Unleashed (TalentBorn Book 4)

by C. S. Churton

  I’m in a cage in Pearce’s basement. My shoes and coat are gone, and the aircon’s blasting away directly above me. I’m scared and cold, and have only hope and faith that Pearce has honoured his end of our Faustian deal. I reach my hand up to close around the locket to comfort myself, and am hit by a fresh stab of grief when I realise it’s gone.

  I blink and snap back to the present. Scott makes no comment on my flashback, but he’s several shades paler than he was a moment ago. I think I am too. I blocked that day from my memory for a reason. I’ve never felt so powerless and confused as I did then. Scared. No, more than that, terrified. So terrified that it was only the EM disrupting collar around my neck holding me in one place. My hand moves to it unconsciously and stops just short of the worn leather.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “We came as soon as we could.”

  I give my best ‘it is what it is’ shrug, trying not to let on how shaken I am.

  “Children don’t like to be disciplined,” I say simply. “And I don’t want to talk about that.”

  Scott nods, and his voice is immediately upbeat, if a little strained.

  “Know what I missed most while I was stuck in that hospital bed?”

  For a moment I think he’s going to say something horribly cliched, like my touch, or my voice, but he simply conjures two steaming mugs and holds one out to me.

  “Decent coffee.”

  Coffee. I can smell it from here. Rich, heady coffee loaded with caffeine. The doc doesn’t approve of coffee. He says stimulants have an adverse effect on the body’s long-term capabilities. He says the process used to decaffeinate coffee is harmful too, so the rich liquid is off limits to me in all its forms. Illusions don’t have side effects, though. I step towards Scott and accept one of the mugs, inhaling its beautiful aroma deeply.

  I stop short of taking a sip. Can caffeine still affect my mind in this state? Best not to chance it. The doc won’t be impressed if I blow my best chance of getting back to him for a moment’s satisfaction. With a regretful sigh, I pull a sturdy garden table into existence, and set the mug carefully on it.

  Scott clearly has no such reservations. One of the many reasons I’m going to best him. He takes a deep pull from his mug, then sets it on the table next to mine.

  “And junk food.”

  When I look at him again, he’s got two white paper bags in his hands. He holds one out to me, and since we’re playing nice, I reach out and take it, then raise a questioning eyebrow at him. By way of an answer, he opens his bag and pulls out a white bread roll. The scent hits me first. Bacon. I can’t even remember the last time I ate that. I can just about make out the brown sauce leaking from the edges.

  “Don’t worry,” he says with a half-smile. “I put ketchup in yours.”

  I toss the greasy white bag on the table without opening it.

  “I don’t eat bacon,” I tell him flatly. The doc says bacon is really bad for you, not just because of the fat content, but because of all the salt. And it doesn’t even fill you up. It’s not very efficient. My stomach chooses that moment to give a loud rumble of protest, which I ignore. Food is just fuel.

  “Are you sure about that?” Scott says. “It’s good.”

  He takes a large bite of his roll, grinning at me like an idiot as he chews. I scowl at him. Didn’t anyone ever tell him there’s more to life than starch and processed meat? I lift my eyes to look out over the calm lake. The artificially bright sun is glistening across its surface, and for a moment, just one moment, I get the urge to race across to it and throw myself in. When was the last time I swam? Not in this lifetime. There are no pools in my basement. The urge passes as quickly as it came. Playing is for children. I’m a soldier. My purpose isn’t to have fun. I save lives. I’m changing the world. That’s more important that splashing about in some water.

  “I’ll give you a penny for them.”

  Scott’s voice intrudes on my thoughts and I jerk my head round to him. He’s holding his roll in one hand, apparently forgotten. I’m so unused to colloquialisms – Doctor Pearce abhors what he calls the mutilation of our language – that it takes me a moment to process his meaning. He wants to know what’s on my mind. I’m not sure I feel like telling him.

  He tosses the remains of his roll on the table next to mine and moves closer to me. I stiffen, but allow it.

  “Talk to me, Anna. That’s why we’re here, right?”

  We’re here because I’m waiting for Duncan to show me his weakness, but I can’t tell Scott that. Obviously. But I do need to string him along. If he doesn’t think he’s getting through me to, he’ll never chance staying here longer than he should. I glance over at the illusionist, leaning against a tree a short distance away, pretending he’s not watching us and listening in on our conversation. Scott’s not the only one I need to fool.

  “You claim you care about me.” The words slip out of my mouth. I’m not really sure where I’m going with this.

  “More than anything. Anna, I just want you to be safe.”

  “You’re the one I’m worried about not being safe, you foolish, beautiful girl. Why would I care what happens to me if you’re not here?”

  We’re in a cyber café, on the run from Pearce, and I’ve just discovered my best friend, Janey, is dead, and I’ve accused him of being a coward for not wanting to go to her funeral. He’s never spoken about his feelings for me like that before. I walk into his embrace, and feel his lips on my forehead.

  “I love you, too,” I murmur softly into his chest.

  Except I don’t. My fingernails dig into my palms as the flashback fades. We’re still standing by the lake, a handful of inches separating us. Scott’s looking at me hopefully, like he thinks the fact I loved him then means something. Like I’ve got some sort of control over when these stupid memories play out in front of us both. Like the fact I was scared of Pearce– I mean, the doc– back then means I’m not loyal to him now. Wrong. On all counts. I wrench my eyes away from his before he can say anything, and stare down at the little half-moons my nails have made in my palm.

  I hear Pearce move away, but I keep my eyes on my hands, staring at my dirty nails that are bitten almost to the quick.

  I’m back the basement, locked inside the cage, staring at my hands while Pearce takes away the dregs of food I’d planned to lick from the bowl when he wasn’t watching. I’ve made a habit of chewing my nails. It’s better that way. Long nails dig into my skin every time one of those sadists switches the collar on. For the first couple of days my palms were full of jagged little half-moons. There’s enough pain in my world already without me adding to it needlessly.

  It’s just a flash, a two-second memory that’s over almost before it starts, but Scott is frozen, immobile, the hope on his face replaced with pain and pity. I don’t need to be pitied. I’m not the same woman who fought back against the doc’s guidance and forced him to punish her every day. She was a child. She was a fool. I am neither.

  “Anna, I’m so–”

  “Don’t you dare say it,” I snarl. I’d all but forgotten about those early days, until he dragged me away from the doc and forced me to relive my darkest moments. Overhead, the sky darkens, thick with storm clouds, and air abruptly turns cold enough to raise the hairs on my arms.

  Rain hammers down from the sky, plastering my hair to my face in the semi-darkness. It doesn’t matter, I won’t be here long. The man in front of me is weak. He’s been sticking his nose into the doc’s business, and the doc doesn’t tolerate outsiders prying. Doc sent me to warn him off. I’m going to do one better. I’m going to make the doc proud of me.

  The man is cowering at my feet, begging, pleading for his life, making promises we both know he won’t keep. I grab his hair and pull his head back, letting the moonlight hit his bruised and bloody face. The same moonlight glistens on the knife in my hand. I savour the moment as I slash it across his throat, opening a wide, bloody line.

  I stare at the pale-faced Scott as the flashba
ck fades and leaves me back beside the lake again. Above us, the storm clouds still loom, unbroken.

  “There,” I snap at Scott. “Now you know what I am.”

  He just shakes his head and reaches for my hand. I snatch it away before he can touch me. I don’t need any more confusing flashbacks.

  “Anna, I’ve always known what you are. And believe me, it’s not that. Do you think I’d be here, do you think Duncan would be here, if that’s all you were?”

  “You want to use my talent for the rebels. That’s why you captured me.”

  He laughs, but there’s no mirth in it, not like before.

  “Is that what you think, or is that what Pearce told you to think?”

  “Don’t talk about him like that.” My shoulders stiffen, but I don’t punish Scott for his disrespect. There’s no point in here.

  “Anna, I left the Ishmaelians to save you. We only went there in the first place so we could be free from Pe– So we didn’t have to keep running. You’re the one who matters to me. I don’t care if you never use your talent again.”

  “Evidently.” I raise my fingers to the collar around my neck, stopping short of touching it.

  “I’m sorry. We don’t have a choice right now.”

  I snort. Doc says there’s always a choice. Your options might be bad and worse, but you always have them. Like now. I can keep arguing with Scott, or I can save my energy for my escape attempt.

  I glance up at the sky and chase away the last of the storm clouds until just a warm, gentle breeze remains. I don’t get out by day often – too much exposure risk – and I want to enjoy the sunshine while I can. From the corner of my eye, I see one of the trees flicker, but I ignore it.

  “I don’t want to argue,” I tell Scott. I just have to string this out a little longer.

  “Neither do I.”

  He conjures up a small black box, and holds it out to me. It’s similar to the remote the doc used for my collar. Behind him, another tree flickers.

  “Take it. In here, you’re free to do whatever you want. You’ll be free outside, too, soon.”

  I take the remote and turn it over in my hand. It’s redundant, of course – I can deactivate my collar with my mind in here, but what’s the point?

  “You used to give me flowers.” I’m not sure where the words come from, but they make Scott laugh, and then a beautiful bouquet appears in his hands. Stunning red roses and pink carnations, dotted with greenery. I recognise it. It was the first bouquet he ever bought me. He has a good memory. He holds the flowers out to me.

  “I’ll give you anything you want, Anna,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

  Enough. I let the remote fade from my hands and focus with all my strength on punching a hole through Duncan’s illusion. The tree flickers again, for longer this time.

  “Anna, lass, what are ye doing?” Duncan asks warily, pushing himself off the tree he’s been leaning against.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and try again.

  “Shit!” I’ve never heard the Scotsman cuss. “Get Dan out of her room. Now.”

  I feel Scott vanish as Duncan expels him from the illusion. Shit indeed. I reach deep into the pit inside me.

  “Show me what is real,” I command, pushing with everything I have.

  My stomach turns over and I retch. The breeze is gone. I open my eyes and find myself back in my room, stretched out on my bed. I hear movement to my left and roll to my side, coming up in a low crouch on the floor. The Ishmaelian is a few steps away. I don’t recognise him and I don’t care. Footsteps pound outside the room and I pounce, wrapping my arm around his neck and dragging him backwards, off balance, as the door swings inwards. Scott stands there, with Nathan in his shadow.

  The man instinctively tries to fight me off, but I’m better trained than him and I don’t give him any leverage, using his own body against him. A little extra pressure on his windpipe discourages him, and he stands there passively.

  “Anna, stop!” Scott says. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving. Don’t try to stop me.”

  “No, not like this. Please. Just stay another week. I know you’re starting to remember.”

  And that’s exactly why I can’t afford to stay. This place is messing with my head.

  “Deactivate my collar.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Now!”

  I shake the man’s neck for emphasis, making sure that I keep him between me and them. I don’t want another taste of the taser.

  “Okay, take it easy.” Scott raises a hand, attempting to mollify me. “Let’s just talk about it.”

  “I know a dozen ways to kill someone without a weapon. Don’t make me give you a demonstration.”

  Scott looks between me and the man in my grip, and sees I’m not bluffing. Either they let me go, or I’ll reduce their number by one. Either way it’s a win for me. His shoulders droop and he turns to Nathan with a nod. The handler disappears.

  “Alright, Anna. We’ll turn it off. No-one has the right to lock you up, whatever the reason. Just promise me you’ll think about everything we’ve said.”

  I glare at him, keeping the pressure on the Ishmaelian’s neck. As if I’d waste time thinking over the traitor’s lies.

  “It’s not too late to change your mind. Please. If you leave now, you’ll lose everything.” He sucks in a juddering breath that I can hear from across the room. “Except me. Because I don’t care what you do, I will always be here for you. You hear me? Always.”

  I feel the energies disrupting my EM field go quiet, and for a split second I bask in the feeling of relief. Then I shove my hostage in the back, hard, sending him sprawling at Scott. As an afterthought, I snatch up the locket from the chair, and then I shift.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I slip on the uneven ground and go down hard. Ow! Shit! Blood’s leaking from my forearm, and my palm where I tried to break my fall. There’s broken glass scattered on the ground around me. A quick glance at my jagged flesh tells me there’s glass in both wounds, too, but I’ve had worse. I blink rapidly and take a couple of deep breaths. My head is pounding and my stomach’s churning. I need to replenish my glucose reserves, but I don’t have any food, or any money. The dizziness affecting my balance tells me that I’m dangerously close to passing out from hypoglycaemia. I won’t go into a diabetic coma like most people who become severely hypoglycaemic – unlike the rest of the population, my glucose levels will replenish themselves. Eventually. But I’ll be as good as useless until that happens, and I don’t doubt Scott’s already organising a search. I didn’t shift far – no more than fifteen or twenty miles. Any further and I’d have risked passing out. I can’t afford to be vulnerable. No. I need some sugar, and now.

  It’s getting dark as I stumble along the road, my bare feet uncomfortable on the pavement, stopping at the older cars and giving the doors an experimental tug. Eventually I strike gold – an aging Volkswagen with a crack along the windscreen. The door pops open – it’s owner probably thought no-one would bother trying to steal it. I slide behind the wheel. I was just planning to hunt through the car for any change or food, but these older model Volkswagens are easy to hotwire – a friend of mine taught me how, BTD. You know, in case of emergencies. Never thought I’d need it at the time. All skills are good.

  There’s half a bottle of coke – full fat – in the footwell, so I open it and down the lot, and get to work firing up the car. I’m a little rusty, so by the time the car’s started, the worst of the dizziness has passed. I could still use more sugar, but for now I need to get moving. Fifteen miles from my captors isn’t far enough. I floor the accelerator.

  My next priority is to patch myself up – that glass can’t stay in those wounds, and infection could take me out of commission for weeks. Hospitals are a no-go – I can’t risk Scott finding me, and I have to assume he’ll look for me there. I can’t afford to underestimate him. I need to find a pharmacy I can rob, or–

/>   I tap the brake pedal, and stare at the dilapidated unit on the side of the road. Or a drop-in centre. In fact, this is better. It’s one of those centres that hands out clean needles to junkies, built inside a repurposed metal shipping container. These places must get robbed all the time. It won’t even flag up on Scott’s radar. I don’t believe in luck, but I’m not above using a strategic advantage when it presents itself.

  I should be running back to the doc, of course. He has medics, and they’ll patch me up. All I need to do is find a phone and call him. I’m not sure why I don’t. It’s not because I believe anything the traitor said – I’m above his amateur reprogramming attempts. I want the doc to respect me, see that I’ve come back stronger. That’s what it is.

  I park my borrowed car and watch the whitewashed metal unit across from me. We’re near a block of flats. There will be witnesses. I can live with that. By the time anyone can raise the alarm, I’ll have taken what I need and be long gone.

  I step out of the car, glance back over my shoulder, and make towards the unit. I’m halfway across the road before what I saw registers. Two men, getting out of their car. It could be nothing, but they’re too well dressed to belong in this run-down estate. I sneak another look under the guise of checking for on-coming traffic. They’re wearing casual clothes, but clean, tidy, and well made. Their shoes didn’t come cheap, either. Both clean shaven, and the split-second glance I spare for their physiques tells me everything I need to know. They’ve had training: they’re fighters. They’ve come for me.

  My choices: run, and hope I get another opportunity this good while I’m still strong enough to take advantage of it. Or fight, and hope that even in my weakened and injured state, I can overcome them. It’s no choice: one relies on luck, the other relies on me. I tuck my chin down and hurry the rest of the way across the road. I don’t stop until I’ve moved through the parked cars and am just a few feet from the drop-in centre. Then I double back. It’s not what they expect. I can see the surprise on their faces as I kick it up a notch and barrel into them. My first strike takes the taller of the pair in the face, splitting his nose wide open. More blood I’m going to have to clean off myself when I find somewhere to hole up. He staggers back, and I forget him for the moment. The second guy is reaching for something. Everything slows as he pulls a taser from his waistband. I really hate tasers.