Santi closed her eyes as she felt Livia’s soul scramble away from her. Everything about Livia flooded her mind as she strengthened her grip, the echo of pain rippling through her own body.
Livia’s soul was a dark place. She was a formidable woman, but she wasn’t without merit. She hated the woman she’d become and was locked in an impossible situation, with little choice but to do as she was told. Santi felt sorry for her. Almost.
With a frown she realized something went horribly wrong. She gasped as the pain began to rebound on her, more intense than she had ever felt before. She glanced up at Livia, feeling the struggle between them as she fought for control of her gift. Santi wasn’t prepared for this. Livia’s gift overpowered hers until she could no longer feel the essence of Livia’s soul. But the burn of the familiar agony swelled within her. It was no longer an echo, but the full brunt of her own gift. Livia was touching her soul now and Santi had absolutely no control.
“Relax,” Livia finally said after a struggle that seemed to last for hours. “I will return your gifts to you once you have been fully trained.”
“What? What is this?” Santi couldn’t comprehend what just happened.
“You will not wield your power without my consent. I have full use of your gifts now but I have not taken them from you. My gift allows me to temporarily use another’s power and return it as I please.”
“You can’t do that!” Santi’s voice came out as a harsh whisper.
“It is already done. You will live here until you have proven you can be trusted to do as you are told. You will stay within arm’s reach of me at all times. You will sleep at the foot of my bed and you will do as I say, when I say and how I say.”
“No.” Santi was done. Nothing was worth succumbing to this woman and her every whim.
“As long as I remain in control of your power, you cannot leave. You are mine now. When you have been trained to my satisfaction, you will return to your previous position within the company.”
“No.” Santi shook her head, still in shock. She couldn’t feel her power. She couldn’t grasp it as she had every day for the last nine years. The separation from her power was ... gut-wrenching.
“Yes. You will bend to my will, Santi. On your knees, at my feet, and you will do it now.” Livia pointed at the floor.
Santi fought the urge to obey. She resisted Livia’s will until beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and her back began to bend. Eyes closed and filled with humiliation, Santi fell to her knees, vowing to earn her place back.
Chapter Five
Six months later
Santi curled up on the pallet at the foot of Livia’s bed. She was rarely allowed to sleep for more than a few hours. In the months since Livia had taken control of her power, she’d learned that her captor’s influence lasted only a finite length of time before she had to reestablish her dominance again. She still hadn’t determined how long Livia would need to be gone before she could take control of her own power again. The longest she had ever left her was ten hours. Until tonight.
Santi glanced at the clock beside the luxurious bed. Her captor had left twelve hours ago after a text message nearly sent her through the roof. Whatever the young redheaded girl and the handsome guy in that picture had done, it had spurred Livia into a panic. She’d left with little instruction, only telling Santi not to leave the apartment until she returned.
For the last two hours, she’d tried in vain to take her power back. She could feel it tantalizingly within her reach but it continued to evade her.
There was a time when she thought she could make it through Livia’s training. There was a time when she thought she would do anything to get back into her good graces because she wanted to help train those like Lennox. But no more. Now Santi just wanted out.
She heard Livia burst through the front door of the penthouse and she nearly wept in frustration. Livia would force her to submit again. The cycle would never end.
As she stepped into the bedroom, Livia shoved a dark figure in front of her.
“Sit,” she commanded. “I’ll deal with you later.”
“No,” Santi whispered, knowing it was futile to resist.
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” Livia said. “I would need to be gone a lot longer than a few hours, so stop fighting me. You know it is pointless.”
Santi hung her head as the familiar agony swept through her. It wouldn’t last long if she freely submitted to Livia’s control, but she always had enough will, somewhere deep inside her, that rose to the surface to fight. Livia still had not managed to break that small resistance she clung to. It was the reason she still slept on Livia’s floor.
But Santi refused to be broken.
“Do you have to fight me every time?” Livia asked wearily after she’d taken control of Santi’s power once more. “You know I don’t enjoy this.”
“Who’s this?” Santi gestured at the young man sitting in the chair beside the bedroom door. He was the one from the picture. His eyes were filled with stubborn fury and his dark brown hands lay fisted in his lap. His bedraggled tuxedo jacket clung to his broad shoulders in tattered shreds of fabric.
“He’s your new roomie,” Livia said. “Show him the ropes. I’m going to shower. Don’t bother me again tonight.”
Santi got up and retrieved blankets from the hall linen closet. She made a bed for the newbie beside hers.
“She has your power?”
He nodded, looking at Santi in disgust.
“She will keep you close until she breaks you. Most people only last a few weeks with her.” She shoved a pillow into a pillowcase and dumped it on the pallet.
“How long have you been with her?” he asked.
“Six months,” Santi replied. Six long months. And in that time she’d watched Livia break one young Immortal after another. So many times she wanted to give in, but she refused.
“What’s your name?”
“Why does it matter? You’ll be gone soon.”
“It will be a cold day in hell before I will ever let that woman break me. We’re stuck with each other now.”
“It’s Santi,” she said. His bravado brought a smile to her face. To have a friend here would be a comfort, but she’d found out the hard way that Livia would make sure she never had comfort of any kind.
“I’m Quinn.” He gave her a grimace of a smile.
“How did she get you?” Santi asked, feeling curious. He was such a formidable, strong-looking guy.
“Long story.”
“Fine. I’m going to bed. You should try to sleep. She won’t allow you more than a few hours to rest.”
“What’s her problem anyway?” Quinn muttered softly.
“She can’t help it,” Santi said. That was the shitty part of this mess. Livia was just as stuck as they were.
“Right,” Quinn scoffed.
“She has no more control than we do. You’ll see. She’s not all bad.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a little case of Stockholm syndrome.”
“Oh, I hate her. She’s the most twisted, evil excuse for a human I’ve ever met. But it’s a facade. A crumbling one, if you ask me.”
“So what happens now?” Quinn shrugged out of his worn jacket and stretched out beside her.
“Don’t think past today. Don’t defy her, but don’t give in to her either.”
“That’s not a plan I can live with, Santi.”
“It’s how I survive.”
“Well, now you have me. Maybe together we can figure a way out of this mess. We can’t let her keep doing this to people.”
“Quinn, if I can get out of here, I’m not looking back. In this place, you protect yourself and you hope you can make them see you as an asset rather than a liability.”
He leaned up on his elbow and looked down at her with a deep scowl on his face. “You still don’t know what we’re up against, do you?”
“Of course I do.” She scowled right back at him.
/> “You’re a strong woman, Santi. I can sense your power as well as your determination. How have you resisted Livia all this time, but you still haven’t figured it out?”
“What are you talking about?”
“What happens to the ones she breaks? Where do they go?” he asked.
“They go on to train for a role within the company.”
“What company?”
“Soma,” she said in confusion.
“Santi. There is no company. ‘Soma’ is a front for a slave market. She’s selling the ones she breaks. She isn’t grooming you to be some kind of agent. She’s grooming you to be a high-ticket commodity. Once she breaks you, you’ll go to the highest bidder and you’ll do whatever they tell you to do.”
“No.” Santi shook her head. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t have been that wrong. She couldn’t have been that gullible ... to volunteer. To walk right in and ask for this.
“You know I’m right,” Quinn whispered.
As she stared at him, reality hit her harder than ever before. She saw for the first time how utterly naive she was. There was no way she could leave kids like Lennox to fend for themselves. She had to help them.
“So what’s your plan now?” Quinn asked.
“Right now? We sleep. Then we get to work on helping you learn to resist her. It will be a long road, Quinn. You need to come to terms with the possibility that you may never see your family again.”
“Clearly, you don’t know my family.” A tight smile played at the corners of his mouth. “They aren’t the types to give up so easily.”
Eager for more from the Emerge Series?
Get your FREE copy of Emerge: The Scholar
—ABOUT THE AUTHOR—
Melissa A. Craven writes young adult fantasy in the vein of Cassandra Clare and Victoria Aveyard. By day, she is a part-time interior designer--every other moment of the day and night, she is a writer and editor. Melissa is also manager of the indie review staff for YABooksCentral.com, where she gets to work with some of the best indie authors from all over the world. She also reviews for YABC and manages to make time for reading and keeping up with YA trends between her many writing projects. In her spare time, if she has any, she enjoys shopping for derelict furniture she refinishes to exercise the interior design part of her brain.
If you enjoyed Emerge: The Volunteer, sign up for my newsletter for updates on what’s up next for Quinn and Santi.
www.melissaacraven.com
WISHFUL
Katy Haye
I knew my father loved his job more than he did me. I only wished that – just once – he’d try to hide the fact.
“You promised.” I stopped when my voice cracked. If I got ‘emotional’ he’d stop listening. That was mum’s failing, emotion – and woe betide if I followed her example. I took a deep breath. “You promised you’d stick at this job at least another year. You promised no more travelling.”
“I know I did, I know.” Both hands patted the air between us, his brow furrowed in the way I thought of as his ‘it’s hurting me, too’ expression. I no longer believed it hurt him at all. No-one would hurt themselves that much, they’d have to be mad. “But this is too good to turn down, chicken.”
I folded my arms and gave him the obvious solution. “Then I’ll come with you.”
“Not this time, Az, not in the middle of exams.”
So now he found his sense of responsibility to me! “I’m not in the middle of exams, they aren’t until next year.”
“You know what I mean – in the middle of your exam course. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
No, but he’d leave me on my own for half a year. He’d do that to me. My head hurt from not screaming what I was thinking at him. Perhaps mum had broken down and left because of tying herself in knots trying not to tell him what she thought of him. Perhaps I was going to go the same way.
Dad must have thought my silence was due to sulking rather than restraint. He sighed – impatiently – “Look, I know it’s not ideal, but I’ve got to work, haven’t I?”
“You’ve got a job. This one was supposed to last until next summer. Don’t tell me they sacked you.”
Ooh, sarcasm. He wasn’t even going to acknowledge that. “The contract finished early.”
“You could find something else in this country.” I pointed out. We’d had this same argument so many times I could choreograph them minutes ahead. He’d tell me he was doing it for my sake next, and then he’d point out we couldn’t live off fresh air.
“I have to go where the work is, chicken. That’s how I make sure you have such a comfortable life, you know that.”
Okay, maybe he was varying the order today. “I’m not sure we could get more comfortable than this.” I waved a hand without looking at the luxury that surrounded me twenty four seven. “I certainly don’t think we need any more comfortable than this.” I understood that – I didn’t think he ever would. My hands fell to my sides. “I don’t want stuff, dad. I want you.”
There was a pause after I said that, then he sighed. Probably that was too close to emotion. He hated it when I didn’t immediately agree with whatever he said. Maybe that had been the real problem with mum, too. I didn’t want to keep fighting. But I wasn’t ready to let him off the hook, either.
We stared at each other for another minute, then dad tried again. “I tell you what, since you’re nearly seventeen I won’t subject you to the indignity of having a housekeeper live in and look after you.” He smiled, as though loneliness was a treat. “You can have the place to yourself.”
I wanted to keep silent, really I did. He’d made his mind up, and nothing I said was going to change things. I just couldn’t accept that it was a lost cause. “I don’t want to be here on my own.” I tried my hardest not to sound needy, but it came out as sulky instead.
He sighed, exasperated now. “Well, then, I will hire a housekeeper.”
“That’s not what I meant, Dad. I want to be with you, not some stupid stranger asking me what I’m doing all the time.” Last time had been a disaster, but of course he hadn’t known that – he wasn’t here.
“Well, that’s not possible. I don’t go to work for the fun of it, you know.” As though a stupidly well-paid job where everyone hung on his words like he was some sort of a god was somehow my fault! “All this,” he cast a hand that took in our huge living room and the valuable objets d’art carefully placed under led highlights. “Doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”
“Fine.” Lost cause, so I should just accept it in a calm, mature manner. “Take the stupid job.” Calm. My mouth had other ideas. “Do as you like – you always do.” I fled from the room before I could say something really stupid. I tried not to slam the door, but my hands wouldn’t co-operate, yanking back so the crash shook the pictures on the wall and made me wince.
*
I never wanted to go on the stupid shopping trip. I was as awkward as I could manage. Dad wanted stylish clothes or jewellery for me, so I insisted we check out an antiques shop instead. All the time I was there, right until I picked up the bottle, I was determined to come back with nothing. I would spurn my father’s attempt to bribe me into being happy about his departure and waste the whole afternoon doing so. It would annoy him for a short time, which was about the best I could hope for.
But by the time dad had followed me through the labyrinth of overloaded shelves I had already found it. Or maybe it found me. It didn’t even catch my eye, not really. The top of a cabinet was crowded with smaller items – picture frames, trinket boxes, china ornaments, silver things that I wasn’t even sure what they were supposed to be. My eyes travelled over them, not seeing them properly, my fingers hovering a centimetre away, not touching in case I damaged something. My hand stopped. I thought I’d hit something, nudged one of the items and my eyes tracked instantly to the spot, tensed to avert disaster. My eye found it, and the bottle was in my hands.
It was nothing special to look at: small, the glass eit
her old or just poor quality with bubbles and ripples in the surface. Then I lifted it to the light and it became beautiful, the facets of cut glass scattering the light when I turned it in my fingers, a tiny stopper snug in the top.
“I’ll have this, please,” I said, pushing past Dad before he’d properly reached my side and handing it over to the shopkeeper before he could get a proper look.
The shopkeeper looked in vain for a price sticker, then held it close to his face, lifting his glasses to see better. Then he shrugged and placed it on the counter between us. “I don’t think it’s even that old. Give me a tenner for it.”
Dad snorted, already turning away. “It’s a piece of junk, Astrid. Find something better.”
My fingers closed around it, the facets comfortable in my hand. “No. I want this.”
He frowned and I was sure he was going to argue, then he flicked his hands upwards in defeat. “Fine, if that’s what you want. Fine.” He jostled forward to pay.
I stepped back, my eye caught by poster stuck on the inside of the door. Attacked in Bancaster. The poster had the police logo in the corner, and appealed for anyone who knew or had witnessed the attack on the young man pictured below. I’d be surprised if anyone who did know him would recognise him from the picture since whoever had attacked him had done a good job of it. His face was swollen up so much I wouldn’t have been able to tell you if he was male or female, or guess at an age if it hadn’t told you (late teens).
“That’s a bad business.” The shopkeeper was watching the poster, shaking his head. “Not safe on the streets around here.”
“Drugs.” Dad sniffed and made a snap judgement. He nodded at poor John Doe. “Shouldn’t have got mixed up in the first place.”
“Maybe he didn’t have a choice.”
I could see dad had no sympathy with that point of view, so I swooped forward to grab the bottle before the shopkeeper could bag it up. “Thanks. Pleasure doing business with you.” I pushed it into the pocket of my jeans and headed home.
*
That Moment When: An Anthology of Young Adult Fiction Page 13