LITMIR.BIZ

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      I crinkle my brows. I don’t understand why remembering should change any of this, but I dismiss it as a vain attempt to pacify us. “So what now?” I ask. I want to rise gracefully to my feet, but I’m too weak. My hands slip on the smooth white walls as I drag myself up, but I manage to stand and plant my fists on my hips.

      “Now you both need to eat.”

      A veritable picnic appears—complete with a red-checkered blanket, which I don’t find amusing in the least—on the floor between us.

      Logan snorts even as his eyes glitter. “Like we’d eat anything you gave us.”

      At that, she laughs. She could have hidden it—not turned on the intercom—but she wants us to hear the easy, carefree sound. “Please, we could have added poison to your water and you didn’t mind drinking that, did you? We won’t kill you. You’re too important. Well, she is. But she needs you. So we need you too.” I close my eyes, frustration and mortification making me feel beyond weary. She would confirm that this really is all my fault. The Reduciates want my stupid secret. I hate myself for not knowing what it is.

      “Why you?” Logan asks, barely over a whisper. He’s looking straight at me, but the hellish woman answers anyway.

      “Maybe you should have listened to everything Tavia has been trying to tell you for the last few days.” Then there’s an audible click, and the microphone is off. The window is a mirror again.

      And Logan and I again have the illusion of being alone.

      He eyes the food. His face is pale, but I doubt it’s from hunger. Still, he’s going to need energy.

      Hating my own frail human needs, I lower myself shakily to the blanket and begin sorting through the pile of food.

      “Are you sure they won’t poison us?” Logan asks from far above me.

      “Not until they’ve gotten whatever the hell it is they need from us,” I grumble. I say us, but we both know I mean me.

      My stomach protests as I lay the food out slowly. Who knows how long they’ll wait before feeding us again? We might need to ration.

      Of course, they could just make the leftovers disappear. I don’t know what to do. I’m so hungry, I’m sure that it’s got to have been a full two days since we were brought here. At least. I briefly wonder how many more people have died of the virus while these Reduciates have been toying with us, but I tamp that thought down and file it away. It’s not something I can do anything about right now.

      Logan drops down to join me on the blanket when I hold out a piece of cheese, though he still looks nervous. “What do they want?” he asks, his voice so quiet I practically have to read his lips to understand him.

      “I’m not sure,” I reply in that same hushed tone. “It’s … a little hard to explain. There’s some kind of secret that I know—except that I don’t. I used to—ugh!” I rub at my temples, the aftereffects of the tranquilizers making my entire skull ache and buzz like someone’s playing the timpani inside it. I take a few calming breaths and try to will the pain away.

      “What kind of secret?” he asks, his eyes darting to the again-opaque glass.

      I shake my head no, hoping that we still have enough of a connection that he’ll understand that I’m telling him that they’re listening no matter how quietly we talk. “It doesn’t matter,” I say in a whisper, even though that effort feels pointless. “The thing I need you to understand is that if we’re going to survive this, we have to be a team. I need to be able to depend on you.”

      He looks wary, and I know I’m pushing him to his mortal limit. But like me, there’s a hidden core of strength in there. The strength of an Earthbound. Of a god. And I’m counting on it.

      “They will do anything—kill anyone—to get to this secret that I have …” I hesitate, not wanting them to know I don’t know what the secret is. “The key to that secret is you,” I finally settle on. Nebulous, but enough. “So as long as we work together, we can keep each other safe.”

      “How am I the key?”

      I can’t answer that. Not even cryptically. “I’ll tell you when I can,” I say, my voice raspy around the near lie.

      The food is gone quickly and I’m feeling better—even a little overfull. I have to wonder why they fed us at all. Food is the fuel for my powers—if I were them, I’d have starved me.

      But I’m certainly not going to question my advantages.

      I rise and resume stalking the perimeter of the room, feeling much like a tiger in a zoo. What can I make to get us out of here? I lay my hand against the wall and wonder if I know enough about bombs to make one. Excitement zings through me as I add, make one inside the wall, to my thought. I try to remember the chemistry class last year in Michigan when my teacher taught us how to make gunpowder. Sulfur, charcoal, saltpeter. A metal casing. A fuse. I can do this!

      I’m so wrapped up in the thoughts whizzing through my head that I hardly notice when a beeping begins to sound, then speeds up. Logan is calling my name, but as the beeping gets louder, faster, two sharp pains prick the skin on my arm and my knees buckle as I sink into unconsciousness.

      Again.

      

      I smell him before I open my eyes. It’s Quinn’s smell. Unique. My head is lying against something soft and warm; it must be him. Without conscious thought, Rebecca’s arms reach out, pull him close. She buries her face in that perfect smell that means safety and love and home.

      A groan escapes my mouth as I nuzzle against Quinn’s warm, soft shirt and the yielding skin beneath. My hand is searching for a way to get under his clothing when a sharp “Tavia!” pulls me all the way out of unconsciousness.

      I open my eyes and see his face—Logan’s face. Worry and disgust color his features.

      I yank myself up and away from him, fire filling my cheeks. “Sorry,” I mutter, though my skin burns where I pressed against him—tingling with want and need and other emotions I should not be feeling in a Reduciata prison.

      “What happened?” My voice is hoarse. Again. I wonder just how much of that tranquilizer stuff I’ve had. How bad the aftereffects are going to be this time.

      “I’m not sure what you were planning.” We both jump as a voice comes over the loudspeaker. It sounds like Sunglasses Guy. I spin toward the mirror, but it’s still just a mirror. They’re not interested in letting us see them this time. “But it was something exciting enough to raise your heart rate.”

      I remember the beeping that got faster and faster right before they shot me. Damn it!

      “We’re not stupid,” the guy continues calmly. “You’re not getting out until we let you. Until we’ve gotten what we want.” A low chuckle. “And I guess at that point we’ll probably just kill you.”

      My jaw is shaking with fury, and I roll my shoulders to attempt to calm down before the stupid beeping starts again. As I move, the left joint sends out a sharp stab of pain. “Ow,” I say in surprise and look down at my arm. The shirt I’m wearing has short sleeves, and when I push it up, I see that my entire shoulder is reddened and starting to turn purple.

      “You fell against the wall pretty hard when they took you out,” Logan explains sheepishly. “I managed to get to you before you hit your head, but I wasn’t fast enough to stop that.” He points at the darkening bruise.

      A tingly feeling zips up my spine, and I barely manage to hide

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