by Lisa Amowitz
Lila tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, her big eyes moist. “We all feel that way at first, Beth. It’s not easy living like this. But you’ll get used to it.”
I wanted to hug her for her kindness, but I didn’t deserve it. I’d killed the one thing she loved the most and when she found that out, she would hate me. But I couldn’t come out with it and risk an involuntary backlash to her anger.
“Thanks, Lila. I’m beat now. Maybe I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”
Lila smiled through her tears. The future loss of her friendship blew through me like a cold wind. “Maybe? If you’re not better in the morning, I’ll send Dawn in to work on you no matter what Monica says. Tomorrow night is the Reveal, or have you forgotten?”
My insides pulled into knots. In the swamp of my fears, I had completely forgotten. “No. Okay. But I’m already feeling better. I just need to rest.”
Once under my covers I dropped into a dreamless sleep until someone shook me gently awake. Zuber’s dark stare pierced through the gray half-light of my room. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and wondered if I was dreaming, because another pair of familiar blue eyes peered back at me. Xavier.
I threw off the covers and bolted upright in my bed. “What the hell?”
Zuber put his fingers to his lips. “Shhh.”
It was Xavier. Dark hair fell over the scarred half of his face. He was even paler and thinner than before. The cocky half-smile was long gone, the vivid blue eye now clouded by a haunted look. He looked half-dead. But the KBR assassins hadn’t gotten to him, at least.
“Where have you been? What’s going on?”
Xavier pointed to his throat.
“He can’t speak,” Zuber said.
Xavier lowered his head and coughed into a tissue. Flecks of red peppered the white.
“Monica did this to him,” Zuber said. “She’s been exploiting Talent for years. If the Guild comes to investigate, it’s because of her.”
“Won’t they help stop this?”
“He’s an unregulated Volatile. First they’ll use him to implicate Monica.” Zuber glanced at Xavier. “Then they’ll kill him. He’s got to leave. There’s no way he’s getting out of this alive. But despite my protests, he insisted on seeing you one last time.”
Xavier nodded and smiled grimly. I shivered as he leaned closer, his lips brushing my cheek and the edge of my mouth.
“Where will you go?” I blurted. “Let me come with you. I don’t want to stay here.”
Xavier’s cobalt eye bore into mine. Wincing, as if it was a great effort, he lifted his black shirt above the waistband of his jeans. Carved into the taut muscles of his abdomen and still beaded with blood was the same symbol he’d scribbled for me on his crude note.
When he started to reach into the pocket of his pants, Zuber was on his feet, shouting. “What the hell are you doing? You’ll kill yourself, idiot!”
I’d never heard Zuber raise his voice or move so quickly. He lunged to tackle Xavier, who sidestepped him neatly, and Zuber crashed headlong onto my bed. He rebounded and tried again, but he was no match for the speed and liquid grace Xavier still possessed despite his weakened condition.
The two of them wrestled, Zuber trying to grab whatever it was that Xavier had clenched in his fist, until finally a stinging back-handed smack across the mouth halted Zuber.
Zuber rubbed his swelling lip and watched sullenly as Xavier staggered backward to the wall, his back pressed against it before his legs gave way and he slid down to the floor.
“He never learns,” said Zuber. Xavier sat dazed, gasping for breath, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. “It looks bad, but it will pass,” he said. “This time, at least.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Monica’s got him under an illegal compulsion so he doesn’t break under the Guild’s interrogation. He’s obviously got a lot of dirt on her. He’s trying to fight the hold she has on him, but the effort is killing him. Every bit of truth he gives up, he pays for in blood and suffering. Even if he writes it down. Or carves it into his own skin.”
“But what does that symbol mean?” I pressed.
Zuber shrugged. When Xavier’s coughing fit had finally subsided, he motioned for me to come closer. Resting in his open palm was a small object, drenched with his blood. I peered closer at the triangular disc.
It was a guitar pick etched with the name of my old band, August Rebellion. Frozen with disbelief, I flipped the pick over. The words I’d inscribed on it the night I’d given it to Sam were still there. Love you forever.
And beneath that, scratched in a shaky hand were the words, There’s a way out.
In an instant I was on my feet, my face inches away from Xavier, fury raging in my veins.
“Where did you get this? How do you know Sam?”
Zuber grabbed me by the collar and flung me across the room. “Leave him!” he shouted, crouching protectively near Xavier. “He’s told you enough!”
“If you knew Sam, I have to know!” I roared, pulling myself up onto my hands and knees.
Above me the cloud, black on gray, had already begun to gather. My hair stood up by its roots.
“He’s told you enough,” Zuber said quietly.
The shadows dipped like low-hanging clouds. “I have to know,” I sobbed. “Please.”
Zuber glared at me. “You have no idea the strength it took for him to give that to you. You’ll have to figure the rest out on your own.”
Zuber dragged Xavier to his feet and threw one slack arm around his neck. “I sure hope you’re worth it,” he added, before the two of them walked straight through the exterior wall of my room and out of the compound.
25
I TRIED TO CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP, BUT IT WAS NO use—I remained awake, questions rolling through my head like ocean breakers. How on earth could Xavier have the pick I had given to Sam over a year ago?
How could he know him?
Had Sam been here?
It made no sense and only fueled my fury.
I craved oblivion. Craved freedom from my surging rage. How easy it would be to let it sink into my skin and put an end to this nightmare.
But there was Vincent. I still couldn’t justify sacrificing the life of someone so noble and beautiful—no matter how bad it got.
In the morning, Vincent came to tell me I was expected at breakfast as if nothing had happened at all. As if I hadn’t been confined to my room. He was distant and courteous, the mask of placid serenity firmly in place. When he took me by the arm, I could feel our energies collide and war with each other.
He was scared to death of me, and it hurt. But I couldn’t really blame him.
Finally, midway through our walk to the dining hall, I couldn’t take the silence. I jumped in front of him to block his way. “I can’t stand this, Vincent. Why won’t you talk to me? What’s going on here?”
Vincent raised an eyebrow. His self-control was remarkable, but I could see the slight twitch in his jaw. “We’re going to breakfast. After that, you have practice and I have class. Monica wants you to have some extra training sessions today.”
“Cut me some slack, Vincent. You had to feel it. The Guild is coming, aren’t they?”
Vincent stopped and sighed. “If you mean, did I sense your inner turmoil last night, yes, I did. But was I prepared to help you? I’m sorry, Beth, but I have to be careful about intervening when you go off the rails like that. Contrary to popular belief, I do not have a death wish.”
“But you don’t know why I was upset, do you? Or do you? Do you know where Xavier is?”
“No. I don’t. And I can’t say that I care.” Vincent stared back at me, the twitch in his jaw more pronounced. “I truly thought I could help you gain control of yourself. But it may be safer for you to learn on your own. I care about you. But I—I underestimated your strength and I’m not sure I can— I wish it could have been different between us.”
“What about our connection?”
V
incent stared at me for another beat, sorrow and regret forcing its way through the cracks in his mask. “Our connection,” he said, “will take many months of separation to fade.”
He looked away, then, rearranging his beautiful features, stalked ahead of me to the dining hall.
The chatter in the dining hall was like garbage can lids clanging in my ears, loud and unbearable. Zuber bent as if in prayer over his omelet, never once looking up. Demetri delivered lame jokes that fell like stones on his miserable and silent audience. Vincent’s seat was empty. A blur of gold curls, he dashed around the hall like an industrious insect, avoiding me like I was a Venus flytrap. Lila pushed her food around, her eyes still puffy and moist. With false gaiety she tried to engage me about my shoes and dress for the Reveal. I wasn’t having it and kept my mouth clamped shut as if my jaws had been sewn together. Across the room, Kevin struggled to feed Della in the seat Xavier used to occupy.
I couldn’t choke my food down past the bile that rose in my throat. Above us, tendrils of shadow slithered between the chandeliers.
I somehow made it all the way through breakfast. Once it was over, I found Monica waiting for me in the hall, a smug smile pulling on her lips.
“Are you ready to get to work now?” She paused and arched an eyebrow. “Yes. I thought so.”
Gideon shuffled toward us up the hall behind Monica. He was dragging one leg slightly as if he favored the other, and his usually glossy auburn waves hung lank and dingy. His shoulders were hunched, the normally vivid blue eyes filmy and dull. Even his oversized ring seemed to lack its usual luster. “May I see you for a moment, Monica?” Gideon asked, trying to draw himself up straighter.
Monica pivoted on her heel. His sickly demeanor must have set her off because she stalked angrily over to him. They argued in urgent whispers, apparently forgetting I was there.
A whiff of dampness, decay, and rot surrounded me. The smell of impending death.
Directly over Gideon’s head, a vague whirlpool of shadow had begun to form. I turned abruptly and started to run.
Monica grabbed me by the shoulder and whirled me around to face her. “Not so fast. We have an engagement.” Her eyes sparkled, the red lips pulled back in a brittle smile. Gideon shuffled away down the hall, even more bent and hunched than before.
Whatever disturbing news he’d shared with Monica, she wasn’t about to let me in on it. She hustled me roughly down the hall, heels clacking on the marble tiles of the main floor, toward the library wing.
In the dank tunnels of the compound, the acrid scent of death seeped from between the stones, carrying hints and warnings of past crimes. I shuddered and wondered if I could decode their messages, if my new sensitivity to smell was another aspect of my Talent.
After a long trudge through the bowels of the compound, we arrived at the training room. Just like before, a single candelabra glowed in the red-curtained room. Monica gestured for me to sit at the antique table at the room’s center.
The sharp scent of violence and danger still clung to my nasal passages. I struggled to breathe evenly and rein in the murderous rage that thundered in my temples.
She’d hurt Xavier. How many countless others had she harmed?
If I killed her here and now, I would bring the Guild’s punishment down on myself. And no one would ever know the truth about what she’d been up to.
And I’d become like her.
Monica smiled at me and tapped her red nails on the scarred and pitted table.
“Tell me where he is,” she said, her smile turning suddenly venomous.
“What?”
“Don’t play sweet and innocent with me, Collins. Xavier. He’s gone and I want him back.”
“Why’s that?” I said, leaning toward her over the table, knowing it would make her flinch. She knew better than anyone just how fragile my control was.
“I may not have the ability to physically harm you, but I can make you wish I did. We have need of his services here, and their loss could be devastating,” she said coolly. But a slight quaver had crept into her voice. Even Monica the Great was frightened of me.
I straightened in my chair. “Even if I knew where he was, why would I tell you? So you can hurt him more than you already have?”
“Why, you ask?” Monica’s voice lowered, her eyes flashing. “Because your very existence depends on it. Sometimes individuals must suffer for the good of the whole. I never meant Xavier any harm. He is the victim of his own stubbornness.”
“You’ve been using him. How can that be helping him?”
“You would never understand the complicated machinations of our world. You are far too simple. And until you master yourself, the less you know the better. Now tell me,” she said, rising to her feet. “Where is he?”
A column of flame enclosed me in a ring of fire, the searing heat melting my clothes to my skin. I howled as my flesh blistered until white bone shone under the charred skin.
It isn’t real, I told myself between screams. From behind the curtain of flames I could see Monica smiling.
“Where is he?” Her cool voice boomed inside my head. “Everything you feel, dear sweet Vincent feels. Who means more to you—Vincent or Xavier? Choose!”
Not real. Not real. Not real.
“I swear! I don’t know where he is!” Latching onto an icy reservoir in the pit of my chest, I reached down into it, beyond caring about anything except stopping the agony. Teeth gritted, I directed the cold shadow around me like a shield to block the flames. The illusion faded. I crumpled, completely unscathed, the deep pain sending aftershocks across my traumatized body. Shadows shimmered around me like a beaded curtain.
This time Monica didn’t smile or clap. She gaped at me, her face white, her lips parted in shock. “How did you do that?” she hissed.
I heaved in a breath and the curtain of shadow crystalized and sifted to the floor like sand. “I have no idea.”
Monica sat erect and placed both her hands on the table. She spoke with a tremble in her voice. “Your Talent is more potent than I ever imagined. Why would you want to fall under the Guild’s control, Beth, when they kill off or stifle every Volatile? With my help you can be invincible.”
“I don’t want to be invincible,” I said. “I just want to be in control of my own mind.”
“I can help you to do that,” she said, a full smile blooming. “Just tell me where Xavier is.”
“I don’t know!” I jumped to my feet. Tendrils of darkness sprouted around me, forming a thicket of shivering vines. Monica backed away as the vines branched off and twisted toward her.
“You need me,” she said softly. “But until you tell me where Xavier is, you are on your own. Remember, if the Guild marks your Volatile Talent, which I assure you they will, you’ll get no protection from me.”
She strode toward a thick wooden door, the room’s only exit. “Let’s see how well you do without me.”
She slipped through the door and it slammed abruptly behind her, the sound of it echoing in the curtained chamber like the close of a coffin lid. I rushed for the door as it shimmered and vanished, leaving only a wall of seamless velvet curtain in its place.
26
I PULLED BACK THE DRAPES WHERE THERE WAS ONCE a door to find nothing there but stone, as if I was at the bottom of a well. The tapers in the candelabra were burning low. Soon they’d gutter out, plunging me into complete darkness.
Monica had sealed me in my own tomb.
Fury and fear clouded my thinking, the cold reservoir of death sending icy spikes of rage through my veins. My deadly Talent would do me no good down here. I needed to think clearly. I pushed back on my terror, forcing down the lethal waves clamoring to escape from deep inside.
As the last of the candlelight sputtered out, the light resurged, then burst back into full flame, the tapers restored to their original length. Another of Monica’s tricks, I figured. Which meant there had to be a door here somewhere.
I closed my eyes and finge
red the stone behind the drapes, determined to feel my way past her illusion. When that proved to be of no use, I crawled across the floor in search of a trap door.
I searched until my fingers were numb, holding the line on my growing hysteria.
Then I heard it. A scratching, chittering onslaught— growing closer. An army of white rats burst from under the curtains, a seething squirming mass of teeth and claws. They swarmed around me, piling on, climbing under my shirt, scratching my skin, even plugging my mouth so I couldn’t scream.
The rage welled up inside me until it burst like a geyser, filling the room with choking darkness. The army of rats vanished, but the death cloud covered the ceiling, a billowing menace.
The cloud descended, a thunderhead of death. It was getting hard to breathe. I thought of Vincent and wondered where he was as the life got squeezed out of him. And the more outraged I became, the more death oozed from me, killing us both.
No, I vowed. I couldn’t let him die like this.
Vincent deserved to live.
And Xavier needed my help.
Monica wanted this. Monica wanted me to suffocate on my own poison.
And I wouldn’t let that happen.
I focused hard on drawing the darkness back into myself, but it wasn’t working. My limbs were going numb, ice freezing in my veins. My breathing was getting slower, like sucking air through a straw underwater. The closer I got to death, the more death flowed from me.
I lay sprawled on the floor, too numb and weak to care anymore, and whispered my apologies to Vincent, who was most likely dying wherever our still-linked connection had found him.
Through slitted eyes, I watched the blanket of oblivion drop from the ceiling. But instead of thickening, the darkness was somehow thinning, drifting toward the opposite wall.
The curtain parted. Darkness rushed toward the door-shaped cracks in the stone. Pressure built inside me, built inside the room, until finally, the force of the explosion blew a hole through the stone.
I lay, stunned and barely able to move, on the damp floor. The candles had been snuffed out. Weak light filtered in through the opening from the tunnel beyond.