"How did you do that?" he asked.
"Use enough pressure so you can just start to feel the skin pushing back. Once you're in tune with that, you'll be able to read her expression, her noises, her flush, everything. You'll be so ahead of the curve, she won't need to instruct you. But if she does, thank her. Make her know that you welcome it."
Brody nodded. "I can do all of that," he said and continued to nod while he assimilated the information. "I can't wait to test it out." He grinned and gave me a bone-crunching hug.
"I'd wait a few days before testing your new skills," I said when he finally let go of me.
"What do you mean? Why?"
"Pilar needs some time."
"Why does Pilar need time?"
Shit. I did not want to tell Brody he'd accidentally cooked Pilar's brain.
"Zora."
"She just needs time to recuperate."
"Recuperate from what?"
Damn it. I'd been doing so well. "Fried synapses."
Brody shot out of his seat and paced in front of me, kneading his hands together. "Brody, she's fine, really. It'll just take some time to heal, that's all."
"How could I have let that happen?"
"Brody, it was an accident."
"It's completely unacceptable. I can't believe I didn't know. I have to see her and apologize. Thank you for telling me," Brody said. He grabbed his jacket and left the office.
42
“I cannot write a novel on this,” I muttered again while carrying the awkward, heavy typewriter down the hall to Peter’s office. There just had to be another way.
“An air-gapped network or machine would be your safest option,” Peter said after I explained the bones of my problem.
That sounded hopeful. “OK. How do I get one of those?”
“You don’t,” Peter said simply.
“Oh, what the hell, Peter? Why even bring it up?” I snapped, heaving the awful typewriter off the cabinet Peter let me put it on.
“Put that thing down,” Peter said sharply. “What I meant, was that you can’t get one, but I can. Look, strictly speaking you could walk into any store, pick out a machine, never connect it to the internet, and you’d have an air-gapped computer. And normally that would be fine because the only way someone on the outside can get at what’s on your machine is via the internet. However, based off that glorious code I found on your machine, I’m guessing we’re not dealing with regular infiltration methods. You’d want to be guaranteed that no one who wants what you have, has access to your machine, right?
I nodded.
“Well, the only way to do that is to build it from scratch.”
“Would you be willing to do that?”
“Considering your habit of yelling at me…” Peter let the thought trail away.
“Professionally, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened,” I said instead of apologizing. “If you could help me, I’d owe you a big favor.”
Peter sighed and shook his head. “Give me your number. I’ll call you when I have the parts.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
After lugging the relic all the way to my car, I decided to head to The Laughing Cat to make sure the only remaining copy of my manuscript was still tucked away on Amari's machine.
I wanted to do that, but somehow I found myself driving in the opposite direction of the bar.
I didn’t know where I was, or where I was going. Nothing looked familiar until I saw a particularly gritty side street. "Shit," I mumbled when Soraya's bookshop came into view.
I hadn't intended on seeing her, but now that I was about to, I felt strangely at ease with it.
The musty smell of the bookshop facade was familiar, almost comforting—but when I pushed back the dividing curtain, all those newly emerging warm-and-fuzzies were quickly squashed.
Everything was different. Everything white had been replaced with bold jewel tones. The gauzy, white linens dividing the space were replaced with deep amethyst, dark pink-orange, and saturated green-blue fabric. They hung from the walls, ceilings and even canopied the bed. The simple, straight-lined furniture was now ornately carved black lacquer.
The bold colors and extravagant furniture wasn't all. Each of the hanging fabrics was embellished with intricate embroidery and sequins. The windows were covered in thicker, plusher, and possibly even gaudier linens. The only light source in the space was a gigantic, tacky, black crystal chandelier.
"I've been expecting you," Soraya said, again emerging from behind a curtain, and again looking like she'd been born of the space. She'd pulled her hair away from her face and into a neat top bun, a feat I'd never been able to accomplish without looking like a sumo wrestling poodle. Black beaded earrings, freakishly resembling the chandelier in miniature, brushed her bared shoulders; her dark purple, gold, and green dress looked like it could have been a re-purposed sari.
"What's with the genie-from-Marrakesh look?" I asked.
"Is that what you see?" she asked, and looked around the temple. "It's one of my favorites."
"What do you see?" I asked.
"I see what's truly here," Soraya said, and motioned for me to sit on the red-and-black damask sofa, a difficult task not only because the color scheme offended me, but also because there was no room for my ass. There were more garish tasseled throw pillows than exposed seat cushion.
Soraya pretended not to notice my awkward butt wiggle to move the pillows. Instead, she seated herself at the side chair free of extra cushions. She poured us both a cup of tea from the service set she'd artfully arranged on the old trunk that doubled as a coffee table. It smelled spicy and strong, and I knew when she added milk without asking that it was Chai.
I hated Chai.
She handed me the beautiful black cup, embellished with hand-painted orange and red birds.
I studied the cup, stalling before actually drinking the milky grossness. Each bird had small jewels for eyes. I brought the cup closer to see if the eyes were colored glass or something more extravagant. Just as I was about to touch one of the jewels, the bird winked at me.
"What the hell?" I dropped the cup but managed to save the hand-knotted carpet from a Chai stain by catching it with my lap.
"Oh no, your pants," Soraya mourned and produced a kitchen towel from under the tea service tray.
"Thanks," I said, and soaked up as much of the hot and spicy liquid as I could.
I was going to smell like sour milk and cardamom, but at least I didn't have to drink it.
"So, tell me why you're here, Zorastria," she said and took my cup.
"I'm not entirely sure, and I don't care for Chai, but thank you," I said, halting her pour.'
"I'm sorry; I assumed. It was your favorite when you were little."
I had no recollection of that.
"You don't know why you're here. You don't want tea. What exactly can I do for you?"
"Honestly, I thought maybe you could tell me? You did say you were expecting me."
"I think you know it doesn't work like that."
Shit.
I tried again to get comfortable on the sofa.
I didn't know what to tell her, specifically, so I told her everything. The research, the non that energy abused me, and my subsequent plans for the book, how many times the manuscript had been stolen, and finally about my meeting with Gunnar.
Soraya took a while to digest my words. She sat staring at the winking teacup for a full minute.
"I'm sure you've already realized the issue with step-by-step instruction on self-initiation."
I nodded. "I'm also including instructions on how to wall personal energy so we don't kill each other."
Soraya's eyes pooled with unexpected wetness. She blinked and let two tears fall down her cheek, unashamed. "First of all, I’m sorry to hear about the attack. It’s rare for it to happen with such little contact, as it did with you, but I have heard of it before.” Soraya looked as if she wanted to reach for my hand, then decided agai
nst it. “Secondly I’m happy you’ll be following in my footsteps, only on a much larger scale," she said quietly.
If I'd been holding a teacup I'd have dropped it again. "What do you mean? What you and I do is not at all related." All that stuffing of emotions from before was starting to creep back up; I felt it burn in my cheeks and palms. How dare she compare writing to prostitution!
"Sexuality is one of the ways we can become enlightened because it leads to self-knowledge," she said and smiled a smart-assed smile at me.
“Did you just quote Alice Walker to me?”
"I did," she said, "and it's one hundred percent true. You spell it out in books, while I show them one-on-one with energy. It is the way of the Staven-kom. You choose how to manifest the ability, but your job, just like mine, is to bring people into alignment with their power."
I took a deep breath.
"This was something that was done to us, eons ago," she continued. "The ability to naturally expand and ascend was the norm for everyone, not just a select few. It was those who could not do so who were the minority. That you're going on the offensive on such a grand scale is remarkable and dangerous. I'm surprised the only thing the Corporation has done is taken your manuscript."
Soraya stood.
"Be safe," she said. "And make sure you test your walling method on a wide selection of practitioners before you publish."
That made sense. More than I was ready to give her credit for.
“Here,” Soraya said, pulling something from the folds of her dress.
I had no clue what it was.
“Just take it,” she said, impatient with my hesitation.
I took the narrow sheath of leather. Turning it over, I noticed a metal clasp affixed to the back.
“It’s a boot sheath. It should house your butterfly knife perfectly. That’s assuming you still have it.”
“Of course I still have it,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “It was the last thing you gave to me before you left me.”
Soraya sighed. “You know I didn’t have a choice,” she said quietly, lashes lowered.
I stuffed some more. Of course I knew. It was the way things were done.
Another reason I was determined to finish the book.
“Keep that with you,” Soraya instructed. “You’re coming into the last part of your magic. You’ll become even more desirable to nons.”
“There’s more to deal with?” I asked. I didn’t want to deal with more. I had all I could take.
“As soon as Amari told me you’d started sensing pregnancy, I knew you’d inherited my abilities, as well as your father’s. My hope was to be able to help you through the transition. It was so very hard for me, and the last thing I wanted was for you to feel alone in this.”
“If I could have done any of this differently, I would have. But, there is no other way. Not yet, at least.” Soraya gave me a small, genuine smile.
I sighed and sank back into the cushions, arms finally uncrossing. “The pregnancy detection is part of the sex magic?”
“Yes. You’re more acutely aware of all parts of female sexuality. Though, isn’t it odd that, for you, it started with the end?” she mused lightly.
It made sense. Being a pregnancy bloodhound wasn’t a skill on its own; it was a part of sex magic as a whole. “OK, so what’s next?”
“I can only tell you what was next for me. Your magic may develop differently.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
“After I’d gotten accustomed to the transmutation aspect, my emotions turning into sexual energy, I began building.” Soraya said with a smile and gestured to her temple.
And with that she ushered me out of her tulpa.
I stood in the dark, stuffy bookshop, letting my eyes adjust to the lack of light, knowing what I needed to do.
43
The weirdness of my mother’s—and potentially my—talent aside, I knew what I had to do, but, it needed the right timing.
Now was not it.
Instead, I set myself up in Amari's loft. After, of course, changing my sticky, spicy pants.
I rechecked my email and portable drive for the finished draft, but Lucy was right. They were both gone. What if it was gone from Amari's laptop as well? Then what would I do? Did I have it in me to write this book for a fourth time?
I didn't have to think about it for long; my manuscript was still hidden among Amari's financial reports. I got to work turning his coffee table into an extra large desk. Since I needed to use my laptop for the research, his machine for the copy of the manuscript, and—until I heard otherwise from Peter—the typewriter to actually write it, I needed all the space I could get.
Damn. I should have asked Peter how long it would take. If he had the parts ready and assembled in two or three days, and if I worked like a maniac, I might be able to make it without having to relearn to type on a dinosaur.
The thought also occurred to me that since the manuscript was safe on Amari's machine, I could probably write the rest of it there too.
But, I was taking no chances. As much as typing everything was going to suck, I wasn't going to risk missing my deadline, or starting over.
Again.
I piled a few thick cookbooks and The Complete Guide to The Lord of the Rings Trilogy up to make a multi-leveled desk—the typewriter directly in front of me and the two laptops on piles of books to the left and right. It was more ergonomic and easier on my eyes that way. Seated on the ground, back against the sofa, and legs stretched under the table, I hammered away at the heavy keys of the antiquated device.
It only took me a half a dozen scrap pages to fall into a rhythm with the typewriter. It had a personality, like an old car that didn't like taking left turns too fast. The typewriter didn't like typing the letters K, I, or L, so I got into the habit of striking those letters twice. The shift key stuck and sometimes capitalized more than the first letter of a word, so every time I pushed it, I flicked it back up.
It was a weird way to work. Since I'd already written it, I remembered most of the research details I'd left out the first time around. As I transcribed, I was also editing, changing sentence structure, beefing up dialogue and smoothing transitions where needed.
I'd gotten about fifty pages piled neatly next to me when I felt the sofa cushions shift with added weight.
I took out my earphones and turned to find Amari sitting there watching me work.
"Hey, you," I said.
"You realize how ridiculous this looks, right?" Amari smiled at me and pointed to my setup.
"They stole it again. I'm not taking any chances this time."
Amari sighed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. "Of course, do what you need to do."
I could tell by his tone he didn't understand why I wouldn't give up on it. I also knew it wasn't something I could explain to him.
I tried anyway. "When I first had the idea to publish this, I thought it was just to keep nons from feeding off me—the more initiated the better, right? Now, after everything that's happened to keep me from it, I realize it's more than that. I want to help people grow. Soraya said it used to be easy and natural for everyone to expand and initiate, but that's not the case anymore. I want it to be easy again."
"I just don't understand why you can't live your life and be happy. Why do you get to tell people they’re living wrong?"
Wow. That was not what I was expecting.
I took a minute to stuff away the building red strands of anger and proceeded in a calmer-than-I-was voice. "I'm not saying people are living wrong as individuals. But do you really think nons being life- and energy-sucks is right? Do you think it's right that practitioners can't gather in large groups without devolving into fighting, yelling idiots? Is that right? Is that how we should live? Is it right that we have to leave all our loved ones in order to initiate?"
Amari said nothing.
"I'm simply offering a solution to that. The same as my mother does, only on a different sc
ale."
"What do you mean?" Clearly, I'd piqued his interest.
"As a—" I paused, forgetting the Roma portmanteau Amari had used
"Staven-kom," he said with a perfect accent.
"Yeah. As one of those, my job is to bring people into full awareness of who they are and of what they're capable. Soraya uses sex to show people energetically. I'm using books to spell it out to anyone who's ready for it. This is who I am, Amari, and if that's not good enough, then I don't know what else to say."
"Change is never easy, Z. Especially with practitioners. And I hate seeing you get hurt or disappointed."
"I get that, Amari. But this isn't about you. I have to do this."
"You're right. I can't change how I feel about it. I don't want to see you get hurt, but I'm here for you, whatever you need."
As always, I was certain that was the best I could hope for with him.
"Now that you mention it, how long until happy hour?"
"It's in full swing. I just came up to see if you wanted anything to eat."
"I'm not hungry but do you think I could use your patrons for something?"
44
Amari and Jade helped me corral all the happy-hour practitioners to the smaller bar and move the tables to the outskirts of the room. I left the ceremonial table in the middle and used it as a makeshift stage. I wanted the extra visibility.
"Now that everyone is here, I want to try something!" I boomed over the crowd. They couldn't have cared less and continued laughing and clinking glasses with each other.
Practitioners were such assholes.
I looked at Amari and Jade; they both shrugged at me.
Fine, if volume didn't do it maybe softness would. I carefully thinned out my wall, letting ribbony pieces of my energy drift out into the crowd. One by one, their attention shifted to me. The patrons at the back of the room were too far for the small bit of energy to reach, so I thinned the wall even more, letting even more soft, light ribbons mingle with them.
Enthralled Magic (The Circle Series Book 1) Page 16
