Like most doors in the Haven, it had an electronic lock. She had watched the Elite hold their coms up to the locks to open them; apparently the locks were programmed to check security clearance before admitting someone. David did the same, and the red light on the lock changed to green.
Whatever she was expecting from the room, what she found wasn’t it. Peering in she saw nothing but two armchairs, just like the ones near the fireplace in his room, but there was no hearth here; in fact aside from the chairs there was no furniture at all, and the floor was bare of rugs. There were no windows and only the one door, no decoration of any kind.
When she crossed the threshold, her knees almost buckled. It felt like walking through a wall of water; for a second she couldn’t breathe as power engulfed her, pushing at her nonexistent boundaries like a living thing trying to learn her shape.
She started to fight against it, but something dragged her forward—David’s hand.
On the other side of the threshold, the air felt normal, if a little too clear. Looking back at the doorway it almost seemed there was a veil of . . . not light, but diffusion, again like water.
“It’s a shield,” she realized. “I’ve never seen anything so powerful.”
He nodded and gestured for her to take a chair. “This is a protected room devoted to psychic training. There are several in the Haven, but this one belongs only to me. Primes have used it for centuries, so the walls are imbued with energy that keeps out unwanted influences and keeps in whatever we do here. That way if you lose control, no one outside this room will be hurt, and no one can attack you while you’re vulnerable.”
“Why are we working in here this time instead of in the suite?”
“Last time was all groundwork. This time, I’m going to lower your shield, and you’re going to rebuild it. If we tried that in the suite, you would have every mind in the Haven running through yours.”
“A hundred vampires in my head,” Miranda said, feeling cold. “Bad idea.”
“Precisely.”
They settled into their chairs. David looked to his left, and the lights dimmed slightly, mimicking the soft ambience of candlelight. There were no candles—no open flames, no lamps that could be knocked over, nothing to break or explode. She wondered if he had learned to work his telekinesis in a room like this.
She still hadn’t decided whether it was weirder that he was a vampire or that he could move things with his mind.
Actually the weird thing was that she now had a relativity scale for weirdness, and that just being a vampire wasn’t automatically at the upper limit of that scale.
“Let’s begin,” he said. “Ground.”
She did so, first slowing her breath, then connecting her energy to the earth beneath her, following the movement of inhalation and exhalation with her awareness. The world slowed down, and the agitation she was starting to feel about facing another lesson grew still, not disappearing, but no longer grasping at the limelight.
“Very good,” David told her, warm approval in his voice.
She smiled in spite of herself. “I’ve been practicing.”
“All right. Now, keep your breathing steady, and try not to clench your energy. Act as though you’re still totally shielded and remember, in this space you’re safe.”
She nodded and did her best to stay calm. She was familiar enough with energy now that she could essentially see what he was doing: He parted the barrier around her mind like a curtain and drew it back, leaving her completely unshielded for the first time since she’d come here.
Panic seized her. There were no voices, no marauding emotions from outside, but it felt so . . . exposed. She tried to keep her ground, but she was a rodent in the middle of an open field with hawks circling overhead; the vastness of the sky and the need to hide were overwhelming.
“Put it back,” she moaned, clapping her hands over her ears. “I can’t. I can’t.”
“Breathe, Miranda. In and out. Come back to your breath. There’s nothing here that will harm you. I won’t allow it. You know that.”
“No, no . . . please . . . it’s too much. Put it back!”
A note of hysteria entered her voice. For two weeks she’d had the comfort of his power standing between her and the madness, but now it was just her will, and she knew it wasn’t strong enough. She’d never been strong enough. Just like her mother . . .
“You can do it. Listen to me, Miranda. You can.”
“I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”
The protected room wasn’t enough. Any second now the walls would fall and the voices would pour into her, and that would be the end of it—she’d go mad, she’d die, and never have that precious silence again—
Heart racing, gasping for breath as if she were drowning, she flailed in her chair, panic so thick and black around her that she could no longer hear anything, or see, and there was nothing left but screaming.
She came back to herself slowly, barely even aware that she was once again shielded and no longer cold.
For a moment she kept her eyes shut, listening. There was a drum beating against her ear, and everything else was so quiet . . . she clung to the tentative peace jealously for as long as it lasted before awareness crept back in.
She blinked and tried to make sense of her surroundings. She was still in the training room, but everything seemed very tall all of a sudden, and the chair was hard beneath her butt.
Floor. Not chair.
Miranda moved her hand over smooth fabric, squeezing slightly, feeling muscle beneath. There was an arm around her. She was leaning into someone’s shoulder.
She drew back and looked into his stormy blue eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely.
One of his hands was in her hair, toying with a few strands. “You have to do this,” he said to her softly. “You can’t stay here forever.”
“Are you sure?” she kidded wearily.
Something passed through his eyes, and he sighed. “I’m sure.” The hand moved down to her arm, then lifted to brush a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “No one can save you except you, Miranda.”
“You saved me once.”
He smiled briefly. “No, I didn’t. I only brought you in out of the rain.”
“But what if . . . what if I learn how to do this, and I get better, and I go back to Austin, and . . .”
“There’s no way to know the future except to step into it. But I promise you, I won’t let you go until I’m sure you’ll be safe.”
She laid her head back on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Don’t let go yet.”