The Ability (Ability, The)

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  About Monica Meira Vaughan

  For Emilia

  Many thanks to the following people: Stephanie Thwaites and Tina Wexler. Ruta Rimas, Courtney Bongiolatti, and the team at Simon & Schuster. My family and friends who read this first, especially Joanna McCracken, Alex O’Brien, and Laura McCuaig. And Mark.

  • PROLOGUE •

  Thirty Years Ago

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” said Edward, tapping his foot nervously. The sound of his shoe hitting the metal floor of the van echoed all about the enclosed space, masking the sound of the waves that crashed furiously at the foot of the cliffs that stood not far from where they were parked.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Anna gave Edward a warning look as their teacher, Mr. Cecil Humphries, turned round from the driver’s seat, his face red with anger.

  “Stop that right now or I’ll throw your shoes out of the window.”

  Edward didn’t say anything, but the tapping stopped. Mr. Humphries turned to Miss Arabella Magenta, sitting next to him in the passenger seat, and sighed.

  “Honestly, what have I done to deserve this? As soon as this year is over, I’m moving to the country—as far away from any brats as possible.”

  “We can hear you, sir.”

  “Good,” said Mr. Humphries, without looking back.

  Anna said nothing as the four other children whispered around her. She felt the anxiety of the group deeply and hoped the mission would end quickly so that they could return to their school, far away from this desolate, dark landscape.

  At that moment, exactly as their carefully planned schedule dictated, Mr. Bentley Jones was carrying the briefcase full of money toward the cottage by the cliff. Their view of the cottage was hidden by the wall of trees behind which they had parked the van, but Anna could see exactly what was happening—it was her and Clarissa’s job that night to use their Ability to keep an eye on their teacher.

  “Mr. Jones is nearly at the cottage. There’s a light on in the window.”

  “Good,” said Miss Magenta. “As soon as he’s inside, we’ll get out and move closer.”

  “Why do we have to get out? Can’t we just do it from here?” asked Danny nervously.

  “For goodness’ sake, we’ve gone over this a thousand times,” said Miss Magenta, looking exasperated. “If we’re going to wipe the minds of these people, then we need to be within twenty feet of them.”

  “Can’t we just give them the money?” asked Danny. Anna, Edward, Clarissa, and Richard all nodded in agreement.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mr. Humphries. “It will only be a short time before they ask for more, and then when will it stop? If we don’t want people to find out about the Ability—and believe me, we don’t—then we have to use Inferno on them. It’s the only way.”

  “But we’ve never even practiced it—what if it doesn’t work?” asked Clarissa.

  “It will,” said Miss Magenta, irritated. “It’s been tried out in Italy, where the rules are more relaxed, and it worked just fine. Where is he now?”

  Anna and Clarissa remembered what they were supposed to be doing and closed their eyes.

  “He’s not there yet—probably another minute.”

  Anna kept her eyes closed and watched Bentley Jones striding forward, head bowed low as he fought his way through the invisible wall that the vicious wind and rain had created.

  “Don’t do that!”

  Anna opened her eyes and saw Richard, who was almost twice the size of the other two boys, flicking screwed-up pieces of paper resting on his knee in the direction of Danny.

  “What? I’m bored,” said Richard, seeing the look of disapproval on Miss Magenta’s face.

  Anna sighed and closed her eyes. They had been classmates for just over five months, and she was only slightly less irritated by Richard than she had been on day one, when he had spent the entire morning pulling her long braid of black hair and then laughing hysterically. Clarissa had told her it was a sure sign that Richard liked her—a thought that made Anna’s stomach turn. The other two boys, however, Danny and Edward, had become her close friends. Edward was serious and calm, always trying to keep the peace between Richard and whoever he was irritating on any particular day; Danny, on the other hand, was sweet and clumsy, his head always stuck in a book.

  “He’s coming up to the door,” said Clarissa. Everybody stopped and looked over at the two girls.

  “Right, get ready to jump out. As soon as Mr. Jones gives the signal, you’re all to leave the van and wait for our instructions. Understood?”

  They nodded.

  “Good. What’s happening now?”

  “He’s knocking on the door. It’s opening . . . It’s . . . it’s . . . an old lady in a dressing gown?”

  “How strange. It’s not exactly the image of a blackmailer that I had in mind,” said Mr. Humphries to a similarly bemused-looking Miss Magenta.

  “She’s asking him if he’s okay. Mr. Jones is holding up the briefcase,” said Anna, trying to explain everything in as much detail as possible. “She’s asked him if he’d like to come inside and warm himself up.”

  “And now?” asked Miss Magenta.

  “He’s gone inside, and there’s a man there. An old man smoking a pipe. He’s turning off the radio and walking over to Mr. Jones. They’re shaking hands.”

  “What’s the old lady doing?”

  “She’s putting the kettle on.”

  The group watched the girls intently as they took it in turns to describe the scene in detail. The old woman prepared the tea and carried the three steaming mugs over to the sofa on which Bentley Jones was now sitting.

  “Mr. Jones says he’s here to hand over the money. . . .”

  “Yes?”

  There was a pause.

  “The lady said she doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “Something’s wrong. Something’s very, very wrong,” said Mr. Humphries, rubbing his hand across his greasy, thinning hair.

  “I think we should get out and—”

  Mr. Humphries was interrupted by the sound of the back doors swinging open. Two men in black hoods appeared before them. Anna, who up until that point had been watching the cottage in her mind, was taken completely by surprise. She screamed as the men reached inside and grabbed her, pulling her out onto the ground.

  “It’s a trap!”

  Anna spun her head round in the direction of the voice and saw the figure of Bentley Jones rushing back toward the van.

  The men grabbed her by the arms and legs and lifted her easily, then sped off in the direction of the cliffs, as she wrestled them in vain.

  Danny looked about him at the others, all frozen in shock.

  “Anna!”

  He leaped out of the van before anybody could stop him and ran off in the direction of the men, the teachers and pupils following behind him.

  Anna screamed as she watched Danny running to try to catch them, and then suddenly, without speaking, the men stopped. Anna watche
d as one of them moved his right arm around and lifted it up above her head. It took a moment for her to work out what she was looking at.

  “He’s got a gun! Danny, stop!”

  Her voice was drowned out by the sound of a single shot fired. Anna watched as Danny fell to the ground. The men began to run again toward the cliffs, holding Anna tightly as she sobbed and tried to turn and twist her way free. Suddenly Anna remembered her Ability and closed her eyes, but it was too late. The men stopped and swung her backward, then forward, and released her. She flew up into the air, over the cliff’s edge. The last thing that Anna saw, before she lost consciousness, was the black water of the sea looming closer.

  • • •

  “Quick, where’s the knife?” said a deep voice that sent a chill down Anna’s spine.

  Anna opened her eyes and grimaced at the throbbing pain in her head. The ground she was on was moving and she realized that she was on a boat. It was pitch-black except for the light from a flashlight, resting next to her on the deck. She was lying down, her arms and legs tied, her clothes soaked and clinging to her skin. She shivered, then noticed that she was no longer wearing her jacket, which was now in the hands of a woman sitting at her feet. The woman passed the knife over Anna’s head to a gloved hand.

  Anna screamed as the man took her arm. She felt the blade cut slowly into her and then the sting as the pain began to register. Blood dripped down from her arm as Anna cried, tears running down from her emerald green eyes, and the woman leaned over to wipe her arm with the jacket.

  “That’s enough. Throw it into the sea. They’ll find it in the morning.”

  “Why are you doing this?” asked Anna.

  “Because, my dear, you and that Ability of yours are going to make us very rich indeed.”

  “They’ll find me,” said Anna, sobbing. “You won’t get away with this.”

  “Oh, I don’t think they’ll look very hard. You’ll be easily replaced.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re my friends; they won’t leave me.”

  “Look up.”

  Anna stopped crying and looked up. The cliffs loomed high ahead of them, and she could make out the light from the cottage window. Something near the building moved, and she squinted to try to make out what it was.

  “That’s right—that’s the van you came in, with all your so-called friends inside, and it looks like they’re leaving. They’ve given up already,” said the man, laughing.

  Anna watched helplessly as the van drove off into the black night. It was at that moment that she realized the true hopelessness of her situation, and she began to scream, the sound of her anguish lost within the howling of the heavy storm winds.

  • CHAPTER ONE •

  Wednesday, October 17

  Cecil Humphries, the government minister for education, despised most things, amongst them:

  Cyclists.

  The seaside.

  Being called by his first name.

  Weddings.

  The color yellow.

  Singing.

  But at the top of this list was children. He hated them, which was rather unfortunate given that he was in charge of the well-being of every child in Britain. He knew, however, that the public was rather fond of them, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, and so he had reluctantly accepted the position, sure that it would boost his flagging popularity and take him one step closer toward his ultimate goal: to take the job of his old school friend Prime Minister Edward Banks. Unfortunately for him, the public was far more perceptive than he gave them credit for, and kissing a couple of babies’ heads (then wiping his mouth afterward) had resulted only in a series of frustrating headlines, including:

  HUMPHRIES LOVES BABIES

  (BUT HE COULDN’T EAT A WHOLE ONE)

  The more he tried to improve his image, the more it backfired on him, which only intensified his hatred of anybody under the age of eighteen, if that were at all possible.

  It was only fitting, therefore, that the person who would ruin his career and leave him a quivering wreck in a padded cell for the rest of his life would be a twelve-year-old boy.

  • • •

  The beginning of the end for Cecil Humphries began on an uncharacteristically warm, sunny day in Liverpool. It had been four days since he had been photographed by a well-placed paparazzo stealing chocolate from the hospital bedside of a sick child and only two days since he had been pelted with eggs and flour when the photograph appeared on the front page of every newspaper in the country. Even for someone well accustomed to bad press, this had been a particularly awful week.

  Humphries looked out of the window of his chauffeured car, saw the smiling children, and sighed.

  “Never work with animals or children. Anyone ever tell you that?” he grumbled. James, his assistant, looked up from his notes, nodded obediently, and said nothing, as he had learned to do.

  “Different school, same brats,” he continued as the car pulled up outside the school entrance. “It’s like reliving the same nightmare every single time: a disgusting mass of grubby hands, crying, and runny noses.”

  He took out a comb from his jacket pocket and ran it through what remained of his hair.

  “You know which ones wind me up the most, though?”

  “No, sir,” said James.

  “The cute ones. Can’t stand them, with their big eyes and irritating questions.” He shuddered at the thought. “Do try to keep those ones away from me today, would you? I’m really not in the mood.” Humphries adjusted his dark blue tie and leaned over to open the car door.

  “What’s the name of this cesspit?” he asked as he pulled back the door handle.

  “Perrington School, sir. I briefed you about it earlier.”

  “Yes, well, I wasn’t listening. Tell me now,” said Humphries, irritated.

  “You’re presenting them with an award for excellence. Also, we’ve invited the press to follow you around while you tour the school and talk to the children. It’ll be a good opportunity for the public to see you in a more, um, positive light. And we’ve been promised a very warm welcome,” explained James.

  Humphries rolled his eyes.

  “Right. Well, let’s get it over and done with,” he said, opening the car door to a reception of obedient clapping and flashing cameras.

  • • •

  The teacher walked into the staff room and found Humphries and James sitting alone on the pair of brown plastic chairs that had been provided for them in the corner of the room.

  “I am terribly sorry about that,” said the teacher, handing Humphries a tissue from the box she had brought in with her.

  Humphries gave a tight smile and stood up. He took the tissue and tried, in vain, to dry the large damp patch of snot on the front of his jacket.

  “No need to apologize. I thought they were all utterly charming,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

  “Well, that’s very understanding of you. He must really like you—I’ve never seen him run up and hug a complete stranger before! I hope it didn’t distract you too much from the performance.”

  “No, not at all,” he said, handing James the wet tissue. James took it from him, paused to look around, and, not seeing a bin anywhere, reluctantly put it away in his pocket.

  “They’ve been working on that for the last three weeks,” said the teacher proudly. “I’m so glad you liked it. Anything in particular that stood out for you?” she asked.

  Humphries hesitated and looked to James who gave a barely visible shrug.

  “Yes. Well, the whole thing was marvelous,” he said. The teacher waited for him to elaborate.

  Humphries considered telling her that the best bit was when it finished, then quickly thought better of it.

  “Hmm. Ah. Yes, I know. I rather enjoyed the part where the donkey hit the angel on the head. I thought the little girl’s tears were most believable.”

  “Oh. Well, that really wasn’t planned,” sh
e said, and quickly changed the subject. “Hopefully, the senior pupils will be a little less unpredictable. We’ve assembled everybody in the hall. There’ll be about three hundred students there.”

  “And the press?”

  “Yes, they’re all there. We’ve set up an area for the cameras and journalists at the side of the hall.”

  “Good, good,” said Humphries, looking genuinely pleased for once. “Shall we go through?”

  “Yes, of course. Follow me,” said the teacher. She led them out of the room, down the brightly decorated corridor, and through the double doors to face the waiting assembly of students.

  Humphries walked in first. He stopped, smiled, and waved slowly, taking in the surroundings. The large hall was packed with children sitting on the wooden floor, all smartly dressed in their maroon uniforms, and the teachers sat in chairs that ran along both sides of the hall, positioned so that they could shoot disapproving glances at any pupil daring to misbehave. Humphries spotted the press area at the front and made his way toward them slowly, a wide, false smile on his face, stopping along the way to shake the hands of students, never taking his eyes off the cameras. He climbed a small set of steps and took a seat at the side of the stage. The headmistress took this as her cue and made her way to the podium.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it is my pleasure today to welcome Cecil Humphries, the education minister, to our school. Receiving this award is, without a doubt, the single greatest honor that has been bestowed on the school in its one-hundred-twenty-four-year history. Established as an orphanage by Lord Harold . . .”

  Humphries stifled a yawn, cocked his head, and tried his best to look interested as the headmistress began a twenty-minute history of the school and its achievements. He felt his eyes grow heavy, but, just as he thought he might not be able to stay awake a second longer, the headmistress turned to face him. He quickly sat up and straightened his tie.

  “. . . and so I’d like you all to put your hands together for our esteemed guest, Mr. Cecil Humphries.”

  Another round of applause, and Humphries approached the podium. He looked over at the headmistress and gave her his warmest smile (which would be better described as a grimace), then turned back to the audience and cleared his throat.