“I am in control!” she screamed, as the arrow suddenly sprang into the air, dragging her halfway to her feet.

A cluster of small heads peered in the doorway, accompanied by a worried looking acolyte. “Take them outside,” Gertie said, hurrying forward and blocking the view with her body. “No class today. But I believe cook has prepared seed cake.”

The little initiates were easily bribed, and the door was shut again after them and locked this time. But it wasn’t going so well in here. The telepath’s hair had come down from its nice chignon, her lip was dripping blood from where she’d bitten it, and her eyes were wild.

But she was a bad ass bitch, and she wasn’t losing to this thing.

Quadruple her fee, I thought, as she dug in her heels, as she forced the arrow to the floor, as she got a knee on it and then slammed her hand down on top of it. “I am in control!”

And, suddenly, she was.

The change was immediate and obvious. Her eyes didn’t to return to their previous brown, but instead of slitted and furious, they were suddenly round and shocked. And darting everywhere, trying to follow whatever she was seeing.

I felt a little dizzy, and realized that I’d forgotten to breathe for a minute. I sucked in some air, took yet another cup of tea that Rhea was trying to press on me, and drank it down. It seemed to help, although I still felt guilty, like I’d passed my problem on to someone else.

But there was no question that the telepath was better at this than I was—by a lot. I couldn’t see what she currently was looking at, of course, but I could tell what she was doing. Although it seemed bizarre.

Most imprints were a one trick pony. You’d get a flash of something, often a few seconds’ worth only, like a psychic scream. It was usually the point at which someone’s mind became overwhelmed: when they saw their lover coming at them with a knife; when they found their friend’s body dangling from a noose; when a door opened to reveal a policeman with news they didn’t want to hear.

Once in a while, there might be a couple of imprints on an item, and even more rarely, three or four. But those were usually very old, family heirloom type of things, which might have been handed down for generations. A locket, for example, that had been worn by many women, or a jewel.

In fact, one of the reasons why many famous jewels gave people the creeps or got a reputation for being cursed was because they bore imprints, the kind that were strong enough, in some cases, to drive a sensitive person mad.