“No!” I try to scream, but there’s no way to scream when you’re exiting a vision—which is what just happened.
I find myself sitting on my meditation cushion, back in Nero’s metal cage.
“Your what?” I shout, but to no avail.
He could’ve been about to say “your friend” or “your mother” or “your unborn child.”
I punch the cushion beneath me in frustration.
That was clearly an important warning.
Plus, I had so many more questions.
Did Darian know my father?
If so, did he also know my mother?
I launch to my feet and start pacing from metal wall to metal wall.
Why did the conversation end so abruptly? Did Darian lie when he said it couldn’t be ended by him without my consent, or did one of us run out of seer juice after all?
If it’s the latter, I hope it wasn’t me, or if it was me, I hope I recover soon so that I can practice my powers, as he advised.
Not that I need that advice. I was going to practice my powers in any case.
Something tells me it wasn’t me who ran out of power. I had that multi-hour vision about playing video games with Felix and recovered in a few days. Our conversation lasted a few minutes at the most.
Unless those conversations use more power than visions do.
I stop pacing.
I need to calm down and try to go into Headspace again.
If it works, it probably means Darian ran out of power.
Does this mean I’m more powerful?
No.
Like I surmised before, he could’ve had a long vision recently and was running low on juice when he got my call.
I catch myself pacing again and stop next to the screen with Nero’s digital countdown.
I’ve only completed an hour of my eight-hour allotment.
Any hope of relaxation bursts when I realize how cooped up I’m already feeling.
I pull out my phone to check on my emails.
At first, it seems that I have none, but then I see it.
No cell connectivity or Wi-Fi.
Now this is just cruel, even for Nero.
Am I supposed to be like some modern-day Robinson Crusoe, stuck on this uninhabited island without internet access? Actually, I’m more of an Edmond Dantès—put in a horrific prison by a traitorous enemy.
I take a deep breath.
I have to seriously figure out a way to calm down.
Then I recall that Nero left me some comforts that Count Monte Cristo lacked in his cell at Château d’If.
Going into the bathroom, I turn on the faucet for the shiny new Jacuzzi.
Leaving the hot water to pour, I navigate my way into the kitchen and fix myself a gourmet snack.
Impossibly, the escargot is even better than it looks.
Did Nero’s private chef make this?
I go for seconds, then thirds.
Hmm. I’ll have to watch my weight if I stay in this room for eight hours every day. With food this yummy and no place to exercise, I might easily balloon out of control.
Done with food, I head back into the bathroom. The water in the Jacuzzi is just right, so I close the door, pray Nero isn’t watching, and take off my clothes.
The jets in the tub are almost as good as a massage therapist, and I soon find myself relaxing, especially when the food coma arrives.
Once I’m good and pruney, I gingerly leave the tub and dry off.
Now I’m ready to meditate.
I assume the position and start the breathing.
Soon after, I find myself in Headspace.
I float among the shapes, musing.
Seems like I had some seer power still in the tank.
I sense my surroundings as though for the first time.
This is a place.
A location.
If any seer, anywhere in the multitude of Otherlands, is currently trying to get a vision, they’re here somewhere, also surrounded by shapes not unlike these ones.
Could I meet one by chance?
How big is Headspace?
If my intuition is right, Headspace might be vast—a whole universe size or larger, making a chance meeting unlikely.
Which is probably for the best, given what Darian told me.
I wonder… could I chat with him again so soon?
Thinking about Darian makes me recall the happy look on the face of Sasha from the strange future—a future where she seems to care for Darian.
I refuse to think I would’ve ended up in that position otherwise—pun intended.
Do I want that future?
The shapes around me change as I ponder this question, but Darian doesn’t show up.
Well, I didn’t expect him to. Clearly, he’s the one who ran out of mojo.
Suddenly, an idea occurs to me.
My biological father is a seer.
Could I call him in Headspace?
Pulsing with excitement, I think the word “father” over and over to myself.
Nothing happens.
Crap.
I might need to evoke his essence, whatever that is—which might be tricky to do, given that I know nothing about him.
“Grigori Rasputin,” I think over and over.
No luck.
I try to recall everything I’ve read about the man.
Zilch.
I dwell on fictional accounts, like his villainous roles in the Anastasia cartoon and the Hellboy franchise.
This time, I’m glad it doesn’t work. If his essence were anything like those fictional depictions, I’m not sure I’d want to meet him.
When I tire of futilely summoning my biological father, I contemplate using the same method to summon my biological mother—assuming she’s also a seer.
I try my best, but it doesn’t yield any fruit.
Then something occurs to me.
I shouldn’t “Headspace call” important people like Rasputin when my powers are as drained as they are; else what happened to Darian will happen to me.
If I want to practice my powers today, I think I’d better focus on the concept of leaving Headspace that Darian mentioned.
Right.
That might let me leave and come back here over and over, until I learn to activate visions as smoothly as Darian did in his memory.
If I had lungs, I would sigh.
All I now need is to touch myself.