If her own life were not at risk, she would have been home now sipping from one of Sam’s bottles of Pinot noir and relaxing into the positively adequate physical comfort of his arms.
Alex frowned. Even now, while imagining her ideal stress-free scenario, she was incapable of dredging up some form of emotion. All of those things felt good, yes, but they lacked the actual sentiment of enjoyment that she knew she should be experiencing. A sudden lane shift caused Alex to jostle around in the backseat.
Damn you, Brennan.
“Did you say something?” The cabbie looked in the rearview mirror at her.
“What?”
He waved a hand. “Sorry, I thought I heard something.”
Keep your attention on the road, she thought bitterly.
“I swear, there it is again,” he said, looking around doubtfully. “Maybe I am hearing someone’s music? Yes, that must be it.”
Alex stared in disbelief at the back of her driver’s head. He had reacted, both times, in perfect sync with her thoughts. She reached out tentatively with her psychic probe, but there was nothing unusual about him. He was human. Average. Ordinary. Dull. Not like me.
The driver rolled down his window and stuck his ear out. “Now I know I’m not imagining it,” he said. “It was clear as day in my head.”
“It’s an old song,” Alex stammered, covering for herself. She said a few of the lyrics aloud.
“ Hot like me! That is what I must have heard,” the driver concluded, chuckling quietly.
With a deep breath, Alex forced herself to look out the window. Her eyes glazed over, and she felt the pounding pain of a migraine coming on. She opened her purse and unscrewed the prescription bottle inside; she tossed back three white pills and swallowed hard, silently willing the medicine to work quickly. She was dangerously aware of the private thoughts of all those around her, their collective psychic presence threatening to crowd her out of her own mind.
What was it that Benjamin said in his apartment? That I had called out to him with my thoughts? Alex puzzled over it as the taxi took another turn. It was consistent with her observations, and it would explain the odd phenomenon that had just occurred with the driver. She had been in charge of her power for so long that it was jarring to imagine that the connection might work both ways.
Alex turned her attention to the driver. His bald spot gleamed with a thin layer of sweat, and she could see in the rearview mirror that his eyes were still darting around nervously. He was driving toward Arthur Brennan’s apartment, but Alex sensed that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She reached out again, enveloping his mind with her awareness and holding it there. A minute passed, then another, until she felt a kind of bond form between their thoughts. She was not in control of his mind, per se, but she held it in her grasp like a small hamster; his own thoughts squirmed around, unable to comprehend this new power that had taken over.
I am imagining all of this, she thought, transferring the idea through the link. She was careful to copy his sentence structure and to keep her tone neutral. It was experimental, but probably the best she would be able to do until she better understood her own power. Alex pushed the tune of the old song into his head for good measure.
Thirty seconds later, Alex saw the change taking place. His eyes strayed from the road less often, and his dome lost its sheen as his heartbeat dropped to a steady rhythm. He bobbed his head slightly from side to side. “I know you like me,” he sang quietly. He was terribly off-key, but the music brought Alex peace. “I know you do.”
She sighed happily as she leaned against the window and receded from his mind. So he was right, she realized, thinking of Benjamin. There was more to her power than she had ever known, and in less than a day she had gained a rudimentary understanding of how to use it. Alex had always prided herself on being a fast
Alex frowned. Even now, while imagining her ideal stress-free scenario, she was incapable of dredging up some form of emotion. All of those things felt good, yes, but they lacked the actual sentiment of enjoyment that she knew she should be experiencing. A sudden lane shift caused Alex to jostle around in the backseat.
Damn you, Brennan.
“Did you say something?” The cabbie looked in the rearview mirror at her.
“What?”
He waved a hand. “Sorry, I thought I heard something.”
Keep your attention on the road, she thought bitterly.
“I swear, there it is again,” he said, looking around doubtfully. “Maybe I am hearing someone’s music? Yes, that must be it.”
Alex stared in disbelief at the back of her driver’s head. He had reacted, both times, in perfect sync with her thoughts. She reached out tentatively with her psychic probe, but there was nothing unusual about him. He was human. Average. Ordinary. Dull. Not like me.
The driver rolled down his window and stuck his ear out. “Now I know I’m not imagining it,” he said. “It was clear as day in my head.”
“It’s an old song,” Alex stammered, covering for herself. She said a few of the lyrics aloud.
“ Hot like me! That is what I must have heard,” the driver concluded, chuckling quietly.
With a deep breath, Alex forced herself to look out the window. Her eyes glazed over, and she felt the pounding pain of a migraine coming on. She opened her purse and unscrewed the prescription bottle inside; she tossed back three white pills and swallowed hard, silently willing the medicine to work quickly. She was dangerously aware of the private thoughts of all those around her, their collective psychic presence threatening to crowd her out of her own mind.
What was it that Benjamin said in his apartment? That I had called out to him with my thoughts? Alex puzzled over it as the taxi took another turn. It was consistent with her observations, and it would explain the odd phenomenon that had just occurred with the driver. She had been in charge of her power for so long that it was jarring to imagine that the connection might work both ways.
Alex turned her attention to the driver. His bald spot gleamed with a thin layer of sweat, and she could see in the rearview mirror that his eyes were still darting around nervously. He was driving toward Arthur Brennan’s apartment, but Alex sensed that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She reached out again, enveloping his mind with her awareness and holding it there. A minute passed, then another, until she felt a kind of bond form between their thoughts. She was not in control of his mind, per se, but she held it in her grasp like a small hamster; his own thoughts squirmed around, unable to comprehend this new power that had taken over.
I am imagining all of this, she thought, transferring the idea through the link. She was careful to copy his sentence structure and to keep her tone neutral. It was experimental, but probably the best she would be able to do until she better understood her own power. Alex pushed the tune of the old song into his head for good measure.
Thirty seconds later, Alex saw the change taking place. His eyes strayed from the road less often, and his dome lost its sheen as his heartbeat dropped to a steady rhythm. He bobbed his head slightly from side to side. “I know you like me,” he sang quietly. He was terribly off-key, but the music brought Alex peace. “I know you do.”
She sighed happily as she leaned against the window and receded from his mind. So he was right, she realized, thinking of Benjamin. There was more to her power than she had ever known, and in less than a day she had gained a rudimentary understanding of how to use it. Alex had always prided herself on being a fast
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