Chapter 29 Ungrateful.

Chapter 29: 29 Ungrateful.

"Nope! Anybody else, I could just peel their minds like an orange. But not you. I don’t know anything about you. I can’t crack you. Do you have any idea how bored I am?"

"You? Bored?" I actually snorted. "I can’t imagine you lack for entertainment."

She giggled, picking up a steak knife and twirling it, which instantly put me on guard.

I had a feeling Psyren and sharp objects rarely mixed well. "Mmm. That’s true," she said.

"But playing with people can get so dull, you know?" She made a careless gesture about the room and the guests within it. "Give me an hour or so, and I could make every one of these people jump onto the tables and start dancing, and they couldn’t help themselves. I could make them do anything for me."

I leaned back a bit. "Anything?"

She nibbled on the tip of the knife, her eyes lidded, her smile coy but radiating something that made the bracers on my arms clink with my instinct to deploy them against danger. "Anything,"

she breathed. "I can make a man absolutely adore me. Obsess over me. Be addicted to even being close to me. I could make him think only about me. Be less than a slave. A worshipper. Love is child’s play. And you know?"

"What?" I said, my voice tight.

"Sometimes, I don’t even know if I’m doing it."

Well, that had to be one of the most fucking terrifying things I’d ever heard. "You don’t?" I said.

She giggled again, a wistful expression on her face. "Nope," she said, popping the syllable. "I tried dating and stuff, but how much of their feelings are their own and not my powers? That’s the trick, bossman.

After a bit, every guy and girl starts getting drawn to me. Even when I try not to use my powers. But maybe I’m doing it subconsciously?

Maybe the longer anyone spends around me, the less they are themselves and more just little puppets I move around? Tweaked and influenced by my mind. Enthralled and dominated without me even being aware of it.

"I once dated a guy who was real nice," she said wistfully. "Just got into college, ya know? He seemed cute, and I was bored, so I thought I’d try it long term. No powers at all. And we got along greeeat.

He was super fun. But you know? After a bit, he started to just... do things for me. He’d cook me dinner that was exactly the sort of food I’d been craving.

I’d be thinking about a movie I’d watched a long time ago and he’d just ’happen’ to find it online. Or I’d think about how my feet were aching, and just like that he’d be there to give me a foot massage."

"Well, that does happen to regular people too. When people spend time together, they get on the same wavelength," I said, but I could hear the doubt in my voice. Psyren could too, to judge by her smirk.

"You really think that?" she said.

I shrugged. "Maybe." It was still just an hypothesis.

"But that’s the thing," she said, suddenly flipping around the knife, stabbing it into the table.

She stood up, pressing on the knife’s handle, digging it into the wood as she leaned in towards me, the pink hearts in her eyes throbbing. "I can’t do it with you. I can’t even feel your mind. It’s like trying to watch an old tv tuned to a dead channel. I’m getting nothing but static.

"And that makes me want to know," she said, practically crawling onto my lap. "I want to know everything about you. I want to find out what makes you tick, boss. But it’s like watching a tv show.

You gotta wait until next week to get the next hint. And I wanna see how it’s all gonna come together. I’ve been so bored. But you?" She giggled, and the manic sound of that laugh told me I was in for a hell of a time with her. "You’re gonna be so much fun.

"So don’t you worry," she said, easing back, the mad light slowly fading in her eyes, returning to the indolent smokiness of lazy amusement. "I’ll be a good girl as long as you tell me to.

I’ll do whatever you say. And if you let me show off some of my powers, I’ll be the best bad girl you’ve ever seen. And I’ll be waiting. Waiting to see if you really are immune to me. Or..."

"Or?" I said.

She smiled wickedly. Hungrily. "Or if you’re not, and in the end you become just another of my fawning toys."

Well, she’d certainly given me a lot to think about.

I could feel my heart drumming with adrenaline and fear and forced it down. Because for all the terror I felt at the psychotic psychic’s confession, I also felt a little sad for her.

Academically, I knew psychics never got a shot at a ’normal’ life, though how normal anyone’s with powers could be was up for debate.

But even among them, Psyren was a whole new world of crazy. Whatever she was, it wasn’t her fault. She’d been dealt a rough hand, and if I could help make it better, fuck it. Why wouldn’t I?

But it was beyond time to change the subject. I’d had enough crazy for one night.

"Okay," I said, clasping my hands before me, giving her a level look. "Then let’s talk about you being a villain."

"I’m all ears," she said, tapping her headphones.

"Yeah, let’s uh, keep those on," I said.

"Anything you say," she said with another wink.

Ooookay. "Right," I said. "So, obviously we won’t be hitting the mind control angle for your villainy," I said. "At least, not to... you know, the scale of what you were talking about."

"I am really good at it," she said.

"Yeah, I got that," I said. "But we’re going to go with something maybe a bit less horrifying to the average person. Do you have any telekinetic powers?"

Psyren picked up a spoon, holding it in front of her. "You tell me?" she said as the lights in her eyes pulsed, the air humming, the metal bending, twisting into a knot.

"Not bad," I said, nodding slowly. "Anything thicker?"

She frowned. "Well... not really. The heavier or bigger the thing, the harder to manipulate. Fat guys have always been annoying like that."

"How about illusions? Can you manage that?"

"Sure. That’s easy stuff," she said, perking up again. "I can make people see anything I want them to, as long as I have a bit of time to get in the head. I did half the special effects of my concerts."

"Really? I didn’t see any."

"Duh," Psyren said, leaning forward and tapping my forehead.

Oh, right.

"Good. Nice," I said, brushing away her hand, a plan starting to come together. "Okay. Here’s how I think we’ll angle it. You’re going to be a low-level telepath. An illusionist.

Your powers are going to be mainly flashy. Making people see things. It’s got all the proper trademarks of villain without also painting a target on your back."

Psyren raised a brow. "You think so?"

"I know so. If we make sure people think you’re weaker than you are, you’ll get a lot more leeway, and much less dangerous attention."

Psyren nodded slowly. "Hmmm. I guess that could work," she said. "Is that why you don’t show off how strong you really are?"

"It has its uses," I admitted.

"I bet," she said, licking her lips like she’d just gotten something juicy to chew on.

"That said," I added. "We might be able to work in some brainwashing."

Psyren perked up. "For real?" she gasped. "For really really real?"

"None of that stuff you were doing before," I pointed out quickly. "I’m talking about zombie style. Glassy eyes, drooling, little more than robots doing your bidding and snapping out of it as soon as you’re incapacitated.

If people just think they go into a trance when you use your powers, they won’t feel so violated and horrified. Hell," I mused. "You’ll probably get an entire fetish community looking to be a victim of your heist."

"Huh," Psyren said, head cocked musingly. "Never thought of all that."

I nodded. "People are willing to tolerate that kind of power. And if they think that’s the limit of what you can do, they won’t assume you’ll be rewiring their brains.

Which you won’t be doing, by the way," I added pointedly. "I wasn’t kidding when I said you pull that kind of shit and we’re through."

"Whatever you say, boss," Psyren giggled, squirming in her seat, wrists and hands squeezed between her thighs as if to stifle her excitement. "Ohhhh, this is gonna be so much fun!"

"It can be," I said. "But we’re also going to need to do some extra work. I doubt you can deflect bullets or things with your powers, but with some practice we can probably figure out something.

If you can read general intent, you can probably spot a streeter or whatever trying to blindside you. We’ll work in some practice once I’m done with Glacia. Now, what about limits to your powers? Is there anything that blocks or interferes with it?"

"Lead," she said. "And tinfoil."

"Tinfoil?" I said dubiously.

"I know, right?" she said. "Who knew the conspiracy dudes were onto something? And I guess electrical fields can mess with me. A fan once came at me with a tazer and it gave me a real headache."

"He came at you?"

"Until Arman’s boys put him down," Psyren said.

"Did that happen often?" I said.

"What can I say?" she said with another lazy shrug, arms up, head tilted back like some icon on a poster. "People just get obsessed with me."

I could well imagine. If she really was subconsciously influencing people, anyone who spent overlong with her or obsessing over her would probably have been driven crazy.

And it also explained why Steve was pushing his sister onto me—he was just doing whatever she wanted regardless of how weird it was.

And why he got her working with the Arminian. Only the owner of the Death Rumble would have been able to provide her with the anonymity and security she clearly needed.

But now, instead of a billionaire media mogul and his back-alley connections, it was all up to me.

Some guy who transmigrated, drove a Toyota Corolla and had the powers of a fridge magnet. I wondered why Arman had let her go? Then wondered if he had a choice.

Then I wondered what Psyren’s hand was doing on my leg? And more pertinently, where it was going?

I sucked in a breath as I felt her brush my cock.

I shot her a look, and the hearts in her eyes pulsed even brighter, her smile deepening. I didn’t need psychic powers to know what she was looking for.

"You..." I began.

"Do I get a reward, boss?"

"A reward?"

"Yeah," she said, scooting closer, leaning against my arm again as her hand stroked my manhood through my pants. "For lending a hand?"

I grunted. But... well, things might have gone south with Red Death but for her help. And it would be a shame to be called ungrateful...