Blaze of Secrets (Asylums for Magical Threats) (29 page)

I have made the best use of my time by practicing and honing my technique to the best of my ability, or
at least as much as I can without my Conduit. I sometimes envy Safiye. Not only does she have her

Conduit to enhance her powers, there is a love and trust between them that I fear I will never possess.

But in truth, I am happy for them—our mission isn’t easy, and moments of joy can be few and far

between. We must overcome the difficulties, however, as the task ahead of us is our only chance to prove
the usefulness of first-borns, Talents in particular. Science has become the new magic of our age, one
people find easier to control. Possessing the power to both heal and destroy is terrifying to the general F.

population, elemental fire more so than the others. But if something isn’t done, the spreading sickness will
kill most of the world’s population and I cannot allow that to happen.

Despite reaching the end of the journal page, Kiarra continued to stare at it in disbelief.

If the photocopied page was authentic, then she’d just read a former Talent’s journal.

Could the legends be true after all?

In the bottom margin Neena had scrawled
Thomas Anthony Gladstone
. Kiarra touched the name,

wishing she could verify its contents. All clues signaled that Thomas Anthony Gladstone had been a Fire

Talent. And if what Jaxton had said was true, and she was also a Fire Talent, then there was a lot she could learn from Gladstone if she could get her hands on the rest of his journal.

All texts and letters related to first-born training or elemental magic had been destroyed in the 1950s, with the implementation of the AMT compounds. To possess anything written by a pre-1950s adult first-born was rare, but to possess the writings of a Talent was unthinkable.

She reread the page and stopped at the part where Thomas mentioned a Conduit, the same word Neena

had used last night. From context, Kiarra guessed a Conduit helped focus a Talent’s abilities, just like Jaxton had helped focus hers.

Maybe Jaxton was her Conduit.

The thought made her pause. Jaxton’s effect on her could be a result of attraction, not necessarily some legendary power amplifier.

Continuing her second read-through, Kiarra felt a shiver as she read:
Possessing the power to both heal
and destroy is terrifying to the general F. population.

If such power existed, it would be dangerous in the wrong hands. Jaxton’s words about an army

gathering to protect a Talent started to make more sense.

As the person in front of her on the bus stood up, Kiarra forced her gaze from the journal entry and

checked her location. She’d asked earlier for instructions, and the bus driver had told her which landmarks to watch for. She spotted the small row of brightly colored shops and Kiarra pushed the button, requesting the next stop.

She’d let Gladstone’s words stew and ask Neena about it later. Right now, Jaxton and Millie were her

top priorities.

Kiarra only hoped that she had the strength to carry out the plan and let herself be captured.

The sound of screeching voices jolted Millie awake.

She tried to focus, but whatever the hell they’d drugged her with earlier had left her groggy. The

booming music was not helping matters.

Once her eyes and brain started working properly again, Millie did a quick sweep of the room, on the

lookout for the bastard who’d interrogated her with his fists.

But she was alone. For now.

Cataloging the aches and twinges, nothing felt broken, and a small wiggle told her that the straps were

looser. If she could just get the straps removed, she might have a chance.

The last time she’d been conscious, Millie had noted two flaws in the room’s design. First, nothing was

bolted to the floor. Second, various chemicals lined the far wall.

An experienced interrogator always assumed a person was trying to find a way to escape. An unbolted

table or shelf could be thrown or toppled, distracting or even injuring the interrogator. Chemicals only made an escape more likely.

Between the flaws and the medical equipment in the room, Millie reckoned that she was inside a

research facility acting as an ad-hoc interrogation room.

The music ceased and the door on the far side of the room opened, revealing not the big bastard

interrogator from earlier, but the well-dressed young man who’d made the phone call to Jaxton and Kiarra.

Unlike before, he didn’t keep to the shadows, and she caught her first real glimpse of him—medium

height, olive skin tone, black hair, and dark brown eyes. She’d suspected that he knew Kiarra, but now that she could see his face, there was no doubt that he was her brother. The shape of his eyes, combined with his coloring, gave it away.

He stood beside her, and only because she was watching him closely did she notice a brief flash of

regret in his eyes. But it was gone between one heartbeat and the next. Curious.

Millie needed to see what the man was made of. “Did they send the posh lad to do the dirty work?” she

asked.

The man leaned close enough that Millie could see the gold flecks in his eyes. Did Kiarra have them

too? She’d never noticed. “Fists only accomplish so much.” He straightened and walked to the table of

chemicals. “I have other ways to make you talk.”

He reached for a syringe and Millie thought about her options.

They’d administered rowanberry juice just a few days ago, so unless they wanted to kill her, it was

unlikely they’d dose her again. If they had some other type of concoction to weaken her defenses, she’d

been trained to resist interrogation and knew to lie as close to the truth as possible. She worked

investigation for private clients, nothing more. Spinning DEFEND into a human rights activist group was

easy enough. Amnesty International would suffice.

And she honestly didn’t know Kiarra or Jaxton’s location.

Prep review done, she focused on the broad back of Kiarra’s brother. Despite his posh clothing and

restrained manner, he had a quiet aura of power. Much like people misunderstood Millie’s bubbly behavior for daftness, she reckoned people mistook his appearance and behavior for weakness.

The contrast of power and reserve intrigued her.

The man—she still didn’t know his name—turned around with a cloth-wrapped syringe in his hand.

Clever move, hiding the contents to inspire fear; too bad it wouldn’t work on her.

Millie held his gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Is that a present for me? And to think, I didn’t get you

anything.”

“Antagonizing people will only cause more pain,” he said quietly. “You should’ve learned that

yesterday.”

Millie shrugged as much as the straps around her body allowed. “You’re going to hurt me anyway, so I

might as well have fun with it.”

The man tapped the side of the syringe and pushed the plunger, and a few red drops squirted into the

air. It was the same color as rowanberry juice, but it could just be a red-dyed liquid. She wasn’t going to fret, at least not yet.

It was time to try tactic number one. “You seem a bit out of place here, mate. Shouldn’t you be in a

barrister’s office? Or perhaps graduate school?”

Those gold-flecked eyes looked her up and down. “Judging by appearances, you should be a

footballer’s wife.”

To be a footballer’s wife meant to be beautiful yet shallow and superficial, or so went the stereotype.

“Glad to know you think I’m fit. Or should I use the Yank term of ‘hot,’ since I’ve met your sister and

know that underneath your posh façade, you’re a red, white, and blue American.”

Her remarks had no effect, not even her comment about the man and Kiarra being siblings. Clearly he

didn’t care about Kiarra, so what had caused his flash of regret earlier? If she could pinpoint the weakness, she could extrapolate it.

He lowered the syringe and stopped a few inches above her arm. If she was going to find his weakness,

she was going to have to work fast and keep him talking. “Taunts don’t phase you, but I have a feeling that this is the first time you’ve tortured someone for information.” His gaze shifted slightly. Bingo. “You’re doing a shoddy job, so here’s my advice: stop stalling. Do what you need to do, so I can figure a way

around it.”

His face was once again a mask of stone. “You’ve made some fairly big assumptions, but just this once,

I will follow your advice.” He removed the cloth and revealed a red liquid inside the syringe. “Rowanberry juice. I suggest that you tell me everything you know about Kiarra, or we’ll find out if you’re one of the few who can survive an overdose.”

She was debating what convincing-yet-false information she could provide when Kiarra’s brother

turned the syringe in his hand and revealed a small piece of masking tape with words written on it. If

anyone was watching from behind the two-way glass, they wouldn’t be able to see it.

She read:
Diluted. Pretend it’s real.

Right. So now he was helping her? Un-bloody-likely.

Diluting rowanberry juice was a skill she doubted the man possessed. If done correctly and

administered soon after a full dose, a diluted shot would render a
Feiru
unconscious and slow down their heart rate, making a person appear dead to the untrained eye.

Which meant this man didn’t want her dead, but to appear so. The biggest question was: why? He’d

done nothing to stop the interrogation yesterday. Nor ensure Kiarra’s safety. While unlikely, maybe this man was developing a conscience.

The more contradictions she discovered about this man, the more she wanted to find out why they

existed. Too bad she’d never get the chance.

Millie met his eyes and said, “I don’t think you have the bollocks to go through with it.”

He shifted the syringe and she saw another piece of tape and read:
Your freedom
.

After she met his eyes again, the man lowered the syringe against the crook of her elbow, just shy of

breaking the skin. “I’ll ask again: what do you know about Kiarra Melini?”

Millie was torn. If she called the man’s bluff, she would probably face Mr. Fist Bastard, who would

keep at her until she died. However, if she went along with this man’s ruse, she might still die. A few words scribbled on two pieces of tape weren’t exactly a guarantee. She’d be unconscious and at his mercy.

But if she could evoke another reaction to reveal more about his character, maybe it would be enough

for her to believe he would follow through on his suggestions. It was worth a try. “I know that Kiarra was abused inside the AMT, with no one to stand up for her or protect her. Instead, cowards like you just ignore the realities of the AMT for your own benefit, with no qualms about punishing the innocent.”

The needle pricked inside her skin, but Millie kept her eyes on the man’s face as he said, “Everyone has

their place. If she broke the rules, then she deserved the consequences.”

Millie raised an eyebrow. “If a twist of fate had made you first-born, I doubt you’d think a prison is

where you belong. But then again, if you torture innocents on the outside, I bet you’d be one of the guards abusing the inmates on the inside. Do you get your jollies from hurting those weaker than you?”

He pulled her up by her arm and brought her face close to his. “I do not hurt innocents, only those who

deserve it.”

Millie searched his eyes. “And why do I deserve it?”

This time his regret was scant inches from her face. “Enough. I can see now that you won’t talk.”

Millie felt the pressure from the injection. The man’s reactions had given off mixed signals, but she had no choice but to hope the man would help her escape.

As dizziness overcame her, Millie looked into those gold-flecked eyes and murmured, “Keep lying to

yourself.”

The man stepped away from her side and the world went black.

Chapter Thirty

Kiarra approached the four-story brick building covered in advertisements and a big “TO LET” sign

attached to the corner. She double-checked the address, but this was the right place.

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and walked up to the building.

The door opened before she could even knock and a woman, sporting upper-arm tattoos and wearing

an empire-waist dress that cascaded down in flowing strips of color, greeted her. The style seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. This must be the “woman dressed in traditional
Feiru
garb.”

The woman remained silent and motioned Kiarra inside. Either a security camera was hidden

somewhere near the door or the woman knew what she looked like. Kiarra did a sweep with her eyes as she

entered, but didn’t see anyone waiting to attack her.

She remained alert as they walked down a hall and stopped in front of a door guarded by a large man

dressed in black. From the few stolen glances she’d had, the style was similar to the people from last night, which confirmed her suspicions about who had been behind the attack and responsible for Jaxton’s

capture.

The man guarding the door said, “Spread your arms,” before he frisked her for weapons. It took every

bit of restraint she had to remain still, reminding herself of the bigger picture. Kiarra had left her gun back at the apartment, wanting to make her capture as smooth as possible. To make her plan work, it was vital for them to underestimate her.

The man finished with a nod, and the woman opened the door and motioned Kiarra inside. Kiarra held

her breath, wondering if she’d finally see Giovanni, but she released it when she saw Ty Adams, her former lover and researcher, standing to the side.

The sight of him brought back memories of her time inside the AMT—the experiments, the