Chapter 10

Willow walked out to the car in a daze, unable to see or process the people around her. Her thoughts raced. She had to get out of the restaurant. She was so distracted by what had happened that she couldn’t block the thought-forms of the people around her. They pushed at her, begging her to examine them. If she hadn’t already promised Soroush she would go out with him, she would have been running the other way to think, to get some alone time with herself, at least for a few moments, and try to figure out what had happened.

That man she had met in the hallway by the bathrooms, he'd stolen her ability to function. He'd been so big, so… strong, so vibrant, like he was the splash of color in a black and white picture.

Short as she was, she knew she shouldn't like men as big as him, but she did. The bigger the better. The brawnier, the sexier. Give her a man who could lift her over his head with one hand, and she was done for. Not that she’d met any men like that. Seen a few on TV, yeah. She always made her mother watch every country’s strongest man competition with her. The baser the competition was, the more she loved it, like she enjoyed it more when they picked up boulders than when they flipped tractor tires… or tractors.

Men should be simple, even primitive. They should like to eat and to work and to have a cold beer in the evening. They should know how to hunt and dress an animal for dinner with their bear hands. They should like women, all women, and never, ever raise their voice to one. Willow liked intellectual discussions too, and philosophical ones, but she’d never met a man who could pull off both the brawny badass and the bookish brain. So she chose the muscles, every time.

That guy who’d just picked her up? She wouldn't have been able to span his bicep with both of her hands. The thought made her weak and tingly in several places on her body. He'd been tall and so broad he'd filled the entire hallway. With dark brown hair trimmed close to his skull and a neatly trimmed beard that framed his face in the most delicious way, he’d been gorgeous, and when he smiled, he had dimples, and they were lopsided. She sighed. Dimples. She loved dimples.

He'd picked her up and moved to the end of the hallway, then put her down and the whole experience had been half surreal, half-sexual, in her opinion, even though she had no experience with the latter. Her mother had always scolded her when she looked at boys and then men, even when she hadn’t been a teenager anymore. The angel, Lucinda would whisper if she saw Willow looking at a man. He won’t like you dating before he comes for you. You’ve gotta save yourself for him.

Willow passed out the door and went down the steps as if in a dream, barely noticing the textures under her feet. She was already five minutes late meeting Soroush, and she couldn’t quite get her mental legs under her enough to think what she should do about that, except hurry outside.

Soroush was there, next to a little dark car that took her breath away, it looked so expensive. “Hi,” she called, even though her thoughts were still heavy, hard to command. She took a deep breath and tried to corral the thoughts about the big guy she was so taken with.

Soroush turned to her and smiled back, and she couldn’t help but open herself, pull in some of the emotions and thought-forms swirling around him. His block was still there, but it was smaller and Willow knew how to get around it. He was thrilled to see her, but he still thought of that other woman every day, the one he’d come to ask about, and seeing Willow called up the other woman’s face in his mind. Willow could feel her name, could almost get it. Rose, Rosalind. Ronnie. Rogue, that was it.

Willow startled, stopping ten feet from her destination and staring at Soroush. The name in his mind made her remember where she knew that other woman from. She’d met Rogue in her restaurant, maybe a month ago, and had been immediately drawn to her. Rogue had been sharp, edgy, not afraid to speak her mind and Willow had been able to see that in her from across the room. Her thought-forms had been like daggers, slicing through the thought-forms of the people around her, like water through smoke. Willow had loved it. That's how she wanted to be. Decisive, strong, clever, and quick, but she knew her own speed was more sweet, kind, thoughtful, and responsive.

Willow pulled her energy into herself and eyed Soroush suspiciously. What exactly did he want with Rogue, and how was Willow connected to both of them? Something was going on and she wanted to know what.

She tapped back into Soroush’s thought-form. He thought of Rogue every day, missed her like mad, thought maybe he was in love with her a little bit, and also that he needed psychiatric help. He needed some kind of help, that was for sure. He was ruined, damaged, what was he doing? How could he even be considering taking Willow out on a date? She was so sweet, so fresh, and if she really was what he thought she might be, that complicated things so badly. But maybe he could help her, save her, make sure she found who needed her-

Willow frowned at the stream of thoughts, which rushed at her quickly, sharply, in a circuitous pattern, like Soroush’s mind was a racetrack and every thought made exactly three laps and then exited the track to be replaced by fresh thoughts, new connections.

Willow began walking forward again as Soroush pulled open the passenger door of his car for her. She sensed no danger toward Rogue or herself in the mature man in front of her, but that confliction she'd felt before was even stronger today, especially around his thoughts of Rogue. He wanted to find her to tell her something, something important.

Willow reached the car. Her palms tingled and she rubbed her hands together. Normally, life at the Honey Depot was routine, boring, but so many new things happening at once? Something was culminating, and there was no way she was backing down or running away. She was safe with this man, and she wanted to go with him, figure out what he had to do with her life. She’d looked up his name, Soroush, on the Internet and learned it meant angel in Persian. That had to mean something. She hadn’t dared tell her mother. Lucinda was all southern practicality and charm… unless the subject had anything to do with Willow’s future love life.

Soroush smiled at her. “Have you decided where you want to eat?”

She gave him a blank look because no, she hadn’t given it any thought. His handsome face fell and she wondered just how old he was. Fifty? A well-kept fifty-five? Or maybe he was younger and the silver hair and moustache made him look older than he was. Her first date ever, with a man close to twice her age. Her mother would freak.

He raised a hand to his forehead and hooked a thumb behind him, at the Honey Depot. “Genius. You own a restaurant, and the only date I can think to take you on is to another restaurant.” He shook his head. “That was stupid of me. Would you like to do something else?”

His hands move as he spoke, going from his forehead to his check then to his chest. Willow watched his fingers as they traced a diagonal slash down his chest very lightly. Thought-forms exploded around him, lapping his head again and again. She didn't leave him to his privacy. Instead, she examined a few. One of them was about a monster, a ten foot tall monster with glowing eyes and claws three inches long. From behind Soroush’s memory, Willow watched, as the monster hovered over Soroush and asked him a question Willow couldn't understand. When Soroush nodded slowly, painfully, the monster swiped his claws across Soroush's chest, marking him forever.

Willow couldn't see the marks, couldn’t see the blood that must be falling, but she could trace the three-dimensional energy that stood out from them, red and glaring in the shape of slashes from Soroush's left shoulder to below the right side of his bellybutton.

Soroush’s eyes narrowed and he stared at her, pulling her out of the memory.

He’d asked her a question. She scrambled, mentally, trying to remember what it had been. “No,” she said. “A restaurant is great. I never get to eat out. I like… Italian.” She eased into the low seat of the sports car and he popped the door shut behind her.

“Ok, there’s a great place close by,” he said into the open window, then he ran around the car and got in, giving Willow time to think.

Was he crazy? Did the monster in his mind represent something? Willow fastened her seatbelt and thought of things to talk about, to get him talking, so she could get to know him and figure out who exactly he was, what exactly was going on.

He started the car and pulled out onto the road, turning left. He cleared his throat a few times, awkwardly.

Her own mind rebelled, as she tried to think of how to draw him out, what to say to him. He rubbed his chest through his shirt, wiped his palm on his jeans, then rubbed it again. His awkward feelings grew so thick and immutable Willow began to choke on them, scrambling to put a block in place so she could function. It seemed that now that they were in the same car, headed somewhere together, his blocks were more like funnels, pushing his thoughts and feelings at her, driving out her ability to think and feel her own.

Willow dug at her seatbelt, pulling it away from her chest and neck, trying to breathe, but it didn’t help. She was drowning in his confliction, his racing thoughts. This had happened to her one other time in her life, as a young teen, her mother had taken her to a Vietnam War remembrance rally, and a man there, a crazy, completely-out-of-his-mind veteran of the war, thick in the throes of un-diagnosed PTSD, had taken an interest in Lucinda. His thoughts about the combat he’d slogged through for his country and the treatment he’d received by his compatriots when he’d gotten home circled round and round his body constantly, sucking young Willow in, scrambling her brains and her beliefs about who she was. Her mother had been on something and hadn’t noticed Willow’s distress, until Willow had started puking. Then they’d gotten away from the man and Willow had started practicing in earnest how to block people, especially people with strong minds and traumatic pasts.

Willow couldn’t get her blocks to function well. The car was too small, the man next to her too strong, her mind already too much in disarray. She had to distract him, make him pull back in on himself- either that or open the car door and jump out. Her hand scrambled for the door handle, even as her mouth spoke, asked a question. She had to listen to see what the question was. “Are you an angel?”

It worked. His thoughts pulled back on themselves, swirling tightly around his head, allowing Willow to catch her breath and concentrate her mental energy. When she had herself under control, she snuck a look at him.

He was staring out the front window, his eyes wide and glazed. He didn’t say anything for a long time. She took little sips of his thought-forms and emotions, trying to keep her own opinions out of what she was receiving. Impossible, but she still tried.

She knows. She’s testing me. The wolves are on to me. Impossible. She doesn’t know. She knows something, but doesn’t know what she knows. What am I doing? Do I want to be caught? Maybe. I’m ruined now anyway. Sitting in a jail cell might be better than working for him. But if I just don’t shift… maybe?

He put a hand to his head and she felt muted pain slash across her chest. She pushed it away, knowing it was his and not hers, not wanting to take it on or take it away. Also knowing he was about to lie to her, tell her what he thought she wanted to hear. And what she saw in his mind made even less sense than him being an angel.

The tremor in his voice broadcasted the lie as much as the thoughts in his head did.

“I’m not an angel, I'm a wolf.”