by Dima Zales
He’s right.
I haven’t thought about those dream visions in a while, but they were laser-target accurate—and arrived just in time to save me.
“You know,” I say. “According to many YouTube comments, my TV performance made a lot of people believe that my ‘prediction’ about that earthquake in Mexico was due to luck.”
“I didn’t even think of that.” Chester grins, looking eerily like an evil villain. “That means you needed just the barest potential for probability manipulation as a basis, and then the TV performance would’ve boosted it.”
“Wow.” Roxy looks me over admiringly. “If this is true, no one will ever mess with our family. Assuming we survive Tartarus, that is.”
“Right.” I smile at her. “Now, if I were lucky enough to figure out how to check if I have these powers, I might start to believe in them.”
Roxy looks at her father. “Can’t she do the stupid test you made me do all my life?”
Chester pats his pockets and pouts. “I don’t have a deck of cards with me today, but I guess I can devise another test that—”
“Wait.” I put both of my hands into my pockets. In the right one, I wrap my trusty deck of cards in the flash paper I grabbed earlier, and in the left pocket, I grab a lighter. “What did you just say you need?”
“I said I don’t have a deck of playing cards,” Chester says, enunciating every word as if I suddenly lost forty IQ points.
“Well, I have this ball of paper,” I say and pull out the wrapped deck. “Could that help?”
Before he can give a snarky answer, I ignite the paper with the lighter.
In a big flash of fire, I’m left holding a deck of cards.
Moving as fast as my vampire powers allow, I unbox the cards and spring them a few times from hand to hand, in part to show off, in part to prove this is a real deck that I made appear like that.
“That’s neat,” Lucretia says approvingly.
Neat? I prefer mind-blowing.
“She can do so much more,” Claudia says proudly. “Show her the one where the cards turn over, or where—”
“Please don’t ever do something like that at Orientation.” Roxy gives me a pleading look. “At least if we’re telling everyone we’re related.”
Wow. Is card magic that uncool with the youth of the Cognizant community?
“The test,” Nero gruffly reminds everyone. “Now that a deck of cards ‘materialized,’ let’s get to business.”
“Right,” Chester says and snatches the cards from me. “Sasha, I showed you this once before.” He shuffles and spreads the deck—and it’s in perfect new deck order.
“Yeah,” I say, not even bothering to suppress my jealousy. “You showed me this. So what?”
“This is the test. As in, I want you to do the same thing,” he says and shuffles the cards again. “Here.” He hands them to me. “Try it.”
I shuffle the cards and wish for them to end up in new deck order. I want it as much as I want to smack that smirk off Chester’s face.
When I spread the cards, they’re in a random order.
“Do you know how many arrangements of cards there are in a shuffled deck?” I ask Chester in frustration. “More than there are atoms on Earth.”
“True,” Chester says. “That just means you need to wish it—or will it—very hard.”
“How about you give her some useful instructions,” Nero growls. “There’s got to be a technique to it.”
“Fine.” Chester blows out a breath. “How about you start by willing what you want so hard that you picture it manifesting into reality? When it works, you will see strands of possibilities available to you. The strands will have a hint of the outcome and power expenditure associated with them—but it takes skill and practice until you can use them properly, so don’t fret.”
“Wait,” I say. “What do you mean ‘strands?’”
“Some call them the threads of fate. When you see them, you’ll know what they are,” he says. “Try closing your eyes. It helps some novices focus.”
I close my eyes as he says. Then, for good measure, I take in a few meditative breaths as if I’m planning to go into Headspace.
Shuffling the cards in my hands in a soothingly rhythmic pace, I try to will them to go into a new deck order.
No sign of any strands.
As I once had to do for my seer powers, I do my best to truly believe I have this new ability. With everything I have, I convince myself—and the universe at large—that I am a probability manipulator.
I am because I want it.
I am because my mother is one.
I am because it might be my only chance to defeat Tartarus.
Repeating “I am” over and over like a mantra, I picture the deck separating, first into colors, then into suits, then sorted by values.
I dwell on how cool it would be to get the deck in order after this much shuffling.
Then an inspiration strikes me, and I start picturing myself performing this “shuffle into new deck order” as a magic effect.
It would make an awesome ending to a long card magic performance.
Another inspiration strikes. If I get the cards into new order secretly, many nifty effects become possible. For example, if someone takes a card out of the deck, it would be supremely easy for me to know which one it was if I glance at the cards in order.
This last possibility must be what does it.
Suddenly, I see faint colorful lines in front of me—even though my eyes are still closed.
I’m glad I was ready for something like this; else I’d think I’m losing my remaining marbles.
When I adjust to the whole business of strands, I notice they have different “colors”—for lack of a better word—and are of different “thickness.” I do my best to “feel” the colors, and as I do, a bunch of them seem to “feel right.”
I stand there, shuffling and introspecting, and it doesn’t take me long to realize that the thickness of the strands matches the power expenditure Chester mentioned—the thinnest of the strands seem more bendy. More amenable to control.
Some of the thicker strands happen to be of the colors that seem the most promising. When I attempt to mentally grab one, though, it feels unreachable.
Ignoring the unyielding strand for the moment, I try one of the thinner ones—ones with a color that doesn’t feel as right.
Something seems to happen.
The strand “snaps”—again, for lack of a better word.
Opening my eyes, I spread the cards in my hands.
Wow.
They’re not in new deck order, but they did end up separated into red in one half and black in the other half.
This is actually a secret starting point for a bunch of effects, so if I can repeat this in the future, I just greatly expanded my repertoire.
“I can’t believe this,” Chester says, staring at the ordered cards. “You did inherit the power.”
“Are you sure?” Roxy looks at the deck. “I’m not a math whiz, but even I can tell there are more ways a deck can end up sorted into colors like that versus a single order.”
“So you do remember what I taught you,” Chester says proudly. “And you’re right. The odds of this happening during a shuffle are much, much higher than the chance of the deck ending up in new order. Assuming she’s powerful enough to pull it off, Sasha will need a lot more training to do anything practical with her power. But this separation proves the principle of the thing. There’s no doubt in my mind. Sasha is a probability manipulator, like I am.”
“That would explain her trickster personality,” Roxy mutters.
Something is wrong with my personality? Talk about a niece pot calling its auntie kettle black.
“There will be none of that, young lady,” Chester says sternly. He looks at me. “Try again.”
Before I get a chance to close my eyes, Nero’s phone dings.
“The lesson will have to be postponed,” he states afte
r glancing at the screen. “The Council of Councils is waiting for us.”
Chapter Fifteen
Everyone walks down with us, then we separate. Nero, Claudia, and I head to the Council meeting, while the others go to wait in the room where the Rite is usually performed.
“Did you know Chester was my brother?” I ask Nero as we turn the last corner on the way to the Council’s meeting room. “Or Lucretia my sister, for that matter?”
“Not exactly,” he says. “I only knew Chester was Lucretia’s brother. That was the main reason I didn’t kill him after I learned he was trying to kill you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” I stop next to the door that’s our destination.
“Lucky how that turned out.” Claudia looks meaningfully at her brother.
Nero nods at her, then looks at me. “As far as Lucretia being your half-sister, I only learned that when you told me. And since you also mentioned Lucretia didn’t want you to know about your other sibling yet, I honored her wishes.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say, not hiding my disappointment. “If our roles were reversed, I would’ve told you something as big as that.”
He leans in, his eyes gleaming. “You’re right. Next time this type of situation arises, I’ll prioritize your needs.”
With that, he opens the doors and steps in.
Wow.
Was that an actual apology from Nero?
My luck powers must be fully active right now.
I let Claudia in, then follow her.
Once inside, I stop and look around.
That’s odd.
I expected a lot more people here for the Council of Councils.
All I see is the same group from before.
The only thing that differs is that Dr. Hekima is sitting on the podium behind a wall of large computer monitors. We walk over to check out that setup, and find that each one is running a fancy video conference app—with multiple windows that show groups of people in hooded robes. In the background, some software seems to be translating their speech in real time—that, or some behind-the-scenes people are.
Aha. So we’re not meeting the other Councils in person. Each Council is assembled in their own castle, and the technology is bringing us together.
I guess that makes sense. I just didn’t expect the “Council of Councils” to resemble a corporate meeting so much.
“It’s all ready,” Hekima says to us, then faces the rest of the room. “Please speak up if you don’t want the illusion of immersion.”
“He’s an illusionist,” Nero whispers to Claudia. “He can make the meeting feel real, but only if you want him to.”
“Of course I do,” Claudia says excitedly.
“Good,” Nero whispers back.
No one rejects Hekima’s offer, so I don’t either.
“So be it,” Hekima says and raises his arms with all the drama of a symphony conductor. Pulsing red energy streams from his fingers into everyone’s heads, and in the next moment, we find ourselves in a room four thousand times bigger than the one we’re actually occupying.
The place now reminds me of the Colosseum in its heyday.
Very cool. Looks like Hekima is creating the illusion of a giant in-person Council of Councils meeting for us. I bet someone with his power is doing the same for the other Councils.
“I will be representing New York today,” Nero booms loudly enough that the New Jersey Council—assuming there is such a thing—might hear him in person, not just on video.
“And I will be representing Paris,” says a tall man in a purple robe, speaking in a French-accented English.
“And I will be representing St. Petersburg,” says a stocky woman in a crimson robe in English that has no hint of a Russian accent.
For the next few minutes, more and more people introduce themselves, and when they’re not speaking English, Hekima’s illusion translates it for us, likely utilizing the software we saw on his screens. It’s a bit like a foreign movie that’s been dubbed—and it must be personalized for each listener, because Claudia looks as if she’s following what’s going on.
With the intros out of the way, the St. Petersburg lady says, “Before we start, I kindly ask that Sasha—the seer who foresaw the upcoming calamity—describe her vision to us all.”
I recall Nostradamus saying that Baba Yaga was one of the nicer members of the St. Petersburg Council, and now I see it was true. What kind of monster would ask me to speak in front of so many of the most powerful Cognizant in the world?
Then again, they’re not really here.
It’s all an illusion.
I take in a few deep breaths as Lucretia had taught me, and ignoring the cold sweat pouring down my back, I tell them what I foresaw.
“Thank you,” the crimson-robed lady says when I finish. “Now I’d like to ask Nostradamus—of the Paris Council—to weigh in on this prophecy.”
She’s good. She didn’t exactly call me an unreliable liar, but the subtext is there.
Nostradamus stands up, and I feel a strong urge to punch him in the face for his attack in Headspace. But I resist because a) he isn’t even here, b) even if he was, he’d probably see the punch coming and dodge, and c) even if I landed a hit, it would’ve been on a blind guy, which is a dick move.
“What Sasha foresaw is indeed one of the possible futures,” Nostradamus says ceremonially. “I saw it in detail—including how every single person in this room who didn’t evacuate died.” The hooded figures around us shift uncomfortably in their seats. “Such a dire outcome need not come to pass, though,” Nostradamus continues. “There is another way. One that involves Sasha—the first Cognizant I’ve heard of who has the combined powers of a seer, a vampire, and a probability manipulator.”
He knows I’m a probability manipulator? Oh, what am I saying? Of course, he does. He’s probably known it since before I was born.
Impressed hushed whispers accompany the revelation, followed by cold, calculating eyes examining me like a virus under an electron microscope.
Nostradamus waits for them to calm down, then continues. “Before arriving here on Earth, Tartarus is going to take over some other worlds, including a medieval backwater place ruled by Lilith.”
A number of Councilors look unhappy at the mention of her name. Leave it to mommy dearest to make enemies everywhere.
“If we unite, with Sasha at the helm, we can face Tartarus and his children on that primitive world,” Nostradamus says. “As there are no Cognizant besides Lilith there, we can reveal our natures indiscriminately. Winning there has many benefits—the key one being that humans on Earth will remain unaware of our existence.”
There’s a murmur of approval all around. These power maniacs like the idea of retaining the status quo here on Earth. They like it very much.
“Why did you steal Sasha’s seer allotment for today?” Nero growls—and I can tell he’s also reminding himself that attacking Nostradamus physically would be futile right now.
“I have a specific path for the future in mind,” Nostradamus says, sounding contrite. “If another seer knew of this path, they could change it—by accident or out of misguidedness.”
“Meaning you want to be calling all the shots, but Sasha is supposed to take on all the risk?” Nero’s expression is thunderous.
“I foresaw that this august group will reward Sasha handsomely for the risk she’s about to undertake,” Nostradamus says. “And I also foresaw that if Tartarus gets to Earth, she will die futilely trying to protect her adoptive parents.”
That does sound likely.
And, sadly, I notice Nero isn’t calling out Nostradamus on any lies—which means he must be telling the truth.
“I understand you don’t want to risk the life of the one you love,” Nostradamus says to Nero. “But as far as I know, there’s no other choice.”
The one he loves? Wait, what?
“That was a lie.” Nero’s eyes narrow into a death stare. “Lie to me again, and you die.�
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“I apologize,” Nostradamus says, and I push aside his unsettling statement about Nero to focus on the matter at hand. “Obviously, there are other options. We could face him someplace other than Lilith’s world, for instance. I’m just offering the best solution as I see it.”
Nero’s jaw tightens. Nostradamus must not be lying this time.
“Do we actually win on Lilith’s world?” Nero demands. “Does Sasha survive?”
“Because of all the probability manipulators involved—Tartarus’s child called Lug, Lilith, and Sasha herself—I can’t guarantee any outcome with certainty,” Nostradamus says carefully. “What we get is a chance.”
“If you can’t guarantee Sasha’s safety, you will need to come up with another plan.” Nero’s voice is as close to a dragon’s roar as I’ve ever heard it. “Earth and all of you”—he sweeps his gaze over all the Councilors—“can burn for all I care.” And with that, he steps protectively in front of me.
“You don’t really have a choice,” says the St. Petersburg woman.
“Oh?” Nero’s hands turn into claws. “You think anyone can force me to do something?”
“Not force,” she says bravely. “You still owe me a favor from 1897. Or did you forget?”
I can’t help but glance at Vlad, Eduardo, Colton, and the rest of the people who helped Nero defeat the usurper in exchange for a favor.
He really did give out a lot of IOUs.
“Fuck that,” Nero snarls. “Favors are implied to be reasonable.”
“No one is asking you to kill your girlfriend,” the woman says. “If she doesn’t do what Nostradamus suggests, she dies here on Earth. Sounds to me like we all want the same thing—her alive and well, and Tartarus dead.”
“That’s enough.” Nero grabs my shoulder. “We’re leaving.”
“Some of the contracts are written,” the woman says. “If you break them, you’ll die.”
“He won’t,” Nostradamus says, unleashing another round of hushed whispers. “He’s too powerful for that. But he will be gravely weakened—which wouldn’t serve anyone.”
“If he’s weak, he can’t oppose us,” the woman says.
