Awakening (TalentBorn Book 1)

by C. S. Churton

  I lean back in the chair, breathing deeply, and close my eyes. The darkness feels more natural that way, like I can fool myself into believing it’s my choice. I know what’s coming next, though, and my stomach knots at the thought of it. Sooner or later they will come for me, and if they think I’m a foreign spy they’re not going to hold anything back. It all hinges on them believing my cover story. I have to buy enough time for Scott to find me, or… I stop myself. I need to focus.

  My name is Gemma Hanson. Three weeks ago I saw Ronnie Marsden, drug dealer and gang leader, kill his girlfriend. One of the cops investigating the case – DS Yates – has been trying to persuade me to give evidence. Ronnie’s gang has threatened to kill me if I do. Fear getting the better of me, last night I took off, with no plan in mind other than to get as far away from London as I could.

  Personally, I think that Gemma would have to be stupid to run to another country without a solid plan in mind, but Scott was adamant that most people in that situation would be more worried about what they were running from than what they were running to. I hope he’s right, because it’s the only cover story I’ve got.

  I run the story through my mind over and over as I sit alone in the dark. They’ve taken my phone and I didn’t have a watch to start with, so I have no way of knowing how much time passes. It feels like a long time, though. I try to remind myself that anything that buys me time is a good thing – I don’t have to convince them to let me go, just that I’m not a foreign spy, and avoid being moved again for long enough to give Scott a chance to find me.

  Not for the first time, I wonder if I’m ever going to get a handle on this stupid talent. The only time I seem to have had any sort of control over where I end up was before I even knew I could shift. I open my eyes, thinking about that a moment. What was so different about that first shift, back when I stole the ring?

  The answer is so obvious it stuns me. In the shopping centre, my overwhelming desire had been to get away, but it wasn’t my only desire. I wanted to be in the only place I considered safe: home. It’s so obvious that it’s all I can do to remember where I am and keep myself from laughing. If I can just recreate that feeling, maybe I can control where I end up. It’s like Scott said about Gemma: I’ve been so busy focussing on what I’m running from, trying to make myself shift, that I haven’t put any thought into where I was running to.

  Perhaps the cover story is more believable than I gave it credit for, then. Any lingering thoughts of laughter die instantly. It doesn’t matter if I’m right about controlling where I go, because shifting is the one thing I can’t risk right now.

  A door slams loudly behind me and I jump, my nerves getting the better of me. Footsteps click across the floor and the hood is abruptly yanked from my head. I blink rapidly, my pupils contracting as they work frantically to adjust to the stark light. I look around: I’m inside a small room dominated by a table that’s bolted to the wall and floor, with two chairs on either side of it. The walls are bare and have no windows, though it barely registers after all the time I’ve spent at AbGen. The soldier who removed my hood steps back to stand stoically by the door. It does not escape my notice that he is armed. I can’t tell if he’s one of the soldiers who captured me: I spent more time staring at their boots than their faces.

  There’s a second soldier in the room, and he’s the one who holds my attention. Mid-forties, lean, and hard-faced, there’s no mistaking his air of authority. I watch him warily from the corner of my eye as he positions himself in the seat opposite me, unable to make myself look directly at him. My breath catches in my throat and I swallow noisily. I’ve got to hold it together better than this or I’ll never last until Scott finds me.

  I force my eyes from the table top and see him watching me impassively.

  “You are English,” he says, his voice heavily accented. It is a statement, not a question. I answer anyway.

  “Yes, sir,” I say meekly. Scott had warned me to acknowledge their authority right from the off, but even without the warning I’m far too scared to be anything other than respectful.

  “I am going to ask you who you are, and why you have come here.”

  I look him in the eye and prepare to lie.

  He raises a hand. “Stop. Whatever lies you are about to tell me, think carefully. I will give you this one chance to tell me the truth. Do not squander it.”

  I quail beneath his fierce stare and avert my eyes. How much does he know? I’m hanging everything on the hope that AbGen got my cover story into the system in time. I don’t want to find out what they’ll do to me if they catch me lying. I bite back tears.

  “I just want to go home.”

  “Tell me your name.”

  “Gemma Hanson.” Please let it match up with my fingerprints. He continues to stare at me in silence, and then nods to the soldier behind me. He approaches and takes hold of my wrists. I flinch, and then force myself to stay still. A moment later, the cuffs come away and the soldier returns to his post by the door.

  “Good. I am glad you have decided to cooperate, Gemma.”

  I rub my wrists, trying to massage some feeling back into them, whilst steadfastly avoiding looking at my captor.

  “I am Colonel Morel. If you are honest with me, things will go better for you. Lie, and I will not be able to help you.”

  I nod my understanding.

  “You are in a lot of trouble. You are aware you were trespassing on military property?”

  I shake my head and keep staring at my hands.

  “I thought it was just an old warehouse. I was just looking for somewhere to sleep. I’m sorry.” I look up from my hands. “Please, just let me go. I didn’t see anything.”

  “A lot of trouble to go to, for somewhere to sleep,” he observes, steepling his hands and looking at me over the top of his fingertips.

  “I thought no one would look for me there.”

  He pounces on my choice of words immediately. “Who is looking for you?”

  “Please…” I look away.

  “Who is looking for you?” he demands again, louder. A hand slaps down on the table and I jump.

  “I don’t know their names. They said if I went to the police they’d kill me. But now the police are looking for me too.”

  Morel narrows his eyes. “What did you see?”

  “I saw him kill someone.”

  “So you expect me to believe that you ran away, all the way to France with no money and no passport? Do you take me for a fool?”

  “I fell asleep at the station and someone stole my bag.”

  “But not your phone.” He’s sharp. One wrong word and he’s going to trip me up.

  “It was in my pocket.”

  “Who were you talking to when my men arrested you?”

  I study the cracks in the table instead of answering. I want to just blurt out the whole cover story and get it over with, but I have to drag it out and play for time, as much as I dare.

  “If you don’t want to answer my questions, I will turn you over to someone who won’t ask so nicely.”

  The thought sends a shudder through me, and I quickly revise my plans about playing for time.

  “He’s a cop,” I tell the table top. “From England. He wants me to go back. He says he can protect me.”

  “And do you believe he can?”

  “I believe he believes he can,” I answer carefully.

  “And what is his name, this English policeman you do not trust?”

  “Sam Yates.”

  He nods and fixes me with a piercing stare.

  “If you have been dishonest about anything, tell me now before we speak to this policeman of yours.”

  “I’m telling you the truth, I swear.”

  “I will not give you another chance,” he warns. My heart skips a beat but I can’t change my story now.

  “I’m not lying,” I insist angrily. “I ran because I was scared. I didn’t mean to trespass in your stupid compound!”

  “
Very well. We shall see.” He nods at the soldier guarding the door, who slips silently from the room. They obviously don’t intend to waste any time.

  A moment later the door swings open and I turn anxiously in my seat, dreading the soldier telling Morel that my story doesn’t check out. It takes me a moment to process what I’m seeing. Outlined in the doorway is Scott, with Nathan beside him. Behind them, Helen is whispering into the ear of a French soldier.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Morel demands, rising to his feet.

  Helen brushes past Scott and Morel fixes his eyes on her.

  “You need to take a bathroom break,” Helen tells him, before he can say another word.

  “I...” he starts, with an uncomfortable look on his face. “If you will excuse me, Mademoiselle.”

  “Of course. And Colonel,” she says, reaching out to touch his arm. “You will not allow anyone to stop us leaving this base.

  “N– no, of course not,” he stammers beneath her fierce glare. “No-one will stop you.”

  “Good.”

  He hurries past us, out of the door. Scott is by my side in an instant.

  “Anna, are you okay?”

  I nod numbly. He takes my arm and helps me from my chair – my legs are suddenly weak and I can’t get up by myself. Helen turns her attention to the soldier who let them in, who has waited silently during the exchange. His eyes appear glazed as he stares blankly ahead.

  “Now, Andre, would you be so kind as to escort us out?”

  We hurry along behind them, Scott’s hand never leaving my arm, and Nathan bringing up the rear. All the while Helen is talking in hushed tones in the soldier’s ear. The corridors twist and turn but we navigate them with ease thanks to our guide. My heart is pounding as I strain to hear the footsteps of anyone pursuing us, and both Scott and Nathan have their pistols drawn. At last though we reach the exit and emerge into the grey daylight. Helen whispers one last instruction to the soldier, and then we’re in the car and heading for home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I don’t remember much of the journey home, only that Scott insisted Nathan drive so that he could sit in the back with me. I know I cried a lot, and I know he tried to comfort me, but I don’t remember any of the words spoken, nor the conversation that passed between Helen and Nathan: apparently he is her new handler. I protested when we arrived back at Langford House, but Scott had insisted I went straight to see Doctor Harwood, telling me it was best to get it out of the way.

  I thought I was all cried out by the time I got into her office, but apparently I was wrong. Unlike Scott, though, she doesn’t try to comfort me, but rather has me analyse every word I use to recount the whole horrible mess, which in itself I find comforting. By the time we’re finished some two hours later, I’m drained, both mentally and physically.

  At last I shuffle out into the hallway to find Scott waiting for me, and my heart reacts in a way I can’t quite justify. I try to find the words to thank him for everything he has done – everything he is still doing – but as my eyes meet his I realise that they aren’t needed. I smile, and he nods in return.

  “Okay, Anna, one more stop then I can get you home.”

  I’m shaking my head before he’s finished speaking.

  “No way. I’m done.”

  “It’s up to you, Anna, but Toby has been in pieces.”

  “He blames himself?” I don’t need to wait for his answer. Of course Toby blames himself. And of course I have to go and see him. I nod even as my eyes close of their own accord.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  We find Toby in the lab – where else? – slumped over his desk, but on hearing our footsteps he leaps to his feet, wringing his hands.

  “Anna, I’m so sorry, we didn’t know, I never thought – we never would have – none of us would ever–”

  “Toby, stop,” I cut across him, taking his hands in mine. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yes, it was,” he says, unable to meet my eye. “We should have known something like this could happen; we should have run more simulations. But none of us imagined you’d be able to shift so far...”

  “Of course you didn’t,” I placate him, sounding more relaxed about the whole thing than I feel. “We had no idea what I could do. But now we know. So next time–”

  “Anna, no,” he says, looking up at me sharply.

  “Yes,” I say firmly, then soften my tone. “I’ve got a theory, and I need you to help me test it.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” he says, breaking eye contact and pulling his hands from mine. “You need someone better qualified.”

  “There is no one better qualified,” I insist. “Tomorrow, okay?”

  *

  “So, what’s this theory of yours?” Scott asks as I let us into my flat. He’d insisted on taking me right to my door, and for once I’m not complaining. For one thing, I’m too tired, but the truth is I don’t want to be alone right now. Every time I closed my eyes, I see French special forces advancing on me with their ugly, black weapons drawn.

  “Put the kettle on and I’ll tell you.”

  “Deal,” he says, disappearing into my tiny kitchen while I tug the shoes from my feet and flop onto the sofa, exhausted.

  We talk into the early hours, long after we’re both yawning, discussing the merits of my theory and looking for flaws in it. Somewhere along the way the coffee becomes wine, and we’re reaching the bottom of the second bottle when he glances up at the clock on the wall.

  “I’d best call a cab,” he says with a frown, placing his glass on the table.

  “Don’t,” I say, reaching out and putting my hand on his arm as he starts to rise. “Stay.”

  “Anna...” he says, searching my eyes. “It’s been a long day, we’ve both been drinking...”

  “I don’t want to be on my own. Just hold me,” I say in a small voice, looking down at my feet as I feel my cheeks redden. “Please.”

  I feel him settle back into the sofa and wrap his arm around my shoulders. I lean my head against his chest and tuck my feet up under me, and that’s the last thing I remember.

  *

  The heavenly scent of fried eggs and bacon seeks me out in my bed. I smile dreamily, then frown as I remember yesterday’s events. The glucose pill. France. Me begging Scott to stay. Oh God. I groan and pull the covers over my head. How embarrassing. At least I didn’t sleep with him, I console myself. At least, I don’t think I did – truth be told, much of last night is a blur. Oh God.

  Reluctantly I emerge from beneath the duvet, wrap a dressing gown around myself and pad barefoot through the living room. I pause as I see a bed made up on the sofa, and smile. Of course Scott is too much of a gentleman to have taken advantage of me last night. I just hope I didn’t make too much of a fool of myself.

  His voice drifts towards me and the hushed tones make me hesitate.

  “Don’t worry, I have it in hand. She trusts me. I’ve got to go.”

  My bliss shattered, I backtrack quickly to the bedroom and quietly push the door shut before perching on the edge of the bed. I need a moment to process what I just heard. I’m sure I’m overreacting; it can’t be what it seemed. Because it seemed a lot like Scott was admitting to manipulating me. I shake my head, scattering the thought. That’s madness. After everything he did for me yesterday – if he bore me any ill will whatsoever, all he had to do was take a little longer to reach me.

  Of course, that wouldn’t have been in AbGen’s best interest, the little voice niggles at me. I’d be of no use to them in the hands of the French. That was assuming he was even talking to AbGen. Who knows who else wants to get their hands on my ability, and what they would pay for it?

  “Stop it,” I tell myself firmly, meeting my own gaze in the mirror at the bottom of my bed. I’m being stupid. The man saved my life yesterday and I’m doubting him based on what? The tail end of an over-heard conversation? There could be any number of explanations for what he said. And besides, my
ability isn’t worth a thing to anyone without my cooperation.

  “So stop being so paranoid,” I mutter to myself in disgust. I remind myself that I already decided to trust Scott, and that means giving him the benefit of the doubt, and not just when it suits me. I resolve not to even ask him about it. In fact, I’m going to forget the whole thing. It’s not important anymore, anyway. I’ve made some decisions, and I’m pretty sure Scott isn’t going to like them.

  I jump in the shower before grabbing some clean clothes from the wardrobe and tidying my hair. Bad enough that he saw me in the state I was in last night; I’m not going to let him see me looking like something the cat dragged in this morning. I haven’t wasted the time, using it to think over my decision and make sure I’m a hundred percent certain. I am.

  I push open the bedroom door, making enough noise to ensure I don’t disturb any more private conversations. I needn’t have worried, I can see Scott moving around the kitchen, no phones in sight.

  “Morning, sleepy head,” he greets me with a smile, putting two plates laden with food on the kitchen table, where two steaming mugs are already waiting.

  “What time is it?” I ask with a frown, settling into my seat. With all the confusion this morning I haven’t gotten around to putting my watch on, but now that he mentions it, it does feel later than my usual rising time.

  “Just gone ten,” he says, confirming my suspicions. “You needed it after the day you had yesterday. Don’t worry, I’ve told Langford we’ll be in late.”

  “Yeah, about that...” I start, playing with my fork and noticing the water stains on it from where I didn’t dry it properly last time I used it. Something in my tone makes Scott put his cutlery down and focus his full attention on me. I can feel his curious look burning into me, and picture the frown on his face. With a sigh, I set the fork down and look across at him.

  “I’m not going back,” I announce, and carry on before he can argue. “After what happened yesterday.... it’s just too dangerous. I can’t.”