I’d ripped the stall doors off to throw at the Jens-person. He’d put them right back on. He’d called me Little Creator. Told me appearances were always deceiving. Said he knew I was clever enough to figure out who he really was, that we’d been playing a game together for some time now.
I dig further into the memory. His skin wasn’t right. It felt like ... paper, in a way. His eyes weren’t right, either. Or the voice. It wasn’t Jens’ voice. I know what Jens Belladonna sounds like, unfortunately. He accused me of so many things after I joined the Council I can still dredge up the exact tones and lilts of his voice. This person sounded nothing like him. The accent was different, one I’ve never heard before. It sounded ... old.
It wasn’t Jens, of that I’m sure. But who could do such a thing? I’m the only Creator in exis—
No. Nonononono. Please let me be wrong. Please.
Jonah says my name again, forcing me to stuff my fears down for the moment. Me freaking out again will do nobody any good. So I think logically about all of this. I tap my head and tell him to surge so he can see for himself what happened. I mean, I know both men respect me enough to normally not surge without permission and all, but I would’ve figured they’d have viewed me being attacked as a special exception and just gone ahead and done it already.
Another small look passes between the twins. What now?
“We can’t.” Jonah’s frustration is nearly tangible. “And it isn’t for lack of trying.”
What?
“I tried while you were asleep.” My eyes track down to his free hand as he says this; his knuckles are white as he unconsciously clenches them in and out of a fist. This is not a good sign. “We both did, just to see if you were okay.”
Kellan rubs at his hair, letting out a harsh breath of agreement that only hones my panic. Because Magicals are always able to surge with one another. Always. It may be tacky to do so without permission, and there’s a very good chance a nice, well-deserved headache will occur when forcibly ejected from another’s mind, but it’s something exclusive to our kind. Magicals are able to surge with others. Nobody’s mind is ever closed off. Ever.
“Try again.”
Jonah’s hands gently cup my face. And then ... nothing. No gentle tug signaling the link, no comforting familiarity. I don’t feel his mind in mine. Not even a hint of it.
My panic turns razor sharp.
He lets go and looks to his brother, and for someone so known for staying calm when others react, the fear and hopelessness in his eyes terrifies me.
Kellan reaches down and lays his fingers against my temples, closing his eyes. Twenty seconds pass before he slowly shakes his head, his expression mirroring his twin’s.
How can this be? “Neither of you can feel me? Or surge?”
Before either answers, all of my resolutions to stay calm go flying out the window because I’m practically clawing at the sheets below as an anxiety attack tears through me. Kate is right. Something is very wrong with me, because if these two, the two people Connected to me, cannot feel me or surge with me—
I’m panicking. Flat-out hysterical again, although thankfully tear-free this time. Jonah’s got a hold of me and he’s promising me that it’ll all be okay because I’m safe now. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? I’m not. They’re not. Somebody invaded my headspace; somebody is making it so nobody can even surge with me. And if I’m right about this somebody, nobody right now is safe.
This needs to be the last time I let myself fall apart. I’ve got to pull myself together, because from here on out, there’s only one option left for me. I need to go after this monster metaphorical guns blazing, because I may not stand a chance otherwise.
None of us will.