"The Gathering" - Chapter 7

Scattered Pieces

The three of them—Wanda, Vincent and Jasper—were cornered in the far corner of the abandoned barn. The doors were latched shut; Jasper, Wanda and Vince managed to barricade the door with leftover farm tools, plankings and empty drums. The heavy bar that Jasper had dropped across the center of the door seemed sturdy enough to earn them at least a couple of minutes.

“Okay, what’s the plan?” Wanda asked.

“They’re going to incapacitate us long-range,” Vincent advised. “Spellweavers are not known for being melee combatants, but they’re fucking annoying with their spells.”

“So, what?” Wanda retorted. “You don’t like being on the receiving end? And what are we gonna do? Wait for them to start torching the place?”

“No,” Jasper said, after snickering at Vincent’s affronted mien. “You and him are going to look for the trapdoor while I hold them off.”

“Huh?” Wanda asked, looking at him askance. “Mind running that by me again? What trapdoor?”

“There’s a trapdoor—or an underground tunnel—somewhere in this barn,” Jasper explained. “I read it from the telepath’s mind during our little tango earlier.” Pause. “Before you sat on her face, that is.” Jasper deadpanned darkly.

“I did not!” Wanda returned indignantly.

Vincent snickered at Jasper’s black humour. No help there.

“Fine,” Wanda huffed as she moved away, her leading left foot tapping once, twice on her every two steps.  She spied an old crowbar lying on the floor and picked it up, making a face at the rust marks it left on her palms. “Well, don’t just stand there drawing flies, help me, dammit!” she directed an amused Vincent.

“Bossy little thing, ain’t she?” Vincent remarked to Jasper.

“Hey, you’re the one copping feels,” Jasper retorted. “Don’t blame me if you can’t take the heat.”

“You’re okay holding them off?”

Jasper’s dark eyes went vacant for a moment—sending his mind out of the barn to scan their immediate surroundings, and their approaching foes—then refocused. “Three spellweavers and four muscles,” he noted wryly. “This should be easy. Nikki taught me a scenario like this during one of our exercises.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Vincent warned.

“I’ll try not to,” Jasper answered flippantly.

Vincent snorted by way of reply and turned towards Wanda, who had gone on all fours and was working on one of the seams of the wooden flooring. “Found something?” he asked as he walked over to her.

“I think so,” she muttered. She looked up at him and asked, “Think you can use your powers and see if I’m right?”

“Sure,” Vincent said, even as his eyes took on a glazed momentarily. He saw empty space underneath, with beams supporting the roof and walls. “You got it.”

He picked up the rusty crowbar lying beside Wanda and fitted the narrow ends between the edges of the plank flooring. He started prying the rotting planking away and handed the crowbar to Wanda. “You keep prising them out, I’ll do the rest,” he said.

Jasper turned away from them once he saw the two had things in hand. He readied himself for the things that he knew he was about to do. Things he knew he had always been capable of.

Back when his empathic powers first manifested, it came as glimpses of visions, thoughts and words kept on bombarding him with unwanted sensations and pieces of another person’s mind. He haphazardly developed a basic mental shield after the first three weeks, and refined it into a mental filter where only certain impressions of a certain resonance is able to sift through into his consciousness. Sometimes, it’s a sensation of immense rage, or overwhelming love—and he nearly gagged on the cloying feel of that sensation—but often he came upon thoughts of despair, apathy that it began to corrode his own sense of self.

In some ways, he’s glad the one they’re with was Vincent and not Nikki. Nikki’s too shrewd, too cold for Jasper’s liking. Although he appreciated everything the older man had taught him, after he met Nikki, he gained a better understanding of his own powers and how to control them. Nikki also taught him discipline and the rigid structure that had formed the cornerstones of his own formidable telepathic prowess. Although he understood the necessity, Jasper couldn’t quell a small amount of resentment at the rigid discipline and his intractable, gruff mannerisms. His favourite time of their lessons was the mock duel they’ll have; telepath against empath. It was on their last duel that jasper gained the upper hand, to Nikki’s chagrin. And from that day onwards, Jasper sensed a certain distance forming between him and his mentor.

Let’s see if the student is now ready to step out of his teacher’s shadow …

He sent out a basic probe, looking for four non-powered thoughts. He found them, but certain images he managed to glimpsed—lush, verdant forests and stately towers, buildings that he could swear had never existed anywhere in the world—disturbed him and he pulled out, startled by how alien it all seemed.

That was weird …

He sent his thoughts out again, steeling himself against the alien feel of someone else’s mind. Nikki had taught him how to insinuate himself into another person’s thoughts and plant certain images or sensations for coercion, gentle manipulation or hypnotic effect. He opted for both coercion and hypnotic effect.

He dulled the sensations of the first two fighters—their nature made apparent by the crossbows and several wicked-looking knives strapped to their persons—and was satisfied to see them falling behind. In his mind’s eye, he could see the barn from their point of view. It’s roughly a thirty-degree incline, with a distance of a hundred feet. The two hypnotised men fell back and seemed to be confused as to where they are; with their mind at slack, Jasper exerted control over their motor functions. The two men reached for the crossbows strapped to their backs and slapped them to ready positions. Jasper could see that the bolts are already nocked and ready to fire. The two men thumbed away the trigger’s safety lock and let loose.

Jasper could sense the bolts hitting home, into the backs of one spellcaster—a woman—and one of the other fighters. He could sense the woman’s shock and dying throes. He felt the gurgle of blood purged from her lips as she cursed out a vile epithet before dying away in a strangled gasp.

The lead spellcaster—a man—howled in fury and gestured towards the two men Jasper had acquired as his mental puppets. He managed to pick out certain images and strong powerful mental images—a spell!—being casted even as he hurriedly unmeshed his own consciousness from those belonging to the two men. He barely managed to eject himself out of the two acquired consciousness before his mental puppets burst into flames. The jolt of pain and heat he could feel through his unwilling hosts’ bodies sent his consciousness rocketing, reeling towards his waiting body.  Jasper realised just how narrow his brush with death was, for if a mind-controlling psychic couldn’t extricate himself from the dying host’s body, they’ll remain trapped within the dead mind and their own bodies in a vegetative state.

Jasper stumbled backwards from the force of being shocked out of his hosts’ bodies, almost losing his balance. A dull throb in the centre of his forehead seemed his just rewards with regards to his exercise of power.

“Any progress on the tunnel?” he snapped at Vincent and Wanda.

“Coming along wonderfully,” Vincent’s mockingly cheerful answer came back. A pause, then, “Jas, shield us now!”

Jasper barely managed to raise the mental shields in each of their minds before the spell washed over the three of them. He hissed as the spell washed over his consciousness. He had erected a barrier to guard himself, Wanda and Vincent against the spell unleashed from the lead spellcaster. In his mind’s eye, he could see the outward spiral of the magical energy—invisible to the naked eye—from the male witch advanced towards them. Mass sleep effect, he noted. They didn’t want us physically harmed, I suppose.

“Hurry up!” Jasper shouted. “I don’t think they’re here to kill us!”

“That should be a good thing, right?” Wanda asked, pausing in the middle of prying planking from the floor.

“Not really,” Vincent answered her. “It means they’re planning on taking us somewhere. Somewhere not very nice.”

Wanda didn’t manage to reply to him because it was at that moment the walls to the barn exploded inwards. Rain of wooden splinters, farm implements and empty drums flew everywhere. The source of the explosion was a massive ball of fire heading towards them.

From the angle it was coming, Wanda could see that Jasper stood right in its path. Time seemed to crawl as Wanda dropped the crowbar she was holding and ran towards her brother, hoping to drag, or at least, knock him out of the massive fireball’s path. She could feel the immense heat of the flames and as she reached Jasper’s side saw that it was too late to drag Jasper to safety—the fireball is so close!—she held up her hands, closing her eyes against the expected impact, knowing the flimsy barricade of cashmere covered limbs is useless in the face of …

… the flames that divided themselves around her and Jasper.

“Oh good golly junior juice,” Wanda breathed out, looking around her. “Are you seeing this?” she asked her brother. 

The flames divided themselves neatly in a semicircle with a radius of five feet around Jasper and Wanda. Overhead, the flames flared over them into an arc that formed a dome. 

“Are you doing this?” her voice was tremulous, filled with wonder.

“No,” Jasper answered, his voice hushed. “I think you are.”

"The Gathering" - Chapter 6

Wanda

Oh, good golly junior juice, I’m gonna die today …

I’ll say this for my brother: things are bound to get exciting when he’s around.

When my brother was in the eighth grade, he accused a boy in homeroom of being a homicidal freak. The thing is, the boy happened to be the mayor’s son. You could just imagine the hullabaloo surrounding that particular episode.

Never mind the fact that the boy did grow up to be married with the prerequisite mortgage, two-and-half kids … and ended up snapping during the last economic downturn, where he up and murdered his wife and kids by axing them while they slept. People conveniently forgot about the fact that Jasper made the prediction about Jonah Whitmore’s state of mind fifteen years before he went off the deep end.

I’m never quite sure now if my brother’s friends—and I’m using the term generously here—didn’t have something to do with it. The part about people forgetting Jasper’s accusation, I mean. After all, my brother is an empath who seemed to have no known limits to his powers yet. His friend Vince could look up my skirt and down my top without actually having to do so. I wouldn’t put anything past them …

And I’m saying it with love, mind you.

Currently I’m using the euphemism for swearing that my tennis instructors had drilled into me. Figures. Instead of my impressive accomplishments, all that flashed in my head was my summer at tennis camp when I was fifteen. Could be because that was when I first kissed a guy.

And a girl … but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, if I get out of this alive, I am so going to wallop Vince upside his head with my escrima stick. Well, I could try anyway. I mean, the guy could move. We’re talking Jet Li-level moves here.

Okay, I love kung-fu movies. Sue me.

I recalled bitching to Jasper about my torn cashmere cardy. I mean, it’s a Donna Karan, for Pete’s sake! Vince shushed me to keep quiet. For some reason—don’t ask me why, maybe because he looked so damned sexy when he’s irate?—I actually found myself shushed.

For about ten minutes, anyway.

Okay, maybe I just wanted him to turn those dark blue eyes—so dark, they could pass as violet. Oooh boy, Wanda Amelia Ross, you have it bad!

But no amount of wondering how a five-foot-six guy could floor two men built like linebackers is gonna save me from psycho bitch trying to fry my well-earned-at-the-gym shapely ass!

The gout of flame she projected from her hands reminded me of that scene in Aliens where Ripley torched the entire alien nest. Except now, I’m the alien queen, and I don’t have any drones to fight for me. Pity, acid blood could be useful right about now. For me, at least. Pyro psycho already have too much edge over me.

I dove behind a row of PVC drums marked ‘waste’ and crab-walked back to avoid any nasty spillages. I can deal with torn clothing but splashing in icky muck is where I draw the line.

I made it with seconds to spare as the PVC drums started to melt before the pyromaniac’s onslaught. I was right: icky muck started spreading out. Worse, it’s bubbling from the intense heat. I almost gagged from the stench and took stock of my options. I had hurled one of my escrima sticks at pyromaniac, thinking to distract her. Unfortunately, they had a telepath with them and she—mind-reading bitch!—had alerted the fire-loving psycho. My escrima stick went up in a flash of fire before it even reached her.

Vince is tied up. Doesn’t look like a fair fight at first glance. Besides the two he had already floored, one opponent seemed to be nursing a broken arm, but two more are engaging him. No matter how good he seems, he’s bound to tire soon.

My brother is engaging the telepath in a psychic battle. They seemed frozen in place, neither moving nor flinching at the flickers of flame that had started to crawl up the barn. He had told me how it was like when the telepath attacked him—and me—almost a month ago. We discovered that it’s odd that the telepath could worm his thoughts in my head while Jasper couldn’t even raise the tiniest blip in my head … better do the supportive sister act then, I guess.

My hasty retreat had brought me towards the stairs leading to the second level of the barn. Pyro girl seemed to have lost interest in me, and is moving towards Vince. I noticed that her range is limited, the flaming gouts each five-feet long, roughly thirty-degree cone. Vince is at the far end of the large building, about a sixty feet away. As she’s walking almost leisurely towards him, she’s setting the floors on fire. Dumb bitch. What, running too much for you?

I hustled up the steps, spied a wrench that had been lying on the floor collecting rust and dust and scooped it up. I didn’t spare a single thought about what I’m going to do next. If one telepath could somehow get inside my head, so could another. I remembered that Jasper and the telepath were located a little distance below the gallery formed by the barn’s second level. I made a dash for it, hoping that the same mental barrier that had kept my brother away from inside my head allowed me the same protection against the telepath. I am almost reaching the gallery situated above them. Banisters broken and hanging by the nails. Good.

I picked up speed, gaining momentum and felt my left sole left the edge of the gallery as I made a leap to the telepath’s position, right below me and about six feet away from the edge of the gallery. If I somehow missed and dropped to my death, I am going to be SO pissed! was my last thought before my heels collided squarely with her face. Before the wet splat that subliminally told me I had basically smashed her nose, her goggle-eyed face and gaping mouth made me think of a blow-up doll.

Seriously, the things our mind come up with sometimes.

The telepath collapsed in a heap, landing me in a tangle of limbs. I was about to bring the wrench swinging to meet where I gauged her head was going to be when I realised she wasn’t moving.

“No need,” Jasper said. “She’s out.”

“Oh thank God!” I gusted out. “I wasn’t looking forward to another brain-freeze!”

“Come on,” my brother said, grabbing my arms and hoisting me up. “Vince looks like he could use our help.”

We turned towards Vince’s direction. Let’s just say our version of Jet Li didn’t exactly need help. Now, I pride myself on my self-control, but watching him drawing out what looks like a wickedly serrated blade from pyro girl’s eye socket almost made my knees buckle … I spared a quick glance at his other opponents. The jumble of shapes hinted at several broken limbs. Some in multiple places. And that’s when my knees decided to take a quick nap on me.

Oh God. What kind scary freaks have my brother been associating with …? I drew in large gulps of air. Having psychics around me is a novel experience, I guess. But I know my brother enough to know that this—this carnage!—wasn’t the first one he had witnessed.

“You okay, Wanda?” Vincent’s voice came to me, near my right shoulder. I jerked sharply when I felt his hand touched it.

“Stay away from me!” I growled at him. I had somehow found my feet, and having dropped to my knees didn’t loosen my grip on the rusty wrench. I pointed it at him, almost accusingly. “You,” I began to say but faltered. “You killed them!” I managed to get out, my mind still trying to come to grips with what had just happened. “Not just killed them, you mangled them!”

“It’s either them or us,” Vince shrugged, stating it matter-of-factly.

I almost hurled the wrench at him then. I wished I could discard the horrible tableau as flippantly as he did. I turned to Jasper.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” I asked him, turning it into an accusation.

Jasper looked away. For a brief moment before he turned, I almost could see an expression of pain etched in his face. Almost. But it was gone in a moment, so fleeting as if it was just my imagination. That’s my brother for you: stoic and inscrutable.

He exhaled slowly. “Yes.” He answered simply. “Twice, before you start asking.”

I swallowed. He continued, “Here, I think you should see why first, before I start with the stories and explanations.”

I moved away, looking for my purse that I had discarded in my haste. “Do I even want to know, or see?” I shot back at him. From the corner of my eye, I could see Vince wince slightly. Whatever, I hope it hurt.

I found my purse, lying forgotten almost by the doorway of the barn. I hoisted the straps so they end up crossing my chest diagonally, like a bandoleer. I remembered taking it off because I wanted to be unencumbered if there is going to be a tussle.

Be careful what you wish for, Wanda Amelia Ross, I thought darkly. You might just end up regretting it.

“I’m going to talk a walk out,” I announced loudly. “I need to … think,” I finished lamely.

The sharp crack of Jasper’s alarm-filled cry—“Wanda, duck!” —and the swift patter of footsteps behind me made me turn around. It was Vince running with a look of alarm mirroring my brother’s voice on his face. His wide-open dark blue eyes looked a bit vacant but there was no mistaking his intent: the guy is about to tackle me to the ground. I’m not usually prone to poetic moments, but with the angle of the setting sun hitting his face, I realised that Vincent it heart-throbbing handsome. Oh my, was the last thought that was going through my mind as he slammed into me, both of us dropping to the ground—I could almost hear a whizzing sound and three dull thuds impacting on the doorjamb where my head was earlier situated—and somehow managed to roll me away from the door and back inside the barn.

Jasper shouldered the door shut, and as the door slammed close I could see three six-inch long arrow-like projectiles embedded deep into the wood of the doorjamb. My brother dropped the bar into the cradle, effectively blocking the barn’s main entry.

“Oh God,” I almost moaned, getting up from where Vince had rolled me. Guy was all hands, I can tell you that. The sardonic look he threw confirmed my suspicions he managed to cop a feel. Ass. I turned towards Jasper and Vince. “Please don’t tell me there are more psycho psychics coming!”

Vince chuckled with black humour. I wished I still have my escrima stick or the wrench with me. One hit for that God-awful sense of humour. Another for feeling me up. I glared at Jasper.

My brother gave Vince a look that could’ve blistered paint off a wall then turned to me. “Not exactly,” he hedged.

“Meaning?” I asked, my voice and panic starting to rise.

“Spellweavers,” Vince murmured succinctly.

“Spellweavers?” I echoed, not liking the fact I sounded like a clueless damsel-in-distress.

“Witches,” Jasper replied by way of clarification.

“Witches,” I repeated dully.

“Battle-witches, to be exact,” Vince added, morbidly helpful. Oh God, I want to strangle him now.

“You’re not helping!” Jasper hissed at Vince.

“Battle-witches,” I groaned. “Anything else you might want to spring on me? I think I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me there was a nix living in the pond back at Gram’s cottage.”

Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out if everything I’ve read from Grimm’s are true!

I’ll say this for my brother: things are bound to get exciting when he’s around.

"The Gathering" - Chapter 5

Pawns and Games

 

Eden Bennet leaned against the wall, partially hidden behind a huge dumpster where she had been waiting close to an hour. Her blond waves were neatly tucked away in a tight chignon at the back of her neck. Her breath fogged in front her, the autumn chill apparent. That was stupid. She thought critically. Someone could’ve known you were here.

She rubbed her palms together slowly, letting the slow friction of her skin rubbing together warm her hands and cold-nipped fingers. Her normal attire of long, gored skirt and long-sleeved blouse had been traded by an outfit more utilitarian and eminently practical for the task at hand. She still couldn’t come to grips how people sometimes dress here in this world. She preferred to remain in her native world, where technology has not yet supplanted magic as a governing force and basic elements of good and evil did not get blurred by shadings of gray. She shook her head in mild despair. The endless struggle between the two sides on her native world had reached the point where instead of an overt confrontation where victory could be grabbed through a decisive battle, both sides opted to employ a devious game of cat-and-mouse. Breaking the barrier between worlds is no easy feat, and the price exacted for such power is draining on their resources but each party seemed willing to invest in dipping into their magical reserves to harness potential recruits.

She hunkered behind the metal dumpster, crinkling her nose at the smell. Nikolai had tasked her to keep watch on this end of the alley while he flushed out their quarry. Eden doubted his choice of tactics and had been quite vocal about it. She suggested Vincent come along, his clairvoyant talents useful especially in tracking but not only Nikolai, but even the Council had overruled her arguments. She had even called in old favours from her extensive contacts to get someone with a background in tracking but all of them had been unanswered.

That itself worried her. It is one thing to decline, but another thing altogether to leave a request for aid unanswered. Eden has no illusions of her place in grand scheme of things—she’s merely a pawn. Granted, an extremely valuable and useful one but a pawn, nonetheless. Nothing compared to the unending struggle against the other side, where both sides calculate their losses in terms of hundreds, if not thousands.

She shook her head. Battles within battles, stalemate after stalemate, she thought despondently. And the end is nowhere in sight.

A soft patter of footsteps alerted her to her oncoming quarry. She had already magnified her hearing and vision with a spell that enabled her to see even in the darkest of shadows. The clattering of metal—most likely covers from the many bins packing the alley—sounded, coming closer.

Now! She could hear Nikolai’s mental shout in her head.

Eden stepped out from her hiding and gestured with her right arm, making a cutting motion even as she whispered the words to the spell. The effect is instantaneous. An almost visible curtain of wind gusted from behind her, sending tendrils of her blond hair whipping forward. The curtain of fast-moving air coalesced into a solid form, the force of the winds catching their quarry and holding him immobile, flattening him against the wall of the alley. The force of the impact rendered him unconscious.

She could hear the swift falls of Nikolai’s steps as he slowed down from his run as he neared her. Lately she seemed to be tuned to him. She suspected that may have something to do with having worked for a long time with a telepath and filed away the observation for future reference.

“Trouble?” Nikolai asked, smirking upward at their captive.

“Not really,” the witch answered. “Although I’m curious why they needed a trained combat meister and a battle-witch to capture one rogue werebeast.”

“How could you tell?” Nikolai asked. “That he’s a werebeast, I mean,” he qualified further.

“You didn’t read his mind?”

“I did,” Nikolai retorted testily, but the annoyance wasn’t directed at her, she could tell. “I couldn’t read anything deeper than surface thoughts. The rest are static.”

“Static?”

“Just raw impulses, primal urges.”

“Primal urges, you say?” Eden snickered. “How elemental.”

“Don’t start, Bennet,” Nikolai warned, but there was a small smile on his lips. “Let’s have a look at our werebeast, eh?”

Eden gestured and the blanket of air surrounding their captive bowed to her command, lowering him to eye level. She reached out and lifted his left eyelid. In the dim light illuminating the alley, his left eye glimmered yellow.

“Wolf-kind,” Eden confirmed. “You get any readings on a specific clan?”

“None,” Nikolai answered, a tinge of frustration in his voice. “His mind was gone. All I could get was raw instincts—fear, hate and such.”

“That’s an interesting development,” Eden slowly said. “Werebeasts who shift into social animals usually have a group mind running in the background of their psyches.”

“Correct,” Nikolai confirmed. “In his case, nothing.”

“You do realize we have someone who could help us?” Eden began cautiously.

Nikolai glared at her. He knew she was right but it breached all procedures the Council had agreed upon previously. He weighed his options and decided.

“To Hell with it,” he grunted. “It’s time Jasper learned, anyway.”

 *  *  *

“Stop doing that!” Wanda hissed.

Jasper and Vincent both jerked to attention, almost-identical guilty looks on their faces.

The three of them were at the bank waiting for their turn to be called, where Wanda and Jasper had to make a sizable withdrawal. Vincent had been amusing himself with ‘peeking,’—as he had so charmingly put it—into the restricted areas of the bank. Jasper had suggested he check out the combination of the bank’s safe and security details but the other just shrugged and spent the next twenty minutes ogling the female employees. Since Jasper could basically read the more obvious aspects of his fixations, he ended up getting distracted.

“I can’t believe I’m taking out this much money on his say-so,” Wanda griped, smacking Vincent’s arm with a backhand. “What are we going to do?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jasper muttered. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

“Well, make him tell you then,” Wanda huffed, exasperated. “What’s the point of having those freaky powers if you don’t use them?”

“I do use them actually,” Jasper defended himself.

“Of course,” Wanda returned sardonically. “Running out on restaurant bills, scoring freebies, petty shoplifting … Need I go on?”

“You don’t have to be so fucking superior about it,” Jasper grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Hah!” Wanda egged him, poking his side. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy doing that!”

Jasper was about to fire a quick retort but it was made moot as their number was called by the PA system. Forty minutes later found them in Wanda’s VW Polo heading out of the city. Following Vincent’s sketchy directions, they had taken one off the turnoffs leading towards the countryside, something Wanda wasn’t too happy about. She started by snipping about the fact she was wearing a pair loafers not suited for trekking in the countryside. Vincent returned that she won’t be required to walk much. Wanda then moved on to not knowing the directions, and Vincent calmly told her where to turn and which route to take.

After several instances of Vincent’s mildly patronizing instructions, Wanda started snapping that she did not sign up for a cross-country drive to God-knows-where on a somewhat-stranger’s say-so. “And you’re pretty strange,” she said, ending her tirade.

As what had now become an established pattern, Jasper found he is thankful he is in the backseat as Wanda and Vincent argued with each other.

“Oy,” Jasper huffed softly to himself. He fished out his iPod, plugged the headset into his ears and cranked up the volume to drown out the bickering.

He leaned his head to the side, resting his temple on the windshield while he watched the idyllic countryside zipped by. The late sun now had taken a soft, mellow cast to its golden light and it tinted the deepening noon with soft patines of gold. He looked at his watch, noting that in three hours time it will be close to sundown.

“All I’m saying,” Wanda was saying, “is that if I’m going to be traipsing in the countryside while carrying a large wad of cash in my purse I’d like to know where we’re going.”

“And I’ll tell you all in good time,” Vincent told her reasonably, his usual beatific smile on his face. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re hot when you’re ticked off?”

“Yeah, Jasper does.”

Vincent looked at her askance. “Your brother tells you you’re hot? Your brother?”

“What?” Wanda replied, confused. “We’re close like that.”

“Close,” Vincent repeated dully, a sick look on his face.

“Yeah, close,” Wanda affirmed. She gave Vincent a quizzical look before continuing, “what? You have issues with siblings bonding or something—Oh for crying out loud, Vince! This isn’t Flowers in the Attic! And stop trying to change the topic.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Wanda sated firmly.

“I’m not!” Vince whined, his voice climbing half an octave.

“You are!” Wanda returned, matching him in pitch and volume.

“I’m—stop the car!” Vincent shouted.

Wanda hit the brakes, sending the blissfully inattentive Jasper’s head hitting the headrest of Vincent’s seat.

“What the hell!?” he grouched, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Oh, that’s gonna bruise,” he remarked to no one in particular.

Wanda had edged the car to the shoulder of the road, where they had left the city limits some time back and are on one of the less travelled back roads. The particular one they’re on was essentially a small asphalt line cutting across the encroaching wilderness. Over on the not-so-distant horizon on the left side of the road, the Blue Ridge could be seen.

Vincent opened the door and got out. He seemed to be scanning for something, his head cocked to the left with his eyes closed. Jasper had seen enough of Vincent’s abilities at work to know that the other man is trying to sift through multiple scannings of places distant and near and try to marry them to their current location. When the small frown came, Jasper knew he and Wanda should be on alert. Negative emoting is a very rare occurrence for someone as outgoing and upbeat as Vincent, and his own empathic abilities picked up on the small note of concern and alarm emanating from Vincent. He was about to follow the source of the alarm with his mind until he encountered a block. Vincent had thrown up a mental shield to block his probes.

Jasper was starting to go from mildly annoyed to irate. It is one thing to be made travelling cross-country on vague details, as Wanda had pointed out. Another still to sense alarm and refusing to divulge the cause or nature of it. He was about to point this out heatedly to Vincent when the other man turned.

“Stay in the car, Jas,” he said, a rare, stern note of command in his usually affable voice. Wanda had opened her door and was about step out when Vincent continued, “You, too, Wanda.”

Jasper halted Wanda from unleashing another verbal assault by grabbing her wrist. The exchanged a look with each other. Years of growing up together had made them able to communicate non-verbally in a very short time. Wanda, shouldering her purse crosswise across her chest got out of the car, followed by Jasper.

“You really want to do this?” Vincent glared at the two.

“Seems like the day could use some excitement,” Jasper said jauntily. “And it feels to me like you could use some help. Note the word feel.”

“And don’t even think of saying something as insulting or banal such as I’m just a girl,” Wanda continued quickly before Vincent could get a word in edgewise. “Oh, wait,” she said, motioning for them to wait as she returned to the trunk of her car.

She reached in and grabbed something from the inside before closing the trunk and returning back to them. Jasper could see that she is now holding a short length of wooden rod roughly two feet in length. He threw a questioning look at her.

“After the attack, I signed up for escrema classes,” she explained, twirling the rod and making some practice swipes. “You know, self-defense and all that jazz.”

“Fine,” Vincent said, throwing up his hands. He was about to turn away to head into the brush but then abruptly pivoted to face them. “But you follow whatever I say, no matter how bizarre it is. Got it?”

“You showed your sopping wet crotch to me in a restaurant,” Jasper snapped testily. “I think bizarre I can handle.”

Vincent didn’t reply, but the rigid pull of his shoulders contrasted with Wanda’s snickers. They followed him into the brush.

"The Gathering" - Chapter 4

Convergence

Nikolai turned away from the window, facing the ethereal Eden. The room was sparse, as how he had left it after graduating from the Academy. As a ranking mentalist who had completed his training programme he had opted to retain his old residence upon graduating. Outside, the Plaza of Harmony bustled with the students and trainers of the Academy going about their daily business. The meeting place wasn’t Nikolai’s choice. The Council had vetoed his suggestion for somewhere less public.

Nikolai hated coming back to the Academy. It brought back too many memories of slogging away at his assignments and combat training. Memories of things he’d rather forget.

Things hidden he prayed would never see the light of day.

For now however, he concentrated on the task at hand. Eden had contacted him via spell that she had information on the rogue empath that the three of them—himself, Eden and Vincent—had come in contact ten years ago. The three of them had kept the Council in the dark about the fact that they had been keeping tabs, and even checking up periodically—sometimes even telepathically or through magical means—on the rogue.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice clipped. His distaste for the spellweaver notwithstanding, he did not refute her intrinsic worth—especially when dealing with a rogue psychic.  

“It’s him,” Eden confirmed. Her blond tresses rippled like small waves down her back as she moved languidly towards him.

Nikolai backed a step, an arm raised in a warding gesture. “Stay away from me, Bennet,” he snarled. He could almost feel the small almost-healed scab on his upper lip pull at his grimace.

Eden shrugged her nonchalance at his vehement tone, sidling to his side as she peered at the small scab. Her cerulean blue eyes were blank, her mind as calm as still waters. It was a well-known fact that spellweavers have a natural resistance to psychic and even magical intrusions towards them but that did not account for the fact that she seemed to be completely immune to even his cursory scans. Nikolai had never doubted his own skill nor finesse with his telepathy, and if directly pressed would admit to his exact range and power scale as defined by the Academy—currently classified as a Class 8, out of a scale of one to ten, he thought irreverently. Meaning that not only should I be able to read her surface thoughts but also what she had for dinner eight weeks ago. Not for the first time since their small showdown in the recovery room, Nikolai was impressed at her mental shields. I wonder how those shields would stand against …? he thought.

A soft brush of Eden’s forefinger against the small scab brought a slight tingling to the spot. He knew without looking in a mirror that the witch had healed that small scar. Small favours, in light of what had happened. 

That’s what you get for underestimating a spellweaver. 

He did not miss the underlying subtext in Eden’s small spell. The witch was indirectly telling him that her abilities match—if not outright supersedes—his own.

“It’s him,” Eden repeated, softly this time. A small frown furrowed her forehead, marring the otherwise perfect porcelain cast of her features. “And there were two others in his vicinity.”

Nikolai started. “WHAT?!?” he roared in spite of himself. “Two others?”

Eden shook her head in rebuke. “You didn’t let me finish,” she admonished gently as she continued to sketch the details. “There were two energy readings, Prime Andra told me. One mild but focused, the other powerful but a wild, spontaneous spike.”

“A trained mentalist and another rogue,” Nikolai stated, coming to his own conclusion.

“It would seem to be,” Eden agreed. She moved away from his side, going to the window and looking out at the Plaza outside. “It always puzzles me how you mentalists like to structure things,” she commented, a wry smile on her lips. “Something as dynamic and deeply personal like how a person’s mind works …” she trailed off. A deep breath. “But no matter. I suppose that’s why our people never could see eye to eye when it comes to certain things.”

Nikolai snorted. Among the Old Blood, there had always been a marked dissent between each others’ approach to their abilities: invokers, elementals, spellweavers and the like.

So many ways to do things and yet we still have no answer or solution, he thought cynically.

“What else did Prime Andra say?” he asked, returning to the matter at hand.

“That’s the interesting part,” Eden said, a small smile forming on her face. “Do you have anything planned for the next three days?”

“Nothing that I can’t postpone,” Nikolai said guardedly. “Why you ask?”

This time Eden’s smile practically swallowed her face. “How do you feel about another worldwalking?”

* * *

Vincent Somerfeld leaned against the wall of the alley, the lighted end of his cigarette flaring briefly as he took a drag. He had been standing there since noon—with the pretext of waiting for a bus nixed by a patrolling police car when they told him to move along and stop hogging the bench at the bus stop.

He had doubled back after ambling away, with a sandwich tucked in the pocket of the jacket he had brought to ward off the chill of an autumn evening. The late evening sun is edging towards dusk, attesting to his Herculean stamina and willpower at his assigned task.

Of course, if one is observant, the cigarette butts littering the ground near his feet would do in a pinch.

A slight throbbing behind his eyelids signalled an oncoming vision. In his mind, a flash appeared almost montage-like. His quarry was taking the stairs, and about to come out … and the vision stopped just as the tall young man appeared in the doorway of the apartment building. The man paused, his head slightly cocked as if listening to something or someone from somewhere inside the building before stepping onto the sidewalk and began to walk.

Vincent was about to move away from his spot to start tailing the man when his intended quarry turned abruptly and unmistakably made a bee-line for him.

“You know you could never hide from me, Vince,” he said as he stepped closer.

Vincent smiled. Despite his misgivings, he genuinely liked the man. “Jasper,” he said the other’s name by way of greeting. “I wasn’t trying to hide …”

“Liar,” Jasper said, his face crinkling into a smile. “How long has it been?”

“Two years,” Vincent answered, wincing inwardly at the answer. “I should’ve kept in touch.”

“Nah,” A shrug. “You have your own things to settle.” Jasper paused. “Have you had dinner?” he asked. 

“There’s a wicked Indian place around the corner here,” he said, motioning towards the direction he had been heading.

“I could eat,” Vincent shrugged.

“Great,” Jasper said, moving on. “Come on, then.”

Vincent tried his best to catch up to the taller man. He remembered how often he had compared his five-foot-six slender build to Jasper’s rangy, long-legged physique. He gave himself a mental shrug and quickened his steps.

“What are you up to?” Jasper asked, his dark green eyes glancing at him.

“Nothing much,” Vincent hedged. “Just moving around.”

Jasper snorted. “Meaning you’re keeping tabs on rogues like me,” he stated flatly. However, the slight smirk marked his comment as playful.

“Something like that,” Vincent agreed, not seeing the point of keeping the charade.

“Don’t you clairvoyants normally stay in a locked room and pass on whatever you see to your guys?” Jasper said as he wiggled his eyebrows, miming air quotes at the word guys.

“Not me,” Vincent denied. “I prefer field work.”

“Ah,” the other replied. Vincent decided to leave it at that for now as they had reached the eatery Jasper had mentioned earlier.

Thirty-five minutes passed after they’ve demolished enough food to feed a small family. Jasper still couldn’t grasp how a person with Vincent’s diminutive frame could put away three plates of briyani rice, chicken masala and dhal gravy. Now, Vincent is absorbed with the task of stealing the two ladu from Jasper’s plate of desserts. Jasper rolled his eyes at the petty larceny and decided he liked the other man enough to forego a small argument of which sweetmeat belongs to whom.

“I haven’t seen Niki or Eden around,” he began nonchalantly.

“You wouldn’t,” Vincent confirmed. “One, they weren’t the ones assigned to watch over you. Two, you’re not that good.”

Jasper smirked. “Good enough to know you’ve been tailing and keeping watch for the last two weeks,” he countered.

He was rewarded when Vincent paused imperceptibly mid-chew.

“Interesting,” the shorter main commented. “I take it you’ve been practicing?”

“More or less,” Jasper shrugged. He slurped noisily at this lassi. “Niki gave me some pointers before he left and I started from there.”

“How far did you go with your …”

“Experimenting?” Jasper finished. “Hmmm …” he collected his thoughts and started rattling off, “Reading and projecting emotions. Id insinuation—that was tough. I almost got lost in someone’s head once …”

Vincent shuddered. He’s heard of novice telepaths who ended up mind-blanked. They thought to enter another sentient mind without taking precaution against being lost or swallowed by another potentially powerful native structure. He was glad he wasn’t a telepath. Clairvoyance is tricky enough without having to traipse through someone’s head.

“Id insinuation, eh?” he repeated. “That was impressive. Usually most rogues never mastered that particular skill.”

“You forget,” Jasper returned. “I was tutored by a combat meister.”

“True,” Vincent assented. “I take it that you’ve mastered scanning, reading and projecting. Implanting suggestions?” he prompted.

“Check.” Jasper answered. “Am I answering a questionnaire here?” he asked after a brief pause.

“Of sorts.”

“Oh?” Jasper raised an eyebrow. “Care to share?”

“Nice try, Jas,” Vincent replied, using his nickname for the other man. “Mind if I smoke?”

“I’m bumming one,” Jasper held out a hand.

“Where did you pick up the habit?” Vincent asked as he passed his pack of Marlboro Lights to Jasper.

“Recently.” A pause. “About three weeks ago.” Jasper’s dark eyes met Vincent’s blue ones challengingly. “Cut to the chase, Vince. You being here had something to do with that telepath who attacked me.”

Vincent kept his silence, more intent on lighting up his cigarette. He flicked the tinder of his lighter …

…and his world erupted in flames. This isn’t real, he told himself. That however didn’t account for the searing heat he felt. Or the burning walls of the dimly-lit restaurant crackling away as the flames ate at the furnishings. Or the blisters forming on his skin, cracking peeling… I can’t …! I can’t breathe …! he thought as his sleeve caught fire…

…and the tiny little flame erupted from the lighter’s nozzle. Vincent dropped it, stunned and shocked.

“How did you…?” he began to ask, falteringly. He tried again, “How did you …”

“How did I do it?” Jasper answered for him. His dark eyes had gone flat, emotionless. “I know what you’re afraid of, remember? You told me you were trapped in a burning house when your parents were killed.”

“That was just cold, Jas,” Vincent shot back, petulantly. He leaned back, finished lighting his cigarette and blew a puff of smoke towards the ceiling. “But masterfully done!” he stood up and bowed. “Niki himself couldn’t have done better!”

“That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for,” Jasper looked up from his seat, a small puzzled frown.

“Oh, au contraire, my friend,” Vincent grinned devilishly. He hiked up his jacket and shirt, showing Jasper the large wet spot on his jeans. “You succeeded in making me piss in my pants!” he looked around, slightly confused. “No one seems to take notice, I see?” he glanced at Jasper, wiggling his eyebrows.

The entire restaurant did seem to be oblivious of the two men, as Vincent had pointed out. Jasper nodded by way of admission. He’s been gently manipulating thoughts and sensations around the two of them so onlookers will conveniently forget about them. And it saved them from paying for overpriced Indian food.

He had thought about what Niki had taught him on how to blank out selective parts of a person’s memories but Jasper decided against it. How does one explain away almost an hour’s worth of recollection in one’s memory? Not for the first time, he wondered at what kind of life and past necessitated Niki to employ such ruthless method when using his powers.

“Would you like them to?” Jasper asked rhetorically. He stood up and grabbed Vincent by the collar. “Come on, we’re finishing this at my place.”

*  *  *

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Wanda reiterated. “You used your powers to hoodwink an entire restaurant and get out of paying, you kept the fact that you have friends with weird powers like you hidden from me…”

“To be fair,” Vincent interjected. “He was the weird one. And I’m not like him. I’m a clairvoyant.”

“Meaning, what exactly?” Wanda asked testily, curious despite her mounting annoyance. It doesn’t take an empath to figure that one out. For the moment, her train of thought had been derailed by Vincent’s interruption.

The two of them had returned from their free dinner feeling like two naughty schoolboys playing truant. When Jasper and Vincent got to Jasper’s apartment, Wanda was waiting for them—or rather, Jasper. Ignoring Jasper’s attempt at discretion, Vincent practically poured out ten years worth of history to a bewildered Wanda—who had steadily went from being bewildered to supremely pissed.

And Vincent’s cavalier statements and behaviour is just adding more fuel to the fire.

“I see things,” Vincent replied simply.

“Like what, the future?”

“That’s precognition,” Vincent corrected her, a beatific smile on his face. Jasper could tell he’s enjoying baiting his sister.

“So?” Wanda asked, riveted now to Vincent’s subtle baiting. “You see what, really?”

“Things,” he answered. “Objects, people or events happening in other places in the present.”

“That’s … useful, I suppose,” Wanda commented.

“Oh, it is,” Vincent agreed. He cocked his head slightly, as his eyes glazed momentarily. Those blue eyes refocused on Wanda, and a slow lazy smile appeared. “I like how your undies match your shoes.”

Jasper guffawed, at the same time as realization struck Wanda. Her shriek of exasperation tells him that she’s getting on well with Vincent.