Exiled: Kenly's Story (A Talented Novel) (4 page)

Except, having gifts is only an advantage if
you know how to use them. Which many of our side had not. There
hadn’t been time for training with our amped up skills, let alone
time for learning how to use the entirely new ones. The Creation
Drug gave us an advantage when it came to one-on-one combat, but it
hadn’t made up for our limited number of skilled fighters.

A light clicked on inside my head,
illuminating the obvious. The Creation Drug. Alana and her posse
were after the Creation Drug. In the days leading up to the attack,
Director McDonough had given lectures on the importance of
disseminating the drug to the masses. Alana was just trying to
finish what he’d started. Of course, infiltrating a UNITED embassy
at the start of a work day and taking hostages was a horrible way
of fulfilling his legacy. Why there? Why now?

I had no idea what happened
after I left D.C, and no source of intel within the Talented
community. This was a huge challenge while running—the lack of
incoming information. Everything I really wanted to know wouldn’t
be publicized on worldwide news. But, assuming UNITED
had
recovered TOXIC’s
supply of the drug at some point, or the formula used to make more,
it wouldn’t be stored at the US embassy. More likely, they had it
under vault and biometric key at their headquarters in Bern,
Switzerland.

Of course, even on the
off-chance that anything
was
worth stealing in Manhattan, why didn’t Alana plan
a clandestine operation? I didn’t need to use my super-computing
brain to know that a night raid would’ve been their smartest
choice. Alana and her team could have searched the building at
their leisure, without the complications of taking hostages and
without UNITED forces banging down the door the whole time. Sure,
hostages could be vital bargaining chips or sources of information
when necessary, but, in general, they only muddied up operations.
Especially in this case; they ensured Alana and her team wouldn’t
be leaving Manhattan, unless it was on a UNITED
hovercraft.

For heaven’s sake, how reckless was she?
Didn’t she realize that this was no way to honor the Director and
his goals? No, of course she didn’t. Alana had been far more
interested in parties, and boys, and just about any other
distraction she could find, than really being a part of TOXIC.
She’d been apathetic to the entire organization. Yet, somehow,
Alana, of all people, was the first to attempt a hostile takeover
of the enemy’s lair. It was the very definition of ironic.

“
Alana, what have you
done?” I muttered to myself, under my breath.

Not-so-subtle throat clearing from right
beside me tore my attention away from the scene still unfolding on
the wallscreen. I blinked, and found Willa standing next to the
table, a to-go container in her hands. Her smile was pleasant but
strained, and her eyes kept darting to the bar.

The young couple I’d seen
earlier had joined the spikey-haired boy. Shit. I’d lost track of
my surroundings while the watching the newscast. Sloppy, sloppy.
Lapses in vigilance were going to be my undoing. I
had
to be more careful.
Especially when everything about the guy with the platinum eyes
told me he was dangerous.

The trio was talking quietly amongst
themselves and didn’t seem to be paying attention to anyone else in
the bar. Including me.

So engrossed in what was happening back
home, my surveillance had failed altogether. I’d even missed that
another guy and girl entered the Giraffe at some point. They were
now occupying a table meant for four near the bar. Failing to
notice their arrival was especially bad form, because they stood
out like two brand-new, shiny pennies in a jar full of tarnished
copper. Unlike the normal clientele—mostly older men with hard
faces and eyes that had seen enough for two lifetimes—these two
were polished upper-class perfection. Even the other young adults
who came in to the Giraffe were rough around the edges: worn-out
jeans, threadbare shirts, and holey sneakers.

“
Here’s your
to-go
order,” Willa said
pointedly, handing me the Styrofoam box. She emphasized the word
while deliberately tilting her head.

My eyes followed her gesture to the bar.
Spikey-hair guy laughed at something the pale-faced girl said.

“
What’s wrong, Willa?” I
asked, pitching my voice for her ears only. Even while carefully
watching her for some clue as to what was happening, I kept the
three at the bar in my periphery.

Willa began to fidget, shifting her weight
from one foot to the other and back again. She tucked a strand of
dark hair behind her ear with one hand, the food container clutched
tightly with the other. Her short, unpainted nails turned dark pink
from the effort.

My eyes swept the bar, searching for the
source of Willa’s agitation. The teens were goofing off, being
stupid even. But most importantly, they weren’t looking in my
direction. Not even an occasional glance. Interestingly, the same
couldn’t be said for the guy whose entrance I’d missed.

Deep golden brown eyes watched me over the
top of his companion’s head. His slacks were black or extremely
dark navy and perfectly pressed. His button-down was crisp, despite
the swampy weather outside. And his shoes were shiny leather
loafers. What was he doing in a dive like the Giraffe?

“
Weather’s supposed to get
worse. Wise to head out now,” Willa answered, not matching my
furtive tone. Her reply temporarily distracted me from the
golden-eyes and his expensive clothes.

I focused on Willa, forcing her to meet my
gaze. She chewed her bottom lip nervously, a mental war waging
behind her hazel irises.

“
What’s going on, Willa?” I
again spoke quietly enough that no one else could hear, this time
emphasizing each word slowly.

My own threat barometer was quiet; with all
of the surrounding data input, it told me there was no cause for
alarm. So what was up? What was I missing?

“
You don’t want to get
mixed up with the wrong sort, Kenly,” Willa finally said, her voice
gentle but firm.

“
And those people are the
wrong sort?” I guessed, nodding ever so slightly towards the
bar.

“
You’ve no idea how
dangerous they are.”

Didn’t I, though? I was, after all, a human
computer, capable of calculating an exponential number of
possibilities in the blink of an eye. Unless I was sorely mistaken,
I was by far the biggest threat here.

“
Best you keep on as you
have,” Willa was saying, her accent thickening the more her stress
increased. “Mind yourself. Stay wide of ‘em, and keep under the
radar.”

Concealing the fact that I
was American had proved impossible; I’d tried, but my fake British
accent left a lot to be desired. Concealing that I was Talented was
a lot easier. Only a tiny percentage of the Talented
population—which made it a miniscule percentage of the general
population—could
feel
other Talents. With my boring brown hair and equally boring
brown eyes, I bore no overt signs of otherness. And, until now, I’d
honestly thought that concealing the fact I was in hiding was going
pretty well, too.

Apparently not.

I should have known
better
, I thought. The people who ask the
fewest questions see the most. Tug and Willa had never questioned
who I was, or why I was here.

“
Who are they?” I asked
Willa.

Either she was paranoid, or I was still
missing a key piece of information. Whichever way, I needed to
know. Willa shook her head, the dyed blonde ends smacking her
smooth brown cheeks.

“
Bloody hell, Kenly. The
wrong sort. That’s all ye need to know, just hurry on now.” I
reached for my bag, for my diminishing roll of Globes, but Willa
shoved the food container into my hands, and then made a shooing
motion towards the door. “You know Granddad won’t take your money,
just go on. And maybe don’t come round for a couple of
days.”

With those vaguely insulting parting words,
I was dismissed. She hurried off to greet a group of men—I
recognized them as regulars, at least—who entered just then.

Who were the wrong the sort of people
exactly? The Talented? I didn’t recognize them from school, or from
the briefings or lectures at TOXIC, so they weren’t Created. Maybe
they were just what they looked like: poor, possibly homeless,
teenagers.

I remembered Platinum Eyes’ steely gaze.
Willa was partially right about him; he was extremely dangerous.
But not to me. Not because my abilities were better than his—though
they probably were. But because he meant me no harm. Probably.
Maybe. Hopefully.

I glanced over at the threesome again. The
extremely pale female who I’d dubbed Ghost Girl was obsessively
stirring whatever was in her mug. The nervous habit, a tell,
contradicted the easy smile she gave Platinum Eyes. But the real
indicator that she was more than she seemed? Her fingers weren’t
actually touching the spoon. She was moving the spoon, stirring the
liquid, with her mind.

Ghost Girl was a Telekinetic.

What about her companions?

My gaze flicked to Spikey-Hair. Slouched,
muscles relaxed, seemingly not a care in the world. It was the
constant movement of his eyes that gave away his nerves, the way
they darted around the room no matter who he was talking to. I
moved on to Platinum Eyes. His posture was military-straight, his
expression blank. No fidgeting came from him, like the other two—no
leg shaking, foot tapping, or nail chewing. His silver eyes were
fixed on the golden couple. Even though they ignored him, they had
to feel the weight of his stare. The death rays he was shooting
from his pupils would have sent TOXIC’s strongest operatives
running for cover.

Despite a strong desire to uncover the
reason behind Willa’s heart palpitations and what had caused her
to, basically, boot me from her grandfather’s bar, I decided to
heed her warning. Better safe than sorry. Truth be told, her unease
had caught on, and I was no longer feeling confident that I was
safe at the Giraffe.

Climbing to my feet, I pulled on my rain
jacket in a flash.

Literally.

Light Manipulation was one of my new,
Created, powers, and gave me lightning fast reflexes, in addition
to invisibility. In times of stress, I’d found myself using the new
Talent unconsciously. And I’d been a heart attack waiting to happen
since arriving in London.

Alarm bells rang in my mind. The stares were
like icy laser beams, freezing dime-sized patches of my skin as
they zeroed in on their target. Too many eyes to count were
suddenly on me and I knew I’d just made a critical error. Possibly
fatal. My movements had been too fast, too jerky. Most people
would’ve simply assumed that the lights were playing tricks on
them. Even without analyzing the data, I knew that these people—the
ones no longer pretending I didn’t exist—wouldn’t buy that
explanation.

Still, the logical part of my brain told me
that the best course of action was to carry on as if nothing had
happened. To pretend like they weren’t all staring at me.

Don’t meet their eyes. The act will be
perceived as a challenge. Don’t panic. They can smell fear. Slowly,
calmly walk to the door.

The last bit of my brain’s advice was
hardest to follow. I wasn’t running, not exactly. More like
speed-walking. Either way, it was the opposite of sauntering out
without a care in the world. Unease was now full-blown alarm, and
my Created Talents were becoming harder to control. As if my
earlier slip wasn’t bad enough, I began to flicker like an
apparition in one of the old horror movies my friends and I used to
watch.

No, no, no. Calm. Stay
calm, stay alive,
I lectured
myself.

Unfortunately, my growing distress wasn’t
helping these efforts whatsoever.

Breathe in, breathe out. Control your
Talents, don’t let them control you.

This voice, from a distant memory I’d been
trying to forget, was not mine. Normally, it would’ve been beyond
unwelcome. Now, though, I clung to her advice and used it to anchor
my thoughts. I was in control.

Still, as I pushed the door open, my fingers
were barely visible against the wooden slab. Once out in the watery
night, I did a cursory check of the street and, seeing no one, went
fully incorporeal. And then, I ran.

INVISIBILITY IS THE ultimate freedom. There
is no judgment, no condemnation. You hear and see so much more than
you otherwise would. Extremely perceptive people, usually other
Talents, can see a slight disturbance in the air, the faint shimmer
of an outline. But even those people have to know that you’re
nearby, to notice it.