Caged (Talented Saga) Read online

  Had it been about money? Was the Coalition paying for information on Operatives? Or worse, was this personal? Operatives’ deaths weren’t infrequent, but an Operative being targeted specifically had to be rare.

  Just as I was beginning to think that my brain couldn’t process one more coherent thought, the Instructor dorm came into view. Every inch of my body was slick with sweat. I briefly wondered if it was possible for every part of your body to sweat, or if you sweat only in certain portions of your body and it just dripped to the rest of it.

  Coming to a halt in front of the entrance, I leaned against the cool stones. I hoped that the coolness would seep into my exposed skin, but instead, I had a feeling that my body heat warmed the smooth surface. I reached for a water bottle, only to discover it was empty. I looked down. Ugg. All of my water bottles were empty. I took a deep breath.

  My head pounded so loud that it blocked out all the sounds of nature around me. My stomach was queasy and my legs shook slightly, but I was still standing upright and last night’s dinner hadn’t seen the sunlight that was now peeking through the trees. Considering my morning run a success, I grinned as I opened the front door to the dorm and headed up to my room for a shower.

  I arrived at the practice arena in good spirits, still pleased with myself. Since we would have a different set of students today we would be repeating the drills from yesterday. I inwardly groaned as I thought of my bruised leg, but still firmly insisted that I didn’t need a suit when Donavon suggested it. Pride was definitely a sin.

  Donavon gave me a hard look in response. His light blue eyes clouded over and somehow became darker, like when a sunny, cloudless sky begins to fill with thunder clouds. I swore that I could hear his back teeth grinding together as he clenched his jaw. He turned to the class and began taking them through the movements he was about to demonstrate. I stood perfectly still beside him, feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind my back.

  I glanced sidelong, trying in vain to not look at the silky blonde hair that fell in his eyes. It was longer than I’d seen it in years, like he hadn’t cut it since leaving Headquarters, and he kept pushing it back with one hand. His skin was a little tan from all the time that he spent outside; usually, the most color he had was pink tinges since he tended to burn easily. The muscles in his arms moved fluidly with each gesture he made. His hands were large and calloused from training, fingers long and slim. I watched his mouth move as he spoke, his lips looking even fuller from the side. I had seen many girls in D.C. who used lip gloss injected with insect venom in an effort to make their lips swell slightly, trying to achieve the look that Donavon had naturally.

  Donavon’s dark eyelashes were so long, they brushed the hollows of his cheeks when he closed his eyes. When we were in school, Donavon and I would sneak out at night to lie on a blanket under the stars. I would lie on my back, my head on Donavon’s arm. He would lie next to me, his head resting on my shoulder close enough so that his lashes would kiss my cheekbone, sending tingles through my whole body and nervous giggles out of my mouth every time he blinked. Butterfly kisses, he’d called them.

  I was so lost in the memory that I didn’t even realize that Donavon had stopped talking and turned to face me expectantly. My throat was dry and I nearly choked when I tried to swallow my unease.

  “You okay?” he sent, concern warring with irritation at my daydreaming.

  “Yes,” my mental voice snapped back at him. I was angry with myself for recalling those memories, so naturally I took it out on him. He cocked one dark-blonde eyebrow, and I wondered how loud my thoughts had been projecting. Blood rushed to my face, and my pulse roared in my ears. Of course, this totally physical reaction, that I couldn’t help, angered me even more.

  “Let’s start this,” I growled. I threw all of my concentration into the exercise. Granted, all I was supposed to do was stand there in a defensive stance, and not really try to deflect the blows. Still, I readied myself for the physical contact, and I didn’t even feel Donavon’s first kick make contact with my body. I steeled myself against his second, which I knew would land on my bruised leg, but the pain never came.

  At least, the pain never came to me. As soon as Donavon’s foot hit my thigh, he doubled over holding his own leg. My eyes widened in surprised. It took me several seconds to react while his mental voice screamed expletives in my head. Closing the distance separating us, I knelt down, not sure whether I should touch him. Donavon writhed in agony.

  “Get a Medical,” I yelled to no one in particular. The students all stared, frozen. “Now,” I snapped. The compulsion behind my command was so strong that several kids took off at a run.

  “What happened?” I asked shakily, my hand hovering over his shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” he replied out loud, his teeth gritted. He let out several long, hissing breaths, and squeezed his eyes shut to ward off the pain.

  We stayed like that, him lying on the ground and me kneeling beside him, for what seemed like an eternity. I wanted to touch him, soothe him, but I was scared he’d reject me. When he opened his eyes, he looked murderous, and I had a bad feeling that his anger was directed at me. I recoiled, sitting back on my haunches in case he decided to release his aggression.

  Finally, a Medic arrived with Janet in tow. As soon as Janet saw me kneeling on the ground, she quickened her pace, fear shining in her eyes. When she glanced down at me, she did a double take. Her eyes grew big as saucers. I followed her gaze; my gray pants were darkening to a reddish-black.

  “Oh,” I cried out loud. As soon as I saw the blood, a loud crack resonated in my head. Oh, no, I knew what had happened. Suddenly I was the one writing in the grass. My leg burned, flames shooting down my thigh to lick my toes. My pants clung to my skin, sticky with my blood. I was vaguely aware that Donavon had stopped panting, his breathing returning to normal. His eyes found mine, the blue irises swirling with accusations and fury. Donavon scrambled back, putting as much distance between us as he could manage with the all the people crowding the area.

  Janet motioned a Medic closer to where I lay paralyzed with fear and agony. He scooped me up in his arms and began running, cradling me to his chest. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breathe through the pain. I wanted to deflect it or block it, but the last thing I needed was to transfer the pain – I certainly didn’t want the Medic to drop me.

  When we arrived at the Medical building, a team was standing by. The Medic carefully deposited me on to a stretcher waiting at the entrance. I still had my eyes shut, but I felt and heard people cutting my pants away from my thigh. I swore loudly as one peeled the sticky fabric from the wound. Terrified that the sight of my blood would send me into hysterics, I kept my eyes scrunched shut and tightly gripped the handrails of the gurney until the skin over my knuckles turned white. Don’t cry, don’t cry, I chanted silently. You’ve been through worse.

  The stretcher came to a stop, and I felt four simultaneous pricks several inches above my knee. A heavy chemical feeling flowed through my veins, and my leg went numb.

  I chanced a peek. The same Medic who’d carried me from the practice field was sopping up the blood with clean towels while another prepared sterilized pads to disinfect the area. I averted my eyes; watching the needle thread stitches through my skin was the last image that I wanted burned into my mind. Unfortunately, I still felt the pull of the fiber as he threaded the stitches to close the wound. It took every ounce of my willpower not to retch.

  “Good as new,” he pronounced when he was done.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, lying back on the stiff white sheets of the gurney. His footsteps retreated from my bedside.

  “How are you?” Janet’s voice asked.

  “Didn’t you hear him?” I replied. “Good as new.”

  “You only needed ten stitches. Dr. Remy said there was only so much blood because of the bruise,” she explained. “What happened? Why weren’t you wearing pads?”

  “Please don’t lecture me,” I moane
d. I felt stupid enough as it was. I had no one to blame for this except myself, my own stubborn nature.

  “I wasn’t going to lecture you,” she replied. I peered up at her through one squinted eye. She looked exasperated; she had definitely been gearing up to lecture me.

  “Did you bring me some new pants?” I asked her.

  “Yes,” her lips were pursed in a disapproving grimace, but she was carrying a pair of loose-fitting navy sweatpants.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, holding out my hand to take the clothing.

  “Dr. Remy says that you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to, but no physical activity for the rest of the day,” she warned.

  “Did Dr. Remy say when I can do physical activity?” I assumed Dr. Remy was the unknown Medic who had stitched me up.

  “Preferably not for a week, but if you promise to be careful and wear a protective suit, tomorrow should be fine.”

  “Tomorrow it is,” I snapped, immediately feeling bad. Janet was just trying to help, and she wasn’t the person I was angry with. I was angry with myself for being stubborn.

  Janet helped me slide off of the stretcher and into the sweatpants, then handed me three green pills and a small plastic cup of water.

  “Prevent infection,” she said as she handed them to me. I nodded my understanding and cupped the pills in my palm before throwing them in my mouth.

  If I’d insisted, Janet would’ve let me mull over my stupidity in the solitude of my own room. Somehow, I didn’t think that was a productive use of my time, and I knew that I’d feel even worse if I didn’t have something to distract me. So instead of heading back to my dorm room, I limped to Ms. Cleary’s language class.

  I arrived just as her previous class was letting out.

  “Ms. Lyons!” she exclaimed. “You’re early!”

  “Um, yeah. I had to visit Medical, so I left a little early from my last class.” That was mostly true. There was no way that I was explaining my refusal to wear protective padding just to prove to Donavon I was tough.

  “I have plenty for you to get started on.” She smiled, motioning me to her desk. Inwardly, I groaned. Paperwork - just what I wanted to do. Outwardly, I matched her smile and limped pathetically to sit in her chair.

  The opportunities to engage Annalise in conversation were few and far between, so I jumped on them. Mostly, I made small talk asking about what she did in her free time and if she ever got the chance to leave campus to enjoy Baltimore or Washington. I was even so bold as to chance asking about her personal life.

  “Oh, not much chance for that,” she laughed. “My duties here at school keep me very busy.”

  “But you don’t want to date? Start a family? That’s the great thing about being a teacher, right? It’s easy to get married and settle down. I’ve even heard that if you’re married you can request to live off campus,” I pressed. Sure, I knew that the questions were indelicate, but after my morning, tact was not a priority. The sooner I found the spy, the sooner that I could get away from Donavon.

  “Yes, that is true, dear...but the students here are my family. I don’t need more than that,” she answered. Her eyes took on a faraway look and I knew that she was caught in the memory of her failed marriage. Her thoughts were sad, regretful. Annalise had truly loved her husband, and his actions had cut her deeply. But through the pain, I felt her determination to personally right the wrongs of her husband. Her inner turmoil saddened me. I couldn’t imagine living with the knowledge that someone you’d loved had betrayed you so severely. I wasn’t positive that she wasn’t a spy, but she was coming close to being a strike-through on my list of suspects.

  The rest of my school day was blessedly uneventful. I followed Cadence around, observing the students and making small suggestions on form and technique. She seemed irked at my presence, and took every opportunity to disagree with my advice. I tried to engage her in conversation several times, hoping to establish a connection so that I could delve into her mind, but she wasn’t having any part of it. She answered my inquires in a short, clipped manner that suggested she’d rather be clawing her own eyes out than talking to me. By the end of the period, I wanted to claw her eyes out for her.

  I ate lunch with Ernest the Brain and actually enjoyed myself. The previous day, he’d been so nervous around me that he’d barely been able to keep up his end of the conversation. Today, we bantered easily, and I realized that he was actually pretty funny. I felt bad that my motivations for befriending him weren’t genuine. Under different circumstances, we might’ve even become real friends.

  After lunch, I made small talk with Thad while his students worked on group projects. I subtly threw in questions about his life back in Edinburgh. He was wistful when he talked about Scotland, smiling at the memory of his childhood. I asked about his family, and he seemed hesitant to talk about them. From what I could glean from his mind, he wasn’t hiding anything, but rather felt guilty for having left to come to school here. Thad rarely went home to visit even though he missed his birthplace. I knew the feeling; rarely a day went by that I didn’t miss Capri. I hadn’t been back since my parents’ deaths.

  Griffin’s class was one of two in which I would see the same Talents every day. Mac had asked me to keep a close eye on each of them and wanted to be kept apprised of my impressions. Almost as much as being tasked with hunting down the traitor, this made me feel like I had purpose again, and not so much like I was living in limbo.

  Griffin and I worked individually with each student as he or she threw a sampling of small weapons at a target. Most of the kids were actually very good already and needed little coaching. I didn’t get a chance to speak with Griffin very much, but since he wasn’t a suspect, I wasn’t too bothered by the fact.

  Ursula’s Telekinesis class was the other one where I would see the same Talents on a daily basis. The fifteen students in the class varied greatly in ability level. Several had extremely developed Talents while others had virtually non-existent abilities. I made a mental note to ask Penny to run profiles on all the students in the class, so that I would know what I was dealing with. Ursula concentrated her efforts on the stronger gifts, leaving me to work with those less capable. I didn’t really mind. I found that I liked teaching others how to better use their powers.

  As I walked, practically dragging my throbbing leg behind me, to my room to change before dinner, I mentally compiled a list of the intel that I needed Penny to help me gather that evening. My stomach grumbled in anticipation of food, and I longed for a hot shower; the antiseptic smell of the disinfectant the Medic had used to clean the wound filled my nostrils every time I moved my leg.

  “How dare you!” Donavon’s mental voice screamed in my head just before I reached the entrance to the dorm. I stopped dead in my tracks, whipping around to face him. His cheeks were bright red with anger and his eyes were more gray than blue.

  “Me?” I exclaimed mentally. “I’m sorry, did I miss something? Because last time I checked, I was the one with STITCHES in her leg!” I screamed back. As exhausted as I was from my eventful day, I wasn’t going to take his accusations lying down. I could feel a vein in my neck straining as the blood rushed to my face.

  “You had no right,” he shot back. “You knew that you could transfer pain to me. You knew how easy it was with our connection being so strong!”

  “Oh, and you think I would purposely let you kick me so hard that you broke the skin just so that I could transfer the pain to you?” I mentally demanded, refusing to back down.

  “The way you’ve been acting? I wouldn’t put it past you,” he retorted.

  “Get over yourself, Donavon. I wouldn’t put myself through that pain just to hurt you.” He looked doubtful, indecision warring with ...panic. Donavon was scared of me, I thought, the realization only slightly curbing my anger.

  “Do you think that I manipulated you in to kicking me so hard you drew blood, too?” He didn’t answer. “Oh, my god, you do.” I blanched. Rage consumed me. N
ow I wanted to hit him hard enough make him bleed. I advanced on him so quickly that he barely had time to react. His eyes grew wide in alarm, his fear written like lines of text in his creased brow. The horrified expression that Donavon wore stopped me in my tracks. What was wrong with me? I was out of control. I needed to get my temper in check. He had every right to be scared of me. I was scared of me right now.

  “FUCK YOU,” I screamed, a million emotions bursting out of me at once, like water from a dam. The urge to attack Donavon was so strong that if I didn’t leave right then, I feared that I might not be able to suppress it. Turning on my heel and ignoring the throbbing in my leg, I took off at a dead sprint to my room. What was wrong with me? Sure, I was rightfully angry that he’d accused me of something so ridiculous, but I’d come within inches of assaulting him. And for what, blaming me for something that I didn’t do? Even given my usual, somewhat irrational behavior, physical violence was extreme under the circumstances. I barely made it to my room before the first tears wet my cheeks.

  Chapter Nine

  A quiet beeping in my ear woke me. Disoriented and confused, I opened my eyes and jumped when I found my nose inches from bright red, glowing numbers. My neck was stiff and one of my feet tingled when I moved it. I sat in the desk chair in my dorm room, a soft light illuminating the surface of the desk. Stretching my arms over my head I looked to the left, the shade on the window was up and a sliver of moonlight shone on the rough beige carpet.

  The beeping continued. “Crap!” I exclaimed out loud when the numbers on the clock came into focus. I’d slept through dinner. Shoot, I hoped that I hadn’t missed my meeting, too; Mac was going to be pissed.

  When I’d returned to my room after the confrontation with Donavon, I had a message on my communicator from Mac requesting my presence at a status meeting. Glancing at the communicator, I realized that it was the source of the incessant beeping. Mac must have programmed the meeting into the communicator because not only was it beeping, it was also alternating between flashing “Mac” and the time.