“How is it?” she asked.
“Just getting in. This may take me a couple minutes.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Me too, actually,” I said as I continued to click through folders and subfolders.
I’d been so shocked to wake up and see my naked mother before me that I forgot to eat breakfast. Just thinking about food made me feel like my blood sugar dropped.
“Okay, we’ll order a pizza, and when they get here I need you to work your mojo.”
“My mojo?” she asked, tilting her head toward me again.
“Don’t turn your head too much, and by your mojo, I meant your special abilities.”
“Should I change my form?”
“No, I mean your mind abilities.” I stopped scrolling through folders and looked over at her. “We don’t have any cash, and I don’t want to use my cards at the moment. Just in case we’re being tracked.”
“Okay,” she said, confusion still evident in her voice.
“Trust me.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I’ll order the pizza now and get back to checking the files. Just hang for a moment; close your eyes, relax.”
“Okay, Writer Gideon.”
I was about to order a pizza with my phone, when I figured that would be traced back to me. So I decided to do something Gen Z rarely did. I moved to the phone near the bed, read the Wendy’s Hut pizza sticker on the phone, called the number, and placed an order to be paid upon delivery.
They asked me for a credit card, but I was able to weasel my way out of it by saying that I didn’t have one, that I was kind of an off-the-grid guy, but that I did have a hotel room. I gave him the hotel information from the notepad, just in case they wanted to have the hotel charge me.
I assured them I had cash a couple more times and they obliged.
“When they get here, I’ll tell you what to say before we open the door, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now, let’s see what I can figure out here,” I said as I returned to my laptop.
I scrolled down the list of available folders and quickly found a folder with the same code she’d told me earlier: 1QAZ2WSX3EFV4321QWEASD. I checked the number I’d written on the piece of paper and clicked it.
A new shadow box appeared.
Build: 008
Base height: 181 Centimeters
Base weight: 54 kilos
I scrolled through this information, not too keen on figuring out her bust size and the other details it listed.
I found a section about abilities and clicked to a submenu.
Main: Psychic
* Omnikinesis, Level 1
* Second Sight, Level 1
* Psychometry, Level 5
* Telepathy, Level 8
* Clairsentience, Level 7
* Psychokinesis, Level 1
* Hypnosis, Level 6
“Shit …” I said as I finished reading through her main abilities.
Each of them allowed me to click and explore further, but the next screens were grayed out and slightly blurred. From what I could tell in the grayed-out section, there were toggles, meaning …
“You’re customizable,” I gasped.
“Okay,” she said, still staring up at the ceiling.
“And I’ll hurry, Grace; we have all day to play around with this.”
“It’s fine. I’m hungry.”
“Pizza is coming. Ever had pizza?”
“No.”
“You’ll love it.”
I scrolled back to the main folder under abilities and clicked on it.
There wasn’t much information, but I was able to modify the options, unlike her psychic abilities. They were also presented differently, with little dials next to them that I could adjust. All aside from ‘Voice Match,’ which was already at its highest level.
Main Second: Shifter
Speed of Change: 10
Texture Consistency: 10
Opacity: 10
Voice Match: 2
“Ah, that’s where it is …” I clicked the ‘Voice Match’ dial and turned it up to ten.
“Did you find something?” she asked.
“I want you to change into my form, and speak to me in my voice.”
Her face began to melt away, and from the center of the melting point, my face began to take shape. My auburn hair, my beard, my glasses, my slight Adam’s apple, and the rest of my body.
The only thing that made it odd – aside from every part of what was going on at the moment – was the fact that she was still wearing women’s clothing.
“Okay, say something.”
“Something,” she said in my voice.
At least I assumed it was my voice. As Chuck Klosterman once famously asked, “How do we tell the difference between an instrument and its sound?”
“That is crazy, seriously crazy. And I just realized that I don’t really know what my own voice sounds like,” I finally said. “So, can you change into another shape – something different from your base form?”
“Sure.” She began to change into the receptionist we met downstairs. The receptionist was a black woman, maybe in her early thirties, with curly hair and a birthmark on the side of her neck.
“How’s this look?” she asked in the woman’s voice.
“That is so awesome, I can’t even begin to describe how awesome that is.”
An idea came to me. I moved to the flat screen television and turned it on manually. It was a newscast, with a stern-looking man in a suit and tie reporting on the financial markets.
She tilted her head down just a little bit, and the light from the television flashed across her eyes.
“Can you change into him?”
It only took her a moment to completely transform her body into the man on the television, even down to the pin on his lapel.
“Say something.”
“Something.”
“Okay, funny joke. Say something else; tell me about your day.”
“I woke up today in the house of a strange man named Writer Gideon,” she said in the newscaster’s voice. “Except it wasn’t a house, it was a dirty apartment. I looked in his mind for a minute and changed into his mother, which he doesn’t like. We went outside and saw the beautiful cherry blossoms. Then we were attacked. We came to this hotel, ordered pizza – I’m very hungry – and Writer Gideon played around with my settings.”
“That’s so weird,” I started to say. Instead, I said, “Okay, next test. Can you change into an object?”
“An object?” she asked, her manly brows furrowing.
“Like a table.”
“No.”
“An animal?”
“No.”
“Can you change on command?”
“What do you mean?”
“Change into an Asian woman.”
She turned back into the Geisha form that she’d taken in my bedroom / living room / kitchen / home.
So, she has to see it, or have seen it, to change into its form. But what about my mom?
“I saw your mom in your head,” she told me.
“Reading my thoughts. That’s right, you’re good at that.”
“I didn’t speak inside your head this time.”
“You’re right, you didn’t, and thanks for that.” I returned my focus to the laptop and looked at the other options. One thing I wanted to play around with was the opacity, which seemed kind of strange to me.
“You can change back into your base form now,” I told her.
Boom.
The Scandinavian beauty was back, her hair long and flowing, her eyes blue, her skin crystal clear, and her large chest visible under my loose clothing. I don’t know what part of me liked the fact that she was still wearing my shitty clothing, but there was something kind of sexy about it.
It reminded me of my ex, when she’d stay over and sleep in my stuff.
“Don’t do it,” I told her as her face started to split and morph into m
y ex’s.
A tight smile took shape on her face.
“Yeah, you know how to push someone’s buttons, I’ll give you that.”
“You’re pushing my buttons,” she said, using her eyes to point at the laptop.
“We’re going to try something,” I said. “So relax and let’s see what happens here.”
I adjusted the opacity down, and to my other horror, she began to fade away until she was completely invisible.
“That’s not fucking possible,” I whispered as I reached out for her. I could still touch her, but if I set the opacity at one, I couldn’t see her. “I can turn you into a ghost?”
“A ghost?”
I returned the opacity to its normal level and she reappeared.
“Yeah, let’s just, um, not get too crazy with that one yet.”
There were a ton of things I wanted to test, including using my cell phone to adjust her stats. I knew I’d need a mini USB to mini USB to do that, but it was something I could get later. Further, there were all those other folders.
“Can I rest for a moment?” she asked, just as I was about to perform some new tests. “I’m hungry.”
“Sure, let’s eat, and then go from there.” I unplugged the cable from her neck and put my laptop up.
On the TV, the newscaster was still rambling about the stock market.
“Come up here,” Grace told me as she sat up and leaned back against the headboard.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Chapter Six: Stolen Pizza and the Idea of a Lifetime
“Remember what I told you,” I said to Grace as she approached the door. She held a piece of paper in her hand, and as she adjusted her blouse, her hair slicked back and darkened.
“Hello,” she said as she opened the door.
I could tell by the guy’s scratchy voice that he was in his teenage years, but I didn’t feel too bad ripping him off. I was already beyond that, already knew that I’d crossed the threshold between outstanding citizen and future grifter.
Well, I guess I was never ever an outstanding citizen, but at least I’ve never stolen anything or tried to rip anyone off. Scratch that – I did steal my Yale hat from the gift shop I worked at. But that was beside the point.
“Chicken and spinach, correct?” the teen asked.
“Yes, and here is your money,” she said in a sweet voice; stilted, but sweet. “I also left a little for a tip.”
“Um …”
I felt my tension grow, but I ignored it. I knew she could do it, and I had the feeling if she couldn’t do it, she could simply fry his mind.
“Enjoy the pizza,” he said as the door shut.
“You didn’t tell him to pay for the actual pizza with his own money?” I asked her. “Remember, the paper was just a decoy.”
She opened the door and called after him. “Where is your money?”
I cringed. If she didn’t have control over his mind, that would have been one hell of a question to ask.
“In my wallet.”
“Okay. Go to your car. Use money from your wallet to pay for the pizza. Thanks!”
“No problem, enjoy,” he said.
Grace turned to me, a huge smile on her face.
The incredibly delicious scent of pizza had already drifted over to me, and my mouth was watering by the time she brought it to the bed.
“Be careful with the pizza,” I reminded her. “It’s pretty greasy.” I opened the box and went for my first slice.
“I don’t mind.” She stuffed a slice in her mouth. Cheese dripped from her chin and she lifted her hand to wipe it off.
I laughed.
“What?” she asked with her mouth full.
“It was cute, that’s all,” I said around my own mouthful of pizza.
“I’m eating, and it is cute?”
“Never mind.” I took another bite.
We returned our focus to the television. There was a movie on now, an action flick with a famous Hollywood star named Natalie Johansson. I looked from Natalie Johansson on the screen, wearing a torn tank top and a submachine gun tucked under her arm, to Grace.
“Can you …?”
She swallowed her pizza and her face morphed into a spitting image of Natalie Johansson. From there, and as she took another bite, her body began to change until she wore the exact same clothing that Natalie wore in the movie.
“I just don’t know what to say about stuff like that, to be honest with you.”
It was strange, it was amazing, it was utterly fantastic, cool, unique, powerful, and I wasn’t going to say I was in love, but I was definitely moved.
We finished our pizza. Once we were done and I started cleaning up, I realized that we were both thirsty.
I wasn’t paying attention earlier when I ordered the pizza; I should have gotten the pizza and drink combo, or whatever the hell they had at the time. Unfortunately, we were stuck with what was in the hotel bar …
Which just happened to be alcohol.
“I think I’m going to have a drink of something,” I told her.
“I would like a drink of something as well,” she said. While her voice was sweet and soft, the way she spoke was very robotic. Which made sense; she was clearly some type of lab experiment – someone who had been sheltered from the masses, hidden away and possibly kept in isolation. They would have had to be careful with her, especially with the powers she possessed.
“Have you ever drunk alcohol?” I asked her.
“Nope, what’s that?”
“Let’s just stick to cola for now.” I approached the bar and took one of the sodas out. I found a glass, poured it up and gave it to her.
She took her first sip and threw the glass to the floor, anger spreading across her face.
“Hey!”
“What was that?” she asked with fear in her eyes, her hands on her throat.
“Whoa, whoa. Don’t throw drinks in the room, please. Seriously. It was just soda.”
“Soda? You said it was cola.”
“You’ve never had …” I considered this. Never having cola and then having some would be pretty weird. “Did you at least like the taste?”
“No. Water.”
I returned to the mini fridge. “There’s a bottle of water in here too. Have that.”
“And alcohol? Can I have alcohol?”
“How old are you?” I asked, which sounded stupid less than a millisecond after leaving my lips. Maybe I should have paid more attention to her bio when I looked through her file. She had to be somewhere between eighteen and twenty-two. She didn’t look much older than that, and I hoped she wasn’t younger. I quickly changed my line of questioning. “I mean, do you know what alcohol is?”
She shook her head.
“Then, maybe you shouldn’t have alcohol, just yet.”
“Okay,” she said, the robotic cheer returning to her voice. “And I’m twenty-one, by the way.”
The urge to write is strong with this one, and that ‘one’ was me. I was dying to sit at my keyboard for a little bit and just pour my thoughts out. Breakpoint Online, however cliché a title, wasn’t going to write itself, and I could tell by the way Grace was yawning, that she was feeling a nap coming on.
While I would have liked to hook her up to the laptop and probe a little longer – a strange sounding sentence, but you know what I mean – I also wanted to let her rest. After all, whatever she’d been through the previous night had been pretty traumatic. Traumatic for me as well.
My phone vibrated again, and I glanced at it. It was another message from Luke, and in looking at my phone, I suddenly realized that I’d had my GPS on this entire time.
You are such a fucking noob! I thought as I toggled the GPS off and read Luke’s message.
Luke: Hey, I’m available now. What did you want to show me?
A couple of hours ago, I would have happily live-streamed everything that was happening and blown Luke’s mind. I would have freaked him out by asking Grace to turn int
o him – which would have made him want to fly down here from Canada – and I would have also blown my cover.
And I didn’t have a lot of cover to blow, especially since I’d had the GPS on this entire goddamn time.
So, I decided to play it cool this time.
Me: Hey what’s up?
Luke: You tell me.
Me: Nothing much, just about to sit down and write some Breakpoint Online. I showed you the cover, right?
Luke: Not bad. Only thing I’d change is the tint and the blur between the lightning and the bottom half. Also, make her have a hood. You definitely want a hood. All the best-selling covers have someone in a hood. I don’t know why wearing a hood suddenly makes a book better than a hoodless covered book, but c’est la vie. We must feed the beast, and the beast is the reader!
Me: Sweet, thanks for the feedback. I’ll work with it.
Luke: How far in are you again?
Me: I am not too far in, TBH. Maybe about 11k, something like that.
Luke: How’s the pacing going? Did you introduce the antagonist yet? Are things starting to heat up, or are you still working on the build-up? First or third person?
Me: I think I’m still working on the build-up. First person, pacing seems fine. Maybe going a little too fast, in my opinion, but readers dig that.
I glanced over at Grace, who had laid her head down and was breathing lightly, her eyes closed.
Luke: Sounds interesting, buddy. I can’t wait to read it. I mean, if it’s as cool as your last one …
Me: How Heavy This Axe continues to be my best seller. This new one is definitely cool, and it …
As Grace yawned, an idea came to me; a way I could talk about what was happening without revealing the truth to Luke.
Me: The book’s premise centers around a psychic shifter who shows up in the main character’s life, seemingly out of nowhere.
Luke: Shifter? I didn’t expect it to involve something like that, you usually write sci-fi, not paranormal romance shit.
Me: Lol. It is not exactly paranormal romance, but there definitely is a psychic shifter involved.
Luke: And is she a ghost?
Cherry Blossom Girls Box Set Page 4
