The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(52)

“Of course,” she says sarcastically.

“In any case, I guess I’ll have to behave like a tourist and ask for the English menu,” I say, not looking forward to it.

“Or you can take a chance and let me order for you.” She winks at me mischievously.

Did I mention how hot Mira looks when she’s being intentionally mischievous?

“First you pick the place,” I say, folding my left pinky finger. “Now you want to order for me?” I fold the ring finger. “Who’s taking whom out?”

“Don’t forget that I also wanted to drive.” She chuckles and holds out her middle finger as though she wants to fold it in the same fashion. Except it looks more like she’s flipping me off, and I suspect she’s doing that on purpose.

My witty retort never comes because our waiter arrives and begins speaking in rapid-fire Russian.

Mira looks at me, and I nod, resigned.

Mira and the waiter have a long, incomprehensible discussion in Russian while I get distracted by a smell coming from somewhere. It’s a nauseating aroma, and it takes me a few moments to realize that it’s some idiot smoking a cigar.

The last time I saw people smoke in restaurants was in 2003. Did this guy not get the memo about the smoking ban? I guess he thinks the fact that we’re outside is a loophole of some kind. If you ask me, it’s an unthinkable breach of etiquette, and I’m tempted to tell the guy off.

I look the offender over. Okay, so perhaps I won’t give him the stern lecture he deserves. He doesn’t look like he’d get it. What he does look like is a mountain. Only mountains are peaceful and serene things, and this motherf*cker looks extremely mean.

I contemplate forgetting about it, but I can’t leave it alone. The smoke is going to ruin my meal. Deciding to take a different course of action, I phase into the Quiet.

The restaurant patrons freeze in place, and the ambient noises of people and the ocean surf disappear.

I savor the silence. It makes me realize that I haven’t done this in a while. Not once today, in fact.

I approach the guy with the cigar.

Frozen in place, he looks a lot less intimidating. I reach out and grab his ear, like they used to do back in the day to spoiled children—or so Kyle told me.

Physical connection in place, I want to establish a mental one. The lack of recent practice shows. I need to consciously relax to go into his mind, but once I focus on my breathing, I’m in.



*



We’re puffing on the Cuban cigar and wondering when Sveta will get here.

I quickly disassociate, not willing to smoke that monstrosity even in someone else’s head. If it were possible to cough mentally, that’s what I’d be doing right now.

I make a snap decision on how to proceed and instantly feel good about myself. I’m about to do this guy a great service—and help everyone around him.

I prepare to do the Guiding, which is a better term than Pushing for what I’m about to do.

‘Smoking is bad.

If you keep it up, it will give you cancer.

Feel a strong desire to put out this cigar. Feel disgusted, appalled, and sick to your stomach.

Doesn’t the cigar look like a turd?

Do you want to put shit in your mouth?

You will never smoke cigars, or cigarettes, ever again. You have the willpower to quit—for the rest of your life.’

To add to those indoctrinations, I try to channel my memory of the negative emotions I felt during anti-smoking ads. Some of those ads are so disgusting that I can’t believe anyone can see them and go on smoking.

I’m convinced the guy will not be smoking for a long while.

For how long is an interesting question. According to Hillary, my biological mother made my adoptive parents avoid the topic of my origins for years. I suspect my Reach might be just as impressive. If I understand it correctly, Guiding Reach works a lot like Reading Depth. Both are based on another variable: the amount of time you can spend in the Quiet. I don’t know the limits to my time in the Quiet, but I do know my Depth amazed Julia and others, and they didn’t know the full Depth I was capable of. It would be reasonable to assume my Reach is equally long.

All that considered, I might’ve permanently cured the cigar smoker of his deadly addiction.

As I prepare to get out of his mind, I wonder how regular Guides do their Guiding. It must be very different for them. They don’t get the experience of being inside the person’s head the way I do. That’s a Reader thing. For them, it must be more like blind touching and wishing. I’ll have to ask Hillary more about it, maybe get some tips on how to Guide more effectively.

Realizing that I’m still inside the now-non-smoker’s head, I focus and instantly get out.



*



My good deed done for the day, I walk over and Read the waiter, since I’m in the Quiet anyway. He thinks Mira is as hot as I do, but I can hardly blame him for that. The good news is that nothing Mira ordered for us thus far sounds life-threatening.

Satisfied, I phase out.

“Ee dva compota,” I hear Mira say to the waiter with finality.

As the man leaves, I see my new non-smoker friend begin to cough with a funny look on his face. Then, staring at his cigar as though it’s a cobra, he violently sticks the object of his distress into his water glass.

Success. I mentally pat myself on the back, but don’t say anything to Mira. The last thing I want is to remind her of my Pushing abilities.