Teri Brown: Born of Deception

Cole smiles down at my exuberance, his rich eyes filled with warmth. My heart joins my feet in its tap dance. Having Cole by my side is like cotton candy clouds of almost perfect happiness surrounding everything I do.

“I take it you’re not nervous,” he says.

“About what?” For a moment I’m confused, but then his words sink in like a dart, bursting my happy bubble. My psychic abilities, the same ones I’ve spent a lifetime hiding from my ambitious mother so she wouldn’t turn me into a circus sideshow, the same ones that almost got my mother and me killed, are going be trotted out and examined by total strangers this afternoon. “Well, I wasn’t until you brought it up.”

My steps slow. This is what I want, I remind myself. Those members of the Society with psychical talents, other Sensitives like Cole and me, can help teach me how to control my abilities.

It’s the other members—the scientists who study them—who worry me.

We stop altogether and I stare at our reflection in a shop window. I adjust the belt of my wraparound coat against the wind blowing off the Thames. The top of my cherry-red cloche barely comes up to Cole’s shoulder and his bowler hat gives him even more inches over me. I stand on my tiptoes and he laughs.

“You shouldn’t worry so much. No one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. Not while I’m around.” He slips an arm about my shoulders and I nestle closer, basking in the safety and warmth he gives me. As always, an almost electrical current flows between us, like a flexible silver line connecting us.

I smile back at him, trying to banish my worry. We’re like a perfect, harmonic match.

“I want you to meet someone,” Cole said suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. “I think she’ll be able to alleviate your concern about the Society. Or at least give you the information you’ll need to know.”

She?

My mind flicks back to the letter with the curlicue handwriting I’d pickpocketed several months before. Not one of my finer moments, but even though it hadn’t been a love letter, it had still been written by a female. The mysterious “L.”

“Who?” My voice comes out more surly than I’d intended.

“Her name is Leandra. I’ve known her for ages. I think you’ll like her.”

Reluctantly, I follow along, feeling ill at ease and not at all sure I want to meet Leandra, who he’s known for ages . We take the subway, or what Londoners call the tube, to Camden Town and walk about four blocks to a small brick house in a row of small brick houses. I’ve been silent most of the way here, and even though he must know I’m cross, he refuses to ask why. Or perhaps he simply hasn’t noticed. My jealousy feels more and more childish as time passes.

“I hope she knows we’re coming,” I say, breaking the silence. I may not know a lot about British etiquette, but I do know that impromptu visits are frowned upon.

“Oh, she’s probably been expecting us from the moment you arrived.” Cole breezes through a small iron gate and up the steps. I follow halfheartedly. By the time I reach him he’s already rung the bell.

A gray-haired woman takes our coats and ushers us down a narrow hallway. Then we make a quick right into a sun-soaked sitting room. I blink at the girl sitting on the couch. Her golden head is bent over an embroidery hoop and even from here I can see a line of concentration between her eyes. Then she looks up, and she’s so pretty and fresh, my heart sinks. Her dress is cornflower blue with a crisp white collar and her bobbed hair falls in soft waves to her jawline. It’s only when she rises from the sofa with her hand outstretched that I realize she’s several years older than Cole and I.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you! I’ve been looking forward to this.”

I take her hand and feel an immediate reaction. Not as intense as the electricity I feel with Cole but rather a tingling warmth like I’d felt with Pratik. She’s a Sensitive , I think with some surprise. Then I chastise myself for my stupidity. Of course she is. Cole said she would alleviate my concerns over meeting the Society’s board members. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the novelty of meeting other people with psychic abilities.

“Nice to meet you,” I murmur. “I’m Anna Van Housen.”

“Leandra. Leandra Wright. Please sit down.” She turns to Cole and gives him hug, which, to my surprise, he returns warmly. What happened to his shyness around women?

She tilts her face up, a lovely smile curving her lips. “What have you been doing with yourself? It’s been a week since I’ve seen you! The boys are going to be livid at missing you, but they spend all day in school now. I miss them dreadfully.”

Leandra’s lilting English accent and gay mannerisms definitely belong to the curlicue penmanship, and from the look of adoration on her face it seems as if she holds Cole in very high regard indeed.

She turns away from him and snatches up my hand. I follow her to the sofa. Through her touch I feel her excitement and curiosity over meeting me, but there’s also something else, a block of some kind. I frown, puzzled. The only blocks I have ever felt are intended to hide emotions from me. I can feel Leandra’s emotions with no problem.

What is she blocking, then?

She drops my hand as we sit and faces me, her clear green eyes surveying me with interest.

“Anna was exhausted last night,” Cole says. “I drove her around London for a bit and then we got a bite to eat.”

I frown. Why didn’t he tell her that he wanted to take me someplace special for our first night together in months?

“Did you take her to Mob’s Hole?” She turns to me. “I love it there. We used to go all the time before I had the boys. Aren’t the chips divine?”

Disappointment tightens my throat. For some reason I thought Mob’s Hole was a special place Cole wanted to share just with me. The thought of him tucked away in the corner of that cozy old place with Leandra hurts. Of course, I knew he had friends; London is his home, after all. But did she have to be so pretty and vivacious? I murmur that the chips were indeed divine.

If she notices my reserve, she gives no sign but continues on as if afraid to stop talking. “Cole tells me you’re a magician! How utterly marvelous. When shall you perform? I would love to attend. Oh, wait. Can you stay for tea? We might as well get that started if you can.”

“Actually that’s why we came by,” Cole says, sitting forward. “Anna is meeting some of the board members for tea this afternoon and is a bit apprehensive.”

Leandra’s mouth flattens. “I knew she was a smart girl.”

“Leandra!” Cole exclaims. “You’re supposed to help, not hinder.”

She shakes her head. “It’s rather a mess right now. The only reason I’m still involved is to help new Sensitives, though that is getting more and more difficult under the rules of the new board president.” She turns to me. “Sensitives are not allowed to vote on Society policy. Some of the scientists believe we shouldn’t be trained to control our abilities. They want to put us all in a lab.”

“Oh, you’re exaggerating. Not all of them. Some are pretty decent chaps.” He waves a hand at Leandra. “I know, I know. There are some pretty deep divisions within the Society. But I still think we do more good than ill and we need to keep pushing for equal say in policy.”

“Maybe,” Leandra concedes. “But it’s difficult to be nice to anyone with all the new rules.”

I clear my throat. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that. What kind of rules?” Somehow I am not reassured.

“New recruits aren’t being trained right away. That’s a concession to the scientists who believe that any kind of training will skew the results of their precious tests. Now, with young Sensitives such as yourself, it doesn’t matter so much. But many older Sensitives are in pretty poor mental shape. They have no idea what is going on and feel completely alone. Or they try to tell someone about their experiences and end up in asylums. Can you imagine hearing other people’s thoughts all the time and not being able to turn it off?” Leandra shudders. “Plus, interaction between the Sensitives is being highly discouraged.”