“It has so far,” Emma says. When she sees I’m nowhere near convinced, she continues. “Look, Van, I know you’re coming into this having had to learn everything yourself. You’ve pieced together whatever you can that seems to work. But now you have the benefit of centuries’ worth of experience on controlling hunger. Just give it a try, okay? It can’t be any worse than trying to do it all on your own.”
I don’t know about that. I’ve done pretty well so far, but I don’t say that. Instead, what I say is, “Fine, I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises.”
“That’s all I’m asking. Now, wait over at that table. It’s time for your lesson to start.”
She hurries through the double doors while I search for the table she mentioned. I find it against the wall directly behind me. It is completely uncluttered and has two chairs posed next to it. Not knowing what else to do, I take one of the chairs and sit. It only takes a few minutes before Emma reappears. She walks toward me with her hands cupped together. What she holds, I can’t tell.
When Emma stops a good five feet away from me, the sense of mistrust returns.
“Now, Van, I’m going to approach you very slowly so I can test how sensitive your hunger is. Do your best not to react, but if you need me to stop, just say so, okay?”
I nod, my eyes glued to her hands, wondering what they hold and how bad this might be. My body tenses as she takes the first step toward me. She takes another. I wait patiently for my hunger to ignite. When nothing seems to be happening, I wonder if something is wrong. I am about to ask Emma a question when suddenly it hits.
Quick and sharp, my hunger wakes up. It puts my nerves on edge. The tiny ball of pain is held tightly between her hands. Something about the pain seems different than what I have experienced before. It isn’t the pulsing, immediate pain of an injury. Knowing that this is a test of some sort keeps me from asking what the difference is. I let my hunger taste it carefully, mulling it over with all the control I can manage.
“It’s sick,” I say, “dying.”
Emma’s eyes widen. Her mouth opens, but the words are slow to follow. “Yes… how can you tell?”
“The pain tastes different. It isn’t coming from just one source. It’s filling the whole… bird? Or maybe a mouse?”
Without coming any closer to me, Emma opens her hands to reveal a small sparrow. Its listless movements are a sure sign that this tiny creature has very little time left. “This little bird was brought in yesterday. One of the students found it in the forest.”
She gently lifts one wing to show a festering cut. “We tried a round of antibiotics, but she continues to decline. We’re still trying to save her, though. It’s time for her next round, and I’d like you to administer the medicine with my help.”
“What?” I snap. “I can’t get near that poor thing. I’ll kill it for sure.”
“No,” Emma says firmly, “you won’t.”
“Maybe you don’t understand. Just having it this close is making me feel dizzy. If I touch it, I won’t be able to stop myself from hurting it.”
What is this crazy girl thinking? I take a step back, but Emma matches me. The look in her eyes is compassionate, yet unbending. “Van, you will not hurt this bird. Do you understand me? You will give this poor little creature its medicine and return it to its cage. You will do all of this without causing additional harm. You may feed off the pain, but that is all, and I would caution you to draw slowly. Go too fast and you’ll push yourself over the edge.”
“Wait,” I beg as Emma takes a step closer.
I try to get away, but I bump into the table behind me. Before I can run to the side, Emma has me cornered. The hum of agony washes over me, seeping into my pores and burrowing under my skin. Hunger that is already gnawing at me spurs to life. The dizzying effect of the dying creature doubles. My knees buckle and drop me into a chair.
“Put out your hands,” Emma commands.
I shake my head no. Emma refuses to give in. One of her hands grabs mine and pulls it forward, gently, but with strength I can’t match right now. She pries my clenched fist open. Desperate, I yank against her grip. She holds tight.
“Now, I need you to focus both your mind and your hunger, Van.”
Her voice is deceptively calm. My eyes are fiercely closed, but I can feel the little bird drawing closer. The first of what I’m sure will be many tears roll down my cheek.
“Let yourself feed, but only a small amount at a time,” Emma warns. “Keep your thoughts centered on your goal, helping the bird. You don’t want to hurt it. I know that. This is your motivation. It’s stronger than your hunger. Prove that to me.”
“But,” I whisper, “I don’t know if I can.”
“If you can’t,” Emma says, “you will kill the bird.”
No other advice or comfort is offered as Emma places the bird in my hand. The nearly weightless sparrow causes my hand to drop several inches, as if it weighed tons instead. The spike in hunger I feel at having it touch my skin causes me to double over. It is such a miniscule animal, yet its suffering is massive. I can feel my fingers tightening, stirring up panic. I react in the only way I can.
I hold the bird as far away from me as possible and close my eyes. Drawing in every meditation technique David has taught me over the last few months. I breathe, I clear my mind, I visualize, I think of Ketchup, I do everything I can think of, but my fingers are still drawing closer. The little bird twitches under the pressure, warning me that my grip is too tight. I sob as I fight against my hunger to loosen my hold.
Nothing is working. My mind is too clouded with the pain this bird is enduring to stay focused on anything else. There is no way of keeping it reigned in. I feel helpless as it scours the bird inside, searching for the source of its pain.
Knowing I am losing this battle, I can only wish I were stronger… wish I could save this dying creature’s life instead of bringing the end even closer. My mind gives in to my hunger, following along the pathways of pain to the beginning. As it does, I feel more strongly the difference between imminent death and injury. Yes, the original cut was the first source of pain, the passageway for infection, but now it so widespread that every cell is crying out in pain.
It is such a strange sensation. The curiosity of what my hunger has exposed overpowers the base hunger. I am still drawing on the suffering of the bird, feeding, but my mind is captured by the incredible experience my hunger has given me. It is as if it has given me eyes into the actual physical process of pain. I can sense the individual cells that are infected, feel them swell and burst. Tracing the pathway the infection took is simple. When I find its tendrils snaking through the creature’s brain, I know it will never survive, no matter how many rounds of antibiotics it receives. The brain and body are too damaged to recover.
When my eyes open, I find that my fingers are no longer attempting to strangle the precious little bird. They are instead cradling it gently. Emma beams at me, syringe ready in her hands. When she eagerly begins to explain the procedure, I shake my head and clutch the bird to my chest. Confused, she asks for an explanation.
“There’s no point,” I say softly. “It’s already too far gone. We would only be causing it more pain.”
Emma’s slightly incredulous expression is immediately irritating. Words spring to my mind, explaining why she should trust me. They die just as quickly. Two possibilities immediately come to mind as I consider my next move. Either Emma knew this bird was suffering as badly as it was and chose not to put it down humanely—which makes her no better than David, in my opinion—or her hunger can’t do what mine just did. The second option leaves me with the possibility of still becoming friends with Emma, but frightens me into keeping my mouth shut. If I can do something my trainer can’t, there is no way I want David finding out about it.
So I don’t tell Emma that the bird’s infection has already reached the brain. I pass off my refusal to give the antibiotics on the intensity of the bird’s suffering and leave
the decision up to her. I hope it is a belief that she can still help it that spurs her to ready the medicine and complete the injection herself. She is cleaning up the waste from the procedure when her hands go still.
Emma turns slowly to look at the bird, but she needs no visual confirmation to know what we both just felt. The sudden void of pain makes it clear that I was right. The little sparrow has passed out of its suffering and, I hope, on to something better.
Still holding the bird in my hand, I turn to Emma. “What do we do now?”
She is quiet as she guides me through the process of disposing of the little bird’s body. I think she had more planned for my first training exercise, but when the deed is finished, she releases me to rest and think. I doubt any rest will come, but my mind is a flurry of thoughts. I know I will have to watch myself with Emma.
Despite her dislike for David’s methods, it was clear that she still holds a great deal of respect for him. My every move will be reported, I am sure. The puzzle is, I still need her help, her training. I need access to her animals in order to explore what my hunger can really do.
Chapter Twelve: The Land of Weird and Creepy
(Vanessa)
My first order of business after being dismissed is to find Ketchup. With neither of us having a clue where things are or what this compound truly holds, Ketchup could only give me a general idea of where he would be when we parted ways this morning. I head off in the direction he indicated, scanning the area for his black hair and blue eyes.
Imagine my surprise when I spot him standing outside of a nondescript building in the middle of a gaggle of girls. Laughing, no less. My pace quickens. They pay me no attention at all. No doubt Ketchup is just too enticing to be distracted from. My teeth clench at the easy manner of the group, at the fact that Ketchup has yet to notice me either.
It takes little effort to slip between two giggling girls and put my claim on Ketchup by planting a kiss on his cheek. Startled, Ketchup twitches violently, and then laughs when he sees me. There is no end of confusion in his eyes but, in true Ketchup form, he takes full advantage of the situation, dropping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me against his side.
“Everyone, this is Van,” Ketchup says casually.
To my surprise, all the girls gush over me.
“Van, it’s so great to meet you!”
“Ketchup has told us all about you,” says a perky blonde.
Another girl dives right in for a hug. “We’re so pleased to have you with us. We want to hear all about how you stopped Ivy.”
“Yes! Please?” begs another girl.
“Imagine, a wilder here, and the only one to stop a Richiamos since David.”
I tuck that bit of information away for later.
“You have to give us all the details!”
There is sudden silence as all the girls take a breath, clearly waiting for my reply. I am so freaked out, it takes me a moment to respond. When I do, it isn’t much.
“Uh, sure.”
They all break out in a riot of excited chatter. I think Ketchup can tell I’m about to go into shock. I am eternally grateful when he speaks up. “Uh, didn’t you all say you had to get back to the dorms for a meeting or something?”
One of the girls, a brunette who is slightly less giggly than the others are says, “You’re just trying to shoo us away before Van has to tell us about Ivy…but you’re right. We’re in charge of the Christmas party this year, and we need to meet the others for a planning session.”
“Don’t think we won’t come back to collect on your promise,” another girl says.
“Don’t worry,” Ketchup assures them, “we aren’t going anywhere.” He makes a quick motion to set them on their way before muttering, “I doubt we could leave even if we wanted to.”
We watch them leave in silence for a few more minutes before the air of absurdity seems to dissipate. “So,” I say slowly, “how was your morning?”
Ketchup laughs. “Bizarre.” He turns to face me, grabbing my chin when I attempt to avoid his gaze. “Least of which is you breaking the rules.”
My eyes drop, and I’m sure my face is plenty red. I am more embarrassed than I care to admit. “A moment of weakness.”
The way my heart rate spikes when Ketchup’s fingers tangle in my hair and force me to meet his eyes does nothing to improve my complexion. “I think you mean a moment of jealousy.”
I refuse to answer, even though he is right. Ketchup will not relent. His free hand slides into place on my lower back and gently pulls me up against him. Now, something other than embarrassment sends my heart racing.
“Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you get riled up over other girls,” Ketchup says with a grin, “but did you really think I would stray so easily?”
“No,” I say as I shove back from him, “of course not. You’re annoyingly persistent.”
“Then what?”
I curl the tips of my fingers around the hem of my sweater. “I don’t know. It was just weird to see you talking so easily with those girls. I’ve never seen you do that before and I guess I panicked… a little.”
“I can talk to them easily because I knew they were way more interested in you than me.” He grins. “Which happens to be exactly the way I feel as well.”
“Oh, come on. Not a single one of them tried to flirt and get a little too close?” I ask. I can hardly believe that’s possible.
Ketchup shakes his head. “I’m just a way to get to you. Trust me.”
I narrow my eyes at him, a playful side emerging that I didn’t even know I had. “I don’t think I believe you.”
“And why not?”
“Because you’re hot, for one,” I say, tapping my finger against his chest. “Not to mention sweet, funny, and generally amazing.”
For a moment, Ketchup just stares at me. He doesn’t seem to know how to respond. I hold my breath, suddenly afraid I have crossed a line I shouldn’t have. Finally, Ketchup smiles. It’s not his usual grin, though. This smile is something softer, more private. He drapes an arm around my shoulder and says, “While you are absolutely right about me on all accounts, I think there may be a reason none of those girls were interested in me.”
“What reason?”
Ketchup pulls me in more tightly. “I told them you were my girlfriend, and not a single one of them is even a little bit interested in pissing off the heir to David’s title.”
Maybe my first reaction should be to Ketchup telling everyone I’m his girlfriend, but it’s not. Instead, I stop and face Ketchup, utterly confused. “The heir to what?”
“To David’s title as an Outlier,” he says. “There was some Italian word for it, but I can’t remember what it was. They call him that because I guess before you, he was the only one that has survived one of the Richiamos coming after him.”
“But, Ivy was trying to get Zander to kill her, not me. Shouldn’t he be the one they’re all talking about?”
Ketchup scoffs. “Zander didn’t survive Ivy. If we had been a few seconds later…” He shakes his head. “She chose Zander because he was the easier target, and you were the one who stopped her, not Zander. You’re the one everyone wants to talk about.”
I can’t even explain how much that makes my skin crawl, while at the same time makes me want to dance around. I have never been anything but a freak with a bad temper and a history of violence. People steer clear of me. If they talk about me, it’s not a good thing. No one looks up to me. People barely look at me, period! The strange sensation settles over me, and I have no idea what to do with it.
“I was only able to stop Ivy because I had you to help me,” I say quietly.
Ketchup’s lips press against my temple. “I’ll always be here, no matter what.”
I look up at him, no longer scared of the devotion in his eyes. I would be more scared now to not see it. So much has happened in just the last few months that I know I never would have survived without him. As I stare up into his eyes, I know m
y rules are beginning to crumble.
“Hey,” a tall, blond man says as he stops abruptly right next to us, “are you Vanessa Roth?”
The irritated expression plastered on Ketchup’s face does nothing to ward off the intruder. I sigh. “Yeah. Why?”
His eyes sweep up and down quickly. “I thought so. Your hair is hard to miss. I’m Chris, by the way. We’ll be working together tomorrow.”
“Huh?” I ask.
At the same time, Ketchup says, “Working on what?”
Chris seems to notice Ketchup then. His eyes narrow a bit as he takes in his protective stance, but he wisely refrains from commenting on it. “We’ll be doing some isolation training tomorrow morning, first thing.”
“What is that?” I ask.
“You’ll find out tomorrow. Meet me at the gray and blue building behind the dining hall tomorrow at six AM.” He starts backing away. “Sorry, I’d explain more, but I’m late for a session.”
With a final wave, he heads off. I shake my head as he disappears. Ketchup’s arm is still hanging around my shoulders stiffly. Turning to look at him, I pat his cheek with a laugh. I have no doubt Chris’ roving eyes are what has him so tense. It wasn’t anything sexual, though. He was clearly sizing me up for training.
“Now who’s jealous?” I say.
Ketchup grunts. “Isolation training? Is it just me, or does that sound fake?”
“Don’t worry, not only was he not even vaguely interested in me like that, but by the end of the day, every guy here will know I’m taken with a capital T.”
“What makes you say that?”
I laugh. “The party girls you were talking to aren’t the kind of girls that keep secrets.” Pushing off from him, I say, “Come on. Let’s explore and see if we can find Zander. I’m curious to know what his day was like here in the land of weird and creepy.”
We spend the next hour wandering around the massive compound, trying to orient ourselves as we keep an eye out for Zander. I have to admit, this place is impressive. When I first heard that many of the students who live here stay year round, it sounded like prison, but I could easily see being perfectly happy here. If you weren’t torn away from your family and forbidden to leave, that is. On second thought, this is totally a prison. A really, really nice prison.
Wicked Power Page 14
