Exiled (TalentBorn Book 2)

by C. S. Churton

  I cock my head.

  “No. And don’t worry, as soon as Fitzpatrick hears about what happened, he’ll pay him well to keep quiet.”

  “Don’t you think we should? Have a word for them, I mean.”

  “Them?” Scott teases. “I thought you were still busy trying to pretend we’re all the same.”

  He’s referring to how massively in denial I was when we first met. I had myself thoroughly convinced that I was just having blackouts, or sleepwalking, or any other explanation that didn’t revolve around the fact that I’m some kind of genetic mutant.

  “Like ‘norms’, I continue, ignoring his remark. “Or ‘nabsas’ or-”

  “Nabsas?” he interrupts with a faint smile that I can just about make out in the semi-darkness.

  “Not Atypically Biologically Selectively Advantaged.” I’m pretty sure Toby and the rest of his merry band of scientists would be pleased with that one.

  “I think you should eat something. Check the glove compartment.”

  I pull a face at him, but pop the glove compartment anyway and have a quick rummage, turning up a sandwich, a chocolate bar and a can of coke.

  “Such a gentleman,” I say, tearing open the sandwich’s packaging. “What would I do without you?”

  “Crash and burn, Mason. Crash and burn.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s the day after our little adventure – well, technically the same day since we went at two a.m., but you know what I mean. The Ishmaelians’ new hideout is huge, though mostly subterranean. I spent so much time at AbGen that the lack of windows should make it feel like home, but it just reminds me of the basement I came so close to being imprisoned in. None the less, it’s safe – or safer, anyway – and it’s a place to stay, so when Ephraim offered us permanent quarters here we accepted, though we’ve made no promises about staying on once we’ve dealt with AbGen. I didn’t want to be a part of this world to start with; I have no intention of staying in it any longer than necessary. Besides, I already have plans to spend the rest of my life with a certain perfect guy who keeps showing up in my bed.

  Speaking of which… it’s ten a.m., and Scott’s still sleeping. I figure he needs it, since he didn’t sleep night before last, so I slip out of bed as quietly as I can, and dress using the light of my phone. That’s the drawback of having no windows – it’s pitch black unless you flip the lights on, which will definitely wake sleeping beauty. I snag a towel and some shower gel and head down the corridor to where the shower room is located. Communal showers, of course, but at least there’s likely to be hot water: another perk of crawling out of bed at ten. I could get used to this.

  By the time I’m back from my shower – with generic shower gel and shampoo, eugh: a shopping trip is definitely top of my to-do list – Scott’s still sleeping, so I slip back out of the room and decide to take a look around our new home. It’s not snooping if we live here, right?

  The first thing I notice that this place is even bigger than it seemed when we arrived last night. I was too caught up in my shift, and its implications – not to mention how utterly stupid I’d been – to really notice the place when we arrived. Vast doesn’t even begin to cover it. Accommodation is on the third floor down, and so far on my stroll to the lift, I’ve passed thirty-two doors, and we weren’t at the end of the hall. It seems logical that we’d be in the first available room, meaning those thirty-two rooms are already in use. That’s a lot of personnel living on site, and I reckon it’s a fair bet that there’s more living in their own accommodation. No wonder first Gardiner and now Pearce are so obsessed with them. If they could get all these absas working for AbGen’s agenda…

  The lift doors open, and I see there’s already someone inside. I recognise her: it’s the girl with the lie detecting talent. Mika.

  “Hi!” she greets me with a smile. “Are you heading up or down?”

  I shrug.

  “Either. I just fancied stretching my legs.” It’s true, or at least, it’s not a lie. I don’t feel like sitting around right now.

  “I’m on my way to the surface.” She pauses then offers shyly, “You’re welcome to come.”

  “Perfect. I could use some fresh air.”

  Mika presses a button on the panel and the doors slide shut.

  “So, you’re the hero of the hour,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

  I wonder idly if she gets much freedom to just be ordinary, rather than at Ephraim’s side being his personal lie detector. Maybe that’s a bit harsh. I’ve only just got here, I’ve got no right to be jumping to conclusions. Could be that she’s only by his side when two complete strangers who used to work for the enemy come strolling through the front door. She’s not with him now. I guess I just have trouble with authority figures. Can’t imagine why.

  “Apparently I am,” I agree. “I just hope whatever they stole was worth it.” She frowns, and I make a note to aim for a less defensive tone next time. “Still, all’s well that ends well, or some such cliché, right?”

  She smiles and ducks her head.

  “Your talent’s much more interesting than mine. How long have you known about it?” I ask.

  “Ephraim calls them gifts. He says it reminds us how lucky we are to have them.”

  I nod, although I’m not sure I agree – until recently my ‘gift’ had felt like a curse.

  “I was very young when I realised I was different, it wasn’t long after my seventh birthday. My mother told me that our dog had run away and her voice had a strange ring to it. I asked her why she was speaking in a funny voice, but of course she didn’t understand what I meant. Ephraim tells me it’s very unusual for a gift to make itself known so early, and that I’m very fortunate.”

  He’s not wrong: most of the absas I’ve spoken to didn’t learn about their talents until much later in life. For some, it manifested in adolescence, in others like myself it lay dormant until triggered – in my case by my first (and last) attempt at petty theft. The AbGen scientists would have had a field day with her bloodwork. No wonder Ephraim wants to keep Mika close: not only is hers a very convenient talent, there’s clearly something about her that’s different to the rest of us. More advanced, even.

  “Must’ve been difficult to grow up with,” I venture, as the lift doors slide open and we step out. I fall into step beside her.

  “My gift is something for which I should always be grateful,” she says, a small frown creasing her forehead for the briefest of moments. “Though as a child, it was sometimes… trying. Before I learned to conceal it, the other children didn’t like to speak around me.”

  Must have made for a lonely upbringing, no wonder she’s so shy – and why she was so willing to buy into everything Ephraim told her.

  Dammit, I’m doing it again! I’m going to trust these people, I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt. It’s only day two, and if things are a little different from what I’m used to, well that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Anything that’s different from AbGen can’t be all bad.

  We’re on the ground floor – I can tell because windows have finally become a feature again, although two people are busy blacking them out. There are a few other people here as well, all busy modifying the room. We’re in some sort of barn, though it looks like it wasn’t fully ready for the Ishmaelians to move into. Makes sense: with the intel Scott gave them, they must’ve had to bump up their plans to move on.

  “Do you move around often?” I ask my guide. Might as well make the most of it while she’s willing. She seems as starved of female company as I am. I feel a twinge of sadness as Janey comes to mind. At least my presence isn’t as dangerous for Mika as it had been for my best friend.

  “Usually every couple of years. Staying in one place for too long risks drawing attention.”

  “From AbGen, you mean?”

  “Yes, but not just them. As our numbers grow, the ungifted eventually start to question our presence, and they fear what they do not understand.”

/>   There’s a sad undertone in her voice and I wonder how much rejection she’s already faced. It can’t be easy spending time around someone who knows every time you tell a white lie, almost as bad as being around a mind reader – but Joe has to focus to use his talent, whereas Mika’s seems to be constantly active. I’m guessing making friends wasn’t easy for her. It probably still isn’t. The Us vs Them attitude that Ephraim seems to have instilled in her probably isn’t helping either.

  We pass through the front doors unchecked and emerge into the unseasonably warm weather. A couple of ladders are propped against the walls, and people are working their way around, freshening up the paintwork and making repairs to the roof. As I watch, a wooden beam slips from the hands of one of the workers and clatters to the ground. He glances around – presumably for any ‘ungifteds’ – then holds his hand out towards the fallen beam. It flies through the air and neatly into his grasp.

  “Whoa.”

  Mika smiles.

  “There are many gifts here. Few are as impressive as yours, though.”

  We move a little distance away from the building and she drops down onto the grass, lying flat on her stomach. I yawn and stretch out beside her.

  “I don’t know, telekinesis is pretty cool.”

  “Rohan certainly enjoys his gift,” she agrees. We watch as the young man uses his talent to hold the beam in position, and then drive several nails into it. Or more precisely, I watch – Mika’s eyes don’t leave the worker. I smile.

  “And you seem to be enjoying Rohan,” I tease gently. She looks at me in shock, and then returns my smile shyly.

  “He joined us last year. Ephraim says he does not follow rules well – he is forbidden from using his gift where the ungifted may see him.”

  And who amongst us can resist the lure of a bad boy? I know I certainly couldn’t at her age. Rohan tosses a glance in our direction and goes back to showing off.

  “And does he know you like him?”

  Her entire face goes as red as her hair, and she shakes her head.

  “I could never tell him that.”

  “I… don’t think you need to worry on that front,” I say as he strips his t-shirt off and tosses it down to the floor. I know it’s warm for this time of year, but it’s definitely not warm enough to justify that. On the other hand, he’s looked over at Mika four times in the short while we’ve been out here. Apparently, the bad boy is into the girl next door. I frown, not entirely convinced he’s good enough for her, and then laugh at myself. I haven’t known Mika five minutes and I’m already getting protective of her. There’s just something so… innocent about her.

  “What’s funny?” she asks.

  “Nothing. But I think Rohan might be a little sweet on you.”

  She sits up, looking at me properly.

  “You spoke the truth.”

  “I generally do.”

  “Usually, when people say such things, they are being polite, to spare the feelings of the person they are speaking to. But you believe it to be true.”

  “How does your talent – I mean, your gift – how does it work, exactly?”

  “I can read the truth of a situation, as you see it. If you believe something you say to be true, then it is as the truth to me. There is a tranquillity to your voice. If you are being dishonest, even with yourself, I hear the absence of truth.” Her eyes flick to the telekinetic and back. “I only hear what you believe to be the truth, though. If you think something to be true, but are wrong, I would be unable to tell.”

  She’s eyeing Rohan again. Low self-esteem’s a bitch. And I should know, I spent most of my teenage years there.

  “Trust me, you don’t need to worry on that front. I’ve spent plenty of time around guys, and that one has definitely taken a shine to you.”

  “Do you really think so?” she asks with a giggle.

  “Yes!” I pluck a dandelion and toss it at her, then abruptly remember I’m talking to a stranger, not to Janey, and my smile fades.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You said you tell the truth.”

  Right. Wrong person to say ‘nothing’ to. I sigh.

  “I was thinking about my friend.”

  “The one you told us about yesterday?”

  I nod. I don’t really want to talk about this… but I kinda also do.

  “You must miss her.”

  “I do. All the time.”

  I think back to our chat with Ephraim yesterday, and chew my lower lip thoughtfully. If I have to talk about it, I might as well clear something up.

  “I told you that she was murdered by AbGen.”

  “But you do not truly believe it.”

  “Yeah… see, that’s what I don’t understand. I’m pretty damn sure that’s what happened.”

  She shakes her head, and I force myself to bite my tongue, because I don’t want to fall out with my new friend. But I know AbGen killed her. Who else would? Who else had anything to gain by killing my best friend, who never upset anyone in her life?

  Mika smiles apologetically.

  “Somewhere inside, you do not believe it. I cannot tell you if you are right or wrong, but you do not truly believe they are responsible for your friend’s death. You are lying to yourself. You have doubts.”

  That’s interesting. I want to deny it – because I know Pearce is responsible – but I save my breath. Something to think about when I’m alone.

  “So, when are you going to tell Rohan how you feel?”

  Chapter Twelve

  When Scott finally emerges from his pit, it’s early afternoon, and of course I torment him endlessly for it, despite having only been up a couple of hours myself, because he basically never sleeps later than me and I’m not going to let the opportunity pass.

  That done, we track down the base’s canteen – which actually turns out to be an abandoned dining room because meals are served at set times, though apparently we’re welcome to help ourselves to anything in the kitchen. Scott’s not exactly Gordon Ramsay, and the less said about my cooking ability the better, but we’re in the middle of nowhere so we decide to take our chances. A hunt round the kitchen turns up the basics for survival – coffee, bread and bacon. Scott tosses a couple of rashers into a pan and I demonstrate my prowess with a kettle. Ten minutes later, we’re back in the dining room with our hastily constructed meal, which I copiously douse in ketchup. Scott eyes me with mild disgust: he’s still under this weird delusion that bacon sandwiches belong with brown sauce. It makes for a complicated relationship, but we’re making it work.

  It’s not until I take the first bite that I realise exactly how hungry I am, and for a moment we both just focus on the serious business of eating.

  “What do you make of it here?” Scott asks between mouthfuls.

  I glance around to check the room is empty – habit, because there’s only one door and we can both see it from where we’re sitting.

  “It’s… different.” I don’t want my habit of assuming the worst to rub off on Scott, so I try to think objectively before I answer. “Things seem a lot more relaxed around here.” Read: not enough security. “And there’s less concern about exposure.” Read: people are blatantly using their abilities where anyone flying a drone overhead might see.

  “By which you mean you think they need a bigger security detail and people are lapse about hiding their talents.”

  Damn, he’s good.

  “I don’t mean to sound negative. It’s just after everything we’ve been through, I don’t want to get caught because these guys aren’t being careful enough.”

  Scott nods, and takes a sip of his coffee.

  “You’re right. But give them time: they’re still establishing the base, things are bound to be a little up in the air.”

  Him and his darn logic again. I wonder if he ever gets bored of being right.

  “Something else is bothering you,” he says. It’s not a question. “Come on, out with it.”
/>
  I pick up my mug, realise it’s empty, and set it down again, then run my finger around the rim.

  “It’s just… the way they speak about Ephraim, it’s like he’s some sort of god to them. Mika in particular. It’s like we’ve walked into some kind of cult.”

  I’m aware as I say it that I haven’t had much experience of good leadership: perhaps this is just how people feel when the guy at the top genuinely inspires you. It reminds me a little too much of how Scott used to speak about Gardiner.

  “You’ve spoken to Mika?”

  Oh, yeah. I hadn’t gotten around to telling him that part yet.

  “She seems nice. Her talent is really interesting.” I frown. “She says I don’t really believe AbGen killed Janey.”

  “Really? So who you think was responsible?”

  “Damned if I know,” I gripe. “I’m all for going after Pearce, but apparently some part of me thinks he’s innocent. Of this, at least.” Because nothing about Pearce fits the description of ‘innocent’, though it doesn’t necessarily follow that he’s guilty of this particular atrocity.

  “We’ll do some digging,” Scott promises, although I can’t help but feel that much as I want justice for my friend, we have bigger concerns with the fight against AbGen looming ahead of us. It was all so much easier when it tied into one neat little package.

  The door swings open and we break apart – it’s not until then I realise we’ve been leaning across the table conspiratorially, which I’m sure doesn’t look at all suspicious to whichever Ishmaelian is walking into the room. I do a double take. It’s Alistair, Ephraim’s right-hand man.

  “Ah, I was told I might find you here,” he says, heading over to us. Apparently the Ishmaelians’ gossip machine is every bit as efficient as AbGen’s. I store that information away for later.

  “Another coffee?” he asks, heading towards the kitchen. I look at Scott and he shrugs.

  “Sure.”

  The man emerges a moment later with three mugs and drags a chair across to our table.