Whisper (Whisper #1)(54)
Remaining seated, Ward tells me, “I just got back.”
I presume he means from his meeting with the director, though I’m surprised, since he left me alone with Manning hours ago. But then I take a step closer and see that his hair is windswept and there’s a flush to his features as if he’s been outside. Perhaps Falon had him out searching for a new breakout teenager.
Ward scrubs a hand over his face in agitation. His body is tense, his eyes downcast, as if he’s trying to keep me from reading his expression.
“I thought I’d check on Cami before heading to bed,” he explains when the silence drags on between us. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”
All I can do is look at him with raised eyebrows, wondering why he’s telling me this. And why, upon realizing the lateness of the hour, he decided to camp on our couch in the dark rather than return to his own suite.
Rising to his feet abruptly as if hearing my unspoken questions and wondering the same, Ward gives me a stiff nod and strides quickly to the door.
Given how odd he’s acting, I half expect him to walk straight through without so much as a “Goodnight,” but he doesn’t. Just before he disappears, he turns back to me, his face not blank in the way I’ve come to despise over the past few days. Instead, he looks … he looks … There are no words to accurately describe his features. If I had to go with anything, I would say he seems agonized and uncertain … but also determined.
“Everything will work out,” he whispers. His voice is so quiet that I have to strain to hear him. “Just know that.”
And then he’s gone.
My eyes wide, all I can do is stare at the now-empty doorway and wonder what the hell that was all about.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Three weeks later I collapse to my knees, unable to support my weight any longer. There are tears brimming in my eyes from the sandpaper feeling that comes when I try to swallow, but I push them back, not allowing Ward to see that I’m in any kind of pain — physical or mental. It’s not usually this bad; I’ve been using my voice for the past twenty-four days, enough that it’s become normal again, but today’s Speaking tasks have been more arduous than usual. Ward’s demands haven’t eased up for hours.
“Back on your feet, Jane,” he barks at me. “And do it again.”
I stagger up into a standing position, breathing hard from the effort it takes to concentrate while fighting against the limitations of the Karoel.
“I need to rest,” I rasp out. “Something to eat, some water. Just a moment to recover.”
“Three more and then we’ll stop for the night.”
I shake my head, wanting to argue with him but unwilling to waste the words.
“I need a break,” I semi-repeat, and embarrassingly, my request comes out sounding like a hoarse whine.
“Three more,” is his unwavering response. “Cat!”
After so many days of this, I act on autopilot and open my mouth, ready to repeat the word. But as Ward has slowly disciplined me into doing over the past few weeks, instead of conjuring a feline, my true task is to create something different. In this case, in the microsecond before I Speak, I let my weary imagination run wild as I picture a king-sized bed, complete with feather-down quilt and fluffy pillows. And when I finally rasp out, “Cat,” it’s not a four-legged creature that appears but, rather, the most comfortable-looking bed I’ve ever seen.
Ward sends me a dry look. “I know you’re tired, Jane, but really?”
I just shrug, too exhausted to respond.
After my failure when Ward wanted me to create nostalgic items, we went back to animals, but with him teaching me to separate my words from my thoughts. It was only when he decided I wasn’t learning fast enough that he chose a new way of motivating me — and that was by calling out the names of deadly creatures. After a close encounter with a saltwater crocodile, a polar bear and a rabid wolf, I finally managed to Speak the word “lion” while imagining something harmless — a fluffy white bunny. A hint of approval had lit Ward’s eyes, there and gone in an instant.
We’ve now moved on from animals, but that’s because last week Ward barked out “honeycomb” and I accidentally summoned a swarm of bees. The two of us were stung multiple times, and when I pointed out that Ward was partially to blame for not protecting my words, his response was so biting that I almost called the bees back into the room.
Fortunately, Cami stopped by around mid-afternoon that day to check on our progress, and after stifling her laughter at the sight of our swollen, stung selves, she quickly used her gift to heal us.
Since then, I’ve been very careful to create only inanimate objects. And while I’m making progress with my training, I’m still a danger to myself and others — something that became clear when Ward decided to test my boundaries.
At least he’d had the insight to experiment while all the other Speakers were off at lunch, so the huge, non-Karoel-lined training cavern had been empty. But catastrophe had struck when my innocent statement, “It’s as hot as hell down here, don’t you think?” ended up sparking a raging inferno that roared to life. My higher functions had dissolved at the sight of the flames, so the best I had managed was to scream, “Water!” which brought a torrent the size of a small ocean rushing into the underground cavern.