Shadowlark

wilderness.”

“And that makes it okay?”

“No.” Wesley moved toward me, nudging the fallen bucket aside with the toe of his boot. “I’m saying it doesn’t make you special. Whether a man dies because he’s been stabbed with a knife or because he’s had the magic ripped out of him, he’s still dead.”

“But someone wielding a knife can choose to put it down. They can stop themselves.”

“Tell me something.” Wesley dropped into a crouch in front of me. “Could you kill me? Here, now?”

I stared at him. He’s insane. Except that he seemed merely curious, not frightened or even alarmed. He didn’t recoil, but examined me with interest. Cautiously, I let my other senses come out, letting the golden and violet sparks of his shielded magic overlay themselves over my normal vision.

Slowly, I nodded. “I think so.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “And why don’t you?”

My mouth fell open. “What? I—because there’s no reason to. I mean, you helped us.”

“So if you’re not a murderous psychopath on a rampage, why are you so afraid of what you are?”

“Because—it feels good. When I take someone’s magic. A part of me wants it, all the time.”

“But you’re controlling yourself.”

I grimaced. “I didn’t exactly control myself out there, with that Eagle.”

“To be fair,” Wesley pointed out, “they were shooting at you and your boyfriend.”

My head snapped up as I tried to formulate a protest. Wesley waved a hand. “Whatever. The point is that you didn’t have time to think. You had to operate on instinct, so you did what your instincts told you. Survive, at whatever cost. It’s hardwired into us—doesn’t make us monsters. Even the shadows up there”—and he flicked his gaze toward the ceiling—“are only doing what they’re programmed by nature and magic to do.”

“But if my instincts are to kill to save myself—”

“Then you learn to control them.” Wesley straightened and offered me his hand. “And I think I can help you with that. That is,” he added, raising an eyebrow at me, “if you want to stay, and finish what your brother started.”

Somehow, the simple knowledge that someone else knew my secret, knew my fears about myself, and hadn’t cast me out made it feel as though the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I took his hand, all too aware of the supernatural warmth of it, my traitorous senses telling me he had magic ripe for the taking.

“Good,” he said, hauling me to my feet. “Now, you’d better put something back in your stomach, because before today’s done, you’re probably going to wish you were dead.”

CHAPTER 15

After a shower and a second attempt at breakfast, I felt better. I would’ve thought having someone know my secret would be panic-inducing, but instead, it was just a relief to have it known. Wesley had promised he wouldn’t share the truth of what I was with the others. “For one thing,” he’d said, “I don’t even know what you are, so how can I explain it to them?” But I knew that the instant I became a danger to anyone within the walls, all of that would change.

And so I agreed—I needed help. I needed training. I expected Wesley to leave Oren behind, but instead he led the both of us down into a vast cavern. It was, he said, one of the few “rooms” that wasn’t left behind from a previous incarnation of the city. The training room was a natural cave, undiscovered until my brother had explored these hidden passageways and found it.

Most of the people working in the training room were children barely old enough to have been harvested in my home city. There were half a dozen of them, all working with older mentors. And every one was a Renewable.

I averted my eyes, jaw clenched. Control.

“So, I’m up, huh?” The cheery voice belonged to Olivia, who sauntered in after us. Her eyes were on Oren, thoughtful, speculative.

“Morning, Vee,” Wesley said, fiddling with a rack of machines against one wall of the cavern. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” she replied, eyes still resting on Oren as she smiled. She looked none the worse for having been awake much of the night, talking to me—whereas I felt like I’d been run over by a carriage. Her hair was as bright and curly as ever, her eyes gleaming, cheeks and lips flushed. And she was still looking at Oren.

His eyes darted from her to Wesley. “Why am I here?” His voice was quiet enough that it didn’t echo in the cavern. “I’m no Renewable.”

“Ah, but is it true you killed an Eagle by pummeling him to death?” Olivia put her hands on her hips, circling Oren and making a show of examining him.

Oren glanced at me, fleeting and quick. I felt Wesley watching me as well and kept my eyes on Olivia as she moved. “I didn’t mean to kill him,” Oren said finally, warily.

“Of course you didn’t,” she replied. “Accidents happen. We’re going to try to help you learn not to make those same mistakes again. But first I’m going to need to see what you’re made of.”

And then, without warning, Olivia feinted in one direction and then leaped at Oren, swinging low and aiming for his ribs. Oren danced away, turning as he did and dropping into a half-crouch, lips curling in surprise and anger.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” said Olivia, delighted. “You’re not going to balk at the idea of hitting a girl, are you?”

Oren frowned, anger and wariness replaced by obvious confusion. “Why would I do that?”

Olivia laughed. “Finally.”

A hand on my shoulder jerked me away. I pulled my eyes from Olivia and Oren sparring to find Wesley there with a rueful smile. “Do I need to ask them to find another place to play, or are you going to be able to focus?”

I opened my mouth but was interrupted by a cry of surprise and pain from Olivia, followed by a peal of laughter, albeit a bit breathless.

Gritting my teeth, I said shortly, “I can focus just fine.”

* * *

Wesley wanted to teach me control so I could masquerade as a Renewable. Though I knew I needed help, a tiny part of me kept asking, Why is he helping you? What does he want? If I could control this power, I’d be the perfect spy—or the perfect assassin. I half-expected him to lead me through a series of deadly drills and lessons.

But it didn’t take long for me—and Wesley as well—to realize I knew nothing about magic beyond the instinctual level. To my humiliation, he led me over to a group of preteen children and then sat back in a chair, watching them teach me. It was like being in my home city again—too old, stuck with children who knew I was different. Only this time, instead of being a magical dud, I was just the opposite.

All morning they walked me through meditation exercises that were supposed to help me get to know my power. The magic was part of us, sustaining the machines that were our bodies, pumping the heart, expanding the lungs, sparking from neuron to neuron in our brains. First and foremost, we had to turn our attention inward and learn every pathway and reservoir the magic filled.

The exercises were far from peaceful and relaxing, though. An hour in, I was sweating, my concentration slipping in and out, my head pounding. The kids’ energy seemed unflagging, whereas I felt like I’d been locked in some sort of endless purgatory. I wanted to do something, not sit here and think about my heartbeat. Seeing Wesley sitting on the sidelines, watching with amusement the entire time, didn’t help.