Chapter 5 No.5

Delina descended the last few steps slowly. She maintained eye contact with Stone, letting the silence stretch until it was uncomfortable.

"Did she?" Delina asked coolly. "What exactly did Florene want?"

Stone's smile faltered for a microsecond at the use of the first name. Delina always called her 'Mother'.

"Just checking on your health, Ma'am. She worries."

Delina remembered the champagne toast. To the end of the nuisance.

Anger flared in her chest. The headache returned, sharper this time, focusing behind her eyes like a laser.

She stared at Mrs. Stone's polished black shoes near the edge of the Persian rug.

An intrusive thought formed in Delina's mind. It wasn't a wish. It was a command.

She will trip.

The thought pushed out of her forehead with physical force. The air around them seemed to vibrate with a low, electric hum.

Mrs. Stone turned to walk away, dismissing Delina with a subtle roll of her shoulders.

It was a flicker of mental static, a momentary lapse in coordination. Stone's brain, for a fraction of a second, forgot the simple command to lift her foot. Her polished shoe dragged, catching on the plush fibers of the perfectly flat rug, tangling with her other foot.

Her arms windmilled wildly. She pitched forward, gravity taking her with brutal speed.

She crashed onto the marble floor with a sickening thud. Her momentum carried her sliding forward, colliding with a heavy decorative pedestal.

The expensive Ming vase atop the pedestal wobbled.

Delina watched, time seeming to slow down. Fall.

The vase tipped. It fell, shattering right next to Stone's head. Shards of blue and white porcelain exploded, slicing into Stone's arm.

Mrs. Stone screamed. She clutched her bleeding arm, wailing in shock and pain.

Delina stood frozen. Her heart raced. I did that.

The maid from the hallway ran down the stairs, gasping. "Mrs. Stone! Oh my god! The floor must be slippery!"

Delina looked at the floor. It was bone dry.

She realized then. It wasn't just a headache. It was Suggestion. She could manipulate probability. She could plant thoughts.

A sense of dark satisfaction filled her. It was cold and heavy, but it felt better than fear. No more victimhood.

She composed her face into a mask of concern.

"Oh my goodness! Call 911!" Delina commanded the maid, her voice sharp and authoritative.

She knelt beside the sobbing housekeeper. She leaned close to Stone's ear, her voice dropping to a whisper only they could hear.

"You really should be more careful, Creola," Delina said.

Stone looked up at her. Her eyes were wide with a primal fear she couldn't explain. She saw something in Delina's eyes that hadn't been there yesterday. A predator.

Delina stood up, feeling drained but powerful.