Whisper (Whisper #1)(60)

Even though I can feel the power of the words as they leave me — as well as the perfectly controlled intent behind them — my captor’s arm remains in place.

“I actually feel sorry for her,” Jet says, but there’s a wide, mischievous grin spreading across her face. “I’m confused just thinking about how confused she must be.”

I barely hear her over my turbulent thoughts. Why can’t I Speak? I’m a Creator — my words have the potential to make or break the world. Surely I should be able to loosen a single unwanted arm from my midsection. But it’s like there’s something … blocking me.

“I’ll let you go if you promise not to run,” my captor tells me, baffling me further. “But you have to give me your word. You of all people know that words hold power. We Speakers have to be careful with the promises we give.”

We Speakers.

I now know exactly who I’m dealing with. Manning’s fractured voice floats across my mind: They call themselves the “Remnants” … a terrorist group … more dangerous than you can possibly imagine.

I am in worse trouble than I thought. And yet, survival instincts tell me to cooperate as much as I can and wait for an opportunity to escape. To do that, I need to be able to move freely. I make the obvious choice.

“I promise not to run away,” I tell him, while mentally adding yet.

He holds me close for a long moment, but then his arm slowly untangles from around me.

I immediately take a large step away and spin around until I’m facing him. When I do, I can’t keep my eyes from widening slightly before I lock down my expression.

As much as I wish it weren’t true, my captor is, well, captivating.

He is, undeniably, dangerous. But with hair just two shades lighter than pitch-black and eyes so dark that it’s like staring into an unending midnight, he is also, undeniably, gorgeous.

“Who are you?” I croak out, watching the light from the flames flicker over his skin. “And where are you taking me?”

“Why don’t we get there and you can see for yourself.”

He strides forward, brushing straight past me with the young girl at his heels, and I realize I’m expected to follow without question.

I look back toward the elevator, wondering what my chances are of making it rise again on my own, but it’s so ancient that I wouldn’t know where to begin. I doubt I’d even have the grate back down before my captor followed through on his promise to throw me over his shoulder.

I trudge after him, saying, “At least tell me your name.”

His steps don’t so much as pause, but to my surprise, he does answer.

“Kael. My name is Kael.”

I wait, hoping he’ll say more, but he remains silent. My fear is dissolving, with frustration taking its place.

“How about telling me why I’m here?” Still no response. “Come on. Give me something. Anything.”

I’d particularly like to know why my words aren’t having any effect. I can talk normally down here, just like when I’m in the Karoel-lined training room. But I see no hints of the glossy black mineral coating the underground corridor. There has to be something else disabling my ability.

“Jet, why don’t you run ahead and make sure the others are ready for us,” Kael suggests.

She smiles at me over her shoulder and says, “See you soon!” before sprinting off down the dark tunnel. As she passes Kael, he reaches out and musses her hair, which earns him a playful scowl in return.

The affection in his action gives me pause, since their warm interplay doesn’t scream “terrorist” to me. But perhaps that’s what they want me to think. They obviously know something about me and staged my abduction for a reason. If they really are terrorists, then having access to my Creator ability could be what they’ve been wanting all along.

On that worrying thought, Kael and I continue forward in silence, with me having realized he’s not going to answer anything until he’s ready. I scout the path, searching for an exit, but the stone walls offer nothing until we reach a fork in the road. Three paths lie before us, with Kael leading us to the left. I’m curious about the other two — especially the middle path, which, unlike the others, is consumed by darkness. When I ask where they go, I again receive no answers.

We continue onward for a few more minutes before our path opens into an empty but vast underground chamber similar to Lengard’s main training room but also … not. I can understand Kael’s earlier use of the word “catacombs” now, since it’s the perfect description for what I’m seeing. Lit by yet more flaming torches, the huge open space calls to mind images of ancient civilizations buried deep beneath the earth. It’s like I’ve entered another world, another time, another life.

Even knowing my questions have gone unanswered, I still can’t resist asking, “Where are we?”

“Don’t tell me Kael forgot his manners again.”

At the sound of the smooth new voice, I turn to see that we’ve been joined by a dark-skinned guy with short dreadlocks. He appears to be around the same age as Kael — perhaps a year or so older than me.

“There’s nothing wrong with my manners,” Kael says. He faces the newcomer and asks, “Where are the others, Dante? I thought we were meeting here.”