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“Aurnia …” Never said, squinting. He clicked his fingers. “Mortal girl from Mevolent’s dimension! Got it! Yes, and how was her boyfriend?”
“Large,” said Omen, “and I’m pretty sure he wanted to fight me.”
“Well, he did just meet you, so I can understand the impulse.”
“Oh, cheers for that.”
Never grinned. “Did you puff out your chest and square up to him?”
“No,” Omen said, frowning. “Was I supposed to?”
“Not really. Good boy, Omen. I’m proud of you.”
“I’m not sure what for, but OK.”
A Fifth Year girl whose name Omen didn’t know walked by. She smiled at Never. Never winked back.
Omen frowned. “Is that something I should be aware of?”
“We’re just friends,” Never said casually.
“That was a flirty look she gave you.”
“How would you know?”
“I’ve seen them in movies,” Omen replied, a little defensively.
“You are surprisingly well versed in romantic comedies,” said Never. “But we’re just friends, really. It might lead to something more, or it might not. Whatever.”
Omen sagged. “You’re so lucky.”
“I know,” said Never. “But remind me – how, exactly?”
“You’re bisexual. I wish I was bisexual.”
Never laughed. “Feeling cheated, are we?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s like I’m cutting off half my potential love interests without even thinking about it. If I liked boys as much as I liked girls, I’d at least have the chance to … to … Well, to be turned down by more people. But that’s not the point.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Omen. Most sorcerers eventually turn bi because they grow tired of viewing relationships from a traditional, mortal perspective. They gradually allow themselves to be free – the key word being gradually. It just takes a little time.”
“But what if I’m not bi?” Omen asked, keeping his voice low. “What if I’m one of those sorcerers who’s, like, straight or gay their entire lives?”
Never patted his shoulder. “It won’t be so bad. I’ll still invite you to parties.”
“You promise?”
“Omen, I’m going to be having so many parties you won’t know what to do with yourself, and I want you there, standing in the background, maybe handing out canapés. The dream.”
“The dream,” Omen said, and they tapped their bottles together just as the bell rang.
“Aw, crap,” Omen muttered.
“You just remembered what class we have now, didn’t you?”
Omen grumbled in reply, and got up and trudged after Never. They made it to their seats just as Miss Wicked walked in.
Omen liked Miss Wicked. She was scary, but in a good way. Or at least a mostly good way. But this latest module was not proving to be a strong point for him.
The class went quiet before the door had even closed behind her. She went to her desk, turned on her heels and watched them.
Madcap Fenton, a self-proclaimed class clown, stood, a confused expression on his face, and walked to the front of the class and started to write on the board. Omen glanced at Never, then at Auger. They both looked as mystified as Omen felt.
Madcap wrote TELEPATHY and then returned to his seat.
Omen, and everyone else, stared at him. After a moment, Madcap blinked and said, “Whoa.”
Miss Wicked flicked her wrist, and her telescopic pointer shot out to full length. The tip, covered with a tiny rubber ball, quivered mere centimetres from Diana Whist’s eye. Miss Wicked swept her arm back, and tapped the board.
“Telepathy,” she said. “The transmission of information from one person to another via psychic link. This can take the form of images or words or simple feelings – or all three at the same time. Entire conversations can be held and distance is no obstacle. Minds can be read. Secrets can be unlocked. Control can be taken.”
She whipped the pointer away from the board, and levelled it at Madcap. “Why did you write this word?”
“I … I don’t know,” he answered.
“You wrote it because I told you to,” Miss Wicked said. “I entered your mind and I gave you an instruction.”
October Klein’s hand went up, somewhat tentatively. “Excuse me, miss? Isn’t that, like, not allowed?”
Miss Wicked looked at her.
October swallowed, but managed to continue. “Aren’t you supposed to, kind of, ask a student’s permission? Before you enter their mind?”
“You gave me your permission when we began this module,” Miss Wicked said, “or at least your guardians did. Did none of you read the form you took home for them to sign? No one? You disappoint me, class. I thought you were strong, independent individuals. It appears I was mistaken.”
October frowned. “My parents had no right to give permission for something like that.”
“Indeed, they didn’t,” said Miss Wicked. “But they did it anyway, didn’t they? Because until you grow up, take responsibility for yourselves and everything that comes with it – including, but not limited to, reading the small print – then other people are going to continue to make your decisions for you. In this case, they granted me permission to enter your minds for the purposes of this module. Which means I can read your thoughts from the moment you step into this room, and I can do so without warning. So, and I mean this quite sincerely, clean up your thoughts, everyone.”
A blush wave passed over the class, and hit Omen particularly hard. Even Auger took to just staring at his desk.
“We’ll touch on other aspects that a fully rounded Sensitive would need in later modules,” Miss Wicked continued. “You’ll be given the chance to try out telekinesis, pyrokinesis and astral projection. But telepathy is where we begin because telepathy is where the real power lies. Apart from communication, apart from reading somebody’s thoughts and controlling their minds, you can alter an enemy’s memory, take possession of their body, and change their very personality.” She smiled. “What’s throwing a little ball of energy compared to something like that?” She whacked the pointer against her desk. “Pair up. This next hour is going to be interesting.”
(#ulink_aee4cc64-ddfc-527f-8fe4-7e1d9dddef26)
Around the corner from Decapitation Row, tucked under an arch, was a charming little café with cakes in the window. It had a bell above the door that tinkled when Valkyrie entered. The place only had five tables, and only one of them was occupied, right at the very back.
Militsa stood as Valkyrie walked over.
“Hey, you,” Valkyrie said, kissing her. “Am I late?”
“Not at all,” Militsa answered.
“Really?”
“Of course you’re late. You’re always late. But that’s all right.”
They sat, and Valkyrie looked around. “I’ve never been here before. Is it good?”
“I have no idea.”
“Hello there,” the waiter said, appearing at their table. He smiled as he handed them the menus. “The soup of the day is leek and potato. Could I get you some drinks to start?”
“I’ll have a glass of still water,” Militsa said.
“Me too,” said Valkyrie.
The waiter smiled again. “Absolutely. Coming right up.”
He gave a little bow, which transformed into a turn, and then he swept away. A little dramatic for a café in the early afternoon, but fair enough.
“How did your meeting with Temper go?” Militsa asked.
“We haven’t had it yet,” Valkyrie said.
“Oh, I thought it was this morning. Any idea what it’s about?”
“None at all. He was being cagey, though.” She shrugged. “I’ll find out soon enough.”
“And then you’re heading off to America?”
Valkyrie nodded. “We shouldn’t be too long. We just have to find this Oberon Guile guy and work out if he’s got anything to do with that missing White House aide. Just a normal day at work, all in all.” She gave Militsa a smile.
Militsa tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Something’s up.”
Valkyrie frowned at her. “How can you tell?”
“You just have that look about you. So what’s on your mind, pretty lady?”
Valkyrie sighed. “Ah, I don’t know. Everything? I’ve got so much going on that it’s hard to keep it all straight.”
“Then tell me what’s uppermost in your mind.”
“Well, I suppose, right now, that would be Omen and Auger. I’m worried about them.”
Militsa leaned forward slightly. “Is this the vision again?”
“I had another one last night. It’s about to happen.”
“Any idea when?”
“Soon. Weeks. Maybe days. Omen’s going to be shot and killed. Auger’s going to be shot. I don’t know what happens after that.”
“Any other details?”
“It happens in America.”
Militsa frowned. “OK, then we make sure they don’t go to America in the next few weeks and boom, lives saved.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy.”
“Of course it is,” Militsa said. “You know better than anyone how much future timelines can change because of the slightest alteration. Actively stopping them from leaving the country? That entire timeline will probably be rewritten just like that.” She clicked her fingers.
“Maybe,” said Valkyrie.
The waiter came back, produced the bottle of water with a flourish, and filled their glasses. “Have you decided what you’d like to order?” he asked.
Valkyrie snatched up the menu. “Oh, sorry, let’s see …”
“Take your time,” said the waiter. “Take all the time you need.”
“How are the wings here?” Militsa asked.
The waiter shrugged. “Fine.”
Militsa smiled. “You don’t sound overly enthused.”
He sighed. “They’re grand. Order them if you want.”
Valkyrie raised an eyebrow.
“OK,” Militsa said slowly. “Then I’ll have the wings, I suppose.”
The waiter made a note.
Valkyrie closed the menu and handed it back to him. “And I’ll have the chicken.”
“What a wonderful choice,” he responded, smiling broadly. He bowed, backed away, turned and disappeared into the kitchen.
“I think he fancies you,” Militsa said.
“Oh, then that’s a wonderful way to impress me, by being rude to my girlfriend.”
“I do like it when you call me that.”
“I know,” Valkyrie said, giving her a smile before getting back to the subject. “So what are the Darkly boys getting up to these days?”
“You don’t know?”
