Inescapable (Talented Saga #7)

by Sophie Davis

  When we’d covered about half the distance to the stage, steady movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. I glanced to the right, and felt my mouth curve into a genuine smile. A small girl, roughly waist-high to those around her, had ducked under the rope barrier blocking off our walkway. I was the only one who’d noticed her so far, probably because she stayed just on my side of the rope, instead of straying too far into the no-fly zone.

  When she turned her head from side to side to take in the spectacle before her, sunlight highlighted threads of pure gold in her chocolate ringlets. From where she scampered fifteen feet ahead of us, I could see her golden irises when they landed on me. Smooth, tanned skin dotted with a smattering of freckles covered a bone structure that was almost too perfect to be real. She raised one slender arm and waved, a smile as dazzling as any I’d ever seen lighting her face.

  “I love you, Erik,” she called in a melodic voice that, against all odds, reached my ears.

  Reflexively, I smiled and waved back.

  Miles was the first of my entourage to follow my gaze. The others quickly joined him, each bodyguard dismissing the little girl as harmless the moment they saw her.

  “I want to say hello,” I told no one in particular.

  “I don’t think that is a good idea,” Dan the Man declared. “We should keep moving.”

  Protocol strictly forbade interactions with the crowd, and Victoria had coached me on remaining polite, but distant. She was afraid a fanatic might assault me, either maliciously or sexually. I wasn’t as concerned with the haters; I was confident in my ability to hold my own in a fight. It was more the sexual advances that made me cautious—Talia was currently a model prisoner, but if she got word that someone made a move on me, she might well sink Vault to avenge my honor.

  I smiled. At one time, her fierce jealousy, though not entirely her own fault, had been a point of contention in our relationship. Tamped down, it was actually pretty hot.

  “She’s a kid. If he wants to ruffle her curls, let him.” Miles’s gruff voice pulled me from daydreams of my girlfriend.

  My gaze refocused on the little girl, causing an almost comedic double take. Atop the shoulders of the small girl was not the cherubic face of the beautiful child I’d seen just moments before. This face was older—that of a teenager, at least. A wide-gauge ring with black dice on either end was threaded through her nose like a bull, each die showing one dot—snake eyes. Thick blue liner ringed her eyes, tails winging from the corners towards her temples and punctuated with rhinestones. The chocolate curls were still there, but spiky blue bangs hung low on her forehead.

  Then I blinked, and the little angelic face was back.

  “You’re losing it, dude,” I mumbled.

  “Say something, kid?” Miles asked.

  I cleared my throat. “Nah. Well, yes, I did.” I turned to the other agent. “Look, Dan, I know it’s against protocol, but like Miles said, she’s a harmless kid. Isn’t kissing babies part of my job?”

  A hand settled on my shoulder. “I don’t know, Erik. We’re already behind schedule as it is,” Penny said.

  I sensed the hesitancy in her voice. She cared about protocol as much as I did, which was not at all. I lowered my mental shields and reached out to her.

  “What’s up?” I sent.

  “I’m getting a weird vibe. I can’t really describe it.”

  “From the kid?” I asked, wondering if Penny and I had experienced a shared delusional.

  “Yeah. No. I don’t know. From that general area. Does that make sense?”

  “Make a decision, kid,” Miles said. “I’m in charge here, and I’m making the call. You want a photop with some rugrat, go for it. Just make it quick. Like the girlie said, we’re already running late.”

  Penny scoffed. Miles referred to her as “girlie” just as he always called me “kid.” She wasn’t a fan of the nickname.

  “Let’s—” I started to say.

  The child darted forward, her arms stretched wide as if preparing to hug the first person she encountered.

  My security detail moved to meet her advance head-on, one cohesive unit of military force ready to pounce on a harmless child.

  I rushed to put my body between the little girl and the swarm of UNITED agents. Quicker and more lithe than my counterparts, I reached her first. Kneeling down in front of her, I kept a reassuring smile firmly in place.

  “Don’t mind them. They’re a bunch of baboons,” I told her.

  My mind was still linked with Penny’s, and suddenly her emotions were pouring into me. Anxiety, confusion, fear.

  The little girl beamed, though the gesture was somehow anything but adorable. She looked crazed. Those golden eyes flickered, the blue-rimmed lids and rhinestone facial adornments appearing for a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it instant.

  “Are you Talented?” I asked her.

  Her maniacal smile grew impossibly wider, the corners of her mouth now stretching inhumanly across her small face. The girl shook her head slowly.

  “Erik, no!” Penny screeched inside my head, her panic flooding through my mind.

  In an icy voice that sounded much too old for the small child I’d seen, the girl whispered her reply: “Privileged.”

  Pain exploded inside my skull. And then, the world went black.

  The Privileged

  Besançon, France

  Four Days Before the Vote

  Two senior cadets, one male and one female, entered the testing room. They both wore navy pants and jackets with white piping that reminded Cressa of the dress uniforms worn by soldiers back home. Cressa recognized the pair from pictures she was shown during her introductory lesson on the Institute’s history and current hierarchical structure; the girl was Leslie Abbot, and the boy was Gregor Ivan. As the top 8Ps, Leslie and Gregor were being groomed as future leaders of the next generation of Privileged.

  “Congratulations, Cressa Karmine.” Leslie spoke in perfect English that was laced with a slight accent, hinting to her Scandinavian roots. “By successfully using telekinesis, you have passed Phase One of the program. Your work in this area is not complete, however. During Phase Two, you will continue to hone your telekinetic abilities. Additionally, you will receive a new gift—the power of light manipulation. Madame Brink, the Phase Two instructor, will teach you how to use this ability and ensure adequate proficiency to pass your exam and progress to Phase Three. Do you understand?”

  Still shaking from exertion, Cressa attempted a smile. Leslie did not return the gesture.

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand,” Cressa stuttered, recalling the lecture on addressing all higher-ranked individuals, even cadets, as either “sir” or “ma’am.”

  “Phase Two begins now,” Gregor declared, his first words since entering the room. The older boy’s voice was flat and emotionless, as though all the humanity had been bled out of him. “You will come with us.”

  With that, the duo turned in unison and exited. On unsteady legs, Cressa hurried to catch up.

  Outside the testing room, the hallway was barren and sterile, just as it had been when Cressa entered hours before. Neither Leslie nor Gregor spoke as they navigated the maze of corridors, the soft clicking of their shoes on the hard linoleum the only sound besides Cressa’s labored breathing.

  A million questions for the senior cadets were on the tip of Cressa’s tongue, but she swallowed her curiosity. The instructor for Phase One, Madame Gillis, had been very clear about the fact that unsolicited inquires were not tolerated. At the Institute, information was earned, and parsed out on a need-to-know basis. As a cadet advanced through each of the eight Phases of the program, he or she learned a little more about the inner-workings of the Institute and the Dame’s vision for the Privileged.

  Phase One cadets, or 1Ps, were told just enough to know that the Institute prided itself on secrecy and exclusivity. Rules and regulations were also stressed, with blind obedience and unwavering loyalty topping the very long list. Before she
was given the telekinetic ability that marked her status as a 1P, Cressa had been required to memorize the extensive list of mandates.

  This was not a control issue—at least, not entirely—but a safety precaution. The admissions process was extremely selective and only the very best candidates were awarded a spot. Nonetheless, many cadets never made it past Phase One, and very few completed the entire program. The Dame worried the failures may divulge the Institute’s secrets to those who opposed her vision. By keeping the cadets in the dark, the Dame was able to minimize that risk.

  Even after being accepted, all Cressa’s parents had been able to tell her was that once she became Privileged, she would be special beyond compare. After completing the program, Cressa would be a leader in the new world order, and her family would be rewarded with the highest status in this utopian society. Though details were scarce, her mom and dad had eagerly accepted when the Institute contacted them to say they wanted Cressa, and her journey into the unknown had quickly begun.

  Ahead of her, Leslie and Gregor stopped at the end of the hallway, where elevator doors sat open. Leslie tapped her foot impatiently as Cressa hurried to catch up to them. Despite her aching muscles, Cressa broke into a jog.

  “Sorry,” she panted apologetically.

  Leslie stared down her straight nose at Cressa, her silver eyes emotionless. With a wave of her hand, the 8P girl motioned Cressa through the open doors. Tentatively, Cressa stepped onto the elevator, Leslie and Gregor directly behind her.

  There were no buttons inside the car, just a small screen for biometric scanning. Leslie did the honors, placing her hand flat against the smooth surface. There was a flash of blue light as the scanner inside the compartment read Leslie’s fingerprints, and then the elevator doors slid shut soundlessly.

  “Cadet Leslie Abbot, 8P,” a mechanical voice announced.

  “Medical bay,” Leslie Abbot replied, enunciating each syllable clearly.

  Cressa’s stomach, still dangerously queasy, dropped to her feet even before the car began moving. She’d assumed Leslie and Gregor were taking her back to her dorm room to collect her limited belongings for relocation to the 2P floor. Apparently, that wasn’t the case.

  Gregor’s terse words floated through Cressa’s mind: Phase Two begins now. Did that mean that Cressa was about to receive her next ability?

  It must, Cressa decided. That was the only reason to take her to med bay at such a late hour. Routine blood tests and body scans could have waited until morning, particularly since the Institute preached the importance of proper sleep. Extensive research had shown that an individual’s abilities were strongest after exactly eight hours and fifteen minutes of rest, so the cadets were required to get just that—no more, no less.

  The realization that she was minutes away from gaining another ability came with mixed emotions.

  On the one hand, Cressa was positively giddy at the thought of manipulating light—the Phase Two ability. Once injected with the talent signature for it, she would be able to move the molecules in her body so quickly that she’d become invisible to the naked eye. That was, in a word, awesome.

  But in order to receive her next ability, Cressa had to go through the transference procedure. Having experienced it once already, Cressa knew what was in store for her; it wasn’t pleasant.

  “You have arrived at the medical bay,” the elevator’s mechanical voice proclaimed as the doors slid open, interrupting Cressa’s wandering thoughts. She felt another lurch in her gut, and sweat began beading along her hairline.

  “This way.” Leslie exited the elevator and waved Cressa forward. “Hurry now, Dr. Masterson does not like to be kept waiting.”

  Cressa’s heart actually skipped a beat at the mention of the formidable doctor.

  Definitely not a checkup, she thought despondently. Dr. Masterson was head of the Institute’s medical division, and therefore too important to perform routine evaluations.

  Ahead of her, Leslie and Gregor walked in perfect unison, their steps synced as though they’d practiced marching side-by-side. Cressa lagged behind, her feet feeling leaden.

  “I have Cressa Karmine for Dr. Masterson,” Leslie told the redhead behind the frosted glass desk of the med bay’s intake booth.

  The young tech tapped the screen in front of her. “Karmine is here for her Phase Two injection, is that correct?”

  Leslie nodded in confirmation.

  “Proceed to cubicle five. The doctor will meet you there,” the redhead replied.

  She pressed a green button on the right side of her desk, and a set of double doors beneath the Medical Bay sign opened. Leslie and Gregor positioned themselves on either side of Cressa, herding her through the entrance. Though neither 8P touched her, Cressa got the distinct impression that they were there to ensure she didn’t make a break for it.

  Guess I’m not the first cadet to have nightmares about the transference, Cressa thought, feeling a little better.

  The med tech gave her a superficial smile that lacked genuine warmth as Cressa passed by her desk. “Congratulations, Cadet Karmine,” she said.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Cressa replied tightly.

  The doors to med bay snapped shut as soon as Cressa, Leslie, and Gregor had crossed the threshold. Cressa flinched as the sound echoed down the silent corridor.

  “There is no need to be nervous,” Gregor intoned, his assurances sounding hollow and rehearsed. “This procedure will be similar to the previous one, only much shorter, since you already have a foundation for abilities. Now that your body has proved a willing host for one, it is unlikely that it will reject a second one.”

  This did not soothe Cressa in the least. “Unlikely” was fairly low on the certainty spectrum in Cressa’s opinion. If anything, Gregor’s reminder that there were no guarantees when it came to transference made her even more anxious.

  The last time she’d walked down that very same corridor, Cressa had been more excited than nervous. This time, fear dwarfed the small amount of enthusiasm she felt about taking the next step towards becoming Privileged. Only minutes ago, Cressa had been desperate to learn what the next Phase of the program had in store for her. Now, she found herself longing for the comforts of home, a small part of her wishing that she’d never been accepted to the Institute.

  The transference will not last forever, she chided herself. Being Privileged will.

  The main corridor of med bay was lined with glass cubicles. Leslie and Gregor led Cressa past the first few, which were all frosted over to indicate that they were occupied. Cressa wondered who was inside. Other 1Ps preparing to move on to Phase Two? 7Ps receiving their final injections?

  The trio stopped outside the entrance to cubicle five. The sliding glass door was open, providing Cressa a clear view of the exam room. The sight of the incubation chamber caused her to suck in a breath, memories of pain flooding her mind. Panic made her ribs feel as though they were compressing her lungs.

  Not again. I can’t survive it again, Cressa thought. Her eyes darted frantically up and down the corridor, desperately seeking escape options.

  “Do you wish to advance to Phase Two, Cressa Karmine?” Leslie asked in a flat tone. She must have considered it a rhetorical question, because the 8P didn’t wait for Cressa to respond. “If you do, I suggest you walk inside right now. Failure to progress carries very serious consequences. I assure you, the repercussions for quitting are decidedly more unpleasant than the transference procedure.”

  Cressa swallowed thickly, finding her mouth drier than the desert at midday. She’d heard the whispers of senior cadets about classmates who’d failed their exams too many times and been dismissed from the program as a result. They were referred to as the disgraced. Among the myriad of rumored consequences to being disgraced, some even said they became test subjects for cadets in the highest Phases of the program. Like most rumors, Cressa believed the usage of those who failed to advance as practice dummies was wild speculation. For all she knew, the Dame he
rself might have started it, to dissuade cadets from quitting. Still, Cressa had no desire to find out what would happen if she refused to continue with the program.

  Cressa wondered again whether she’d made the right decision in coming to the Institute. There were so many strictly-enforced rules, a stark contrast to her former boarding school in Boston. There, the headmaster had been all too happy to look the other way when one of his students—all young, wealthy scions—committed an infraction. Even the worst offenses were forgiven with a sizable donation to the school.

  The Institute was vastly different in that respect. The Karmine fortune and Cressa’s impressive lineage had gained her admission, but no amount of money would compel her continued participation in the program. Only adopting the Institute’s rubric, receiving new abilities, learning to use her gifts, and passing her exams could ensure Cressa remained a cadet.

  Fortunately, Cressa did not have a lot of time to dwell on the matter. Dr. Masterson suddenly exited the cubicle across from number five, stopping to greet the trio in the hallway.

  “Cadet Karmine, it is wonderful to see you back so soon,” she said. Despite the warmth of the words themselves, Masterson’s voice held startlingly little emotion. Addressing Leslie, she continued, “Cadet Abbot, I understand you will be shadowing me during the procedure?”

  Spine ramrod straight, hands clasped behind her back, Leslie nodded curtly.

  “Yes, ma’am. My facility scores indicate an aptitude for both science and mathematics, so I am currently being considered for a position in the medical department.”

  After completing the program, cadets had two basic paths they could follow: administrative or fieldwork. The admin track was extremely broad and encompassed everything from teaching to recruitment. Fieldwork also had a wide range of applications, though the details were classified at nearly all the cadet levels. Even though Cressa knew nothing about the latter path, she hoped she’d eventually be on it; she’d prefer to be out in the world, making a difference.