Page 12 of Rarely Pure and Never Simple
"Yes. The millipedes aren't crawling into my brain with you there."
Blaze's ginger brows shot up, but he refrained from asking.
Fortunately, Mr. Klein seemed happy to lead. He preceded them into the building, an imposing two-story structure of dark stone covered in ivy. While both variant schools sat in the middle of acres of property, this one mirrored the Eastern Academy in its relatively small size. Recessive traits ensured variant births would always be statistically low. Add that to high variant infant mortality rates and parents who refused to acknowledge that their children might have different academic needs, and the numbers of potential students in the entire country never seemed to exceed a thousand.
The interior made some attempt at warmth, at least. Carpets lined the hallways, muffling sound. Bright blocks of color decorated the walls. They passed administrative offices and the row classrooms, all with floor-to-ceiling windows to admit as much natural light as possible. The kids looked like… kids. Some of them slumped in their seats, bored to tears, while others took studious notes or sat forward in rapt attention, just like kids in any other school.
They're just kids. The Academies tell them they're special, but what are we really doing, separating them from other kids, making sure no one in "normal" society has to deal with their gifts? Special means leper after a while.
Damien dragged himself back from melancholy speculation to Mr. Klein's droning tour.
"The dining hall is over here on your right, gym on your left. You don't need to see the dormitories, do you?"
Why the frown? Was there a reason they shouldn't see where the students lived? Or was it merely a privacy issue? "I'm not certain yet, Mr. Klein. Could we go out and tour the grounds?"
The assistant administrator's frown deepened, as if this request was either unexpected or unwelcome. "I suppose that would be all right."
"Thank you."
The pull toward the outside had been increasing since the moment they'd entered the building. Damien couldn't sort out whether this was a true pull yet or a simple desire to escape being walled in. They turned down another quiet hallway of deep-pile carpet to a side door beside the art lab. Once Mr. Klein opened the door, Damien had his answer.
A hum filled his ears. His fingertips tingled. Klein's droning voice faded as if muffled under a dozen sofa cushions. Damien swept past, vaguely aware of Blaze's arm whipping out to keep Klein at a distance when the man surged forward with some protest. Toward the dormitories, that was where the tugging at his nerves pulled him. Damien hurried across the grass until he neared the nexus, shedding his coat and shirt as he went. Again a distant protest came from somewhere in the universe. It no longer mattered.
He had reached a spot on the path in a circle of trees just outside the dorms. Not every pull originated here, but here they met and crossed in a hundred intersecting lines. The students took this path back and forth to class every day. He stood still and planted his feet, steeling himself.
On a deep breath, he spread his arms out to the sides, opening his fingers to catch every bit of residual energy on his skin. The sheer volume of human energies confounded him, deafened him for a moment. So many energy signatures calling to him, the world tilted precariously under his feet. He opened his mouth like a cat trying to catch more of a scent, and there—there was the first one he recognized from the pictures Dr. Parma had given him of the missing children.
She ran. From something but alsotosomething. She ran with purpose, pulling fear and pain in her wake.
He opened himself fully to that one signature, marking the direction, the texture, taking it into his bones. Immediately, he realized his mistake. He had it, would never mistake her trail for another, but now all the other trails he had touched so tentatively crashed in on him, every bit of panic, every scrap of pain. All the trails whipped through him, cables suddenly snapped under high tension. They lashed at him wildly, striking at his core, severing his tenuous hold on the physical world.
The way back… where was the way back? He might have screamed into the hurricane of chaotic memories invading his thoughts. It was so bright, so hot—such terrible pain…
"Damien? Damien!"
"Does he need an ambulance?"
"Back off! Don't touch him!" The deep voice found a spot in his memory. Blaze, snarling nearby.
He opened his eyes and stared up at the clear blue of a winter afternoon. On his back, in the grass, a hand supported his head. Somehow, this hand failed to disturb him.
"Hey." Blaze's worried face appeared above him. "You okay there? You kinda passed out or something. Though it looked more like a fit."
"The world came apart," Damien whispered. "I couldn't hold it together. I couldn't. Not at this spot. This fountainhead of anguish."
"Okay." Blaze drew the word out. "I'm not gonna pretend I know what you just said. Did you get what you needed?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm getting you out of here." Blaze slid his hands under Damien and lifted him to carry him back toward the car.
Blaze's arms around him didn't set off all his personal alarms, no crawling sensations along his skin.Blaze Emerson, for fewer millipedes. Take as directed.
He must have made a sound enough like a laugh since Blaze snapped, "Something funny?"
"No," Damien whispered since he couldn't manage to shake his head.
The rumble vibrated against his ear as Blaze growled. "World'sweirdestfucking scent hound."
