Clairvoyance
Typically, ‘this was a mistake’ isn’t something anybody enjoys hearing the morning after a hookup. As Imogen was now discovering, wording it differently did absolutely nothing to lessen the blow.
“We shouldn’t have done this.”
It was said hastily and uncomfortably as Evelyn raced around the room of the small, nondescript motel she (apparently) lived in, gathering her clothing and awkwardly trying to snake her way into her sleep shirt for at least a little coverage.
Imogen’s first reaction was to deflect with something sarcastic, probably about how great it feels to hear a sentence like that the morning after, but something in Evelyn’s expression suggested this wasn’t a subject to be taken lightly. That, and Imogen’s head was pounding too hard for her to be clever.
Evelyn seemed in quite a rush, randomly tossing Imogen’s shirt and underwear towards her on the bed as she dashed back and forth, trying to gather every last piece of evidence of what had occurred the night before. She seemed annoyingly unaffected by the drunk haze that had settled over Imogen’s senses, or at the very least, she was extremely good at not showing it.
“Wh… huh?” Imogen groaned, covering her face with her hands. “That… Ev, I… what th’ fuck… god, my fuckin’ head…”
“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, alright?” Evelyn insisted. “I’m… you really should go, Imogen. Please.”
Imogen. Not Immy.
“Jus’ give me a sec, alright?” Imogen rasped. “I can barely… my brain ain’t workin’ yet. An’ I can’t… focus…”
“Bloody hell, Imogen, please.”
The insistence in Evelyn’s voice caught Imogen’s attention, slicing through the mist that carpeted her mind and allowing something else to sink in.
“Your accent,” she said. “It’s fully English. No American at all.”
Evelyn sighed in frustration. “It comes out whenever I’m stressed, alright? Now, please, you have to leave.”
A faint twang echoed from somewhere in the back of Evelyn’s mind, and suddenly, Imogen knew.
“You’re lyin’.”
For the first time that morning, Evelyn froze.
“What did you say?”
“I said you’re lyin’, Ev. ‘Cause you are.”
Evelyn slowly turned to look directly at Imogen, a look of pure terror in her eyes that, to her credit, was very well hidden. Unfortunately for her, Imogen was a psychic.
“How could you possibly know that?” she breathed.
“’Cause I’m a fuckin’ mind reader.”
Evelyn ground her jaw in frustration, her eyes locked with Imogen’s like a cornered animal staring down a hunter. She took a series of slow, shallow breaths, then huffed loudly.
“Y’ don’ have t’ tell me,” Imogen assured her. “Y’ know I got secrets, too. But don’ jus’ outright lie t’ me, please. Show me a little respect.”
Evelyn swallowed hard, then took a shaky breath before sitting on the edge of the bed beside Imogen.
“It’s a long story,” she admitted, several tense moments later. “And you’ll just end up regretting you heard it anyway. Hell, I probably would too, honestly. So maybe not ideal for pillow talk.”
Imogen couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her lips at that.
“We gonna talk about it?” she asked. “’Cause, t’ be honest, ‘we shouldn’t have done this’ don’t exactly do much for a girl’s self esteem.”
Evelyn sighed, leaning back to stare directly up at the ceiling.
“Maybe I worded it harsher than I should have, alright?” she said. “But… the idea behind it isn’t wrong. Yesterday was shit for both of us, and whether we meant it or not… it was just us both needing something remotely good to happen. So… we ended up here.”
It wasn’t clear to Imogen which of the two of them Evelyn was trying harder to convince.
“Y’ said somethin’ ‘bout your family,” Imogen remembered, trying passively to redirect the conversation. “An’ you’d clearly been cryin’.”
“Heh. Yeah. That happened. Once again… that’s a long story.”
Evelyn chewed her lip uncomfortably, then finally turned to look at Imogen.
“Did it mean anything to you beyond just… needing something?” she asked. “And, as you know, I’m a fucking human lie detector, so don’t you dare try to spare my feelings or anything.”
Imogen hesitated for a moment, then softly shook her head.
“Thought not,” Evelyn replied. “Then we’re on the same page. I know you’re still shadowing that Wednesday Adams impersonator you never stop talking about, and I’ve got… some complicated feelings of my own, so…”
Imogen raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Complicated feelin’s a’ your own?”
“Do I have to say it again? It’s a long fucking story.”
The words would have bit at Imogen if they were from anybody else in any other situation. At the moment, the stress Evelyn was experiencing was evident in every inch of her body, every tensed muscle, every dart of her eyes at the darkest corners of the room.
“Doubt you’d know him anyway,” she said finally, a few silent moments later. “He was somebody I worked with for a while back in Bassuras. It was never anything serious, at least to him, but… I dunno. He stuck with me.”
“What was his name?”
Evelyn seemed to drift away for a moment before shaking her head, coming back to herself. “Not important,” she declared. “Doubt he’d remember me anyway, honestly, so it doesn’t even matter. Right now… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a dick, but you really do have to go. It’s—”
“A long story. Yeah, I figured. Gimme a sec, alright?”
Imogen reached weakly for the shirt Evelyn had tossed onto the bed, wincing in pain as she pulled it over her head. She made a mental note to grab some Tylenol when she got home, because her head felt like somebody had shoved a handful of glass shards up her nose.
“Oh, one last thing.”
Imogen paused as she climbed to her feet, turning to look at Evelyn. “Huh?”
“How did you know I was lying?”
Imogen froze, her face turning so white she looked like a ghost.
“Hm, see, now that’s an interesting reaction,” Evelyn observed. “Let me guess: it’s a long story?”
Imogen nodded robotically. “Somethin' like that,” she squeaked.
“Uh-huh.”
Imogen got dressed as quickly as she could, almost scared to look back at the other woman as she did. She quickly tugged on her sweater, then scooped up her purse by the door, but Evelyn spoke up before she could leave.
“By the way… that goth chick of yours? She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
Imogen decided to fly home so she could be spared the experience of pedestrians on the subway home noticing how red she was.
In retrospect, flying may have been a bad idea, because as she dropped down towards the roof of the apartment building, her eyes immediately locked with those of an incredibly tense-looking Laudna.
“Imogen!” she called out, rushing to meet her as Imogen’s feet came down to land on the concrete. “Oh, Imogen, you’re alright! I was so worried about you!”
Imogen opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was a burst of air as Laudna slammed into her with a hug.
“Oof!” was all she was able to manage.
“Sorry!” Laudna yelped, quickly stepping back and wringing her hands. “Sorry, that was a little rough! I was… you left in such a rush yesterday, and when I came to check on you this morning, you weren’t home, so I just…”
It was then that her eyes settled on the particular way Imogen’s hair was mussed up, the specific way in which her makeup was smeared, and the fact that she still wore the same outfit from the day before, and it seemed to click in her mind.
“Oh,” she said simply, her face turning a deep shade of purple. “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“I… it… it isn’t… I was…”
She was what? There was no way she could try to convince Laudna this wasn’t what it looks like. And besides… lying right now? To Laudna? No thank you.
Laudna seemed to shake herself out of her stupor, coming back to her body from wherever she’d gone.
“Well, at least you’re home safe,” she said. “And… you enjoyed yourself, I assume?”
Imogen had just barely managed to shake off her flush before landing, and in that moment, all her work was instantly undone.
“It… it didn’t mean anythin’,” she insisted. “It was… jus’ a bad day, we ended up commiseratin’ together, we got drunk, an’ things jus’ kinda… happened.”
She then blinked in surprise, silently hoping to herself that Laudna wouldn’t take notice of how much it sounded like she was trying to reassure a girlfriend that she hadn’t cheated on her.
“Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Laudna said, thankfully oblivious to the accidental undertones. “Both about you having a bad day, and because you deserve nothing but the best.”
Somehow, that was both exactly what Imogen wanted to be told and the absolute last thing she’d needed to hear at the same time.
“I’m just glad you’re alright,” Laudna said to her. “Like I mentioned, I was quite worried.”
As she spoke, there was a strange sound from somewhere in the back of her mind, something that Imogen couldn’t describe. It was like that feeling she got a month before after coming home one day, only to realize somebody (Ashton, it turned out, because of course) had moved all her furniture an inch to the left.
“’M sorry for worryin’ you,” Imogen muttered. “I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t expectin’ you t’ react like this.”
Laudna rolled her eyes fondly, draping her arm over Imogen’s shoulders. “Of course I’m gonna react like this, Imogen. You’re my best friend, how could I not be worried?”
Imogen tried not to wince outwardly.
Laudna guided her downstairs and through the hall of the apartment building, eventually pushing open the door to Imogen’s tiny little corner of the world. She grabbed Imogen by the shoulders and steered her into the bedroom before pulling the door closed behind her, leaving her alone to change.
She tossed her old clothes into her laundry pile and threw on a casual tank top, jeans, and a flannel shirt, then visited her bathroom to fix her makeup and run a brush through her hair. She put her contacts away, having been too inebriated to do so last night, instead grabbing her glasses and slipping them over her ears. She rounded out her preparations for the day by, of course, tossing back as many Tylenol pills as she knew wouldn’t kill her, followed by a mouthful of water she kept in a glass on her nightstand.
“You look beautiful, darling,” Laudna announced from Imogen’s little kitchenette as she left her room. “I… don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear glasses before. They look amazing.”
Imogen smiled lightly, even as she felt her cheeks heat up. “Yeah, turns out I’m super nearsighted,” she explained. “Found out when I was a kid an’ couldn’t see what my teacher was writin’ on the whiteboard from halfway across th’ room. I usually wear contacts, but, well, I wore ‘em overnight, which isn’t really a good idea, so I’m givin’ my eyes a rest, y’know?”
“Well, you should wear them more often, they look absolutely stunning on you,” Laudna declared.
Imogen decided then and there that her contacts wouldn’t be seeing the light of day for at least two months, probably more.
“Would you like to sit down?” Laudna asked, reaching into one of Imogen’s cabinets. “You mentioned you got drunk, and I’m told tea can help alleviate a hangover, so I’m getting some ready.”
“Oh, Laudna, y’ don’ have t’—”
“Don’t even try it,” Laudna insisted. “I’m doing it anyway, no matter what you say. You don’t have to sit down, but I absolutely insist you relax in some respect.”
Overwhelmed with affection, Imogen just gave an absolutely smitten sigh before plopping down onto her couch. As Laudna worked in the kitchen, Imogen did her best not to just stare longingly at her like a lovesick teenager, and, to nobody’s surprise, failed miserably.
Being with Evelyn was supposed to make her feel a little bit better, maybe take her mind off Laudna for a while. But if anything, it just made her realize that nobody else could compare.
(She made a mental note not to mention that to Evelyn. That girl clearly had enough on her plate without Imogen insulting her skills in bed.)
“Would you like to talk about it?” Laudna asked, placing the teapot she’d gifted to Imogen as a housewarming present onto the stove, before walking over to sit next to her.
As annoying as it was to admit, Imogen had gotten so distracted by the domesticity of it all that her brain had stalled, and for some reason, supplied what would probably become a featuring moment in the highlight reel of her life that she’d be shown when she went to Hell.
“About th’ hookup?”
Laudna immediately turned the exact same color as an eggplant, from her forehead all the way down to her feet (not that Imogen had noticed or anything, it wasn’t like she’d been staring up and down Laudna’s entire body).
“Sorry, I… that was a fuckin’ stupid thing t’ say,” Imogen immediately stammered out. “’Course y’ don’ wanna talk about that, that’s not… it ain’t your thing, is it?”
Laudna furrowed her brow in confusion. “Huh?”
“W—well, yesterday, y’ said… y’ mentioned bein’ asexual,” she tried to explain. “I didn’t… I’m sorry, I’m still a bit hung over.”
Jus’ stop fuckin’ talkin’ already, genius.
“I did?” Laudna asked. “I… don’t remember that.”
Imogen’s cheeks burned even brighter.
“Durin’ th’ game with Fearne,” she said, slowly and carefully, measuring every word. “Somethin’ about a show y’ liked with sexual themes?”
Laudna’s eye widened in remembrance as she called the conversation. “Oh, yes, that’s right!” she said. “I forgot about that, to be honest. I’m surprised you remembered.”
“Yeah, I jus’… I gotta good memory, ‘s all.”
Fuckin’ liar.
“Right,” Laudna said, giving a curt nod. “I’m not familiar with all the terms myself, to be honest, but if I recall correctly, the word I was told about that most fits me would be ‘demisexual.’ Having a boyfriend or a girlfriend isn’t something I’m completely against, I just can’t easily feel that way about anyone unless I really know the other person. That said… dating has never exactly been an activity that’s readily available to me, for obvious reasons, so I haven’t thought about it very much. I don’t think I’ve accessed that part of my brain since before I died, anyway, so it never really felt worth considering.”
A spark of hope reignited in the center of Imogen’s chest, followed quickly by a strong feeling of disgust at herself for how excited it made her feel.
“But we’re not here to talk about me,” Laudna said, blinking and shaking her head as if coming out of a trance. “I meant your day yesterday, darling. You said it was rough? What’s wrong?”
Well, I can’t exactly tell her it was ‘cause a’ her, can I?
“It was jus’ an overwhelmed kinda thing,” she lied. “Lotta loud thoughts everywhere, lotta strain on my mind. An’ then Fearne kinda embarrassed me a little durin’ th’ game, and it was… jus’ th’ straw that broke th’ camel’s back, y’know?”
Laudna nodded slowly. “I understand,” she said simply. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, it’s hard not to, honestly. Especially if you’ve been through what I’ve been through.”
Imogen swallowed her immediate reaction, which was to spew out a rant about how amazing Laudna was and how she only deserved the best in the world. Instead, she took a breath to calm herself, then made a carefully thought out move to try an alleviate her embarrassment.
“How did… what d’ you mean by that?”
The more Laudna spoke, the less Imogen would, meaning fewer opportunities to make a fool of herself even further.
“As in, what did I go through?” Laudna asked.
Imogen nodded.
“Well,” she began. “Have you ever heard of Reaper?”
“Th’ crazy supervillain necromancer bitch who went on a killin’ spree… what, fifty years ago?”
“Seventy,” Laudna corrected. “And… yeah, her. Well…”
She flailed her arms for a moment, clearly lost for words, before finally pointing to herself, and it took an embarrassingly long time for Imogen to put together what she was saying.
“Y… really?” she asked in disbelief. “You… you were…”
“Killed by Delilah Briarwood,” Laudna confirmed. “Yep. And during the whole mess where Vox Machina went after her for taking over Whitestone, she raised an army of the dead to hold them back.”
Imogen nodded slowly, absorbed in the story. She’d heard vaguely about the Reaper’s reign of terror, most people her age had, but only as a historical event written about in textbooks in the same vein as the Civil War, or Bill Maher’s entire career.
“What most people know is that she was obsessed with death, and went on a major killing spree across the world, culminating in her conquering the city of Whitestone,” Laudna explained. “What most people don’t know is that she was doing so to try to appease the rotten remains of some ancient necromancer called The Whispered One. I don’t… really know why, but she tried to make my lifeless corpse into his avatar. But… the ritual was disrupted.”
“Vox Machina.”
Laudna nodded, her eyes falling to the ground. “They stopped it before he could completely take me over, but I was still dragged back from… the great beyond, or wherever, I don’t really remember. And, well… I’ve been tainted by dark magic ever since.”
About forty different emotions all began waging a war inside Imogen’s head, charging each other with a ferocity usually reserved for middle-class soccer moms on Black Friday.
“…wow,” she finally said. “I dunno what t’ say.”
Laudna shrugged lightly, her eyes glued to her hands, which were in turn clasped over her knees.
“You don’t have to say anything, darling,” she said quietly. “I know it’s a lot. I would’ve told you sooner, to be honest, it’s just… well, the whole ‘black magic’ thing can be something of a deal breaker for a lot of people. It’s why I needed friends like the Hells in the first place.”
She was interrupted by a whistling sound emanating from the kitchen, making both of them jump in surprise.
“Oh, that’d be the tea! Let me go get it,” Laudna said. “You just stay there, okay? Sounds like, after yesterday, you could use some rest.”
She leapt to her feet and rushed over to the kitchenette, turning off the stove and pouring the steaming liquid into two small teacups. As Imogen watched, the gentleness of Laudna’s every move struck her as a practiced gesture, something carefully honed over years of coping with one of the worst traumas a human being could experience, and a surge of longing rose in her gut, accompanied by the urge to walk over and wrap her arms around Laudna’s waist from behind.
She blinked hard and shook her head, trying desperately to erase that image from her mind before she did something (else) stupid. She rubbed her eyes in a gesture she hoped conveyed fatigue and not discomfort, but as her vision returned to her, she saw Laudna suddenly freeze and straighten up.
Imogen, darling, you’re projecting.
Imogen instantly froze as her whole body went rigid with pure terror.
“I… am?” she choked out.
Laudna casually turned to look at her, her smile so warm it was almost disconcerting.
Shit, this’s it, Imogen thought to herself. Th’ moment I was so worried about, th’ one where I’ve ruined things forever.
“Imogen, are you lonely?”
Huh?
Laudna slowly trotted back over to the couch, gently putting down the tea tray before settling into the couch beside Imogen. She lightly placed a hand on Imogen’s shoulder in comfort, and Imogen fought with her entire being to keep from flinching.
“Who was it?” she asked softly. “Was it Evelyn?”
What?
“… whaddya mean?”
“That you… spent time with last night,” Laudna said. “That made you feel better after such a bad day. Was it her?”
Imogen just blinked in surprise, unable to process any of what was happening.
“If you’re not comfortable saying, I understand, I promise,” Laudna assured her. “I just want to help you feel better, as much as I can, alright? If you decide you want to talk, then I swear, your secret is safe with me.”
“… Laudna, what exactly did I project?”
Laudna frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“How much… what’d you overhear? Exactly.”
Laudna tilted her head in confusion. “Imogen, are you alright?”
“Jus’ answer th’ question, please.”
She flinched at the unwitting hostility in her words, then again at the almost imperceptible way in which Laudna pulled away ever so slightly in shame
“Just… this overwhelming feeling of longing,” she muttered. “Like there was something you needed, but didn’t, or couldn’t, have. It wasn’t… I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying—”
“No, no, ‘s not on you. ‘M sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Imogen insisted, trying to hide the desperation in her voice. “’M jus’ a bit hung over, sorry it came out that way.”
Laudna gave a slow, awkward nod.
“I, uh… I guess you could use some rest,” she said. “I’ll be… leaving you… to it. I hope… you feel better soon.”
With an uncomfortable, reserved movements, Laudna rose to her feet before skittering out the door, her arms wrapped around her torso in a defensive gesture. As soon as she was out of sight, Imogen sank into the cushions, running her hands down her face.
God, she needed a therapist.
Imogen was glad to have something to punch, even if it was Dusk who directed her and Orym towards it.
It was some random lady with what FCG labeled as ‘tactile telekinesis,’ somewhat similar to Ashton, apparently, but unlike them, this woman couldn’t use it to lift things up. Instead, she was limited to telekinetic control of smaller objects such as daggers, throwing them and then changing their course in midair. And unfortunately for Imogen, her control was extremely precise, meaning Imogen’s powers couldn’t overpower hers.
“If you can’t deflect her blades, then you’ll need another strategy,” Dusk announced over comms, like it wasn’t something obvious Imogen could’ve worked out on her own. “Maybe something solid to block them, or maybe you could disrupt her control somehow, make her slip up enough to create an opening.”
“Not a bad idea,” FCG agreed, much to Imogen’s chagrin. “If we can work out the trigger for her powers, what she uses to control and activate them, we can come up with a means of breaking it.”
“It’s not too dissimilar to how I control Seedling,” Orym observed, swinging his sword at superhuman speeds and sending a dagger straight into a nearby wall. “Throwing weapons, then controlling them in midair. Only, I can just do Seedling. Seems like she can do anything.”
“Then how d’ y’ do it, Orym?” Imogen called out, barely managing to twirl out of the way in midair as a dagger sailed barely an inch past her ear. “I’d prefer t’ keep my limbs intact if possible. Don’ think bartendin’ll be too easy without m’ fingers.”
“Don’t you hate that job anyway?”
“Not now, Letters!”
The woman grabbed two more daggers before launching them straight at Imogen, who thrust her hand forward in an attempt to stop them, or at least slow them down. They wobbled somewhat, but they kept going, one slashing across Imogen’s left forearm and the other embedding itself in her right shoulder.
“Fuck!” she yelled out in pain, her flight pattern beginning to degrade as her concentration wavered. She spiraled downwards, almost crashing into alleyway buried behind a nearby building, before wincing in pain as she reached up to feel her wound.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Orym leap into a backflip as two more daggers whizzed past his ears, barely avoiding drawing blood. He rolled onto the ground before somersaulting behind a nearby car, which was already severely beaten up from prior missed attacks. In the back of her mind, Imogen crossed her fingers that the owner had insurance.
Orym laid back against the car, breathing heavily, before looking over to meet Imogen’s gaze. He raised his hand towards the top of the building Imogen was hiding behind, then he pointed at at her, then himself, then followed it by drawing a circle in the air with his finger.
You go at her from the air while I circle around and hit her from behind.
Imogen knew she could have just read his mind, but his gestures were clear enough to her that she didn’t bother. She nodded, winced as she slowly pulled the dagger out of her shoulder, then twirled her fingers, telekinetically ripping off a piece of her billowing dress and tying it tightly around the wound as a makeshift tourniquet
She turned back towards him to give a weak thumbs up, then climbed to her feet before lifting off and skimming up the side of the wall. She crested over the roof, then dove forwards, swinging her good arm in an arc and sending a wave of broken pavement towards the woman, who wasn’t able to react in time to send more daggers Imogen’s way.
With a yelp of pain, the woman fell backwards, bits of concrete pelting her all across her body. As she hit the ground, she growled, then thrust her palm forward, sending a handful of pebbles towards Imogen.
Imogen tried to dodge them, but her train of thought was interrupted when one of the pebbles slammed into her shoulder wound, sending a bolt of pain crackling through her body and a yelp ripping its way out of her throat. Her concentration went haywire, and she was vaguely aware of an unintentional blast of psychic power emanating from her that burst outwards, blowing leaves and dust away from her like a miniature tornado.
As her sight finally returned to her, she glanced over to see the woman climbing to her feet, a dagger already in her hand as she stared Imogen down with murder in her eyes. She lifted her arm, preparing to throw the blade, but before she could, something flew at her from behind, slamming violently into the back of her head and sending her crumbling to the ground, the dagger skittering uselessly across the pavement.
Orym stepped out from around an alleyway corner several yards back, raising his hand as Seedling flew seamlessly into his palm. He sheathed it casually (like a fucking badass) before walking forward, kneeling before the unconscious woman, with Imogen joining him a moment later.
“Got a match from the Cobalt Soul directory, now that we have a proper visual on her face,” FCG announced. “Genomia Burch, no official codename. Definitely strong ties to the Vanguard, based on financial records. The origin of her powers is unknown, just like Otohan Thull. Threat level designation is Alpha.”
“Seems a bit high for what looks like a run-of-the-mill street thug, by Vanguard standards,” Orym observed. “Why not Beta? Seems more appropriate.”
“The undetermined source of her powers means she’s an unknown quantity,” FCG explained. “There’s always a chance they could evolve suddenly or have hidden depths not on file. Director Lionett makes very clear how thorough she is, which I believe you remember.”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell her the threat’s taken care of, if she doesn’t know already,” Orym sighed. “She doesn’t need to send an enforcement squad, just a cleanup crew. And a pair of telepathic scrambler cuffs probably wouldn’t be a bad idea either, low level so she doesn’t get a migraine or anything. Dusk, you get all the data you needed?”
“Almost!” came the reply. “Just one thing, if it’s alright. I’ve been after a sample of DNA from an enhanced Vanguard for ages. Could you maybe grab a vial of blood, or a few strands of hair, or something?”
“Director Lionett allows that sort of thing? I thought the protocols on allowing superhuman DNA out into the wild were pretty strict.”
“I have a written note of exemption. I can show you when you get back, if you want.”
Orym shrugged, surprisingly noncommittally for what Imogen knew of his character. “Sure, if you say so,” he said dismissively. “See you in a few minutes. Over and out.”
He reached up to tap his earpiece, shutting down the open communication channel as he reached out to pluck a few hairs from the woman’s head. He then looked up at Imogen, who’d been painfully clutching her shoulder as she observed the interaction.
“What do you think of Dusk?” he asked simply.
The question caught Imogen extremely off guard, especially after all the Dusk-related musings she’d been indulging in over the past few days.
“Huh?”
“What do you think of Dusk?” he repeated. “You’re a mind reader. I figured if anybody’s opinion were to be taken seriously on this subject, it’d be yours.”
“I don’ know what y’ mean.”
He gave a small sigh, an uncertain expression on his face. “C’mon, get us outta here, we can chat on the way back. Genomia here won’t be waking up until long after the Soul arrives.”
Still unclear as to what was happening, Imogen lifted into the air, then reached out to telekinetically grasp Orym and pull him along with her as they shot into the sky, rooftops whizzing by below them.
Can you hear me? Orym thought towards her. I’d feel more comfortable if we could talk this way.
…yeah. What th’ hell are y’ on about?
He ground his jaw, staring vacantly down at the streets below. Not really sure, to be honest, he admitted. There’s just something about them—Dusk, that is—that keeps hitting weird. Tiny things, nothing red-flag-raising on their own, but taken all at once…
Y’ think Dusk isn’t bein’ entirely truthful, Imogen finished.
She tried desperately to hide the relief in her thoughts. After all she’d been feeling regarding Dusk and Laudna, after all that uncertainty as to whether or not her views were being altered by her personal feelings… well, having somebody else voice the same concerns was indescribably validating.
I don’t know, if I’m honest, Orym admitted. Its just little things, like I said, such as the DNA thing. Could just be Dusk being the type of person to bend the rules a little, but when it comes to the Cobalt Soul, that’s not exactly a common occurrence. Especially with how OCD Director Lionett can get.
Imogen nodded in agreement. T’ be honest, I’ve been feelin’ a little off about ‘em, too, she confessed. But… well, there’s been other stuff that could be colorin’ my view, so I haven’t been too sure ‘bout it.
Hey, just good to know I’m not going crazy, Orym responded.
Imogen bit back a cynical laugh. Same here, t’ be honest.
Have you done a deep scan of them? he asked. You know, really dug in and searched the deeper corners of their mind?
Haven’t been able t’ convince myself it’s justified, she explained. Always felt like an unnecessary violation a’ privacy, especially if I turned out t’ be wrong. An’ even if I did, there’s always a decent chance they could feel me pokin’ ‘round in there an’ suspect somethin’s up.
How confident are you in your ability to avoid that second part?
Imogen’s eyes widened in surprise. Orym simply gave her a grim nod.
Was he really asking Imogen to do this? To enter somebody’s mind without permission just because they gave him a bad vibe?
Orym, y’ sure? she replied. This… isn’t exactly th’ moral thing t’ do here. What if we’re both wrong?
Then I’ll suffer the consequences, he said simply. This’ll be entirely on my head. I’m the one asking you to do this, alright? The fault will be entirely mine.
Imogen hesitated, considering the situation, before turning back to look him directly in the eye.
Y’ sure about this? she asked.
He nodded.
Then y’ got your own personal spy.
Finding the opportunity to do a deep scan of Dusk was difficult, to say the least. Especially since they had begun utilizing their powers as a party trick to mess with everybody, so Imogen could never be entirely certain who she was talking to.
And, as the cherry on top of the shit sundae, Laudna would laugh her ass off every time they were successful in ‘bamboozling’ her, as Dusk insisted on calling it. Every time it happened, it felt as if Dusk had taken hold of Imogen’s heart and was slowly grinding it away into little pieces, like grating parmesan cheese over a plate of pasta.
God, she needed a therapist.
It was when Dusk had assembled the group for another lecture about their progress that Imogen finally saw her chance. She glanced over towards Orym, who gave a curt nod, then locked her gaze on Dusk once more.
She took a breath, then reached out, her thoughts worming their way into Dusk’s subconscious…
…and felt nothing.
Imogen frowned, confused, before trying once more. Again, once she broke through Dusk’s surface thoughts, it was if her grasp just slipped away.
This didn’t make sense.
She glanced back towards Orym, lightly shaking her head before throwing him a confused look. He blinked in surprise, then suddenly froze, his posture rigid, and in the corner of Imogen’s eye, she saw Dusk staring intently at her.
Fuck.
Dusk simply gave a stern look, then turned back towards their conspiracy-theory bulletin board, continuing their lecture. Evidently, this would be a conversation for later.
Oh, joy.
Imogen continued to maintain a rigid sitting position, paranoid that the rest of the group (Laudna) would sense something was wrong. She knew she’d been unsuccessful the moment Ashton made direct eye contact, raising an eyebrow in silent curiosity.
Tell ya after, she said simply.
Assuming I’m still alive, she finished to herself.
Dusk began wrapping up their lecture, their eyes repeatedly locking onto Imogen as they did. As Fearne and Chetney quickly disappeared through the door, Laudna made her way into the kitchenette, and Ashton and Orym crossed the room while trying (and failing) to look casual, Dusk walked ambivalently up to Imogen, their arms crossed and a distrustful look on their face.
“Why?” they asked simply.
What the fuck was she supposed to say to that?
“What’s wrong with your mind?” Imogen blurted out. “It didn’t feel like normal; it was like somethin’ was pushin’ me back from lookin’ deeper.”
“That’s not relevant to this,” Dusk insisted. “Why were you invading my mind, Imogen? I know I didn’t give permission, and I definitely didn’t appreciate it.”
Imogen opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She stood there flailing for a moment before Orym began approaching, a look of discomfort on his face.
“Dusk?” he said. “It wasn’t her, it—”
Before he could finish, Imogen’s phone chimed loudly, the twinkling of her ringtone floating through the air and dashing any hopes of completing this confrontation without additional passive aggression.
“… sorry,” she laughed, a strong nervous energy barely disguised behind every syllable. “That’s th’ sound it makes when someone tells th’ system’ their call is an emergency. Jus’ gimme one sec…”
She turned away from Dusk as she held up her phone, only to find the screen brightly displaying the name EVELYN across it.
That’s odd. She’d barely seen Evelyn since… it… just two days ago.
“Ev?” she said to herself. “What’s she callin’ about?”
She pressed the accept button and held it up to her ear, only to be met with strong, unsteady breathing, followed by a faint groan of pain.
“… Imogen?” Evelyn’s voice said weakly. “Im… Imogen… I… I nee… need… help… f… fast. Please…”
Then the call cut out.
Imogen held her phone out in front of her, studying it closely as if it could explain this unusual and extremely worrying situation to her. Evelyn was in trouble, and it clearly wasn’t the ‘whoops, I accidentally backed my car into a stop sign’ kind of trouble. The way she’d been wheezing, the way she’d been struggling to speak at all…
She was hurt, bad. And if Imogen couldn’t help her, it seemed pretty likely she’d be dead by lunchtime.