Cara held up a trio of fingers. “Only three?”
“Oh, and the oversight committee. I’m not sure what Bryant’s up to with them, but we should put some effort into finding out what we can about them as well.”
Her second nodded, looked at her watch, and stood. “It’s time to make the trek across the river. Are we driving or walking?”
Diana pushed herself to her feet with a groan. “Walking. Staying motionless hurts.”
“The Drow bitch?”
“Nylotte, yes.”
Her companions scowled. “I hope you don’t invest too much trust in her.”
She cocked her head to the side in a query. “Is your problem that she’s a Dark Elf? I know there’s some animosity between our kind and their kind.” Her teacher had outed Cara as an elf, and Diana had learned of her own Elven lineage from her mother long before.
“Neither. She’s an arrogant wench who’s overdue for a good smack-down, that’s all.”
Diana laughed. “Well, when you put it that way, I’m not sure I can argue.”
“Damn straight. Let’s get moving. It wouldn’t do for the most powerful person on the team to show up any more than fashionably late. Or you, for that matter.”
She put a hand over her heart. “Ouch.”
They were still laughing and making verbal jabs at one another when they finished the walk across the bridge to the entertainment complex on the opposite shore. Tonight’s venue was a Brazilian steakhouse, complete with servers who masqueraded as gauchos and offered various meats on lethal-looking skewers. The restaurant was a single giant open space with a side dish buffet in the middle. They’d made special arrangements to have a reasonably quiet corner to themselves with an adequate number of tables pushed together to seat the entire team. Sloan had made one of his rare appearances—in disguise, of course—and there was an unfamiliar face seated next to Kayleigh. The tech beamed at something the newcomer had said.
He was young-looking, clean-shaven, and had long, wavy dark hair pulled back on the center of his head into what looked like a ponytail. The sides were buzzed short with only enough stubble left to show it was a preference rather than nature. His features were generally soft, but his chin was solid and his cheekbones sharp.
Damn. I can see why Kayleigh likes him. Of course, the fact that he looks like a sixteen-year-old would be a problem for me. By the way the tech laughed at his jokes, Diana assumed it probably wasn’t a problem for her. There should be regulations against hiring your own potential partners. Then she thought about the spark that had always existed between her and Bryant and decided that perhaps she should simply keep her mouth shut. Her mental voice applauded the decision.
“Always a good choice where you’re concerned.”
And, as always, shut up, you.
She made a circuit of the table before she sat, greeted each member of her team, and made some kind of physical contact—a hand on the shoulder, a fist bump, and in Anik’s case, a solid punch to the upper arm. The others laughed at the man’s complaint as she finished and held her hand out to the newcomer. “Diana Sheen.”
He stood, natural grace appearing where her instincts suggested gangling discomfort might occur. Her mental voice intruded.
“He’s not actually sixteen, you know.”
She sighed inwardly. Shut up, or I’ll stun myself into unconsciousness so I don’t have to listen to you anymore. The voice’s mocking laughter faded in time for her to hear his name.
“Deacon Addams.”
“Welcome aboard.”
He nodded eagerly. “I’m beyond happy to be here.” Kayleigh had explained his situation and the reasons she thought he’d be a good fit, and Diana was sympathetic.
“Have you met everyone?”
“More or less. I’m still working on names.”
She laughed. “Wait until you try to add the call signs. That’s when it gets really confusing.”
“He’ll be Warlock,” Kayleigh said quickly. There was neither doubt nor question in her tone. He looked surprised but pleased. Diana merely shook her head. “Acknowledged, Supreme Commander Glam.” More laughter followed as she moved to the only open chair remaining—at the head of the table with Cara on her left and Anik on her right. “Everyone, flip your coaster things over to the green side so we can get some food here. Anik, find our server and pick up a few bottles of wine. I trust you to choose good ones, unlike the rest of these people.”
The demolitions expert grinned. “The mark of an excellent leader is knowing the capabilities of her team. I’ll be back.”
They ate and laughed and ate a little more. Rath, who had arrived with Kayleigh and Deacon and sat near them, tried each offering carefully and provided Diana with a surreptitious thumbs-up or thumbs-down. That particular game had become a restaurant staple, and she enjoyed it more than she would admit to anyone else. She burst into laughter as he tried a piece of Parmesan chicken and made a terrible face to go with a double-thumbs-down. She rose under the guise of going to the buffet and bent to whisper in his ear as she passed. “Seriously, why even bother to offer chicken at a place with this much delicious steak?”
“Exactly. Mooooo.”
His impersonation was right on the money, and she walked away laughing.
As they neared the meal’s end and the more ambitious among them ordered desserts, she poured another half-glass of wine and leaned back, inordinately pleased with the people around her. Deacon recovered from a fit of laughter and raised his hands. “Okay, okay. I think it’s important that all of you know who Kayleigh truly is, rather than the false impression she’s apparently given you.”
The tech elbowed him in the ribs, but he simply moved out of reach with another laugh and leaned on the table. “When we were in college, our football team had a big rivalry with the other team in the state. Details are unimportant. What is important is that a tradition of pranking the other school was an all-important feature of our student experience. So, it was time for the big game, and Kayleigh here had an idea.”
She reached a hand out to cover his mouth but he avoided it and lurched out of his chair to stand on the opposite side of Rath from her. “You’ll protect me, right, buddy?”
The troll turned to Kayleigh and gave her a ferocious growl and the whole table collapsed into laughter. When it subsided, Deacon continued. “Anyway, she decided that since their mascot was a ram, it would be fun to create a half-sized robot version. Well, it was a fairly innocuous idea at first, but after the third night in a row without sleep, the party got a little loopy.”
He paused with the instincts of a showman to allow the suspense to build. He was already laughing and had to force out the final words. “When the other team came out for their opening ceremony, a life-sized robot ram with huge spiral horns ran out of the stands. It seems that someone—and to this day no one has taken credit, but someone…”
Deacon stared directly at Kayleigh, who refused to meet his eyes. “Someone had programmed it to charge anyone in the opposing school’s colors. It dashed onto the field and did exactly that. They scattered hilariously. The programming kept them safe and sent the ram after a new target if it got too close, but of course, they didn’t know that. Our last sight of the robot was as it chased the poor person inside the other team’s mascot costume out of the stadium.”
The table exploded into laughter again. Kayleigh tried to make arguments in her own defense, but no one had any interest and each attempt made them laugh more. Finally, when it subsided, Diana stepped outside, followed in short order by Cara and Anik. Her second-in-command gave her a grin. “That was a fun night with fun people.”
Diana nodded. “The funnest, and the best.”
“We’re heading over to the hotel bar for a drink. Do you want to join us?”
She shook her head. “I need a walk to clear my head. You all have one for me.” Enjoy it while you can. I’m sure someone will be along to mess it up soon.
Chapter Five
&
nbsp; Marcus had enjoyed every moment of his first week of freedom since his liberation from the Cube. He mourned the loss of his boss and friend in his own way by submerging himself in a variety of illicit pleasures. He’d been a little untethered and had lost focus on and connection to the world around him when Vincente’s lawyer appeared unexpectedly. She’d caught him as he exited his new apartment headed for yet another night of self-abuse, identified herself, and offered to give him a ride to wherever he was going.
During the cross-town trip to his favorite gentlemen’s club, she’d revealed that the promise his erstwhile employer had made while they were in prison together was still valid. The man had set everything in motion to provide him with a replacement for his lost limb. That realization—the validation of his trust and the potential to be whole again—had struck him like a bucket of ice over the head. He’d returned immediately to his apartment to detox aggressively in preparation. After days of cleansing, the time had arrived.
His new lieutenant, Murray, had appeared at the appointed moment to pick him up. The man stood outside on the street and held the rear door of the Escalade open for him. His underling was dressed better than he remembered from before in a tailored black suit and matching fitted shirt and tie. The ensemble served to minimize his bulk, and the precision of the cut provided an air of intelligence and competence that he’d formerly lacked. Either his skills, his wardrobe, or both improved while I was away.
He nodded as he climbed in, and Mur closed the door behind him. He drove in silence to a recently constructed office park along the river occupied by a number of high-tech firms, a product of the city’s ongoing courtship of the science and technology sectors. In the basement of one of the new buildings was a research laboratory funded by a consortium of local universities. What the funders didn’t know was that the theoretical developments under investigation had already reached practical application. The researchers had simply chosen to employ them for their own benefit before they revealed their success.
When the elevator opened on the lowest floor, the lobby resembled every hospital Marcus had ever seen. The woman behind the reception desk stood and smoothed her slightly more elegant than professional red dress before she walked around to extend a hand and greet him with a sharp smile. Her mid-height heels matched the outfit perfectly, and her voice held the sultry edge he expected to hear. “Welcome, sir. Before we proceed further, I need to provide some ground rules. No names will be used and no records will be kept. All financial arrangements have already been taken care of. This man has been permitted to accompany you as an assurance of your safety. We expect that after the procedure is finished and you depart, we can rely on both of you for complete discretion. Any failure in that regard would be met with a rapid and decisive response.”
Both men nodded. The lawyer had warned him it would be this way and that he should take their warnings seriously.
The woman smiled more broadly and tilted her head toward the door leading into the facility. Her short, straight blonde hair bobbed slightly. On a less beautiful person, the cut might’ve looked masculine. On her, it merely emphasized the perfection of her features. Marcus wondered for a moment where the organization at the center of all this had found her, then decided that given the lawyer’s level of gravitas, the receptionist was very likely more than she seemed. Which, in this place, would make sense.
They left the lobby and its guardian behind and walked down a long corridor before they were intercepted by a trio of people in dark suits—two women and a man. The oldest member of the group spoke first, her curly gray hair and no-nonsense voice a harsh contrast to the woman in scarlet who’d greeted them in the outer room. “Sir, welcome. It is time for your assistant to depart.”
Marcus gave him a nod, and Murray left with a wave. She continued, “You’ll be here for a week, assuming normal response to the operation. The procedure itself will take most of a day, and you’ll spend the following one in a medical coma. After that, we’ll wake you and begin the processes of integration and training.”
Marcus smiled in anticipation. It’s so Close. “What are the risks?”
The man chuckled. There was an Ivy League look about him that matched the arrogance in his tone. “Considerable. However, your benefactor believed them within the range of tolerance, and rest assured, we are the best of the best.” The woman beside him nodded. She appeared to have the same background. He noted that her nails were clipped short, one of the hallmarks of a practicing surgeon. Hopefully more accomplishing than practicing. Her voice was smooth and haughty. “You will be in the most skillful of hands, sir. You need not worry.”
There’s not much point in worrying unless I prefer to pass up this opportunity. If anything goes wrong, I surely won’t wake up to find out about it. He grinned. “I’m all in. Let’s do this thing.”
He had woken from the coma feeling rested and energetic, which was unexpected. The nurse, who seemed to have no other charge except him, had explained it was due to the drug mixture they employed, which he would need to continue to take for the rest of his life. He’d had a moment of concern at being beholden to the organization, but the arm that rested, still inert, at his side had banished it instantly. It was a high-tech marvel of shiny metal that immediately brought the Terminator to mind. He’d imagined the hand turning to him and pantomiming a mouth. “I said I’d be back,” which sent him off into gales of laughter. The realization that part of his jubilation was probably chemical didn’t faze him. I could get used to this. The nurse, a man who looked like he spent every one of his off hours pumping iron, grinned. “It feels great, right?”
Marcus nodded.
“All I know is it’s part science, part magic, and all good.”
The days since then had followed an unchanging routine. Ten hours of training each day, divided into three sessions. Ten hours of sleeping in one solid block, and the drugs took all choice in the matter away. The rest was divided between relaxing, eating, and other mundane tasks. Each session with the doctors left him craving the next as his new limb became more and more functional.
Finally, though, it was time for his last three hours of practice and imminent departure thereafter. The nurse escorted him into the training room, which featured a wide array of devices, large and small, most of which he still had no idea of their purpose. He sat in the form-fitting white plastic and vinyl chair in the center and they ran through the basic battery of tests and asked him to perform certain tasks with his new appendage. The mental connections had been sluggish at first, the arm’s response frustratingly languid, but through practice and the doctors’ constant reassurance that it was an ordinary part of the process, he’d gained full control of the limb.
He could use it for all the normal things one might use an arm for with no more difficulty than the one he was born with. The new appendage was stronger and faster, limited only by what his skeletal structure and human musculature were able to support. They’d explained that it would be possible to essentially rebuild him if he so desired, but he’d seen Wolverine movies too many times to want that level of pain and invasiveness.
The arm itself was a technological marvel. In addition to the normal functions—which would’ve been Nobel-worthy on their own—the doctors had packed an abundance of surprises inside. He was most pleased with the ability of the hand to extend and compress into a blade able to both slice and stab. There were three places in the limb designed to hold modular weapons and choosing from among the many options had been exceedingly difficult. They’d assured him that he could swap them out if they failed to fully satisfy. The metal itself had electronic camouflage that would allow it to pass as skin by sight if he desired. The doctors had offered to sheath it in something very like regular flesh, but he was done with regular anything. This was a new beginning, and he intended to make the most of it.
Before his departure, he’d requested a list of other available procedures and had already prioritized potential augmentations once he wrangled the
money.
Marcus had returned everyone’s fond wishes with matching ones of his own, thrown a broad grin and a wink to the blonde at the desk, and strode outside to find Mur at the car in the company of another man. He advanced with his right hand extended, ready to transform his other limb and stab it through the newcomer’s throat if he sensed a hint of menace. The man only nodded, more deeply than necessary as a show of respect, and stammered, “Tommy. I’m Tommy. Ketchum. Tommy Ketchum.”
He released the man’s grasp and his worries. Murray had mentioned him previously as a trustworthy soldier. He climbed into the car, and Mur took the driver’s position with Sloan in the passenger’s seat beside him. His lieutenant twisted to face him. “Boss, Sarah has asked for you. We told her when you’d be out, as you instructed, and she’d like you to come to the warehouse as soon as you can.”
Marcus grinned when he imagined the woman’s voice as she gave what were likely the real instructions. Tell him to report straight here—immediately. He nodded agreement, and they drove the short distance in silence. He was impressed that the third man in the car didn’t feel the need to fill the time with empty chatter. Being a blabbermouth was a telltale sign of insecurity, and he wanted no such nonsense around him anymore. Where once he had enjoyed exploiting his underlings’ weaknesses and pitted them against each other as a way to confirm his own superiority, his own confidence was now unshakable. At least where humans were concerned.
They pulled into the gravel lot outside the warehouse, and he saw it with unfamiliar eyes. Dilapidated, broken windows stretched high above on the dirty building. It didn’t match what he thought of as the new him, but perhaps that would be an effective disguise. He led the way in, Murray a step behind on his right, Sloan two steps behind on his left. His stint in prison had given him the opportunity to focus on stretching his senses, on trying to discern what was happening around him, and he’d come out more accomplished in that area than before he’d gone in. They circulated among the non-magicals and he greeted those he knew and was introduced to others by his escorts. He then made the bold move to cross to the magical side of the room to exchange quiet words with those he’d met before. As he made the rounds, he noted how many of his acquaintances were missing and seemingly replaced by newcomers.
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