Читать книгу Romancing The Crown: Drew and Samira: Her Lord Protector - Carla Cassidy - Страница 14

Chapter 8

Rose knew her aunt had waited up for her before she reached the top step. Strains of an aria from Carmen drifted out through the walls and door, and the window nearest the door glowed.

Damn. Rose wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about what had happened tonight. Not yet. She jabbed her key in the lock and twisted.

‘‘Couldn’t sleep?’’ she asked dryly as she closed the door behind her.

Gemma was curled up in the big green recliner reading a magazine. Her hair was braided for the night, as usual. The long braid hung over one shoulder of her powder-blue robe. She looked absurdly young. ‘‘I’m thinking of diversifying a little more,’’ she said placidly. ‘‘There’s an interesting article in the Economist about utility bonds.’’

Rose shook her head. Gemma sometimes had trouble with simple addition. She had no problem with esoteric economic principles, however, or investment strategy. Her portfolio wasn’t large, but it was as healthy as her herb garden. ‘‘Well, you can stay up and read if you like,’’ she said lightly. ‘‘I’m for bed.’’

‘‘That’s fine, dear,’’ Gemma said, putting the magazine down and uncoiling her legs. ‘‘I’ll make you some tea. Chamomile, I think. You’ll need a little help sleeping tonight.’’

Rose’s breath huffed out in exasperation. ‘‘How do you do that? I know darned good and well you aren’t reading my mind.’’

Gemma padded up to Rose and patted her cheek softly. ‘‘Cara mia, I know you. I don’t need telepathy to know when you’re hurting. Maybe valerian would be better than chamomile?’’

Abruptly Rose’s eyes stung. ‘‘Aunt Gemma, he’s an empath. A very strong, completely blocked empath.’’

‘‘Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry.’’ She blinked as her eyes, too, filled. ‘‘That poor boy. But he can’t be completely blocked, can he? I really don’t think he’s homicidal.’’

Her laugh was ragged. ‘‘No. No, Drew isn’t a sociopath. I exaggerated. His shields are thick and strong and utterly involuntary, but there must be some leakage I can’t detect. Maybe another empath could, if we could find a strong Water-Gifted who isn’t nutty.’’

‘‘There’s my cousin Pia…well, no, I suppose not. She’s strong, but…’’

‘‘Nutty,’’ Rose said wryly. ‘‘She’s blocked, too.’’

‘‘Her shields are voluntary,’’ Gemma said chidingly. ‘‘But I suppose she wouldn’t be very helpful. She doesn’t process what she receives well. There’s Cousin Gerald, too, but he only has a thimbleful of the Gift…and Gerald’s daughter is only seven, so I don’t think she…’’ Gemma sighed. ‘‘I’m not sure how much it would help to have another empath try to read Drew, anyway. He isn’t likely to cooperate. Unless he’s had some training?’’ she ended hopefully.

‘‘He’s completely unaware, from what I could tell. He doesn’t believe in psychic nonsense.’’

‘‘Still, you were able to get past his shields at some point. You must have, or you wouldn’t know he’s an empath.’’

‘‘His shield slipped.’’ She hugged herself, thinking of the split second when he’d been unshielded. He’d been kissing her…such a tiny slice of time to change her world so completely. ‘‘Just for a moment, it slipped. And scared him half out of his mind.’’

‘‘I’m sure it did, since he doesn’t believe in any of this. Though he can’t have been so completely blocked all of his life, surely. He seems to function very well.’’

Silence fell. Rose thought of all the ways an untrained empath could fail to ‘‘function well.’’ The Water-Gifted were in danger two ways—from the deluge of emotions their Gift exposed them to, and from blocking that Gift. It was impossible to predict what damage a blocked Gift would do, but Rose thought of it like water backed up in a dam. The results varied depending on where the dam was located, but one effect was inevitable: the conscious part of the blocked empath slowly dried up, becoming parched of emotion, while behind the dam the power built. And built. Until eventually no dam—no block—could hold it.

The solution was shields, not blocks—soft, layered shields that were flexible and porous, allowing some leakage. Shields the empath controlled. Shields that were acquired, learned, from childhood on.

Rose didn’t know an adult empath with Drew’s power who hadn’t been trained from childhood. Because without that training, they generally went insane.

‘‘There’s something…’’ A faint wrinkle formed in Gemma’s smooth, round forehead. ‘‘Something I can’t quite bring to mind. I read it a long time ago…’’

‘‘Something you read about Drew?’’

She nodded. ‘‘Not about any of his affairs or that woman he was engaged to. This was long before that.’’ She sighed. ‘‘Oh, well. I suppose it will come to me eventually.’’

‘‘He was engaged?’’ Rose asked, startled.

‘‘Oh, yes, years ago. It ended quite sadly—the poor thing wasn’t very stable, apparently. She tried to kill herself.’’

‘‘Dear God.’’

‘‘Of course, the tabloids printed a lot of nonsense about it. You know I don’t take the things they say seriously.’’

‘‘Of course not,’’ Rose murmured.

‘‘And it was all very one-sided, making Lord Andrew sound like a beast. I remember feeling sorry for him. It can’t be pleasant to be accused of driving your fiancée to attempt suicide—assuming, of course, he isn’t a beast, and I don’t think he is.’’

But she didn’t sound sure, and Rose knew why. ‘‘I’m going to wash and get into my nightgown,’’ she said abruptly.

Gemma patted her arm. ‘‘I’ll make your tea.’’

All evening Rose had been calling up everything she remembered of the lore as it applied to the Water-Gifted. It wasn’t encouraging. She creamed off her makeup and tried to be realistic.

Most people had a touch of empathy, just as many were brushed lightly by the other Gifts—dreams did sometimes come true, close friends or lovers sometimes knew what the other was thinking, and nurses, mothers and doctors often did bring comfort with a touch. In small doses, the Gifts were normal and human. They didn’t become troublesome until they reached a sort of critical point, when the Gift was too strong to remain unnoticed.

Empaths were the least stable of the Gifted when the Gift was strong, for obvious reasons. A strongly empathic baby didn’t distinguish between its feelings and those of others. It never developed much sense of self.

The Gifts didn’t usually show up in babies, of course. But an empathic toddler still suffered. Even the most loving of mothers had moments of anger, exhaustion, frustration, times when she just wanted her screaming or whining darling to shut up and go away. Such perfectly normal feelings didn’t damage most children, and actually helped civilize the little monsters. They learned that temper fits didn’t get them what they wanted.

An empathic child, however, felt its mother’s anger and knew itself to be the object of that anger. This didn’t make for a healthy child, or a healthy adult.

It all depends, Rose reminded herself as she slipped her nightgown over her head, on when Drew’s Gift first appeared. The more powerful the Gift, the earlier its arrival—that was the maxim. But sometimes a Gift didn’t manifest fully for years. Unfortunately her family’s lore was confusing, even contradictory in places, about why or how a Gift’s full strength might be delayed.

Gemma’s cousin made that point quite adequately. Poor Pia. She’d been identified as a Water-Gifted soon after she was born, thanks to Rose’s mother. Elenore Giaberti had been Fire-Gifted, like her daughter, and so able to touch the baby’s èssere.

The members of Pia’s family had done everything they could. It hadn’t been enough. Oh, Pia wasn’t damaged in the way an empathic baby in an unaware family might have been. But her Gift had been so strong. Pia had never been able to process the welter of emotions she received when unshielded, so she spent most of her life cut off from her Gift—with decidedly peculiar results. She was a gentle soul, mildly paranoid and convinced she talked to aliens.

But at least she’d been guided in developing her shields. Some empaths developed shields naturally. And those who shielded too completely, from too young an age, felt no connection with their fellow humans. They became sociopaths.

Drew’s Gift couldn’t have shown up when he was still a baby, Rose thought as she sat on her bed and began brushing out her hair. If it had, he wouldn’t have such a strong sense of self. And she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, believe he was sociopathic. She’d touched his èssere…

Her hand stilled, the brush, her hair, the room and everything else forgotten as she remembered. Such a tiny slice of time…

‘‘Here’s your tea, dear.’’

Rose stirred and put the brush down. She hadn’t even noticed Gemma come in. ‘‘Yes. Thank you.’’ The woodsy scent of chamomile soothed her. She took a sip.

‘‘What are you going to do?’’

She found a reassuring smile. ‘‘I’m a big, soggy, confused mess right now, but I’ll be all right.’’