“Ready,” Coma called from the other room and with that, Roman felt a subtle increase in his own energy as his power returned to him.
He mentally fired off a message to Emelia, letting her know he was ready and reminding her of the address.
Not two minutes later, there was a crackle before the door of his apartment, reality splitting at the middle as a teleporter appeared in Roman’s living room alongside Emelia. The teleporter was gone before Roman could get a good look at the man.
Like always, Emelia was dressed professionally in a long, flowing red dress and dark olive high heels. Her light gray hair had been curled, and there was more makeup on her face than Roman remembered her wearing the last time they’d met.
Tracing her features, Roman dropped his eyes to a pair of wine glasses in her right hand and a small bottle of champagne in her left.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Martin, but I’m afraid there has been yet another delay in the delivery of your next doll. We take this very seriously, and I am here to meet with you, to assure you it’s coming along and to keep you company.”
Roman laughed this last comment off. “What makes you think I need company?”
She took a step closer to him, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. “Need I remind you that I am a Type IV, Class E and A.”
Roman shrugged. “An empath with slight telepathic abilities, correct? I work in exemplar immigration, FYI.”
“Wow, and you’re able to afford these dolls? You must be a good saver,” she said as she looked around his apartment. “This is a really nice apartment too…”
“What are you suggesting?”
She set the wine glasses on the bar that cordoned off the kitchen. As carefully as she could, Emelia popped the top of the champagne bottle, a small amount of it bubbling over.
“Let me get that,” Roman said, moving to his kitchen for a washcloth.
“No, I’ll take care of it,” she said, her arm reaching out to his.
“Does my touch bother you?” she asked as Roman recoiled slightly.
“No, not at all. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
She moved past him, lightly grazing her hands over his shoulders as she stepped into the kitchen and got a washcloth. Emelia returned to the bar and cleaned up the excess champagne before pouring a glass for Roman.
“Do all your clients who don’t get their dolls on time get personally visited by a salesperson with a bottle of champagne?”
“No,” she said, raising her glass, “only the ones we want to visit.”
Roman raised his glass as well, and they clinked them together.
“Besides, you will probably be my biggest client this month,” she said after her first sip of champagne. “You have purchased two very expensive dolls in one week. And we like to keep those clients happy.”
“Do you?” Roman sighed as the sparkling, bubbly liquid met the back of his throat.
“And I truly feel terrible that yours hasn’t been delivered. It’s a shame, really, and our supplier in the North is in severe hot water for not producing the doll we ordered in time. When I sold it to you, it was supposed to have already been completed. What I gave you, the model-sized version you have over there on your coffee table, is what she’s eventually supposed to look like.”
“These things happen, and I figured as much.”
“Man of few words; I like that.” Emelia took a sip from her champagne, her soft, violet eyes looking from Roman’s chest to his forehead. “I’m sensing that there’s more to what’s going on here than you are letting on. Care to elaborate for me?”
“What do you mean?” Roman asked.
“You are aware that I am a telepath, aren’t you?”
Roman chose his next words very carefully. “I am aware. But your power actually lies in your empathic ability, not your telepathic ability.”
She set her glass of champagne down on the counter, and took a step closer to Roman. “If you would like me to be frank with you, I will.”
“Go on.”
“My empathic ability came to me after my telepathic ability, which started up around the time I was four or five. Imagine being four or five and reading adults’ minds. Now imagine not understanding what adults were thinking until you were in your teens—yes, after you’ve been diagnosed as an exemplar, but also after you’ve seen and interpreted all these dark thoughts. So many dark thoughts. Good ones too, but our minds have a way of trying to shock us, which may be a reason I’m so good at my job, because there’s nothing that shocks me. That is, there wasn’t until I came across you.”
Roman sensed malice in her eyes; his first response was to grab hold of anything, which just so happened to be the barstools’ legs. If Emelia tried anything, he would animate the legs and use them to pin her to the ground.
He didn’t want to have to do it, but if she provoked him…
“Why are you tensing?” Emelia asked, slowly raising her hand to his wine glass. She took it from him and set it down. Slowly, while staring deeply into his eyes, she returned her hand to his wrist and held it for a moment.
“Please don’t,” Roman started to say, knowing full well that when a telepath took your mind, there wasn’t much you could do in protest.
“What you have done is quite interesting. Can I see them?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roman said, canceling all his surface thoughts.
He’d heard about ways to do this. It involved envisioning a black, atmospheric space and immediately casting away any voices or earworms that came, focusing only on his breath and listening for his heartbeat.
Unfortunately, he was too late.
“You know, you’re very lucky,” she said, her hand still on his wrist. The sexual malice had left her eyes, replaced with something he interpreted as understanding, maybe even camaraderie. “Not many non-exemplars are granted powers, and those that are usually aren’t granted abilities as unique as the one you’ve been given. Endless options, aren’t there?”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know how many times a telepath like me has heard a similar statement? ‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about,’ or ‘I wasn’t just thinking that,’ or ‘I would never think something like that; you’re wrong.’ My entire life—that’s how long I have heard similar statements. I’m not here to reveal your secrets, Mr. Martin. I’m actually quite interested in them, and I find something about you interesting as well.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Roman snapped.
“Relax,” she said, still touching him, “you’re an immigration advisor who practically stole a Hero Ticket and was given the ability to animate inanimate objects. Your wife recently passed, but she had been in a coma for a long time, and you’ve dealt with this pain by womanizing. You’re a fighter, you’ve been attending Heroes Anonymous under false pretenses, part of you wants to do good, but the other part of you doubts this selfless desire—need I go on? Should I go deeper?”
“You need to get out of here,” Roman whispered.
“There is no need to be afraid of me, Mr. Martin. I’m not interested in exploiting your powers, nor would I be the type to let the authorities know you are using them. I’m guessing that soon enough you will be officiated as an exemplar, so keeping your power secret won’t matter much anyway.”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“And the teacher they’ve given you, the one you recently had a date with, seems to have a fondness for you. Now, I’m basing this on the way she has looked at you a couple times, so I can’t fully know this, but I don’t think it will be much longer before you are granted exemplar status. So to be transparent with you: I’m just interested. And your power, and…”
“And?”
“Let’s just keep it at that for now. Come, where are they? Please show them to me.”
“I…” Roman swallowed hard, but when he tried to take his arm away from her, she simply let
her hand fall into his.
Telepaths were something else entirely, and there had been dozens of laws enacted to curb their power in day-to-day interactions.
The problem with their power was its exploitative properties, the fact that they could force someone to love them, or convince them to give them all of their money, or anything, to the point that many large purchases went through what were known as anti-telepath companies, which acted as mediators between the two parties, exemplar and non-exemplar alike.
“I assure you, I’m not trying to manipulate your actions,” Emelia said.
“Why are you still holding my hand then?”
“Would you like me to let your hand go, Mr. Martin?”
Roman thought about it for a moment, realizing he couldn’t get any deeper than he already was. “No, that’s fine. Follow me.”
He led her to the bedroom and flicked the light on, dropping Emelia’s hand immediately when he saw the two dolls on his bed, Celia lying on her back with Coma straddling her, squeezing Celia’s exposed breasts.
“Dammit,” Roman said as he forced life into the dolls. “What are you two doing?”
Coma, keeping her hands on Celia’s breasts, turned and looked at Roman, a comical smile on her face until she saw Emelia.
The masked doll was on her feet in a matter of moments, her fists at the ready, Celia scrambling to put her breasts back in her top.
“They were pranking you?” Emelia asked, a strange look of amusement on her face.
“Apparently,” Roman said as he motioned for Coma to bring her fists down. The doll in a Gothic Loli outfit lowered her fists, but she kept her stance, just in case she needed to move into action.
“Sorry!” Celia said, embarrassment flashing across her eyes. “We were just teasing you, Roman, we did not think… sorry!”
“Who’s she?” Coma asked.
Celia turned to Emelia, both of them quiet for a moment as they looked each other over.
“Ha! Was it worth it?” Casper asked, startling all of them. The six-inch woman stood behind them, her hands on her waist.
Emelia gasped, her hand coming to her mouth.
“Who’s the hottie?” Casper asked. “Kidding, she’s about a seven. Also, you didn’t answer my question: was it worth it?”
Roman cringed, realizing he’d mistakenly animated all of them. How he’d done this, he didn’t quite know, but it seemed that Celia and Coma’s prank had taken him off guard. He’d hoped to have more control over that by now, but it appeared distraction truly was able to modify his attempts.
“Was what worth it? What’s that even supposed to mean?” he asked the tiny doll.
Casper laughed. “I’m the one that suggested they do something like that, you know—get into a funny position.”
“We were trying to tease you,” Celia said, and Roman swore there was a hint of redness in her face. “It looks like it backfired.”
“Epically. Okay, that’s fine.” Roman cleared his throat. “To fully answer your question: this is Emelia, she’s the one who, um, sold Celia and Casper to me.”
“Ah, a human trafficker.”
“Excuse me?” Emelia asked the tiny doll.
Casper lifted her feet as she balanced on the backs of her heels. “You know what you are; why do I have to be the one that tells you? Anyway, glad the prank caught you off guard. I’ll be in the living room if anyone needs me.”
And with that, Casper stepped out of the room.
“Are you giving them personalities?” Emelia asked, a weird mix of horror and intrigue on her face. “I should clarify: how are you giving them personalities? And more importantly, how are you choosing which personalities you want to imbue on them?”
“I’m not.”
Celia stopped next to Coma, both dolls semi-glaring at the woman.
Roman ran his hand through his white hair, his orange eyes jumping from the two dolls back to Emelia. “They seem to just take on parts of my personality; I’m not able to modify them, though. Coma seems to have taken on my more aggressive side, Celia my softer side, and Casper…”
“Your mouthy side?”
“I don’t really have much of a mouthy side.”
“Then what?”
Roman bit his lip for a moment. “Another side of me that only comes out at certain times.”
“Vague, but that’s fine. Do you mind if I touch them?” Emelia asked.
“Ask them, not me.”
“I’m sorry, that comes off sounding rather odd. Celia, was it?” Emelia asked, looking at the redheaded doll who wore a toned-down exemplar outfit.
“Yes,” Celia said in her sweet voice.
“Do you mind if I feel your skin?”
“It’s okay,” she said as she lifted her hand toward the woman.
Emelia shook her head, a half-smile taking shape on her face. “You know, normally I know what everyone in the room is thinking at all times, but with you two, I don’t get anything. All I sense are your thoughts,” she told Roman. “Which, I hope you can appreciate, is very strange for me.”
Emelia reached Celia and took her hand, softly massaging the skin on her wrist.
“That makes sense to me,” Roman finally said.
She dropped Celia’s arm and turned back to him. “Why do you think I took the job at the sex-doll shop? I have a master’s in business and I’m working at a sex-doll shop—why do you think that is?”
Roman shrugged. “It seems to me a telepath could make a killing in business.”
“True, many do. But I took this job to cut back on some of the mental chatter I’m constantly subjugated to.”
“You can’t turn it off?” he asked.
“I can, but I have to actively monitor it to be able to turn it off, and turning it off never fully eliminates the voices. But being in a warehouse full of inanimate sex dolls relaxes me. No mindless mind chatter, just silence. So that’s me, a lonely telepath.” Emelia returned her focus to Celia. “Do you mind?” Emelia asked as she lifted her hands again.
“Sure.”
Emelia touched the doll’s face, an eyebrow raising as she moved a hand down her neck and stopped at her shoulder. “The only way I would be able to distinguish the two of you from an exemplar or non-exemplar is through your minds. That’s it. You look, move, and feel entirely organic. Are all parts organic?” she asked, her eyes dropping to Celia’s crotch.
“From what I know, yes,” Roman admitted. “But we haven’t done that; that’s not the reason I originally animated them.” He glanced at Coma, whose tongue was flitting against her teeth.
Yes, he’d had an encounter between her and Harper, but he’d only touched her breasts. It had been Harper who’d done more.
“I see,” Emelia said, turning to Roman, her light violet eyes sparkling. “Yours is the only other mind in the room, you know, so careful what you think.”
“Why have you come here? And what can we do to make you leave?” Coma asked.
“You’re right, she is aggressive,” Emelia said as she turned back to Roman.
“She does have a point, though.”
“You don’t mean that, do you?” Emelia cocked her head to the right, giving Roman just about the sweetest, most innocent look he’d seen all day. “Deanimate them, if you will, so we can finish our conversation.”
Roman saw Coma shake her head.
Celia’s action was subtler; the sweeter of the two merely cast her head down, her gaze diverting from Emelia.
“Actually, I think I’d like to keep them awake. In fact, they are usually awake. I only shut them down because you were coming, and now that you know, there’s no point in returning them to a deanimated state.”
“I see,” Emelia said with a huff. “I was hoping we could enjoy some more champagne and discuss a few things.”
“I’m pretty tired. I got my ass handed to me today by a strongman, so as you can imagine, I’d like a little rest. But sure…” Roman nodded her back to the living room. “Let’s wrap
this up in here. We can at least finish the glasses we’ve already poured.”
“Very well,” Emelia said as she swayed past him. She was taking her sweet time, and for a brief second, Roman almost felt like he was a damn psychic by the way he was reading her.
Body language was a powerful thing, and Emelia must have realized she seemed like she was pouting, because her next move was to throw back her glass of champagne, smile at Roman, and flatten her hand against the front of her sleek dress.
“Well, I suppose I should get going. Your full-sized doll will be delivered in a couple days, and I apologize for the delay,” she said, her tone the same as she’d used with him the first time they’d met. From casual to strictly business, the woman had changed her demeanor in a way that made Roman trust her less.
Anyone who could pivot that quickly was capable of deceit; and while part of him wouldn’t mind hanging out with her longer, she’d totally rubbed him the wrong way with how forthright she’d been about wanting to see the dolls in their animated state.
“And you won’t say anything?” he asked her—a stupid question, yes, but one he needed to confirm.
“You have my word, Mr. Martin. If I may…” She cleared her throat. “I enjoyed meeting them and learning more about you; maybe we can do this again sometime. There’s more I would like to know about your power.”
“We’ll see.”
She offered him a thin smile. “I’m aware you’re thinking I should have drunk two glasses of champagne before addressing the elephant in the room, and you’re right about that. But patience has never been something I excelled in. It’s hard to be patient when you can anticipate everyone’s next move based on their thoughts. I was wrong in what I predicted from you.”
She came forward and grabbed his wrist again.
“Or maybe I was projecting.”
A teleporter flashed into the living room, this one a larger woman with purple shoes and a shaved head. She smiled at Emelia as the telepath dropped Roman’s arm for the second time that night and turned away from him.
“See you, Emelia.”
“Yes, Mr. Martin, you will.”
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