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“About time.”
A rail-thin Asian girl who had been hanging out in the shade of one of the palm trees smoking a cigarette from a sleek gold-plated holder cut them off before they could enter the palace. The guards eyeballed this girl in the same uneasy way as they did Einar and Taylor, which meant she must be Garde. Like Taylor, she wore a hijab, although hers was decorated with frolicking seahorses. The new arrival wore high heels that made Taylor’s feet ache in sympathy, a half blazer and a sleek pencil skirt. Her nails were painted red and black to match her outfit. Although she looked only a year or two her senior, Taylor immediately felt like this girl was much older.
“Jiao,” Einar said by way of greeting. When he attempted to walk around her, the girl simply fell into step with him. She completely ignored Taylor.
“We need to talk.”
“Do we?”
“You told me, you promised me, that the Foundation would get my family out of Shenzhen.”
“It’ll happen,” Einar said with a sigh. “You need to be patient.”
Taylor got the feeling this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation.
They entered the palace, Jiao’s heels echoing loudly against the marble floors. The air was much cooler in here. Taylor tried to keep track of her surroundings—paintings that probably belonged in museums, dozens of rooms, more and more guards—while also listening to Einar and Jiao.
“It’s been months,” Jiao said sharply.
“Extractions take time,” Einar replied. “I promise. I’ll look into it.”
“You’d better,” Jiao said. “Tell that British gao bizi this is the last assignment I’m taking until they keep their end of the bargain.”
Einar nodded stiffly and said nothing. Jiao flicked a glance over her shoulder, sizing Taylor up in a split second.
“This is the new girl? She’s supposed to put us over the top?”
“Yes,” Einar replied.
“Hmpf.” Jiao gave Taylor another look, then turned back to Einar. “Where’s Rabiya?”
“Couldn’t make it.”
Jiao studied Einar for a moment, obviously hoping he would elaborate. Taylor volunteered no information. If she was looking for an ally to help her escape, it wouldn’t be this girl. She almost seemed like more of a shark than Einar.
“Wonderful conversation as always, Einar,” Jiao said bitterly, then sped up her walk down the palace’s domed hallway. She knew where she was going and didn’t want to arrive at the same time as them.
After a moment, Taylor chuckled. Einar looked in her direction, lips pursed.
“I finally get it,” Taylor said.
“Get what?”
“There used to be this clique in my school, the mean girls from a couple grades above me. They all worked in the same store at the mall. This—well, you probably don’t have it in Iceland. It’s like a popular store where they sell distressed jeans and sweatshirts with big store logos stitched into them.”
Up ahead, Jiao pushed open a set of hand-carved double doors and entered the room at the end of the hall. Einar slowed down and then stopped, turning to face Taylor. The guards following them—herding them, really—stopped a respectable distance back.
“Please get to the point,” Einar said.
“Okay. These girls were real tight until one of them got promoted to supervisor and then she got all serious, bossing the other ones around, basically acting like a huge tool. A little power went right to her head.” She pointed at Einar. “That’s you, man. You’re like . . . an assistant manager. How lame is that?”
Einar closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them. “Are you finished?”
“Well, the moral of the story is that the store went out of business and they all had to find new summer jobs, but their friendships were already totally ruined,” Taylor said with a bright smile. “So, take that for what it’s worth.”
Einar took Taylor by the arm and led her towards the room Jiao had gone into. “These attempts to get under my skin won’t get you anywhere,” he said. “I’m not some silly bitch from your high school.”
“I’m not trying to get under your skin,” Taylor insisted. “I’m trying to make you see how dumb your situation is.”
“Shut up, now,” Einar commanded.
Einar ushered her through the double doors. It took Taylor’s eyes a moment to adjust—the rest of the palace had been soaked through with sunlight, but this room was kept purposefully dim, all the curtains drawn, candles flickering in wall sconces. The room was huge, with a domed ceiling that featured a chipped mosaic of birds soaring through trees. Incense burned in one corner where a group of women were gathered, all of them covered head to toe, on their knees, foreheads to the ground in prayer. Spread out around the room were more guards with more guns. Taylor swallowed.
An older man with a thick white beard sat at a small table, a goblet of dark wine not far from his hand. He wore a robe of gold and white and Taylor could tell immediately that he was in charge here, the mood of the room seeming to bend around him. This must be the sheikh. He gave both her and Einar a stern look when they entered, his fingers drumming on the table, but said nothing. At his side was an Arabian woman, not wearing the head-to-toe coverings of the group in the corner, but dressed in a hijab and lab coat. A doctor of the traditional variety. She crouched next to the older man and showed him a chart, explaining something in Arabic.
“We’re late,” Einar said quietly to Taylor.
“I got that impression.”
Taylor’s attention soon turned to the king-size canopy bed that dominated the center of the room. Laid up there was the sick prince. He looked like a younger and handsomer version of the sheikh. His beard and hair were clipped meticulously. Unlike the healthy olive bronze of his father and bodyguards, the prince’s skin was ashen, his cheeks hollow, his body pointy and emaciated beneath the sheets. He was hooked up to an array of medical equipment, the steady beeps and hums creating a strange chorus with the prayers from the back of the room. If not for the slow rise and fall of his chest, Taylor would have thought the prince to be dead.
Jiao already stood at the prince’s bedside. “Hurry up, new girl,” she said.
There were two other young people around the prince’s bedside. The first was a heavyset boy with a mane of curly hair. His eyes were red-rimmed, the side of his face discolored by recent bruises. He glanced up at Taylor skittishly, then quickly looked away. Another prisoner of the Foundation. Taylor remembered Isabela mentioning a healer who had graduated to Earth Garde, an Italian guy . . . could this be him? Vincent, she thought his name was.
Across from Vincent was an even younger boy with dusky skin, a shock of bright white hair and no legs. He sat in a wheelchair and seemed completely out of it—his head lolled from side to side, his eyes unfocused. A pair of strange-looking microchips were stuck to his temples. A conservatively dressed older woman stood behind the wheelchair, her hand resting gently on the boy’s shoulder. Taylor found herself staring at this poor soul, sympathy mixing with apprehension.
“The Foundation is generous,” Einar said in her ear, startling Taylor. “But, as you see, they can also be cruel.”
He pushed her towards the prince’s bedside. Taylor ending up standing at the foot of the bed, Jiao at the head, the two boys on either side. Taylor glanced nervously at the two traumatized boys, at least until Jiao snapped her fingers.
“Focus up,” she barked. “Follow my energy.”
Taylor’s brow furrowed. “Follow your . . . I’m sorry. I’ve never done this with a group before.”
She sensed the sheikh shift impatiently behind her, but ignored him.
Jiao rolled her eyes. “You’ll know what to do once we get started.” She gestured in the crippled boy’s direction. “Even a vegetable can do it.”
Paying no attention to Jiao’s remark, the woman handling the wheelchair bent down and whispered something in the legless boy’s ear. Robotically, he reached out and clasped
the wrist of the sleeping prince. Vincent, still avoiding Taylor’s gaze, did the same with the prince’s other arm.
“See?” Jiao said, and set her hands on either side of the prince’s face. She closed her eyes and went to work.
Taylor could sense all of them using their Legacies. The rest of the people in the room might have been blind to it, but to Taylor, the healing energy gave off a warm aura.
Carefully, she moved the sheet aside, and readied her hands over the prince’s feet.
She sensed movement. The prince had opened his eyes. He stared, blinking, at Taylor, and a small smile formed on his lips. He looked almost peaceful. There was a kindness in his expression, a gentleness.
“Are you a good person?”
The words popped out before Taylor could stop them. She sensed a restless shifting from the many guards in the room and felt Einar step up behind her. Meanwhile, the sheikh’s fingers suddenly stopped their drumming on the table.
The prince struggled to work moisture into his mouth. “. . . What?”
“Are you a good person?” Taylor repeated. “Because, you know, all of us were basically kidnapped to heal you. Some of us probably tortured. So, I want to know if you’re, like, worth the trouble . . .”
Vincent trembled, but pretended not to hear, his eyes closed. The legless boy remained slumped over the prince, pouring his healing energy out. His handler glared daggers at Taylor. Jiao slowly opened her eyes, her lips curled in disdain.
