by Lucy Auburn
My stomach drops as one boyishly handsome problem is replaced with another, older and more mature type of handsome problem. I still can't forget what I saw this morning when I touched Mason in the arena—and, based on the way he keeps glancing at me only to look away quickly, heat in his brown cheeks and a nervous twist to his mouth, he's thinking the same thing.
The Ellen in that illusion, or vision or whatever, didn't seem to be upset to be so close to Mason. She didn't seem upset at all. She pulled him inside her like a woman having a long drink of water after a long journey through the desert, thirsty and sure what she wanted to quench that thirst. Just thinking about it has his body flashing in my mind, the strong tattoos and broad flare of his shoulders that led to a tapered waist and well-muscled ass... the kind of ass that comes in handy when a man is giving you pleasure.
Not that I would know firsthand; Jack's ass was flat as a pancake most of the time, and his pumping skills often left much to be desire. But I've seen what I want in R rated films and X rated homemade porn videos. I know what kind of body makes a woman's eyes flutter closed in pleasure. The Ellen that I saw this morning was feeling all the pleasure in the world.
Oblivious to our discomfort, the instructor paces to the target wall and hangs up four more targets, then walks over to a set of drawers against another wall. Pulling a strange forked device out of one of the drawers, she holds it up, and I realize belatedly what it is: a tuning fork. Mystified, I watch her tap it lightly against a black orb, wondering what it's supposed to do.
"That's a mental energy divining rod," Mason says, sensing my confusion. "It'll help tell us if uh... if your Mental Class Affinity is awakened. They're a little tougher to train, after all, since usually you can't see them, unless they're an illusion like Eve's ability."
I stiffly tell him, "Thanks," unsure how you're supposed to act around a man who saw the two of you fucking while you were trying to beat him up. My etiquette classes didn't cover this kind of shit. "How are we supposed to test them, though? I mean, Mental Class seems to suggest someone's mind to uh... test them on. Last I checked, the targets don't have minds."
"Good question." He turns towards the instructor and raises his voice. "Ms. Abarra, shouldn't we have a subject to test on?"
She shakes her head. "Not until we know what the effects are. Last year we tested a suspected Mental Class initiate on an instructor, and now that instructor is permanently deaf. Better to use the tuning fork and targets until we know. Although..." Pacing over to a large cabinet, she opens one of the doors and snaps her fingers. "Ah! We have another mind we can test on."
I watch as she pulls a small clear plastic cage with a little white mouse out of the cabinet, paces over to the target wall, and sets him on the ground underneath the center target. It seems absurd, testing my powers against something so small and harmless. Sure, technically it has a mind, but I'd rather test my powers on Grayson.
Actually, scratch that—if my powers involve elaborate sexual illusions, I'd rather never test them on Grayson. Just the thought is enough to make me shudder. I don't know what would be worse; seeing the two of us have sex, or him seeing me and Mason have sex, or some kind of freaky threesome.
"Alright, let's begin!"
Instructor Abarra claps, and I'm forced to reach out to grasp Mason's hand. His palm is slightly clammy to the touch, as if he's been nervously sweating. With the other hand, he pulls on the end of his long black braid, not looking in my direction at all. It irks me a little—it couldn't have been that terrible, watching us fuck. For me, maybe, but not for him. He should count himself lucky that not-him got to put his dick anywhere near not-me.
Sighing, I shake the thought off and face the target wall. Unsure what else to do, I raise my hand, palm out, and try to push out my powers just like before. But the only thing that happens is another, smaller surge of my physical force field, taking out a corner of one of the targets.
"Not with your hands, Ellen." Koda taps the side of her forehead. "With your mind, remember? Concentrate."
I don't remember concentrating when I was in the arena with Mason. I just remember looking at him, and thinking a little, then... poof, we were going at it like two very skilled rabbits. Shifting uncomfortably at the prick of heat between my thighs—it's been a very long time, and Jack wasn't the best lover towards the end there—I scramble to think about something else before I somehow accidentally conjure up more embarrassing sex stuff.
Looking around us, I make the mistake of meeting Grayson's eyes. He's studying me, and I wonder if he's thinking smug thoughts about my current state of failure. No doubt as a Mental Class expert he thinks I'm too much of a feral idiot to be capable of competing with him and his powerful Affinity. Gritting my teeth, I narrow my eyes at him and promise myself that if he is my Conduit, I'll use him, and never let him become close to me.
"Oh my god." Mason's voice draws my attention back to the target wall, where something is happening. "Is that actually..."
I stare at another version of Grayson, limping down the row of targets in front of us. But no, the targets are gone, replaced by a tall stone wall slick with recent rain. Red hair soaked, he braces himself against the wall, cane missing, limp pronounced. His free hand is pressing against a bloody wound in his side, trying to staunch the flow of blood.
He doesn’t look exactly like the Grayson I was just staring at a moment ago. His red hair, darkened by rain, is long enough to brush against his collar. And there’s a big red scar running along his cheek towards his ear.
Grunting, he limps forward, dragging his left leg on the ground. "Useless fucking thing," he curses, panting with pain and effort. "Should've cut it off when I had the chance. Should've told her how I feel… goddamnit!"
The last word is shouted, full of frustration and emotion that makes me jump, tightening my hand on Mason's grip reflexively. He's watching too, and Koda is staring at her tuning fork, which vibrates from end to end. But I don't think the others can see what Mason and I see; their eyes don't follow the other Grayson as he stumbles further down the wall, something wild in his eyes, determination making him force his broken body to go further than he should.
But he can't make it to his final destination. Shuddering with pain, he falls down to one knee, dragging his leg out to the side, curling over the bloody wound beneath his hand. Raising his shirt up, he checks on it—and I gasp out loud at the gaping hole in his side, revealing exposed guts beneath torn skin. I jerk my hand out of Mason's grip, shivering all over.
The instant we're no longer touching, the vision goes away. There's no more rain-slick wall, no bloody Grayson desperately trying to get... somewhere. Just the targets, a concerned-looking Mason, and a group of people who didn't see what we saw.
I turn away, wishing the vision gone, and accidentally look at Grayson again. He doesn't appear to be anything like the version of him I saw; his hair is shorter, for one thing, not long enough to curl around his collar even if an entire bucket of rainwater were dumped on his hand. There's no wound in his side or scar on his cheek, and the cane he holds is firmly planted between his hands, the crow carved into its shiny metal top glaring at me.
I don't understand any of it. Why would my Mental Class make me see an injured and hopeless version of Grayson? Maybe it displays my deepest, darkest wish, but if that were so, I would've liked to have seen me stab him. And while I'm attracted to Mason, I don't know that him fucking me up against a wall... well, okay, I wouldn't say no.
If that's the case, though—if my Affinity makes me create illusions of my desires—it seems pretty useless as an assassin ability. Especially if Mason and I are the only ones who can see the visions.
"Well?" Instructor Abarra is looking at us eagerly. "What happened? I saw nothing, though you two seemed engrossed in a scene beyond our understanding."
Opening my mouth, I try to come up with an explanation and fail. It's Mason who says, "I think... well, I'm pretty sure, that is... it seems like Ellen can see into th
e future."
Chapter 18
Foresight, apparently, is a very rare and valuable skill. Just the idea of it gets the instructor so excited that she wants me and Mason to go another round, this time with Headmaster Shu in attendance, though I insist to her that she won't be able to see anything. She's adamant, though, and certain my latest parlor trick will impress the headmaster a shitload—not that she puts it quite in those words.
"A seer! Truly, I never thought I would live to see one. Even Marc Antony himself could only see in fits and starts. You have blessed us all, Ellen Arizona."
"Uh... thanks?"
No wonder charlatans have been pretending to see into the future for centuries. Apparently it gets you a lot of attention and adulation. Within a few minutes of Mason's proclamation, the training center starts to fill up as other instructors and professors make their way through the doors and gather at the back wall. All of them are here to watch me, like one of the oracles at Pythia, make a proclamation.
If they don't get one, they'll think I'm another one of those charlatans. Which isn't fair—I'm not even the one who proclaimed that I can see into the future—but it doesn't matter what the dancing monkey says about her ability to do a jig.
A trickle of sweat goes down my spine. I wish fervently for Eve, and even more than that, for my mother. Distantly I wonder what she would've thought of my enrolling here, and if she knew anything about my father's time here. She certainly seemed to know something on her death bed, that’s for sure.
"We don't have to do this if you don't want to." Mason is watching me with a concerned expression on his face, which is rich coming from someone who, just the other day, was trying to hunt me down to get proof I should be killed for the betterment of society. "I'm sure if we tell Instructor Abarra you're too tired, or point out that we don't really know what the ability is, she'll back off."
"Oh, now you're concerned about prematurely declaring me a prophet." I cut my eyes at him. "How convenient that your theory of my abilities involves the guarantee that you and I are going to," I lower my voice, "get busy up against some unknown wall. Well, don't be so sure you're right just yet—two tricks is nothing without evidence, and for all I know you somehow influenced my powers with your own."
He frowns at me. "I didn't do anything like that. And I don't... ugh, nevermind. Headmaster Shu is here, so you might as well see what you can conjure up this time."
"And if I fail?"
"Tell them winter is coming," he snarks, "because technically, that's right."
The headmaster has indeed arrived, wearing a long maroon silk robe tied at the waist, her silky black hair elaborately braided in a crown around her head. She looks like a queen presiding over her court, not a woman in charge of a school filled with the worst of the worst. As she crosses over to watch me and Mason, I feel something roughly the size and shape of a frog settle in my throat.
"Ellen Arizona. I've heard you've shown promising signs of a foresight-related Mental Affinity." I shoot Mason the hardest glare I can muster. The headmaster adds, "We're all here to observe, so you may begin."
I haven't been this nervous since I sang in that musical my junior year of high school. I had a crush on the boy playing opposite me—a boy who was, of course, Jack. It was my first kiss on that stage, and the first time I really believed I might become an actress some day.
Look at me now. About to disappoint a shitload of people with a parlor trick. I can feel eyes on the back of my head, and it's not just the instructors assembled who are watching. Grayson, Levi, and Wyatt are observing too. I have to take a deep breath to push down my nervousness, because I know I'm about to embarrass myself in front of them all.
Wordlessly, Mason reaches out and takes my hand. I clasp my fingers around his, tightening just enough that he winces, the corner of his mouth drawing tight. Serves him right for getting me into this—if we'd just told Instructor Abarra that the test was inconclusive, none of this would be happening. But he just had to go and open his big mouth.
Staring at the target wall, I try to figure out what I did the last two times that worked so well. Other than touching Mason, that is. I don't want to see bloody, injured Grayson a second time, so I try to think about other things, like lottery tickets and astrology signs. If I'm going to be a trick pony, I'd like to make a little bit of money playing the odds and conning Libras out of their paychecks.
Nothing happens. I try to imagine the winning lotto numbers on the wall, but it remains a boring shade of concrete hung with targets. I can feel the crowd watching us; Instructor Abarra has her tuning fork thing out, and is staring at it with a frown on her face.
The last thing I want to do is disappoint everyone. I can already feel their disdain, their disgust at me, how unhappy they'll be that I didn't live up to their expectations. A little voice in my head, that smugly sounds like Jack, mutters you can't get anything right. You never have been good enough.
I swat the voice away. After I killed him, I spent the days waiting for the police to find me awash in a living nightmare, holed up in the apartment scrubbing things over and over again. During that time I heard his voice; it was a constant companion, one I couldn't get rid of. It wasn't until I was in prison that the voice started to go away, replaced by other worries and fears.
I won't let his ghost haunt me. Blinking at the wall, I decide to try another tactic to get this mystery power of mine to work: I think about Eve. If she's going to come home late, I want to know, and maybe if I can see into the future, I can help her with her mission. I picture her long red hair, know-it-all grin, and skillful hands that helped me train just yesterday.
Like magic—because that's literally what this is, I guess—she appears in front of the target wall. Just like the other visions before her, she doesn't seem to be aware of any of us. She's standing in front of a bathroom sink. I get a weird sense of vertigo as I realize that the mirror reflects her face but not mine, a reminder that this is a one-way deal, a see but not seen.
Pushing her hair back from her face, she concentrates on her reflection. In a flash, it changes: her nose becomes short and pudgy, her cheeks fill in with round baby fat, hair turning short and brown. Glasses cover her now dark brown eyes, and she wears a frumpy cheap blazer with a thin button-up and a pencil skirt, all of it lightly dusted with cat fur. In short, she looks like someone's young new assistant, complete with the security badge clipped to her front pocket.
Stepping back from the mirror, she nods at her reflection in satisfaction. My eyes drift closed, and I realize that I'm starting to feel tired. There's something strange about seeing Eve when she doesn't see me. And the air all around me feels like it's heavy and warm, pressing down on my body.
"Ellen?" Mason's hand squeezes at our grip, and I force myself to straighten up, suddenly realizing I was about to fall asleep on my feet. "You alright?"
Eve is gone. If it was a vision of her future, it was a boring one—and something anyone could've seen, Affinity or no. Sighing, I yank my hand out of Mason's grip, disappointed in myself for more than one reason.
"I'm fine. I don't think I can do that again, though."
Instructor Abarra holds up the tuning fork, which is still vibrating with leftover energy. "The spike this time was enormous! What did you see?"
Grimacing, I tell her shortly about the scene. Mason fills in a few details, and Abarra looks excited, but when I glance back at Headmaster Shu she seems bored. No surprise there—my vision was nothing.
Casually, she asks, "Do we have proof these are actually visions of the future, and not just illusions or imaginings? Have you seen anything you didn't know, or have any of the visions come to pass? Perhaps the first one?"
I feel heat bloom on my cheeks at the memory of what the first vision was. Before Mason can say anything and dig this hole even deeper for me, I step out and tell the headmaster, "None of them have come to pass. I'm not sure they ever will. For all I know I'm making them happen or... or something." I don't want to
believe that I would make a vision of Mason fucking me happen, but that's beside the point. "I can try to see more visions, but I'm not able to control it yet. And this last one seemed to drain me."
"Hmmm. Yes, Mental Affinities have the tendency to tire the mind. Grayson can help you with that. As for the rest... come to me when you have something concrete, Abarra. Not before then. And it better be a fucking good vision, too."
No pressure or anything. The headmaster and the instructors file out, a bit of conversation starting in low murmurs, and I swallow as I wonder what they're saying about me. They came to see a miracle, and instead they just witnessed me hold some guy's hand and describe something they already know about Eve.
Thankfully, the instructor seems to sense that I'm done with this bullshit for the day, and calls for an end to the training session. I'm free to slip back to my room—or Eve's room, more accurately—and call it a night, without even having to hold Grayson's hand. I don't know who is luckier, me or him; me because I won't have to touch his loathsome body, and him because he won't get his hand cut off when I decide I've had enough.
As I grab my jacket and head towards the door, though, a presence stops me. Instructor Abarra is in her office, just off the training room, so she's not here to tell Wyatt it's bad form to use your immense physical size to trap people inside rooms.
"Wait," he says, before tacking on, "please?"
I get the sense that he'd move if I just ask. Wyatt is a large man, intimidating in every way, but he seems gentle. I could tell him to let me out, and avoid this whole thing entirely—but if I do, that's just putting it off for a day at the most. Time to face the music.
Spinning on my heel, I meet Grayson's eyes, and a hot bubble of irritation rises inside me. "If you wanted to talk, you could've just asked. Guess that doesn't make you feel like the big man on campus, so it's more fun for you to get your friend to do your dirty work."