Exiled: Kenly's Story (A Talented Novel)

  “Look, Kenly, I can play this game all night. But neither of us are going to leave satisfied. Let’s call a truce, shall we? You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” The wicked grin that settled over his features was too appealing for my comfort.

  Evidently, his clever word play was meant to unsettle me and give him the upper hand. Perhaps he thought I would become so rattled, I’d give up my pursuit of his secrets.

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  “Okay,” I replied impishly. “I’ll play. A question for a question.”

  James’s smile was somewhere between teasing and menacing and I wondered what game we were actually playing. And whether I’d already lost.

  “Agreed,” he said, patting the futon next to him.

  I joined him on the lumpy cushion, angling myself as he’d done so that we were facing each other.

  “How do you sleep on this?” I asked, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable spot among the bulges.

  “I don’t. I lie on it until Willa has exhausted Riley and they’ve both covered their naughty bits with blankets. Then, I go in the bedroom and sleep in my exceedingly comfortable bed. My turn.”

  “No way! That wasn’t my question,” I protested.

  “But it was a question. And I gave you my reply, which makes it my turn. Not my fault you wasted your turn asking about my sleeping habits.”

  I let out a frustrated breath.

  “Fine. Ask away,” I said.

  “UNITED…are they actively pursuing you?

  I met his inquisitive stare and knew that he was the type to spot a lie, or even a half-truth, easier than most people spotted a giant boat in an empty harbor.

  “Yes, they are. But you already knew that. Who’s wasting his turn now, huh?” I teased with a smile. “Wait. That wasn’t my question,” I added quickly.

  James rolled his eyes and made a hurry it along gesture with the hand hold holding his tea mug.

  I thought for a long moment. What did I want to know most about James Wellington? A lot, clearly. And even though he’d jumped in with both feet, I wanted to start small so he wouldn’t clam up and call an end to our game. A light bulb clicked on.

  “You zapped that guy in the alleyway behind the Circus of Wonders, so I know you’re an Electrical Manipulator. Do you have any other Talents? Or, um, Chromes. Whatever. You know what I mean.”

  The others used their powers openly in the apartment, and even sometimes outside of the apartment when they thought no one was looking. But only that one time, when I really needed his help, had I ever seen James use his. After being surrounded by my classmates at the McDonough School who jumped at any opportunity to display their strength, I found his reluctance odd.

  James’s silvery eyes flashed amusement. His posture was relaxed, unconcerned, non-threatening.

  Good. You’re putting him at ease. He’s more likely to answer the tougher questions this way.

  If he’d been like this that first night in the Giraffe, I might’ve underestimated him. I liked this laid back version, maybe a little too much. I wondered how many people besides Riley, Willa, and Honora saw this side of the James. Or did they ever see it?

  I thought about how he made sure to arrive at least fifteen minutes before Honora’s shifts ended to accompany us home. The caring gesture wasn’t lost on her. She joked about not needing a chaperone, but I could tell she was glad he came. Honora at least understood that under his tough exterior there was a soft core.

  A passing glance at his abs that lingered long enough that he noticed, made me think that soft was the wrong adjective. Thankfully James didn’t comment on the blatant ogle.

  “Just an Electrician, no hidden Chromes. I’m stronger than Riley, though, and my gifts work a little differently. I can draw from and control the electricity in the air, even the natural currents from lightening and human bodies.” There was no bragging tone, he was simply stating a fact.

  I felt my eyes grow wide. Electrical Manipulators—TOXIC’s term—were not rare. There were probably twenty or so in my year that I could name off the top of my head. But not one of them, that I was aware of, could control lightening or harness the electrical impulses inside the human body. That was new and a sort of scary. I was surprised James was so forthcoming. Unlike the other three in my new group of friends, James was not an oversharer. At best, I’d honestly expected him to say, Electrician, and leave it at that.

  “Is that what makes you such a good vehicle mechanic?” I asked.

  James waggled a finger in my face. “Your turn is over, Miss America.”

  I flushed at the nickname. The others used it constantly inside the flat, not so much in public. But besides that first night, James always called me Kenly or Chief, which I had to yet to decide was an insult or term of respect.

  “It is, though, the reason I’m a good mechanic. That one’s on the house. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

  I laughed. “Noted.” I tapped the side of my head to show I was filing away the information.

  James sipped his tea. When the cup left his lips, he was no longer smiling. His expression had turned serious and I knew the next question wasn’t going to have a flirty undertone.

  “How did you escape D.C.? You are fugitive, an exile from your own country, yet you managed to—what?—hitchhike across the Atlantic and land in the Slums. That couldn’t have been easy.”

  Over the past several days I’d seen serious James, paranoid James, angry James, and tonight joking James. Now, he was showing me another square on the rubix cube that was James Wellington: genuine caring. Sure he was prying into my past, trudging up secrets better left buried, but he was genuinely interested. I could tell that it wasn’t a morbid curiosity, and that made me want to start at the beginning and tell him everything.

  So I did.

  Once I started talking, I found it impossible to stop. Detail by detail my chest grew lighter, breathing became easier, and I didn’t feel so alone. Sharing my secrets felt good. And even though news reporters were jumping on every morsel of information about the battle and the Created, they still felt like my personal secrets. Besides, the news didn’t know the truth. Facts and truths were not always the same. Not one of those field reporters or investigative journalists understood what it had been like to be there, in the middle of that level of chaos and death. To watch everything and everyone they’d ever known or cared about burn to the ground.

  The tea in my cup went from hot to lukewarm by the time I finished explaining about Talia, how she first became my mentor, and then about Donavon McDonough and his promise to help me through my Placement Exams. Placement Exams! To think I’d fretted, lost sleep, cried even, over a stupid test. I was almost ashamed at how important all of that had been to me not so long ago.

  My chest tightened when I recounted how Donavon had died protecting Talia. For the first time since Director McDonough told me how his son perished, I was more sorrowful than incensed. Donavon was my friend, yet I’d let my hatred for Talia overshadow the pain of his death. It wasn’t until I was sitting there with James, describing how Donavon had literally taken a bullet meant for Talia, that I realized how deeply his loss had affected me.

  Suddenly, another previously unconsidered notion occurred to me. Was the Director’s version of events even true? Donavon had loved Talia with all of his heart, there was no denying it. So sacrificing his life for hers had been infuriating, but not a surprise. Except, when I thought about it, like really thought about it, there was something about the Director’s story that didn’t ring true. I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

  A problem for a different time, I decided.

  Then I told James about what’d happened after Donavon’s death, when his father finally accepted that Talia had turned. James barely blinked when I related the Director’s mandate, when I told him that all Talents over the age of fourteen received the Creation Drug—no exceptions, no opting out. At the time, I was ecstatic, counted myself fort
unate to be of age. Now I wasn’t sure.

  The younger kids had all gone home to their parents, were able to have normal lives. Well, as normal as a Talent unaccustomed to the outside world could have anyway. And meanwhile I might never see my mother or my friends again. For the millionth time since stowing away in that luggage compartment, I thought about how unfair life was.

  The knuckles on both of James’s hands turned white, gripping the mug so tightly I feared it would crack, when I recounted how the Director had ordered us into the city to meet UNITED’s forces. I recalled how my blood had run hot at the excitement of going into battle, only to have the memory of the aftermath chill me to the bone.

  The strange thing was, I felt like I was losing perspective. Like my feelings were all tangled and obscured. As if recounting and considering everything was confusing my emotions.

  Or maybe, I thought to myself, maybe you’re finally finding genuine perspective.

  Why had I been so ready to die? For what? A drug?

  My tea was ice cold when I recounted how Erik Kelley had nearly killed me. That was the turning point, I realized. That was the moment reality had sunk in. Until then, safe and sound at my post outside the penthouse of the Hamilton, I’d been immune to the carnage taking place throughout the city. Even pulling the knife on Talia seemed like a dream now. Had I really been prepared to take her life? At the time, there had been no doubt. Only her soft voice had given me hesitation. And then I’d cursed myself for being weak.

  Caught up in my head, pondering the convictions and beliefs I’d held just over a month ago, I grew silent, staring at the tea leaves collected at the bottom of my mug.

  “Why did he let you go?” James finally asked, his tone soft.

  It was the first time he’d spoken since I started my story.

  I shook my head, still a little unsure myself.

  “Talia, I guess. He said he was doing it for her.”

  Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, a foreign sensation that I hadn’t experienced in all my time on the run. Which was beyond strange, I realized. After all I’d lived through, all the changes, days without food, sleeping in different beds, being soaked and cold for a week straight, even huddling under an overpass for two nights before I found the Hideaway…. I’d never shed a single tear.

  Shock, I decided. I must still be in shock.

  I cleared my throat and took another sip of cold tea, the liquid bitter in my mouth.

  “She betrayed me. I mean, us. She betrayed us. TOXIC. By joining forces with Ian Crane. Her boyfriend broke the law. Director McDonough had every right to throw him in jail. And then causing all sorts of death and destruction to get him out? She’s a traitor.”

  The voice speaking was definitely mine, but the words sounded rehearsed, even to my ears. Deep down, did I really believe things were so black and white?

  “Do you follow every rule, every law so blindly, Kenly?” James asked sharply.

  His tone put me on the defensive. Just a moment ago he’d been all sweet and concerned.

  “No, of course not. But rules, laws are made for a reason. Talia didn’t want to obey them, so she went running off to join the enemy. That is what makes her a traitor.”

  “What if the occasion to be in breach of the law is better than the occasion for having it in the first place? What if the edict is corrupt? The Poachers have rules too, you know. And even our government has decrees that say Chromes—Talents, whatever—are not equal. We aren’t compensated the same as other humans. We can only hold government stations as liaisons to UNITED. And sure, we have regulations that say we can’t be sold off into slavery. But there are so many dodges that you can’t bring a grievance without falling into one.”

  James paused to catch his breath.

  “She, this Talia person, she didn’t betray you. She broke a rule to save someone. And she broke one because she was in love. And from what you’re telling me, she did what she did to survive. Where else was she supposed to go? Honestly, Kenly, what do you even know about the Creation Drug, really? Because what I know is this: UNITED made it unlawful years ago. So your precious Director was the one breaching the rules and violating the law.”

  I glared at James, both hurt and confused. He had a point, but I hated thinking that maybe I’d been fighting for the wrong side all along. Foolishly, I became irrationally defensive. Instead of backing down, I became irate.

  “How can you say that?” I demanded. “You.” I jabbed a finger into his bare chest, the firm planes not lost on me even with my temper flaring. “You, who lives by the motto, ‘We protect our own.’ Talia betrayed her own.”

  James’s fingers wrapped slowly around mine. He didn’t push me away, not exactly, but did manage to stop me from poking a hole into his chest.

  “No, Kenly. She protected her own. First her boyfriend, and then you. Most likely others, too. If he spared your life for her, she was absolutely protecting you.”

  “No. No. The Director said—”

  “Your Director is dead, Kenly. Before that, he injected you with an illegal drug. One that the Poachers are desperate to get their grubs on, by the way. Just think what would happen if they do. The rich and mighty will have bloody power without end at their disposal. Power they can command without question.”

  “No,” I repeated, quieter this time, with less conviction.

  I didn’t know why I was so steadfastly defending the Director when I was so unsure what to believe anymore.

  “Everyone deserves to be Talented. Talia and the others are selfish. They don’t want to share. UNITED is selfish.”

  Again, the voice was mine, but the words were someone else’s. I did believe that everyone deserved the opportunity to be Talented. And I sort of believed that UNITED was selfish. Talia, though? Not really….

  James laughed but the sound was brittle. He still held my finger in his hand and I found that, irritated as I was with him, I didn’t want him to let go. The connection kept me grounded. Kept me focused on what he was actually saying and not the voice in my head that seemed to be chanting the dialogue of the party lines.

  “Kenly, you weren’t given a choice about being injected. Doesn’t that feel wrong somehow?”

  “I would’ve agreed,” I said stubbornly.

  “Oh really? Without knowing the abiding effects? You’d have been the first in the queue, exclaiming, ‘Carry Out Your Experiments on me!’? I bloody well hope not. If so, you’re not the girl I supposed.”

  “Yes,” I retorted. “I mean, no. I mean…well yes I would have researched the drug first.” I really should’ve researched the drug first. “But I would have agreed to the injection.”

  James scooted closer so our knees were touching and our faces were inches apart. “Deep down, do you really believe this Talia girl was in the wrong? Because I don’t reckon you do.”

  “She killed people. She killed our kind,” I said pleadingly, though it was unclear which of us I was appealing to. Staring down at my hands, I couldn’t help but wonder why my emotions were betraying me. For weeks now I’d felt the same exact way about everything, no wavering or second-guessing. And now….

  Now I didn’t know.

  “She didn’t kill you. She forced her boyfriend to let you go. That almost certainly went against UNITED’s rules. All Created are supposed to be contained or killed, isn’t that right? And seeing how you pulled a knife on her, you should have been killed. But instead they set you free, told you to run,” James said. He cupped my chin in his palm, gently turning my face to look him in the eye.

  “Kenly, I think Talia lives by her own code, irrespective of whose rules she’s breaching or what the consequences may be. I don’t think her priorities are so different from mine. Or from yours, either. Taking into account everything you’ve just told me, she does protect her own. And she includes you within that. You are clearly someone she cares a great deal for.”

  I swallowed hard, tying to digest James’s words. The tears collecting in my eyes wante
d to spill over, pleading to be shed. Finally surrendering, I let them tumble down. With a feather-light swipe of his thumb, James brushed away each drop as it fell.

  “Talia was there, in New York,” I mumbled. “When my friend Alana and a bunch of others were taken into custody. Talia was there and she did nothing. She helped capture them. Aren’t they her own kind, too?”

  “Shhhh. Alana isn’t you.”

  Only later did I realize that I never told him about Alana and the others breaking into UNITED’s Manhattan facility. Chances were, he thought I was babbling nonsense. Yet, he still comforted me.

  James gathered me in close, pulling me to him. And like a moth to a flame, I went, settling against his strong chest. His strong arms were wrapped around me, my head cradled against the slope of his neck. He ran his fingers up and down my back, soothing me and assuring me with every touch. For the first time in ages, I felt safe and in control of my emotions.

  Well…some of them, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking. The only other time a hot guy had put his arms around me was when Donavon McDonough was teaching me how to break free from an attacker. That training session was one of my fondest memories of our time together.

  “Trust me, Chief,” James whispered into my hair. “I’ve had a bit of experience with this sort of thing. True betrayal leaves permanent scars.”

  THE BULLET FLEW so close to her head that for one gut-wrenching second I thought it had struck her. Vision-Kenly dropped to a crouch, pale fingers closing around a fallen baton near her feet. In one fluid motion, she rose, spun, and sliced the air just in front of the closest attacker—a tall, painfully thin man with wisps of hair combed over his mostly bald head. Her second swing connected with the man’s cheekbone. The sickening crack of impact was quickly drowned out by the man’s pain-filled howls.

  I—the invisible, intangible observer—wanted to applaud my future-self. That feeling was quickly quashed, as a second attacker, a woman with torn jeans and a large chuck of amber colored hair missing from the side of her head, crept up behind future-me, brandishing what appeared to be a butter knife. I ached to be able to shout a warning. It was maddening to watch someone attack you, without the ability to caution yourself. The woman slashed the back of Vision-Kenly’s tank top. Thankfully, the sorry excuse for a weapon caused no actual damage.