by Dawn Jansen
A second later though—reminding myself that he’s not only a psychic, but that the whole point of me coming here is to have him plumb the depths of my mind—I realize I should probably clear those thoughts from my head. What’s with me? Ever since entering the shadow realm with Tristan, it’s like my sex drive has kicked itself into high gear. Don’t get me wrong, I always appreciated a good shag, but now I can’t help but look at attractive men, of which there are an unusually large number of at the Academy, in a more sexual way than before. What’s most alarming is how impulsive the thoughts are, and I think it has to do with my powers. I mean, they are superpowers after all, right? And that’s exactly how I feel: super-powered, with the libido to match.
“You were expecting some kind of brainiac, weren’t you?” Mr. Ward asks in his sexy baritone voice, giving me a sly wink.
“How’d you know?” Immediately after asking that, I realize how stupid a question that was. “Oh, right. The whole reading minds thing.”
“I haven’t looked inside your head yet,” he says with a smile. “I could just read that on your face; you’re very expressive, Ms. Martins. Can I call you Mazzy?” (self-conscious nod) “Besides, I know it’s what a lot of students expect when they hear about me.” He takes out a bottle of brandy from his desk drawer and two glasses. “Drink? Sometimes it helps loosen up the mind. The Architect briefed me on what you came here for today.”
“I’m only nineteen,” I say, spouting the line I’ve trained myself to say whenever an authority figure mentions alcohol.
“Damn girl, don’t bullshit me,” he says, pouring both glasses a quarter of the way full. “I know what you fools get up to out by the lake. I even told ‘em not to bother you, but they gotta be strict about it.”
“Well, in that case,” I say and reach for my glass. My first sip is smooth and spicy, burning my throat on the way down.
Mr. Ward lights a cigar and pulls up his sleeves. This guy really knows how to live. “Why don’t you first tell me what you do remember, Mazzy? What’s your earliest memory?”
“When I was eight. They found me wandering the side of the road in December, and I collapsed and fell into a coma when they brought me to the hospital. My first memory is coming out of the coma. That was like being born for me. I don’t remember anything before that.”
Mr. Ward rubs his chin and furrows his brow. “And what happened after that?”
“I don’t remember. I was only eight so they didn’t explain much to me. They just asked me who I was; who my parents were; where I was from. I couldn’t answer any of those questions. I was just scared, afraid of everybody, especially the chief physician.” As I recount this, I notice my whole body tensing up, but I can’t help it. Remembering my time in the hospital always brings back the same emotions I felt then. I take another sip of brandy, and the jolt of alcohol hitting my tongue helps me take my mind off the emotional pain somewhat.
“Why were you afraid of him?” Mr. Ward asks.
“I don’t know, but from the first time I saw him, he struck terror into me. He tried bringing candy once, but that only made me more scared of him.” Shivers run up my spine as I recall that man’s face and I can hear my own voice starting to tremble. “It was like every time I saw him, my whole body started screaming at me to get away. And now when my powers get too strong, it’s like that same feeling comes back: danger, panic, terror.”
He quickly puts down his cigar. “I think that’s it. Hold on to that memory. Picture his face, and keep your mind open to me.”
I instinctively close my eyes. It’s hard to face the pain head-on, since I’ve buried all the memories from those years so deep down inside me, but I do my best to bring them back now.
When Frankie used his psychic abilities on me before, it was evident, but not invasive. It’s hard to explain, but there was this whisper—Frankie’s whisper—and I felt like somebody was sharing my headspace with me, existing in the same realm as my own thoughts. But when Mr. Ward enters my mind, it’s a totally different experience. I feel like my skull is being split open, and my whole body becomes paralyzed as I feel him traveling through the neurons of my brain.
“Relax, Mazzy,” I hear Mr. Ward say. “Hear” isn’t the right word; it’s an innate sensation that’s transmitted directly to my consciousness. Amazingly, however, I do relax, almost as though I was commanded to do so. Though I’m still unable to move, my whole body becomes less tense and I slump back into my chair.
As Mr. Ward travels through my mind, my power responds, reaching out to make contact with his psychic force. In this abstract realm of pure thought and energy, I can feel Mr. Ward trying to gain access to the nether reaches of my power source, but each time, my power shrinks away, avoiding his attempts to probe it. At the same time as I’m focusing on what’s going on in my head, I feel my nipples stiffen and my panties start to become damp. I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose, but Mr. Ward is exciting my power, and it’s starting to course through my whole body. I writhe in automatic response and moan as I arch back into my chair, unable to break out of this trance even if I wanted to. Each time Mr. Ward penetrates into my mind, I feel it in my core—as though he’s thrusting inside my body as well.
Just as I feel like I’m about to come, I’m jolted back to reality.
Mr. Ward is gone. I mean, he’s there in front of me, but he’s evacuated my mind. It kind of feels like the last time Tristan and I stopped midway through having sex—a lingering craving, a pleasure that was kindled and stoked but not brought to its apotheosis.
“I can’t do it,” Mr. Ward says, out of breath. He quickly downs the rest of his brandy. He has the glow of somebody who’s just had sex mixed with the exhaustion of a boxer after twelve rounds in the ring. “Each time I get close, your memories from that time shrink back. I can’t go that deep...” He sounds tired and somewhat disappointed.
My body is still tingling with pleasure as I come back to my senses. Once I’m more aware, I realize that I too look like I just had a good roll in the hay. My hair is all messy and my clothes are disheveled from moving around in my chair. I straighten out my collar and clear my throat a bit. “That was intense.”
“You’re strong, Mazzy,” Mr. Ward says. “But there is something buried inside you. Something that doesn’t want to be found.”
I let out a deep sigh as my body settles back to normal. “What should I do then?”
“Hell if I know,” he says, taking up his cigar again. “I’ll write a report about this for the Architect. She might think of something. She usually does. In the meantime, if you ever wanna finish what we started today, you know where my office is,” followed by one of his trademark winks.
My cheeks redden, but it’s actually a very enticing proposition. I wonder if I would have thought that before, or if it’s a result of having my powers awakened recently.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. I get up from the chair and straighten out my skirt. Mr. Ward eyes my legs with unabashed interest before meeting my gaze again. “But not until after I get this figured out,” I add.
“I better hurry up with this report then,” he says with a mischievous smile.
As I leave his office, I hear him click a button on his radio and “Purple Rain” starts playing through the speakers.
━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━
“Did you guys bang?” Tristan asks as soon as I bring up going to see Mr. Ward.
We’re on his bed flipping through issues of Fantastic Four together. Students don’t have TV privileges at the Academy, and unlike cigarettes, booze, Walkmans, and a few other contraband items, it’s the one restriction nobody’s figured out how to get around yet, so we’re stuck with comics.
“What?” I ask, feeling my face warm up instantly. “Why would you say that?”
“You’ve got the glow,” Tristan says with a lazy smile. “Besides, I know sometimes psychic sessions can be pretty intense. And add on to that the fact that Mr. Ward has slept with half t
he females at the Academy...”
“Yeah, but...” I pause for a moment, not sure of how to put what I want to say. “What about us?”
Tristan puts down the comic he was looking at and wraps one of his long arms around me. “Didn’t you read about this in class yet? Things at the Academy—in the empowered world—are different than they are outside. You know, the whole gender disparity thing?”
“I know, but... I’m not used to that. Like at all,” I tell him.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want or change who you are,” he says seriously, looking into my eyes deeply. “It’s just... uncommon for female EMPs to only be with one guy. Especially one as powerful as you. I’m sure you’ve noticed already how insatiable your power can be.”
“But I don’t want you seeing anybody else,” I tell him. It’s what immediately pops into my head when he mentions being with more than one person so openly for the first time.
“That’s awfully greedy of you, Blondie,” he says in a somewhat challenging tone, pulling me in close to his face.
“Well, those are the rules, Mr. Silva,” I say with a smirk, calling him by his last name. By now our lips and noses are brushing together, and I can’t help but peck at his lips, flicking my tongue into his mouth. We may not be able to have sex, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the affection we both have for each other. “Won’t you get jealous though?” I ask, moving away from his lips before we get carried away.
“Yes,” he says bluntly, still staring at my lips for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “But I don’t think I have a choice. It wouldn’t be fair for me to ask you to limit yourself for me. You might be one of the strongest EMPs to ever live. But I can’t imagine life without you either, so I think I’m gonna have to learn to deal with it.”
I think back to how much of an inconsiderate jerk Tristan was when I first met him compared to what he’s like now, and the transformation amazes me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and then we start making out again, one kiss being wholly insufficient to satisfy either of our lust.
Lying together on his bed with the rain smacking against the window outside, I wrap my legs around one of his, pleasuring myself again his thigh. As I do so, my right leg runs up against the stiff bulge in Tristan’s cotton pants. He groans in response and dips his tongue deeper into my mouth, and it almost feels like I’m giving myself to him the same way I did in the shadow realm last weekend.
But when the flicker of my power threatens to turn into a roaring flame, I know we have to stop.
“Once I get this figured out,” I say in between panting breaths after forcing myself away from his kiss, “you’re gonna be the first person I come to, and we can finally finish what we started back in the shadow realm. There’s a whole bunch of lingerie in my dorm I want to try out for you.”
Tristan closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh, trying to cool himself down. We both shift away from each other a few inches.
“And no, by the way—we didn’t ‘bang’, as you so elegantly put it,” I say, smacking him with one of the comics lying on the bed. “But he did go really deep inside my mind, and that was kind of... stimulating,” I add, biting my lip.
“As stimulating as what we did was?” he asks.
“Of course not,” I tell him honestly. “That was the best I’ve ever had, even if we didn’t get to finish.”
“Once you get even more used to the shadow realm, it should feel even better,” he says with a smile.
I let out a light giggle and then go back to flipping through the comics, knowing I have to divert my attention away from Tristan somewhat if we’re going to be lying in the same bed together.
“Hey, did you hear about the new kid?” Tristan asks a few seconds later, propping himself up on his elbow. “He sounds pretty boss. Apparently he was doing time in prison for something serious, but the Academy found out about him, and now they’re sending him here.”
“So I’m technically not ‘the new girl’ anymore? That was short-lived,” I remark. “What’s his power?”
“I dunno,” Tristan replies. “I only heard rumors that he can manipulate people. That’s why he was in prison. He swindled a bunch of money from some rich people or something, and I guess he ended up messing with the wrong person.”
“Sounds pretty rad. Hope he’s not a dick.”
Chapter 11
Damion
Everybody in this school is a dick, I swear.
I’ve only been here three days, and I’m already starting to think I would have been better off in prison.
I guess I don’t have a choice though. As soon as the feds found out about me after I’d gotten locked up, it was either become an “EMP” or eat a bullet. Wait—isn’t this basically the plot of Dirty Dozen? You know it’s time to question the choices you’ve made when your life starts to resemble a Charles Bronson movie.
Still, asshole classmates aside, I don’t think I’ll have to sweat this place too much. From what I’ve heard, none of the students really knew how to use their powers when they first got here, but I’ve been in control of mine for years.
I actually didn’t know others like me existed, and I definitely didn’t expect the huge variety of powers I’ve seen the others use here. None of them have a power like mine, though. Lots of people think I’m psychic, but I’m not. I don’t know what “category” of power mine belongs to, but I’m able to know everything about somebody and even convince them of anything I want as long as I make physical contact with them—the more contact, the greater my power works.
I found out about my power gradually as I was growing up, and by my twentieth birthday last year, I had already been living the high life for years in Los Angeles, getting anything I wanted by manipulating well-connected socialites. I know technically it was wrong, but the types of people I was rubbing elbows with had more money than they knew what to do with, and most of it was ill-gotten gains anyway. I’ve always planned to go Robin Hood and use my powers for good one day, but I wanted to enjoy life while I was still young. Now that I’ve been forced to come to this Academy, it’s just sped up my plan by a few years is all.
So my plan is to cruise through this daycare bullshit, ace the Test, and then get promoted to head of whatever squad in the EMP organization gets to seduce hot chicks for political gain, because I’m going to absolutely crush at that. With my powers, I’ll be able to swing billion-dollar trade deals in our government’s favor and manipulate foreign diplomats to divulge top-secret information—all the while hopefully making some nice extra dough for myself on the side.
And maybe my classmates here would be nicer to me if I played the part of the typical “new kid” at school—finding out whose ass to kiss, joining one of their immature cliques—but Damion Myers doesn’t play that shit, so they’re just gonna have to live with me until I blow this joint.
I’m in hand-to-hand combat class now, and the goober in front of me is a shapeshifting student everybody calls Morph—yeah, they actually use nicknames, that’s how lame this place is. Luckily for me, we’re not allowed to use our powers during this class, or he’d probably turn into a bear and eat me or something, so I’m just legit mopping the floor with him. My powers didn’t really come into maturity until I was about sixteen, so before that I had to rely on my fighting skills to survive in southeast LA, where I grew up. Now, my combat prowess complements my manipulative powers nicely, though I rarely have to use them anymore.
The buzzer rings and the teacher, Mr. Scholz, tells everybody to swap partners. Morph immediately throws down his gloves in frustration.
“You fight dirty, new kid!” he yells with blood streaming from his nose. Everybody stops to look at the two of us.
“And?” I ask with a smirk.
“I woulda’ kicked your ass if we fought fair,” he says. I hear a “Yeah!” come from one of the other students.
“Well, out on the streets there’s no such thing as a fair fight, so tough shit,�
� I tell Morph plainly, ignoring the peanut gallery.
Morph’s face turns red with anger and I’m expecting him to charge me, but Mr. Scholz cuts in. “New guy’s right,” he says, taking the wind out of Morph’s sails completely. “As long as you don’t use your powers in here, everything’s fair game. That’s what it takes to win a real fight.” He blows his whistle. “Next round! Everybody swap.”
“Good luck, princess,” I whisper to Morph as he walks away. At least the teachers are alright here.
I look around for my next partner and catch a smoking hot blond in a sports bra and bitchin’ neon pants. I give her a nod.
“The new new kid,” she says, nodding back.
“Damion,” I say.
“Mazzy,” she replies.
She’s hot and she doesn’t have a stupid nickname—that’s two for two so far. Let’s see how she fights.
After the bell rings, we touch gloves and square off. I notice her wide-legged stance right away, which tells me she must not be a puncher.
“Taekwondo?” I ask, getting into my own hybrid stance.
Her response is a quick axe kick to my head, which I just narrowly dodge, maneuvering to her side and throwing a liver shot that she blocks with her elbow.
“I wasn’t ready for that,” I say with a chuckle.
“Didn’t you say there’s no such thing as a fair fight?” she says in reply.
So she’s not the airhead I thought she was. This girl’s growing on me.
I decide to pick up the pace a little bit. I start off with a flurry of haymakers, a technique I like to call the “Blitzkrieg.” It usually catches trained fighters like her off guard because it more closely emulates the frantic chaos of a real fight. To my surprise, however, she manages to dodge and weave each of my strikes, throwing her own well-placed wheel kick that, because I’m off balance after my onslaught of haymakers, catches me right in the ribs. This is the first time this whole class I’ve been tagged. Time to get serious.
