by Sophie Davis
I could hear the soft ping of the raindrops hitting the metal roof of the car, keeping perfect time with the tears leaking on to the soft leather seat and pooling underneath my cheek. I tried to concentrate on the noise instead of the slideshow of my parents’ deaths playing on the inside of my eyelids. I was convinced that the images, now seared into my conscious, would never fade. The feelings I’d had in the closet were now gone, leaving me empty and hollow and tired – so tired. I closed my swollen eyes and willed my own mind blank.
I spent one month at the Medical facility located on the grounds of the McDonough School for the Talented. Mac came to visit me every day. He would keep up a constant, one-sided, conversation, never appearing bothered by my lack of response. Every day the medics would draw my blood, hook me up to machines, and talk about my vital signs. Sometimes they talked at me, sometimes they simply talked around me.
One morning, Mac came into my room, instead of sitting in his usual chair in the corner he crouched down next to the side of my bed. He made a point to lock my purple eyes with his own steely gray ones.
“Natalia, I need to talk to you,” he said, in the most serious tone he’d ever used with me, “and I need you to listen very carefully. The medics here say you are physically healthy, and that you can be released.” When I did not comment, Mac plunged forward with what, I assumed, was a carefully thought-out speech. “You have two choices. I found an uncle – your father’s brother, I think – in Italy, who said he is willing to have you live with him and his family.” He hesitated before giving me my second option, but I didn’t need to hear him say it; I read the one word plain as day out of his mind. Before he could open his mouth to formulate the words, I said my first word in an entire month, “Revenge.”
During one of his daily visits Mac had explained to me Toxic’s theory of what happened the night my parents were murdered. They believed that the president of the Coalition, Ian Crane, had ordered the deaths of my family in retaliation for my father’s scientific contributions to the study of Talents and what caused our abilities. Mac said our family wasn’t the only one the Coalition had targeted, but it was the first time they had left a survivor.
That day I left Medical and went to live with Danbury “Mac” McDonough, his wife Gretchen, and their twelve year old son. I had no personal items, so I followed Mac, empty handed, up the long stone path to a sprawling ranch-style house. Before we reached the bright red front door, it opened, and inside stood a tall woman with pretty blonde hair and big brown eyes. Standing next to her was a boy; he looked to be slightly older than I was, and already as tall as his mother. He had shaggy blonde hair and big pale blue eyes. He smiled at me and, for the first time since my parents’ death, I smiled back.
“Natalia, I would like you to meet my wife, Gretchen, and my son, Donavon,” Mac said to me, as he gestured to each in turn.
“Natalia,” Gretchen greeted me warmly. “I had some clothes made for you sweetheart. I hope you will like them.” I knew I should say thank you, but I couldn’t find my voice, so I simply nodded.
“Donavon, why don’t you show Natalia to her new room and let her get settled. I am sure she needs to rest,” Gretchen said to her son, still smiling down at me.
“Kay, follow me.” I looked up at Mac; he nodded encouragingly, so I followed Donavon. He didn’t speak as we wound through the maze that was his house. Finally, we reached a set of double doors in the very back of the house. Donavon opened the doors and led me into a small living area with two overstuffed red couches and a small dark wooden table.
“This is your sitting room,” he explained. “Through that door over there, are your bedroom and bathroom. My mom hung clothes in the closet, and there are some books on the desk. My dad said you like to read old books.”
“Thank you,” I croaked, in a voice that was hoarse from non-use.
“You need anything else?” he asked. I shook my head and he turned to leave. He hesitated at the door. “Is it true you can manipulate people’s minds?” he said it so fast I nearly misunderstood him.
“Who told you that?” I demanded
“I heard my dad and one of his Hunters talking,” he replied, sheepishly. “Dad says you can perform mind manipulation.” I just stared, not sure how to react. My parents taught me to never talk about my special abilities.
“So, is it true?” he pressed. After a long moment, I walked towards him. His eyes widened, but he didn’t flinch as I reached out and took his hand. I fixed his wide eyes with my own.
“Yes, it’s true,” I answered mentally. His eyes grew even wider, but he didn’t release my hand.
“Whoa, that’s so cool,” his mental voice replied. “Can you make anybody hear what you are thinking?”
“Only if I want them to; I can make people hear or see anything.” He smiled.
“That’s so cool.” He repeated
“You’re . . . not scared of me?”
”I don’t know how anyone could be scared of you.”
I looked up into his shining blue eyes and smiled. For the first time in my life, I knew that I had a friend.
The first couple of days with the McDonough family were strange. Mac and Gretchen continually tried to engage me in conversation, but I wasn’t ready to talk to them. Mac would come visit me in my sitting room, and talk about my soon-to-be new life at school. I had heard my father talk about the school when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. I listened intently to every word Mac said, mentally filing away every detail.
While Mac’s sole concern was making sure that I understood my new role as a student at school, Gretchen’s sole concern was making sure that I never wore the same outfit twice. When I arrived, the closet was filled with elaborate dresses made of raw silk, soft animal hair sweaters in varying colors, and comfortable looking cotton pants. Every day more packages arrived with fabrics that Gretchen had ordered from New York City. She would send for one of the seamstresses from school, and the two of them would spend the day fussing over what new outfits I needed.
Each day, after lunch, Donavon would rescue me from his mother’s fawning. I seldom spoke when I was with Mac or Gretchen, but with Donavon I rarely kept quiet. Donavon wanted to know all about the glamorous life I’d led, traveling around the world; he’d spent all his life living at either the School or Elite Headquarters. I hated having to tell him that I spent most of my life inside hotel rooms, and rarely got to see anything cool. Likewise, I wanted to know everything about his life at School, with kids and friends. I had little interaction with kids my own age growing up, and even less interaction – none, actually – with Talented kids. In fact, before coming to live with the McDonough’s, I didn’t know that what I could do was considered a “Talent.”
Donavon was what Toxic termed a Poly-Morph. He was able to change himself in to just about any animal. He told me Mac had been teaching him how to morph into other human forms, but he was not even close to achieving such a feat.
Some days I would spend the afternoon watching Donavon show off, morphing from one animal to another, while I giggled and clapped for him. Other days he would work with me on my abilities. We would hide out in the woods behind his parent’s house and see if I could reach his mind. We would widen the gap each day, until we could communicate across the entire compound. Other days, we would wander down to the lake on the other side of the woods to play in the water.
Every night, alone in my room, I cried myself to sleep. I had succeeded in almost entirely blocking out the violence that had cost my parents their lives, but that didn’t mean I missed them any less. I loved having a real friend in Donavon, and Mac and Gretchen were going out of their way to make me feel like part of the family, but they weren’t my family. They would never be my family. I forced myself to repeat the name of the man who I’d learned ordered the death of my family, over and over: Ian Crane. Then, I would promise myself that one day I would return the favor.
Chapter Seven
I was in a foul mood when I met Donavon in a smal
l café for dinner. He was sitting at a table in the corner, waiting for me, when I walked in.
Living at Elite Headquarters had a lot of advantages; the biggest, in my opinion, was the abundance of food options. At School, the only place to eat was the cafeteria. They served three meals a day that consisted of a strictly regimented diet to ensure all of us growing kids got all of the nutrients we needed. Donavon and I had the unique advantage that Mac and Gretchen lived in a house on school grounds, and we often went up there for dinner.
But here? That was a whole different story. The Hunters weren’t the only division of the Agency housed at Elite Headquarters, so it was more like a small town. There cafes and snack shops spread throughout the compound that boasted a variety of foods from around the world. There were also a number of stores that sold just about anything anybody here needed.
“Hey,” I said, taking the empty seat across from him.
“Want to tell me about it?” he asked, immediately sensing my dark mood.
“No,” I replied a little too forcefully. “I don’t. Can we just eat?”
“Course.” Donavon took a menu out of the holder in the center of the table, and began touching the screen to make selections for both of us. When he was done, he pushed the enter button at the bottom of the screen and replaced the menu.
“Want to tell me how your practice session went?” he asked.
“I’d rather you tell me about your day. I don’t feel much like talking.” Just then a woman showed up with two bottles of water. Donavon thanked her.
“I will gladly tell you about my day,” he said, once she’d left. He launched in to the events of his day, embellishing a somewhat amusing story to make it hilariously funny. I smiled in spite of myself, not so much because the story was actually that funny, but because I thought it was so sweet of him to go out of his way to try and make me feel better. By the time our dinner arrived I was in a much better mood. Donavon always had that effect on me. I felt safe when I was with him.
“Arden and Harris went into the city, and won’t be back until curfew,” Donavon said, mentally, after we had made an entire loop of the compound. Arden and Harris were Donavon’s teammates, and therefore also his cabinmates. If the food options were the greatest advantage of living at Elite Headquarters, then lack of privacy was the greatest disadvantage. At school, every student had his or her own room, making it easy to spend strongly-frowned-upon time with members of the opposite sex. I not only had my own dorm room, but I also had my own suite of rooms at Mac and Gretchen’s house, and they didn’t mind me and Donavon being alone together.
“Lead the way,” I answered.
By the time we got back to Donavon’s cabin, we only had an hour until curfew. I took off my shoes and curled up on his bed. Donavon lay down next to me and covered us with a quilt that I recognized from his house; Gretchen had made it for him. I laid my head on his chest. He snaked one arm around my waist and slid his hand up under the back of my shirt, resting it on the small of my back. He lightly ran his fingertips back and forth, sending chills up my spine. I raised my head and stretched up until our lips met. I kissed him softly. He moved both of his hands to my waist, and pulled me down on top of him. I kissed him harder. He lifted me up and flipped me over on to my back. I let out a small giggle of surprise. He leaned over me and bent his head, careful to keep his weight off me by holding himself in a push up position. I lifted my head up to meet him halfway. He pulled back, teasing me. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck, trying to pull him back down. He was strong, and instead of allowing himself to be pulled back down, he reared his head and shoulders back, lifting me slightly off the bed. I let go and fell on my back. Thinking I was clever, I gave him a quick jab with the side of my hand in the crook of his right elbow. He wasn’t expecting it, and his arm gave out. He fell on top of me, just as I had anticipated. I wrapped my legs around his waist at the same time that he tried to roll himself to one side, afraid that his weight would crush me. When he rolled, I’d already managed to entwine my limbs with his waist. Our combined weight – mingled with the fact we were tangled in his quilt – caused us to roll right off the bed.
I landed flat on my back; Donavon landed square on top of me. The initial jolt of hitting the wood floor jarred my bones. The shock in Donavon’s eyes must have mirrored my own. Before either of us could say anything, I burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation. I was laughing so hard that I didn’t hear the door open.
“Opps!” Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Arden’s voice called.
“You’re not interrupting anything,” Donavon grumbled, clearly annoyed.
“Hi, Talia,” Harris waved. I peered around Donavon’s considerably larger body and returned his wave. The slightly older boy was standing in the doorway, smirking. It wasn’t the first time that Harris had walked in on me and Donavon in a somewhat compromising situation.
Harris had been a year ahead of Donavon at School, and the two had been good friends since childhood. He’d always been my favorite of Donavon’s friends.
“Could you two wait outside for a minute?” Donavon asked, agitated.
“No, no, no. You don’t need to do that,” I said quickly. “I need to get back for curfew.” Arden strolled awkwardly to his bed, trying not to look at us. Donavon untangled himself, and carefully stood up. He reached his hand down to help me up. I quickly pulled my shirt back down to cover my stomach, and tried in vain to smooth my dark curls; I could only imagine that they were sticking out in every direction.
Harris could barely stifle the laughter escaping his throat. “Don’t bother Tal. It’s a lost cause at this point.”
Donavon grabbed my hand and practically dragged me out of the cabin. I gave both boys a wave as I passed.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked as soon as we were out the door. He stopped short, causing me to run into his back. I could feel the waves of tension rolling off of him.
“It’s not you. I just get frustrated at how little alone time we have together.”
“I know. Me too. It’ll get better,” I promised, even though I knew that wasn’t really true. Usually, younger Hunters and Pledges lived in the cabins for years before being moved to the individual, private suites in the apartments that housed the rest of the Operatives at Elite Headquarters.
He started walking again. My cabin was only a short way from his so it didn’t take us long to get there. He kissed me on the cheek before saying goodnight. He started walking away, but I grabbed his hand and pulled him back to me.
“You aren’t getting off that easy,” I proclaimed. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. At first, he merely complied but soon he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him harder. I kissed him deeper. I heard catcalls. Donavon placed me back on my feet.
“Goodnight, Talia.” He turned and started walking away. “I love you.”
“I know,” I replied.
I looked around, seeking out the catcallers. I spotted them sitting outside of a cabin a couple down from mine. I gave them a rude hand gesture before walking into my own.
Neither Erik nor Henri was inside. Weird. It was so close to curfew. Sitting on my bed was a bouquet of flowers made up of vibrant blues, purples and pinks. Attached to the flowers’ paper wrapping was a note with one word. “Sorry”. They were from Erik. I rolled my eyes, and dropped the beautiful flowers on to my bedside table before climbing into bed. I was so tired that I didn’t hear either of the boys come in shortly thereafter.
Chapter Eight
The morning sun streamed in through the window of the cabin, waking me early. I needed to remember to close the curtains before bed. I blinked several times, trying to clear the sleep from my eyes. I stretched, turning my head left, then right. When I looked right, I noticed that somebody had put my flowers in a glass vase with water on the table next to my bed. I smiled to myself. I was about to sit up when a pillow came sailing across the room, hitting me in the face. I groaned.
“Get up. We’re all having breakfast together,” Henri’s voice sounded muffled from where I lay underneath the pillow. I sat up and looked around the room.
“Where’s Erik?” I asked, noticing immediately that he wasn’t in his bed.
“Shower. He was afraid he would be resigned to taking cold showers from now on if he didn’t start beating you in there,” Henri replied dryly. “Get up and get ready. We have a lot to do today.”
I groaned again, grudgingly rolled myself out of bed, and got ready. The three of us headed to Henri’s favorite café for a bread heavy breakfast. Erik didn’t mention our fight from the day before, so I didn’t bring it up either.
Over breakfast Henri outlined different strategies that he thought we should try and reinforced how important it was that we – and by “we” I knew he meant me – nail the three-way mental connection.
After breakfast, I worked tirelessly trying to connect all three of our minds while we ran through combat drills, pushing myself harder than I had been in the previous two weeks. A couple of times I was able to make the connection, but I was unable to hold on. By lunch I was mentally exhausted; I wasn’t sure if I could go another round in the afternoon. Thankfully, Henri that decided we would switch to the mental relaying of messages, which came easier, for our afternoon session. By the end of practice, I was nearly shaking from fatigue. The mental exertion combined with the extreme physical activity just about sent me over the edge.
At School, students were put through rigorous training schedules but nothing like what I’d experienced in my short time here.
“Let’s go back and shower and then we can head to dinner,” Henri announced, after I had tripped over my own feet for what seemed like the hundredth time that afternoon. I nodded gratefully; the only thing I wanted to do was lay down in my bed. I trailed several paces behind the boys on the way back to the cabin, and followed Henri’s orders.
The boys, thankfully, let me shower first. My shaky legs didn’t allow me to stay in the hot spray for as long as I would have liked. Lifting my arms over my head to wash my hair seemed like too much work; instead, I just stood under the water until I was at least somewhat confident that the water had washed out most of the sweat and grime. I dressed in the most comfortable cotton pants and sweater I could find in my bathroom cubby, wound my dark, wet curls into a tight bun, getting ready in record time. I stumbled out of the bathroom, and curled up on top of my bed to wait for the boys to shower and dress.
