my own frail human needs, I lower myself shakily to the blanket and begin sorting through the pile of food.
“Are you sure they won’t poison us?” Logan asks from far above me.
“Not until they’ve gotten whatever the hell it is they need from us,” I grumble. I say us, but we both know I mean me.
My stomach protests as I lay the food out slowly. Who knows how long they’ll wait before feeding us again? We might need to ration.
Of course, they could just make the leftovers disappear. I don’t know what to do. I’m so hungry, I’m sure that it’s got to have been a full two days since we were brought here. At least. I briefly wonder how many more people have died of the virus while these Reduciates have been toying with us, but I tamp that thought down and file it away. It’s not something I can do anything about right now.
Logan drops down to join me on the blanket when I hold out a piece of cheese, though he still looks nervous. “What do they want?” he asks, his voice so quiet I practically have to read his lips to understand him.
“I’m not sure,” I reply in that same hushed tone. “It’s … a little hard to explain. There’s some kind of secret that I know—except that I don’t. I used to—ugh!” I rub at my temples, the aftereffects of the tranquilizers making my entire skull ache and buzz like someone’s playing the timpani inside it. I take a few calming breaths and try to will the pain away.
“What kind of secret?” he asks, his eyes darting to the again-opaque glass.
I shake my head no, hoping that we still have enough of a connection that he’ll understand that I’m telling him that they’re listening no matter how quietly we talk. “It doesn’t matter,” I say in a whisper, even though that effort feels pointless. “The thing I need you to understand is that if we’re going to survive this, we have to be a team. I need to be able to depend on you.”
He looks wary, and I know I’m pushing him to his mortal limit. But like me, there’s a hidden core of strength in there. The strength of an Earthbound. Of a god. And I’m counting on it.
“They will do anything—kill anyone—to get to this secret that I have …” I hesitate, not wanting them to know I don’t know what the secret is. “The key to that secret is you,” I finally settle on. Nebulous, but enough. “So as long as we work together, we can keep each other safe.”
“How am I the key?”
I can’t answer that. Not even cryptically. “I’ll tell you when I can,” I say, my voice raspy around the near lie.
The food is gone quickly and I’m feeling better—even a little overfull. I have to wonder why they fed us at all. Food is the fuel for my powers—if I were them, I’d have starved me.
But I’m certainly not going to question my advantages.
I rise and resume stalking the perimeter of the room, feeling much like a tiger in a zoo. What can I make to get us out of here? I lay my hand against the wall and wonder if I know enough about bombs to make one. Excitement zings through me as I add, make one inside the wall, to my thought. I try to remember the chemistry class last year in Michigan when my teacher taught us how to make gunpowder. Sulfur, charcoal, saltpeter. A metal casing. A fuse. I can do this!
I’m so wrapped up in the thoughts whizzing through my head that I hardly notice when a beeping begins to sound, then speeds up. Logan is calling my name, but as the beeping gets louder, faster, two sharp pains prick the skin on my arm and my knees buckle as I sink into unconsciousness.
Again.
I smell him before I open my eyes. It’s Quinn’s smell. Unique. My head is lying against something soft and warm; it must be him. Without conscious thought, Rebecca’s arms reach out, pull him close. She buries her face in that perfect smell that means safety and love and home.
A groan escapes my mouth as I nuzzle against Quinn’s warm, soft shirt and the yielding skin beneath. My hand is searching for a way to get under his clothing when a sharp “Tavia!” pulls me all the way out of unconsciousness.
I open my eyes and see his face—Logan’s face. Worry and disgust color his features.
I yank myself up and away from him, fire filling my cheeks. “Sorry,” I mutter, though my skin burns where I pressed against him—tingling with want and need and other emotions I should not be feeling in a Reduciata prison.
“What happened?” My voice is hoarse. Again. I wonder just how much of that tranquilizer stuff I’ve had. How bad the aftereffects are going to be this time.
“I’m not sure what you were planning.” We both jump as a voice comes over the loudspeaker. It sounds like Sunglasses Guy. I spin toward the mirror, but it’s still just a mirror. They’re not interested in letting us see them this time. “But it was something exciting enough to raise your heart rate.”
I remember the beeping that got faster and faster right before they shot me. Damn it!
“We’re not stupid,” the guy continues calmly. “You’re not getting out until we let you. Until we’ve gotten what we want.” A low chuckle. “And I guess at that point we’ll probably just kill you.”
My jaw is shaking with fury, and I roll my shoulders to attempt to calm down before the stupid beeping starts again. As I move, the left joint sends out a sharp stab of pain. “Ow,” I say in surprise and look down at my arm. The shirt I’m wearing has short sleeves, and when I push it up, I see that my entire shoulder is reddened and starting to turn purple.
“You fell against the wall pretty hard when they took you out,” Logan explains sheepishly. “I managed to get to you before you hit your head, but I wasn’t fast enough to stop that.” He points at the darkening bruise.
A tingly feeling zips up my spine, and I barely manage to hide the sappy grin that threatens to reveal itself. He helped me. He tried. “Thanks.” I clear my throat and look away, trying not to show him how pleased I am. It’s not the time.
“So what now?” Logan asks. It’s something just less than a whisper. He practically breathes the words.
I glance at the mirror, but it looks no different than before I got knocked out. Again. I incline my head at Logan and start scooting backward until I’m leaning against the wall. He joins me and I curl closer so my lips are right next to his ear. “Do you trust me?”
His nod is just enough of a motion for me to feel it.
“Rub my back, softly. Help me stay calm.” Then, before he can argue, I shift so my legs lay across his lap and I let my head rest against his shoulder, my face turned toward him so it can’t be seen. I breathe in the scent of his shirt—fabric softener, a light aura of sweat, the clean kind that smells earthy—and close my eyes when his arms drape over me, his fingers gingerly kneading along my spine. I’m surprised at his soft touch, but in my head, Rebecca clearly isn’t. I let myself
