by A. M. Pierre
Anger boiled up through her guts, burning away the fear and uncertainty. Someone had to pay for this. Now. The more logical part of her mind raised up a protest, arguing (quite logically) that she should study her surroundings a bit longer before she acted. The furious part responded by punching the logical part into next week.
“Oh, Kaia, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”
Kaia turned to see who had spoken. Standing at the far side of the room were a blonde woman in a lab coat and the Asian boy from the airport. He had a cheery expression, which faded a tiny bit when Kaia grabbed a scalpel from the instrument tray next to her.
Her hand was shaking, but her voice was steady. “Where am I?”
“I’ll answer all your questions, Kaia, but first things first. My name’s Daisuke. You can call me Dice. How are you feeling?”
“Where. Am. I?”
“Why don’t we go someplace where we can relax and talk about all this—preferably somewhere without razor-sharp medical utensils?”
She raised the scalpel up to eye level. “Sorry, ‘Dice.’ I want answers now. Not in twenty minutes. Not in twenty seconds. Now. Where am I, why did you bring me here, where are my clothes, and why—” her voice cracked as it got louder, “—did you take my necklace?”
The woman muttered something under her breath, but Dice shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” He reached into his pocket.
“Stop!” Kaia gestured toward his hand. “Take it out. Slowly.”
“I was only getting some spare change. There’s something I need to show you.” He spoke loudly to cover the distance between them. “We’re not going to hurt you, Kaia. We only want what’s best for you, I promise.”
Too late, Kaia realized his talking had covered the sound of a door opening behind her. She caught motion in her peripheral vision, but, before she could turn to look, a massive gust of wind slammed into her from behind, knocking her off balance. As she fell forward, a second gust hit her from the front. It pushed her back up into a standing position then whipped around her in a howling whirlwind, like she was standing in the center of her own personal, localized tornado. What the . . . ?
A powerful vortex locked onto her right hand—the one holding the scalpel. She grabbed for it with her other hand, but a second vortex hauled it back. She gripped the scalpel with everything she had, her fingernails digging into her palms like miniature knives.
It didn’t matter in the slightest. The winds peeled her fingers back, one by one, then whisked the scalpel away.
A heartbeat later, the tornado vanished—gone as if it had never existed. The shock of the sudden change was so great that, before she could think to defend herself, two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her off the ground.
She wrenched her body back and forth and kicked back with her feet. “Let me go!”
The voice from behind was accented, familiar. “I would if you’d stop acting completely mental.”
Her eyes opened wide. She twisted her head around enough to look at him. “It’s you.”
A blonde-haired, brown-eyed, dimpled British face smiled back. “Yes. It’s you, too.”
She kicked even harder and slammed her head repeatedly into his chest. “Get off me—this is all your fault, you cocky, umbrella-handed freak!”
His arms didn’t loosen one bit. “Will you lay off, already? You’re going to hurt yourself, and me, too. I’m not going to lie, at the moment I’m more worried about me.” His voice sounded strained. “Dice, do something, I don’t want to hurt her!”
“Just hold her for a couple more seconds. Kaia, I need you to listen to me.”
Fat chance of that happening. “Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”
Dice took a few steps closer. “I can’t think of a single reason, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need to calm down and listen. Firstly, about your personal items—I’m sorry we couldn’t wait for you to wake up, but we had to check your clothing and jewelry for bugs and tracking devices. I want to assure you it was two female nurses who changed your attire, and I promise everything will be returned shortly.”
She gave him a sideways glare.
“I promise. In fact, I have your necklace right here, and I’m going to give it back to you in just a moment.” He reached into his pocket again, but it wasn’t her pendant that he pulled out. It was a handful of pennies. “You’ll understand everything very soon. It will take some explaining, but you will understand. For now, though, please calm down.”
She already had. She hadn’t even noticed that Connor had let her go. She took a step closer to Dice, watching him intently. Or, more accurately, watching the dozens of pennies twirling and dancing and spinning through the air in front of him in an intricate and mesmerizing ballet. He smiled. “Glad I finally have your attention, because we have a few things we need to discuss.”
Kaia’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “It’s not a trick, then, is it? No wires or wind blowers?”
“Hold out your hand.” Dice made a slight flicking motion with his fingers, and all the coins flew across the gap between them and landed in several neat stacks on her palm. She tentatively touched them, like they might shock her, then pushed them around. Nothing attached to them. “And now for the wind blower theory,” he said. The pennies stood on their edges then floated again, reorienting in mid-air to form a smiley face a foot in diameter that hovered—perfectly steady—at Kaia’s eye level. “Satisfied?” Dice asked.
Kaia nodded. The smiley face winked at her, then the coins shot back to Dice’s hand. He gave them one last flip in the air and put them back in his pocket. “And now, as a reward for being such a wonderful audience . . .” He pulled her pendant out of his other pocket and handed it to her.
She quickly fastened it around her neck, and a wave of calm flowed over her as it settled back into place. “So . . . So all the stuff at the airport—I didn’t dream it up?”
“Nope.”
She looked around the old and new room and the people in it, a thousand questions forming but only the most obvious one making it out: “Where am I?”
Dice grinned. “Where all people like us eventually end up. Welcome to Mark’s Place.”
* * *
Connor really didn’t want to tag along when Dice gave Kaia the grand tour. After all, it wasn’t like you needed two people to show you where the toilets were. And, until Ms. Smith cleared her to leave the core living and training areas, there wasn’t much else to see.
Besides, Connor knew he, in particular, would hurt more than help. Kaia was obviously still upset about the whole “shooting her in the back and kidnapping her” thing, and right now they wanted her as calm as possible—especially since they didn’t know her element yet.
If I just casually linger here, they’ll do it all without me . . . Connor glanced around the med center for someone he could burn through ten minutes of small talk with. Of course, I pick the one time Gabby isn’t studying down here. It’s just me and . . . the nurse whose name I can’t remember. Connor was terrible with names even when he wanted to remember them, and he tried to avoid the med center and its associated needles, tests, and nurses (other than Gabby) at all costs. Honestly, he always thought of the nurse as “Lab Coat Lady” but suspected that might not go over too well. He didn’t need names for small talk, though . . .
Sixty seconds later, their non-conversation was over. Awkward questions and lame segues apparently didn’t count for much. Who knew? He could hear Dice’s voice approaching outside the door. Nothing else for it . . . With a sigh, Connor left the med center to follow along for the tail end of the tour.
“. . . and here we have the ‘rec room’—our main hang out area. We have several big screen TV’s, all the best past and current games along with the consoles or devices required to play them, access to all
the major streaming services, a large library of movies and music stored on drives or physical media, and several hundred television channels in whatever language you prefer. If you like more traditional pastimes, there are cards, books, board games, and a pool table around the corner.”
Kaia gestured towards one of the gaming PC’s. “The Internet, too, right?”
Connor smiled slightly as Dice got to squirm for a second. He knew it probably didn’t reflect too well on him as a person, but Connor quite enjoyed it when someone else had to deliver the bad news for a change. “You can use them for that . . . eventually,” Dice said. “We also have computer access in our on-site classroom—can’t let the dropouts among us stay uneducated, can we?” Dice threw a grin Connor’s way, and Connor glared ineffectually back. “Everyone’s taught together—our very own one-room schoolhouse. It’s very retro, but with tons of high-tech toys.” He cleared his throat slightly. “You will have to use a guest pass on the computers for a while. For security reasons, all contact with the outside world is limited at first.”
Connor grinned. Wait for it . . .
“Oh, okay,” she mumbled, playing with the chain around her neck.
Oh, okay?! That was just not fair. It was like she was so overwhelmed by all the big bombshells that the smaller ones were barely registering.
Dice had moved the tour to the other side of the room where a large oil portrait hung. “And here we have the namesake for our little hideout: Mark de Miron, the first leader of our group.”
Connor had always thought the painting looked slightly out of place, with its gilded frame and brass plaque underneath. Maybe it made sense in terms of the building they were in, but not when hung on the wall next to a 60-inch high-def television. He read the plaque even though he knew what it said. Mark R. de Miron. Heroic Leader. Missing in Action. Gone but Not Forgotten.
Connor knew it was intended to show honor and respect, but it always felt vaguely morbid. At least they had decided against putting up portraits of the other casualties they’d had. That would’ve been truly depressing.
It had only been a few weeks after Connor’s recruitment when Mark had been lost on a mission. Or, as Dice told anyone who would listen, “inexplicably lost under mysterious circumstances”—though “falling fifty feet off a bridge” seemed pretty explicable to Connor. Connor hadn’t got to know him too well before the “incident,” but he couldn’t forget Mark’s face. Or, to be more accurate, his hair. Connor had seen some gingers in his life, but never had he seen such an insanely bright red color on anyone who hadn’t dyed it. It sounded kind of callous, but Connor had immediately predicted Mark would get taken out. When you’re on a covert mission, neon red hair doesn’t help much with the “covert” part.
“Did he bring you guys together?” Kaia asked. The timidity in her voice surprised Connor. She had been quiet in the airport, sure, but he’d put it down to the stress of that particular situation. When she’d woken up, though—Connor knew he was going to have bruises on his chest and shins from her flailing head and limbs. Before: wildly kicking crazy woman. Now: demure damsel.
“Oh, no, Mark didn’t recruit us,” Dice replied. “He was the first recruit and our first leader.”
“So who recruited you, then?” She almost sounded afraid to ask.
“All in good time. First, I want you to meet everyone else in our merry band. If you’ll follow me . . .”
* * *
Kaia let out a breath through pursed lips and closed her eyes for a moment. Try to forget about flying pennies and localized tornadoes and focus. I might be meeting the kidnapping leaders or other victims, but, whoever they are, I should probably try to make a good impression. Which means not sitting there like a lump.
She opened her eyes to see Dice pin a name tag on himself and hand another one to her. He pushed open the double doors in front of him and beckoned for her to follow him.
Here goes nothing.
The dining room felt as old as all the other rooms Kaia had seen. Streamers had been spread under, over, and through all of the furniture, but they couldn’t hide the far less modern style underneath. The table and chairs decorated with intricate carvings and inlays, the light fixtures that had once held candles instead of light bulbs—they weren’t exactly things she’d seen for sale at the mall. She had seen them in her history books, though—in the section on France.
Meaning her kidnappers probably hadn’t taken her out of the country, but it still didn’t tell her exactly where she was. In this room, like in the lab area where she’d woken up, alcoves covered by wooden shutters lined the walls, but, again, she was sure windows lay behind them.
She turned her attention to the dinner table. Five teenagers sat at the far end—three boys and two girls—with three empty place settings, too. Normally, a table setting for eight wouldn’t have struck her as being small, but the table here could easily sit fifteen, if not more.
With a start, she realized they were all staring at her, openly evaluating her. It was the look the new kid at school gets on their first day—a look Kaia knew all too well. She tried to hold their gaze but only lasted a couple of seconds before she was staring at the floor. Stop that! I have to speak up—to try and be friendly. It might be my only way out of here.
She felt Dice’s hand gently pulling on her arm, leading her to the two empty chairs on the left side. His hand dropped, and she looked up under hooded eyes to see Dice march to the other side of the table and throw his arms open wide like a circus ringmaster.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Ms. Kaia Davis from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, USA. She’s still a little wobbly after her long day, so I’m asking that everyone do what they can to make her feel at home.”
“Oh, do sit down, Dice,” said one of the two girls, her words marked by a pronounced French accent. She had violet eyes and light brown hair—so light it almost looked blonde—falling in waves down her back. Great, the cheerleading-mean-girl type. “We all know who she is. Let her eat something before she collapses.”
Okay, she might be nice. Kaia smiled slightly in thanks as she sat down.
“Sorry, could you slide down one? That’s kind of my chair.”
Kaia jumped. She hadn’t realized Connor was behind her, and her annoyance at being surprised merged with the general annoyance he inspired. She scowled at him. So much for trying to be friendly.
“Kaia is our guest of honor,” the French girl said. “One would think you would show proper English manners for once and let the lady choose.”
“I’m Welsh, Alley Cat, not English. ‘One’ would think you would be able to remember that seeing as I’ve only told you a thousand times.”
“And I’ve told you how much I hate it when you call me that name!”
“Some civility, please.” Kaia’s ears perked up. It was such a calm, authoritative voice it immediately soothed her Connor-inspired annoyance. She snuck a glance at the boy sitting at the head of the table. He was probably a year or two older than her, with the olive-tinted skin of the Mediterranean and thick jet-black hair that curled on top. A thin, faded scar split his right eyebrow and continued below his eye. Somehow it worked for him. Whoa. What a cutie. Stop that, the logical side of her brain said, he might be a kidnapper. Yeah, a really cute kidnapper. He smiled kindly. “Please, sit wherever you would like.” She found herself smiling back. Connor flopped down in the seat next to her, muttering under his breath. “Now,” the soothing voice continued, “I will start the introductions. My name is—”
“I’m sorry,” Connor interrupted, “but why are we wearing the stupid-looking badges if we’re going to tell her what our names are? What’s the matter, Z, afraid she can’t read?”
The cutie, er, kidnapper sighed. “You know that is not what I—”
Kaia turned to glare at Connor. “I can read perfectly well, thank you very much.”
He gr
inned maddeningly at her. “Prove it.”
Cocky little punk. “Fine, I will.” She turned to the boy seated to her left.
Whoa.
She’d vaguely noted he was tall before, but now, seated right next to him and looking up, she saw him for what he really was—a barrel-chested giant who had to be well over six feet. She gulped slightly. Nothing to be intimidated by. You can do this. She focused on his badge. Влади́мир Сергеевич Соколов.
Connor laughed. Kaia whipped around to face him. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”
The giant tapped on her shoulder, and she turned back to face him. “Do not be too hard on him, Kaia.” His accent was thick but understandable. “Connor is not for the making of friends easily.” He leaned over, mock hiding his mouth behind one enormous hand. “He is having trust issues.”
“Oh, shut up, Vlad,” Connor said.
The big guy ignored him. “Please allowing me to introduce myself. I am Vladimir Sergeyevich Sokolov, but Vladimir is good. I am coming from Russia. Are you understanding me okay? I learned English later than others, so sometimes I am still having problems.”
Kaia smiled. “Not at all.”
“Thank you.” His kindly blue-gray eyes shone. “We must watch movies together sometimes. Have you seen John Wayne?”
Kaia thought for a second. “You mean the guy from all those old Westerns?”
“Yes, yes, that is him. I have always been wanting to visit America to see the West. Have you been there?”
“No, sorry.”
“No worry, maybe we see it together one day, yes?” Vladimir gestured to the boy sitting across from him—he was on the skinny side, with closely shaved hair and dark chocolate skin. “This is my very good friend—” Vladimir paused and grinned, “but I am thinking you can read his name tag without my help.”
Mikaël Kaboré. “Mikaël?” Kaia gave it the French pronunciation of “mee-kah-ell.” “Were you born here in France?” Mikaël shook his head no. “Haiti?” No. “West Africa?” Yes.