The Elders (Mind Dimensions #4)(6)

From my new vantage, I see what happened and recoil in disbelief.

Mira is frozen in the act of kicking me in the balls.





Chapter 3





Is she that pissed at me for stopping her from making Thomas Inert? We need to have a talk, I decide, and pull her in.

“What the f*ck, Mira?” I say as soon as she shows up in the Quiet. “If you’re upset with me, you can just say so. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?”

Her eyes lock onto me and do that thing that Thomas’s eyes did.

Before she takes a step, I remember the theory that had been on the tip of my tongue earlier, before she made me doubt Thomas. That theory would cover all the weird stuff that’s been happening.

For good measure, I still ask, “Is this about Thomas being Inert?”

Instead of answering, Mira closes the distance and attempts the exact move her currently frozen self is doing to my real-world body.

Kick me in the nuts once, shame on you. Kick me there twice, shame on me. I put my arms in a crisscross block. The backs of my hands sting where her foot connects with them, but it’s nothing compared to what would’ve happened had I not blocked her kick.

She swings at me with her fist, and I dodge her punch, my certainty about what’s going on increasing. All the pieces fit. The cops. The way Thomas looked at me and attacked me. The way he ignored Mira while we were fighting—a bad, irrational move. And the reason Mira is now intensely focused on attacking me.

“You’re being Pushed,” I say as I step aside, dodging her punch.

She staggers, swinging at me again.

“Snap out of it!”

She doesn’t reply and continues her relentless attack.

I know I shouldn’t be offended that she hasn’t stopped—no one ever said that telling someone they’re being Guided will allow them to break out of the compulsion—but it’s hard to imagine that I’d ever attack her, even if someone did Push me. I feel as if I’d be able to exercise my free will somehow. Then again, she probably didn’t consciously hear me when I told her she was being Pushed. In her mind, she may not be fighting me right now, but rather some illusory enemy.

If I can’t talk her out of it, I have to stop her some other way. I decide to go for something ungentlemanly that doesn’t cross the line into hitting a girl. Before I start, I remind myself that this is the Quiet, and Mira will only suffer for a brief moment—if one can even suffer while in the state of being Guided.

I dodge a few punches, searching for my opening. When she moves to kick me, I see my chance. I catch Mira’s leg before she can inflict any damage. It hurts my palms, but hey, no pain, no gain. Firmly holding on to Mira’s foot, I unceremoniously raise it in the air.

The result is as I hoped. Mira falls backwards. To my surprise and relief, she manages a soft landing, falling much more gracefully than I would have.

Her landing isn’t important, but the freedom from her strikes is, as it gives me the opportunity to run up to my body—and I rush to do so.

Seeing the pained look on my statue-like face reminds me that I’m about to return to something very unpleasant, but I touch my frozen self’s arm without hesitation.

The world is back, as is the pain, which actually seems worse than before.

I force another breath into my lungs and, clutching my family jewels, use every ounce of my strength to avoid falling on the ground. If I do, it will not end well for me.

Mira doesn’t wait for me to recover. She capitalizes on my inactivity by punching me in the face.

My cheekbone stings, but I ignore it. The pain is nothing compared to the blow my pride will sustain if a girl beats me to death.

She aims her next punch at my stomach, and I manage to catch her wrist with my left hand. Without realizing what my body is doing, I move closer to Mira, the way I’ve done to initiate our million and one make-out sessions. Only this time, after I’m in her space, I circle around her. I bring her arm for the ride until it’s folded at an odd angle along her spine, ensuring that any movement will be extremely uncomfortable. If her kick to my balls didn’t preclude such thoughts, I’d find this position mildly erotic.

She continues to struggle.

Crap. I can’t rely on pain as a means to restrain her, not in this case. She’ll only hurt herself.

I consider my options and do something that isn’t inspired by any martial arts training. I give her a tight hug from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. When she tries to twist out of my arms, I lock my fingers across her ribcage and hold on. Standing like this, with my crotch against her butt and the tips of my fingers brushing against her breasts, the situation goes from mildly erotic to full-on hot. Hey, Mira’s kick didn’t cause any permanent damage—that’s good news.

All eroticism instantly vanishes when the back of Mira’s head connects with my face. Luckily, thanks to some martial-arts instinct, I leaned back in time. My chin hurts, but at least my nose isn’t broken. When Mira swings her head back again, I dodge. This hug maneuver is not sustainable.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a blur of movement.

Just what I need, I think and phase into the Quiet.

The lady cops I Guided to protect my moms are moving in. I get inside each of their heads and change their directives, then return to the real world.

I dodge Mira’s head-butts a few more times before help arrives.