Chapter two

When I'd brought all the prisoners their food I brought the cart back to the kitchen. The prison chef, Rodney Hall, was still there, cleaning up the last of the mess. He looked over when I entered.

"Everything go okay?" he asked, turning his attention back to the pot he was cleaning.

I parked the cart where it always stood and then walked over to him, resting my hip against the counter and rested my gaze on the running water coming from the tap. I cleared my throat.

"Rod," I said, not taking my eyes off the water. "What do you know about the new one? The blonde guy in cell twelve?"

He'd finished cleaning the pot and placed it aside to dry, turning off the water and wiping his hand on a towel next to the large sink.

"Twelve," he murmured to himself, seeming to concentrate as he tried to connect the number to the prisoner itself. "I know he's diabetic," he said once he remembered. "And that he's a sorcerer, I think."

"He is," I said.

Rod finished drying his hands and glanced down at me, raising his eyebrows.

"Why are you asking?"

I shrugged.

"No reason."

Rod walked over to one of the fridges and opened the door. He reached inside and pulled out a carton of chocolate milk, which he handed over to me with a kind smile. I took it from him with a tank you.

I pulled off the attached straw, removed the plastic covering it and then pushed it through the small hole, raising it to my lips and taking a sip.

"You know," Rod said after I'd taken a second sip. "I think you're getting too old for those."

I looked up at him, smiling and taking a third sip. A long one. When I finished, I said: "I'm only fourteen."

Rod chuckled.

"When it's chocolate milk and videogames, you still a kid. When it's responsibilities and assignments, you're a full-grown woman it appears," he reached out and patted my head lightly. "Maybe you should make up your mind, Leah. You can't be kid forever."

"I'm not a kid," I said, then glancing down to the small carton in my hand. "I just … It's really good. I don't think I'll ever stop loving chocolate milk."

He chuckled again.

"And that's why I keep buying them. Only the best for our girl."

I smiled at him, but inside, I felt awful. That's what they all called me. Our girl. They were all so nice to me. Rod, the guards, my teachers, even some of the prisoners. Everyone seemed to like having me around. They seemed to respect me and they even seemed to not care that my powers wasn't what they should be. My teachers never told me I must work harder with my training. They only said that my powers would become greater in time. I was only fourteen, they said. Only a kid. Our kid.

Then why didn't my father think so? Why didn't he trust my powers to grow in time? Why was I a disappointment to him, when everyone else told me I was fine just the way I was? Why did they act like they loved me, when he, my own father, acted like I was an annoying fly buzzing around his head, forced upon him when he didn't want me there? Then why had he adopted me? He wouldn't do that if he didn't want a child, would he? And aren't a father supposed to love his child even if they didn't excel in life. Sometimes I felt like he'd only adopted me in hope of using me for my powers.

Well, I guess I didn't turn out to be the mercenary he'd hoped I'd been. I'd only turned out to be that annoying little girl, useful only to bring the food around.

I looked away from Ron, fearing he'd see my thoughts on my face.

"So, is that all you know about him? Number twelve, I mean," I asked, turning around and walking over to the garbage bin, throwing out the now empty carton of chocolate milk. When I turned back around, I found Ron had placed himself by the kitchen island, and I went to sit beside him on one of the tall bar stools.

"Let me think," he said, tapping his chin dramatically and giving me a coy smile. "Twelve, twelve, twelve. I think he is seventeen," he continued. "Could be eighteen, I can't remember. Only looked at his file briefly. And his name is …. Buck? No, Blue. Kevin Blue."

"What's he in for?" I asked, trying to not sound too interested.

Ron looked at me for a moment, hesitantly, before continuing.

"I don't know. I can't remember it being in the file. But he's in the E-block I think," he looked at me and I nodded, confirming it, "so he must've done something serious."

I looked down.

"I guess so," I said, trying to hide my disappointment over his ignorance in the matter.

"Let me guess," Ron said, and I looked up at him again. "He told you he didn't belong here? That he hadn't done anything wrong?"

"Yeah, I mean, they all do. At some point," I said. "It's like they think I could get them free."

Ron looked at me for a moment, silent. Then, he stood up from the bar stool.

"It's because he'd young," he said, making his way over to me and placing a hand on my shoulder.

I met his gaze.

"What?"

"That's why you're uncertain, Leah. Because he's so young. Only a kid. I bet he even looks innocent enough."

"I'm not–" I began, but he cut me off.

"I'm not blaming you," he said. "But you have to understand, Leah. They all lie. You can't let them get to you."

"But it's not just that," I said. "He didn't even seem to understand that this was a prison, talking about experiments and being kidnapped. Like he was the one wronged in all this."

Ron smiled.

"Lies, Leah. Lies."

I ducked my head.

"I know," I said, and then, when he gave me a stern look, I added, "I. Know," saying the words clearly and focused.

"Isn't it time for lessons?" he asked, taking his hand of my shoulder and peeking down onto his wristwatch. "Dawn's probably waiting for you."

"Hey, dad?" I asked as I entered the warden's office.

I'd just finished my classes for the day and I had actually gotten some progress with my teleportation. I couldn't be more psyched to tell him.

He sat by his desk, hunched over some papers, writing something. He didn't say anything to let me know he'd heard me, which I knew he'd did, he just didn't acknowledged my presence.

"I had progress with Dawn," I said, and he turned around to look at me.

"Really?" he asked, his eyes shining a bit. "How much?"

My heart sank at the excitement in his voice and features. He wanted me to say I'd teleported ten feet, twenty feet, maybe even fifty feet. But that wasn't the case.

I forced myself not to look away from him as I said: "I managed six this time."

His face became indifferent again.

"Oh," was all he said before turning back around, returning his focus on whatever he was doing.

I walked over and stood beside him.

"One feet more," I said. "Maybe I'll be able to go even further next time."

I tried to sound exited, promising, like I actually believed that would happen. My father only gave a dull: "Sure."

I glanced down at the papers on his desk.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Work," he said without looking to me. "Please don't bother me right now, Leah."

I noticed he was looking on an inmate file. When I read the name on the top of the page, my curiosity took the best of me.

"Kevin Blue? That's the new one, right?"

I searched down the page, trying to read the short summary right beneath the name, but my father closed the file before I could focus on the words.

"Didn't I tell you not to bother me?" he asked, looking at me. "This is work, Leah. So let me work."

I stared at my father, his dark-brown hair, tanned skin and green eyes so different from my own red hair, pale freckled skin and blue eyes. I'd searched his face for a likeness to me so many times, hoping that, even if I wasn't his biological child, there's be something there, showing me I was his daughter. I wanted him to look at me in that way. I wanted to see a spark in his eyes that told me he cared, that he loved me. But I never saw it.

I left his office. I left the main building.

I walked across the yard to the housing area. There were three houses there. One for me and my father, one for Ron and one for Dawn, my teleportation instructor. The rest of the people working here had another housing are on the other side of the main building.

We all lived here like a twisted up colony of sorts. Of course we had to travel to the closest town from time to time, but only to buy supplies and such. I wasn't invited along for that. Ever.

Once the prison had appeared in the local newspaper, calling us a cult. People outside the supernatural community didn't know what this place was, and those within it, mostly thought of us as creepy people. Who would seclude themselves to prison in the forest, living there like it was any kind of life? I guess we would. I would. I spent my days at this prison, and even if I left the prison itself during the night, I still slept in a bed close to it.

This was how it'd always been. This was the life I knew. Even if I didn't live out there, I still knew all about it from television and the internet. No matter what people may think we weren't some low-tech Neanderthals. We were just as advanced as the rest of the world. Only more … personal.

As I walked along the stone pathway and entered towards the housing area, I thought I heard voices. I stopped and turned my gaze to the beginning of the thick forest. The prison and the housing areas stood in a large clearing, and all around us towered the dark forest. Even if it was only five p.m, the winter was on its way, and the sky was dark above me.

I squinted, trying to see past the first few trees, but failing. I listened carefully. Nothing. I must've imagined it. No one would be out in the forest. Everyone was either inside doing their jobs or at home. Still, I called out.

"Anyone there!"

Silence.

"Karl? Mia?"

Silence.

I shrugged and continued walking, if only the slightest bit faster. Even if the forest was empty of people, it still contained animals. And animals could be dangerous.

I reached my house and walked inside, making sure to lock the door. If there had been someone in the forest, it could be of the prisoners ally's trying to break them out. It had happened. Once. But since that the magical shield around this place was far too great to be penetrated by anything less than an army. My father also had other precautions of sort, but I didn't like to think of them. Too … gross.

I spent the rest of the evening playing videogames in the living room. I preferred to do it here, in the large comfy couch, but whenever my father was home I was restricted to play in my room. Since he wasn't home yet, I dared to start another mission, in hope that I'd finish it and reach the next auto save point before he got home.

I did. I didn't push my luck and start another mission, but instead turned off the console and the TV, turning off the ceiling lamp as I left the living room and entered the kitchen.

I was standing by the counter in front of the window, making myself a midnight snack, when something flashed outside the window. I leaned forwards and squinted, trying to make out what it was.

"What the …" I said to myself as I saw a camera, a small compact one, levitating in the air, moving past my window in walking speed.

I followed it with my gaze, my brows furrowing. It stopped suddenly, shaking slightly. I just kept on staring. It moved again, after a few seconds, the lens pointing itself towards me it flashed again, as if taking a picture by itself. Then it shot away, moving raggedly in the air as it moved toward the main building.

I didn't think before I ran out off the kitchen, into the hall and out the front door. I advanced on the camera shouting: Hey!, and waved frantically with my right hand. It stopped still again and this time it fell. It landed on the ground with a soft thud. I continued running until I reached it. At first, I just stared at it. I don't know what I expected to happen. It was a camera. What could it do to me. Finally, after a minute or two of hesitation, I reached down and picked it up. I looked all around me, but didn't see anything suspicious.

It was on and I pressed a button, accessing the pictures. As I scrolled though them, I noticed they were pictures of the forest, then the housing area, the last picture of my house, with me standing wide-eyed in the kitchen window.

I frowned.

I heard something to my right, and turned my head just in time to see something coming flying toward me. I ducked down and the object hit the front door instead of my head. It was a stone. I looked back to where it'd come from and could see another stone, levitation into the air, pulling back and then searing off toward me with his velocity. I avoided that one again and as I saw a thirst stone start to lift, I tore open the front door, hurrying inside and slamming it shut behind me just as a loud thud echoed from the other side. I locked the door and ran to my bedroom.

I don't know how long I sat on my bed, clutching the camera, my gaze fixed on my bedroom door. When I heard the front door open my heart jumped, but when I heard my father's words coming from the hallway, I relaxed and climbed off the bed.

I'd just reached my door when I stopped. Should I tell him? Of course I should. But … I glanced down at the camera. No. I wouldn't tell him. I'd find out myself what was going on and then, when I told him, he'd be proud of me, congratulating me on taking responsibility and doing something useful for once.

I hid the camera in my dresser, even if I wouldn't need to hide it. He never came into my room. Still, it felt better to hide it. Just in case.

I changed, went to bed, and slept.