Page 6 of They Call Me Wicked

Only serving to make my predicament worse.

The room grows heavier, almost suffocating with the amusement everyone seems to be enjoying, but the strength of it starts to pull me under. Frustration quickly morphs to anxiety as my throat constricts and my heart thumps painfully quick in my chest.

Nope.

Not to-fucking-day.

I flip my cane out, sweeping it around until it hits something solid with too much give to be an object. I walk towards it, my hand reaching out in front of me until it hits the bare skin of someone’s arm and I use the touch like a lighthouse in the fog, directing me to their mental center.

It takes all of my concentration to grasp at the memories playing on repeat in their mind.

Brandon’s furious features as he rushes towards a woman with long brown hair framing her pale face and hanging past the folds of her leather jacket as she flings her cane in front of her.

Yeah, that’s me.

The scene doesn’t come all at once, it never does, but each pulsing of mental focus from whoever I’m currently touching gives me a slice that I can piece together, slowly but surely.

Brandon lunges but then jolts backwards as Ezra, straight faced as always, grabs him by the back of his pants and lifts him into the air, kicking and flailing. The ripping sound I heard replays and Brandon suddenly falls to the ground, the remnants of his cheap pants now hanging in tatters in Ezra’s grip. Scrambling to his feet, face pulled up in a sneer, the entire office floods with laughter as they catch sight of the back of his, decidedly not-so-white, tighty-whities with a royal blue font stating ‘Grandma’s Boy’ on the ass.

Realization hits his face, his arms moving to cover his ass as he takes off running out of the office. I see myself move from the frame before being directly in front of it, taking up the entire point of view of whoever I’m holding onto.

It’s then that I realize that whoever I’m hijacking memories from is still staring at me, their eyes tracing over my every feature like they’re mentally stroking each one. I can almost physically feel the weight of their attention. The freckles splattering my nose and cheeks would be almost cute if my attention didn’t immediately zero in on the edges of the mangled scars peeking out from beneath the dark sunglasses hiding my eyes.

Jesus, is my hair really that bad today? Note to self: spend more time on my appearance from now on. I may be blind, but not everyone else is. No need to scare the common folk.

It’s not like I can see through people’s eyes, that would be dope as shit if I could, but if I focus hard and long enough, I can see the memories–the imprints, or echoes–an event leaves in their mind. So whatever I’m seeing in my ‘present’, is something that happened a minute or more before.

Which makes the fact that I’m still standing here touching this person, without them moving, decidedly more creepy. It means they’ve been staring at me and letting me mentally leech off of them without saying a damn thing.

When their eyes start to wander downwards, grazing the tops of the curves of my breasts that are just barely peeking out from under my leather jacket, I pull away mentally, returning to darkness and the headache that’s gotten ridiculously worse from pushing my abilities.

“Kai Zhao, you perv! Eyes up here!” I point two fingers towards my face blindly before zipping my jacket up as far as it will go. His aura pulses with amusement as he lets out a laugh and lays his arm across my shoulders.

“I was wondering when you would figure it out. Took a bit longer this time, Wicked. One would think you’re getting lazy.” His good-natured ribbing is cut short by a pained grunt as a flurry of hisses and growls, prelude to Gizmo and Snitch climbing to my shoulders and doing whatever they have to do to get his arm to release me. They’re extremely territorial.

Before I can even think of a reply or comeback of my own, another very angry yell reaches my ears. “Wicked!”

Cringing as Alan summons mea second time, and knowing that I’m in for it now, I decide not to dilly-dally any longer. I turn on my heel and make my way to his office, only bumping my hip bone intoonedesk on the way.

I’ll call that a damn win.

“Sugar-Pie!” I coo out upon entering, exaggerating the sugar in my voice. Pun intended. “What mystery calls for my attention this time?”

“Cut the shit, Wicked. I’ve gotten an increasing amount of complaints from your colleagues about you and De León.”

“What?” I take note of the second aura in the room, the one broadcasting his emotions whether he wants to or not. Anger, violence…lust. A stark contrast to the almost fatherly tones of Alan’s mostly endearing protectiveness that’s tinged with an edge of frustrated exasperation.

“Sit.” I smirk when Alan grunts in embarrassment after a flurry of movement. He probably gestured with his hands before realizing once again that I’m as blind as a fucking bat. Though, wasn’t it debunked that bats aren’t really blind? Or was that just another bullshit rumor?

Eh, not the point.

“Yessir, Chief, sir!” I salute him and wait for the chirps of my trusty sidekicks to direct me to my seat before collapsing into it and crossing my arms.

Okay, so I might be a little defensive.

After letting out a long-suffering sigh, Alan leans back in his chair, the squeak of its aged springs giving him away as I feel the weight of his gaze on my face. “The two of you need to learn to get along. If not for yourselves, then for the sake of everyone around you. I’m so sick of the complaints and reports. One of these days, the two of you will really fuck up. And who does that reflect back on? You, or me?”

A touch of guilt tries to wiggle into my brain, but I slam it down like I’m about to beat the high score at whack-a-mole and that pesky emotion is the last mole bouncing up.

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