If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Here's the latest:

And a brief sample:

Prelude

The boardwalk was bustling with activity: countless men and women in skimpy outfits, blowing off steam on a glorious Saturday afternoon. It was mid-June, and the weather was absolutely perfect. Even the most clueless mind-blind could sense the excitement, overhear it in the raucous laughter and carefree conversations all around. The scent of it was in the air, as sure as suntan lotion and sweat.

Of course, I could feel it more keenly, whether I wanted to or not. Even with my barriers firmly in place, I could feel the psychic presence of the throng all around me. The pressure was constant and intense, little whispers and snippets of emotion leaking through. Really, it felt more like I was beneath the ocean than beside it. Unfinished snippets of pop jingles bubbled all around me like foam, while sexual tension seethed all around me like the undertow. I could pick out the odd stray thought even through the shield. Right now, a man was staring fixedly at my bikini-clad ass from across the way.

So that’s why I almost missed it when the hot dog vendor repeated himself, “That’ll be eight dollars, miss.”

‹Dumb bitch is probably high. Nice tits though.›

The irritation and frank appraisal did a better job of catching my attention than his nasal voice.

I didn’t let my own annoyance show. Instead I slapped on a big, toothy grin and replied, “Oh, sorry. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” Then I reached into my purse and slipped a one dollar bill out of my billfold. As I did it, I let my barriers slip.

The boardwalk lit up like the Vegas strip. Everyone glowed with their own special inner light, like little stars… You know, if the stars were obsessed with sex, fueled by beer and made you frustrated instead of warm. Being someplace so crowded, it was almost blinding.

Of course, the noise was the point. Moreover, amid the chaos, nobody could hear my abilities. I extended a thin tendril of my own light into the scrawny hot dog vendor’s head, shimmering icy blue and focused on a single suggestion:

«This is twenty dollars.»

The illusion was about more than words, or the command to believe. As I offered the bill, I focused on the image of a crisp, clean twenty laid over it. I could almost see it too. Being able to fool yourself was the first step in being a good Pusher. Inflexible minds didn’t last long.

The others liked to emphasize that.

The vendor took the dollar, and gave me twelve back. He said, “Good day,” only thinking, ‹Moron.›

“You too,” I smiled sweetly as I tucked away the ‘change’ and picked up my lunch.

As I turned away, his frustration with me segued into the beginnings of a vibrant but improbable scenario involving his cock and my ass, so I swiftly raised my barriers again. The first rule of reading minds was knowing when to shut it all out. Even controlling them was less important than that.

Maybe ten minutes later, I found a spot on a bench and ate my lunch, wondering what the day would bring.

It's available on Smashwords and Amazon. I'll update for Nook ASAP.

Hope you all enjoy it, and thanks for reading. :)