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 could heal 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.