Mind Tamer, page 7
“Sorry, Lyssa. I’ve been worried about you.”
“Oh.” No one ever calls to check on me.
“Are you going to tell me if you’re okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Liar.”
“Well, then…I’m too distracted to finish my homework, my head hurts, I threw my frozen dinner in the trash, I feel like breaking something, and I don’t have a cat. On top of that, I recently discovered I might be a floozy.”
Silence.
“You want a cat?”
She couldn’t help it, she laughed.
“Do you want me to come over?”
“No!” she said, too loudly.
“Want to go play racquetball?”
“No…” Yes, actually I think I do. “No, thank you.”
“I have a chicken salad with cranberry on rye. And chocolate milk.”
Of course he’d discovered her addiction to deli sandwiches. Did he know she’d run out of funds until her teaching stipend came on Monday? “You fight dirty.”
“So, do you want your sandwich?”
She considered: Deli sandwich with irritating man? Sumptuous chicken salad sandwich and irritating, thoughtful, interesting, sexy man? “Okay, you win. But don’t look at my place, it’s filthy.”
Oh, why was his laugh so devastatingly sexy? “You have ten minutes to hide the beer bottles and take the underwear down from the ceiling fan.”
“Don’t tell me—you gently lifted my address as well?”
“In case of emergency. Or deli sandwich.”
She knew when he was near, because he picked up the tune playing in her mind. He sang along as he climbed the stairs, “There’s something abooout you girl…that makes me sweat.” His imitation of Michael Hutchence was dead on. “I’ve got to let you know…you’re one of my kind.”
Lyssa opened the door and couldn’t help returning his smile. “Okay, you like INXS—you can’t be all bad.” He looked badass though, with his movie-star hair and leather pants.
“Deli sandwich for toll?”
“Truce.” She stood back to let him in and felt him whisk away the pressure throbbing behind her temples. She sighed in relief as her equilibrium balanced.
“Emotional upset makes it worse, love. We need to have a chat about your poor head. But first,” he handed her a fragrant paper sack, “eat. I know you’re hungry.” He shed his jacket and draped it over the back of her sofa. He wore a butter yellow T-shirt picturing Rick Moranis as Lord Dark Helmet and the quote bubble: Ludicrous Speed!
Lyssa shook her head. “This way to the kitchen.”
He emptied his phone and keys onto the counter, a domestic gesture. He washed his hands then hung the dish towel. It was so normal, it seemed weird.
“I admit it’s nice being with someone who knows more than one-and-a-half decades of pop culture. Nobody gets my jokes. Not that I tell a lot of jokes.” Rambling, Lyssa.
He nodded. “Students have a way of making one feel old.”
She tried valiantly to erase her knee-jerk reaction: And younger boyfriends. But he heard it anyway. Kyros wisely kept silent.
Lyssa unwrapped the sandwich and saw the wrapper from Marty’s, her favorite deli. She took one bite and moaned. It was delicious, and she was ravenous.
“You are the first woman I’ve ever pleasured with a sandwich.” He pulled the bottle of chocolate milk from the bag and set it on the table.
Her mouth was full, so she used her mind. I have drinks in the fridge, help yourself.
Thank you.
As soon as he opened the door, she flushed with embarrassment. “Ah—sorry, I don’t have beer or wine… I don’t entertain very often.” She felt like a total square.
“That’s okay, I don’t drink either.” He sat next to her and poured a cup of orange juice.
“Not at all?”
“Never. And neither do you.” He answered her silent question. “It’s part of your preservation instinct. Although if you want to get rid of the headaches, you’re going to have to make some dietary adjustments.”
“Diet—what?” She set the sandwich down and gestured to the nutritious heap. “I already eat like a rabbit.”
“Last I checked, Velveeta was not on the leporine menu.” He must’ve smelled her botched microwave dinner, but it was tomato spinach farfalle, not Velveeta. Cheeky. “It’s the preservatives and processed sugars. And insecticides. Those toxins never purge. You’re crippling your regenerative abilities.”
“It’s a deli sandwich, not a Big Mac.” What, was she supposed to fill her shopping cart with kelp patties, chia seeds and tofu? Even if she had time to cook those into something edible, the price tag for all that wholesome, organic food wasn’t exactly in the budget. Hadn’t he noticed she was a lowly graduate professor?
“You’re still young, so the poison is mild for you. It gets worse with time, being fastidious about food. That’s your last chocolate milk. Enjoy it.” He toasted her with the OJ. Thanks for stocking fresh-squeezed. I can’t stand the bottled stuff.
She didn’t tell him food-snob Mitch had left it in the fridge, she was too busy staring. And the heart of the issue, what had been scaring her for years… “How much time are we talking about?”
“You’re an extra-sentient, Lyssa, one in only 4.5 million with exponentially higher brain function than the average human.”
“So…you mean everyone else uses ten percent of their brains, and we use, what, ninety, or something?”
“Myth.” Kyros shook the bottle again to blend the pulp. “More like an incredibly dense concentration of neurons in the brain as well as hyper-evolutionary networking between the lobes. Some call it mega synesthetic cognition. I say extra-sentient, which better represents the multi-dimensional brain function, I think.”
She smiled at his flamboyant hand gestures. They probably made better sense to a scientist, or a European.
“The location of the neuron density determines the degree of an extra-sentient’s abilities. It varies. You are still young, but I suspect you may ultimately prove more powerful than even me.” He winked. “I’m trying to get on your good side, love.”
That was the second time he’d called her young. She most certainly was not.
Kyros gestured that she should finish her sandwich. “There’s no magic. The universe is ruled by the laws of physics, and nature never breaks her own rules, but so few understand the power of the human mind. For example, even subconsciously you control the chemical reactions in your body that cause aging in normal humans. You can resist most diseases the same way and heal quickly, provided you maintain your health.”
He leaned over and raised his shirt to show where the bullet wound was completely healed after one day. Only a pink oblong scar the size of a quarter remained. How was it possible? The impulse to touch it itched in her fingers.
“But if you took a bullet to the head, you would probably die as miserably as anyone else—or worse, considering how the sensation of pain is heightened for you, as well as pleasure.”
Lyssa nodded, ignoring the bit of innuendo in his implication. “So, I’m not a radioactive freak.”
“You’re of a superior race, of sorts, but don’t let it go to your head.”
“You called me young. My last birthday cake had forty-five candles.”
“Yes. And you didn’t eat a bite.”
She waited. “So are you going to tell me how old you are?”
“Sure you want to know?”
“Are you older than eighty?”
He snorted. “I’m a multiple of eighty.”
Lyssa knew her jaw was hanging open. He appeared to be around twenty, twenty-five max, as did she. “So, do you mean you remember the first steam engine, or you remember the dinosaurs?”
“I remember Bach, Lyssa. Eat your heart out.”
She grabbed the sides of her chair so her hands wouldn’t shake. She’d never imagined she could live hundreds of years, as good as immortal. I’m not sure I want to.
“You’ll get used to it. But it comes with a price.”
“Like what?”
“Solitude. You watch everyone you know pass through the natural cycles of life, and you miss them.” He twisted the base of his cup, and for a moment his expression made him seem old and careworn. “With your gifts come responsibilities you bear alone. I won’t lie—it can be a lonely existence.”
He wasn’t moping, but his ironic half-smile gave her a pang in the gut. Sometimes a crowd of people made her feel more isolated than being in the heart of the jungle where the canopy drowned the light. “But the things you’ve seen! I can only imagine your travels, the work you could do with unlimited time…and to think—when the next revolution changes the world, you’ll be there.”
“It is worth it.”
She nodded, letting it sink in, connecting fact with instinct. “There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there? With my head?”
“I won’t lie. You are in danger.”
“I’m going crazy, I know it. It’s only a matter of time before I sink into psychosis and never come out.” Lyssa stared at the table, suddenly devastated. “Seems an ironic waste of potential.”
Kyros reached for her and pulled her into his lap, then resumed toying with the juice cup, rolling it on its edges. “That happens to some, but it’s not a fatal prognosis for you. Most extra-sentients experience this sort of struggle in their youth. The severity is proportionate to the level of power or talent in the person.”
“So, I’ll either grow out of it or go insane?”
“In a way. It’s only a theory, but I think it happens when the power of your mind begins to overwhelm your body’s capacity to channel it. Not to frighten you, but it’s self-destruction that functions like cannibalism, the body versus the mind. Similar phenomena are well-documented among humans classified as genius. Autistic savants, and such.”
His strong hand rubbing the tension out of her neck kept her panic at bay. “So, you have to follow me around like an oxygen tank?” she muttered.
He ducked his head to kiss between her brows. “I could.”
Her heart stalled at the contact, then a jolt like licking a nine-volt battery radiated from her forehead down through her chest. She rubbed her collarbone and shot him a wary look. “You know, it suddenly grew worse the moment you showed up.”
“I know. Remember, you experience emotion in 3-D and high-def, then the effect doubles when our minds connect. It puts a strain on you, but that’s a temporary problem. And—”
Oh no, Kyros, don’t nuzzle my neck—
He delved his lips into the sensitive spot between her jaw and earlobe, coaxing a girly sigh from her throat—it felt so good she almost didn’t care. Instead of pulling away, she tilted her head.
What I was going to say, his mind whispered in between his soft, provocative kisses, was that it can also be a great source of pleasure. He brushed her thoughts gently with his, mingling her languid contentment with his playful desire… Proof that it didn’t have to burn.
Lyssa lay back, limp against his arm. “I’m going to get off your lap now.” She did no such thing. “Strange, before you came I was itching to wrestle a panther or scale a high-rise condo. Now look at me.”
“Lyssa, you needn’t make a choice.”
“What?” She sat up and narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
“You are fond of Westbrook, but you need me, and we both know what is happening between us. I can wait while you let your relationship with him run its course. I will be here.”
She scoffed. “That’s what I thought you meant. You honestly think I’m going to stay with Mitch and sneak around with you on the side?”
“Unflattering language, but I am sanguine if that’s what you want. Tell him the truth, or not. Marry him if that’s what you want, but the fact remains that you will exist long after he is gone, as will I.”
Lyssa shoved his hands away and scrambled to her feet. “Sanguine? Oh, of course. Just when I was beginning to like you—” She paused, searching for the right words. “So, let’s say I do marry Mitch, but I visit you every time my brain goes haywire and we get it on because I can’t seem to keep my hands off you. Then you have no problem with an adulterous affair?”
“As an extra-sentient, you can’t always constrain yourself by the ethical boundaries of mortals.”
“What? Are you saying I have a license to be a liar and a cheat?”
“Again, you take the least flattering angle possible. Your circumstances are hardly ordinary—that was my point. My advice is to take your time making any decisions.”
“Come on, Kyros. Everything about this is wrong, even for—” She fished for the term he’d used. “Even for extra-sentients.”
“I only want you to be happy.”
Her right side still tingled everywhere she’d pressed against him. All it meant was that her hormones were stupid. “Those are pretty words. Unfortunately, I have no idea who you really are.”
“I’m handling this poorly. Let’s reverse. Why don’t we only worry about helping you learn to control the attacks on your mind? What I have been doing for you, you can do for yourself. I’ll show you how.” His voice dropped to that soothing, compelling tone that would tame a wild mustang. “You can decide later if you trust me, and my actions will prove I am sincere.”
Lyssa felt her mind twinge with a sharp ache, and she realized he was right about stress aggravating her condition. She felt him stroke away the tension again. “Thanks. Okay, deal. I admit I do need you, but I don’t like it.”
“Fair enough.”
It was weird to stand over him while he sat, so she took the chair beside his, but only after sliding it farther away. She stood up, then having no place to go, sat down again.
“Restless?”
“Stir-crazy!”
“That’s also a part of your nature. You’ll find you have increasingly tremendous amounts of energy to work off. Being a violinist is good, as it absorbs so much mental power. You need to make more time to exercise. It’s not safe to let physical energy accumulate, it’s another way you can become overwhelmed.”
“Then how do you handle it?”
Her breath caught as a suggestive smile played over his lips, his dark eyes alive with mischief. “My second favorite outlet is racquetball. It’s physically demanding and satisfies my penchant for strategy.”
Lyssa finally laughed, breaking the tension. “Forget it, Kyros, I’m not going to ask.” He only raised an eyebrow in response. “I want to get out.”
“Sure. Where to?”
“The beach?”
Kyros shrugged. “Okay, but that sounds romantic.”
“Have a buddy you could bring along to chaperone?”
“Jack’s on guard duty, and Cassie’s in clinicals at the hospital.” She furrowed her brows, and he said, “Cassie is…a relative. Jack is my right-hand man and Cassie’s bodyguard. He is, ah, frankly, a berserker. You’ll understand when you meet him.”
Lyssa recalled Mitch said he’d met a crazy Scottish guy at the club with Kyros, and she wondered why Kyros needed a bodyguard and “right-hand man,” whatever that meant.
“Honestly, I’m kind of a loner, and I don’t keep many friends. You?”
Lyssa thought of her two girlfriends on speed dial, neither of whom she could track down on a Friday night. “Certifiable loser, thank you.”
“Then it’s just us.” He shrugged into his jacket. “I’ll keep my hands to myself, but if you come on to me, I make no guarantees. I am an existentialist barbarian, after all.”
She tried not to laugh, but a stupid giggle escaped anyway. “And I’m an unrepentant player and as easy as a long look.”
“Now you’re deliberately turning me on.” He tucked her under his arm and grabbed his keys. “I’ll drive, love.”
Chapter Seven
Facts which at first seem improbable will, even on scant explanation, drop the cloak which has hidden them and stand forth in naked and simple beauty.
— Galileo Galilei, 1564–1642
Kyros deactivated the alarm with the key fob and realized he and Lyssa had a long way to go the moment she saw his car.
“What— Kyros, why did you bring this thing?”
“It gets great gas mileage?” She stared at his car like it was the starship Enterprise. “Because I was afraid your sandwich would blow away if I brought the Ducati?”
“I’m surprised it’s still here, in this neighborhood.” She cocked her head. “I don’t even know what it is.”
“Lotus Evora. Not very popular in the U.S.” More accurately, this model wasn’t even released in the United States.
She blinked. “It’s blue.”
“Yes.”
“And hideously expensive.”
“Not really. I just like European cars.” Was money going to be a problem between them?
“It looks like the Batmobile.”
He’d opened the passenger door for her but shut it and held up the keys. “Want to drive?”
She dismissed the idea then changed her mind. “Manual or automatic?”
“You don’t…? Say it isn’t so, love.” He shook his head and tossed her the keys. “Today is the day you learn to drive a stick shift.” Before she could object, he dropped himself into the passenger seat and opened the driver’s side door for her.
“What, do you fold yourself in thirds to fit inside here?” She fought a short battle with the seatbelt pretensioner.
“This is rather large for a sports coupe, actually.”
“Right. I see you didn’t have to cut a hole in the top for your head.”
He surrendered, allowing another stupid grin to escape. He couldn’t remember smiling and laughing so much. There hadn’t been much to laugh about, and if he consulted his wiser self, he’d admit there really wasn’t time for this. She should be training, and he should be scouring his communications for signs of unrest. He could worry himself an ulcer, but until Lyssa trusted him, he’d have to do it her way. And right now he knew she needed him to be fun.
Leaning over her lap to adjust the steering wheel, he ignored her jolt of erotic interest. He placed her hand on the gearshift and covered it with his. “Here’s neutral, first, second, third…and I don’t expect you’ll need fourth through sixth. Okay, work back to neutral, and here’s reverse.”
