.
She turned to face me. “Come, Amp5. Come to me, on bended knee.”
“I don’t answer to that name, asshole.” My natural immunity having finally weakened the ties enough to do so, I tore through Onyx’s binding spells. The black ropes of power crumbled.
The black witch cried out as if I’d torn through her bodily.
“And I certainly don’t kneel. To anyone.”
Onyx slumped to the side. As expected, the mystic hadn’t given her witches enough time to recuperate. Then she’d drained them a second time erecting the circle.
Chenda grimaced. “Fine. We’ll do it the difficult way. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you.” She pulled the power simmering in the pentagram to her. Magic welled at each of the five points, spiraling upward and inward to coalesce. Then it settled over her shoulders as a long white cloak of power.
It was an awesome display of magical prowess. The mystic was skilled. And possibly more powerful than I was. But not even the flashiest magic could stand against my touch.
Catching a glimpse of Paisley doing the same, keeping to the snow along the edge of the outer circle, I paced around the inner encircled pentagram, keeping my gaze on Chenda. The demon dog, still barred from joining me, held my second blade within the tangle of her tentacles. She had retrieved it for me. Or perhaps she was going to see if she could use it to slice through the magic barring her from me. The blue-hued raw diamonds in the hilt gleamed brightly.
I contemplated dragging the witches away from the edge of the circle, but both appeared incapacitated. And with my blood still decorating her fingertips, I didn’t want to give the mystic any openings. Plus, pulling the witches out of formation could trigger a secondary spell. Meaning it might have been exactly what the mystic wanted me to do, expected me to do.
Unfortunately, while standing in the exact center of the pentagram, Chenda wasn’t within reach. Not even factoring in the extra length of my blade. She was close, though.
All it would take was one step within the pentagram. One step to be within reach of decapitating the mystic. I could keep one foot grounded, outside the area of the active spell.
I flexed my right hand. I had hurt it breaking Jet’s jaw. If I had only one shot, it was better to use my right arm. My hand was slightly tender but still working. I transferred the blade to that side, raising it into strike position.
Chenda watched me, amused. The power of the Five undulated around her. Her fingertips still glowed with the magic of my blood.
“Come to me, Emma Johnson,” she whispered softly, enticingly. “Come and be at peace. Together, we will gather the other four. Together. As you are meant to be.”
Magic flared from the five points of the circle.
Power rose up within her words, slipping into my mind.
“The blood of the Five can’t control me,” I said. “The others are a part of me. For better or worse.”
“Well.” She laughed. “This is going to be one of the bad days, then.”
“No, Socks!” Christopher screamed from somewhere out of the darkness.
And I ignored the clairvoyant, who I could no longer trust to see me through — possibly for the first time in my life.
I stepped into the circle with one foot, leaving the other anchored on the grass. I swung my blade, slicing toward the mystic’s neck.
The power of the Five cloaking the mystic wrapped around my weapon, hand, wrist, and forearm. Slowing but not halting my swing.
And instead of shying away or stumbling back, Chenda stepped toward me, pressing her glowing fingers to the notch in the center of my collarbone. “Mine,” she whispered. “Stop.”
Magic, carried in the blood the mystic had harvested from her charm, streaked across my skin. The power burrowed in, allowing her words, her command, to press against my mind.
I resisted, my blade still pushing toward her.
“Now,” she said. Her tone was edged with anger for the first time. Her magic seared through the opening she’d carved into my skin, into my mind.
The four blood tattoos on my spine exploded with a blistering heat, feeling as if they burned through flesh and nerves and into bone.
I stopped moving.
My blade was mere centimeters away from slicing into her neck.
She laughed breathlessly. A little unsure.
I pushed back.
I shoved through the power attempting to check me.
The amusement drained from the mystic’s face. “Onyx! Jet!” she snapped, more magic lashing through her words.
The witches convulsed in my peripheral vision. Then they struggled to sit up.
Chenda wrapped her free hand around my right wrist, as if she could hold back my blade. She pressed her bloodied fingers to the center of my clavicle harder. “You will heed me, Emma Johnson.”
“Do you want in on a secret?” I whispered, though my mind felt as if it were on fire. “That really isn’t my name either. I just pretend to be Emma. That’s really something my mother … our mother should know.”
Magic lashed around the mystic and me. The white cloak swathing her shoulders became denser, then curled around my ankles, calves, knees …
The witches were fueling the edge of the circle with blood again.
I became aware of magic from outside the larger circle as well — Aiden, Christopher, and Samantha, all fighting to break through. Paisley was snarling.
Chenda pulled another huge draught of power from the pentagram, momentarily draining it. The blood tattoos seared into my back. I was sweating from the pain. My mind grew fuzzy.
Then, called forth by the mystic, four long licks of magic rose from four of the glowing points of the pentagram. The power struck at me, each line of magic anchoring to a corresponding tattoo on my spine. Tying me to Chenda’s spell as the tattoos tied me to the Five.
I growled, fighting back, lashing out with my own magic. I tried to drain the mystic from where she still touched me. My blood and magic on her fingertips, pressed to my skin.
She giggled.
As if I’d tickled her.
She drew another long draught of power from the pentagram. One of the witches cried out — Onyx, I thought. The other collapsed.
The cloak of power the mystic wore flared, bright enough to wash out my sight. Chenda was burning through all of it — the witches, the power within the blood of the Five — just trying to hold me.
I lost my blade.
“Kneel,” Chenda snarled.
I tried slamming my forehead into hers. But I was slow, hampered by all the intense, dense power holding me in place.
The ties latched to my blood tattoos pulled, straining to anchor me. Pain streaked through my bones as I tried to fight.
My knees buckled.
I knelt.
The ties binding me to the pentagram cinched tighter, chaining me in place.
Chenda pressed her still-bloody fingers to my forehead. Her magic lashed into my mind, cracking, burrowing, anchoring within me.
A final lick of magic rose from the fifth point of the pentagram — the point that glowed with my own magic — striking, snagging me with long, sharp teeth, anchoring itself to the blood smeared between my eyes.
And then she had me.
Chapter 10
The cafeteria was always cold. White floor and walls. Long steel tables with attached benches. Bright fluorescent lights.
The tables were empty. The cook was behind the glassed section that held the ready-made food.
Three exits. One leading back to the secured hall that led to our rooms. One beyond the communal washroom. One leading to the lounge and the employee wing.
The large metal tray
s were the best available weapons.
“Pick up the pace,” the brown-haired woman in front of me snapped, though she hadn’t glanced back to even see if we were falling behind.
We weren’t.
Handler G15.
She wore her stun rod openly slung from her belt, not concealed as most of the other handlers always had it.
She hadn’t liked that I’d questioned her. That I’d demanded to see her credentials when she entered my room unannounced that morning. She was new. I hadn’t seen her around the compound or known that she’d been assigned to the breakfast shift. So I’d followed protocol, seeing by the tension in her shoulders that she was frightened of me.
I wasn’t yet five years old, and I didn’t like it when adults were frightened of me. It made them unpredictable.
I glanced back at the other four, checking that they were all only a step behind me. Neatly in line. They were. Nul5 was bringing up the rear, though he would have preferred to be in my place.
Cla5, wedged between Tel5 and Tek5, smiled at me. Knox, he’d nicknamed himself. And Tel5 was Bee. Nul5 was Fish. But Tek5 didn’t have a nickname yet.
We five were all dressed alike, in gray sweatshirts and pants and white sneakers. But we looked nothing alike. Our handlers had always been very clear that we weren’t related. We weren’t a family. Whenever Bee asked.
Tek5 was the tallest.
Nul5 was the biggest.
I was the most powerful.
I could kill people just by touching them. I could take their magic, keeping it for myself or giving it to one of the others. I didn’t like killing people. It hurt them. And I could feel that hurt because I was flawed. I had stolen empathy from my birth mother. I hid that flaw as best I could.
I followed orders.
And the other four followed me.
“Trays,” handler G15 snapped, taking the top tray from the stack and setting it on the steel counter that ran the length of the glassed section that housed the cooked food. We would each get a glass of milk after we got our breakfast.
I took a tray, setting it on the counter, checking that the others did the same. Tek5 was the only one of us who could see completely over the counter without standing on her tiptoes.
“Eggs. Bacon,” handler G15 demanded from the cook standing across the buffet of food.
The steel warming trays weren’t all full, but peering over the counter, I spotted scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, cubed potatoes, triangles of toast, and oatmeal. I could also have cereal and as much jam as I wanted. The cook was the woman with the bright-blue eyes. Her light-brown curls were captured in a dark hairnet. She liked to put extra whipped cream on my pudding, and I hadn’t told her that I didn’t like it — Knox was happy to eat it — because I understood she was trying to be nice.
The cook spooned eggs onto handler G15’s tray and dropped bacon on top, adding potatoes and two triangles of toast.
I ignored my reaction to the greasy strips of meat. I knew it was none of my business what everyone else chose to eat. That had been made very clear to me.
Handler G15 slid her tray all the way along to the coffee and tea station, grabbing a handful of creamers.
The cook peered down at me, her eyes crinkling all around the edges. “Oatmeal?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
She spooned oatmeal into the center round section of my tray. Then, glancing over at handler G15, who appeared to be confused by the coffee machine, the cook pulled a tiny package from her pocket. It was filled with a red-brown powder. With another glance at our handler, she reached through the warmer and set the package on the top corner of my tray.
“Cinnamon,” she whispered, then winked. “Try it with the brown sugar on the oatmeal.”
I plucked the tiny package off my tray, tucking it in my pocket. Then I deliberately met the cook’s gaze and nodded.
She smiled, but she didn’t really look happy. I didn’t understand that. In all of Cla5’s books, a smile meant happy. Bee had tried to explain it to us. Happy was the opposite of sad.
The cook looked at Tel5 next and her smile broadened. “I saved you something.” She lifted a cover off another warmer, revealing a square of macaroni and cheese. From last night’s dinner.
Bee missed dinner because she’d failed her pattern recognition test and had been confined to her room. That was especially bad because she was a telepath, and she hadn’t used her powers to steal the answers from any of us.
“Oh,” Bee gasped. Macaroni was her favorite. She had to partly lift herself up on the steel counter to see over her tray. She was the shortest and the youngest of the five of us. “Thank you!”
The cook placed the macaroni on the telepath’s tray, then added two sausages.
The clairvoyant started murmuring to himself.
I glanced at him, trying to see his eyes. His head was bowed, hands gripping the edge of his tray.
I started to slide my tray so that Tek5 could be served next, but handler G15 laid the flat of her hand on the counter, blocking me from moving it farther.
“Where’s your meat?” she said, looking down at my oatmeal. “You’re to eat eight ounces of meat a day. Cook! Two sausages here.” She tapped an empty section of my plate.
“Oh.” The cook looked at me, then back at handler G15. “You’re newer than I thought. Amp5 prefers chicken or fish. She’ll get her protein portion at lunch.”
“How dare you countermand my orders.”
The clairvoyant stepped back from the counter, his hands raised in warning. A touch of his magic flicked across my cheek.
“Back in line,” handler G15 barked.
“I want macaroni too,” Tek5 said, banging her tray on the counter.
The cook took a step back. “I’m sorry, I only had one portion left.”
“I said, back in line,” handler G15 snarled, stepping around me and fisting her hand in the back of Knox’s sweatshirt.
“Don’t,” Fish said. “Don’t touch him while his —”
“I’m not taking any shit from you little beasts.” The handler shoved the clairvoyant back in line, then released him.
Tek5 banged her tray on the counter again. “I want macaroni too!”
“You had some last night,” Bee said, sliding her tray toward mine.
Tek5 lunged around Knox, knocking handler G15 away with a pulse of her telekinesis, then trying to grab the telepath’s tray.
Handler G15 crashed into the nearest steel table, but didn’t fall.
The telepath wouldn’t give the telekinetic her tray. They wrestled for it.
The clairvoyant clasped his head, moaning quietly, collapsing on the floor. Nul5 looked at me. I nodded toward Knox, keeping most of my attention on handler G15.
She was the biggest threat.
The nullifier darted for the clairvoyant.
“I’ll … I’ll check in the back,” the cook babbled. “I might have more.” She fled.
“Get out of my head!” Tek5 screamed at Tel5. The glass cover over the warming trays cracked in a spiderweb of fissures. “Just give it to me!”
Handler G15 snapped open her stun rod.
Nul5 dragged the clairvoyant out from under the counter, away from the telekinetic’s tantrum.
I stepped between handler G15 and the other two. They continued to squabble over the macaroni, both hanging onto the metal tray. Handler G15 glowered at me.
“No!” Knox cried. “Tek5! Tek5!”
I spun around. The telekinetic’s empty tray hovered off the counter, then slammed into Tel5’s face.
The telepath stumbled back.
Tek5 flicked her fingers. Again.
The clairvoyant screamed, reacting to some future event only he could see in his mind.
The tray, still hovering in the air, shredded under the influence of Tek5’s wild magic, strip after strip of metal peeling away.
Handler G15 hit the telekinetic with the stun rod in the side of her ribs.
The shredded me
tal tray exploded, only a hand’s width away from Bee’s face.
Blood spurted.
From multiple cuts.
Face, hands. The worst of it was on the telepath’s neck.
Tek5 went down, convulsing.
Handler G15 raised the stun rod a second time.
I moved.
I slammed my shoulder to the back of the handler’s knee. She stumbled. Fish grabbed the stun rod from her, instantly frying it with a pulse of his magic.
Handler G15 shrieked, but more angry than scared.
I grabbed the telepath before she tumbled to the tile floor. Blood spurting. Everywhere.
The clairvoyant crawled toward us. His face was awash with the white of his magic, streaming from his eyes.
I yanked off my sweatshirt and pressed it against the deepest of the wounds on the telepath’s neck. An artery had been nicked.
Handler G15 lunged for Nul5, but he slipped around her easily, running toward us. She spun, tracking him. Her eyes going wide. Finally noticing all the blood.
“Get a medic!” I shouted.
Her mouth dropped open.
“Now!” I screamed.
She spun around, racing toward the nearest intercom.
The nullifier knelt beside me. I let him take over tending Bee’s wounds, standing to place myself between the others and any further harm.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The telekinetic was rocking back and forth under the counter, her limbs still twitching. She looked at me, eyes wide. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” I said. “It will be okay.”
Magic prickled against my skin, and I glanced down. I was covered in Tel5’s blood, stained with her magic. Would I be able to absorb it for my own? I’d never tried to take magic from blood.
But I didn’t want the telepath’s power.
I didn’t want to be able to read people’s thoughts. Reading their emotions was already too much.
Blood …
Blood of one of the Five …
There was something about the blood of the Five …
Something I couldn’t quite remember.
I looked up from my hands, glancing around the empty cafeteria.
Mystics and Mental Blocks (Amplifier 3) Page 21