Choose.

I hear the word as clearly as if she’d said it out loud. Only, she hasn’t spoken—not out loud or in my head. This was outside my head, if that makes any sense.

She smiles, like she’s glad I figured it out. Figured what out? Choose. What on earth does that mean?

I turn to Adara, like she might have answers. She’s still concentrating. I try my trick again, of staring back at her and concentrating—

Door.

I definitely heard that. And it was definitely outside my head. Maybe I really did read their minds.

Duh! Psychospection.

I turn my attention on Xander and read his thought.

Three.

Choose. Door. Three.

Choose door three?

Before I can ask any questions, Stella, Adara, and Xander shimmer away. Apparently I cleared that obstacle.

Around another corner, I find the answer to my question. There are three doors—very Alice in Wonderland—each with a big gold number on the front.

“Door number three, then,” I mutter to myself as I pull the door open.

As soon as I step through the door, I can’t move. I’m frozen mid-step. It’s like someone turned on a freeze machine, but my brain doesn’t know it’s supposed to be frozen. I can still think and hear and see my surroundings, but I feel like someone shut off all my muscles.

Help, I try to scream. But I can’t open my mouth. No sound vibrates in my throat. I can’t call out for help.

I start to panic. My heart is beating faster than it ever has. Tears well in my eyes.

Help, I try again. Help, help, help.

That’s not working. Maybe someone is still close by, watching out for me. Maybe they’ll see that I chose the wrong door—or whatever sent me into this trap—and come save me.

After what feels like several torturous hours—but was probably like two minutes—I realize no one is coming. Stella and her posse aren’t going to rescue me. I can’t scream to let them know I’m in trouble.

There has to be another way.

If they can’t hear my voice, maybe they can hear my mind.

Help, I say with my mind. I focus my mental communication, my psychodictation, on Stella because I know her best. That might make my efforts easier. Please, I beg. Help. I’m trapped. Set me free.

Instantly, I’m free and stumbling forward onto my hands and knees.

All you had to do was ask, Stella replies.

“Aaargh!” I scream at no one. I should have known it was just another obstacle.

I take a minute, allowing my heart rate and adrenaline levels to return to the vicinity of normal, before moving on. Right now I just want this stupid obstacle course done.

I tear ahead, focused on finishing to the exclusion of everything else. I almost don’t see the barricade of briar bushes until it’s too late. At the last second, their image flashes into my mind—thanks to self-preserving corpoprotection, probably. I don’t have time to do anything but react. Instinct and some corpopromotion superstrength send me high-jumping over the barricade, and landing safely on the other side.

“For the love of Nike,” I grumble. “How many times do I have to almost die or get seriously injured?”

Okay, I have to admit that, even without using the protection, I haven’t actually gotten injured. And maybe, just maybe, that’s part of the exercise.

Deciding that caution is more important than speed, I set out at a walk. I try to mentally list the obstacles I’ve done so far. If you count the briar barricade for two powers, then I’ve completed eleven. Eleven (dangerous) obstacles without injury. My powers haven’t failed me once, guiding me over, around, and through as if my eyes were wide open. Better, even. If I could see what I had to face, I’d probably be too scared to attempt it.

Considering the twelve dynamotheos powers, I expect just one more obstacle. No big deal. I’m in the homestretch.

When I round a bend in the course and find myself up against a solid wall, I stop in my tracks.

In my mind I can see the wall perfectly. It’s tall, maybe ten or twelve feet, spans the entire width of the path and into the woods beyond, and is completely smooth. Focusing my powers, I search for a foothold or a rope or anything that will get me over. Nothing. It might as well be a wall of ice.

Maybe my mental image is wrong. Maybe it’s not as tall as I think.

I walk forward until I’m about a foot away, bend down, and jump as high as I can, reaching for a ledge to grab onto.

My body smacks full-on into the wall. As I slide back down to the ground, I wonder how on earth I’m supposed to get over this obstacle.

“You can’t defeat this obstacle so easily,” Stella says from somewhere to my left. “Even if we removed the blindfold, you couldn’t succeed through physical means alone.”

“This is the ultimate test,” Adara adds. “You can only get through by using your powers.”

What on earth does that mean? Before I can ask them to explain, I feel a soft breeze and know that they’re gone.

Okay. I can figure this out. I’ve made it this far trusting nothing but my powers—and my sense of self-preservation. Surely getting over a wall can’t be that hard.

“It’s not about going over the wall,” a distant-yet-familiar voice whispers within my mind. “Feel the victory inside you, Phoebester.”

Dad?

That is not possible. I give my head a brain-rattling shake. I must be suffering from sensory deprivation after being blindfolded so long. My subconscious is playing tricks on me. That’s all.