by J. D. Dexter
“Okay, give it a shot,” I say.
“I can still hear you. Add another layer to your barrier,” she says.
I add another layer of nanites to my mental walls. I push against it from the inside. It seems a little flimsy to me. Standing back, I imagine titanium sandwiched between layers of nanites before poking at it again. The walls hold firm this time.
“Can you hear me now?” I ask both Hunter and Keziry from within my mental box.
Nothing.
I focus back on the external world around me and notice that they’re waiting on me impatiently. Keziry’s foot is tapping, luminescence flaring and ebbing with each contact with the ground.
“I’m guessing you couldn’t hear me anymore,” I project out into the Psy-Matrix.
“I lost you after you thought your walls were too flimsy,” Hunter says.
“I lost you shortly after that. Keep practicing with keeping the barrier up. Soon it will become second nature, and no one will be able to hear your thoughts. When someone wants to speak to you mind-to-mind, you will feel a scratching or hear a knocking on your barrier. That is a signal that someone is trying to contact you. You have the option of ignoring it, or removing layers from your barrier.”
“Never, never, never, let your barriers down completely. That leaves you vulnerable to everyone around you. And if you are on the Psy-Matrix, your thoughts will be broadcast out to anyone else using the Psy-Matrix at that time as well.” She twirls her finger in the air.
“Well, crap on a cracker. Does that mean everyone on the Psy-Matrix heard Hunter and I the first time we were stuck here?” I try to think about what we said and what I was thinking at the time.
“I can only assume so. Unguarded minds always broadcast themselves, which is why it is rude not to have a decent barrier around your brain,” she explains. “Over-sharing is something that is frowned upon in Ankarrah.”
“So, since I now know how to guard my own mind, does that mean I’ll be able to talk to you, Hunter, or Brockten mentally then? I wasn’t able to do so before,” I remind her.
“You should try.” She motions me to give it a shot.
Mentally standing inside my titanium-nanite housing, I send a thread of my energy out towards Keziry’s mind. Knowing what she looked like as an energy mass helps me find her distinct signature.
I feel a presence in the middle of that mass, almost like when you can feel someone watching you, that heavy knowing. I tap my energy against her barrier.
“Welcome, Finley. Well done,” she says softly.
“Thanks for showing me how to do it,” I tell her.
“You’re very welcome.” She nods and closes the energy door in my face.
I burst out laughing.
“What?” she asks. Her eyebrows puckered.
“You slammed the door in my face. It just struck me as funny,” I explain.
“Oh.” She still looks perplexed.
“We’ll chalk it up to cultural differences.”
She simply nods before turning on her heel and walking off again.
Hunter grabs my hand and we follow behind her.
Pretty soon, she disappears. Hunter and I just look at each other, knowing well the Ankarrahi love for invisible doors.
Following her fading footsteps, we slip through the dark veil of the Psy-Matrix and suddenly I’m once again flat on my back.
Blinking my eyes open, I swallow a squeal as I see a sea of faces hovering over me. Josh looks like he’s been through the wringer, his eyes red and watery. Brian looks like he’s been grinding steel with his teeth and spitting out screws at anyone within hitting range. Brent’s quiet golden eyes are barely hiding his fear and anger.
“Hey guys. Wanna give a girl some space?” I ask them lightly.
“Nope.” Josh reaches down and plucks me up off the floor. Wind-milling my arms to keep my balance, I’m soon settled into the inescapable cage of his shaking arms.
Shudders wrack his entire body as his tears drench my hair. “How many times do I have to tell you, Fin? I can’t lose you.” He wraps his arms even tighter around my body.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see a couple pairs of shoes. Josh’s growl rumbles into the space between our bodies. A quick click tells me Brian has knelt down next to us. His knee is always giving him fits.
“I’m glad you’re back, Finley-babe.” He kisses my hair.
“Seconded,” Hunter and Brent say from far above me.
“Give me some space, guys,” Josh grumbles at everyone while clutching me tighter to him.
“I’m staying right here, Josh. But you’ve got to loosen up a little; you’re crushing my ribs.” I rub his arm. He loosens his arms the barest degree; I finally take a full breath since being encased in his strong arms.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“’s all good.” I kiss his head.
09
“So what kind of adira strengths are you guys supposed to help me develop?” I ask Kez and Brockten later that day.
We all went to the nearest furniture store and I picked up some new pieces for my living room. I didn’t have a complete set yet, but enough that people could sit comfortably in my living room.
“If actually are a Creative, we don’t really know. We had planned to help you with shielding, attacking, defense systems, and efficient self-healing. But you have adira strength that is unheard of. You could probably teach us some things,” Keziry answers.
“Well, considering my rocking awesome job defending myself against Drake,” outraged snarls sound around the room, “I’m going to say I still need your help with those parts, too,” I say.
Keziry nods. “Of course. We will do everything in our power to help you develop your skills.”
“Do you guys know why Jessica said that Hunter was supposed to help me develop my adira?”
They both shake their heads.
Huh.
“Since I’ve healed Hunter and given him my adira, does that mean he also has an adira now?” I ask something that’s been niggling in the back of my mind since they showed up.
“He probably does,” Keziry says.
“But I don’t?” Josh asks.
“We don’t know the extent to which Finley has healed you.”
“A bullet tore through me, and then entered and exited through Josh’s lower abdomen. I had to use my adira—which is so much cooler sounding than powers or energy—to sew him back together. I had to work from the inside out,” I explain to Keziry and Brockten.
“It would be highly likely that Josh now hosts a small piece of adira in his body. It would depend on Finley’s mental and emotional state when she healed him,” Keziry says slowly.
“What does that mean: Finley’s mental and emotional state?” Brent asks. His phone out once again, detailing our information and facts.
“Since sharing adira is so rare on Ankarrah, we can only guess and use our legends as guidance with Finley.” Keziry looks at me. “It has been said that sharing adira, or true healing, happens when the Creative pushes the adira into the other person, forcing it to take shape and to serve a purpose. Essentially, she wills it to happen and demands that the adira conform to her will.”
I sit there in shock. I’m pretty sure I just couldn’t have handled it if Josh or Hunter died. Which makes me more selfish than anything else, but I’m glad I was able to do enough to save both of them.
“Does this mean I can talk to all of you mentally as well?” Josh asks.
“If you house even a small portion of the adira, then telepathy should be relatively easy for you to manage,” Brockten says quietly.
“Awesome. Tell me how to do it,” Josh demands.
Brockten simply looks at him, his face implacable.
“Please,” Josh says sheepishly.
“Do you remember when Finley saved your life? The feeling of her knitting you back together?” Brockten asks.
Keziry gets up and goes into the kitchen area, looking like she needs a r
efill on her drink. Her face is difficult to read most of the time, but right now she seems almost sad.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask her, stepping to the fridge to get her another Coke. Apparently, Ankarrah doesn’t have caffeine or sugar like we do. Keziry and Brockten have guzzled an entire twelve-pack between them in the last hour alone.
“Yes, thank you for inquiring.” She pops the tab on the can before pouring the soda into her glass.
“Are you sure? You seem a little sad or unhappy.”
Drink forgotten on the counter, she simply turns to stare at me, her jewel-colored eyes searching my face for long moments. She nods slowly.
“I am unhappy.”
“Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“There is, but it would bring only suffering and pain to you. That is not something I would ask of you.” She turns away.
“Well, considering I’m an adult capable of making my own decisions, why don’t you tell me what you need, and I can decide for myself if I can help you or not.” I put my hands on my hips.
“I’m missing Drake,” she begins.
Not quite what I had expected. I open my mouth.
She stops me with her raised hand. “Please do not misunderstand. I do not wish to talk to him out of a sense of friendship; he betrayed both Brockten and me so severely that he would have been wiped from our lives anyways. But I feel as if I’m missing something, some information or knowledge that is imperative for me to know.” Her gaze is steady as she watches me.
“Okay, I can understand that. I also wouldn’t be surprised to hear that you missed him as a friend. It seems as if you all were very close.” I shrug my shoulders.
“Brockten and I have been partners for at least fifty of what you consider to be your years. Drake had been with us for less than a full year,” she says.
“Wow. Really?”
“Yes.” She nods. “He was transferred to our Guardian team from a branch that is farther out, past the boundaries of our region. While he was quite skilled, it never made sense that he was the one chosen by the Trium to join us. Other House Guards from our own House were just as skilled, and more deserving of the capital guardian assignment than Drake.” She shrugs her shoulders, as if despairing of the choices of those in power.
“So, you feel like he was placed with you on purpose?”
“Yes, but I cannot imagine why that would be.”
We both go silent, lost in our own thoughts.
“I asked you if I could help you somehow. You implied it wouldn’t end great for me. What are you wanting me to do?” I ask her, getting us both back on track.
“Right.” She shakes her head. “If you are truly a Creative, and I believe that you are, you could send enough adira into Drake to make him rise again. It would be your will and adira that could hold him so that we might view his memories.” Her voice is strong even though her eyes are hesitant.
“Huh.” Raising people from the dead is not something I woke up today thinking I could do. I love me a good zombie movie—can I get a dang Twinkie?—but I don’t know that I want to meddle in the realm of God.
“He would not be truly alive, only a shell of a man. If we hurry, we will be able to access his memories if your adira is strong enough,” she says hurriedly.
“Ah. Well, I can certainly give it a try. No promises or guarantees of it working the way you want it to though.”
“I understand, and I’m very grateful for your help. Please, let us go rejoin the men. Brockten tells me that Josh and Hunter are beginning to worry about you.”
“Yeah? Well then. Ladies to the rescue.” I lift my arm, fist leading the charge.
“You are very odd.” Keziry says behind me. She’s obviously not feeling the love because her hand isn’t in the air.
Some people. Sheesh.
“Just go with it,” I tell her quietly. Wiggling my eyebrows at her, trying to tell her without words that she should raise her hand in fight advance posture.
She just quirks her eyebrow at me, both hands still at her sides.
“No.” She scoots around me and walks into the room, her shoes not making any sounds on the laminate flooring.
My bare feet squeak as I walk, broadcasting my arrival to the room’s occupants. My fist still in the air, my feet squeaking like dog chew toys on the floor, I jump the last step, planting my feet. I plant my fists on my hips in my best Superman pose.
“I’ve come to rescue the worried men. Have no fear, Finley is here.” I yell to the room.
“Everyone run for cover!” Brian calls out.
“Dude. Rude much?” I say, dropping my hands.
“I don’t know about all the other guys, but I’m not anxious about anything.” He crosses his arms over his massive chest.
“Indeed, he is not worried about you.” Keziry’s words scroll across my mind.
“Hey, how did you do that?” I whip around to face her.
“Project the words you want to send at the person’s energy field. They will pass the barrier of the mind regardless of housing construction.”
I form my next thought, and not sure of the amount of effort it takes, throw it at her. “LIKE THIS?”
She grabs her head, shaking it a little.
“Not quite that loudly, Finley. Use only as much force as you would in your voice to speak.” She pinches the bridge of her nose tightly, her eyes clenched shut.
I send a tiny tendril of thought toward her guarded mind. “Like this?”
The pain melts from her face. “Yes. Well done. You are a fast learner and a good student.”
I want to clap my hands and dance in circles at the compliment, but I restrain myself…at least on the outside. Inside I’m dancing like a little girl, my arms flapping, my fairy dress whirling around me.
“Mind your shield, little fairy queen,” Keziry says, humor lighting her tone.
Crap on a cracker. My inner fairy queen dies a quick death. I fortify my mind’s shield, spraying another layer of nanites over the walls.
“Much better. Remember, weak shields signal weak personalities. Your adira is too strong for others to handle. You must guard it carefully and fully,” she says.
I give her a thumbs-up.
“Onward and upward,” I say to the men in the room. “I’m going to shoot some adira into the artist formerly known as Drake so Brockten and Keziry can memory-scrape him.”
The expected uproar takes a couple of minutes to die back down. Brockten looks interested. I can see the wheels moving in his head at the possibilities.
Hunter stands up. “No, you’re not.”
A low burn lights in my belly.
“Oh crap. Everybody bail. Bail, bail, bail!” Brian scoots back against the far wall, his arms up shielding his face.
“Would you like to rephrase that?” I ask Hunter, one eyebrow lifted.
He clears his throat dramatically. “No…you’re…not,” he slowly forms each word. His eyebrows low over his dark chocolate eyes, his face stern.
Something inside me cracks open. “I’m sorry, but you are not my father. He’s dead. Nor are you my mother; she’s also dead. You’re the one who told me I couldn’t go out and kill Anixia; you told me that they wouldn’t want that for me. You stopped me from avenging them, and I listened to you. Now I’m stuck here, doing everything but killing her, scattering her to the multi-verse. You don’t get to tell me that I can’t help try to find out how to help them find her. How to get rid of her. Don’t ever assume that you get to tell me what I can and cannot do. That is not your place in my life.” My chest is heaving, and my stomach starts cramping.
He looks at me wordlessly. His eyes are alive. The tips of his ears are turning an interesting shade of red.
He swallows a couple of times, clears his throat again. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Shaking his head, snapping his mouth closed, he spins on his heel and walks out the front door.
The quiet closing of the door louder than if h
e had slammed it shut.
I turn to look at my guys, fire still beating in my chest. Various degrees of disappointment look back at me.
“Low blow, Fin.” Josh shakes his head. Rising, he crosses the room and steps out onto the front porch.
What? What did I do?
“What happened? How did I turn into the bad guy in this situation?” I ask Brian and Brent.
“The man loves you, Finley-babe,” Brian says. “Like crazy-stalker-person-love loves you.”
“Yeah. I know. I love him, too.” I nod. Although I didn’t really like him right that moment.
“Oh, so you meant to throw your dead parents in his face? The ones you’ve been aching over for the last two days. The ones you’ve been losing sleep and food over. Well, if that was your intention, then you’ve handily succeeded. Point scored.” Brent sneers. He points a stiff finger out at the porch.
“That man has neglected his own family to make sure you’re okay, that you’re emotionally sound and healthy. He’s done nothing but be here for you, tending to your every need, usually before you know you need it. I’ve never been embarrassed by you, Finley Marie. But right now, I’m embarrassed by and ashamed of you. I can only imagine how your parents would feel or what they would say to that outburst.” He shakes his head at me, a look of faint disgust on his face.
I’ve never gotten such a look from one of my boys. My brain stutters a little bit, my heart trips a couple of beats. The pain of a clean slice slow to register before the pulsing and throbbing of it enters my brain.
I twist around, practically running to my bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I slide down as I begin gasping. My chest feels like a too-tight rubber band has been wrapped around it. I can taste the brine of bile as it creeps up my throat.
Covering my face with my hands, I feel the heat in my cheeks as shame sweeps over me. Listening to Brent ream me out for my behavior reminds me of all the great and wonderful things Hunter has done for me: the silent sitting together when I can’t find the words, the distractions to keep my mind busy, the snuggles and cuddles when I feel so alone that I could drift away.
