Chapter One #2
He didn’t seem impressed, though why would he?
My understanding was that this squad had all Rank-S espers—the highest rank there was—so they would expect a comparable rank when it came to a guide.
If guides and espers had differing levels, they didn’t work as effectively together.
He made a soft sound, then moved on. “So, you’re willing to be our guide? ”
Willing felt like far too accepting a word. Forced to? Had no choice? Sure, those were accurate, but willing?
Technically, maybe.
“Yes,” I said instead of voicing the rest of it. “But I have some requirements. I don’t do any physical guiding.”
Ingram choked from the couch, as though something had lodged in his throat, then started to cough. When he finally caught his breath, I could have sworn I heard “Fucking pity” quietly from him.
“That means you’ll need to guide far more often, and you’ll get run down quicker. That seems like an absolutely terrible idea.”
I closed my hands into fists to keep my expression stoic. It wasn’t an unusual response to a rather unusual boundary.
Sure, some guides put limitations on the type of guiding they did—especially at first. They might say they wouldn’t kiss, wouldn’t engage in sexual acts, but few completely refused physical contact at all.
The natural draw between espers and guides meant even those rules, when made, rarely lasted long.
The process of guiding was made easier by physical contact, more so when fluids were involved.
Removing the corruption—twisted energy that accumulated inside an esper as they used their powers—had to happen.
Without that, the corruption would eventually overwhelm them and drive them mad, turning them into little more than crazed monsters themselves.
It meant espers needed guides to keep them sane.
“Those are my limits,” I repeated, my voice firm, unwilling to even suggest a softening.
Kenyon hadn’t spoken again, watching us, his gaze moving back and forth like a kid watching his parents fight. Ingram had lain back down, his interest waning at the realization that he wouldn’t be fucking me.
Fine by me.
The less interest any of them had in me, the better.
“That seems like a losing proposition for us. We get saddled with a guide who can only do a portion of the job?” Carter leaned back in his chair, his gaze hard even if his voice still sounded friendly and casual. “I mean, I get why you’re here. You’re out of options, aren’t you?”
I sat up straighter at that. Sure, I had a reputation, but I’d hoped it hadn’t gotten this far. This squad never attended meetings or functions, so how the hell would they know anything?
“You got kicked out of your last six squad assignments. In fact, I think the last one, you put an esper in the hospital for a week.”
I flinched as I recalled that day. The way his body had struck the ground, the heavy thud, the stares of others as they tried to work out what had just happened.
Me, a guide, had just put a Rank-S esper on his ass, flat out on the concrete floor.
It wasn’t something people saw, and sure enough, by the end of that day, I’d gotten a call from the Guild telling me my assignment had been pulled.
They’d been nice about it, of course. All ‘it just wasn’t a good fit,’ as though we were boyfriend and girlfriend getting let down easy.
I knew the truth, though.
They were afraid of me. It wasn’t the first time, but it had to be the last. If I screwed up again, if I found myself on the outs with another squad—well, I had nowhere else to go.
“That was confidential,” I muttered softly. I couldn’t exactly deny it, but they shouldn’t have known about it.
“Nothing in this world is confidential,” Carter pressed.
“And that isn’t the first time you’ve done that.
Seems the normal guide defense system is a bit supercharged for you.
Let me guess—the president told you this is your last stop, right?
This is it for you. If you can’t make it work here, they’re going to cut you loose. ”
“They can’t afford to lose guides,” I argued.
“Useful ones, sure, but you’re defective. You do more harm than good to the squads you’re assigned to. And that’s over the fact you can’t even do basic physical guiding, right? So what exactly is it you think you’re going to do for us?”
I closed my eyes for a moment. I didn’t want to show weakness, but better this, better to collect myself and start again than say something I couldn’t take back.
I’ve been through worse than this. Some shitty, low-grade squad isn’t going to make me feel inferior.
After my pep-talk, I met his gaze again. “You need a guide, and I’m here. Is there really anything else to talk about?”
“Sure there is. This, sweetheart, is called leverage. You need us, so don’t pretend like you’re holding all the cards.”
Just like that, all that control I’d told myself to exercise snapped.
Maybe it was his smirk, or the disinterest from Ingram, or the way Kenyon still watched us silently, or, fuck, maybe it was the stack of money tucked into my pocket, but I rose and slammed my palms against the desk.
“You want to talk about leverage? You might have looked into me, but don’t think you’re the only one who knows things.
You’re my last chance—you’re right. But I’m your last chance, too.
You’ve been fucking around for years, doing the bare minimum to keep your registration status.
You’ve probably run off every guide who steps foot in this place—and who can blame them?
Who would want to work with a bunch of fuckups?
My bet is that they assigned us together because we’re both on our last shot here.
So don’t you even try to talk about leverage or look down on me.
You need me just as much as I need you.” As my tirade wound down, as my words slowed and I realized just what the fuck I was saying, some of that bravado drifted away.
What if I pushed too hard? What if he kicked me out?
Espers were known for being proud—after all, they got their ego stroked from the moment they appeared, always told what good heroes they were, always coddled.
In my experience, they didn’t tolerate it well when people poked that belief.
A rough laugh left Carter, quiet at first, then growing as it went on. He wiped a finger beneath his eye, then leveled an amused smirk at me. “Well, well, well, who knew that the Blizzard had such a temper?”
His use of my not-at-all-fond nickname told me that, despite him acting like he knew nothing, he actually knew a hell of a lot.
“Enough games,” I snapped. “Do we have an understanding?”
He set his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, something in his expression warning me not to trust him. He might smile, he might laugh, he might act like my friend, but he sure as fuck wasn’t. “Sure, Blizzard. Welcome to the Reject Squad.”