The Girl Who Sees

by Dima Zales

A torrent of questions about my biological parents is about to spew from my mouth, but I feel someone behind me and spin on my high heel to face the potential danger.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” Nero says and smiles—something he almost never does.

  My cheeks heat for some reason. He must’ve been lurking in the depths of the dance floor fog until now—that or he can turn invisible.

  Trying to keep my cool, I take in his appearance.

  He finally shaved and is wearing a bespoke suit.

  Aside from that and the smile, something about my boss-turned-Mentor doesn’t seem quite right, and it takes me a few moments to figure out what that something is.

  He looks relaxed, his usual intensity muted for the moment.

  “I’ll let you two discuss important Mentor-Mentee business,” Gaius says, bowing, and heads toward Ariel.

  “May I have this dance?” Nero murmurs, extending his hand to me in a gentlemanly gesture.

  As though in response, the fog envelops us and the DJ starts a slow song.

  Inhaling water and glycol fumes like a vape enthusiast, I gape at Nero and his hand long enough to recognize the first words to “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith.

  In a very un-Nero-like fashion, my usually impatient boss stands serenely, waiting for my answer.

  I take a step back, the fog swirling around me, and find my voice long enough to say, “I don’t—”

  “Come on,” Nero says, showing more emotion in this exchange than I’ve ever seen from him. “You can’t have a Jubilee without a dance.”

  He closes the distance between us and wraps his hand around mine.

  Besides truth-telling, his Cognizant power must also be hypnosis, because I allow him to lead me toward the dance floor. The fog around us brings to mind fairytales of travelers following a light until they get bogged down in a swamp.

  I bump into a waitress, who comes out of the fog like a ghost, and I profusely apologize before grabbing another glass of champagne. Quickly downing it, I hand the empty glass back to her, and she disappears into the fog again.

  Nero watches me with mirth in the corners of his eyes—another first.

  I look away and catch a glimpse of Gaius slow-dancing with Ariel nearby, then lose sight of them just as quickly. Even though they were standing much too close to each other for my liking, I’m encouraged by the fact that Nero and I won’t be the only dancers in the room.

  We make our way deeper into the fog until the rest of the room is completely obscured.

  We stop.

  Nero faces me.

  Confusion and embarrassment make my heart flutter as we stare at each other—me awkwardly, and him like a predator preparing to leap for his prey.

  He takes my right hand into his left and steps close enough that I can smell his cologne, spicy and peppery with floral undertones.

  Before I can exhale, his right hand lands on my back once more.

  Just like the previous times when Nero touched my back, I feel like I’m about to faint.

  He pulls me closer, and soon, we’re swaying to the music, with the fog swirling majestically around us. I’ve never considered myself small, but I feel tiny in his arms. His muscular frame exerts a gravity-like magnetism, and I constantly have to force myself to pull back before I end up clinging to him like a sloth to a tree.

  He leans down, his lips close to my ear. “Now that I’m your Mentor, our interactions will be different,” he murmurs, and I can feel his breath on my earlobe. “I’m sorry if I was cold and distant before.”

  Dumbstruck silence is the best response I can manage.

  He draws me even closer then, and for some unfathomable reason, I don’t pull away.

  What is wrong with me?

  This isn’t another dream.

  This is my boss.

  If something were to happen between us, I’d never live it down at the fund. And it’s not just this job that would be in jeopardy; the Mentorship, whatever that entails, would be endangered as well.

  And what is he thinking? Sexual harassment—assuming I’m not imagining what better be a flashlight in his pocket—is not something to mess with.

  “Don’t think too much,” Nero murmurs, gazing down at me, and before I can blink, he dips his head and kisses me.

  On the lips.

  A moment passes with our mouths locked together, and I can’t believe I’m not pushing him away, or kicking him in the flashlight, or doing any of the things I would’ve predicted I’d do in this situation.

  Clearly, I’m a lousy seer after all.

  Then it hits me.

  I’m not a lousy seer.

  I dreamed about kissing Nero even before the TV show boosted my power. I’d written it off as just an inappropriate fantasy, but now it seems like that dream was a vision of this very moment.

  If I needed proof that I’ve always been a seer, here it is.

  In the flesh, so to speak.

  My heart pounds, and my breath shudders in my chest as I feel his tongue. I should be pushing him away, should be making sure this doesn’t go any further, but instead, I kiss Nero back with all the ferocity of someone who’s been abstinent for the past two years. Chills race over my back, and my skin feels overly warm and tight.

  The fog-obscured lights in the room dim, the sounds of the song fade, and the world around us dissipates as I lose myself in the oxytocin overdose.

  It’s as though I’m floating in a cloud, which must surely be a side effect of all this damned vapor.

  Something changes about the kiss then.

  Nero’s masculine lips become soft, and his tongue turns tiny and delicate. He also suddenly tastes and smells like cherry blossoms.

  I jolt in shock, but then I get it.

  This is yet another dream—the strangest one of my life.

  I open my eyes, ready to wake up, but I’m still awake, and still at the Jubilee.

  My brain does, however, have trouble making sense of what I’m looking at.

  It’s not Nero I’m kissing.

  Or, more accurately, it’s no longer Nero… or even a man.

  Are there hallucinogens in the fog machine juice?

  Gathering my scattered wits, I push the woman away—and then I recognize her.

  It’s Kit, the Councilor who can change her face—and apparently her whole body, right down to flashlight, masculine scent, clothes, and all.

  Heartbeat spiking, I step back. “That was you all along?” My voice rises. “You made me think I was dancing with Nero? That I was kissing him?” I furiously touch my swollen lips.

  “Gifts are expected from any Council member who attends the Jubilee,” Kit says in Nero’s voice. “This is only the beginning of my gift, of course. I have the penthouse booked at the Four Seasons. We can leave to spend the night there as soon as you’re ready.”

  I gape at her, unable to believe what I’m hearing—and what just happened.

  I kissed Nero back. Fake Nero, but still.

  Maybe it’s not hallucinogens but Cognizant sex pheromones in this stupid fog?

  I don’t think I was this freaked out when I learned about vampires and zombies.

  Did this woman, who barely knows me, expect me to react as I did? If so, did she figure it out using her Cognizant powers, or am I pathetically transparent to everyone but myself?

  “So,” Kit says, changing her voice back to sound like an anime girl. “What do you say?”

  “No.” I take another step back and debate escaping into the fog. Then I recall that Council members are powerful and not to be insulted or messed with, and I hastily add, “Thank you, though. This is already a great gift. I can now cross kissing Nero off my bucket list. And dancing with him. And kissing a girl.”

  “Is my gender the reason for your reluctance?” She makes herself look like a hot Asian guy who could easily be her brother. “Or is it my race?” The guy turns Caucasian.

  I shake my head vigorously. “I’m not being racist or
sexist. Plus, isn’t that a moot point, given that your plan was to look like Nero anyway?”

  “I don’t have to look like Nero,” Kit says. Her black eyes turn green, her nose grows stronger, and a goatee sprouts around her mouth as she morphs into Darian.

  He/she gives me a promising smile.

  My pulse jumps again. “Really, I’m honored,” I manage to say, taking yet another step back. “But no. Thank you.”

  “So long as you’re certain,” Kit says, and now she looks like Felix. Only this Felix is naked and unexpectedly buff.

  Did she take liberties with his appearance, or does he actually look like that without clothes?

  “I’m pretty confident,” I choke out, thanking my lucky stars that the real Felix can’t see this through the fog. “But thank you again.”

  “Last chance.” She makes herself look like Ariel—one dressed (and I use this term loosely) in Princess Leia’s iconic slave-girl bikini.

  How did she know I always try to convince my roommate to wear that for Halloween? And what is she trying to say with this?

  “Still no, thank you,” I say in a firmer tone. “It’s not the shape you take. Or you. I just need an emotional bond before I can enjoy intimacy. And no offense, but I barely know you.”

  “A raincheck then?” she says, her face turning back to her usual self. Her body, however, retains Ariel’s distinct perfection, along with the slave-girl bikini. “After we get to know each other better, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps,” I say as noncommittally as I can. “I would certainly be more receptive to such an idea in the far, far future if you don’t pull a stunt like this again.”

  “Say no more,” she says, turning her body back to its kimono-clad self. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go give a speech in your honor.”

  She winks and stalks through the fog in the direction of the DJ’s podium.

  Soon after she’s gone, the hiss of the fog machine recedes, and the music stops.

  My phone dings with a message notification.

  Glad to be distracted from my tumultuous feelings, I take a look.

  It’s a text from Nero.

  The real Nero.

  Something’s come up, and I won’t be able to come down to the Jubilee. As a Council member and your Mentor, I do have a gift for you. Your raise for the year is fifty percent of your salary, and a mid-year bonus of fifty grand should hit your account tomorrow. And speaking of tomorrow, I need you to research two new biotech stocks for our portfolio. I need it done by 11 a.m.

  I reread the words a couple of times and marvel at how I could’ve possibly kissed my boss. Maybe it wasn’t the fog. Maybe Kit herself produces some sort of magic pheromones as part of her power, some kind of substance that overrules common sense.

  Alternatively, this could be a side effect of severe stress, and if so, I should consider therapy from Lucretia after all. Though I don’t think I could discuss kissing Nero with her—or anyone, really. I’m just going to do my best to put this incident out of my mind.

  The fog recedes enough that I can see the people in the room again. Kit clears her throat through the giant speakers.

  “If I could get everyone’s attention,” she says into DJ’s mic, and everyone looks at her with genuine excitement. “As a member of the Council, I want to officially welcome Sasha into the ranks of the Cognizant.”

  Everyone loudly claps, cheers, and heads toward me with two drinks. I soon learn one drink is for me, and one is for them.

  Alcohol-induced amnesia sounds great right about now, so I sip every drink while Kit waxes ecstatic about how great it is to be a new Cognizant.

  “Just wait and see, Sasha,” she says at the end of her spiel. “You have no idea how exciting your life will be from now on.”

  I wave and thank her and everyone else, trying to look as jubilant as I imagine one should be during a Jubilee. But my emotions are turbulent and my thoughts scattered, with one in particular souring my mood.

  The last thing she’s said sounds suspiciously like an ancient Chinese curse: “May you live in interesting times.” Perhaps it was payback for not getting me into bed, perhaps she didn’t mean it that way, but I can’t help thinking one thing, over and over.

  If the last few days are representative of the excitement I’ll enjoy as a Cognizant, I hope I can survive the week.

  The End

  Thank you for reading! I hope you loved Sasha’s story! Her adventures continue in Misfortune Teller (Sasha Urban Series: Book 2). Description below:

  So I’m a seer. A Cognizant under the Mandate.

  Life should be easy now, right?

  Wrong.

  With all the “accidents” that keep befalling me, I’ll be lucky to survive the week. That is, if my crazy boss doesn’t work me to death first...

  Click HERE to order your copy today!

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  Love audiobooks? This series, and all of my other books, are available in audio.

  Love reviewing and want to join my ARC team? Click here.

  Want to read my other books? You can check out:

  Mind Dimensions - the action-packed urban fantasy adventures of Darren, who can stop time and read minds

  Transcendence - the thrilling sci-fi tale of Mike Cohen, whose new technology will transform our brains and the world

  The Last Humans - the futuristic sci-fi/dystopian story of Theo, who lives in a world where nothing is as it seems

  The Sorcery Code - the epic fantasy adventures of sorcerer Blaise and his creation, the beautiful and powerful Gala

  And now, please turn the page for a sneak peek at Chapter 1 of Misfortune Teller and an excerpt from The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions: Book 1).

  Sneak Peek at Misfortune Teller

  Description

  So I’m a seer. A Cognizant under the Mandate.

  Life should be easy now, right?

  Wrong.

  With all the “accidents” that keep befalling me, I’ll be lucky to survive the week. That is, if my crazy boss doesn’t work me to death first...

  Chapter 1

  I groan, opening my eyes.

  The bedroom is spinning, and a horde of drummers are using my brain to practice “Death Metal’s greatest hits.”

  How much did I drink at the Jubilee?

  All I recall is people with two glasses of alcohol, one for them, one for me—and me giving in to peer pressure.

  Sitting up, I slide my feet into my slippers. Moving makes my skull feel like a white dwarf star about to explode into a supernova.

  With superhuman effort, I somehow manage to navigate my way to the bathroom.

  If walking with a hangover were a sport, I’d get a gold medal.

  A pale ghost of my already pasty self looks out of the bathroom mirror with huge bloodshot eyes and a jet-black mop of hair.

  Looking at the toilet generates flashbacks of me hugging the white marble, and I vaguely recall Ariel and Felix fighting for the honor of holding back my hair.

  After a thorough shower and five minutes of brushing my teeth, my mind clears enough for me to decide that this hangover is the worst of my life.

  I’m never drinking again.

  At least I had a good reason to get so trashed—the Jubilee is a big deal. It was my entry into Cognizant society, the secret race that includes psychics (like me), vampires, descendants of Hercules like my roommate Ariel, and whatever techno-thing Felix is.

  I stumble back into my room and strongly debate skipping work. The problem with this idea is that my boss Nero is now my Mentor in the Cognizant world—a role with as-yet-unclear meaning. Last night, after informing me about a raise, he demanded I research two new biotech stocks for our portfolio by 11 a.m.—and it’s already 7:45, so I don’t have much time.

  Figuring I should break the problem into smaller chunks, I decide to go to the kitchen and jam some liquids and electrolytes into myself, to
see if that makes me human again. Though maybe the expression should now be “Cognizant again,” since we don’t seem to be human.

  Dressing in my most comfortable work clothes, I waddle into the kitchen and find Felix there.

  “Morning, party girl,” he says with an annoyingly cheerful smile as he points at the stove. “Do you want eggs or oatmeal?”

  Felix’s face is a melting pot of Slavic, Asian, and Middle Eastern features, and he’s the only person I know who looks endearing when wiggling a bushy unibrow.

  “Whichever works better for a hangover,” I croak, the smell of food failing to entice me for once.

  Felix nods and fusses over the stove as I watch the kitchen spin.

  “I’ve put some salt and bananas into your oatmeal,” he says a moment later, his voice much too loud for my comfort. He sets the bowl in front of me with a skull-shattering bang. “Let me also pour you some juice and tea.”

  When he hands me the liquids, I guzzle the juice in one gulp, like medicine, and slurp the tea while I wait for the oatmeal to cool.

  “Did you see Ariel dancing with that vampire?” Felix says conspiratorially, putting his own plate of eggs on the table with another too-loud smack. “What was she thinking?”

  “You mean Gaius?” I catch some banana with my spoon. “She says they’re just friends.”

  “Just friends,” Felix mutters. “We are just friends, and if I rubbed against her like that, she’d probably break my neck.”

  He blushes as he says this. Then he looks at the door and turns beet red.

  Ariel jauntily sashays into the room. Though her Jubilee makeup is gone, she still looks like she could pose for a cover of Maxim magazine. Batting her perfect eyelashes at Felix, she asks, “Who would break your neck and why?”

  “No one. No reason.” Felix stuffs food into his mouth.