Exiled: Kenly's Story (A Talented Novel)

by Sophie Davis

  No one spoke much on the ten minute walk. The rain was falling faster, leaving large puddles on the cracked sidewalks. When I’d hurried out of the hostel, I’d chosen sneakers over rain boots, for comfort since I’d set out for a long walk. It’d obviously been a wise decision, but I was beginning to regret it now. Water had soaked through completely, creating small pools between my feet and the soles of my shoes. Every step was punctuated with a sloshing exclamation point, followed by a long suctioning groan. I half expected someone to make an inane comment, probably Riley, but no one did.

  It was weird to be walking with a group of people again. Not alongside a group, but actually with them. Well over a month had passed—before Talia had become a double agent—since I’d last been among friends. In London a lot people tended to shy away from me. It’s not that they’d shun me, or purposely cross the street to avoid me, or anything so drastic. The evasion was less overt, almost more instinctive, than that. Cashiers never allowed their fingers to brush mine when handing me change. Children averted their eyes when they passed me on the sidewalk. Others would lean away from me when I was near them in a line.

  I’d obviously noticed the weird behavior, but simply dismissed it as some strange quirk of the British. Now, walking with Willa and Honora on either side of me, I began to appreciate just how odd the behavior really was. Because both girls were walking so close to me that our arms brushed with every step. And they didn’t seem at all put off by the nearness.

  Before I could even begin processing what all of this meant, another realization hit me. Dammit. The foursome had me surrounded. The girls were on either side, Riley directly ahead and James directly behind. I tried to remain calm. But where I was from, being encircled meant only bad things.

  Even if they’re trying to lull you into a false sense of security, you have the upper hand. No big deal. You can take them. They’re only Talented. You’re Created, I told myself.

  We were now getting away from the heart of London nightlife, only a block or two from Tug’s pub. It was well past midnight and the sidewalks were nearly empty. Few vehicles traveled the darkened streets. My anxiety ratcheted up a notch. In a practically deserted area, in the middle of the night, I was alone with—and surrounded by, no less—four total strangers. At least three of whom were Talented, and all of whom seemed primed for a fight.

  Really, Kenly? Is there no end to your stupidity tonight?

  “Riley.” James said the other boy’s name sharply, like a warning.

  “I see them,” Riley said quietly. The circle of bodies around me inexplicably tightened. My earlier concern quickly turned to irritation.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded. “I can barely breathe with you guys on top of me like this.”

  “Quiet,” James snapped.

  Furious at being shushed like a child, I whirled around to face James. Well, I tried to, at least. Willa’s hand on my arm stopped me.

  “Look, over there,” she whispered, discreetly motioning with her chin towards a spot several yards ahead on the right.

  Oh.

  Three figures leaned against a boarded up storefront. In the darkness, it was hard to determine age or gender. But the long cylindrical objects they held were unmistakably weapons. Adrenaline began to pump in my veins as my body readied for an attack.

  “Let’s turn back and take Prince Street,” Honora softly suggested.

  “I reckon that’s not necessary. We outnumber them,” Riley said, shaking his head dismissively. “But let’s cross over the road. Monroe satisfied my daily arsehole quota, no need for a run-in with these wankers.” He veered off of the sidewalk and into the street, the rest of us following close on his heels.

  “Do you know them?” I asked the group, shooting furtive glances over my shoulder at the street thugs. I felt them watching us from beneath their dark hooded sweatshirts.

  “We know their sort,” James said evasively.

  “What sort is that?”

  “The dodgy sort, that’s better to avoid,” Willa said and looped her arm through mine to keep me moving forward.

  I inwardly groaned. It had been work the past couple weeks to deduced meaning from the nonsensical British slang. At least dodgy was an easy one; I’d figured it out in my first days here.

  As we approached Tug’s bar, I thought about the language barriers I hadn’t considered before coming here. I’d thought English was English. Silly me. The last thing I wanted to do over here was ask for meanings. Derisive snickering wouldn’t be so bad. It was broadcasting that I hadn’t been there very long that I was worried about. The timeline couldn’t be avoided; I’d been here the same number of weeks that it’d been since the battle in DC. To anyone with an ounce of deductive reasoning, that fact, combined with my Talented status would lead to the obvious conclusion: I was TOXIC; I was Created; I was wanted by UNITED. I shuddered, envisioning the number of people who would line up at UNITED’s doors to provide information regarding my whereabouts in exchange for the outrageous reward the organization was offering for the same.

  The Flying Giraffe was crowded with late-night patrons. The effect of so many damp people in a small space made the air inside soupy and smell like wet dog. Tug was behind the bar pouring drinks, while a man I’d seen once or twice—maybe Willa’s cousin?—waited tables. Since Willa was with us, I had no idea who was cooking the food.

  Riley chose a four-top table in the corner, the same one I’d been sitting at earlier. He took a chair next to the wall and James sat opposite him. Willa snagged the seat next to Riley, while Honora grabbed a chair from a neighboring table and placed it at the end of ours. This left me sitting next to the perpetually pissed off James.

  Awesome. Lucky me.

  Willa set her raincoat on the back of her chair to dry and muttered something about hot drinks. Since the drying racks had been put away to make room for more patrons, I followed her lead. After removing my dripping sweatshirt, I carefully spread it across the seat back. Underneath, I wore a tight black tank top. It was baggy when I’d put it on, but was now soaking wet and clung like a second skin. James stared straight ahead at Riley, pointedly avoiding the sight of my bare, pale arms.

  Alone with the strangers, I performed yet another threat assessment. I’d analyzed the situation at least four times on the walk over, but data kept streaming in. Plus, I was anxious and out of my element, and the mental distraction kept me from freaking out.

  “So, Miss America, I reckon you have the gift of invisibility,” Riley said, grinning like a fool. Somehow, despite the downpour, his spikes were still intact. I wondered whether they were related to his Talent. Maybe he was a Morpher who preferred changing into a porcupine, and was always in a state of partial morph.

  “Miss America?” I asked.

  “Don’t like the nickname? Tell us your real one then,” Riley said.

  “Her name’s Kenly. You know that,” James grunted.

  James was the dark to Riley’s light. Where Riley’s skin was smooth and pale and clearly unacquainted with the sun, James was tanned and weathered like he spent a lot of time outdoors. Riley radiated warmth, and was comfortably engaging. James was cold and uninviting. They were an odd pair. I wondered how Honora and Willa fit into the mix.

  “I like Miss America better,” Honora said. She seemed to be in a constant state of serenity, so it was hard to tell if she was serious.

  Willa returned with a tray of steaming mugs. Her waitressing behaviors were evidently engrained, as she placed one in front of each of us before taking her seat. “Granddad’s bringing out the stew when he gets a chance. What’d I miss?”

  “Miss America was just telling us about her Chrome,” Riley told her, sipping his tea.

  “Kenly,” I said firmly. “My name is Kenly.” I paused, frowning. After seconds of whirring brain activity, I hit a brick wall at the word ‘Chrome.’ A quick search of my memory bank and I was still confused as to the term’s meaning. Sighing, I decided a straight forward approach was be
st, even if it meant exposing my ignorance. “What’s a Chrome?”

  “Talent,” Willa said softly. “You call them Talents. So do most people. But here in the Slums, we say Chrome. Yours is invisibility, is it? Mine’s viewing. Which is–”

  “I know what viewing is,” I said cutting her off. We were getting off topic. As surprising as it was that Willa was Talented, I didn’t much care about her specific gifts at the moment. I wanted to know about Lord Monroe and why this group loathed and feared him. Because they did fear him. None of them would have admitted it, but I’d seen it in their eyes in the alleyway. Even hard-ass James.

  “We call it viewing, too,” I added, noting Willa’s hurt expression. “Is that how you found me tonight?”

  Willa sipped her tea and nodded. I wrapped my hands around my own mug for warmth, but didn’t drink.

  “How long have you been following me?” I asked, positive that I wouldn’t like the answer.

  A flush crept up Willa’s cheeks, just barely noticeable beneath her dark skin.

  “Oh, well, you know, since that first night you stopped in,” she admitted.

  “Seriously?” I exclaimed loudly. At the next table over, an older man turned his head in our direction and cocked an inquisitive brow. I shot him a mind-your-own-business glare.

  “Why?” I demanded. Though careful to keep my volume low this time, there was still venom in that word. I was infuriated. So much for keeping under the radar.

  “Granddad was worried about you. Chromes—sorry, I mean Talents—on their own in these parts don’t last long. And you being…” Willa paused as if searching for the right word, “…foreign. Well, you can’t possibly fathom the danger you’re in.”

  I laughed bitterly. I didn’t understand the danger I was in? Seriously? I was well aware just how precarious my hold on freedom was. That danger was why I spent ninety-nine percent of my day looking over my shoulder. It was why I slept with one eye open. It was the reason I’d come to London in the first place.

  “I may be young, but I’m not naïve,” I said calmly.

  “You saying that only proves how naïve you really are,” James grunted.

  I stared at him slack jawed.

  “Life’s different over here, Kenly. Our government doesn’t protect us the way yours…did. We aren’t treated like heroes. We’re second-class citizens,” James continued.

  The way yours did. His use of the past tense wasn’t lost on me. The reminder that TOXIC was gone, that I was truly alone in the world, stung. One look at James’s hard platinum gaze, and I understood. That had been his intention.

  What a jackass, I thought.

  Several seconds of tense silence followed. Honora was staring into her mug, watching as the steaming liquid swirled around and around like a tiny whirlpool. Riley and Willa seemed to be having a private conversation with their eyes, which I found particularly annoying. And James stared off into space as if a million miles away. Right then, I longed to be a million miles away, too.

  Finally, Riley announced, “I’m an Electrician,” even though no one had asked. “And a shifter.”

  That caught me off guard and I temporarily forgot my frustration with James. “You’re a dual Talent? Err, Chrome?” I asked, surprised. “That’s rare.”

  “Not on our island,” he replied. “Lots of us double threats walking around the Slums.”

  Now I was curious about their Talents. At school I’d been something of an oddity for having two gifts. Only one or two other dual Talents were in my year. Both of them, like me, had been considerably stronger in one area, with the other just barely usable.

  “And Honora, you’re a telekinetic?” I asked.

  “Guilty.” She smiled. “How’d you know?”

  “You were stirring your tea earlier without any hands. Same as you’re doing now. Are you dual as well?”

  “Nah. Just Telekinesis. I’m a bit boring, I suppose.” Honora shrugged self-consciously.

  “You’re right perceptive, it would take a keen eye to notice something so small,” Riley said to me, admiringly.

  Both Willa and Honora also looked impressed by my powers of observation. James was the only one who wasn’t. He appeared bored, as if this conversation was beneath him. He confirmed as much after looking at the rest of them with disgust.

  “Enough of this bollocks. Kenly, tell us what you were doing with Jaylen Monroe,” he snapped. The words came out clipped, and angry. Surprised, I found myself leaning away from him.

  Riley shot James a warning glance.

  “I wasn’t doing anything with him,” I said, defensive. I straightened my spine, refusing to let James intimidate me. “I ran into him and I guess some of his friends—”

  “His mates? Which ones?” Riley demanded.

  “I don’t know. Some girls,” I answered. “His sister and her friends, maybe?”

  “Gah, Libby,” Honora and Willa groaned in unison.

  “Yeah, that’s her name. Libby,” I agreed, recalling that Monroe had called her that. “Anyway, I ran into them. Well, not so much them. I bumped into her. Libby was a royal bitch, and I took off so I wouldn’t hit her. Monroe followed me. I noticed the tail and tried to lose him, but couldn’t. He’s really fast. I ducked into that alley, hoping he wouldn’t see me. Of course, he did. And that’s when you guys showed up.” I paused and took a deep breath. “Wait. Shouldn’t you know this already, Willa? Weren’t you viewing me?”

  All eyes turned on Willa.

  “My Chrome doesn’t work quite like that. I can track people, but I can’t always see them. Just sort of feel them, you know? I felt your heartbeat pickup when you became scared. That’s when we came looking for you.”

  Interesting. So viewing wasn’t exactly the same on this side of the pond. And yet, I’d snapped at her and told her I knew what it was. Great.

  “What did Libby do when Jaylen pursued you?” Riley asked.

  I shrugged. “No clue.”

  A look passed between Riley and James.

  “What?” I demanded. It was annoying that I was answering all of their questions, but had yet to get any information out of them. My patience was wearing thin.

  “The twins, Libby and Jaylen Monroe, they usually work cooperatively, is all,” Willa said uneasily.

  “Work? Are they like con artists or something? Thieves?” I asked.

  James’s laugh was brittle. “You could right well call them that.” He paused, lips twisting into an ugly sneer. “We call them Poachers.”

  The temperature in our small corner seemed to drop with that one word. Willa paled, her mocha skin going ashen. Riley’s irises ignited and tiny sparks of electricity crackled on his skin. Honora shuddered and hugged herself. James’s expression was blank, unreadable, but his hands were clenched in tight fists at his sides.

  I was almost afraid to ask after the reaction from the group, but I did anyway. “What’s a Poacher?”

  Riley blew out a long breath, giving him time to choose his next words carefully.

  “Poaching has been around since I can recall. Longer, I reckon. Like James said, over here we don’t have laws protecting our kind, unalike you Yanks do. Well, um…did, I suppose,” he quickly corrected.

  I didn’t comment on that, having no clue if any laws were still in place back home. Without TOXIC, who knew what would happen to the Talented in America.

  “Anyway, Poachers hunt Chromes—Talents if you fancy instead—and sell them to anyone willing to pay their absurd quotes. There is quite a large black economy for our sort.”

  “Wait, hang on. What the hell did you just say? Sell them? Like livestock?” I asked, praying my ears were deceiving me. There was no way this was happening in London. “Who buys them? What kind of messed up person buys someone?”

  Beside me, James was flexing and unflexing his fingers, as if needing to keep them busy so he wouldn’t hit someone. I could relate. We were clearly entering turbulent waters, and I was unprepared for what dangers lay beneath the sur
face.

  “Mostly chaps from the corporate world, looking for an advantage. They use mind readers during negotiations, and viewers to keep eyes on the competition. It’s gotten to the point that some of these blokes won’t make nary a decision without a seer’s guidance. Rich prigs who want right tough bodyguards will buy shifters, for protection,” Willa explained. Silence followed, while I tried to comprehend how this was possible, and the others stewed over a reality they’d always known.

  “And then you have the collectors,” Honora added softly.

  “Collectors?” I repeated weakly. My disgust was quickly giving way to nausea, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.

  “You know, the ones who can afford to wipe their arse with Globes. When you have more money than you know what to do with, I suppose it’s time to start collecting rare things. Nothing in the world as scarce as an extremely powerful Chrome,” Riley said.

  “I see,” I said. But I really didn’t. “How can they just snatch people off the streets without the police intervening?”

  This was unfathomable, and I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around it. Back home no one would even consider trying to enslave a Talent. Even if they did, how would they control them? The Talented were too strong. We were superior to the average human in so many different ways, it would be impossible.

  “Poaching is illegal. But the Poachers are some of the wealthiest, most powerful gents in all of Britain. Most of the authorities are on the take, whether through bribes, or funding campaigns. Even if someone’s caught nicking a Chrome, the penalties aren’t as harsh as they should be. Usually just some fines, sometimes an occasional stint in the pokey for repeated offenders. None of it’s much of a deterrent, when blokes are making anywhere from a couple thousand to a couple million Globes per Chrome,” Honora said, shaking her head.