Obsidian Flame (22 page)

Brynna glanced in Thorne’s direction and shook her head. “Any more like him at home?”

“A bunch more,” Marguerite said, smiling.

She opened her mouth to give a fine recounting of the warriors she’d met, but suddenly the music hit the loudspeakers, the lights dimmed, and the stage spots began to flash in every color imaginable, moving wildly across midnight-blue velvet drapes that created a strong backdrop for the performers.

Jane, who sat on Marguerite’s right, leaned close and all but shouted, “You’re gonna love this.”

Devon appeared in flash of smoke, no doubt having folded to the center of the stage as soon as the smoke popped.

He wore some kind of shiny gold jumpsuit and he held in his hand a matching space helmet with two really stupid-looking antennae sticking out of the top. Was that duct tape holding them in place?

The first thing he did was lose the helmet, sending it in a whirling sideways spin across the smooth black tile of the stage floor, a trick that for some reason made the women go wild.

Jane was the first one to leave her tall stool. She whipped past Marguerite so fast that she brought a kind of wind flowing along behind her.

It wasn’t long before Brynna abandoned her perch as well, heading for the edge of the stage, especially since Devon wasn’t wasting any time. He was already bared to the waist and swinging his spacesuit jacket around as he gyrated his hips in a mind-bending circle.

She glanced at Thorne, wondering if he intended to start badgering her, but his gaze was on the floor at his feet, even more somber than before.

Thorne?
she sent. Now she was just worried.

He turned in her direction and finally just gave her a lopsided smile.
Have fun.

He lifted his arm and was gone.

Marguerite set her cosmo down; otherwise she was sure she would have just dropped it. Thorne leaving was the last thing she’d expected to happen this evening.

She glanced in Devon’s direction.

By now her Seer-mates were at the side of the stage screaming their guts out.

She knew only one thing, this wasn’t for her, not tonight, not with her man giving her so much space and being so damn
mature
about the whole thing.

She sent Brynna a telepathic message:
Hey, I’m heading home.

She didn’t know if Brynna could possibly “hear” her given the show that now involved a hunky man in a G-string pumping his hips right in front of her.

But Brynna turned around and winked at her.

Marguerite smiled as she lifted her arm, thought the thought, and folded out of the club.

From the archives, only one reference to the extraordinary myth of obsidian flame exists and it is as follows, “Intuitive vision is the defining attribute of obsidian flame.”

—
Treatise on Ascension,
Philippe Reynard

CHAPTER 10

When she arrived back at Diallo’s home, it took her a minute to find Thorne. He was reclining on the couch in the expansive front room. He wore a white tank and jeans. He was barefoot. If she hadn’t been feeling so worn out from all her guilt and indecision, she might have savored how he looked.

His arms were crossed over his chest.

A single oil lamp glowed dimly across the room.

He turned to look at her. “You left?”

He seemed neither surprised nor particularly interested.

“Yes.”

He nodded and stared in the direction of the window. “Get some rest and just so you know, I’m headed back to Second Earth tomorrow. You can come with, you’ll always be welcome, but I’m done following you around.”

“Good. You should go back.”

At that, he sat up, swinging his legs to plant his feet on the floor. “So that’s it?”

She sighed, feeling dull inside. She found herself chewing on the inside of her lip; it seemed funny to her because it was more something Grace would do than something she ever did. “Yeah, I guess that’s it.”

“Why did you come back tonight then, if you don’t give a flying fuck?”

She laughed and threw her hands out in front of her. “I don’t know. It seemed like a point of honor. I’m not a bad person, Thorne. I just…”

“You just want your freedom.”

He settled back against the cushions. “I get it. I’ll be gone tomorrow, although I hope you’ll stick around in this colony, under Diallo’s protection, until you get this damn vision thing sorted out. As for myself, I’m feeling the pull back to Second. I’m needed there. I have a big job to do. I’m just starting to get that, so yeah. I’m leaving.”

Marguerite’s throat felt really tight. Were they actually saying good-bye? She nodded several times. “I … I think I want a hot shower.”

She didn’t wait to hear him say one more thing. Besides that, her eyes were burning again, which they seemed to be doing a lot lately. She lifted her arm and folded straight to their shared bedroom.

She took her shower and the warm water soothed her. She was a bit of a mess. Her muscles kind of ached, and there was this constant dull throbbing in the center of her brain, and now her heart hung like a sack of sand in the middle of her chest.

After the water turned cold, she hopped out of the shower, toweled off, and decided there was one thing she did want right now. She wanted to sit next to Thorne, really close, kind of draped over him so that she could press her ear to his chest and just listen to his heartbeat. She’d done that a few times after their more brisk lovemaking sessions when she was in the Convent. She’d always loved it.

Yep, that’s what she wanted.

The fact that she was pretty sure Thorne would simply open his arm and draw her close had the effect of once more closing up her throat and burning her eyes.

But as she stood beside the bed and folded on a pair of jeans and a soft red sweatshirt, she felt a familiar roiling sensation deep within her mind.

Oh, no, no, no.

“Thorne,” she cried out.

In the next split second, as the vision began to crash, he appeared in front of her. She held her head in her hands and strove to keep the vision at bay. “Help me.”

“Vision?”

She nodded.

“Tell me what to do,” he said, sinking down in front of her. He put his arms around her but she pushed him away, her own arms stiff. Tears began to stream down her face because the pain of holding back what felt like an entire ocean was overwhelming.

She listed sideways. She had to figure this out.

“Please, Marguerite, tell me what to do. What can I do?”

But she just shook her head. She couldn’t tell him because she had no idea what needed to be done.

He put his hands on her face and looked into her eyes. He held her gaze. She let herself fall into those wonderful hazel eyes—and suddenly he was inside her mind.

I’m here,
he sent.

Yes.
But her telepathy was barely a whisper.

I can feel the pain and I can see the vision. You’re holding it off but only by the strength of your will. There has to be a way to manage this, maybe if we worked together.

She couldn’t say anything. She just trembled.

He took her in his arms and held her.
Enter my mind,
he commanded.

It will hurt you.

Doesn’t matter. Do it.

Marguerite gave a push and suddenly she was inside his head, but this time she could tell that the vision remained outside.

She took a deep breath and slumped against him.

Better?

Oh, God, yes.

Good. Now let’s see if we can figure this out.

She took more deep breaths and suddenly a different kind of vision came to her, not of images but of
knowing.
All of this was about her obsidian flame power, including the crashing visions. The
knowing
whispered through her mind. This was her power, the one she didn’t want, but it was here, demanding her attention.

She stopped battling the truth, that whether she liked it or not, this damn power was here to stay. She sighed heavily against Thorne’s chest as he caressed her arms and her back then embraced her. Well, there were worse things that could happen to her than to have a warrior like Thorne holding her, keeping a vision from dominating her mind, and just anchoring her until she could figure things out.

She closed her eyes and while still inside Thorne’s mind, she let the truth of obsidian flame come to her.

Truth.

Her truth, no one else’s.

That she had carried the stripes that belonged to someone else, even when she was a child and her father had whipped her. She had borne the pain of someone else’s fear and loss and suffering.

She had felt Sister Quena’s whip so that others wouldn’t have to. She had done it willingly because her resistance to instruction had been the woman’s greatest frustration and Marguerite’s only weapon against her brutality.

But the result had been her own disconnection from others, a deep fear, even resentment of connection. She hated being touched or embraced by others. Only Thorne had been allowed in.

Yes, these were her truths.

Out of those truths came a singular understanding: She had to allow Thorne to breach the barrier of her obsidian flame power, to allow the connection, so that she could access that power.

Had she been avoiding this moment? Yes.

Would breaching this barrier alter her life forever? Probably.

Thorne?
she sent.

Yes?
How close he felt when she was in his mind while communicating telepathically.

I need you to do something for me but it’s not going to be pretty.

Anything, sweetheart.
And this was the truth about Thorne: No matter what request she put in front of him, his answer would always be the same.

Maybe that’s what made this moment tolerable, maybe even possible.

I need you to pierce my obsidian flame power, to open it. And don’t ask me how I know this is what you need to do, I just know.

Okay. But … uh … how do I do that?

You need to follow me back into my mind then you need to dive very deep. Just dive and dive, go with your gut on this one, until you find my obsidian flame power. Then break it open. I can feel it pulsing and waiting. But you need to breach it in order to release it.

*   *   *

The evolution of powers among Second ascenders was always a mysterious experience. Thorne knew nothing about obsidian flame except that it had enormous potential, like splitting the atom, and now Marguerite had asked him to pierce hers, to open up her power.

This was no small thing—either that she had asked him to do it, or that he would be doing this for her. He valued that she trusted him, but what would the result be? More power?

Would she then draw even farther away from him, be more inclined to leave him, to live on her own, to pursue her own interests because now she would have more power?

The selfish part of him resisted, held back. To do this thing, should he even be able to do it, would change their relationship. He could feel it deep in his heart, in his soul, in his spirit.

Power always changed things.

But in his two thousand years of ascended life he had come to understand at least one thing: When a new power emerged, the best course to take was always to go with it, take it to its limits, explore every damn facet, and work it, work it hard. To do less would always leave the ascender open to the enemy. Always.

So he set aside his own self-interest and followed Marguerite’s instincts.

He pulled back and met her gaze, staring into those beautiful brown eyes. He took a deep breath. “Ready?” he asked. He was in tune with her instincts and he could tell this was going to be difficult, very difficult. When she had said “pierce,” she meant that some part of her obsidian flame power had to be cut open in order to be engaged.

“I’m ready. But as soon as I pull back into my own mind, do what you need to do as fast as you can because I won’t be able to hold the vision for long.”

“Got it.”

He felt her leave his mind but he followed in tight formation, right on her mental heels, and moved with her back into her mind. The vision loomed and he felt her pain as she once more expended the energy to keep the vision from crashing.

He closed his eyes in order to focus on his internal quest. As he took in the breadth of her mind, he saw the dark aperture. Just as she had told him, he dove into the tunnel, mentally moving as fast as he could