Page 21 of Her Dreadful Will
Cold shock jolted through her, immobilizing her nerves, freezing every conscious thought except one.
This man had no volisphere.
None at all.
In this close proximity, with his face a breath from hers and his forearm nearly touching her breast, she should be able to sense his will, no matter how compact it was.
But all she could sense from him was that distant hum, like a strain of music too faint to hear—maddeningly soft, almost familiar but not quite.
When she was studying with the Institute, one of her teachers had emailed her privately to inquire about the limits of her ability. “Have you ever met anyone you could not control?” he had asked. Privately Soleil objected to the word “control,” but she responded politely to the email, explaining that every human had a conscious will, and she could sense and manipulate them all. No exceptions.
Until now.
“I think I’ve taken care of the problem,” said Dr. Gilliam. “You had a lot of buildup on that tooth, and the layers of plaque had accumulated a significant amount of staining, probably from coffee. Do you drink coffee?”
Soleil stared at him. “I—coffee? I mean yes, I do.”
“Of course you do.” He began cleaning the tool he had used. “I’ve removed the stained matter from the tooth. You also had a sliver of something wedged between the tooth and the gum—a piece of popcorn husk, maybe? That would explain the pain and swelling. It’s gone now, and any lingering inflammation should disappear in a day or so.”
He held out a small mirror, and Soleil inspected the inside of her mouth, frowning.
Could it really be that simple?
She pulled aside the flesh of her cheek and examined the tooth. It shone pale and healthy—no sign of disease or rot. And the gum around it looked nearly normal, with just a hint of redness.
She must have imagined the extent of the damage. Hallucinated it, or something. Maybe the failure of her recovery trance had resulted in some kind of crazed, exhausted delusion about rotting teeth. What if this man’s lack of volisphere had nothing to do withhim—what if the problem washer? Maybe she’d lost her powers through overuse. Was that possible?
“Miss.” The dentist touched her shoulder, just for a second, but she felt the contact like a brand—hissing heat against her skin. “Are you all right?”
Why was she so jumpy tonight?
“Yes.” She handed back the mirror. “I’m sorry. I guess it seemed worse than it was.”
He shrugged. “Many people have fears connected with their dental health. Nightmares about losing teeth are more common than you’d think. I like to keep those bad dreams from coming true. Now, about that paperwork.” He retrieved a clipboard from the counter, passing it over to Soleil along with a pen. “If you would fill that out for me, you can go home and get some rest.”
She bent over the papers, trying to focus solely on the simple facts she was supposed to write in the blanks.Forget about tooth rot, forget about failed recovery trances and the possible loss of your powers—The mere idea of losing her magic curdled her stomach with sick dread. Who was she without her mind-flex ability? What could she possibly be, if not a witch? The man she’d bought the mysterious ring from had seemed so lost, so miserable without his magic. Would she end up like him?
Somehow she managed to finish the paperwork. Whether her answers were coherent or legible, she had no idea. “Thank you again, Dr. Gilliam.” She rose, holding out the clipboard, and he turned from his computer to receive it.
His mask was tucked under his chin now, and she had a clear view of his face.
Oh hell.
Pale skin, finely cut features. His hair was different—flatter, more neatly combed—but there was no mistaking the angle of his jawline or that straight nose.
He was the young man from the sidewalk. The one she’d collided with as she fled from Mya’s house. The one she had left unconscious.
How many horrible shocks could one person endure in a night? Soleil’s brain thrummed, a tension headache knotting somewhere deep behind her left eye. She fought the urge to massage her temple.
The young dentist smiled, slow and warm, his green eyes twinkling. Did he think she was speechless because of his good looks?
“It was a pleasure to help you this evening, Soleil,” he said, with perfect pronunciation of her name.
“What do I owe you?” she retorted, more sharply than she intended.
“Nothing at all.”
In the glow of his smile, something treacherously girlish woke up and fluttered in Soleil’s chest. She sucked in a breath to quiet it. “That doesn’t seem right. I know there’s a co-pay or something.”
