Chapter Twenty-Three

    Vee: “So what now?”

            Dominic: “What do mean what now? We leave, immediately.”

            Elyse: “Leave to where?”

            Elijah: “Out of town.”

            Vee: “Will that even help? They’ll follow us!”

            Dominic: “Well, we sure as hell can’t stay!”

            Elyse: “What about the others…? Jackson and them…”

            Dominic: “They’re lost already. We leave them.”

            Elijah: “We need to get as far from Savannah as we can on the gas we have.”

            Dominic: “I agree. You’re thinking… north?”

            Elijah: “Yes.”

            Nicolle: “Vee?”

            Vee: “Yes Darling?”

            Nicolle: “We won’t be able to escape this time, will we?”

            Vee: “… … I…”

            Dominic: “Everyone move!”

 

            They packed no clothes or entertainment; Vee grabbed some random food from the Beaumont’s pantries and tossed it into the Jeep; Dominic teleported away and returned with two rifles, giving one to Elijah. From the moment Nicolle and Elijah walked through the front door to the moment everyone ran back out of it perhaps ten minutes had passed.

            Dominic’s Cherokee remained at the high school; the only available vehicle for the escape was Elijah’s Jeep. Dominic asked to drive, conceding that Elijah was a better aim with the rifle; Vee took the passenger’s seat, leaving the open back for Nicolle, Elijah, Peter, and Elyse. Elyse was relied upon to keep cops and others at bay with her Yellow Artistry; Vee listened to the mental thoughts of approaching cars, just in case one of them was connected to their pursuers. Nicolle simply watched.

            Dominic tore across the Savannah countryside at speeds nearly double the speed limit, slowing whenever Elyse sensed an approaching vehicle. In nearly no time they had reached the “YOU ARE LEAVING SAVANNAH” road sign, blasting down the highway, the city in the rearview mirror. Nicolle had never gone far from Savannah; her life had been spent nearly entirely within its borders. She never imagined she would leave like this, fleeing; it seemed unbelievable that she and Elijah had been in the very same Jeep they were now escaping in less than an hour prior, laughing and happy. The napkin they’d signed was still in the glove box.

            “The roads are oddly vacant today,” Elijah voiced. “We’ve passed only a few cars…”

            “It works in our favor,” Dominic said. “Have you called mom? If not call her, tell her what’s going on, tell her to stay in a hotel somewhere out of the city, don’t go home.”

            “I left her a voicemail going out of the house,” Elijah said. Dominic nodded. Vee and Elyse had left alibis with their parents as well, quick phone calls that struggled to sound calm. Vee never did succeed in assuaging her parents of concern; she feigned loss of service and hung up, too pressed for time to talk further.

            “Where are we going?” Vee asked.

            “Eli and I know a place upstate, very secluded,” Dominic said. “We can hide out there for a bit before going further. Probably somewhere"”

            “Guys!” Elyse’s shout made Nicolle and Peter jump. “Guys, a car’s approaching, fast!”

            A Yellow Artistry wasn’t needed to see this; behind them, in the distance but coming up quickly, was a car. Nicolle knew little about cars, but this one looked expensive and powerful, the vehicle of choice for a foreign rich kid, the heir of a fortune. It was closing the gap rapidly.

            “Is that them?!” Vee asked, turning in her seat.

            “Their mood patterns match the mood patterns of the people from earlier!” Elyse said, panic alight on her face. “I think that’s them!!”

            The Jeep’s engine revved, a painful sound, as if begging Dominic to slow down; even with the speedometer reaching for one-hundred and ten the approaching car was easily gaining.

            “Shoot them, Elijah!” Dominic yelled. “Aim for the driver’s seat!”

            The driver’s seat; Nicolle could see through the windshield a slender body, tattooed arms holding the steering wheel. Elijah did not stall; he raised the rifle from the floor and took position, aiming the barrel directly at the car"

            The woman’s arm shot out of her window, a gun in her hand. With only half a second to aim, she fired off a shot.

            “Ahh!” Nicolle yelled; the left side of the Jeep sank a fraction. The tire had been blown out.

            “D****T!” Dominic yelled. But he did not slow down; if anything the Jeep sped up. Pieces of rubber showered the highway, and once the tire was gone, sparks. “VEE, TAKE OVER!”

            Without even giving Vee time to grab the wheel Dominic grabbed his own rifle from the floorboard, teleported from the driver’s seat and reappeared standing in the back. He and Elijah raised their guns and fired simultaneously. The bullets struck the windshield directly in front of the driver’s seat… but the glass did not implode. Was it bulletproof…?

            A tall dark man rose from the passenger’s side window, a shotgun in his hand. Barely taking time to even point it, he fired off a blast, taking the second back tire out.

            The Jeep jerked; Dominic staggered and tripped, the back of the Jeep being too full; his body fell backwards over the side of the Jeep"

            “DOM!” Elijah yelled, reaching for his brother; he grabbed Dominic by the front of the shirt, but it was too late. Nicolle watched in disbelief as the brothers fell off the back of the Jeep, falling to the asphalt between the sparking Jeep and the incoming sports car"

            There was a whoosh as Dominic, holding his brother tight, vanished from thin air.

            “DOMINIC!” Vee yelled, trying to watch and drive. Elyse had crawled into the front seat, as if the extra few feet would protect her, tears pouring off her chin.

            A dust cloud suddenly plumed in the farmland to the right of the highway, crops and dirt flying skyward; Dominic and Elijah had reappeared, crashing down into a heap, their bodies twisting about"

            “Stop the car!” Nicolle yelled to Vee. There was no use left in running. She knew they would now have to take a stand, there was no other option. And without the Beaumont brothers they would die. They had to reach Elijah and Dominic.

            The Jeep came to a hideous stop, smoke and embers shooting from rear tires. Nicolle jumped from the back and sprinted for the roadside… they were probably fifty yards away. Vee was right behind her, breathing in a way Nicolle had never before heard. It was a hopeless, gasping thing, fear for the boy lying in the cornfield…

            A woman’s voice: “STOP!”

            They didn’t. They were almost to the boys now"

            “Elijah!” Nicolle yelled. “Elijah, are you okay??"”

            “DOM!” Vee screamed, running to him and rolling him over. “DOMINIC!”

            They were both covered in blood, their clothes torn away in shreds.

            Behind them, Elyse screamed.

            Nicolle turned. Peter was on the ground, unmoving. Had he been shot…? Something in the air caught Nicolle’s eye and she jerked away, shielding herself"

            The tall dark man landed directly in front of them, having leapt the fifty yards Nicolle had just run across.

            “Easy now,” he said; his voice was like a soothing smoke, a lullaby, deep and strong. “Don’t"”

            “She’s one of them alright, look,” he said.

            “Take her down, President’s orders,” another said.

            There was a flash of gunfire, and…

            Nicolle rushed him, the power she had once killed plants with blowing up in her palms, prepared to murder this man that wanted to take away her everything.

            His hands, gloved, caught her on the wrists and held her away from him.

            “Argghhh!” Nicolle yelled, fighting the grip; if she could touch his skin only a little"

            The barrel of a gun appeared from behind Nicolle’s head, pointing right at the tall man.

            “Let her go,” Elijah said.

            “Drop the gun,” the man said.

            “Let. Her. Go.”

            “Son, I"”

            Elijah fired, point blank, right into the man’s face. Nicolle screamed; for a moment she expected to see blood and brains, to see this man’s insides on the grass"

            The bullet ricocheted off his cheek, leaving only a cut that a small knife might cause.

            “Good God,” Vee said from behind Nicolle.

            “Listen to me,” the man said, “I"”

            Elijah fired again, leaving a slightly larger cut on the man’s face. The smell of gunpowder burned the nose; Nicolle’s ears were ringing.

            “Stop shooting me, boy,” the man said, looking only slightly put out. “I’m not going to hurt her. I just need to know she won’t hurt me back… I can take a bullet, but not a Black Mark.”

            He let go of Nicolle. She didn’t rush him again, but fell back. Dominic was just rising to his feet, his hand on Vee, preparing to teleport if necessary.

            “You could have killed her,” he said, eyeing the man suspiciously. Elijah didn’t lower the gun.

            “Not my intention, my friend,” the man said, smiling. “Not at all.”

            For a moment the group of them said nothing; there was only the sounds of heavy breathing and pained grunting.

            “Who are you?” Elijah asked. “Why are you here?”

            “We’re here for you,” a woman’s voice began, and then she was there: the woman with the elegant arm tattoos, walking up beside the man. “We’ve come to help you. My name is Lady Natalia Hawthorne"”

            “Sir Ian Erlander,” the man said with a smile, as if he hadn’t just been shot in the face.

            “"and we are your allies. Servants of the secret Garden.”

            “… Garden?” Vee asked. “What…?”

            “Do you see it, Natalia?” The man named Ian was looking at Dominic, and then Elijah, and then Dominic again. “The resemblance?”

            “I do,” she said. “It’s remarkable.”

            “What’s remarkable?” Vee asked.

            Natalia smiled a small smile. Nicolle felt something faintly recognizable in this lady. When she spoke again, Nicolle could have sworn she’d once heard her voice, faded and far away…

            “It’s simply interesting to us to see the likeness between Roland Beaumont and his sons,” Natalia said.

            Nicolle and Vee gasped, then immediately looked to the Beaumont brothers. Their faces were portraits of astonishment, mouths fallen open in speechlessness, eyes large in amazement.

            “You… you know Roland Beaumont, Roland William Beaumont?!” Dominic nearly yelled, stepping forward. “You know my father?!”

            Ian and Natalia looked at one another without expression, and yet something was said between them.

            “You understand we can’t do this on the roadside… not concerning what we will be talking about,” she said. The two of them turned and started to walk away. “Follow me.”

 

            “We need somewhere secluded and secure to sit and talk… there’s much to discuss.”

            Natalia Hawthorne " Lady Natalia Hawthorne " had said this just before getting back into her vehicle. A tow-truck had been scheduled to come and get the Jeep; in the meantime Dominic teleported back to school, got his Cherokee, and returned for the others. They followed the two new Artists back into Savannah, unable to stop talking about what had just occurred.

            Natalia’s words were quite similar to words Nicolle had heard from Dominic long ago: Let’s sit down… there’s a good bit to discuss. On that day her entire life had changed. She believed it was about to do the same thing again. Those two, Natalia and Ian, didn’t seem to mean any harm. Whether they did or didn’t was mostly irrelevant now: Elijah and Dominic were determined to follow them and have a long talk when they reached their destination. A talk about Artists and their father, missing from their lives for seven years.

            Natalia requested that any other Artists that they knew be contacted and asked to meet them. That included only Timmy; as it turned out, Brooklyn, Jackson, and Darius were unconscious in the back of Natalia’s car. Nicolle texted him with the news and the location. He didn’t reply.

            The location? Shula’s, a rather high dollar restaurant, the kind where you were expected to dress nicely. Nicolle couldn’t understand how a group of twelve, all with multicolored eyes, some of them in ripped clothes, with tattoos and guns would be welcome in such a place, but she didn’t ask.

            They drove into the parking lot, Natalia’s car in front. Timmy’s vehicle was already there; a flower of something positive had begun to bloom inside Nicolle’s heart, and seeing Timmy wilted it a little. Suddenly the doors to the restaurant exploded open; people sprinted furiously outside, jumping over shrubs and bushes, running into the road, leaving their cars behind in complete fear. Customers left, cooks left, waiters and waitresses left; it seemed the building was now empty, courtesy of Natalia Hawthorne.

            “What an Artistry,” Elyse said as they all climbed out and walked inside.

 

            Timmy stood by the door, his eyes constantly shifting between Natalia and Ian and Nicolle and Elijah.

            Darius, Jackson, and Brooklyn " revived " sat near the back, as if they would perhaps need to make a quick exit. Peter, like a shadow, sat alone to the side, his one visible Red Eye looking around nervously.

            Nicolle, Vee, and Elyse sat together, huddled into a group as if preparing to swap gossip, though their eyes were unmoving from Natalia and Ian, who stood in front of everyone near the bar, rows and rows of glasses and bottles behind them.

            Elijah and Dominic did not sit. They stood beside the girls, mere feet from the older Artists, occasionally pacing. Elijah’s face was like stone. Dominic’s was like electricity, alive with curiosity and questions…

            “Everyone made it?” Natalia said aloud. No smile. “Good.”

            She looked around, making eye contact with everyone. Could she sense emotions? If so, she knew all about Nicolle’s exploding nervous system…

            “As I said, my name is Natalia Hawthorne.”

            “And I am Ian Erlander.”

            “And we,” she said, spreading her tattooed arms to encompass them both, “are Expeditionaries of Kincaid Gardens.”

            “Kincaid Gardens?” Elijah asked. Ian nodded.

            “A school, home, and headquarters for Artists around the world,” Natalia said. “For over a hundred years.”

            “Holy… poly…” Vee said. “It’s been there all this time?”

            “Yes ma’am,” Ian said; now that his shotgun was not in his hands Nicolle began to see him for what he was: a gentleman. “Established by the Kincaid family long ago.”

            “What are you doing here?” Elijah asked again, arms crossed.

            “Recently a colleague of ours… who is late… noticed what appeared to be Artist activity in this area,” Natalia said. “A coroner detailed a local deceased girl’s eyes as uncommonly purple. We’ve since identified her as Maria Friendly, who was in your Chess Club. We also noticed the antics of Jackson McKay and Darius Geldart during the football game last Friday. With the belief that more Artists were in the area, our superiors dispatched us to investigate.”

            “Why?” Elyse asked, still visibly nervous. “What do you want with us?”

            Natalia turned to Ian, giving him the floor; perhaps a more gentle hand was needed.

            “We’re here to help you, dear,” he said. “Artists who are untrained can be potentially dangerous, to themselves and to others. We’re hoping to prevent that by recruiting you to Kincaid Gardens, where you’ll study Artistries and grow.”

            A vision stirred inside Nicolle: she saw herself in this place, this Garden, surrounded by flowers and other Artists; in the vision she smiled, and so did they. It was nearly too good to be true; a place where she didn’t have to fear being found, a place where sunglasses weren’t needed. And maybe… freedom.

            “Oh yeah?!” This was Jackson, his voice pure mockery, likely wanting to reassert whatever manliness he lost earlier in the day. “Who’s making us? I’m set to play college ball at the University of Alabama, I don’t want to go to no garden.”

            Natalia looked at the boy and, for a wonder, he wilted beneath her confident gaze. “Jackson McKay, Artist of the Red, age nineteen, born to Greg and Yolanda McKay, threw the winning touchdown pass of the Eclipse Bowl… I read the brief. Mr. McKay, you have no choice in the matter. It is the law.”

            At the word law Nicolle looked to Timmy. She expected an expression of dislike; she knew he didn’t like the idea of governing Artistries. Instead she found him looking at her, his jaw clenched tight, and she looked away quickly.

            “What law?” Darius asked unkindly. “What happens if we break it?”

            “You’ll be arrested and confined to the C.A.C. The Convicted Artist’s Complex,” Ian explained, crossing his arms.

            “Or we just shoot you,” Natalia finished with a shrug. “You have options.”

            Ian cleared his throat loudly and smiled. “Kincaid Gardens is a benevolent institution, with only benevolent laws in place. Only Artists who deliberately defy those decrees are apprehended and punished.”

            “Atop the usual laws " laws against killing, stealing, whatever " the Gardens enforce laws against misuse of Artistries as well,” Natalia said. Her golden eyes pronounced judgment on the back of the room. “Lift as many vehicles over your head as you feel is required to meet your overinflated hunger of ego, but be warned: the Garden’s justice is inescapable.”

            No retort came from the Evil Three.

            “It is our desire that each of you resume life as normally as possible,” Natalia said. “We won’t expect any of you to attend Kincaid Gardens until after you graduate this year. And beyond that, if you choose a lifestyle that exists outside of the Gardens , we will aid you in that, too. But all Artists are required to at least first"”

            “Many, many apologies!” A man’s voice, from out of sight. “Sorry I’m late!”

            Natalia closed her eyes and sighed; Ian turned to her and smiled. It looked as if she might have been counting to ten in her head. A short, stocky man, probably approaching sixty years old, walked into the restaurant, his eyes testifying to his Purple Artistry. The Chess Club looked at him with awe " another new Artist?! " while Natalia regarded the man with a look capable of freezing flame. He didn’t appear to notice.

            “Glad to have you, Mr. Reid,” Ian said pleasantly.

            “Sorry I’m late,” Reid said again. Dressed in a suit and tie, his dark hair and goatee lightly colored by gray, he gave a dignified impression, the atmosphere of someone important.

            “I was just explaining the Gardens to our new ones,” Natalia said, eyes still closed impatiently. “I"”

            “Kincaid Gardens!” The man said this addressing the rest of the room, clapping his hands together, the start of a speech. “A new life of splendor and principle awaits you all there, I’m sure! I am gentleman Hugo Reid of the Holders, Artist of the Purple,” he said this with a small bow, “and your personal intercessor from this old life into your new! And… my, my, my… so many new faces… so many new Artists…” He found Elijah and Dominic and visibly grew happier. Or perhaps the word greedier better described the look in his eyes. “The Beaumont boys. God above.”

            “As I was saying,” Natalia continued, “we will not be uprooting you now. Each of you will need to finish high school. Afterwards you’ll attend Kincaid Gardens with the impression to others that you are attending university. If you choose to attend actual university later, we’ll pay the cost.”

            “You just need to be certified by the Gardens first,” Ian said. “Though in our experience, most Artists prefer to stay on and pursue a life within the Gardens.”

            “Choices! Big decisions!” Hugo Reid shouted this at the young Artists with a ridiculously optimistic grin on his face. “This is the beginning of your lives, young ones!”

            No one said anything to this.

            “So,” Natalia went on, “there are too many of you to do this all at once… we will need to document each of you now, for our reports. Let’s spit into groups for separate interviews and get that out of the way.”

            Ian nodded. “I’ll begin with you two,” he said to the Beaumont brothers. “You both seem to have many questions, I hope I can help you with them.”

            Elijah and Dominic wasted no time following the Artist of the Red out of sight. Natalia turned and looked at each of the remaining Artists carefully. Her eyes settled on Nicolle and Vee. Nicolle didn’t move an inch, didn’t so much as breathe.

            “Let’s start with you girls,” she said, immediately turning and walking away. Nicolle and Vee quickly, and nervously, ambled after her.

 

            It was a manager’s office that Ian Erlander led them into. He seemed to consider seating them at a booth before moving on; the privacy of a closed door would probably be needed for this conversation. Elijah and Dominic took the two padded chair across the manager’s desk. Ian Erlander took the seat across from them, his shotgun still slung across his back.

            Dominic was on the edge of his seat, eyes wide and ears open. He looked excited; not only had he just learned the incredible news that a community of Artists existed beyond the Chess Club (losing the responsibility of having to discipline Darius and Jackson was enough to make anyone sing) but before him sat a man claiming to know their father.

Elijah wasn’t advertising his interest as obviously as his brother… but the interest was there.

“Alright,” Ian said, pulling a pen and small notebook from a pocket of his outfit. “If you guys don’t mind, I’m gonna be taking some notes as we speak… pay it no mind, it’s just for the records at Kincaid Gardens, nothing to worry over.”

“My father,” Dom said, his voice dangerously close to pleading.

Ian looked up from the pad and smiled softly. “Yes. I see him in both of you… you more than you,” he said, implying Dominic had the greater resemblance. This probably made Dom happy, Elijah thought.

            “What do you know about him?” Elijah asked. “Is he still alive?”

            “Is he at this Kincaid Gardens place?” Dom asked.

            Ian sighed. “I want to give you the straight truth, gentlemen. I actually don’t know where your father is. But I do know him. Several years ago he discovered Kincaid Garden’s existence.”

            “And… and what happened, what did he do there??” Dom asked, moving forward even farther.

            “Your father impressed,” Ian said, chuckling; Elijah thought he saw a memory in the man’s eyes and wondered what it was. “That’s not completely correct though. In truth, your father was something of a living legend. A celebrity in the Gardens… which, by extension… makes both of you extremely popular.”

            Elijah recoiled. He held popularity at a place he’d only learned existed that day?

            “Your dad was a prodigious Artist of the Black,” Ian continued. “Highly gifted. He caught everyone’s attention. He did things with his Artistry…” He shook his head, amazed. “He was powerful.”

            “You used the past tense,” Elijah said over the top of his clasped hands, elbows resting on the chair’s arms. “As if he’s dead.”

            “Not dead,” Ian said. “Gone. He stayed at the Gardens for a few years before opting to travel. As far as I understand, no one has heard from him since. He hasn’t returned or made contact.”

            Dom deflated at the news, his shoulders slumping. Then they rose again. “But he’s alive,” Dominic said. “I now know where he’s been since he left home… thank you sir.”

            Ian nodded with a smile. “Yes sir. Now… if I may continue the interview… first off, I want to tell you what we’re not. We’re not here to threaten or harm you, or coerce you. We’re educators, with only the intention of helping you out, and mastering your Artistries is pivotal to a healthy life for you and those around you… ”

            Elijah knew what Dominic was doing. He was visualizing his father at this place, these Gardens, everyone marveling at his brilliance, teaching, helping others, standing on high pavilions overlooking the sunset horizon dramatically, the wind in his hair.

            Elijah did not have these images. Instead, he saw their mother, and himself, and Dom, in the years that their father was off impressing others, his mother struggling to manage alone, Christmas mornings with nothing to give or receive. He remembered his mother crying, leaving them with relatives while she searched for him, returning with the kind of strong smile only a trying mother can manage, her cheeks sticky with tears as he hugged her.

            Roland Beaumont had best not be dead. Not until Elijah had his say.

            Then he could be dead.

 

            Natalia Hawthorne sat them all down in a booth, far away from Hugo Reid and the others. A plate of hot food, untouched, was on the table before the tattooed Artist of the Yellow, likely just laid down before its intended party ran from the place in Natalia-induced fear. She reached down, plucked a steak tip from the plate, and popped it into her mouth. Despite her apparent lack of social graces, she chewed like a lady, dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and looked to them not with a smile, but… something kind of like one.

            “There is a formal way of doing this… where I tell you what we are, and what we are not, and I ask you how you feel about the world, and your philosophy on Artistries and all that… but I have a faster and easier way. Give me your hands.”

            Vee and Nicolle just stared at her. Slowly, as if reaching into a shark tank, they laid their hands on the table. Natalia took them into her own; her hands were small and surprisingly strong.

            “Do either of you ever plan to mutilate or destroy anyone with your powers without justification?”

            “No,” Vee said.

            “Um… no,” Nicolle answered.

            “Would you ever plot to undermine good authority?”

            “Probably not,” Vee said.

            “Um… no,” Nicolle said.

            “Would either of you cause unnecessary chaos in the world?” Her eyes moved back and forth, from Vee to Nicolle.

            “Don’t think so,” Vee said.

            “Um… … no,” Nicolle said.

            “Have you ever intentionally displayed your Artistries in public or desired fame or fortune by advertising your Artistries?”

            “Nope,” Vee said. Natalia’s eyes landed on Nicolle.

            “No… no,” Nicolle answered. Natalia let go of their hands, withdrew a tiny notebook and pen from her pocket, and began to write.

            “Cheers, ladies,” Natalia said. “You both passed.”

            Vee voiced what Nicolle wondered: “Passed what?”

            Natalia stopped writing and looked up. “The preliminary examination for acceptance into Kincaid Gardens. They tend to get upset with us if we bring back unmanageable radicals or overly aggressive ruffians… they’ll be thrilled to hear that you two are good girls.”

            “How could you tell?” Vee asked.

            “Neither of you lied to any of my questions,” Natalia said. Her eyes explained it all: Artist of the Yellow.

            “Why can’t I read your mind?” Vee asked. “It’s throwing me off…”

            “Ah, they teach us many things at the Gardens,” Natalia said with a smile, helping herself to another steak tip. “If you were, say, an S2 or S3-Rank Artist of the Blue, I would have a much harder time blocking you… you’d probably be able to read some of my thoughts. If you were elite level, like W-Rank, I probably couldn’t block anything. But you’re likely N-Rank, or, at optimistic best, S1-Rank… so, if I’m correct, you hear nothing at all?”

            Vee shook her head. “I’ve never experienced this before. Eli and Dom can block me some, but not entirely, not like this. It’s uncomfortable.”

            “You have no need to be uncomfortable… … Missus…?

            “Vee,” she said. “Vivian van Valen.”

            “Rolls right off the tongue… Vee for short,” Natalia said, writing it down. She looked to Nicolle. “And…?”

            Nicolle swallowed. “Nicolle Darling.”

            She wrote that down as well, and said: “You don’t say much, Nicolle Darling.”

            Nicolle shook her head and tried to smile. “Sorry.”

            “She’s Vee, short for Vivian… I’m going to call you Enn, short for Nicolle,” Natalia said. She’d already written “Enn” down on the pad.

            “O-okay,” Nicolle said.

            Natalia wrote a little more down, giving them a moment of silence. Nicolle spent that moment organizing her scattered thoughts: her day had begun in paradise with Elijah (hard to believe), had evolved into a car chase and getting the tires shot out from beneath her (even harder to believe), and now she was being interviewed for acceptance into Kincaid Gardens. What were Eli and Dom doing with that Ian man? What about the others, Timmy, Elyse, Peter, and the Evil Three? Was that nutty Hugo Reid man interviewing them?

            “As I was saying,” Natalia continued; in her eyes Nicolle saw warmth, which seemed to assure them that she was both sincere and friendly. “Neither of you have any reason to be uncomfortable. Some in the Gardens have been there so long they seem to have forgotten what it means to be an Artist on the outside… but I remember. I don’t know what is in your past,” and here Natalia looked right at Nicolle, as if seeing everything, “but my past was one of pain. Pain and loneliness, and desperation. I understand what it can be like. Kincaid Gardens became more than a home to me after I was found… it was a sanctuary, a haven of protection. It was freedom at last.”

            Freedom.

            Nicolle was falling in love very quickly with the idea. She didn’t know what Kincaid Gardens looked like, or what she would do, exactly, when she arrived. But everyone there was an Artist, there would be no hiding, and her friends would be there, and she would leave her old room behind and be free.

            “Your Chess Club is the largest gathering of Artists outside of Kincaid Gardens on record,” Natalia said. “You may not realize it now, but you will when you enter the gates of the Gardens the first time… this is a very big deal.”

            “So we’re for sure going?” Vee asked.

            Natalia nodded. “Once the school year is over, everyone is going. Classes will begin soon… you’ll all sign up and begin exploring the intricacies of your Artistries, finding residence… perhaps competing in the tournaments held annually. Each Artist is different… you’ll be interested to see how other Artists of the same Artistry differ from you. This brings to mind something else… over the rest of the school year I’ll be meeting with you, and the others, regularly to assess what your strengths and weaknesses are. Should anyone in your group be capable of, say… killing on sight… we’d kind of like to know in advance. And you’re likely to learn a fair bit about your Artistries before you even graduate.”

            Nicolle turned to Vee and smiled. Vee smiled back. They both knew what this meant. The fears that had plagued the Chess Club " watching out for the Evil Three, what to do after graduation, growing up as an Artist in the world " were now lifted, courtesy of this Kincaid Gardens. And truth told, it sounded fun. She wouldn’t be taking a math class… she would be taking an Artistry class.

            “I like you ladies,” Natalia said, and to Nicolle’s surprise, she pulled a cigar from her pocket " not a cigarette, but a cigar, like the kind Granddaddy Longlegs smoked " and put it in her mouth, lighting the tip of it with a lighter, oblivious to the NO SMOKING signs in the place. The smell was pleasant. “I’ve learned some pretty messed up things from people’s emotions when I do the holding hands thing at the start… it’s refreshing to recruit kind hearts.”

            “Thanks,” Vee said. “We’re pretty grateful in return that you turned out to not be a mass murderer.”

            Natalia, inhaling on her cigar, tipped her head to Vee, saying you’re welcome. She exhaled smoke away from them and turned back. “I can not only sense emotions of the present… I can see, somewhat, emotional patterns of the past, like layers of sediment… I can understand where your heart has been.” She didn’t quite whisper her next words, but they were softer, a tone implying comradeship. “I know what it’s like to be… oppressed. But you are under my protection now. No one’s getting pushed around by anyone as long as you’re with me.”

            She’s speaking to me, Nicolle felt. She’d sensed Nicolle’s emotions of the past, her fear, her pain. What had happened in Natalia’s past…? Whatever she’d experienced, she understood Nicolle. And in that instant Nicolle had the oddest and most welcome feeling: that she was sitting at that table with not one sister, but two.

            Natalia opened her mouth to say more… and approaching footsteps cut her off.

            “Lady Natalia? Lady Natalia?” Nicolle turned and looked; Hugo Reid was back. He was smiling; whatever he’d found in his interviews had made him happy. Nicolle was a little creeped out by the man’s unnatural glee. “There you are. I’ve taken copious notes on the young Artists I’ve interviewed, some thirty pages! I could read them all off to you, if you like.”

            “Nothing would be more likely to ruin my day,” Natalia said, massaging her temples. “We’re not quite done here… we’ll return shortly.”

            Hugo Reid’s odd smile remained in place; he turned and walked out, muttering something beneath his breath. Natalia came upright, smiled, and said: “Let him wait. Our next order of business… have you ladies eaten? That pasta looks incredible, Vee, and I see you have a shrimp alfredo in front of you there, Enn…”

            Without waiting up Natalia returned to her steak tips, elbows on the table and smile on the corner of her mouth.

            “Cheers.”