The Girl Who Sees

by Dima Zales

  Ariel types something on her phone, and Gaius’s phone chirps a text message again.

  I eye the two of them speculatively. They have each other’s digits?

  “Your friend wants me to tell you how impressed she is with my candor and good looks,” Gaius says, and Ariel rolls her eyes but still says nothing. “She also wants me to tell you that the Rite is something every adult Cognizant goes through. That even Felix—”

  “Wait.” I nearly choke on my drink. “Felix is also a Cognizant?”

  Ariel approaches Gaius, leans in, and whispers something in his ear for a few long seconds.

  “Yes,” Gaius says after she’s done.

  Ariel punches him in the shoulder, so he adds, “Oh, she also wanted you to know that Felix isn’t as useless as all common sense would dictate.” She punches him harder, but he must be unbelievably strong, because he takes it without a blink. As he looks at Ariel with faux naiveté, his pretty face reminds me of a cat playing with its prey.

  Ariel texts him again, her fingers dancing angrily over her phone.

  He reads the text and says, “Fine. It was Felix who helped locate Beatrice. You told Ariel the details of the conversation between Beatrice and her employer, so Felix hacked into the NSA and used those details to find a recording of the phone call you mentioned. From there, he triangulated Beatrice’s side of the conversation and determined she was in Vegas, at the Luxor hotel—though what he should’ve done was figure out it was Chester on the other side of the conversation.”

  Ariel whispers something in his ear again, and though I can’t hear, I’m sure she’s defending Felix.

  “Yes, but his only usefulness is to figure out such things,” he says to her. “Chester’s probability manipulations can only—”

  It’s odd to watch them argue like this. When Gaius brought me home after the performance, I got the sense that they’d just met for the first time and she hated him. Now, however, they sound like a bickering couple. She and I will have to discuss this when she can talk to me freely—after this Rite I’m dreading more and more.

  “How is it that so many people in my life are Cognizant?” I ask. “For that matter, how many Cognizant are there in the world? And”—I look at Ariel—“did you and Felix know that I was one? If so, why did you let me go on TV?”

  Ariel begins typing, but before he gets the text, Gaius says, “I can answer many of these questions; I’m used to them in my role as a Herald. A lot of this is what all Cognizant younglings want to know too—that and whether they still have to go to human schools, which I guess isn’t your concern, being so old and all.”

  “Wait,” I say, ignoring the dig at my age. “Parents can’t even talk to their kids about any of this?”

  “Correct,” he says. “The Mandate forbids it. Proper dissemination of this type of information is key to everyone’s security—and the reason for Heralds.”

  “Okay, fine,” I say. “But can you please do your Heraldy thing now?”

  “There are very few Cognizant in this world, less than a percent of one percent, but we attract each other.” He winks at Ariel. “It’s a power we all have, though those who can manipulate probabilities, like Chester, have it in spades. That’s why we cluster together so much. We prefer to lose ourselves in the anonymity of big cities, and the attraction leads us all to the same neighborhoods, often the same buildings—a bit like some other minorities in New York.”

  He stops talking until Ariel, who texted him again, elbows him to proceed. “Ariel didn’t know you were Cognizant,” he says. “Then, when you began predicting the market”—he looks at his phone—“and predicted the election results and major geopolitical events in multiple countries, along with the Mexican earthquake—”

  “Half of that was luck,” I say. “The other half was just analyzing facts and using logic. As for the Mexican earthquake”—I give Ariel an exasperated look—“that was a mentalism effect. That’s all. I told you that.”

  “You didn’t tell me how it was done,” Ariel speaks for the first time, and even her voice is more vigorous somehow. “How did you do that? Did you seduce someone at the show and ask him to switch that envelope for you?”

  “You’re warmer now, but I resent the slutty image of me in your mind,” I say. “I didn’t even flirt with anyone for that effect.”

  “A better question is: why are you so fascinated with predicting the future in the first place?” Gaius says. He’s probably seen Darian’s damning video of my method, so he doesn’t sympathize with Ariel’s curiosity.

  “I’m not fascinated by it,” I say, but a hollow feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. “The headline prediction is a classic—something mentalists have been doing since the dawn of time. And all the magic books say your effects should be personal, so I went with the prediction because forecasting—albeit of the financial kind—is part of my job. I also participate in the Good Judgment Project, and—”

  “Do you know anyone else as good as you at prognostications?” Gaius asks.

  I consider it before answering. I’m not the best forecaster in the Good Judgment Project, nor am I the best (or luckiest) financial analyst in the world. But I am in the top percentile of both, and I’m not sure if anyone else can say that. Also, there’s my ability to see story twists, and my ability to anticipate road accidents—

  “Didn’t think so,” he says triumphantly.

  Ariel writes another text, and Gaius’s phone dings again.

  He looks at it and says, “Ariel wants me to tell you that she didn’t want you to go on TV, but didn’t know how to stop you.”

  Ariel hurriedly types more text, and he adds, “She didn’t know you’re a Cognizant for sure, in any case.”

  I recall how unsupportive my roommates were when it came to my TV career—a fact that had bothered me more than I care to admit. Now I see that they were actually trying their best to be good friends—

  Ariel kicks Gaius’s ankle.

  He looks at his phone, rolls his eyes, and in his best imitation of Ariel’s voice says, “She is very sorry she didn’t prevent that TV appearance.” He switches to his normal voice. “If you ask me, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Ariel should be glad she didn’t stop you. That TV performance gave you loads of power—and you got away with it.”

  “About that…” I look at each of them, unsure who’s the best person to ask. “How does that work? Would I have gotten Magneto-like powers if I had done spoon bending on the show?”

  Ariel looks at Gaius for help, so he sighs and says, “No one has done what you have and lived to tell the tale. I suspect you’d get no power over metal at all. Not unless one of your ancestors had such ability, and even in that case, double powers are exceedingly rare. No. Given how powerful your precognition was without any training, I bet your parents must’ve been seers. So it was very fortuitous for you to pretend to predict the future—almost as though a part of you foresaw that by doing so, you’d greatly enhance your powers.”

  “If a part of me made me do this to myself, I must secretly be suicidal,” I say. “In any case, are you saying I was already a seer, but people’s belief in me made me stronger?” I recall the rush of energy on the stage that supports this theory. “Does that mean beliefs can somehow alter reality if a Cognizant is involved?”

  “Not exactly, but I’m not great at metaphysics, so I’ll give you the dumbed-down spiel I give the younglings—the rest you’ll learn later.” He clears his throat, and his face takes on a professorial expression. “Back in the old days, when superstition reigned supreme, the Cognizant were worshipped as gods—and that made their power grow.”

  Ariel rolls her eyes, but Gaius gives her a narrow-eyed glare and continues. “Some of your Cognizant ancestors accumulated a lot of power thanks to that worship. They then had children with similar power, though sometimes diluted. Generations later, that same power still runs in you.”

  My head hurts, and not just because his “explanation” raises more qu
estions than it answers.

  “Around the Middle Ages, it was time for the Cognizant to stop gaining power by using human faith; else we’d face the wrath of humans, who by that point had perfected the technology of war, outbred us, and started to suspect that creatures of our kind might be meddling in their affairs—which, of course, we were.” He looks thoughtful, and I wonder if he’s old enough to have been there in the Middle Ages. I’ll have to ask him about that, but first, I focus on what he’s telling me.

  “The Mandate is the standard solution used by our kind at that stage of human development,” he continues. “The Mandate limits how a Cognizant can get power—and, indirectly, how much power anyone can have. More importantly, though, it makes certain that even torture can’t make one of us reveal our secrets.” He looks around the room meaningfully—maybe I was right to think this was a torture chamber in the past.

  Mindlessly swallowing another gulp of Ensure, I try to even out my breathing. It will take me a long time to digest all this. Latching on to the question that bothers me most, I say, “If belief leads to power, wouldn’t that mean the most powerful of all would be the gods of the modern religions?”

  He grimaces. “I pity whoever ends up as your Mentor. Let me try to answer that.” He looks at Ariel for help, but she just shrugs. “When humans believe in the power of a Cognizant, they transfer some of their energy—for lack of a better term—to the source of their belief.” He scratches his head. Clearly, his usual Cognizant youngsters don’t ask difficult questions. “Such ‘faith energy,’ or whatever we want to call it, can only be utilized by a living Cognizant. So, for example, for Vishnu to have gained power from his believers, he would’ve had to have been one of us—something that may or may not have been the case. And even if Vishnu had been a Cognizant, his followers would’ve needed to believe just the right things about him during his lifetime.”

  “Interesting.” I finish my Ensure and put the empty bottle on the bench next to me. “Given what you said, don’t you, as a vampire, benefit from belief in vampires?”

  “Few truly believe we exist, but yes, we all share the energy from the few who do believe the right things about us,” he says. “But we didn’t coerce humans to love us so much—we just happen to be irresistible.”

  A dozen monk-like figures in gray robes walk into the room, their faces obscured by hoods. One is sweeping the ancient floor, and his brethren are setting up black candles around the room. All are pretending we don’t exist—and maybe they’ve been compelled to think so.

  “The preparations for your Rite have begun,” Gaius says, rubbing his hands together like a supervillain. “Are you excited?”

  “Thrilled,” I say, the Ensure turning into antifreeze in my stomach.

  “Any update from the proceedings?” Ariel asks out loud. I guess that statement is vague and neutral enough for the Mandate to allow it.

  My ears perk up; Chester’s fate could impact my own.

  Gaius looks distant for a moment, then frowns. “I have bad news. Brace yourselves.”

  Ariel and I stare at him, petrified.

  He bursts out laughing.

  Ariel’s hands turn into fists, but I just stare at him uncomprehendingly.

  “You should’ve seen the looks on your faces,” he says during a lull in his merriment. “I was just messing with you. Chester is off the Council.”

  Ariel uppercuts him in the jaw—which makes him burst out laughing again.

  I breathe deeply to recover from the near heart attack.

  “Sorry about that,” he says after a few moments. “Chester isn’t a threat to you anymore. So, provided you survive the Rite with your life and mind intact, you’re golden.”

  “What does he mean, ‘my life and mind intact?’” I ask Ariel, but she either refuses to respond or can’t because of the Mandate.

  “Seriously”—I give Gaius a pleading look—“what happens during the Rite?”

  A dark and gloomy music vibrates through the room, silencing Gaius’s reply. Scanning for the source of the sound, I spot one of the hooded figures sitting at the organ keyboard, playing up a storm. After a couple of extremely familiar melancholy chords, I recognize the piece as Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. My music professor at Columbia would’ve peed herself in pride at my recollection.

  The smell of incense wafts through the room, and gray-robed figures walk around, waving pendulum-like censers similar to the ones you’d see at Mass, but with sinister symbols written on them. The symbols remind me of the marks Beatrice made on the corpses.

  I get up so I can yell into Gaius’s ear, but one of the robed figures grabs my arm and leads me away.

  I glance over my shoulder at Ariel. She looks worried, confirming that the Rite must be as dangerous as Gaius implied.

  Still, I don’t struggle with the monk-like figure; I want to be on my best behavior. Ariel follows us at a distance, and that gives me a modicum of relief. As we walk, I accidentally peek inside my guide’s hood and instantly regret it. His face looks like someone burned it and then put the fire out with acid.

  Detecting my discomfort, he pulls the hood forward to obscure my view, but the gesture exposes his scarred hands.

  We come to an alcove in the back, and the robed man gently pushes me in.

  Inside is a robe—one of the front-open types—and a mask hanging on a golden hook.

  This must be my outfit for the Rite.

  The mask is of a serene feminine face made from marble. There’s a smoothness where the eyes should be and an eyeball in the middle of the forehead that stares into infinity and beyond.

  I press the cold mask to my face. To my surprise and relief, I can see through it. Someone has drilled tiny holes around the eye area—an interesting method for peeking that I file away for my mental encyclopedia of blindfold construction.

  Ariel steps into the alcove as I’m wrapping the robe around my shoulders.

  Looking at me, she shakes her head.

  The music is even louder now, so I have to scream in her ear. “Did I put it on backwards?”

  “You’re not supposed to wear anything underneath,” she yells back.

  “What?” I examine the robe again. If I wear nothing underneath the rough, sandpaper-like cloth, I will be extremely uncomfortable. Also, I’m not sure how much of my body it would cover.

  “It’s tradition,” Ariel yells again. “You have to strip.”

  She leaves before I can argue. I remind myself about my ‘best behavior pact’ and gingerly undress. The cold draft under the robe gives my gooseflesh a bad case of gooseflesh.

  Ariel isn’t around to tell me if I have to be barefoot, so I put my boots back on. I can always take them off later. I then place the weird mask on my face, tying the lace around my head.

  Exiting my impromptu fitting room, I find the candles in the torture chamber already lit, and the Council members sitting on the stone benches. All of them are still wearing their multicolored robes, but now, they’re also holding masks made of marble, each spooky in its own way. I guess they intend to put them on soon.

  A colossal person in Councilor robes stands next to the sacrificial slab. He (though it could be a “she”) must have an overactive pituitary gland—or is on stilts. Almost eight feet tall, with unbelievably wide shoulders, the figure is wearing a scowling mask that looks like a gargoyle but with a tentacle for a nose. In his or her hand is a giant staff that looks to have been carved from a whole tree trunk.

  “I present Sasha,” he—now I’m almost certain it’s a “he”—says in a deep voice that would make Barry White sound like a chipmunk in comparison. He has no trouble screaming over the organ music, but as soon as his voice rings out, the music halts.

  “Sasha,” everyone chants.

  “Hello,” I force myself to say, my heartbeat skyrocketing. I really, really, really hope I’m not expected to make a big speech under these circumstances.

  “Before the Rite can commence, a Mentor must step forw
ard,” the giant says and slams the bottom of his staff on the ground with a loud bang, causing the podium and the slab to noticeably vibrate.

  I look through the crowd and realize there are people here besides the Council members. I guess that makes sense. I shouldn’t expect a Councilor to be a Mentor to a lowly newbie like me.

  Everyone looks tense, and after a few moments, I start to feel anxious. Will this be like that time when no one wanted me on their soccer team? That would be as embarrassing as messing up a speech.

  Chester stands up. From his fingers dangles a mask with a psychotic grin reminiscent of the Joker, or the monster clown from It.

  “Chester,” the giant says. “Anyone want to Challenge him?”

  What?

  Chester as my Mentor?

  He wanted me dead. Doesn’t that seem like a conflict of interest to them?

  With effort, I stay silent, still focusing on my best behavior project.

  Darian stands up. The mask hanging from his hand is blind, with an eye on the forehead like mine, only with more masculine features.

  I exhale a sigh of relief. Darian has gotten me into this mess, but I don’t think he wants me dead. If Gaius is right and Darian does have some plans for me, they clearly involve me as a powerful seer—and now his Mentee.

  “Councilman Darian,” the giant says, and I notice Chester wince. When he was announced, the Councilman honorific was omitted, probably for the first time in a long time.

  “I yield,” Chester grits through his teeth and sits back down, putting on his mask.

  I hide a smile. Darian must outrank him now.

  “Anyone else?” the giant asks.

  The room is quiet.

  I start thinking up questions I’ll ask Darian when another figure stands up.

  The room erupts into excited whispers, and even the giant on the stage appears shaken as he says, “Councilman Nero?”

  “I yield,” Darian says right away. “I yield,” he repeats for good measure, his British accent stronger than usual. He plops down so fast his robes flutter in the air like a parachute.