Free The Rising by Kelley Armstrong

lived on the streets, though, your job was survival. You couldn’t afford to take an interest in much that didn’t directly affect you. Obviously, Ash had focused on the skin-walker aspects of Project Phoenix. Anything else, he’d learned incidentally. I couldn’t imagine not wanting to know more. Not being curious. But so far, he hadn’t shown much curiosity about anything—our situation, our experiences, our lives. Maybe even that—basic personal curiosity—is a luxury for some.
    Given his lack of interest, I suppose it was surprising how much he remembered of things he’d heard in passing. He knew what the four successful types were even before meeting us. He also knew that every kid between the ages of fifteen and seventeen in Salmon Creek had been a Project Phoenix subject.
    Every kid between fifteen and seventeen. Every kid in our grade, most in the grade below us, and a few in the grade above. That didn’t even cover all the subjects, though. There’d been a lot of attrition at the beginning—parents realizing they didn’t want their kids being brought up in a lab after all, however utopian that lab might be. All four skin-walker parents went on the run, as Rafe already told me. Which is why they’d fought so hard to get me back into the fold.
    There’d been six subjects in each of the six groups. Thirty-six altogether, excluding the preliminary subjects like Annie. Of the eight in Salmon Creek showing powers—me and Rafe, Daniel and Sam, Serena, Nicole and Hayley, and Corey—seven had been on that helicopter. The eighth—Serena—was already dead. Was that a coincidence? No. We were the only ones for whom the modifications seemed to work.
    While it was still possible there would be late bloomers, we were the guarantees. That’s why we’d been on the same helicopter. That’s why the mayor went with us. We were the most precious cargo. The Nasts knew that, which is why they’d targeted our helicopter. Hell, it’s probably why they started the fire to force the evacuation.
    That was really all Ash knew. I’m not sure how much it helped our situation, but at least we understood it a little better.

TWELVE

    O UR MEMORIAL SERVICE WAS set for three thirty the next afternoon. That seemed like an odd hour, but maybe it was the only time they could get the park. Or maybe it was like holding it in Vancouver—a way to minimize the turnout. I’m sure they would have liked to skip the memorial altogether, but that was impossible, as long as they were pretending they gave a damn.
    As soon as we realized the St. Clouds had declared us dead, we’d understood that they’d washed their hands of us. Traded us to the Nasts. Ash had a little more insight into the deal from his contacts, who knew supernaturals in both Cabals.
    Cabals were, as we’d figured out, corporations run and staffed by supernaturals. Huge corporations. For regular supernaturals—like witches and half-demons—it gave them a job and a community where they didn’t need to hide their powers. Kind of like what they apparently had in mind for us. You work for us; we’ll look after you. Wage slaves provided with a decent job and good benefits.
    The St. Clouds were the second smallest Cabal, more heavily invested in science than industry. The Nasts were the biggest. They’d let the St. Clouds do all the hard labor of creating and raising us, then they’d swooped in to steal the finished product. After the fire and crash, the two Cabals had negotiated a deal. The Nasts got all the kids on the helicopter . . . if they could catch them. The St. Clouds got paid for us and kept the “rejects” in hopes that some would be late bloomers.
    So we’d been sold. Did that mean Rafe and Sam were with the Nasts now? What about Annie? We had no idea.
    Not surprisingly, Ash hated the idea of showing up at the memorial. Also not