Vengeful

by V. E. Schwab

  “Aren’t we all.”

  “I need to hack a computer.”

  The metal sound of a zipper sliding. “What kind?”

  “The kind at EON.”

  The line went quiet, and Dom assumed Mitch was thinking, but then he heard a laptop click open, a booting sound. “What kind of encryption?”

  “No idea.” He tapped the computer away. “It’s just a password screen.”

  Mitch made a sound like a muffled laugh. “Governments. Okay. Do exactly what I tell you . . .”

  He started speaking a foreign language—that’s what it sounded like, anyway—but Dom did as he was told, and three agonizing minutes later, a green ACCESS GRANTED appeared on the screen, and he was in.

  Dom hung up, brought up the grid of folders, each one marked by a cell number. Every other computer in EON had a folder like this one. And every other folder started with Cell 1.

  But Stell’s computer had another option—Cell 0.

  Dom opened the drive and Eli Ever—Eliot Cardale—appeared onscreen, sitting at a table in the center of his cell, turning through a black folder. As Dom keyed in the codes, his vision sharpened, his focus narrowing the way it had when he was in the field. Time seemed to slow. Everything fell away except the screen, the commands, and the blur of his fingers across the keyboard.

  A second window appeared with the cell block controls, scanning past lighting and temperature to security, emergency, lockdown.

  Dominic couldn’t prevent EON from letting Eli out. But he could slow them down. He was just about to key in the codes Mitch had given him, send the whole cell into lockdown, when someone cleared their throat behind him.

  Dom spun around, and saw Agent Rios standing there, looking unimpressed. He didn’t have time to wonder where she’d come from, didn’t even have time to step out of time—into the safety of the shadows—before Rios slammed a cattle prod into his chest and Dom’s world went white.

  * * *

  ELI was getting restless.

  He scanned the images in the black folder one last time as he waited for Stell.

  The director had made the plan very clear—Eli would be escorted from the facility under guard and, upon completion of the mission, returned to his cell. If he disobeyed in any way, at any point, he would be returned to the lab instead, where he would spend the rest of his existence being dissected.

  That was Stell’s plan.

  Eli had his own.

  Steps sounded beyond the wall, and he set his file aside and rose, expecting as usual to see Stell. Instead, when the wall went clear, he saw a fleet of EON soldiers dressed in black, their faces hidden behind sleek, close-fitting masks. Even with the visors up, only their eyes were visible. One pair green, one blue, one brown.

  “All this fuss,” muttered Green Eyes, sizing him up. “Doesn’t look all that dangerous to me.”

  “Oh,” said Eli, crossing the cell, “there are EOs out there far more dangerous than I am.”

  “But how many people have they killed?” asked Blue Eyes. “I’m guessing it’s less than you.”

  Eli shrugged. “That depends.”

  “On what?” asked Brown Eyes—a woman, judging by her voice.

  “Whether you consider EOs people,” said Eli.

  “Enough,” said Blue Eyes, stepping toward the barrier. “Let’s get going.”

  Eli held his ground. “Where is Director Stell?”

  “Busy.”

  Eli doubted Stell would hand over such a delicate task—unless it was truly urgent.

  Or personal.

  Could Stell have already found Victor?

  Ships in the night, thought Eli grimly. But he couldn’t afford to worry about Victor Vale right now.

  “Inmate,” ordered Blue Eyes. “Approach the divide and put your hands through the slot.”

  Eli did, felt the heavy metal cuffs close around his wrists.

  “Now turn around, place your back to the slot, and kneel.”

  Eli hesitated. That wasn’t protocol. Cautiously, he did as he was told, expecting a dark hood to come down over his head. Instead, cold metal slid around his throat. Eli tensed, resisted the urge to pull away as the steel closed around his throat.

  “The hunting dog gets a collar,” said Blue Eyes.

  Eli stood, running his fingers along the band of metal. “What is this?”

  Brown Eyes held up a slim remote. “Didn’t think we’d let you out without a leash . . .”

  She pressed a button, and a single high note, like a warning tone, sounded in Eli’s ears before pain pierced the back of his neck. Eli’s vision went white, his body folding beneath him.

  “And down he goes,” said Blue Eyes as he hit the cell floor.

  Eli couldn’t move, couldn’t feel anything below the shard of metal driven between his vertebrae.

  “Come on, Samson,” said Green Eyes, “we’re on a schedule.”

  The tone sounded again, and the steel spike withdrew. Eli gasped, chest lurching as his spine healed and sensation flooded back into his limbs. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, and then up to his feet. A small pool of blood on the cell floor was the only sign of what they’d done.

  Brown Eyes waved the remote. “You try to escape, you try to attack us—hell, you piss us off—I’ll put you down.”

  Eli studied the slim remote in the soldier’s hand, and wondered if it was the only one.

  “Why would I do that?” he said. “We’re on the same side.”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Green Eyes, thrusting a hood through the slot. “Put it on.”

  Eli was led, blind and bound, through doorways and down halls, a soldier gripping each arm. He felt the ground shift beneath him from concrete to linoleum, and then to asphalt. The air changed, a breeze grazing his skin, and he wished the hood were off, wished he could see the sky, breathe in fresh air. But there would be time for that. A few feet more, and then their progress halted. Eli was turned around, maneuvered until his back came up against the metal side of a van.

  Doors swung open, and he was half dragged into the back of the van, forced a little too roughly onto a steel bench against one wall. A strap went around his legs, another around his chest. His handcuffs were locked to the bench seat between his knees. The soldiers climbed in, and the doors were thrown shut, and the van’s engine revved as it pulled away from EON.

  Eli smiled beneath the hood.

  He was cuffed and collared—but he was one step closer to free.

  XI

  THE LAST AFTERNOON

  THE FALCON PRICE

  A couple years ago, Mitch had taught Sydney about magnets.

  They’d spent a whole day testing their effects, the attraction and repulsion. Syd had always thought of magnetic force as a pull, but she’d been shocked to discover the strength of their push. Even a small flat disc could exert so much force against another.

  She felt that same repulsion now, as her fingers hovered over her sister’s bones.

  Sydney tried to will her hands down as something inside her heart pushed back.

  Why couldn’t she do it?

  Sydney had to bring Serena back.

  She was her sister.

  Family isn’t always blood.

  June had said that—June, who’d never betrayed Sydney. June, who’d protected Victor. But she wasn’t Serena.

  And if EON was chasing them now, Serena could help. Serena could do anything. Could make other people do anything.

  It was a terrifying power to start with—but how bad would it be if Serena came back wrong? What would that power look like when it was fractured, broken?

  For so long, Sydney had assumed she was afraid of failing. Afraid that she’d slip, lose the threads, and with that, her only chance at reviving Serena.

  But the longer she stared at her sister’s bones, the more Sydney realized—she was just as scared of succeeding.

  Why had she waited so long? Was it really because she thought it had to happen here? That the connec
tion would be strongest back where it had first been broken?

  Or—was it because it gave her an excuse to wait?

  Because Sydney was afraid to see her sister again.

  Because Sydney wasn’t ready to face Serena.

  Because Sydney wasn’t sure she should bring her sister back, even if she could.

  Tears blurred her vision.

  She realized, suddenly, that in all her nightmares, Serena had never once saved her. She was there, on the banks of the frozen river, waiting, watching as Eli stalked Syd across the ice. As he wrestled her to the frozen ground. As he wrapped his hands around Syd’s throat.

  Serena hadn’t pulled the trigger on Sydney that night.

  But she hadn’t stopped Eli from shooting her either.

  Sydney missed her sister.

  But she missed the version of Serena who had loved and protected Sydney, made her younger sister feel safe, and seen. And that Serena had died in ice, not fire.

  Sydney’s fingers finally came to rest against Serena’s bones. But she didn’t reach beyond them, didn’t search for the lingering thread. She simply folded them up inside the strip of cloth, and put them back in the red metal tin.

  Her legs were shaking as she pushed herself up to her feet.

  Syd shoved the container deep into her pocket, heard the scrape of metal on metal as the tin came to rest against the gun. In her other pocket, her fingers found her cell phone. She dug it out as she left the Falcon Price lot and headed back toward the Kingsley, watched it restart in her palm. Her boots dragged to a stop.

  There were so many missed calls.

  A handful from Victor.

  Then a dozen from Mitch.

  And text after text after text from June.

  Sydney took off running.

  * * *

  SHE tried to call Mitch, but it went straight to voicemail.

  Tried to call Victor, but no one answered.

  At last, June picked up. “Sydney.”

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Where are you?” demanded June, sounding breathless.

  “I had all these missed calls,” said Syd, slowing to a walk, “and I can’t get ahold of anyone, and I—”

  “Where are you?” repeated June.

  “On my way to the Kingsley.”

  “No,” said June. “You can’t go back there.”

  “I have to.”

  “It’s too late.”

  Too late. What did she mean?

  “Just stay where you are and I’ll come to you. Sydney, listen to me—”

  “I’m sorry,” said Syd, right before she hung up. It had taken her twenty-five minutes to walk to the Falcon Price. She made it home in ten. The Kingsley finally came into sight, down the block and across the street. Syd slammed to a stop as she noticed the two black vans idling on the corner, one near the entrance, the other at the mouth of the parking garage. They were unmarked, but there was something ominous about the tinted glass, the windowless sides.

  Arms wrapped around her shoulders.

  A hand closed over her mouth.

  Sydney twisted, tried to scream, but a familiar voice sounded in her ear.

  “Don’t fight, it’s me.”

  The arms let go, and Syd turned to see June, or at least a version of her, one with loose brown curls and sharp green eyes. Sydney sagged in relief, but June’s attention twitched, drawn to something over Syd’s shoulder.

  “Come on,” said June, gripping her hand.

  Syd resisted. “I can’t just leave them.”

  “You can’t save them like this. What are you going to do? Storm in there? Think. If you go in there now, you’ll just get yourself caught by EON, and what good will you be to anyone then?”

  June was right, and Syd hated that she was. Hated that her power wasn’t enough to protect them.

  “We need a plan,” said June. “So we’ll think of one. I promise.” She squeezed Sydney’s hand. “Come on.”

  This time, Syd let herself be pulled away.

  * * *

  IT was beginning to rain as Victor followed Stell through the streets of downtown Merit.

  He plucked a black umbrella from a corner stand without paying, and vanished beneath it, one bloom of darkness among dozens. Half a block ahead, the detective stopped beside a black van and a sedan, and convened with a cluster of soldiers in sodden street clothes, their manner and posture nullifying any meaningful disguise.

  Victor lingered nearby, folding himself into the huddle at the bus stop. He watched Stell rake a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, the picture of frustration. Watched him gesture at the soldiers, who got back into their vehicles, while Stell himself set off on foot.

  Victor fell in step behind him.

  Stell walked for ten, fifteen minutes more before swiping into a residential building. Victor caught the front door just as the elevator closed. He watched it ascend one floor, then two, before stopping. Victor took the stairs instead and arrived just as Stell was unlocking the front door, watched the man stiffen as he registered the other man’s presence, realized that he wasn’t alone.

  Stell turned, drawing his service weapon before he saw Victor, and froze.

  Victor smiled. “Hello, Detective.”

  Stell’s hand was steady on the gun. “It’s been a while.”

  “I’m surprised it took you so long.”

  “In my defense,” said Stell, “I assumed you were dead.”

  “You know what they say about assuming,” said Victor dryly. “We EOs are hard to keep down.” He nodded at the weapon. “Speaking of down.”

  Stell shook his head, grip tightening on the gun. “I can’t do that.”

  Victor flexed his hand. “Are you sure?” He splayed his fingers, and shock crossed Stell’s face like lightning as his own hand opened, let the gun fall to the floor.

  “You’re not the only one who’s traded up,” said Victor, moving toward the detective. The air caught audibly in Stell’s throat as he tried to back away, and couldn’t.

  “Pain is specific, but relatively simple,” continued Victor. “Now, animating a body, articulating it—that requires precision, the firing of certain nerves, the pulling of specific strings. Like a marionette.”

  “What do you want?” hissed Stell.

  I want to stop dying, thought Victor.

  But Stell couldn’t help with that.

  “I want you to keep Eli in his goddamn cage.”

  Surprise crossed the detective’s face. “That isn’t your call.”

  “How could you be so stupid?” growled Victor.

  “I do what I have to,” said Stell, “and I certainly don’t answer to—”

  Victor’s hand clenched into a fist, and Stell doubled over in pain. He caught himself against the wall, gave a sharp whistle through gritted teeth, and a second later every other door in the hall swung open, soldiers streaming in, weapons raised.

  “I want him alive,” ordered Stell.

  Careless, Victor chided himself. The cop had baited his own trap, and he had stepped inside.

  “You’ve always preferred being predator to prey,” observed Stell.

  Victor’s teeth clicked together. “Did Eli teach you that?”

  “Give me a little credit,” said Stell. “You guys aren’t the only ones who can spot a pattern.”

  “What happens now?” asked Victor, trying to sense the number of bodies surrounding him. How much power would he have to use to level the ones he couldn’t see?

  “Now,” said Stell, “you come with us. This doesn’t have to get violent,” he continued. “Get on your knees and—”

  Victor didn’t wait for him to finish. He reached out with everything he had. Two bodies hit the floor behind him, another buckling at the edge of his sight.

  Then Stell shot Victor in the chest.

  He staggered, his hand going to his ribs. But there was no blood, only a red dart, buried deep. A vial, already empty. Whatever it held, it was stro
ng—Victor wrenched the dart out, but his limbs were already going numb.

  He cranked the dial up on his own nerves, clung to the pain to regain focus.

  Victor brought two more soldiers to their knees before another shot pierced his side. A third took him in the leg, and he felt himself slip. He tried to brace himself against the wall, but his legs were already folding, his vision flickered, then dimmed. He saw the soldiers swarming in, and then—

  Nothing.

  XII

  THE LAST AFTERNOON

  ACROSS TOWN

  THREE blocks from the Kingsley, June was making instant cocoa while Sydney perched on the edge of the nondescript hotel bed. Outside, it had started to rain. Syd tried Victor’s phone again, but it was off now, just like Mitch’s. She’d even tried Dominic’s number, but there was no answer there, either.

  June had told her everything—EON’s task force, their mission to catch Victor and Sydney, the simple fact that June had to choose quickly, knowing she only had time to reach one. She’d been so worried—and by the time she got to the Kingsley, the EON soldiers were already there.

  Which meant that Mitch—

  June seemed to read Syd’s mind.

  “The big guy can take care of himself,” she said, carrying over two mugs, “and if he can’t, what difference would you have made? No offense, Syd, but your power wouldn’t protect him—it would only get you caught, and Mitch wouldn’t have wanted that.” She paused. “Drink up, you’re shivering.”

  Sydney wrapped her fingers around the hot mug. June sank into a nearby chair. It was so weird, seeing her again. Syd had had the other girl’s voice in her ear for more than three years, the words on her phone, but she’d only seen June’s face once before, and of course, it wasn’t really hers. It wasn’t even the one she was wearing now.

  Sydney took a long, scalding sip, cringing not at the heat but the sugar—June had made it way too sweet.

  “What do you really look like?” she asked, blowing on the steam.

  June winked. “Sorry, kiddo, a girl’s gotta have some secrets.”