Chapter Six

          "Are you all right, honey? You're not coming down with a fever, are you?" His mother was looking at him with a look that practically screamed concern. Adele Hunter stood on tiptoe, placing a hand on his forehead. Somehow, the gesture felt awkward to Eduard: he was already much taller than his petite mother. Even his brother, Taran, who was five years his senior, was almost a head shorter than him.
          "Yeah, I'm okay," he lied as he slowly brushed her hand away.
          "Are you sure? You look a little pale."
          From the kitchen, Taran said, "Yeah, sure, mom. Make sure little Eddie over there is okay while your real son is suffering in here!" His voice had taken on a certain edge, and Eduard knew that Taran was not in a good mood. Moments later, as Taran lumbered into the living room, Eduard knew he was right. By the look of it, Taran was hungover from his night out partying with his ruffian friends.
          "Now, don't start this again," Adele muttered, a hint of reproach creeping into her voice. "You're no less my son than Eddie is."
          "Yeah, right, mom," Taran hissed icily. "I certainly wasn't left at our door by some weirdo, unlike that leper over there." He jerked his chin at Eduard.
           "Taran-" she broke off, and sighed. Her gaze slid to Eduard, and a look of discomfort crossed her features for a moment. There was a pause, and she muttered, "Go to your room, Eddie. Now."
          Eduard blinked. That was unexpected. Taran was the one acting out and he was the one she chose to dismiss? Now wasn't that a little ... strange? He pondered on this as he shambled off to his room. He'd only began to shut the door when his curiosity got the better of him. This was something he'd never encountered before in the Hunter household. He decided to eavesdrop.
          He crept down the stairs, trying his best to keep out of sight. He listened hard, but it didn't take much effort to hear what his brother was saying. It took a lot more effort to hear the hushed whisper that was his mother's voice.
          "Why are you always defending him?" Taran exploded.
          "Now, come on, Taran," Adele coaxed. "You know it's not like that ..."
          "Yeah, right, mom. You could've just left him at some hospital or something! I mean, you even went through all the trouble of going to court just so you could keep the little brat! Even when you knew we couldn't manage, with dad being the sorry bastard that he is and how hard you have to work just to be able to keep our apartment!"
          "Taran, just listen to me for once-"
          "No, mom! Why don't you listen to me?" Taran cried. "It's not about feeling sorry for him, in spite of what you tell me and yourself every fucking day. You want him to be yours. You wish that he really is your son, instead of some leper you decided to take in, and do you know why, mom?" A pause. Hysterical laughter. Taran's laughter. "You want to believe that the good boy you raised is really yours! You want to believe that you didn't fail as a mother! You see Eduard as a second chance, after seeing how I grew up to be a disappointment! You gave up on me, mom, even back when I was a toddler who knew nothing."
          "That's not true-"
          "Then why don't you just tell him where he came from?" Taran hissed.
          "I-" Adele began, then stopped. She was hesitating, trying to find a good reason.
          No, Eduard thought furiously. No. That can't be true.
          He slipped into his room, closing the door behind him and locking it, locking himself away in his tiny bedroom and trying to forget what he had heard. Trying to un-hear everything, to undo what had been done. He couldn't, and the harder he tried, the more sense everything seemed to make. He shut his eyes tight, trying to clear his thoughts. His head was aching, and every discomfort he'd experienced seemed to be amplified, magnified a thousand times.
          He's weird. Why doesn't he look like either of us? Taran's voice, a memory. He had been five at the time, and Taran was ten.
          That's because he looks more like Daddy. This was Adele's reply.
          "Stop that," he growled as he sank to his knees on the floor, burying his face in his hands.
          What's Daddy like? He pictured his eight year old self, posing that question to Taran.
          How should I know, Taran muttered in response. He's a fucking bastard who's also an irresponsible drunk who took off the moment he realized that he'd got mom pregnant.
          Why the heck didn't he notice how that story didn't add up? If their father had left the moment their mother told him she was pregnant, that would mean that she'd only have one child: Taran. Unless she went out with someone else after that (which was highly unlikely, considering the fact that Adele had only mentioned one 'Daddy', and was too busy to be with any other guy) and had him ...
          "Damn it," he muttered through gritted teeth. "And they fucking didn't tell me!"
          A strange emotion filled him. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it felt a lot like rage, and ... something else. Something that felt more potent. Something that made his skin grow hot and the blood in his veins boil. It was as if there was a dormant volcano inside of him suddenly springing to life.
           That would probably explain why his room suddenly combusted.


          "Well, don't just stand there, my dear," Apollo drawled. "Go inside."
          Ellie hesitantly walked into the apartment. Apollo followed her shortly and closed the door behind them. Ellie ignored him and merely chose to scrutinize the apartment, which looked nothing like home. It was bare, save for a sofa and a television set in the living room. Not very far from it was a kitchenette, which had little. A fridge, a microwave, dirty dishes in the sink ... She couldn't see any bathrooms or bedrooms, but she was sure that there was at least one or two down the narrow hallway to her left. Unless this was more of a studio home of some sort; she doubted that.
          "Nice ... place," she muttered sarcastically.
          "I can hear the sarcasm in your voice, Bianca. Don't give compliments if they're not sincere," Apollo muttered in response to her comment.
          Ellie whirled around to face him. "It's Ellie now. Don't call me Bianca anymore. I'm Ellie. Say it with me: El-lie. Get it?"
          "Cute," Apollo replied quietly. "At least I won't have to bother to come up with an alias for you when we go."
          "Why are we going?" Ellie asked. "I don't reckon they want me back."
          "No," Apollo confirmed. "They don't."
          "And ... you didn't hurt Ed, did you?" she asked nervously, recalling the fight, as well as the moments after it.
          "Just a memory spell," he replied as he met her eye, making her shiver with repulsion. "On him and the rest of the people present when we ad our little discussion today. Don't worry, it won't mess anything else up. But if he does try to regain his memory, then brain damage would be ... inevitable. But he can't really be that stupid, right?" He grinned. "On a different note, however, I would explain to you why I'm taking you back to that hellhole, but I'll only tell you enough to shut you up."
          Ellie turned away. "You won't shut me up that easily. There's a lot I need to know."
          But Apollo shook his head. "Not what you need to know, dear. You only think you need to know those things, but the truth is, you only want to know. There's a huge difference in that, considering the fact that most of your questions would sum up to useless nuggets of information anyway. Where we're going, the only thing you need to know is how to survive in what I call the Hitler regime, and how to infiltrate and take down the Organization."
          Ellie looked up. "The Organization?"
          Apollo smiled. "Now we're on the same page."

Chapter Five

          Burn. Just let it burn.

          He never thought he would escape the prison, but he did. And it felt good, so good. His sore, aching muscles were soothed by the feel of the cool night air against his skin. His entire body was still warm, still hot and feverish from using his Craft. But the air felt good. Even the damp, after rain smell was good. He had always had a slight aversion to rain, but he'd never felt so happy, so euphoric ...

          The sound of footsteps alerted him. His muscles tensed, and in spite of the aches and pains, he knew he had to run. They would come for him, sooner rather than later. He was a threat to them. He knew that, didn't he? When the Organization rose to power, they offered him and Roxanne a place, as one of the Hunters. Roxanne accepted, choosing to sniff out Impurities and Blanks to be eliminated. He refused, and they had found an excuse to dispose of him. To remove him. The fact that he was an Impurity was enough to justify their actions in capturing him, but Lionel Ashcroft had wanted him out of the picture completely.

          And then they came up with a plan to drag my name through the mud as well as kill me, he thought as he sprang into a run. Like the out-of-control flames he could manipulate, he was almost weightless, quick on his feet. It was almost like flying. But he was already exhausted from using his Craft to escape. He wasn't sure how long he could keep up his pace. He would have to hide soon, but where would he go? There was no one he could trust. Roxanne had betrayed him by joining the Organization. Who did he have left?

          Bryce Cloade, he decided. His only hope. But was Bryce still on his side? He didn't know. He didn't know at all. He only could hope. That was all he had left, he realized. Hope.

          And with this tiny shred of hope, he set off in direction of the Cloades' residence.

          When Eduard woke up, he found himself lying on the ground, in the school parking lot. He had no idea how he wound up there, or what had happened in the past few hours. He could recall himself walking to school and straight to Homeroom, but the events that followed, right up to the point where he woke up here, were a great empty blank. No matter how hard he'd tried, he kept drawing a blank. And he felt sick. Not just plain sick, but sick as in a full blown fever sick.

          He dragged himself home, feeling rather groggy and feverish. He was definitely coming down with something. His head hurt.

          Have I been mugged or something? he wondered. He reconsidered, and found it not possible. Nothing was missing, except for his memories for the past few hours, but who would want to steal that? And who could steal memories, anyway? He was probably in some sort of fugue state, and would snap out of it soon. That was what he hoped, at least.

          His arm had a dull ache; upon closer inspection, he'd noticed a bruise on it. It wasn't even a big enough one to warrant concern. His throat ached a little, too, and there was a bad taste in his mouth. Bitter and a little bit sour, not unlike vomit. That, and added with his elevated body temperature and headache, made him feel like hell.

          I shouldn't have gotten out of bed, he thought miserably.

          Ellie was in the passenger seat of Apollo's Mercedes. She wasn't really sure what model it was, but she didn't really care. What she cared about was an explanation, and Apollo wasn't giving her any. He was simply driving in a rather nonchalant manner, while the radio belted out The Academy Is ... He didn't really bother looking at her. Every now and then he hummed the tune of Everything We Had, regardless of what song was playing. Once or twice, his cell phone rang. Once, he ignored the call until the caller gave up. On the second call, he took the call.

          "Faulkner," he muttered quickly. There was a long pause, then Apollo slid his gaze - his creepy, see-right-through-you gaze - to Ellie, who drew back uncomfortably. He flicked his gaze back to the road as he said, "Yeah, she's with me. Well, I'm running a little late. An unexpected ... inconvenience occurred. But it's all taken care of now. Trust me, I'm not the one you should worry about. Like I said, keep an eye on Friday."

          He ended the call, slipping his phone back into the front pocket of his Dockers. He shifted his gaze to Ellie for one more moment before returning his attention to the road.

          "Well?" Ellie mumbled.

          "'Well' what?" Apollo asked, turning his head to look at her and giving Ellie the full blown effect of his eyes.

          "Aren't you going to tell me anything? I deserve an explanation."

          "Yes, but this is hardly the time and place. You'll know everything in time. Trust me."

          "Why am I going back?" Ellie huffed. "I know they don't want me back. Are you taking me there to kill me? I think you might as well do it now; it'll save you all the trouble."

          "I don't want to kill you, Bianca," Apollo replied.

          "Then why?"

          Apollo didn't reply. He turned his attention back to the road ahead, driving on without another word. Ellie decided not to say anything else. She stared straight ahead as Apollo took them down an unfamiliar road. Ellie definitely didn't recognize this long stretch, and wondered why he was going through the trouble of driving her this far away. As she recalled, one couldn't reach the Outer Arc by car ... nor through any average means of transport.

          "Can't you just open a portal to the Outer Arc?"

          "We're not going there. At least, not yet."

          Ellie frowned. So, if he wasn't taking her back to the Outer Arc yet ... then where was he taking her?

Chapter Four

          Ellie always had skeletons in her closet. But she had never expected them to come out of the closet and come haunt her, especially not this far into her life, since everything that had happened took place a long time ago. She had thought she could outrun her past.
           My mistake, she thought miserably. Apparently Bianca Cloade still existed.
          And now Apollo was here to get her, for reasons beyond her comprehension, and because Eduard was her friend, he was suffering because he happened to be unlucky enough to associate with her. Eduard was going to die, almost literally by his own hands. And she was too helpless to do anything except watch. And maybe scream at Apollo.
           "You bastard!" she screamed. "Leave him out of this! He knows nothing about us! Let him go! I'll follow you back to the Outer Arc if you want; just leave him alone!"
            Eduard was on his knees on the ground, and Ellie could see that all the fight was abandoning him; his struggles had ceased and he was already slipping into unconsciousness. A few more seconds and he might ...
            "I said stop! Didn't you hear me? I said I'll go with you! Just leave him alone!" she cried hysterically.
            Apollo's unusual eyes flicked to her, and his grip on Eduard relaxed. Ellie shot a glance at Eduard, who had regained control of his own hands. He was coughing and gasping as he took several gulps of air. He leaned against the T-Bird behind him to balance himself, and as soon as he had regained enough strength, he slowly rose to his feet, eyeing Apollo warily.
          "Your ... companion here knows enough," Apollo countered. "Even the slightest bit of information could risk the exposure of the existence of the Outer Arc to the filthy mortals here. You know how these vermin can't keep their mouths shut."
          "What do I care?" Ellie spat. "The Outer Arc exiled me, remember. The Organization kicked me out after constructing their lovely dystopia called New Secron. And even if the people here know, what's the risk? New Secron isn't a place they'd want to go. Case closed."
          Apollo's cool gaze was deadly. "You wouldn't know about that, Bianca. Now, are you coming or not? I've spared your friend ... for now."
           "When do we leave?" Ellie asked. She heaved a sigh. Apparently, she was going to be Bianca Cloade again. But ... why was she going back? She frowned, and then shot a glance at Apollo. "But why am I going back? As I recall, they'd exiled me ... They wouldn't want me back. Won't they ...?"
          Apollo opened his mouth to answer, but stopped short when his tie suddenly caught on fire. Ellie jumped at the sight of the pale yellow flames shooting up all of a sudden, but Apollo was calm. He seemed merely annoyed as he patted the flames out and undid his tie. He discarded the burnt garment on the ground nonchalantly.
          "Quite unexpected," he mused as he raised an eyebrow. "Spontaneous combustion is interesting."
          Just then, a wall of blue flame sprang up from the ground, forming a barrier between Apollo and Ellie. Ellie drew back, not wanting to be harmed by the fire. She shot a quick glance at Apollo, who looked a little bit surprised. He tried to sidestep the flames, but the flames seemed to spread around him, forming a circle keeping him from Ellie and Eduard.
          A hand brushed against Ellie's arm. Ellie turned to her side and saw Eduard at her side. His face was dark, the expression unreadable. His ocean blue eyes were fixed in a glare, and he was aiming his death stare at Apollo. For a moment, the intensity of his expression frightened Ellie ... and for a moment, Eduard looked strangely familiar, like someone she'd known back at the Outer Arc. But she couldn't quite place the face and the name. She frowned. What was going on?
          "Let's get out of here, Ellie," Eduard muttered. His voice was a low growl, and sounded strangely menacing ... and unlike him. It was as if he was being possessed by some other being.
          "Ed," she whispered. "God, I think I'm being Punk'd."
          Suddenly, the flames went out, allowing Apollo to move freely again.
          "Right," said the irritated man. "I'm starting to get very, very angry."


          Eduard suddenly felt very sick. It hadn't been a very nice day, considering the fact that it started out with a weird dream, one that got Ellie all freaked out and acting weird, and now a strange man who called Ellie 'Bianca' was attacking them. And he didn't look normal. To make things worse, something strange had happened ... his own hands had strangled him. And yet, somehow, it was the strange man who had done it.
          He massaged his throat, coughing and gasping as he drank in fresh gulps of air. He stared down at his hands for a moment, regarding them the same way one would look at an alien. That was what his hands felt like for one moment. Alien. Unknown.
          He put his hands behind him, grabbing hold of the damaged car, and pushed himself against it to balance himself. He sucked in more air, allowing himself to get stronger. When the wave of dizziness had passed, he slowly rose to his feet. Once, his knees buckled beneath him, almost forcing him to his knees. But he was persistent; he was back on his feet a few seconds later. He eyed the strange man warily, feeling a wave of anger run through him. His feelings of anger and hate were so intense, it disgusted him. He was disgusted with himself for feeling such malice toward another person, disgusted with that Apollo person ... He was so angry and full of hate and contempt, he wanted the man to burn.
          Go burn in hell, he thought disgustedly. Go to hell and just fucking burn there.
          To his surprise, the man did burn. Well, just his tie, actually. And he handled it pretty well.
          Damn it, you asshole, Eduard fumed inwardly. Go to hell, go fucking burn. Just get the hell away from Ellie and me. Just ... go ... and ... burn!
          All of a sudden, a wall of blue flame sprang up, engulfing Apollo and catching the man by surprise. Eduard felt a strange satisfaction in seeing the man try to move away from the flames. He was filled with a strange sense of power, and he liked the idea of burning the man to a crisp right there and then.
          "Let's get out of here," he muttered to Ellie. "We have to go."
          "I think I'm being Punk'd," was Ellie's response.
           Then, almost as quickly as the need to see the man burn came, all the feeling of power, the need to see fire and all the emotion seemed to ebb away, leaving him feeling weak and drained. Wasted. It was like getting a really bad hangover after a night of drinking, except worse.
          "Right," Apollo snarled. "I'm starting to get really angry."
          "Ellie-" Eduard began to say as he tugged on the sleeve of her t-shirt. He was beginning to feel really sick.
          "I don't think it's a good idea, Apollo," Ellie murmured, ignoring Eduard. "We're in the middle of daylight here. There are people watching. You're sure as hell exposing us right now."
          "That," Apollo replied, "can be easily taken care of. So, are you going to come willingly, or do I have to use brute force?"
          "Ellie-" Eduard tugged on the sleeve more urgently. He was feeling really sick now. He felt like throwing up, or something. He was dizzy, so dizzy and dazed the world seemed to spin. Everything around him began to blur ...
          And then it was dark.

Chapter Three

          "Where are you going?" Eduard asked as soon as the final bell rang. Ellie didn't answer him; she merely packed her backpack and left. Eduard followed her, but he had trouble keeping up with her fast pace. He broke into a jog, weaving through the sea of students rushing home. He pushed and shoved several other students, ignoring their cries of surprise and anger. He called out to Ellie, but she didn't seem to hear him. He'd only managed to catch up with her as soon as he exited the building.
          "Hey, wait up!" he called out to her.
          Normally, he and Ellie would walk home together, as they were neighbors. But on this particular day, however, Michelle Poole had other plans. She simply walked on, her every step seeming to pulse with determination and ... rage, perhaps. Eduard didn't recognize the girl walking ahead of him, this strangely adamant girl. Ellie was usually a level headed and calm person. She weighed her options carefully before acting. This Ellie was somehow ... reckless.
          Eduard had no idea where the blond haired girl was going until they reached the parking lot. As Ellie approached a dark haired man who was loading a suitcase into a black Mercedes, Eduard realized what she was up to. He recognized the dark haired man - it was the teacher that Ellie had spied on earlier that day. The substitute teacher with those odd eyes.
          "Apollo!" Ellie snapped. She said the name the same way she said a bad word.
          The dark haired teacher looked up, and his strange two-color eyes (one blue left eye and one hazel right eye) seemed to gleam as a smile curled his lips. It was an unusual smile, one that seemed cold and unfriendly. Edward frowned, sensing something amiss. What was Ellie up to?
          "Ah, long time no see, Bianca," the man Ellie called Apollo beamed.
          "Bianca?" Eduard muttered, not meaning to say it aloud.
          Ellie jumped, and Eduard realized that she didn't notice him following her. "Ed! What are you doing here?" she hissed. "Go home!"
          Apollo's strange heterochromatic eyes flicked in Eduard's direction, scrutinizing the boy. Eduard shivered, suddenly feeling naked and unprotected. It was as if those eyes could see right into him, as if the man called Apollo had simply reached into his chest and split his heart wide open to look at what was inside. And that had unsettled Eduard.
          "I see you've been covering yourself in ... mortal filth," Apollo said as he nodded in Eduard's direction. He shifted his gaze back to Ellie, whom he called Bianca. "That's not a life for you, my dear little Lady Cloade."
          "It's your own fault I'm living in exile, Apollo," Ellie replied quietly. "You allowed Mr. Ashcroft and the Organization to overthrow the King and the other monarchs. You could've been a king yourself. You could've changed things ..."
          "Ah, but it's time to forgive and forget, you see," Apollo drawled. "It's a time to mend all mistakes."
          "Then why are you here?"
          "It's simple, really," Apollo said slowly. "I've come to take you back to the Outer Arc, Bianca."
          Eduard frowned. What was going on? Who was the dark haired man? Why was he calling Ellie a different name? What was the Outer Arc? What the heck were they talking about?
          "What's going on? What-"
          "Shush, Ed," Ellie (or was she Bianca?) interjected. To Apollo, she asked, "Why? Why now, and so suddenly? What are your motives?"
          Suddenly, the air around them was dry, so dry it was hot and hard to breathe. Eduard coughed and gasped for air as his lungs tried to figure out how to breathe dry oxygen. Beside him, Ellie tensed, as if sensing something unusual. After all, she always seemed to have a sixth sense. And strangely, the man called Apollo didn't seem to have any trouble with the atmospheric condition. He seemed fine, and relaxed, somehow oblivious to the fact that the air was as dry as desert sand.
          "Well, Bianca," he mused, "you'll find that out for yourself. Things have changed a lot since your parents and the Hunters' time. I'll arrange for your transport to the Outer Arc, and whatever costs will be settled by yours truly. We must leave as soon as possible." He shot another of his unsettling glances at Eduard. His gaze shifted to Ellie for a moment, then he stared at Eduard before continuing his train of thought. "Your dim witted friend, however, has been exposed to much of our conversation and therefore ... must die."
          Before Eduard could react, a jet of water seemed to appear out of nowhere and speed toward him. He barely had time to think. Within nanoseconds, it would reach him ...
          "Ed! Watch out!" Ellie (Bianca?) cried as she tackled him. The two of them fell onto the ground; Eduard landed on his hip and shoulder, scraping them while Ellie (or was it Bianca?) was cushioned by Eduard. Luckily, she didn't weigh much. She got up as quickly as possible, and shielded Eduard from Apollo with her own body.
          "How did you do that?" Ellie cried, amazed. "You can't conjure up water out of thin air like that! It's just not done!"
          "Wrong, my Lady Cloade," Apollo drawled. "Water is everywhere, my dear. You're just not as good as making use of it as I am. You're weak, Bianca. Life in the Inner Circle has softened your ability. If you'd stayed, you would have been able to manipulate the very water molecules in any organism's cell. Watch and learn, Bianca."
          Eduard sat up, dazed and confused. He shot a glance behind him, where the jet of water had hit a T-Bird. There was a hole in the side of the car, and water dripped from it.
          "Holy-"
          Before he could finish his sentence, he felt two hands close around his throat, strangling him. He gasped for air as he tried to pry those hands away ... and all the blood in his veins seemed to turn into ice as he realized that the hands around his throat were his own. Somehow, his hands weren't under his control anymore. He tried to make them stop, but they wouldn't. And his windpipe was burning, his lungs were on fire.
          "Let him go!" Ellie (Bianca?) shrieked. But she sounded far away, distant.
          All around him, the world blurred and faded to gray, then black ...

Chapter Two

          Ellie didn't get why she was freaking out. It was just a dream, for goodness' sake, and it wasn't even her dream to begin with. It had nothing to do with her life in the Outer Arc, for all she cared. It was a dream. A stupid dream. It didn't mean anything. Not to her, not to Eduard even. Ahh ... Eduard. Now she hated him for bringing up the whole thing. Couldn't he just keep his stupid dreams to himself? Why drag her into this whole thing?

          Because he's your friend, Ellie told herself. He trusts you enough to want to share his secrets with you.

          Sighing wearily, she stepped into her first class of the day. That would be stupid old Triginometry. Like she gave a damn about triangles.

          "Ah, how nice of you to join us today, Miss Poole," a familiar voice drawled. Ellie knew that voice anywhere; time and distance did nothing to erase that familiar voice from her memory. The silken tone of voice sent shivers down her spine. Even after so long, she still couldn't forget that voice, or its owner. But what was he doing here, in this present moment? Was he looking for her?

          "What are you doing here?" she hissed, suddenly feeling so cold and exposed. He had that effect on her, she supposed. Or perhaps everyone felt the same way around him. Naked, uncovered. It was as if he knew all of the secrets hidden away in her brain, that she could hide nothing from him.

          "That's no way to talk to a teacher, Miss Poole, even if said teacher is just a substitute," drawled the same voice. The man the voice belonged to leaned back in his chair, running a hand along his dark hair and regarding Ellie with his cool heterochromatic eyes. Ellie shivered, her hands trembling at her sides.

          "Sit down, Miss Poole, so we can begin the day's lesson."


          Eduard didn't see Ellie until recess. He found her loitering about in the hallways while everyone else was off to the cafeteria. She snuck around like a burglar breaking into a house, and that was enough to interest Eduard - what the hell was she doing?
          "Hey, Ellie!" he called as he tapped her shoulder.
          Surprised (or rather, shocked), she whirled around and tackled Eduard, pinning him to a locker. He uttered a cry of surprise before she covered his mouth with her hand, cutting off further noises from him. Her eyes were wild as she hissed, "Shh! What the hell are you doing here?? Get to class, or - or something!"
          "It's recess," Eduard pointed out as he peeled her fingers from his lips. "What are you doing, sneaking around like a thief?"
          "I'm-" Ellie broke off abruptly as her gaze drifted to one side. She took a brief glance at Eduard, putting her finger to her lips. She warned, "Shh!"
          She walked off, in pursuit of an unfamiliar man who was walking down the hallway. Eduard noted that both parties were behaving quite suspiciously. He followed Ellie, questions blooming in his mind like wildflowers. He watched as the man disappeared behind a door. Ellie drew closer to the door, bending down to listen to something. Eduard mimicked her, ignoring the angry looks she knifed at him.
          "Don't worry," spoke a masculine voice. "I found her. No, you shouldn't be worried about me. It's your part I'm concerned about. That idiot Friday would ruin things. Yes, well, watch over him for me ..."
          It's a telephone conversation, mused Eduard.
          "Well, I told you not to worry, my dear. Yes, yes, the girl ... I know what I should do. No, I doubt that any violence would be necessary, but if it comes down to it, I will remove anyone who gets in the way ..."
          "Cool, we've stumbled upon a conspiracy of some sort," Eduard whispered as he turned to Ellie.
          To his surprise, Ellie had bolted down the hallway, running as fast as her slender legs could carry her. Eduard, ran after her, realizing how fast she could run when he lost sight of her. He sucked in a few breaths and searched for her, finding her just as she reached the girls' toilet.
          "Hey, wait!" he called after her.
          "Dead! Dead!" she cried hysterically as she went into the toilet, slamming the door behind her.
          You wouldn't want to go in there, do you? Eduard thought to himself, and muttered, "Great."
          And what the heck was up with Ellie?

Chapter One

          He sat up; his blue eyes open wide in fear. He was drenched in cold sweat; it soaked the dark gray henley shirt he wore and matted the fringe of his too-long dark hair to his forehead. His thin lipped mouth was open in a soundless scream. His long fingered hands trembled, curling around the sheets, and finally, as the realization that it was all a dream, he relaxed. A relieved sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes. His hand went up to his narrow forehead, smoothing back his unkempt hair.

          It's all right, he told himself. Just a nightmare, Eduard. Now sleep.

          He lay down on the bed, waiting for sleep to wrap its arms around him and pull him into a deep slumber. But as he lay there, he couldn't help but wonder if the dream had any meaning to it. After all, he'd been having the same dream over and over again.
          Sleep came oh so slowly, and when he finally drifted, a similar nightmare came to him, disturbing his subconscious mind.

          Not dead.
          Even as he lay there, he was sure of that fact. He was wounded, yes, but not dead. Far from it. Well, how could he, when he could feel pain cutting into his flesh like daggers? His senses told him how far he was from death, and how vivid his surroundings felt to him! Never before had he seen the world with such clarity, felt the blood soaking his clothes drop by drop. And what was there to be happy about? Nothing, evidently.
          His blue eyes drifted in their sockets, found the two agents standing over him, their expressions unfathomable. The first agent - the one with amber colored eyes and dark hair - was staring at him intently, while his associate - the one with brown hair and had opened fire - was standing at a distance. He still had his weapon raised, as if the prisoner would attack again.
          "As you can see, Mr Hunter," drawled the first agent, "that wasn't a wise move. The Organization wouldn't want a good research subject wasted like that, but we will terminate you if we have to. And by the look of things, Mr Hunter, you are leaving us with no choice."
          Go ahead, he thought. Kill me. Would you dare to do so? I'd like to see.
          His Craft seemed to pulse within him. Every vein and artery had enchanted blood flowing through it. Could he work his Craft again? He was sure he could do it again. Forget about the drugs in his system - the magic in him could fight even that. He was stronger than that, wasn't he assured of this again and again? He was stronger than the Organization's best man; why wouldn't he go down without a fight?
          Fire flashed in his blue eyes, and in an instant, the entire cell was ablaze. Bright orange flames licked the white walls, turning them black. Flames engulfed the three men in the room as the fire alarm went off. The agents had their guns out and aimed at the man who caused it all, but what good would bullets do? He was stronger than them, even in his wounded state. And he wouldn't remain their captive for long.
          The flames swirled around him, but he felt no fear. The heat coming from them couldn't hurt him, not then. They were his flames, and no one could conquer those flames. The flames extended their arms to him; he gladly welcomed it. He wouldn't die, no. But he would escape.
          And then he was gone.

          "It means nothing," Ellie snapped. "It's just stupid, so very stupid."
          Eduard quickened his pace, trying to catch up with his friend. Michelle 'Ellie' Poole marched down the hallway quietly, refusing to listen to whatever Eduard had to say. Somehow, the mere mention of the dream had her acting strange. What was up with that? She didn't have to get all huffy on him, did she? Girls. What was up with them, anyway?
          "Are you all right?" he asked her when he finally caught up with her. "I mean ..."
          "Yes, yes," Ellie replied with a wave of her hand. "I'm fine, I could not be any better than this ... No, really ..."
          But Eduard was persistent. "You're a really bad liar, you know."
          Ellie whirled around, her gray eyes blazing. Their eyes met in a gaze so intense Eduard fell back a step. Then a slow smile curled the corners of her little pink mouth upward. She leaned closer to him and muttered quietly, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
          As she walked away, Eduard couldn't help but think, that in that moment, Ellie seemed as cold as ice. A shiver ran down his spine as he realized that he may not know his friend as well as he thought, after all. Sighing wearily, he lumbered off to his first class of the day, still thinking of the dreams he had ... and Ellie.

Prologue

          White.

          Everything around him was that empty, blinding color. The four walls of his cell, the floor, the ceiling. Even the fluorescent lights on the ceiling were casting the ghastly color over the room. It was so bright, too bright to make out anything. He could see no doors, no windows. No way to escape. It was frightening; the feeling of being trapped like an animal. The thought of it chilled him to the bone.

          The heavy handcuffs around his wrists were cutting into the warm flesh. He wondered if the cold metal would finally sever his arteries and send his cursed blood spilling out and end his miserable life. And there would finally be some color in this room. Now, wasn't that an appealing idea? He was tired, so tired of these games. His entire body ached, and he felt lethargic.

          Tired of lying on his stomach with his face pressed to the cold marble and his arms secured behind his back. Why the hell did they bother with the handcuffs? He wasn't going anywhere. Not in this state. What, were they afraid he'd use his Craft? Perhaps. He was tempted to do so, but he was just too exhausted, and whatever sedative they'd shot him full of seemed to be taking effect. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, sometimes aware of the feel of the scratchy white attire he was wearing, and sometimes drifting off to oblivion. Oh, if only it was that easy.

          He felt as if he might pass out. Oh, that would be good, he reckoned. After all, he wasn't going anywhere. He was trapped here, trapped like a little white lab rat. And the Organization would do whatever they wished to do with him. That was the worst part. It would've been much easier if they'd killed him. He would rather die.

          Suddenly, intense pain shot up his entire body, rippling along his muscles. He bit down on his tongue to stop himself from screaming. His teeth scraped the flesh of his tongue, drawing blood, but he didn't care. Nor did he care for the source of the pain. It was obviously due to whatever cocktail they'd shot into his bloodstream. He didn't care.

          He spat out the blood that was starting to fill his mouth. It tasted salty, coppery. And he watched with wonder the little drops of red liquid on the floor. There was color. He was at least happy for that. Temporarily entertained. What he hoped for next was death. Anything to save him from the hell coming to him soon, when Mr Lionel Hawthorne, the head of the Organization, decided on what to do with him. He wasn't sure what would happen, but he was sure he wouldn't be executed.

          He shut his eyes, pulling in several deep breaths. The pain was starting to subside, leaving him weak and exhausted. Please, he prayed silently. Let me die. That's the only way to escape them.

          The sound of something heavy being dragged along the floor caught his attention. At first, he thought he imagined the noise in his mad daze. But then there were the sounds of footsteps approaching him (Perhaps there is a door, and someone is coming into the room through it, he mused). Male voices speaking to each other. He glanced up to see two men - agents of the Organization, no doubt, but he did not recognize them - in white suits and red ties. Great, he found himself thinking sarcastically. More white.

          "Ah, you're Mr Hunter, I take it?" said the first man.

          So what if I am? he tried to say, but his throat felt dry, so dry he could strike a match against the walls of his throat and actually light it and set everything on fire. He opened his mouth and heard no sound coming from it. He closed it again, swallowing hard. His tongue was covered in coagulated blood, but he didn't care. All he cared about was getting the hell out of this maddening place, regardless of how he did it.

          "What," he rasped, "do you want from me?"

          The first man smiled. "Just to let you know a few things. First of all, on the behalf of the Organization, I'd like to thank you. You'd be a great contribution to our research here. Secondly, (you may be disheartened by the news) your son is dead. Our men have ... removed him. Can't have him start a rebellion now, can we? Finally-"

          There was laughter. It was a mad, desperate sound. The sound of a man going crazy from hearing how much he'd lost, the damage done by those cruel beasts that walked in men's skins. He realized that he was the one laughing; he was the insane person who had sad tears rolling down his cheeks as he laughed.

          "What have I ever done to you to deserve this?"

          The first man knelt down and removed the sunglasses he'd been wearing. The agent had amber colored eyes, like Roxanne, he observed. He spared a passing thought to Roxanne, but that was it. He had other things to worry about.

          "Do you know why you're here, Mr Hunter?" asked the agent, his voice cold and dangerous. "Do you know why you're in this holding cell? I'll tell you why. When perps like you are charged with manslaughter, the Organization wouldn't just stand around, waiting for the perpetrator to strike again. No. We take action on these things, Mr Hunter. Did you think you could get away with it? Five hundred dead. That's a big enough number, Mr Hunter."

          "Five hundred dead," he whispered, "and you take the life of my son. Do you think that the blood of an innocent could make up for the loss?" He was on the verge of insanity; the news of his son was enough to snap him in two.

          A pained scream tore its way out of his throat as he lashed out at the agent, striking out in mad rage. He forced himself up, tackling the agent as hard as he could manage. The agent fell to the floor, crying out and cursing in a foreign language.

          The agent's accomplice, meanwhile, had his weapon drawn. Before he could react, several shots hit him. He wasn't sure where he was hit, for his body felt too numb to feel pain, but he could see the blood flowing, the spatters of red. Was it the end? Would he die here? But those questions didn't matter, even as his vision blurred and a wave of dizziness washed over him. Even as the darkness started to claim him, he could only think about one thing.

          Blood.