~
Whatever was in the IV made me feel increasingly disconnected from my body. It did nothing to dull the terror; it just cut me off from my surroundings, leaving me floating, with nothing to hold on to.
My head rolled around on the pillow as the gurney rattled down a hallway. We passed through a set of doors, the light briefly dimming. Then I heard echoing voices, and knew we were in the ritual room.
The air was chill around me, but I smelled candle smoke. Hands lifted me, mattress and all, off the gurney and onto a new surface. Tears slipped down my face as more hands bound my limbs to the surface beneath with brisk, efficient movements. Someone pried my mouth open and put in a plastic bit that would keep me from biting my tongue. My body began to tremble uncontrollably; I heard a murmur about the IV, and then the shaking subsided.
Stalagmites, forming a ring around me —
An echoing thud as the doors shut. Candlelight glinted off the ceramic-tiled walls. I was distantly aware of movement, of people, making a circle around my bed.
The stone vanished, transforming into the lithe forms of the Unseelie.
I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t command my body.
Hands grabbed my arms, stretching them wide; someone else pulled my head back roughly. They brought the tube up to my face —
“No,” I whispered. The word barely made it past my lips.
A puff of powder, and fire enveloped my soul.
~
Sweat poured down Cooper’s face. The power in the room made the air thrum, made his bones vibrate. He’d known going into this that he was tackling something nobody had ever done before: installing the deep shield on a fully-grown psychic, a young woman already trained to use her gifts. He’d been preparing for this since the DSPA approached him four months ago. But there was only so much he could predict, even with the assistance of a skilled diviner, and he hadn’t known to prepare for this.
He didn’t even know what was going on. The wilder wasn’t fighting back; she was too thoroughly shielded and drugged for that. But her body was trembling, as if she were having an epileptic seizure. Lunetta’s face was white, but the anesthesiologist had reassured him it was safe to continue. Cooper had to trust her. The sooner they got this over with, the better. No matter what the officials at the Division for Special Psychic Affairs said, he was beginning to think that putting the deep shield on an adult was a very bad idea.
Four SIF agents were holding temporary shields on her; four of Cooper’s own residents were constructing the framework of the deep shield. Cooper himself approached the wilder’s shaking body. There were very few people in the world certified to do this work, and of them all, he considered only two his superiors. One was in Egypt, the other in India. There was no one else who could do this. He would have to be good enough.
Working methodically, Cooper crafted the matrix that would allow him access and protect him while he was inside. When that was done, he announced to the room, “Beginning the foundation stage now.”
Then he reached out, touched her forehead, and went inside her shields.
His nerves shrieked as he descended into her mind. Strength was partly a function of skill; no infant was ever this powerful. He could feel the young woman’s rage and terror battering away at him, just barely held at bay by the matrix surrounding him. In decades of work as a psychic surgeon, he’d never felt anything like this — but he couldn’t focus on that. Down, down, sinking through the whirlwind of her spirit, until he reached the deepest layer, the font of her power.
Gods, she was strong. He knew the number before he started, but embedding himself this deeply felt like standing in an inferno. Was it traces of that drug she’d been hit with? Kutty had assured him it was out of her system, but he suspected the man had lied in order to get the wilder in here as soon as possible. If so, and if that was to blame for this bad reaction, he would have Kutty suspended from duty before the week was out.
But he couldn’t back away now. And it should still be possible to do what he’d come for.
He searched for and found the anchor-point. Every psychic surgeon learned to visualize the spirits they operated on; he thought of this point as a crystal of unbreakable adamantine, a foundation from which nothing could be torn free. Cooper spun strands of power and wove a net around that stone, sinking the threads in until they became part of the stone, too deeply embedded to be torn loose.
She was fighting him now, fighting the agents who held her restrained. Even drugged, she was a threat. A divination major, somebody had said; if that was true, she’d been taking other classes on the side. Cooper thanked all the gods this wasn’t a born wilder, somebody who had been through the system of training that produced Guardians almost ready-made. If she had been, of course, he wouldn’t have needed to do this, because she would have been shielded as an infant, the way she ought to have been. But if that impossible combination ever somehow happened . . . he wasn’t sure he would be able to do this.
Where is that gods-damned shield?
His residents finished it just in time. He felt a distant sensation: a hand on his shoulder, a reminder that he had a body somewhere up above in the physical world. Cooper opened a conduit in the matrix, and the framework of the shield settled into his mental hands. Linking that to the foundation he’d built was the work of mere moments. It wasn’t locked into place yet, but it was almost ready. He examined every point of the structure three times over, making sure there were no flaws. Of all the deep shields he’d put in, this one could not fail.
Cooper steadied himself, then opened the conduit once more. His residents fed him power in a smooth flow, fusing the elements of the shield together so they formed a seamless whole, barely distinguishable from anything around it. The last parts to take shape were the keys, the triggers that could bring this whole structure to life or send it dormant in an instant.
He activated the shield.
The fire vanished as if it had never been. The shock of it hit him like the recoil of a snapped wire; instead of surfacing gradually, Cooper jolted back into his own body, muscles jerking as if from an electric shock. His eyes stung with sweat, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.
The others were staring at him, concerned. Cooper drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and fumbled out a cloth to wipe his face dry. “All right,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Check your shields.”
Light shimmered around every person in the room as they reinforced their own shields to the point where the energy fluoresced briefly into the visible spectrum. The room itself could take the worst this wilder could do.
He looked at the four agents holding the temporary shields on her. “Drop them.”
The barriers around her faded.
Cooper wasn’t the only one holding his breath. No one else, though, was keeping one psychic finger on the deep shield.
Not so much as a tremor. Perfect.
Everyone exhaled. Two of the agents exchanged high-fives. Tension flowed out of Cooper’s body in a rush, leaving him as exhausted as he had ever been.
The wilder’s body lay limp under the bonds. Tears leaked from her half-closed eyes to join the sweat on her face, but she appeared unharmed. Other doctors would check on her momentarily, to verify that she was still in good health.
But his job was done. She was safe now.
~
Everything was gone.
My eyes burned as I stared at the ceiling, because I kept forgetting to blink. Nothing. The word kept echoing in my mind. Absolutely nothing.
I’d been shielded before, many times. When the SIF agents came to take me to the hospital. When the Unseelie took me prisoner. All the way back to when I was twelve and my mother would shield me at night so I could sleep without my gifts acting up in my dreams.
When I’d thought about it—which wasn’t often—I’d imagined the deep shield would be like that: a wall blocking my gifts from touching the world.
I was wrong.
They weren’t loc
ked in. They were gone. I might as well have been a child again, pre-manifestation. I might as well have been a baseline.
It was like somebody had reached in and carved out the core of me, leaving a bleeding hollow behind.
Gutted.
“She’s still a bit woozy.”
My head rolled to one side, and I blinked for the first time in what felt like years. The voice was coming from out in the hall. A moment later the door opened, and I saw they had granted my request, had brought me the only thing in the world that could begin to fill the void.
Some reflex in me tried to reach out to him, to touch his mind and receive the comfort of its warmth. But I had no arms to reach with.
Julian’s face was white and drawn. He came forward swiftly and I knew, in the part of me that had learned to link my sixth sense with the other five, that his body language meant his shields were wavering, their integrity threatened by his distress. But I couldn’t feel it. His barriers might have been down entirely, his mind completely open to the world, and I wouldn’t have known it.
His hand found mine and took it in a crushing grip. From behind him, the nurse said, “I’m going to have to ask you not to do that. Not until she’s recovered.”
Julian flinched. “Yes. I’m sorry.” But he didn’t let go of my hand. I stared in confusion, then realized the nurse wasn’t talking about the physical contact. He’d done something psychically, and my numb spirit had felt nothing.
He was fighting to keep his breathing steady, and failing. “Please,” he said, his voice rough with tension. “Can you give us a moment? I promise I—I won’t touch her.”
The nurse frowned, considering, then went back out into the hall.
I rolled onto my side, facing him, my hand gripping his over mine. “Your parents are in the waiting room,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “They told me. I don’t want to see them.”
Julian nodded. “Then you won’t.”
My knees drew up toward my chest, curling around the absence inside. The blank numbness of the drugs was fading, and its retreat uncovered the worse numbness beneath. Hot fire tracked down my cheeks and soak into the pillow. “Oh gods, Julian,” I whispered, my words strangled. “It’s gone. Everything’s gone. I—I can’t—”
And then I couldn’t speak anymore, but I didn’t have to. He already knew. Julian wrapped his arms around me and held me while I cried.
Chapter Seven
The shield had to stay up for at least two weeks, the doctors said, until they were sure I was healed. They didn’t say they were guessing at that number, but I heard it anyway. Infants with the deep shield stayed under it until they were seven, sometimes older. Nobody really knew how long it would take me to recover.
The word was a terrible joke anyway. I wouldn’t recover. Not until they gave me back my gifts.
The closest thing I had to a silver lining was that they weren’t charging me with anything for the Crystal City disaster. What did they stand to gain? Lotze could probably get me off the hook with an argument of temporary insanity, and even if he didn’t . . . they’d already gotten what they wanted.
I was on indefinite leave from work, and a SIF escort was waiting to take me back to my apartment once the hospital let me go—an “escort” that amounted to an armed guard who would watch over me for some unspecified amount of time. At least until I was deemed “healthy” again. I wondered which they were more worried about: somebody attacking me again, me killing myself in the aftermath, or me somehow slipping free of their shield.
Maybe they knew I had plans.
Leaving the hospital, I discovered that word of my release had gotten out. I no sooner walked out the door than there was a sudden rush of humanity in my direction, most of them armed with cameras, microphones, or both. Reporters shouted questions I couldn’t make out; my brain shut down under the onslaught. Julian supported me with one arm around my waist and my SIF-appointed watchdog tried to open a path to the car. I held back, though, because one thought had suddenly come clear.
“I have something to say.”
My watchdog turned and tried to stop me, but by then the reporters were shutting up and shoving mikes in my general direction. He couldn’t drag me away without it ending up on the evening news.
To the assembled crowd, I said, “The Division for Special Psychic Affairs just stole something from me. They reached into my mind and took away my gifts, using a law that’s meant to protect children. But I am not a child. And neither are all the other wilders who have finished their training. The government keeps every last one of them on a leash, using the threat of this shield to keep them in line. Maybe you think that’s a good idea. Maybe you’re so uncomfortable around wilders that you don’t care about their rights. But if you do care—if you think the United States government stealing the inborn gifts of its citizens makes a travesty of our laws—then you know this has to change.”
I picked one camera, looked right into it. “So this is my message to the Division, and to the entire federal Department of Psychic Affairs. Congratulations—you’ve gutted me. You’ve put me in chains alongside the others. But I will be free. Either you take this shield off me, or I do. Your choice.”
The reporters began shouting follow-up questions as soon as they realized I was done, but I ignored them. With Julian at my side and the SIF agent scowling like a thunderhead at me, I made my way to the waiting car, and went home to plot my jailbreak.
~
When they got home, Julian occupied himself for a few minutes with mundane tasks. Putting their shoes on the rack. Fetching two glasses of water from the kitchen. Anything to focus himself, to lead his thoughts away from the pit they kept trying to fall into.
When he came out of the kitchen, Kim was sprawled across the couch, utterly limp. “Sorry,” she said dully. “This has been your crusade a lot longer than it’s been mine. I shouldn’t have declared it like I was the first one to come up with the idea.”
She thought that was why he was upset? No, she knew him better than that. Kim sat up enough to let him claim part of the couch, then lay with her head in his lap. Julian said, “I don’t mind. A lot of eyes are on you right now; that’s a tool I’ve never had. If you making waves pushes people into doing something, so much the better.”
“Assuming that ‘something’ isn’t bad for us both.” Kim sighed and stared at the ceiling. Julian brushed her hair back from her face with careful fingers. “I kind of just declared war.”
Maybe it’s time someone did. Julian took care not to let any hint of that thought slip. Then his stomach cramped as he realized he didn’t have to worry. Kim wouldn’t hear anything he didn’t say out loud.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she opened them again and said, “A legislative fix might happen, but not any time soon. So it’s back to your original plan: break the shield.” She tilted her head so she could look into Julian’s eyes. Her own were bloodshot around the golden irises, but bright with determination. “I don’t want to waste time. Why don’t we start with you telling me what you’ve already tried?”
Julian hesitated. Kim had a point, but— “I think it might be better if I didn’t,” he said. “At least, not just yet. Yes, you’re bound to duplicate some of my efforts. But if I tell you what I’ve already done, it’ll shape your thinking, imprint you with my assumptions. I’d rather see you come at this fresh.”
“What good will that do? You know twenty times as much as I do about shielding.”
“But you have one thing I don’t,” Julian said. “You remember what it felt like for the shield not to be there.”
With her head on his thigh, he could feel the shudder that ran through her. Directing her attention to the shield must be awful, when she’d just been gutted for the first time. Part of Julian wanted to spare her the necessity. But this was Kim; he could guess what she’d say to that. And this was her idea in the first place.
He assumed Kim was thinking it through, but whe
n she spoke, it turned out her mind had gone in a different direction. “You told me once that you provoked them into gutting you a few times. So you could examine the shield from the inside.”
“Yes,” Julian said.
She wrapped her arms around her body, shivering. “Gods. I . . . I can’t even imagine doing that. Asking for this. When you knew what it was going to be like. Does—does it ever get better?”
“No,” Julian said softly. “I just learned to endure.”
Her expression wavered again. He knew what was coming. It would happen again and again, until they won or Kim found some way to cope.
With a bone-deep ache of familiarity and despair, Julian stroked her hair while she cried once more.
~
My port rang later that evening. It had rung two dozen times already, until I set it to refuse all calls from people not already in my contacts. A whole bunch of reporters wanted to follow up on my declaration outside the hospital. I’d have to figure out what to say to them eventually—make a statement, give an interview, something. But I couldn’t face it just yet. When my port started ringing again, I almost threw it across the room, until I remembered it had to be somebody I knew. With some trepidation, I picked it up—and hit “accept” the instant I saw Liesel’s icon.
“Kim!” Her face filled the little screen. Even at that size, I could see her normally rosy cheeks had gone white. “Are you—no, you’re not okay; I shouldn’t even ask. I just heard the news. Lord and Lady, I am so sorry.”
It almost set me off again, seeing her so distraught. But I’d cried enough already today; I wasn’t sure I had any tears left in me. “Hang on,” I said, and calmed myself by shifting the feed onto the larger screen in the bedroom, so Liesel would at least be something more like life-size.
“So I guess I’m news in Germany,” I said, trying to make light of it and failing.
“I think it’s been announced everywhere. I only just heard about what happened—we got back from the Schwarzwald an hour ago. They moved so fast!”
Liesel didn’t normally leave words in German when she spoke to me. She’d been back in Germany for several months now, but the error was also a sign of her distress, and it made my breath hitch in my throat. “Yeah, they didn’t waste any time,” I said dully.