A Guiding Light Page 6

  As the hospital was a block and a half down the street, we walked. I kept my briefcase close, and I found it curious the only things Dr. Stanton brought with her were her keys, wallet, and a beat-up cell phone. I was impressed it still ran with the number of dents in the case and the cracks along the edge of its screen.

  “Do you have any questions?” my new doctor asked.

  “How do you plan on evaluating my talent?”

  “This hospital has a talent evaluation center; it’s Fargo’s primary center for treating ailments caused by magic of any sort. While I’ve made a few guesses so far, which seem to be accurate, I’ll be going through a questionnaire with you before going over the waiver required to do the actual testing. Assuming you’re willing to sign, we’ll layer suppression bracelets on you until your talent is blocked. Your reaction plus the strength of the suppressors used will give us a better idea of your talent’s limitations and strengths. There are a few potential complications.”

  Dr. Stanton led me into the hospital and through a maze of hallways before halting in front of an elevator, swiping her wallet over it and pressing the down button.

  “What sort of complications?”

  “You might flare.”

  “I wasn’t aware empathic leeches could flare.”

  “Oh, we can flare. It’s usually considered an advantage, and it tends to boil down to heightened sensitivity for us and our partners. In healthy bonds, flares typically happen in the bedroom.”

  Under no circumstances could I think about Veronica anywhere near a bedroom. “That isn’t a factor.”

  “We’ll discuss that after we have a better idea of your talent’s real strength. Of course, if your bond is married, arrangements can be made to ensure contact, which will alleviate the majority of the symptoms you’re suffering. If you have a truly strong talent, I’m inclined to believe your bond would not have another partner. For the second half of a leech-bond pairing, being with someone else is rather sickening, as my husband unfortunately discovered. A bond of substantial strength? It wouldn’t end well. It wouldn’t begin, honestly.”

  “That’s not fair to her,” I mumbled, shaking my head.

  The elevator door pinged and swooshed open, and once I stepped inside, Dr. Stanton pressed a button for a third basement level. “It’s not fair to you, either. From what we’ve come to understand about empathic bonds like yours is that they are two-way streets. Both individuals do need to have some desire for the bond in order for it to gain any strength. That’s why my bond with my husband is so weak. We had a rough start, and for a long time, he didn’t want the bond after it was formed. As a result, our bond has been stunted.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, did it stunt your talent?”

  “Not at all. If anything, it expanded my reach. I’m quite good at general empathy, as my talent required an outlet. That yours is still focused is highly unusual. Typically, if the bond is stunted or unrequited, it becomes weak and the talent seeks another outlet, resulting in general empathy. You show no evidence of general empathy.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We walked near the trauma ward. I’m used to blocking unwanted emotional influences. You showed no reaction.”

  I hadn’t even known we’d been near the hospital’s trauma ward. “Ah.”

  “Indeed.”

  The elevator pinged and opened, and Dr. Stanton led me down a long corridor before opening a metal door and gestured for me to step inside. At first glance, it resembled a gymnasium, although it lacked any defining features. Two older men in doctor’s coats waited along with a cart of medical equipment.

  “Thank you for coming, gentlemen. Dr. Potts, Dr. Fields, this is Mr. Smith. He’s going to be an interesting patient. He’s been treated with hexapentin for the past eighteen years, and he’s currently on the max dose. By my current estimates, the drug will no longer be effective within two to three months, so we need a better solution for his problem. As far as I can tell, he’s a single-target leech with an unrequited bond, and instead of developing general empathy as expected, his talent has been growing in strength.”

  I had a lot of questions about why Dr. Stanton sounded like she wanted to light Dr. Berriner on fire and roast marshmallows over his corpse, but I offered a cautious nod to the two doctors, who looked me over like I was an interesting new animal at the zoo.

  “Dr. Potts is a general physician with a healthy interest in talent development and a wide range of skills. He’ll be here to help if you show signs of any other talents. He can counter most of the common talents at moderate strength. Dr. Fields is a cardiovascular surgeon and one of the hospital’s ER doctors. He’ll be on hand if we have any problems with your evaluation. I’ll be blunt, Mr. Smith. I’m expecting to have problems. Normally, the waivers are a formality, but after seeing your file, I had additional provisions added to your waiver. The hospital will be responsible for all care you may require as a result of this evaluation, and the ER has been notified we’re doing a potentially dangerous evaluation.”

  While I appreciated Dr. Stanton’s honesty, she also worried me. “If you do this, I can get a suppressor and a long-term solution to my talent problems, correct?”

  “That’s the goal. I’m expecting you’ll qualify without any issues. Dr. Potts is also a qualified evaluator, and he’s willing to sign off on your file with reasonable proof of your talent.”

  While tempted to agree without learning more of the details, I reined in the urge and asked, “Why isn’t this the default testing method?”

  “It’s dangerous, that’s why. If your talent is anywhere near as strong as I suspect it is, we could kill you trying to help you. That’s why I’ve asked Dr. Fields to be on hand for this session. With Dr. Berriner’s concerns of a heart attack, I’m worried you’ll suffer from one should we hit the limit of your talent without realizing it. Our goal is to use as many suppressors as we can without hitting the limit of your talent. If we do our job right, we’ll be manipulating your talent like a water tap. We want to identify the point right before your magic is completely cut off. It’s extremely difficult to do this with stronger talents. Think of elite-level talents as a firehose. They tend to have two modes of operation: on or off. They also have a great deal of training on how to control their talents. You don’t. Anything could happen. We could start suppressing your talent and reveal you have a secondary talent, which could flare. We could approach your limit with no way of telling. This is what I’m worried will happen, as I suspect you’re projecting without receiving anything in return from your bond.”

  “All right. I follow.”

  “The presence of other dormant talents is a major concern, as the hexapentin could be suppressing them enough they aren’t manifesting while growing in strength. If this is the case, this evaluation could become very interesting. If you know of any dangerous talents in your bloodline, now is the time to tell us about them.”

  If I told them about my bloodline’s talents, there’d be no doubt as to my identity. I didn’t know of any other family in North Dakota with my mother’s talent, and my father’s talent wasn’t much better. Both of them could classify as dangerous in the right situation. “Define dangerous for me.”

  “Flameweaving is the most dangerous, although I’d prefer if I didn’t have to deal with lightning, earthquakes, or attempted drownings today.”

  My mother’s talent could be dangerous by Dr. Stanton’s criteria; she could redirect almost anything. Her ability defied classification, although my father believed my mother was a little bit of everything mutated into a unique talent only she controlled. She called it forceweaving, and she used it to detonate and contain explosions.

  No, there was nothing safe about my mother’s talent at all, and I didn’t want to think about my father’s talent, either. His metalweaving was so strong he could stop bullets with his teeth—or just stare at them and make them do his bidding. The laws of physics meant nothing to him.

  If there was
metal involved, it was his to control.

  “My father has an earthweaving talent,” I confessed.

  Dr. Stanton sighed. “While I understand a flare is outside of your control, please try to avoid triggering any earthquakes.”

  If I had had my father’s talent, I wouldn’t have been cast aside, and if the royal family’s evaluators couldn’t find a talent, no one could. “I think it’ll be fine.”

  Her chuckle startled me. “I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you, Mr. Smith. It wouldn’t be magic if we fully understood how it worked.”

  I signed the waivers, acknowledging I might be leaving the gymnasium in a body bag in the worst-case scenario. A sane man would’ve been afraid. I’d become numb to it.

  It wasn’t anything new for me.

  As all three doctors worried something would happen, I had the dubious pleasure of lying on the cold floor for their tests, which involved clasping numerous metallic bracelets around my wrists and monitoring my heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing.

  I found it interesting I felt nothing at all, which made all three doctors nervous.

  The instant Dr. Stanton found my talent’s limit, I understood her warnings, precautions, and the reason for the waivers—and the help of two other doctors.

  My heart stopped.

  I didn’t drop dead as I expected. Fire engulfed my chest, and I gasped several times before something changed, something that overwhelmed the pain with terror and anguish.

  I was ready to believe my heart had been crushed in a vice and ripped out.

  In the moments before I blacked out, I clawed at the silvery bands wrapped around my wrists.

  Consciousness returned with the help of a zap from one of the doctors and a bucket of ice-cold water. I choked and spluttered, and my body throbbed to the stuttering beat of my heart.

  “Take slow breaths. You’re hyperventilating.”

  No shit I was hyperventilating. I didn’t need any of the doctors to tell me I’d had a heart attack. Heart attacks sucked, and I discovered a new-found respect for Dr. Berriner’s work preventing me from suffering from one. “Let’s not do that again,” I choked out.

  “I need an honest answer from you. When was the last time you saw your bond?”

  I flinched. “Eighteen years ago.”

  “Judging from the strength of your reaction, there is zero chance your bond isn’t aware something happened. Do you have any contact information for her?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You’ve truly had no contact with her at all in eighteen years?”

  I struggled to control my breathing so I wouldn’t pant. When I could speak without gasping, I replied, “That’s correct.”

  Dr. Stanton’s jaw twitched, and she pulled out her phone, dialed, and held it to her ear. It impressed me she had reception in the hospital’s basement.

  “What the fuck were you thinking max-lining an elite-level talent? Are you out of your fucking mind?” she shrieked.

  Professionalism was such an odd beast, although watching my new doctor melt down amused me. She looked ready to shove her phone up someone’s ass. I presumed Dr. Berriner from her question.

  I wanted a front-row seat if she ever got her hands on him.

  Then what she’d said hit me hard enough I forgot how to breathe. “My what-level talent?”

  “You idiot!” Dr. Stanton howled before hanging up.

  Her phone took a short flight across the gymnasium and broke into several pieces. Dr. Potts and Dr. Fields sighed and gave the infuriated woman space. I considered crawling after them, as I wasn’t quite ready to try standing yet. Maybe if I played dead, I wouldn’t share her phone’s fate.

  “I apologize for her,” Dr. Fields whispered, taking a seat beside me and lifting my hand so he could press his fingers to my wrist. “She has almost as bad of a temper as Dr. Potts, and while he may look calm, he’s anything but. There are benefits to having a concentrated leeching talent. You’ll only throw your phone when your bond is upset, should your bond be nurtured.”

  Dr. Potts shrugged. “I dislike the type of risk your former physician took with your health. Fortunately, he had the foresight to contact Dr. Stanton. She has a lot of experience with cases like yours. Normally, she works with willful substance abusers or individuals who attempt to expand their low-ranked talents to new heights. It usually ends poorly for the addict, sometimes leading to nullification. Seeing someone’s talent actually develop under hexapentin is extremely unusual. Your medical file shows a gradual increase of dosage over a long period of time, something the desperate aren’t willing to do. The truly unusual thing is that long-term separation should have weakened your talent or made it dormant.”

  “Just my rotten luck,” I muttered.

  “There’s good news. You definitely qualify for suppressors, and thanks to the results of this evaluation, we can loan you a set that will minimize your discomfort. With your new ranking, you’re also entitled to be fast-tracked for a permanent set attuned to your leeching talent. If you do have other talents, they’ll be able to develop.”

  “I have a minor illumination talent. Enough to find the bathroom at night.”

  Dr. Potts snorted. “At a minimum, you have a mid-level illumination talent we’ll need to evaluate once you have a proper set of suppressors. You’ll need to undergo a full talent evaluation to identify any talents the hexapentin may have masked. It’s a three-week process done in the evenings, typically in three-hour sessions. If you’re done pacing, Dr. Stanton, when do you want him scheduled in?”

  My new doctor grabbed the broken body of her phone and flung it across the gymnasium. “Two weeks. It’ll take two weeks to get his attuned suppressors, because if I don’t have them in two weeks, someone dies.”

  “He can leave with a set today,” Dr. Fields soothed. “I’ll even take care of the paperwork if you agree to sign off on it.”

  “I’ll light the paperwork on fire and beat the suppliers with it.”

  “You’re going to make your patient concerned for his health.”

  I retrieved my phone, removed the SIM card, and offered it to Dr. Stanton. “It’s unlocked, and I need a new one anyway. If these suppressors will work, please. Use my phone. You can throw it, too, if you’d like.”

  Dr. Stanton accepted my offer, crossed the room, and sifted through the wreckage of her phone, and retrieved her card, which had somehow survived the abuse. She inhaled, dialed a number, and placed my phone to her ear. “Peter, I’m going to need a custom set of suppressors made. I have an elite leech a hack max-dosed with hexapentin. I can’t keep him on that prescription. Our generic suppressors gave him a heart attack during testing. Max is authorizing the loan of hospital suppressors until a custom set can be made. The hexapentin has lost its effectiveness, and he needs something stat.”

  She listened, then she sighed. “Unrequited bond, and he’s packing an elite-level talent despite eighteen years of separation. I’ll file a cruel and unusual punishment claim if my request isn’t approved. At the same time, I’ll file to have his talent burned out, and don’t think for a minute I won’t. I don’t care. Boo-hoo. Cry to someone else. An elite will be lost. So the fuck what? Get me a goddamned custom suppressor for an empathic leech, Peter!”

  I turned to Dr. Potts, as I wasn’t quite ready to annoy Dr. Stanton yet. “Is burning out my talent an option?”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind being an emotional vegetable for the rest of your life. She’s just cutting through the red-tape bullshit. The paperwork for filing a full nullification is three hundred pages.”

  “If she needs ammunition, I can fill it out. I’m not unconvinced being an emotional vegetable is a disadvantage.”

  “For you, it might be a mercy.”

  One thing remained: Veronica. Everything always circled back to her. “And for my bond?”

  “It would be traumatizing for her at best, and it’s likely she’ll come out damaged as a result. Your talent is too strong. In an ideal
situation, you’ll resolve your differences and find a way to maintain daily contact with your bond. It need not be a sexual relationship, although with a talent like yours, sexual relations are essentially inevitable.”

  I really, really couldn’t afford to think about Veronica anywhere near a bed. “That’s likely impossible.”

  “All I’m asking is for you to consider it. Give me your email address, and I’ll have a copy of the form sent to you. Once you return it unsigned, we can evaluate if burning out your talent is an option. The paperwork takes a month to process, and if your request is approved, there’s a mandatory six-month counseling period before the procedure is done. In your case, I believe in blunt honesty: it would be doctor-assisted suicide. There’s virtually no hope of survival with a talent of your strength.”

  Ouch. “And the chances of approval?”

  “Low. Honestly, it’s not because it wouldn’t be approved, but it would be very difficult to find someone with a strong enough talent to burn yours out. There are benefits to filing, however.”

  “What benefits?”

  “Therapy with some of the leading talent experts in the world is the big one. Once she cools her heels, Dr. Stanton will go over your options with you.”

  My phone took flight in our direction, and I caught it before it hit the floor. “We might be waiting a while for that.”

  Dr. Fields shook his head and snickered. “Pregnant women can be so much fun, especially when they have no idea they’re pregnant. I really hope I’m around when she finds out.”

  “She’s pregnant?” She didn’t look pregnant to me, and she looked old enough I hadn’t thought pregnancy a possibility.

  “She’s going to be very surprised.” Dr. Potts stood and dusted himself off. “It’ll be her fifth, and she was certain there wouldn’t be any more kids for her. We’re betting on a boy. She’s way too cranky for it to be a girl. She was kitten-sweet when pregnant with her two daughters.”

  “How do you even know?”

  “She only throws things when pregnant.”