Elusive Memories (The Hunted #1)

by Amanda Shofner

She was making bracelets, string and thread strewn around her in an array of bright colors and half-finished bracelets.

  The voice in the other room barely made her lift her head. “Janey.” She completed a few more rows of the bracelet in front of her.

  “Janey!” More insistent now.

  She jerked her head, impatient at the interruption. “Mom!”

  Sam realized she was in another memory, the energy churning inside her. Janey’s memory. Who was Janey?

  She tossed the bracelet with frustration and stomped into the other room, backpedaling when she saw the scene before her: two men, one of them restraining her mom with a knife to her throat, her mom with fear in her eyes.

  Janey’s mind struggled to comprehend the scene. But Sam understood. The clothes the men wore—dark green pants, same colored shirt with brass buttons—they were the Hunter uniforms. Her stomach turned in fear at what might happen next—what had already happened.

  “Mommy? What’s wrong?”

  Her mom gulped and glanced at the man holding the knife. He inclined his head at the other and said, “Grab the girl. We’ll need her. Scouts said she was the strongest illusionist they’d ever seen. We need someone to withstand the testing.”

  Janey’s mom began to cry.

  The other man snatched her. She struggled to break free, but he said, “If you escape, we’ll kill your mom.”

  She froze.

  “That’s better. Let’s go.”

  They slashed her mom’s throat as they left.

  Sam flew out of the memory, her face wet with tears and her heart beating frantically. She willed it to slow.

  The girl from downstairs.

  It had to be her. Powerful and emotionally disturbing memories often crept into memory-bringers’ consciousness while they slept. Sam’s grandma had told her she was especially susceptible to repressed memories, probably because her energy wasn’t as strong as her grandma’s or even her uncle’s—and they’d worked to teach Sam how to block the memories so they didn’t interrupt her sleep. But she was too off kilter and shaken from the compound to block everything.

  Her heartbeat slowed, but the ache in her chest intensified. How many others had the Hunters victimized or killed? And why had no one tried to unite the Gifted and fight against them? It was past time for it to happen.

  The questions rattled in her brain, frustrating her. She lay back down, her eyes tracing the lines and cracks in the ceiling in the weak light of dawn. She just had to get through the day—a little recon would be necessary to be successful.

  Throwing the covers aside, she slid off the bed and winced when the floor creaked. Without a clock in the room, Sam had no idea what time it was, but the small amount of sun peeking through the curtains told her it was too early to show up at the kitchen.

  Even the light here, soft and barely there, made it impossible to fall back asleep. So much better than being locked up.

  Sam found a bathroom, woke herself up, and headed down to the kitchen. The house was silent this early in the morning—six thirty, if the clock in the bathroom could be trusted—and she hadn’t seen anyone yet.

  She eyed the closest cabinet and pulled it open. She wanted to know where the food was. After being denied food so long, it seemed important to have it easily accessible.

  At the sound of a door opening and closing, Sam jerked, nearly slamming the cabinet shut, and peered around the door to catch a glimpse of who was there.

  An older lady, her thinness obvious under a dress that hung awkwardly on her frame. When she noticed Sam staring, she snapped, “You the memory-bringer?”

  Sam nodded, too nervous at nearly getting caught to say anything.

  The lady turned her nose up. “I’m Joan. You’ll be helping me today.”

  “Okay.”

  The morning flew by after Joan put her to work, but Sam managed to steal a few snack bars and shove them in her pockets while Joan wasn’t looking. She needed the food—no way she trusted the illusionists not to hold back food the way the Hunters had. Having her own stash was essential.

  Before she knew it, it was time to serve the noon meal.

  Five men slid into seats around the table, and the girl—Janey—had taken her position in the living room, not acknowledging anyone’s presence. As Sam plated food, Joan raised an eyebrow and nodded begrudgingly, but said nothing.

  Sam worked quickly to get the plates on the tables, putting food in front of Jones first. The leader. But as she put down the last plate, the men at the table began to laugh. She froze.

  When she looked up, she saw what they found so amusing: there was no fifth person. They’d been messing with her. Dammit. Her face burned. She’d been too busy plotting and had dropped her vigilance. Joan’s chuckle drifted out from the kitchen.

  “Take that to the girl and set it next to her, then get outta our sight.”

  Sam grabbed the plate and fled into the living room before they could see her flush. But she’d managed to scope out the package of bottled water tucked next to the garbage can and planned to filch one or two to add to her snack bars. It’d be a small stash, but it was better than nothing. She wouldn’t be without. The morning hadn’t been a complete loss.

  The girl was in her own world, not even aware of Sam’s presence. With the nightmarish memory echoing in her thoughts, Sam could understand why.

  “Here’s your food, Janey.” Sam set the plate next to her.

  At her name, Janey’s eyes slid up. She stared at Sam without really seeing her and grabbed the plate. Sam clenched her jaw, the weight of their dislike settling on her chest and constricting her breath. She needed to get outside, breathe the fresh air. Not be hemmed in the house. Trapped.

  And when she could think properly, she’d devise a plan to take away the Hunters’ power and bring them to their knees so they never bothered another memory-bringer—or illusionist—again.

  When Jones glared as she moved past, Sam ducked her head and quickened her pace. Joan had joined the men at the table, leaving the kitchen empty. Excitement flooded her body, making her want to skip across the room.

  Grabbing a couple bottles of water would be easy; the difficult part involved sneaking past the men. She couldn’t get back up to her room with her pockets bulging, but she could wait outside until they’d left the house empty and bring it all in.

  The snack bars had been easy to hide in her pockets. Her jeans bagged—she’d had to hunt down something to tie around her waist to keep them up—and extra bulk made no noticeable mark. But the water bottles presented more of a problem. The one Sam slid in her pocket showed its outline, obvious and visible. She pulled it out. The sound of chairs scraping across the floor made her jump.

  She shoved the bottle into the space between her body and jeans, using the makeshift belt to hold it in place. Despite the warmth of the room, the coolness of the bottle made her shiver. Sam listened for any more sounds.

  “Joan, go check what’s taking that memory-bringer so long in the kitchen. If she’s stealing food…”

  Sam swore silently and scanned the kitchen. With the snack bars in her pockets and the bottle of water, she wouldn’t survive a search. She lunged toward the broom she’d left propped up against a wall.

  When Joan poked her head in the kitchen, Sam plastered a smile on her face. “I just thought I’d sweep up and make sure everything is clean.”

  Sam felt the bottle slip a smidge and froze, almost afraid to twist her body. To compensate, she turned up her smile. Joan eyed her suspiciously. “We don’t take kindly to thieves. Especially when they’re fond of stealing memories, too.”

  Sam bit back an instinctive retort and made herself nod. “Just trying to be useful.”

  Joan stared at her for a few more moments before returning the nod. “Hurry it up.”

  When she finally left, Sam sagged in relief. The bottle slipped further, and she almost let the broom topple to the floor.

  She needed to pull it together.

 
Setting the broom down carefully, Sam walked to the kitchen door and peeked out.

  The table was empty. Her gaze darted to the living room. A couple of men were visible from her vantage point. Sam had one foot snaking by the kitchen door before she realized she was trusting whatever her eyes told her.

  She was in an illusionist safe house. Stupid.

  She narrowed her eyes, looking for inconsistencies—for anything that didn’t seem right. Sam closed her right eye, switched to her left, and waited to see if anything changed.

  It didn’t.

  Now was her chance. She didn’t want to risk them seeing her and discovering the food and water. When Coop caught her stealing, he hadn’t gotten angry. These people wouldn’t react the same.

  She flattened herself against the wall beside the door frame that led to the living room. The men were loud and boisterous, discussing the last bar fight they’d had with another illusionist sect. One that was similar to theirs, judging by their love of violence. She felt rooted in place, sickened by their delight over how many they’d injured. All that blood lust would be put to better use fighting the Hunters.

  Could the Gifted unite and fight? They’d be stronger together. Sam frowned. They’d have to overcome the inherent mistrust for each other for it to work. The illusionists believed the memory-bringers stole their memories. The memory-bringers didn’t trust the illusionists to not use illusions against them.

  She balled her fists. It seemed impossible.

  Sam shook herself out of her thoughts. She’d contemplate solutions once she was outside and could breathe again. She mentally fortified herself and stepped to the other side of the door frame, repeating the process of flattening herself against the wall.

  One last hurdle remained: leaving the house. Getting out the door didn’t worry her. She’d sneaked out of her room after her mother banished her there—always unfairly—and she’d never been caught. No, the problem was not knowing how many men were guarding the place and whether they’d see her.

  There were more than usual in the living room, but would they leave the place unguarded during lunch?

  They might be arrogant enough to do it, but their bragging led Sam to believe they knew better—and that they wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to fight.

  By some stroke of luck, she could only see Janey from the door. If Sam couldn’t see the men, they couldn’t see her. She waited until they dissolved into another bout of hearty laughter and twisted the knob on the door, pulling it open.

  Though it would have been impossible for her to hear the door over the laughter, Janey’s head snapped up and focused on Sam. Her insides fluttered with panic. She lifted her finger to her lips and signaled for Janey to be quiet. The girl tilted her head and shrugged, turning back to the room and returning to her blank stare.

  Sam didn’t waste more time. Taking care to shut the door soundlessly behind her, she took off for the cornfields at a dead run.

  The tall stalks swallowed her. She took the water bottle out of her pants and shoved it in her pocket. It’d nearly fallen into her pants during the sprint.

  Sam paused to catch her breath and listen for anything that would indicate her escape had been noticed.

  Maybe they didn’t even care. She shrugged. That’d work too.

  She slipped between two stalks to the empty space between the rows. Where to go? Sam remembered a small cluster of trees somewhere in the middle of the field. She set off in that direction. The trees would provide shade and space for her to rest and figure out what to do. After a few minutes of walking in the hot sun, she was tired and exhausted. Sam swatted a low-hanging corn husk out of the way. How much longer would she have to go?

  Then she heard a sound. Before she could identify it, something heavy thudded into her back, launching her forward. She slammed into the dirt, taking in a mouthful and crunching the water bottle in her pocket. Sam spit out the dirt as she fought to stand, but was knocked to the ground again.

  Whatever had her pinned pushed and held.

  “Well, well, well.”

  Her blood ran cold.

  Reed.

  Chapter Ten