Keystone

by Katie Delahanty

  As I move the heavy brocade curtain aside, my stomach constricts at what awaits. Before me, a narrow plank juts off the side of the platform. My knees go weak at the sight of it bouncing in the breeze. Lacking guardrails, it gives way to a two-hundred-foot drop-off on either side.

  “Step into the harness, please.” Weiss holds out a set of canvas straps held together with a metal ring. “You may only use what you carry on your person. Leave your pack here and pick it up when you return.” He gestures to my burglary kit, adding, “If you return,” and punctuating it with a tight-lipped smile.

  My throat struck silent, I nod. Setting my pack down, I step into the harness and take inventory of everything I possess, having no idea if it’ll help me escape whatever awaits. Allard taught me to tie my shoes with rope-cutting paracord and put my lock-picking kit in my cargo pocket, but…

  All business, he clips a cord to the harness and handcuffs my hands in front of me before stepping aside. “You’ll need to escape the cuffs. To the edge.”

  Handcuffs? Allard taught me handcuffs, but what do I do again? My mind goes blank.

  “Faster!”

  Startled, I inch onto the plank, my limbs shakier than the trees. I move forward until he tells me to stop. My toes flush with the edge, I focus on the horizon. Before me, the Sequoia National Forest sprawls to distant purple mountains, the treetops disappearing into the mist. Not wanting to risk dizziness that will disorient me, I keep my focus on the horizon.

  Beneath my feet, the plank bounces with the weight of Weiss’s approaching steps, upsetting my balance. Trying to hold steady, I pretend none of this is real. I’m in a virtual game room. If I jump, I’ll land on a trampoline. It’s all an algorithm, a mind trick.

  “Everything that awaits will be much scarier than this,” he whispers in my ear, sending a cold shiver down my spine. Then he shoves me off the plank.

  The wind rushing in my ears is all that registers as I free fall and I don’t scream. It’s almost peaceful, with the leaves and branches whizzing by in a slow-motion watercolor landscape, until liquid-ice adrenaline floods my veins and I spring to action.

  Tucking into a ball, I lower my head and retrieve the hairpin. Careful not to drop it, I straighten the metal, bite off the nubs, and bend one end to a forty-five-degree angle. I insert the pick into the small hole in the side of the cuff until it hits metal. Pulling down and to the right, I release the trigger. The cuff pops open, freeing my hands just as the cord snaps and I rebound back into the sky.

  I make quick work of the second cuff on my way back up, and toss the handcuffs to Weiss.

  Catching a glimpse of his astonished face before I free-fall back to earth, I bust into uncontrollable giggles. The bungee board catches, and again I bounce upward, a bird soaring to the sky. Invincible. Free. After so many suffocating months, the release brings tears to my eyes. My laughter doesn’t subside even as I bounce to a stop. Still dangling high over the sequoias, I grip my ankles and sway my body back and forth until I swing close enough to the tree to grab a handhold and climb up to the plank. When I arrive at the trapdoor, I’m grinning in anticipation of my next challenge.

  Weiss is waiting with my pack.

  “Good job, Elisha.” He frowns. Unclipping the bungee cord, he leads me to another platform. This one has a zip line attached to it and a sign that reads “To the Vault.”

  “I guess the rumors are true.”

  “Rumors?” My smile falters.

  He doesn’t respond, just clips me to the zip line and gives me a push.

  “Marcel, you’re next!” he yells. His words disappear in the breeze as I sail forward, cool wind stinging my cheeks, and am engulfed by the fog.

  Chapter Six

  September 20X5: Keystone

  Kneeling at the entrance to the Vault, I work out the access code in my head. Today’s origami was a collection of three paper elephants. The Vault is one of the only places I feel safe, and I come here all the time, now. I’ve gotten pretty good at finding my way through the maze, and I love that I can steal whatever I want. Planning what I want to steal is way more fun than remembering the past. When the nightmares keep me up, which is most nights, I plot what I’m going to take next and how I’m going to do it. Allard thinks my time in the Vault is why I’ve honed my abilities so quickly. She thinks I’m a natural, but the truth is I’ve been deceiving since I could walk. My talents come from years of sneaking around pretending to be someone else.

  “Need help?” an appealing male voice that hints at laughter asks.

  Startled, I freeze.

  Garrett looms above me, his arms folded over his chest. He’s flanked by Chloe, Harbor, and a lanky guy I don’t recognize. “The first number is seventeen.”

  Up close, he’s more beautiful than I remembered, and the buzzing is instantaneous. His eyes are a soothing green-gray today, and his signature three black bars are expertly lined up on his cheek. Goose bumps rush up my arm, and, standing, I brush the dirt from my knees, my tongue turning to clay. “No, it’s not. It’s twelve,” I manage to say. I smooth my hands over my pants, hoping the cotton will absorb the moisture.

  “Just checking.” Garrett tucks a strand of his messy, chin-length hair behind one ear, his perfectly bowed lips curving into a smile. “Lots of secrets down there. We can’t let just anyone in.”

  “I’m not ‘just anyone,’” I say without thinking, the old-me taking offense like I’d just been denied access to an exclusive club.

  “Is that right, new girl?” he asks, scanning the length of my body. “So, who are you?”

  Heat creeps over my skin, and I remember where I am. “I’m nobody,” I whisper, held captive by his stare.

  He arches an eyebrow. “Very good.”

  Chloe steps forward and circles me. “She’s pretty plain. Unremarkable, I’d say. What’s all the fuss about? She looks like a little girl…” She comes to a stop in front of me. “Don’t let her in, Garrett. She probably thinks there’s something down there that will help her influence her way through training.”

  Influence? The word sends me reeling, and I wish I could sit down to process it. Does she know? Is that the rumor Weiss mentioned? Blood rushes to my brain, dizzying me, but I hold steady. Something flares up inside me that won’t let me show my underbelly, and I remember I don’t want them to like me anyway. Nobody cares who you are.

  Fingers gripping my hips, my shoulders meet my ears in a show of nonchalance. “I’m allowed to study in the Vault, just like everyone else.”

  “I guess.” Shrugging, she returns to Garrett’s side. “Listen, we don’t put up with cheating, sweetheart. This isn’t like the place you came from. Here, you have talent or you don’t.”

  “I wasn’t aware ‘decoy’ was considered a talent,” I reply.

  She frowns.

  The lanky guy bursts out laughing. “She’s feisty. I like it. Haven’t you heard ‘the meek shall inherit the earth,’ new girl?”

  “Is that what you are? Meek? Planning to take over the world?” I raise my eyebrows. “And my name is Elisha.”

  “Liam.” He reaches out to shake my hand. “And I don’t need the world. While everyone else is living it up as an apathetic virtual human in the Super Brain, I plan on stealing what I need, holing up somewhere, and living happily ever after off the grid.”

  “The ‘Super Brain’?” I ask, having no clue what he’s talking about and ignoring his outstretched fingers. “That’s what you think you’ve got between your ears?”

  He laughs harder, shoving his rejected hand into his pocket. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “Why do you think you’re here?” he asks.

  “To steal the truth for the good of humanity…”

  Liam presses his lips together and approaches me. “That’s cute.” Leaning in, he smells my hair.

 
; Totally confused, I freeze, sneaking a peek at Garrett. His head is cocked to the side, his eyes faraway and flitting back and forth like he’s working out some intense calculation.

  “Mmmm. Vanilla? Brown sugar? You smell like a girl,” Liam says.

  I have no words.

  “Don’t be weird, Liam,” Chloe says.

  “Where did your parents find her?” Liam asks Garrett, rejoining them.

  Garrett focuses on my face, and I dare to meet his gray-green stare. It’s like being lost at sea—his eyes beg me to sink into their depths—and a fresh wave of dizziness washes over me.

  “Don’t ask me,” he finally replies. “They don’t tell me anything. But she must be special.”

  “I don’t get it,” Harbor says, speaking to them like I don’t exist, deceivingly sweet dimples appearing in her cheeks. “She’s not a legacy—she came out of nowhere.”

  “Maybe she’s a spy.” Liam grins. “There’s nothing hotter than a spy. Especially a spy spying on the spies.”

  “I’m not a spy,” I snap, holding my chin high.

  “Shut up, Liam,” Garrett says at the same time. “My parents know what they’re doing. I’m sure Ellie deserves to be here. She’ll show us what she’s got.” Shrugging, he turns to go. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

  Chloe snakes her arm around his waist as they retreat.

  “My name is Elisha,” I say to his back, ignoring that he defended me.

  He glances over his shoulder and smiles, sending a bolt of electricity straight to my toes. Is it just me, or does he feel this crackling energy, too? “See you around, Ellie.”

  My temper flares. Watching them go, I beg my heart to sever whatever connection it believes it has to him.

  I don’t care what he thinks.

  Dropping to my knees, I turn the dial—12-16-6—and open the trapdoor. Careful to avoid the slippery moss, I climb down the stone steps and shut myself inside. I’d love to get lost in the Prado right now, to soothe my frazzled nerves by stealing Las Meninas, but I’m meeting Allard to recap my first day.

  “You’re late,” she says when I arrive in the Musée de l’Orangerie. She’s waiting in the oval-shaped gallery lined with Monet’s Water Lilies.

  “I’m sorry. I had a run-in with Chloe and company,” I reply. Chloe’s name is bitter on my tongue. “She said I couldn’t influence my way through training. Do you think she recognizes me?”

  “No.” She pats the bench next to her, and I sit. “If she did, she would’ve outed you already. She’s fishing for info. I guarantee her reaction is because you’re new. She’s probably afraid of you.”

  “Afraid of me? Why?”

  She thinks for a minute. “Part of disconnecting means severing pride, but thieves are a little different. Pride is our currency. We don’t steal for ‘the stuff’ of it—it’s about having anything we want—getting there first. We’re competitive. Your presence at Keystone is highly unusual. The faculty were told you’re a gifted thief with potential, and the students know an exception was made to allow your admission, but not the specifics. I’m sure that’s cause for speculation. They assume you’re greatly talented—and therefore a threat.”

  “Garrett did say I’d show everyone what I’ve got…” My heart skips a beat when I say his name. “But even I’m not sure I belong here.”

  “I am. Yesterday at the welcome assembly…the bird…you knew it was going to fly before it did.”

  “Don’t remind me.” My cheeks burn. “Nobody should be threatened because I speak bird.”

  She laughs and then sobers. “I’m being serious. You have superior intuition.”

  “I don’t think so.” I shake my head.

  “It’s true. I’ve been studying your DNA and brain scans for months, trying to make sense of it all.” She takes a scroll out of her backpack and unrolls it. “This is a map of the connections in your brain. These are the parts that lit up with activity when I showed you flashcards and you guessed the image on the other side.” She traces her finger over the bright red-and-yellow network on the right side of my brain. “Look at your locus coeruleus—that’s a center for gut feeling—it’s a fireball. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “What does it mean?” I ask, the brain map making zero sense to me.

  “I’d dare to say—as we suspected when we brought you here—it means you possess ‘quantum cognition’ in the intuitive parts of your brain. In other words, you can perceive correct information about a person or situation and react with lightning speed. Babies are born with trillions of connections between their neurons, but the ones that don’t get used are eventually eliminated. You seem to have retained all the connections related to intuition…”

  “But how? Why?”

  “Well, it might have something to do with your birth. Were you aware you’re the product of three parents?”

  My heart stalls. “No.”

  She nods, the facts spilling from her lips, her eyes glinting with excitement. “Your donor-father was Romanian, and one of your donor-mothers was Brazilian—like your ‘parents’—but you also have a Lebanese donor-mother. I’m not sure if your intuition is a result of the genes that were so carefully selected at your creation—it’s possible everyone is born with this power or could learn what is innate in you—but I’m telling you, you have quantum cognition. It’s science.”

  I stare at her in a fog, my head spinning from information overload. “My parents always told me my DNA scans said I was meant to be an actress…”

  “They weren’t wrong… Acting is deception. That’s a useful skill for a thief.”

  “But I believed everything they told me. My intuition was to trust them.”

  “Until something changed your mind,” she reminds me. “Intuition is complicated. Maybe in the beginning your parents were looking out for your best interests—but then circumstances changed—and when they did, you fled.”

  Three parents? I can’t wrap my head around it. “This is a lot to take in,” I whisper.

  “I’m sorry to dump it on you.” She softens, placing her hand over her heart. “I know I can be a little clinical sometimes, but I thought you should know the truth. Your life is here, now, and I hope you can carve out an existence that makes you happy.”

  “Happy?” The word is foreign. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  “Maybe this will help.” Reaching into her bag, she pulls out a tiny black velvet box and hands it to me.

  Running my fingers over the fuzzy surface, I will myself to focus on it, to stay present. I can process everything in bed tonight. I open the box, and nestled inside is a stone with amber and charcoal gradations polished to a silky luster.

  “Consider it a gift from a friend,” Allard says. “The color reminds me of your eyes.”

  “What is it?”

  “Tiger’s eye. It’s thought to increase perception. The Egyptians used it as the eyes in their statues of deities as a symbol of divine vision.”

  “Is that science?” I ask. Picking up the stone, I expect it to vibrate with energy, but it remains cool and flat in my hand.

  She laughs. “It’s history. And antiquity is worth studying. Maybe the Egyptians knew something our brains have forgotten over time. Personally, I think there are frequencies at work we can’t see. Do you feel them sometimes? A buzzing in your spine? The rushing of your blood?”

  Garrett instantly pops into my mind. “Maybe. I don’t know,” I say, quickly pushing him out of my head, fearing she can read my thoughts.

  “You will.” She closes my hand over the stone. “Tiger’s eye also aids determination and protects against the negative intent of others. Hang on to it. You might need it.”

  I wince. “I hope not.”

  “Me, too. But all the same, I want to keep you safe, Elisha. And I’m here to help you. We don’t have to sta
rt tonight, but I think we should practice trusting your intuition. If you can let go of past assumptions and start over with a fresh, open mind, your instincts will be your secret weapon.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “I believe you once kept a diary?” she asks, again reaching into her bag, this time pulling out a little leather-bound book. It reminds me so much of my Book of Secrets, goose bumps shoot up my arms.

  Taking the journal, I nod.

  “Maybe reliving the events that brought you here will be therapeutic. Analyzing your initial reactions to situations when already knowing the outcome will help you learn what to trust.”

  My trembling hands cradle the book. “I don’t know if I can do that. The only way I’m surviving is by focusing on the future.”

  “But I think the only way you can move forward is to forgive the past so you can set clear intentions for the future. You need to confront and accept yourself in order to be free from judgment—of yourself and others. Are you willing to try?”

  Freedom from judgment… I’d love that… I close my eyes, terror and hope colliding in my chest. What do I have to lose? Maybe it’s time to say goodbye.

  “I think so.” Sighing, I open my eyes. “Where do I start?”

  Allard smiles. “How about with what caused your death?”

  Chapter Seven

  September 20X5: Keystone

  My new journal tucked under my arm, I’m deeper in the Vault than I’ve ever been. The lanterns that line the more-traveled corridors are few and far between down here, and I don’t bother lighting them. Shining my penlight on the dirt path, I wind my way through the mud tunnel, the damp air cool against my bare arms. The tunnel splits, forking in three directions, and my instincts lead me left. Pausing, I note the direction on the map I’ve drawn on the inside cover of my book so I can find my way out of here later. Closing the journal, I walk a few feet until my hair catches on a root. At least I hope it’s a root. Picturing a crooked finger tickling my neck, I shiver. I’m definitely deep enough for this to be a long-forgotten cemetery. Before I totally freak myself out, I illuminate a small wooden door to my right with the word “Montauk” etched into it. This is as good a place as any. Nobody is going to find me down here. Inhaling, I turn the brass doorknob, praying I’m not walking into a closet full of skeletons.