"Is this a good time?" I asked.
She put aside whatever she'd been working on and moved, graceful as always, to the sitting area.
"Yes. Learning to control your gift is a priority."
She sat in one of the high-backed chairs, and I sat on the small leather sofa, nervously groping for the non-existent pendant. My hand dropped with a heavy sigh.
Something else to worry about, too
. Tristan had made it clear we needed to recover the pendant from Vanessa. He'd said it couldn't be in the Daemoni's hands.
"Alexis, darling, we face many challenges, but we cannot solve them all at once," Rina said. "But working on your powers is a good first step."
"So, what am I doing wrong?" I blurted out. "It was so easy before, when we were at the beach house. Even with the Daemoni attack and Vanessa and everyone, I could still focus. Now I can barely control myself."
Rina nodded. "You had just gone through the
Ang'dora
. Your power has probably strengthened since, becoming more difficult to control. But, it is really more about your self-confidence. When Tristan was trying to kill you, you knew what you needed to do for him."
I thought about that day, waking up and feeling all-powerful. I'd been so excited to finally be like Tristan, and I
did
believe I could conquer pretty much anything. My confidence had wavered, but not nearly as much as now. The feeling of being an alien, combined with all the problems nearly overwhelming me, weakened my spirit.
"A lack of confidence is understandable," Rina said. "You have been uprooted and replanted in a very strange place. It has been over one hundred years, but I remember well when I was brought to the Amadis and went through the
Ang'dora.
It takes time to become accustomed to it all, especially to your powers."
"I feel like we don't have much time, though. There's so much going on."
"You still measure time with a Norman perspective." She shifted in her chair and folded her hands into her lap. "However, you are right. We have little time regarding the traitor. We must identify him as soon as possible, before any serious damage is done."
So she still didn't hold an ounce of belief in what I heard at the council meeting. She searched for someone else, a "him," and some other way someone was betraying her. If that motivated her to help me sooner rather than later, though, I would let it go.
"So what am I doing wrong?" I asked again.
"Let us focus on what you are doing right first," she said with a small smile. "You still have the wall I taught you to raise?"
"Yes, but barely. It seems to fall so easily anymore."
"Mmm, yes. The wall is … how do I say it? It is what you call training wheels on a bicycle, yes? I taught you to envision it as a temporary solution to help you learn control. However, to use this gift to its fullest potential, you will eventually have to stop using the wall."
I hadn't realized I'd been leaning closer to her until now, when I shrank back with anxiety. "But I like the wall," I protested. "It keeps everyone's thoughts away and protects my own from jumping into their heads."
"You are mistaken, Alexis. The wall only keeps others out. You protect your own thoughts. You can only share those if you want to and you are already very good at that."
I fidgeted uncomfortably, but I needed to discuss this with her if I ever wanted to have a sex life again. "And the other night? Every time we have sex?"
Rina lifted a shoulder in a graceful shrug. "There is not much you can do about it. To truly enjoy the moment, you must be willing to completely let go. If you inhibit this part of you, you hinder other parts, too, such as the physical enjoyment."
"So I'm doomed to either no sex, bad sex or letting everyone 'hear' me?"
She sat back in her chair. "I would say that is your decision to make, but truthfully, it is not. You
need
to be having sex. As often as possible."
If I'd been drinking anything, I would have spewed it in her face.
Did she really say that?
"I apologize for being so blunt, but we
need
a daughter. But do not worry. Your thoughts are shielded." She pursed her lips and tilted her head. "In fact, your shield is
too
heavy–it protects your vulnerabilities, but it also inhibits the power of this gift." She paused, rearranged her expression and waved her fingers dismissively. "It will resolve itself on its own, I am sure. In the meantime, let us concentrate on controlling the many voices in your head and eliminating the wall."
My heart jumped. "Already?" I squeaked.
"Not completely. We will practice–
you
will practice–extensively first. Eventually, you will feel comfortable with letting it go."
I took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. So how do I practice?"
I explained my usual technique with the black cloud that gave me something to focus on as I opened my mind to others. It worked well when it was only Tristan, Owen and me, but not so much anymore.
"Yes, that is an imperfect way to envision it," Rina agreed. "I expect it is easy with Tristan and Owen because you know their voices so well. You probably do not need that vision with them anymore. You are able to identify their specific mind signatures."
"Their what?"
"Mind signatures. That is what I call them. It is difficult to explain, but if you have felt it, you understand what I mean. It is like a thought current I receive, but I do not actually hear the thought yet."
"Oh! That's kind of how I just found you. I didn't hear your thoughts, but I did pick up your voice or your brain wave or something, and followed it here to your office."
She smiled. "Then you are becoming more familiar with me. You identified my mind signature. What you felt is produced by every brain, and each one is unique. Rather than sending out your cloud, imagine identifying the signature you want and then focus on it until you receive the thoughts. The signatures are already out there. Simply let yourself feel them and decide which one to focus on."
"And I have to let the wall go to feel the signatures."
"Correct. To start with, imagine the wall as a screen, letting only the signatures through, but not the thoughts. Become accustomed to the mind signatures, then learn to find the thoughts behind them, letting only one person's stream of thoughts through the screen at a time. If too many thoughts start flowing through the screen at once, you can solidify the wall. When you are not practicing, you can keep the wall up. You will learn, however, to function almost normally without the wall or screen, letting the signatures … hmm, how do I say? ... float–I suppose that is a good word–around you."
"So how long do I have to practice before I get another chance with the council?"
"The council will not gather again until the coronation ceremony in three months."
Three months!
That was too long. If I had a daughter out there …
"But I will try to provide you with opportunities to be near council members individually before then," Rina added. "I need to know if my interpretation of the Angels' message is correct sooner rather than later. First, however, you need to practice as much as possible."
I promised her I would. This was just as urgent to me as it was to her, although for different reasons.
"Let us start, then." She paused for a moment, her head tilted to the side as if listening for something. "It is only you and me here. Dissolve your wall and make it into a screen."
I stared at her for a long moment, then inhaled a deep breath.
Please be okay. Please be okay.
I so did not want to do this, but the thought of a little girl reminded me I had no choice. With my eyes closed, I imagined the wall as a big, black structure in my mind and visualized the tiniest of holes puncturing it all over. I held my breath, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. No thoughts from the other side came crashing into my mind. So then I imagined the holes disintegrating the wall even more, into a screen. Still, no one else's thoughts invaded.
"Okay," I said.
"Can you feel my mind signature?"
The visual in my mind was too clear and I tried to actually see a wave of something floating through the screen. I wiped my mind clean of the image and made myself
feel
the screened wall instead, and then feel for Rina's signature as an energy current, just as I had felt it earlier without realizing it. I detected her signature immediately. She must have sensed me.
"Now focus on it and allow yourself to receive my thoughts."
I mentally pulled the signature toward me and her thoughts slowly became defined until I could hear them loud and clear.
"
Very good, Alexis.
"
Next, she explained how to let go of the thoughts and let the signature float. As I practiced this, I realized her signature was no longer the only one nearby.
"I think someone's coming," I said.
Rina smiled and nodded. "Try to focus on the thought and you will identify the owner."
"Solomon," I said as soon as I focused. His low voice rumbled in his head.
"See how his mind signature is different than mine? Become familiar with it."
Recognizing the difference was easy–Solomon's mind signature was as dissimilar to Rina's as I imagined their handwritten signatures would be. With Solomon approaching Rina's door, I excused myself to leave.
"Wait a moment, dear," Rina said. "I think you will want to see this."
Solomon came through the door, one arm loaded with a stack of newspapers. He handed some to Rina and some to me. The datelines showed yesterday's date. My breath caught as I read the large front-page headline on the top issue:
A.K. EMERSON BELIEVED DEAD IN BOATING ACCIDENT
Divers Searching for Author's Body in Aegean Sea
I fell back onto the couch, feeling as though Tristan had flipped me again. I knew this was the plan–to fake the author's death because I could no longer be A.K. Emerson–but it still caught me by surprise. The words in such large print, official and publicized to the world, drilled the finality of it into my core.
She's really gone
. I never enjoyed playing the role of the wildly successful author–the fame and attention wasn't my thing–so I had actually expected to feel relief at her death. But she was a very real part of me, a very
big
part of me. She had pulled me through my darkest times. Only my writing and Dorian kept me going through the years without Tristan.
After recovering from the initial shock, I skimmed through the article. It reported my trip to Athens, Greece, with a "Jeffrey Wells," who they believed to be the father of my son and new husband, and an explosion of the boat we'd rented for pleasure. Such a tragedy to come, the reporter wrote, when we'd just been reunited. A diving team continued searching for our bodies. Of course, they wouldn't find them, and my guilt surged because they tried so hard. The rest of the article told about my books, their record-breaking sales numbers and speculation of whether the last book of the vampire series would ever be published.
"What
will
happen to the last book?" I wondered aloud.
"Once the commotion of her death diminishes, we will announce that she finished it right before her untimely death, so it will be published," Rina said happily.
"Sales of the whole series will probably break their own records," Solomon said with a grin. "Art is always more attractive after the creator has died."
"I currently am planning a funeral," Rina said, flipping her hand toward her desk. "Some Amadis members in America will masquerade as your family. After the funeral and other formalities, Sophia will contact the publisher."
The moment felt so surreal, Rina speaking about planning a funeral–
my
funeral, in some ways–with such a matter-of-fact tone. To her, A.K. Emerson was a vehicle, a means to an end. The author's life and death marked an accomplishment for the Amadis. For me, though, her death marked the ending of life as I'd always known it–not just the death of the author, but the death of me as a somewhat normal human being.
I flipped through the other newspapers Solomon had brought. They were mostly American, from various cities in the States, although a few hailed from major cities throughout the world. AP sourced the article, so they were all the same, as was the photo, a headshot from my last book cover, over a year old. Though I didn't look as old and fat as I had toward the end, right before the
Ang'dora
, the picture made me cringe. I had seriously let myself go over the years, and I appeared to be much older than my real age–more like forty-something–even with the professional touch-up to the photo. I now looked nineteen or twenty, there was life to my eyes and face, and my body was hard and fit.