Page 78 of It takes a Psychic

She tightened her grip on his shoulder and plunged into themaelstrom of fierce, sparking energy, seeking the strong, steady vibe at the heart of the storm. It had to be there—otherwise Oliver would have been lost by now.

She eased into the chaos in much the same way that she and Oliver had made their way through the towers of unstable artifacts and junk at Thacker’s mansion, searching for the yellow brick road that marked the path to the center…

…and there it was. The currents that anchored his sanity were still strong but they could not hold out for much longer. She focused, trying to offer additional strength. It was the first time she had ever attempted such a tactic, but it was not unlike de-rezzing a complicated psi-lock.

Oliver seized on the lifeline she had tossed to him with such shocking strength that she almost fell into the chaos herself. Without warning, he took control. His energy field snapped back to full force, threatening to overwhelm her.

“Shit,” she whispered.

She had never experienced anything like the sensation. The termpsychic vampirecame to mind. It was not a reassuring image. She reminded herself that Oliver was in the process of recovering from a near-coma and, quite possibly, a near-death experience. He was not trying to take control of her senses. He was a man coming back to the surface and gasping for air.

In the brief moment of panic, she fought the urge to fight back. If she did resist, she might accidentally flatline him the way she had the dangerous little bowl a moment ago.

Frantically she retreated, going full-dark with her talent in an attempt to sever the connection. The technique worked. She was suddenly free.

Oliver’s hands unclenched. He opened his eyes, no longer a man trapped in hell. “Thought I told you to run.”

“I’ll get right on that.” She stumbled to her feet and reached down tohelp him off the floor. “But you’re coming with me. We both need to get away from this inn tonight.”

He ignored the hand she offered, which was probably for the best because he was a lot bigger than she was and might have pulled her down to the floor. He got to his feet unsteadily but under his own power and looked around as if reorienting himself. For a second or two she worried that he would lose his balance, but he stayed upright.

“Flamers,” he said. “We’re not leaving without them.”

“I’ve got mine.” She patted the messenger bag still slung across her body. “Yours is in your messenger bag, remember?”

He shook his head, as if to clear it, and then appeared to realize he had his bag, too. “Right.” He spotted his glasses on the floor and grabbed them. “Let’s go.”

“Right.”

She went to the open door and started down the hall, heading for the emergency stairs at the back of the inn. She stopped when she realized Oliver was not following. She looked back and saw that he was rubbing his forehead with one hand.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Yeah. Fine.” He lowered his hand. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“No wonder. What about your senses?”

“Burned. I need some sleep.”

He was beyond tired, she realized. More like exhausted. She had to get him to a safe place so that he could recover.

“Give me your locator,” she ordered.

He blinked. “Why?”

“I don’t think we’re safe anywhere here in town. Our best bet is to disappear into the Underworld for a while. Starkey gave you the coordinates to the cave. He said there was a way down into the tunnels from there.”

“I should have thought of that,” he muttered.

He sounded thoroughly annoyed with himself. She understood.

“You’re not operating at full-rez,” she said. “You need time. Give me the locator.”

He took the device off his belt and handed it to her. In spite of his exhaustion, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Did I ever tell you I’ve got a thing for strong, take-charge women?”

“Don’t worry. In my experience, men with that particular issue always change their minds after a few dates with me.”

“And then what?”

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