Empath

by Emme DeWitt

  Idiot.

  I shook my head, trying to shake loose some sensible thoughts.

  Deep breaths, I told myself. Just breathe.

  If I kept panicking like this, I was going to have an episode. I didn’t know how far one of my emotional atomic bombs could reach, and it was not the best time for a field test. There was no one here to help me and only a long line of people I could hurt, even if the rude woman was at the front.

  That thought sobered me a little, and the bile in my throat settled back down into my stomach. I stretched my neck slowly, rolling it around from shoulder to shoulder, continuing to breathe deeply.

  Be Noah. Think like Noah. Be strong. Confident, I coached myself. Alpha behavior. I could handle a sociopath, right? Right.

  “You all right?” a smooth voice asked from across the dark ballroom.

  Fear sliced through my gut, and I wondered briefly if I had peed myself a little.

  Nope.

  Guess I couldn’t handle a sociopath by myself.

  A shadowy form got up from a curved, plush booth and walked toward me.

  The blood rushed to my ears again, and I took in deep breaths through my nose, letting them out in bursts through my sandy-tongued mouth. I was not doing well in the anxiety department, and I was kicking myself, thinking how useless it would be if I passed out right now. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

  I had clenched my eyes shut as soon as he had spoken, not wanting the spinning room to get in the way of my centering practice. I probably sounded like a distressed moose in labor with my patterned breathing.

  “Please sit,” the voice said again, hands bracing my shoulders as I was guided to a nearby chair. My legs gave out right as I was poised over the seat, and I could feel several trails of tears that had leaked down my cheeks.

  When had I started crying?

  The close proximity to the gaping black hole made me even woozier. The short spike of panic I felt disappeared immediately. The warm hands on my shoulders held me securely, so my feet rested solidly on the ground while my mind remained among the fluffy dark clouds.

  Thoughts and emotions were falling through my fingertips like running water. All the tension I had been holding in my shoulders and neck was leaking through my ears in a slow drain. Although my panic was lessening, my more subtle feelings like curiosity of the building and the people who had transported me were melting away as well.

  “Stop!” I said firmly, my hands launching out of my pockets and connecting with the man’s shoulders. It wasn’t a hard shove, but it took both of us by surprise. He took a small step back.

  My eyes flew open and immediately locked onto a pair of ice blue irises, rimmed with dark lashes and the slightest hint of gold at the centers.

  “I need you,” I said slowly, trying to keep my emotions from clouding my serious tone, “to back up. Slowly.”

  The man, who I realized was only a little older than Brendan, tilted his head slightly.

  “If you don’t move right now,” I continued in a too calm voice, “I will most likely flare like a supernova and promptly pass out. I don’t know what will happen to you or anyone close by, but it won’t be pretty. It will be chaos. Please.” My voice dropped low as tears caught in my throat. Of course I would be a sobbing wreck the moment I dared to be assertive.

  The man lifted his hands high in surrender, as if trying to convince a rabid animal he was no threat. He wasn’t wrong. Thankfully, he did take a few steps back, and I could feel the darkness back off with him.

  I shuddered.

  “What is even happening right now?” I whispered aloud to myself, hanging my head in exhaustion. I covered my eyes with my hand and tried to push the barriers in my mind as high and hard as I could. I imagined a maximum security prison, with concrete behind barbed wire, behind another high and thick wall that would actually keep out the Huns. I had no other plan.

  The man crouched silently just far enough away that I could still see the lightness in his eyes, even in the dim room. It was the first thing I noticed once I pulled my hand from my face.

  “I should be asking you the same thing,” the man said tentatively. The creases near his eyes and the tilt of his head led me to believe he wasn’t angry, more curious. I had seen warmth in his eyes, though. Could a sociopath fake human empathy that well? I worried that I couldn’t be sure. It had been too long since I had to rely on such little information to know how a person truly felt. The realization left me feeling naked and inept.

  “Do you know what I am?” I asked, clenching my teeth while bracing myself for a response. He wasn’t nearly freaked out enough to be ignorant of the supernatural, especially with his two minions who had essentially kidnapped me. I hadn’t met so many new adult supernaturals in a twenty four hour span before. There was no way this man was unaware.

  “I think you’re an Empath,” the young man said, “but I wasn’t too sure until just now.”

  A bitter laugh escaped my lips, and I shook my head. I wiped my eyes savagely again with my sweatshirt sleeves. He cool eyes continued to assess my every move.

  “I think there are more polite ways to check,” I replied. “Ways that don’t require an almost meltdown.”

  “How old are you?” he replied instead. His question had almost interrupted my snide remark, and my eyes narrowed. There was definitely impatience and curiosity in his expression. He wasn’t hiding it very well at all.

  “I see my age is more important than my name,” I flung back at him, sending a wave of disdain with me.

  “Well, your name would be good, too, but I just haven’t met an Empath with such little control of her powers before. I’ve only met the two, though, so I guess my sample is a little skewed,” the man said with a shrug.

  “That’s nice,” I said. “But I really would like a name from you before I continue. I don’t know if I can trust you, talking about these things.”

  “Fine, we’ll exchange family names on the count of three. I think that will clear up a lot of confusion,” he said. A halfhearted smile flickered across his face, but he still managed to look sad. I didn’t realize a grown man built like an MMA fighter could look so sheepish with such a simple request.

  “I have three, which one do you want?” I quipped, reeling from my lapse in emotional defense. Now was not the time to wax poetic about the sociopath.

  “All of them,” he said simply. “Three.”

  “Two.”

  “One.”

  “Herrera de los Santos Patrick,” I said softly, hoping to hear his over my own voice.

  “Navratil,” he replied, his head jerking back slightly in response to my own name.

  My blood chilled at the sound of his last name.

  “Navratil, like the mob bosses Navratil?” I said, my voice going shrill at the end. His pursed lips told me all I needed to know.

  “Yes, well, it’s not often you meet a de los Santos anymore, although your most recent last name intrigues me more. Is that your stepdad?” he said, his bluntness making me scoff in indignation.

  “Why do you ask questions when you already have the answers?” I shot back at him.

  “Why do you not like answering simple questions?” he replied. A smile spread across his features. “This is definitely going to get interesting.”

  He leapt up from his squatting stance, his distance still close enough I could feel the dynamic change as he towered over me. I scowled up at him, immediately regretting giving him my name.

  Something told me I was vastly underprepared for the world I had just entered, as if the exploding van or teleportation hadn’t been a big enough sign.

  Noah, help me.

  “Do you like burgers?” the Navratil sociopath said, sauntering away toward the bar.

  I remained in my seat against the wall of stacked chairs, arms crossed in silent resolution. He was not going to get away with this so easily.

  “What kind of question is that?” I said, raising my voice enough to be heard acros
s the room. The space was large, although sparsely furnished. I refused to shout, but I was even more resistant to following him.

  “A simple one,” he said, bending over behind the bar, disappearing from my line of sight. I straightened on my chair, ready for anything. He popped back up, his hand stuffed with takeout flyers and menus. “I assume Empaths eat.”

  “Nah, we just feed off human souls,” I quipped. “Less calories.”

  “One of those,” the man said, his head nodding knowingly.

  I snorted. “Hardly,” I murmured, out of earshot.

  “There’s a place around here that fries cheese inside the burgers. Can’t remember what they’re called, but they’re pretty good. Want one?” he asked, spreading the flyers out in front of him and snatching up the one he wanted after a quick glance. “Or are you veggie vegan whatever?”

  “Dead things don’t have feelings,” I said, bristling at his tone. “If that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “What?”

  “You implied because of my abilities that I most certainly would be ‘veggie vegan whatever.’”

  “When?”

  “Just now,” I said, raising my voice. “What does being an Empath have to do with my eating habits?”

  The man had taken out his cellphone, and I caught his frown in the glow of the screen. I snorted, amazed at how audacious he was. From what I knew of the Navratils, the behavior was not out of character. Arrogance was clearly a beloved family trait.

  “So is that a yes?” he asked, typing on his phone and avoiding eye contact.

  “What?”

  “Yes, I should order you a burger. Got it,” he said, ducking back down below the bar. “You thirsty?”

  “Did I say I wanted a burger?” I said, annoyed he had completely ignored my question.

  “You said you didn’t not want one, which means you want one,” he said with a shrug. “What are you having? The fountain gun’s working again, so I have the full gamut of soda flavors.” He leaned forward on the bar, his attention returned to me in full force. His clasped his hands loosely in front of him, his phone nowhere in sight.

  I waited silently in my chair, seething about his dismissive attitude. I hated being told what I wanted. If he was going to be like that, I wasn’t even going to engage.

  “Ah, right, you mentioned calories. Water?” he offered, grabbing a glass from the hanging rack. I scowled at him. My throat was scratchy, and I was actually hoping for a glass of water. Now that he was offering it though, I considered suffering to spite him.

  “I’m not like that,” I blurted out, not lasting more than ten seconds of silence. Good job, self. “I just happen to like water.”

  The man raised an eyebrow, but continued pouring the glass.

  “So what should I call you?” I said, hoping being on the offensive would be more productive than our food conversation. “Master Navratil? Boss Man? I don’t know the terminology for gang hierarchy.”

  “Neither do I,” the man responded, coming from behind the bar to deliver my water to me. He reached his hand out before I could ward him off. The floor tilted under my feet, and I immediately shut my eyes. “You can just call me Aleks.”

  I felt the cool glass in my hand, and I gripped it reflexively. Suddenly, my head cleared and I opened my eyes. Aleks had retreated back behind the bar.

  “You’re really going to need to work on that, you know,” he said. “I can’t stay thirty feet away from you at all times. It’d look weird.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. Sometimes jabbing the pressure points along my inner eye socket helped with tension, but that trick only worked for non-human entity headaches.

  “Well, special guests typically sit next to me in the VIP booth. Also, I can’t protect you very well when you’re out of arm’s reach. It’d just be much easier for everyone if you could stick by my side,” Aleks said, straightening the mess he had made with the takeout menus. He stacked them neatly, then tossed them back under the bar.

  “Why would you need to protect me? I’m sorry, I must have missed something,” I said, shaking my head, hoping it would clear the remaining cobwebs. “Your people kidnapped me.”

  “I guess you could look at it that way,” he said, resuming his relaxed pose on the bar. “Or I helped you escape a hostage situation. Forcible containment, or whatever you want to call it.”

  “With Brendan?” I asked. “I was going to my grandmother’s funeral.”

  “Were you or were you not held in an Association medical facility against your will not twenty-four hours ago? I’m sorry, I must have the details wrong,” Aleks said, the glimmer of the can lights making his eyes glow in the shadows. I wonder if he knew how disarming those eyes could be.

  “Yes, well,” I replied, re-crossing my legs. “I was handling it.”

  “Ah,” he said, his eyes bouncing up and down in the shadows.

  “I had a vague plan,” I argued. “I just wanted to see my family first.”

  “Was knocking out your boyfriend part of it? Because I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have let you go unless he was also six feet under,” Aleks said. “He’ll probably never let you out of his sight again.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, frowning into the darkness at his tone.

  “According to you,” he replied, letting his words hang in the air before continuing. “I would just be careful with him. Guys do a lot of stupid stuff because of girls.”

  “Thanks for the advice?” I said, my voice hitching up in a questioning tone. “Like I said. He’s not my boyfriend. We grew up together.”

  “We’ll see,” Aleks said. “But I was serious earlier when I said you’re going to have to figure out how to deal with me in closer proximity. We’re a small operation, and I can’t afford to have anyone else babysitting you. Can’t let them be distracted.”

  “Then let me go,” I said, my heart jumping into my throat. This wasn’t the exit strategy I had thought of, but beggars can’t be choosers. “I’ll get out of your hair, and then you won’t have to worry.”

  “You could go,” Aleks mused. “You won’t get very far though. You’re a little young to realize this, but it really is about who you know in the world. If you want to get what you want, you have to know who’s going to give it to you.”

  “I’m old enough to know whatever it is you’re offering won’t come for free,” I said. “I’ll figure it out. Thanks.”

  “In your eight-by-eight observation room, sure,” Aleks said, not unkindly. “I’m just offering an alternative. One where you’re more free to grow and be challenged instead of running a maze for the white coats.”

  “So I’d be one of your lackeys? Like that angry woman and what’s his name?” I asked, pushing back against the condescension I was feeling. Aleks’ new tone smelled a bit too much of gaslighting. His tone implied I’d be an idiot to turn him down, and I hated being called an idiot. Or naïve. Especially naïve.

  “Eli and Niko? I’d hardly call them lackeys. Business associates,” Aleks said, his face bobbing back and forth in internal debate. “It’s not like they’re forced to do anything they don’t want to do.”

  “Blowing up vans and kidnapping people. You’re saying they wanted to do those things?” I asked. “Those are very, very illegal.”

  “You’re missing a very, very large chunk of context,” Aleks said. “It’s not really my place to divulge their reasons though. I promise they are very noble aims. More than I can say of the Association.”

  “Yeah, well, at least the Association has a clear moral code,” I snorted. “Living in grey areas can be chaotic.”

  “The whole world is in grey. Treating it any differently would be naïve at best,” Aleks said, straightening from behind the bar. Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I bit the inside of my cheek hard. I would not let him see the comment land on a sore spot. “At least those who work with me have a say in what they do. It’s more like a loose co-operatio
n. Calling it a gang doesn’t really do justice to the others.”

  “Being led by a non-gifted person must really be thrilling for them,” I said, my eyes honed on Aleks’ body language in the hopes of getting a clue off the barb I had sent his way. It was immature, but I couldn’t help it.

  “It works quite well, actually,” he said, not rising to my bait. “It’s kind of nice knowing the guy calling the shots has no ability or desire to overpower you or take away your agency. Like I said before, though, it’s a very loose power structure.”

  “Don’t you have brothers?” I asked, trying to think back to what Abuela had said about the Navratils. I had been young, though, so she hadn’t shared much. I wasn’t ready for those sorts of truths, especially after what had happened to Tomas. “How did the only ungifted Navratil end up heading the organization?”

  “Sheer survival instincts. Luck. Being the only surviving member does wonders for the division of assets,” Aleks said, his words falling flat and emotionless. I flinched.

  I had forgotten. Somewhere in the midst of my grieving, I had heard the news. Only now did the dots start to connect.

  Aleks sighed. “I do still have a cousin floating around out there, but that’s what infighting among supernaturals tends to do. If I remember correctly, a de los Santos died a few years back right? Your cousin?” he asked.

  “Brother,” I said, my mind absently trying to build the Navratil family tree in my memory, the sting of my brother’s death barely prickling my conscience.

  “I’m sorry,” Aleks replied, sincerity in his words. “Although that does explain your boyfriend.”

  “Not my boyfriend,” I said reflexively. I drew the family tree in front of me in the air, trying to remember which cousin Aleks had mentioned. My hand stilled in the air. This would be so much easier if I had paper.

  Tomas first. Then Aleks’s brothers. And Colm. The hairs on the back of my neck and arms stood at attention.