The Prince's Trap Read online

  With his target deactivated, Landon turned to make sure Cortland had successfully taken care of his. Cortland was holding his arm out in front of him. Landon followed it from Cortland’s shoulder to his fingertips until he noticed the other automaton collapsed on the floor. The black riveted handle and about three inches of a ten-inch chef’s knife protruded from the drone’s chest. Using his telekinetic prowess, Cortland had pulled the knife off of a rack on the counter and thrust it at his victim. Landon was surprised. Granted, the automaton wasn’t a real person, but if this were a real mission and the dummy a real insurgent, Cortland would have just killed him.

  The Pantheon stressed that it could always happen, that if his life or the life of any of his teammates were in jeopardy, it was within his rights to kill the aggressor, but Landon firmly believed there was always an alternative to killing. Tying up, knocking out, sedating, etc.—Landon preferred to employ any other method before contemplating the fatal approach, even if it put him in a more dangerous position.

  The sound of the door swinging behind them startled Landon and Cortland. They spun around with their hands raised in a readied fighting position to see Brock, Parker and Peregrine staring at them. Brock shoved himself between them, moving toward the door in the back of the kitchen. If Peregrine had correctly read the facility, their target would be waiting on the other side.

  Just before Brock’s fingers reached the cold brass knob of the door, he hesitated and looked back to Peregrine, wordlessly asking for a final confirmation.

  Peregrine stepped forward and said softly, “As far as I can tell, it’s clear. There’s only one person inside that room.”

  With renewed confidence, Brock grabbed hold of the handle and pushed in the door.

  A piercingly loud alarm began to shriek as high-beamed lights flared into existence all around the confused team.

  Landon used his arm to shield his eyes from the blinding rush of light as the others swiveled around where they stood, trying to make sense of the sudden onslaught of stimuli. The one thing they had no doubt about, though, was that they had failed their training exercise.

  “What were you thinking?” Brock’s voice, seeping with anger, bellowed through the kitchen of the training house. He could suddenly be heard as the deafening alarms waned. Landon turned toward their aggravated leader to find him towering over Peregrine. Over a foot taller than her, he craned above her, his body arched until she looked like a meek mouse caught in a lion’s shadow. Everyone stared on in disbelief as the palpable tension left them speechless. “Do you realize you killed us all?”

  “I—I didn’t see,” Peregrine stuttered under the weight of Brock’s intimidation. Landon could hear the terror in her voice.

  “Obviously you didn’t see! Can you see anything?” Brock waved his hand inches from Peregrine’s eyes mockingly. “Not only did you kill the hostage, but you’ve killed everyone else!” Peregrine’s bottom lip began to quiver. “Are you good for anything? I swear, if you can’t do the one job we ask you to do, what good are you? I mean, seriously, you’re—”

  Cortland hesitantly stepped toward Brock, and with a touch to his shoulder said calmly, “Come on, man, it was just an exercise. . . . Give her a break.”

  Brock rolled his shoulder aggressively to remove Cortland’s hand, and turned to him, fire burning in his eyes. “Just an exercise, huh? She killed us all!” Although Brock now spoke to Cortland, he continued to lay into Peregrine for not perceiving that the door was wired with mock explosives. “I knew it was a mistake when Dr. Wells brought you in here! Just like out there, you’re nothing but a useless, good-for-nothing, weirdo cripple! You have no business on the Pantheon, or in the Gymnasium for that matter!” Brock directed his words with painful precision. Parker, Cortland and Landon looked on in horror as his vituperation continued, his insults only getting more potent and more painful. “You disgust me, Echo, you—”

  Peregrine started to cry silently, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes and streaking down her smooth, pale cheeks. “I swear,” she mumbled under Brock’s continued tirade, her words slurring together with remorse, “I didn’t know. It looked like normal electrical wiring to me.” As she spoke, she turned toward the other teammates, hoping they understood her error was an honest mistake.

  “Seriously, Ares, leave her alone!” Landon couldn’t stand watching Peregrine cry. It broke his heart, and he knew he needed to stand up for her. Landon rushed across the room, and grabbed Peregrine, pulling her into his chest to shield her from Brock’s continued barrage of insults. Her whole body was shaking as she tried to hold back the full force of her sadness. The tiniest of whimpers made its way up to his ears. He glared at Brock with his jaw clenched in disgust and his body heating up from the core. “You seem to have forgotten, Ares, you’re the one who opened the door!” The force of Landon’s words startled him slightly.

  “Stay out of this, Apollo,” Brock said through his teeth, his forehead twitching from restrained rage. “Now get back to where you were!”

  Landon stood his ground while pulling Peregrine in tighter.

  “That’s an order, Apollo! Get over there!”

  “No,” Landon said defiantly. He gingerly loosed his grip on Peregrine and maneuvered her behind him. Landon now stood rebelliously between Brock and his target, solid in his resolve to put an end to Brock’s invective. For years Landon neglected to protect his mother when his father attacked. Back then, though, he was meek and knew no different; now, he’d developed a confidence that gave him the strength to stand up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves.

  In frustration, Brock slammed his arm down, releasing a pulse of telekinetic force so concentrated and powerful it blew a hole right through the kitchen wall, kicking dust and shards of wood everywhere. Around the opening, scraggly cracks snaked through the aged drywall. “I’m warning you, roomie! I’ve tried to play nice, but you’re getting on my last nerve.”

  Landon solidified his footing and straightened up. Brock’s eyes narrowed into slits so thin that they looked shut. He then sauntered up to Landon with slow deliberate steps, and looked down on him, trying to assert his dominance as his broad shoulders cast a shadow across Landon’s face. Landon didn’t flinch.

  Then Brock swung, his arm rounding toward Landon in a powerful right hook, but Landon, acting on reflex, ducked quickly to avoid the blow and sent a jab of his own into Brock’s stomach. Reinforcing his physical strength with a burst of telekinetic power, the punch packed a wealth of force that knocked Brock off his feet and rocketed him backward. He crashed through the damaged back wall of the kitchen; his flailing body missed the first hole he created by mere feet. As Brock busted through the weakened boards, a new wave of dust and debris kicked up into the air, clouding their surroundings. Wide-eyed, Landon held his breath in disbelief. Parker and Cortland looked slack-jawed at Landon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THINGS FALL

  APART

  Peregrine still cowered behind Landon.

  “Are you okay?” Landon asked her sincerely as he turned to face her. A thin layer of dust still lingered in the air.

  “I think so,” she said, her voice still shaking slightly from the emotional ordeal.

  “Good. I—”

  Landon stopped midsentence. He’d felt a tremor run up from the floor through his feet. Noticing Parker and Cortland scanning the ground with dumbfounded expressions, he knew he wasn’t alone in feeling it. The shaking stopped for a few moments before picking up again, this time more ferociously. The walls creaked and quaked as if screaming in rage and fury, forcing the cabinets to open and close with resounding claps. Dishes and knives spilled onto the floor with metal clinking and ceramic shattering against the tile. The wood that held up the training house screeched and dust began to fall from the cracking ceiling like sand through an hourglass. Then, the back w
all of the kitchen exploded, ripped away as if tethered to a runaway truck.

  Through squinted eyes, Landon looked out through the space where the wall used to be to find Brock standing there. His legs were spread wide, his shoulders up, and his head leaned forward, giving him a demonic and powerful demeanor. Even through his tactical suit, Landon saw his muscles tensing with ire as a large vein bulged from his forehead. Without a movement, Brock pushed a wave of telekinetic force at Landon.

  In the nick of time Landon raised his hands and, using his abilities, tried to weaken the force as it collided with him. If it weren’t for the dust in the air suddenly moving toward him, as if propelled by a gale-force wind, he wouldn’t have had any warning to prepare himself for the impact.

  He managed to stay upright as Brock’s wave of energy pushed him backwards. Dust and debris collected at his heels as he slid backward on the laminate flooring, only stopping once he reached the swinging door that led back into the dining room. The door was slightly ajar as it rested against Landon’s right heel. Recognizing the force of the blast, Landon studied the others in the kitchen with him. Apart from tousled hair and red eyes from the dust, they seemed fine. Brock had concentrated his force solely on Landon and spared the others as much as possible. This was a fight between the two of them—a fight that had been brewing for a long while.

  Deciding to take the fight to his roommate, Landon rushed forward, sprinting toward Brock with every ounce of speed he had. Once he reached the edge of the house, he leapt forward, lunging toward his rival. At the same time, he released a pulse of invisible energy from his hands, which collided with Brock and knocked him backward. Landon rolled as he hit the ground, and thanks to his agility training, quickly sprung to his feet in a readied stance.

  Glancing to the side, Landon saw Parker, Cortland and Peregrine standing at the edge of the kitchen floor over by the open wall. They watched anxiously, Peregrine wiping the tears and dust from her face.

  Brock’s body shook with aggression, and unable to hold himself back, he sped toward Landon. Landon crouched down slightly, and gauging the timing to perfection, leapt into the air as Brock passed right under him. He enhanced his jump with a propulsive burst against the floor and quickly found himself twenty feet in the air.

  At that height, the feeling of weightlessness seemed oddly prolonged. He watched from above as Brock fought to stop himself. Landon then descended, using his gifts to cushion his landing. Once he was on his feet he quickly released a pulse of telekinetic energy toward Brock. It collided with his back and propelled him forward. Brock fought to stay upright but his momentum was too much for his legs to handle, and he tumbled down. He rolled a good twenty feet before he managed to stop himself.

  Like a gazelle, Brock sprang to his feet, and with a fluid motion of his arms, he telekinetically lifted the remnants of the kitchen wall off the Palaestra floor. It had broken into two large flat pieces with jagged bits of plywood jutting out from the sides like the serrated edges of a saw blade. Landon realized too late that he was trapped. Clapping his hands together like the Hulk, Brock forced the large pieces to sandwich Landon. With only a moment to react, Landon attempted to create a sphere of protective energy around himself, but he only managed to lessen the blow. Dazed and discombobulated, Landon staggered around as he tried to lock onto Brock again through blurred vision.

  Once the room stopped spinning, Landon honed in on Brock and refocused himself even though he still felt a bit wobbly from the impact of the walls. Deciding it was time to put an end to this, Landon stole a move from Celia’s playbook. He thrust his right arm forward, his hand clenched as if grabbing an invisible shirt collar, mimicking his telekinetic action. Caught unprepared, Brock shot backward some thirty feet and collided with the wall of the Palaestra. Landon maintained his grip and held Brock in place just as Celia had twice done to him when she pinned him against the golden entrance of the Gymnasium the last October and again just weeks ago, against the medical wing wall. Landon could sense Brock’s fruitless attempts to disengage Landon’s abilities, but his grasp on his rival was unwavering.

  Landon calmly walked up to Brock until their faces were inches apart. “Who needs to go crying to their mommy now, roomie?” He felt more powerful with every word. “And I guess we now know who’d win in a fair fight, don’t we?”

  Brock’s nostrils flared as his lip curled. Landon, feeling his work finished, turned from Brock and started back toward the others who were still standing inside the makeshift house. After he was ten yards away, Landon released his hold on Brock, who fell to the floor, panting. He held himself up on his hands and knees, but raised his head to watch Landon walk away.

  Landon forced a smiled at the others, but it was more for Peregrine, to let her know Brock’s tormenting was over. Peregrine smiled back. Seeing her safe and smiling filled Landon with renewed energy. Suddenly she screamed, “Apollo, look out!”

  He spun around to find Brock racing toward him, enraged beyond rational thought. Landon raised his hands to protect himself.

  “Ares, halt!” Dr. Brighton’s voice echoed through the Palaestra moments before Brock collided with Landon. The professor’s command caused Brock to seize up. Even in his wild state of mind, he couldn’t disobey a direct order from his superior. No matter what the situation, Brock was a true soldier at his core. “What is going on back here?” Dr. Brighton added as he looked at the destruction.

  Where has he been? Landon wondered, as he released the breath he was holding in. Wasn’t he supposed to be watching us? In seeing Dr. Brighton, a flood of emotion ran through Landon. He realized the severity of what had just happened. Brock was his teammate on the Pantheon. Whatever trust they may have developed over months of training and missions together had just been erased by their altercation.

  Landon watched the others step down from the blown-open kitchen onto the Palaestra floor. He then looked back at Brock, and although he had stopped his pursuit, Landon saw his burning hatred for him boiling within. A sudden sadness washed over him. He realized that although confronting Brock felt right and good, he’d just placed every member of the Pantheon in danger from that day forward. If Brock and Landon could not trust each other, putting them together on any mission was a liability that could have fatal consequences.

  Landon’s heart raced. His tactical suit suddenly felt tighter than usual, as if it was cutting off his circulation and making it hard to breathe. His body felt on fire as anxiety took over. Seeing no way out, he bolted toward the locker rooms. He did not say a word as he breezed past Dr. Brighton, who stood astonished and confused.

  • • • • •

  Landon struggled to find the button concealed in the left wrist of his tactical uniform to disengage his suit. His hands jittered with anxiety, and with every passing moment, he felt panic take a stronger and stronger hold of him.

  “Come on! Come on!” he shouted in frustration. He started to feel lightheaded, on the verge of passing out. He couldn’t find a calm place to pull himself out of his growing panic attack.

  “Landon! What are you doing?” Cortland rushed into the locker room to find Landon still fighting with his suit. “What just happened back there?”

  “I need to get this off of me. I can’t breathe. Please get this thing off of me! I need it off!”

  Cortland sped over to Landon and tried to hold Landon’s arm steady in order to press the button that would release the nano-zipper and let Landon remove the suit. “Landon, you need to stop moving!” he said loudly, trying to get through to his panicking compatriot.

  “I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!” The situation escalated as Landon continued to freak out. “Get this thing off of me!”

  “I’m trying! I’m trying!” Cortland shouted as he strained to steady Landon enough to press the button. “If you’d just stop moving for . . . a . . . second.” Cortland finally pushed the
small release embedded in the suit. The nano-zipper disengaged, parting the two panels in the back of the tactical uniform in a perfect seam.

  Landon pulled away from Cortland and frantically wriggled his body free of the uniform, his limbs shooting this way and that as he forcefully pried them from the skintight suit. He was on a relentless mission that didn’t end until the entire suit was off his body. He was so disconcerted, Landon didn’t realize that his frantic undressing had pulled down a part of his underwear, leaving his entire left butt cheek exposed.

  He frenetically balled the suit in his hands and tossed it down the aisle. It fell partially on a bench toward the back of the locker room. Without pausing for breath, Landon turned back to his locker and started to pull out his regular clothing, moving with the same erratic fervor as before. As he grabbed his jeans in one hand, he quickly pulled his boxer-briefs back up to his waist.

  Cortland came close again as Landon continued to rapidly move between bench and locker. “What’s wrong?” Cortland asked, worried. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t . . . I just can’t.” Landon sounded insane.

  “Can’t what?” Cortland coaxed.

  “I just can’t.”

  “Landon, talk to me.” Cortland adopted a desperate tone as he pleaded for Landon to stop and say what was wrong. Seeing no other alternative, he grabbed hold of Landon’s shoulders and forced him to look him in the face. “What can’t you do?”

  Landon calmed slightly. Taking a deep breath, he said with pain in his voice, “I can’t be responsible for anyone else dying because of what I did. I just can’t.”