by Jess Evander
I’m about to say something, but my voice sticks because two gigantic men in teal uniforms burst through the health center’s main doors. They march toward me. Both look bulldog-mad. My gaze scours the room, trying to find a route of escape. Who are they? What could they possibly want? I glare at Lark. Has she been stalling me this whole time? Note to self, stop trusting people.
The uniformed man with the better tan nods at me. “Gabriella Creed.”
I could pretend not to speak the language, but Lark-the-super-rat would most likely blow my cover.
“That’s me.” I shuffle to get away. My back slams into the high counter, sending medical equipment crashing to the ground. Green liquid pools from a shattered glass bowl, and a metal instrument rattles against the tile. Everyone in the room stills, turns. One of the Teal Team grabs my arm, his fingers digging clear to my bones. I wince and attempt to wiggle free.
“Hey!” Michael jostles away from his nurses and crosses the room. “Let go of her!”
“Not your fight, Pace. Back down.” Number two of the Teal Team pushes Michael away.
I thrash against my captor. “Leave Michael alone! He’s hurt.”
Michael pries the man’s hand from the neck of his shirt. His face is red. He takes two deep breaths. “Since I’m her trainer, this is my fight.”
“Not when it deals with the Creed bloodline, it isn’t.”
Thug Number One holds my wrists tighter than any handcuffs could. Fighting a whimper, I move to land a heel into his foot like I did to Michael when I first met him, but my captor simply laughs.
“Nice try, little girl.” He blocks my foot with his leg and crushes me to the ground before I can make a noise. Air spills from my lungs in a loud whoosh. My chin glances off the tile. He slams a mammoth hand down on my upper back, hard. Chiropractics might be in his future.
Michael inches closer, his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Seriously. Jason, Ben, no reason for force. She’s scared. She doesn’t know what’s going on.”
His voice takes on a pleading tone. A look comes into his warm chocolate eyes, like he’s talking to a spooked horse, calming. “Hey, Gabby, you’re not going to struggle anymore, right?” He takes a few more cautious steps forward, passing the second thug. “Go ahead and let her up. You guys can hold me responsible if she does something.” Michael crouches beside me, his hand extended. “Take my hand. I promise I’ll stay beside you. No matter what, okay? You’re safe.”
My teal captor allows me to sit up. I scrub my hand over my face, rubbing where the tile floor made my cheek cold. “Where are they taking me?” I look to Michael. He turns with his eyebrows raised to the tanner thug.
“The Elders,” says the man who I think is named Ben.
Michael smiles at me, offering his hand again. “I was going to take you to The Elders anyway. We might as well go with them. Don’t need them grumpier than they already are, right, honey?”
“Don’t call me that.” Teasing me in my moment of need!
“You didn’t seem to mind before.” Mirth is written in the quirk of his lips.
I scowl at him. His barbing doesn’t warrant an answer. Still, I slip my hand into his, and he helps me gain my feet. Something scuffs on the floor behind me, and I lurch toward Michael for safety, my free hand fisting into his shirt.
“It’s just Lark,” he whispers.
One of the men in teal levels a menacing stare in her direction. “Don’t know if you should come. What will your father say?”
Lark juts out her chin. “Why don’t we go and see.”
“Suit yourself,” the teal men mutter in unison.
With a uniformed man on either side, we’re ushered out of the health center and into the hallway. A hush still covers the room, every eye on us.
Michael tugs my hand. “Don’t worry.”
My tone is low. “I’m getting the feeling this isn’t normal.”
He shakes his head, his eyes close for a brief moment, and he smiles. “Nothing about you is normal. Trust me.”
I gulp. I’m not sure if it’s the possible terror of whatever The Elders will do to me, or if it’s the shocking heat surging through my body—starting exactly where Michael grasps my hand. Grow up. I should be more concerned about my possible future demise. But the fact that this guy willingly walks beside me into a situation that could get him into trouble, fills my senses.
His voice shatters my scattered thoughts. “Did you hear me?”
Busted.
“Um, sorry ... thinking about death.”
He squeezes my hand. “It’ll all be okay, you’ll see.”
“Of course it will be.” Lark elbows in. “You’re with me. It’s not like my dad’s going to do something to you in front of me.”
I arch my brow. Based on the force of the Teal Team, I’m guessing The Elders have a lot of power around here. “Can’t he just order you out of the room?”
“Well, yes, but—” Lark plows right into one of the uniformed men’s backs. “Oh, we’re here.”
I wish I’d memorized the turns we took to get here. Something tells me I’m not being hauled to The Elders for tea and cookies. How can I have any hope of escape if I don’t know where I’m going? I dig my nails into the back of Michael’s hand, willing him not to leave me.
A man in a long dark robe, like the ones worn at graduations, stands near an ornate wooden door. He wears a strange expression, regretful, like he just skinned a puppy. With a sigh, he unlocks the large, intricately carved door and pushes it open for us.
If I thought the entrance of Keleusma passed for a four-star resort, this chamber must be where the millionaires vacation. The crimson chairs in the room are opulent to the point of being ridiculous. The armrests seem to be fashioned from gold. We inch across carpeting that might as well be made of grass. I hear trickling, the sound of a steady river. Three giant rainbow-feathered birds soar in a circle near the glass ceiling. Outside, the dying sun bleeds into the coming night.
“Bring her forward,” a distant voice booms. That’s when I notice the long desk on the far side of the room. Four people sit behind the polished surface, each resting their chin in their hands, measuring me as I walk forward. My knees are shaking, but I don’t want them to notice. If my father taught me one thing, it’s not to let anyone push me around. Ever. With that though, I release Michael’s hand and square my shoulders.
Michael glances at me, questioning, but I look away. How long have I taken care of myself? I don’t need him. What I need to do is stop depending on him. On anyone. That only brings trouble, disappointment. Dad depended on Mom once, didn’t he? Look where that got him.
It doesn’t matter, anyway. The over-muscled members of the Teal Team marshal Lark and Michael off to the side, while I’m left front and center.
Two women with dark corkscrew-curly hair sit side by side. Their facial structure matches perfectly, their dark eyebrows and pale skin, identical. Twins? Beside them is a stern-looking man with pale hair and piercing blue eyes. The final person is a rumpled, older woman. Her gray hair is a fuzzy crown. She’s the only one smiling. I imagine her to be the kind of lady with hordes of feral cats roaming her home.
The blond man, who I assume is Lark’s father, clears his throat. “What brings you to us, Gabriella?”
“Your muscle squad, sir.” I jut my thumb toward them.
His pale lips form a grim line. “I meant, your pull, my dear. We knew it was your birthday. We prepared Keleusma for your arrival as we have the last three years, but you didn’t show. Picture our surprise when we discovered you shifted to another time. Now, what I need you to tell me is, how did you do it?”
I take a step closer. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”
“I don’t believe her,” hisses one of the twins.
Lark’s father holds up a hand to silence her. “It would behoove you to be honest, Gabriella. Tell me, child, are you, or are you not, working for your mother?”
Air suctions from
my lungs. My hands fumble together. “My mother is dead.”
“Lies,” mutters the other twin. They remind me of snakes.
I ball up my hands at my side. “She is dead.”
The man smirks as he jots something onto the tablet in front of him. “Of course, dear. Now, tell me, have you heard from Erik at all? It’s okay to be honest. No harm will come to you.”
Erik? I try to go through all the information I’ve learned in the past day, but don’t remember hearing the name. “I don’t even know who that is.”
Lark’s father pins me with an icy stare. “I see. And what about Nicholas? Have you talked to him?”
“No. I never even heard of Nicholas until a few minutes ago.”
“So.” Lark’s father taps his pen against the table. “When you risked the lives of two Shifters to save that little girl from the bombing on Wall Street, you did that without direction?”
Only under the direction of what is right. I narrow my eyes at him. “I guess so. Yes.”
He curses, banging his fist on the table. The four glasses of water rattle. “You foolish child!”
“Father.” Lark’s voice breaks in. “She didn’t realize. How can we expect her to know what no one ever told her? It’s not fair to hold her to the same standard as someone who grew up knowing all our rules.”
Her father glowers at her, and his cheeks burn red. “Why are you here? Remove my daughter.” He beckons the Teal Team. They grasp Lark by both arms and show her out of the room. I glance at Michael, steady Michael. He smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.
My nails dig into my palms. I know my knuckles are growing white. “The little girl would have died if I didn’t do something.”
Lark’s father waves his hand, dismissing my words. “That’s of no consequence. If she wasn’t in the plan, then she’s not worth risking a life to save. Understood?”
I stalk toward the table. All four Elders sit up straighter. “No, actually, I don’t understand. Who are you to make that call? How can you say one life is worth more than another?”
“You have to follow what we say. The rules were made for the good of all Shifters. If you aren’t led to save someone, you don’t. It’s that easy.” He grinds his teeth, growling more than speaking.
I rest my hands on the edge of their table, lean forward. “Well, I disagree.”
Both of the twins shudder.
“She’s dangerous.”
“She’ll ruin us all.”
Lark’s father points at Michael. “Come here, son. Let’s have her see what her emotional whims allowed to happen.”
He’s whispering something to the twins while Michael makes his way to my side. The twins spring to their feet and bound around the desk. They turn Michael around, and wrench his shirt up so I can see his skin. An ugly scar the shape of Pangea mars half of his back. The sight of it makes my stomach flip. Why didn’t they heal him completely? Without thinking, I reach to touch the scar, but I stop myself before contact. I let my hand fall to my side. “It’s still there.”
“Still there.” Michael meets my eyes over his shoulder.
“Does it…?” I look down at my shoes. “Does it hurt?”
Michael gently tugs his shirt free of the twins and flattens the fabric over his back again. He turns away from them and steps closer to me. “It’s a scar. I’ll always have it. But it doesn’t hurt.”
“Oh, Michael. I’m so sorry, when we were at the health center, I thought—”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” He lowers his voice. “It was worth it.”
The cat lady sighs. “I like her.”
But Lark’s father speaks over her. “You didn’t get him back to Keleusma quickly enough. He’s damaged forever because of your rash actions.” He stands. “I hope this helps you understand our decision.”
Michael angles his body in front of mine. “What decision?”
The Elder grins for the first time, light flickering off his wolf-like fangs. “Ben, Jason—seize her.”
Florescent light ekes through the slats at the top of the cell. What I hope is water drips from a leak in the ceiling. The beat of it landing on the ground drives me batty. Uneven wood nips the palms of my hands. I pound on the door anyway.
“You can’t keep me here! This isn’t fair! Let me out!” I yell until my throat goes hoarse. No one answers. No one’s going to. Big waste of energy. I prowl the tiny room, trailing my fingers against the icy walls, hoping to find a crack, a blemish, somewhere to tunnel. It could happen. Edmond Dantes used a spoon to dig his way out in The Count of Monte Cristo. Sure, it took him fourteen years, he had a crazy old man helping him, and he was burrowing to get back into a world full of people who betrayed him.
Minus the old man, my situation is not that much different, really.
At least Edmond’s father didn’t lie to him about his mother’s death.
Time has become useless in this dark hole. Ten minutes may have passed, or two days. I don’t know. Anxiety chased hunger out the door a long time ago.
As if they’re a group of toddlers that can’t be trusted, I yank my thoughts close. They can’t wander. If they don’t wander, I won’t be able to contemplate what The Elders plan to do to me. Why they hate me.
I crumple against the wall and slide until I’m on the ground, knees tucked close to my chest. I shiver as the cement leeches all my heat away. Okay, maybe there’s a fear factor there too. With my cheek resting on my leg, I zone out with my gaze on the wall. What did I ever do to deserve this? Where is their leader—this Nicholas—who supposedly moves the Shifters through time like puppets? Is he angry with me too? Or is he just a made-up pawn? Powerless. Fake.
No different than me.
“Where are you, huh?” I pop to my feet. “Oh, great, mighty ruler.” Sarcasm drips from my lips. “You like this, don’t you? Making me become a crazy woman. Talking to myself. Thinking you can hear. Thinking you’re real. Well, you’re not.” I prowl the small area like a lion in a zoo enclosure. “If you were, I sure wouldn’t be locked here. And men like Lark’s dad wouldn’t have power. And people like Michael wouldn’t get hurt. But you can’t do anything. You’re a crutch, a phantom. Someone to blame problems on.”
I fall silent when metal scratches against metal. Someone’s unlocking the door. I bite my lip. Pounce on them? Or cower in the corner? I choose the middle-of-the-road approach, standing in the center of the room, a deep breath locked inside my lungs. Self-defense lessons flood into my mind. Not that I know where to run if I get out of here.
A young, spindly man with circle, wire-rimmed glasses ambles into my cell, food tray in hand. Spices and the smell of cooked meat accompany him, filling the small area. The door closes, and clicks. Locked.
“Who were you talking to?” He grins at me. Maybe he’s twenty-five, thirty?
My arms fold over my chest. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Eugene.” He tries to hand me the tray. Warmth curls from a bowl of chili. My mouth salivates. Everything in me screams to devour the food, but what if Lark’s father sent him? What if it’s poisoned and makes me die, foaming at the mouth? Chili wouldn’t rank first on my list of choices for a last meal.
I shove the tray back at him. “Well, Eugene, you can tell them to stuff it until they let me out of here.”
“A hunger strike won’t help you accomplish much besides a grumbling stomach. Maybe a headache if you hold out long enough, but that’s about it. It sure won’t get you out of here.” He shrugs. “If it means anything, I promise I’m one of the good guys. At least, I mean, I’m on your side.”
“My side? And tell me, what battle are we supposedly fighting?”
His eyebrows dart up his forehead. “Good and evil. The fate of mankind.”
Great, just great. What exactly does this man think I’m going to do for a bowl of chili?
I rock back on my heels. “Riiight, so nothing all that important.”
He shakes his head. “What matters is, I think
you’re part of the right team, whether you understand that yet or not.” He smiles, and it’s so soft and kind and reminds me of my dad when he’s apologizing. Something large knots in my throat and I try to swallow it down.
How can he say such things about me? As if he knows my deepest desire to be special … to matter. But it’s nice to be believed in, even if the hope is false.
Hunger overtakes reason, and I scoop up the generous slab of cornbread and take a bite. I let the chunks melt in my mouth, linger on my tongue. Delicious buttery heaven.
Eugene chuckles at my eagerness. He motions me toward a concrete slab built into the wall, which makes a sort of bench. I guess that’s where I’m destined to sleep tonight. No blankets or pillow provided. These Shifters sure are pleasant people. When we sit, Eugene slides the tray onto my lap. I dig into the chili and it warms me momentarily. After a few bites, I inch to the very edge to put the most distance between us.
Resting his elbows on his knees, Eugene rubs his hands together. His glasses are so smudged that I doubt his ability to see through them at all. Without looking at me, he says, “He can handle being yelled at, railed against. It doesn’t bother him.”
“Who?” I mutter around a mess of beans.
“Nicholas.”
“It’s hard to yell at someone you don’t believe in.” I wipe my mouth with the napkin and throw the rest of the cornbread into the bowl of chili.
Eugene waggles his finger at me, good-naturedly. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe if you say it enough, you might even start to think that. But I doubt it. Besides, Nicholas hearing doesn’t depend on your belief. Not yet.”
I don’t want to talk about whoever Nicholas is. If he has something to do with The Elders and this situation I’m in, he clearly has it out for me too. “So who are you, in the big picture of Shifters? Kitchen boy?”
