by Sophie Davis
Sometimes Cressa believed the Dame’s powers went a step further; the woman knew things that went beyond the realm of possibility. It was as if she saw into the minds of her students and knew their innermost thoughts, their deepest desires, and their greatest fears.
Which was precisely the truth, of course. The Dame possessed many gifts, even more than those Cressa would eventually acquire, and telepathy and mind control were a given.
The thought made Cressa shiver. How was it possible that someone she’d never even seen had such power over her? Had such power over everyone?
Closing her eyes, Cressa pushed the thoughts of the Dame from her mind, inhaled deeply, and flexed her long, slender fingers.
You can do this, she thought. You must do this.
And that was the truth of it. To advance to the next phase, 2P, Cressa had to complete this one simple task. Failure was not an option; those who failed to advance were released.
Her fatigued muscles gave another involuntary shudder. She fought the wave of terror threatening to overtake her. She had been chosen for this. She deserved this. She would prove herself worthy.
“Envision the switch. Imagine the switch moving. Flip the switch,” a voice that was not Cressa’s chanted inside of her head. The voice that day was male, young, and brimming with uncertainty. Cressa did not feel the rush of calm reassurance that had accompanied the mental commands during her previous tests. Nor did she feel the undercurrent of encouragement that this time, this time, she would be able to perform her simple task. Instead, she found the voice distracting and more than a little annoying. She wanted him, whomever he was, to go the hell away and let her concentrate.
“Envision the switch. Imagine the switch moving. Flip the switch,” the boy repeated unsteadily.
Cressa tried to block him out, but the more resistance she put up, the harder he pushed.
“Envision the switch. Imagine the switch moving. Flip the switch.”
Cold sweat beaded along Cressa’s hairline and trickled down her spine to pool at the small of her back. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, as though she was running uphill at high altitude instead of standing perfectly still in a cool, damp room. The slight tremble in her hands spread like a virus, crawling up her arms and down her legs until her entire body shook with such force that she swore she heard her bones rattle.
Knees weak and legs quivering, Cressa groped blindly for something to lean on. She stumbled several steps to the right and her outstretched fingers jammed into a hard, smooth surface.
The wall, she thought with relief.
But the surface was too smooth, her palms too sweaty, and her hand slid down the length of it. Unable to support her weight any longer, Cressa’s knees buckled. She sank to the damp floor, defeated.
“Damn it, girl. All you have to do is turn on the fucking light! How hard is it to turn on the fucking light?” The voice inside her head was frantic, its owner panicked to the point of hysteria. His emotions leaked into Cressa. She absorbed his fear and dread like a dry sponge in a rainstorm.
Inexplicably, his fear invigorated Cressa. She became angry. No, not angry. Furious.
“Shut up!” Cressa thundered mentally.
Climbing first to one knee and then the other, she narrowed her gaze on her target, though the light switch by the door was invisible in the all-consuming darkness.
“Envision the switch. Imagine the switch moving. Flip the switch,” the boy repeated, every syllable oozing conviction that neither he nor Cressa truly felt.
“Screw you,” Cressa hissed. The words were raspy and pained, like a death rattle, when they slid past her cracked lips, yet they boomed in her mind as though spoken through a megaphone.
Fear lanced through Cressa’s chest, making her gasp audibly. Her legs threatened to give out again. And then, an epiphany. The fear she was experiencing was not her own. It belonged to the boy. He was the one terrified by the prospect of Cressa’s failure, because her ineptitude reflected badly on him.
Cressa was unsure how she knew the precise thoughts running through the boy’s head. In that moment, the how didn’t matter.
Forget about him. Focus on you, Cressa told herself, envisioning a large metal shield dropping down from the inside of her skull to protect her brain.
It worked. Cressa was no longer scared. She could do this. She knew it just as surely as she knew her own name.
Blinding white light exploded from every corner of the room. After being in the dark for so long, each ray that struck her corneas felt like salt in an open wound. Cressa didn’t dare blink. She’d waited too long for this, and she was going to savor each and every excruciating second.
The administrator’s voice returned through the room’s speakers, warmth infusing her every word where only coldness had been before.
“Well done, Cressa Karmine. Welcome to Phase Two, daughter.”
Talia
Vault, Isle of Exile
Four Days Before the Vote
My opponent’s right hook connected with my jawline, the force of her blow causing my head to snap backwards. For a woman nearly twice my age, Victoria Walburton packed one hell of a punch.
I dipped my chin to one side, wiping a thin smear of blood on the shoulder of a gray tee with INMATE emblazoned across the front.
“You hit like a girl, Madame Councilwoman,” I grunted, even as her next blow landed in my left side, directly on my bruised ribcage.
“You fight like a child in her first schoolyard tussle,” Victoria countered. “What’s next, Lyons? Are you going to pull my hair?”
The councilwoman aimed for my solar plexus, amber eyes betraying the maneuver a moment too soon.
I’ll show you a schoolyard tussle, I thought. Deflecting the incoming assault with a sharp, quick combo kick. One foot batted away her gloved hand, an instant before the other found a home in her impressive six-pack.
The air whooshed from Victoria’s lungs. She stumbled backwards several paces, shaking the hand I’d kicked.
“Point to you, Talia,” the older woman conceded, her British accent more pronounced than usual. “Nice shot.”
“Um, I think you mean two points,” I jabbed, grinning like a fool.
Bent at the waist, the ends of her auburn ponytail sticking to one sweaty cheek, Victoria rubbed a flowering red blossom on her abdomen—evidence that my kick, though barefoot, had done real damage.
My smile grew even wider, my cheeks aching from all the gloating I was doing. Well-deserved gloating, since it wasn’t every day that I scored such an impressive blow on my opponent. Our daily sparring matches had proved the councilwoman was more than a glad-handing politician; the woman was a formidable fighter and worthy adversary. Most days Victoria left me face down on the mats, gasping for air.
“Because you are losing so abysmally, I shall grant you two points,” Victoria relented. She eyed my expression critically. “Has no one ever told you that pride is a sin?”
“It’s not the worst one I’ve committed.”
My comment didn’t evoke even the tiniest hint of amusement. If anything, Victoria’s demeanor became more grim than usual. Come to think of it, in the hour we’d spent together that morning, the councilwoman had been remarkably grave, as though her mind was a million miles away. Only the bumps and bruises she gave me wiped the troubled expression from her thin lips, though it always returned.
As my curiosity got the best of me, I decided to ask her about it.
“What’s up? You seem bothered. I mean, more bothered than usual.”
Without warning, Victoria’s fist flew towards my face. I raised my hands at the last second and took the hit on my forearms. Victoria bounced on the balls of her feet, neatly dodging my retaliatory punches.
“In case you have forgotten, Talia—” she grunted as I landed a roundhouse kick to her shoulder, backing her into one corner of the exercise cube. Wheezing for breath, she continued, “The Joint Nations will vote on the Coexistence Treaty in four days. So yes
, I’m more than a little bothered by the prospect of failure and our race being wiped out.”
Lashing out with one of her long legs, the councilwoman caught me behind the knees. Though my legs buckled from the blow, I instinctively kept my body from falling to the mats. Her golden irises flashed with alarm as a warning expression flit across Victoria’s otherwise stoic features. I hesitated, eyeing her skeptically. The councilwoman backed away, retreating farther towards the glass wall.
After leaning against it for a moment, Victoria straightened to her full height, nearly a head taller than my paltry five-foot-nothing. “Shall we say a draw for today?”
“A draw?” I scoffed, feigning incredulity. I put up my gloved hands and assumed a fighting stance. “You’re crazier than I am if you think that’s happening. A forfeit is the only way I’m letting you walk out of here without another round.”
“Technically, Talia, you suffer from poor judgment, not mental illness,” Victoria said dryly.
“Not yet.”
We blanched simultaneously, both hearing the unspoken words in our minds as though we shared the thought. In a way, that was sort of the case. The thought had been mine; one I found so troubling that I’d unintentionally projected it to Victoria.
Victoria leveled a disapproving glare on me, expression cold enough to freeze the sweat on my face. Her mental voice flashed in my head: “Careful, Talia. That makes twice in the last hour. You are getting sloppy.”
Twice?
Apparently I was still projecting my thoughts, because Victoria responded mentally.
“You should have fallen when I kicked you behind the knees,” she sent.
Realization dawned. Without even thinking, I’d used telekinesis to keep myself upright. Using my mental abilities to inadvertently project my thoughts to Victoria wasn’t so bad, since the always-watching eyes of Vault wouldn’t have noticed. But the use of telekinesis would be apparent to anyone watching closely.
Wow, I really was getting sloppy. My talents were supposed to be dormant while I was a prisoner. Using them at all, much less in a visible manner, was a huge faux pas. One that would cause a great deal of trouble for several of us, if it was discovered.
“Talia?” Victoria prompted aloud.
I sucked in air and plastered on a manic smile meant to disguise my unease.
“I’ll be more careful,” I sent, then quickly raised my mental shields.
“I mean, if you have more important things to do than relive your glory days down here with me, I guess we could continue this tomorrow or whenever,” I flippantly said aloud, unlacing my sparring gloves.
“Believe it or not, I do have other matters that require my attention.” Following my lead, Victoria began peeling off her gloves. “Which brings me to the purpose of my visit.”
My curiosity instantly piqued. Yes, I was that bored.
But Victoria didn’t usually have an agenda when she visited me on Vault, other than blowing off steam with a worthy opponent. Since I wasn’t permitted social visits on Level Five, Victoria’s presence at the prison was supposedly for official purposes only; the other councilmembers believed she spent time with me each morning to press me for information regarding the whereabouts of Kenly Baker. Except, Victoria hadn’t once asked me about my former mentee.
While there was a long list of crimes on my rap sheet, all of which contributed in one way or another to my arrest, my decision to let Kenly go free was ultimately the reason for my incarceration. Like so many of us from TOXIC, Kenly had been infected with the creation drug. According to protocol, once we’d rescued her from her captors, Kenly should’ve been contained for observation and eventual treatment to reverse the effects of the drug. But after all she’d gone through at the hands of the Poachers—an organization specializing in the capture and sale of Talents—I couldn’t stomach the thought of Kenly contained in a medical cube. She’d suffered enough.
So, I’d traded Kenly’s freedom for my own. At the time, I didn’t know that was the choice I was making. Nonetheless, even with the added advantage of hindsight, I didn’t regret letting her go instead of turning Kenly over to UNITED.
“Talia?” Victoria snapped again, looking slightly concerned by my prolonged silence.
I quirked an eyebrow. “The purpose of your visit? You mean you’re not here solely to amuse me? Prison life is so dull.”
She didn’t laugh.
“As we speak, Agent Kelley is en route to a peace rally in New York City.” Victoria’s tone was measured, though I detected the faintest trace of sympathy in her steely gaze. “Though he has one more scheduled appearance after this one, the night before the vote, the council has decided that it would be best for him to return to the islands until then.”
That got my attention. Victoria never shared news of Erik aloud. Even mentally, she rarely did more than assure me that he was okay. It took all of my willpower to keep my excitement visibly contained. But if Erik was returning to the Isle of Exile, I would finally be able to communicate with him.
While he was traveling around, acting as UNITED’s poster boy for the Created, he was out of the range that my mental abilities could reach. Erik’s own abilities were strong enough to reach me no matter his geographical location, but I’d blocked him from entering my headspace when I was first imprisoned.
Initially, I didn’t want him to see how bad Vault truly was; I didn’t want him to see the miserable conditions I was living in, day in and day out. Because I didn’t want Erik to feel guilty about my current predicament. Rescuing Anya, his ex-girlfriend, from the Poachers was one of several contributing factors to my incarceration, and Erik was the type to feel responsible, even when it came to my own rash actions.
Blocking him was a decision I regretted every day. By the time I was ready to swallow my pride and let him in—truly, when my loneliness and longing for him had overcome the fear of making him feel guilty—Erik had stopped reaching out, and I couldn’t reach him.
Thankfully, I would finally be able to when he was back on the islands. I missed Erik so much that it physically hurt. Hearing his voice inside my head would be like a soothing balm on my singed soul.
“I’m glad he’ll be back; Erik will be much safer on Eden,” I said to Victoria. With some effort, I’d managed to make my tone as calm and controlled as hers.
“I have petitioned the council on your behalf for a visitation exception,” she announced, surprising the hell out of me. Victoria’s level gaze never wavered as she studied me for a reaction.
“And?” I prompted, voice barely above a whisper. Hope was a luxury I no longer allowed myself. Disappointment too often followed.
“It was a battle. One that became rather ugly, if I am being honest,” Victoria continued. “However, because Agent Kelley is vital to this organization, his continued devotion to our cause is imperative. No one wants him unhappy, and we are all painfully aware that nothing would make him happier than seeing you.”
“So…” I ventured. “Is that a yes?”
Victoria’s smile was uncharacteristically warm. “It is.”
“Seriously?” I blurted the word before I could stop myself.
“Seriously,” she answered, the corners of her mouth quirking up even farther. “You have been granted one hour of supervised visitation tomorrow morning.” Victoria turned to the man standing silently on the other side of the bars of the exercise cell. “Agent Yocum will play chaperone.”
Agent Niccoli Yocum gave a small nod of affirmation. Though his body was angled slightly towards Victoria, my guard’s dark sunglasses—yes, he wore them inside—made it difficult to tell where he was actually looking.
“Unless, of course, you have an objection?” Victoria raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow in question.
“I don’t suppose a private visit is on the table?” I chanced.
“The only other option on the table is my supervision,” Victoria replied.
I waved a hand dismissively in Yocum’s direction. “
I suppose he’ll do.”
The briefest of smirks flitted across his face at my words—a victory for me. One of my favorite pastimes on Vault—okay, my only one—was prompting my guard to break his stoic exterior, even if only momentarily.
As far as jailers went, Agent Yocum was actually much better than I’d expected. Since being sentenced to an indeterminate amount of time on Vault, I’d come to think of Nicci—he hated when I called him that, so naturally I did so as frequently as possible—as a kind-of-sort-of friend. Victoria had assigned him to me as a personal guard, tasking him with both my containment and my protection.
I might have been UNITED’s prisoner, but I was still quite valuable to them. Way too valuable to let something happen to me, whether from the guards or my fellow prisoners.
An alarm sounded. A pleasant mechanical voice came over the loud speaker.
“Meal One will be delivered in ten minutes. Thank you, and have a wonderful day.”
My eyes darted to Agent Yocum just as quickly as my mood plummeted.
“Time to go?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
He nodded once and withdrew handcuffs from his belt.
Even as I felt the weight of another twenty-three hours alone descending upon me, I returned my attention to Victoria. “Thank you.” The two simple words rolled off of my tongue with considerable effort.
“You are welcome.” Victoria’s expression softened. “I know we are out of time, but I wanted to let you know, I included Alexander McDonough in the visitation petition….”
Her words brought a soft glow of hope to the darkness that had overtaken me, though it didn’t last long.
“I am sorry, Talia,” Victoria said gently. “The council denied the request.”
I nodded dismally in response.
Alex was a spunky little boy with more power in his tiny child’s pinky finger than most Talents would ever experience. More than the Created, for that matter. Alex’s parents—Donavon, my ex-boyfriend, and Kandice, the girl he’d cheated on me with—were both gone, so the little guy was an orphan. Both had died violently at the hands of TOXIC—Kandice while protecting Alex, and Donavon while protecting me.
