Vivid: Color Theory, #1

1

How do you keep a Mentalist out of your head?

How do you evict them when they creep in and seize control? When the words out of your mouth no longer belong to you? When your will is torn away?

I shiver and rub my arms, trying to warm away the goosebumps rippling over my skin. My skirt does absolutely nothing to help with the cold or with the pine needles poking my legs. Stupid, impractical uniform.

I readjust—cross-legged feels somewhat better than being on my knees. The branches of the oak tree above me stretch out as if to clutch me nearer in a protective way rather than threatening. The oak is so alien here among the pines, but it’s my favorite spot. Nobody comes here.

In front of me, a cluster of hefty books details the specifics of Augmentor capabilities and Red magic. The small notebook in my lap, where I scrawl out ideas, successes, and failures, is ready to be decorated with discoveries. I survey the textbooks once more, smoothing the pages down with my fingertips as a light breeze stirs them to life:

Red magic deals with the body. Strength, agility, and healing are among the core components of Red magic . . .

Any admirable Red uses their power to protect. Healing is one of the greatest skills an Augmentor possesses . . .

Focus on your body. Imagine yourself growing stronger. If you start to feel heat, hold onto that warmth . . .

Red magic, like any magic, can be dangerous . . .

Don’t let yourself be distracted . . .

Don’t try anything unusual without guidance . . .

Don’t practice new abilities alone . . .

The cautionary words blur together, a deluge of red flags and flashing lights. What would Selene think if she knew I was out here trying something like this? On the one hand, as my mentor, she might rebuke my reckless behavior. On the other hand, as head Benefactor, she would encourage any efforts to protect Augmentors and Shapers, wouldn’t she? If we can safeguard our own minds, we will never have to worry about Yellow magic and Mentalists again.

You don’t have to worry about Mentalists now, says the sneering voice of self-doubt in my head. The Benefactors make sure of that. What use are you to the Benefactors?

True, I’ve never met a Mentalist, much less seen one in action. I can’t remember the last time I even heard about a mind-control incident on the news. But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. An ounce of prevention . . .

So how do I prevent it? As an Augmentor, with power and command of my body, I should be able to gain power over my mind. Nobody’s allowed in there but me. If I’m correct, this will revolutionize the world of magic. Combined with Selene’s advances in biology, the results could be even more widespread. We will have protection. Peace of mind. Security of mind.

If I don’t die.

I reject the thought and take a steadying breath. A sudden but gentle heat courses through my chest as I begin a strengthening spell. The sensation is welcome, and it’s near impossible to resist the temptation of letting it spread. I direct the energy on my brain, drawing all the warmth to one focal point—instead of letting the power fully encompass me as the spell typically calls for.

Nothing. Another failure?

A distinctive warmth reaches my head, like a beam of sunlight. My heart palpitates with anticipation, but I can’t let excitement drive away whatever this is. The heat and pressure build. My head twinges in a steady, uncomfortable pulse. I keep going.

A surge of power erupts beneath me like an electric shock. My head snaps backward, jerking my now-fearful eyes wide open. In an instant, the magic flow cuts off, leaving nothing but a dull, unsettling quiver. Lights rupture behind my eyes, and a ferocious pain rips at my skull. I clutch my head and keel over, gasping and moaning on the cold forest floor.

The pain dulls. I open my eyes to a curtain of coppery hair and sweep several tangled strands out of my face. An uncontrolled shiver runs through me.

What was that?

Still shaking, I struggle to my feet and brush dry pine needles from my school uniform. My feet are asleep, and I stomp my boots on the mushy earth a few times to bring back the feeling. My wary eyes survey the area. Nothing looks out of place, but the relentless pounding continues in my head. I could use a healing spell, but I don’t dare. Who knows what will happen to me if I try using magic again so quickly?

Maybe the books are right—this is reckless. I could die out here, and nobody would know what happened. The thought chills me more than the November air. Perhaps I should listen to the warnings in my textbooks and give my theory a rest until I’m more prepared. Try again some other time.

Time.

Hurriedly, I check my watch. I have an aptitude test, and the last thing I need is to explain tardiness to Selene. But the once-smooth face of my watch is now fractured and jagged. I stare at it, perplexed. Did I land on it, or was this another side effect of the magic? Or someone else’s magic? I can’t think. I need to get out of here.

I start off but come to an abrupt halt, remembering my books scattered at the base of the tree. I turn back, but perhaps a little too fast, because I crash headlong into something, or rather, someone.

A disoriented moment passes before my eyes lock on a young man—perhaps in his early twenties—in a dark gray jumpsuit. His own eyes carry a frenzied look, like some demented animal. I take in his pale and unkempt figure with snarled, overgrown hair and a gaunt face sporting a layer of stubble. He snaps into an immediate defensive stance, and I jump back in alarm. His wild eyes dart quickly over my uniform, and something about him relaxes.

You attend Prism, yes?

Yes, I say, unable to keep a small note of hesitation out of my voice.

What direction is it?

That way, I point. Not far from here.

Delightful. He tips his head at me. A word of advice, Miss Student. Be more discerning of what you reveal to strangers. I’m startled as he flicks me between the eyebrows. And tell no one you’ve seen me. He then takes off at a full run—in the exact opposite direction of the school.

What in the . . . I watch him disappear into the trees, trying to process what just happened, but my head gives another throb, reminding me of more pressing matters. I go back to my books and heave them into my bag. Were they always this heavy?

I hurry down the path to the academy, still rickety and disoriented from my experimentation in the woods and the strange encounter with the disheveled young man. Part of me feels I should report it to a Benefactor, but another part calmly reasons that thought away. He didn’t hurt me, and he clearly wanted nothing to do with the school, so there is likely no urgency in mentioning it.

I look up at the sky and immediately regret it as another wave of dizziness overtakes me. The sky flickers—just barely perceivable—the only evidence of the magical barrier that keeps us safe from the toxic outer world.

Once I arrive outside the large wrought iron gates to the school grounds, I stop and comb through my hair with my fingers and smooth out my clothes. A few overlooked grains of forest soil pepper my red skirt, and I do my best to rub them away. I have to get it together. I hastily remove my broken watch and tuck it inside my bag, not wanting to answer questions if it were noticed. My bag seems slightly less stuffed than usual. What’s missing? Oh no. My notebook. I turn wearily toward the forest, but the thought of returning there, feeling like I do—and with all my books—is torture. Nobody will see it. I’ll get it later.

It takes an absurd amount of effort to push open the gate and only slightly less to open the large glass doors leading into the school. My body feels wrong, like I’m lacking substance somehow. Each step against the silvery marble floors feels unsteady and disorienting.

I try to ground myself by focusing on reality and the things I know for certain: I’m Ava Locke. I’m seventeen years old. I’m not bleeding. My bones don’t feel broken. Mind still intact. I’m okay, right?

I could see Dr. Iris—Prism’s resident Healer—as a precaution, but that would mean explaining how I ignored all the safety rules they teach us from day one.

I’m fine.

There are stories, though. The ones about Augmentors who did dangerous things and ended up hurt on the inside. They didn’t know until it was too late. Not until their bones puffed into dust or their organs split open.

Fine. I’ll give it ten minutes. If nothing improves, I’ll visit the Healer’s office. Walk it off, I tell myself, ambling in the direction of the locker rooms so I can change into athletic gear for the aptitude test.

Down the main corridor, a gaggle of male Red-magic students peacock for a group of Red and Blue girls on the sofa and lounge chairs. I’m surprised to see them together. Separation of magic types tends to happen organically at Prism because many of our classes have to be split by color. Friendships naturally form with those we see most. Well, naturally for those who have room for the distraction. My studies leave little time for anything else.

I pause to watch as the boys take turns lifting various pieces of furniture with the girls—squealing and giggling—still sitting on top. A pretty, dark-skinned Shaper I recognize from one of my Elite classes watches nearby.

She rolls her eyes. Any Augmentor could do that. She glances over, noticing me. Hey, Ava, come show them.

It shouldn’t be surprising that she knows me—many students recognize me as Selene’s mentee. Nevertheless, the acknowledgement catches me off guard and fills me with embarrassment because I can’t remember her name. Natalie? No, Nikki. I think it’s Nikki.

They’re all staring at me, waiting for a response.

Oh, I don’t think we’re supposed to . . . It’s a predictably dull reply, but I still don’t trust myself to use more magic.

No biggie if you don’t want to. Nikki—or was it Natalie—shrugs. I just wanted to show these guys they’re no big deal.

I have to get ready for an aptitude test. Sorry, I mumble, wishing I could stay. As I retreat, I pass under an archway with the inscription All Questions Will Be Answered. It is the creed of the Benefactors and one of the reasons I hope to unite with them; transparency in leadership is admirable. This reminder lifts my spirits. Someday I’ll be working with Selene and the other Benefactors to answer all the questions in the land of Magus. No more need for secrets in the forest.

A smell stings my nose the instant I enter the test room—a harsh scent with a hint of citrus. Cleaning chemicals. Now, the question is, did they clean up vomit or blood? The first-year aptitude tests were in this room last hour, so it had to be one or the other. Mishaps abound in that group.

As though confirming my suspicions of calamity, Dr. Iris leans against the far wall of the classroom. The tight line of her lips and the way her hair hangs loose from its braid in distressed strands betrays any attempt at composure. Her skin beads with moisture, causing her glasses to inch down her nose. Likely, she has already remedied multiple accidents today. We anticipate injuries during aptitude tests, especially for students in their final year, and a Healer is always on hand in case of anything severe. Hopefully I won’t need her services today.

How bad was it? I ask.

Dr. Iris merely shakes her head. Bad enough.

Good morning, Dr. Iris. Ava. The voice behind me reverberates in the near emptiness of the room, not unfriendly, but authoritative. Selene stands tall and is all business, her hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail.

Good morning, I greet Selene quickly, masking my apprehension. I’m eager to show her my skills in the hope that she’ll return even a fraction of the admiration I have for her, but I still feel just a bit off. Why did I think it was a good idea to mess around before a test?

Selene slings her satchel onto the teacher’s desk and rifles through it as she asks Dr. Iris, Any severe incidents I should be aware of?

I’ll brief you once you’re settled.

Thank you. Selene pulls a chart from her bag. Today’s name pairings for the aptitude test. I want to reach out and grab it from her hands but will myself to wait until she posts it on the wall. She glances at me. Would you like to know who you’re testing against? She knows me too well.

Yes, please.

Blake Woods. Can you handle that?

Blake Woods—a Blue Shaper, and a far-too-familiar face. His parents are my legal guardians during school breaks, so he’s practically my brother. Can I treat a match with him the same as any other?

It won’t change how I fight. Maybe if I say it, I’ll believe it.

Selene studies my face, and I shrink under her perceptive stare, fearing my anxiety shows. Unacceptable weakness. You realize the other students—and your instructors—will compare you no matter your connection. He’s your competition first and foremost. Don’t forget that.

I nod. Selene always challenges me to consider every angle. I never thought of my relationship with Blake as a hurdle . . . but here we are. We’re both Elite students, and while I’m top rank, he’s not far behind. What does it mean for my future if I can’t fight him objectively?

Selene fastens the chart to the bulletin board. I look forward to viewing your accomplishments, Ava. She joins Dr. Iris, and the two begin a murmured conversation about last-hour’s events.

Students trickle into the room, pausing to view the chart, and then line up along the wall beside me like a row of obedient ducklings. Like me, everyone is decked out in athletic shirts of their respective magic colors and black tactical pants. The air booms with sudden boisterous laughter as Blake enters with a group of companions. As they stop to view the name pairings, one of our classmates elbows Blake. You’re up against Ava? She’ll destroy you.

She knows your fighting style. It’ll be fun to see you get squashed, another student goads.

Blake rolls his eyes at his friend and flashes a light grin in my direction. He turns to Selene. Do we get a lifeline today?

There are two large baskets of kickballs—one containing red and the other blue—against the wall closest to Selene. Our instructors sometimes allow one lifeline in our respective magic color to give us something besides our gemstone pendants to draw power from.

One lifeline, Selene responds and returns to her conversation.

I toy with the tear-shaped pendant around my neck, wondering whether the lifeline is a blessing or a curse. On the one hand, it means a chance for extra power if needed—stones behave as an amplifier for our magic, but we can only reach a certain volume without an extra power source. On the other hand, it means more strategizing, and I know Selene will be judging that too.

At eight a.m. sharp, Selene does a quick visual inventory of the room. She scrutinizes me for just a moment. Though she tries to appear unbiased, she fails to conceal the reflection of pride in her eyes. This should be comforting, but it only adds weight to my desire to please her.

She delivers instructions to the group. Today’s matches will be ten minutes. School pendants and one lifeline are allowed. Drawing from any other objects will mean immediate disqualification and a failing grade. Non-life-threatening injuries are permitted.

So, I’m allowed to hurt Blake. Will I do that if it comes down to it? Will he? Does Selene expect that of me?

Selene picks up a clipboard and pen for taking notes and nods her head toward the center of the room. Ava and Blake, you’re up.

Blake steps forward without a second’s hesitation. He’s of average build, but he’s handsome. He takes his place on the floor, cocks his head to the side with a confident smile, and directs his attention to the blue basket. One of the balls floats free from the rest and makes its way to Blake’s hands. Foolish. I’ve told him before he should save his energy for the test instead of wasting it on bravado, but Blake is Blake.

I step out of line, hoping to show the same level of confidence he exudes, and grab a red ball from the basket before meeting Blake in the center. We place the balls on the ground—it doesn’t matter where they are at this point, as long as we can access them when needed. Blake extends a hand toward me, and we shake.

Well, this should be fun. Good luck, he says brightly.

How can he be so casual in the face of pressure? I’m sure I can feel the cloud of Selene’s judgment on my every move. Let’s take this seriously, okay?

He looks a little surprised, as though he truly expected playful sparring. But Selene made it clear the stakes are high with Blake as my competitor, creating an even greater desire for me to come out on top.

As we move to opposite ends of the room, I plan my approach, utilizing each second of time before the test starts. My mind habitually singles out red objects everywhere as potential power sources, even though that isn’t an option for this match. I focus on the space we have to work with. The desks have been pushed against the walls to make more room for us and might provide cover if needed. I could easily strengthen myself enough to throw one at Blake, but then that may hurt him too much. Maybe—

You may begin, says Selene, abruptly ending my time to strategize.

I focus on my body. My muscles. My skin. As an Augmentor drawing on Red magic, I use powers of the body. Strength, healing, agility.

A pair of scissors flying toward me catches me off guard. Shapers manipulate and control objects in the space around them, and Blake is ready to fight. I must have spooked him when he realized I wasn’t here to play.

Warmth from my magic spreads through me, but before I complete my strengthening spell, Blake strikes. The sharp points of the scissors slash into my arm, and I hear a unanimous gasp from our observing classmates.

I flinch, but strive to hold my spell. "So, you are taking this seriously."

You started it.

If he isn’t showing me any grace due to our ties, there’s no sense in holding back. As my body grows stronger, the pain from my wound dissipates, and I feel reborn. The effects from this morning have also vanished. Blake hasn’t abandoned the idea of the scissors, and I see a metallic flash when they pull back, as if held by a phantom hand, and move forward to strike again. I snatch them out of the air, throwing them hard across the room. Propelled by the extra force of my strengthening spell, they dig several inches into the wall.

Have fun getting those out, I say, hoping to throw him off balance.

It’s not a competition, you know, he says through gritted teeth, mentally struggling to free the scissors. We get an individual score on skill, even if we don’t pummel each other.

I’m all too aware of Selene silently watching our every move. "It’s always a competition." Doesn’t he realize that?

While Blake grasps for a new tactic, I tend to the injury on my arm. I direct all my attention to the damaged area, envisioning the cut pulling closed and my skin fusing together. A bright heat surrounds the gash, followed by a strange prickling sensation. The wound begins to close, and within a matter of seconds, my body is once again unscathed. I know Blake won’t waste time on those scissors forever. Anticipating his next move, I immediately begin another strengthening spell.

With his object manipulation, Blake can propel things at me from a distance. I don’t have that luxury. My power lies within my body, and I can’t do much without getting close to him.

I advance on him but change course rapidly as a heavy book targets my face, followed quickly by a stapler. As I duck away, a particularly malicious steel protractor skims the top of my head.

You’re not getting even an inch closer, Blake taunts as he continues to hurl various objects at me. My agility spells quicken my reflexes enough to dodge these objects, but each rapid movement requires more effort. At this rate, he’ll wear me out. Do I dare use my lifeline this soon in the match? We’re caught in a loop of throwing and dodging. If I don’t think of something fast, my test time will pass with virtually nothing accomplished that would impress Selene.

I shriek as my pendant flies off my neck without warning, and I scramble to grab it before it gets away, clutching it securely in my hands.

That’s dirty, I shout. I hear roars of agreement from our classmates. Our powers are nearly obsolete without another source to draw on, which is why every magic user worth their salt wears a stone of some kind—a power source that never fades, though there are limits to its power.

It’s always a competition, Blake mocks, though his smirk doesn’t reach his eyes, which seem to offer an apology.

Still, he went there. I pull power from my pendant carefully, in spurts. With each object Blake sends my way, I send it back to him with a punch of my Red-powered fist. He isn’t as fast as I am, and it doesn’t take long before he gets clipped by the very objects he tries to hit me with.

I cuff an unfortunate textbook with a particularly zealous blow, and the spine cracks, sending its pages flying. I gasp and jerk my head toward Selene, my eyes wide. Sorry! A ruined book is a tragedy.

She clears her throat loudly, and I snap my attention back to Blake. In my moment of distraction, he changed tactics. His body is still, but his expression is intense. Curious, I divert my eyes to his lifeline. As expected, the vibrant blue of the ball rapidly fades to gray as Blake pulls its color away to amplify his magic. He’s gambling everything on this play. Another book flies at my head, but stops abruptly and floats toward the center of the room. Pencils, papers, chalk, erasers, and a barrage of other school supplies all shoot in the direction of the book and branch out.

I don’t know what Blake has planned, but this could be my one opening. After taking a moment to catch my breath, I build my strength and speed and sprint toward him. The sudden blur of a huge object causes me to change course and flit out of the way as it blocks my path.

It takes a moment to fully process the oddity before me—an amalgamation of classroom tools forming a giant, lumbering spider. Unsteady and unpredictable. Blake breaks out in a sweat with the effort it takes to control his hodgepodge of a creation and keep it assembled. The spider throws one of its legs down in front of me, forbidding any progression closer to Blake.

Surprisingly swift, the spider swings another of its composite legs at me, and I leap to avoid it. I miss the brunt of the blow, but it still manages to clip my ankle. My heavy boots aren’t enough to spare me from the pain. Taking time to stop and heal could be my undoing, so I work through the discomfort. The spider flails its limbs again and again, missing each time, but only just. It’s clear that without putting some space between us, I don’t stand a chance of beating it.

Rolling underneath the desks against the wall, I crawl as far back as the space allows, silently praying Selene hasn’t noticed the fear my expression surely exposes.

Meanwhile, Blake struggles to maneuver his formation. It requires much more precision to go after me in my tight hiding place than it did to swat at me out in the open. This buys me the time I need to build my vigor once more.

My body feels like a live wire. The amount of power I can draw from my pendant reaches its plateau. With luck, it will be just enough . . . but I’m not the type to rely on luck. My eyes scan for my lifeline, but I can’t get a visual on it from my hidden position. I’m not sure if I can focus enough to draw on it without risking accidentally pulling from another red object. Drat!

Sensing movement from the spider again, I heave out from under the desks as it smashes into them. I glance away from the spider just long enough to search for that precious red ball. There. Across the room. I focus on it and pull hard for its power, then make a fierce dash through the spider’s legs, directing myself beneath its center. With all the force I can muster, I spring upward and smash into the creature’s core. It bursts apart, but instead of the satisfying explosion I expected, it seems to be moving in slow motion. I don’t believe it . . . Blake is trying to piece everything back together. But his moves are sloppy. He’s blindly pulling objects in every direction and has lost all control.

And then I catch a glint—those scissors have finally come loose from the wall and are now headed right toward Blake’s face at high speed. I use a burst of agility to land in front of Blake and throw my arm up, sending the scissors flying in the opposite direction. Blake at last gives out, and the remaining floating objects fall. We exchange a quick look, his eyes quizzical. I don’t even want to see what expression might be on Selene’s face.

Time, says Selene. Very resourceful, Blake. That’s one of the most interesting creations I have ever seen. Ava, she adds, as an afterthought, your speed is good.

I should be watching and learning as the rest of the class goes through their aptitude tests, but an anxious tempest undulates inside me. Selene’s words had an obvious undercurrent of disappointment. Should I have been more aggressive? What can I offer beyond skill? All Benefactors are skilled—that’s how they get to be Benefactors to begin with—so proficiency alone isn’t enough. Unlike me, Blake is personable and has many friends, and his parents are already prominent Benefactors. If he chooses to be a Benefactor himself, he will progress rapidly to the top. But was I just supposed to let those scissors hit him?

When class ends, I assist my classmates in the obligatory task of cleaning up drained lifelines and putting the room back in order. As we work, a