psychic shock

“Yeah,” I said. “Molly?”
She gave me a wild-eyed glance, shook her head once, then bowed it and closed her eyes, speaking in a low, repetitive whisper.
“What the hell?” Thomas said.
“She’s in psychic shock,” I said quietly.
“Never seen you in psychic shock,” my brother said.
“Different talents. I blow things up. Molly’s a sensitive, and getting more so,” I told him. “She’ll snap herself out of it, but she needs a minute.”
“Uh-huh,” Thomas said quietly. He stared intently at the shuddering young woman, his eyes shifting colors slightly, from deep grey to something paler.
“Hey,” I said to him. “Focus.”
He gave his head a little shake, his eyes gradually darkening again. “Right. Come on. Let’s get her a chair and some coffee and stop standing around in front of big glass windows making targets of ourselves.”
We did, dragging her into the bistro and to the table nearest the door, where Thomas could stand watching the darkness while I grabbed the girl some coffee from a dispenser, holding my hand on top of my silly head the whole while.
Molly got her act together within a couple of minutes after I sat down. It surprised me: Despite my casual words to Thomas, I hadn’t seen her that badly shaken up before. She grabbed at the coffee, shaking, and slurped some.
“Okay, grasshopper,” I said. “What happened?”
“I was on the way in,” she replied, her voice distant and oddly flat. “The security man. S-something killed him.” A hint of something desperate crept into her voice. “I f-felt him die. It was horrible.”
“What?” I asked her. “Give me some details to work with.”
Molly shook her head rapidly. “D-didn’t see. It was too fast. I sensed something moving behind me—m-maybe a footstep. Then there was a quiet sound and h-he died. . . .” Her breaths started coming rapidly again.
“Easy,” I told her, keeping my voice in the steady cadence I’d used when teaching her how to maintain self-control under stress. “Breathe. Focus. Remember who you are.”


Side Jobs, It's My Birthday Too, Page 77-78