by L. B. Clark
I had only made two circuits of the library when Peterson sat bolt upright in his chair.
“The perimeter lights just went out,” he said.
Seconds later, the entire house went dark.
“Everyone move to the master bedroom,” Quinn said. I felt his hand on my shoulder, turning me toward the door, and then the world exploded.
Everything happened at once. Glass shattered, the loud bark of precise gunfire rang out, and I felt something warm and wet splatter against my arm even before I heard Quinn’s pained cry. In the next second, the wall behind me imploded in an avalanche of books, chunks of wood, pieces of drywall, and bits of brick. Something hit me in the back, and I went down, more stunned than hurt.
Moonlight streamed in through the gaping hole where the wall used to be, and I peered around as best I could without moving. Adrian and Dylan, who had been near the wall when it blew, lay sprawled on the ground, half buried in debris. Neither of them moved, and I sent up a silent prayer for them, that they - that we all - would make it through this night alive. From my position, I couldn’t see any of the others, and I couldn’t see the enemy.
But I could hear her, I realized. She was talking to London, who was pleading with her to leave Brian alone.
Taking a chance on my own safety, I turned my head toward the sound of their voices. Julia was kneeling over Brian, her hands on his face. From the way he was jerking and twitching, I had a feeling she was using her metaphysical cattle prod on him. I knew how much pain he had to be in, and I was scared for him.
London knelt nearby, yelling and pleading with Julia – and banging his hands against thin air. It took a moment for my brain to make sense of what I was seeing, but eventually it clicked. The psycho bitch had to have some sort of damned barrier up around her.
I lay my head against the cool, polished wood of the floor and tried to think. It was really damned hard to gather my thoughts when they kept bouncing from point to point: worrying about Brian, worrying about Adrian and Dylan, worrying about Quinn, wondering what was going on with Ashe and the others, wondering where Peterson had disappeared to, and most of all wondering how the hell we were going to take down the bitch while she was in her metaphysical panic room.
I didn’t have a single clue how to go about taking out Julia or her shield wall, so I chose to concentrate on something I did know how to do. With slow, almost silent movements, I crawled across the two feet of space between Quinn and me, skimmed off my t-shirt, folded it, and pressed it against the wound in his shoulder that he’d been trying in vain to keep pressure on. I leaned on it hard, ignoring Quinn’s stifled grunts and groans. It was while I was playing nurse that I spotted his gun.
He had to have dropped the Glock when he’d been shot. It appeared to have hit the floor and then skidded, placing it just out of my reach. Using Quinn’s body to hide my movements, I crawled backward, sliding across the floor toward the gun. I had just closed my hand around its grip, wondering if I would ever get a chance to fire it, when I heard London speak five words that froze my heart: “I’ll do whatever you want.”
I turned to look at him, fear turning my blood to ice.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said again. “Please just let him go.”
Julia sat back, pulling her hands away from Brian’s face, and studied London for a moment. “I don’t think I believe you. I think you’re hoping I’ll drop my defenses so you can come swooping in and save him.”
London tried to speak, but couldn’t seem to find words. Julia laughed.
“I thought so. So stubborn.” She gave him a slow, lazy smile. “I’ve always known that about you. So I have a backup plan.”
For a moment they just looked at each other, and then London sat back and wrapped his arms around his raised knees in a gesture I knew all too well.
“Come with me, and I’ll take you to her. Continue to fight me, and you won’t like the consequences.”
I didn’t know who the ‘her’ in question might be, but I had no doubt that Julia was telling the truth about his not liking the consequences of continued resistance. London obviously had no doubts either. He staggered to his feet, looking broken, and held his hand out in front of him, his fingertips grazing the unseen barrier.
“Take me to her,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.
Julia stood and extended her arm, moving forward until her fingertips touched the wall that separated her from London. And then she slid her hand forward, her fingers meeting London’s.
I didn’t know for sure that she’d dropped the wall. For all I knew, she could have just made a hole for herself. But it was the only chance I was likely to get. I rose into a kneeling shooter’s pose, braced my right wrist in my left hand, and fired. Then I fired again.
The surprised look on Julia’s face as she crumpled to the floor is something I will never forget. It will haunt me for the rest of my life.
London stared at her in shock for a moment before moving to kneel at Brian’s side, his fingers feeling for a pulse. A few seconds later, he doubled over, his forehead resting against Brian’s chest, and my heart did a backflip. I couldn’t make myself move, though. I just knelt there, holding the gun, as if waiting for Julia to rise up and make a target of herself again.
Sometime later – it could have been seconds or minutes or years – someone took the gun from my hand and made it disappear. Then London was in front of me, taking my face in his hands. I could see his lips moving, but I couldn’t make sense of whatever he was saying.
He stood and pulled me to my feet, turning me toward the door. I watched Carmichael help Dylan stand and then escort her to where Brian lay, unmoving. A young man and woman I didn’t recognize knelt beside him, and I realize they had moved him onto a stretcher. I tried to ask what I desperately needed to know – if he was alive – but the answer came in a form I never would have imagined. Violent spasms wracked Brian’s body, and I heard someone say the word ‘seizure’. Funny how that one word made it through the fog around my brain.
“Will he be okay?” I heard myself ask.
“Amy says he’ll live,” London told me. “Too soon to tell how much damage was done.”
“Alive is good,” I said. And then the world went kind of gray around the edges.
I felt strong arms lifting me, and I snuggled in close. I felt weak as a kitten, like I couldn’t lift my arms or my head. Sound seemed far away and what words I heard were back to making no sense at all. I gave in to the feeling instead of fighting it, greeting darkness like an old friend.
Not much time could have passed between my passing out and my coming around again. I woke lying on the rug in the master bath with Ashe and London sitting beside me. Ashe smiled down at me as I looked up at him.
“There you are,” he said. “Knew you couldn’t stay away.”
I struggled to sit up, and the two of them helped me. London stood and pulled me to my feet – again – and I realized with a start that we were both covered in blood.
“Don’t freak out on me,” London said, pulling me into his arms.
I felt the warm emotional trickle of projected calm flowing over me and realized that I was no longer wearing my amulet. Pulling back, I reached up to feel for the chain, just to be sure.
“It’s in the bedroom,” Ashe said. “You needed help. You still do, but I’m going to let London take over from here.” He patted London on the shoulder as he moved past him toward the bathroom door. “You okay, Stretch?”
London nodded, and Ashe left, pulling the door shut behind him. Without letting go of me, London turned on the shower and fiddled with it until he got the temperature right. Then he stripped us both out of our clothes and pulled me into the shower.
I tried to clean myself up, but my hands didn’t seem to want to obey the commands from my brain. London ended up washing my hair and soaping my skin. The act should have been sexy as hell, but under the circumstances, I didn’t feel much of anything.
Once we were clea
n and dry, London draped my amulet around my neck and pulled me down onto the bed to snuggle, still naked. It wasn’t about sex, but about comfort, about the simple, basic need to hold and be held. Sometime later, I slept –fitfully- my sleep punctuated with nightmares. Only after the sun had risen did we both finally fall into the deep, restful sleep of sheer exhaustion.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When I woke, the daylight was fading and I was alone. Memories of the night before filled my head, but I shoved them away as best I could and climbed out of bed. Someone had been kind enough to find clothes for me and leave them where I could find them. I carried them into the bathroom with me, and by the time I started dragging them on I was awake enough to realize that my nameless benefactor hadn’t bothered to include a bra. Not Dylan then. I frowned at my Medusa-like reflection and ran a brush – not mine, but I didn’t give a damn – through my hair. It didn’t help much, but at least I could say I tried.
I wandered into the living room where I found London and Ashe deep in conversation – conversation that halted as soon as I walked through the doorway. Ashe turned to see what had interrupted their discussion and gave me a smile.
“Come join us,” he said, and I crossed the room toward the couch where they were sitting.
As I moved past Ashe, he pulled me down to cuddle on his lap. It didn’t feel the least bit sexual or romantic, more like my vague memories of my dad holding me when I was little. London took my hand and leaned in to kiss me. They were treating me like I was fragile, and I wanted to be pissed about it but couldn’t summon the energy to care. I leaned against Ashe and closed my eyes, an action which I immediately regretted.
The nightmare images from the night before flooded back into my mind. Brian’s seizure, Adrian crumpled on the floor beneath a pile of rubble, the gaping hole in Quinn’s shoulder, his blood on my hands, and, most of all, the surprised look on Julia’s face and the wounds that had blossomed on her chest. I started shaking, and it only got worse when I remembered Peterson’s absence the night before and what it must mean.
“Ron’s dead, isn’t he?” I asked.
Ashe held me closer, like he could stop my shaking through sheer force of will, and London gripped my hand a little tighter.
“Doc Amy says he never even knew what hit him,” Ashe said. “He didn’t suffer and he never had a chance to be afraid. It’s not much comfort, but we take what we can get.”
Tears blurred my vision and burned my nose. I hadn’t known Ron Peterson well, but he’d been a decent guy. He hadn’t deserved to die, for sure. I wondered if he had a family, and said a silent prayer for everyone who would have to face life without him in it.
“Where’s everyone else?” I asked as London brushed tears from my cheek.
“Here and there,” Ashe said before London could answer. “Carmichael’s holed up in one of the bedrooms with a fifth of whiskey. He’s convinced that Ronnie knew what he was setting himself up for when they traded places. And hell, he might even be right. Ron had a knack for prescience. Might have been he knew the risk he was taking.”
“Everyone else is at the hospital,” London added. “They’re releasing Adrian today, and Quinn’s apparently flirting with all the nurses.”
“And Brian?”
“He’s not doing so great,” London said, looking away.
Ashe tightened the arm around my shoulders, giving me a little squeeze. “What your idiot boyfriend meant to say is that Brian’s got a long recovery ahead of him. He’s not in any danger. He’s gonna be all right.”
I leaned my head against the back of the couch, my face half-buried in Ashe’s hair. It was the first time I’d seen it down instead of tied back. Up this close it was more blond than grey and smelled like summertime.
“The doctors aren’t sure how ‘all right’ he’s going to be,” London added. “Right now, it’s not looking too good.”
“He’s still breathing, Stretch,” Ashe said. “And he’s got that pretty little blonde of his to play nurse for him. He could be doing a lot worse.”
“And he has hope,” another voice chimed in from somewhere. I lifted my head to smile at Adrian. He was moving slowly, like every step hurt, which it probably did, but he smiled back at me. “He’s getting better, London,” he added. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“What are you guys not saying?” I asked.
Adrian eased himself down onto the sofa. He looked at Ashe and at London, studying their expressions, and then answered me.
“Whatever Julia did to him caused some neurological damage. His brain’s been pretty fuzzy, but that’s improved a lot.”
“That’s good,” London interrupted. “Last I heard, he wasn’t even recognizing anyone.”
“Yeah, that’s gone. His head’s clearing. And the rest of it...well he’s taking it in stride. He says he’s happy just to still be alive.”
“Rest of what?” I demanded.
Adrian took a deep breath, winced, and blew it out. “His fine motor control is shot to hell.”
And just like that my tears were back. I covered my face with one hand and buried it in Ashe’s hair. Brian without the ability to play his guitar....
Music was his greatest love, next to Dylan. It was more than just a hobby or a job, it was how he dealt with his emotions, how he connected to the world, how he expressed himself. His music was the core of who he was. Without it, I wasn’t sure what would happen to him. I didn’t figure it could be anything good.
“He’s gonna be okay, princess,” Ashe said, stroking my hair. “One way or another, he’s gonna be just fine.”
I just held on to Ashe and cried until I couldn’t anymore, grateful for his and London’s efforts to comfort me even though they didn’t do a damn bit of good. Maybe later I would be able to believe that Brian would be all right, but just then I didn’t think anything would be okay ever again.
After I’d cried myself out and washed away the tears, I felt more in control. I marched back into the living room, ready to demand to be taken up to the hospital, but the sight of Martine sitting on the sofa next to Adrian stopped me.
“Where did you come from?” I asked instead.
A smile curved her lips ever so slightly. “The hospital,” she said. “I brought Adrian home, but I stopped to talk to the investigations team.”
“The what?”
Her eyes flickered to Ashe and then back to me, her smile fading.
“We hadn’t gotten that far,” Ashe said. He held out his hand to me, and I took it, but I slid down into the tiny space between him and London rather than curling up in Ashe’s lap again.
“This place has been crawling with agents,” London said.
“So much for staying under the radar, huh?” I snuggled against London, and he hugged me to him.
Martine’s smile was back. “I can make sure any file on London mysteriously disappears.”
“What has your team found out?” Ashe interrupted. “They won’t tell me a damn thing.”
“Did you think they would?”
She launched into a detailed recap of everything that the army of agents had learned, and I managed to dig the pertinent information out of the avalanche of data: the explosion had been caused by good old-fashioned explosives rather than magic; Quinn and Peterson had been shot by rounds from some sort of high-powered, long-range sniper rifle; between logic and what Vanessa had told Martine, she’d determined that the two agents had been targeted because they presented a double threat, wielding both martial magic and mundane weaponry; and Julia wasn’t working alone, but with a man who seemed to be her lover or boyfriend or maybe something more.
“Wait, whoa,” I said. “Vanessa? When did you talk to Vanessa?”
“She was waiting for the field team last night,” Ashe explained. “It was her, not Julia, that they spotted. One hell of a glamour enchantment laid on her, but it didn’t fool Carmichael for a second.”
“We took Vanessa into custody,” Martine added. “I quest
ioned her. It was difficult to sort out the facts from the fantasy, but I don’t believe that the man she mentioned – the co-conspirator – is a figment of her deluded mind.”
“What’s going to happen to her?” I asked, pressing closer to London.
“Likely she will spend a long time in a mental facility. Perhaps they can even help her.”
London tried to speak, but his voice cracked. A moment later, he tried again. “Do you have any idea who the man she mentioned might be?”
“None at all,” Martine said with a slight shake of her head. “But if he exists....”
“Then this isn’t over,” I said, my voice little more than a whisper.
“That may not be true,” Martine said. “From what Vanessa said – which may not be entirely accurate – calling out London was all Julia. The man in question helped her, but only because he thought London might be a useful part of a larger plan. Essentially, he didn’t care whether London was on board.”
“So....what? We spend the rest of our lives looking over one shoulder?”
“It’s that or live with a guard detail from the agency,” Ashe said. “It’s your choice, but I’d choose a little healthy paranoia.”
“I’m okay with that,” Adrian said.
I thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “Me, too.”
Martine looked pleased. I guess she agreed with Ashe that paranoia beat hell out of an agency detail.
“If you guys are done heaping bad news on my head, I’d really like to go to the hospital. I need to see Dylan and the boys. And I’m sure Dylan needs me, too.”
Adrian nodded. “She’s been missing you.”
Ashe took my hand again and gave it a little squeeze. “Actually, princess, we’re not quite done here.”
Martine looked puzzled, and Adrian concerned. Neither of them knew what was going on either, but that didn’t make me feel any better. I felt even worse when London inched away from me to sit on the opposite end of the sofa. I looked over at him, but he was staring at his clasped hands where they hung between his knees.