Exiled (TalentBorn Book 2) Read online

  “Sorry,” I sigh. “Ignore me.”

  “Forget it. You’re tired, you’re worried about Scott. It’s fine. Look, there’s hot water, why don’t you take a bath and get some sleep? We can head out again this evening.”

  I nod. That seems like a sensible plan, much as I hate to do nothing while Scott’s– when he might need me. Might as well get some rest while I can.

  It’s been so long since I’ve had a bath instead of a shower that I’ve started underestimating what one can do for your mood. I put some music on my phone, and let the hot water ease the aches from my muscles. B&Bs and on-site quarters are all well and good, but you just can’t beat a good bath. Even if all the soaps smell like man and the shampoo choice is limited to Bulldog for Men. Which begs the question: is there a Bulldog for Women or is it more like Poodle, and what sort of women use it? Oh yeah, I definitely need more sleep. Except, as I crawl beneath someone else’s bed sheets, sleep is the last thing I want. Sleeping means dreaming, dreaming means seeing his face, hearing his screams… I screw my eyes shut and will the images to stop. They’re just as bad when I’m awake. I unlock my phone and scroll through the photos. I find the one I’m looking for, the same one I hung in our Ishmaelian quarters: Scott with his arm around my shoulders, laughing into the camera while I cringe into his neck. My hair is a mess, my face is covered in dirt – definitely not camera-ready – but we were happy. Together. Where we belong.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The sun filtering in through my window wakes me. I lay basking in its warmth for a minute, then sit bolt upright. Sun? I was only supposed to be napping until evening. I grab my phone from beside me and check the time. Seven a.m. I slept all afternoon and all night. I was supposed to be out checking if anyone saw AbGen’s van! Another whole night Scott was left at Pearce’s mercy. How did I sleep in? Why did Iain let me?

  I get off the bed, furious, and snatch up my clothes from the floor, tugging them on whilst uttering a string of expletives under my breath. What was Iain playing at? He knew how important it was we went out and looked for witnesses. He said he’d wake me. How could he do this? How could I do this? I groan. I’m such an idiot. I should have set an alarm, I barely slept last night – I mean, the night before last.

  I didn’t get round to getting a new hairbrush yesterday, or a toothbrush, come to that, so I make use of the mouthwash again and rake my hands through my hair a couple of times before giving up and just tying it back. I splash some water on my face and head down the stairs. I can already hear Iain moving around the kitchen, and head straight there. He’s moving around, frying something that smells a lot like bacon on the hob and pulling a couple of eggs from a carrier bag on the worktop. It reminds me of all the times I’ve walked in on Scott cooking breakfast, and my stomach turns as I realise that could all be in the past now.

  “Why didn’t you wake me last night?” I demand before the cop has even turned around.

  “You needed the sleep. You were exhausted,” he says, cracking the eggs into a pan.

  “No, I needed to be out speaking to the locals! Now how are we going to know if anyone saw anything? Scott could be–” I break off, a lump wedged in my throat. I can’t say it. Saying it will make it real.

  “Hey.” Abruptly his arm is round my shoulder, steering me into a seat. I go passively, even though I want to shout and scream and tell him it’s all his fault, but that part of me is drowning and it’s impossible to shout through the gallons of water crushing me.

  “I went.”

  I look up at him sharply.

  “You–”

  He nods, and reaches over to flip the switch on the kettle.

  “I didn’t want to wake you, so I went out myself.” He gets two mugs from the cupboard, and puts a tea bag in one and a spoon of coffee in the other.

  “One sugar?” I nod, and he spoons it in and continues. “I figured it didn’t need two of us anyway.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  He shakes his head as he places the mugs on the table.

  “Sorry, no-one saw a thing. We can try again tonight, but…”

  Yeah. Another day will have passed, and people will be even less likely to remember anything out of the ordinary. I stare into my coffee as Iain dumps far too much food on two plates, puts one in front of me and settles in front of the other. There’s a slice of toast on the side of my plate, and I take a bite but it sits like clay in my mouth. I roll it around listlessly and eventually force it down. I push the food away. I’m not hungry. Iain watches me but doesn’t comment on it.

  “Have you thought about how you’re going to get him back without getting caught yourself?” he eventually asks, breaking the drawn silence.

  “I’m not leaving him, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” I snap. Iain raises an eyebrow, and I wonder if punching him in the face would be considered an over-reaction.

  “You’re highly strung this morning. Actually, I was thinking. You have clothes on.”

  I feel my own eyebrow raise. Is he for real? Punching him in the face would most definitely not be an over-reaction.

  “When you shift, I mean,” he clarifies quickly, before my hand has time to act on my inclination. “You don’t end up… exposed.”

  “Are you going somewhere with this, or are you just angling for a new image as a creep?”

  “You’re really not a morning person, are you? When you shift, you don’t just shift yourself – you transport your clothes as well. And phone, and whatever else is in your pockets. Well, maybe you can transport bigger things. Or people.”

  His words hang between us for a long moment. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. If he’s right, then I could just shift in, grab Scott, and shift right back out again. We could do more than just find him, we really could save him. We could get him back. I close my eyes for a moment, and allow myself to feel hope. I could have him back. I feel tears burning behind my closed lids and cough awkwardly, turning away from Iain. I don’t want him to see me cry. I hear him pick up the plates and move over to the sink and take the opportunity to wipe my eyes.

  “So,” Iain says, without looking back at me over his shoulder, “my friend’s still running the CCTV, but it’s taking a while without any real idea of where they were heading. Until we hear back, we’re at a loose end. Want to head over to the park and find out what you’re really capable of?”

  Oh yes. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. I’m going to get this, and then I’m going to get him.

  *

  Half an hour later, we’re at the park, and Iain is carrying a backpack over one shoulder. He pulls it open, rummages inside, and tosses me a book. I glance at the cover.

  “Game of Thrones?”

  Iain shrugs.

  “Apparently Pete is a fan.”

  “Better not be an omen.”

  “I thought we’d start small. You’ve shifted with things bigger than this – your coat, your shoes – so this shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Yeah, shouldn’t be, but somehow it is. Because when I close my eyes, open the box of fear, and shift a few feet away, I arrive with empty hands. I look back at the book on floor, right in the spot I’d occupied a second ago. I frown and snatch it up.

  “Take your time,” Iain says. “Just think of it as an extension of yourself.”

  I nod, even though neither of us really knows why the book didn’t come with me. It’s as good a theory as any, though. My clothes, the contents of my pockets – they’re all part of me, or at least, what I regard as being me. The book was something I was carrying. Something extra. I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to convince myself it’s not.

  I close my eyes, draw in a slow breath, and focus on the sensation of the coat wrapped around my body, snug and warm, and try to mimic that feeling of attachment as I feel the book in my hand. I fling open the box lid and let fear take me, until I’ve got to–

  I open my eyes slowly, reluctantly. I can already feel that my hand i
s empty. A cold breeze raises the hairs on my arms, and I stare accusingly at my coat: on the floor, next to the book.

  “Okay, whatever you just did… try doing the opposite.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I tug my coat back on, pick up the book, and chew on another glucose pill. This might take a while. Iain holds out a bottle of water, but I decline it with a shake of my head. The last thing I need to be thinking about is water sloshing around inside me. I’m not sure how that would go down with my new-found handicap, but I’m not in any hurry to find out.

  I close my eyes yet again, and try to give Iain’s words some consideration. The opposite of what I’d been thinking. I’d been thinking about the coat, and how it was wrapped around me, trying to recreate that feeling and extend it to the book. Clearly, that’s not the answer. So what if…? I draw in a steady breath, and find my box of fear, cracking the lid and letting it flood through me, blotting out everything else. I ignore the book in my hands, I ignore the fact I even have hands, I’m just me, and I need to get out of here. Now. I’ve got to–

  I sway on my feet, eyes still closed, and feel something heavy in my hands. My lids flick open and I stare down at the paperback in my grasp, a smile edging its way onto my face.

  “You did it!”

  Yeah. Yeah, I did. But I don’t waste time celebrating my success. I might be one step closer to getting Scott home – I refuse to think of the alternative – but I’ve got a long way to go yet.

  “What’s next?”

  “You don’t want to take a break?”

  I shake my head and he merely shrugs, not arguing. Apparently, he’s happier with me shifting now that I’m not trying to vomit my own lungs out. That’s kinda touching. And irrelevant. He rummages through his backpack and pulls out his next test: a litre bottle of cola. He was obviously stuck for ideas this morning – I don’t see how that’s much of a step up from the book, if at all. It’s a different shape, true, and a little heavier, but it’s no bigger.

  “Trust me.”

  I hate those words. They usually precede someone doing something entirely untrustworthy. But it’s not like I have another training partner, so I take the bottle, gear myself up, and shift.

  The bottle’s still in my hands, that much I can tell before I open my eyes. But it feels different… lighter? I open my eyes and groan. Yup, it’s lighter. Because it’s empty. I glance across at the damp patch where I’d been standing, and then at Iain, who’s wearing what might be a touch of smugness around his mouth.

  “You knew that would happen?” How is it everyone knows more about my talent than me – even people who are supposed to know nothing about any of this? That’s just plain unfair.

  “Educated guess. You’re focussing on the bottle – or not focussing on the bottle, I suppose? – but you’re not taking into account the contents. Here.”

  He takes the bottle, and tips some water into it. I’m impressed all over again. And glad he thought of that, because if I’d grabbed hold of Scott’s coat and shifted… I shudder. And worse, we’re only going to get one shot at this. We might catch AbGen by surprise once, but it’s not going to happen twice. I press my lips together and accept the bottle. There’s no room for errors.

  I fail the next three times in a row – now that Iain has pointed out I’m thinking about the bottle and the liquid separately, it’s almost impossible to stop. If someone tells you not to think about an elephant, what’s the first thing you do? Think about an elephant. And you can close your eyes, picture anything you want, and focus on your fear – but you’re still thinking about the elephant.

  “Alright, let’s take a break.”

  “Forget it,” I snap, tossing him the bottle for a refill. “I’m going to get this.”

  “Yes, you are,” he agrees, catching the bottle. “But right now your hands are shaking, and you need to take five.”

  I glance down at my hands. Huh, strange. I feel fi– Oh. I blink rapidly. Was Iain always so… fuzzy? He moves quickly, blurring further, and then his arm is around my shoulders, supporting me. He steers me to a bench and parks me in it. I lean back gratefully and wait for the dizziness to pass.

  “Drink.” He thrusts the bottle of water in my hands and stares at me expectantly until I take a sip. “And eat.” A chocolate bar materialises in front of me, and I take a bite. Guess I drained myself a little further than I realised. Shutting out everything except intense terror doesn’t leave so much room for taking stock of how you’re feeling. Plus, I can’t trust what I’m feeling when I’m shifting anyway, because the constant fear makes me shaky regardless of how well replenished my glucose levels are.

  I finish the chocolate and the water, and make to get to my feet.

  “I’m ready.”

  Iain’s hand on my shoulder pushes me back down onto the bench.

  “No, you’re not.”

  I glare up at him defiantly.

  “I’m fine. And we don’t have time to waste.”

  He sits next to me and gives me a look with more sympathy than I can stomach.

  “I get it. I do. But you’re no use to him if you burn yourself out. Half an hour will make no difference.”

  Half an hour? That’s a ridiculous amount of time, there’s no way I’m sitting around doing nothing for that long. There’s no way I’m sitting around and doing nothing, period. He wraps his hand around my wrist and gives me a warning look.

  “Half an hour.”

  “You realise I could just shift right out of your grip?” I say sulkily.

  “But you won’t.”

  In the end we compromise on ten minutes, which is longer than I need, but just about long enough to keep Iain from fussing.

  I pick up the bottle, close my eyes, take a breath, and shift. And nail it first time. I eye the spot I’d been standing, but it’s bone dry. I didn’t spill a drop.

  “See? You just needed a break.”

  There’s going to be no living with him after this.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It’s early evening and we’re back at the house. So far, I’ve managed to shift with a book, a bottle, the backpack, and even a fallen log. I was so tired by the time we left the park that I didn’t even argue. And Iain’s right – though I’ll deny it if he ever asks – if I push too hard, I’m going to burn out, and I’m no use to Scott in that state. That doesn’t make sitting around any easier to stomach, though. I’ve got nothing to do but think of the hundred ways Pearce could be hurting him right now, and my imagination is way too overactive to be allowed that sort of breathing room. How long can Scott survive whatever Pearce is doing to him? Is he taking out his frustrations that his trap failed on him? Interrogating him? Turning him against me? My blood runs cold. Scott’s talent isn’t worthless to them, and AbGen has a history of brainwashing. What if I get him back, and he’s not him anymore? I don’t know how long he could hold out against that, or how long it takes to turn someone… Megan was down there for months – but we don’t know when they managed to turn her. She might have still been resisting when they tried to lock me in the basement, only to break in the short time I was gone, or she might already have been a plant, intended from the start to lure me back if I escaped. Underestimating AbGen would be a serious mistake, and not one I intend to make for a second time. I cross the room and fire up the desktop sitting in the corner.

  When Iain comes back into the room with two wine glasses, he finds me hunched over the machine, scanning intently. He sets one down next to me and reads over my shoulder.

  “Re-programming?”

  “I told you they tried to lock me away. They don’t just do that for fun.”

  “Oh.”

  Something in his voice makes me turn around, and I see his face has paled and his eyes widened in horror, though he quickly tries to mask it. I chastise myself. He’s so good at this that it’s easy to forget he’s an outsider: he has no idea what AbGen are capable of. The good news is, Google thinks it’s a time-consuming process, taking weeks, i
f not months, to break down a person’s will and replace it. Longer, if that person has a strong sense of self. We have time.

  I switch the computer off and look at Iain with a sigh.

  “It’s not too late to walk away. If you get in the middle of this, they’re not going to forget.”

  “Yeah, it is,” he says. “I’m already in the middle of this, and I’m not about to let you face them on your own.”

  This time I don’t feel any relief at his words. It’s one thing to put a stranger at risk – one who, let’s not forget, almost arrested me once (I mean, yeah, I was breaking the law at the time, but that’s really not the point!). It’s another thing entirely when you’ve spent days getting to know that stranger, working closely with him, and getting to trust him. I want Scott back. No, I need Scott back. But can I justify putting Iain in harm’s way?

  “This isn’t your choice, Anna,” he tells me, his voice soft, but firm. “I’m a part of this now.”

  I meet his eye and see nothing but resolution. Reluctantly, I nod. If someone told me to walk away, I’d refuse, too. Of course, I’m more invested than he is – and not nearly so defenceless – but he’s right. It’s his decision.

  “Thank you.”

  I pick up my wine glass and head over to the sofa. He follows me in silence and sinks into the plush cushions beside me.

  “Where did you find the wine?” I ask, taking a sip of the viscous red liquid. Rich, fruity flavours dance across my taste buds. It tastes good. Expensive.

  “Collecting dust in the back of Pete’s cupboard. I figured we needed it more than he does.”

  I curl my feet up under me and try to relax. I’m not gonna lie; the wine’s helping. A lot.

  “You were amazing today,” Iain says.

  “You were pretty impressive yourself.”

  Iain shoots me a bemused look, and I take another sip of wine and elaborate.

  “Most people would be freaking out about what I can do. Instead, you’re teaching me things about my talent. You’re at natural at being a handler.”