Another fifteen today. Ages varied between 18 and 55. Most in excellent health overall. The trend of young mothers continues.
Check into hospital records and consult OBGYN.
What effects will this have on the children?
And further down there’s this nugget:
The nature of the abilities offers an interesting prospect for research. Some powers seem to work together, those with mental-based connectivity. Is it possible that power connection could magnify certain skills or are they limited to the individual? Testing would be difficult even if any of theparticipants were will to do it. None of them want to show their faces to other members of the group.
A creak echoes down the hall, then the unmistakable sound of footfalls on the stairs.
Shit.
I push the pages into what was their original place. A shoe clicks on the tile at the top of the landing, and the heady lightness of panic begins to take control. My only exit is cut off. Spinning around, my eyes flashing to the gap between the couch and the wall. The seat is extra deep with a relaxed velvety back for sinking into. The material might give a little. If I turn my body sideways, could I fit?
The echoes of footfalls mimic the pounding of my heart. Sliding the journal in first, I stuff myself inside.
“Left the light on again.”
Charade.
Gulping down a breath, I press my back into the wall as the couch starts to move. The gap inches further from the wall as a weight drops on it. I don’t dare to move.
Then his breathing softens, slowing into the regular rhythmic pattern of sleep.
My immediate reaction is one of relief, but it’s only a temporary reprieve. My knees ache from the landing, elbows digging into my rib cage hard enough to bruise. My tense muscles prickle and will soon be numb. So I inch out of my hiding spot and pray to whatever gods are listening not to be caught.
10
KAYE
Charade is achingly beautiful asleep.
Long, thick lashes brush the skin above his high cheekbones. A small scar traces the curve of his left eye socket. The scowl I am used to being greeted with couldn’t be further from sight. A prickle of stubble dots his jawline. Brown locks crest and fall across his forehead, spreading to the cushion below him. It almost hurts to turn away.
“Mmmph…”
I pause mid-step, almost out the threshold and away from this train wreck of a situation. It’s just a mumble but it holds me in place, my heart beating erratically.
Reckless. This whole venture was reckless, but even as I think it, I already know I’ll go one step further. Push another limit. I can’t escape the thought that has planted itself into my brain, and taken root like poison ivy.
Alexander wrote that powers similar in nature might be capable of being used together, even strengthen by one another. Charade’s power revolves around manipulation—manipulation of people, even objects. What I do is akin to energy manipulation. Would that parallel be enough to forge a connection?
Even if it were, where would I begin?
I’ll have to touch Charade, and be vulnerable to his influence if he wakes up.
Fuck.
I kneel beside his head. The scent of the city lingers on his clothes and washes over me like a memory. Dust and bus exhaust, but also a mixture of savory street foods and flowers from night market vendors buried far below it.
Home.
Faint traces of dirt and grime mar the black of his suit. Long-fingered hands rest on a lightly toned abdomen. A knot of scar tissue peeks out of the fabric covering his left pectoral muscle. The barest hint of stomach rises to meet his belt.
Everything would be so much easier if he weren’t so painfully attractive.
He shifts in his sleep, head titling in my direction. I freeze, but the moment passes without incident. Charade mumbles something as he exhales.
