Page 46 of Primal Mirror
“Oh?” Charisma’s eyes sharpened. “Did you have a seizure?”
“That,” Auden said with cold precision, “is none of your concern, Ris.”
Never in all her existence, had Auden referred to Charisma as Ris. It had been her mother who’d done that, the two of them having worked together since Shoshanna’s first company.
Charisma was also the only one who’d been permitted to shorten her mother’s name to Shanna—though that had changed as Shoshanna grew in power, the informality strictly one-sided.
Charisma sucked in air, her pupils expanding. “Sir,” she whispered, with the slightest bow of her head, and that whisper…it held a kind of awe that didn’t make sense.
Gut twisting, Auden said nothing else, and kept her face emotionless—that, too, came easier than it should have. It wasn’t that she was unused to wearing masks. She’d been wearing one from the moment she first became aware that as a psychometric, her Silence would never reach the level of her father’s or mother’s.
But this mask, it was different. Not just pretending true Silence, but having to use no effort to do so. As if this was her reality. So much so that she wasn’t sure she could take the mask off. Her hand twitched, wanting to reach for the food carrier she’d left in the cabin, break the cycle of her thoughts with a violent surge of imprints brimming with emotion warm and happy.
“I’ll leave you here, sir,” Charisma said, once they reached the building that held their private medical facilities, her tone eerily subservient.
Auden gave a clipped nod that felt so natural it scared her.
When she walked into the doctor’s office moments later, she felt zero surprise to find him watchful in a way he’d never before been. No doubt Charisma had telepathed him, warned him—about what, Auden wasn’t sure. But he didn’t give her any orders or just take her arm as he usually did.
Instead, he spoke with utmost politeness as he said, “If you’d follow me to the examination room and take a seat on the chair, we can collect your vitals. It’s critical to keep an eye on all factors as you come closer to birthing the fetus.”
“That’s why I’m here,” she said in a crisp tone as they walked into the examination room. “It’s possible I had a seizure while in the air piloting the chopper.”
“That’s indeed a cause for serious concern.” He set her up in the examination chair that had only ever been used for Auden, after being produced when she was a young teenager and being left fallow for years so any remaining imprints on it could fade.
Once she was in the chair that monitored far too many parameters of her body, the doctor examined the feed on his screens. “I’m seeing elevated levels of adrenaline, cortisol, and other indicators of stress.”
“I’m concerned about the pregnancy,” Auden said, shaping her words to echo the doctor’s coldness.
“I assumed as much. Such physical responses are impossible to control no matter how good our Silence.” He peered closer at the screen. “There are a few other minor fluctuations, but nothing important. We’ll have to do a neural scan.”
Chapter 19
None of Henry’s biological material survived his death, and the other male members of his family are unsuitable for psychic reasons I’ve outlined below. I’m afraid we’ll have to widen the search.
—Message from Charisma Wai to Shoshanna Scott (14 June 2082)
AUDEN HATED THIS. Doctors playing with her brain was how she’d ended up brain damaged. But for now, it appeared Dr. Verhoeven would do exactly as Auden decreed. “Nothing invasive,” she ordered. “The pregnancy is too far along to take any kind of risk.”
“Yes, of course. I would never put your well-being in jeopardy, sir.” With that strange remark that focused on Auden and not the baby he’d been obsessed with to date, Dr. Verhoeven fitted a helmet of fine mesh over her head, then connected it to the scanner as well as the secondary scanner that would confirm his findings. “Shall I proceed?”
Hands curled lightly around the ends of the chair arms, and kept lax through sheer effort of will, Auden gave another one of those curt nods that were coming without effort. And though she believed the doctor would do as he’d said and not attempt an invasive procedure, she still had to clench her stomach when he began the scan.
From the outside, she knew it looked like blue-green fire dancing through the strands of the mesh, a strange beauty.
“Please recite the alphabet,” the doctor said. “Then numerals from one to a hundred.”
Auden was familiar with this part of the process—it was the way they’d calibrated the machines so that her readings could be judged against the same metric over time. The letters, then numbers emerged in a smooth progression.
“Excellent.” The doctor looked about as excited as a man who’d spent seven decades in Silence could look, his florid face patchy and hot. “The increase in neural activity is remarkable. Almost ninety-five percent of the previously dead spots are once again active.”
Dead spots.
Scars.
Put inside her by her parents.
If Auden had once known the graft’s intended purpose, she’d lost access to that information during her blank years. She had, however, picked up hints since her mind began to work properly again. “Stretching” had been one term she’d heard the doctor mutter in relation to the procedure, and on its own, the word made no sense when related to the brain.