by Anise Eden
Ben hopped up and walked over to the food. “That’s not good, Cate. What can I get you? Do you want some pineapple? Banana bread?”
I knew I was going straight to hell, but my alibi was too good. I had to keep playing along. “Whatever you think,” I said in a theatrically weakened voice, “and maybe some tea.”
“You got it.” Before I knew what had happened, I had a plate heavy with food in one hand and a mug of hot tea in the other. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Oh no, I’m fine,” I said, smiling up at him. “This is great, thank you. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal in no time.”
“Good.” He sat down again and raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Pete rushed you over here before you had breakfast.”
“Oh no, he didn’t rush me.” I already felt bad enough for lying; I couldn’t cause a rift between them as well. “I rushed myself. He was perfectly patient.”
Ben nodded. “Be sure to eat before you come in from now on. We usually don’t serve anything here until lunchtime, and I don’t want you passing out on me.”
“Okay, got it.”
He gave me a curious look. “Your eyes changed color, by the way.”
I squeezed them shut. “What?”
“Down in the basement,” he observed casually, as though he weren’t uncovering one of my most embarrassing secrets. “They were green before, but when you came out of the bathroom, they were dark grey. Do you wear contacts?”
Sid had observed on more than one occasion that my eyes turned from green to grey when I was…in a certain state. I swallowed hard. “No, no contacts. They just do that sometimes.”
Ben nodded. He looked like he was about to say something else. Fortunately, the others began to arrive. I had been so self-conscious in the tai chi room that I hadn’t even taken a good look at them.
One of the women appeared to be of East Asian ancestry. She was a few inches shorter than I was with a solid athletic build and multiple facial piercings. Her black hair was worn in gravity-defying spikes tipped with purple. The other woman in the group looked as though she had stepped out of a Bollywood film. Doe-like brown eyes dominated her pretty, refined features. She had a perfect hourglass figure and a wall of shining hair, and her makeup was miraculously still in place after the exercise session.
Of the two men, one was a young-looking black man about Ben’s height and of slight build. His head was shaved and he wore silver wire-framed glasses. The other man was taller and thin and wore his dark, shoulder-length hair in expertly cut layers. When I caught a glimpse of his face, I saw that he had the oversized, striking features of an androgynous fashion model. He was also wearing more makeup than Miss Bollywood.
As everyone filtered into the room, the spread of food was met with murmurs of approval. They filled their plates and settled into various seats, talking easily and teasing one another. I made out a clipped English accent coming from Miss Bollywood. The group’s energy was bright, warm, and inviting. However, I reminded myself that they were the “staff” and I was the “client.” I felt a longing to be back in my office sharing a morning coffee with Simone, looking over our schedules and going through our cases for the day.
Ben clapped a few times to get everyone’s attention. “Good morning, everybody. As you all know, Cate is starting with us today. I want to begin with introductions. Since most of you are chewing, I’ll do the talking.”
He turned to me. “All of the staff members have been here for somewhere between two and four years. With the exception of Pete and me, they all work here part-time while engaging in other pursuits. And all of them—again, with the exception of Pete and me—have special abilities like yours, but we’ll go into those later. For now, I’ll give you the rundown on what everyone’s role will be in your program.”
Ben stepped behind the Bollywood star and put his hands on her shoulders. “This is Vani.” Vani flashed me a glamorous smile and waved a hand holding an apple slice. “She works in advertising, but her real passion is history. She is also sort of our resident diagnostician. Is that a fair title, Vani?”
She nodded but remained silent, her mouth full of apple. Ben continued. “She will be involved in your orientation and will help us to learn more about your abilities.”
I smiled and nodded at Vani, wondering what someone in advertising could have in the area of diagnostic skills. Keep an open mind, I admonished myself. You’d better, if you’re going to be here for three weeks.
Ben walked over to the guy with the glasses and rubbed his bald head. As the young man good-naturedly smacked Ben’s hand away, I recognized in him the familiar physical awkwardness of someone who lived mainly inside of his own thoughts, and felt an instant kinship.
“This is Asa,” Ben said. “He’s working on a graduate degree in computer science in his free time. He’ll be teaching you Reiki. It’s a Japanese healing technique geared toward relaxation and stress reduction, among other things.”
“I’m trying to get everybody to call me Ace,” Asa said, clipping his name down to its first syllable, “but it’s not catching on yet.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “Welcome to the asylum!”
“Thanks!” I smiled back, appreciating that he made me feel less like a client and more like a colleague. I’d heard of Reiki before, but I didn’t know much about it. However, I could use some stress reduction; it couldn’t hurt to try.
Ben pointed across the room to the girl with the spiky hair. “Eve is our acupuncturist. She tries to keep us all running in peak condition.” I examined her facial piercings, counting at least five rings in her eyebrows and one each in her nose and lower lip. It made sense to me that she would be comfortable with needles.
“Eve is also the baby of the group,” Ben said, “a mere college senior!”
Eve stuck her tongue out at him. That, too, was pierced. Then she smiled at me and all of her piercings seemed to rearrange themselves. “Welcome!”
“Thanks!” I tried to conceal a sudden pang of anxiety. A college senior was going to be sticking needles into me? How much experience could she have?
Finally, Ben sat down next to the tall man with the expertly applied makeup. “This is Kai.” Kai gave me a graceful fingers-only wave. “He is our resident artisan and expert in ancient religions and rituals. He will be teaching you some techniques to help you access and channel your abilities.”
“Kai is a name in many languages, but in my case it’s Greek,” he said in answer to my unspoken question. He had a honeyed tenor voice with a Southern lilt. Kai’s eyebrows had been shaped into high, thin arches, and an elaborate palette of purple eye shadows set off his light green eyes. “And Cate, if you have any questions or problems, or if Ben here is giving you a hard time,” he said while poking Ben in the ribs, “you come tell me and I will be more than happy to help.”
The sound of Pete’s boots resonated as he entered the back of the room. Everyone called out greetings to Pete, their affection for the cowboy evident. Apparently I was the only one whom he rubbed the wrong way.
“Cate, you already know Pete,” Ben said as he stood up and offered Pete his seat.
Pete sat down and gave Kai a discreet kiss on the cheek. Then he tipped his apparently ever-present ten-gallon hat at me. “Ma’am.”
Kai and Pete? Although I hadn’t seen that one coming, I managed to keep my expression neutral. I was already positively disposed toward Kai; after all, he’d offered to help me deal with Ben. The fact that he was with Pete made the cowboy seem a little more tolerable. I managed a half-smile. “Hello again.”
“Pete’s second in command here at the clinic, and he’s in charge of security,” Ben explained. Then he turned to the group. “You will all have an opportunity to get to know Cate better over the next few days, and Cate, of course, will get to know you. For now, let’s get back to work. Cate and Vani, in my office.”
The group slowly broke up and moved out of the lounge, carrying plates of food with them and callin
g out, “See ya’, Cate” and “Nice to meet you.” At least the rest of the staff seemed friendly enough. With their support, I could probably handle the Marines.
Chapter Seven
As Vani and I settled into the chairs in front of Ben’s desk, he pulled a computer tablet and stylus out of a briefcase. Vani closed her eyes.
“This meeting is a sort of second diagnostic session,” Ben explained. The casual warmth he had displayed in the lounge gave way to a more businesslike demeanor. “Vani is what we call an aura reader, which is to say that she can see and read the energy fields around people and objects.”
An aura reader? Was he serious? “I’m sorry, I thought we were going to be doing orientation next.”
“This is part of orientation,” Ben replied.
“Oh, I see.” I forced a smile. “Go ahead.”
“Vani will be doing some research into your special abilities to let us know more precisely what they are and whether there might be any problems we need to know about.”
As he spoke, I had to bite my lip to keep from smirking.
“Cate,” Ben murmured, “you could at least pretend that you’re trying to keep an open mind.”
With her eyes still closed, Vani frowned. I didn’t want to insult her, but aura reading was a bit more “woo-woo” than I had bargained for. “I’m sorry, I’m trying, but—and please don’t take this personally, Vani—I don’t believe in all of that New Age stuff, like auras and whatnot.”
Vani’s eyes flipped open. “Well, I can’t speak to the ‘whatnot,’ but is there anything I can tell you about aura reading that might put you more at ease?”
Absolutely not, I thought immediately, but I didn’t want to snub her. “Okay, sure. How exactly does it work?”
“It’s different for each aura reader, but I can tell you about my process,” she said. “I close my eyes and look at the subject using my spiritual sight. That enables me to see the subject’s aura, which appears mainly in the form of colors and images.”
“Colors and images?” Vani seemed so sincere that I began to feel guilty for pretending to be interested.
“That’s right. Naturally, the difficult part is interpreting what you’re seeing. To perfect that skill, I studied with a spiritual teacher in Gujarat, as well as at the School of Advanced Psychic Studies in London.” She cocked her head to the side, as though inquiring whether those qualifications were good enough for me.
“I see. Very interesting.” I was at a loss as to how else I could possibly respond.
“Okay then,” Ben said, “are we ready to get started?”
Vani closed her eyes again and appeared to concentrate.
I figured I might as well play along. If nothing else, it might be amusing. “What do I have to do?”
“Not a thing,” Ben said. “Vani and I will talk. She’ll tell me what she sees and answer any questions that I ask her.”
I nodded. “And this is going to tell us what exactly?”
Vani said in a perfectly smooth voice, “That you got laid last night, for one thing.”
What the hell? I stared at her, slack-jawed.
Vani was the picture of calm with her eyes still closed and her hands pressed together in front of her heart. “Several times actually,” she added.
She was guessing; she must have been guessing. And she was trying to embarrass me—probably to get back at me for not believing in her mumbo-jumbo. Well, it had worked. I felt my face flush with heat.
“Vani,” Ben warned, “remember that conversation we had? The one about using more discretion when sharing information about people’s auras? Nothing too personal, nothing that might not be relevant to the issue at hand?”
“Oh right. Sorry, Boss,” Vani chirped. I glared at her.
“Let’s stick to answering my questions for a while,” Ben suggested. “All right if we continue, Cate?”
I nodded, wondering what she would come up with next.
“Vani,” he said, “tell me what you see in terms of Cate’s special abilities.”
Vani’s eyes fluttered beneath her eyelids. “She’s an emotional empath, and a strong one. She’s from the Caledonian tribe.”
What kind of diagnosis was that? “I’m sorry, what’s an emotional empath?”
Vani opened her eyes again. “Most people are able to imagine how others are feeling to a greater or lesser extent—what we refer to as empathy. But an emotional empath doesn’t have to imagine, because they’re able to have a direct emotional experience of what it’s like to be the other person.”
The filaments. Empathic submergence. Is that what she was talking about? “What about that other thing, the tribe?”
“Caledonian,” Ben said. “We’ll discuss that after lunch. For now, let’s let Vani do her reading.”
Bewildered, I didn’t know what else to do but nod.
Vani closed her eyes and resumed. “She primarily experiences her emotions somatically, as physical sensations in her body.”
Ben took notes on his tablet as she continued. “And there are some psychic connections there, too.”
Psychic connections? I immediately thought of those psychic hotline scams that advertised on late-night television and cheated vulnerable people out of their money.
Vani continued, “Oh, and she can do it on demand—think of someone and connect with them immediately, even over long distances. Like tuning into a radio frequency.”
I remembered my conversation with Dr. MacGregor about the filaments that connected me to my clients. I figured Dr. MacGregor must have told her to say that.
“Interesting,” Ben said. “Where do you see blockages?”
“There aren’t any that I can see.”
“Really?” Ben looked surprised as he turned to me. “Usually someone with special abilities who hasn’t had any training has a lot of energetic blockages to work through.” He turned back to Vani. “How do you account for that?”
She appeared to be concentrating hard. “She’s been using a catalyst.”
“Ah, okay,” Ben said as though something he’d suspected had been confirmed.
I coughed to suppress a snort of laughter. “What’s a catalyst—I mean, in your definition?”
Vani answered matter-of-factly, “It’s a quick fix for dealing with excess negative energy. Kind of like using cocaine to lose weight instead of diet and exercise.”
In response to my dubious expression, Ben elaborated. “Empaths are like sponges, absorbing emotions from those around them. If you don’t find ways to discharge the negative emotions, they can accumulate to toxic levels. Prior to training, most empaths do this by using a catalyst. Different types of catalysts work for different empaths, depending upon the individual’s physical and energetic makeup, but the most common ones are drugs, alcohol, and bingeing on heavy foods. Do any of those sound familiar?”
Apparently, Ben’s ramrod-straight eyebrows had hinges. When he raised them both at the same time, they formed an “M,” giving him the appearance of an interrogator.
“Well, I don’t use drugs, and I only drink one or two ciders once in a blue moon,” I said in my defense. “And yes, I do like to eat, but not any more than most people.” My attention was drawn uncomfortably to the fact that my body was more jiggly than taut.
“Interesting. Vani, can you dig a little deeper and tell us what she’s been using as a catalyst?”
She wrinkled her nose. “You really want to know?”
“Of course,” Ben said.
“It’s personal,” she said, her voice lightly dusted with sarcasm. “Are you sure?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes!” Ben and I said in unison.
“All right. She’s using her boyfriend.”
Ah-hah! At last, the charlatan would be unmasked. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I declared.
Vani frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s right. He’s just a hookup.”
My jaw dropped like a hinge had snapped.
“A what?” Ben as
ked, trying—and failing—not to sound surprised.
“A friend she sleeps with, to be more precise,” Vani said. “A big, dishy Persian chap. Mesopotamian tribe. Looks like he can handle quite a bit of toxic emotion. A very effective catalyst, I’d guess.”
“I see,” Ben said. I didn’t have to understand everything that was happening to know that Ben did see—the one thing that for some reason I’d not wanted him to see.
I covered my face with my hands as I searched my mind for some rational explanation as to how Vani could have known about Sid. Surely the MacGregors couldn’t have been spying on me; that would be crazy. And there hadn’t been any opportunities since my arrival for Vani to talk to Pete about Sid. Even if they had somehow managed to have a conversation, he could have told her that Sid was big and “dishy”—but Persian? There was no way Pete could have possibly deduced such a specific detail from his brief interaction with Sid that morning. Panic clutched at my chest as I struggled to hold my mind back from reaching the only possible non-paranoid conclusion that fit the evidence: aura reading was real, after all.
I could feel Ben’s gaze boring through my hands, willing me to remove them from my face. But there was no way that was going to happen. I knew that I had likely turned bright red by that point. I silently begged the universe to let me disappear.
Ben apparently took pity on me. “Thank you, Vani. That will be all for now.”
Vani must have felt some sympathy for me as well once she saw the state I was in because she patted me on the shoulder as she walked past. “See you later,” she said lightly. I heard the door click shut behind her.
I remained perfectly still. I saw absolutely no reason to ever move again, in fact. I thought it would be fine to sit right there, hands over my face, for the rest of my born days. I nursed a tiny hope that if I didn’t move, Ben might eventually leave, allowing me to slip out the door unnoticed.
No such luck. I heard him walk around the desk, pull the chair Vani had vacated closer to mine and sit down. His presence thrummed directly in front of me. “Cate?”