Powers (16 page)

“Do you have any idea how that feels? Are you trying to stop my heart?” I gasp.

She glares at me.
You deserved it.

“Why? Because I dared question your motives?”

This time she really whacks me. It's like a physical blow, right in the gut. My heart beats out of control and my head nearly explodes. And then, I laugh. It's a wheezy little laugh, but it still feels good.

“You're as addicted as I am,” I choke out.

“What?”

I suck in air. “How did it feel, Gwen? Want to zap me again? You can't wait for your next fix, can you?”

This time it's a ton of bricks falling on me. I'm writhing, and opening my mouth, but no sounds come out. Gwen panics. She thinks I'm dying. I'm thinking she might be right. Eventually, the pain eases and I can breathe again.

“I'm sorry,” I risk saying.

“Me, too,” she says.

“Conrad says we're alike.”

“Do you think so?” Gwen asks.

She snorts. I laugh. We both relax a bit.

“You know, Conrad's pretty smart,” I say.

“Uh, huh?”

“Yeah. He told me some things. About his art. That he didn't tell anyone at first, because it didn't fit the hockey-player image. But he showed Joanne, because his art showed who he was. He said it was like baring your soul.”

She's listening.

“He also said I should do that with you.”

“Bare your soul?”

“Pretty much,” I say. “You won't hit a man when he's down, will you?”

This is a new side of him,
she's thinking.
I like it.

I'm thinking that won't last long.

“Let's go sit in front of the fire.” Closer to the stairs, I think. Not as far to go when you walk out on me, again.

We move into the family room. The fire is low, so I open the glass door of the woodstove and grab a log with my fingertips. I toss it in awkwardly, and it lands with a thump. The heat from the fire reaches the palms of my hands. It feels like I'm scorching them all over again. I bite my lip, hold it in.

Gwen doesn't notice. She's over by the sliding glass door, looking out at the white of the frozen lake and the perfect blue of a cloudless sky. Ice crystals shimmer in the air. Diamond dust.

She sinks down on the couch, waits for me to speak. I sit a few feet away, and stare into the fire, wondering how to begin. I catch myself tapping my fingers on my leg.

He does that when he's nervous,
she thinks.

That makes me smile. I can't hide from her. I might as well get this over with.

“You were right about me, at first,” I say. “I did those things, brought you flowers, flattered you and—”

I knew it. He only wanted The Power. Not me.

“Yes,” I say. “At first. But then, you changed and—”

Cutting my hair. Dying it. Green contacts.

“I wasn't a fan of the red hair,” I say. “Or the green eyes. You looked like a Melissa clone.”

“But you said you liked it.”

“It's what you wanted to hear.”

“And when you said I wasn't fat?”

I hesitate.

“I'd appreciate some honesty, for once,” she says.

I chose my words carefully. “I think
you'd
be happier with the way you look if you lost ten or fifteen pounds. The kickboxing will help. And no more lettuce-and-water diets. Your body was in starvation mode.”

A wave of hurt hits me. “But,” I go on, “if you want to change, do it for
you.
Not me. I like you the way you are.”

“You're saying that because it's what I want to hear,” she says.

“No. I'm saying that because you asked me to be honest,” I say. “Besides, if you lose weight, your boobs will shrink.”

She gasps, then laughs, and lightly swats my arm. That sends a sharp pain through my hands. I hide my reaction.

“Hey, you asked for honesty,” I protest. “The truth is that you look like a sexy eyeglasses model—smart, and a little intimidating.”

I bask for a moment in the warmth of her smile.

“What did you mean before?” she asks. “You said you weren't just addicted to The Power. You were addicted to me. Was that one of your lines?”

“No. I admit, at first, I wanted to be near you because of The Power. The rush was better than anything. Better than sex.”

Wouldn't know,
she thinks.

“Trust me. It is. Something happens when we are together—”

“Synergy,” she interrupts. “Two forces, working together to produce a greater effect than the sum of their parts.”

“If you say so. Anyway, that's how it started. But later, after the night you came here, I wanted
you.
At first, it was because I couldn't have you.”

“And you aren't used to rejection?” she asks, wryly.

“No. I'm not,” I say, honestly. “And I'm not used to someone beating me at my own game.”

“I don't play games.”

I laugh out loud. “Oh, yes, you do. The hunger strike was the best. I respected you for that. And manipulating me, getting me to do the hero thing for you. That was a good one, too.”

Her emotions turn defensive
Deserved it for—

“Shhh.” I put a finger on her lips. “Still my turn.”

The touch sends a surge of energy through her, back to me, back to her, like an alternating current. I enjoy that for a moment, because now I have to do the hard part.

“I need to say some things, and I'm pretty sure you'll hate me when I'm finished,” I say. “All I ask is that you hear me out.”

She nods, and I take a deep breath. I've heard confession is good for the soul. I've heard wrong. Confession is like pulling your entrails out with a meat hook.

“I lied to you. I told you I could only read
your
thoughts,” I say.

“You mean you—?”

“Since the day I gave you the plant. You opened a door in my mind. I could hear everyone.”

“What? Everyone? Joanne, too?'

“Everyone.”

“I can't believe you! That's the ultimate invasion of privacy. You just waltzed in, without permission, and saw what they were thinking?”

“Pretty much.”

I feel the energy build in her and I flinch, then brace myself. This one's going to hurt.

Miraculously, she reins in her anger. “Go on,” she says.

I take a deep breath. “The night I hit the deer. I didn't hit it on purpose, I swear. But, you were right. I fed off it. The same thing happened the night Celina died.”

My voice goes rough and I cough to clear my throat. “Both times you saw through me. Saw how much I craved The Power. I couldn't hide from you. That look you gave me. It nearly killed me.”

“I'm sor—”

“No. Don't be sorry.” I clear my throat again. “There's more. That night that I invited you over and wouldn't let you leave? I pinned you down on the couch and—”

“You didn't—” she starts to interrupt.

“Uh, Gwen, I'm pretty sure I only have the courage to say this once.”

“Go on.”

I get up, pace in front of the fire.

“If I had walked in on that, if I had seen some guy holding you down like that, shouting at you, I'd have pounded the living—” I glance at her. She gets it. “The worst thing is that I
enjoyed
it. I
liked
having the upper hand. I
liked
being in control.”

I risk looking at her. She has tears in her eyes. I look down at my hands and continue.

“And then I caught your emotions. Hurt. Fear. I went into your mind. I saw myself through your eyes. I didn't like what I saw.

“When you left, I tried to justify it. Tried to deny it. Wouldn't let myself think about it.”

“I attacked you first,” she says.

“You attacked me because I grabbed you and wouldn't let you go.”

“Nothing happened,” Gwen says.

I get up, and throw another log on the fire, glad of the pain it causes me.

“We both know that's not true,” I say. “It scares me to realize how little control I had that night. It was as if The Power had taken over.”

It takes her a long time to speak. “The hyacinth bloomed,” she says.
For forgiveness.
She moves closer, so our legs are touching. “I feel like I'm seeing you for the first time.”

“You are.”

“Why didn't you let me in sooner?” she asks.

“Let
you
in? I barely let myself in,” I say.

She smiles. “Are you still going to leave?”

“What do the visions tell you?”

“Could go either way.”

“You choose.”

“Stay,” she says.

“I'm afraid. What if The Power takes over? What if I use it against you?”

“And make me do something I don't want to do?” she asks. “You can't. I have my own power.”

“C'mon, Gwen. I can command you with a word.”

“Prove it.”

“No. I'm not using
the voice
on you.”

“Afraid of losing?” she asks.

“Afraid of winning. Of knowing I can control you.”

“You won't win.” She's serious. She thinks she can take me.

“Fine,” I say, getting to my feet. “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

I draw on The Power. I use
the voice.
“Come to me, Gwen. Kiss me.”

Gwen

He drew The Power around himself like a cloak. He pitched his voice hypnotically low, and mesmerized me with his gaze. I stood close, almost touching. I heard his breathing, shallow, fast. Inhaled the spiciness of his cologne. Felt the heat from his body. Standing on my toes, I reached up to kiss him. He kissed back, his lips hard and mean.

“I rest my case,” he said, slumping back into the chair by his desk.

“You dim-witted, idiotic, useless excuse for a person,” I retorted. “I
wanted
to kiss you. And for your information, that was a lousy kiss.”

“You only
think
you wanted to because I planted the suggestion in your mind,” he said.

“Fine. Do it again. Make me do something else.”

His eyes narrowed. “Gwen, take off your clothes for me.”

“No.”

He drew The Power to him once again. Said slowly, softly, “Take off your clothes, Gwen.”

“No.”

“Take. Them. Off.”

Very slowly, I pulled my sweater up, baring my midriff. Half an inch, an inch … then I stopped. I yanked the sweater back down. “No, thanks,” I said. “I really don't feel like it right now.”

He laughed, but it came out more like a bark. He took off his glasses, awkward because of the bandages, and wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. “That's a relief.”

“What? You don't want to see me with my clothes off?” I teased.

He gulped. “Oh, no, I don't mean that. I mean, of course I do. I mean—” He laughed. “You're right. I can't win with you, can I?”

I gave him a smug smile. “Nope. You aren't even in my league.”

He looked at me thoughtfully. “There's one thing I don't understand. Why didn't
the voice
work on the arsonist last night?”

“You need me,” I said, suddenly realizing it was true. “You can't do it on your own. It has to be the two of us, working together.”

“No, way. I've done it without you. Made some guy sell me cigarettes without checking my ID. And this girl. Mandy. Got her to knock fifty percent off the price of my new coat.”

“Adrian, would you mind putting the kettle on? I'd like a cup of tea,” I asked sweetly.

“What? Right now?” He glanced at his bandaged hands.

“Yes. I'd love a cup of tea right now.”

Grumbling, he stomped up the stairs.

“Adrian?” I called. “I changed my mind.”

He trudged back down. “What are you doing? Playing me?”

“Making a point,” I said. “Sometimes persuasion is just that. Simple persuasion.”

“Oh,” he said, sitting down beside me. “You could be right. But wait a minute. Mr. Fogerty. Remember? You were there. I ordered him not to drive out onto the ice. He ignored me.”

My throat constricted. He'd been honest with me. I owed him the same back.

“I think we have to work together,” I said. “I think we have to want the same thing.”

“Sure. We wanted to stop him,” Adrian said. He drew in a sharp breath as he read my mind. “Unless—”

“I very much wanted that story,” I said in a whisper.

I searched his face, waiting for him to condemn me, like I had condemned him so many times.

“Thank you for letting
me
in,” he said, brushing his bandaged hand against mine.

“You should be the one hating me,” I said. “I risked your life so many times.”

He smiled. “There was some truth in what you said, Gwen. I did like the glory.”

“Too bad it wasn't worth it,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“We saved Mr. Dean from a train wreck, but he died in a car accident.”

“I didn't know that.” Adrian frowned.

“And Mr. Fogerty. After you rescued him from drowning, he had a heart attack and slipped into a coma. Died a few days ago.”

“He did?”

“Yeah, don't you read the paper?”

“Only if I'm in it,” he said, with a sheepish grin. “What about the little boy, the one who was locked out of his house.”

“I followed up on that. He's fine. So's the drunk.”

“What drunk?”

“This guy in an alley. He was passed-out drunk so Joanne and I called the police.”

“Wait,” said Adrian, “did he have lice?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I heard you say, ‘Can lice jump?' I was buying my coat at the time.”