Foreseen (The Rothston Series)

by Smiles, Terri-Lynne

  I nodded slowly, wondering what Rex could have done to make Curtis so jumpy. Terrified was more like it. But if it meant so much to him, I could keep my success a secret. At least for now. If nothing else, it’d give me time to work on the attribute. Maybe then I could really show Rex up.

  We headed for the kitchen at the rear of the dining hall, with Curtis promising to liberate a chocolate decadence cake for a private celebration of my success. We got to the walk-in freezer and he began picking the lock looped through the handle with thin spikes of metal he had on a key ring. I would have never pegged Curtis for a thief, and liked him better for the unexpected boldness. He squinted at his work for a moment, before his eyes went blank.

  “You’re reading the lock?”

  “Yeah. It’s easier than doing it by feel. I can read exactly where the tumblers are. Want to try? Wait. I got it,” he said as the lock slid open at the tug from his hand. He swung open the thick freezer door and I followed him inside.

  “There,” he said, pointing to a small stack of waxed cardboard boxes on the top shelf. He pulled over a five gallon plastic bucket of ice cream to step on and reached up, tipping the top box into his hand. As he placed the lock back through the freezer handle, he grinned. “I suppose I could have just translocated the lock off, but then everyone would have known it was me.” He paused on that thought, and a gleam grew in his eye. “Unless I translocated it into Rex’s room.”

  “Rex’s room?” I asked, as Curtis motioned for me to take a seat at one of the wooden dining hall tables.

  “Yeah. If he didn’t find it, maybe they’d think he did it,” Curtis said with almost a giggle in his voice.

  “Can you do that? Translocate it somewhere else, I mean.”

  “Sure,” Curtis said as he ripped open the cardboard box. He pulled out a glossy six-inch disc of what looked like pure chocolate, as he explained the effect of distance on our adept attributes. But he did more than explain, he had me reading objects in my room to show that I could do it. I didn’t need to be able to see them, which made sense once I thought about it. I stabbed into the edge of the cake, pulling a piece of the rich pastry away. Even frozen, it was delicious, melting down my throat.

  “Man, this is good,” I told him, prodding him to help himself.

  He forked off a chunk to devour. “Mmhm. They save these for special occasions, but I figure this is one.”

  “Yeah, our own celebration,” I laughed. “But I have a question. If you don’t have to be next to someone or something to read them, then Rothston can have adepts be anywhere, right? I mean, like, we don’t need people in Washington or anything like that.”

  “Not that easy. You know how people are fuzzier than objects when you read them? That makes it harder. If it’s someone you don’t know very well, you’re going to have a hard time figuring out which exact person it is unless you can see them in front of you.” He had me try that as well. His cousin Molley and the others had gone to a movie tonight, and he asked me to pick her out of the nearly full movie theatre in the basement of the middle wing. I found the room quickly and began scanning through its inhabitants in search of Molley. Curtis was right. It was nearly impossible to distinguish one from another without being able to use my eyes to isolate the person I was seeking. Sasha was easier but, as Curtis pointed out, I knew her better to have a feel for the kinds of decisions and turbula paths I would see in her. I read the person beside her next, and shuddered – it was Rex. Those arrogant, self-centered decisions weren’t hard to recognize at all.

  I brought my focus back to the dining hall – to the visual world – where Curtis was still watching me carefully. Even if he was only a high school senior, he was a good teacher – bridging the gap between the theories and ideas Mel was teaching me, and the training Dr. Collier had started at school.

  “There’s something that no one has told me, and I didn’t see it anywhere on my assignment list from Mel.” I told him, thinking about my conversation with Rex.

  Curtis tipped back in his chair. “I’ll tell you anything I know,” he offered.

  “What happens if someone breaks the rules here? Doesn’t seem like they can really be put in jail or fined or anything like that.”

  “What happens?” he answered with a wry laugh, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It depends on who you are. If you’re Rex, who everyone thinks can do no wrong, or say, a relative of The Seven just playing around, then nothing happens.” I didn’t ask, but from the bitterness in his voice, he spoke from firsthand experience. “For the rest of us, the punishment is pretty steep.”

  “What’s steep?”

  “Let’s use an example. Like for violating our secrecy. If The Seven find out, then the adept might be confined to Rothston and sentenced to manual labor.”

  “Is that who staffs the kitchen?” I asked, thinking of the cheery woman doling out food in the cafeteria line. That didn’t seem like much of a punishment.

  “No. Those are commons,” Curtis said shaking his curly head. “It would be worse than that. Now, if an adept told a common about us and the common believed it, they’d have to influence him that it was all a mistake.”

  “So, you can make people believe something that they didn’t start off believing? That doesn’t seem possible.”

  “Really hard. And takes a long time. Weeks sometimes because, first, they have to get the person to doubt what they know, then keep reinforcing the alternate path until it becomes set. Over and over, and that’s with The Seven doing it themselves. That’s happened a couple times that I know of. Not a lot, though.” He took another bite of the cake before continuing. “That’s about the only thing that happens. No one would violate one of the other rules – hurt someone or something like that.”

  “Or translocate an animal?” I prompted.

  “Yeah. No one would be crazy enough to do those things on purpose.”

  “Why? What happens?”

  “If you did it on purpose? You’d be considered dangerous, a rogue adept. The Seven, well –” He stopped abruptly.

  “Well, what?” I asked. “You can’t start a statement like that and not finish.”

  Curtis swallowed hard and said, very seriously, “They execute rogue adepts, Kinz.”

  The forkful of chocolate froze halfway to my mouth. “Execute? As in, put to death?”

  Curtis nodded gravely and explained that an adept could do a lot of harm if he couldn’t be controlled, out there turning people into quantum goo. They would just cease to exist, their very atoms removed forever from the space-time continuum. Or even just messing with their minds – their decisions. Power like that needed to be contained, and death was the only solution they had. I thought of Mel’s kind, grandmotherly face bent on murder. It didn’t fit. But still, the hairs on my arms rose.

  Chapter 13

  Kinzie

  Something was wrong. I climbed onto the seat of the Wave Runner to a cacophony of electronic music bouncing off the stone walls of Rothston’s arcade. I’d seen this game before. The player navigated a simulated jet ski through a racecourse that appeared on the screen. I examined the machine: hand controls for speed, handlebars for steering, and the entire seat shifted left and right so I could lean into turns. I’d enjoy this game if I were here for fun. But I wasn’t. This was Mr. Jamison’s desperate attempt to shake loose the mental block that I’d developed over the past week.

  It didn’t make sense. In my first four days at Rothston, I’d been learning fast. Sending rats zipping through multilevel mazes had become simple, and I’d moved on to reading people and influencing minor decisions – like making them take a drink when I wanted them to, or enter an empty room for no reason. It was actually kind of fun, and with the exception of Rex, everyone at Rothston was nice. They weren’t the crazed band of murderers who inhabited my dreams that first night after my translocation lesson. I’d woken with a start, panicking until I remembered the other thing Curtis said – they never institute that punishment.
Mel wasn’t a murderer. Nor was Mr. Jamison. They didn’t need to be. Deterrence worked just fine.

  But Day Four was the peak of my performance. If I’d stayed at that level, it would have been fine. Mr. Jamison had been impressed, saying that was about all most adepts ever mastered. Unfortunately, I didn’t stay there. Inexplicably, six days later, I couldn’t make a rat walk across the floor, and not even a second round in the medical clinic had turned up any clues as to why. It seemed unlikely that moving to the arcade would help either, but Mr. Jamison wanted to try.

  “Sydney?” he called to a girl – thirteen maybe – who had just finished another game. He gave her an encouraging smile and she came over, taking a seat on the accompanying Wave Runner. “Why don’t you run through it once without influencing each other – give Kinzie a chance to get used to the machine,” Mr. Jamison suggested.

  Sydney nodded to me and we both pressed the start buttons. The screens counted down to Go. It took me a moment to get the feel of the throttle and I had a little trouble shifting my weight correctly in the first two sharp turns, but I caught on quickly, flying through the rest of the course. I won easily, cheering my own victory.

  Brad Jamison gave a laugh. “Good job, Kinzie. But you weren’t influencing Sydney to lose, were you?”

  I shook my head, knowing that was the real test, and we started over. This time I leapt ahead before reaching out in my head to the girl sitting next to me. Everything was a blurry jumble like it had been when I first began training in October. I couldn’t influence her. I could barely even read her! My head began to throb with the effort, and suddenly, Sydney was ahead of me. I’d dropped back on my throttle! I snapped my focus back to the game and steadily gained on her. My head burned with pain as I concentrated on my goal. We were nearly even approaching the last turn before the finish line. Just a little bit more. Gaining. Close.

  Crap! I misjudged, going too fast into the last hairpin turn, struggling as my virtual jet ski skidded sideways off the course. It spun backwards as it slowed in the water, and I’d just gotten it turned around when Sydney crossed the finish line. I sat back, dejected.

  Mr. Jamison clapped Sydney on the back, and she gave me an encouraging smile. “You’re good. I couldn’t get you to slow down, because you were so determined to win.”

  “You influenced me to speed up before the last turn?” I asked, rubbing my forehead.

  Mr. Jamison beamed at her as she nodded. “Good job, Syd. That’s an important lesson for both of you. Use what someone wants against them when you can.”

  “You want to try again?” Syd chirped cheerfully, but I shook my head, jealous of the praise Mr. Jamison was heaping on the girl. Not that she didn’t deserve it, but something was definitely wrong. This was supposed to be my training, and I was failing completely. My brain felt muddled – or turned inside out – maybe that’s how it had always been. Maybe I wasn’t adept, but just had some temporary burst from latent genes that had decided to turn themselves off again. But that didn’t seem right either. Something was missing. But I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  I was vaguely aware of Mr. Jamison ushering Sydney away, and when he turned back, he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay, Kinzie?”

  I nodded firmly, refusing to look at him, for fear I wouldn’t hold back the threatening tears. I wanted to be part of this place. I wanted to have a chance to do the kind of things I was learning about. From him, especially. We’d talk during our training sessions and he’d tell me about big plans, like stopping terrorist attacks, and stabilizing world economies. I wanted to be part of that. But I wouldn’t be able to if I couldn’t even handle playing a game.

  Desperation swept through me. I didn’t belong here. Should I keep trying and wait for them to kick me out, or should I just slip away, unnoticed? And where would I go? How would I face Sasha at school? I’d never failed at anything before, and I didn’t know what to do. And the prospect of spending Christmas in this cavernous place, alone, hung like a boulder around my neck. But what else could I do?

  I thought of Greg and wished he were here. Not that I could tell him any of this, but at least he’d distract me for awhile. He wouldn’t care that I couldn’t do the things others here could, and I’d feel better about … about me. But he was in Boston and …

  And a thought occurred to me as I stared at the screen of the Wave Runner. Without a word, I rose and walked out the door. I had plans to make.

  ψ

  It was my last morning at Rothston before Christmas. I could barely notice the turbula now – even worse than yesterday. Still, I tried to convince myself that I was adept. It hadn’t been just a fluke. As I’d thought about it last night, I realized I was exhausted. Between all of the reading assignments, and sorting through the ideas to decide what made sense and what was worn-out tradition, and the constant training, I hadn’t relaxed since I’d arrived. And that could be the reason I was feeling so wrong. Maybe a few days away would help. I could relax and regroup. And I was pretty pleased with my plans. After all, if a guy like Curtis was daring enough to steal a cake from a locked freezer, then I could take a trip without getting my father’s permission.

  Making my way down the narrow granite hallway I came to the inset, dark green door bearing the brass numbers 214. Melvina Whitacre’s quarters at Rothston, where she lived with her husband, Herbert. After our first few classes in a drafty conference room, she’d offered to hold our classes here, in her living room.

  There was a large brass knocker in the middle of the door and I rapped it twice to let her know I was here. I waited for a moment, then knocked again, but there was nothing but silence from the other side of the door. I knew she’d said that we’d have class this morning. She wasn’t leaving to visit her children until this afternoon. But maybe her plans had changed.

  Scrolling down through my texts didn’t reveal anything. A few from Molley, and handful from Curtis, and so many from Sasha, half of them cut off or coming through in sections since she still couldn’t remember I had a character limit. But nothing from Mel. I shifted my weight, feeling kind of funny just standing here in the hall. I raised the knocker and tried one more time. Still nothing.

  I headed back toward the main building. I suppose I’d see her after Christmas – if I came back. That was part of my plan – use the time away to decide whether I should return. But now, that thought panged at my heart. I didn’t feel right leaving without saying goodbye to Mel. She was nice and encouraged me to ask questions and challenge the information she was teaching. Of course, she always had an answer to my concerns, even if some of them ultimately came down to “that’s how it’s always been.” But she was willing to let me disagree, as long as I was also willing to comply.

  The sound of swift footsteps echoed around the corner, and I moved to the side to avoid a collision. Mel, in a flowing black dress, came bustling through with her tall, white-haired husband at her side.

  “Oh! Kinzie!” she startled. Herbert reached out to steady her. “I’m sorry I’m late. We had a memorial service to attend this morning and it went longer than I had anticipated.” She resumed her stride, whisking me along with her.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said respectfully. “Who passed? Was it anyone I might know?”

  Mel gave me a pinched look that I couldn’t decipher as her husband unlocked the apartment door. “No, Kinzie. No one you knew, and it wasn’t recently. A year ago, in fact. But there is an old custom here at Rothston of honoring the deceased on the first anniversary of their passing.”

  Moments later, I was seated on the burnt orange sofa of her living room, while Mel settled next to me, placing a thin black box on the coffee table beside her laptop. She glanced through her half-glasses at the syllabus on the computer screen. Secrecy. That was the topic for today’s lesson, and Mel launched into it, reciting facts of the first historical reference to adepts as a secret society, and how the failure of a few adepts to keep themselves hidden caused the widespread witch trials of the
1600s.

  I tried to pay attention as she spoke, but my mind kept wandering back to my own problems. After all, none of this mattered if I wasn’t adept. But what would happen? Would they play with my mind, making me doubt myself until I believed none of this existed? That’s what Curtis said they did to commons who knew about Rothston. Except, that wasn’t quite right. I bit my lip as I thought. My dad knew about all of this. And the woman in the cafeteria line. Curtis said she was a common too. So the secret wasn’t complete. But how did they decide …

  “Kinzie? You aren’t listening.” Mel’s voice intruded into my thoughts, but when I focused my eyes on her, she was more concerned than annoyed. “You look puzzled about something,” she prompted.

  I explained what Curtis told me about making commons forget about adepts, and asked how they decided whether or not to do this to someone.

  Mel sat back into the sofa and studied me for a moment before answering. “There isn’t a black and white answer to that question. It depends greatly on who the person is and the positions they hold in society. For example, your father is not perceived as a potential threat for two reasons: first, he was raised here and ingrained with the tradition of secrecy as much as an adept child would be. Second, and I mean no disrespect, dear, but he manages a team of janitors. Should he decide one day to tell people about us – whether confiding in a few friends or taking out a newspaper ad – his sanity would be questioned, and his statements ignored.”

  I studied the slender fingers of the old woman’s hand for a moment. I knew she was right. No one would believe him. Like he’d pointed out back in October, I wouldn’t have believed him if he’d told me. But knowing that lessened him somehow. It was incongruent with the powerful, authoritative man I’d always thought he was. But he wasn’t that man. He wasn’t a knight who would rescue me when I needed it nor was he even important. He was just a cog in society’s machine, and a small one at that. A sobering realization, but I suppose that was part of growing up.