Justin was completely still next to her, but all of the people in the class were giving him funny little sidelong looks.
"Now,” the woman said, “Edward's telepathy is sight-line, which is fairly usual. Amanda, why don't you see what you can do? Edward, try to retain control of the doctor's sleep pattern. Remember, I'm standing right here."
The girl, Amanda, was dressed in a red sweatshirt and a ragged pair of jeans. “I don't want to hurt him, Ms. Kate,” she said, as she stood reluctantly. Her hair was a shock of carrot-top red, unsuccessfully slicked down with gel.
"Then don't,” Ms. Kate said, but her tone had softened. “Remember, I'm here. There's no danger."
The girl nodded, biting her lip. “I'm Amanda,” she said softly, not meeting Rowan's eyes. “I can make people do things, sometimes."
"A variant of telepathy and compulsion,” Ms. Kate corrected primly. “Whenever you like, young lady."
Amanda approached Eddie cautiously. He sidled away from her, nervous, but when she stopped about four feet from him, a change came over her. “Don't be silly,” she said, her voice suddenly deep with authority. “I won't hurt you. Why don't you come with me?"
Rowan found herself trembling. She's pushing at him with her mind. Look at that. It's incredible—and I can see it. I could DO it. I never knew...
"Sloppy, Amanda,” Kate said. “Sharpen your focus."
Justin picked up Rowan's free hand. She was clutching her folder in her other fist, the stiff paper crumpling. The feeling of his skin on hers soothed her.
"Come with me,” Amanda repeated, her face gone pale. “Leave him alone."
Eddie made a small sound, breath rushing out of him. Dr. Jilssen swayed in his arms.
"All right, that's enough,” Kate said calmly, moving forward out of the bar of sunlight. “Let go, Amanda. You too, Eddie. Very good. Now, did everyone note that Eddie kept physical contact with the good Doctor while fighting off Amanda's pressure?"
The doctor woke with a start and grinned broadly at Eddie. He seemed not to mind being put to sleep or awakened.
And yet ... there was a frightened, ratty little gleam in the doctor's eyes. It had come and gone so quickly she wasn't sure she'd seen it.
These people are like me, Rowan thought. They can do what I can do. Dad would have loved this.
"All receptive telepathy Talents are helped by physical contact, and most projective telepathy Talents are helped by physical contact,” Kate continued as Eddie and Amanda took their seats again. “Can someone give me an example of a projective telepathy Talent that isn't helped by physical contact?"
Another teenage boy raised his hand. He had a smooth cap of sandy blond hair and blue eyes fringed with the thick eyelashes some boys were blessed with. “Some types of Pushing?” he ventured. “And the illusion-based talents, like Monica's?"
"Very good,” Kate nodded. “The projective Talents that seem to utilize a form of autosuggestion are not generally helped by physical contact. In certain cases, like Mr. Delgado, aspects of ‘the push', as it's called, aren't helped by physical contact because of the feedback from the pain endured by the subject. Certain ‘magnification’ types of telepathy also exhibit this trait to a lesser degree."
As Kate continued speaking, Rowan slipped her hand free of Justin's and began taking notes. This was fascinating, and if Henderson hadn't been spending so much time patiently coaching her, she would have been completely lost in the terminology.
"Do we get to see Del do something?” the third teenage boy said.
"No,” Kate replied, with a freezing look. “Mr. Delgado's talent is not for public display."
"Is it true he was in Sigma?” the boy asked again.
Delgado didn't move. Kate glanced at him. “Ask him, Thomas. Now, if you don't mind, let's get back to class."
"What about her?” Thomas persisted. “What can she do?"
My God, he's talking about me, Rowan realized.
"Miss Price?” Kate asked. “Are you comfortable with speaking about your talent, for Thomas's edification? I'm sure the rest of us are curious, as well."
Justin turned to look at her.
Rowan gathered herself. “Oh,” she said, her voice sounding strange even to herself. “I don't know what you'd call it. I ... I help people feel better.” She trailed off, appealed to Justin with a mute glance.
"Rowan's Talent is particularly interesting,” he said. “With your permission, Miss Kate?"
"Of course.” The teacher nodded, folding her arms.
Justin leaned forward. The entire group fixed their eyes on him. “Miss Price registers a 13 on the Matheson scale,” he said, and everyone's eyes got a little rounder. “Her talents seem concentrated in telepathy and empathy, with a very interesting twist. Rowan helps people feel safer, calmer, almost like a tranquilizer. She calls it ‘the touch', and it's particularly useful on developmentally-disabled people and the mentally ill."
"Those are the hardest kinds of people to Push,” Amanda said. “Wow."
Rowan's cheeks were hot.
"She has a small but significant telekinetic talent that seems to affect living tissue, speeding the healing process; there is also a certain degree of precognition present.” Justin had everyone's attention. “With proper training, most kinds of applied telepathy will probably be available to her."
"Very good, Mr. Delgado,” Kate took up the thread. “Now, can anyone tell me what the drawback to mixed telepathy and empathy is?"
Rowan found that she was holding Justin's hand again. Why do I do that? she thought.
He squeezed back, and she had to swallow the lump in her throat. Her father would have loved this. He had always believed in unseen things.
She didn't know what she'd expected, but this quiet acceptance certainly wasn't it. Maybe it wasn't so bad being a freak.
As soon as she thought that, however, she saw her father's ghostly face and heard the chilling little gurgle as all the light in her father's body went out. It is bad, she reminded herself grimly. It is bad. It killed Daddy, and it killed Hilary, and it—
"Rowan? You okay?” Justin asked quietly, almost whispering.
"Fine,” Rowan whispered back, and took a deep breath. I can handle this. I can do this. I have to, if I want to get back at the people who killed Daddy.
Then she looked up, and Dr. Jilssen hurriedly looked away, as if he'd been staring at her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Delgado handed her a bottle of mineral water. “Take a deep breath,” he said. “It's okay."
She gasped out a curse that would have made him smile if his heart hadn't been pounding. “You'll learn,” he continued. “You've just got to put some weight behind your punches, that's all."
Rowan took a long hit off the water bottle and looked up at him. “I've never ... seen anyone ... move that fast,” she said. Her chest heaved.
"I've had a little more practice than you,” he said. “Good thing I caught you. I didn't expect you to flinch. Sorry about that."
When he'd told her combat training was necessary for operatives, she'd seemed a little less than enthusiastic. Their third session was going much as he'd expected—Rowan had never even been taught to punch a man properly.
The big underground dojo was full of people, some practicing on heavy bags, Jack Morris taking four of his team through a tae kwon do lesson in one half of the hall, others performing katas or practicing with partners, one operative from Blake's old team going through some knife forms in a corner. Delgado scanned the room again and looked down at Rowan, who was struggling to get her breath back. His pulse thundered in his throat, but for an entirely different reason.
Christ, she's completely helpless, he thought, his heart sinking. How am I going to do this?
He'd taught plenty of green recruits, but never one that he wanted to protect so badly. “Wait until you're ready,” he said. Take your time. I'm not letting you go anywhere alone until I'm sure you can handle yourself, but that day might be
a long time coming, angel.
She had settled into a steady schedule of classes and shifts in the infirmary, training sessions with Ms. Kate and Henderson, and now workouts with Delgado. Jilssen was chomping at the bit to do some more tests, but Del had vetoed that. She hadn't reacted well to the first episode of being swabbed and measured, and the electrodes had turned her an interesting shade of white. He'd cut the session short over Jilssen's protests and gotten her out of there. No amount of scientific advancement was worth setting back all Justin's careful work with her.
Rowan took another pull off the water bottle. Sweat gleamed on her pale skin, her hair was yanked carelessly back in a ponytail, and the Spandex shorts and tank top clung to her. She seemed absolutely unconscious of the admiring looks she received from most of the men—and some of the women, too. Delgado didn't care. He was just happy she didn't notice. But he noted who watched her and for how long, and he noted as well those that looked hurriedly away when they saw him watching.
Rowan handed him the bottle. He took a pull, too, and then set it down. “Let's try something else,” he said. “Make a fist and mean it. Right hook, right here.” He held up his hand.
She balled up her fist and gave him a halfhearted punch, barely tapping his palm.
"You can do better. Hit me, Rowan!"
He startled her, his clipped yell slicing through the noise. She had drawn back her hand, and promptly jumped, punching him with hysterical strength. Then she stopped, as if horrified at herself. “Oh, God. I'm sor—"
"Do it again,” he barked, and she stared at him as if he'd grown another head. “Come on, little girl, hit me!"
"Don't yell at me,” Rowan started, but he grinned and moved in on her. She didn't like her personal space invaded and backed up involuntarily. He pressed forward, a spooky darting rush guaranteed to frighten her.
Rowan let out a half-yelp and punched at his hand. Another solid strike. Delgado stopped. “Good,” he said, his tone softening. “Like that. See? Punch me like you mean it."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"Pretend I'm a Sig, Rowan. You won't hurt me.” Besides, if you did, I wouldn't mind. He flashed her a smile calculated to unsettle her—the smile that his eyes didn't echo. He moved into her personal space again, backing her up toward the wall. “Come on, Rowan, hit me again. We've got to get you over this."
She wound up and hit him again, flinching right afterwards.
"Don't flinch, Rowan. Hit me."
"I can't—"
"It'll take time, but you've got to learn. You want to let Sigma get away with it? Huh? Do you?"
That seemed to make her angry. Her eyes glittered, her lips thinning, and he thought privately that if she ever truly looked at him like that, his heart might stop.
She punched his open hand, another good solid strike. Then something seemed to break inside her, and she hit him again, her lips peeling back from her teeth. Again, and again. She broke into a wild flurry of punches with both hands, tears blurring in her eyes. She made a low hurt noise as she punched, a noise Delgado recognized from the attack on her house.
Bingo.
Finally. Come on, angel, take it out on me, get rid of it.
Rowan uttered a low, hoarse scream, her fists almost blurring. Delgado blocked the strikes with little effort, and waited until she wound down.
She finally stopped after one last punch, her head down and her ribs heaving with deep ragged breaths. Delgado glanced around the room.
Everyone was studiously avoiding looking at them. It wasn't uncommon for people to go a little crazy during a sparring session, especially shell-shocked green recruits.
Delgado waited. Eventually Rowan's breath evened out. She still looked at the floor, tears dripping off her chin. It took everything he had to stay still, to wait until she moved. The next move had to be hers.
Finally, she looked up, her chin trembling and her eyes huge and vulnerable. “Justin?” She sounded as if she'd just awakened from a nightmare, thready, uncertain.
"Rowan,” he answered. He couldn't put all the longing he felt into that word. Couldn't even begin. Be gentle with her now, Del. “Let's hit the showers and get something to eat, what do you say?"
"I ... I'm sorry."
"It's my fault. I shouldn't have pushed you.” That was a lie. She'd needed that, would need more of it in the weeks ahead. The shell of shock and calm she'd been in wasn't healthy anymore.
And she'd let her guard down with him. That thought warmed him clear through, even though it had been a foregone conclusion. He was the only emotional contact she had here. The only other person she might have conceivably broken down with was Henderson, and the old man had maintained a careful distance, waiting for Delgado's clearance.
"I—” Tears welled up again.
Delgado moved a little closer. He hadn't even broken a sweat, even though his heart was pounding wildly. He slid his arm cautiously over her shoulders. “Come on. Let's get you out of here."
She leaned into his body, her eyes dropping back down to the floor. Accepting his protection, even though everybody in the dojo was politely ignoring whatever was happening between Delgado and his neophyte. It wasn't so strange, after all—a society of psychic people were necessarily concerned with privacy.
He chose little-used hallways to get her back to his building, and they took the lift up to the third floor. Once inside the safe haven of his room, Rowan broke away from under his arm and bolted for the bathroom. The sound of running water from the shower did little to muffle her sobs.
It hurt him to keep his distance, standing at the window and listening to her cry. It was sheer torture, in fact, especially since he had been so careful, so gentle. She was stubborn, determined not to break down, staving off all her grief with fierce pride. The toughness she was so determined to display was one more thing to love about her.
Just use some of those interrogation techniques you're so proud of, Henderson's voice snorted in his memory. Delgado leaned his forehead against the window and looked down at the barren garden beneath its coat of winter gray. The weather had turned ugly. There were snowstorms coming. Some of the Society who had weather-sense were predicting heavy snows and an ice-storm, and everyone was uneasy. Part of that uneasiness was the recent upswing in casualties. Sigma was getting serious. It helped that Henderson had managed to get all the telem rigs fixed; the burr in the flux phasing had been responsible for a lot of Sigma's tracking them down. Things were holding steady, but everyone was still jittery.
And the other part of the uneasiness had to do with Rowan's quiet, numb misery. She was adjusting, true, but her grief was beginning to affect the whole complex. Henderson had finally quietly asked Del to do something about it. She refused point-blank to see any of the counselors; no amount of gentle cajoling or outright pleading would convince her. She only wanted to talk to him.
That was satisfying, but...
She turned the shower off, and he heard her moving around. She hadn't mentioned him sleeping on the chair again. She hadn't mentioned Sigma. But her nightmares were a twice-nightly occurrence now, with her waking up, shaking and sweating, and Delgado trying to calm her down, electric prickles racing over his skin. It took a level of control he hadn't been aware he possessed to keep himself at a distance. He'd begun to pick up on her emotional state whenever she was in the same building, let alone the same room, and she was emitting high-level waves of distress that made even him tense. She progressed quickly in her classes, but she was at a complete standstill otherwise.
So I've got to, he thought as he watched the garden below. I wanted to avoid this. That was a lie, too. He wanted her to come to him of her own free will. He didn't want to manipulate her.
But something had to be done. And he was responsible.
"Justin?"
He turned away from the window. His breath had fogged a respectable patch of glass. “Hey.” Now it was time to push her a little, see how she reacted. “Better?"
"I'm sorr
y,” she said, all in one rush. “I just—"
He found himself crossing the room. Rowan didn't back up, but she drew herself up to her full height and bit her lower lip. She wore his red sweater and a pair of jeans, and her feet were bare.
Delgado stopped himself a bare few feet from her. “Don't apologize,” he said softly. “I kind of thought you needed that."
"I think I did,” she agreed. Her pulse fluttered in her throat. He tore his eyes away and found she was watching him, her eyes wounded and defenseless. “Justin, I want to ask you something."
"Anything.” He didn't bother to try to hide the way his voice caught on the single word.
Her eyes widened slightly, but she still didn't step back. “I was talking to Catherine,” she began, cautiously. “And she said that you'd never ... never trained anyone before. A neophyte."
"That's right,” he agreed. Goddammit, Cath, if you've screwed this up for me I'll tan your hide.
"She also said that you disobeyed orders to rescue me. That you should have gotten out of there and waited to see what the ... the Sigs would do.” Her lip curled unconsciously. She was well on her way to hating Sigma.
"Henderson ordered me to get out of there,” Delgado agreed. I swear to God, Catherine White, if you've shot your big mouth off and made this harder I'll kick your little punk ass.
"And you said you weren't leaving without me?"
"That's right.” Now was the time to move another half-step closer and look down at her. She smelled fresh and clean, shampoo and soap and the cool fragrance of a woman, something pure he hadn't smelled in a long, long time. Like forever.
"Why?” she asked, tilting her head back to look at him. She was blushing.
Now was the time to tell her. “I couldn't stand the thought of them hurting you,” he said quietly. “I had to get you out of there. Your father and Hilary too. I had to ... I couldn't leave you behind."
"Oh,” she said, and her eyes filled with tears again.
"Rowan—"
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