Privileged (Talented Saga Book 7)

by Sophie Davis

  On her deathbed, I’d promised Kandice that her sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain, and that I’d make sure Alex was okay. I’d made Donavon a similar promise, to protect Alex at all costs.

  Craptastic job you’re doing with the whole protection gig, I thought, surveying the small exercise cell with its walls of reinforced glass surrounded by steel bars. Epic fail, Tals.

  My self-chastising thoughts and overwhelming guilt were apparently too strong to keep to myself, because Victoria’s stoic expression softened once more.

  “Alex is well, I promise,” Victoria offered. “Earon Kelley is a wonderful guardian, and I have been overseeing his education personally.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Education? He’s a toddler, Victoria. He doesn’t need education yet. He needs to be a kid.”

  “He is a child with exceptional gifts, Talia. As you know, it is very rare for someone so young to exhibit such talent. His power ratings are unquantifiable. That sort of power needs to be honed, polished, and channeled correctly.” Victoria held up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue. “I have no interest in exploiting a young child, Talia, I merely wish to provide some guidance. We do work some with his abilities, but his curriculum is focused on the arts right now. Despite Alex’s limitations, his artistic abilities are quite impressive already. I am sure you will agree once you have seen the pictures he has made you, I will be sure to send them along with Mr. Kelley tomorrow.”

  “I already know they are,” I said, a note of pride creeping into my voice.

  The “limitation” she was referring to was not at all uncommon for a Remote Viewer; Alex was born blind. Instead of traditional sight, he saw the world through visions that he then drew with an eerie precision that had always unnerved me.

  “His new tutor, Sasha Zostov, was a special needs instructor at the Academy of the Gifted in Budapest,” Victoria continued. “Alex seems fond of her, and Earon is pleased with the arrangement.”

  The slip was subtle. I might’ve missed it, had I not already been suspicious; she’d called Erik’s father by his first name. Not “Mr. Kelley.” Victoria had formality and etiquette rammed down her throat while growing up, and therefore did not refer to male acquaintances by their first names. But I’d caught her doing so several times lately with Mr. Kelley.

  Erik is going to freak, I thought with a grin. For a brief moment, I considered dipping in to Victoria’s head for sordid details that I could use to torture him.

  A warning flashed fast and fierce across Victoria’s sweaty face. My smile, as well as my desire to infiltrate Victoria’s thoughts for confirmation of my suspicions, withered and died a quick death. Two words blazed a path inside my head: “Do Not.”

  I really needed to get a handle on my newfound problems with projecting. Solitude had made me careless.

  “I look forward to meeting the tutor,” I said absently. “She sounds like a real catch.”

  A delicate wrinkle formed between Victoria’s brows as she frowned. “Not only is Ms. Zostov a gifted Viewer, she is also fluent in six languages. She is well-respected and highly sought after, we are lucky to have her.”

  Victoria sounded defensive, and I realized she’d misread my sincerity for sarcasm. It was an understandable mistake, since most of the comments that came out of my mouth these days were sarcastic, but I didn’t bother correcting her.

  “Why did Zostov leave the Academy?” I asked. I was definitely curious about Alex’s new tutor, but I was also embarrassingly desperate to keep the councilwoman talking a little longer. Though Victoria and I had never seen eye-to-eye, and I wasn’t her favorite person, her company and conversation were far better than twiddling my thumbs in my cell over a piping hot plate of gruel.

  Victoria’s frown deepened at my question. “Excuse me?”

  “You said she’s highly sought-after, so why did she leave the Academy in Budapest?” I repeated.

  “Oh, right.” Victoria sighed, absently rubbing the blossoming bruise on her stomach from my kick. “After news of the Created and the experiments done at the McDonough School became public, Hungary’s government voted to close all of the country’s gifted institutions. It was a highly controversial decision, since those schools were privately funded.”

  “That sucks,” I said, feeling sad for Alex’s new tutor, her colleagues, and all the Talented kids who no longer had a safe space. The world was a crazy place at the moment.

  “Even worse, the instructors were detained and interrogated by the Hungarian government, ostensibly to determine whether the same types of experiments were being performed in their schools.” Victoria’s lips thinned to show how distasteful she found the prospect. “The interrogation methods were not pleasant.”

  “Psychic interrogation never is,” I agreed quietly.

  It was a fact I knew all too well, having performed several psychic interrogations myself. The techniques were so risky that I’d utterly broken the brain of someone once.

  “I am afraid the techniques employed were nothing quite so humane,” Victoria replied. “They used primal methods that are more likely to result in a confession made under extreme duress, rather than finding the actual truth of a situation.”

  I cringed. Physical torture—the preferred interrogation method of bloodthirsty psychopaths.

  “I’m sure she will be a great tutor for Alex,” I replied quietly, quickly steering our conversation away from unpleasantness.

  Victoria’s gaze narrowed suspiciously.

  “Seriously, I meant that,” I continued. “And thank you for doing it. He’s a very special child, and not just because he’s powerful. I care….” I had to clear my throat. “I care about him a lot. I know I—”

  “I understand, Talia,” Victoria interrupted, saving me from the embarrassment that was pricking the corners of my eyes. “Earon and I are doing everything possible to make sure all of his needs are being met.”

  “Thank you,” I repeated.

  Outside the exercise cell, Agent Yocum rattled his cuffs. I sighed and nodded; playtime was over. When he waved me forward, I automatically slid my hands through the rectangular opening in the bars. Yocum snapped the cuffs around my wrists from the other side of the bars, and then unlocked the exercise cell. Taking my arm, he began to lead me towards cellblock five—home of the highly dangerous offenders.

  “Talia?”

  I paused but didn’t turn around. Even though I knew it was an absurd reaction, given everything else I’d experienced in my life, being handcuffed and shuffled around filled me with shame.

  “Yes, Victoria?”

  “I left some reading materials in your cell. I thought maybe we could discuss them on my next visit.”

  Feeling both curious and suspicious, I did look over my shoulder this time.

  “Like a book club meeting?” I asked.

  Though I caught a fleeting glimpse of Victoria’s smile before she pulled a sweatshirt over her head, it was gone by the time she pulled the garment in to place. Brushing stray strands of auburn hair back from her face, the head of UNITED met my gaze.

  “Not exactly.” Victoria paused, her expression becoming strained. “I believe, as I always have, that you are very valuable to UNITED. After your latest transgression, not all council members agree with me. If you want to see Alex, or to see Erik without a chaperone ever again, it is imperative that you prove my faith in you is not misplaced.”

  Erik

  New York City, New York

  Four Days Before the Vote

  “Smile, kid—that’s what they’re paying you for.”

  Agent Miles DeSanto gave me a sidelong glance as he smoothly navigated the helicopter onto a landing pad at UNITED’s New York base.

  I shifted in my seat, loosened the knot on my tie, played with my suit jacket, fastened and unfastened the buttons, basically did anything possible to keep my fingers busy. Smiling for the masses was getting old, and I was anxious to get the peace rally over with already.

  Nonetheless, I turned to
Miles, parted my lips, and gave him a toothy grin.

  He chuckled. “Gonna have to do better than that, kid. ‘Cause that’s just creepy, you look like a maniac.

  I feel like a maniac, I thought.

  As UNITED’s poster child for the Created, I was supposed to show the world that we were harmless, friendly, and just like the norms. Except, I wasn’t harmless. And since the creation drug, I wasn’t all that amiable, either. All in all, I was nothing like the norms.

  My created powers made me something different, something dangerous; a monster dressed up in a suit.

  “You can do this, you’ve got this. It’s just like last time. Smile, shake hands, kiss babies. Make them love you.” Penny Crane put a hand on my shoulder as she flooded my mind with reassurances. Then, a calming wave washed over me, erasing my doubts and easing the tension in my muscles. Memories of Talia—easily the most amazing girl in the whole world—filled my head. On the beach in California, Talia wading in the waves as her chestnut curls framed her heart-shaped face. Festivis Day, with Talia dancing and singing in the streets of Washington, D.C. Waking up on Eden with Talia beside me each morning, watching her in those precious moments before her violet eyes opened.

  The helicopter skids touched down on the landing strip, jostling me slightly in my seat and pulling me from the visions of Talia. Through the window, I glimpsed the gathered crowd of supporters and haters alike, already surging toward the front of the building where the aircraft had landed. Reality came crashing back with jarring force. It had been nearly one month since I’d last seen Talia in person, and our parting was not one of my happier memories.

  Nor were the countless nights in random hotel rooms around the world when I’d tried contacting Talia using my mental abilities. Tried, and failed. Either the drugs on Vault made mental communication impossible, or my girlfriend had purposely blocked my attempts. Eventually, the anguish of being separated from Talia—particularly when I desperately needed her support—was too much to keep getting my hopes up, and I stopped trying to reach her.

  Guilt made my chest tighten.

  Yes, I needed Talia. But she needed me, too. Particularly now. Why had I stopped trying? Why had I given up so easily?

  It doesn’t matter now. Tomorrow you will see her. Tomorrow you can apologize for being such a crappy boyfriend.

  As a reward for my good behavior, and a bribe for an additional peace rally on the night before the vote, Victoria had moved heaven and earth to get me a visit with Talia. Though it would be a supervised meeting, I didn’t care. I just wanted to see her, to know that was she okay.

  Finally setting my eyes on Talia—the real Talia, not some image I’d conjured in my head—would be enough to get me through until her release. Whenever that would be.

  Penny’s hand was still resting on my shoulder, but her mind was no longer linked with mine, so she was unaware of the dark turn my thoughts had taken. Patting her hand, I sent a wave of gratitude her way. The small reprieve she’d given me was more helpful than she knew.

  Over and over again throughout our diplomatic travels, Talia’s best friend had provided me with those calming waves that kept me moving forward. Though she was no substitute for Talia, Penny’s presence had proved to be a total lifesaver.

  Miles turned to face me again, his dark eyes sympathetic and expression grim.

  “Game time, buddy,” he said.

  “Game time,” I echoed hollowly. With a deep breath, I steeled myself for the mayhem that was about to descend upon my handlers and me.

  Just this one last time before seeing Talia, I reminded myself. You can handle this.

  When I emerged from the helicopter, five UNITED agents converged on me like a swarm of bees surrounding their queen. The reason for the over-the-top security was twofold: to protect me from angry norms who would have preferred my head on a spike rather than my shoulders; and also to protect the norms from me, in the event I flipped my shit.

  Brushing by the other agents, Miles appeared by my side. He nudged me in the ribs and gave me a knowing look. “Smile,” he hissed. “That’s your adoring public down there. After today, after you get through this, it’s back to the islands. Just keep that in mind for the next hour.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one they want to put in their pocket and take home like a souvenir, or the one they want to string up by his toes and flay alive,” I grumbled.

  “Yeah, well, that’s why UNITED picked you, kid. For better or worse, you inspire people to do all sorts of crazy shit.”

  After taking an elevator down to the lobby of the UNITED building, I plastered on the best smile I could muster, knowing full well that it didn’t reach my eyes. Nodding to indicate I was ready for the guards to open the doors, I slammed my mental barriers into place, effectively cutting off the flood of emotions from the crowds outside.

  We began to make our way from the building to the stage in an adjacent plaza, my protection detail a synchronized unit that moved as one. A wide path had been roped off for us, but the surging crowd pushed in on the barriers from both sides, all straining to catch a closer look at me.

  The throngs of people at the New York rally were no different from the crowds in Vienna, Bangkok, Rome, Alberta, Dubai, and numerous other cities around the world. People—norms, Talented, and even some ballsy Created—came out in droves to hear me speak. Me. Like I was a political candidate on the campaign trail.

  Though I absolutely was not a politician, I was sort of campaigning, in a sense; I was soliciting votes on behalf of my people. The Coexistence Treaty was up for renewal, and it was my job to convince the norms that both the Talented and the Created were capable of safely continuing to live among them.

  Though “Poster Child” captured my role, I’d been given an official, pedantic title, too: Diplomatic Relations Officer for the Expansion of Goodwill and Understanding. Needless to say, I didn’t use it very often. I couldn’t even go by a cool acronym, because DROEGU wasn’t a word in any language. I’d looked it up, just to be sure.

  “We love you, Erikson!” a girl shouted from the crowd, grabbing my attention.

  Erikson was my real first name, while Erik was a nickname I’d been using for as long I could remember. Now that I was so important—also famous, hot shit, or whatever other snide descriptor Miles offered up —Victoria insisted that I use my formal, given name in public. Even after almost a month, I wasn’t quite used to it.

  I glanced in the direction the girl’s voice had come from, more out of habit than actual curiosity. Making eye contact with the people near me was a rookie move—it was much easier and friendlier to bustle past under the pretense of being busy or late, rather than dismiss or ignore the attendees—and I instantly regretted it.

  A guy about my age in the front of the crowd held a digital sign as large as his wingspan. The words Marry me, Erikson alternated with Powerfuls Deserve Praise, Not Persecution in green and red flashing letters. When he saw me looking, the guy began jumping up and down and screaming my name as though I was a member of the latest pop music group. Even without the Australian national flag emblazoned on his t-shirt, I would have known his country of origin by his sign—“Powerfuls” was the Australian equivalent of “Talented.”

  Declarations of love were, as I’d quickly learned, par for the course at these rallies. Girls and guys who knew nothing about me as a person suddenly announced that they loved me, wanted to marry me, and asked to have my little dark-haired, turquoise eyed babies. Yes, signs in the crowd actually requested impregnation. To say that the whole dog-and-pony show was overwhelming was putting it mildly.

  “Just smile, kid,” Miles reminded me again as he followed my gaze toward the sea of gawkers.

  His gifts didn’t include telepathy, and I wasn’t projecting my thoughts onto him; Miles just knew me that well. After spending eighteen hours together every day for the last month, he damn well should have.

  “Demon spawn! God hates you! The bible doesn’t speak of your
kind, you’re an abomination!”

  This chant and others like it were staples, too. Religious extremists, anti-Talented organizations, and hate groups with no other agenda than hating on people dissimilar to themselves came out in droves to yell profanities and slurs. As if that weren’t bad enough, they also threw everything and anything they could get their hands on at me. Just yesterday, a rotted onion meant for me exploded on Miles instead. It had taken him three showers and two gallons of tomato juice to eradicate the smell.

  “Let’s pick up the pace, Agent Kelley,” one of my bodyguards called, his eyes never straying from the people clamoring to get closer to me.

  “Whatever you say, Dan the Man,” I responded.

  His face betrayed no emotion, though I knew he hated when I called him that. It was sort of the point.

  Miles elbowed me in the ribs again, and then spoke directly into my ear. Even then, he still needed to shout to be heard over the crowd. “It’s not their fault, kid. Cut them some slack.”

  My subtle annoyance at being saddled with protection detail had turned into obvious resentment over time. I wasn’t a helpless child. I wasn’t a weak man. I was a trained assassin. A solider who’d been to war and survived unspeakable torture. Not one of my bodyguards could say the same. And yet, UNITED thought them more capable of protecting me than I was.

  “I’ll make you deal, Miles,” I said. “When you stop calling me ‘kid,’ I’ll start addressing the goon squad by their real names.”

  “Dan the Man it is,” Miles pronounced.

  Ahead, the makeshift stage came into view. From a white awning, the flags of each member country of the Joint Nations flapped in the breeze. UNITED’s emblem was emblazed on a backdrop to the rear of the stage. Ten chairs sat to the right and left of the podium, with a place card on each seat cushion to indicate whose important ass was to sit there.

  If the crowd lining the tarmac was impressive, the one in front of the stage was downright awe-inspiring. A sea of heads stretched as far as the eye could see in the enormous open space of Rockefeller Center. Signs and flags rose high above the throngs, showing off the bearer’s support for one organization or another.