Chapter 3

Rage curled through me, clarifying everything. I'd waited long enough, now was the time to move. My son needed me and that was all it took to solidify that I had to make the breakout now.

Killian, the man I'd loved, had let me down the night I'd been taken. While my memories of the night were more than a little jumbled and broken, I knew one thing for sure. He'd let me go without a fight. Part of me understood, yet it hurt me in a way I didn't like to admit. All that aside, I knew without a shadow of a doubt he would never let anything happen to Bear. He would have protected him with his own life before letting Bear be beaten. Which meant Killian had likely been taken into another facility.

And my son was on his own, fighting for his life in a world that wanted to destroy him.

"I'm coming, my boy. Hold on," I whispered, daring to touch his head, but my hand went through him as he disappeared.

Someone called my name and I looked upward, through the current to the surface of the water. Above me I could see my naked body sitting on the bed, eyes closed, hands resting on folded knees.

Easter (I refused to call her by her captive name when I was here in this place) tapped my physical leg. "Wake up, Fiona."

I blew out a breath and pushed off the bottom of the river, through the current and to the surface of the water, then through that as well, feeling the safety of my sanctuary slide off my skin.

I blinked once and stared up at Esther, fighting the thoughts that wanted to come with me. "Hey, what time is it?"

"Nearly dinner. You've been meditating this whole time?" She didn't arch an eyebrow, just looked at me.

Blank, she was blank. I smiled, forcing the same blankness into my eyes. "The doc said it's good for us to let our minds be empty. Don't you meditate?"

Her eyes didn't change. "I lie quiet on my bed and that is as close as I get. Is that what you mean?"

There was nothing for me to do but nod in agreement even though my stomach twisted with nausea again. The fingers in my mind were back, trying to soothe the anxiety that I couldn't still on my own. I pushed them away as carefully as I could. No need for alarm, just worried about the new kid.

You aren't the monster they say you are. You are good and kind.

She tugged on the end of her braided hair, twisting it around her fingers. "Do you want something to eat?"

I didn't but agreed to go with her. The food in the cafeteria was poor, though everyone else seemed to like it. The main dish was always the same, a type of gelatinous pudding that had a variety of vegetables splattered through it, and an undistinguishable meat on the side that was always overcooked with a faint bitter tang that I knew was the sedative. A barbiturate, no doubt.

Three times a day.

Every day.

I got most of it down, moving on autopilot, not letting my mind think.

Two cats wandered through the room, hopping up onto the tables, butting their heads against the people here. A few hands lifted, petting what were supposed to be therapy animals. The dogs slipped into the room next, tails down, eyes blank.

The leanest of the dogs sat at my feet. He was light brown with dark points on his muzzle. A Belgian Malinois. His name was Abe and he was as trained as the dog that my handler told me wasn't real.

This was real.

This was the only Abe I knew.

I ignored him, though he reminded me so much of . . . no. There was nothing else. I ignored him. The other dog I fed was one that would be dead soon, I was sure. She was miserable, mean, and barely took food from me. Dead. Just like the other Abe.

"I should take food to the one downstairs," I said to Esther as I stood, thinking the thoughts they wanted me to. We needed to help those who fought the handlers understand that this was a good place. The animals were a kind touch, just not my thing. I didn't care about dogs.

There was no Abe in my past, no dog that I loved and who had fought at my side.

Esther didn't so much as look my way. "You do too much. You need to rest."

I paused. That was new. "I do what we're asked to do. To help the others."

Which wasn't incorrect. I took a deep breath, the sedative slowing my thoughts and my movements, and retrieved a second tray. The fingers in my mind loosened, same as they always did after I ate. I waited until they were gone from my mind, then I pushed back on the sedative's effects, clearing my thoughts at least a little. Like working through being tortured, there were ways to function while you were drugged, even if it wasn't easy.

There was a prisoner here, a man who fought the training and help.

A man who'd tried to escape sixteen times. Based on his rants, he'd nearly made it out the last time. I'd taken note of every route he'd tried, every trick he'd employed. Every reason they'd caught him.

Each time they brought him back, I thought they'd kill him, but it hadn't happened yet. I clamped down on my thoughts, just in case. I made my way to the stairs that would lead to the floor below us.

George was the guard at the door tonight.

"You on it?" he asked.

"All good. He has to eat if the docs are going to help him." I balanced the tray as George held the door open for me. Down the stairs I went, my bare feet slapping lightly on the concrete floor. The temperatures dipped the farther I went, and a breeze that shouldn't have existed picked up.

If I didn't take him food, he didn't eat. I was the only one he'd eat for. My hands tightened on the tray, shaking a little.

Everyone else was terrified of him.

Even the doctors.

The guards.

Everyone. So I had to pretend to be afraid of him too.

"Pete, you hungry?"

There was silence for half a beat and then he replied as he always did. "Fuck off, you fucking traitorous bitch!"

I sighed. "I'm here to help you, Pete. If you'd just listen to me, you wouldn't be kept down here. You could come up with the rest of us. You need to listen to my words."

The room was a simple rectangle shape, more long than wide, and his chains were attached at the very back of the room. No bars, no doors, because those chains were on each limb rubbing him raw over time. A rattle of chains and then he was right there in my face, straining toward me with his very sharp, very pointed, teeth bared. "Traitor! You were the best of us! You were the one who could have stopped this! You had a chance!"

I held the food out to him, staying just outside his reach of where his chains allowed him. I was being careful, that's what I told myself, but I put myself just an inch too close.

I locked eyes with him, willing him to listen to my words and understand how important they were. "Let me help you, Pete."

He snapped a hand out for the tray and his fingers touched my wrist. His eyes widened and he yanked me closer. I didn't fight, thinking that's what happened when the drugs were thick in your system.

Alarms didn't go off. The fingers in my mind didn't come back.

There were no cameras down here, not on a madman who lived and breathed in what would be his coffin one day at the rate he was going.

Pete rolled me around so my back was flush against his chest, tipped my head sideways, then bit into the crook of my neck, teeth sinking in around my collarbone. I closed my eyes and breathed through the pain and welcomed the darkness that washed over me, drawing the meditation into me in a blink.

Only this time, I took Pete with me. With his mouth locked on my neck, drinking me down, he had no choice as I dove below the surface of the river in my mind, taking his consciousness with me. A dangerous gambit, seeing as I didn't fully understand this ability myself. But desperate times called for daring . . .

As soon as we were through the raging currents and on the floor of the river, I jammed my fist back, unlocking him from my neck, then spun and fully pushed him off me. "You fucking moron!" I yelled. "Can you not see that I have been trying to reach you all this time? They have fingers in our goddamn minds! It's not like I could just walk up to you and tell you to bide your time. I am working on something!"

His jaw dropped open, my blood dripping from it. I glanced up at the scene through the river's surface to see him still latched onto my neck, his eyes closed, but there was no movement in his throat. We were in a holding pattern in the real world. But we wouldn't have long.

"Jesus, Phoenix! I thought—"

"I know what you thought, you dumbass. You fought so hard and what did they do to you? They locked you up tighter and tighter."

His jaw flopped open again. "And you . . . have barely a chain on you."

"Exactly. I did what they wanted, knowing our time would come. You can block them out, can't you?"

"Yes, it's why they can't compel me." He licked his lips and gave a little groan.

It had to be a Magelore trick. Blood drinkers, soul stealers, they were feared amongst abnormals for their myriad abilities and the power in their bite and gaze. Their ability to use mind control was well known. In the past, I'd wondered if the facility and the handlers were controlling us with Magelore magic, but I didn't know any strong enough to cause this level of destruction. Or smart enough, for that matter.

"You are the one person I can be straight with. There is a young abnormal here, brand new, and he can walk this place of darkness like I can. Our minds are safe from the handlers here and nowhere else. Can you meet us tonight? Do you think you can get your ass back here by yourself now that you've seen it?"

Pete nodded and looked around, a soft look in his dark eyes. "Yeah. You really think you can break us out?"

"Yes."

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "My wife is going to kill me when I get home. I went out for a meeting and . . ."

"Tonight. We meet tonight," I said and swam toward the surface of my mind, out of this place that was darkness and safety.

I cried out as I broke out of the river and opened my eyes to the real world. "George, help!"

A clatter of feet stomped down the stairs and Pete pushed me away. He slumped against the wall. "I'm sorry. I'll be good. I'll be good."

George yelled something at Pete, and we shared a quick gaze before I turned and hurried away. I kept my hand against my neck. The bite would heal fast, but the blood would show. I stripped off my shirt as I climbed the dark stairway, Pete's shouts echoing against the walls from below, chasing me upward.

I pressed my shirt against my neck, wiped it several times and checked the bite with my fingers. No more blood. I didn't want to get Pete into any more trouble than what George would give him. He hadn't meant to hurt me, and he wouldn't do it again. I was sure of it.

He was going to be okay now. I just had a feeling.

My handler all but purred his approval.

*_*_*

"What areyou picking up off her?"

The voice was cultured, smooth like amaretto over ice. Almost sweet until you felt the afterburn reminding you that it could take you to dark places.

Three under-handlers straightened their backs, all at the same time. "She was attacked by the Magelore, boss."

"And?"

"She's worried about getting him into trouble," Ernest said. He'd not been in her mind during the attack, but he was not going to admit to that.

His boss rolled his shoulders as if easing a huge weight. "She has not broken from her desire to help people."

"No, she hasn't. Not once."

"Strange for such a monster to have a tender side. I wonder if we can use it to drive her to do as we wish?" The wide-shouldered Gardreel put his hands on the younger man's far narrower shoulders.

The younger man touched the nametag on his shirt. A human name. Ernest. A frown rippled what was otherwise an otherworldly beautiful face. His face was perfect, but that name was not and he hated it.

He cleared his throat. "You think perhaps she would help us find the rest now?"

"Not exactly," his boss said.

Ernest closed his eyes and flexed his fingers, feeling his way through the abnormal woman's mind. She was very strong, but the work they'd done had buried her powers deeply, lacing them up tightly. He doubted she'd ever be able to touch them again. Which was good, but it didn't fully solve the problem they were dealing with.

"She's back in her room," he said, and opened his eyes to see his boss staring down at him. "What would you like me to do?"

"She's done nothing wrong, but I have a feeling," his boss said. "She's . . . cagey. I don't believe she is fully broken."

Another of the techs—as the doctors called them—cleared her throat. "I could have Esther watch her." Her nametag said Susan. She hated her name too. But then, they all did. That was the thing about being trapped in this place. This human, filthy place. They were doing what they had to, but none of them liked it.

Susan ran her thumb across her fingers. "She'd be willing. They were friends before, but something happened, and Esther doesn't care for her now."

Esther had held out the longest of all the abnormals here. Fiona—or Phoenix as she'd once thought of herself—had broken first, the process so easy, they'd all been suspicious. But no one could hold out against the reprogramming for almost a year, not even a supposedly legendary abnormal like her. Even if she'd been playing them in the beginning, there was no way she could be now.

After spending so much time in Fiona's head, and a little in Esther's to give Susan a break here and there, Ernest was fairly sure he knew why Esther didn't like Fiona. They had fought side by side once, and he suspected that Esther had expected Fiona to help them all break out. That they would work together once again.

And Fiona was the first to bend to the handler's touch.

To Esther, that was a complete and utter betrayal.

He thought about sharing his beliefs with Gardreel, but it would not be welcome if he was not asked.

"You doubt my ability to hold her mind?" Ernest asked.

Susan's already pale skin went a shade whiter. "Of course not."

"I would know if she were being cagey," Ernest spoke to Gardreel. "She only ever thinks of others, and while that is not exactly our programming, there is nothing wrong with it. She is harmless. Like a kitten with its claws trimmed."

The boss didn't move, but the room went quiet and the tension climbed exponentially. "You think my impression of her is wrong? I have spent time in her head, as have you."

Now it was Ernest's turn to pale. "Of course not, Gardreel."

"Then watch her. Dig deeper, dig harder. We need to be sure she is broken so we can rebuild her to use as we see fit. The time is coming. The spell is nearly ready." The First Handler's sharp blue eyes swept over the three techs. There were more techs in other rooms, but too many together and the control of their subjects became . . . difficult.

Gardreel swept out of the room without another word and Ernest slumped a little in his chair. Susan leaned over. "I did not mean an offense, friend."

Ernest shook his head. "I know. He stresses me out."

She smiled and laughed. "You sound like a human."

"I feel like one sometimes." He rubbed a hand over his face and closed his eyes. He needed a moment before he dove back into Fiona's head. Most of the handlers were given ten to twelve abnormals to watch, read, report back on, and handle.

But some of the abnormals required more oversight.

In this room were three handlers attached to the three most dangerous abnormals. Esther. Pete. Fiona.

Phoenix. He shuddered, a tremor running through him as he thought of her real name, seeing her as the bird of myth and legend, wings of fire, bright like the sun. To be burned to ash, only to rise from the flames and live again, stronger than before.

Another tremor caught him off guard as his skin rose in tiny bumps all along his arms. He rubbed his hands over them, trying to scare them away.

"You okay?" Jessica asked. As the third tech in the room, she had both the hardest, and strangely, the easiest job.

Magelores were impossible to break. But Jessica had wanted to try before Pete was euthanized. Such a nice word for what would ultimately happen to the abnormals too powerful to be controlled. Jessica was exempt from any repercussions if she couldn't reach the Magelore, and she got definite perks for trying the impossible.

If Ernest got it wrong with Fiona, he would not be so lucky.

He swallowed hard. "I'm glad he's not here all the time. He—"

"Stresses you out?" Susan offered, repeating back to him his own words, as if she'd just thought of it.

There was no answering smile from Ernest. "Yes."

Susan leaned over and tapped him on one shoulder, a touch of solidarity. "You are too invested in your case. Do you want to swap? Just for today? We are both capable of handling each other's charges."

Ernest looked at her, really seeing her. She was trying to be his friend. Something they were discouraged from having here. But he could use . . . a friend. "Yes. For tonight, let's swap."

He would have a break from the feeling like he was drowning in flames every time he touched Phoenix's—no, Fiona's—mind, and perhaps that feeling of stress would ease.

Perhaps he would be able to not think of her and wish that he could set the caged bird free.