by Anna Webb
Jamie squeezed his eyes shut; his mind was wandering.
What had happened?
Yes, they had left the party.
Pete, as always had seemed immune to the charms of his admirers. At some point in the evening, Pete seemed to sense Jamie’s discomfort in the overt display of excess. With the effortless ease of an experienced partygoer, he extracted them from the adoring group of girls with a promise to refill empty glasses.
“Bored?” Pete asked lightly, as they moved a decent distance away.
Jamie grimaced. “It isn’t really my scene.”
“Not really mine either,” Pete admitted. “I’ve just had more practice at pretending. Come on, they won’t miss us if we disappear for a couple of hours.”
Pete led Jamie through the massive house, beyond a cordon protected by two severe and humorless security guards. Finally, they entered a room that appeared to be a cross between a library and a wine cellar. It was artistically lit, highlighting the endless shelves of expensive wine and books. The overabundance of mahogany combined with the lingering smell of cigar smoke gave the suggestion of an old-world smoking room.
Pete turned to Jamie with a grin. “My father’s study,” he said, giving the last word air quotes. “This is where he comes to smoke, away from my mother’s prying eyes.”
At the end of the room was an entire wall of expensive bottles of whiskeys and brandies, all set beyond a protective layer of glass. Pete gestured for Jamie to take a seat in one of two deep leather couches placed in front of the wall of whiskey.
Jamie sank into the couch, stretched his long legs in front of him, and turned in time to see Pete slide out a hidden panel with a keypad. Jamie raised his eyebrows in a questioning glance.
Gesturing at the bottles behind the glass, Pete said, “This stuff is expensive, and my father didn’t want his teenage sons getting wasted on vintage whiskey. But Dad uses literally the same combination for everything—my brother and I figured it out years ago.”
He punched in a few numbers on the keypad, and the glass slid seamlessly to the side. Pete grabbed a couple of glasses and glanced at Jamie, silently asking if he had a particular preference for any bottle.
Jamie shrugged helplessly. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
Pete selected a bottle and splashed a generous amount into both glasses, handing one to Jamie. “Cheers,” he said.
“Cheers,” Jamie replied and took a gulp from his glass. The whiskey was smooth as it ran down his throat with a smoky, woody flavor, spreading a pleasant heat through his chest.
They sat in companionable silence, and Jamie allowed himself a few minutes to relax. Soon enough, he would have to broach the subject of Pete’s uncle Sebastian. Sebastian Andrews, the man suspected to be the leader of the Cleaner Army and the whole reason Jamie was here. Who, unfortunately, had yet to make an appearance at the Andrews’ New Year’s Eve party.
But Jamie’s luck turned almost immediately. The door slid open, and a stocky, well-built man strode through. He was in his mid-forties with just a dusting of gray in his dark, curly hair.
Pete shot to his feet, and only through some combination of luck and good balance, he avoided spilling whiskey all over himself.
“Sir!” Pete barked out sharply.
“I see that I’m not the first person to think of this place as a good hiding spot,” said the newcomer.
“We’ll leave you to it, sir,” Pete said quickly.
The man shook his head. “Pete, I’m not your father, and I couldn’t really care less if you’re drinking his precious whiskey or not. Now, are you going to pour me a glass or just stand there gaping like a fish?”
Pete jolted back into action. “Of course, sir.”
The man turned to Jamie. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“No, sir,” Jamie replied, “James Thiessen.”
The man nodded. “Right, of course—I thought you looked familiar. I saw you compete in this year’s Elemental Trials.” He ran his dark-eyed gaze over Jamie, giving Jamie the strange impression that he was being quickly, but expertly, summed up, much like a prize stallion at auction.
“You did well in the Trials,” the man continued, apparently liking what he saw in Jamie.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Call me Seb. I’m Pete’s uncle.”
And just like that, Jamie was shaking the hand of the man rumored to be the head of the Cleaner Army.
Jamie fought to keep his expression neutral, falling back on his naturally laid-back manner. With an easy smile and a firm grip, he said, “Nice to meet you, Seb.”
They settled back into the couches, and Pete handed Seb a glass of whiskey.
“Mom said you wouldn’t be coming this year,” Pete said.
Seb shrugged his broad fighter’s shoulders. “I was in the area, thought I’d have a look in.”
“What do you do, Seb?” Jamie asked innocently.
“A bit of this and a bit of that,” Seb replied. “Nothing important like Pete’s father.”
Jamie smiled, not having expected Seb to announce his real job as the head of an army of masked Gifted fighters.
“So, tell me about your girlfriend—Allyra, was it? She really exceeded all expectations in the Trials.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jamie blurted out, unable to fully hide the tightness in his voice.
Jamie kicked himself—that was totally irrelevant. “But yes, she was exceptional,” he said, trying to stay on point.
Pete shot Jamie a sharp look, and even Seb raised his eyebrows slightly at Jamie’s statement.
“Well, if you don’t spend your youth leaving a trail of broken hearts, then you’re not doing it right,” Seb said with a laugh. “Don’t be like Pete here. He has every advantage—wealth, good looks, and every girl for miles fawning after him, yet he never loosens his collar to actually enjoy himself.”
Pete took the joking silently and stoically, as if he’d heard it all too often before. For a brief moment, Jamie wondered where Pete’s heart lay. Pete had always followed Eva around like a faithful dog, but surely, he had to know that Eva warmed the bed of the Elemental High Master—it wasn’t exactly a well-kept secret.
“So, Jamie, what are your plans now?” Seb asked.
Jamie allowed himself to relax just a fraction, glad they had moved off the topic of girlfriends in general and Allyra in particular. He shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. I’m between purposes at the moment. I was studying, but going back after the Elemental Trials… Well, it all seems a little tame now.”
“Searching for a purpose—aren’t we all,” Seb said with a grim smile. “You’re in luck—turns out I happen to be looking for a strong Inferno.”
Jamie looked up sharply but found it difficult to focus on Seb. The room was starting to spin around him. He stared at the whiskey glass in horror, moments before it slipped from his hand and the crystal shattered on the ground. As his vision darkened, he saw Pete slumped senseless on the couch.
* * *
So, this was exactly where he needed to be. Jamie took a deep breath and then took stock of his surroundings. The room was bare except for the chair he was sitting in. There were no windows and the only light crept through a crack beneath the large, metallic door. In the gloominess, it was hard to make out any other details, but Jamie was sure the walls were lined with iron or lead, making his Gift feel distant and out of reach.
Not that this wasn’t unexpected. If the Cleaners had taken him, as he suspected, then it was only logical they would make sure he had no access to his Gift.
Jamie rotated his neck slowly, stretching out his muscles as best he could, and settled in to wait for his captor’s next move.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Only a few minutes ticked by before a disembodied voice filled the room. “Please confirm your name,” the voice intoned without emotion.
Jamie remained silent. It was a fine line to tread—a believable amount of fear but never
too eager.
“Confirm your name,” the voice repeated, level, calm—no sign of impatience.
Still Jamie stayed quiet. Rob and Laureline had prepared him for this. He had to test his captors. What would they use to get information from him? What would be the stick, and what would be the carrot? Good cop or bad cop?
Without warning, two sharp spikes pushed into his back, somewhere in the vicinity of his kidneys. Jamie grunted. This was only a gentle threat, and the spikes hadn’t broken skin yet, existing in the gray space between discomfort and true pain. The chair wasn’t just a convenient piece of furniture they’d bound him to—it was a torture device.
“It will do you well to answer my questions, Mr. Thiessen,” the voice said.
Jamie smiled at the not too subtle reminder that they knew more about him than he might imagine. “Why bother asking if you already know my name?” Jamie shouted back sarcastically.
“Confirm your name,” the voice said once more, completely ignoring him.
Jamie gave in. “James Thiessen, though my friends call me Jamie. But somehow, I doubt we’re going to be friends.”
“Answer my questions and you might just find I’m the best friend you have in here.”
“And where exactly is here?”
“I’ll be asking the questions. Tell me what you know about the Rising.”
This was an unexpected line of questioning.
“Care to elaborate?” Jamie asked sardonically. “Do you mean the rising sun? I’m not much of a scientist, but I believe it rises in the east. Or the country of the rising sun? Again, I’m not much of a geography geek, but I’m pretty sure that’s Japan. Or perhaps you’re thinking of the rising of zombies. Now, I am a science fiction fan, so I can tell you a lot about—”
Jamie hissed, cutting short the steady stream of nonsense he was spouting. Two new spikes had made their existence known, this time into the back of this upper arms, and these had broken skin—a steady trickle of warm blood dripped onto the floor.
“Don’t toy with me, Mr. Thiessen. Most learn quickly that it doesn’t pay to waste my time. Now, tell me what you know about the Rising.”
“I’ve never been much of a student,” Jamie replied evenly.
The words had barely left his mouth before two more spikes dug into his legs, spilling more of his blood to the ground.
“Nothing,” Jamie screamed, allowing a tinge of desperation to creep into his voice. “I don’t know what or who the Rising is or anything else about it.”
It seemed to do the trick as the voice moved on abruptly to a new topic. “Tell me about your family.”
“My parents are dead, so is my twin sister. The only family I have left is my older brother, Robert,” Jamie replied, sullen but cooperative.
“How did your parents die?”
“An eighteen-wheeler ran a red light.”
“Your mother, Juliette Thiessen, was an Inferno. You don’t find it strange that she didn’t use her Gift to avoid the impact?”
“It was dark and misty. She wasn’t driving. She never saw it coming.”
“And your sister? How did she die?”
The questions came at him like a volley of bullets, sharp and relentless.
“I don’t know. An accident of some sort. She was traveling in North Africa. Information from a war zone is spotty at best.”
Even though this was the story they’d agreed on for Emma’s death. Even though he knew he had to lie, it still didn’t make it any easier to say. Emma was not dead—he had to keep believing it. He needed to keep believing it.
“You don’t know how your own sister died? The voice was incredulous. “Emma was your twin, was she not? And you’ve done nothing to find out about how she died?”
Jamie said nothing. If you can’t lie convincingly, then just shut the hell up Rob had told him.
Two more spikes pressed into his back, just below his shoulder blades. No blood. The intention wasn’t to do major damage. At least not yet.
“I’ve been busy,” Jamie hissed through gritted teeth.
“Too busy for your twin sister?” the voice questioned skeptically. “Whatever it is must be quite important—do explain.”
“Busy—you know, hanging out, drinking, grieving. The things one does when one loses a loved one.”
Another spike. This one wasn’t part of a pair. Just a single spike, sharp and insistent, pressed into the base of his skull with enough force Jamie had to lift his chin up, holding his head awkwardly, trying to avoid permanent paralysis.
“You have been busy, Mr. Thiessen—that much is true. But, the drinking and partying only came later. The truth is, you’ve been in the Elemental Trials.”
“Why bother asking if you know all the answers already?”
The spikes in his legs pushed in farther, forcing an involuntary gasp of pain from Jamie’s throat.
“What you’re feeling is the close press of death, Mr. Thiessen. Those spikes are fractions of an inch from your femoral artery. Toy with me again, and I’ll have the pleasure of watching you bleed out. And as much fun as that would be, blood is a real pain to clean up. So why don’t you tell me about why you were in the Elemental Trials. Or more specifically, why don’t you tell me about Allyra Warden.”
Jamie took a moment to gather his thoughts, silently cursing the languid, syrupy slowness of his mind. Whatever they’d drugged him with was still coursing through his veins. He had to be careful here—saying the wrong thing about Allyra might easily bring about her death.
“Allyra was forced into the Trials, I joined to help her,” he said, biting out each word carefully.
“But she didn’t need your help, did she? Allyra Warden won the Elemental Trials. You didn’t make it past the Second Trial.”
“I told you, I’ve never been much of a student. But Allyra, well, she’s always been a quick study.”
“Her performance suggested more than just a quick study. An Atmospheric winning the Trials is a rare event. An untrained Atmospheric winning? Well, frankly, it simply doesn’t happen.”
“Is there a question in there somewhere?”
“Don’t you have questions, Mr. Thiessen?” Don’t you wonder how she achieved so much with so little training? Don’t you wonder who might have been helping her? Who might be helping her still?”
“Obviously, I have questions,” Jamie answered, honestly for the first time. “But I don’t have the answers. So why waste time dwelling on them?”
“Have you asked Allyra those questions?”
“Of course, I have,” Jamie replied heatedly. “She doesn’t have any answers either. This all happened to her. She didn’t ask for it. She didn’t set it into motion. She is as much in the dark as I am.”
“Do you really believe that?” The voice had taken up a coaxing tone, almost seductive.
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Whether you believe me or not changes nothing,” Jamie shot back.
Every single spike in his body pushed forward. Jamie inhaled sharply. “Even if I did know what happened to Allyra, to Emma, I wouldn’t tell you!” he screamed. “Kill me, scrub my blood from your floors. I’ll never tell you anything!”
The spikes all retracted in a single smooth motion. With the sudden loss in pressure, the steady drip of his blood to the floor increased in frequency. His heart pounded angrily in his chest, desperate to compensate for the loss in blood.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Jamie’s vision wavered. He was going to lose consciousness if he couldn’t stem the flow. He struggled weakly against the restraints. The door opened with a metallic clang, flooding the room with light for a moment. A man walked through, placed a chair before Jamie, and dropped into it, crossing his legs as if settling in for a cozy chat.
Jamie looked up. Finally, proof that it was the Cleaners who had taken him. Most Cleaners wore a half mask that left the bottom half of their faces in view, but this man wore a full mask. The man’s
entire face was obscured, hiding his identity and giving him an artificially blank expression. But, more importantly, this mask wasn’t silver; it was gold. The Golden Mask. The leader of the Cleaner Army was sitting a few feet from Jamie.
“Don’t struggle,” the Golden Mask said, his tone low and even. Though he spoke softly, his voice carried authority. “The more you struggle, the quicker you’ll lose consciousness.
Jamie stilled.
“Good,” the Golden Mask continued. “Now, you know who I am.”
It was a statement, not a question, but Jamie nodded.
“So, you might be asking yourself why I’m here or, in fact, why you’re here. You might’ve already come to the conclusion that it has something to do with the Cleaners.” The Golden Mask paused, studying Jamie.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Jamie stared straight ahead. Get on with it!
“This is a recruitment session. You present an interesting case, Mr. Thiessen. On one hand, you’re a good candidate for the Cleaners—powerfully Gifted and proven in the Trials. But, as suitable as you might be, my interrogator feels that we should let you go. He feels that your upbringing, isolated from the Great Colleges, means you lack kinship with the Gifted. That your loyalties for your family and for Allyra Warden run too deep to ever be replaced by anything, or anyone else.”
“What do you think?” Jamie asked quietly.
“Does it matter?”
Jamie laughed, exhausted but not beaten. “You wouldn’t be here if it didn’t.”
“Very good, Mr. Thiessen. I think everything my interrogator concluded about you is correct. And that is a problem. The motto for the Cleaners is: A new dawn. A new life. I am awake. As a Cleaner, you must put your past behind you. Your loyalty must go first to the Cleaners—to the Golden Mask, to your team, and to the Gifted Council.
“Our training ensures that most people can put their history behind them. But for someone with loyalties as fierce and deep-seated as yours—this can be difficult. So, you see, Mr. Thiessen, your case is complicated.”
