by Sophie Davis
While Talia talked to Cadence, I sent a quick message to my father to let him know that we’d be off the island for a few days. Dad, my brothers, and Alex also lived on Eden. Though still recovering from the near-fatal injuries he sustained during the battle of D.C., my father had practically adopted Alex as his fourth son.
At first, Talia had put up a hell of a fight. She wanted the little boy to stay with us, to take care of him herself. But chasing the Created was a full-time job, and we spent more time globe-trotting than we did on Eden. It had taken a lot of persuasion on my part, and a lot of yelling on her part, but Talia eventually relented to let Alex live with my father and brothers all the time, instead of just when we were off on a mission. She saw him every chance she got, though. So did I, for that matter.
Secretly, though, I was glad the situation worked out the way it did. It was impossible not to like Donavon’s son—he was a cute kid and he couldn’t help who he was biologically related to. Still, he was Donavon’s son. Which, for me, was a daily reminder that Talia was still mourning the boy’s father. Being jealous of a ghost sucked. I sort of hated myself for it. I also couldn’t help the way I felt. The weirdest part was that I hadn’t been all that jealous of Donavon in life. I mean, I got the girl in the end. She chose me. And while I once hated the guy, after learning how much shit his father put him through, and everything he sacrificed to keep his son safe, I sort of admired him now.
On my dark days, though, Donavon’s memory was one of the demons I fought. Irrational and ridiculous as the thoughts were, an inner voice told me that I would never be able to give Talia what Donavon had: life. The guy had physically sacrificed himself for her, more than once. His blood coursed through her veins and I hated knowing that they shared such a personal connection. Sometimes I wished Donavon were still alive, simply so I could break his perfect nose and receive some sort of perverse satisfaction from the act. In the same heartbeat, I loathed the part of me that craved that violence. I wanted to be better than that.
“Oh good, I was just about to do that,” Talia said, her voice shattering the shadowy thoughts.
“Huh?”
“The message to your father. Do you think there’s still time to run by and say goodbye to Alex?”
“He’s with his tutor,” I said.
Alex wasn’t old enough to attend school, but he did have a bevy of private tutors who worked with him on everything from navigating through life without sight, to his ABC’s and his Talents. The child was an exceptionally strong Viewer, able to ‘view’ others remotely anywhere in the world. His gift was rare in and of itself, even more so because he was still so young and already able to use it. Few Talented manifested abilities before the age of five.
Talia gave me puppy-dog eyes and stuck out her bottom lip in a fake pout she knew I was hopeless to resist.
“A quick goodbye,” I relented.
As always, Alex was over the moon the moment he heard Talia’s voice. Equally as enthusiastic was his reaction to me, which always made me feel guilty. Despite the green-eyed monster that emerged at the mere mention of his father’s name these days, I genuinely cared about Alex. And when I hugged the little guy goodbye and told him I’d miss him, I meant it.
Finally, fifteen minutes late for flight to London, Talia and I arrived at the hoverpad. The others were already onboard. Brand was the only one to comment on our tardiness, but a quick elbow to the ribs from Penny stopped him before he said anything else to rile Talia up. For which I was glad. Thinking about Donavon, plus all the messed up shit I’d learned about the Poachers, was causing my mood to plummet.
And the day had started out so promising.
The flight from Eden to London was short, less than two hours. Victoria had sent a short dossier on the tipster to each of our communicators. His name was Riley Wyld. He was nineteen and a registered Talent, or Chrome as our kind was commonly referred to in England. Under abilities, he was listed as an Electrical Manipulator/Electrician.
“What does it mean that he’s ‘registered’?” Penny asked, wrinkling her nose, as she read the same information off of her screen as I was.
“Chromes are required to register themselves on our side of the pond,” Angus explained in his Scottish brogue. He sat in the copilot’s seat at the front of the small craft. “Not all do, mind you. Apparently this bloke follows the laws. Or, at least his parents did when he was born.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. In my short time working for UNITED, I’d begun to realize how differently other countries treated the Talented. Many treated our kind as second-class citizens, paying Talents lower wages, refusing them entry into certain schools, and generally discriminating against us on principle. I had thought England was among the more progressive nations, but apparently not. It was no wonder Victoria and the rest of the council were worried about the Treaty vote.
Angus, our resident expert, gave us a crash course in all things Poacher on the ride. The lesson did not improve my mood. In fact, I became so irate at one point that Talia used her powers to calm me down before the electrical disturbances I was causing crashed the hovercraft. Through the haze of disbelief and anger, I managed to learn a few pertinent facts about the Talent traffickers.
One: They were descended from Royalty. Sort of. Way back in the day, some jackass sold his daughter, an exceptionally strong Mind Manipulator to King Jenson of England, because the royal brat was so enamored with the girl he wouldn’t take no for an answer. In exchange, said jackass got his debts forgiven, a bunch of land, and some titles. He also got an idea: Selling Talents was profitable. Since none of his other children were Talented, he needed to find other ones who were. Enter the kidnapping. Although, it wasn’t even necessary half the time. With the Talented being a relatively new phenomenon, and parents feeling uneasy towards their Talented children, all the jackass had to do was offer to pay other equally-greedy parents a nominal fee for their gifted offspring. Then he’d simply turn around and sell the kid to someone else for ten times the cost. Voila—Poaching was born.
Two: Poaching was, strictly speaking, illegal the world over. The penalties varied from country to country, ranging from decades in prison to a dinky fine. England was somewhere in the middle on the punishment spectrum. First-time offenders caught kidnapping a Talent received a stiff monetary fine, usually paid for by the Poaching family they worked for. Repeat offenders could receive jail time, but that rarely happened. In general, most of the authorities could be bribed to look the other way. Some didn’t even require compensation to turn a blind eye; they did it because they either didn’t believe Talents were human, or because they didn’t want to be labeled “sympathizers”.
It was all bullshit as far as I was concerned.
Three: Auctions, in which large groups of Talents were auctioned off to the highest bidder, were rarer these days than they used to be. More common were privately arranged sales set up in advance. A buyer would contact the Poachers with a request for the type of Talent he or she wanted, and the Poachers would locate one matching the description. Price was discussed beforehand. At this point, though, with the Created running free and causing havoc, the Poachers apparently realized that they had a treasure trove of merchandise just ripe for the picking. Since UNITED, the only organization the Poachers truly feared, wanted the Created swept under the proverbial rug, the leaders of the vile organization figured that even they wouldn’t cause a fuss when people began disappearing.
And UNITED had not. Until now.
Kenly’s disappearance was being treated differently than the others previously reported. Why? Angus wasn’t entirely sure. It seemed by mentioning Talia’s name, the tipster, this Riley Wyld, had sent up red flags all over the place. But again, Angus wasn’t clear on why.
“As if we don’t have enough to deal with,” Brand muttered after Angus was done with his lecture.
“Righto, mate,” Angus agreed. “We might not be able to deal with the Poachers now, though. Depends what this Riley bloke
has to say. Part of the reason UNITED has never gone after them is because we don’t know enough about their inner workings. It’s closed up, trap shut. The organization is a family run affair, isn’t it? Getting one of the higher-ups to turn on his own family is right difficult.”
“Is Riley Wyld a member of one of the families?” Talia asked, confused.
“Not as far we know,” Angus said. “But says he might have some insider information.”
“Like what?” I asked skeptically.
“Don’t know now, do I? If I did, I wouldn’t need her.”
Angus nodded in Talia’s direction.
“Me?” she asked, a little taken aback.
I wasn’t surprised, though. As Victoria had said, Talia was the best interrogator that UNITED had on their payroll.
“Bloke says he’ll only talk to you,” Angus continued.
That surprised me. I’d thought we were being sent to London so Talia could siphon whatever this kid knew from his mind. But apparently, the guy wanted to talk to her. Interesting.
“Hold on to your knickers, folks. We’re about to land.”
With that Angus faced front, and the hovercraft began our descent into London.
AN INCOMING MESSAGE from Victoria instructed us to meet Riley Wyld at the Giraffe, a pub in an area of London known simply as the Slums. Being mid-afternoon London-time, the pub was sparse, with only a handful of patrons drinking mugs of ale and eating steaming bowls of something that smelled much better than it looked. Admittedly, the aroma was enticing, though, and I was even betting the chunks of meat were real—not some kelp-based substitution flavored to taste like chicken or whatever.
When the eight of us walked through the front door, all four heads in the Giraffe turned and every eye stared as though we were the main attraction at a freak-show carnival. Maybe we were. I wasn’t sure how many Talents Londoners encountered on a daily basis; for all I knew, we were a rare sight.
I spotted Riley Wyld immediately. His power called to me from the moment I entered the establishment, and even if he hadn’t been the only patron under fifty in the bar, I’d have known him instantly.
Riley was not what I was expecting. He was tall and slim with vibrant red spiky hair that stuck out from his head like porcupine quills. By comparison, the color made Penny’s orangey-red locks look downright dull. Even as accustomed as I was to the extraordinary eyes most Talents had, I still found Riley’s bizarre. His irises were iridescent flames that twisted and spun, changing color every time he titled his head. Still, what I found most intriguing about the tipster had nothing to do with his appearance. No, it was the sheer power that emanated off of him in waves, so stifling the effect was near suffocating. Even though the British apparently didn’t classify the Talent levels like TOXIC had, Riley was easily an Elite.
“Riley Wyld?” I asked, taking the lead as my team filed in behind me.
“Talia?” he asked, extending a hand to shake.
“Yeah. I hear you have some information to share with me.”
Riley glanced around uneasily at my friends, who were now surrounding the bar stool he was sitting on. Apparently he hadn’t counted on an entourage accompanying me to this meeting. An older gentleman stood behind the bar wiping pint glasses with a dirty dishrag. The man’s eyes were glued to our group.
“I do. Um, would you and your mates care for something to eat or drink?”
“No,” Erik said shortly. “We’d care to get down to business.”
“Right, um, if it’s alright with you, I’m just going to flip the ‘Closed’ sign on.” Riley gestured to the doorway we’d just come through. “England’s not quite the same as America, it’d be best for us to have some privacy.”
The setting didn’t feel like a trap to me, but I glanced at Erik to get his read on the situation. He nodded curtly at Riley, who hopped off his barstool and scurried over to the door.
The rest of us moved towards a high-top in the back corner next to the bar. After grabbing chairs from nearby tables, the nine of us were seated and ready to begin the interrogation. Strategically, I’d placed myself directly across from Riley so that I would in the best position to ascertain the truth. While eye contact was not necessary for my powers to be effective, it was a great way to spot a lie without delving into his mind. Erik was seated on one side of Riley, with Brand on the other. From our limited intel on the tipster, there was no reason to believe he was dangerous. Yet, caution was never a bad thing.
I’d intended to skip the pleasantries in favor of getting down to the real reason we were here; I only wanted to find Kenly, I had no interest in making new friends. Unfortunately, Brand had other ideas. He began by introducing each of us, as if it really mattered that Riley was now on a first-name basis with each member of our team. Admittedly, this small gesture did put Riley at ease, the worry lines on his face smoothing visibly.
“How did you come to meet Kenly?” Brand asked after the introductions were over.
“Here, sort of,” Riley answered, indicating the pub. “She began coming round not long after arriving in London. My girlfriend’s family owns the Giraffe. And her granddad, Tug,” he gestured to the man behind the bar, “he realized what she was. You know, a Chrome. She acted a bit dodgy, if you know what I mean? Trying to not call attention to herself. Between those bits, and then hearing her accent, Tug reasoned she was one of the Created the news kept going on about.”
“Why didn’t you report her to UNITED?” Brand asked, without missing a beat.
I glared at him. So not important right now.
Riley glanced down into the mug of coffee he was clenching like a lifeline, once again nervous under all of our judging gazes.
“You know what?” I interjected. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter now.”
Someone, probably Brand, kicked me under the table. I shoved back with my telekinesis, using just enough force to send Brand tottering backwards. His chair tipped back precariously on two legs before he was able to right himself. I smiled smugly and returned my attention to Riley.
“Don’t worry about that,” I reassured him again. “What happened after you all realized Kenly was Created?”
“We invited her to come live with us,” Riley said.
“Who’s us?” Erik cut in.
Seriously? I thought to myself. Who was leading this interrogation? Evidently, it wasn’t me.
Riley glanced at Erik, shrinking back slightly before seeming to think better of showing his fear. The tipster straightened his spine.
“Me, a girl called Honora, and my best mate, James. We have a flat not far from here,” Riley answered.
“Why did you ask her to live with you?” I asked before someone else could interject.
“A bird like that on her own in the Slums? We were worried about her, wanted to protect her,” Riley said, his tone earnest. “A girl like her, one with such obvious power, fending for herself…it wouldn’t have been long before she was targeted.”
Beside me, Penny opened her mouth to ask a question, but I was starting to feel antsy. We needed to get to the point. I wanted to know about the Poachers. I wanted to know how to find Kenly.
“Targeted by who? The Poachers?” I asked quickly, hoping to fend off any idle chit-chat.
“Well yes, but their lot was just one of our concerns. Not everyone in these parts thinks kindly of us Chromes. And that’s just for us standard sort. The Created?” Riley shook his head. “People hate them.”
“Well you didn’t do such a great job protecting her now did you?” Erik muttered.
A slight blush crept up Riley’s pale cheeks.
“No, mate, afraid we didn’t.”
“How do you know she was taken by the Poachers? Were you there?” I asked.
Thus far, Riley had been extremely forthcoming and prying into his mind hadn’t been necessary. But now that I’d asked the million dollar question, the boy seemed hesitant. I was on the verge of forcing him to answer when he began speaking again. His
words came out in a rush, as if he was just as desperate to expel them as I was to hear them.
“James found out the Poachers were hunting for a big auction. He sent word through my girlfriend, Willa, for the rest of us to go back to the flat and stay there. He and Kenly were headed there straightaways, taking a roundabout way so as not to be followed. Only, they never arrived.”
I waited for him to continue, to say something else that might give us a real clue as to Kenly’s whereabouts. But he didn’t. Riley stared at me expectantly, like he thought that those slim shreds of evidence were sufficient to find her.
“Let me get this straight,” Erik began, looking as dumbfounded as I felt. “Kenly and James didn’t show up, and you just assumed they’d been kidnapped by the Poachers?”
“Well, when you put it like that, mate, sounds rather shoddy, doesn’t it? But I’m not dim, I know they have been. James isn’t the sort to just disappear without sending word that they’re alright. And we had a run-in with Jaylen Monroe a couple days back. The Poachers knew about Kenly being Created.”
Exasperated with the slow progression of the conversation, I gave up on chatting and dove into Riley’s mind. His was an easy one to navigate, with few barriers to keep out prying individuals. Like me. Peeling back the layers of his most recent memories, I didn’t have far to travel before I came across the encounter with Jaylen Monroe—whoever that was.
Unfortunately, I quickly learned exactly who Jaylen Monroe was. Not just any Poacher lackey. He was the son of man that Riley thought of only as the Duke. The Duke was the head of the entire organization. Everything that happened with the Poachers was on his orders—from the selection of targets, to the kidnapping plans, to authorizing permissible buyers.
