Free Powers by Deborah Lynn Jacobs Page A

nothing. Shakespeare, Greek, Latin, Swahili—all the same to me.”
    She grins. I see in her mind that she loves Shakespeare. It’s her second language. Well, maybe third. English and French came first.
    â€œUh, Gwen, would you be willing to help me study?” I give her my best little-boy smile and she melts.
    â€œSure.”
    â€œHow about coming over to my house on Saturday night?” I suggest. “My parents are going to Winnipeg for the weekend. We’ll be able to work undisturbed.”
    She hesitates. In her mind is the vision. Us. In my bedroom. Kissing. She remembers my words: You are a flame in my heart.
    â€œOkay,” she agrees.
    I read her mind. We both know we aren’t going to study.
    Gwen
    All day long, my stomach knotted up. Was I crazy? I hardly knew him. I showered, and checked myself in the mirror, trying to be objective.
    Breasts, my best feature. Or, is that features?
    Waist. It curves in. Not much, but it does curve in.
    Belly. Curves out. Michelangelo would have loved to paint me. Oh, well, I can suck it in. If I give up breathing.
    Hips. Wide. A baby machine. A plus. Ummm, actually not sure about that one.
    Thighs. Forget the thighs.
    Who am I kidding? He couldn’t possibly want me. But the vision. It will happen, because I saw it happen.
    *   *   *
    â€œI’m going over to Adrian’s to study now,” I told Mom.
    â€œBe careful,” she warned.
    â€œI will,” I promised, grabbing my snowmachine gear. The night was clear. The stars shed just enough light to lead me to Adrian’s. I knew the way. I’d babysat at that house countless times.
    I parked at his dock and walked up. Like so many houses on the lake, it was built into the hillside, with a lower level walk-out from the family room. Golden light spilled out of the glass doors, like sunshine saved from summer. Wood smoke, sweet and welcoming, hung in the still air.
    Adrian opened the door. A tiny piece of tissue clung to his chin, where he’d cut himself shaving. He looked gorgeous, and smelled even better.
    â€œUh, you, uh.…” I stammered, pointing to his chin.
    â€œOh.” He removed the tissue. “Better?”
    â€œActually, I thought it was cute,” I said.
    â€œCute? A man nearly slices his neck open trying to clean up for his lady, and you think it’s cute?”
    He spoke in a low, teasing voice that sent shivers through me. His lady. I liked that. He reached out to unzip my snowmachine suit.
    â€œUh, that’s okay,” I said, fumbling for the zipper.
    Lit only by the glow of fire in the woodstove, the family room felt intimately small. From my vision, I recognized the overstuffed couch, the weight equipment in an alcove to the right, Adrian’s bedroom straight ahead.
    What am I doing? This is so not me. I should go.
    â€œSecond thoughts?” Adrian asked, head tilted. He stood outlined by the flickering light of the woodstove, waiting.
    â€œI’m good,” I said.
    He took my hand, and led me to his room.
    *   *   *
    I’m not sure what I expected. My vision showed an old-fashioned wardrobe and candles. That was it. I looked around, trying to find the right word for his room. Uncluttered? Army-neat?
    No, the right word was austere. Dark carpet, light walls, black furniture, a gray comforter on his bed. There were no mementos, no souvenirs, no photographs. It was as if he’d passed through life without connecting to anyone or anything. The only decorations, if you could call them that, were a sword and a dagger mounted on his wall.
    â€œIt’s my hobby, medieval weaponry,” Adrian said. “This is a replica of the sword thought to be that of Edward the Black Prince, son of Edward the Third, father of Richard the Second.”
    He drew the sword out of its black scabbard. It was easily a meter long, with a blade that tapered to a wickedly sharp tip.
    â€œWant to try