The Enhanced Series Boxset

by T. C. Edge

  A smile runs up my face. She seems to be relaxing. I am too, my concerns for my friends now taking a backseat.

  So I go about telling her my tale. The Con-Cops and Stalkers. The raging river. The waterfall and lake and surrounding woods and marshlands. When I explain how I managed to gain re-entry, she looks almost disappointed that it wasn’t by my own design.

  “You got lucky there,” is how she puts it. I completely agree with her.

  Once she’s satisfied that I’ve brought her up to date, she sets about unpeeling my bandages and checking on my hands. I’m staggered to see how quickly they’ve cured. The magical healing lotions that she uses never cease to amaze me.

  “And how’s the head?” I ask.

  She unwraps that too. I feel with my fingers and find that she’s stitched up the wound, and it too is quickly on the mend.

  “I hope you appreciate how good a job I did,” she says. “I did it all without disturbing your hair. Tess suggested I shave it, but I resisted the urge. Funny though it might have been.”

  She chuckles to herself and gulps some more whiskey. Meanwhile, my fingers rush around frantically, keen to decide for themselves whether my hair is fully intact.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she laughs. “I wasn’t going to mess up your mane. Not with all the important courting you need to be getting on with.”

  “Adryan?”

  “Yes, Adryan. We had another message this morning from our esteemed friends at the Council of Matrimony. Apparently, Adryan wants to see you again tomorrow night. As long as you’re up to it, that is.”

  I nod with some resolve.

  “I’m up to it. I’ve got no choice.”

  “Well…that’s not strictly true.”

  I don’t argue. She’s not aware of the bargain I struck with Zander. It’s one thing I’d prefer to keep from her.

  “So you’ve taken to reading all my mail now have you?” I bite with some false scorn. “First the one from Zander that you got from Abby…and now this. I never knew you to be so nosey…”

  “Desperate times, Brie. With everything that’s going on, someone’s got to look out for you. Consider me your personal gatekeeper.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “None at all.”

  I laugh and let the warming whiskey glide down my throat and settle my mind. And for a little while longer, we chat with an ease that spits right in the face of everything that’s going on right now.

  It’s a rare thing, and the sort of respite that won’t last long. So I cling to it for as long as I can, enjoying – properly enjoying – for the first time the scent of smoke in that little room, and the relaxing atmosphere that pervades it for a short time.

  And then it fades as quickly as it spawned, reality descending like a swamp to drown out the joy and laughter. I leave the room with a slightly heavy head and a slipping smile, cast away and replaced with the usual crinkle of anxiety that’s begun to shape a web of wrinkles on my youthful brow.

  It’s something I’m going to have to get used to. Right now, my youth is quickly evaporating.

  And if I blink too long, I’ll open my eyes an old woman.

  Yeah right, Brie. Like you’ll live that long…

  57

  I wake the following day with a voice in my head.

  Most people would consider that a sign of madness. And seeing what I’ve been through recently, you might forgive my mental state for slipping that way.

  I’m well aware, however, that the voice is that of Zander, guiding me out of another bout of sweaty sleep. It draws me from my nightmares, his face taking their place as I come back to consciousness.

  Brie…Brie can you hear me.

  It’s a sure sign that my head is fully on the mend. Though clouded, his voice is just about clear enough to identify. A smile dawns on my face and I sit up. Tess’s bed is empty.

  My first attempts to reply fail. Communicating telepathically takes practice, and I’m far from an expert yet. After a minute or two, however, my answer seems to find its destination.

  I’m fine, I say. Thank you for saving Drum.

  As yet, our conversations are necessarily brief. I’d love to ask some in-depth questions, but know that anything more than a few words – from my end at least – will be too indistinct for him to hear.

  So when his reply comes, it’s to no surprise that he suggests we meet. Nor is it surprising that the shelter in district 6 is discarded as a possible meeting point. The same goes for the waterfall cavern in the underlands, both of them now known to the Consortium and off limits.

  It’s disappointing. I’d grown quite attached to that subterranean garden.

  When I hear his voice again, there’s a sense of real urgency to it. Sometimes tone can be hard to gauge when speaking telepathically. Yet his next words rush with a clear tension.

  Meet me right now. Bottom of Brick Lane. I’m waiting.

  He’s waiting? This must be serious.

  With a burgeoning concern that something might be wrong with Drum, I quickly leap from my bed and pull on some clothes. As I do I take note that the muddy, poison-infused clothes that I placed in my wash-bag have been taken away. I can only assume Mrs Carmichael has seen to cleaning them.

  I spare little thought for it as I wrap up warm and rush down the stairs, out of the door, and down to the bottom of Brick Lane. The streets are busy at the intersection, where several routes along the Conveyor Line converge, and the large advertising screens glow with their colourful displays.

  The place isn’t short of Con-Cops and City Guards either, their increased presence becoming the norm. Ignoring them, I turn my eyes around as casually as I can manage, searching for the face of my brother.

  It’s difficult to see him among the crowds, so I begin meandering about, focusing on alleys and other little alcoves that cut away from the main streets.

  As I go, a voice sounds behind me.

  “Brie…”

  I make a move to turn but he speaks again.

  “Don’t move. Look up at the screen.”

  My eyes drift up to the largest screen ahead, fixed on tall pylons on the side of a building and attracting plenty of eyes. My breathing shallows a little as I see what it’s playing: footage of the attack on the convoy, clearly caught by some security drones high up in the sky.

  I watch the footage play out with a quickening pulse. Only the tail-end of the escape appears to have been captured, and not the initial attack. As prisoners rush from the backs of trucks, escaping into the dark night, I watch myself hovering over the downed guard, fetching the keys.

  Hidden under my jacket and hood, and with the gas mask fixed around my face, I’m impossible to recognise. As I stand and move to throw the keys into the rear truck, Zander emerges. He too is indistinct, hidden beneath his own hood.

  Then I look at Drum, standing silently and watching proceedings. He’s not so hard to identify. Not only will he be on the books as an official prisoner, but his giant frame makes him easy to distinguish.

  As we gather as a three and rush off into the shadows, disappearing from view, I begin turning to face Zander again.

  Once more, his voice stops me.

  “Don’t,” he hisses. “Too many eyes. Move to the alley to your left. I’ll see you there.”

  I do as I’m told, turning left and walking towards the first alley. I step inside and wait. A minute later, Zander joins me, his glowing hazel eyes hidden beneath his cowl.

  “Is Drum OK?” is the first thing I ask.

  He checks around us, notes that there are no Con-Cops or City Guards nearby, and leads me a little deeper into the shadows. He turns me to a wall and answers.

  “He’s fine. He’s safe in the underlands. But this isn’t about him. It’s about you.”

  “What’s going on?”

  He takes my hands and inspects them. The bandages have been removed, leaving only plasters on the more serious blisters. Then he asks: “How’s your head?”

 
I reach up and feel the thin scar under my hair.

  “A lot better. I heard you met Mrs Carmichael?”

  “Yes,” he says bluntly. “She told me about your wounds. Brie, I need to read your mind, OK. I have to know what happened to you, and there’s little time.”

  “Why? What’s the urgency?”

  “Stay still,” he says. “I’ll explain in a moment.”

  I prepare for the unpleasant feeling of having my mind infiltrated. He fixes me with an intense stare, and begins scanning my recent memory, discovering in mere moments what’s happened to me since we split up in the tunnels.

  When his eyes withdraw, they continue to stare, pinching together in an accusatory frown.

  “You told her everything,” he whispers.

  “Who?”

  “Mrs Carmichael. Brie, you need to be more careful. You should be keeping what you’re doing to yourself…”

  His voice is growing with rebuke, turning to a low growl.

  “Why? What’s happening?”

  “The Consortium are conducting an investigation into the attack. They’re going to be sending an agent from the SCU down to the academy today to interview the residents.”

  “The SCU?”

  “It’s the Serious Crimes Unit, an off-shoot of the City Guard.”

  “Right, that doesn’t sound good. And by ‘interview’ you mean…they’ll be reading minds?”

  “Yes. I don’t know who they’ll send, but you can be sure he’ll be a Mind-Manipulator and an expert at memory extraction. They know Drum got help during the escape, and they’re going to start by finding out if anyone at the academy has any information about who helped him, and where he might be.”

  “Oh no…”

  It dawns on me. If they read Mrs Carmichael’s mind, or my mind, they’ll know I was part of it. Our ability to lie will be irrelevant in the face of a Mind-Manipulator.

  “What the hell do we do?!” I stammer.

  “Calm down. We have a bit of time. The agent shouldn’t come until later on, when all residents of the academy are present. They have plenty of other people to interrogate, seeing as so many managed to escape. Your decision to release the others may just save us here. Do you know if Mrs Carmichael is at the academy right now?”

  “Um…I don’t know. Could be.”

  “We need to get her immediately. I’m going to have to alter her mind, and yours. You’re not ready to defend yourself against skilled mental infiltration. Go to the academy immediately. Bring your guardian back here. Go, now…”

  I turn on my heels without delay and start off at a jog. When I reach the crowds I slow a little, keen not to draw the eyes of any of the agents of Inner Haven. Walking with as much haste as I can manage, I return to the academy praying that Mrs Carmichael is present.

  I find Nate at his usual station behind the front desk. He’s so reliable at gathering the post that I suspect Mrs Carmichael has seen fit to make it a more permanent posting.

  “Is Mrs Carmichael here?” my voice rushes.

  “Um, I think so. Up in her office.”

  I turn to run to the stairs, jumping up three at a time until I reach the second floor. Flying down it, I burst into my guardian’s room to find her at her desk, going over a few files.

  Her eyes rise up in surprise.

  “Brenda, we have to go, right now!” I say, panting.

  She stands to her feet.

  “What’s going on?”

  “They’re sending a Mind-Manipulator to investigate the attack on the convoy. I should never have told you what happened…”

  I don’t have to explain anything more. She knows immediately.

  “If they read my mind, they’ll know it was you!” she says.

  “Exactly. Come on, Zander’s waiting.”

  On creaking legs, she battles around her cluttered desk to join me at the door. With as much pace as she can manage, we circle back down the winding stairs, pass back onto Brick Lane, and re-join Zander in the alley.

  He hides in the shadows, watching closely as we come.

  “Nice to see you again, Brenda,” he says. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asks, keeping her distance. Her guard’s up. Even more than usual.

  “I’m going to remove your memories,” he says bluntly.

  She recoils.

  “No…you can’t.”

  I lay my hand on her forearm and step in.

  “He must, Brenda,” I say. “If they extract the memory of what I told you, I’m done for. And so are you. They’ll charge you for aiding a fugitive, and we’ll both be taken to the REEF. We have no choice.”

  “You as well?” she asks. “But these are your memories. You can’t erase all traces of what happened out there. What about this guard, this Brute. He saved you. You can’t just discard that.”

  “I don’t like it, but it’s what needs to be done,” I say again. “There’s no alternative.”

  “There is,” comes Zander’s voice. We both turn to him. “Brenda’s right, Brie. Your memory needs to be retained, just hidden. I can do that. I can lock it away for only you to access. The agent won’t be able to find it.”

  “You can really do that?”

  He nods.

  “And Brenda, I can do the same with you, if you wish? Or…there are other options. If you’d rather be kept out of all this, I can remove all traces of what you know…”

  She firms up her eyes and shakes her head.

  “No. I’m part of this now. I want to help Brie, wherever I can. If she’s going to be part of your cause, then I can’t stop that. But I can offer her guidance and support. I’d like to retain my memory if possible.”

  “OK,” says Zander. “I’ll lock away everything Brie’s told you.” He turns to me. “And Brie, I’ll have to do the same with you. Everything you’ve been through since we met needs to be hidden. Soon, you’ll be able to do all of this yourself. But for now, this is the only way. Now stand against the wall, both of you, and try to relax. This will take a little while.”

  As I stand back, sinking into the shadows, I spare a thought for Tess and feel a sense of vindication. Had I kept her in the loop, she’d be under threat too. Somehow I knew that something like this would happen.

  And the fewer people who know what’s really going on, the better.

  58

  The agent from the SCU doesn’t come until early evening. For me, that’s a merciful gift. After having Zander in my head, searching for and manipulating my memories, I need some time to recover.

  Mrs Carmichael does too. Once Zander’s completed his work, we return immediately to the academy and she disappears straight into the bottle. The fact that it’s barely mid-afternoon doesn’t seem to bother her.

  Cracking open her favourite vintage – the ‘good stuff’ as she calls it, which she tends to reserve for special occasions – she pours a glass to the brim and sucks down a long gulp.

  Letting out a sigh, she shakes her head and mumbles: “That was unpleasant.”

  She’s right. It was. Although I’m beginning to get used to it.

  Sitting in her office, I silently try to recall the memories he’s hidden. It takes a little effort, but all appear to me, murky and shrouded. I’m well aware of what’s been happening to me these last few weeks, and yet somehow I feel less anxious about everything, my mind not quite seeing things as clearly as before.

  It’s exactly as Zander said it would be. He told us that we’d be able to access the memories, but only with a bit of focus, and that we should feel some relief from the stress that the recent days have brought.

  In a sense, it’s actually quite liberating. I can only assume that Zander performs such mental surgery on his own memories, locking them away a little deeper so they don’t have such an impact on his day-to-day thoughts.

  Perhaps that’s what he’s done with our parents? Perhaps that’s why he’s appeared disinterested in finding out more about th
em?

  I suppose it makes sense. He’s locked them away somewhere deep, refusing to bring them up in order to maintain his focus. I remember back a few days, to when he told me about the first man he killed, the man who murdered his guardian, Linda.

  After telling me his story, he became subdued. Perhaps such a memory had been kept sealed from his thoughts for some time, only to be opened up so he could share it with me.

  In the end, there’s something quite attractive about suppressing painful recollections.

  Naturally, Mrs Carmichael’s wariness and distrust of what she doesn’t understand roars to the fore as she settles into her drink. She doesn’t appear to believe that Zander’s efforts will work, and considers that the agent of the SCU will simply be able to recover our memories as easily as we can.

  “Trust Zander,” is the only advice I give her. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  I only wish that he could have suppressed her deep-set cynicism. She could certainly use a bit of personality adjustment on that front.

  Before evening arrives, bringing the agent along with it, I turn my mind to Adryan. There truly is no rest for the wicked – and once I’ve committed murder, well, I’ll certainly be that – and I’m expected back at the western gate to Inner Haven by 7PM.

  The letter that Mrs Carmichael snooped on gives that instruction, but little else. It merely states that I’m to go to the gate, as before, where Adryan will meet me. Any details of what will occur during our second ‘date’ are not included.

  I prepare my exit before the SCU agent arrives. I shower, put on the blue dress that I first wore at the ceremony in Inner Have, and set about searching for a pair of suitable shoes. Given how I had to throw away my adjustable heels last time, I don’t exactly have anything appropriate myself.

  If I had time, I might just call on Sophie to help, but I don’t. Instead, it’s my guardian who supplies the aid, passing me the only set of suitably coloured shoes she has – a fairly bland pair of sky blue flats that really don’t suit the dress or properly fit my feet.

  I suspect that I’ll have some fresh blisters tomorrow, this time on my toes.