Текст книги "Undone"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

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The child’s heart suddenly jumped out of rhythm with my prompting, vibrated, and gave a strong beat.

Another.

Another.

He sucked in a breath and let it out in a scream.

I held him against me as he screamed and cried. All around me, the fallen children lay silent. I watched their chests rise and fall, alert for any changes, but my enemy did not bother with their deaths. He—or she—rightly concluded that they presented me with more of a dilemma alive.

I took out my cell phone and checked for a signal. None, of course. This was deep country, off the human track in many ways. I would get no help from the police, not until I could locate a working telephone.

The child put his chubby arms around my neck. I stroked his dirty hair. “What’s your name?”

He sniffled wetly. “Will.”

“All right, Will, everything is fine now. I’ll keep you safe.” I would need to bandage my wound. I was losing blood, and it was sapping my strength. The internal damage would have to wait until I could reconnect with Luis or find some other source of aid. “Will, I need you to help me, all right?”

He nodded, but he didn’t let go of me.

“I’m going to have to wake up the other children. I will need you to be my helper. When the others wake up, they might be scared, and I need you to be their friend. Can you do that?”

He nodded stoutly, and climbed out of my arms and stood with his shoulder pressed against mine. Trembling, but upright.

I made certain he was steady enough, and then trailed my fingertips lightly over the forehead of another child, a girl with dark hair and darker skin. She sat up, startled, and began to cry.

“Will,” I said. He gave me a doubtful look, but went to the girl and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said solemnly. “You’re okay, Christy.”

He knew their names. “Will, is there a girl named Isabel? Do you know her?”

Will continued to pat the weeping Christy on the shoulder. “There are a lot of kids.”

That sent a cold ripple through me. “How many?”

“Lots.” He likely couldn’t count very high, so that was hardly definitive proof, but I had the strong feeling he meant hundreds.“I don’t know some of the new ones. They just came.”

“Came where, Will?”

He and Christy both looked at me as if I was utterly stupid. “The Ranch,” they said together.

“And where is The Ranch?”

I heard a click of metal, and an adult voice from the trees said, “You’re standing on it, bitch.”

It is a custom of human villains, at least in song and story, to take their prisoners back to their secret lair, where the prisoners outwit and destroy the villains.

My enemies were far from fairy tales, and I knew they did not intend to allow me one step farther toward the answers I sought.

The children were loaded into a large four-wheel vehicle and taken away, even Christy and Will, who looked resigned to it all. I felt a pang at seeing C.T. taken yet again, but at least he slept on.

I will keep my promise,I told him. I will find a way to return you to your family.

The SUV drove off down the dirt road, leaving me on my knees, my blood dampening the dust around me. I was too weak to resist unnecessarily, so I sat still, hands loosely folded in my lap, as four armed paramilitary guards formed a square around me. The rifles they carried looked lethal indeed. So did the handguns at their hips.

“You’re trespassing,” one of them said. They all looked oddly interchangeable in the moonlight, thanks to their camouflage jackets and pants and matching caps. One was female, the others male. The speaker was one of the men, tall, with a pleasant tenor voice. I put him on the far side of middle age, from the glints of silver in the close-cropped hair that showed under the cap. “Didn’t you see the signs? Trespassers will be shot. That wasn’t some kind of bluff.”

There had been no signs, but I didn’t bother to argue the point. “Who are you?”

“Private citizens defending our land. I think the real question is, who are you? You don’t exactly fit in around here. Who sent you? FBI? CIA?”

“With pink hair?” one of his fellows snorted. “I’m thinking some kind of private security, private investigator, something like that.” He shoved the muzzle of his gun close to my face. “Right? Somebody hire you? You should have taken the money and run.”

I didn’t answer. All my focus was on keeping the wound in my side from pouring out more of my strength on the thirsty ground.

“Doesn’t matter,” a third one of them said—the woman, who sounded as practical and cold as all the rest. “She’s seen the kids. We have to get rid of her.”

“We should ask if they want her as a recruit.”

“Come on, you’ve got to be kidding! She’s some kind of Warden; that’s the last thing we need. We have to kill her, and do it fast, before more of them show up looking around.”

“She followed the first one.” That made my drifting attention snap back into focus, and I lifted my head to look at the speaker, who was the older man. The leader of this small group. “She’s his backup. So I don’t think we have to worry too much about more Wardens calling, especially right now. They’re a little busy.”

General laughter between the four of them. The first one.That had to be Luis. They had Luis here.

If you plan to avoid dying,the Djinn part of me commented coolly, you should likely do something now.Because the man standing to my right, the one with the graying hair, was preparing to fire a bullet through my head and put an end to it.

I let go of control of my wound, which responded in a fresh gout of blood, and reached out to the trees with power.

The pine tree branches were firm and springy, perfectly suited to pulling back and releasing. One hit my would-be executioner in the back of the head as his finger tightened on the trigger, and his shot went wild, digging a hole in the ground next to my feet.

I softened the ground beneath their feet, and watched the shock hit as their own weight dragged them down. They flailed as they sank, and two tried to shoot me, but I was already moving, rolling to my feet and limping into the trees. I heard more gunfire behind me, and shouts, and then frantic screams.

Then the ground closed over their heads, and I heard nothing.

I couldn’t go far. Black waves of weakness continued to wash over me, until it felt that the ground was softening beneath me, just as it had beneath my enemies. I fell and placed a palm flat on the surface. No, the fault didn’t lie in the ground, but in myself.

Human weakness.

I wouldn’t get far enough afoot. I needed to leave this place, find help, bring rescue to these children.

I made my stumbling way back to the Victory, only to find that one of the gunshots had exploded a tire and mangled part of the engine. I could have repaired it, if I’d had enough power.

I was using what I had left to keep myself alive.

All that remained of the four who’d tried to kill me were disturbed patches of earth, and a single pale hand breaking the surface. I hardly gave it a glance. My paramilitary friends hadn’t appeared from nowhere; they’d likely come in a vehicle, as humans seemed wont to do even for short trips.

I saw a flash of movement in the trees, then a pale, dirty face.

C. T. Styles. He had gotten away.

“Calvin Theodore,” I said, and braced myself against the trunk of a nearby pine. I kept my other hand firmly pressed against the wound in my side. “Don’t be afraid.”

He moved out from behind his concealment but didn’t come any closer. There was little expression on his face, and a flatness in his eyes that concerned me.

I said, “Your father sent me, C.T.,” and the numbness in him broke, replaced by a flare of hope so bright it was like sunrise. “I need you to help me. Did these people come in a car‹e c me?”

He shook his head emphatically. My own hopes dimmed as his rose, until he said, “They came in a truck.It’s a jeep. It’s black.”

I almost laughed. It wasn’t often a human was more precise than a Djinn. “Can you take me there?”

“Sure,” C.T. said. He darted forward and held out his hand. I took it. His skin felt fever-warm against mine, but that was only because I was chilled from shock and blood loss. He tugged at my arm to get me started, and we headed in the direction of the cold, rising moon.

“They took everybody in the truck, but I got out the back,” he said proudly. “I stayed. I knew you’d help.”

I had no breath to spare to praise him. It seemed a long way to this mythical black jeep, and every step poked red-hot knives through my side. My body was sloughing off its shock, and I did not much care for the results. “Wait,” I murmured, and pulled C.T. to a stop to lean against a handy boulder. I left black smears against the rock. “How much farther?”

“Not very much. It’s right up there,” the child said, and tugged my hand. “Right there!”

I allowed him to pull me on. At each rise, he promised me only one more, until my feet were no longer certain of their steps.

At last, I fell, and although I tried to rise, I couldn’t.

I collapsed on my back, panting, and saw C.T. lean over me, no expression on his small face.

“I thought you’d never fall down,” he said. “Goodbye, lady.”

He turned away and left me. I tried to rise again.

The dark rolled in and swept me away.

When I woke, I was being carried—no, dragged. Dragged by the heels, like a carcass, through the dirt. I opened my eyes and made a protest that sounded more like a moan than words—and then I realized that I had spoken in Djinn, not English.

It was now pitch-dark, only thin flickers of light coming through the trees. The moon had moved on without me, but it was far from morning. The air was frigid on my exposed skin.

I kicked feebly, and the one dragging me dropped my foot in surprise. The impact of my heels on the ground sent a searing burn through my side, and I jackknifed into a fetal position in response. I couldn’t scream, although I wished to. I could only pant for breath.

I heard a blowing sound, followed by a strange, fast clacking of teeth.

An enormous paw touched my stomach. Even in the dim light, I could see the talons.

The black bear was a shadow in the dark, save for a small glitter of its eyes in the moonlight and a brush of lighter fur around its muzzle.

It was frightened of me, I could see that, and I lay very still. Black bears were not aggressive in the main, and preferred eating plants to people, but that did not mean it wouldn’t kill me.

It made that blowing and clacking sound again, and I saw the white flash of teeth this time. It was followed by a long, low moan that lingered like a ghost on the air.

I forced myself not to move as the muzzle dipped and sniffed my face. The bear snorted, shook its huge head, and padded off.

I had been rejected, apparently, as not worth the trouble. After the relief—and, strangely, a touch of annoyance—the trembling set deep into my bones. I had forgotten that humans were food.And now so was I. There was something about it that terrified me on levels I had not known existed within me. The Djinn didn’t—

I was not a Djinn. I was human, and I was wounded. Predators would be drawn to the blood.

I squirmed around and pressed a hand to my stab wound. Still bleeding. I gritted my teeth, ripped cloth from my shirt, folded it, and jammed it into the open lips of the cut.

I might have cried out. I heard the black bear, not yet so distant, make that long, low moan of fear again. Once the sickening pain and shock passed away, I climbed to my hands and knees and then to my feet.

Backtrack,I told myself. C.T. had deliberately led me astray.

My eyes had adjusted well to the darkness, and I could follow the drag marks, and then the stumbling signs of my progress. Blood smeared on a rock. Dragging footsteps.

It seemed to take forever to return to the road, where my poor, dead Victory lay with its flattened tire. It had leaked gasoline into the dirt from the shattered tank. I limped past it, past the last resting place of my four opponents, and just over the next rise, I found the black jeep that C.T. had so convincingly spoken about.

Keys were in the ignition.

I ransacked the contents of the back of the small truck and found a red cross-marked case filled with useful items. I rebandaged my stab wound, shaking antibiotic powder on it as I did, although I knew full well the bacteria would be inside my system by now. I swallowed painkillers and guzzled a bottle of water I found rolling in the back, then picked up one of the extra weapons. It was small, heavy, and clearly meant to destroy—some sort of machine pistol, with a fully loaded clip. The mechanism seemed simple, as most deadly things were.

I tossed it on the front seat next to me, started the jeep, and followed the trail deeper into the forest.

Chapter 14

THE RANCH—IFthat was where I was—seemed endless, and empty. There was little to mark this place as having human residents—no fences, no grazing animals other than deer that bounded away from the road at the sound of the approaching engine. I saw no lights, no structures, no other vehicles.

For all I knew, The Ranch went on for many miles in all directions. Any route I chose, if I left the road, would be utterly random.

But the road had to lead somewhere.

Luis is probably dead,my remorseless Djinn ghost said. What will you do then? You should walk away now, and save yourself the pain and trouble.

I glanced at the machine pistol on the seat beside me, and for the first time, answered her directly. “I will not walk away. I will kill them all,” I said. “And I will take the children home.”

Fine words, fine intentions, but when I topped the last rise and saw the valley, I realized that I could not possibly have enough ammunition to solve the problem that lay before me.

It was a well-lit compound, and by my estimation it covered an area the size of a small town. Tall iron towers ringed the perimeter, and there were two walls, inner and outer, with empty space between them.

It looked like nothing so much as a prison.

Within the walls were square, neatly ordered buildings. Some appeared the size of small houses, and others were as large as schools or city halls. Part of the compound—the town—was a parking lot full of vehicles. Trucks, cars, all-terrain vehicles, large vans.

The lights turned night to day not only within the compound, but on every approach.

A line that Manny had once quoted came back to me. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat,” I murmured. That seemed oddly funny to me at the moment, but that was probably blood loss and the onset of infection.

It hadn’t occurred to me that they would be able to detect me at the top of the hill—I’d turned the headlights off—but clearly, I had underestimated my opposition. I heard a wailing alarm rise, and saw people moving down in the compound.

Perhaps it’s not for me,I thought, and then the radio fixed to the dashboard of the jeep crackled, and a voice said, “We have an intruder on the ridge in Grid 157, repeat, Grid 157. All units, intercept.”

I put the jeep in reverse and backed down the hill, turned it around, and drove as fast as I could the way I had come. The bumps and jounces of the road woke new, special pain from my injuries, but I forced that to the background. Escape was my only viable option. I could worry about my internal bleeding later, if I survived.

I saw a flash of lights behind me. Gaining fast.

Another vehicle crashed out of the trees at right angles to me ahead. I swerved and brushed by it, leaving kisses of paint, and dug the wheels deep in the dirt to pull ahead.

Cassiel?

Luis’s voice in my ear. He sounded distant and slow.

“No time,” I growled. I checked the rearview mirror. I was leading a minor parade of armed vehicles, and bullets spanged off of the metal of the jeep and splintered trees ahead of me.

Wait . . . don’t . . . it’s not what you think—

They were trying to kill me, I thought, and so far, my theory seemed quite sound. I shut him out and kept driving, rocked around a sharp turn on two precarious wheels, and less than fifty feet ahead, I saw a row of children standing in my path. It stretched from one side of the road to the other, into the trees.

For just a fatal instant, my Djinn self said, Keep going.

I took my foot off the gas and slammed on the brake, bringing the jeep to a shaking, shuddering halt a foot away from the children. They hadn’t moved.

I had my hand on the machine pistol, but again, there seemed little use to raising it. I wasn’t going to fire, not at a line of children, and they knew it.

C. T. Styles stepped out of the trees and walked up to the driver’s side of the jeep.

“You’re really strong,” he observed. “Most people never make it this far. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

He’d already led me to die in the woods and be eaten by a bear. I wasn’t quite so stupid as to assume he meant me well this time.

Most people never make it this far.

“How do you know how many people make it this far?” I asked him. “You only came here a few days ago.”

His dark, innocent eyes grew rounder. “Who told you that?”

“Your father.”

C.T. gave me a slow, superior smile. “My dad doesn’t know everything. I’ve been here lots of times. Mom brings me. For training.”

Training.

I was certain to my bones that Officer Styles knew nothing about this. Perhaps this time, his wife had been unwilling, or unable, to bring the boy home from his training.

Isabel. Had Angela also been sending Isabel here? No, impossible. Manny would have known. It was a distance from Albuquerque; her absences would have been noticed.

C.T. was waiting for my response. I gave him none. He finally dropped his chubby hand and stepped back.

An armed man took his place, holding his weapon steady on me. “Ma’am,” he said. “Get out of the truck and leave the gun, or I’ll shoot you in the head. Try any tricks, and I’ll shoot you in the head. Kill me, and my team will shoot you in the head. Do you understand?”

I did. I let go of the weapon and got out of the jeep. My legs barely supported me, which was helpful, as the soldier kicked the bends of my knees and sent me crashing to the dirt. He yanked my hands behind me and fastened my wrists with thin plastic strips, then pressed the muzzle of the gun against the back of my head again.

“If you mess with your restraints, bullet in the head.”

“I am following your theme,” I assured him.

I was loaded into the jeep again, this time in the back, with an escort who kept his gun aimed steadily at me.

I had no strength to escape, and, in fact, this time I did not see the advantage in doing so. Below in the camp, there might be medical treatment, rest, and the possibility of finding Isabel. Drawing power from a Warden, maybe even Luis.

The forest held nothing for me now but death, and while that didn’t frighten me as much as I’d expected, I did not intend to die a failure.

It offended me that after such a long, powerful life, I should end it with a mortal whimper of defeat.

My interior turmoil had manifested itself in tensed muscles and clenched fists, although I had not realized it until the soldier aiming at my head said, “Stop moving or bullet in the head.”

I sighed and relaxed.

The compound was, in fact, larger than I had expected. It had taken time, money, and hard labor to raise the structures and walls. They had learned from their ancestors, I saw—clear open space all around the perimeter fence, where nothing grew, not even grass. I wondered if they used an Earth Warden to tend that barren ground.

The towers evenly spaced around the wall held armed guards—not a surprise, given the convoy that accompanied me. As we traveled into the white glow of the lights, I studied my captor closely. He was nondescript. Medium build, medium coloring that might have owed its origins to any race or country. He wore unmarked camouflage fatigues and sturdy black boots. No jewelry, no markings of any kind, even on the uniform.

“Get your eyes off me,” he said. “Or—”

“Bullet in the head,” I finished. “You can stop repeating yourself.”

He smiled, very slightly, and with no trace of humor. “I don’t think so. I think you need the reminder. I willkill you.”

“I have no doubt.”

I turned my attention outward, to where the massive metal gates were slowly opening to allow us passage. Like any good security system, it controlled the flow of traffic, so the gate behind us closed before the one ahead opened, leaving us vulnerable and exposed in the no-man’s-land between.

I wondered how I might be able to make use of that. Nothing came to mind, but I was weak, sick, in pain, and had a simmering level of anger that seemed to impair my thinking to a remarkable degree.

The next gate creaked open. Hydraulics,I thought. I could work with hydraulics, perhaps.

Just not at the moment.

The guard opened his mouth as I shifted. “Bullet in the head, yes, I know,” I said. “Do try to aim for the center of my skull. I would hate to be left clinging to life and force you to waste a second shot.”

He shut up.

Inside the compound, the streets were clean and logically organized. Not a soul walked on those pristine streets, though I saw curtains and blinds twitch as we drove past houses and barracks-style buildings with a roar of engines. There was relatively little in the way of greenery, except for a park in the center of the community, with a few tall pines and grass.

Ah. And a playground. I saw the swings, slides, and sandboxes. More proof, as if I needed it, that whatever went on in this military-style outpost, it involved children.

Beyond the park, another building glimmered—not like the others. Pearly white, almost organic in its lines. I only saw it in glimpses, but what I saw disquieted me. There was something that raised echoes inside me, from long ago.

Something that did not belong here.

The jeep came to a halt in front of a nondescript concrete building. “Don’t move,” my guard said as he climbed out of the vehicle. He never took his eyes away from me. Wisely, he didn’t come within my reach, only kept his weapon trained steadily on me while two other soldiers pulled me from the seat and—however unsteadily—upright. I did not offer resistance, or much in the way of assistance, either, since I could hardly manage to walk at the moment.

The concrete building was a prison, and inside were individual cells, reinforced to the strength of vaults. That, I thought, was designed to prevent the use of Warden powers, but no matter how massive the door, there were always smaller fault points to be found. It was difficult keeping an Earth Warden chained. . . .

I sensed a familiar power signature, and my head, which had been slowly drooping, rose with a snap. “Luis?”

He was in the first vault we passed. I saw the familiar flash of his brown eyes through the narrow slot in the door as we passed. “Cassiel?” His voice sounded slow and uncertain. “You okay?”

“No,” I said.

Knowing he was here and alive filled me with a water-sweet relief I had not expected. They locked me into a room next to Luis’s cell, and it was grim indeed—plain, seamless floor, plain walls, a stainless steel toilet in the corner, a sink with a water tap. A rolled mattress in the corner.

Nothing else. Nothing at all.

They had not removed the restraints, which begged the baffling question of how they expected me to make use of any of the lavish facilities they’d provided, until I heard the ponderous movement of the locking mechanism rattle, and an Earth Warden stepped into the room.

She was tall, severe, with short brown hair and a pinched mouth, a sharply unpleasant expression that seemed to find me and all I stood for—whatever that might be—in utter contempt. She wore a standard olive green jumpsuit, which fastened with snaps in the front; again, curiously, there was no insignia to be seen. I had always thought humans were compelled to self-identify.

She dropped a neatly packaged bundle to the floor and made a twirling gesture with one finger. “Turn around.” I did, a full shuffling turn, coming back to face her. She rolled her eyes. “No, idiot, put your back to me.”

 “Then be precise,” I said.

Once I had my back to her, she advanced with a few quick, light steps, and I felt the plastic straps holding my wrists part with a snap. She stepped away again, holding the remains of my restraints. “All right,” she said. “Strip. Everything comes off.”

If this was a human effort to make me feel awkward or humiliated, it was doomed to failure. The only issue I found with stripping naked was that it was difficult to bend and stretch without waking new waves of agony from my side. Once I’d managed it—she did not offer help—the Warden walked closer again.

“Raise your arm,” she said, and bent to examine the wound in my side. “Nasty. One of our little pets do that to you?”

“Pets,” I echoed.

“Rejects,” she said. “We still find a use for them. Hold still.”

She did not say, This will hurt, because I suspected she didn’t care. I braced myself against the wall with my other palm, trying desperately not to whimper at the acid wash of agony as she poked and prodded.

At length, she seemed satisfied. “You’ve got an infection in there,” she said. “Damage to your liver, nicked a couple of blood vessels. I’ll fix the worst of it. Try not to scream.”

She put her hand over the wound, and I learned that not all Earth Wardens who couldheal should.She seemed to have little knowledge of how much pain she caused, and cared even less. In the end, I couldn’t stop the scream. It felt as if she had filled the wound track with boiling lava.

Once she’d exacted the price of the scream—which, I realized, she’d been waiting for—the Warden closed up the cut and stepped back to admire her handiwork. It wasn’t neat: A hand-sized patch of reddened, blistered skin, and a knotted scar. “You should consider training,” I said. She hadn’t given me any power through the contact, hadn’t so much as replenished my lost blood supplies. Her healing had, in fact, left me weaker, not stronger, and I believed that was exactly her intent. She’d left me in a position that I would not sicken and die, but I’d be too weak to present an effective threat.

She bared her teeth at me—I would not call it a smile—and kicked the bundle toward me. “Dress,” she said. “Unless you prefer to stay naked. I don’t really care.”

She left, taking my clothing, and the vaultlike door closed behind her. I crouched and picked up the bundle. Unrolled, it contained a paper-thin jumpsuit of brilliant yellow, the color of reflective paint, and a plain pair of cotton underwear. No brassiere, but my body was lean enough that it wasn’t an important omission. There were socks, and a pair of flimsy shoes with the word PRISONER printed on the bottoms.

I would have manifested my own clothing, if I’d had power, but I didn’t, and I was cold. The vault had a chill to it, like a cave. Or a crypt.I imagined them sealing the room and walking away, leaving me to starve alone. A Djinn would have found that frustrating and boring.

A human would find it fatal.

The clothing didn’t warm me much, but it made me feel less vulnerable—I supposed I had overestimated how much my human body had influenced me along those lines. A human of this time, this culture, needed coverings to feel safe.

As I unrolled the mattress, I found a folded thin blanket and a small pillow. The blanket I wrapped around me as I paced the room. I could sense Luis’s presence, dim and indistinct, on the other side of the wall. If I could touch him . . .

But they had gone to great lengths to be sure I couldn’t.

I pressed my hands to the wall, then my forehead. I could feel him there, possibly even making the same attempt at contact.

My eardrums fluttered, and then I heard his voice, in startlingly clear stereo. Cassiel?

“Here,” I said. I didn’t know if he could hear me, but I supposed he could. He had, even on the road. “Are you all right?”

That bitch Warden keeps filling me full of drugs,he said. He sounded angry and unfocused. Can’t keep myself straight. Withdrawal’s going to be a bitch. You?

“She left me weak,” I said. “I don’t think she found it necessary to drug me.” If I could find a way to touch Luis, she’d regret that, at length. “What do you know about these people?”

Nothing, except they’ve got a pet Earth Warden and some mad building skills.Luis’s voice turned dark. They have Ibby. They told me they’d hurt her if I tried anything.

Yes, the Earth Warden would definitely have time to regret her actions. “I found C. T. Styles,” I said. “Rather, he found me.” I explained about the ambush and the odd way the children acted. “I don’t believe they are themselves. I think someone is controlling them. Using them.”

Why kidnap kids just to run them around like guard dogs? I’m pretty sure there’s not a Doberman shortage.

Something the Earth Warden said returned to me. “Rejects,” I said. “They’re rejects.”

Rejects from what?

I didn’t know. I suspected that was the question on which so much hinged, including our lives.

Although he tried, Luis lost focus, and our contact dissolved in eardrum-splitting shrieks and growls of out-of-control vibrations. I stilled it hastily, but I continued to lean against the wall, and I thought that on the other side of the concrete, so did he.

“I don’t know if you can still hear me,” I said, “but if you can, save your strength. I will do the same.”

Practicality dictated that I curl up on the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress and sleep to conserve as much energy as possible.

I dreamed of Isabel, alone in the woods, and a bear.

When I woke, there was a tray being shoved through a slot at the bottom of my vault door. The food did not look appetizing, but that hardly mattered; it wasn’t food I craved.

I rolled out of bed, crawled to the slot, and seized the wrist of the man who was pushing the tray inside. He gave a startled yelp that turned to a harsh scream as I attempted to pull power from him.

He was merely human. I got only the lightest tingle of power, not even enough to fuel a single continuing breath, and then he broke my grasp and was gone.

I ate the contents of the meal tray slowly, with great concentration. It would help, but without an infusion of power from a Warden, soon, I would be in real trouble. Unlike a natural human body, mine was not self-sustaining. The equations did not balance, and energy leaked away with every beat of my heart.