“At full strength, you could level that Institute,” he continued, “and yet they treat you as though you need them. Is that fair?”
I cleared my throat. “Well,” I said, hating to admit it, “I would never level the Institute, but even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I can barely lift a feather.”
It might have been dumb to admit, but he clearly had people on the inside which meant he probably already knew. And if not, the fact that I’d made no further move to escape must have indicated that I knew I’d never succeed. Also, coming clean might lead him to think I trusted him.
“That is their shortcoming, not yours,” he said, leaning forward. “You haven’t had a proper teacher.”
“Master Dogan—”
“Is no Daemon,” he said. “And nothing else will do if you hope to even touch your potential.”
And oh how I’d longed for that. I didn’t yet trust this man sitting across from me, but a few hours ago I’d been sure I never would. I didn’t know whether that should comfort or terrify me.
21
Dinner didn’t last much longer after that. I had a million questions I wanted to ask, and tried to, but his answers became evasive until he finally said, “Just as I’m sure you aren’t ready to call me an ally, I am not yet ready to consider you one. For both of our safety we must proceed with caution.”
To which I had no good argument. His vision of the future was intriguing, enthralling even, but if he’d opened the front door that night, I’d have bolted right through it. Which in turn meant I would bring the wrath of the Institute down on him. How much damage they could inflict on someone who was obviously a very powerful Daemon I had no idea, but I could see why he wouldn’t be eager to find out. He did promise—whatever that was worth—that soon, he would ask if I was willing to join his cause, and if I wasn’t, I would be free to go. Like I said, whatever that was worth.
When I entered my room, I noticed a tank top and a pair of pajama bottoms folded neatly on the bed, tags still attached. It was reminiscent of when I’d first arrived at the Institute, having fled Windsor with nothing but the sweat-soaked clothes on my back, and found my meager wardrobe waiting for me. Only this time, the gesture sent a shiver down my spine. Still, I did need something to sleep in…
I changed clothes, grateful once I had, and turned my attention back to more important questions.
Is Alexander telling the truth? If he isn’t, what does he want with me? Is he right about the Institute?
As I climbed under the covers, I tried to imagine Master Dogan turning down the idea of a Utopian society and I couldn’t. But then I thought of Annys, so proud, so steeped in the honor and meaning in being not only a Guardian but an Elder, and the smallest kernel of doubt crept in.
That night I dreamt of a world where the balance tipped strongly in the direction of good. Where Taren and I didn’t worry about each other’s safety because there were no more demons left to threaten us. And my mother, not even needing medication to keep her mood bright and mind clear. Alexander hadn’t said anything specifically about mental illness, but if cancer could be stopped, why not brain chemicals balanced?
I reveled in the dream, and when I awoke, came to the conclusion that since I was captive anyway, I might as well try to find out if what Alexander said was true. My mood was so bright, I even took a shower.
I met Alexander for breakfast at the table by the pool.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked when I sat down.
“Yes, thank you,” I said.
There didn’t seem any harm in telling the truth, nor being polite. Especially when I had more questions I needed answered. I glanced around, making sure we were alone, then got right to the point.
“If you aren’t working for the Root, how do you have influence over Reds? The only way they get power is through surrendering to demons.”
“True,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean that I have surrendered to anything.”
“Then how do you control them?” I said. “And why?”
“Were I not making certain promises to It—promises I have no intention of keeping, of course—the Root Demon in charge of the Gateway in Italy would have broken through by now.”
“How do you know?” I said, trying to appear calm in the face of such news.
“Because It told me, and is strong enough to have done it.”
My eyes grew wide and for a moment and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“And It hasn’t because...?”
“Because I hold some of Its power. You see, there is a price to be paid by any demon that creates Reds. They sacrifice a small bit of themselves to the recipient.”
“So that’s why their eyes glow…” I said, a small thrill passing through me at learning things not in the Institute’s books.
“Indeed,” he said, pouring us both coffee. “Because I have assured my allegiance to the Root, It has given me charge of Its minions. In fact, I have It convinced I need more.”
“And they get their power from the Demon...” I said, understanding, “so because there are so many of them, all drawing power from the Root, Its power is weakened.”
He gave a slight nod, seemingly pleased with my deduction. If true, it was a brilliant strategy. Please let it be true.
“So, you plan to use Its own power against It,” I said.
Again, a slight nod of affirmation.
I could feel the excitement bubbling up from my belly.
“So... how is it you learned so much about being a Daemon?” I asked, needing to know even more—to know everything.
He smiled, flashing his perfect movie-star teeth.
“From other Daemons, of course,” he said.
Jackpot.
“And how did you find them?”
“I was born into them,” he said.
Now my eyes bulged.
“Surely you didn’t think you were the only one,” he said, with a low chuckle.
“N-no, but I didn’t know they were organized...” I said. “Where are they? How many are there?”
“Sadly, that doesn’t matter; their goals do not match ours,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they sit in judgment, an island unto themselves, and refuse to become involved in the plight of man. No matter that most of them are part-human themselves, they prefer to remain sealed off, refusing to even remain in contact with those of us who choose the more noble path—walking in this world, committed to making it a better place.”
“But...why?” I said, not able to understand why beings so powerful could sit aside and not help a world in such desperate need of it.
“Because, they live in the Utopia you seem to romanticize,” he said. “It’s a completely self-contained society. They need nothing of the outside world and therefore deem they owe nothing to it.”
“And you grew up there?” I asked, still awed at the idea and more than a little jealous. “Your parents, are they still there?”
“As far as I know,” he said, and again the bitterness. “I was their only son and they remained even after I was exiled. I can’t imagine there is anything that would make them leave.”
The more questions he answered, the more of himself he revealed, the more I found myself drawn in. Hadn’t it taken a leap of faith for me to believe Taren when he’d first told me about the Gateway? When I’d learned what I was?
“Wait, why were you exiled?” I asked, clearing my head.
“For being different. For daring to want something other than what the society wanted of me. As I grew up it became clear that though I lived there, I did not belong there. When I came of age, I decided it would be better to be alone than to pretend to be something I wasn’t.”
Alexander’s eyes took on a haunted look and felt his pain at being cut off from the people who had rejected him. A current of compassion pulsed through me.
“I can relate,” I said quietly.
“I know you can,” he said, just as q
uietly.
He held my gaze, both of us feeling the undeniable link between us—a connection forged from the experience of having to choose between being completely alone, or being lonely while surrounded by phony people.
But then he cleared his throat and looked away. When he turned back, his movie star smile had replaced the sadness, and I couldn’t help feeling he was uncomfortable with having shown me his vulnerable side.
“Class is in session and it’s pupil’s choice,” he said shifting gears. “What do you most want to learn?”
It was a surprisingly generous offer, and I took a moment to think about it, Alexander waiting patiently.
“How do I block out demon voices?” I said. And yours, I added silently. Just because I wanted to trust him didn’t make me a complete fool.
His wry smile told me he knew what I was up to, but that didn’t affect his willingness.
“A useful skill,” he said. “Close your eyes.”
I did, the lack of sight making me uncomfortable.
He led me through the familiar routine of getting centered, his voice a hypnotic murmur.
My stomach tightened as the all-too-familiar memories gushed forth. I fought them as best I could, but it was all I could do to hold them at bay.
“What is it?” Alexander asked.
Should I tell him? He could use it against me. But if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to learn, and that was worse.
“I…when I try to access my power—when I try to do anything except channel the Gateway symbol—I get flooded with memories. Bad ones. Of when I killed the Root, of the people who died…”
“I see,” Alexander said. “What has the Institute been doing to treat this?”
“Treat what?” I said, not wanting to admit I hadn’t told anyone.
Alexander looked at me, confused. “Your PTSD.”
“My what?” I knew what PTSD was, of course, it just had never occurred to me that I had it. Wasn’t that for soldiers? Or people who’d witnessed horrific…
Oh. Right.
“I…I never mentioned it,” I said, feeling very foolish. But I’d had good reason to stay quiet—they might have kicked me out again!
Keeping it quiet meant you didn’t learn anything, either.
Alexander cut through my thoughts. “Very well. We must start there if we expect to get anywhere.”
He then set about teaching me something called Partitioning which involved sectioning off the portion of my mind that held all of the painful memories associated with the Gateway. Time and time again I tried, only to have the memories spill over the top, seep out the sides of the container I built. Two hours later, I was beyond frustrated.
“It might be easier if I showed you,” he said, which definitely raised my hackles. The last thing I wanted was him scrounging around in my brain. He noticed my reaction and made a soothing gesture. “No, no, I meant I will allow you to enter my thoughts, so that you can see first hand what I’m doing.”
I considered. It was a tempting offer for more reasons than one. If I had access to Alexander’s thoughts, I might catch a glimpse of his true intentions; see it they differed from what he claimed.
“OK,” I said, “but my telepathy is pretty hit and miss.”
“It won’t be with me,” he said.
His odd statement proved true. As soon as he took my hand in his, I was pulled into his inner world. The landscape was well-ordered—almost to the point of OCD—all clean lines and angles. I knew my own mind would be filled with mazes and labyrinths, some of them leading nowhere.
Not being proficient at entering another’s thoughts, let alone their mind entirely, I had no idea where to look. As it turned out, I didn’t have time for exploration, anyway.
This way.
I followed the echo of this thought until I came to a formidable fortress, made of steel and stone, its walls so high that my mind’s eye couldn’t see the top. Now that was a Partition.
An instant later, I was blinking my eyes open in surprise. Alexander had simply severed the connection, and without my even attempting to withdraw, I’d been expelled from his mind.
“That was…impressive,” I said.
He gave me a sad smile. “Some things need to be locked up tight.”
Something took hold of me and I found myself wanting to comfort him. To hold him in my arms and tell the little boy inside that everything was alright; his people had been wrong to exile him. Thankfully, I resisted the urge, instead wondering if I was in the throes of Stockholm Syndrome.
Whether I trusted him or not, he was teaching me a very useful skill, and I went back to practicing.
My own fortress became higher, thicker, large enough to contain the pain and guilt that so often threatened to pull me into its abyss.
Alexander stayed with me while I worked, ever patient, ever encouraging, until it seemed I’d mastered the skill. The feelings were still there, but, locked up as they were, became much less threatening. Partitioning, where have you been all my life?
“I take it by your smile you have succeeded?” Alexander said.
“I think so,” I said, opening my eyes.
For the first time in hours I took note of my surroundings. The pastel colors of sunset told me just how long I’d been sitting there. My stomach rumbled as if on cue.
“Please,” he said, “I can see how eager you are, but let us eat. If you want to keep practicing after dinner, we will.”
It seemed a fair proposition and I was undeniably hungry, so Alexander led me to the balcony where a meal was already waiting for us.
I ate quickly, anxious to begin learning how to effectively block outside influence once and for all, but by the time sorbet was served, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open.
I stifled yet another yawn, unwilling to give into the exhaustion.
“I will continue our lesson if you insist,” Alexander said, “but I must caution you that being as tired as you clearly are, you will have a difficult time learning. The skills I’m teaching you take total concentration, which is why you feel so depleted. There is no shame in needing rest. We can begin again in the morning.”
Even as I was about to protest, a wave of sleepiness washed over me and I had to admit I was down for the count.
“Alright, but first thing,” I said.
“As you wish,” he said.
Dead on my feet, I all but stumbled to my room. Not even bothering to brush my teeth or change clothes, I simply collapsed onto the bed, asleep before my head hit the pillow.
22
For all my insistence that we begin first thing in the morning, I didn’t awaken until almost noon. It had been a blissfully dreamless sleep, and I stretched, feeling relaxed and refreshed.
I changed clothes, reminding myself as I did that I’d be a fool to trust Alexander just because he’d taught me Partitioning. Whatever his excuses, he’d still had me kidnapped, still drugged Kat in the process, to say nothing of the gunfire that accompanied his first attempt.
At the thought of Partitioning, I had an idea and went to sit cross-legged on the floor. I closed my eyes and began the process of centering that Master Dogan had taught me. I then tested my inner defenses, making sure they were well in place. When I felt confident they were, I opened my eyes, my gaze resting on the small figurine of a ballerina on a table near me.
You can do this.
And then, as if it were nothing, I did. The bronze dancer lifted a good six inches from her resting place and spun around, as if pirouetting. I clapped my hands together with glee, which caused the figurine to drop to the table. Unfazed, I lifted her again, higher this time. When I heard a knock at the door, she bobbled, but I was able to gently place her back where I’d found her.
“Yes?” I called.
“It’s Alexander,” came the reply. “I’ve been worried. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
I opened the door. I wasn’t about to admit my progress, but I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm.<
br />
“I’m great,” I said. “Your little trick kept a recurring nightmare at bay and I had the most wonderful sleep.”
“Excellent,” he said, seeming truly pleased. “Let us have lunch and we will continue your training.”
I followed him to the pool where, as usual, a meal was waiting. The Reds still gave me the creeps, but it was hard not to appreciate being waited on hand and foot.
As I was spreading rose jam on my toast, I noticed buds on the nearby calla lily bush.
“Do you like flowers?” Alexander asked, following my gaze.
I nodded. “Calla lilies especially.”
Alexander gave me a mischievous grin and said, “Say when.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, until I realized that one of the tiny buds was blooming right before my eyes. It was as though I was watching time-lapse photography; the green bud grew, turning creamy white as it opened.
Alexander looked at me questioningly and I finally said, “Oh! When.”
The lily, now the most perfect I’d ever seen, stopped growing. Alexander deftly twisted it from the bush and handed it to me. I marveled at its beauty, and how it had come to be.
“How did you do that?” I said.
“A very simple, yet delicate process,” he said. “There is a master gene within the plant that tells it when to start flowering. By gently manipulating that gene and the proteins it controls, I am able to speed up the cycle.”
“That’s so cool,” I said, still in awe. “Will you teach me how to do it?”
“Right now, if you like,” he said. “But I suspect you have a more useful skill you’d like to learn first.”
He was right about that; I wanted to pick up where we’d left off yesterday. No longer having to fear the influence of a Root—or Alexander—was the most valuable skill I could think of.
We began immediately, right there at the table. When a Red arrived to clear our plates, my stomach clenched but I didn’t indulge the fear, instead locking it up tight. Reds or no, I had work to do.
Alexander talked me through the process, which closely resembled Partitioning, except instead of building a wall around a single section of my mind, he instructed me to contain my mind as a whole. In reality, it was what I’d been doing for months—ever since I’d learned the Voice I’d thought was a friend was really a demon—but after hours of practice my technique became more precise and much stronger.
The Gateway Trilogy: Complete Series: (Books 1-3) Page 32
