The Hunt (20 page)

Leon stared at himself in the mirror. “This is a really bad idea, you know that, right?”

Cora patted his shoulder. “Let's go.”

He stood up, trying to move like a robot. It wasn't a bad transformation, Cora had to admit. Physically, Leon's size and strength were nearly the same as most Kindred's, and the shimmering lotion and black eyes completed it. It unnerved her, seeing a Kindred with the face of her friend. Then he spit on Roshian's floor, and Leon was Leon again.

Lucky handed him a revival pod. “Anya will probably be drugged. You'll need this to revive her. Mali and I will head back to the Hunt; we'll see you in the morning, assuming everything goes well. Good luck.”

“There is one more thing,” Mali said, eyeing the pod. “In her drugged state, Anya will probably not be able to tell that you are human. She has used mind control to attempt to murder every one
of her Kindred owners. If you revive her, she will probably attempt to take over your mind and murder you too.”

Both Leon and Cora stared at her.

“I thought you should know,” Mali clarified.

“Thanks,” Leon said. “I really needed that.”

Lucky

BACK IN HIS CELL,
Lucky couldn't sleep.

His mind juggled a dozen different thoughts. Worry that Cora and Leon would get caught, which was hardly an irrational fear given Leon's track record. Worry that Anya would end up dead and the whole plan would fall apart. Worry that they wouldn't be able to get Nok and Rolf out. And then worry that he'd completely screwed up everything by kissing Cora.

He cursed under his breath. That kiss had been a mistake. He should have stopped her right from the start. Hadn't he learned anything? Cora was practically hypnotized by Cassian, despite what she said, and she always would be. How exactly was he supposed to compete with a guy who was mix of a billboard model and superhero? Besides, even though he'd told Cora that he wasn't that same guy who'd gone crazy in the cage, he didn't trust himself sometimes. The memories were too fresh of that awful night when he had led her up the stairs to their bedroom, taken her dress off
slowly, and all the while thinking what they were doing was right.

Right.
Well, he wouldn't make the mistake of kissing her again, even if his thoughts did keep circling back to how soft her lips were.

He quietly dug through his few belongings until he found the notebook Dane had given him, and flipped through the pages haphazardly. He'd filled most of them with his worries. It helped to put them down on paper, night after night, when he couldn't sleep.

His eyes skimmed over his last entry, from two days ago:

We repaired a hurt antelope today. Jenny and Christopher dragged it in around midday; it had been shot in the shoulder. The whole animal was quivering, its eyes darting back and forth. It was a new animal—I hadn't seen it before. Pika said we should name it Sunflower, because when Jenny first let it outside, it stood in the sun with its head tilted toward it, and smiled a little. I told Pika that antelopes don't smile. Pika said Sunflower does.

Now, he flipped to the very beginning. When Dane had given him the notebook, he'd noticed that a few pages were ripped out, but he hadn't given it much thought. Everything in the Hunt was in disrepair. It hadn't been until that morning, when they had framed Dane, that he'd found those missing pages in Dane's cookie tin, stuffed between pocket squares.

Now he unfolded the pages, tilting them toward the faint light of the nearest wall seam, and read them again.

Manual Override Codes,
Dane had written.
In Case of Animal Emergency.

Lucky scanned through the list of codes and instructions. The Kindred had entrusted Dane, as Head Ward of the backstage area, with keys and a supervisory position.
The most powerful of the powerless,
Lucky remembered taunting him, and Dane's smug
retort:
Not powerless. Not at all.

Apparently, he'd been talking about weapons.

Kill-dart guns, specifically, that Dane could access in the event the wild animals caused an uproar. It seemed the kill-dart guns were locked away in a hidden panel in the medical room, but the code to access it was written right here. Not letters or numbers, but a certain shape Dane needed to trace on the wall to make it open.

Lucky practiced tracing the same symbol on the dust of his floor until he had it memorized. He went to his cell door—he had left it cracked open when he'd come back in with Mali—and closed his eyes to listen. A few kids were snoring. One of the animals was chasing dream-rabbits in its sleep. He carefully pushed the door open, wincing in case the hinges squeaked, but they never did.

He stepped out slowly. The clock above the door indicated Night was three-quarters over already; Cora and Leon better hurry. The blue glow of the lights cast a cold look over the cell room. He passed by the fox's cell, and the fox looked up at him curiously. He held a finger to his lips and took another step but tripped over a deck of cards.

The deck went skittering across the floor and he froze, one
foot still in the air. Someone grumbled in her sleep on the upper level of cages. Was that Jenny's cell? The blood rushed in his ears. . . .

“We aren't idiots, you know,” a voice said.

He jerked his head toward Shoukry's cell. The boy's face loomed between the bars, and Lucky's breath stilled. He could say that the lock of his door had broken . . . or . . .

“Don't worry.” It was another voice, from the opposite direction, and Lucky spun to find Makayla looking out from her own cell. “We didn't tell Tessela before,” she said. “We aren't going to now.”

Snores came from the direction of Pika's cell. She, at least, was still asleep.

“You mean you've known this whole time that we can get out of our cells?” Lucky whispered.

“Makayla and I caught on pretty quick,” Shoukry said. “Jenny and Christopher know too. It isn't so surprising—there have been rumors for a while about kids gaining psychic abilities like the Kindred's. Is it you, or Cora?”

Lucky hesitated, not sure if he could trust them.

“That's what I thought,” Shoukry said. “Cora.”

“Dane didn't know,” Makayla answered. “We made sure of it. Slipped a few slivers of the reverse revival pods in his dinner cakes so he'd sleep deeply. There are benefits to being in charge of the food.” She grinned in the shadows. “We know about your friend in the drecktube too. He breathes really loud.”

Shit. Lucky
knew
Leon would be trouble.

“Whatever you and Cora and Mali are planning,” Makayla asked, “is it going to get us out of here, maybe even home?”

Lucky looked in the direction of the drecktube. “That's what we hope. It's a long shot. But if Cora can—”

“Don't say it,” Shoukry said. “The less we know, the better. The Kindred have ways of extracting information from your mind that involve lots of tubes and lots of pain. Just, whatever you're planning, don't stop. I'll cover for you the best I can.”

“I will too,” Makayla whispered.

“And me,” another voice said, probably Jenny's. “And you can count on Christopher too.”

Lucky blinked into the darkness. He had told Cora that they couldn't leave the others behind, and now he was certain. All this time, the others had been watching out for them. He wasn't sure how to express how much their trust meant, so he settled for a nod of thanks.

He moved faster now, knowing the others were on his side. He passed by Cora's empty cell, and then he was in the hallway. He didn't need to worry about being quiet, but he was all too aware of the ticking clock.

There was less light here; he could barely make out the shape of the medical room. By memory, he walked forward with his hands out until he reached the supply cabinet. He pushed it away from the wall and felt for the seams of a secret panel. When he thought he'd figured out its location, he traced the symbol from Dane's instructions.

Something beeped. The panel clicked open.

Behind it was a drawer. He held his breath as he reached in. His fingers brushed something cold and metal. A gun. He counted ten smaller ones and at least three bigger ones, though the drawer went back quite far. He took out one of the smaller kill-dart guns. It was heavier than he had expected. Or maybe that was just the weight of his guilt for not telling Cora about this. But Cora was
unpredictable, and so were Mali and Leon. That Kindred-made pistol Mali had stolen was only useful for show, which had secretly relieved him. Cora and Mali and Leon working with firearms couldn't possibly end well.

He cradled the kill-dart gun in his hand, taking a deep breath. He had no intention of using these weapons against any Kindred, or against any humans either. He kept thinking of that day when he'd been about to heal the zebra and had been reminded of that sick horse on his granddad's farm.

Sometimes just surviving isn't enough,
his granddad had
said.

He put the gun away quickly and closed the panel door. At the time, he had thought of killing the animals as a cruel sort of kindness. One that he'd like to avoid at all costs, if possible. Hopefully he'd find another way to save them. Maybe if Cora did beat the Gauntlet, he'd be granted more authority, and could take the animals away from the menagerie and care for them properly. But in case the worst happened, he'd rather put every single animal out of its misery with his own hand than force them to continue this sick cycle of pain. As for the other kids, well, they could each make up their own minds. If it got bad enough, or if someone was wounded very badly . . . a quick and painless option could be good for them too.

He felt through the darkness for the door, and then was back in the cell block—moving faster now, glancing at the clock—and into his cell. He pulled the door all the way closed. The lightlock clicked on, casting a glow over the crumpled journal pages in his hand. He slid them into his journal and sank to the floor.

Someone was still snoring, but now Lucky knew it was
probably just an act. All these nights while he had lain awake, the others probably had too.

He kept his eyes going between the hallway and the clock.

Cora didn't have much time.

The fox nudged against the bars again. He petted it, a little hard, but the fox didn't seem to mind, or to notice just how feverishly, in that moment, he hated himself for what he one day might have to do to it.

His mind raced, and he knew there'd be no sleep for him. He grabbed up the journal and the pencil nub, and started writing to get it out of his head.

The others know. All this time, they've been protecting us. . . .

His pencil paused. He caught a glimpse in the faint light of the markings on his hand; coding that designated him as a human only suitable for menagerie work.

Maybe Cora is right about what happens after the Gauntlet. It isn't fair to ask people who have already been through so much to give up a chance of going home. And god, I think about what it would be like, if we did get back. I'd walk into a grocery store and fill up three shopping carts with bacon and Pop-Tarts and soda. I wouldn't join the army. I'd take over the farm—just me and the horses and the stars. And Cora—if she'd come.

He flipped a page.

But then—and here's what I can't shake—why does going home feel so wrong? And it does. It makes me sick to my stomach. The animals, the humans: we're all marked the same way, might as well be brothers in captivity. I can't picture a world where we're free and they're not. If it comes to it, I'll do what I have to. But I hope it doesn't. I hope Cora beats the Gauntlet. I hope she decides to stay.

I hope she decides to build a life here, where we're needed.

Where I'll be.

Cora

“OKAY,” CORA SAID, AS
soon as she and Leon reached the end of a service tunnel. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

She reached up and brushed a drop of his sweat from his forehead. “It'll be okay. Put the shackles on me so I look like a prisoner.”

They listened for footsteps on the other side of the tunnel door, and when it was evident that the hall was empty, Leon looked out. “It's clear.”

“Hold my arm,” Cora whispered. “Like you're leading me.”

The foyer where menagerie doors split off was even creepier at night. The podiums to the menageries weren't staffed, the hosts and hostesses off duty. Cora adjusted her hands in the shackles, trying to wear a mix of defiance and fear in case there were any Kindred guards. It wasn't hard. All she had to do was think about the first time Cassian had taken her down this same dank hallway.

They'd only walked about twenty feet when Leon mumbled
a low curse. “Trouble. Two o'clock.”

A shadow was approaching from the far end of the foyer. A female guard, patrolling the hall slowly in their direction.

“We're almost there,” Cora whispered, nodding toward a doorway on the right. “That's the entrance to the Temple. Just act natural.”

With the lights so low, Leon looked perfectly believable as a Kindred. She saw the guard's head cock, curious, but then Leon swiveled Cora toward the Temple doorway.

“Open it quick,” he muttered. “She's eyeing us.”

Cora focused on the blue sensor above the door. Her heart was racing, but this was second nature to her now. All she had to do was ignore the splinter of pain in the back of her head. As they stepped inside, she saw the female guard turn to inspect a different node but throw one last look over her shoulder.

The door closed, and Cora sighed in relief. “That was easier than I thought.”

“Yeah,” Leon said darkly. “Too easy. She's probably calling for reinforcements.”

“Then let's hurry.”

In the dark, the Temple's ornate columns weren't visible, and the cells loomed like a prison. “I don't think there's anyone observing behind the black panel,” she whispered. “But just in case, manhandle me a little.”

Leon grabbed her shoulder, saying some sharp words. In his disguise he looked terrifying, and it wasn't hard to shrink back. He led her down the hall to the last cell, and there was Anya, sitting on the throne, staring at the fire. Cora wondered if the girl ever slept, or if the consciousness-reducing drugs rendered sleep obsolete.

“Stand, girl,” Leon commanded, trying to make his voice flat like the Kindred. “The medical officer has requested an inspection.”

Anya's head slowly turned from the fire, but her eyes settled on Cora instead. In a drugged sort of way, she smiled.
“Hi, little rabbit.”

Cora glanced at Leon, but he clearly hadn't heard anything.

“Right,” Cora said. “Anya, if you can hear me, we're friends of Mali's. She's sent us to get you out of here. We need for you to teach me to control minds.”

But Anya didn't seem to hear. Instead, her cold gaze raked over Leon's Kindred uniform and Kindred face.

“Are you guys talking psychic stuff?” Leon whispered. “Did you tell her I'm human?”

“I can hear her voice in my head,” Cora whispered back. “But she never makes much sense when she's drugged.”

“Well, read her mind and see if she's going to strangle us as soon as we get her out of there.”

Taking a deep breath, Cora faced Anya. Every time she'd tried to read minds—first with Lucky, then with Leon—it had come a little easier. Now she tried to reach out her thoughts like she did for levitation, but instead of dice, it was thoughts she was trying to influence.

Images flickered at the edge of her mind.

Blood.

Lots of it.

And Leon's face with its Kindred disguise.

“Did it work?” Leon asked.

Cora blinked out of her concentration. “Um, a little. She's not thinking polite thoughts about you, that's for sure. I can't tell if she knows you're human.”

“No way in hell I'm reviving this little psycho,” Leon said. “If she can do even half the ninja shit Mali can, I'll be dead in thirty seconds.”

“How are we supposed to get her out of here if we don't revive her?”

“I'll carry her. We have the removal pass, if that guard stops us. Come on, just open her cell with your mind or whatever. This place gives me the creeps.”

Cora concentrated on the lightlock set into the wall above Anya's cell. It was slightly different from the ones in their cell block, but after a few minutes she figured it out and the door swung open with her thoughts.

Anya turned back to the fire, uninterested.

Leon started to take a step inside her cell but hesitated, like he was reaching for a live cobra that was going to strike if he moved too fast. He paced to the left, then to the right, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Just grab her,” Cora hissed. “She's drugged. She can't hurt you.”

“Famous last words,” he muttered, then took a deep breath like he was diving underwater, and threw Anya over his shoulder. Her head pitched back, lolling; her eyes were glassy.

“We'll sail to a different world,”
she said into Cora's head.

Leon fumbled to snap the shackles on Anya's hands, as much for show as to protect themselves from her. “Let's get out of here.”

They hurried back to the entrance. Cora wondered how sane Anya really was beneath the drugs. That tear in her own mind felt suddenly more painful. She pressed a hand to her nose, trying to stave off the blood, as she focused on the blue sensor to open the door.

It slid open—and the female guard was on the other side.

She blocked the exit, as though she had been waiting for them. Her face was a mask of passivity as she slowly cocked her head, eyes focused on Anya.

Leon had been right—it had been too easy before.

Luckily, he didn't break character now. With his free hand, he held out the removal pass.

The guard took the pass, studying it closely, and then scanned it to log the visit. It seemed to satisfy her, and she stepped back to allow them to enter the hallway. Cora closed the door behind them, keeping her face calm, so the guard would think Leon had done it. As they walked away, she could feel success with every step. Ahead, just around that corner, they'd slip back into the walls and be safe.

Then the guard said something in Kindred.

Cora froze. Leon did too.

Cora frantically tried to probe the guard's mind. When she'd read Cassian's thoughts before, it hadn't mattered what language they'd been in. But all she came up with now was a cold, suspicious feeling. Panic started to seep into her, but Leon remained calm. He gave a noncommittal grunt like she had heard the Kindred do, and started walking again with authority.

One step.

One more.

The guard spoke again, sharper. Out of the corner of her eye, Cora glanced at Leon, wondering if they should run for it. The Kindred were so fast that it would take a miracle to get to the drecktube in time. There was the gun, but that was only a bluff.

They turned slowly. The guard was facing them, and she
didn't look pleased. She wore an intercom on her wrist—she could have twenty more guards there in seconds.

The guard took a step closer, head moving in measured jerks between Leon and Cora. There was nothing they could do; there were no words to answer her. Cora glanced at Leon; sweat was trickling down his face. At the same moment, the guard noticed.

Leon broke character. “We're screwed!”

The guard reached for her wrist intercom. Time seemed to slow. Cora twisted the shackles, but it was useless. There was no stick to drive through
her
eye. She spun on Leon. “Run, now! Take Anya—I'll hold her off.”

“Like hell,” he said.

Cora was about to throw herself at the guard when a blast of sound fractured through the hallway. She cried out, and Leon cringed. A gunshot? She twisted around to see Leon's holster—empty. Where was the gun? Another shot rang out, and the Kindred doubled over. Cora looked around frantically. Her hands were empty. So were Leon's. So were Anya's; she was still slung over his shoulder, delirious.

Who was firing the gun?

And then she saw it. Hovering in the air four feet off the ground. Still aimed in the direction of the guard, who had collapsed.

Cora jerked around to face Anya, with her drug-laced smile.

“Anya's doing this,” Cora choked. “She's doing it with her mind!”

The floating gun started to aim at the crouching guard again, but Cora reached out and plucked it from the air. The smile on Anya's face fell.

“That's enough,” Cora said. “Leon, move!”

They raced down the hallway. The gun felt warm in Cora's hand. She'd never imagined power like that. Levitation. Even making it shoot—that was so far beyond her own abilities that she'd thought it impossible.

They raced around the corner to the drecktube. Leon climbed in and dragged Anya in like she weighed nothing.

Cora stuffed the gun in the strap of her dress.

“Someone's going to find that guard,” Leon said.

“Yeah,” Cora answered, still shaking, “But not until morning. We'll be long gone by then.”

They started crawling. Leon seemed to know where he was going, which was good, because Cora couldn't focus on anything. That tear in the back of her head was throbbing. Cassian had said Anya had fractured her mind beyond repair. But could a fractured mind do what she had just done?

Eventually, they saw the tube that led back to the Hunt; Leon had marked it with chalk. Cora tried not to think about the wounded guard.

They had Anya.

Cassian was on her side.

Once they had Nok and Rolf safe, she would be ready for the Gauntlet. She ignored that itch in her mind that said there was more to the Gauntlet than Cassian was letting on.