by Jade Kerrion
She blinked in surprise. “What party?”
~*~
Miriya turned her head to stare out of the window. The sky stretched out in a limitless horizon before her, but she saw nothing. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and reached up absently to swipe a single teardrop before it rolled down her cheek.
“Miriya?” A gentle hand wrapped around hers.
She closed her eyes against the heartache that resonated through her. The voice was his voice, and yet it was not. She might never hear him speak her name again.
“They took his memory.” She kept her voice low. There were few passengers in the first-class section of the plane, but this was a private conversation on an intensely personal topic. Her mind was still connected to Danyael’s, the telepathic link so deeply buried that he was unaware of it. Even Tim Brown had not picked up on it. “He doesn’t know us anymore. He doesn’t remember me or you or Zara, though that’s probably a mercy.”
“Why? Why would they take his memory?”
“I don’t really know. Roland Rakehell commanded the Mutant Assault Group officials who arrested him. He said something about Danyael embarrassing him.” She shook her head. The extremity of Roland’s decision stunned her. If all parents erased the memories of the children who embarrassed them, the world would be full of amnesiacs. “I don’t know what he meant, though he got what he wanted. Danyael doesn’t remember him now either.”
“Miriya, why did he give me his identification?” Galahad asked softly, voicing the question that had been at the top of his mind ever since he stared in disbelief at the thin black wallet safely nestled in the motorcycle helmet he had caught from Danyael.
Miriya shrugged. “Because he thought you deserved a chance, and he was the only one who could give it to you.”
“In spite of the cost.”
“Danyael doesn’t really count the cost, in large part because he’s been trained not to dwell on himself. The ‘cost’ is just another difficult mile in his long, lonely road—not much different from any other—something he’ll get over with time and persistence, the same way he’s survived every other disaster in his life.”
“But—”
She shook her head and tried to change the topic. “I don’t understand Danyael much, honestly. He’s council-trained—”
“Aren’t you as well?”
“Council-trained? No, I work for the council but I joined them as an adult. The council-trained are the young alphas who were raised—and some would say, shaped—by the council. There aren’t many of them, but they all have two traits in common. They’re all extremely talented, and they’re all highly placed in positions of authority and influence.”
“Including Danyael?”
Miriya smiled thinly at the doubt she heard in Galahad’s voice. “Yes, especially Danyael. There is a profound disconnect between how the world sees Danyael and who he really is. He may have a dead-end job in a poverty-stricken Brooklyn neighborhood, but he is one of the most powerful alpha empaths alive. In addition, Lucien commands one of the largest private fortunes in the world, and as of right now, Danyael is the sole beneficiary in Lucien’s will.”
“But why would the fact that Danyael is council-trained matter?”
“Because they’re different. They see the world differently from most mutants, and even from people like me—mutants who work for the council. Some say that council-trained serve the council’s highest purpose, or its secret agenda. Those two terms are used interchangeably, though it has never been clear to me if they’re one and the same.”
“And that would be?”
“Officially? A peaceful coexistence between humans and mutants, and everything in between. The cynical might say the continued dominance of humans in spite of the genetic superiority of human derivatives and mutants.”
“And you don’t agree?”
“I work for the council. Of course I believe, on some level, in a peaceful coexistence, but the human domination part I can do without. Still, the council takes care of its own, especially the alphas. They’ll take care of Danyael, but it’s probably just as well we separated the two of you. Together you’re too big a target to resist. America hates you for your perfection, him for his mutation. Getting out of the country was absolutely the right thing to do.”
She heard the thoughts he did not give voice to. But what good are power and influence if you’re not even going to use them to defend yourself? That’s insane. Why didn’t he fight back? Why does he allow humans to treat him like that? “And what will we do now?” he asked, the simple question standing out in stark contrast to the swirl of confusion, even distress, racing through his thoughts.
Miriya hesitated but decided not to preemptively address the questions Galahad had not spoken aloud. Privacy was hard enough to come by these days; there was no need for her to dispel his illusions of personal space so quickly. “We’ll lay low for a while. Contact Lucien and tap into his vast resources in Brazil. Maybe he can find a way for us to get out to an even safer country.”
“Like Singapore?”
“Singapore has its own issues, but at least it’s open to the genetic revolution.” She glanced over at him. “The real question is what you want to do, Galahad.”
The question stretched out before him, as limitless as the horizon. Zara was right. I won’t be like Danyael. I will not be taken again, and I won’t be trapped. I will not live my life, like Danyael does, under the control and influence of those who fear and hate me. “I want a chance to live up to my potential,” he said quietly. His dark eyes were intent, focused, and serious. “My full potential.”
A shiver raced down her spine as her telepathic powers gleaned the extent of the determination behind those simple words and assessed the depth of ambition that would drive the most perfect selection of genes available to humanity.
Shit, she concluded. The world is seriously screwed.
~*~
It was going to be a beautiful Christmas, Seth Copper concluded with a faint smile of relish. The recent infusion of Danyael’s blood surged through his veins. He would enjoy the rush of energy, of vitality for several more weeks. More intoxicating was the rush of power. How much of it was Danyael’s mutant powers and how much of it simply the psychological rush of being able to dominate someone as amazing as Danyael, he did not know.
The phone on his mahogany desk rang, interrupting his reverie. He glanced at the number on the caller ID display and decided to pick it up. That conversation was long overdue anyway. “Yes, what is it?” He paused, listening to the rush of words on the other end, the stammer in the man’s typically smooth, relaxed voice.
Seth chuckled. The man was terrified of him. Seth enjoyed power in all forms. His current target was far less interesting, but until he had Danyael back again, it would have to do. “Yes, I’m well aware that Danyael has returned to New York.”
He paused, frowning, as the man continued. His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing slightly. “Are you backing out of our agreement?” His tone was cool, dangerous.
There was another rush of words as the man on the other end hastened to appease him.
“No, certainly not, Phillip,” he cut off the conversation before it wasted more of his precious time. “I am aware that Lucien is similarly invested in Galahad, and that if anyone can find out where he is, it is you. However, Galahad and Danyael are not interchangeable. There is more to beauty than the physical appearance and so much more to power than perfect genes. Danyael’s true beauty and power is in how his soul shimmers when you hold it to the light, stunningly vulnerable and impossibly fragile, yet perfectly whole. There is no substitute for him. Or for his blood.”
He listened. The frantic stammer on the other end assured him that the idiotic suggestion had been a random idea, that his allegiance was unaltered, his loyalty still secure. He did not believe a word of it, but now that the off switch in Danyael’s brain no longer worked reliably, Phillip Evans was something of a necessity. For
the time being, he could stay close to Danyael publicly, since Alex had so conveniently asked him to care for the empath. Over the longer term, Phillip was far better positioned to keep track of Danyael’s movements and to identify opportunities such as the one he had enjoyed just days before. If Danyael put up a fight, any attempt to snatch him out from under Lucien Winter’s watchful gaze would need a great deal more planning and subtlety. Phillip Evans was instrumental to that end.
“And one last thing, Phillip. Killing yourself will not solve the problem. Your family will pay the ultimate price, regardless, if you do not provide me with continued access to Danyael.” Seth paused, unsurprised by the silence on the other end. The pace of Phillip Evans’s breathing had accelerated. No question, the man was in a state of near panic.
Seth was amused, but ultimately, the conversation wearied him. He wanted peace and quiet; he wanted to return to his ever-evolving fantasy of what he would do to Danyael the next time. Would Danyael resist, or would he be able to catch Danyael unawares? The game had become a great deal more engaging. Chuckling to himself, he said one last thing before hanging up the phone. “Merry Christmas.”
~*~
This was not how she had envisioned spending Christmas Eve, Xin decided as she sipped slowly from a glass of champagne. It was even better. She scanned the room, recognizing many business and political leaders as well as key media personalities. She was content to watch from the sidelines as the rich and the powerful mingled in Lucien’s magnificent home, now perfectly restored after the pro-humanist attack. Lucien’s father and mother hosted the Christmas Eve event, as they did every year. Their divorce notwithstanding, they appeared happy and comfortable together as they circulated around the room chatting with their guests, their arms loosely linked in familiar intimacy.
Lucien, who wore a tuxedo with as much ease and comfort as he did jeans and a sweater, was at home in his surroundings, handling the inevitable attention with good humor and natural grace. A blonde in an exquisite and much-too-revealing violet dress lingered close to him for several long minutes until Lucien introduced her to another guest and smoothly handed her off. The blonde was still blinking in surprise as the other man proudly escorted her toward the decorated buffet tables, probably wondering how she had managed to lose her grip on Lucien.
Xin stifled a giggle and was still smiling when Lucien weaved his way toward her. It took awhile. He was stopped by well-meaning guests along the way, people who wanted a moment of his time to talk to him and offer him their best wishes for the Christmas season and the New Year. “Something funny?” he inquired as he stepped up to her.
“I noticed how elegantly you pushed her onto someone else.” She chuckled, her gaze shifting back toward the blonde.
“Ah.” Lucien followed her gaze and grinned too. “Someone else who is more likely to appreciate her, I might add.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“I suppose,” Lucien replied. “Are you all right? I’m afraid I’ve been terribly remiss in my duties as a host, seeing how I’ve left you here on your own.”
“Oh, no, I’m quite all right.” She waved off his concern. “People-watching is one of my favorite pastimes, and there are so many people to watch here.” She saw Phillip Evans step back into the room through the patio doors, a deeply worried expression on his face as he slipped a cell phone back into his pocket. It took him several seconds to regain his composure, and even then, his practiced smile was shaky as he turned to greet a guest. “He doesn’t look happy,” she observed, with a nod of her head toward Phillip.
“He’s been distracted recently,” Lucien agreed with a faint frown. “I’ll check in with him when things settle down. Any word from Zara?”
“Not yet. I do have something interesting for you though, which I found when I had a spare moment in between scrambling home to get ready for your party and then rushing back here. According to a passenger dispatch, Miriya Templeton and Danyael Sabre boarded a Varig flight to Rio de Janeiro three hours ago.”
“Danyael?” Lucien’s eyes widened and then narrowed into thin slits. “Galahad.”
“Right. I confess I didn’t see that coming, but it looks like Galahad is safely on his way out of the country under Miriya’s protection.”
“How did they pull off the switch?”
“I don’t know, but if they indeed did switch, then Zara may be with Danyael right now.”
“That’s not very consoling.”
Xin laughed quietly. “I know, but it’s better than his being alone.”
“That’s highly debatable. We know she wasn’t on the flight with him back to New York, or the pilots would have mentioned it to me when they called.”
“Zara’s ingenious enough to get to New York in other ways that do not require showing her official identification. I’m fairly sure she carries multiple backup IDs on her at all times. Do you think Danyael will call you?”
“I know he will. The only question is when. If I don’t like the way he sounds, I’ll head out to New York.” There was nothing he could do now, except wait. He released his breath, the soft sigh edged with frustration and self-condemnation. “I don’t know what exactly the hell I accomplished by calling Danyael when this whole mess started. He’s far worse off now than he was two days ago.”
“I’d contend that he didn’t have any chance of staying out of it. His father dragged him into this mess twenty-five years ago, not you. As for what we got out of it, the threat of the abominations has been neutralized and Galahad is safely out of the country.” She kept her voice low. “By the way, I deleted his name and Miriya’s from the Varig passenger manifest, and in about six hours, I plan to hack into the Brazilian immigration department and delete their names from the record of people entering the country as well. Unless someone found their names on the flight manifest before I did, they’re effectively untraceable.”
“You’re a terror behind a computer, aren’t you?”
She smiled winsomely. “Technology likes me, that’s all.”
“Unfortunately, none of Danyael’s problems can be solved by money or technology,” Lucien said, his blue eyes darkening as they always did when he was troubled.
“You’re brooding again,” Xin chided, her voice soothing. “Danyael’s problems can be solved only by people, and I think you’ve found that he has friends. The council appears willing to protect and defend him. Danyael has powerful allies, Lucien, and he has more friends than he knows.”
“And what does that give him?”
“Hope,” Xin replied simply.
Lucien felt oddly absolved of the vague sense of guilt that had been hounding him ever since he summoned Danyael from New York. Xin had a way of putting things in perspective with her calm, flawless logic. She was a blast of icy-cold fresh air compared to the heated swirl of complex emotions that simmered beneath Zara’s seemingly cool façade.
Xin was good for him. The random thought that flickered through his mind caught him off guard, but he smoothed the frown of puzzlement before it had time to register on his face. Lucien glanced at his watch then turned back to Xin. “Come with me.”
She arched a brow at him. “What?”
“Come mingle with me.” He flashed a smile that for sheer impact almost rivaled Danyael’s and Galahad’s immaculate beauty. “If I have to endure this, then the least you could do is keep me company.” He held out an arm to her and waited until she slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow.
Xin allowed Lucien to lead her back into the heart of the festivities. She smiled with easy, natural grace up at him, unaware of how radiantly beautiful she was just then or that Lucien’s breath had caught in his throat. “If I forget to tell you later, Lucien, I had a wonderful time tonight. Merry Christmas.”
~*~
“Danyael Sabre is back in New York City.”
General Kieran Howard, sipping slowly from a glass of bourbon, swiveled around in his leather seat. “What is your assessment of Danyael?”
“He’s impressive,” Tim Brown said, standing at ease in front of his commanding officer. “He has stronger psychic shields than many defense-class alpha telepaths and—”
“He didn’t lose control, did he?” Kieran interrupted. “Of course, he didn’t. It would take a great deal more than a memory wipe to push Danyael over the edge.”
“Sir, it would be dangerous to push Danyael too hard.”
“Are the cracks already showing? Do you recall, Tim, the incident at Kivisuo, Finland, some twenty years ago? An entire village—two hundred and fifty-seven people—died under mysterious circumstances. The Finnish government clamped down on reports of the incident, but rumors leaked anyway. Fredrik Virtanen, the first confirmed alpha empath, had lost his mind and his unleashed empathic powers killed everyone within a two-mile radius.”
“Sir, Danyael is believed to be a great deal more powerful than Virtanen ever was.”
“Exactly. I want him for the assault group, Tim. I want him to turn to us. To do so, we’ll have to drive him past his breaking point. Danyael has three anchors: the solace he finds in his calling as a healer, his faith in the council, and his friendship with Lucien. When we destroy each of his anchors, he’ll realize that he has no one to turn to, but us.”
“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, sir.”
“Yes, but Danyael Sabre is worth the price. Keep him under close surveillance, Tim. Our chance will come, soon. I don’t want to miss it.” Kieran relaxed in his chair, pleased with the turn of events. “I know exactly what we need to do next. Danyael will be ours in under a month.”
~*~
Zara Itani strode through LaGuardia Airport, indifferent to the attention she drew. She took her attractiveness for granted most of the time and did not realize how irritation and frustration made her violet eyes glitter, sparkling as they caught the light. With a careless tug, waves of long blue-black hair cascaded from a loose knot that she had piled on top of her head. Men stared. Women loftily looked away. She did not notice or care as she shrugged into her long leather coat and stepped out onto the street.