Psy & Changelings 02 - Visions of Heat

“My answer, Father?”
    “Privacy is a citizen’s right.” He nodded. “But should you need assistance, contact me.”
    “Of course.” She switched off the screen without further good-byes—they were redundant in her situation, something she’d figured out as a child. But at least now she’d be left alone on the Net, a huge step forward. No one could suspect her of anything at this stage—even the information she’d found out about Sascha had come from public bulletin boards. However, her next searches weren’t going to be so innocent.
    Another push on her mind. She strolled out of the room and forced herself to get water and several nutrition bars from the cooler. The second her hand closed around a bar, Vaughn’s mocking smile appeared in the screen of her mind. She could imagine what he’d say to her choice of food and, though it was a dangerous game, she indulged herself and focused on him all the way to her bedroom. Once inside, she put down the food and closed the door.
    The next push almost drove her off her feet. She swayed, but remained upright—if she fell, the sensors outside the door might pick it up. Breathing carefully, she somehow got to the bed before collapsing. Sweat dampened her hands and temples—a physiological reaction to unknown stress factors.
    Fear.
    She was Psy. She should feel no fear. But neither should she be seeing what she was now being forced into seeing. Then the darkness breached the flimsy walls of her defenses and hooked its claws into her mind. Her back arched, her hands clenched, her teeth snapped shut with crushing force, and she was no longer aware of anything but the vision.

CHAPTER 9
    It was as if the darkness knew when she was alone and at her most helpless. Like some vicious beast waiting in the shadows for its prey to drop its guard, it crept in through the vision channels and seized control of her senses. And then it— he —forced her to watch what would come to pass if he wasn’t stopped.
    Blood, so much blood on his hands, in his hair, on his skin. The pale fragility of his hand was almost invisible under the rich, dark coating— wait . He was older than this, decades more experienced than the slender boy drenched in blood. But it was the same darkness, the same evil. She understood what she was seeing, though this had rarely ever happened to her.
    An unexpected expression of the ability of foresight was backsight, the ability to see the past. F-Psy who primarily saw the past were very, very rare. Faith could think of none in the last fifty years. When they did appear, they tended to head into Enforcement. But most active F-Psy usually had one or two flashes of backsight during the year. In her case, she’d always caught innocuous images connected with the future she was trying to glimpse.
    Never had she been so covered in blood that she was sticky with it, the iron-rich metallic scent drawn in with every breath. Her eyelashes were crusted with the dried fluid and the blood under her fingernails was so dark it was almost black. The imprint of her footsteps had started to set as the blood on the floor congealed. The knife she’d used was in one hand. When she raised it, the light from a torch glinted off it.
    A torch?
    Turning, she found herself surrounded by a dozen black-suited men. The vision flash-fractured and the next time she opened her eyes, she was in the confines of a white-on-white room. Bloodlust roared in her veins and she realized she was older, years older. And hungry. So hungry . For human prey.
    Another violent jerk along the timeline. She was with the dark-suited men once again. They set her free at the start of a maze and she started hunting. The fear she sensed in her prey drew her like a drug. She ran on strong feet, knowing they’d have chosen a suitable sacrifice. They always did.
    Her hand clenched on the knife. She spied the vulnerable nape of the girl who’d stumbled onto the hard ground. A smile cracked the anticipation on her face. This would be so much fun.
    No!
    Faith ripped herself from the vision so violently that she fell to the floor. Curling up into a fetal position, she tried to stifle her whimpers, tried to wipe the taint of blood from her brain. For those long moments she’d become the killer, become the very evil that had taken her sister’s life. That was what had brought her back to herself—the knowledge that if she let it continue, she might just feel her own hands slide around her sister’s