Siege of Shadows

by Sarah Raughley

  “Looked after.” Sibyl rolled her eyes as she shook her head in disbelief. “That’s what they’re calling house arrest.”

  “They can’t do that!” Cheryl cried. “This isn’t Director Langley’s fault.”

  “The APDs,” said Belle, taking a seat on the bench by one of the monitors. “All over the world. Hacked. Who do you think is behind this?” She trained her sharp gaze on Brendan. “Now we have soldiers the like of which we’ve never seen before. They have power—the kind of mysterious power only we possess.” She lifted her arm. Clouds of snow wafted up from her palm. “Who created them? Could it be just one person? Or one facility?” The snow dissipated into nothingness the moment she clenched her hand into a fist. “This issue is larger and more insidious then we ever thought possible. Suspending Director Langley is nothing more than an act for the public, to make it appear as if something is being done. But placing the blame squarely on her shoulders will not save the Sect from public scrutiny.”

  “She’s right, Bren,” Rhys said. “You really want to take charge of things, you’ve got to do more than take someone else’s job.”

  Brendan obviously didn’t like being challenged, but he stood his ground nonetheless. “The Council voted,” he said as if this were the only argument he needed. He straightened his back. “I’m in charge now. If any of you are worried about my intentions or credentials, you’re welcome to check my references.”

  “Yeah, your dad.” Chae Rin snickered.

  “I already figured that if I’m going to be convincing to you as command, I’m going to have to show a little more initiative. That’s why, on top of bringing my own people to investigate this facility, I’ve brought in a specialist to deal with some of our more . . . difficult subjects.”

  Sibyl narrowed her eyes. “Specialist?”

  “He’s with Vasily Volkov in the holding cells as we speak,” Brendan said. “I was just on my way there now—and actually, Aidan and Ms. Finley, I’d like you both to come with me.”

  Rhys and I exchanged wary glances. I hadn’t seen that psycho since he’d tried to kill me in France. I wasn’t exactly aching to see him again, but Rhys’s brother was in charge now. That meant whatever he said was law.

  “If it’s who you’re talking about, I’d ask you to reconsider,” Sibyl said. “Even I could never approve of certain methods of investigation.”

  “Well, what you would approve or disapprove of doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?” Brendan pressed the button by one of the monitors, and in just a few moments, five Sect agents marched through the door, their expressionless faces half hidden behind pairs of dark shades. “Don’t worry,” Brendan said. “They’ve been thoroughly vetted. My people are loyal.”

  My insides churned as I watched Sibyl, her head high, the defiance still burning from her eyes as she silently followed the agents out the door.

  13

  THE GUARDS IN THE LOBBY of the detainment ward swiped Brendan’s ID card. I was about ready to take a swipe at him myself if he wouldn’t stop babbling about his accomplishments. Graduated with honors from one of the Sect-run academies out of Virginia, specially trained since childhood, led his first mission in Zimbabwe before he was out of his teens, et cetera, et cetera. He gave us every painful detail as if leaving anything out would mean losing the respect and admiration he was clearly gunning for. The entire way there, he kept peeking at me as if waiting for a reaction—awe, maybe—to yet another amazing thing he’d done. I didn’t give him anything. If he was this insecure about proving himself, then he shouldn’t have taken someone else’s job.

  To be honest, I couldn’t say I necessarily liked Sibyl, but I’d trusted her this far, and she always did her utmost to keep us alive. I respected her for that. Brendan preened like a peacock desperate for adulation. Not my first pick for a replacement.

  The guards looked tired of him too, watching Rhys’s X-ray from their desk with dull eyes as he passed through the body scanner last.

  “He’s clean,” one guard said. “Okay, you’re free to go inside, sir.”

  “Yes,” his partner muttered so low I barely heard him. “Please go. Go now.”

  We went through the heavily bolted gates and began our trek down a network of long corridors, each plastered wall glinting pristine white. I had to quicken my pace to keep up with the businesslike stride of their long legs, though Rhys was the taller of the two.

  “Did Aidan tell you he had a brother, Maia?” Brendan asked, straightening his suit.

  “You literally haven’t stopped talking since we left Communications,” Rhys said before I could. “You want to give that a try next?”

  “Come on, Aidan, don’t act like that. We’re brothers.” Brendan patted Rhys on the shoulder, his smile wavering a bit when Rhys ignored the gesture. It was clear Brendan was genuinely enthused about this little family reunion. Rhys, not so much. “I’m four years older,” he told me. “But we look alike, don’t we? Though everyone always tells us that Aidan takes after our mother while I take after Father. How is Mother, by the way, Aidan?”

  “Call her and ask.”

  Oh, boy. This was awkward. My shoulders slumped as I let out an imperceptible sigh. Why couldn’t Sibyl stay?

  “Wait,” I said, suddenly remembering. “You two have different last names. But you have the same parents?”

  “Rhys is my mother’s maiden name,” Rhys answered absently, rubbing the cast on his opposite arm. “So I’m not labeled as a director’s son. It’s just easier to be an agent that way.”

  Aidan Prince. I smirked. “Aren’t you full of surprises,” I said. “I learn more and more about you every day.”

  Rhys kept his eyes on me as he asked, “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Not always,” I said, my smile falling. “But sometimes.”

  Even from his side profile, I could see the vulnerability reflected in his soft eyes. He walked close to me, close enough for me to feel the heat from his body, or maybe I was imagining it. After I’d spoken, there was a slight uptick in his pace. The softness gone, he looked straight ahead.

  “Well,” Brendan said, “his taking our mother’s name isn’t just about living as an agent.”

  Rhys sent him an inscrutable glare as we turned a corner. There was a white, double-bolted door ahead of us. Brendan used his keycard, letting the red light from the scanner pass across the white plastic. The bolts unlocked with a click and the door released from its seal. Taking hold of the edge, Brendan pulled it back.

  The door opened to a monotony of darkness broken only by some lamps lining a redbrick wall and a trail of steps spiraling downward into the unknown.

  “The Hole is where we keep the worst criminals,” Brendan explained as we began to step down the staircase. Brendan went first. Rhys followed after me.

  The staircase was narrow, enclosed by two brick walls, narrowly spaced apart. It was as if we’d taken a wrong turn from the slick, high-tech enclave of the Sect and gotten lost inside an ancient castle dungeon. If it weren’t for the electric lights in the walls, I would have believed this place had been built centuries ago.

  Brendan was a step below me and Rhys a step above me. I descended carefully.

  “The worst criminals. Like Vasily.” Each creak of the steps beneath my feet sent jitters up my spine. They really could have spent more on maintenance down here.

  “Vasily Volkov is dangerous. Well, you should know that. According to my briefings, you’ve had quite a few run-ins with him in the past.”

  “Quite a few.” That Cheshire grin as he happily sliced off a man’s finger would never leave my memories. “Yeah, I see why he’d be locked up in a place called the Hole.”

  “Not the first one he’s been in,” added Brendan, and with his hands tracing the wall for balance, he twisted around and looked up at his younger brother behind me. Rhys kept his eyes ahead, avoiding his meaningful glance.

  “You mean the Devil’s Hole,” I said. The Greenland facility’s other name. Rhys h
ad mentioned it once before.

  “Keep going,” Rhys said, since his brother had stopped for just that second. I’d never seen Rhys so tense.

  “Rhys, you once told me that some facilities are tougher than others. What happened there? What kind of place was it before it burned down?”

  “It’s not something we need to talk about, Maia.”

  Brendan looked at him sideways with narrowed, disbelieving eyes. “You’re really still bitter about having had to train at Fisk-Hoffman. The very fact that you’d be bitter in the first place is just . . .” He scoffed, shaking his head incredulously. “Unbelievable. You really are something, aren’t you? Like a spoiled child. Complaining about every opportunity you’re given.”

  Rhys was very still.

  “Maia, did you know that Fisk-Hoffman is—was—one of the most prestigious training facilities within the Sect?”

  “Prestigious?” I frowned. That certainly wasn’t how it’d sounded when Rhys had first told me about it in France.

  “Not that I would expect a young civilian like yourself to know much about it,” Brendan continued with a certain snooty upturn of his nose, “but since it opened in the sixties, only seven students from facilities around the world were selected as the cohort of a special program. Training the leaders of the future. And leaders they forged. Like Father. And Grandfather. It made them heroes.”

  “Sounds like a family affair.” A family of Sect-bound warriors, specially trained within carefully curated cohorts . . . until it was Rhys’s turn. “Did you go?” I asked Brendan.

  Brendan’s expression turned sour for just a moment before his chin lifted a little higher, as if he were trying to save face. “No. Selections aren’t made on the basis of family, but skill. Rhys was chosen when he was twelve, a year younger than the general recruiting age. Though technically he did have Father’s recommendation. It’s a great honor.” He’d put emphasis on the word. It rang out into the darkness below. “Particularly for the youngest,” he added under his breath, his jaw tightening afterward ever so subtly. “And yet he’s angry just because training was a bit difficult. As if that weren’t the whole point.”

  “Yeah, when I said it’s not something we need to talk about, I actually meant that.” Rhys’s footsteps were getting heavier behind me. That menacing hint in his voice wouldn’t stay buried forever. Even though I could breathe easy knowing it wasn’t directed at me, it put me on edge nonetheless. This wasn’t a subject he wanted broached.

  Brendan didn’t seem to notice that.

  “I’m not even surprised he’d be like this.” He was talking to me now, as if he’d already given up on talking to Rhys. “We haven’t seen each other in a year. Barely talked. And yet the second he sees me, he doesn’t even say hello. I mean, I said hello, because I’m the civil, responsible one. The nice one. But he just stood there.” Brendan didn’t seem to realize how ridiculous he sounded. “He’s always like this. I bet he’s told you nothing but the worst about me. Our father, too.”

  “He doesn’t really talk about either of you that much,” I said stiffly, because I could feel Rhys burning a hole through the back of my head.

  “Because it’s personal,” Rhys said irritably. “How much have you told me about your family, Maia?”

  “Everything there is to know about them was probably in whatever file you read before you met me,” I coolly reminded him.

  Well, he may have had a point nonetheless. I didn’t offer up information about myself too willingly. But for me, learning more about Rhys wasn’t about simple curiosity. Not with Natalya’s screams echoing from the depths of me.

  I touched the graveyard-cold steel contraption around my neck. Feeling the slight pinch at the back from Mellie’s injection, I wondered silently when I would be free of it.

  “It’s not personal, Aidan. That’s the thing,” Brendan said. “It was never personal. Father chose you. You should be proud of that. He chose you.” His voice wavered. “Fisk-Hoffman was notorious for being tough but fair. And when that rough patch was over, by the time it was Aidan’s turn in the so-called Devil’s Hole, the Council had gotten rid of the staff making a mess of things and the facility had been restored to its former glory. It was better than it’d ever been.”

  A mess of things? I would have prodded for more information, but Rhys’s icy snickering cut me off before I could get the words out.

  “Former glory?” That was all he said before falling silent.

  Finally, Brendan stopped and looked up at him. “Precisely, but you seem to disagree. If I’m wrong, then tell me why.”

  Rhys didn’t. He didn’t say a word. He only stared off to the side, his gaze tracing a line up the wall. It may have been the way the whites of his eyes caught the light, but they seemed to be glimmering. Wet.

  I didn’t like seeing it. “Rhys . . .” I reached out to him, but he blinked very quickly and turned from me.

  Brendan clucked his tongue impatiently. “I don’t know if this is about those five—the ones we thought had died in the fire. Or maybe you’re acting like this because the facility’s training regime was harder than you’d expected. It may have been for a short time, but you received top training from the same facility Father did. Under Father’s recommendation. And you can always trust Father’s recommendation.”

  Rhys turned a glare upon him. “Don’t you say that. You know how Dad was as well as I do.”

  Almost by instinct, Brendan’s hand floated to his left arm. He rubbed it gently, as if to cradle it. It was still there when he answered his little brother. “Yes, I know how he was. A serious and dedicated man who wanted the best—”

  “Who wanted perfection.”

  “—for not only his sons but for the Sect as a whole. He’s never given anyone more than they can handle. And whether it’s the Sect or his family, his every decision is always to make us stronger. Any objections to that, Aidan?”

  In the silence that followed, Rhys shut his eyes. Brendan’s self-satisfied smirk made it clear he interpreted that as a sign of little brother finally backing down. It was a power struggle that he was clearly desperate to win. His chest puffed out more when he figured he had.

  “Good. I’m glad you finally see things my way, little brother.” He’d probably emphasized the word “little” to knock him down a peg, but it came off as more of a self-assurance. He straightened his back. “Now, both of you can continue to follow me. And, Aidan, you’ll do well to keep a more respectful tone from now on. Although we’re family, I’m still in charge.”

  Rhys’s laughter echoed off the wall. “Oh, shut up.”

  He hopped down to my level and grabbed Brendan’s sleeve with his good hand.

  “Hey!” I waved my hands wildly as Rhys yanked his brother close to him. “Wait, don’t fight! Peace! Peace!” I hadn’t expected things would get this messy quite this quickly.

  But Rhys only flicked him in the head.

  “Ow!” Brendan whined. His hands flew to his forehead, but with a smile, Rhys blocked them and flicked him again.

  “I’m the civil, responsible one,” Rhys repeated in a mocking tone as he continued to keep the older boy from guarding against his flicks. “Aw, Bren, so all this is just because you wanted a little love from your baby bro, right? Riiight?” He gave the last word a childish swoon as if his older brother were a puppy he’d decided to tease.

  “St-stop it!” Brendan struggled against Rhys as the younger boy tried to force a hug on him. “This is t-totally inappropriate!”

  But Rhys succeeded, enveloping him in a bear hug with his good arm, so tight that Brendan’s glasses skewed off his face.

  “Look at you. You can’t even fight me off, can you? Dude, I’m in a cast.” After waving his broken wrist, Rhys caught Brendan’s neck by the crook of his elbow and didn’t let go, even as his brother squirmed wildly against the steel cage that was his grip. “Looks like you could have spent a week or two in Greenland, eh? But Daddy gave me the recommendation, not you. I can s
ee where the jealousy comes from. Guess you just weren’t good enough to be the Chosen One.”

  “Jealous?” Brendan sputtered, indignant. “I was never— Who said I was—”

  “Please. And since we’re sharing, maybe I should tell Maia about how you wet your bed until you were twelve? Or how you locked yourself in your room writing crappy poetry for days after your girlfriend dumped you?”

  “Enough!”

  “Then performed it at a poetry slam competition and totally tanked. Director Prince.”

  I’d been expecting a real brawl when Rhys jumped down the stairs and grabbed him. Or a war of words. Not a litany of embarrassing anecdotes. But seeing Brendan’s face redden and his eyes dart to me every few seconds made me realize that this may have been worse. The earlier tension had dissolved into something more playful. Rhys was laughing, after all, but there was a cold sting to his glee he couldn’t quite hide from me.

  “Okay, okay, break it up, guys.” They stopped struggling with each other only after I began prying them apart. “Before someone’s neck gets broken in all the fun and games.”

  The two straightened their clothes, breathing a little harder than before.

  “You’ve got nothing to be jealous of, Brendan,” Rhys said as resentment crept back into his features. “You didn’t have to go to the facility. Trust me, if you had, your life would have turned out very differently.”

  Maybe he was referring to the other kids—Philip, Jessie, and the rest. That would make sense. But something told me there was more to his hostility that he didn’t dare speak out loud. That hostility, even if it was just a flicker, had turned him into a very different Rhys—the one who made me think of that boyish smile of his and question everything.