Page 91 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

“I’m a freak.” She collapsed back on the bed, shoving a pillow over her face to hide the burning sensation of shame. “You ever walk into a room where everyone goes quiet? Not because they’re interested, but because they’re uncomfortable?”

“Yes. All the time. I ignore it.”

“Of course you do, you’re the captain.” And he had a presence that made her stomach flutter and her breathing shift every single time.

She pushed the pillow back, like a mask over her eyes. “I’d make friends at school, and then there’d be some incident, a secret told, a coincidence. Or they found out that my aunt was this kooky witch, and suddenly their parents didn’t want them around me anymore. Teachers would avoid calling on me in class all the way through college. And then, with dating?” She let out a bitter laugh. “My dinner dates would cancel last minute. Or they’d leave halfway through the meal because they’d said something. When all I did was listen and ask questions.”

“Angela, you compel truths out of people. And I don’t think you realize you’re doing it.”

“I what?” She flung her pillow aside and blinked at him.

“I noticed it when they were doing the magick testing. You made the wizards talk to you.”

“So? People talk. That’s what conversation is all about.” She shrugged, still lying on the bed, no doubt getting a nice nest of bed hair.

“You were getting them to tell you their secrets.”

She frowned. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Okay… those dates, you said men left halfway through. Why?”

“Because?” She propped herself up on her elbows as she thought about it. “They’d tell me something they were ashamed of. A few would blush so badly, but they’d all drop their heads, say they needed to go to the men’s room, and I’d never see them again.”

Zarek raised his eyebrow at her. “Cowards.”

“No.” She shook her head. “They’d blame my eyes.”

“Because they’re different colors? That’s lame.” He scowled, shaking his head. “But understandable, when they didn’t know what you were doing to them. You did it with Professor Pete Macrombie. He told us you made him talk.”

She laid her head back on the pillow and blinked up at the ceiling. The guy in the bow tie and walking stick who’d followed her out from the bookshop to the coffee shop. “The guy you sent to spy on me?”

And there it was, the first genuine grin that actually made it to his eyes. And all he said was, “Yeah.”

“So all those dates? All those times people would rush away from me was—”

“Truth compulsion. As someone who can read minds, I know people have secrets. Most of those secrets are hidden because they bring shame.”

Angela’s stomach dropped, still feeling the flicker of shame in herself for what she’d done to that classroom and all those students.

“When you get people to share, like that wizard who almost ran from the interview room, it’s their personal shame they’re dealing with. Their egos are wrestling with how easily they spilled their secrets. Makes them fragile. I’d bet that’s why people shunned you.”

“And blamed my odd-colored eyes?” Which really did sound lame.

“It’s easier to blame something visible than something they can’t explain.”

Angela stared at the ceiling as relief and horror crashed into each other, making gravity so heavy it felt like it was standing on her chest with both feet.

Then, surprisingly, came the relief. There was some other reason, that it wasn’t all about her eyes. A reason why every friendship or date had dissolved or ended in stammered excuses.

But then the horror really laid on the pressure, because she’d been pulling secrets out of people for who knows how long, without knowing, like she’d done with Professor Pete Macrombie.

“I told you off for invading my privacy,” she mumbled. “And I’ve been doing the same thing my entire life. To everyone.”

Zarek shifted in his seat, closer to her legs stretched across the bed. “You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.” She pressed the heel of her palms against her eyes. “At least you choose to read minds. I’ve been accidentally interrogating people since I was a kid. But it worked well in court. Oh, wait!” She sat up. “Did that make me a good lawyer because I had this nifty what’s-it trick?”

“Truth compulsion,” he corrected. “You ask questions and people answer them. That’s not a violation, Angela. That’s conversation.”