Psychic Read online

  The moment the muscles in his shoulder tensed, she bent time hard. Actually cutting skin was faux pas, but the goal was to get as close as possible. They wouldn’t declare a winner between the two of them. That would have been too clean. Any qualified observer was permitted an opinion of who won, including the combatants themselves. It should have just been a training exercise, but with as many high-performance individualists as there were around, even crossing a street could have a winner and a loser. Something as technical as a fight must have a winner.

  She danced to one side, drawing Lahn in and down towards Lange’s exposed thigh, where he had his weight, but he sprung into the air, spinning over her. She dropped to a knee as the tip of his blade came down for the middle of her lower back, and rolled in a vector that matched her against Lange again when he landed.

  Neither of them so much as paused. He cut backhanded for her right shoulder and she turned to present her front as a target as she pulled Lahn in a hard arc toward his ribcage. It was a game of chicken. She bent backwards, leaping off her legs and onto her right hand as he twisted just out of her range and they both sliced air. He grabbed her ankle out of the air and she dropped her weight onto it, snapping her abs tight to arc out of her back handspring into a handstand. She stabbed at his foot as she wrapped his wrist with her other leg and pulled his weight forward onto the foot.

  He stumbled, hopping his foot out of the way, and she jerked again, putting Lahn flat on the floor so that she had two points of balance to his one. His blade was in motion again, coming for her exposed stomach, and she dropped the foot lock on his wrist to get her foot onto the ground, swinging her center of mass out of the way as the curved blade slashed air. She slipped her fingers under Lahn’s leather-bound grip again and whipped it up the inside of his leg as she pulled her ankle away. He only narrowly avoided her kicking him in the face, but the motion didn’t have much power behind it. He was more concerned with the razor edge one raw fiber from slitting his pants up the middle. He brought his own blade back across, using the flat side of the blade and his palm as a hard block that knocked Samantha off balance.

  She tottered to her feet and squatted, guessing more than knowing that the blade would come back across at head level, and she rolled across her shoulders, landing with one foot out, Lahn just inches off the ground. Somewhere, she was aware that Sam was worried about her, but she didn’t have the spare focus to reassure him. Even with time bent, she had to optimize every movement to account for how much stronger Lange was than she. Hey may have been quicker, too. She wasn’t sure.

  Her advantages were her woman’s hips, lighter weight, and many, many years of angelic training.

  Lange brought his blade down in a shape that would have lodged it in her shoulder at the base of her neck if she hadn’t reacted. She dropped her knee on the floor and turned Lahn to catch the blade between Lahn’s twin points, bearing the force of the downstroke only barely, then twisted her wrist to give the blade an awkward angle as he pulled it away. She hit him in the side of the knee with the heel of her hand as he recoiled for another stroke, and he buckled sideways for half a step. She was on her feet, spinning, by the time he got his weight square again. She got around the blade he held in defense and skimmed Lahn over the surface of his face close enough to shave him.

  Less than a dozen humans in New York would have been able to experience that edge at that speed without snapping their heads back, but Lange was one of them. Samantha had to pull her shoulder across and down to keep ahead of his retaliatory strike. She split her feet to give herself a low radius of spin, catching one hand behind her and flipping over it, tucking her knees as her waist hit its furthest twist. She was facing away from his blade as he finished his follow-through, and had a full swing to pick up speed as she stabbed at the open spot under his shoulder.

  She committed. Stepped into his elbow, grabbing it with her right hand and throwing as much weight as she could get up off of her feet into the joint. Powerful shoulders pulled, and she felt him put a foot back to brace his hips as he twisted back against her weight, but Lahn found home. She jerked her arm to a stop as the tip stressed his skin, then let his own reaction throw her back away as his blade came back up for another pass.

  They sparred for most of an hour, trading points like that the whole time, but that first real kill stab was the important one. They both knew it.

  Samantha was out of shape, and as the hour wore on, she was on the defense more and more, but when they quit, they were both pouring sweat. Her hair hung in thin locks the same shape as the streams of sweat on her face, and Lange’s was in thick, curled hanks that stuck to his neck. They stood facing each other, both too proud to bend over their knees to catch their breath, but she knew she was swaying at least as bad as he was.

  When she could speak, she looked at Jason.

  “That’s what we’re doing tomorrow.”

  “We’re what?”

  Lange found his shirt and mopped his face off with it.

  “You should move back,” he said. “No one else gives me a work out like that.”

  “Then you’re getting lazy,” Samantha said, taking her own shirt back from Sam and pulling it loosely around herself to stir the air. “Kjarr would go six hours like that.”

  “He isn’t allowed in the club any more,” Carter said of Lange.

  “You make a pass at Nuri?” Samantha asked. Lange pulled his shirt back on, and her eyes slowly widened as he failed to answer her. “No. Seriously? You’re that dumb?”

  “It was a joke,” he said.

  “Did you thank him for letting you keep breathing?” she asked. Lange muttered something about thin skinned. Samantha discovered that her mouth was hanging open. She clicked it shut.

  “I can’t believe you survived this long,” she said.

  “I can’t believe Argo claimed him,” Carter said, “but I’ve said that from the beginning.”

  “I’ll see you around,” Lange said, walking toward the elevator. Carter grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “I’ll ride up with you.”

  Samantha eased down onto the floor beside Sam. Jason leaned forward to look around Sam at her.

  “Now, say again what we’re doing tomorrow?”

  “I’m going to teach you how to do that.”

  “Do what? You’re unreal fast. I can’t do that. I’m a bar fighter, not like that.”

  “I’m going to teach you,” she said. “Power is about control. You can cross. You came back. This is the next step.”

  “She’s going to gut you,” Sam said.

  “I won’t be using a blade tomorrow,” she said. “You don’t want blades involved when either player is an amateur. That’s when accidents happen.”

  “You’re still going to gut him.”

  She tipped her head back against the wall.

  “I’m giving him every advantage I can,” she said. “I’m going to be beat, tomorrow.”

  “Oh, good,” Jason said. She pushed against the wall, standing.

  “We should get upstairs. I need to do another diagnostic pass on you to make sure I didn’t miss anything last night.”

  “Was there any pizza left?” Jason asked. Sam looked at him, amused, as something occurred to him.

  “So. Demon tramp, huh?”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “You seemed pretty happy when we got home,” Samantha said.

  “Well, yeah. I mean… You do not want to know the day I had. But…”

  “If you had known?” Sam asked. Jason frowned, then his face slowly softened.

  “I’d have done it, anyway,” he said. “It was incredible.”

  Sam shook his head.

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  <><><>

  Samantha woke the next morning with Sam’s body stretched along hers, his arm around her waist. She had fallen asleep the moment she had hit the bed, but she had woken up several times during the night, each time only waking for a few moments
before the warmth of touch, body against body, lulled her back to sleep. She took a deep breath and her muscles reminded her of the evening she had had. Everything creaked. With that, she needed to move.

  Sam woke and squeezed her once, then let her go as she slid out of bed, moving into a series of stretches that had once been her morning routine. The sequence, the weight placement, everything was structured around the bed and this small room. He rolled on his side to watch her as she slowly regained normal functionality, her hips and back popping as she worked.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said. She laughed.

  “I’m out of shape. Jason has actually got a shot today.”

  “I hope not. I like watching you beat him up. It surprises him every time.”

  She looked at him as she stretched the muscles down her sides.

  “You’re a good brother.”

  He grinned.

  “The best.”

  She worked for another minute, transitioning into some of the more muscle-building movements.

  “Do you ever stretch?” she asked.

  “Sometimes when a hotel has a gym we do weight lifting when we get bored,” Sam asked. She looked at him sideways, then sucked air through her teeth.

  “That stops today. Get up.” She paused. “I’m serious. Get up. You’re doing this with me.”

  He watched her and she stood, putting her hands on her hips.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Like… yoga?”

  “You would break yourself in half trying to do yoga. No. Just, finding the joints that you would be stronger if they had a wider range of motion, and then working for it.”

  He winced an eye skeptically.

  “Look, if you manage to get old someday, you’ll thank me. Get up.”

  He groaned and rolled onto the floor on the far side of the bed and slowly stood.

  “Can we not tell Jason about this?”

  She rolled her jaw to one side.

  “Get dressed. We’ll just start with this, downstairs.”

  <><><>

  “Come on, Jason. You’re right there. You can feel it. I know you can. Bend time.”

  Sam sat on the floor in the basement, watching Samantha out-speed and out-power Jason over and over again. She seemed to think he could move faster, if he just tried harder, and Jason seemed to think it was true. Sam thought the entire thing looked sadist.

  Samantha’s thoughts came in bursts that bewildered Sam with their intensity, but she had always done that. He thought it was just part of who she was. The idea that time was somehow variable, that she could alter it through force of will was… silly.

  The problem was, she wasn’t lying.

  And Jason believed her.

  He was working harder at bending time than he was at defending himself, and it showed. She landed easy shot after easy shot to his chest and ribs, striking his face with an open hand to drive the point home.

  Jason was sweating. Sam was astonished he had gone along with the attempt as long as he had.

  “Grab it,” Samantha said. “Just take it.”

  Jason grunted, dropping his arm back for a jab, then slung his arm across his body so hard he twisted himself off his feet. She caught him.

  “That’s it,” she crowed. “That’s it. Keep that.” She helped him back to his feet, where Jason stood, hands on knees, panting. “You got it?” He nodded. “Do it again. Hit me.”

  He pulled his weight back to stand incrementally more upright, putting his hands up in an exhausted boxer’s stance, and led with a strong right hook. Samantha skirted it easily, and Jason again followed through with his entire body. This time Samantha wasn’t strong enough to catch him, and he landed on his knees on the floor.

  “That’s it,” she said. “You’ve got it. Now,” she said, pulling him back up onto his feet, “we start the hard part. Your body only ever exists in this world. Well, okay, exceptions, stuff, but for the sake of this, your body only ever exists in this world. When you bend time, you’re pulling your mind into the barrier and giving your mind more time to think. Physics apply. Putting more and more force into a motion just because it feels like it’s going slower and slower means that you’re just going to over-commit. What you have to do instead is tweak your reactions in real time. Know what your limitations are, and then push yourself to the limit. Stronger is always stronger, faster is always faster. This just makes you more clever.” She paused. “Got it?”

  He was hanging over his knees again, and he grunted.

  “You need a break?” she asked. He nodded. She looked at Sam.

  “I need to go put the posts from the hellcage back in the shed before someone finds them. Keep an eye on him. Let me know if he starts talking gibberish.” She nudged Jason toward the wall. “Go sit.”

  Jason trudged to the wall, leaning his head against it, then pivoting in a proper collapse to land next to Sam.

  “You okay?” Sam asked.

  “Amazing,” Jason said. Sam couldn’t detect the sarcasm, but he knew it had to be there.

  “I’m sure it will get easier,” he said. Jason shook his head.

  “No, I’m serious,” Jason said. “This is how she beats me. Every time. I learn this, I start keeping up.”

  “So the fact that she could beat you up with one hand…?” Sam asked.

  “Temporary.”

  Jason dropped his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling.

  “So… you two…?”

  “No.”

  “Why not, dude?”

  “Don’t, man,” Sam said.

  “Just saying.”

  “I know.”

  “Seriously.”

  “Shut up.”

  Jason stared at the ceiling some more.

  “Seriously.”

  “Shut up.”

  Jason looked at him.

  “You’re sleeping in her bed.”

  “You slept with a woman who has sex with demons.”

  “I spent the entire day having sex with a woman who screws demons. You bring it up again, I will tell you about it. You can’t tell me you don’t think about her.”

  “So?”

  “So? Dude, she’s hot, and you’re sleeping in her bed. Do I need to draw a picture?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “Just saying.”

  “Shut up.”

  Jason took a breath to speak, but Sam cut in.

  “Dude, you say one more word, and I swear I will destroy you.”

  “Oh, you think you can?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Cause Sam’s got me all beat in for you, huh?”

  “Well, there’s that, too.”

  “I can take you any day of the week.”

  “You walk like an old man. I might feel bad,” Sam said.

  “Oh, really.”

  “Really.”

  “Bring it. Let’s see what you’ve actually got.”

  Samantha got back some time later to find them wrestling like they hadn’t in years.

  <><><>

  Jason was asleep on the couch again.

  Sam sat on the floor, trying not to attract Carter’s attention as Samantha tried on old clothes and danced to music she was blasting out of her room. The sun was setting and the loft grew darker and darker, but Carter didn’t turn on any lights. The streak of light coming out of Samantha’s room just gained contrast.

  “You know what we should do,” Carter called from his room.

  “What’s that?” Samantha answered from hers.

  “We should take them out to the club,” Carter said.

  “No,” she said.

  “You’re the one who decided to initiate him,” Carter said, walking out into the main room.

  “The club has nothing to do with it,” she said. Carter grinned.

  “Get dressed.”

  “No.”

  “We’re going.”

  “No.”

  Carter turned and walked back into his r
oom.

  “This is going to be fun.”

  Sam heard Samantha sigh.

  <><><>

  Samantha came out of her room in leather pants, an open leather jacket and a mesh shirt. She wore makeup that spiraled up and away from her eyes in dark patterns, and dark purple lipstick.

  “No one says anything, no one touches me,” she said.

  “Oh, come on,” Jason said. “You can’t actually expect me to hold back…”

  He noticed the harnessing across her stomach too late, as Lahn came whizzing through the air to press against his neck.

  “Samantha,” Carter said. “Learn to take a compliment.”

  Sam felt her consider a spectrum of responses, but choose none. She flipped Lahn back behind her back again, into the sheath.

  “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Don’t even try to pretend that you aren’t going to have a good time,” Carter said. “She’s just been looking for an excuse to get me to twist her arm into going. It’s her favorite place in New York,” he said, looking at Sam. Sam glanced at her. She was excited, but he wasn’t going to out her. Her angry face was convincing.

  “Door. Open. Feet. Moving,” she said. “I didn’t dress up like this to amuse you.”

  “You’re driving,” Carter said. “They’re expecting us.”

  “Can we take the Mustang?” Jason asked.

  “No back seat,” Samantha said. Jason sighed.

  “Right.”

  “I will take you out in it before we leave, I promise.”

  Carter locked the door behind them and Samantha pushed the button for the elevator.

  “I didn’t buy cars with the task of driving the two of you around in mind,” Samantha said. “I think Sam will fit in the Lincoln, but no guarantees.”

  “Shotgun,” Carter said.

  <><><>

  The club was a converted 60’s stage theater. Sam, Jason, and Carter sat at a table as Samantha made her presence known on the dance floor. Deep, thrumming music, reminded Sam of a black-lit bar that Samantha had taken him to the last time they were in New York, and Carter motioned to Samantha with his beer.