Silver and Gold (Red and Black Book 3)

by Nancy O'Toole Meservier

  “So, not a tree at all,” Connor said.

  “Just a highly convincing facsimile,” Alan replied.

  Whatever that meant.

  “Huh,” Connor said, looking across the trees. “I wonder. Can you take this?”

  I blinked as he plopped the satellite phone, of all things, in my hand before backing up a few steps. He slipped his bow from over his shoulders, raised it in front of him, and drew it back, just like he would have if an arrow had been nocked, leaving me to wonder what the hell he was doing. And then, a beam of light formed between his fingers, arching like lighting, crossing the span of the bow as if it were an arrow. A breath escaped from his lips in a sigh, and the arrow flew at the trees, heading toward a spot between the two trees, just five feet from Alan’s right.

  I heard it hit something solid.

  The light from the arrow spread out across the surface of the trees in branching arcs. Or at least, what had looked like trees. The forest flickered, the image of trees burning away to reveal a large door. And when I say large, I mean large. It was big enough for three, maybe four pickup trucks to drive in side by side. It stood close to ten feet tall and had an industrial look to it. The gate met in a horizontal line about halfway across the middle. The tree at Alan’s side wasn’t a birch anymore, but a metal post. The security panel looked a lot more at home on it.

  Alan ducked around it. “The gate leads down and into the mountain.”

  “Holy shit.” I let out a breath. “That was a hologram. I feel like I’ve been transported into one of Dawn’s superhero shows.”

  “Wait, this is what makes you feel like you’re in a superhero show?” Connor asked.

  “How did you do that?” I turned toward him.

  “It’s real simple,” he said with a smile. “Powers are just internal energy sources, right? It’s why we can get tired when we start to run low. But while most people channel that energy into a specific action determined by genetics, I can draw mine out and shape it in the physical world.” He held out his right hand. Lightning arched between his splayed fingers. “Pretty cool, right? In small doses I can use it to energize an ally. In larger doses the energy becomes a concussive force, enough to knock people out without forming any lasting injuries.” He closed his fists and the lightning disappeared. “Regardless of size, it tends to have a nasty effect on electronics. It’s why I’m always accidentally frying my phone. Thank you.”

  He reached out and grabbed his phone from my hand.

  “Wait!”

  We both looked up at the sound of Alan’s voice, suddenly sharp.

  “Do you mean all types of electronics. Including,”—he looked at the post—“electronic locks?”

  Connor’s face fell. “Oh, shit.”

  Alan moved back toward the post, pushing aside the panel again to reveal the keypad. I watched as his shoulders relaxed, but only a fraction.

  “The keypad still works,” he said. “But I am unable to tell if it still connects to the door.”

  “And even if it did work, I don’t think SynergyCorp gave Dawn the access code,” I added.

  “Fuck,” Connor said. “I don’t suppose either of you are hackers?”

  “I can barely figure out how to use my own cell phone.”

  “I can do some coding, but nothing serious,” Alan said, shaking his head. “I have no idea how to handle something like this.”

  “Fortunately, I know a guy.” I reached for my own phone. “One who would be all too willing to help.”

  “That’s great!” Connor said, slapping me on the back. He paused. “Then why don’t you look more excited?”

  “He’s not exactly my biggest fan.”

  9

  Dawn

  For a few seconds, it was like I was still there. In that large white room with its high ceilings, and people—so many people—dying all around me. I took in deep, gasping breaths, attempting in vain to fill my empty lungs. And then a soft, calming voice cut through it all.

  “It’s okay, Dawn. It’s okay! You’re here now.”

  I blinked, my chaotic surroundings vanishing for the similarly all-white room of Birchwood Realty. I couldn’t help but think about how Calypso had found white walls to be calming. I’m not sure if I’d ever be able to see them the same way again.

  Lilah sat in front of me, her hand clasped around my own.

  “Oh, Dawn,” she said, shaking her head. “I am so sorry.”

  “What?” I said, still half breathless. Only, I had no reason to be. My time in Project Regen had had been months ago. Now, it was nothing more than a dream.

  A dream that had felt all too real.

  “I’m sorry it took so long for me to pull you out,” Lilah replied, answering my question.

  “The time differential?” I asked.

  She winced. “I underestimated how long it would be. I started taking you out while you were in the truck, but then you managed to pull yourself together. The second you entered that glass room, though…” She paused to swallow. “You should have never witnessed that again.”

  But I had, I couldn’t help but think. The fact that I had forgotten about witnessing it didn’t change the fact that I had.

  “Do you need something?” she asked. “A glass of water? What about some fresh air? Do you need to go outside?”

  I blinked, finding Lilah’s responses weirdly familiar.

  “You’re babbling,” I said.

  “I, uh…guess I am.” She moved to a standing position. I noticed that she rubbed her hands against the tops of her thighs as she did so.

  She seemed just as shaken as I was.

  Then maybe she’d be just as grateful for something else to focus on too.

  “Um…I’m sorry I wasn’t able to remember anything about the trip there,” I said. “I should have…I don’t know, paid attention to how long I was on the road? I was just too panicked.” I paused to school the tremor in my voice. “Were you able to pull anything useful out of that?”

  “Quite a bit.” Lilah turned back to her notepad on the small table. “As an observer, I was able to create a rough estimate of the route.” She paused. “Although the guys will have to get creative once they go off-road.”

  “That’s great then.” I felt some of the tightness leave my chest. “And what about the victims? I didn’t get any names, but do you think the Forgers will be able to make any connections to Jane’s dead tree list based on their physical descriptions and powers?”

  Lilah’s lips formed into a tight line. “Actually, I was able to make a connection myself.”

  “Oh?”

  She reached into her pocket, then froze. “Drat, I left my phone in other room when I was talking with Connor.” She hesitated. “I need to call him anyway. Is it okay if I leave for a few minutes?”

  “That’s fine,” I replied, feeling a tight smile form on my dry lips. “Although…I would appreciate that glass of water.”

  The second she left the room, I let out a long, inheld breath. I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes and found myself surrounded by faces. The teenage boy, being slowly crushed to death. The woman, her hands disappearing into thin air. And Teresa…Teresa del Toro.

  I blinked. That had been one of the names that Calypso had provided when she had absorbed my memories. Then who were the other people? The man with the curly hair—was that Diego del Toro? He had spoken to her with such familiarity. Did that mean they were related?

  The one face that hadn’t come up in that room had been one I was the most familiar with: Mark’s. Was there a chance that he had been taken too? And if so, was he still back there?

  My thoughts were cut off by the sound of Lilah’s voice echoing down the hallway, her words punctuated by the clicking of her bootheels.

  “Let me know how things shake out,” she said as she walked into the room. “Be safe.”

  She carried a glass of water in one hand, her pad of paper tucked under the same arm. The other hand balanced the phone, which s
he hung up before sitting down next to the bed.

  “The guys are heading toward the Project Regen site,” she confirmed. “Connor will keep us informed with text messages.”

  “That’s great,” I said, accepting the water. “I wish I could tell them more. There’s so much we don’t know.”

  “Well, we’ve confirmed that SynergyCorp has found a way to induce people’s powers.”

  “Only when they did it was like those powers were turned up to eleven. They couldn’t control them.” I paused to take a sip. “Um…I guess it’s not surprising. If they were all part of dead trees like my family, then they had no idea about the Forgers, or that powers were even an option for them.”

  “That’s not entirely true.”

  “Huh?” I looked up at Lilah, who was scrolling through her phone.

  “Just a second,” she said. “Here.”

  She flipped the phone around, showing an image of a teenager with red hair and freckles. I felt my stomach sink. It was the guy I had seen crushed into the floor. In the photo, he wore a button-up shirt and smiled. It reminded me of something you might find in a yearbook.

  “Is he from the dead tree list?” I asked.

  “No,” Lilah replied. “I have access to a portion of the Forger Archives. This is Bobby Donnelly.”

  “A Forger?” I frowned.

  “A Forger who failed his Awakening,” Lilah replied, placing the phone on the table. “Which isn’t much of a surprise. The majority of us do. I recognized Bobby because he grew up in my Forger community.” She gazed at the photo for a second, then shook her head. “The last I heard, Bobby, or Rob I believe he chose to go by as he got older, had decided to embark on his Year Away.” She paused. “I take it that’s something Riley didn’t tell you about?”

  I shook my head.

  “Right. So, after a Forger turns eighteen years old, they are encouraged to spend at least one full year completely separated from the greater community. Nowadays, most people interpret this as a chance to go to college, but traditionally that separation has been complete. No visits. Contact only in the case of an emergency. Bobby’s family, for whatever reason, still interpreted the Year Away like this. And when he didn’t return at the end of it, his family assumed this was a sign he no longer wanted to be part of the community. They were pretty heartbroken.” She glanced down at her phone. “Going to be a lot more heartbroken now.”

  “Wait,” I replied, raising a hand. “If Bobby Donnelly wasn’t from a dead tree family, but an active Forger family—”

  “Then Project Regen was pulling from more than just the list that Jane compiled.” Lilah shook her head. “Which means there is a chance they have access to the archives.”

  “Giving them the names and powersets of every Forger family.”

  “And empowered outsiders.”

  “Then that means…this is much bigger than trying to protect a few dozen names on a list! This could be…what, tens of thousands of people?”

  “Try hundreds of thousands.”

  “Then I need to go back into my memories, right away!”

  “What? No.”

  “Lilah, if that many people are in danger, then we need to know as much about Project Regen as possible! And right now, the only real connection we have to Regen is in my memories and with whatever Connor and Alex are able to find out in that facility.” I swallowed. “I hope they’re okay.”

  “Connor can take care of himself, and Alex too,” Lilah said. “Let’s worry about you right now. Dawn…this isn’t a healthy way of wading through old issues. This is traumatic.”

  “And right now, it’s necessary! And, like you said, if things get bad, you can just pull me out again.”

  “And look how well that worked last time!”

  “I’m sitting right here, aren’t I?” I spread out my arms in front of me. “Lilah, I have good that I can do here. At the very least, we can continue to identify the people who were abducted at the same time I was, figure out what happened to them, and if necessary, provide closure to their families.” Including Mark’s, I added silently. “Um…a hundred thousand people is a lot. That’s a city. And they’re your people.”

  “Yours too,” Lilah said softly. “Even if you are an outsider.”

  “Sorry, I don’t feel that same type of connection,” I replied. “But I also can’t just sit here knowing that people are potentially being hurt by this. Don’t you understand that?”

  Lilah raised her eyes and met mine.

  “I do,” she said. “Lie back again.”

  I complied, lying down on the bed. She reached out and touched my hand. I closed my eyes again, ignoring the sinking feeling in my gut.

  “And to think,” I could have sworn I heard her say. “In the moments when you needed to be brave, you asked what I would have done.”

  I opened my eyes to find myself lying on my back. A ceiling made of gray stone hovered inches away from my face. I felt my breath hitch in my throat, feeling suddenly and immediately closed in. I looked to my right to see another stone wall and was filled with one terrible thought. Had I been buried alive? Had they seen me, not breathing, and assumed I was dead? In a panic, I rolled away from the wall.

  And almost fell off the top of the bunk bed I was lying in.

  Yikes. That would have been uncomfortable.

  I caught myself, but barely. I was in some sort of bedroom, made from the same gray stone. Two-tiered bunk beds were built into three of the four walls. All the beds were empty, save for one. On the lower bunk, across the room, a white woman sat, her gaze focused downward.

  Even from her seated position, I could tell that she was built tall and lanky. Her hair was white-blond with the bottom two inches dyed an electric purple. She looked to be in her early to mid-thirties, but I could tell when she had been a teenager she had probably been teased for her pronounced chin, which was far too heavy for her face. She wore a ratty-looking purple sweater and jeans.

  At the sound of my movement, she looked up and her eyes met mine. For a second, she closed them, muttering something beneath her breath.

  “Um…what?” I asked.

  She stretched up to standing before speaking. “Sorry. Glad to see you survived the night.”

  “W-what?” Clearly, I was very articulate this morning.

  “Almost didn’t think it was possible, given your bunk mate.”

  She glanced at the bed beneath mine and I suddenly became very nervous about what might lie beneath me.

  The woman caught the meaning of my expression right away.

  “Shit, I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” she said, more to herself than anyone else. She turned back to me, hand extended. “My name is Karen D’Entremont, and I will be serving as your roommate for your stay at Project Regen. What’s your name?”

  “Project huh?” I asked, automatically accepting her extended hand. “And um…my name is Dawn.”

  “Thank you,” Karen replied. “And don’t worry, I’ll be happy to answer all of your questions. Including the one you were about to ask. No, there is no corpse on the bed beneath yours.”

  “Oh,” I said, my gaze dropping down. “Okay.”

  “They took her out at First Light.”

  “First—”

  “Yeah, confusing, I know. It’s not like we have windows here, after all. But they turn the lights on at the same time every day. We think. And that was…oh, just under an hour ago. Meaning we have just enough time to visit the boys before breakfast.”

  With that she turned around and headed to the door. Once she got there she paused, looking back toward me over her shoulder.

  “You coming?” she asked.

  “Y-yes,” I replied, not sure of what to make of Karen D’Entremont yet. She seemed to know what was going on here, at least.

  Information I sorely needed.

  I jumped down from my position on top of the bed, a practice that I, having never lived in the dorms, didn’t have much experience with. As a result, I l
anded less than gracefully, half losing my footing and falling back onto the rough rock walls for support. In the process, I hit my right arm, jostling the injection site. I hissed in pain.

  “Oof.” Karen said. “Yeah, that’s going to be tender for the next few days. Sorry for not warning you.”

  I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday, although my jacket, made of black denim, now sported a half-torn sleeve near the injection site. I pushed it aside to reveal a large, ugly bruise.

  I swallowed. What had they put into my body?

  “Come on,” Karen said. “We don’t want to be late for the blandest breakfast of your life.”

  With that, she left the room, reaching up to slap the top of the doorframe on her way out. I followed, wondering for one crazed half second if I should do the same.

  The door led out to a short hallway. Before the exit, there was one other entryway to the right. Karen took that right and walked inside, slapping the top of the door on the way in.

  “Good morning, boys of Pod Four!” she cried out.

  Only to be immediately shushed.

  I entered the room behind her to see that it was identical to ours. In the center stood a thin black man, probably around the same age as Karen. He was dressed in a green button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, ripped jeans, and glasses. His hair, I couldn’t help but notice, appeared overgrown, as did his beard. He took a step toward Karen, raising two placating hands.

  “Quiet please, Karen,” he said, his voice calm. “Not on day one.”

  “The sooner people get into a routine—”

  “He didn’t come alone.”

  Karen’s face fell.

  “Shit,” she swore. “Sorry, Gerry. You know I suck at playing welcoming committee.”

  Her gaze fell on the only other person in the room, a man lying on one of the other beds. His body was turned to the wall, but I immediately recognized him from his curly, dark hair. I remembered him running toward the woman on fire, reaching out to grab her arms, and the blue sphere that had formed around them, forcing the oxygen from my lungs—