Mindtouch (The Dreamhealers 1)

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  “Ah?”

  “The Dean of the Medical College and the head of the children’s hospital are both friends of mine,” the Tam-illee said. “They sent a note to their staff and faculty about your care and feeding.” He stirred his caramel-sticky spoon in his coffee and sipped. “Apparently, your arrival was a first for the entire university, not just my clinic.”

  “I imagine so,” Jahir said.

  “They’re quite concerned with keeping you happy,” KindlesFlame said. “The dean tells me the word is that you’re withdrawn in your classes. She’s worried this is a sign that you’re displeased. Is it?”

  “Displeased!” Jahir said. “No. I’m just staying out of the way.”

  “Preventing entanglements?” KindlesFlame said with an arched brow.

  Surprised, Jahir said, “Ah—yes.”

  The Tam-illee said, “Tell me, alet. What would you say to someone studying a subject that is bound to put them in constant contact with other people, who also holds himself apart from them to prevent entanglements?”

  “That he should perhaps avoid too-perspicacious Tam-illee professor-healers,” Jahir said.

  KindlesFlame snorted and said no more, but then, he didn’t have to. Jahir had received the message quite clearly.

  “You’ve done well,” Palland said, setting his data tablet aside. “I have all your tests back and you’ve gotten great scores on all of them.”

  “That’s good news,” Vasiht’h said, dropping onto the pillows across from his major professor’s desk.

  “But you’ve always done well on your tests,” Palland said, “so that’s nothing new. And you’ve been avoiding me, Vasiht’h.”

  “I know,” Vasiht’h said. “I’ve been studying more than I anticipated. This semester’s been… different.”

  “Different,” Palland repeated, lifting one furry brow.

  “Different,” Vasiht’h said. “I… I think I might be going research.”

  The other brow rose to meet its twin. “Exactly what is this difference? It must be an extreme one to have caused you to make a decision. I admit to suspicion.”

  “I’m just not sure I’d be suited to a clinical environment,” Vasiht’h said, rubbing one paw on the other.

  “If you were happy about that decision, you wouldn’t be fidgeting while telling me about it,” Palland said, and came around his desk. He drew up one of the chairs and sat on it, leaning forward with hands clasped between his knees. “All right, alet. Talk to me.”

  “I’m just not sure I’ll be able to maintain emotional distance from my clients,” Vasihth said, looking down at his feet.

  Palland’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s back up a bit and start at the beginning. Why haven’t you been haunting my office the way you usually do?”

  “I really have been busy,” Vasiht’h said. “Studying. And… I have a roommate, we’ve been doing a lot of things together.”

  “Including volunteering at All Children’s, yes?”

  Vasiht’h looked up, startled. “You know about that?”

  Palland snorted. “Alet, everyone knows about it. There’s only one Eldritch on campus and you’re at his side half the time.”

  “More than half, if you count the time we spend at the apartment,” Vasiht’h said, and sighed. “Anyway, it’s not about him. It’s about the volunteering. It’s made me realize… maybe I’m never going to be a good therapist.”

  “You realize this is a little like a surgeon taking on a completely shattered body as his first patient and determining from his imperfect performance that he’ll never be any good at surgery,” Palland said.

  “I know,” Vasiht’h said. “I’m aware that dying children are a worst-case scenario when you’re talking about therapy. But if I can’t handle the worst cases, sir, should I even be bothering with the easier ones? What’s the guarantee I won’t fail on those too?”

  “You may be overreacting,” Palland said, gently.

  “I may be,” Vasiht’h agreed. “But I’d still like to have next semester’s schedule center on research courses.”

  “All right,” Palland said. “Have you chosen a research topic? You’ll need one by the end of spring term if you’re going that way.”

  “I… I haven’t,” Vasiht’h said, flattening his ears. “But I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

  “Give it some thought,” Palland said.

  When Vasiht’h arrived, Jahir was setting out the cookie trays. He’d found the dough Vasiht’h had moved from the freezer compartment to the refrigerated and thought to save him some work. “Good after—did something happen, alet?”

  “What? No,” Vasiht’h said. He shook himself and drew his messenger bag from his shoulder. “No, I’m just distracted, that’s all. Things are fine, I passed all my exams. You?”

  “I did as well,” Jahir said, satisfied. “And we have a message from Hea Berquist: Persy is out of danger and back with the other children.”

  “She is?” Vasiht’h said, looking up sharply. “Oh, that’s… that’s wonderful. That’s great!”

  “So I have hazarded the guess that I might be able to finish the cookies for tonight’s gathering.”

  “Because I won’t need to?” Vasiht’h laughed. “Okay, yes. Go ahead.” He went into his room; Jahir heard the thump of the bag hitting the floor next to Vasiht’h’s desk. The Glaseah’s voice came through the open door. “So how are you feeling about things? Being halfway through the term and all.”

  Jahir considered, then resumed setting little scoops of dough on the trays. “Satisfied. I may in fact survive this degree.”

  Vasiht’h laughed from the door to his room, padded over to the kitchen. “Want something? Coffee? I’m making kerinne for myself.”

  “Coffee sounds fine,” Jahir said. “So what has you distracted?”

  The Glaseah eyed him. “Do you always listen to everything so carefully?”

  Amused, Jahir said, “Should I not be paying attention to you when you speak?”

  Vasiht’h snorted and got out the pot, setting it on one of the burners. “I was just thinking about a research topic.”

  “Ah… so you’ve made a choice?” Jahir asked, careful of his tone.

  “I think so,” Vasiht’h said, and glanced over at him. “You don’t approve.”

  “I hardly think it my place to approve or disapprove,” Jahir said. “But I do question how someone who managed to derive any emotional content from my last statement would not be wasted in a laboratory.”

  Vasiht’h laughed. “Just make the cookies.”

  “I hear and obey,” Jahir said, to make the Glaseah laugh again, and counted himself well-pleased when it worked. He sipped the coffee when it appeared at his elbow and put the cookies in to bake. He did not have his roommate’s touch with food, but he was at least comfortable in the kitchen now; he could cook and bake most things, so long as they weren’t too complicated, and he could prepare any number of warm drinks without burning himself or scalding them. His cuisine would not have passed muster with the head of the kitchen at home, but it was often quite edible. All in all, he was satisfied with his progress, given that he’d never seen a modern appliance before moving here.

  “So,” he said, as he cleaned and the scent of nut butter and sugar slowly began to fill the air. “A research topic? Have you any thoughts on the matter?”

  “None,” Vasiht’h said, sounding resigned. “I’m hoping to get some ideas tonight. You know, by not thinking about it.”

  “I’ve heard it often works that way,” Jahir said.

  Vasiht’h craned his head past the chair to look at him, but Jahir kept his face smooth and his eyes strictly on the tray he was rinsing for the party.

  “You have a wicked sense of timing,” Vasiht’h said at last. “With that dry humor of yours.”

  “I have no idea where I might have learned it, either,” Jahir said, and ducked when Vasiht’h pantomimed throwing a pillow at him. But he grinned as he dried the tray. His
relief at passing his examinations and having a course of action to pursue in regards to the children had lightened his spirits considerably.

  They were not the first ones to the meet in the center of the apartment courtyard. Brett was already there, sitting on a stool with his paws hooked on one of the rungs. He looked up when they entered and held up his wine glass, already in use. “To hellish midterms. Speaker-Singer damn and praise them, for toughening us up.”

  “Failed something?” Vasiht’h asked.

  “No, but it was a near thing with histology,” Brett said. “Bring me one of those cookies, I need to stimulate my brain chemistry.”

  From the door, Luci said, “That didn’t even make sense, Brett.”

  “I’m telling you, the neurons are fried,” Brett said. “It’s the pre-exam cramming.”

  “Or the post-exam wining,” Luci said dryly and set her insulated pitcher of cider alongside the bottle. “Where’s Merashiinal?”

  “Merashiinal is here, with roommate, and food,” the Ciracaana said, ducking into the room with a bag in his arms. The aroma was mouth-watering, whatever it was. “Did not have energy to cook, so I have hunted for you instead. At the wild, wild restaurant.”

  The Ciracaana’s roommate was another female Seersa with a black and white pelt, often too busy to attend, which Jahir found a pity because she sang when tipsy, and she had a fine mezzosoprano that made him miss the choral work at home. Leina said, “The wild, wild human restaurant, even.”

  “Ooh,” Brett said. “Yes. Bring it here. Let’s have some vintage food, something ancient enough for our DNA to recognize.”

  “How about it, Merashiinal?” Vasiht’h asked. “Is it raw meat? That should satisfy Brett’s craving.”

  “Sadly, not raw,” the Ciracaana said. “But curry!” To Jahir, he added, “You will like it, tall stalk.”

  “If it tastes anything like it smells, I know I shall.”

  Leina held up a small hand. “Wait.” Everyone looked at her. “Did we pass?”

  A chorus of ‘yes’s answered her.

  “Good!” she said. “Because along with whatever it is that Vasiht’h has baked, and it smells amazing, I brought ice cream.”

  “Alet,” Jahir said, “you are my new favorite person.”

  She laughed. “Your new favorite Seersa, anyway. We already know who your favorite person is.”

  Jahir glanced at Vasiht’h and lifted a brow. Vasiht’h shrugged and leaned just a little toward him. “Don’t mind them. They’re jealous.”

  It was a festive gathering, and they ate all the curry—which was in fact, just as delicious as it smelled—and the others drank wine and Jahir had cider and all of them had cookies and ice cream and stayed up far too late debating which of them had had a harder time with midterms, until at last the meet began to disperse.

  “So, Brett-arii,” Vasiht’h said when only he, Jahir and the Seersa remained, “what’s going on with Luci?”

  “You noticed, did you,” Brett said.

  “It’s kind of hard not to notice,” Vasiht’h said. “She was the first to leave, and that almost never happens. And she was more snappish than usual, and talked a lot less. Is something wrong? Do you know?”

  “Yes and no,” Brett said. “Respectively. She hasn’t talked to me about it, and I haven’t heard anything through the walls, so to speak.”

  “A school matter perhaps?” Jahir offered, curious.

  “I doubt it,” Brett said. “Luci’s so good at this that she arrived already on the Dean’s List, practically, and she hasn’t left it since. People joke about her staking the territory out.”

  “Personal then, maybe?” Vasiht’h asked.

  “It’s a better guess,” the Seersa said with a sigh. “But a guess is all it is.” He slipped off the stool and whuffed. “Well. I have drunk enough to float a starbase. I’d better waddle home before my kidneys regain consciousness and start punching my spine.”

  “Now there’s an image,” Vasiht’h said, one ear sagging.

  Brett grinned. “You know how it is with the healers. Macabre humor. Night, you two.”

  Vasiht’h folded his arms, frowning at the door, then turned and said, “You noticed it too, didn’t you?”

  “Of course,” Jahir said. And then, because the imp was in him, added, “So has a research topic sprung fully-formed into your head?”

  “Don’t make me hit you with the tray,” Vasiht’h said.

  Jahir hid his smile and opened the door for them both.

  CHAPTER 13

  The first thing Vasiht’h did when they saw Persy was hug her. He did it quickly so she wouldn’t see his expression at the sight of her, so thin and wan. She’d been so small already… her time in intensive care seemed to have wicked her away. “We missed you!” he said.

  “I missed you too!” she said.

  When Vasiht’h released her, she looked up at Jahir, and he went to one knee and gravely offered her his hand. She shyly set hers in it and then stepped into his arms: little head, ragged blonde hair in a tail with a purple-and-pink flower clip, pressed against a broad shoulder, with one of the Eldritch’s pale hands resting on her narrow back…

  Vasiht’h lost his breath and couldn’t say why. Just that he thought he’d remember the sight forever: a little girl who was paying too much to stay alive, and a man who was paying too much to love her.

  When Jahir leaned back, he studied Persy’s face and then kissed her brow. “You’re back now,” he said.

  “We told her it wasn’t the same without her,” Amaranth said.

  “No one speaks up for the dragons,” Kayla agreed.

  Jahir chuckled. “Well, now the dragons have their advocate once again. Shall we speak, ariisen? For there is something I must ask you.”

  And what was this about? Vasiht’h wondered, and sat in the pillowed story corner with as much curiosity as the rest of them. Jahir sat and rested his hands on his knees, studying the faces lifted to his.

  “When we first met,” he said, “in the parking lot, jumping rope. Do you remember Vasiht’h’s explanation of why you must not touch me?”

  “Because you feel our feelings,” Kayla said. “That’s what he said.”

  “That’s right,” Jahir said. “But we have been touching recently, and I am concerned that you have not remembered what that means.”

  The girls glanced at one another. Kuriel said, “It means you’re reading our minds, I guess.”

  “It does,” Jahir said. “And I wasn’t certain that was something you wished to allow.”

  “Well… why not?” Kuriel asked. “I mean, what does it hurt?”

  That gave Jahir pause, so Vasiht’h filled it. “Sometimes we have thoughts and feelings we don’t want other people to know about.”

  “Like what?” Meekie asked, more curious, Vasiht’h thought, about this hypothetical person’s potentially interesting thoughts than about any application to her own situation. He suppressed his chuckle and said, “For instance, maybe you have a friend who tells you that she gets to go to a big party that you didn’t get invited to. And you want to be nice to her and be happy for her, but you’re really upset that you can’t go. Would you want her to know that you were upset? Or would you rather she believed you when you said you were happy for her?”

  That gave them pause. Then Amaranth said, “I think most of the time I just say ‘aw, I wish I could go’…?”

  “Yeah, and then the other girl understands, because she’d want to go if she couldn’t,” Kayla agreed.

  Kuriel added, “As long as you weren’t too mean about it. You say the ‘aw’ part once and then you don’t keep thinking about it.”

  “And then the girl tells you she’ll save you a piece of cake and try to bring you back a balloon!” Meekie added.

  “And if she can’t, she can at least bring you back all her memories of it, and spend a wonderful afternoon telling you every detail,” Nieve said, wistful.

  The pause this time belonged t
o the adults. Looking at them, Nieve said, “I think you mean different kinds of thoughts, right? Like if our parents could feel it when we hurt inside.”

  “Yes,” Jahir said. “Like that.”

  “And you know those things,” Nieve said.

  “When you touch me, you tell me. Not on purpose, though you could so direct your thoughts if you wished. But yes.”

  Nieve glanced at Persy, who nodded.

  “But then someone knows,” Persy said. “Someone who won’t hurt as much as our families would. But at least someone understands.”

  Vasiht’h said, “What about your friends here? Don’t they understand?”

  Persy glanced at the other girls, and in their gazes there was an accord. “Well, they do too. But not completely.”

  “Even I can’t know what you feel completely,” Jahir said, his voice gone suspiciously husky.

  “But it’s pretty close, isn’t it?” Persy said. “When you hugged me, I could tell you were taking it in. You were, weren’t you.”

  “Yes,” Jahir said.

  “Then it’s someplace safe,” Persy said. “Nieve’s right.”

  “The question is, does it hurt you?” Nieve asked.

  Jahir cleared his throat and said, “Hurt is a strong word.”

  It was, and Vasiht’h wondered suddenly just how well his roommate was handling all this. They slept on opposite sides of the apartment, separated by several walls. Would he know if Jahir was suffering?

  “But if it’s the right word…,” Amaranth said.

  “Say rather that it can be uncomfortable. The way it can be when you hug someone and their elbow is in your stomach,” Jahir said, with such a straight face that Vasiht’h didn’t catch why the girls were giggling until he replayed the words in his head. “So, am I hearing then that you do not mind my knowing your thoughts.”

  “No!” Amaranth said, and was the first to hug him, and then all the rest did too… at the same time, and sitting across from the Eldritch, Vasiht’h couldn’t decide if the expression on his face was pain or happiness. Maybe it was both? He almost reached out to intervene, but no matter what Jahir said about allowing children to touch him, adults were a different matter.