Final Kill (Cain University Book 3)

by Lucy Auburn

  Which means getting to know my new professor from the point of view as a teacher. Even though he just got over a stab wound. And was held prisoner for months before that. And the classroom this class was supposed to be held in was completely decimated by an attack that left students dead, and now Carter gone, his body taken over by a maniac.

  The band plays on.

  "Alright, everyone. Let's talk about focus."

  Covington leans back against the chalkboard, and I can't tell if it's because he's trying to look cool—as cool as a professor in a tweed blazer can look—or because he was recently stabbed. Even our medics aren't that good, and some of them have Physical Affinities for healing.

  "The one thing most important for using your Mental Class Affinities is focus. But focus isn't just taking a singular moment in time and concentrating on it to the exclusion of other things. Focus is the emptying of your mind of other thoughts and worries so they don't sidetrack you. In order to think you must learn how to not think."

  This is starting to feel a little bit like Professor Warren's class with the hippy feelings talk and all the bullshit that it entails, only from a more high-minded point of view. I look over at Grayson to see what he's thinking, guiding Killer's head towards him so I can get a good vantage point, but to my surprise he looks pleased. Maybe he's just glad to have a professor who's not going to hold him back and keep him from using his powers—something Cleopatra was never going to allow.

  "So, I know that you've all learned the art of meditation."

  He looks around at us, and I try my best to look bright-eyed and tuned-in. Truthfully I barely paid attention to that part of class because I'm terrible at emptying my mind.

  "What I'm going to talk about is more advanced. After all, whether you're out hunting your Marks or dealing with an attack on the campus, you won't get the opportunity to sit still and do your breathing exercises out in the field. What you need to learn is how to empty your mind of other thoughts and focus while on the move. Which is why today's class will be ambulatory."

  Shelby, one of the do-gooders, raises her hand and asks the question I'm thinking: "Is it even safe for you to be out and about, given your condition?"

  "Good question, but this isn't my first injury in battle." As if to prove the point, he rolls up his right sleeve and shows us a very gnarly, twisted scar across his forearm in the shape of two parallel lines. "After I received this, I administered finals as usual. Then went on to take down another Mark, a particularly dangerous one in Johannesburg. A walk will be good for me—it was only a stab wound, after all."

  Only a stab wound. That's something you don't hear most grad school professors say. Apparently it's not a big deal for ours, though, because he has us all stand up and follow him out of the classroom with barely a hitch in his stride. He might even have more energy than I do.

  I swear, if I hadn't seen the dagger go deep into him myself, I'd think the whole thing was fake. Maybe when you become a member of the Shadow Fold you get incredibly high pain tolerance—or maybe after killing a certain number of people, a stab wound really is just a stab wound. Probably it's the talent of the medics that makes Covington capable of striding ahead of us, gesturing in the air with his hands, continuing his lecture even as he leads us out into the courtyard.

  "You might think it's easy to think of nothing, to empty your mind completely. But I'm sure even while you were meditating under ideal circumstances—calming music, quiet lights, no recent stressors or attempts on your life—you found it difficult to stop thinking. The more we think about thinking, after all, the harder it becomes to stop."

  Hard? Try impossible. Thinking about not thinking is just the start of my typical failed meditation session. There's also thinking about snacks, the color of the sky, why my nose itches, why my toe itches, if it's possible to masturbate without touching yourself, why most of my dreams are about food, and how many minutes have passed since not-meditating started—usually, the answer to that last question is one. If emptying out my mind is the key to figuring out my foresight, it's no wonder I've failed time and time again; my mind is basically always full of some kind of nonsense.

  "I can see the trepidation many of you are feeling. You'll be excited to know that this challenge is just the first of many I want to guide you through," Covington says, because he's a bastard who apparently gets excited at the thought of putting us all through the wringer during our very first class back. "For now, just walk around the courtyard. You may have been here many times before, but take the time to observe it again, as if for the first time. Let your thoughts drift through you. We'll take it from there."

  Of course, I won't be observing the courtyard the way I have dozens if not hundreds of other times, because my line of eyesight is no longer what it normally is. Instead I'm looking through the world from somewhere around the vantage point of my knee, through eyes that are color blind but reflect enough light to see into the darkness. KillerVision is its own kind of out-of-body experience, and the biggest problem with it is making sure he's positioned just right so that I can see where I'm walking even while looking around from a different point of view. It's almost like I'm playing a video game and directing my own little figure around the world from another point of view, though in this case, often my playable character gets a mind of his own and decides to sniff his butt instead of looking where I want to go.

  Through his eyes instead of mine, I pick up little details in the courtyard that I never noticed before: the way the breeze moves little plants sheltering beneath the large fronds, how the light reflects across the water of the fountains, every tiny bug that skitters around across the path and moves faster at the sound of my feet approaching.

  There are also other things I pick up from being so close to Killer and using his senses: the smell of wildlife when the breeze changes, how he pricks and turns his ears to catch birdsong from the sky up above, and the way his toes spread when he shifts his weight. He's still a scared former stray whenever a voice is raised or a hand unexpectedly settles on his back, but he's gaining courage and even fattening up a bit. Probably in part because Eve keeps feeding him scraps of her dinner—even though she lies about it and tries to hide it so I can't see.

  This may be the main way I see from now on, so I need to get used to it, and count my blessings. The sun makes my sightless eyes water, so I try to remember to blink them and keep them pointed away from the sky, the plastic sunglasses I own doing little to keep their rays at bay.

  I'm ambling through the courtyard, absentmindedly reaching down to pat the top of Killer's head, when his hackles raise and I get a strange sensation at the back of my neck: someone is near, some unknown threat. Before I can turn around and face it—even though that's a useless first instinct, because I won't be able to see anything—a hand closes down on my shoulder.

  Professor Covington pitches his voice loud enough for everyone to hear it. "Ellen, now is the time to use your Mental Affinity. Look into the future, and see what I'm going to do next."

  I suck in a breath at one of his chosen words: see. Can I even use my Mental Affinity without the touch of one of my Conduits giving me sight? A nervous twist of my stomach insists that I can't, that I'm broken now without them near, utterly helpless and dependent on them in ways that make me uncomfortable. But even my sightless eyes can sense every other student in the class turning to me, and Killer's eyes tell me that their expressions are waiting and full of judgment, so I have to try.

  Leaning in close, Covington adds in a voice just for me, "Your powers are the most important tool at our disposal when it comes to tracking down Brutus. If you're advanced enough now to do this, I should be able to train you to see his next moves. So just remember: empty your mind of everything else, then introduce a new, singular thought, and concentrate."

  Concentrate. Focus. Two things every teacher probably put on my score card next to "Needs Improvement." I've always been a little flighty, prone to following my every impulse, no matter how
wise. I did stab a man to death in the heat of the moment, after all. What Covington suggests is the opposite of what I'm typically capable of—but if it means getting to my ultimate goal, I'm sure that I can figure it out.

  It helps that Grayson is nearby. I can sense his presence with a warmth I didn't realize I could feel for someone just standing near to me. He's watching me, and I know I have his support—no matter what comes next.

  Thinking of the moment we shared in the training room, I lick my lips and press my thighs together in anticipation of what could happen again sometime. Afterwards, we didn't talk, just kissed, and got dressed, then held hands all the way back to his room as we admitted that we both had other things we needed to do. Standing in front of his door, we stared into each other's eyes until we both felt the curiosity of onlookers get between us.

  The only words he said to me were, "See you soon."

  I've been anticipating the next opportunity I'll have to get him alone ever since. We've barely even touched the tip of what we could do together; our frenzied desire for each other was so strong that it was impossible not to go hard and fast, coming almost as soon as he was inside me, sharing moments of pleasure together that I'm glad weren't interrupted.

  Next time we'll go slower. I'll get a taste of him, and him of me. It's all I've wanted since that moment, especially when I catch glimpses of him out of the corner of Killer's vision, the crumpled look of constant pain folding his brow inward. He desires me for more than just the cessation from his weakness, I know that much for sure, but I also know that he loved being able to use his leg to fuck me without a single moment of pain.

  He can be on top again. Thinking about the positions that'll be possible, I realize I haven't emptied my head at all. Because as long as I want Grayson, as long as this thing between us isn't completely fulfilled—until I know I can have him whenever I want, no guilt or worry attached, slow or fast as we like it—I won't be able to steer my mind away.

  Then I feel the tickle of his awareness against the back of my head. Breathing in deep—trying to feign meditation for Professor Covington—I imagine opening an invisible door to my concentration, just like Grayson showed me, and let his stream of telepathy into my head.

  What's on your mind? Whatever it is, tell me, and I can help you empty your head and concentrate.

  Um. It's hard to lie inside your mind. My imagination almost immediately moves to the last, most illicit thing on my consciousness: an image of Grayson pushing me up against a wall, all his weight on his legs, and fucking inside me so hard that it hurts a little as his cock pierces me and bottoms out deep inside, his mouth warm and hungry on mine. That? That is uh... what I was... thinking about.

  Oh. I can feel the sudden warm, red-hot flare of his desire, tampered by the sensible fact that we're surrounded by other people. You seem to have forgotten the prophylactics in your imaginary fuck session with me.

  Hush up and help me empty my mind so I can see the future for Professor Covington. Only a few seconds has passed outside in the real world, but I can feel the flare of heat in my cheeks, and I'm worried what will happen if I don't show him I'm capable of using my own powers. I can't think with you being all... next to me... and such.

  You mean that you can't think when you have the hots for me this bad. He sounds amused and cocky, which I don't hate, but now is definitely not the time. Don't worry, Ellen, I have just the trick, one I learned from a mentor of mine my first year here. To clear your mind, imagine an empty white room and a very large bell. Ring the bell once, and listen to its echo reverberate through the empty room. By the time the sound has faded away, your mind will be empty.

  He makes it sound so easy. No wonder having Professor Not-Vervaine as his teacher was so upsetting for him; the whole time, she judged him harshly and made sure he was at the bottom of the class, but Grayson has skills in the Mental Class arena. I'll try to do as he says, but I have to admit, there's a naughty part of me that wants to imagine him fucking me up against the bell instead.

  As he gets a whiff of my illicit thought, Grayson adds in amusement, You'll get your chance to ride me again some other time, Arizona. For now, try to be a little less horny and a bit more cognizant of the coming of the next inevitable apocalypse.

  He has a point—though I can't help getting the image from his mind, delivered directly to mine, of him coming inside me as he does just what I want him to. Grayson is just as preoccupied as I am after our brief first time together, which is somehow comforting to me. If he's having trouble concentrating, that doesn't mean there's something wrong with me—it just means that having class with the person you've been crushing on less than twenty-four hours after you got to fuck him for the first time is pretty damned difficult.

  Remembering some old advice my mom gave me, I acknowledge all the thoughts I want to focus on instead of the task at hand, then set them aside. It's hard to do, but it gets my wandering mind where I need it to be: creating an empty white room and filling it with a large bell, just like Grayson says.

  I can feel his encouraging presence in the back of my mind, and I know that he's just going to distract me. So I push him out a bit apologetically, knowing I'm going to need to be alone in my mind for this to work. The only empty room with Grayson and me both in it isn't exactly one that will be productive for what I need to do next.

  Everything would be so much easier right now if I could reach out and hold his hand.

  I'd be able to see with my own eyes, and his touch—plus his support—would augment by powers.

  But I can feel how desperate I am for that, and the last thing I want is to give in to temptation every time it raises its head. I need to be able to do this on my own. Otherwise I'll never know if I'm truly capable of standing on my own two feet, or if my situation-dependent blindness will keep me down for the count.

  So I let go of seeing completely, even through Killer's eyes. And I put myself in that empty white room, using my imagination and nothing else. I empty it of every thought, worry, desire—everything inside me that yammers for my attention.

  Carefully, I imagine the bell.

  It pops into being with very little effort. A tiny bit of hope flickers inside me; this may actually be possible. Letting out a held breath, I do just what Grayson suggested: I imagine the ringing of the bell, so loud it fills the room and reverberates off the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and itself.

  Diiiiing-dooooong.

  Empty. Nothing. Not even color on the walls. Just the clanging of the bell, filling all the negative space around it like air inside a balloon filling it to the brim.

  Once the ringing is done, the bell disappears, fading away as if it was never there at all.

  And I imagine the future that Covington wanted me to see: his very next moment after this, whatever he's planning that he wants me to be able to visualize with my Mental Affinity.

  To my pleased surprise, a vision of him appears in front of me, seen through my own eyes. Blinking, I remove my cheap, shitty sunglasses and watch a strange mirror-image version of him standing behind me, his hand on my shoulder, Killer at my hip.

  He raises his other hand, grabs my wrist, and expertly pulls me around, pinning my arms behind me in a fluid motion.

  I can feel how soon it's coming. My foresight, without the distraction of my actual sight, is so much more powerful. In my weakness I've found an impossible strength–I know the very second Covington is going to (gently but methodically) attack me with basic hand-to-hand combat.

  Thankfully, I paid just enough attention in my recent powerless classes to learn the countermove to this particular attack. As he reaches for my wrist, I break his hand, turn around, and smack his hands away, facing him with a confident smirk on my face.

  I can't see his expression, but I stare up in his general direction anyway. Let me be blind—I refuse to cower. I'm going to figure this thing out, even if it feels impossibly big and scary.

  "Very good," he says approvingly. "Let's try it a dozen more
times, this time facing off in pairs. Ellen, you'll face off against Kelsie. Liam, you and Jade should work together..."

  In my mind, I hear Grayson say approvingly, Thatta girl.

  Chapter 19

  After classes are over, I get a summons from Professor Covington in the form of a text on my stupid phone, which I've unfortunately gotten used to carrying around. For a moment I consider pretending I never saw it, but it's futile; he wants me to come to his office for an "informal" meeting at some point during his office hours, which start... oh, right about now.

  Might as well get it over with. I like Covington, but to be honest, my mind isn't really on my Mental Affinity right now, or any of my other Affinities. I have a dozen other things to be distracted by, like figuring out how to navigate the world through a dog's eyes, trying to discern what the pentagram necklace is and how it'll defeat Brutus once and for all, and a mouth-watering desire to eat my weight in cheesy puffs.

  I know Eve has some. They're her late night guilty snack when she comes back from missions. She hid her last giant container of them from me, but there have to be more somewhere. All I want right now are salty carbs that leave my mouth and fingers coated in delicious laboratory-created cheesy goodness.

  Maybe this meeting with Covington will be quick. Since he apparently has an Affinity for Jedi mind tricks, he'll say something wise, all-knowing, vague and useless, and I'll go on to defeat the Big Bad after he nobly sacrifices himself. Or maybe, if I'm really lucky, he has the cheesy puffs.

  Now wouldn't that be nice.

  "C'mon Killer." I pull a little bit of beef jerky out of my pocket and tease him into turning around and walking at my side. "That's the stuff. As long as you're getting fat and overfed, might as well train you, huh?"