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And then Kopano stood atop the ice again, his feet feeling light on the fragile surface. His Legacy—he’d unlocked something, figured something out in his desperation.
Kopano didn’t have time to relish the milestone. Nigel wasn’t breathing. His face was blue, his body limp and freezing.
Gulping in air, Kopano gathered the British boy in his arms and ran towards the shore.
“Kopano!”
The Nigerian let out a groan of relief when he saw Taylor and Ran running towards him from the house. Neither of them looked well—Ran’s clothes were dark with fresh blood, Taylor was hobbling and bleeding from a head wound—but they were alive. They were alive and they would know what to do about Nigel.
Kopano set Nigel down on the rocky shore of the lake. His clothes were cold and heavy on his thick frame and he felt suddenly, unbearably heavy.
“He’s—he’s not breathing!” Kopano said. “That bastard made him . . . made him . . .”
Kopano couldn’t bring himself to finish. He looked around wildly for Einar, his fists clenched.
Taylor went to her knees next to Nigel, immediately pressing her hands to his narrow chest. Ran caught Kopano’s crazed look and put a weak hand on his arm.
“Einar’s gone,” she said. “He teleported away with Rabiya while Taylor was healing me.”
Ran looked shaken and rough. She crouched next to Nigel and held his hand, rubbing it between her own. Kopano leaned in over her shoulder, staring between Nigel and Taylor.
“Can you . . . ?” He tried to catch his breath. “Can you heal him?”
Taylor didn’t respond. She was concentrating on Nigel. There were dark bags forming under her eyes, her skin pale. She’d been overtaxed in the short time since her kidnapping. Kopano wondered how much healing she could manage.
A bubble formed on Nigel’s lips. The water he’d swallowed slowly trickled out of his mouth, pushed out of his lungs by Taylor’s healing Legacy. Kopano let out a sigh of relief.
But Taylor didn’t look happy. She put her ear against Nigel’s chest.
“He’s not breathing,” she said, her voice cracking. “His heart’s not . . . I don’t know how to heal this. It’s not wounded, it’s just . . . stopped.”
Tears streaked down Taylor’s cheeks. Nigel was still, no color returning to his cheeks.
“Step back,” said Ran.
Taylor did as she was told. She stumbled to Kopano and he instinctively wrapped his arms around her, grateful for the warmth of her small body in his arms. His teeth were chattering.
“I didn’t get to him quickly enough,” Kopano said quietly.
“It’s not your fault,” Taylor replied.
Ran touched Nigel’s cold cheek. Her shoulders shook. She bowed her head for a moment, whispering a prayer.
Then, she ripped open Nigel’s shirt.
“Ran—?” Taylor said, startled.
Ran put her hand on Nigel’s chest. She charged his sternum with her Legacy. He glowed. His body vibrated.
“Ran!” Taylor yelled, alarmed. “What are you doing?”
“Waking up . . . his body,” Ran replied, her eyes flashing with energy. “Making . . . breakfast.”
Kopano took a step back, bringing Taylor with him. Nigel’s body pulsed with crimson energy. Kopano could see where Ran’s energy surged out of Nigel’s pores, out of his nostrils, his eyes.
And then, she pulled it all back into herself.
The force of yanking that much energy out of Nigel blew Ran backwards. Acting quickly, Kopano caught her with his telekinesis.
Nigel’s whole body convulsed with the concussive force, bouncing against the rocks.
And then he screamed.
Coughing raggedly and holding his chest, Nigel rolled onto his side. Taylor clapped a hand over her mouth and Kopano let loose with a cheer. Color slowly blossomed in Nigel’s cheeks. He shuddered, peering around at his friends with bleary eyes.
Ran grabbed him in a hug, squeezing him close. Her hands and forearms were already dark purple with bruises from where she’d pulled back the energy, but the pain didn’t seem to bother her.
“I found a nonviolent use for my Legacy,” she said.
“Fuckin’ hell, Ran,” Nigel said. “Tell me about it later, yeah?”
Then, he fainted.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
THE SIX
THE HUMAN GARDE ACADEMY—POINT REYES, CALIFORNIA
FROM ICELAND, THEY TELEPORTED BACK TO NEW Mexico, where Isabela, Caleb and Professor Nine were still waiting. There was a lot of commotion over the amount of blood on their clothes, but Taylor had healed most of their injuries. She’d done a bad job mending her own broken ankle—had put only enough healing energy into the shattered bones to allow her to walk on it—so she needed to lean on Kopano for support.
He didn’t mind.
They brought Freyja with them. Strangely, they found that the choker had simply fallen off her neck. The little girl claimed it “just happened.” Taylor wondered what that meant. It seemed as if the Foundation had let them off the hook.
Freyja was turned over to the UN Peacekeepers. She’d have a long flight home, but they would reunite her with her family. She thanked Taylor and Nigel before the Peacekeepers took her away, but Taylor was disappointed to see fear in her eyes. The child was afraid of Garde. It was hard to blame her; the girl had seen firsthand what the worst of their kind could do.
Kopano offered to teleport the Peacekeepers and Earth Garde back to Iceland so they could apprehend the mercenaries and investigate Einar’s house. It took them thirty minutes to get clearance for such an operation, but eventually they took him up on the offer.
But when they were ready, Kopano found he was unable. The Loralite stone in Einar’s backyard was gone. Someone must have smashed it.
The six of them returned to the Academy. They were allowed two days of rest and recovery. Then, the punishment kicked in. They were assigned training sessions at dawn five days a week, immediately followed with a shift serving breakfast in the dining hall, not to mention weekly sessions with Dr. Linda to deal with any psychological fallout.
Rumors about the six of them swirled around campus. They didn’t talk about their adventure. Even Isabela refrained from bragging.
People started calling them the Fugitive Six.
As the weeks went by and things ostensibly returned to normal, the six of them had a hard time hanging out with other students around the Academy. The others—they hadn’t seen what was out there. They hadn’t really fought yet. They had Legacies, but they weren’t yet Garde.
After one of their early-morning training sessions on Nine’s brutal obstacle course, Caleb turned to the others as he toweled off.
“Do you guys ever get the feeling that this isn’t exactly punishment?” he asked.
“No,” Isabela groaned, rubbing her sore neck. “It is worse than punishment. It’s torture.”
“No, I mean . . .” Caleb shrugged. “I don’t know. These team workouts, it’s like . . .”
“We are being groomed,” Ran said.
They all looked up at the catwalk that crossed over the training center.
Nine watched them from above.
She might have hated the arduous physical training, but Isabela threw herself into her studies like never before. One subject in particular interested her. Almost every night, she would knock on Taylor or Ran’s door.
“Flash cards?” Isabela would ask with a nervous smile.
They practiced her English for hours every night. Soon, she wouldn’t need Simon’s Legacy at all.
“Can I show you something?” Caleb asked Nigel, about a month after they’d returned from Iceland.
“That question makes me nervous, mate,” Nigel replied with a smirk. “What is it?”
“It’s upstairs.”
Nigel followed Caleb up three floors to one of the unoccupied sections of the dorms. Technically, they weren’t allowed up here, but even with the stricter securi
ty protocols that had been implemented since their little excursion, the dorms remained largely a free-for-all. The abandoned floors were a popular hookup spot if you had a prudish roommate.
“Caleb, man, you’re a good lad and all, but I don’t feel that way about you.”
“What? No!” Caleb glanced over his shoulder at Nigel and blushed. “I’m not—I mean—it’s okay that you are but I’m—um . . .”
“Relax, mate. I’m messing with you.”
“I know,” Caleb said, relaxing.
He stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. Nigel noticed soundproofing pads had been stapled to the surface.
“Ready?” Caleb asked.
“I’m not sure that I am, brother.”
Caleb swung the door open.
Inside was a garage band setup that warmed Nigel’s heart. A five-piece drum kit, a bass guitar, a banged-up electric guitar and a keyboard. Each of the instruments and the soundboard that managed the volume were manned by one of Caleb’s clones.
“Seriously?” Nigel said. “Clone band?”
“Hardly anyone ever uses the music room, so I liberated some stuff and brought it here,” Caleb explained. “It’s our practice space.”
“You can play all these instruments?”
Caleb shrugged. “I mean, not well. But we’re learning. It helps that I can have each clone practice on their own.”
