by Sophie Davis
“Erik, what’s going on?” Brand demanded.
“Brand? Oh, my god! You’re okay?” Penny cried.
Her high-pitched voice was music to my ears.
“Yeah.” Brand glanced over his shoulder at Miles. Nightshade had patched him up just enough to stop his wounds from gushing blood, but he was in pretty bad shape. “Some better than others,” Brand added uneasily.
“What about you guys?” I asked hurriedly. “Is everyone okay? Is it over?”
Brand turned on me. “Is what over?”
“Yeah. It’s over,” Penny replied. “UNITED teams came down from New York and Baltimore, and one flew up from Miami. Gretchen’s people took off as soon as the cavalry arrived.” Penny paused to take a breath before hurrying on. “Guess someone heard my SOS, which is weird because they cut all lines of communication as soon as the attack started. The only message I got out was to Talia.”
“Are you hurt? What about Ian?” Brand demanded, unsure whether he should be upset or relieved.
That made two of us. This scheme of Gretchen’s was becoming wilder and more complex by the moment. From the conversation I’d witnessed during my trip through Gracia’s mind, I knew Gretchen wanted Ian dead. Yet, she’d recalled her forces as soon as UNITED reinforcements showed up. Why?
If Gretchen had a Visionary dictating her every move—and I was certain she did—she should’ve known Kip would get us all out of New Mexico. Except, Nightshade and the Privileged soldiers inside the mountain hadn’t just let us go. They’d fought hard to prevent our escape. Was it a ruse? A distraction?
Was this entire plan all to get Talia? Were the rest of us unnecessary to her? Or was my girlfriend just the most important piece?
Penny was assuring Brand that the casualty numbers weren’t horrible on our side. With UNITED’s help, they’d even managed to capture a handful of the Privileged.
“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Brand promised his girlfriend.
“I’ll have medics standing by at the house. Be careful,” Penny pleaded.
“Always am,” Brand said. He went to disconnect the comm, but I batted his hand away.
“Hey, Penny? Is Epsilon okay?” I asked her.
“Um, yeah. He’s fine. Maybe shaken up, but no one inside the house was injured. Why do you ask? And where’s Talia? I figured she’d be the first to reach out. I mean, she was, but you know what I’m saying.”
I sighed heavily, suddenly too exhausted to carry on the conversation. “I’ll explain when we arrive.”
“Ominous….” Penny trailed off, clearly hoping I’d fill the silence. When I didn’t, she pressed, “Is Talia okay?”
Glancing sidelong in my direction, Brand raised his brows in question. I waved my hand as if to say, “Whatever.”
“Have you noticed Alex is missing?” Brand began.
I tuned out of the conversation, already feeling too ill to stomach a recap. Honestly, the nausea was partially due to two impending conversations I couldn’t avoid. Relying on a Visionary was such a bad idea. Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t even consider asking Epsilon to tell me all he’d seen. But these were not ordinary circumstances. The only way to win a war against one Visionary was with the help of another, I realized.
Did you see this coming, Gretchen? I wondered. Do you know how far I’ll go for Talia? Is that what you’re betting on? I hope so. Because I want you to see the end coming. I want you to know there is nowhere you can run, nowhere you can hide. There is no way you will escape death this time.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cressa
Kev’s gentle snores were audible through the open door between their rooms. The sound comforted Cressa as she rolled over for the third time in as many minutes. Kev had somehow stayed awake on the return trip, which was probably the only reason Cressa had felt safe enough to fall asleep then. After they’d arrived back at the Privileged Institute, Cressa and Kev had been unceremoniously escorted to rooms decorated like the Dame’s wing. His rhythmic breathing had begun less than a minute after Kev’s head hit the pillow. Despite the aching exhaustion, sleep eluded Cressa.
Would she still be in the real world when she woke up? Or would she be in a sim? Or maybe what she thought was the real world was really a sim? It was impossible to know what was real anymore. Flying to the Dame’s old home to have tea and retrieve a kid had certainly felt like a dream, and that was supposedly real.
Stomach growling, Cressa realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. There had to be a kitchen nearby. Cressa pushed herself from the bed and tip-toed from the room. The long hallway had two doors on one side and two on the other. Around the corner was the door to the Dame’s suite of rooms. Cressa turned in the other direction, stopping when she came to a door that was slightly ajar.
“Hello?” Cressa called softly. If she could just find Tate or someone else who worked there, they could direct her to the kitchen.
When there was no reply, she peeked her head through the opening. The same muted color palette and soft fabrics filled the room. It looked just like Cressa’s new bedroom, except for one large difference. Instead of a sprawling bed in the middle, there were two large, rectangular troughs arranged about five feet apart—sensory deprivation tanks. Cressa darted into the room. Eyes wide, she trudged closer.
Swirling brown curls formed a medusa-like halo in the gel that filled the tubs. Though the girl’s eyes were closed, Cressa could envision the swirling purple rage when they did open.
Talia Lyons was utterly incapacitated.
Wherever they’d taken her, Cressa expected the talent to be fighting tooth and nail. The raw power that had emanated from her was intimidating, and it’d seemed impossible to staunch for even a moment.
A small television screen drew Cressa’s attention. Her finger lost invisibility when she reached over to tilt the screen. A gentle breeze swept by, as if someone else had entered the room. Seeing no one, Cressa focused her attention on the video playing. The screen was hooked to a single long wire that dipped below the surface of the gel in the tank with Talia. The cable appeared to be hooked into the silicon band wrapped around Talia’s forehead.
With a faint squeak of the hinges, the bedroom door opened again. Cressa leapt back from where she’d been leaning over Talia and whirled around. The Dame stood with a hand on the doorknob.
“I was looking for something to eat,” Cressa blurted. “I’m so sorry, I was lost.”
Gretchen dismissed Cressa’s apology with a wave of her hand. “This is your home,” she said. “We are family here at the Institute, including our new guests.” Gretchen gestured to Talia and Alex. “I want you to get to know them.”
Cressa inched away from the tanks, wondering what kind of game the Dame was playing. As if sensing her hesitation, Gretchen held her palm up in a placating way.
“You don’t want an audience,” she said with a nod. “I understand. Would you like to get to know Alex?”
Truthfully, Cressa didn’t understand how she would get to know a five-year old in general, let alone one who was unconscious. As an only child, she’d never been around younger kids. Nevertheless, she nodded tightly.
When Gretchen crossed the room, Cressa scurried back from the makeshift med bay set up. The Dame turned on a screen that was attached to both tanks via thin wires that attached to the captives’ forehead bands. The wavering image that appeared seemed stuck between two feeds, like a radio dial between stations. Gretchen adjusted a small dial beneath the screen while Cressa stared at her feet.
“I will leave you to become acquainted,” the Dame said, gesturing to a nearby chair. “I will also have something sent over for dinner, I apologize for the oversight.”
Holding her breath, Cressa waited for the other shoe to drop. She’d been found sneaking around the upper echelon’s private quarters in the middle of the night—surely this wouldn’t be abided.
“We have much to talk about, you and I,” Gretchen added, one ha
nd on the brass doorknob. “Try to get some rest tonight.”
Cressa exhaled deeply when the door clicked shut behind the older woman. For the first time, she leaned over the room’s second tank. In the sensory deprivation gel, Alex McDonough looked like a doll. His body seemed even smaller with all the extra space in the adult-sized tank. The forehead band had slipped to almost cover Alex’s eyes, and Cressa pushed it back. His dark lashes fluttered against pale skin, as if he were dreaming.
Flickers of images drew Cressa’s attention back to the screen positioned between the tanks. Though it had been laced with static before, the screen was now clearer and steadier. A tree with massive branches fazed in and out, a bit blurred at the edges. A few blinks later, the tree became a hover. This was followed by a stuffed bear, a red balloon, and a terrifying group of uniformed men. When the scene landed on the smooth surface of a ceiling, a chandelier’s shadows morphed into the tree. This time, the picture was crystalline, as if in billion-pixel definition.
A slim girl stomped past the tree, her blonde hair whipping in the wind. The screen glided seamlessly to follow, like the input was a bee bot programmed to tail her. She walked up a short path to the door of a rustic cabin, then pounded on the door.
It was flung open by a shirtless Donavon McDonough. Eyes narrowed, he leaned against the doorway and blocked the opening. Behind him, the sparse cabin was tidy. Donavon’s lips moved, but no sound came from the screen. Engrossed in the scene, Cressa fiddled with the controls to increase the volume.
“You need to get your shit together,” the girl spat. As her face reddened, her forehead knit into tight lines.
Donavon shook his head vehemently. “You can’t be here! Kandice, I told you not to come here.”
“We need to talk, sparky.” Kandice narrowed her eyes. “It’s an in-person sort of thing.”
Donavon’s head whipped right and then left. Tugging the girl’s forearm, he pulled her into the cabin and closed the door behind them.
“Why would you come back here?” he insisted. “It’s kind of hard to hide you and Alex from my parents if you’re parading around the Hunter’s Village, you know? Why did I even bother?”
Kandice’s expression softened. “I want out of TOXIC territory. There’s an underground….”
Donovan tugged a hand through his wet hair as she trailed off.
“That’s not going to happen,” he said gently. “They will kill you just for showing up in Coalition territory. Particularly if anyone finds out Alex is Donavon McDonough’s kid. I can’t let that happen.”
As if he’d poked a pin into her balloon of hope, Kandice visibly deflated.
“You also said it’s not safe to be around your family,” she pressed. “Tell me, where is it safe?” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Tell me. Please.”
When Donavon wrapped his arms around Kandice, she melted into him. He rubbed her back and made soothing noises. The picture dimmed and flickered before reappearing, though it was paused on a single still frame. The shot showed the same cabin, mid-destruction. Planks of wood flew through the air. A petite girl’s violet eyes flashed, the source of the chaos. Talia. She’d caught them.
Only a moment later, the feed switched to another interior scene. Kandice had Talia’s hand clutched between hers.
“Please, take care of Alex,” she begged.
Cressa slammed the button to turn the screen off. Alex’s mother had begged Talia to take care of the child. They’d said Donavon’s family couldn’t know about his son.
She’d been part of a kidnapping. But what did the Dame plan to do with them?
Chapter Thirty-Five
Talia
My earliest memory wasn’t actually my own, though it was about me. Sort of. It belonged to my mother. I’d I often seen it play inside her mind when I was young. Though, I hadn’t thought about it in a very, very long time. In truth, I hadn’t thought much about my mother in a very long time. When the memory came, it was like a dream, though much sharper and more detailed than ever before.
She stood on the rocky beach, staring out at water the same shade of turquoise as Erik’s eyes. Sunlight threaded bronze highlights through her long, chocolate waves. Her eyes were closed, face upturned as she basked in the last warmth of the day. She rested her palms on her rounded belly and began to hum softly.
I knew the tune but had long forgotten the actual words. When my father emerged from the ocean a moment later and started singing, I found the lyrics weren’t as lost I’d thought.
“Come and see, what could be,” he sang loudly and offkey. “Treasure abounds, if only you’ll agree. Dreams are like memories, when you sail the seas.”
My mother laughed loudly as my father, dark hair dripping water all over her, kissed her cheek. “I hope Natalia doesn’t inherit your singing abilities,” she teased.
He stepped back, hands over his heart as though offended, and continued to belt out. “In lands afar, the magic will fade. But always know, the journey you made.” My father dropped to his knees on the rocks as he sang the last words of the verse. “Is real!”
“Get up, Frances,” she giggled. “I know that hurts.”
He shook his head. “Not until you admit you like my bad singing.”
“I never said I didn’t.” She crossed her arms over chest and winced noticeably.
My father leapt to his feet. “Kat? What’s wrong?”
“Your pitchy voice hurts her ears,” she tried to joke. Even as she said it, she placed one hand on her lower back like she was in pain.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began leading her away from the water. “Did she tell you that?” my father asked.
“Of course not,” she wheezed, squeezing her eyes shut. They stopped walking so that she could catch her breath. “I feel it. She’s so strong already. Do you…do you think we made a mistake?”
“No. God, no. Of course not, Kat. It’s no different than our ancestors.” He rubbed her stomach and began to hum.
My mother’s breathing grew even, and her expression was no longer contorted in pain. She smiled serenely and rested her head on his shoulder. Her voice was soft when she told my father, “That’s better. Despite your awful singing, I think our little Natalia is going to be a daddy’s girl.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Erik
“No.”
With that single word, Ian put a major kink in my plan. Not that it was much of a plan to begin with.
“Why? Why can’t I talk to Gracia again?” I demanded.
Ian sighed. He rubbed his temples with one hand and refilled his crystal tumbler with the other.
“Because.” He sipped his drink and studied me briefly. “You’re too emotional. And, honestly, I don’t believe that any information we get from Gracia can be trusted.”
I slammed my fist on the arm of the chair. “I don’t plan on asking her nicely and just trusting she tells me the truth!” I shouted back.
“Erik, Ian’s just being—” Brand began.
Ian held up a hand to silence him. “It’s fine. He has every right be upset. Erik, you’re welcome to shout at me all you like.”
“What’s the point if you’re not going to yell back?” I grumbled.
A half-smile crossed his lips but disappeared almost immediately. “Look, Gracia may or may not have useful intel on the Privileged Institute in France. If she does, it’s buried deep and difficult to access. She’s been in interrogation almost nonstop since she arrived.”
“But your interrogators aren’t me,” I protested, still pissed but not quite ready to kill anyone. At least, I didn’t want to kill either of the men in the study with me.
“No, they aren’t,” Ian agreed. “They’re trained. They interrogate people like Gracia for a living. They know what to ask and how read her reactions.” He raised his glass in my direction when I opened my mouth to argue and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Erik. I really am.”
“Ian’s right and you know it.” Br
and fixed me with a hard gaze. Neither of us had changed after returning from New Mexico, and dirt, blood, and bits of greenish-brown water plant still clung to his face and hair. “Everything we’ve gotten from that girl is tainted. Even the intel you accessed after navigating mindtraps.”
He wasn’t wrong. It made me want to hit something that would hit back. I’d been positive that Gretchen would anticipate Talia going inside Gracia’s head if the clone was captured. But maybe Gretchen had known all along that I would insist on doing it instead. Maybe that was what she wanted, since Talia would’ve realized the conversation between Gracia and Gretchen wasn’t real.
I let my head fall into my hands. How had this all gotten so out of hand? Not that long ago, I’d thought my girlfriend’s arrest was the worst thing ever. Then, the treaty failed. Before I could even decide whether that failure might be for the best, Gretchen and her Privileged destroyed the Isle. Now, Talia and Alex were the hostages of a madwoman. It has all happened so fast….
“Here. Take the edge off.” I looked up at Brand and the glass of golden liquor he offered. “Just drink it,” he pressed.
I swallowed the contents in one gulp and sat back in the armchair. Guilt spread through me along with the warmth of the alcohol.
“She’s strong, Erik. There’s nothing Gretchen can do that will break Talia,” Ian said after a long moment.
My laugh was hollow. “Yeah? After what her husband did to me? You really believe that? If so, you’re a fool. Maybe you don’t deserve to keep your presidency.”
“It’s not Ian’s fault your girlfriend is a—”
“I’d choose your next word very carefully if I were you,” I snapped.
Proving he wasn’t a complete idiot, Brand clamped his lips shut.
“You didn’t break,” Ian pointed out, ignoring the squabble between Brand and me.
“Yet.” I summoned the liquor bottle from his desk and refilled my glass. “I haven’t broken completely yet. It’s only a matter of time.”
