Unbreakable Storm

by Patrick Dugan

  Marcel gulped. “I didn’t realize it could happen. We had the watches to slow down our Gifts; he didn’t.”

  “Bottom line, genius, is not to mess around with people’s Gifts.” Abby scratched at her cheek. “I do like that you tried to free our people. It took balls of Carbinium to pull it off.”

  Mom flushed. “Abby, could you try not to sound like a sailor?”

  Abby had the decency to look ashamed. Mom had been working on Abby’s manners, though I don’t know why she bothered when we couldn’t go to nice restaurants or fancy parties. “Sorry, Mom.”

  Blaze chuckled. “Dude, she’s a warrior, not a Disney Princess, and I agree. It took a lot of brains and courage to free them. It didn’t work out, but we have to keep fighting.” Blaze choked out the last as another coughing fit took him. He got himself under control, gasping for breath as he sat down.

  “We need to get you to a doctor, Eugene.” Oh no, the-mom-knows-best tone. I hated that one almost as much as mom-as-lawyer voice. “You’ve had ‘allergies’ since you got here. I know it’s more than you are telling us.”

  “Susan, when you get to be my age, you’ll understand. Things take a long time to heal. I’m fine; it’s probably bronchitis. I’ll get some antibiotics from the medical kit.”

  She glared at him but didn’t argue anymore. She leaned back on the console; I could tell she was worn out.

  “Marcel, as admirable as your motives were, we can’t take those kinds of risks unless we are all on board. Promise me you’ll discuss any other plans you concoct before you…”

  Marcel nodded like a bobblehead in a hurricane as his hair exaggerated his gesture. “Yes, sir. I promise.”

  “You guys can talk until dawn,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I’m going to...” I never got the chance to finish as the alarms went off, blaring loud enough to wake the dead.

  So much for getting any sleep.

  22

  Marcel launched into action, hands blurring across multiple keyboards to locate the source of the alarm. Feeds from hidden cameras popped up on the screen, hazy green images from the night vision lens. One centered on the monitor, enlarging to fill the whole screen. A parked car stood a hundred feet from the underground bunker where the vehicles were stored. Marcel zoomed the camera to get a better look.

  A dark colored car grew, making the details painfully obvious. Fog coated the windows; the car rocked gently as it sat there. Mom cleared her throat. “I think we’ve seen enough. I guess that’s a false alarm.”

  “The car belongs to a Caroline Brenton, a cashier at Quiky Stop.” Marcel glanced up at the screen, his jaw dropping open. “Oh yeah, false alarm.” He quickly closed the feed window.

  Everyone laughed. Tension ebbed a bit after the false alarm, but not by much.

  “I think it’s time to get some sleep,” I said, waving over my shoulder as I returned to my room. “Good night.”

  A chorus of good nights followed me out. I retraced my earlier path, ending under the warmth of the comforter on my bed.

  A few minutes later, I dozed off and found myself standing in the center of a formal dance. Women stood dressed in wide-bottomed gowns of every imaginable color. Some wore elaborate headdresses, others veils covering their hair. The men wore tunics with belts around their waists, glittering hilts of knives hung at their side. Couples bobbed in time to the classical music playing around me.

  I stood on a low pedestal, above the dancers, seeing the intricate patterns they made, the colors swirling like a kaleidoscope. The enormous room holding the festivities could have been plucked out of one of those period movies mom liked. Deep red walls with gold symbols rose in delicate arches to meet at the top of the dome. The images on the dome were intricate, elaborate depictions of people. As I focused, the details became sharper, and I gasped. The paintings depicted people being tortured and killed by demons of all sorts.

  “It is a striking piece of art,” a woman said from behind me. The platform had grown to accommodate a second person. She wore a velvet gown of a red so deep it could have been mistaken for black from a distance. A gold corset enhanced her breasts, so they were prominently on display. Her waist-long, silver hair held a gold circlet, like a crown. The scent of roses tickled my nose as she stepped closer to me.

  “My, you are much taller than I thought.” She circled me, studying me like one of those mannequins in the clothing stores whose eyes always followed you. Her hand slid across my back as she passed behind me. Finishing her loop, she put her hands on her hips, pouting slightly. “Well, you can’t be dressed improperly for a gala.”

  I glanced down, realizing I stood in the middle of the room in the t-shirt and sweats I’d gone to bed in. Luckily, this being a dream, there wasn’t a dress code.

  “This won’t do at all.” She waved her hand and my clothes changed into a red and gold vest that hung to my knees, leggings, and knee-high black boots with a blue velvet cape. I looked like a reject from the Three Musketeers: Sir Doofus. “No, not for this type of event.” Another wave and the outfit turned into a black and gray patterned doublet with puffy shoulders and red and gold cording running to the elbows. Tight leather pants and tall boots completed the ensemble. I’d seen couches with less cording than I wore. She cocked her head, lips pursed. “No, too fanciful.” This time I wore a blue and red tunic with silver buttons running up the front over a soft white shirt. In addition to leather pants and boots, I now wore a large silver belt wrapped around my waist.

  “Now you look stunning.” She clapped like a little girl who’d gotten a special present.

  I had to admit I liked the getup. Too bad I didn’t have a Halloween party to go to. My fashion designer stood before me, one hand on her slender hip as if waiting for something. I just stared at her, trying, unsuccessfully, to not notice how impressive her breasts were.

  She huffed. “Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?”

  My face flushed hot with dread. “I don’t know how.” I wished it had come out more smoothly, but it sounded more like a rap record. My next number one single. “I..I..d.d.d.don’t.kn.kn.know.how.how.how.” And people say I can’t sing.

  She giggled a giggle straight out of a princess movie. “Of course you do, darling.”

  I bowed and then extended my hand to her. She took it gracefully, and I spun her slowly around into my arms. Keenly aware of all the curves pressing against me, I began to wonder what kind of dream this was.

  My feet began a stately dance as we moved around the pedestal in time with the music. I relaxed and tried to enjoy my brain’s strange fantasy. I guess hanging out with the magi had put me in a medieval sort of space. My mouth decided to cooperate by producing actual words. “Just for the record, who are you?” Yes, charming as ever. You can dress me up, but you can’t take my foot out of my mouth.

  “You may call me Yelena.” She nodded regally to me as we moved in time to the music. “You are an interesting young man, what should I call you?”

  I started to say Tommy, but something nagged at me. “You can call me Surge.” Using my new code name. It felt right and much better than the Sparky fiasco in Atlanta.

  Something like anger flashed in her eyes, but it fled quickly. “Surge it is. Might I ask why you were with the Council?”

  Warning bells rang in my head, but I snoozed them like the morning alarm. “Just talking about weird stuff that happened. Some lady name Eiraf showed up. A bizarre sort of day.”

  “Anything else?” A small grin lit her mouth as she pressed against me harder.

  I barely heard her, distracted as I was by the feel of her soft, warm breasts against my chest, and the view didn’t hurt either. “Yeah, I think so.”

  We twirled through a series of intricate steps, the music swelling around us like a wave. I twisted her back, pulling her close as we returned to the original rhythm.

  “Eiraf plays a dangerous game, Surge.” She tightened her grasp on my hand. “She claims to protect the balance, but she does so at your ex
pense. I do not believe this is right. I need to warn you things aren’t as they seem.”

  I knew something was wrong but couldn’t focus enough to think. The whirling dancers beyond us blurred until they were just colors revolving in a strange pattern. The music sounded wrong to my ears. I tried to wake myself up but couldn’t. I wondered if this had slid into a nightmare.

  “I would gladly protect you,” she said as we executed the elaborate steps of the dance.

  It would be nice to have someone to protect me, and Yelena certainly would be a pleasant distraction. I thought about how her mouth would taste if I kissed her.

  She continued. “The Council will expend you to advance their plans. You must be watchful.” She smiled at me, her white teeth gleaming in the darkening room. I peered around. The dancers were gone, and the room completely dark, though I could see shapes moving at the edge of my vision.

  I pulled away, or at least attempted to, but she held me, her grip becoming painful. A thought sparked across my sodden brain. “Was the Kre-kelal there to protect me?”

  She laughed. Gone was the tinkling giggle of earlier, replaced by a cold, harsh one. “What an unfortunate accident. He overstepped his authority, and you were good enough to punish him for me. Thank you. See, we already make a great team. Come to me, and I will give you anything your heart desires. I will do things to you that you would enjoy immensely.”

  This time, I pulled out of her arms successfully. My senses cleared, allowing me to see the true nature of the room. Still beautiful, but a hard, cruel look etched her face. The soft smile had been replaced by a sneer and an air of superiority. “Do I not please you? I can be anything you desire.” Her face melted, reforming in an instance. Wendi peered back at me. My heart leapt up my throat to lodge in my mouth. “Would this be your preference or...” She changed, and Mom smiled at me. “Maybe this.” She laughed at my obvious discomfort. “Maybe, you’d prefer something completely different.” Another change and Jon stood before me. I backed up, heedless of the edge of the pedestal. She resumed her original form, but she wore a tight leather jumpsuit, unzipped to her belly button. “I can be whatever you desire, but you must pledge yourself to me.”

  I screamed no, beating at the wall of sleep that held me in this nightmare. I wanted, no needed, to wake up. I ran for the edge of the platform. If I could leap into the darkness, I could force myself awake.

  “You’ll not get away so easily.” Hands of all types reached out of the darkness for me. Some had fingers with rotting skin and crumbling nails; some were talons or paws. I reared back in full panic mode. I searched for an exit, any exit, but Yelena pulled me back to face her. She produced a silver hairpin with an exaggerated gesture. “We will speak again, Surge. You can count on it.” She stabbed down, driving the pin through my left shoulder. I screamed in pain.

  And I kept screaming as I sat bolt upright in my bed. Still in my pajamas, I pulled my t-shirt over my head, checking for the wound I would surely find there. Nothing. I looked around, and nothing had been disturbed other than my bedding, which tangled around my legs. I moved the pillows and saw nothing out of the ordinary. The clock said ten after eleven in the morning. I grabbed clothes, deciding wakefulness was preferable to the nightmare I’d just experienced.

  If I had known what kind of day it would be, I’d have gone back to sleep.

  23

  Mountain Dew and Pop-Tarts are the best breakfast ever created. I opened my second pack of Wildberry, rejoicing in the indulgence of breakfast. Given the late night, training had been canceled for the morning. Eating, then being kicked in the gut by Abby, tended to make you lose said breakfast.

  Abby stomped into the kitchen, took a muscle-building drink, which tasted like chalk and death, and snatched a protein bar with the density of concrete. I don’t know how she could stomach it. She dropped in across from me, grunting what I took for a good morning. She shoved half of the bar into her mouth, and I swear I heard a tooth break.

  “Did you get any sleep?” I asked, popping another glorious piece of toaster pastry into my mouth. I took a long draw on my soda to chase it down. A satisfied “ahh” followed.

  She gave me an exasperated look. “That shit will kill you. I couldn’t go back to sleep after all the excitement. You?” She destroyed the rest of her bar, pushing her hair out her face, now half fire engine red and half Barney purple.

  “Dyed your hair last night?”

  She nodded as she chewed the brick she called breakfast.

  “I slept, but only out of exhaustion.” Something tickled the back of my head as if I forgot an important fact. “I think I had a nightmare.”

  “You don’t know? I guess I need to stop hitting you in the head; you’re going soft.” She chuckled at her joke. “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to change up my hair. What do you think?”

  To the outside world, Abby is all warrior. Tough, fierce, and virtually unstoppable in a fight. The obvious answer here would be something snarky that would probably give my Gift a lot of energy to absorb. In reality, she wanted to be appreciated, and she wanted her appearance to be cutting edge. There are a lot of things I’d play with her about, but not this. “I love it! If I’d been more awake, I’d have mentioned it when you walked in.”

  Her eyes lit up, sitting straighter in her seat. “Really? You aren’t just saying that, are you?”

  “Nope, it’s awesome. Wait until Mom sees it.” It’s always nice when the truth is on your side. She had the style and swagger to pull off any hair color; the wilder it was, the more it fit her. It was easy to forget she wasn’t just a battering ram.

  A frown crossed her face. She lowered her voice. “How do you think Marcel is after last night?” She glanced around to make sure nobody walked in.

  I shrugged. “After everything we talked about, it was a cringe-worthy mistake. We’ve all made mistakes though, so we’ll see.”

  “The timing sucked, but we will need to do something to free all those people. The Protectorate has to go.” She finished off her protein drink and crushed the bottle flat. At least it was empty this time.

  “If we don’t find Waxenby, none of it will matter from the sounds of it.” Another half memory floated through my head. I started humming a melody that sounded like something off the classical channel.

  Abby cocked her head at me. “Am I boring you?”

  I shook my head. “I have this damn song stuck in my head, and I don’t know where I heard it. Maybe I didn’t sleep as well as I thought.”

  “Good morning,” Mom said as she came in. She went for the coffee, and the pot was full. “Thank you for making coffee.”

  “No problemo. I figured you’d want it when you got up.” I finished off my drink, tossed the empty can in the recycling, and grabbed a new one from the fridge. I cracked it open and returned to my seat. I saw the look on her face, so I held up a hand to stop her before she started. “Abby already lectured me on the soda.”

  Mom grinned, sitting next to Abby. “As she should.” Mom took Abby by the shoulders, turning her to examine the new hair color. “Oh, I love that combination. I didn’t think I would, but it is fantastic, honey.”

  Abby beamed. I might have an opinion, but Mom had the only opinion that truly mattered. “I’m so glad. It’s not too much?”

  Mom sipped her coffee. “Absolutely not, the color suits you. You have a great style.”

  “I wish we could go shopping. I found this leather jacket that would be so incredible…” Abby stopped talking, her eyes going to the door. Marcel stood there, obviously worse for wear.

  Mom might not be Gifted as we were, but her gift was for taking care of her kids. She flew to his side in an instant, sitting him in a chair at the end of the table. “What’s wrong?”

  Tears welled in his eyes. “I went back through the logs at the Lair. There were four people in the building the night I deactivated the collars. Max doesn’t have a collar, but the other three did.” I jumped up and grabbed a cherry Pepsi from
the fridge, opened it, and handed it to him. He took a long swallow before continuing. “We know what happened to the one guy, but I can’t find the other two. It’s like somebody has taken them and is masking their signal. I’ve been looking at every feed in Granite Falls for any sign of them.”

  Mom glanced at Abby and me, but we didn’t know any more than she did. “Marcel, with their collars off, you wouldn’t be able to find them, so it makes sense that they’ve vanished.”

  He shook his head, sending his hair waving like a wheat field in a storm. “Each collar has a dampening unit in it, and I terminated the processing, but the collar remains in place. It allowed their Gift to return, a lot faster than I would have thought.” He stopped for another drink, wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Mom handed him a napkin from the pile on the table. He gave her a guilty look, wiped his dry mouth with the napkin, and continued. “There is a multitude of systems incorporated into the collar. The nanotech involved is incredible. The Protectorate engineers knew their stuff, that’s for sure. With the level of miniaturization, they achieved—”

  Abby slapped her palm on the table. “Professor, stick to answering the question. Why do you think they’re gone?”

  I stifled a laugh, earning a kick in the shins from Mom.

  “Oh, sorry.” Embarrassment flared across his face. “One of the components is a tracker. Each has an encrypted code assigned to it. I left it on because the Reclaimers’ readers get the ID from the collar when they do identification sweeps. If they saw a collar but didn’t get a reading…well, you see what I mean.”

  I did. I’d been on the receiving end of the sweeps the Reclaimers did almost daily at the Secret Lair. The soldiers would come in and push us around, hoping someone would start trouble. The Granite Falls Reclaimers were bullies for the most part. I couldn’t imagine what they’d do if they found a collar not working. They might kill the person “subduing” them.