Dark mind, p.19
Dark Mind, page 19
Nikolai sat down cross-legged in front of the Magi, ignoring the murmurs that erupted from the peanut gallery down the hall. The man didn’t look up. His focus remained on something in his hand, a red checker, that he spun with childlike fascination.
He brushed the man’s mind. Despite the focus on the checker and seeming mindlessness, the Magi scratched absently at the back of his head. Nikolai pressed again and again with varying degrees of pressure, but still the man sensed him. Worse, he began rocking back and forth. That, at least, was new. Curiosity got the better of him—he could always practice properly again later—and he threw open the curtain on the man’s mind.
Raw. That’s how he felt. Just . . . too much of everything—the fabric touching his skin, the dampness of it, the voices echoing like jackhammers down the hall, the scratch scratch scratch of the brushes, and the smell, oh how he hated the smell! He could barely think through the bombardment of his senses. So he didn’t. He focused on the checker, on the pleasant sensation of the ridges on his fingertips, on the dancing rhythm of its twirl. Somehow this made the other things less . . . loud.
The man’s discomfort was infectious. Nikolai pulled back a bit, trying to separate himself from the swarm of sensations.
“I’m Nikolai.” It felt odd to speak in his own voice again. “What’s your name?” Even if the man couldn’t answer, the priming should prompt him to think of it.
It took a moment for the man to process what he’d heard. Actually, it took a moment for him to realize he’d even been spoken to. His brain then scrambled to replay the words so it could interpret them. Eventually he got an answer, though. Josh.
Nikolai smiled. “Nice to meet you, Josh. Do you remember the woman that was here earlier? The blonde?”
This was the wrong thing to say. The man tensed, his mind calling up images of Medea’s face contorted with rage, her will punching the attendant before her in a display the Magi vaguely understood on an instinctual level. She terrified him, and the checker twirled faster.
“Yes, her. What did she want from you?”
She hadn’t made any sense, talking about magic and asking what he was doing there.
“That’s it? She asked you about magic?”
The checker froze. How did he know that?
Nikolai leaned forward and whispered, “I can read your thoughts.”
No no no. That’s impossible. You’re lying! The checker started twirling again.
“I can prove it. Think of something.”
The checker slowed to a methodical pace. What would be impossible to guess? Nothing about him. He could have asked the doctors. It had to be random, like a number. 75,357.
“I like the way you think, Josh. 75,357.”
The checker paused. When the ramifications of what Josh heard sank in, the floodgates opened. Elation that someone could finally understand him. Terror at the prospect of someone reading his thoughts and having no privacy. The two emotions warred with one another, oscillating in his mind until he got stuck in a sort of loop. The checker resumed spinning, so fast it became a red blur. Nikolai half expected it to escape the man’s hand and fly across the room, but it didn’t, and he realized Josh held it in place with magic. The man’s thoughts continued to spiral, so rapidly Nikolai had trouble keeping up.
Calm down. The telepathic command got sucked up by the tornado of thoughts and whisked away, but the checker slowed.
What did you do? You did something.
“I told you to calm down.”
But you didn’t say it. Did you? Self-doubt.
“No, I didn’t say it. It’s just something I can do. How did you end up in this place?”
Embarrassment. I left home. There was a toy store—it had these spinning tops. They were painted bright colors that blended into a pattern when spun. I wanted another look, that’s all, and Grandma didn’t want to take me. “Next week, next week,” that’s all she kept saying, but next week came and we never went. So I went on my own. I stared into the window, wishing I had something like that, and suddenly there was a top in my hand. I didn’t take anything, I swear! It was just there. I tried to take it back in, hand it to the shopkeeper, but he called me a thief and all sorts of nasty things. He called the police too. I tried to run but they stopped me. It was so loud, I was scared . . . His thoughts trailed off, replaced with sensations of physical force, being restrained, and then relief when something flung them all away.
“You threw off five cops?”
I didn’t do anything! They were just gone, but it only made them madder. And scared. They . . . they . . . His thoughts were dancing toward a dark terror. Nikolai could sense the static, the mental tornado or whatever it was, just below the surface and rising fast. He tried to send more calming thoughts.
“You did magic. Usually our powers first appear in childhood or early adolescence, typically under duress. Telekinetic bursts are the most common manifestation. They’re wild, performed by instinct. Learning to control magic takes a lot of trial and error. Most people need formal training. What I don’t understand is why it’s only showing up for you now.”
As he hoped, the talk of magic intrigued Josh enough to keep the swirling tornado at bay.
Yes. Other kids used to pick on me. Sometimes they got hurt. Fell back. Pushed into walls. You’re saying that was me? I always thought it was God. I couldn’t explain it to Mama. Everyone thought I must be pushing them. Eventually they just started keeping me at home. Grandma watches me. Reminds me to do things. I . . . I forget.
Embarrassment again. He either couldn’t sense or couldn’t remember when he had to use the restroom. Grandmother had to remind him. Nobody had done that for him here, just given him a bucket. When he failed to use it, they made degrading remarks about his lack of hygiene, as if he’d chosen to soak in his own waste. Shame and anxiety flooded his mind at the prospect of Nikolai reading the thoughts.
“What does your grandmother help you with?”
Josh perked up. Maybe the man couldn’t read all his thoughts. Getting dressed. I can’t tie my shoes or do buttons. My hands—they fumble most of the time. I drop things. Except this. He visualized the checker. I don’t know why. It makes people mad, though. They think I’m pretending I can’t do the other things. Or that I’m lazy.
“Well, they’re mistaken. You’re using magic to spin it.”
I am? Josh looked at the checker in wonder.
Dr. Hayes was headed back. Nikolai quickly stood. “It was nice meeting you, Josh, but I have to find my sister.”
Your sister? Confusion.
The blonde. She’s not really my sister, but the doctor doesn’t need to know that.
Can you tell them I didn’t hurt the attendant? There was desperation in the plea.
They wouldn’t believe me. Telepathy could only do so much, and it wasn’t exactly in his best interest to pin it on Medea.
Josh’s shoulders slumped. I figured. I just hoped . . . The thought trailed away. There was no hope, not for someone like him.
“Any luck?” asked Dr. Hayes, though he clearly expected nothing.
“It was as you said. Still, I like to get the measure of a man myself. I’d like to see my sister now.”
“I can have someone bring her up front.”
“I’d rather see her where she’s at, find out what drew her to this place.”
“She said she ‘felt’ several people she needed to talk to. You know how schizophrenics get. It’s not wise to cater to their delusions.”
“I find it can offer subtle clues about their state of mind. Medea rarely leaves the house these days. Her caretaker and I are the only two people she really sees. I’d like to observe her interactions with other patients, if that’s alright.”
“As you wish.” Dr. Hayes motioned an attendant over. “Dennis, please take Dr. Featherline over to the women’s ward.”
16
INTRACTABLE
Nikolai followed the attendant through the corridors until he was passed along to a female attendant, who led him to the dayroom. He barely had a chance to scan it before Medea appeared at his side.
“There you are! What took you so long? Never mind. I need your help.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the door. “Can you feel them?”
“You realize that makes absolutely no sense without context, right?”
“There are Magi here. Five to be exact. Do you know how rare that is in a place like this? In a Mundane city? The ratio is absurdly off!”
“Okay, so what? I thought we were here to do experiments.” He couldn’t keep the edge from his voice. Her excitement meant she’d latched on to something new, potentially extending their trip. But god forbid he have a couple days to take care of his own shit. No one could fuck with her schedule but her.
“Think about it,” she exclaimed, smile unwavering. “Every generation, fewer Magi are born. Don’t you find it odd that there are five in the same location? There has to be a reason.” Her tone and mannerisms were reminiscent of a woman sharing juicy gossip. He suddenly missed her frown.
“And this is worth sidetracking our trip?”
“For a day or so, yes. Whatever’s causing this spike in Magi, it could be the antidote to whatever is causing magic to die out.”
“Antidotes are for poison,” he said in a mimicry of her lecture tone. “And what about the delivery we have scheduled for tomorrow?”
Her frown reappeared. “I forgot about that. Maybe you could drive out to meet them and come back here once everything is set up.”
“Oh, now you’re fine with me having a car?” And pushing the experiment back a day. His pouch looked further and further away. He withdrew his arm from her grasp.
“No, but seeing as you already have it . . .”
His fist clenched at his side. It was no use arguing with her when she was like this. The best he could do was speed things along. He took a breath. “What exactly do you want to accomplish here?”
“I don’t know.” She gave a wandering patient a funny look and pressed against him like she was trying to melt into his side. “I’ve been trying to figure out why they’re here, but some of them seem sickly.”
“Really? Sick people in a nuthouse. Imagine that!”
She swatted his arm, then caught the fabric and held on. “Yes, though not all of them. I tried talking to a few, but I couldn’t get them to open up to me.”
“Shocking. What’d you do, ask if they’d cast any good spells lately?”
“No. I simply asked why they were here and if they’d done anything that seemed impossible.”
Of course she had. “Did it ever occur to you that they wouldn’t feel comfortable opening up to a stranger? Particularly one that looks at them like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re terrified of catching something.”
“I am not!”
He glanced meaningfully at her hand, still clutching his sleeve. She hastily let go and took a step back.
“I know I can’t catch anything,” she said defensively. “They’re just . . . not right. Well, one seemed okay, but then they took her to therapy and now I can’t get her to say anything. She’s been sitting for over an hour, just staring off into space. The man did that, too, and statue girl, so maybe the therapy causes it. If so, that doesn’t bode well for us—they just took another of the women. That only leaves one unaffected. Can you talk to her, get her to open up? If not, well, maybe we should try telepathy. I know you haven’t had a chance to test your new method on a full Magi, but—”
“Actually, I have. The mute you encountered—his name is Josh. I had a nice conversation with him. He’s in for theft. Sounded like he managed to summon a toy into his hand. Is such a thing even possible? I thought you could only summon food.”
“Oh no, you can summon anything, though it takes extraordinary focus to do so. That’s one reason my healing abilities surpass so many others. I can summon the raw materials necessary to rebuild tissue without relying on the body’s own stores.”
Incredible. And he’d seen it, back when she’d regrown a prisoner’s arm. He’d wondered why the man didn’t become gaunt from such rapid healing. Every time he thought he had a handle on how powerful Medea was, she’d nonchalantly do something that demonstrated he’d only scratched the surface.
“. . . almost like something was hunting them. That’s why you don’t see many grand master summoners, not even in the old days.”
He blinked. Apparently he’d missed part of what she’d said. “Fascinating. You’ll have to tell me more later, but for now let’s focus on why we’re here. Which ones are the Magi?”
Displaying a rare modicum of common sense he hadn’t thought her capable of when it came to human interaction, she said, “It would be rude to point them out. Here, I’ll mark them.”
He cast Magic Sight, and spots of light blossomed on the chests of various patients. There were only three in the room—a woman in her thirties slumped over in a wheelchair, a brunette who was already checking him out, and a girl with long black hair striking an odd pose. He made a telepathic beeline for the latter. He had to see what was going on in there. Was she conscious, or was her mind somewhere else?
He dove into her head, yet she barely seemed to notice. Her mind had a muted, dreamlike quality, though she was fully conscious of her surroundings. She was irritated with Doris, who’d hung something on her. People did things like that whenever she went catatonic, thinking her unaware. She always meant to tell them off later, but it was hard to keep her thoughts straight long enough to follow through. When she did remember, they just laughed off her concerns. At least it was only a sweater. She’d had worse things done to her by men. She yanked her thoughts away from those memories, carefully avoiding the thing behind her.
An ominous presence pressed against the back of her mind. Paranoia brought on by his telepathic intrusion? Curious, he tried to steer her attention toward it. She mentally dug her heels in. Whatever was back there, it was bad, not worth looking at, must be avoided.
Stop putting thoughts in my head!
I’m not. I’m just reading what’s already here. What are you so afraid of?
She tried to ignore him.
Just show me what it is. Maybe I can help.
He’d never seen anyone so adept at avoiding a thought. Usually when you told someone not to think about something, it became impossible for them to think of anything else. This woman deftly avoided giving shape to her fear.
Whatever it was, she should learn to face it. People were scared of the silliest things. It couldn’t be that bad, and it’s not like it was real.
Not so gently, he pushed her toward it.
Stop. I can’t look. Don’t make me look!
Suddenly Grandmother paced before her, heels clacking against the floor. She wore the pale blue dress and apron she’d died in, still dusted with flour. Curlers adorned her head, pulling the skin of her face into an unnaturally tight grimace that seemed to melt like wax and drip up toward the ceiling.
“Stupid bitch.” Clack. “Worthless, no-good whore of Satan.” Clack clack. “Do you hear me, Evelyn?”
The hallucination was so vivid he had to temporarily retreat from Evelyn’s mind to double-check it wasn’t real.
“You should die for what you did. Filthy slut.” Clack clack clack. “The family doesn’t want you back. Or the church. Jesus died for our sins, but he didn’t die for you. Kill yourself. Find something sharp and cut your wrists. Smash your head in the door. Tear your clothes into strips and make a noose.”
He yanked his mind away from the insidious tirade and hovered at the outskirts of Evelyn’s consciousness, reluctant to dive back in. Her thoughts were annoyingly close to his own when he was in the grip of the malaise. It felt like tempting fate to be close to something so similar without his Frog’s Fancy.
How the hell could she live like this? At least his curse was externally applied; her brain inflicted this misery on itself. He could think of no evolutionary advantage for such a thing. Is that why her body shut down? Was it an overcompensating freeze response? Evelyn wanted nothing more than to cover her face and shrink away from the tirade.
“Everyone hates you, you fucking slut. Your father is ashamed. Your mother too. Gave birth to a monster, she did. Just die so we can all move on.”
Fuck this bitch.
As he’d done with the test subjects, he attempted to influence what Evelyn saw. There’s a swordsman clad all in black. Her brain latched on to the suggestion, making it far more real. Look, he’s after your grandmother! He nudged the swordsman toward the old woman. In one smooth motion, the figure bolted forward and sliced off her head. It hit the floor with a wet thud and rolled across the room, coming to rest against a chair leg. Let Grandmother complain now.
Evelyn stepped back from the headless body—comically still standing—and screamed. Excellent. He’d managed to break her out of the trance.
An inhuman wail sounded across the room. Dead white eyes stared at Evelyn from Grandmother’s severed head. “Look at what you did to me, you ungrateful harlot! Drown in your sins. Drooown!”
Blood spurted from the neck stump, a gushing fountain of it, and more leaked from the walls. The windows opened and a red torrent flooded the room. Evelyn yanked her feet away, but there was no retreating from the rising tide.
He had to admire her imagination. It’s not there. None of this is real.
The suggestion fell flat. It was real enough to Evelyn and she reacted as any sane person would—she tried to climb onto the nearest chair. The current occupant hollered and tried to push her away.
“Let me up. Please.”
“Get off of me!”
“Drooownnn.”
A good shove sent Evelyn to the floor. She came up gasping and bolted for the door. Blood sloshed around her ankles as she fruitlessly tried to work the knob. Attendants rushed to pull her away.
Medea was suddenly at his side. “What the hell did you do?”
