by Somers, Jill
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “As much as I hate to say this, Dash, I don’t forgive her. It helps, and I’m happy that you know she still loves you. But she could have done more. And I think they might know that, too.”
He nodded, putting his head in his hands, clearly exhausted. “I know. But it does help.”
• • •
The recess lasted over two hours. When the UNCODA officials re-emerged from the private conference room, everyone in the lobby was called back to the auditorium, and Lauren took the stand again.
“I want to be clear: the island we have come to know as Siloh does not belong to the UNCODA. It belongs to Cole Crowley, and falls under the jurisdiction of the United States government. Therefore, it is not within the power of the UNCODA to grant Siloh independent sovereignty.”
A murmur broke out amongst the audience. Quinn stared up at Dash, eyes wide. It made sense, what Lauren was saying. Still… what was the point of all this, if that was the case?
“As for the crimes that Mr. Crowley and Ms. Collins committed,” Lauren continued, “along with the group of both deviants and regulars that we have come to know as the ‘alliance…’ It is not within our power to sentence them for their crimes.”
This was rapidly becoming the most frustrating speech Quinn had ever heard.
“However, we are an international organization, and these are international crimes. And for reasons I feel confident that the entire world will understand, we are unwilling to continue to sit idly by as these atrocities continue to be committed.”
Quinn took Dash’s hand, breath held.
“So now,” Lauren said, turning toward the men behind her, and then back to face the cameras, “I address the United States of America. And I suggest you listen closely. I have here a document that we at the UNCODA have been sitting on for some time. It is, in most honest terms, a threat. A threat to you.”
Quinn watched in amazement as Lauren surfaced a thick, professionally bound document, holding it up for the audience to see.
“Signed by the leaders of 37 countries across six continents, this document assures you that, if you do not agree to the terms laid out for you by these nations, the financial assistance we have all been lending you for the past ten years—the assistance that has kept you afloat during the worst economic depression your country has ever faced—will no longer be offered. In fact, 21 of the 37 countries even specify that, should the United States not comply, they will cease all trade with the United States.”
Quinn glanced over at Crowley and Weber, who both looked terrified. She wondered whether the United States had sent any other representatives; clearly the rest of the world had.
Sure enough, a new person rose from the stage side of the podium. Quinn didn’t recognize the man, which didn’t mean much.
“I’ve got to brush up on my American political figures,” Dash whispered to her, “but I think that’s the Secretary of State.”
The man made his way to the podium, expression serious and—in Quinn’s opinion—quite boring.
“Director Wilson,” he said. “I’m afraid that the necessary representatives to make such decisions on behalf of the United States are not with us in this room today.”
“Oh, I’m well aware, Mr. Davis.” She glanced pointedly around the room, gesturing to the hundreds of representatives from around the world. “Interesting, isn’t it? Presidents, prime ministers, chancellors, from around the world—all here to discuss an American-originated conflict. And barely any Americans.”
The man said nothing.
“We will have to trust you, Secretary Davis, to relay our terms to your officials. You, and these cameras.”
And without further ado, Lauren rattled off the UNCODA’s terms.
“First, the United States is to incarcerate Cole Crowley—without bail—and try him for his crimes against his country and the world. No less than five representatives of the UNCODA are to attend this trial. Should a verdict be reached that those representatives feel does not properly reflect the findings of the trial, the case will be taken to the International Court of Justice, and the United States will waive all sentencing rights.
“Second, the United States is to exercise eminent domain upon Mr. Crowley and purchase from him the island known as Siloh. The United States will then, with the full support of the United Nations, grant independent sovereignty to Siloh, relinquishing all jurisdiction over them.
“Finally, regarding Savannah Collins and the deviant members of the group known as ‘the alliance,’ it is the view of the UNCODA that their sentencing should fall into the hands of Siloh, rather than the United States government, once Siloh is granted its sovereignty.”
Quinn glanced over at Dash. His expression was hard to read, but she had a feeling he liked that stipulation. She had to admit, it felt a lot better imagining the alliance’s punishment being in her friends’ hands than in men like Crowley and Weber’s.
“And now I ask,” Lauren said, turning to glance back at Haley and Ridley, “before we send Secretary Davis back to the United States officials with his terms: is there anything the people of Siloh would like me to add or alter?”
Haley and Ridley glanced at each other. Quinn could tell from Haley’s expression that there was something she wanted to add. Ridley nodded encouragingly at Haley, who carefully rose and made her way to the podium.
“Thank you, Director. We… we would like the DCA to be disbanded, leaving the universal authority over deviant affairs to the UNCODA. We’d like to put a deviant in the council, as well. Two, if possible.”
Lauren smiled. “Very well. Secretary Davis, added to the terms: no more Deviant Collection Agency. And as for my fellow UNCODA councilmen and women… Please meet Haley Mylar and Ridley Jeffries. They’ll be joining us.”
16. SIREN'S SONG
A year had passed since the summit, and much had changed on the island. It was a sovereign state, for one, with no remaining ties to the United States. For another, the wall was gone.
But there was a third change, Quinn thought to herself as she stared down at Drax’s headstone. One that, to her, mattered more than any of that. It was the loss of her friends. Drax… and Rory.
Rory wasn’t dead, of course. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. She had come back to the island briefly, as they all had, to wait and see what would happen. But it hadn’t taken long for the United States to agree to every term the UNCODA had laid out for them. They were humiliated—ruined. They wanted nothing more to do with deviants for a very long time.
Once Siloh was granted its independence and Crowley was sentenced to life without parole, Rory had gone straight home—back to her parents. She had said her goodbyes to Quinn, loaded up the helicopter, and never looked back.
She had thanked Quinn, of course, for all she had done for her. Her parents had thanked Quinn, too. They seemed like stand-up people. Veterinarians; animal lovers. Owned their own practice. It should have helped, but it didn’t.
She had thought, watching that sweet girl step onto that helicopter, that she would hear from her constantly. She had thought that their mental connection was so strong, the thousands of miles between them wouldn’t matter. She had thought she could never truly lose Rory.
But here she was, months later, and she hadn’t heard that eager little voice in her head even once.
Pence and Charlie were gone, too. They had left quickly to go see Pence’s family. They had received offers to stay and work in the new hurricane that was Siloh’s government. Their help would certainly have been valuable. But they were both done with politics for a while, Pence explained. They were ready to just live.
Haley and Ridley were, more or less, the leaders now; Haley had been elected President of Siloh, and Ridley Vice President. It was a lot to juggle, on top of their positions as councilmen at the UNCODA, which had been renamed the UCDPM—the United Council for Deviant Protection and Monitoring. It was hard for them, from what Quinn could tell, being in
charge of monitoring their own people as much as they were in charge of protecting them. But it was necessary. One slip-up—one crime committed, even a set-up—all of this freedom could disappear in an instant. Quinn knew it as well as the rest of them. They had their freedom, but they had to be careful.
As for Charlie’s parents, they were still involved. They stayed on the island. Evelyn expanded the hospital, preparing for the flood of journalists and travelers that would be coming in once the island got on its feet. Michael was appointed by Haley as the island’s Secretary of Commerce, using his influence and experience in the real world to help them build a new, self-sustaining economy based on more than just ‘allowances’ and ‘wages’ from government-assigned jobs. He also helped set up systems and programs to train deviants to expand their skill sets—almost like college.
And then there was Quinn and Dash. They had talked about leaving. Having the option to do so was certainly a welcome change. But it was the same as it ever was for them—nothing and no one to go back to. And, as hard as it was for her to admit, Quinn had come to love Siloh. It was the one place since her mother’s little trailer in New Jersey that she had ever called home—the place she had learned to love and trust. So they stayed, and Haley encouraged Dash to keep his old job in power tech, and for Quinn to join him.
“We fired Rory’s old teacher,” Haley had explained to Quinn with a grin. “You know—the one who never let them actually use their abilities? And then went and joined the alliance? We’re in need of a replacement.”
Quinn had accepted, on the condition that no one was forced to take power tech—nor were they forced to attend classes. No more forcing anything, Haley had promised her. Never again.
And there she sat, staring down at Drax’s headstone, telling him about her life. Telling him that she missed him. Telling him that she missed Rory. Telling him that she never knew happiness could be so sad.
“I don’t think it’s happiness that’s sad,” Angel said from behind her, startling her so much she jumped. “I think it’s just life.”
Quinn shifted slightly to her left, leaving an open spot for Angel to come kneel beside her. Quinn and Angel had encountered each other several times at Drax’s grave. Angel was probably the only person who spent more time there than Quinn.
Angel set a white rose down on his headstone, balancing it on top of the dozens of white roses she had left before it. She was nothing if not consistent.
“You promised him, Angel,” Quinn said, looking into the eyes of the girl who had never quite been her friend, but had nevertheless earned her respect. “You promised him you would go see your family.”
Angel looked down at the headstone, wings swaying slightly with the wind. This wasn’t the first time they had had this conversation. Quinn already knew she wasn’t going to get much of a response.
“Did you know my name’s not really Angel?” Angel asked her, turning to face her again. “I mean—I’m sure you must know that. What are the chances my parents would name the infant version of me after the monstrosity I would become eight years later?”
“You’re no monstrosity,” Quinn told her friend, staring at her thick, feathery wings in awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful as your wings.”
“Beautiful, sure,” Angel said, waving a hand. “But a monstrosity, still. I’m sure you could understand that.”
Quinn did understand—she always had. A pretty monster was still a monster.
“What was your name?” she asked Angel. “Before.”
“It was Jennifer. Jenny, for short. God, I hated that name. So common. So normal. Exactly the way my parents wanted me to be. Imagine their disappointment when I became who I am now.”
“But your parents didn’t ship you away,” Quinn said, hugging her legs to her chest. “Did they?”
“No; not really. They tried to protect me as best they could. Which wasn’t very well. When the DCA came and took me away…” She shook her head. “It was relief I saw in their eyes. I know it was.”
Quinn wanted to say that she knew it wasn’t true. She wanted to say that she was sure Angel’s parents had loved her, that they must not have felt that way. But after all the cruelty and all the heartlessness she had seen in the world, she knew better than to assume any such thing again.
“Did you and Drax change your names together?” Quinn asked. “At the same time?”
Angel nodded. “He was here first, but he went by his real name for that time. Stuart. Can you believe that?” She laughed a strange, crazed sort of laugh. “Stuart.”
Quinn could believe that; Drax had told her, once before. But Angel wasn’t looking for an answer. She wasn’t looking for anything.
“When I met him, and he asked me what my name was, I said, ‘Jenny. But I’m working on a better one.’ And he said, ‘I’m Stuart. And I’ve got one for you if you’ve got one for me.’ Maybe that’s why both of our new names are a little silly, you know, a little obvious. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything now. I wouldn’t go back to being Jenny. Not when he gave me Angel.” She turned back to the headstone. “That’s why I can’t leave. I have to stay his Angel.”
• • •
The days passed slowly now, and in a way, Quinn enjoyed it. Her life had always moved so quickly; now that it was a good one, a peaceful one, she didn’t mind it slowing down.
She was in the river, taking an afternoon swim, when Dash came to her with the news. His eyes were bright, excited—more excited than she had seen them in months. Just as her heart ached for Rory, she knew his had been ached for his mother, who had locked herself in the dungeons upon being sent to Siloh. It wasn’t even that he missed her, Quinn had discerned. It was more that he wanted to know the truth, and Savannah hadn’t spoken to him since giving that speech to the world.
“The helicopters are landing,” Dash shouted to her as he ran over to her, reaching his hands into the water to help pull her out. “It’s Trent. He found some.”
The ‘some’ he was referring to were recruits—new recruits. Shortly after the summit, Ridley had pointed out to Haley and the others that there was now a chance that new deviants might reveal themselves—deviants who had always been afraid to reveal themselves before. Most of them had doubted that there was anyone left, but Trent had fought for the opportunity to go off in search of them. He said that he couldn’t think of a better way to redeem himself than by helping those who lived in fear come and find safety in Siloh.
Quinn let Dash pull her out of the water, shaking the water off and pulling on some dry clothes before following him over toward the town hall. Haley and Ridley were both there when they arrived, hands held, looking up at the helicopters with as much wonder on their faces as on Dash’s.
“There’s three of them,” Haley told Quinn, smiling from ear to ear. “Three helicopters… Fifteen new recruits. Trent found all of them. Reached out to these refugee camps in Canada, France, and England. Found them hiding out there. Convinced them to give Siloh a chance.”
“Fifteen?” Quinn asked in utter disbelief. “In less than a year? How many do you think are still out there?”
“Dozens,” Ridley said, “if not more. Hundreds, even. We never knew, officially, how many were affected in the event. There was no written record. We just assumed from the dwindling of the recruits that we had gotten all of them.”
Haley smiled over at Quinn. “Just think. All the people you and Dash will get to help. People who never had the opportunity to embrace their abilities until now.”
The helicopters landed. Trent was the first to step out, followed by five terrified-looking recruits. To her amazement, two were monsters—visibly affected, she caught herself. How was that even possible? How had they shielded themselves for so long?
Trent proceeded with the introductions as the helicopters took back off. Quinn shook the recruits’ hands, sizing them up as she did so. The oldest was a frail, sweet-looking man who had to be at least in his seventies; the youngest
was a boy no older than eleven.
Haley began her speech at that point, promising them that they would be safe at Siloh, that their freedom would be protected, that they never had to feel like outsiders again. Watching their faces as Haley spoke brought tears to Quinn’s eyes. Trent saw this, smiled slightly, and leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“She’s incredible, isn’t she? Worst mistake I ever made was not loving her back when I had the chance.”
“Yeah,” Quinn whispered back, grinning slightly. “That, and going for me.”
Trent laughed good-naturedly before stepping back over to the group. Quinn glanced over at Dash, who had been approached by one of the new recruits. The recruit was asking Dash about Savannah.
“It was so strange,” the man was saying, “the story she gave at that summit. We all watched it together and wondered whether it was true, or whether she was just lying to save her own skin.”
“Yeah,” Dash said, so quietly she could tell he was trying to make sure she didn’t hear him, so grimly she could tell his heart hurt with the answer. “I wonder the same thing every day.”
• • •
It wasn’t easy for Quinn, going back down into those dungeons. As far as she was concerned, she still belonged down there herself. She had been forgiven far too easily for what she had done to Izzo. Sometimes she still thought of locking herself back up.
It was different with the DCA and the alliance gone. No one jeered at her when she stepped down into the basement. No one said a word. In fact, Savannah didn’t even look up until Quinn sat down right in front of her, right across the bars, the same as Angel had when Quinn locked herself up.
“Hello, Quinn. Nice of you to visit me.”
Savannah had always looked so proper, so put together. Down here, face free of makeup, hair a tangled mess, she looked like a different person. In a strange way, Quinn thought she looked better. Not as beautiful, perhaps, but certainly more real.