Wicked Glory Page 7

  Her chin quivering, Annabelle says, “Only a few minutes after I met him. Once the shock of being in his presence lifted, that’s when I felt it.”

  “Felt what?” I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “The pain and guilt and self-hatred.” She shivers at the memory. “I didn’t even know I had a gift at that point. I just knew he was so filled with darkness and ugly emotions that I could barely hold myself together when he touched my shoulder. I think I would have fainted if he had done more than pat my head quickly before approaching my parents. When I heard him say he was taking me with him, I started bawling hysterically. They thought I just didn’t want to leave, but in that moment, I would have done anything to get away from him. I knew he was a bad man because nobody who was good would ever carry around so much darkness.”

  I shake my head in amazement. “How did you survive the trip to the compound?”

  Annabelle finally looks up, shrugging. “I don’t know. I think he sedated me. The next thing I remembered was waking up on a cot in the infirmary at the compound. My family was nowhere to be seen, but David was gone, and that was all I cared about.”

  “Does… everyone, all the Godlings, carry around what David does?” I ask.

  For a moment, Annabelle considers both my question and me. She mulls it over in her mind before answering. “Many of them carry a great deal of emotional pain. I’m not an empath, so I can’t accurately interpret everything I feel, but I can tell the difference between heartache over a breakup and deep-seeded guilt over a choice that hurt someone. Even the ones who don’t emanate guilt, they can’t hide the damage their choices have caused.”

  “You said many. I assume that means not every Godling is the same.” I hang on that last word, eager and afraid to hear the answer.

  Again, Annabelle hesitates before answering. It’s not because she doesn’t want to answer or is choosing her words carefully. I can see in her eyes that she understands my questions have a deeper meaning, but she can’t discern what it is. Eventually, she says, “No, not everyone feels like David. The nurse who first took care of me held some sadness in her heart, but she had more kindness and compassion than anything else. Most of the younger Godlings are still fairly untainted, and so is a lot of the support staff. It’s the older ones, the ones who have spent their lives in service to the Godlings, those are the ones I can’t spend time around.”

  Taking a deep breath, I ask the question I need answered most. “What about Chris?”

  Annabelle looks at me squarely. “Zander, what is this about?”

  “Please, just answer the question.”

  Concerned, but not unwilling to answer, she says, “Yes, Chris carries around a lot of emotional pain, guilt included. No one is as bad as David, but Chris is no lightweight.”

  I curse, startling Annabelle. Her concern deepens, and she’s no longer willing to wait. “What did Isolde tell you? What was on the phone she gave you?”

  I almost hand it over on instinct. Before last night, I would have. My trust in Annabelle has been shaken, and I hold off. Sitting back against the couch, I fold my arms across my chest and meet her eyes. “Before I go into that, I need to ask you something else. Your promise to be honest is still holding, right?”

  “Of course,” she says irritably.

  “What are the Godlings training everyone at the compound to become?”

  Annabelle seems confused by the question. “Well, there isn’t just one answer, Zander. There are a whole bunch of different roles you can serve in. Some go into sciences or healthcare, although healthcare is one of the toughest to qualify for because it takes so much control. Others become trainers. Some, liaisons to the outside. The strongest become soldiers.”

  “Soldiers in David’s company?”

  Annabelle nods. “Century Force Securities. I guess you and I never really talked about it at the compound, but it’s not a secret or anything. A lot of the Godlings who excel at the more physical tasks are recruited to work for David. He pays really well, better than anywhere else they might get a job. It’s dangerous work, though, even for a Godling.”

  I’m quiet for a long time. Annabelle speaks about David’s mercenary service casually because it’s nothing new to her, but her attitude doesn’t disturb me. In fact, it’s actually comforting. She knows about the company, but not what its true purpose is. To her, it’s just a job possibility.

  “The sense of guilt and pain we were talking about before,” I begin, “is it worse with the Godlings who work for David?”

  Annabelle considers my question carefully. I doubt it’s something she’s ever asked herself about before. Waiting patiently, I can practically see her thoughts turning, the dots connecting, and the real purpose behind this conversation beginning to sink in. Her brows pull together as she tries to understand everything rolling around in her mind.

  “Yes, it’s worst of all with David’s soldiers,” she says, “but I suppose that isn’t wholly unexpected, right? They’re out in scary situations where they’ve probably had to do things they wouldn’t otherwise do if they weren’t in a militarized situation. Regular military soldiers may feel the same way to me, for all I know.”

  She may be right, but the connection is there all the same. David’s soldiers hold the highest degree of self-hatred and emotional scarring. It can’t be a coincidence. The same thought must sink into Annabelle right about then as well. Her shoulders drop, and she closes her eyes. “The Eroi are right, aren’t they?” she asked slowly. “David isn’t just training mercenaries to hire out to the highest bidder. He’s training assassins.”

  When I nod, she’s not surprised.

  “Can I see the phone?” she asks.

  I no longer have a problem handing it over. Sitting back against the couch, I wait for her to flip through the information Isolde stored on the phone. Annabelle shakes her head back and forth as she takes in each picture and article. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem all that surprised. When her hand drops and she tosses the phone onto the coffee table, she is spent.

  “You didn’t tell Van about Chris, did you?”

  Shaking my head, I slump against the couch. “David’s planning to start her on some new training soon. I can’t pretend he doesn’t intend to turn her into one of his minions.” Sighing, I press my hands to the top of my head. “She’d be good at it, too, not that I’d ever tell her that. It’d only freak her out. All you have to do is see her dance to know she’d be a perfect assassin. She’s graceful, light on her feet, strong, precise, everything David would want.”

  “That’s a scary thought,” Annabelle says.

  “Exactly.”

  The minutes tick by slowly as we sit, digesting everything we’ve learned recently and trying to process it. I find myself staring at Annabelle’s slightly off-kilter bookcase. Most of the titles are too small for me to read from here, but wedged between two hardback books is a tiny frame. I’ve never noticed it before, but it draws my attention now. A younger Annabelle stands with one arm around another girl who looks to be slightly older than she is. The girl she’s with looks familiar, but I’m not sure why.

  “Annabelle, who’s in that picture with you?”

  Lost in her thoughts, my words startle her a bit. I have to repeat my question before she looks over at the picture and frowns. “She used to be a friend of mine. I’m not even sure why I brought the picture with me. We haven’t really spoken since she started working for David. The first mission she came back from changed her. I can’t be around her anymore because of the pain she’s holding onto. She didn’t seem to want to be around me anymore either, which was kind of weird.”

  “I think I’ve seen her before.”

  Annabelle nods. “Of course you have. That’s Emma. She was training Van at the vet clinic when you were at the compound, remember?”

  As soon as the words leave her mouth, the connection forms in both of our minds. My head drops into my hands as Annabelle says, “Oh no.”

  It
’s not just Chris. My hands press against my head more forcefully. David has surrounded Van with his lackeys. Everything Van will be taught by them is going to draw her closer to him. It’s a sickening thought, but it raises a question.

  “Annabelle, why didn’t David teach me the trick you used to sneak away last night?”

  Her head tilts to one side. “You mean accessing my hunger to be quicker and quieter?” When I nod, a puzzled expression settles on her face. “I have no idea. I assumed he did. It’s a basic skill for a Godling. It’s not easy to master, but they teach even the young children how to do it.”

  “Then why not me?” I ask. “If he wants me to work for him as well, why not teach me how to get in and out of places without being noticed? Seems like a useful skill for an assassin, right?”

  Annabelle seems baffled. She begins to shake her head, but then stops in the middle of the motion. Her bottom lip immediately tucks between her teeth. When she glances at me sideways with a worried expression, I sigh. “What?”

  “What if he’s not training you to become an assassin?” she asks.

  “What else would he be training me for?”

  “I don’t know,” Annabelle admits, “but…”

  But it’s not going to be a good thing.

  My mind begins to race, but before it can get very far, the phone from Isolde starts ringing. Annabelle and I look at each other before turning to stare at the phone. I don’t want to pick it up, but I reach for it anyway. She doesn’t even give me a chance to say hello once I answer.

  “Zander, I trust everyone made it back home safely after our introduction yesterday. We need to speak.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly.

  “Not on the phone. In person. I’m going to give you an address, and you will meet me there in half an hour.”

  I don’t bother to question her or ask for an explanation. She won’t give away anything she doesn’t intend to. Instead, I grab a pen and write down the address. When I recognize the street name, I say, “That’s here in Albuquerque.”

  “You didn’t expect me to spend all my time driving back and forth between you and the compound, did you? Or find myself waiting on you? Certainly not.”

  Somehow, I doubt the inconvenience is the whole reason she decided to stick close to me, but I don’t argue. “Fine. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Leave Annabelle at home this time,” Isolde says before ending the call.

  A stab of fear darts through me at her words, not because I fear leaving Annabelle here, but because I understand why she demanded for me to come solo. Isolde saw everything that happened at the compound yesterday, including Annabelle’s reaction to Ivy. If she wants me to leave her home, that can only mean one thing. My meeting isn’t just with Isolde. It’s with Ivy, too.

  Chapter Eight: The Key

  (Zander)

  Parking in front of the most bland office building I have ever seen, my palms break out in sweat. They are clenched around the steering wheel. The moisture makes them slip, and I drag them down my pant legs. Annabelle was not happy about being left behind. I’m not thrilled about it either, but there was precious little I could do about it. Isolde is not someone to mess with.

  It takes me a few minutes to get out of the car, but I eventually approach a plain glass door mounted in an otherwise featureless wall. Before I can reach out, a meaty hand pushes the door open and nods for me to come in. I do so without letting my eyes dip down in either fear or deference. The guard doesn’t seem to notice. Wordless, he directs me toward a door.

  As I walk, I take in my surroundings, looking for exit routes and weapons, should I need either one. Which seems likely. The drab walls and threadbare carpet aren’t all that different from the concrete box they had me locked up in at the Eroi compound, but it still strikes me as an odd place to find Isolde. Perhaps this was the best they could secure in less than twenty-four hours.

  I approach the door, not sure whether I am expected to knock. I decide I’m probably better off erring on the side of caution with Isolde. The sound of my knuckles rapping against the wood carries through the silent office. Only once it fades away do I hear Isolde’s voice.

  “Enter.”

  Stepping into the room, I’m immediately struck by the contrast. An elegant, hardwood desk takes up most of the space. Plush carpet softens my footsteps as I walk to an equally impressive chair and take a seat. The leather doesn’t creak beneath me. It’s too supple for that. Isolde taps a button on her rather sophisticated-looking computer, and the machine’s quiet whirring ceases. I don’t say anything when Isolde focuses her attention on me. Given that I have no idea why I’m here, I think that’s fair.

  “After we ended our negotiations yesterday, I felt we needed to set some ground rules before proceeding any further.”

  “Ground rules?” I ask. I supply them with information on the Godlings, and they keep Van from getting abducted by David when my grandma dies. It’s not a complicated arrangement.

  Isolde’s long, blonde ponytail sways as she turns to face me more directly. “Yes. Ground rules.” She crosses her arms and leans back into her chair. “The Eroi protecting your sister is not the only thing you want from us, correct? You want information as well.”

  I don’t response, but the sudden stiffness in my posture is answer enough for Isolde.

  “As I thought.” A smug smile spreads across her lips, though I can’t imagine why she’s so proud of guessing that I might want more information on the Eroi and Godlings. She ignores my sour expression and continues. “I am willing to provide you with information on the Eroi, because I believe it will help you see that we are not the monsters you believe we are. That I will do without expecting anything in return. For information on the Godlings… there will be a cost for that information.”

  “Giving you what you don’t already know isn’t good enough?” I growl.

  Isolde’s shoulders shift, bringing her into a more hostile stance. “The payment for that has already been discussed. This is a new agreement, independent of our promise to protect Vanessa from David.”

  “What do you want?”

  I have made no indication toward agreeing to this deal, but the corner of her mouth twitches up as if she knows she’s already won. “I want to study you.”

  “Study me?” I lean back into the chair, putting as much distance between us as possible. “Like medically?”

  Isolde laughs. It’s a surprisingly pretty sound. “No, Zander. I have no desire to cut you into little pieces to see what makes you tick.” She chuckles again, the sound threatening to take down my defense a notch. “We’ve already tried blood tests to discover what makes a Godling a Godling. We’ve exhausted those methods with no results.”

  That really doesn’t make me feel better about this. I’m not naïve enough to think those tests were on willing participants or followed any kind of ethical guidelines.

  “I would like to study you on a psychological level,” Isolde continues. “Something about you and your siblings makes you different from the other Godlings.”

  I scoff. “You certainly didn’t seem to think I was anything more than a mindless monster yesterday.”

  “I am not too proud to admit that your actions yesterday have affected my opinion.” She unfolds her crossed arms and leans forward. “I am curious about you and your siblings.”

  “Fine,” I say, surprising her.

  She takes a moment to consider my reply. “Why?”

  “Because I want the same answers you do.”

  Isolde smiles and nods. “Fair enough.”

  When she leans back into her chair, I ask, “Is that the only reason you called me here today? I really doubt I have anything of use to tell you about the Godlings yet.”

  “No, I do realize that it will take you time to get into David’s inner circle. I will be as patient as I deem necessary in that regard,” Isolde says, “but I suspect you already know the other reason I asked you to meet me today.”
r />   A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. “Ivy.”

  Isolde nods in a slow, watchful way. “I can’t study you without watching you spend time with her. She’s the key.”

  “The key to what?”

  “To understanding why you were created.”

  ***

  My first assumption that this office was something acquired in the heat of the moment in order to be nearer to Van and me was wildly incorrect. I figured that out the moment Isolde herded me through a second door in her office to a hallway that was somehow austere and opulent at the same time. I stare at bare floors as we walk, trying to figure out what kind of stone it is. At first glance, it seems plain, but a deeper look reveals subtle tones and a depth that is almost disorienting. The walls are not decorated in any fashion, but they hold the same strange sense of being more than what can be seen on the surface.

  I’m almost too distracted by it to notice Isolde has stopped walking, and I pull up just short of running into the back of her. Seeming unaware of my thoughts, she gestures at the door in front of us. “Can you control yourself if I allow you entrance?”

  “Yes,” I say stiffly. I have no illusion that the original price for killing Ivy has been retracted.

  Isolde nods and places her hand on the door. My hand gripping her wrist stops her from turning it. She looks up at me calmly, but there is a hint of fear in her eyes. As tough as she claims to be, she is still human, and much more breakable than she wants to admit.

  “What am I supposed to do once I’m in there?”

  Shrugging, Isolde says, “Talk, I suppose.”

  Confusion wrinkles my face. “How does that help you?”

  “I’d like to see how long you can stand being in the same room as her, for starters. You’ve spent several months training with David. Let’s see how effective it’s been.”

  “And when I can’t take it any longer?”

  “Just say so.” Isolde smiles as she turns the handle. “I’ll be listening in.”