Mortified and Scared

Seven’s wheels were turning, too, along with those of the presidential vehicle he was riding in with Troy. He was petrified, and extremely uncomfortable sitting on the cold leather seat with air-conditioning blasting him from all angles—apparently Troy liked the car to be ice-cold. But Seven’s fears and chattering teeth didn’t stop him from scheming. None of these people knew who he was . . . or even that he was just a boy. He could be a scrawny man. His voice had been changing for months, and it was a lot lower than the last time his father had heard him talk three years ago. Even Elena had remarked that he and Tenner were sounding so grown up now. If Seven spoke, would his dad recognize him? Would Troy or Greta?

Amanthi had told them that the president’s guards didn’t know the identities of the palace intruders who had busted Elena out of the dungeon cell. The security guard had seen and might be able to identify some of the kids, like Lada and Brix, and possibly Birdie. But not Seven. He’d been fully camouflaged.

The parents hadn’t seen any of the kids in three years. They’d all grown up a lot, and none of their supernatural abilities had been revealed before the parents had left. So they wouldn’t be able to identify them simply by their powers. Would they even fathom a guess that their sheltered, off-the-grid offspring had been able to travel all the way to Estero, navigate the huge city, and actually find and free Elena Golden? Or would they more likely believe the kids—and specifically Seven at this particular moment—were still enjoying life on the beach with Louis?

Seven had refused to answer any questions on the plane. They’d locked him in the bathroom for the remainder of the flight so they could talk without him overhearing. When they disembarked, Troy had taken him roughly by the arm and marched him to the awaiting vehicle. And despite Cabot’s suggestion in his ear that he escape and hide in the hangar, there was no freeing himself from Troy’s death grip on his upper arm. Seven had overheard his father filling in Greta on what had happened in the cabin during the flight. And then Troy had tossed him into the backseat of one of the black palace cars. He’d cut Seven’s wrists free, giving the boy a moment of hope, only to secure them in front of him instead. Then Troy had used another zip tie to attach his bound wrists to the door handle.

Seven had never felt more exposed and vulnerable in his life. But then Troy had put a burlap sack over his head to keep him from seeing where they were going. It was scary, and the head covering was scratchy against his skin. But at least it helped keep his face warm and his almost-invisible earpiece hidden.

He could hear Troy talking on his cell phone to the people in the other car, first reporting that the intruder couldn’t see a thing, and then confirming they were taking him to the mansion, not the palace. Seven felt a wave of relief and even a hint of a smile forming beneath the burlap sack. He thought he knew what mansion they were talking about. They didn’t know he already knew where it was. They probably shouldn’t have done something so harebrained as naming their children after the address.

The car turned and went slowly up a curvy drive. Then Seven heard the familiar rattle of the gate, confirming in his mind that this was indeed the mansion he expected it to be. They pulled into the garage and parked. As the gate closed, Troy got Seven out of the backseat, took the burlap sack off his head, and shoved him toward the door. Then Troy pushed him to the dining room and zip-tied him to a chair. After the presidential vehicle containing Fuerte, Martim, and Cami arrived, they all stood over Seven intimidatingly and asked him the same questions they’d asked on the plane.

“Tell us who you are,” Troy demanded again. “What do you want?”

“How did you know my plane would be in Frayzia?” Fuerte asked. “Did Cami tip you off?” He eyed their new partner with suspicion.

“Me?” Cami, who had morphed back to her businessperson self, recoiled and shook her head. “I don’t know anyone besides Martim who can go invisible.”

“That one is not invisible,” Martim said, clipping his words.

“If he were,” Troy added, “I wouldn’t have detected him. More like he’s camouflaged. And . . . I’m pretty sure he’s freestyling.”

Martim’s eyes were like slits, and he looked angry. Did he suspect he was speaking with his own son? If so, he didn’t share his suspicions.

“Do you know the bouncing boy?” Troy asked. “The one who helped release a prisoner from the palace, and who broke in here yesterday?”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Martim said with a sneer. “He’s never been here before.” He paused, then turned to Seven. “Have you?”

Seven remained silent. He was developing a plan, but he wasn’t quite ready to talk. He glanced through the front picture window and saw three armed guards standing around the fence by the driveway. That was new. He hadn’t seen them when they drove up because of the sack over his head. He looked up at the corners of the rooms and saw that the cameras were all pointing the proper way, not at the walls like they’d left them. The men must have reviewed the footage and seen Brix. Maybe once Troy and Martim had figured out the electricity to the fence had been cut and intruders had been inside the mansion, they’d decided to beef up security. Seven’s heart sank. That would make it difficult to escape—especially if they’d repaired the electricity already. Being mostly undetectable was great, but there was no getting over a fence like that, unless you were Lada and could teleport. And she couldn’t come here and take down everyone all by herself. It would be difficult for his team to rescue him. Impossible, even.

Seven was on his own.