Mind Games (Mind Games, #1)(42)

All the girls are found through rumor or odd news articles, occasionally through visions, then approached the same way I was—a scholarship, a prestigious school, specially tailored instruction for specially gifted girls. Then gradually the girls figure it out, learn they aren’t alone, that they’re surrounded by others who have the same gifts (or curses, depending on how you view it), given instruction and help and a home.

It’s brilliant, really. The applications for espionage, both in business and in politics, are endless. Nearly all the girls start here so young and are treated so well that of course they want the power and money that is offered.

But knowing this all is not enough. It’s not enough for me to keep Fia safe, for me to get her out of here. So I work on the only advantage I have, and that’s seeing.

Clarice didn’t teach me much. She told me to focus, but she always had me focus on Fia. I don’t need to see Fia right now, though I want to, so much. If only to see whether or not she’s happy. Her letters make her feel even farther away. They have no soul.

I’ve occasionally been able to get tiny flashes, glimpses of things I’ve thought very hard about, like the mountains where we used to live but that I don’t remember from before I lost my sight. They had fewer trees than I imagined, more rocks. Beautiful. And then there are the strange ones, jumbles of images I can’t sort through or make sense of.

So now I am fasting and staying awake as long as I can. Maybe if I push my body to the brink, push it as far as I can, my brain will take over and I’ll be able to see more.

It works—sort of. I sit, so tired I can’t think straight and so hungry my whole body is trembling. And then I see things.

Fia, on a balcony, with haunted eyes as she stares out at a city filled with stone buildings and winding streets. She looks healthy, if not happy. Healthy is something, at least. James is taking care of her like he said he would.

And then Fia dancing in the dark, the whole vision so filled with noise and movement I can barely figure out what is happening, but the way Fia moves I know in that moment she is free and it makes my heart ache.

A guy, so handsome my breath catches, with warm eyes and broad shoulders, sitting at a polished wood desk, staring at a picture of an older woman who has his same eyes. His whole face is a mask of anguish, and I wonder who he is, who she is. I don’t see guys very often. Then I hear a voice—Fia’s!—call out, “James? Are we doing this or not? The sooner we steal your crap, the sooner I get to dance.”

James.

His face immediately resets itself into a calculatedly careless smile as he sets the picture facedown and stands.

It shifts and I see Eden, reading a book by a pool, looking up with an inscrutable expression as Fia walks by with James.

It shifts again and I see a guy, dark hair, his back to me as he stares at some sort of image of—what? It’s black and white, see-through with light behind it—and traces his finger along it. I wonder who he is, but then my vision twists and I see a woman in an office. She mutters something to herself and I recognize Ms. Robertson’s voice. It’s evening, almost dark outside the window, and there is a half-empty bottle of something in front of her. She pours another tiny cup full, splashing some over the side, and drinks the whole thing in one shot. Then she puts the bottle back into the bottom drawer of her desk.

There is a small rolling suitcase on the floor next to her desk, unzipped, with unfolded clothes half spilling out.

And then my world is black again. What can I do with that? What can I do with any of that? At least now I understand why so many of the women here fall all over themselves for James. But he’s much more than he lets them see. Fia seems…stable. Not happy but stable and healthy looking.

I miss Eden fiercely. I wish I were with her. No idea who the guy was or what he was looking at.

Ms. Robertson will at some point in the near future drink herself into a stupor. Not very professional, and I don’t see any advantage there.

Unless…she’s gone right now. On a recruitment trip. I stand, almost fall as my head spins, and stumble to the hall. “Darren?”

“Yes, Miss Annabelle. What do you need?”

“I need to talk to Ms. Robertson. When does she get back?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I go back into my apartment, a smile on my face. Between my mattresses, hidden where Fia couldn’t find them, I have an emergency stash of her old pills. The prescription was strange—it would knock her out, but you could wake her up and she’d be almost lucid. It was the only time I could get her to talk to me.

I didn’t like what she said, but I heard things she’d never tell me otherwise. It’s how I finally found out what Clarice made her do that day on the beach.

I tap out four pills into my hand. My security-free route to my daily walk around the interior courtyard of the building goes right past Ms. Robertson’s office…and her desk with a drawer hiding a bottle of alcohol she’ll be drinking out of tomorrow.

I knock on the door. No answer. Please, please let it be today that I saw. I push the door open.

“Ms. Robertson? Are you in here?”

A soft snore greets me. I smile and close the door behind me. “Doris, wake up.”

No response.

“Doris!”

Her breathing changes and I hear her chair creak; a bottle or glass shatters against the floor.