Settling back into his chair, Ketchup looks across the table at Oscar. “This will be a ten-hour round trip, not counting however long it takes to actually get Zander back. Aren’t they going to miss you here?”
A quick shrug from Oscar doesn’t really answer the question. Ketchup keeps his gaze pinned to Oscar until he finally responds. “I have friends. It will be taken care of.”
“I can’t help notice how mellow you are about all of this,” I say.
Laughing a sick, twisted laugh, Oscar’s eyes darken. “If you were locked up in here, you’d spend a lot of time planning your escape, too. Trust me, everything will be fine.”
Oscar stands up then, and motions for me to do the same. I follow his lead, meeting him at the side of the table. When Oscar reaches out for a hug, he mumbles, “Put the card in your hand.”
Casually, I pull the card of out my jeans pocket. Before I can even think of what to do next, Oscar pulls me into a hug and the card is gone. He cuts the hug short and looks down at me with more clarity than I have seen in his eyes in years. “Goodbye, Nessie-girl. I’ll see you next week. Tell Zander and Grandma that I’m doing better, okay?”
“Uh, okay. I will.”
Oscar reaches across me and shakes Ketchup’s hand. Immediately after their hands part, Oscar walks over to the door the doctors are standing behind. It’s hard to pull my eyes away from him. He’s so much like the Oscar I once knew, the one I grew up playing with in the backyard and staying up late with when we weren’t supposed to. Ketchup’s firm tug finally gets me moving as I watch Oscar disappear into the patient side of the hospital.
“We’ll see him soon,” Ketchup whispers as he pulls me out into the hallway. I follow him slowly, partly because of the pain, but also because my mind is not thinking about the path I need to take to get back outside.
Most of my visits with Oscar are disturbing in one way or another. Sometimes it’s the yelling that gets me. Other times, it’s the violence he tries to let loose. I shake my head, realizing those had become the norm. I would have been less weirded out by him going off on an anger fueled rant about liars than I am right now.
He was so reasonable! Not even hearing that Zander had gone off and gotten himself captured by the Eroi got under his skin. He was calm, levelheaded, and decisive. Even before Oscar was carted off in handcuffs, he was never like that. As long as I can remember, Oscar has had a temper, an unbending sense of what is right, and a volatile personality. There were times Oscar would spent hours sitting with me, coloring or playing dolls. There were other times, though, that I was scared to be around him. I knew he would never purposely hurt me. It was becoming collateral damage during one of his fits that gave me concern.
My strength is flagging as we reach the steps down to the parking lot. Ever watchful, Ketchup scoops me into his arms and carries me the rest of the way to where Annabelle is waiting in Zander’s truck. He sets me down in the seat and hurriedly climbs in after.
“How did it go?” Annabelle asks. “Is Oscar going to meet us behind the building?”
Ketchup shakes his head. “It went surprisingly well. We didn’t even have to tell him how to get out. He was already prepared.”
“Oh,” Annabelle says, “well that’s good… I think.”
“Good or bad, he’s about to escape,” I say. “We better get back there.”
Nodding, Annabelle backs out of the parking space and drives casually toward the rear of the building. She pulls into an area marked for loading equipment. All of our eyes go to a set of double doors. Even though Oscar never asked us how to get out, Annabelle was confident that her route was the only viable one available. Oscar would undoubtedly emerge in the same place.
Several minutes pass with no one emerging from the doors. Worry creeps into my voice as I say, “Maybe we should have gone over the route with him.”
“He seemed to already know,” Ketchup says slowly, “but maybe…”
The sound of knuckles rapping on the window makes everyone jump. I gasp and come pretty close to fainting when Oscar's head pops into view on the passenger’s side—the opposite of where we expected him to approach.
“Where did you come from?” I demand as he climbs into the backseat. “You were supposed to come through those double doors over there.”
Oscar wrinkles his nose. “What? No, no. They get deliveries for the kitchen on Saturday afternoons. I would have been seen.”
“How…?” Annabelle starts.
“I know the hospital better than you ever will, Little Annie,” Oscar says distractedly. He buckles his seatbelt and pulls it tight across his chest. When he looks up, he seems confused. “Why aren’t we moving? The Eroi aren’t treating Zander to a spa day. Let’s get a move on.”
Annabelle shakes herself. “Uh, yeah. Of course.”
As Annabelle steers Zander’s beast of a truck around the back of the building, a large, refrigerated truck passes by us. It honestly scares me a little to know that Oscar was right. The look that passes between Annabelle and Ketchup says I’m not the only one. Looking toward the backseat, I start to ask Oscar a question, but he cuts me off before I can.
“Wake me when we get there. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept without being locked in a small room.” Having said that, Oscar leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. Ten seconds later, he’s breathing deeply. He looks so peaceful. If I didn’t know better, I would say he was comfortably resting on a plush mattress, complete with a down pillow.
Nobody says anything as Annabelle drives. Our minds are filled with concern and worry, and more than a few questions, but everyone seems content to process everything that has happened in silence for now. For myself, my thoughts keep bouncing back and forth between trying to figure out how we are going to get Zander back from the Eroi and whether or not this sudden change in Oscar is exactly what it seems. Those thoughts follow me even after I fall asleep from exhaustion.
“Wake up,” a voice says suddenly as a hand shakes my shoulder. My eyes flutter open, only to squint shut against the light shining through the front windshield. I raise a hand to shield my face in time for someone to yank my door open.
“Vanessa Roth?” a hulking form demands.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my hand reaching behind me for Ketchup.
Annabelle slowly kills the engine and removes the keys from the ignition. Her hands tremble as she sets them in her lap. “It’s the Eroi,” she says quietly. “They boxed us in as soon as we entered the canyon.”
Turning back to the Eroi holding my door open, I look him in the eye with fear and determination. “Yes, I’m Vanessa Roth, and I’ve come for my brother.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine: For A Price
(Zander)
Pain shoots across my shoulders as I am thrown to the ground. Blinking, I try to clear the haze from my eyes and mind alike. The dull ache of their rough treatment is overpowered by the sharp pain just below my right collarbone. I lift my head to look at the spot and am only mildly surprised to see a tufted dart sticking out of my jacket. Reaching up, I yank it out of my body and let it fall from my fingers.
I try to pick myself up to sitting, but several pairs of hands yank me up into a chair first. Expecting shackles, I brace myself to resist. After ten seconds, I pick my head up, blinking again and again as I search for something that will help me. The stark, concrete room holds nothing I can make use of. It holds nothing at all except me on a chair next to a table and a fierce woman with severe black hair tied back in a ponytail.
“Alexander Roth,” her sharp voice says, “I must say, we weren’t expecting you.”
“Zander,” I croak.
She nods, or at least I think she nods. I can’t see properly enough to tell. “Okay then, Zander.” She takes a step closer, but stays well out of my immediate reach. “I only have one question for you.”
I rub my eyes with half-numb fingers and look back up at her. “And what question is that?”
“Did you come here fo
r Ivy, or because you’ve learned the truth about your precious Godlings?”
Her question inspires a million more in my mind, but they can wait. This woman wants an answer, and I intend to give her one. Blinking a few more times, the fuzziness finally retreats and I meet her gaze clearly. She waits expectantly and I don’t let her down.
“Neither.”
She tries not to show any surprise, but the split-second hitch in her breathing gives her away. “Do tell, then. Why did you come here, knowing you would be caught?”
“I came to ask you for help, to protect my sister from David.”
The woman’s mouth curls up into a pleased smile. “So you have learned the truth about the Godlings.”
“No,” I argue, “not all of it, anyway. I know enough to understand that David won’t protect my sister if my grandmother dies.”
The woman shakes her head. “No, he won’t. David’s only interests are in protecting himself and gaining as much power as possible. He hates the Eroi and will stop at nothing to destroy us.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I snarl at her. Her superior attitude frustrates me to no end. I despise David, but I also understand where his anger at the Eroi comes from.
The woman’s left hand twitches, a subtle sign that I have struck a nerve. Her face, however, remains impassive. “You are referring to the Richiamos sent after David.” She doesn’t ask it as a question, but rather as a statement. “You seem to believe we are wrong in wanting to destroy the Godling Assassins, yet you come to us for help.”
“I wasn’t thrilled about my options,” I growl, “and you’re wrong about what the Godlings are. We aren’t assassins.”
“No!” the woman snaps, spinning around to face me. “You are wrong, Zander. You have no idea what the Godlings are. You’ve spent a few months under the care of David, and you think that makes you knowledgeable? You admitted only a few minutes ago that you don’t know the truth about the Godlings! You’re too foolish and naïve to see what they are turning you into!”
Pushing away from the chair, I stalk over to her. There is fear in her eyes, but she faces me squarely. “The Godlings are training soldiers, soldiers to fight a war they’ve been fighting for centuries! Neither side is innocent. You may not agree with their way of life, but you’re no better. You sent a young girl to her death! You brainwashed her into believing her life was the price to save the world. Then you sent her into the hands of the Godlings, just so you could confirm your suspicions about your target, and send in an Eroi death squad! Who are you to tell me you’re right and they’re wrong?”
The woman takes a step back from my hulking anger, her eyes never leaving mine. “You have no idea why we sent Ivy after your family, and you have no idea what David has been training you to become.” She crosses her arms over her chest, but the air of superiority she walked in with has been replaced with grim reality.
“Why should I believe anything you tell me?” I demand.
The woman walks over to the wall and presses a button I hadn’t noticed before. The soft whoosh of a door opening sounds behind me, but I keep my eyes on the woman. She turns back to face me and says, “I can see that words will not convince you of anything, nor will they convince me that you aren’t a spy for David. Actions, Zander, speak much louder than words. You prove to me that you are not the killer I think you are, and I will prove to you that you’re on the wrong side.”
“What do you…?”
Her presence hits me like a semi straight to the chest. I fall to my knees halfway through turning around. The intoxicating taste of her presence seeps into my body, strangling my willpower and cutting free my hunger in a rush of animalistic fury. I launch forward, catching her throat in my hands and pinning her against the wall before I can even blink, let alone think. The red flushing in her flawless skin screams at me to pull my hand away, but my hunger has taken full control of me.
“Fight it, Zander,” Ivy gasps.
The sound of her voice snaps one minuscule strand of the control my hunger has over me. I look into her eyes, shocked by the change I see there. The image that has haunted me for months was of the twisted glee bright in her features before she pushed my hunger over the edge. Now there is begging, pleading for me to hold onto my control and spare her life.
I am so startled by this unexpected turn that it overpowers my raging hunger for a brief second. It is only a flash, but it is enough to give me a chance to take control. Whoever that woman is, she is convinced that David is the source of all she believes is evil, but his harsh training is the only thing that saves me.
My eyes close as I draw in the pain and anguish radiating off Ivy’s body. The effort it takes to shove it deep inside my center and store it away draws a strangled scream from my body. Every second I feed, my hunger screams at me to consume more, to not only feed off what Ivy is offering, but to cause more harm, to kill her and make her pay for everything she has done. My free hand slams into the concrete wall, snapping bones and severing the control my hunger had taken at the first taste of Ivy. I peel my fingers away from her throat and collapse to the ground as Ivy stumbles away from me.
Rolling onto my back, I cradle my broken hand as it mends quickly. I want to close my eyes and disappear, along with my view of this box. The desire to run and spare myself from ever having to face Ivy again nearly overpowers every other thought in my mind. Before I can give in, images of Van being forced to commit unspeakable acts under David’s control shatters those dreams.
Slowly, I shake out my healed hand and pull myself up to my feet. I can still taste Ivy from where she is huddled on the opposite side of the room, but I am in control enough now to resist the urge to charge over and destroy her. I turn away from Ivy and face the woman who promised me answers.
“Well done, Zander,” she says. She projects confidence, but she can’t hide the tremor in her fingers.
“Your turn,” I growl.
The woman tosses something to me, and instinct alone makes me snatch it out of the air. The dark screen of a cell phone stares up at me when I uncurl my fingers from its shell. The questions form on my lips, but I hold them back and turn on the phone instead.
Images pop up on the screen the second I unlock the phone. David’s face draws my eyes immediately. There is no trace of his usual condescending expressions. This photo shows him smiling and looking professional in his tailored suit. My eyes only focus on the image for a moment before I realize it is a small part of a larger article.
David Vidor, the elusive CEO of Century Force Securities, sat down with reporter Harold Cline for a rare interview about his company’s recent activities oversees.
“What is this?” I demand.
The woman approaches me slowly. “Where did you think David gets all of his funding, not to mention political sway? Being a Godling alone is not lucrative. Not unless you put the strength and healing abilities to use out on the battlefield. For a price.”
My eyes scan the rest of the article, cataloging details like military contracts, private security details, and mercenary work. This company, apparently headed up by David, practically guarantees they’re capable of fulfilling any mission offered to them. The reporter points out their astounding success rate and nearly nonexistent casualty numbers right on the heels of targeted questions about the groups’ questionable morality. When the reporter asks about an out-of-the-way training compound, David shuts him down immediately. The reporter attempts to corner David with claims about enlisting underage persons into his training programs, but David passes it off as a military-style boarding school for troubled youth.
I stare at the phone in disgust, but not ready to roll over for the Eroi. I toss the phone back to the woman. “This doesn’t prove he’s training assassins. All it proves is that David is using the innate powers every Godling has to run a profitable business. If you’re going to hang a sign around his neck proclaiming him to be evil just for that, you’d have to wage war against every major business owner in the count
ry.”
“We’re not concerned with David’s people acting as bodyguards for civilian contractors involved in the wars in the Middle East,” the woman says. She walks closer to me and hands me back the phone. “If that was all he was doing, we’d be happy to leave him be.”
My scoff makes it pretty clear how much I believe her. The woman presses a button on her phone and swipes to unlock the screen. The same article featuring David comes up, but her finger glides across the screen, revealing a new image. I stare at the man’s face, searching for some hint of recognition. When I can’t find any, I look up at the woman.
She sees my confusion, but she doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she swipes her finger again. Another newspaper article pops up, describing the death of the man in the photo. The article calls his death an assassination. I still don’t see how this proves anything until I scroll down the article and catch sight of something that stops me cold.
The photo is slightly out of focus. It was something snapped by a bystander taking photos of the marketplace while on vacation. He had no idea that the man in front of him was about to die. He also had no idea that he snapped his picture just as the assassin raised his gun. Fury rises in my chest as I stare at a photo of Chris pointing a gun at the man’s head.
Witnesses describe the brazen actions of the assassin, expressing confusion after the fact at how he was able to get away so quickly once he took down his target. I think back to countless hours in the training facility at the compound, watching young Godlings like myself learn to feed on pain and store it as energy to boost our already heightened physical abilities.
The shell of the phone creaks in my grip. The woman forcibly plucks it from my hand. “That man in the photo was one of our top operatives. He was tracking the Godlings movements in Sudan. Somehow, they found out who he was and took him out.” She slips the phone back into her pocket. “I have dozens of similar articles, Zander. David sends his troops out under the guise of peacekeepers, but they are slowly picking off the Eroi one by one.”
Wicked Power Page 30
