Chris laughs, but it’s mirthless. “Even with as many Eroi operatives as I’ve killed, the only real good it does is keep the leadership in flux. There is always someone else to take their place.” He shakes his head. “Identifying those with potential, and training them to not only control their power, but to unlock gifts they didn’t even know they had, that’s how you build an unstoppable army capable of ending the Eroi threat forever.”
“Gifts, as in gifts,” I question. “If you could actually identify true gifts, seems like there would be more than Annabelle and that one girl who sees the source of inflicted pain and blabs it to everyone.”
Something between a smirk and amusement settles onto Chris’s features. “Most gifts aren’t as flashy as Annabelle’s emotional healing or your sister’s visions.”
Startled, I try to hold back my shock that he knows about either of those, but it’s completely beyond me. “How…?” I stop talking, because even though David knew the nature of Annabelle’s gift, he had no clue how strong it was or what she could really do with it. Van’s visions, I have no explanation for how he knows about those.
“How do I know?” Chris taps his chest. “That’s my gift.” Seeing I’m still skeptical, he doesn’t hold back an explanation. “I trained with Annabelle for over a year. Even though she kept her gift carefully hidden, I knew her strength the first session we had together. Only a truly powerful Godling has a gift that works latently and without conscious effort like hers did.”
What I know about gifts and how they work is limited, but I have a hard time doubting him. Not only because it makes sense that what he’s saying is true, but because he knew about her potential but apparently never shared that information with David.
“What about Van?” I ask. “I had no idea about her visions until she told me herself.”
Chris doesn’t seem surprised by that. “For one, I witnessed her having one, though I don’t think she had any idea I saw it happen that first day you were all at the compound.” He pushes away from the wall and faces me squarely, as if challenging me to call him a liar about any of this. “Secondly, there’s no way Van should have been able to get through the sensory challenges as fast as she did. She doesn’t even realize her gift was working latently as we trained, and I didn’t tell her because I don’t want her to rely on it.”
I consider everything he’s said, trying to poke holes in it, but failing.
“Oscar is a more interesting case,” Chris continues. “He hides his gift very well, so I didn’t understand what he could do when I met him at the hospital. It wasn’t until he showed up at the compound and he went after James that I realized he could see and manipulate other people’s hunger.”
“What?” I ask. “Manipulate? What do you mean?”
Chris doesn’t gloat, but he does explain. “As you know, James was not easy to kill. He honestly didn’t have a gift, but he learned well from David how to protect himself. He knew how to store his hunger to such a level that it shielded him from brute force attacks, yet Oscar snapped his neck like it was nothing.”
“How?”
“By tearing down James’ shield,” he says. “From what I can tell, Oscar can’t do anything more permanent than push someone’s hunger around, but it was enough to break James’ shield and leave him vulnerable.”
I’m never surprised when I find out Oscar has hidden something from me. It’s a little ironic given his hatred for lying, but to him omission is a separate thing, particularly when done to protect. Of course, sometimes his mind simply isn’t capable of sharing certain pieces of information.
I’m still far from trusting Chris, but he has given me a lot to think about. I’m about to tell him as much when his next words stop me cold.
“Don’t you want to know about your gift?”
Chapter Three: Taking
(Vanessa)
It feels good being back in the kitchen, cooking my favorite dishes again. The reason behind why I’m stirring potato soup could definitely be better. Grandma doesn’t have long left now, but she’s still managing to eat small amounts. So I’ve taken over cooking for her the last two days. I feel helpless to do anything more, though I’m desperate to save her.
David may be gone, but my fate when Grandma dies is no more certain than it was before. I haven’t got a prayer at emancipation given my school disciplinary record. Will the state really turn me over to Zander? He’s eighteen, almost nineteen now, but Oscar is on the loose—as far as the majority of the world knows, and Zander doesn’t even have a job. Not that he needs one. My parents weren’t wealthy, but they knew there might be a time when they wouldn’t be around to protect us and made sure both had life insurance policies that gave us enough to not only live, but go wherever we needed to in order to be safe. I know Grandma is similarly prepared.
It’s still questionable, and I’m just as scared of facing that uncertainty as I am of losing my grandma.
My phone buzzes, and I jump and splash a few drops of soup on the stove top. Reaching for where it sits on the counter, I bring up a text from Zander and feel a little of my anxiety drop away.
Annabelle and I found a new apartment. Needs some cleanup, but should work.
With everything as questionable as it is right now as far as future living arrangements go, I know it would be ridiculous for them to consider moving in together in the middle of all of it. If anyone moves, it will most likely be Annabelle into our house. Hopefully it’ll still be our house. If I’m allowed to stay. We’re probably going to need a lawyer to make that happen. Which Chris has promised to provide. I shove away thoughts of him violently.
The text is code, just in case anyone is spying on us, which is likely. Knowing Zander found somewhere to house the displaced Godlings is a relief on some fronts. They can’t hide from the Eroi. They’ll discover the new headquarters soon enough. The ones we have to protect them from are the Godlings who bailed after David left. All his most loyal and vicious lemmings.
It’s not a large group, since most of the Godlings either hated or feared David as much as we did. The seven members of the council are in the wind, as well as a dozen or so of those who used to be part of David’s inner circle. The creepy, skin-crawly group of wackjobs I was supposed to be attempting to infiltrate. That’s one failure I’m not too upset about. I do worry about where they are and what they’re planning to do. Will they go after the students? What’s left of the leaders—mostly teachers and trainers? Or will they come after me?
I think that’s the most likely possibility, but I’m still debating whether they want to capture me for their own purposes, or just kill me and be done with it.
I also wonder if Zander and I will be expected to join the Godlings still here. Even though it would be safer, I balk at the idea. If we don’t all die in the next few months from either the Eroi or Godling deserters, the plan is to turn this new HQ into a real school, like the old compound was, except less assassin oriented. They have to get their teaching licenses and permits or whatever transferred to New Mexico, but they think they can have it done over the summer. Thanks to whatever favors and influence the Godlings are owed, and lots of lawyers.
It would mean getting back to normal for most of the Godling students. For me, it would mean leaving my friends behind. It would mean being surrounded by Godlings, accepting them as some kind of extended family, and it would mean training with Chris again. No one would force me. Zander will back me up if I refuse. He’s the best, though, and he’s the only one who can help me unlock my full potential.
He might be the only one who can fix the damage David did to me, too.
Part of me believes him when he says he had no idea David purposely botched my first “observe only” mission so I would have to be the one to assassinate the Eroi leaders planning to attack the Godlings. Deep down, I think Chris is a good person, and that’s why I couldn’t bring myself to kill him when I had the chance. There’s this other part of me that simply shuts down when I think of tra
ining with him again. The emptiness I first experience that night in the tunnels under the Eroi compound sweeps back in and steals any trust or compassion I might feel for him.
The emptiness terrifies me more than anything else I have faced.
“Thank you for taking care of lunch,” Cynthia, the hospice nurse helping with Grandma says when she comes into the kitchen. “I think it’s lifted your grandmother’s spirits knowing you’ve been the one preparing her meals the last few days. It means a lot to her.”
I shrug, though her thanks do affect me. “It’s the only thing I can do for her.”
Cynthia walks toward me and leans against the counter. “I don’t know. I think you’re more capable than David realized.”
The sound of his name being spoken aloud makes me flinch. All the Godlings know he’s dead and that Oscar killed him. As far as the larger world knows, he’s plugging away as usual. He’d always been a bit reclusive from non-Godlings, and that’s helping us cover up his death tremendously. It’s kind of weird how all the other Godlings are going on as normally as possible.
“Why are you still here?” I ask suddenly.
Cynthia cocks her head to one side. “You mean, since David’s dead?”
I cringe again, but nod.
“Even though David did request I volunteer for this assignment, I don’t…didn’t work for David.”
Staring at her, I try to determine whether or not she’s lying. “You didn’t come from the compound?”
She shakes her head. “No, I left the compound after I finished my schooling. I work for a hospice agency here in Albuquerque. I’m still here, because this is my job, Van, to take care of your grandmother until she passes. David’s death didn’t change that.”
There’s so much sincerity in her voice and expression, I have a hard time doubting her. Being Godling automatically makes me leery of trusting her, but she’s been here for a few weeks taking care of Grandma and never done anything to indicate she has ulterior motives.
Considering motives does make me wonder, though. Turning off the burner, I move the soup aside to cool and look over at Cynthia. “How can you do this? All day, every day, surrounded by so much pain. It doesn’t even seem to affect you.”
Cynthia’s lips part, as though she’s going to answer my question outright, but she pauses to consider something. After a moment, she says, “Would you like me to show you?”
“Show me what?”
“How I deal with the pain, how I use it to not only bolster myself but help my parents. Would you like to learn to do it, too?” The question is an invitation, one with no pressure behind it, no threat that if I don’t learn and excel there will be a punishment.
I’m careful of accepting such an invitation. “What makes you think I could learn to do what you do? Being around my grandma isn’t easy for me.”
“It’s not easy for me, either,” Cynthia says, “but I can recognize someone with a healing touch, and I think you’ll appreciate what I can teach you.”
Interested, but still a little skeptical, I ask, “Don’t you need to clear it with Chris or somebody first?”
Cynthia laughs. Shaking her head, she gets a bowl down from the cupboard and hands it to me. “I haven’t stopped to ask the Godlings for permission or clearance since I left. I’m not about to start again now.” She gestures at the soup pot. “Fill up that bowl over there and bring it up to your grandmother with me. You can see what I do and decide then, okay?”
Seems safe enough. I nod and ladle a small amount of soup into the bowl. Instead of handing it off to Cynthia like I’ve done the last few times, I pick it up in both hands and turn to face her. Nodding, she leads the way. On the way out of the kitchen, I spot Ketchup sleeping on the couch in the living room. Given that he was up sitting with my grandma for about four hours last night during a bad spell so Cynthia could get some sleep, we both try not to make a sound as we walk down the hall.
I’m thankful Ketchup’s mom has been especially distracted lately with her new boyfriend. She wouldn’t have argued against him being over here to help with my grandma, but there have been less questions from her about everything. I’ve needed him here just as much as grandma has. He doesn’t move a muscle as we walk by and make our way up the stairs.
Before I’m really prepared for it, Cynthia pushes open Grandma’s bedroom door and I freeze. Every time I even walk by her door, I feel her pain and have to hurry past. I feel like running now, but the bowl of soup in my hands stops me.
“Most young Godling’s first instinct is to push the pain away,” Cynthia says calmly. “It scares them, or more accurately, the power it has over them scares them. Those raised at the compound are taught to accept the pain for what it is at an early age. You’re only learning that now, which is more difficult, but still doable.”
David drilled it into my head that pain feeding my hunger meant power. I had to consume everything I felt, store it up, and hold it until I needed to use the power I was born to wield. It was a predatory experience most of the time, self-sustaining. What Cynthia is asking me to do doesn’t quite fit, and I struggle to understand. “What do you mean by accepting it?”
My hands begin to tremble as I wait for her answer. Cynthia sees it, but doesn’t comment on the difficulty I’m having just standing outside the doorway. Instead, she answers my question. “Pain is a living thing.”
She pauses when I physically react to that statement. Oscar said the exact same thing once, when we broke him out of Peak View Hospital and Ivy started sucking up everyone’s pain to the point I could barely control myself around her. Cynthia watches me for a moment, but I don’t want to talk about Oscar with her. Eventually, she continues.
“Pain is born from injury, illness, or emotional upset. It grows within the person who created it, and either dies away after the process which created it has run its course, or it is taken on by someone else.”
Frowning, I’m not sure I understand. “You mean, when we consume it? Is that how you accept it?”
Cynthia’s features pinch together as she thinks. “In the most basic sense, yes, but there’s more to it than that. Any Godling can consume pain. Only a select few are capable of fully accepting it.”
Her earlier statement reminded me of something Oscar said, but now my thoughts turn to Zander and the night Ivy snuck into our backyard. Zander tried to explain how he had been able to withstand being near Ivy better after accepting her pain and somehow taking it from her. It was how he was able to hold enough pain to attempt fighting off James at the compound. It hadn’t been quite enough, but the blast of pure energy that had erupted from his hands had come from all the pain he’d taken from Ivy. I accepted what he told me at the time, but I didn’t understand what he meant. I still don’t.
“I’m not sure I get what you’re saying,” I tell her. “I mean, Zander did something like that with Ivy, but it doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe I just have to try it.”
For a moment, Cynthia stares at me. Then she gives her head a quick little shake, like she’s clearing away something physical. “What did you say about Ivy?”
For a moment, I think I shouldn’t say anything else. Any interest David ever showed was when he’d stumbled onto something useful, something that would benefit him, and usually hurt someone else. Cynthia doesn’t have that same edginess to her stance or expression. There’s more amazement than conniving in her eyes.
“Before David took Zander, he met with Ivy and basically sucked away all the pain she carried around. He said he had to accept it before he was able to take in so much, but whatever he did, it worked. When Ivy came to me for help later that night, I didn’t feel anything around her. No pain, nothing. It wasn’t until we went to the hospital to get Oscar that she started…filling back up. Oscar said she was a vessel or something.”
That all came out in something of a rush, so I close my mouth and wait for Cynthia to process everything. She nods slowly as she considers. “A vessel, yes, I suppose that would be
a very accurate description.” She shakes her head. “Not that I’ve ever been exposed to a Richiamos, but it would certainly make sense.”
“The taking part,” I question, “does that make sense? Because she was literally drained of pain.”
Smiling, Cynthia meets my gaze. “That is exactly what I want to teach you.”
Chapter Four: No Solace
(Oscar)
They keep asking me what to do. I don’t know. I’ve been locked up for more than a year. I’m not used to doing anything other than walking back and forth to treatment and meals. What do I know about setting up a school? Or a hideout. Whatever this is. Nothing. Nothing. I just want the phones to work. That’s all I care about. Zander will take care of the rest. Or Chris. Van? I just need a phone that works and can’t be traced back to me.
I have one now. It’s cordless, which I like. I don’t like being trapped to one area with cords. This is better. Except I can’t pick it up. My fingers won’t let me. Or maybe it’s my fears. They both start with F. So does another word, one I am afraid to consider. I try not to think of Joshua. It hurts too much to know I haven’t been a father to him. Have never even met him. He won’t know me. I promised Emily, told her I would protect him, be a good father. I can only do that through staying away, which isn’t the same as keeping my promise. I don’t like to break promises. It’s almost like lying.
Reaching out, I touch the phone. It does nothing. Of course not. It won’t bite. Why is it so hard to pick it up? I was better before. My mind focused more and kept my thoughts in the right places. The paranoia couldn’t get in as much. Sometimes I’m right to be afraid and careful. Sometimes it’s just tricks, my mind telling me lies, the Godling part of me maybe. They like to lie.
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