Yep, that’s what she wanted.

The fact that she was pretty sure Thorne would simply open his arm and draw her close had the effect of once more closing up her throat and burning her eyes.

But as she stood beside the bed and folded on a pair of jeans and a soft red sweatshirt, she felt a familiar roiling sensation deep within her mind.

Oh, no, no, no.

“Thorne,” she cried out.

In the next split second, as the vision began to crash, he appeared in front of her. She held her head in her hands and strove to keep the vision at bay. “Help me.”

“Vision?”

She nodded.

“Tell me what to do,” he said, sinking down in front of her. He put his arms around her but she pushed him away, her own arms stiff. Tears began to stream down her face because the pain of holding back what felt like an entire ocean was overwhelming.

She listed sideways. She had to figure this out.

“Please, Marguerite, tell me what to do. What can I do?”

But she just shook her head. She couldn’t tell him because she had no idea what needed to be done.

He put his hands on her face and looked into her eyes. He held her gaze. She let herself fall into those wonderful hazel eyes—and suddenly he was inside her mind.

I’m here, he sent.

Yes. But her telepathy was barely a whisper.

I can feel the pain and I can see the vision. You’re holding it off but only by the strength of your will. There has to be a way to manage this, maybe if we worked together.

She couldn’t say anything. She just trembled.

He took her in his arms and held her. Enter my mind, he commanded.

It will hurt you.

Doesn’t matter. Do it.

Marguerite gave a push and suddenly she was inside his head, but this time she could tell that the vision remained outside.

She took a deep breath and slumped against him.

Better?

Oh, God, yes.

Good. Now let’s see if we can figure this out.

She took more deep breaths and suddenly a different kind of vision came to her, not of images but of knowing. All of this was about her obsidian flame power, including the crashing visions. The knowing whispered through her mind. This was her power, the one she didn’t want, but it was here, demanding her attention.

She stopped battling the truth, that whether she liked it or not, this damn power was here to stay. She sighed heavily against Thorne’s chest as he caressed her arms and her back then embraced her. Well, there were worse things that could happen to her than to have a warrior like Thorne holding her, keeping a vision from dominating her mind, and just anchoring her until she could figure things out.

She closed her eyes and while still inside Thorne’s mind, she let the truth of obsidian flame come to her.

Truth.

Her truth, no one else’s.

That she had carried the stripes that belonged to someone else, even when she was a child and her father had whipped her. She had borne the pain of someone else’s fear and loss and suffering.

She had felt Sister Quena’s whip so that others wouldn’t have to. She had done it willingly because her resistance to instruction had been the woman’s greatest frustration and Marguerite’s only weapon against her brutality.

But the result had been her own disconnection from others, a deep fear, even resentment of connection. She hated being touched or embraced by others. Only Thorne had been allowed in.

Yes, these were her truths.

Out of those truths came a singular understanding: She had to allow Thorne to breach the barrier of her obsidian flame power, to allow the connection, so that she could access that power.

Had she been avoiding this moment? Yes.

Would breaching this barrier alter her life forever? Probably.

Thorne? she sent.

Yes? How close he felt when she was in his mind while communicating telepathically.

I need you to do something for me but it’s not going to be pretty.

Anything, sweetheart. And this was the truth about Thorne: No matter what request she put in front of him, his answer would always be the same.

Maybe that’s what made this moment tolerable, maybe even possible.

I need you to pierce my obsidian flame power, to open it. And don’t ask me how I know this is what you need to do, I just know.

Okay. But … uh … how do I do that?

You need to follow me back into my mind then you need to dive very deep. Just dive and dive, go with your gut on this one, until you find my obsidian flame power. Then break it open. I can feel it pulsing and waiting. But you need to breach it in order to release it.

* * *

The evolution of powers among Second ascenders was always a mysterious experience. Thorne knew nothing about obsidian flame except that it had enormous potential, like splitting the atom, and now Marguerite had asked him to pierce hers, to open up her power.

This was no small thing—either that she had asked him to do it, or that he would be doing this for her. He valued that she trusted him, but what would the result be? More power?

Would she then draw even farther away from him, be more inclined to leave him, to live on her own, to pursue her own interests because now she would have more power?

The selfish part of him resisted, held back. To do this thing, should he even be able to do it, would change their relationship. He could feel it deep in his heart, in his soul, in his spirit.

Power always changed things.

But in his two thousand years of ascended life he had come to understand at least one thing: When a new power emerged, the best course to take was always to go with it, take it to its limits, explore every damn facet, and work it, work it hard. To do less would always leave the ascender open to the enemy. Always.

So he set aside his own self-interest and followed Marguerite’s instincts.

He pulled back and met her gaze, staring into those beautiful brown eyes. He took a deep breath. “Ready?” he asked. He was in tune with her instincts and he could tell this was going to be difficult, very difficult. When she had said “pierce,” she meant that some part of her obsidian flame power had to be cut open in order to be engaged.

“I’m ready. But as soon as I pull back into my own mind, do what you need to do as fast as you can because I won’t be able to hold the vision for long.”

“Got it.”

He felt her leave his mind but he followed in tight formation, right on her mental heels, and moved with her back into her mind. The vision loomed and he felt her pain as she once more expended the energy to keep the vision from crashing.

He closed his eyes in order to focus on his internal quest. As he took in the breadth of her mind, he saw the dark aperture. Just as she had told him, he dove into the tunnel, mentally moving as fast as he could

He flew down deep until the tunnel became very dark, obsidian black, no light escaping, But he pressed on. Her memories wanted to fly at him, from every angle, to drag him away from his purpose, memories that mostly looked like the Convent. Sometimes even his own image, his body moving over hers, would show up, but he ignored it all until from the blackness emerged a pinpoint of light that grew larger as he flew toward it.

He could hear Marguerite shrieking now but he somehow knew that it wasn’t the vision causing her pain; rather it was his journey, as though this flight down this long tunnel had hurt her. He could now see the sheath that needed to be pierced—and whatever her current pain, this would be infinitely worse, as though her obsidian flame power had needed to be cloaked until exactly this moment.

* * *

Marguerite had never known such pain. She felt as though Thorne had taken a flame torch with him and just burned her mind up as he went. The only advantage seemed to be that while he made this journey, the vision lumbered above her unable to crash down as it usually did, maybe because she was in such pain.

Hold on, came from deep within her mind. Uh-oh, this was about to get worse.

She grabbed Thorne’s arms and dug her nails in.

The penetration was ferocious, a blinding stab of pain that made her earlier shrieks sound like kitten meows. But his first effort wasn’t successful.

Oh, shit.

This shield is tough. I’m sorry, Marguerite, I’ve got to try again.

Just do it! She sank her nails harder, probably too hard, but Thorne held rock-steady.

This time when he punched, her arms spasmed, but at the same time she felt the barrier break apart. She also heard Thorne from deep within her mind holler, Holy shit. I’m on my way out. Look out.

This time, however, the pain was gone and in its place was a kind of euphoria she’d never known before, a rising stream of pleasure that rushed up through her mind and kept rushing until she saw stars and more stars, until she was looking at the universe above her, the entire galaxy spinning around and around.

She didn’t know how long it was before she came back to earth, or back into her body, or whatever this was exactly, but when she did she knew something had changed. The power she had always experienced as a Seer felt more rounded and complete, certainly bigger and stronger and just there, omnipresent.

She couldn’t yet see Thorne. She was too lost in the middle of the experience.

But she was aware enough to know that she still had hold of his arms and that he was rubbing her back very gently. Her hands were wet, but she didn’t know why. Her fingers even slid around.

So this was obsidian flame, the breadth of it. She tried to measure it but what she felt the most was how easily she now held the vision at bay—as though it had moved several feet from her and sat limp in the air, powerless to affect her anymore. From this time forward, no vision would ever again crash down on her.

She didn’t know if she should feel relieved. Certainly she had more control, but a corresponding thought sliced through her: What would be the price of such control? What would be left of her life now? Where would her precious freedom be?

Thorne, thank God, didn’t intrude on her thoughts; nor did he speak to her. He just continued his gentle touch on her arms, her shoulders, her back, soothing her, comforting her.

He was a good friend, tremendous support, an anchor. Who else could have done for her what she needed? Who but a warrior could understand that sometimes pain just had to be tolerated?