Reverse telepathy

“Wait,” he pleaded, daring to catch her gaze. In so doing, Ghorm could stretch a moment into half a year. It was his gift, to hold his victims still while he whispered poison into their minds. Their stares fused. True, this moment would pass no faster or slower for Mr. Saxby, but Ghorm still had a chance. He could hold her hostage to time and plead his case, whittle her down with bargains and assurances.
The words flowed from his mind, modulated low and sweet, honeyed promises that he would not only spare the girl, but protect her—he could provide names of those who meant her harm and enlist defenses for her that Erynis could only dream of. But wait! There was more: she was the victim of a conspiracy, after all, a pawn in a war among deva, and if Erynis vowed to spare his life, he’d spill secrets, bind his will to whatever the monster desired. He said all these words, said them elegantly, in the time it took to blink.
“What is my name?” Her voice was deadly and thin. She’d seized control, ignoring the way he teased the seconds longer, and spoke with words, not thoughts.
“Why, it is Erynis,” he said, mild as milk.
“No.” Her fingernails fanned, each glinting with unnatural light, sharper than a mother’s scorn. “What am I called?”
He tried again to hold her gaze, but time marched onward, steady as the beads of cold sweat trickling down his plump throat. “They— They say many things about you that are plainly false, else you’d—”


Chapter 17, Page 264