“Fuck off!”
“Sit down, and I’ll answer your questions in a civilised manner. Or continue to act like a delinquent child, and you’ll quickly find yourself back in a cell, in the company of actual killers. I promise you, you’ll be of very little use to Tyler there.”
Cinn kicked the side of his opulently cushioned seat, his foot connecting with the metal to send shooting pains up his leg.
“Fuuuuuuck!” he screamed at the ceiling of the jet. He couldn’t face looking at the woman for a second longer.
Cinn clenched his fists, feeling the bite of his nails against his palm. This wasn’t good. If he didn’t calm down, and soon, he might haveanother episode. And who knew what that would look like when he was a thousand miles high in the sky. Although, surely there weren’t many ghosts up here…
“I imagine it was that unchecked temper of yours that landed you in juvenile prison seven years ago.”
The woman was trying to wind him up. And it was working. “Who even are you? How do you know everything about me?”
She remained infuriatingly calm. “Sit. Down.”
Cinn gritted his teeth so hard he could taste the metallic tang of his frustration. It took every inch of self-control he possessed to force himself back down into his chair.
“There,” said the woman, and Cinn hated giving in to her so much that it physically hurt him. “Now we can talk as adults.”
“Fuckingtalkthen,lady.Who are you, where are we going, and why the fuck are we going there?”
He braced, prepared for more games, but to his surprise, she leaned back, poured herself another drink from the ice bucket on the floor, and started talking.
“Eleanor Sinclair. Most call me Madame Sinclair. We’re currently en route to Valais in Switzerland. I work as a small cog in a large organisation that I’ll get to later. My boss, Viktor Sturmhart, has had people keeping tabs on you for a little while now. Most of them stemming from hospital and police reports from years ago. And some psych records.”
Cinn internally grimaced, remembering that brief stint in juvie where he’d tried to convince a therapist that ‘ghosts are real’ as she’d phrased it. They certainly hadn’t seen eye to eye on that one.
“When you were arrested, we were faxed copies of every file. Not long after, I was on this very jet, coming to get you. Don’t you feel special now?”
Cinn could only blink. Was it possible she…knew?She… believed him?
“And the reason you want me is….?”
“We believe that you have a rare ability, Cinnamon.Veryrare. We want to help you. And we want to make sure nobody else gets hurt.”
He flinched. “Don’t call me that. And what happened at Rosewood… that wasn’t my fault.”
It was. It wasallhis fault. There had been close calls before, sure. But four deaths? They’d stay with him forever. Maybe even in more than one sense…
“This is exactly why you need to be at the Institute. I can only imagine how much you want to learn how to control yourself, Cinn. To master your skill. We can help you with that.”
Was this manipulation on a master level, or was the previously feisty woman’s motherly tone genuine?
“The Institute? What’s that?”
“The Aurelia Arcanum Institute of Esoteric Sciences is known as the European hub for government, research, and further education for… people like you. And me. It’s a multifaceted institution with many subsections focusing on different spheres of activity.” She paused, scrutinising him. “That all means it’s a large collection of groups working together.”
“I’m not stupid,” he spat. “You don’t need to dumb it down.”
His head swam. Esoteric sciences? Multifaceted institution? A horrible thought struck him—what if they wanted to experiment on him? Cut open his brain, see what was wrong with it?
Something buzzed. Madame Sinclair pointed upwards, red nail polish gleaming. “Oh look, the seatbelt light.”
Cinn grimaced. This was going to be a bumpy ride.
two
Julien
