Reluctant Psychic

Chapter 5

Chapter FiveI jump to the side, and Roxy’s crushing teeth clank right next to my ankle.

There’s some kind of movement behind the wolves, but I focus on dodging Ashley/Maddie’s attempt to chomp on my knee.

Roxy momentarily puts her weight on her haunches, then leaps.

A pale hand snaps Roxy from the air by her neck, like a kitten, and at the exact same time, a booted foot pins down the second werewolf’s tail.

“Is this how ladies behave?” Vlad growls, his perfect features transforming from brooding to furious.

Rose shows up behind Vlad, pointing each of her index fingers at her lover’s captives.

Blinding streams of energy smack into them, and with another flash, the wolves turn back into naked teens.

Vlad removes his foot from Ashley/Maddie’s butt, but keeps holding on to Roxy’s neck, seemingly oblivious to her state of undress. “Did your father put you up to this?” he asks her sternly.

Suddenly finding herself in Vlad’s hold must be too overwhelming for Roxy’s tiny brain, because she just stands there, gaping at him, then at Rose, then at me.

Finally twisting out of Vlad’s grasp, she crosses her arms to cover herself. “What does my father have to do with anything?” she petulantly asks.

“He and Sasha have a history.” Vlad’s voice is hard. “You’re not a good enough actress to pretend you know nothing about that.”

“But I don’t.” Roxy’s arrogance appears shattered so badly I almost feel sorry for her. “He never tells me any—”

“Who is her father?” I ask, though I can guess based on the context.

“Chester,” Vlad says, confirming my suspicion. “The former Councilor who—”

“Oh, I know who that is,” I say and look at Roxy.

Yes.

Now that Vlad has pointed it out to me, I can see that Roxy has Chester’s exact cheekbones and chin.

Except he’s not a werewolf.

Then I recall our last Orientation lecture.

Roxy raised her hand when Dr. Hekima asked whose parents are different types of Cognizant. I jokingly thought then that her non-werewolf parent had to be a harpy or the unleashed kraken—and it seems I was close, as Chester is worse than both of those combined.

Does she have double powers?

Can she manipulate probabilities like Chester?

Dr. Hekima said that was rare, but he also said probability manipulators have an edge in that regard.

Her having Chester’s powers could explain how I had such bad luck bumping into her and Ashley/Maddie.

Then I recall something else—something Gaius told me before my Rite.

Chester’s beef with Darian was over a dead wife. A dead werewolf wife who’d committed suicide in response to a prophecy in which she was to be the cause of her daughter’s death. Was Roxy that daughter? Does she know? I hope not. That would mess with any child’s psyche. Maybe I should’ve been nicer to—

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Roxy says, getting her spunk back. “We met at Orientation last week, and when we saw her again, we decided to have some fun.”

Rose’s smooth forehead folds into a full-blown scowl. “I have the power to prevent you from changing for days, young lady—maybe even weeks if I wish.” She extends her hands toward Roxy, and energy starts to crackle around her fingers.

Roxy pales, but for whatever reason, gives me a death stare.

Like Rose’s threat is my fault.

“Sasha,” Vlad says to me. “You better head home while Rose discusses ladylike behavior with these girls.”

He doesn’t need to ask me twice.

Keeping my posture as straight and proud as I can, I walk out of the gazebo and hightail it home.

By the time I get home, I’m relatively calm. Despite their deadly wolf form, it’s hard to view Roxy and her gang as anything but bratty teens. Plus, I can’t help but feel sorry for Roxy. With her mom’s suicide and Chester as her father, the poor girl is entitled to be a little prickly.

Fluffster greets me at the door, so I grab him and get some pet therapy as I tell him about what happened.

When I’m sufficiently relaxed, I decide to give Darian’s teachings another go.

In order to avoid pausing and re-starting the tape, I re-watch it until I have every step of the meditation committed to memory.

Recalling my earlier back and leg discomfort, I sit in a chair instead of a lotus pose and close my eyes.

I do the recommended breathing and slide my awareness around my body until it settles on my “third eye.”

My mind is now as serene as a Zen monk’s.

Even if I don’t reach Headspace, this is bound to be good for my stress levels.

“Back on track,” I remind myself and focus on the third eye again.

I’m so in the moment that the passage of time becomes hard to track. Floating on a cloud of relaxation, I feel my palms grow warm.

So warm they’re almost hot.

According to what I’ve read, warm palms and feet are classic signs of the “relaxation response”—just as cold appendages are the body’s reaction to stress.

I keep breathing and empty my mind again.

My palms are so warm now they feel like they’re on fire.

Some intuition makes me open my eyes, and I see lightning forming on my palms.

I gasp.

Instantly, my autonomic nervous system turns my deep relaxation response into its complete opposite.

I’m breathing at a hundred miles an hour, my heart pounding against my rib cage.

All warmth leaves my palms—and the lightning fizzles out.

My fight-or-flight response doesn’t go away, though. Instead, it goes into overdrive as I realize what the next step of the meditation would’ve been.

The lightning was going to go into my eyes.