Caught up in his weeping, he was only dimly aware of the moment he slid from the chair, sinking to his knees. When the mesmeric link broke, it brought no relief, only the disorienting sensation of waking from a terrible nightmare. The image was gone, but the horror was still there. He would never be whole again.
Even when Mr. Marvin had left the room and Jax was fully back to himself, the air of catastrophe surrounded him.
“I’m sorry,” he quavered, still trembling. “What happened?”
“I should be the one apologizing to you,” Dr. Mako said gently. “I could try to describe this phenomenon to you. But the only way to truly understand it is to experience it firsthand.”
“Phenomenon?” Jax managed.
“The mesmeric connection is a powerful coupling of two minds,” the director explained gravely. “You are in control, but also vulnerable. When you ‘see’ through your subject’s eyes, you’ve admitted a stranger’s consciousness into your head. If the link goes on for too long, the subject’s memories begin to leach into your brain. This can be like experiencing a lifetime of tragedy in a single moment.”
“It was his wife, right?” Jax asked. “His wife died?”
Mako nodded. “To absorb — in an instant — the emotional highs and lows of a twenty-year marriage ending in catastrophe is not natural, especially for someone your age. You must learn to recognize when this is happening to you, and set up defenses against it. Or even bail out, if necessary. For a mind-bender, it’s simple self-preservation.”
“What happens if you don’t? Or if you can’t?”
“It’s impossible to know. You might become hopelessly lost in the consciousness of another. Or perhaps the two minds will begin to meld. Either path will almost certainly lead to madness.”
It was a sobering thought. He’d thought of hypnotism as a one-way operation — something to do to another person. It had never occurred to him that there was a flipside — that he might be in danger because of his subject.
“Thanks, Dr. Mako.” He stood up to leave, and then turned. “How did she die?”
The director looked blank.
“Mr. Marvin’s wife,” Jax explained. “What happened to her?”
“It shouldn’t matter to you,” Mako replied. “You have to focus on your craft, not on the details of the people you mesmerize.”
“But I could tell that he really loved her,” Jax persisted. “She wasn’t that old. Did she get sick?”
“This is weakness,” Dr. Mako warned.
“It’s just that I felt his sadness. No, it was more than that. His sadness was my sadness. We were one mind.”
The director looked down at his notes and did not respond. Assuming that he was being dismissed, Jax started out the door.
“She died in 9/11,” Dr. Mako said suddenly.
Jax froze halfway into the corridor.
“She went to work that morning and never came home. It was their wedding anniversary. It destroyed him.” Dr. Mako regarded him critically. “Do you feel better now?”
“You were right,” Jax said in a strangled voice. “It’s worse when you know.”
He stumbled out into the hallway, his face white. In his haste to get away from the memory that was not his, yet now somehow was, he bumped into Augie and Kira. A stack of books dropped from Kira’s arms and hit the floor.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, stooping to help gather them up.
She took in his red-rimmed eyes and ghastly countenance. “What’s wrong?” Her glance shifted to the sight of the director leaving the room. “It was just you and Dr. Mako?” she asked sharply.
“It was terrible,” Jax confessed. “Mr. Marvin’s wife —”
“Well, poor you,” she said coldly and stormed away.
Jax was mystified. “What was that for?”
“Dr. Mako left you stranded in the link,” Augie concluded.
“It’s like I lived a whole life in eight minutes.”
The older boy nodded. “He only does it with the most promising hypnos. That’s why Kira was upset. She was the last of us to get it. In her mind, she’s being replaced.”
“What’s she got to worry about? She’s the best of us by far!”
“It’s possible our imperious leader doesn’t think so anymore.”
Jax appraised Augie, searching for signs that the seventeen-year-old was pulling his chain. Augie was a good hypnotist and a brilliant student, yet he lacked the imagination for jokes or even sarcasm.
Jax knew he was making progress at Sentia, but he was nowhere near Kira’s level. Today was proof of that — he had very nearly lost himself in the mourning of a 9/11 widower. To a certain degree, it had actually happened. The ache of Mr. Marvin’s calamity hadn’t gone away. The connection of their minds ensured that Jax would always own a small amount of that pain.
He understood that his training had changed in a fundamental way. Up until this point, his lessons had focused on the mechanics of hypnotism, and the possibilities.
Now it was time for him to learn about something new.
The risks.
Corrado’s Pizza on Lexington Avenue was right around the corner from the institute. The mind-benders considered it their place, and there might have been some truth to that. Wilson bragged that he had once bent Corrado himself, demanding thinner crust and less oregano in the sauce. While no one could confirm whether or not this was true, the food was good, the service quick, and the prices affordable.
Jax ate there most Thursdays, when both his parents tended to work late, leaving him on his own for dinner. He was just enjoying his second slice when he became aware of that water-down-the-wrong-pipe feeling in his mind. It didn’t alarm him anymore. He was used to it — a stirring in his brain, faint at first, but growing in intensity until it oozed all the way down his spine. He had long since learned to recognize the sensation that someone was trying to hypnotize him. Soon the random motion began to feel directed, like an intelligent force was vying for control.
His first instinct was to look around for somebody else from Sentia. Technically, the hypnos were forbidden to bend one another, but in reality, it happened a lot. Enforcing such a ban would be like trying to outlaw towel-snapping in a locker room. The Lancaster Singhs did more work on each other than on actual institute research. The two cousins knew just when to back off before the link became obvious to Ray or Ms. Samuels. As far as Jax could tell, they never risked it in front of the director himself.
Jax frowned. At the moment, he was the only one of Mako’s young protégés in the shop.
His eyes fell on a slight, round-faced man in his sixties, with rosy cheeks and long gray hair tied back in a ponytail. His expression was so friendly, so nonthreatening that Jax scanned past him several times, certain that no hypnotic power could be coming from him. Yet the probing continued. Jax considered his other suspects. There was a lady at a corner table, lost in the depths of a thick paperback novel. A college-age girl sat slumped over her slice, seemingly fast asleep. Two men in suits were in a heated argument over a basketball game. It had to be the little guy, no question about it.
Well, Jax wasn’t a novice anymore. At Sentia, he was working with Dr. Mako, the best in the business. He didn’t have to be afraid of some plaid-shirted Grandpa Yokel.
Jax wielded his gaze like a weapon, transfixing the little man. The PIP image of himself came immediately, almost a flash. “Go away,” Jax said quietly but very clearly. He was gratified to see the old guy get up and rush out of the pizzeria, ponytail bouncing.
Nice work, he commended himself, impressed by his skills. Too bad Dr. Mako hadn’t been around to see it. That thought kept him content through his dinner, and he left Corrado’s in an excellent mood.
“You pack quite a wallop, my young friend,” came a voice from the storefront next door.
Jax wheeled. It was the little man who’d tried to hypnotize him. His eyes darkening through the blues toward purple, Jax tried again, focusing all his concentration on th
e target, just as Mako had taught him.
The man flinched, then grinned. “See what I mean? That’s a real haymaker. I can always tell a fellow sandman.”
Sandman? “Don’t know what you’re talking about, mister.”
The old guy chuckled. “Sure, you do. Brain jockey, dream weaver, mind-bender, synapse surfer — whatever Elias Mako is calling us these days.”
Jax hesitated. It was easy enough to accept that there were random people who had mesmeric power. Up until a few weeks ago, he had been one of them, bending strangers without even understanding what he was doing. But this old man was different. He knew about Mako and that Jax was connected to him. “I — I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“Just because Mako treats his charm school like a top-secret operation doesn’t make it one. All you have to do is stand next to the elevator and see who goes to the top three floors.” The man grasped Jax’s hand and shook it. “Where are my manners? I’m Axel — Axel Braintree, president of the Sandman’s Guild.”
Jax was stunned. “There’s a guild? Just how many hypnotists are out there?”
Braintree shrugged. “Could be millions. Most of them will never know their abilities exist. They’re nothing to worry about — their power is too weak to make any difference. But someone like you, Jackson Opus, that’s another tin of sardines. There are perhaps half a dozen sandmen on this earth with a gift that equals yours. If that many. For all I know, you’re unique.”
Jax bristled. “How do you know my name?”
“The guild takes an interest in Dr. Mako’s Flying Circus. I like to find out all about his zombie army. To be honest, most of you are not very impressive. Generally, we sandmen are a lot more boring than people think. But when I did my research on you, needless to say, that really shingled my roof.”
“Yeah, I know all about the Opuses,” Jax said. “My dad doesn’t have the power, though.”
Braintree nodded wisely. “It skips a generation sometimes, and comes out even stronger the next time around.”
“My father was hoping it just, you know, went away. He wasn’t too happy when I got it.”
“But surely he was expecting it,” Braintree said with a frown. “After all, he did marry Monica Woodson.”
“So what? Mom has nothing to do with this.”
The old guy was amazed. “Not possible. Are you trying to tell me that your father didn’t know the true identity of his wife-to-be?”
Jax was growing impatient. “He knew exactly who he was marrying! My mother!”
Braintree flushed with the effort of getting his point across. “Monica Woodson — Monica Opus — is a Sparks!”
“And?”
“If there’s a clan with an even greater hypnotic legacy than the Opuses, it’s the Sparks family!”
“No way!” Jax exploded. “My mother has no special powers at all! She can’t even make the blender work! She didn’t have a clue about Dad’s family until Dr. Mako got him to confess.”
“That’s understandable. The Sparkses’ mesmeric ability has eroded down through the generations. They were no less capable than the Opuses, but they were a different, wealthier breed — nobility, even royalty. It was said that an Opus would bend a butcher to get a free pork chop. Not so with the Sparks line. They were great sandmen, but to them, the gift was an art form, for entertainment and to do good works. A luxury, not a necessity. It might have been this difference that allowed their power to dissipate.”
“You mean, like, use it or lose it?” Jax’s head was spinning.
“You’re a quick study,” Braintree approved. “The Sparkses’ gift might have disappeared entirely if a Sparks girl hadn’t, by sheer random chance, married an Opus. And that makes you the nexus of the two most powerful bloodlines in the history of hypnotism.”
Jax was silent for a long time. “Mom never mentioned a family named Sparks. And neither did Dr. Mako.”
The round pink face turned grave. “I guarantee you that Dr. Mako knows everything I know and more. If he’s withholding information, it’s because he doesn’t want you to realize just how special you might be. Watch out for him. He’s a dangerous man.”
“Oh, sure!” Jax exclaimed in outrage. “Dr. Mako only has his own institute, and hangs out with world leaders and movie stars, but I can’t trust him. No, I have to trust some hobo who tried to hypnotize me in a pizza joint. How stupid do I look?”
Braintree was unflappable. “I know it’s a lot to take in.” He produced a business card and handed it to Jax:
He scribbled an address in the West Village onto the back. “The Sandman’s Guild is having a meeting next Tuesday at eight o’clock. It might be an eye-opening experience for you — and that’s quite a pair of eyes you’ve got, by the way. There were Opuses like that — green to purple in ten seconds. See you then.”
He melted into the passing parade on Lexington Avenue, leaving Jax fuming in front of Corrado’s.
Jax’s mind sizzled. He wasn’t going to any Sandman’s meeting, that was for sure!
Maureen Samuels was a former Miss Nebraska who’d originally come to New York City to seek her fortune as a model. Despite her spectacular good looks, her hypnotic abilities always held her back. She seemed unfocused on the runway as she tried to make sense of PIP visions from spectators she’d unintentionally bent. Dr. Mako had rescued her from the fashion rat race and encouraged her to develop her mesmeric skills. Alas, her power as a mind-bender never lived up to its potential. And since she was unfit to be one of Sentia’s hypnos, the director offered her a job running the place.
She also gave weekly lectures on the history of hypnotism. Jax always had trouble concentrating during these because a) it was pretty dull stuff, and b) every time he looked at Ms. Samuels for more than a few seconds, his mind went all foggy. He was embarrassed to admit that this had nothing to do with hypnotism. After more than a month at Sentia, you’d think he’d be used to how gorgeous she was. But then she’d turn a certain way, and he’d see her from an angle that he’d never noticed before, and it would start up again. The other boys had the same problem, with the possible exception of the Lancaster Singhs, one of whom always seemed to be mesmerized by the other. Wilson, too, seemed immune, or maybe he was too mean to show it.
The only thing that kept Jax reasonably alert was the name Opus, which dropped from those luscious lips on a regular basis. Dad didn’t know the half of what his famous family had stuck their noses into over the years. Every walk of life seemed to have an Opus in the background, using hypnotic power for every purpose, from altering the course of nations to making a fast buck on the side. There was Cornelius Opus, the ambassador; and Lucas Opus, the spy; and Millicent Opus-Bourne, the audience-bending ballerina. Even when the name was von Kalben or Ivanov, sooner or later a connection to Somebody Opus would surface. Yet when the history books were written, and the world read about the Pony Express, the Russian Revolution, the invention of the telephone, or Wilt Chamberlain’s hundred-point game, there was no mention of the Opus behind the scenes who’d helped make it happen.
But in today’s lecture, the name that came up and rattled around Jax’s head was not Opus. It was Sparks.
After being accosted by Axel Braintree, Jax had asked his mother if she knew of any relatives named Sparks. She’d looked so completely blank that he’d believed her. But according to Ancestry.com, there had been an aunt named Beatrice Sparks-Tremblay living in a castle in England in the early 1800s. The website hadn’t offered much more information than that, but the castle part seemed to support what Braintree had said about the Sparks family being rich.
Dad had never heard of the Sparkses either, but his reaction was different. “My head explodes every time I think about my own wing-nut family. Don’t ask me about somebody else’s!”
It was pretty mind-blowing: Mom and Dad had met on a blind date at a roller rink. Uniting the two greatest mesmeric bloodlines in history had been the last thing on their minds. What were the odds?
&
nbsp; Mom was in denial. “It’s a coincidence. There must be dozens of old families named Sparks.”
Poor Dad. He’d spent his whole childhood terrified that his parents were messing with his mind. Imagine his relief when he believed that the family talent had ended with his mother and father. Then one night he strapped on a pair of roller skates….
Ashton Opus was having a lot of flashbacks to his youth these days. “I washed the car every Saturday. I used to look forward to it all week. I think I got into the car business because I loved taking care of those old sedans.” His brow clouded. “Or maybe your grandparents were just too cheap to go to the car wash….”
None of these conversations took place head-on. Dad now preferred to address Jax from the side. He was paranoid that his son might be hypnotizing him, just as his parents had. Even when they had no choice but to face each other — over a chessboard, for example — Mr. Opus focused on a spot over Jax’s left shoulder. How messed up was that? His own father wouldn’t look at him.
These were the thoughts that roiled in Jax’s head when Ms. Samuels spoke the name Braintree had supplied and Mom had denied.
“Sparks?” he choked out.
The assistant director frowned at him from the front of the lecture room. “Sparks used to be a very common name in hypnotic circles. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Sparks hypnotists contributed more to the refinement of our craft than anyone else. They never asked for reward, nor did they accept one. It was the scandal of the family when Dr. Franz Mesmer began to use the gift to make money in eighteenth-century Paris.”
“Mesmer!” Wilson whistled. “The big dog was a Sparks?”
There was no brighter star in hypnotic history than Franz Mesmer. Mesmerism was named after him. Plenty of famous people happened to be mind-benders, from Winston Churchill to Eminem. Mesmer was more than that. He was famous for his hypnotic abilities. If Mom really was a Sparks, her pedigree might be even more top-shelf than Dad’s.
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