The Cage (The Cage 1)

He wasn’t inspecting her like a dead body. He was inspecting her like livestock.

He released her abruptly. He said a few words in guttural tones and then, without a single glance, left through the starry doorway. Inspection over. She slumped against the wall, heart pounding.

Had she passed?

The Caretaker spoke to the researchers, who filed out of the room. One of them, a female with a thin nose and high cheekbones, threw Cora one last look, though her face was a perfect mask of non-emotion. Did the woman pity her? Was she curious? Or was it merely protocol?

The door slid closed, and Cora sank to the floor. “What was that?”

“The Warden believes your actions indicate you are not suitable for this enclosure. He intended to remove you.” His gaze veered to the dead girl, so fast she almost missed it. “I convinced him to reconsider, given your assets. I said that your presence in this chamber was accidental—that you had not intended to leave your enclosure.” He leaned over her, his face a mask of indifference. “I saved your life.”

He spoke so calmly. Cora could only stare, afraid he’d take that favor back.

“Now I must return you, and there can be no further accidents. The Warden does not offer second chances.”

He pulled her to her feet, and the spark of his electricity made her light-headed. Warm, invigorating, not like the Warden’s touch. It eased the heaviness of her limbs. He reached for the apparatus strapped to his chest.

She pulled away.

“Wait—I can’t go through that again. It feels like being ripped apart. Can’t you take me back another way?”

He paused. For a second, she wondered if he really did pity her. She wondered if they were telling the truth about their altruistic mission, and that they had saved her from a doomed planet. But then her eyes fell to the girl with the heart-shaped scar, and anger wove between her ribs. Her throat still ached from the Warden’s grip.

Strangling her hadn’t seemed very altruistic.

“Materialization is the primary means of transportation into your enclosure,” the Caretaker said. “There is a fail-safe exit in case of a technological breakdown, but this current situation does not warrant its use.”

“An exit? Like, a physical door?”

His only answer was to extend his hand. “Come. Soon you will be back exactly where you belong, Girl Two.”

He was waiting for her to take his hand, giving her this small measure of control. She took it hesitantly. The pressure shifted again, that terrible squeezing that suffocated every pore, and she clutched the Caretaker around the neck, afraid that if she let go of him, or if he let go of her, she would disappear into a thousand particles. His skin was hard as metal, but supple. And warm. So much warmer than she thought it would be. Not at all like the Warden’s harsh grip.

In the next instant, pressure consumed her.

14

Cora

JUST WHEN CORA COULDN’T bear another moment of bone-splitting pressure, grass materialized beneath her feet. Distant waves crashed. The sun shone directly overhead.

They were back in the cage.

The breeze tangled in her hair, along with the metallic smell of the Caretaker’s skin. She let him go like he was a spark, and she a dry piece of wood.

“Get away from her!” Lucky’s voice cut like a knife. She turned in a daze as he and the others sprinted across the grass.

The Caretaker ignored them, eyes only on Cora. “Remember: three rules. That is all we require.” His outline flickered like an old-fashioned television set, and then vanished, just as the others rushed up.

Cora wiped her mouth, swallowing hard despite the memory of the Warden’s hand clamped around her neck. “I’m okay. He took me to a room I wasn’t supposed to see. It’s where they observe us.” She pointed toward the candy shop, head foggy. “It was just behind one of these black windows.”

Rolf frowned. “The candy shop wall that supports the black window can’t be more than six inches thick—not nearly enough room for a viewing chamber.” His lips moved silently as he seemed to be performing calculations. “The black windows must work on forced perspective technology that’s more advanced than anything I’ve heard of. The walls appear straight, but they must bend to accommodate viewing chambers.”

Cora dug her knuckles into her aching forehead. “There are more of the Kindred, behind the windows. Researchers. And the one who’s in charge—they called him the Warden. His real name is Fian. He was huge like the Caretaker, with a knot of angry wrinkles between his eyebrows. He tried to strangle me, but the Caretaker stopped him. And I saw . . .” She paused. How would they react when she told them about the dead girl?

“So this is it?” Nok cried. “We’re here for the rest of our lives? No more dim sum, or walks through Hyde Park, or old Star Trek reruns, or any of that?”

She was pacing wildly, near the breaking point, and Cora swallowed back the words she’d been poised to say. One horror at a time.

Lucky pulled Nok into a hug. Nok collapsed against his shoulder, though she was a good three inches taller than him, and let out a burst of runny-nose tears.

“We’ll get out of here,” he said softly, meeting Cora’s eyes over Nok’s shoulder. “I promise. We’ll go home.”

Home. What had Charlie done, when she’d disappeared from the passenger side of his Jeep? She pictured her father holed up in a hotel room with his security staff, the head of the FBI on the phone. Maybe her disappearance had finally brought them all together; a family again, only without her. And for all she knew, the Kindred had wiped every memory they had of her.

She let out a choked breath.

She leaned in to them, her face pressed between Nok’s cheek and Lucky’s shoulder. To Cora’s surprise, Leon crashed into her, wrapping his big arms around all of them. Rolf was the only one left alone, his fingers twitching against the stiff pockets of his military jacket. Cora grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the group embrace. It was the five of them, no longer strangers, any differences they once might have had now meaningless. Nok slipped her bony hand into Cora’s and squeezed.

Girl Two, the Caretaker had called her. No longer a person. Now a specimen. Given a second chance only because the Caretaker had intervened.

“I know we’re all strung out,” Lucky said. “We can get through this, as long as we stick together.” The group broke apart shakily. The morning light turned to noon in a single click, and Cora’s song started on the jukebox.