The Hunt (The Cage 2)

Her heart pounded. It was incredible what even this small sliver of hope could do to her morale. She pinched her eyebrows together and concentrated again on the dice. It was easiest if she let her mind probe the dice first, until she could wrap her thoughts around one as easily as if it were her own fingers moving them. She set her sights on the closest die, urging it into a wobble, then a spiral, and lifting it shakily, inch by inch, with the force of her mind until it hovered six inches. As hard as she concentrated, she couldn’t get it to rise any higher.

“Mind reading,” a voice whispered in her ear. “The three little mice cheat with cheese, not with crumbs.”

Distracted, Cora let the die fall.

Anya was trying to communicate with her again, but as before, the words only came in nonsensical pieces that she could barely stitch together. Mind reading? Cheese? She had to get Anya out of the Temple soon, so they could speak face-to-face.

Cassian frowned. “If your head is hurting, we should stop for the day.”

She glanced at him cautiously. His face was calm—he hadn’t heard Anya’s voice.

“No, it isn’t the training,” Cora covered quickly. “I just didn’t sleep well.” That, at least, was true—tossing all night worrying about Lucky. “I . . . had bad dreams. They were about the girl you took me to see in the Temple menagerie. The dangerous one. Anya, wasn’t that her name? I dreamed she had escaped and she came here and . . . and killed all of us. I can’t get it out of my mind. Could we go to see her again, just so I can reassure myself? I’m sure it would make my head hurt a lot less.”

Cassian’s face remained a frustratingly impassive mask, even uncloaked. “That is impossible.”

“I don’t see what the problem is,” she pressed. “You took me there before.”

He removed a small metal tag from his pocket. “When we use these temporary removal passes to get humans out of their enclosures, the activity is logged. It is not worth the risk of the Council seeing the log and growing even more suspicious than they already are. Wait until after the Gauntlet. If you win, you can see her whenever you like.”

His voice was curt as he reset the dice.

She leaned forward. “I need to go now. Before the Gauntlet. Surely there must be some other way we could get there, without using the passes. There has to be a service entrance or something. The Council would never have to know.”

“No.”

“But there must be a backstage area, right? Some other way to reach her?” Cora realized her voice was growing a little desperate, as Cassian stopped arranging the dice. His head turned slowly. Even uncloaked, his eyes were dark.

“Why are you so concerned with Anya?”

“Like I said,” she replied, treading carefully, “because of the nightmare.”

He studied her for a long time. He was uncloaked, so he couldn’t possibly see into her mind, and yet she wondered if her plan to cheat was written all over her face. She grabbed a die and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Forget it. But I’m tired of dice and cards. Can’t we work on something that isn’t telekinesis?” She tapped the die anxiously against the table. “The Gauntlet might test me on mind reading too, and we haven’t even started.”

Cassian kept his eyes on her. She could feel him trying to unravel whatever was going on in her head. His fingers toyed with the die, just as hers did. It read 6. He turned it again: 3. For a second, she wondered what it would be like to read his mind. Control it, even. What would she have him do? Bow down to her. Sing and dance on command. Or maybe—just maybe—place his bare palm over hers again, so she could feel that flush of raw electricity.

She felt her face burning, and looked away.

“There is a logical progression to these training modules,” he said measuredly. “First you master nudging the dice. Then levitate them. Then we move on to mind reading. This process is how we will prove your higher intelligence: through measurable, documentable results. Unless you have other reasons for wanting to skip ahead?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “No. Of course not.”

He reached out as if to set his hand over hers, and for a second her cheeks flamed again, desires she could barely admit suddenly coming true. But he only took the die from her to keep her from tapping it so neurotically.

“You are anxious,” he said softly.

“I just . . .” She looked away. “You’re right. I do want to skip ahead for a reason that has nothing to do with the Gauntlet.” She took a deep breath. She’d known for a few years that both her parents were having affairs long before the divorce, but her mother was far better at lying about it. Right before her mother told her father a lie, she would tilt her head down and let her hair fall in her eyes, and Cora did the same thing now. “I feel at such a disadvantage. You know every last thing about me. You watched me on Earth. You know about my time in Bay Pines, and you know about personal memories, like my dog, and my parents’ divorce. There’s an imbalance between us that I can’t get past. You can look into my head anytime you’re cloaked, but to me, yours is always closed off.”

His hand rested so close to hers. An inch, and they would be touching. “This is what your agitation is about? You wish to see into my mind?” There was a trace of curiosity in his voice.

For the briefest moment, she hated herself for the lie.

“Of course.” She scooted to the bench next to his, so that their bodies were only inches apart. “The Gauntlet isn’t just about gaining new abilities. It’s about proving we are truly equal. And how can we be equal when I’m the one trapped here, and you can leave at any time?”

The storm clouds in his eyes were moving, slowly, across his dark irises. “I cannot change that,” he said. “Until we prove humanity’s intelligence, you and all humans will always be caged.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But this one thing—this you can change.”

His fingers returned to turning the die: 2, then 4. Faster and faster, though his face remained impassive.

“I want to know you,” she whispered, “the same way you know me.”

The die in his hand abruptly stopped.

Cora’s heartbeat sped, even though she didn’t want it to. It was undeniable, this thing between them. Always there, pulsing just under the surface. His hand was so close. So achingly close.

“Cora.” In the privacy of the alcove, he could kiss her and no one would know. He wanted to. Badly. She didn’t need to be psychic to know that.

A knock came on the wooden screen.

Cora jerked upright, heart racing. Through the screen, she could just make out the familiar slope of Dane’s shoulders.

Cassian straightened immediately. “Enter.”

Dane slid open the screen. If he found anything odd about the two of them sitting so close, dice and cards untouched on the table, he didn’t even blink.

“We’re closing shortly,” Dane said. “Perhaps you can continue your card game tomorrow. And, Cora, I wondered if you’d mind sticking around a bit longer. The zebra was sick, and I could use an extra set of hands cleaning up. I’ll have you back to the cell block before Free Time ends.”

He gave a bland smile.

“Um . . . sure.” Cora hurried to pick up all the cards and shuffle them into a stack. “Whatever you need. Cassian, just let me know when you want to . . . play cards . . . again.”

She felt her cheeks blazing. She was in such a rush to get away that she didn’t stop to think about how odd it was for Dane to ask her a favor, until he led her to the Hunt’s supply closet behind the bar. To her surprise, Lucky was standing among the boxes of booze. His face looked grim.

“What’s going on?” she asked, blinking hard.

“Dane and I had a chat,” Lucky said quietly. “Come inside, and shut the door behind you.”

23

Cora

CORA STEPPED INTO THE supply closet, squeezing between dusty boxes of booze, and inched the door closed. “Tell me.”

Lucky nearly bumped into an

old giraffe carving. “Dane can help us change my birthday.”

Cora turned to Dane. “Let me guess—you want something in return.”

Dane gave his thin smile. “Lucky and I have already settled upon my compensation. It’s more about what Roshian wants.”

Cora nearly knocked over the giraffe statue in surprise. “What does Roshian have to do with anything?”

“He controls timekeeping for the Kindred,” Lucky said. “He’ll tweak my records, but only for one thing.”

The supply closet suddenly felt like it was closing in too tightly around her. “What?”

“You,” Lucky said. And then he clarified, “He wants your hair. The same way he wants the antlers and the horns from the animals he hunts. I guess he has a special place for a human braid on his psycho shelf of lesser-species memorabilia.”

Dane suppressed a laugh.

Cora’s hand drifted to her hair on instinct, tangling in the curls. “I thought it was just the Axion who cared about that kind of thing.”

Dane gave a shrug. “I didn’t ask why he wants it. My guess is you’re better off not knowing.”