Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (18 page)

"Because I'll be just as open and vulnerable as you are," he replied. "It will be impossible for me to hide my intentions and, because you've had my blood, you'll have more power to shut me out."

When I looked at Fisk, he returned my gaze with a superior slant and folded his arms, clearly growing impatient.

I gave Tíereachán a go-ahead nod, and he drew closer to once again take my ungloved hand. He grasped it lightly to avoid aggravating my cut, which had clotted but still looked slightly wet.

"Open to me, Lire. I'll not hurt you. You have my word."

I couldn't help but think Kieran had once said the same thing, but I shoved the bitter thought from my mind and dropped my shield. All at once, Tíereachán's thoughts and emotions crowded me from all sides, and I fought to keep my own from spiraling out of control in response. It occurred to me, stupidly late, that with him inside my head like this, anything I remembered or thought would be open for his perusal. He'd see and feel everything that came to my mind!

I lost myself in a wave of panic, wheeling from one private, distressing memory to another. I was an open book, one that continually flipped to a random page, revealing a new, embarrassing secret with the speed and impetus of a stray thought. The more I fought to keep them hidden, the faster they seemed to come—my mother's horror when she discovered the proof of my clairvoyance; Daniel kissing me under the stairwell behind the school library in eighth grade; coming one shaky step from committing suicide at thirteen; Glen saying he was sick of wearing a whole body condom just to have sex with me; the wet, squishy sounds of Glen getting his throat ripped out; the sickening splat of blood hitting me as Paimon ripped strips of skin from the Circle Murderer's limp body; Maeve disappearing with Vince; Kieran, naked, pushing me onto my bed. It was enough to make me want to scream or run or both until Tíereachán took my face between his warm hands, pressed his forehead against mine, and calmly shushed me.

Easy
, he thought and pushed the memory of us standing on Glacier Point into my mind, unabashedly sharing everything—his guilt over telling Fisk to put me to sleep, his fury at not noticing Kieran's deceit sooner, and his unconditional affection for me even as I scolded him and threatened to push him over the cliff's edge.

His thumbs caressed tiny circles over my cheek bones, and he stared unflinchingly into my eyes.
Listen to me. There is nothing you can think, remember, say, or do that will convince me that you are anything but the most loyal, caring, generous individual I have ever met. After living the past thousand years under Azazel's cruel thumb, do you honestly believe I'd be offended by even your worst, most uncharitable thoughts? Do you think you could drive me away? Or that anything in that beautiful head of yours will cause me to think less of you?

He shook his head, rolling his forehead against mine.
You peered into the depths of my soul and yet you didn't run from me. You saw me for who and what I am, in spite of the horrors I've experienced and the terrors I've inflicted on others. If anyone should be afraid of being abhorred, it's me.

I rolled my eyes.
You make me sound like some kind of saint. You were under Azazel's rule and subject to the command of whoever summoned you. You had no choice but to do their bidding. That wasn't hard to see.

Yet no one in over a thousand years bothered to look,
he thought.

I pulled away, so our foreheads were no longer touching.
It's not like I had much choice in the matter,
I told him.
I touched your essence out of desperation. You tried to drag me to Hell.

I knew you'd escape me, but I couldn't help myself. There's something magnetic about you, Lire, which you don't seem to appreciate. Even under my demonic guise, I felt its pull. Yet now that I'm free, I wouldn't see you caged by anyone, least of all by me. Which is why, earlier, I didn't ask more of you than you were prepared to give. You can shut me out at any time. But, if you don't, you'll finally feel the truth of my words and know in your heart that I do not deceive.

There it was. The elephant that had been riding shotgun ever since Tíereachán began speaking to me in my dreams—the truth that I'd never trusted him, not fully, even after I'd freed him from Azazel's grasp.

Shame hung heavy in my chest, poisonous and thick, but before I could formulate my apology, Tíereachán pushed another memory at me. This one was of him in his demon guise, cutting my hand to bind me to a one-sided blood pact. His own guilt suffused my own and I gasped, trying to breathe past it. But instead of stifling and overwhelming me, seeing the event through his eyes and feeling his wretchedness as he brutalized me softened the edges of that horrible memory. It mitigated the terror and eased the racing of my heart that normally accompanied it.

Both of us were victims; I just hadn't known it at the time.

As I stared into those shockingly blue eyes, my pulse shot into overdrive. What was I thinking standing this close to him and holding his hand?
Bad, bad idea.
Tíereachán would read more into things than I wanted. We were friends. Nothing more. In fact, even the act of
considering
something more saddled me with that panicked, deer-in-the-headlights feeling in the pit of my stomach. Sweat sprang out on my forehead and back of my neck. I had to get away from him, post haste. What if he—

I stopped short.
Oh, God!
With him inside my head, he knew what I was thinking and feeling. I was such a dope!

I aimed to jerk away, intending to shut him out, but Tíereachán's power spiked through me, halting my spiraling thoughts and momentarily stealing my breath. Stunned, I gaped, trying to form words, but nothing came out.

Holy cow.
That had felt freaking … nice
.

"Did you …" My voice dwindled and I blinked up at him.
Share power with me?

He tipped his head in affirmation and then squeezed my hand, which he'd managed to keep a hold of, despite my earlier efforts to yank it away.
Lire, you have nothing to fear from me. Look inside yourself, to your center. It's there. Can you not feel it?

I stilled. For once, there was no second guessing him. No reason to doubt his words or his care for my well-being. Because of our connection, I knew precisely how he felt—outraged, angry, regretful, impatient, frustrated, and intensely protective. His emotions churned inside my mind, but as he'd promised, his feelings revealed the truth behind his words and actions. Which was why his power infusion had felt so good—it had been accompanied by his clear respect and concern for me.

After gawking at him for longer than was polite, I succumbed to his gentle urging. I pulled my focus away from his presence and turned my gaze inward, toward the wellspring of my power. In my mind's eye, it shined brilliant with a comforting warmth, as tempting as a patch of sunlight on a frigid afternoon.

Intrigued and bolstered by Tíereachán's confidence, I waded into my power's nebulous heat, allowing the familiar pulsing of my energy to surround me. It was a heady feeling, knowing that I could wield such power, one I'd not experienced when I'd simply been a clairvoyant.

As I expanded my awareness, I realized that there was no way Tíereachán could enter my mind or seek my power by stealth. Even now, I felt his presence at the fringe of my consciousness. His power, his magic, even his thoughts, vibrated in a distinct way that was very different from my own. In fact, now that I considered it, I realized his power resonated in time with his essence. Somehow, I'd missed noticing this. And, now that I was paying attention … another discordance, deep within my core, became noticeable, one that didn't match Tíereachán's resonance, nor my own. The variance stood out, like a black ribbon in a maypole dance, but instead of driving me to pluck it away, its familiar tune drew me closer.

This was no trespasser. Its song suffused me. So dear … so comforting. The urge to protect it overwhelmed me. It was a treasure. Helpless. I should keep it safe. Cherish it. Tuck it away and never let it go.

In fact … what had I been thinking? Why had I opened myself to anyone else? Tíereachán was the outsider here. He was the one that didn't belong!

Push him out. Push him out before it's too late!

I gasped as Tíereachán pulsed his power into me, once again disrupting my panicked thoughts.

"Oh, God." I groaned once I'd come back to myself. "You were right. I can tell … it's his magic." I stared at him. "This feeling … I know it. It's been there this whole time."

I blinked, remembering, and gasped. "I wanted to stay. Before the party, I told him I didn't want to go to the Otherworld. I couldn't leave my friends and family unprotected. But Kieran … he touched me and I … felt this wonderful warmth radiate through me—
his
warmth. And I … I changed my mind." I pressed my free hand to my abdomen, remembering where I'd sensed it, remembering how good it felt.

I rocked back on my heels, shaking my head. "How do I get rid of it? It's … I can't— "

"Relax," he said, pulling my hand to keep me from spinning out of his reach. Although where I thought I'd go, I had no idea. He leaned close to peer into my eyes. "More than half the battle is seeing the transfixing for what it is. You must pierce it with your power. Take it for your own and pull it apart."

"No!" I took a breath in a useless bid to calm down. "I can't. That would be like … like mutilating a puppy!"

"
That
is no puppy," Tíereachán countered. "It is a malevolence, planted inside of you to control your behavior."

I started to shake my head, but one look at Fisk's disapproving sneer stopped me cold. Face heating, I gritted my teeth and stood firm.
Son of a bitch.
I was acting spineless. Time to get a grip.

"Fine," I ground out. I could do this. I'd yank it out fast, like ripping off a bandage.

I closed my eyes and pushed my inner vision toward my center.

It's magic,
I told myself.
Controlling magic. It's not something precious.

But my instincts all screamed otherwise. Soft. Fragile. It should be protected, just like Kieran. He was flawed, damaged by years of being told he wasn't worthy of respect and that he'd never be anything but a deceiver. But that wasn't all there was to him! There was goodness in him. I'd seen it.

I enfolded the pulsing swirl of Kieran's magic within my power. I cradled and cuddled it, allowing its resonance to pulse through me. I smiled, my heart swelling. So beautiful, like the man. And …
God
. It felt right having a little piece of him so close to me. It felt good. So very, very good.

I practically purred until a growing sense of unease crept through me.

This … it was too good … too precious.

My smile faded.
Christ.
Any minute I'd be groveling and muttering like Gollum.

I opened my eyes. Trembling, I extracted the precious bundle from the safety of my center, tugging until it manifested above my upturned palm. About the size of a marble, the near-translucent mass of energy pulsed with a sallow glow. Such a small thing and, yet … it changed everything.

How could Kieran do this to me? I didn't understand it. Because, it wasn't as if I hadn't found him attractive from the beginning. My furtive, glassy-eyed looks and dazed stammering were too obvious to have been missed, especially by a twenty-seven-hundred-year-old experienced Lothario.

"Bastard!" I focused my fire on the sphere. For half a tick, it flared phosphorescent and then faded to leave my hand empty, which felt entirely unsatisfying. A mushroom cloud and a black, smoldering husk would have been preferable.

I cursed. The sidhe were nothing but trouble. And, now, I'd tied myself to another one. Was that a mistake too?

Brooding, I retrieved my glove and pulled it over my wounded hand. At least Tíereachán and I weren't soulbound. Our connection was more akin to what I shared with the djinn. Besides, if not for his help, I wouldn't have discovered that my will had been circumvented.

Without a word to the two men, I thrust my telekinetic fingers into the material plane and whisked us to the telepath's building, feeling the way by fingering the sidewalk ahead of us. Absurdly, I thought of Thing, the disembodied hand from
The Addams Family
.

Terrific.
Now, whenever I visualized my magic crawling through the material plane while I stayed in the higher dimension, that's the ridiculous image I'd be seeing.

I whisked us around the corner and counted walkways until we reached the third one on the left. I didn't dare feel for the building to confirm our location, in case it triggered the ward and announce our arrival. Instead, I withdrew my magic—
Come here, Thing!
—and propelled us blindly through the twisted darkness, sloping upward by memory alone to account for the front steps. I knew we'd made it inside when the lighting went from Stygian to dim. Instead of blurred darkness, we were faced with a gloomy, kaleidoscopic view of the telepath's front entryway.

Yay me. We'd made it.

Sadly, my satisfaction didn't last long. The lump near my feet, which conspicuously resembled a dead body even when accounting for the distorted view, took care of that.

"Oh, shit."

Fisk echoed my opinion.

I glanced around us, scrutinizing every contorted shadow for hints of a higher body count.

Please, please. Just be someone passed out after a wild night of tequila shooters and synthetic pot.

"Veil us," I rasped. "I'll slide us back."

When the world rushed to meet us, all at once spinning closer, elongating, and snapping into focus, the first thing I noticed was the smell. Unfortunately, it was a combination I'd encountered one too many times—wet copper and excrement. With the dizzying shift, it was all I could do to keep from throwing up. Plugging my nose didn't help. I imagined the fumes sticking to my tongue and almost lost it.