by Lynette Noni
“What’s his problem?” Cami grumbles, her humor dissolving. “He’s acting like a —”
“Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?”
I bolt into an upright position at the newest voice and end up whacking my knee painfully on the coffee table. I wince and rub the bruised flesh, but my attention is focused on Ward’s commanding presence as he strides into the room. Even Enzo appears startled to see him, but his expression swiftly turns into something that looks like a cross between apprehension and anticipation.
“I thought we were meeting you downstairs,” Cami says to her brother, all traces of laughter gone.
“Change of plans,” Ward replies simply. “Crew has something on after breakfast, so if we want to use him for our first lesson, it has to be now.”
I look down at my pajama-clad body and wonder exactly what Ward means by “now.”
“Time’s wasting, Jane. Let’s move.”
A traitorous part of me is relieved that he called me “Jane” rather than “Six-Eight-Four,” even if it still feels like a slap in the face coming from him. I cover my reaction by sending him an incredulous look, but he doesn’t catch it since he’s already turning and stalking toward the door. I swing my eyes to Enzo, and they narrow into a glower at the amusement I see him trying to rein in.
“You heard the man, JD,” Enzo says, giving me a wolfish grin. “Chop, chop.”
I stand to my feet but otherwise don’t move. Cami rises beside me and mimics my body language.
“You, too, Cam,” Enzo adds. “I’ll need you to patch me up when Crew’s through with me.”
“We’re not going anywhere, not until we’ve had a chance to put some proper clothes on,” Cami says. “There’s no way I’m walking the halls like this.”
Ward prowls back into the room with a scowl on his face, having realized no one was following him. “What part of ‘Let’s move’ did you not understand?”
“They’re having a diva moment,” Enzo drawls. “Looks like they want a few minutes to don their gowns and powder their noses.”
Had I been closer to him, I would gladly have slammed my heel down on his instep.
Ward lets out a sound of irritation. “We don’t have time for this.”
In four quick strides, he’s at my side with his fingers wrapped firmly around my wrist, dragging me forward. I let out a squeak of distress, but I won’t risk vocalizing more than that. Instead, I pull against him, tugging back with all my might, but it’s no use against the physical power he commands.
“Cam, you have ten minutes until I expect to see you downstairs,” Ward calls over his shoulder.
“Wait! Landon, stop!” Cami cries out. “At least give her a jacket!”
Ward’s steps falter, and he glances back at his sister with a confused frown. Then he turns his eyes on me and looks me over, finally noticing that I’m still wearing my sleeping attire — a pair of pajama shorts and a thin camisole. Despite being sure that his scrutiny can only be clinical, with the lack of genuine anything he feels toward me, I can still sense pinpricks of heat firing into every nerve ending his eyes touch.
I fight the urge to cover my body, no matter how uncomfortable I am from his perusal.
As if my touch suddenly scalds him, he releases my wrist and steps away. “Two minutes, Jane,” he offers, looking past my head rather than at me directly. “Get dressed, and Enzo will take you downstairs.”
With that, he whips around and disappears out the door again.
After quickly changing into jeans, a sweater and Esther’s boots, I follow Enzo to the elevator Ward used to return me to my room last night — different to Falon’s private one — and the nerves hit me like a freight train. If what Ward told me yesterday is true, there is a very real possibility that he’ll be able to teach me how to control the monster in me. I haven’t allowed myself even an inkling of hope for over two and a half years — it seemed futile, given my circumstances. But now …
Now anything could be possible.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Enzo asks.
I shake my head, knowing there’s no way for me to communicate what I’m thinking.
Enzo forges on regardless. “Try not to worry about Landon. He’s all bark, no bite. At least when it comes to you.”
What is that supposed to mean?
“You definitely have him all tied up in knots, JD,” Enzo continues, oblivious to my inner confusion. “He never stood a chance. Now he’s just gotta figure that out for himself.”
I blink, but the elevator door slides open before I can attempt to shape my expression into something depicting any of the three thousand, seven hundred and fourteen questions I want to ask.
“Enough of the deep stuff,” Enzo says, stepping out into the corridor. “It’s time to see what you’re really made of.”
He leads me down the dark hallway until we reach the entrance to the massive training room I saw yesterday. It’s eerie to see it so still and silent this morning, with the other recruits either sleeping or in the process of getting ready for the day.
In between our movie watching last night, Cami shared that there are fewer than thirty older-generation Genesis Speakers who populate the facility, along with around fifty younger-generation Exodus Speakers — with that number growing as new teenagers are discovered. The Exodus recruits who have passed through initiation — the ones who survived Vanik’s tests and Manning’s psych evaluations before proving their suitability to join the Speaking program — are assigned to bunk-like dormitories, while the Genesis Speakers and their families live in private quarters. Like Cami and me. And Ward. And Falon’s family.
Falon, Cami also shared, is not only the director of Lengard but also a Speaker in his own right. Esther, too, was one of the Genesis generation and has her own ability.
The surprises kept coming when Cami went on and I discovered that Falon didn’t tell me the whole truth yesterday — that it’s not just the Xanaphan drug that produces Speakers. They can also result when two Speakers reproduce. As such, Falon and Esther’s children will one day have abilities of their own.
All this Cami told me freely, along with sharing that she and Ward aren’t related to the Falons by blood but that the director and Esther took them in when their parents — their Speaker parents — died in a Lengard lab accident ten years ago.
Cami brushed over that part of her commentary, and I couldn’t blame her for the lack of details she offered. She would have been only eight at the time — much too young for such a loss.
Unable — or unwilling — to linger on her memories, Cami had gone on to share that she and Ward aren’t the only Exodus recruits born to Speakers — Keeda and Sneak were Xanaphan-free babies, as well, with their parents also tragically killed in the same lab accident. In the aftermath, Cami, Ward, Keeda and Sneak, along with a handful of others I haven’t yet met, all grew up together down here, knowing long before puberty arrived exactly who they were and what they could do. It was hard to push aside my jealousy when I heard that.
Even now, looking around at the vast underground room Enzo and I are walking through, I know I have to put the past behind me in order to focus fully on what is ahead.
It’s almost a relief to step into the smaller, Karoel-lined room, since it gives me a reprieve from the questions in my mind. But it also means I have to face Ward again and see the stone-cold look on his face as he stands there with the sadistic, metal-pierced Crew at his side.
“Cami?” Ward asks Enzo when the door closes behind us.
“You gave her ten minutes. She’ll be here soon.”
Ward nods and turns to me. “I’ve already told you this, but it bears repeating: Speaking isn’t so much about the words we use as it is about the intent behind them.”
I stand up straighter, realizing that he’s jumping straight into lecture mode and I had better pay attention. I wish I’d had a chance to eat some breakfast or something first; even one of my old nutri-shakes would have helped me c
oncentrate more on his words and less on my growling stomach.
“I’ve asked Crew to help with this lesson since his abilities will help you understand exactly what I mean — and hopefully they’ll motivate you to learn quickly, especially if you don’t want to see Enzo in too much pain.”
“Don’t worry ’bout me, JD,” Enzo says. “I can handle a scratch or two.”
Crew smirks. “Is that so?”
Ward holds up a hand before Enzo can reply, causing me to think their banter must be a common occurrence. “Unless you two can contribute something educational to the lesson, do me a favor and keep your mouths shut.”
Enzo sends him a mocking salute. “Sir, yessir.”
Ward’s lips press into a thin line. “I figure we can start without Cami and she’ll patch you up when she arrives. You good with that?”
Enzo answers with a nod.
“Good.” Ward turns back to me. “You’ve already seen what Crew can do — that he can inflict physical injuries on people. Yesterday he used the word ‘slash’ to demonstrate. Today I want him to show you something different. Crew?”
At Ward’s go-ahead gesture, Crew cocks his chin to the side and focuses on Enzo. “Avalanche,” he says, and light streaks from him and slams into Enzo’s cheek. Almost immediately, the flesh swells to twice its normal size and a shallow graze opens, trickling blood down his face until it drips off his chin and onto the floor.
“Come on, man, not the face!” Enzo wails, slapping a hand to his bleeding cheek.
Crew just grins in response. “No one gave me any limits. If anything, I’ve made improvements.”
The two of them descend into a verbal battle, but I turn my attention back to Ward, letting them argue it out in the background.
“As you heard,” Ward says, “Crew didn’t need to use a specific word to make his Speaking power work. ‘Avalanche’ has nothing do with ‘face punch’ or whatever he did to Enzo. So it wasn’t the word itself that caused the damage — it was Crew’s intention. What he imagined, happened. And he brought that imagination to life by focusing his mind and Speaking his intent into being, all in a tightly controlled manner.”
I tilt my head to show I understand, at least in theory. The practical application of control still eludes me.
Ward notes my silent response and reminds me, “Don’t forget, you can talk in here.”
Strangely enough, I had forgotten that. The idea still makes me anxious, if I’m being honest. But that’s also because with his words, I’ve just realized that the black Karoel might protect the outside world from whatever I can conjure down here, but what about Ward? What about Crew and Enzo? They’re in the room with me, not outside its protective walls.
Without thinking, I move forward until there’s no space between us. His body tenses at my proximity, but I’m too lost in my worries to care about just how close we are. Instead, I rise on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, as if hoping my words will be less powerful since they’re nearly silent.
“What about you guys?” I lean in even closer, my voice barely audible. “You’re in here, not out there. What if I Speak something that can’t be undone?” I hesitate and confess, “It’s — it’s happened before.”
His hands move to my waist, and he pushes me back down so he can see my face again.
“That’s what I’m here for,” he tells me quietly but firmly. “Nothing will happen unless I allow it to.”
He must read my skeptical look, because his hands on my waist — and I’m certain he doesn’t realize they’re still there, even if I’m all too aware of them — give a comforting squeeze.
“Think of me like a filter,” he says. “You can’t see it, but I’m using my ability to monitor the power behind every syllable that comes out of your mouth. And I’ll continue to do so until you’ve learned enough control that I’m confident you’re not infusing your words with unconscious intent. I wouldn’t ask you to Speak if I thought you would do any permanent damage. You need to believe that.”
I hold his eyes for a long moment, until I finally nod my acceptance and breathe out a single word: “Okay.”
It’ll be his fault if my training goes to hell — and takes innocent victims along for the ride.
“Okay,” he repeats, and only then does he release me, take another step backward and return to his lesson on intention. “As I was saying, the words we use don’t directly affect anything, but for Speakers like you who are in the early stages of learning control, they help provide a focus of sorts. For example, if you had used the word ‘avalanche,’ given the scope of your ability, I’d be willing to bet that the results would’ve been a lot different to what happened with Crew.”
I look at him with alarm, afraid of what he’s just so casually revealed, but he tilts his head toward where Enzo and Crew are still throwing insults at each other, oblivious to our conversation.
“When we say things, the language centers in our brain call forth visual imagery,” Ward explains. “I say ‘elephant,’ and you automatically see an elephant. You don’t see a spaceship or a tablecloth — you see a hulking gray beast with a long trunk and big flappy ears. That’s just how our minds are programmed — to recognize and match what we say to things we imagine. And that’s why, even though it’s the intent that matters, often our words come automatically with their own pre-attached power. Are you with me so far?”
Am I with him? I’m practically hanging on his every word. Despite that, I play off my desperation with a flippant, “Say ‘elephant’ — see elephant. Got it.” Before he can call me on my attitude, I add, “It’s not rocket science, Ward, and I’m not an idiot. You’re good to move on.”
His face darkens, and he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Cami prances into the room.
“Looks like I arrived right on time,” she says, moving directly over to Enzo.
She places her hand against his cheek and whispers something too low for me to hear. A soft light glows around her fingers, and when she pulls her arm back, Enzo’s face is completely healed.
I’m staring at them in shock, more answers suddenly sliding into place. More questions, too.
Cami notices my wonder first and takes pity on me. “I can use words to heal physical injuries — some mental ones, as well.”
A memory flitters across my mind from the morning I first met her. After I broke down and ran to the bathroom, she embraced me and told me everything would be okay. I remember that despite thinking she was wrong, her soft words still calmed me, offering an almost unnatural sense of peace.
“You’ve used your ability on me before,” I guess.
Cami grins widely. “It’s nice to finally hear your voice.”
I send her a half smile in return but say, “No more messing with my head without permission.”
She moves closer and pulls me in for a spontaneous hug. “No promises.”
“As touching as this is, can we continue our lesson?” Ward interrupts.
“Spoilsport,” Cami grumbles under her breath as she pulls away from me.
“What else do you need from me?” Crew asks Ward.
Ward considers for a moment before saying, “You’re done. Jane says she’s not an idiot, so I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt that she’ll be a quick study.”
I purse my lips, and Crew looks darkly entertained. “Sure, whatever. You know where to find me if you need me again.”
And with that, he saunters out of the room.
Enzo appears puzzled. “That was easy. I thought you were going to have him shred me just to make your point.”
A shrug is Ward’s response, along with the suggestive words, “Waste not …”
If Enzo catches the implication, he doesn’t bite. Instead, he asks, “Does that mean it’s breakfast time for us?”
“For you two,” Ward says, indicating Enzo and Cami. “Jane has to earn her keep first.”
Cami sends me a sympathetic look and promises to save me something for later.
<
br /> I try to smile in thanks, but my stomach is in knots over Ward’s statement. Just what does he have planned for me?
“Catch you later, JD,” Enzo says, ruffling my hair as he walks past and pulling Cami out of the room with him.
I turn to Ward. “What now?”
He eyes me shrewdly. “You’ve heard the saying ‘Practice makes perfect’?” At my nod, he tells me, “Consider that your new personal mantra.”
I don’t try to hide my apprehension. “I’m not sure I understand.”
He smiles, his perfect teeth glinting in an almost predatory manner. “You will.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“We already know you’re powerful,” Ward states, striding into the center of the room and motioning for me to follow, “so this isn’t the place to test the limits of your ability. Plus, you need to learn control before we even think of doing anything like that.”
If what I’ve already learned about Creators is true, then there are no limits. I shiver just thinking about it.
“So that’s what we’re going to work on today,” Ward continues. “Control.”
“And how do we do that?”
“We’re going to start by strengthening your mind.” He taps a finger against his forehead. “You need to learn how to discipline your thoughts so that when you talk, you can choose whether you infuse your words with power or let them just be normal speech.”
I nod vigorously, since that’s exactly what I want to be able to do. “Again, how?”
“You’re a unique case,” he says, “so it’s going to be a matter of trial and error until we figure out what works best. Then repetition is key until controlled Speaking comes as naturally to you as breathing.”
I frown at him, unhappy with his lack of certainty. “I thought you knew what you were doing.”
He raises one eyebrow cockily. “I do. It’s you who’s the wild card. All this depends on how willing you are to submit to instruction.”
I resist the urge to pull a face at him and, instead, grind out, “Let’s just do this.”
He moves slightly, balancing his weight as if to be more comfortable on his feet. From that alone I get the feeling we’re going to be at this for a while. “We’ll start by putting into practice what you’ve just learned about intent. Think about a cat.”
