by Skye Genaro
The doorknob jiggled and something metal rasped against the lock. They were picking their way inside. Tito was in full protection mode, his lips drawn back in a rabid snarl.
Carina stood outside my room. "We have to go now. We can't let them see us use the portal!"
"Hold them off! Shoot electric bolts at them or something." I hit the second floor landing.
"I don't have that ability!"
The deadbolt clicked. The door swung open. I slid to a stop.
Jaxon, Roth, and Ivan sauntered into my house as casually as if they owned it. Tito sunk his teeth into Roth's calf.
"Ow! You stinking little rat." Roth gave him a violent shake but the dog charged again and crunched into his ankle. Roth grunted as though the Chihuahua's teeth had chomped bone. Then he kicked out, connecting with Tito's midsection and sent the dog flying. Tito yelped. His soft body landed on the cold tile floor and lay motionless.
"Tito!"
Jaxon stalked toward me. I crept backward up the stairs, splitting my glances between him and the dog, measuring the possibility that I might be able to save Tito and make a run for it.
I stole a glance over my shoulder, and when I didn't see Carina, reality hit hard. She'd had to leave without me.
Jaxon's stride was cautious, but his shoulders were square, and his expression eerily confident. "We're not going to harm you. You're too important to us," he said in an airbrushed voice.
I raised my palm, aimed it at him, and tried to concentrate my life force into a full-on electric blast. My heart thrashed and a numbing fear took over, draining away my ability, just as surely as someone pulling the plug on a tub of water. The bolt sputtered and fizzled at his feet.
His arms shot to shield his face. "You do not want to do that." There was no warning in his tone, just conciliation. "I have a message for you." Slowly, he reached into his back pocket and held his phone for me to see. He tossed it onto the stairs.
"Go ahead, we'll wait," he said.
I picked up the phone. A black blur filled the screen. It shifted. A man's face came into view, angular and hardened. I did not recognize him.
"Are we live?" he asked.
"We are," Jaxon said, loud enough for the man to hear.
The man adjusted his camera so that I could see the form next to him. A person sat in a chair, his broad shoulders hunched forward. A crop of midnight hair reflected the dim overhead light.
"Sit up," the man said. "Look into the camera."
The human form let out a low moan, like an injured animal being prodded out of a deep sleep.
"Say it," he commanded to the figure. "Call her name." The man seized a handful of hair and dragged the person's head upright.
Green eyes stared back at me. My heart dropped out of my chest.
Chapter 28
"Connor?" I whispered to the figure on the screen.
Connor's cheek was bruised yellow-green and a gash cut across his swollen lip. His eyes were fierce.
Jaxon chuckled. "Talk about blind love. All I had to do was go back to West Region, tell him one of the factions had you, and give him the portal's security code. He came running, as always." He raised his voice to address the phone. "Didn't quite turn out the way you expected, did it, McCabe? Well, here she is, your pretty little trophy girlfriend. Can't do much for her now, can you?"
I gaped at Jaxon, speechless.
His lips twisted into a smile. "It seems there's no limit to what he will do to save you. I'm betting that goes both ways."
"Don't listen to him, Echo." Connor's voice was sandpapery.
"Tell her to cooperate with Jaxon," the man on the screen demanded.
Connor looked into my eyes. "Run," he said.
The man brought his fist down on Connor's temple.
"Connor!"
"Butterfly," my soulmate whispered.
"Stop it! Stop hurting him! I'll go with you."
"Yes, you will." Jaxon held the door open, his arm sweeping wide in a ladies-first gesture. The smirk on his face made my anger boil, and I was struck by the unfairness of my ability. My fear was gone, now, and intense heat flared in my hands, volatile enough to blast all three of them. But if I attacked them, Connor would suffer the consequences.
"You will pay for this," I seethed and walked outside.
"People threaten the Mutila all the time, and you know how it works out for them? It doesn't."
I flopped onto the backmost seat in the SUV. A minute later, Roth emerged from the house with my phone and my suitcase.
"She was already packed," he said.
"Wasn't that handy," Jaxon replied. "Trying to run out on us?"
"No."
"Where were you going?"
I kept my eyes on the floor. He held up his phone as a reminder that Connor's life depended on my cooperation.
"Seattle," I replied.
"Saves us the effort of explaining your absence." Roth tossed my suitcase in the trunk.
The guys climbed into the SUV, taking up the two front rows.
"Seatbelt," Jaxon said.
I jammed the shoulder buckle in place, sick with the notion they felt safe enough to turn their backs to me. I allowed myself one brief moment to wonder how, how, how they had managed to get a hold of Connor. He was stronger than me, had an arsenal of abilities that I could only dream of. Maybe Jaxon was right about love being blind. Or maybe Connor had come out of a sense of duty to save the careless girl who could not seem to keep herself out of trouble.
A sob clogged the back of my throat. I clenched my teeth, refusing to let one tear drop. I would not give them the satisfaction.
The side windows were heavily tinted and the low sun had disappeared behind late afternoon clouds. The darkness made it impossible to see where we were going. I made out shapes that flowed together, flat-topped buildings, residential peaked roofs, and tree cover getting denser and denser.
Light rain pattered against the SUV's roof. The wipers whooshed hypnotically. Ivan turned on the radio and the speakers vibrated with upbeat alternative rock. Roth bobbed his head to the beat of the drums. Every few minutes, Jaxon turned to me, his mouth curled into that abhorrent smirk.
After about twenty minutes, we parked.
"Where are we?" I asked.
Without answering, Ivan opened the rear passenger door and handed me a coat. I put it on and stepped onto a wet gravel surface. Roth opened a wide umbrella to shield me from the rain. Even in the dark, I recognized the Witch's Castle parking lot.
"What are we doing here?" I asked.
"This is your test," Ivan said. "One you definitely want to pass."
"Or else." Roth sliced his hand across his throat and made a gurgling sound. My knees weakened.
"She'll pass. She doesn't have a choice," Jaxon said with certainty. His foot skidded out from under him and he landed in the mud. He cursed. "This is ridiculous. Why doesn't he let us do this inside?"
"You know how he is. Nutty for ritual," Ivan answered.
I was wondering who he was when Jaxon linked our arms, like a boyfriend taking his girlfriend on an evening stroll. I whipped my arm away.
"Don't touch me," I growled.
Hands up in fake submission, he started down the muddy path leading into the woods.
The trail was terrifying in the dark. Trees hunched on the edge of the ravine like predators waiting to pounce. Their limbs twisted overhead, brittle and grotesque.
Roth kept the umbrella canopied over me; Ivan guided us with a flashlight and held wet branches to the side to keep them from snapping me in the face. When I slipped, Jaxon clutched my elbow. It frightened me that they treated me like a valuable, delicate package. Who was the recipient?
"Are we hiking to Witch's Castle?" I asked.
"You've been there?" Roth said gaily. "Cool place, huh? Fun little tourist spot steeped in legend."
"Legend. Good one, man," Ivan said as he guided me around a partially buried rock.
"We might witness a legend in the making tonight," Jaxon a
dded, unable to hide his anticipation.
I felt Witch's Castle before it came into view. Grieving auras cloaked us, though I seemed to be the only one who felt them. I gritted my teeth against the ghoulish remains of human suffering and did my best to tune out the wailing that drenched my aura.
We emerged from the pitch dark into a dome of light. Witch's Castle was lit up like a movie set. Rows of camping lanterns lined the mossy stone walls and dotted the rocky steps.
Jaxon led me up the moss-covered stairs and through the arched door to the open cement floor. Rain dripped onto the cracked cement, forming a broad puddle in the center. A faint outline of a white circle was painted on the floor, partially washed away by time and weather.
Silhouettes of boys and girls my age moved in and out of the shadows. A man came up the steps on the far side and met me in the center. Blue eyes. Skinny lean.
Jaxon cleared his throat. "Echo, I'd like you to meet my foster brother, Keenan Feller. The leader of the Mutila."
My chest cramped. I could not breath.
"Echo, it is an absolute pleasure to meet you." His eyes were piercing and he stared at me with such intensity, I worried that he was reading my mind. And while there was nothing frightening about his rail-thin physique, his low voice and measured cadence made it clear he was in charge. "You, my friend, must be quite a commodity. I heard there was an incident at a mall involving you and an unfortunate attacker. If you want to tell us who tried to harm you, I will personally see to it that he never bothers you again."
Confusion crossed my face. He was talking about Solomon, the man from the future district of East Region. I resisted the urge to look at Jaxon while my mind struggled to put the pieces together. Keenan didn't know where his foster brother had been for the past nine years. He didn't know West Region or East Region or the portal existed. He assumed, then, that Solomon had been from our time.
"I…I didn't know the man," I answered.
"He's already dead," Jaxon lied. "I think it was a competing faction, one from out of the area."
I threw tentative glances into the dark forest. "Where's Connor?"
Keenan's attention drew inward and two lines formed between his brows, like he was solving complex math in his head. "You do have an affinity for that boy. Bringing him in was a remarkably strategic move," he commended Jaxon.
His foster brother beamed. "She'll do anything you tell her to."
"We'll see. Echo, do you know why you're here?"
I shook my head.
"This is a test, the first of many I will ask you to take. I hear your skills are extraordinary. I look forward to seeing this for myself."
"They are," Jaxon cut in. "Her precision is spot on. She can read auras…"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I blurted, but a jerk of Keenan's eyebrow told me he could easily sort out the truth from lies. I treaded carefully. I had two lives in my hands now.
"I-I can move objects with my mind, but it's completely out of my control."
"Telekinesis," Keenan smiled. "Interesting. What else?"
I involuntarily shot a glance at Jaxon, absurdly hoping he would keep my secrets. He was already pulling his shirt over his head. The mark on his chest where I'd blasted him was charred and raw, a third degree burn.
"This is her handiwork," Jaxon said.
Keenan's grin broadened. "You did this?"
The apprehension on my face gave me away.
"How?" His voice got low and breathy.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Jaxon shivered—probably from the memory of what I had done to him as much as the cold—and quickly got dressed. "Make her show you."
Keenan put his large, bony hands on my shoulders. "All we need is for you to show us what you've got, okay? Can you do that for us?"
I nodded and wiped the tear that threatened to roll down my cheek. "Just let me see Connor. Please."
"You will, sweetheart." Keenan signaled to someone lingering in the shadows. Leaves rustled at the edge of the woods. Moments later, two young men clomped up the steps, their arms latched beneath those of a third person. I strained to see who they half-carried, half-dragged up the stairs and saw a crop of dark hair.
Any remaining color seeped from my face. "Oh God." I ran toward him. His head lolled back.
It was Mr. Crane. His face was cut and bruised. He slumped to the side when the handlers propped him against the crumbling wall.
"Don," Keenan said to Mr. Crane. "I'll ask you one last time. Where is the list of gifteds you've been hiding from us?"
"You know what I want for it," Mr. Crane answered.
Keenan paced. "Ungifteds can be so unreasonable. He actually thinks I will pay him for information that is rightfully mine. He should know after all these years that this is not how this works. Echo, I want you to do to this man what you did to Jaxon," Keenan said.
My eyes widened. "That was an accident. I can't do it again."
"How did she cause that burn mark?" he asked Jaxon.
"She shot some sort of electric bolt out of her hand," he replied. "From the way she controlled it, I'd say she's done it plenty."
Keenan blinked. "Out. Of. Her hand." His brain attempted to coil around this astounding possibility. His thin lips twitched. "Echo, I want you to do the same thing to the center of this man's chest," he said to me.
"That'll kill him," Jaxon cut in, and he withered under Keenan's scowl.
"Crane is worthless as a recruiter. He has a list of gifted teenagers that he refuses to hand over. He has no paranormal talent of his own. He's useless to us. Do it, Echo."
"Jaxon's crazy," I stuttered. "I can't shoot electricity or whatever he said."
"I swear, Keenan, she's the one. If she won't show you, make Connor tell you. He knows what she can do."
"No!" My shoulders shook. "I'll try. I need a second."
The handlers gave Mr. Crane a wide berth. He watched me with disdain, probably silently cursing me for the circumstances that brought him to the cold slab in the forest. He had, after all, planned to take the credit for turning me in.
My arm shook. I steadied it. The one thing keeping my fear at bay, and my ability flowing, was knowing if I followed orders, I was one step closer to seeing Connor.
I could do this. I had to do this.
I inhaled a quaky breath and aimed to the left of Mr. Crane. A high-voltage buzz charged through my body. Heat stung my palm. A flash of blue light missed his head by a few inches, blasting into the ancient gray stone.
Rock shards scattered. The handlers ducked. Jaxon covered his face. Keenan's jaw dropped and stayed there.
"She's got better aim than that." Jaxon said. "Make her do it again."
Keenan shook his head, his muscles slack, unable to speak. He gawked at me with what I could only describe as greed.
"That'll do," he finally whispered. "Take her back to the car."
"What about him?" One of the handlers motioned to Mr. Crane. His face glistened from the close call. His mouth moved but no words came out.
"Get rid of him." Keenan jerked his head toward the forest. I knew I'd never see Mr. Crane again.
Chapter 29
Jaxon dragged me back up the trail and stuffed me into the SUV. The engine started. I drew my legs to my chest and put my forehead onto my knees. I didn't look up until I was instructed to, a half hour later.
"Wake up." Jaxon prodded me. Like I could have fallen asleep during my own kidnapping.
I lifted my head. "Where are we?"
"Put this over your head." He threw a black cloth bag at me.
I threw the bag back. "Why? You've got me, so what's the point?"
He whipped around. "Keenan might think you're the greatest thing to come around in a while but you're no better than the rest of us, you understand? You do what I tell you. Now put it on."
I slipped the bag over my head. The inside smelled of mold and cat pee. The thick fabric blocked out any clue as to my surroundings. I shook like a leaf. Wh
erever they were taking me, Connor was there, too. I had to keep a cool head, figure out where we were. Find a way to get us out.
A hand latched onto my elbow and guided me out of the SUV. I canvassed my surroundings by listening. Our footsteps landed on smooth concrete. Car doors opened and closed, sending hollow echoes against walls in a closed-in space. I guessed we were in a parking garage.
A bell rang, the doors of an elevator swished open and then swished closed behind us. The floor pressed against my feet as we rose. My stomach pitched each time we stopped. The door opened on various floors. Bodies shuffled on and off. I thought for sure one of them would ask about the shivering girl with a bag over her head. Nobody said a word.
A new sense of defeat found me. Were blindfolded girls so common that nobody thought anything of it? Or was everyone afraid to offer help?
The elevator stopped one last time and Jaxon—at least I think it was him—led me down a corridor and into a room. Bright overhead light broke through the fabric. The smell of antiseptic burned my nose. My ears pricked at the sound of metal objects skimming against a metal tray, and I sensed that I was in some sort of doctor's office.
My pulse raced erratically. "What's going on?" I reached to pull off the bag but someone intercepted my hand.
"Sit," Jaxon said. He angled me into a hard chair. "We'll take the bag off in a minute."
"This is number 293?" asked a voice I hadn't heard yet that night.
"That's her," my captor replied.
"Wow."
"Enough staring. When can we pick her up?"
"Give me an hour."
"What's happening? What are you going to do?" Rough hands held my wrists against the arms of the chair. Someone rolled up the sleeve of my blouse.
"Hold her still," the new voice said.
I felt a prick on my shoulder. The cloth bag slid off my head. Before my eyes adjusted to the light, my lids closed and I slipped into darkness.
*******
I stirred, semi-conscious, under a heavy blanket. I was weighed down with the need to sleep and if my cement-laden limbs were any measure, I needed about twelve more hours of it.
I nestled the blanket to my chin, willing myself to drift back into a dreamless void. It was no use. An itchy spot on the back of my wrist nagged for my attention, and my head throbbed with such intensity, it jarred my eyelids. With each pulse, images crowbarred their way into my gray-blank mind: Jaxon unbuttoning my blouse. Connor telling me to run. The Witch's Castle.
