Page 9 of Guiding Desire
The admin pulled out a small device, a box barely half as big as Senlas’s fist. It looked a lot more incongruous, and Senlas was glad. While it was probably the most invasive test they did on this floor, the brain wave scanners mounted on the clear plastic heads likely looked more frightening to someone who’d never had them done, and Orrey probably hadn’t.
The admin put the box on her desk so it was facing Orrey. A blue flash along the desk’s surface confirmed it had linked up correctly, and the admin’s fingers flew over the keyboard with admirable speed before she reached forward and opened the box’s lid.
“Put your thumb on the white mark, hold it there until I tell you.”
“Okay,” Orrey said, the one word more question than affirmation.
“It’s fine,” Senlas said. Some Conduits liked that sort of thing, although that wasn’t even why Senlas said it. He said it because what he actually wanted to do was close Orrey in his arms and tell the Conduit he’d be taken care of from here on out, and “It’s fine” appeared to be the tamer option.
“I’m really not a Conduit,” Orrey mumbled, putting his thumb on the pad.
Senlas counted. The needle jab came at four, and Orrey yanked his hand back with a sharp “Ah!” before taking a step back and stumbling right into Senlas.
“Oh, sorry,” Orrey said.
Senlas smiled.
“In my opinion? No Conduit bumping into a Guardian should apologize. Quite the opposite, given how often you all remind us how acutely sharp your senses and reflexes are,” Col said.
“He didn’t bump into me, I was already standing here to support him,” Senlas said.
“Dude,” Karmine said, the word one big sigh.
The admin cleared her throat. “I got everything I needed, by the way, but we normally do that type of filing on the first day. I’m getting a higher reading that suggests buffering has been going on for longer than that.”
“But I’m not a Conduit,” Orrey said. “I pulled my hand away too soon, didn’t I? Shouldn’t we do it again?”
Col and Karmine exchanged glances before Col turned back to the admin. “It’s barely been an hour, if that, and they’ve just been holding hands.”
“E-excuse me?” Orrey said. “I wasn’t…I didn’t…”
“It’s fine,” Senlas said again. He’d have preferred finally taking Orrey home to all this. Then again, Orrey’d still not gotten over being a Conduit, which Senlas didn’t understand. What he did understand was Orrey’s refusal might make him try to reject the imprinting. A whole other headache.
Orrey stepped away from Senlas and toward the door so he could keep all of them in his line of sight. “None of this is fine. I don’t mean to give offense, but I am not supposed to be here. I am very much not a Conduit and—“
“Summer bug, your blood test says different,” the admin said.
Senlas gave her another once-over and readjusted his impression of her a few notches up on his approval scale.
“But that can’t be,” Orrey said.
The admin turned her screen and pointed. “You’ve taken basic bio, right? You see that? There is truth in data. Your mistake is elsewhere. And as I said, if this is from an hour of buffering, your synching is both instinctive and impressive.” She glanced at her own screen. “Which does make some sense with an S-classer. And maybe age plays a role. The science division can probably tell you more after a thorough checkup.”
Senlas saw the terror widen Orrey’s eyes. HeSeizedthe admin’s screen and turned it back around.
“Col, you lecture me on being more tactful, right? For my tactful deed today, I’m going to ask you to file all the basic stuff while I take Orrey home.”
“Excuse me, Guardian Warrak, but a Conduit who has no training might be better served staying on-Grounds?” the admin said, which immediately moved her down again on the approval scale.
“No,” Senlas said.
He closed the distance between him and Orrey. He’d have preferred taking Orrey’s hand again, but the Conduit was already getting agitated. He gave Orrey a gentle nudge on the elbow. It did nothing.
Senlas’s aunt was a vet, and he’d helped out in her practice when he was younger. One of the more stubborn pets he’d dealt with there had been horn cats, who never wanted into their crate when they were out of it, never out of it when they were inside.
“Even the sweet ones have claws and teeth,” Senlas’s aunt had told him after one particular horn cat had gouged deep lines into the back of his hand. Moments before he’d tried getting her into the crate, she’d been purring at him, digging in her claws out of nowhere.
Senlas had taken his aunt’s advice to heart, and so he said, “Protector Acton. If you’d follow me, please.”
