by Anise Eden
“Oh, you’ll see later this week,” Michael said. “Like I said, we’ll be giving you a demonstration. It’s pretty cool, believe me.”
“Great,” I said, smiling to cover my disappointment that he hadn’t really given me an answer. The strain of pretending started to wear on me. I tried to push down a wave of nausea.
“…and Cate,” Vani said, finishing a sentence and smiling over at me. But when we made eye contact, she frowned. “We’d both love to stay longer. As you can see, we followed your instructions and came dressed to do some physical activity. But Cate has been suffering from insomnia lately, and I can see that she’s fading. I promised Ben I’d get her to bed early if that happened.” With great earnestness, she added, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not.” Liv looked at me and wrinkled her nose. “I can see the sleep problems in your aura, as well, Cate. During training, it’s especially important to get enough rest.” She bobbed her head to the side. “Don’t worry, though! We have the rest of the week to get to know each other. We do yoga in the Sanctuary every morning after breakfast while we’re here, usually around nine. Feel free to join us.”
“We’ll plan on it. And thanks for giving us a hint of what’s coming up this week, Michael,” Vani said. “It sounds quite intriguing.”
“Well, we think it is. We’ll tell you more about it later.”
“Wonderful!” Vani’s faux enthusiasm was so well executed that it was almost contagious.
We exchanged “Great to meet you!”s and goodbyes, then Vani ushered me out the door. Once in the hallway, she held her finger in front of her mouth in a “silence” gesture. We walked without speaking until we were back in my room. After closing the door, we both collapsed into armchairs by the fireplace. Free to talk, we were nonetheless speechless.
Finally, I ventured, “Tea and scones?”
Vani nodded. Gently, she asked, “Are you okay? You look a bit green.”
“I feel a bit green,” I acknowledged. “How about you?”
“Oh, I’m fine. And definitely intrigued—I overheard a bit of what Michael was saying to you.” As I reached for the phone to order our late-night snack, she added, “I wonder what Ben is going to make of all of this.”
• • •
ParaTrain Internship, Day Nine
I awakened early on Tuesday morning, around three thirty a.m., and couldn’t get back to sleep. It was one of those mornings—all too common of late—when my thoughts marched through my head like a news ticker that I couldn’t turn off. I tried meditating, counting sheep, singing myself lullabies, even asking my mother’s spirit to somehow force me into a dream state, but nothing helped. I considered climbing into bed with Ben, but the night he was drugged had been an exception. He had since renewed his devotion to the program rules, advising that we stay in separate bedrooms. Goddamned rules.
I tossed on some clothes and wandered around the lodge a bit. But the combination of darkness, eerie quiet, and animal trophies on the walls drove me outside. Owen was watering the planters at the building’s entrance. When asked why he was up so early, he said the water soaked in better if he gave it to the plants before the sun came up.
Owen asked me the same question, and I admitted I couldn’t sleep. I mentioned offhandedly that I wished I were at the kennel playing with the puppies. That had been the first time in a long time that my mind had truly been at peace. Owen offered to drive me over to the kennel, explaining that while the rest of dogs would be on their way out to hunt, the puppies and Stella would still be around to give me some good canine company.
It occurred to me that by going to the kennel, I would be separating myself from Ben, which I’d promised not to do. But the puppies hardly posed a threat, and besides, I’d be back before Ben woke up. And I just couldn’t face going back to my room, staring at the ceiling and waiting for sleep that never came. With only a slight twinge of guilt, I took Owen up on his offer.
As we drove to the kennel, I thought about the discussion Vani and I had with Ben and Pete before bed the previous night. We’d filled them in on our conversation with Liv and Michael. Since it had turned out that Michael was a telepath, we were all relieved that Kai had sent the bracelets ahead with Vani. But Ben’s whole body became taut when Vani told us that in a preliminary scan of their auras, she had seen the energetic residue of recent drug use—something similar to Ecstasy, she guessed.
“I’d be willing to put down money that their drug use is part of Skeet’s experiments trying to ‘enhance their abilities,’” Ben grumbled.
Then Ben and Pete both went on high alert when we told them about the mysterious in vivo training exercises we were supposedly going to witness—which had nothing to do with healing, apparently—and about Skeet’s double kheirs with interchangeable parts. “Sounds like he’s workin’ with military-style efficiency,” Pete said. “I wonder what that’s about.”
Vani was particularly disturbed by Michael’s declaration that healing wasn’t a priority for Team Forward. She argued that while some sensitives chose to use their abilities for other things—most often, accruing money or power—the true purpose of our gifts was to heal humanity. “In essence, sensitives are spiritual beings,” she said. “Those who turn their backs on that fact eventually become lost and twisted up inside. They usually end up self-destructing. I’ve seen it happen all too often.”
I didn’t yet share Vani’s certainty about our nature and purpose in life. Still, we all agreed that the evidence seemed to indicate Skeet and Team Forward had headed down a dark path. The more we spoke, the quieter and more grim Pete and Ben became, exchanging meaningful looks and muttering to one another in Marine-speak. I wanted to question them about what they’d been up to and what they were thinking about what we’d told them. But every time I opened my mouth, I yawned. My recent poor sleep was catching up with me. After Ben assured us all that we’d sit down and talk through everything the next day when the rest of our crew arrived, I had decided to shelve my questions for the moment.
Now, I tried to push all of that drama and intrigue out of my mind and enjoy the fresh morning air as Owen and I headed across the property. On our tour the day before we had meandered, but it turned out that as the crow flew, the kennel wasn’t far from the lodge. When we arrived, it was a busy scene. The Selbys and several guests were on their way out to go hunting with the father of the puppies. The Labradors had already gone with some other guests. Owen and I set a time for him to come pick me up and take me back to the lodge. The sun was barely kissing the horizon when I found myself on the couch in the kennel, petting Stella while her two pups climbed all over us.
The truth was, I just wanted to stay at the kennel with the dogs all day, and by the looks of things, the dogs felt the same way. Stella immediately melted into my lap and fell asleep, and the puppies appeared thrilled to have a visiting playmate. Eventually, though, they wore themselves out, too. I carefully shifted myself out from under Stella and put the sleeping pups back in their dog run.
I found myself at a loose end, since I wasn’t expecting Owen for another half hour. As busy as I expected he was, I decided to walk back to the lodge, spending some time alone in nature and getting to know Mercier’s land more intimately. Once I got back, I could have the front desk radio Owen and tell him that he didn’t need to pick me up after all.
Fortunately, with the sun rising, I was able to get my bearings pretty easily. Outside the kennel was a field of grass a few inches taller than I was. I jumped up a few times and caught sight of the lodge and the field adjacent to the one I was in—a harvested cornfield. I would have loved to keep taking in the scenery, but I had to watch where I stepped to keep from turning my ankle on the rough ground. I stopped for a moment, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply, enjoying the poignant scents of plants, earth, and marshy water. That’s when I heard voices coming from the direction of the cornfield—two men speaking in low tones, and close by.
I was about to call out a gr
eeting—if for no other reason than to make sure they knew I wasn’t a deer or something—when I heard one of the men ask in a low southern drawl, “Did you hear something out there?”
There was something cold and menacing in the man’s voice. Like some unseen hand pushing me downward, a deep instinct told me that it would be safer to conceal myself. Careful not to make any noise, I lowered myself into the grass until I was squatting on the ground.
“Yeah, it was old Joe’s ghost,” a second man said mockingly in a broad New Jersey accent. “No, I didn’t hear anything—and we won’t see anything, either, if you don’t sit down and stop talking.”
Old Joe’s ghost. Was he talking about…? But I couldn’t even think it. I forced myself to focus on keeping quiet and listening.
I heard an irritated sigh. “We never see any damn geese. We should have brought Selby with us.”
“He put out corn and decoys,” Jersey said. “They’ll show eventually.”
“Just don’t try to call them again, for God’s sake,” said the Southerner. “You’ll scare them off.”
“I paid two hundred dollars for this damn goose call.”
“It looks like a bong.”
There was some low laughter. “How would you know?”
“Remember, I roomed with Skeet in college.”
“That’s right,” Jersey said. “He probably doesn’t even remember the seventies.”
The Southerner chuckled. “I’ll bet he still smokes. He uses all kinds of designer drugs on those so-called research subjects of his. You think he’s not taking some of that stuff home?”
I clamped my hand over my mouth to silence a gasp. So our suspicions had been right; Skeet was still using risky drugs on his subjects.
“Not famous for his good judgment, our Skeet,” Jersey replied.
“Yeah, like deciding to bring her here,” the Southerner muttered.
Somehow, I knew that “her” meant me. A cold, slimy sensation wormed its way into my stomach.
“You don’t believe she’s on our side?”
“I don’t know,” the Southerner said. “Skeet’s always overstating things. Besides, she’s with that Marine.”
“I heard he left the Corps.”
“Come on; you know they never really leave. And Harris said he asked for our financials.”
“Nothing unusual about that,” Jersey said. “Could just be a sharp guy looking out for his girl. They’ll get a nice, cleaned-up version, I’m sure. As long as they don’t know what they’re looking for, they won’t find it,” Jersey said. “Besides, Harris is on it. Now quit worrying until there’s a reason.”
“There’s always a reason,” came the Southerner’s dry reply.
“You’re paranoid. Skeet seems pretty sure of her.”
“Well, this was her daddy’s place,” the Southerner acquiesced. “Blood’s thicker than water.”
“Good thing we kept Skeet in the dark, then,” Jersey said. “He’s never been good at keeping his mouth shut.”
It sounded like the men must be co-owners of Mercier. What on earth could they be keeping from Skeet—and why? More secrets. I shuddered involuntarily.
“Quiet—I think they’re coming.”
I heard the men rustling around, then faint honking in the distance. I looked up to see a V-formation of Canada geese heading in our direction, dropping altitude as they dipped toward the cornfield. They rotated their wings and flapped, slowing as they approached. Knowing what was about to happen, everything in me longed to jump up, yell, and wave my arms, scaring them away. But I suspected that if I gave away my position—and what I’d overheard—the consequences could be dire.
The week before, my mother had come to me in a dream and told me that Ben and I were mated Canada geese in a past life. She said that I’d got goose-Ben killed when I flew into a suspicious-looking field and he’d come after me. She also told me that geese mate for life. I’d never been anti-hunting, but my mother’s story had given me a new feeling of kinship with the geese, and it sickened me to think I was about to witness some of them losing their mates in the very next field—and at the hands of those shady-sounding men.
I balled myself up even more tightly, biting my sleeve to keep from making any noise and squeezing my eyes shut against the tears as a volley of shots tore through the air. My heart shattered like a dropped glass at the sound of alarmed, desperate honking and the rustle of birds flying away. Then came the hunters’ hoots of victory. I heard the men scrambling out of wherever they had been hiding and charging through the field, presumably to retrieve the dead geese.
Finally, Jersey boasted that they were over their limit and declared that it was time to get back. It seemed to take forever for them to leave. My muscles burned, and I trembled with the effort to remain completely hidden. On top of that, everything I’d overheard was making my head pound. Finally, the men headed out. I waited until I hadn’t heard a sound for a full five minutes before I forced my stiff body into a half-standing position, peering through the thin grasses. I saw no one. Ever so slowly, I rose up to my full height—then proceeded to bend over again as I lurched forward and vomited. I wasn’t made for espionage, apparently—or goose hunting, for that matter.
I couldn’t remember ever feeling so miserable in every possible way. I urgently needed to get back to my room, preferably unseen and unnoticed, so I could shower, get dressed, and generally pull myself together. I trudged through the field toward the lodge, trying to make sense of what I’d heard. Two things were certain: the secrets were flying thick and fast, and there was a lot more going on at Mercier than hunting and fishing. I was glad the rest of the MacGregor Group was arriving that morning. We were going to need all hands on deck.
Chapter Eleven
Any fantasies I’d had about quietly slipping back into the hotel were ruined when I emerged from the tall grasses and stepped onto the large circular driveway. Ben and Owen were standing on the lodge’s front deck, scanning the horizon. Ben spotted me first. He barked something at Owen before he took off running, covering ground at a surprising clip as he headed in my direction.
Oh, hell, I thought. I had figured that if he woke up before I returned, Ben would’ve assumed that I was sleeping and left me alone, rather than checking on me. No such luck, evidently. I had no idea what I looked like, so I just tried to straighten my clothes and remove any large pieces of grass from my hair in the few seconds before Ben reached me.
“Cate!” he called out as he approached, his voice taut. I tried to smile so he’d know I was all right, but since I could feel my mouth twisting into some tortured expression, I gave up. All at once, Ben was there. His presence was like a wall of highly focused energy slamming into me. His hand lightly caressed my cheeks, my arms, while his sharp gaze evaluated the rest of me.
“I’m fine,” I insisted. “I’m absolutely fine.”
Ben’s eyes met mine. The portal between us burst open, and a potent mixture of love and concern shot through it like a missile. “You don’t look fine.”
He spoke with the quiet intensity of a ticking bomb. I knew he meant that I looked upset, which was true. But I couldn’t discuss that at the moment, since Owen was rapidly approaching in his Jeep. I looked myself up and down and muttered, “I’m just a little dirty.”
Ben took firm hold of my hand. “You know what I mean.”
Owen pulled up in his Jeep. He looked unreasonably happy to see me. “I went back to the kennel and you weren’t there! What happened?”
I pulled a bright smile out of somewhere. “It’s a nice morning. I just decided to walk back. It took longer than I thought, though. I’m sorry.”
Ben let go of my hand. He began rubbing his forehead as though trying to release a band of tension.
“No problem. It is a nice morning,” Owen said, scratching the back of his head. “A nice morning for hunting, too, though. You shouldn’t go out walking around here until a little later in the day—especially not without a safety vest on
.” He jumped out of the Jeep and walked around to the back, rummaging until he produced a bright orange vest. He jogged back and handed it to me. “Here, you keep this one. Just in case.”
“Right, of course. Thanks.” I patted the vest. “I guess I should have thought of that.”
“Yeah, well, all’s well that ends well. Right, Ben?” But Owen’s attempt to sound cheerful was clearly strained.
Ben gave a quick nod. “Can we get a ride back?”
“Sure! Hop in.”
I felt a little ridiculous to be riding such a short distance, but my muscles ached so much that I didn’t object. As soon as I sat down in the Jeep, my eyes closed of their own volition and my body groaned with relief.
When we reached the lodge, Ben walked me up to our floor with great care, as though I were an invalid—one arm around my back, the other holding my hand. I tried to hide the wave of sickness that hit me as we passed a stuffed Canada goose mounted on the wall. Someone’s lifelong mate, I couldn’t help thinking.
Once inside my room, I took Ben’s hand and led him over to the bed. I sat down and gestured for him to do the same. “I have to tell you something,” I said in a near-whisper. “Something that happened out there.”
Every muscle in Ben’s face was contorted with worry and concentration. I could tell that he was fighting the urge to interrogate me about my well-being before anything else happened. Finally, he seemed to reach an internal compromise. “Okay, but first, you look like you need some water.”
Hearing the word “water” made me realize how incredibly thirsty I was. “Okay.”
Ben went into the bathroom, and I heard the tap running. He brought me a glass and took his seat next to me on the bed. I practically chugged the water and placed the glass on the bedside table.