Page 155 of Golden Eagle

Seven hadn’t answered. He’d closed his eyes, pretended to sleep, and, eventually, Twelve rolled back over with a sigh and his breathing evened out after a time.

Seven hadn’t slept.

The next morning, when he was undressing to take his daily shower, something in his pants pocket had crinkled. Something he hadn’t put there himself. He’d found a folded piece of paper, its writing in black pen.

It was a letter, and it was addressed to him.

Or, rather, toDear Young Mage:

My name is Rob, and if you’re reading this letter, it was given to you by a trusted member of my pack. If you know that you yourself are a mage, then you’ll know what I mean when I tell you that I myself am a wolf – and not a young one, at that. A wolf who is part of a loving pack living and working independently of any government entity. The Ingraham Institute – which has reared and trained you – is but one secret branch of the United States government. While we are often contracted by the Department of Defense, the government does not own us, and we have the power to refuse jobs, should we wish. Our organization is called Lionheart, and your sister, LC-5, who now prefers to go by Red, is one of our members.

I don’t know what the doctors in charge at the Institute have told you about other immortals, but I know from Red that they’ve kept you cooped up in that laboratory your whole life, educating you through books and film reels. I know that they’re preparing you for war; that they want to use you as a weapon.

And though I haven’t bumped into them recently, I know who your biological parents are. I’ve met them before: Liam and Lily Price, both mages, both redhaired – as Red tells me you and all your siblings are. Liam is brilliant and ruthless; Lily, your mother, is the picture of politeness, always quiet, but incredibly powerful. She wields the power not only to destroy, through flame, but to grow things as well. She has quite the green thumb.

Your sister is a wonder. She is intelligent, and strong, and we’ve all become incredibly fond of her here at Lionheart. She’s learning how to ride horses, and how to shoot a bow – that’s our weapon of choice, here, save for the moments when a knife or a gun must be used. She brought a human mortal with her, Rooster, the man who she followed home from the Institute five years ago; the man who’s protected her and shown her the world. He is one of many brave, loyal humans helping us in our efforts to make the world – mortal and immortal – a safer place.

I tell you all this because I think it’s important that you know you have a choice. The Institute has fed and clothed and educated you, yes, but they don’townyou. They plan to use your powers to fight a gathering darkness – but taking part in that fight should be an active choice. It should not be an order; it should not be something that anyone is forced to do. They will force you, I’m afraid. And they have a way of twisting everything up so that it will feel like you’re going along willingly, even if you aren’t.

If you want to stay where you are, I understand. But if you want a chance to see what lies outside those blank white walls, please know that my people and I are happy to help. Your sister got out, she found a life of her own, and she fights alongside us now by choice. It’s for her sake that I reach out to you now; she wants you to have the same chances that she has had.

You may reach me at the number printed at the bottom of this page. Never hesitate to call.

It was signedSir Robin of Locksley, Bound Familiar of Richard I, the Lionhearted, King of England.

Seven read it seven times in succession, for the verisimilitude, and then he folded it carefully back up, and tucked it into the bottom of his shoe so that it wouldn’t get wet while he showered.

They don’t own you.

Sir Robin of Locksley.

He dressed and combed his hair. Went to breakfast with his siblings, at a white table, in a white room, with harsh white lights droning overhead. He ate his oatmeal, and toast, and banana. Drank his milk. Handed his empty tray to the surly woman with the hairnet who always admonished them if they didn’t eat their bananas.

He went to the day’s first lesson, where they sat cross-legged on rubbery mats, closed their eyes, and concentrated on steeling their minds against psychic invasion.

Seven had trouble concentrating. He sat now, his eyes shut, his body still, his breathing even…his thoughts spinning.

He replayed the night before, each mistake, each shameful weakness.

But he recited the letter in his mind over and over again.

They don’t own you.

They don’t own you.

They don’t own you…

“LC-7,” Miss Douglas said. “You seem tense.”

He opened his eyes and saw that she stood in front of him, frowning, the skin around her eyes tight.

She was afraid.

So many of them were afraid – of him. Of his brothers.

Had they been afraid of Five? Was that why she left?

Or was it so she could ride horses, and shoot bows, and live with wolves?

They don’t own you.

He flexed his foot, and felt the paper crinkle where it was trapped between his heel and the inside of his shoe.

You have a choice.

He’d never considered that before – but he did now.

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