Stunned (The Lucidites Book 2)

by Sarah Noffke

  The rest of us pair up to practice shielding. There’s no big surprise when Joseph immediately teams up with Samara, leaving me with George. This makes the most sense anyway, since they both have active skills and Joseph and I have passive powers. However, the last thing I want is to work with George one-on-one. We haven’t really spoken since I blew up at him over the modifier.

  “I don’t think I need to practice with you,” I say, not making eye contact.

  He folds his arms and pulls his chin down. “Why’s that?”

  “We’ve already practiced enough when preparing for Zhuang.”

  He shakes his head. “No. That wasn’t shielding we were practicing. Actually, we were working on bringing down your natural shield.”

  “Well, I think we both know if I want to I can keep you out of my emotions.”

  “Here’s the thing, Roya. If in the past I’ve sensed your shield was up, I left you alone. But if I really needed to read your emotions then I’d try harder, the way the Voyageurs will.”

  I’m both humbled and outraged by his remark. “Aren’t empaths rare? I doubt they will have anyone with your abilities.”

  He studies me with shrewd eyes. I know as well as he does that shielding is no different against a telepath or an empath, or whatever other creepy psychic abilities a Voyageur might have. “I’m not going to ask you to work with me if you don’t want to,” he says, his tone cold, “which is the impression you’re giving off.”

  “It’s true.” I pause, fix my eyes on his. “You’re the last person I want rummaging through my emotions.”

  “Then use that as a motivator to keep me out.”

  A frustrated sigh escapes my mouth. Where’s the robot in me now? It’s impossible to be my hardwired persona around George. Somehow his chemistry dismantles my mechanics, making me softer than I want to be.

  “Roya, we’re here to help each other. We’re a team and we both need to practice. Do you want to do this together or not?”

  My eyes search the ground. What I want to do and what I need to do are playing tug-of-war. Maybe I’m making this more difficult on myself than it needs to be. The mission comes first, right? “Fine,” I acquiesce. “Give me a moment to get ready first.” Steady breaths bring my focus inward. Around my body I envision an encasing. With deliberate force I push the barrier out a few inches until I feel it tightly cocooning the air around me too. I imagine the shield as green-tinted ballistic glass. With a confident nod at George I say, “I’m ready when you are.”

  If I felt awkward before, then it’s multiplied by ten as I stare into George’s bronze eyes while he tries to break through my shield. Now that I’m aware I sense him pushing against the barrier. It’s like he’s rubbing at it, trying to determine a weak spot. Then without much notice it becomes harder to keep it solid. Panic races through me. I search for the focus to maintain the strength of my shield. I search his probing eyes. My shield collapses like a deflating balloon and he races unbarred straight into my emotional center.

  “Damn it!” I say reflexively.

  “Breathing will actually help you,” George says with a consoling smile. “It’s strange but true.”

  “Thanks,” I say sourly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “And try not to look at me the next time. I think I’m distracting you.”

  “Oh, do you? There’s about a million distractions in my head right now.”

  “Still, until you’ve practiced more you might want to try it with your eyes closed. It helps with focus.”

  “What’d you read in me?” I demand.

  George shakes his head. “That’s irrelevant to the exercise.”

  A sudden undulant pressure takes residence in my chest. “I don’t care if it’s irrelevant, I want to know.”

  “Why, Roya? All of a sudden you care? You’ve been walking around this place unshielded all week. And you know that more than anyone your emotions bombard me with a unique intensity. So why do you all of sudden want to keep them protected?”

  Fighting with George like this feels incredibly satisfying. The pressure builds, about to breach the surface, and I invite it. “Because, George, I’ve changed. I want to know what emotions are swimming around the surface so I can get rid of them. I don’t want to be ruled by these…” I stop, stare off, searching for the right words. “By these weaknesses.”

  “Is that what you think your emotions are, a weakness? You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “I didn’t ask for your unqualified opinion. I asked what you read in me.”

  “Nothing I didn’t already know,” he says with an impassive expression on his face.

  “Thanks for the elaboration,” I say, searching for something else to argue with him about. I want to yell. And strangely I want him to yell back. Nothing feels like a better idea right now than to fight with George. I’m intoxicated by the urge. “Why is it that you always get to ransack my emotions, but I never get to return the favor?”

  He drops his head, nostrils flaring. “Stop it, Roya.”

  “Stop what?” I say with authority.

  “I’m not doing this.”

  “Doing what!?” I say, fanning the flames of the argument.

  “I know what you want and in this case, I’m not giving it to you.”

  Eyes burning, I say, “Because in all other cases when you read me you give me what I want? Is that right?”

  “I would if you let me,” George says, taking a step forward. I immediately take one back, keeping the space between us. “But right now, I won’t fight with you. Don’t you see what you’re doing to yourself by cutting off your emotions? You may think you can be polarized, but it’s impossible. All that will result is this.” He motions at me like I’m an exhibit in his grand lecture. “You’re a floodgate, about to break.”

  His words sting my insides, bringing aching tears to my throat. “All I’m trying to do, just like everyone else on this team, is stay focused.”

  “There are other ways,” he says, his voice an urgent whisper.

  Every word he’s said is right and it makes me angry. Now the yearning to attack George is unbounded. If I can just hurt him, then I’ll be absolved of the terror racing unleashed within me. It’s unfair. Unfounded. But when you’re split in two the irrational emotions gain a new power, no longer tethered between reason and love.

  “Switch partners now,” Shuman says, cutting through the tension.

  I turn without a second glance at George and march away. Joseph wears an ugly look of frustration when I pass him.

  “You know your brother is a real jerk?” Samara says, eyeing him with disdain from across the gymnasium.

  I’m fairly certain I need to stay out of this. I’m in a losing position on this one. “Everyone has the capacity to be a jerk.”

  “You know better than anyone how insensitive and selfish he’s been lately,” she says, coaxing for my endorsement.

  “Yes, Joseph isn’t acting like himself right now,” I agree, then redirect. “Did you by chance spy anything about the project he was working on?”

  She shakes her head, eyes still boring into him. “No, Joseph’s thoughts are not centered on his professional projects right now. They purely revolve around personal matters.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t practice right now?” I say.

  “No, this is good. I need to be able to do this when I’m charged or distracted.”

  I’m not sure if it’s because Samara is angry or because I’ve gotten better, but I’m successful at holding the shield. It feels good to keep my thoughts private. Now if I can just do the same with my emotions.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In a hilarious turn of events

  Roya Stark

  to bobandsteve

  Hello Bob and Steve,

  Depends on one’s perspective whether my current state of affairs is considered hilarious. A stranger peering into my life would probably find it quite comical. I think it’s tragically humil
iating, to say the very least.

  I’m expected to use the modifier to rescue Aiden. Yes, I know what you’re saying. And yes, I’m referring to the exact same device which was used on my fake family. The same one I’ve been a strong opponent against. The one I’ve dreamed about destroying so that no more lives can be manipulated. And in a poetic turn of events, I’ll go into unsuspecting (albeit evil) minds and implant my own message.

  What has my world come to that this is my reality? What happened to watching reruns of I Love Lucy and eating too much ice cream on Sundays? Is it too late to ask the universe to redeal my hand?

  Alright, I get that I’m sounding extra whiny right now, but I don’t dare tell anyone else how ambivalent I am about the modifier. The Institute isn’t forcing me to use it, but I don’t really have a choice, do I? I have to use it if I want to survive and rescue Aiden. But why is it that the Lucidites always pretend I have a choice when in fact I don’t?

  You don’t have to answer that. Actually you don’t have to answer this email at all, although you always do. I just needed to vent, as I’m sure you’ve already gathered.

  Love,

  Ms. Apparently-I-have-no-real-moral-code-McGillicuddy

  P.S. When I come to live with you, after I’ve sold my soul to the Lucidite Gods, can I have a cat…or two?

  “Oh, hey there, Roya,” Trey calls to me as I leave the computer lab. Since I’m in an “I hate the Lucidites” mood, it’s probably the worst time to run into none other than the Head of the Institute. I have impeccable timing for this kind of stuff.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to mask my expression behind an acceptable one.

  “Is everything all right?” Trey asks with concerned eyes.

  “I suppose.”

  “Do you need to talk?”

  Chewing on my pinky fingernail I shake my head.

  “Okay, well, you know I’m here if you do need anything.”

  Somehow I doubt that. Trey keeps pretending to have this open door policy, but I don’t buy it. It’s a ruse to garner trust. He’s mastered the art of politics: telling people what they want to hear, keeping pertinent details vague, and making appearances brief and rushed.

  A quiet, awkward moment passes. Trey studies my face. I’m trying to decide how to end this whole small talk conversation.

  “I’m sure the stress of the current mission is weighing on you greatly.” He runs his fingers through his silver hair, a look of stress in his turquoise eyes. The Head of the Institute looks older than he did a month ago. “Thank you for taking the lead on this mission. You have to believe me when I say I don’t want to put any more responsibility on you. But this project is too important and I wholeheartedly believe you’re the right person to lead it.”

  “Why? Why do you ‘wholeheartedly believe’ this?” I ask bluntly. Trey thinks he can ask me to risk my life again and again using reasons that lack specifics.

  He clears his throat. Looks around without seeing. “I have a multitude of reasons, actually. Primarily, you’re powerful. So much so that Zhuang specifically wanted to acquire your consciousness. This power lends you extraordinary talents. The abilities that come naturally for you are effort for others. Honestly, I don’t think you value these skills because you’ve never had to work for them.”

  Leave it to Trey to tell me I’m talented and seriously out of touch. And like I suspected, he’s not telling me what I want to hear, but rather whatever it will take to convince me to sacrifice myself for the Lucidites. An impatient sigh falls out of my mouth. “Trey, I really—”

  “I’m not finished,” he cuts me off. “You asked and I’m prepared to explain why you were picked to lead this mission. You deserve to know and I’d like the opportunity to tell you. Will you allow that?”

  “Yeah,” I say, sensing an invasion in my thoughts or heart. What is Trey’s ability? Is he telepathic? Does he know how much I hate him?

  “Secondly,” Trey continues, looking at me with a skeptical expression, “you’re my choice not only because of your mental and physical agility, but also because you rely on your instincts. I can’t even begin to tell you how important this is in the work we do here. It takes awareness and faith, both traits you possess.”

  His words sound too rehearsed, his voice too matter-of-fact. Is this whole speech printed in the secret Lucidite manual under “How to get others to do what you want”?

  “And lastly, I picked you because of your integrity. I value the way you conduct yourself at the Institute. Even though you’ve had many reasons not to trust me or many of the people here you still treat us respectfully. I need the leader of this team to be someone who isn’t corruptible, because you’re about to meet people who value no one but themselves. If you were the least bit immoral then they’d break you down. But I have every reason to believe you’re not.”

  Well, geez, thanks, coming from a bald-faced liar that really means a lot.

  Trey studiously apprises me. “Those are my reasons for choosing you. I sincerely believe them, but I fear the more I try to convince you of that the more you think I’m manipulating you, which isn’t the case.”

  Now it’s my turn to examine him. Stone-faced, I study every single one of his microexpressions as I ask, “How would you know what I think?”

  He draws in a long inhale. “I don’t, but I have my suspicions.”

  If he wants me to trust him then he can start by telling me something personal. “What is your talent?”

  Trey’s left eye twitches. Only once, but I see it. Not certain what it could mean. Is he about to lie? “I have a few actually.”

  A few? Is that possible?

  “Roya, I’m happy to satisfy your curiosity on this, but not right now. I’m late for a meeting.”

  Of course. Short office hours ensure the truth stays locked away and the lies keep circulating.

  “Okay, well, thanks for sharing your reasons with me.”

  He nods, accepting my dingy bit of gratitude.

  “I’ll make time for us to talk again soon,” Trey says, pinching his mouth together.

  “Sounds good,” I say, my voice artificially casual.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I have never been happier to walk into the combat studio. Hitting something sounds like a fantastic idea right now. Since everyone, except for Pearl, already has experience with kung fu this is the method we’re practicing. Ren and Shuman both agree that it’s most likely that any battle with a Voyageur will be wholly mental. However, we’re being prepared for anything, even if that means a good ol’ fistfight.

  Before Joseph has a chance to pair up with someone else I recruit him as my sparring partner. He’s the only person on the team who deserves my wrath. Right before we begin I picture that he’s Amber.

  “Damn, Stark, someone put Tabasco in your eggs this morning?!” Joseph says a minute later. He stumbles back, checking over his arms like they might already have bruises.

  I smile. Then I remember his little stunt the night before when he was trying to get me to open my door. With my arms up in block position, I spin backwards on the ball of my front foot, tuck in my opposite leg, swing it around behind me and then forward. My foot slams into Joseph’s chest, sending him to the ground instantly. I love spin kicks. Joseph remains planted on the mat, a stunned look on his face. “Are you freaking kidding me? Did that just happen?”

  “It did,” I reassure him, holding out my hand to help him up.

  “What’s your deal? You could have killed me,” he says, eyeing my hand suspiciously.

  “Oh, stop whining. I only used a fraction of my strength. But let this be a lesson to you. You may know what’s in my head, but I can still kick your ass.”

  If I’m completely honest with myself then I have to admit the team is a pretty lousy bunch of fighters. Samara can throw a strong kick if she concentrates, but she isn’t much good for anything else. Pearl appears to be about as dangerous as Whitney was, which means she leaves her attacker feeling warm and c
omforted after an altercation. The rest of the bunch is laughable at best. None of them really had to focus on fighting before because it had been up to me to hone my kung fu skills. Now that we’re all facing mortal danger, they’re going to need to be able to protect themselves if the situation becomes dire.

  “Why can’t we just carry guns?” Trent asks, rubbing his shoulder like he’s in pain.

  “Guns are for cowards,” our sensei, Mario, says.

  “Well, I’ll take two.” Trent laughs.

  Mario shakes his head at Trent in disapproval. “I do agree that carrying a weapon is a good idea. Martial arts weaponry is all extremely useful in battle. Now, if you have a weapon on you when you dream travel to the Grotte then it should be with you once you generate. However, the only way to ensure this is to choose a weapon and make it yours.”

  He directs our attention to a rack of assorted weapons and tells us to practice. I spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon taking each weapon and trying out different moves. The nunchakus were at first my favorite because I like their balance and grace. However, the speed that’s absolutely necessary to pull off a good nunchakus attack is intimidating. The bo staff also appeals to me greatly, but after about half an hour of practice I admit that I’m too petite to effectively manage such a large weapon. In the end I find the escrima sticks fit me perfectly and give that extra bit of power I’m looking for. They’re about a little longer than my forearm and an inch and a half in diameter. In essence they’re sticks, but when I show an interest in using them Mario demonstrates a dozen techniques. This includes everything from blocking, punching, and disarming. By the end I’m absolutely certain that I want to have these weapons by my side in battle.

  “This afternoon you’ll be fitted for your gear,” Mario says. “Be sure to tell the seamstress that you want a compartment built into the shoulder area for holding these.”

  “Gear?” I ask.