Whisper (Whisper #1)(40)

And there it is.

Here I thought I just enjoyed my personal training sessions because they gave me a modicum of control in my otherwise restricted life. But now I know that even those feelings were a lie. Or if not a lie, not entirely my own. I was encouraged.

Son of a —

“Hey, it worked,” Enzo says, cutting into my thoughts after noting my stormy gaze. “You’re fitter than Wonder Woman and pretty damn kick-ass these days. You can thank me later.”

He’s just taken away one of the only things that I considered mine. There will be no offerings of gratitude.

Ward makes a sound in the back of his throat, and Enzo seems to realize that he’d better hurry it along.

“Right,” he says, pressing a hand to his still-bleeding arm. I feel myself soften toward him — but only slightly. “So, that’s us. We’re a talented bunch, sure, but there are other kinds of Speakers out there, too.” He gestures toward the massive training room beyond these four walls. “There are some who can make you believe ridiculous lies, some who can command animals, some who can convince you that you played the leading role in a fictional story, and heaps of others. Those are just a fraction of the Speaking abilities we’ve come across.”

I can’t even begin to process the scope of what he’s saying. All these different abilities. I’m not — I’m starting to wonder if perhaps I’m not like them at all. Because … I don’t fit under any of the categories Enzo has mentioned. Physical, emotional, mental … are they the only options?

“Every Speaker has strengths and weaknesses according to their type of ability, but all of us are limited to using words in one specific way,” Enzo goes on. “There’s only one kind of Speaker who has no limitations, and that’s —”

“Creators,” Ward cuts in, his eyes firmly fixed on me. “Creators have no limitations.”

A chill slides down my spine.

“Creators have all the strengths, none of the weaknesses,” Enzo states. “They don’t fit in any of the three categories, since they can literally do everything. The only other kind of Speaker who has even close to that sort of power is a Destroyer, but there aren’t any of those around anymore. And they still have nothing on Creators, who can do whatever they want with any words they want. They can create the unimaginable, unleash the impossible. They’re the ultimate weapon.”

The ultimate weapon. The ultimate monster. He couldn’t be more correct.

“They’re also power-obsessed psychos,” Crew drawls.

Part of me marvels that this scary-looking, metallic-laden Slayer who can cause immeasurable pain with a single word has the audacity to call anyone a psycho.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Enzo says, plucking at his makeshift bandage. “There’s only ever been one Creator on record, and since he died ten years ago, it hardly matters either way.”

“After everything he did …” Keeda actually shudders. “Ultimate weapon or not, that kind of power …” She trails off again, lost to some dark memory. “We’re better off without them.”

I can still feel Ward’s gaze on me, but I refuse to look at him. I’m waiting for him to speak up. To tell them what I am. For him to awaken in them the fear that lies just beneath the surface at the very idea of a Creator being in their midst. I want to know what happened to the last one ten years ago. I want to know what memory holds Keeda captive and what could cause Crew to label someone a “power-obsessed psycho.”

I want to know so many things.

But mostly, I want to know why moments have passed and Ward remains silent. So I succumb to the temptation and look up at him. Immediately, I become trapped in his bright-green stare, and everything around us fades away. He raises his eyebrows just slightly, enough for me to notice but not to draw attention from anyone else. Almost like he’s challenging me to speak up for myself. To tell them my deepest, darkest secret. To share that I’m the monster they fear.

“So, that’s the basic introduction,” Enzo says, and I force my eyes back to him. “Lando, you need anything else from us? Or can we leave you both and go grab some grub?”

I try to pretend that my heart isn’t thumping anxiously at the idea of everyone leaving me alone with Ward. It’s a useless endeavor.

“You can go,” Ward tells them, and my shoulders hunch in resignation. “Crew, you have tomorrow morning free, right? Swing by after breakfast and you can help out with a lesson on intention. Enzo, you up for being his punching bag?”

Enzo makes an unhappy sound. “As long as Cutter Freak over here —” he jerks his head at Crew “— controls his inner sadist, and someone makes sure Cami is nearby in case there are any ‘accidents’ —” he makes quotation marks with his fingers “— then sure, whatever.”

At Ward’s nod, the others turn to head toward the door. Keeda sends me a half smile and a wave goodbye, but Crew walks off without looking back.

Enzo seems torn about leaving us. Or that’s what I guess, until he inexplicably says, “Sneak, buddy, you coming?”

I nearly jump out of my skin when a soft, disembodied voice responds, “Yeah, Enz. But I wanna meet her first.”

Then I do jump in the air when a semitransparent boy materializes less than a foot away from me. I stumble backward, trip over my feet and start to fall, but Ward’s hand snakes out to grab my elbow, and he hauls me back upright. I jerk my arm from his grip and sidestep away, not sure who I want to be farthest from — him, or the ghost boy.