Book One

by K. C. Archer

  He went on to explain their task: to set a concrete goal and psychically ask a partner to accomplish it, a job that would require far more stamina than anything they’d done to date.

  “Nothing foolish,” Dunn sternly warned. “We do not squander or misuse psychic ability. It is paramount at all times that we treat our partners and ourselves with respect. An acceptable task might be to request that our partner open a door. Retrieve a book from a bookshelf. Write a word on the message board.”

  “Excuse me,” Ava said, raising her hand, “but I’m a medium. I don’t see how I’ll ever need to use this. The spirits I communicate with are dead. They couldn’t open a door if they wanted to.”

  “Perhaps,” Dunn said. “But as we’ve discussed, the specific manifestation of your psychic ability isn’t important at this juncture. Your first year is about developing correct meditation practices and enhancing your ability to connect with others.”

  Dunn further explained that the ability to perform this skill was crucial to passing the midyear exam. The reminder ruined Teddy’s state of mental calm. If Boyd didn’t get her for trespassing in the lab, she could be out by December anyway.

  Dunn directed the recruits into two rows. “Look to your left,” he said. “That’s your partner for this exercise.”

  Teddy tried to catch Molly’s eye, beside her. But Molly fixed her gaze on her meditation mat.

  “I’ll project instructions first,” Teddy said. “You receive.”

  Molly nodded.

  “And we need to talk about last night,” Teddy said.

  “Not here,” Molly said.

  Teddy looked around, lowered her voice, and spoke quickly. “What were you doing on that computer? Do you think someone lifted the vials before or after we left? We can tell Clint that we were in the lab for those twenty minutes, but we have alibis for the rest of the night. He won’t be happy that we broke in, but we didn’t steal anything.”

  Molly, if possible, looked even paler than usual, eyes even larger, circles underneath even darker. “I don’t need an alibi, Teddy, because I won’t be telling anyone I was there.”

  Teddy tensed. “Nick knows we were there last night; he stopped me.”

  “No one stopped me. Anyway, I don’t even know Nick.”

  “Nick. Nick Stavros,” Teddy said, exasperated. “The new FBI liaison.”

  Molly shushed Teddy. “Keep it down. Maybe we should just focus on the exercise. I don’t want to fall behind.”

  “Listen, I’ve learned the hard way that lying to Clint doesn’t work.” Molly wasn’t thinking straight. Surely it was better to admit they’d been sneaking time on the Internet than to get expelled for stealing the samples. “Does this have something to do with what you were doing on the computer?”

  Molly was logical. She wouldn’t risk losing her place at Whitfield again. They’d survive this class, and they’d talk through a plan once everyone had the chance to cool off. Teddy tried to let go of her frustration. She glanced around the room, considering her options for their assignment. Once she’d decided on an appropriate goal—asking Molly to sit on a chair near the window—Teddy said, “Fine, we’ll just focus on the exercise. What channel? Three again?”

  “Sure,” Molly said.

  First Teddy lowered her wall. She wouldn’t be able to connect with Molly without disarming her mental defense. She watched her electric barrier fade in her mind, then pictured the small yellow radio, imagined turning the dial to channel three, until she heard Molly’s voice.

  Come in? Over, Teddy telegraphed, jokingly.

  “I hear you, Teddy,” Molly said.

  At least they’d gotten this far. Teddy took a deep breath, refocusing on her directive.

  Please go sit in the chair by the window.

  There was no response. Teddy tried again. And again.

  Window. Chair. Sit.

  She felt the rough brush of sand. In her mind’s eye, the walkie-talkie faded away, and Teddy saw endless dunes of gold. Molly’s wall? Teddy opened her eyes and looked at Molly, stunned to see a film of sweat glistening on her forehead and her features fixed in an expression of intense mental strain. Molly was actively blocking her—why? Just because she was pissed?

  Teddy closed her eyes again, refocusing on the landscape of Molly’s mind. Inside, the wall of sand had only grown higher. Teddy pushed her mind against it, searching for a weak spot. She imagined a gust of wind reshaping the edges of the dune, like the first time she’d broken through Molly’s defense, but grit clouded her vision. Next, she visualized a tidal wave washing the sand away in a sweep. The dune began to collapse. Teddy heard Molly gasp as a score of images rushed forward. Teddy tried to hold on to the few she could: the boat. Jeremy holding his doctor’s bag. Molly in her nurse’s costume. Jeremy leaning forward as if to kiss her—

  “Stop it!”

  Teddy’s head snapped back as though she’d been struck. The connection shattered. She opened her eyes.

  “Don’t do that!” Molly shrieked. “I didn’t give you permission to enter my mind like that!”

  Teddy hadn’t intended to enter Molly’s mind. She’d just been trying to complete Dunn’s exercise. She’d pushed her way through only when Molly had blocked her. But now hardly seemed like the time to point that out. Not when Molly was clearly upset and the rest of the class was staring at them.

  “You can’t keep doing that! It’s why no one ever volunteers to pair up with you!” Molly’s eyes grew wide as she realized what she’d said. “Excuse me, Professor Dunn, I’m not myself. I think I need to go to the infirmary.” Without another word, she pivoted and raced out of the classroom, letting the door slam behind her.

  Teddy rocked back. She hadn’t meant to do it; she just couldn’t stop herself. Aware of the heavy silence that filled the room, she looked up to find the other recruits’ expressions displaying varying degrees of sympathy and satisfaction. But no one—not even Jillian—rushed to deny what Molly had said.

  “You crossed a line,” Jeremy said. “Again.”

  Teddy flushed with anger. She wanted to blame Clint. He’d promised her that they would work to control her gift. But the only thing they’d done so far was work on her stupid wall. Mustering as much dignity as she could, she lifted her chin and left the room without looking back.

  She needed to talk to Clint now. She wanted to get ahead of the situation—both of them, actually: the trespassing in Eversley’s office, and this morning, in Molly’s mind. The others would forgive her—Jillian and Dara and Pyro and Jeremy would, at least. Molly? Teddy wasn’t so sure.

  *  *  *

  Teddy’s racing thoughts carried her through Fort McDowell and up the two flights of stairs to Clint’s office. She heard voices inside.

  “How many samples were stolen?” Clint’s voice boomed.

  “Three.” Nick. She shouldn’t have been surprised that they would be together, trying to get to the bottom of this. Nick investigated crimes for a living, after all. And that’s what this whole thing was, after all—a crime. “Evans, Federico, and—”

  “Cannon.”

  Cannon? They were talking about the stolen samples. Why would someone want her blood? Clint’s voice went quiet then, and she couldn’t make out what he said, but she distinctly heard her name again.

  “And Brett Evans is gone,” Clint continued.

  “Yes, sir,” Nick said. “Rumor has it that he was in possession of a key. Makes for a pretty short suspect list.” Nick’s arrival on campus had been well timed. An FBI agent appearing just when Whitfield needed one most.

  Teddy had decided two things before she knocked on the door: she wouldn’t tell Clint that Molly had hacked Eversley’s computers, which meant she couldn’t let on that she had discovered her parents were psychic; if finding out more about them meant more time at Whitfield, she could wait.

  The second decision was that she would enter the room with her wall in full force. She closed her eyes, summoning the electricity. It b
uzzed up her fingers. She wrapped it once, twice, three times around her mind. She imagined turning up a dial to full force, making her wall so strong that her hair crackled and stood on end. And then she opened the door and walked into the office.

  She spoke before either man could stop her: “I’m going to say some things, and you both are going to listen. One: I haven’t forgiven either of you for what you did in Vegas. That was low. And I’m still mad as hell about it.” Her eyes stung from either anger or hurt, she didn’t know. She’d trusted Clint. And even if he had his reasons—good reasons, Teddy supposed—he’d manipulated her. “Two: I was in the lab last night. Nick knows. I didn’t take anything. And three: we need to figure out a way to control this astral telepathy thing, because it’s seriously interfering with my life.”

  “You knew she was there last night?” Clint asked.

  Nick shot Teddy a stare so cold that she practically felt crystals forming on her skin. “I was waiting until I had more details before I confirmed a list, sir. Ms. Cannon was just one of those names.”

  “Who else?” Clint asked.

  “That’s not for me to say,” Teddy said. “But trust me: we didn’t steal those samples. We were in there for fifteen minutes, tops, between eleven-thirty and eleven-forty-five.” Teddy’s vision swam. Clint was trying to break down her mental defense, as he had so many times before. She could feel him right at the edge of her mind; she could hear her own thoughts, a collection of damning phrases about Molly’s USB device, the computer in the lab room, the windows on the screen. If Clint heard, she’d be done for.

  She summoned every bit of energy she had. With his every push, the electricity sparked. She turned the dial even higher, making the wall burn brighter, stronger. Teddy called on her frustration over losing the money in Vegas, at being duped, betrayed, converting every ounce of anger into powering the wall. She was sweating from the effort. So was he.

  Clint said, “I don’t know whether to be disappointed that you broke school rules again. Or impressed that you’re managing to repel me with such staggering mental force.”

  “Look, I’m coming clean.” She looked pointedly between Nick and Clint. “I only wish you had done the same.”

  “If you’re talking about Agent Stavros’s involvement in your recruitment, it’s standard protocol.” Clint adjusted some papers on his desk. “And if you expect to be rewarded for coming forward about your infraction, you’re mistaken. We’ll discuss your actions with the rest of the administration. As of now, it’s an open investigation.”

  “What does that mean?” Teddy asked.

  “First, it means you have a lot of work to do in the dining hall.” Clint said. “Second—stay out of it.”

  Like hell she’d stay out of it. If someone wanted her blood, she was damn well going to find out who. But she’d been lucky to get off with just chores. No Boyd. No goodbye to Whitfield.

  “And Teddy,” Clint called out to her as she was leaving his office.

  “Yes?”

  “Now that you’ve finally mastered your wall, you can start learning to control that astral telepathy thing that’s been interfering with your life.”

  As she walked down the hall, Teddy heard Clint mutter something about her interfering with his life.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A MONTH AFTER THE BREAK-IN, Brett Evans still hadn’t returned to campus. Jillian seemed to be taking his disappearance especially hard, but she hadn’t confided a single thing to Teddy about her feelings. Molly wasn’t speaking to Teddy, so Jeremy wasn’t, either. Things with Pyro had cooled way down. Nick had been avoiding her. Dara was the only person who would sit with Teddy at meals. Their conversations revolved around the various death warnings Dara received for her grandparents’ friends and a few D-list celebrities, which rarely turned out to be prophetic.

  Though only a few people were still talking to her, Teddy knew everyone was talking about her. The investigation into the theft of the blood vials was ongoing—and it seemed like everyone knew that Teddy had confessed something to Clint. So, with fewer friends and more free time, Teddy decided to focus all of her energy on becoming the best damn psychic she could possibly be. It was that or obsess about why someone had wanted to steal her blood sample.

  “I’ve been thinking about the best strategy to control your trips into someone else’s mind,” Clint said one afternoon in tutorial. “Have you ever heard about the concept of memory palaces?”

  Teddy shook her head.

  “I thought that since you’re from Vegas, you would have. Some players use them to help count cards for blackjack.”

  “Poker, remember?”

  Clint rolled his eyes. “A memory palace is an imaginary location where you can store mnemonic images. In your case, it would be a place where you’d store actual memories. The technique works best when you imagine a location that you’re familiar with and know in detail . . .”

  Teddy couldn’t help but think of the yellow house that haunted her dreams, which had been occurring with regularity; when she was especially tired from a long day of school, the images were particularly vivid.

  “The memory palace is the inspiration behind this technique. Since you’re using this to help store another’s memories, we’re going to have to diverge from the device at this point.”

  “What do you mean?” Teddy asked.

  “It’s impossible to navigate everything that’s happening in someone’s astral body. You’re going to build a structure to help organize it, so you can control what images you want to see. Instead of being bombarded with thoughts and memories, you can place them in rooms, look through them at your leisure. But what I’m wondering, since this is all theoretical, is how you can be able to access the subject’s house.”

  Teddy adjusted herself in the seat across from Clint’s massive desk, her eye catching the screw in the left-hand corner. “I’m not following.”

  “Once you’ve made it past your subject’s fortifying wall—if that person is psychic, you should assume there will be one—you’re going to have to summon his or her house, so to speak. You’ll have to synthesize what you know about the subject into a unified, concrete structure—everything you know about him or her combined into one design. Then enter it. I’m assuming the better you know the individual, the more detailed the structure will be.” Clint cleared his throat. “I think we should try it.”

  “Like now?”

  Clint rolled up his sleeves. “Like in Dunn’s class. You picture an image—a walkie-talkie, right?—to help build your connection between minds. I’m going to lower my wall, and you have to lower yours, and then you’re going to try to organize what you see inside my head into one structure—my house. Then imagine your astral self walking into it. And then find a memory. Sound good?”

  “Yeah, totally—just make an imaginary house out of everything I know about you and walk through it and find a memory and then tell you about it. After that, why don’t we hold hands and go for a unicorn ride on a rainbow?”

  “Teddy,” Clint said, eyebrows raised.

  “Okay, okay.” She hadn’t performed astral telepathy since Molly had freaked out on her a few weeks ago. She wasn’t scared, exactly. She just hadn’t had any favorable experiences using this supposedly amazing skill.

  “Focus,” Clint said. “I’m lowering my wall.”

  Teddy dimmed her mental wall until it was just a low hum of electric current. She considered everything she’d learned about Clint—his messy office, his dad jokes, his old jersey. The memory of his dog. The screw on his desk. A piece of paper on his desk caught Teddy’s eye: Lab Report. Her thoughts went back to her blood sample. She couldn’t think about that now; if she wanted to get this right, she had to focus.

  When she reached out to his mind, she wasn’t confronted with a cacophony of images; instead, she saw . . . nothing. From inky darkness, a shape started to emerge. She felt the urge to blink but forced herself not to. She walked toward a white picket fence, an orderly
lawn. It wasn’t the same place she’d seen in Clint’s memories, the one with his dog. What emerged was a small two-story white house with a gray shingled roof. In the window, a light was on.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw herself walk up the steps, reach for the doorknob, and open the front door. When she turned toward where the kitchen should be, she didn’t see a kitchen at all. She walked into a memory.

  The first thing she registered was that it was night. And that she was in the desert. She could feel the hot air on her skin. She could smell smoke in the air. The charred aftermath of an explosion. There was nothing but miles and miles of arid, empty space. Teddy somehow understood that what mattered wasn’t on the surface at all but underground. A bunker. A number three surrounded by concentric circles etched on the bunker door. She heard bullets in the background and ran back toward the door to Clint’s house. And suddenly found herself in the worn chair in Clint’s office, looking right at him.

  “What did you see?” he asked. “I felt you in my mind, but I couldn’t see what you were looking at. What were you trying to see?”

  She turned the power of her wall back up to high. She didn’t know why she lied, but she did: “Your dog. Another memory of your dog. You were playing catch.”

  Clint smiled. “It worked! The house?”

  Teddy nodded, still unsettled from her trip into Clint’s memories. “It did.” She reached for a pitcher and a glass of water on a side table. “Do you live in a place with a gray roof? Neat lawn?”

  Clint rubbed his chin. “Interesting. That’s what my house looked like to you?”

  Teddy nodded again, taking another sip of water.

  “No, I’ve never lived in a house like that. It sounds nice, though.”

  “It was nice,” Teddy said. “It looked like a home.” She looked around the office. Clint was distracted, happy with her performance. She hoped to take advantage of it. Find out what she could about the lab. “Mind if I change the subject?” she asked.

  “If it’s about the break-in, Teddy, all students have been given the same information—”