He didn’t like the idea of her being alone for even a few hours. Not that he’d expected her to say yes to going home with him, but it had been worth a try. “Why don’t you let me grab some food and meet you at your place?”
“Let me think about that?” She tapped a finger against her cheek and looked up, mocking him. “Uh, no.” She checked her watch. “Can you meet me in three hours back where we teleported? Inside the North Avenue Station?”
“Sure, but you look like you need more rest than that.”
“You know what they say about getting all the sleep you need when you’re dead. If I don’t find Tristan soon I’m guaranteed plenty of rest,” she said around a yawn. “And don’t say anything to Tzader or Quinn about me being here or what I’m doing, okay? The Tribunal said I couldn’t ask anyone from VIPER for help. I’m hoping they won’t construe your help in any way to get you in a jam, but I didn’t ask and I couldn’t stop you.”
She had that right. “I understand.” His cell phone had been vibrating since he’d returned. If he answered any of the calls, he’d either have to abandon her or lie to the caller.
He’d just as soon not inflict pain on himself by lying, and he had no intention of leaving her.
Before she turned to go, Storm stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t react to his touch, he lowered his head as though he had something to tell her and whispered, “Sweet dreams,” right before he kissed her.
Her muscles beneath his fingers tensed until his lips touched hers, then she actually moved into his kiss.
Damn, he loved the feel of her in his arms.
He wanted her thinking about him when she closed her eyes.
When she didn’t pull back, he let the kiss go a few seconds longer than he’d originally intended, but he could spend hours tasting her. She softened, fitting against his chest. Feeling her slowly open up to him was addictive, but the longer he let this go, the harder it would be to let her go.
Through sheer willpower, he lifted his head.
Her lips were still parted, as if she was not quite ready to end the kiss. Hell, he wasn’t finished either, but another minute so close to her and he wouldn’t be able to walk without limping.
He pulled his hands back. “Better get going. See you in three hours.”
“Right. See you.” She blinked, glancing around as if worried someone from VIPER or the Beladors might recognize her, then took off down Peachtree Street.
Following Evalle could be tricky.
Storm allowed her a head start so she wouldn’t notice he was tailing her. He kept her in sight for a mile and a half while she wove her way to Marietta Street via cut throughs.
She headed straight to where he’d seen her emerge from that abandoned building this morning.
He’d bet she lived there belowground.
The tang of sulfur kept invading his nose everywhere he walked, but he had a jaguar’s sharp sense of smell that could pick up scents from far off at times. Sirens wailed in the distance. Now that he thought about it, he’d been hearing those for a while, too. Could there have been a huge tanker spill of something sulfuric on the interstate?
He stopped at the corner, since Evalle would be alerted to his presence if he followed her to within the last quarter mile to her apartment. She was as safe as she could be for the next three hours. He headed back into the city.
Evalle needed more help locating Tristan than Storm could offer. She might not be able to ask anyone, but he could. A witch would be his first choice for scrying where Tristan, and possibly an Ashaninka witch doctor, might be hiding in the city.
Evalle would be upset if he involved Nicole.
And Nicole was a white witch anyhow.
To fight fire with fire, he needed someone from the dark side. VIPER had brought in a Sterling witch named Adrianna to help locate the Ngak Stone before the Kujoo.
Of course, Evalle didn’t like Adrianna, especially when the witch openly flirted with any VIPER agent. Storm had no sexual interest in Adrianna, but he could use her skills . . . depending on what she’d want in trade.
And he hadn’t promised Evalle he wouldn’t hunt Tristan on his own while she rested.
As for the Ashaninka witch doctor, better that he found her before the witch doctor found Evalle.
SEVENTEEN
Thunderstorms were building outside the conference room, where a different kind of tension vibrated inside these walls.
Quinn used his kinetics to dim the lights in the boardroom and to draw the blinds tight. He wanted no distractions once he started probing Conlan’s mind.
Tzader had been stalking the room, checking the door locks and practically rattling the walls with his anger until Quinn sent him a telepathic message to chill out. He’d reminded Tzader that the entire floor had been secured. In buildings scattered across this country, as well as several others, Quinn maintained a perpetually vacant floor at specific locations, such as this one.
An area available only via keyed elevator access explicitly for Belador use.
Having withdrawn to a corner, Tzader became as still as a stone, if one could image a stone blazing with energy.
Perspiration danced across Quinn’s forehead, a rare reaction for him, to be sure. Did he want to tamper with the mind of someone he considered innocent? No, but Tzader had returned from his meeting with Brina looking kicked in the proverbial nuts. Something had gone terribly wrong. If it took a mind search to appease her demand for action, then Quinn would do this for his friend and his warrior queen.
“I’m ready,” Conlan said quietly, as though intercepting Quinn’s reluctance. He sat on a plush office chair with his eyes shut and his back to Quinn, who stood above him.
Conlan’s next breath came out hard and shuddering.
Time was wasting.
The sooner this was done, the sooner they could find Evalle before she walked into a fog and shifted. Even if she controlled her beast not to kill, someone would kill her.
Quinn spoke in a hypnotic tone. “Focus on wherever you go to find peace and this will be easier for you.” Then he laid his hands on Conlan’s head and closed his eyes. Touching wasn’t necessary to tap a mind, but touch enhanced his ability to delve into the subconscious more quickly.
And possibly with less disruption to Conlan’s brain.
When Quinn began to roam the young man’s mind, he felt his way past areas that were like doors he could open and see into—past and present.
Quinn usually avoided anything in the future because the future didn’t come fully formed the way current or past events were revealed. The future held unknown elements, and knowledge gained from those excursions could change events.
Not always for the best.
If he found something to prove Conlan’s innocence, Quinn would be spared having to find a link to Larsen O’Meary’s spirit. Perhaps the good news was that if O’Meary had truly died, there would still be a link between father and son because both were Beladors.
Unusual for two Beladors in one family to be born under the PRIN star only, and only one generation apart. Little was known about those connections.
Opening the passage to Conlan’s present, which covered anything since he’d last slept, Quinn found nothing damning or helpful. When he moved beyond that to Conlan’s past, he tapped a flood of misery that washed through Quinn. He saw a grieving Conlan struggling to accept his father’s betrayal and death.
Conlan’s mother had abandoned the child early on, leaving him to be raised by their father.
Having been informed by a druid of Conlan’s powers, and after Conlan’s father had been revealed as a traiter, the Beladors brought the seventeen-year-old boy into their fold to train and protect.
The time had come to specifically dig for any hidden connection to the Medb, something that might remain as a shadowy image or telepathic conversation Conlan tried to keep to himself. Quinn searched for any memory the young man had of using his gift for splitting his image so he could
travel—similar to an out-of-body experience. Quinn found nothing more than a few experiences from training exercises.
Memory after memory passed in front of Quinn’s eyes without a glimpse of even one impropriety. He slowly released a breath over the confirmation that this O’Meary was proving to be the upstanding Belador Quinn and Tzader believed him to be.
But with no irrefutable evidence of his innocence, Brina would expect a full report, including a search of the precognitive area of Conlan’s brain. Conlan had shown signs of precognitive ability several times in training, but no special gift with it as yet.
This area of a mind was where Quinn had connected to a spirit once before . . . by accident.
An encounter he didn’t want to repeat, but this area also gave access to the future and his report had to include a review of that as well.
Swallowing against the dread that crawled up his throat, Quinn felt his mind settle completely into Conlan’s and spread out to mentally finger one spot after another until he entered the zone for the future where one dark spot pulsed with energy.
Quinn hesitated, but he wasn’t surprised to find that energy in this murky area. Resigned to his mission, Quinn called out to Larsen O’Meary.
Nothing happened at first, but he hadn’t expected the spirit to just be hanging out waiting on him either. All at once, he could feel the temperature flash hot, then cold.
The spirit was reaching for the connection.
Powering up his energies, Quinn extended further, touching the connection.
He’d expected something bright and strong, but this felt cold and dead, disturbing. The last time he’d tried something similar, the spirit had connected back to the host mind, which would be Conlan’s, in this case.
This was where Quinn had to decide if he was going to release his spirit to travel to another dimension through the connection in Conlan’s mind.
A dimension that opened a path to any images Conlan might harbor of the future.
Quinn’s palms were damp, but he couldn’t back out now and clear Conlan completely. When Quinn released his spirit to travel, he felt light as he floated forward. He encountered muddled blobs of color.
Sounds warped in and out. Shapes shimmered in a kaleidoscope of psychedelic patterns.
He reached out to Larsen’s spirit twice but fell short both times. When Quinn gave his spirit an extra push forward, the spinning shapes and colors tossed him back, as if he were a polar opposite. He realized he’d have to drop his mental shields to go farther.
This was the real test of whether he believed in Conlan’s innocence, which he did.
Tzader would forbid the move . . . if he had a choice in Quinn’s decision.
Disengaging his shields, Quinn tried again and passed through a gateway this time.
He shifted from viewing to engaging with the actual vision, a metaphysic change that allowed him to interact with the beings in this step into the future.
He stood still, allowing the visions around him to reshape and take form. Images fluttered between blurry and almost in focus. The stronger the emotion, the more defined an image would be.
Where was Larsen?
He shouldn’t be able to ambush Quinn here, but nothing was consistent or static when probing the future.
Chanting came to Quinn from a distance, then grew in volume, but never louder than a normal speaking tone.
Quinn didn’t move or breathe, to prevent alerting anyone to his presence, as he was an interloper in this dimension.
Nothing good ever came from being discovered somewhere you weren’t supposed to be. And the less he interfered, the less influence he’d have on the outcome.
The mist slowly calmed and sank to hover at his knees, exposing ten figures dressed in gray robes. Torches lit the inside of a cathedral-like building. The figures all faced forward, to where a person draped in a bloodred robe stood on a stone platform in front of them.
A chill ran up Quinn’s spine.
The place where they were meeting resembled what his education had taught him of the great hall in TÅμr Medb.
But it was the smell of decayed limes that confirmed he viewed a coven meeting of the Beladors’ greatest enemy—the Medb.
You seek me, Belador?
Quinn forced himself not to react at the voice so close to his ear. He turned his head to face Larsen O’Meary. Quinn controlled his gag reflex at the sagging skin falling off the dead O’Meary. He couldn’t allow an uncontained spurt of emotion to trigger a reaction and expose his intrusion to anyone else in this dimension.
Larsen said, I wondered when someone would come looking for my spirit. I granted this connection and will allow you to witness this glimpse of the future only if you agree to protect my son.
Agree to anything with a bastard who hadn’t given a damn about his child? Quinn would love to interrogate the spirit—and choke him to death. But that would be redundant, and he would not risk alerting the Medb to his intrusion.
To do so would allow access to Conlan’s mind.
Quinn would protect the young man first above all else.
If this really was a precognitive vision, getting an insight into Medb plans could be great news for Beladors, so Quinn nodded to encourage the spirit to continue.
Larsen turned his gaze toward the meeting in progress. His skin swayed with the movement.
Quinn did the same and willed the vision to turn slowly so that he could see everyone’s faces clearly. He paused the motion when the chanting ended and the figure on the platform lowered the hood on her robe.
He shouldn’t have been surprised at learning her identity, but one mistake and Kizira would know he was present.
This was new territory for him in mind probes and not the place he wanted to learn the consequences of making an error.
He reached for his deep point of peace to remain invisible.
The Medb priestess addressed her group. “I have seen a vision of breaching the Castle Treoir.”
As a direct Medb descendant, Kizira had once told Quinn that her visions were destined to become reality. She said, “I have seen the face of the one who will lead the charge.”
Quinn’s control quivered at the fierce urge to protect their warrior queen. Much as he wanted to return immediately to Tzader so they could figure out how to shield Brina, he couldn’t.
Not until he had learned all he could from Kizira. He tried not to think about what would happen to Kizira if she attacked Brina. Even if Kizira was Medb, she’d once saved his life . . . and shared her body with him.
He forced his mind to be still again.
Kizira’s voice rose with jubilation. “We have waited a long time for this opportunity and for the one who will hand us the key to our success. Step forward, brother, and tell everyone how we will triumph over the Beladors, who have persecuted you even though you bleed their blood.”
A man in the center of the pack moved forward and lifted his hands to his hood as he spoke. “There is an Alterant who is ready to lead us to victory by breaching the warding of Treoir Castle. In return, we have offered this Alterant what no one else can, the end of being victimized by the Beladors.”
When the hood dropped to the speaker’s shoulders, Conlan’s face—right down to the comma-shaped scar on his cheek—shook Quinn to his spine.
Conlan said, “When the time comes to take possession of Treoir, Priestess, I will deliver you Evalle Kincaid, who will destroy the inhabitants of Treoir Castle and open the gates for you.”
In that split second, shock overrode his emotions. Quinn’s control cracked.
Kizira’s head slashed sideways, her sharp gaze slicing through the layers of the vision to reach him.
Her eyes widened. Recognition. Shock. Confusion.
In the next second, she dove into his mind with a rush of emotions. What’re you doing here? I miss you. If you interfere, you’ll die. You shouldn’t be here . . . you betray me?
Her mind steadied and toughened as quickly as he t
ried to raise his mental shields against her.
Too late.
She was inside his mind, the last place he’d allow anyone.
And she was Medb.
Larsen laughed and howled. Fools, all of you.
Quinn called his spirit home, backing out of the mind lock with lightning speed. He gritted his teeth against the hot streaking pain that burst through his head and body.
The pressure built in Quinn’s head and expanded, ready to explode. Ferocious pain stabbed the inside of his eyes at a blinding pace.
Conlan groaned and cried out.
Someone yelled at Quinn, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. His head screamed for relief. Red hues burst behind his eyes . . . or was that blood?
At a distance, he heard Conlan howling like an animal trying to rip his leg from a steel trap.
Something hit him hard in the face . . . again . . . he put a hand up to stop the attack. Opened his eyes.
Tzader stood in front of him with sick worry in his face. “What happened, Quinn? Can you hear me?”
“I’m . . . I . . .” He crashed to his knees, unable to stand up. Warm liquid ran from his nose and ears. His vision had turned bloody.
Tzader was there with him. “Tell me what to do.”
“Conlan . . . alive?”
“Yeah, but he’s bad off. He’ll need a healer.”
“Gimme . . . minute.” Bile rushed up Quinn’s throat. Something drove a wedge down the center of his head. He gritted his teeth harder.
“Want lights?”
“No.”
“Quinn, your nose, ears and eyes are bleeding. Tell me you aren’t going to die from this.”
“Don’t . . . think so.” Quinn held up his hand that he needed a minute, but it would take longer to quiet the hellacious pain in his head. He couldn’t be sure Conlan wouldn’t hear, so he spoke to Tzader telepathically though it doubled his misery. Medb have a plan . . . to breach Brina’s castle. They mentioned . . . Evalle.
When Quinn squinted his eyes open, Tzader’s blurry face was slack with shock, then his jaw flexed with anger. Tzader said, They aren’t touching Brina or Evalle.
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