Chapter 9

I wasn’t sure how much time I had before Ellen showed up to drag me off to who-knows-where. I finished pulling on my shoes and socks, grabbed my jacket, and sat down with my laptop.

If Mr. Jefferson’s interest in me for his firm was the result of the public notice regarding Hammon’s Bill, then I really, really needed to know just what the Bill said. I tried looking it up online, but I could only find news links regarding the notice. There weren’t any videos from any kind of political experts detailing what the Bill included, and I wasn’t even sure when I would have time to talk to the contact to whom Ms. Romaine pointed me. I tried looking him up online. Duane Meyers was exactly the person she described. I dialed his number.

Unsurprisingly, Mr. Meyers didn’t answer. Instead, he sent me to voicemail. I left him a message and my number. I didn’t mention anything about who I was or why I wanted to discuss the Bill. That didn’t stop him from calling me back in less than two minutes.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Mr. Sutton?” a male voice asked. “Mr. Ral Sutton?”

“Speaking,” I said. “Who is this?”

“This is Duane Meyers,” he said. “I just got your message. You wanted to discuss Hammon’s Bill.”

I nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. When would be a good time for you?”

I heard some papers shuffle, and he said, “Well, I’m currently working on an article, but I should be done by tomorrow in the early afternoon.” He sounded excited. “Are you really the college student who helped the police with the Jacquelyn LaSalle case?”

I wasn’t sure how I wanted to answer. Honesty seemed best. “I am,” I said.

“Oh! Excellent. I would be happy to answer your questions about the Bill if you could answer a few questions for me...?”

I should have known better. Many reporters had asked me questions about my abilities and ended up making me look like some kind of circus freak. More than enough time had passed that any interest in me should have passed, which meant Mr. Meyers had different questions. “I can,” I said, “depending on the nature of the questions.”

“Oh! Nothing about the case. I’m more curious about you and what you can do,” he said. “Everyone else you’ve spoken to made it look like you somehow hoodwinked the courts into believing what happened. I just have a few clarifying questions.”

Interesting. This guy wanted the hard truth. I nodded to myself and said, “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Excellent, then how about we meet for a late lunch tomorrow at Moni’s Pasta & Pizza, at about two o’clock?”

I didn’t know the place, but it didn’t sound too uppity. “Does this place require a tie?” I asked, feeling a bit insecure.

“Oh! No,” he said. “It’s a small mom-and-pop type restaurant. The food’s excellent. And, I know you’re a college student, so I’ll take care of the bill.”

I nodded again. “Sure, two o’clock. I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic!” he said, almost screaming into the phone. “Thank you, Mr. Sutton. I really appreciate the opportunity.”

“As do I, Mr. Meyers,” I said and then hung up.

Understanding a potential new law was all fine and stuff, but how would that help the police stop a psychotic Powerborne bent on killing every other Psionic he found? And this killer, this Unsub was still out there. He targeted Bethany specifically to steal her powers, her Psionic powers. Everything I knew about him suggested he would go after every Psionic he could find in the area. I knew I was on that list, but there was one other individual who would be as well. I had to warn Mr. Shepherd.

Mr. Shepherd lived in Dallas and was the head of House Aquilae. Rachel introduced us after I finally gave in and told her about my ability to see auras. Mr. Shepherd, as it turned out, could also see auras and he was able to help me see things in auras I had yet to discover for myself. More than that, he answered a great number of questions about me, some of which I had yet to think to ask. He was a Psionic, like myself, but he considered himself a Latent Psionic and referred to me as a Natural Psionic. A Latent Psionic was someone who had to concentrate to bring their abilities to bear, whereas I, as a Natural Psionic, had to concentrate to keep them under wraps. My abilities would come out on their own, most especially when I needed them. I discovered several active abilities that way, Telekinesis, my shield, and even some minor healing abilities. Mr. Shepherd also had an array of abilities, the most prolific of which was his ability to see the future. Yes, Mr. Shepherd is what is also known as a soothsayer.

I dialed his number, not entirely sure what I was going to say, but certain my intent would be understood.

Mr. Shepherd answered in his usual fashion, “Good evening Mr. Sutton. I hope your classes have gone well.”

“Hello Mr. Shepherd,” I said, happy to know he was more interested in something as mundane as my education. “I had my last final yesterday. I think I did fairly well.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “Most people don’t fully understand how vital a good education is.” Then I heard someone say something in the background. “Ah! Christian is asking how your history final went.”

Christian was a close friend of Mr. Shepherd as well as a member of House Aquilae. He was also over four hundred years old. One of his powers was Immortality. If he could die, he had yet to discover a definitive method. Granted, he wasn’t a masochist, so he wasn’t exclusively working to find that method either. Unfortunately for him, it also forced him to move from one location to another every so many years because he didn’t appear to age like the rest of us. He moved to Dallas only five years ago, so it would be another ten to fifteen before he would have to move again. His interest in my history test was amusing. When I asked for help studying for it, he wasn’t sure he was the right person to ask. After all, he didn’t go to any of the major events we studied in history. Yes, he had been in all of the American wars, but he had been a low-ranking soldier in each one, and that had been hard to pull off with the increasingly better records the government kept. Needless to say, he hadn’t volunteered for the military since Vietnam. Fortunately for my study habits, he was very good at remembering details and he helped me in that regard. After all, to me, studying history was about the same as memorization and regurgitation.

“There was only one question on my history exam,” I said. “And I did my best to fill up my composition book completely.”

Mr. Shepherd passed on my message and I heard Christian laugh out loud. Then Mr. Shepherd came back with a question from his wife, Merrie. “Are you ready to fly home?”

And all at once, the joy I felt in talking to my friends fell with a splat. I hadn’t forgotten that my friends and I were flying home for the winter break later that afternoon, but I knew that it would not be possible.

Apparently, I had gone silent long enough that Mr. Shepherd was asking, “Ral, are you okay?”

“Huh?” I asked in return, “Oh, yes, I’m okay. I just ... I forgot about that.”

“Forgot?” he asked. “What made you forget that?”

“Something happened last night,” I said. “I’m involved with the police again. I don’t know what I’m allowed to talk about so I can’t give you any details.”

“Here, the others are asking what is going on,” he said. “Let me put you on speaker.”

“Ral,” Merrie asked, “was anyone hurt?”

“That’s something I’m not allowed to talk about,” I said. “But I have questions because some of the things I’ve learned are rather disturbing.”

“Ask away,” Mr. Shepherd said.

“Can one Psionic steal the powers from another Psionic?”

The phone was silent. I could almost imagine the three of them looking at one another. Finally, Mr. Shepherd came back. “Why would you ask about something like that?”

It was my turn to hesitate. I wasn’t sure how much to tell him. “I can’t tell you everything. Suffice it to say I’ve had a vision of someone attempting to do just that.”

“A vision?” Mr. Shepherd asked. “You believe this will happen?”

I shook my head. I knew I used the wrong term. “No, I’m sorry. This wasn’t prophetic, Mr. Shepherd. It was, well, the only way I can describe it is a set of Psionic notes.”

“Describe to me how that worked,” he said.

I was thankful that he was being careful about how he asked. “It was like being there when it happened. I could see and hear everything as if watching a rerun.”

“And how did you receive these Psionic notes?” he asked.

“They were attached to various objects,” I said.

“Ah, Psychometry,” he said. “More commonly, it’s called Object Read.”

I nodded. “I remember what you told me about that, but this wasn’t simply flashes of images or understanding. It was like being there when the scene occurred, only I had no control, no interaction.”

“That’s a rather stronger version of it,” he said, “Yet still the same thing. Tell me, did other Psionics touch those objects near the end of these scenes?”

“Yes, in all of them,” I said.

“Then yes, you were using Psychometry, and it was strengthened by the other Psionics.”

“So, then there’s no chance that they were false,” I said.

“Well, I cannot say that entirely,” he said. “You would have to completely delve into the message in the object to determine whether or not it was false.”

“How would I know whether it was false or not?” I asked.

“That would depend on the Psionic who touched it,” he said. “It’s almost like trying to tell if a person is lying, without seeing their aura.”

“Oh, so then if the Psionic is a complete stranger...?”

“Then you will probably not be able to determine whether what you saw was true or false.”

That didn’t help at all. “Well, I certainly appreciate the additional information on Psychometry, but what about my original question?”

I heard Mr. Shepherd sigh. “I have heard of a select few who can do such things, and as you can imagine, they are either sought out by others who wish to give away their power so they might live a normal life, or hunted by those scared of such an individual becoming too powerful.”

“To put this in as simple terms as I can, only the suicidal would go looking for this guy,” I said.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “To acquire the power he wants, he kills the person he takes it from.”

Since he stated it rather than asking, I chose not to answer.

“You said you were involved with the police,” Mr. Shepherd said. “I’m going to take an educated guess and say that someone has died?”

I swallowed and then said, “Yes.”

There was a moment of silence and then Mr. Shepherd said, “The only Psionic I know who lives in Arlington, other than you, is Ms. Bethany Corwin.”

My insides churned. I remembered the first time I saw Bethany, curled up at the end of a couch in House Vikkor. She was so timid, like a small animal in a room full of carnivorous beasts. I remembered how she looked up and saw Rachel’s aura. Her expression of awe was rapturous as if she were seeing an angel made flesh. Why would anyone kill her? How had this guy even found her? And what was I going to do to make sure he didn’t do it again?