Page 31 of Sore Throat, Slight Fever

His eyes scan the words quickly. “He also suggests a long road. Would that work?”

“Is that what you saw?” She ducks her head to catch his eye. “When you compelled me earlier?”

He frowns, leaning back against the couch. “I didn’tseeanything. I just…pushed the words to you. I didn’t look inside your head.”

“But youcanlook inside someone’s head, right?” She pauses, waiting for his nod before continuing. “Fiorentini thinks that we all have an inherent thought-structures, something we’re born with, and to shield my mind, I just need to discover what that structure is.” He raises an eyebrow as she shifts closer to him, placing a warm hand on his forearm. “Couldyou look inside my head and tell me what you see?”

He seems hesitant, which doesn’t surprise her. The idea of dipping into someone else’s mind, no matter how temporary, feels oddly intimate. She almost blushes with the thought. But Fiorentini’s writing is clear that this is a necessary first step in protecting herself, and surely Rory’s desire to see her protected from compulsion outweighs his reticence.

He does eventually nod, letting loose a deep sigh as he turns to face her fully, resting his arm on the back of the couch. His free hand reaches up and slides behind her head, his cool touch entangled with her unruly hair. She feels a slight pressure at the base of her skull, encouraging her to lean closer, which she does, indulging, momentarily, in the depth of Rory’s grayish blue eyes, the flecks of gold so pronounced at this proximity it feels a bit like looking at the sun.

Dark spots bloom across her vision, and she feels his presence inside of her mind. She is surrounded by his magic, which is cold and dusky, sliding over her thoughts like black water. It feels entirely different from the witch magic to which she is accustomed, although it almost reminds her of the Ether—nothing and everything all rolled into one.

She feels just as safe, too, with Rory’s presence wrapped around her like cool silk. She is drowning, falling, even as she sits upright on the couch, even as she feels his thigh against her own and the hot breeze from the open window.

And then, like sunlight cutting through fog, she is suddenly standing in a forest. She is alone, though she can still feel Rory’s presence with her, entangled in her very thoughts and consciousness. The forest looks eerily like the one just outside the window, though with an odd arrangement of flora and fauna that she’s sure does not exist just outside of Graeme House.

The clearing she is standing in is edged with spindly pine trees and ancient oaks dripping in Spanish moss. But in between the towering trunks, she can see fields of wildflowers and unruly vines. She spots the sparkle of water in the distance and a winding dirt trail that cuts through the forest and stretches into the distance, obscured by a ghostly pale fog. The soft call of frogs and cicadas twirls around her as a butterfly flits across her vision.

It feels so real, the sun shining down on her shoulders, the dampness of the mist that hides her bare feet. She flexes her toes against the soft soil underfoot, feeling the sudden urge to spring into tears. This place isinsideof her. This is the physical representation of her consciousness—her soul, even—and the knowledge slots into a place in her heart that she hadn’t even realized was empty.

She reaches out to trail her fingers against the rough bark of the nearest tree, but when her fingers connect, the soil shifts and she is falling again, into a memory, Rory’s presence falling along with her. She recognizes the room immediately as the memory ofMaddox Grey solidifies in front of her. Lit by candlelight, she stands in the middle of his laboratory. Taking up the basement of their house, the rough-hewn stone floors of the lab are carved with symbols that hurt her bare feet as she takes a step backward. Maddox’s voice echoes around her.I don’t want to hurt you, Cal, but it’s the only way.

It was a lie, though she didn’t see it at the time. Even when the knife pierced her flesh, she thought she saw sadness in his eyes. She held him after, her arm stiff with a hastily applied bandage. In the memory now, Maddox stands in front of her, ceremonial dagger in his hand and she feels an acute sense of panic rise in her. He lifts the knife—

She blinks, finding herself back in her room at Graeme House, eyesight cloudy with tears. She wipes at her cheeks, looking away from Rory.

“Sorry,” she hears him say. “I didn’t mean to—”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay. It was my fault. I didn’t mean to…pull you with me.”

“Was that…?”

She looks up with a sniff and nods, feeling uncomfortable under Rory’s unreadable scrutiny. She worries what he will think of her now. She so easily and naively gave up her power for a man who didn’t deserve it and it took her years to fully see it. That she had been unaware of Maddox’s true nature at the time—that shelovedhim—doesn’t change the fact that she had been incredibly foolish to trust him with her bodyand her magic. The regret lingers, acutely, like a knife shoved through her rib cage.

“Anyway,” she says, hoping to diffuse the heat of his gaze, “I know why I couldn’t visualize a road. It’s a forest. Guess I better get to work felling some trees.”

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Calliope to realize that simply felling a tree is not the way to block a psychic intrusion. She learns this the next day when Rory compels her to stand on one leg. While his voice echoes around the forest, she envisions the nearest tree falling and when it does so, disturbing a flock of mockingbirds in the process, it falls to the ground with a loud crack—but does nothing to stop Rory’s voice. When she comes to, she is balanced precariously on one leg, and she promptly falls over. She stays on the kitchen floor, hands covering her face.

She feels Rory bend down beside her and his light, cool touch against her shoulder. “It took you longer to obey this time,” he says encouragingly.

She lowers her hands and gives him a wry smile. “Still ended up on the floor, though.”

He tilts his head, silver-streaked hair falling across his forehead. “Maybe you should take a break.”

She agrees, and a few minutes later, she settles in on the couch in her room, intending to read a novel Kane found for her in the library, only to find herattention straying toward the Fiorentini book, still open on the side table.

The last Fiorentini chapter she read emphasized that thought-structures, no matter how detailed, still need to be mapped out for the shielder to effectively guard and manipulate them. She isn’t sure how literal Fiorentini is when he uses the word “map,” but seeing that she hasn’t stepped beyond the circular clearing that she’s come to mark as her entrance point, she supposes creating a map, however informal and abstract, couldn’t hurt.

So, she slips back into her Mind’s Eye and begins to explore. She soon learns that not only do the trees hold her memories—as evidenced by the accidental fall into one of her most painful memories (and with Rory observing no less!)—but everything in her forest is tied to something, whether it’s an emotion, thought, or memory. The flowers that bloom at the foot of the trees hold her feelings in their pollen and petals. The moss that covers the ground is filled with her thoughts. The air is heavy with humidity and her fears.

Walking farther in, she finds that she’s not as alone as she previously assumed. A few steps into the thick brambles and she finds Hun, tail wagging in excitement. The beast jumps up, balancing two large paws on Calliope’s shoulders and licks her face.

Calliope laughs and gently pushes Hun back down to the ground. With one hand buried in the soft fur atop Hun’s head, Calliope continues walking,marveling at the mushrooms that grow with each step. When Hun bounds forward with a growl, she stops in front of a cloud of tangled weeds, wilting leaves crying ichor as black as night. Curious, she reaches out, only to realize that infested plant is the memory of her biting Officer Burton. She pulls her hand back quickly, before the sensation of her teeth against the man’s skin comes back to her.

“Well, this won’t do,” she says to Hun, who huffs in agreement.

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