Inheritors of Chaos

by Barbara Ann Wright

  “So, what am I doing here?”

  Fajir sighed. “I…need you…to be alive when this fire comes, so…I can see if your power is real.” She waved vaguely. “Before I kill you.” She looked away, not knowing which expression on Nemesis’s face would anger her more: fear or gratitude or hope or something else entirely. She stood. “Come, Nemesis. We will walk my road for a time.”

  “My name is Lydia, and if you try to kill anyone who doesn’t deserve it, I’m going to find a way to stop you.” She stood, her legs shaky but her expression determined.

  That would do. “Rest assured, everyone I kill will deserve it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Patricia had forgotten what it was like to be around a crowd. The warehouse district of Gale bustled with people shouting and lifting, building, and tending animals. Their heartbeats surrounded her; the susurrus of their minds flooded her own. The press of Gale came so much closer to swamping her mind than the small numbers at the mine. Moment to moment, she could almost enjoy it, losing herself in sound and sensation, imagining herself among a great swarm of butterflies. But when she tried to think, it felt like struggling to move through that very same swarm. She couldn’t see, and the feelings became frightening in their enormity.

  When the feel of struggling reminded her of being trapped in Naos’s head, she fought down panic. They weren’t one anymore. She didn’t have to split herself in half in order to deal with this power. She breathed slowly and blocked out the denizens of Gale inch by precious inch.

  She was not Naos, even though they’d once been the same. She could hardly believe it, but Dillon had been right, and that annoyance helped center her. Before him, it had been so easy to cast Naos as the villain and herself as the escaped prisoner, but Dillon argued otherwise, and she’d been forced to believe him. She wasn’t better or worse than she used to be, and Naos was just a megalomaniac because that was who she’d had to be in order to deal with her enormous power. But what if Naos’s motivations had dwelled deep inside Patricia herself: her mild obsession with Dillon, her desire to have everyone do what she said without argument, her dislike of subterfuge, and her desire for everyone and everything to make sense?

  So, Patricia’s reasons were why Naos had tried to subjugate the world before, but what about now? Patricia shivered. Naos wanted Patricia back so she could keep a rational thought from one moment to the next. She’d dipped into Patricia’s corner of their mind all the time to bathe in rational thinking. Without that, Naos would probably drift through space wherever the music of the universe took her.

  Patricia took another breath. It didn’t matter. Simon had defeated Naos before; he could do it again, and she would help, then she would be free. She’d be the most powerful person on or above Calamity.

  She only hoped she didn’t have to kill Simon before he turned his power on her.

  At the converted warehouse, workers were putting the finishing touches on her new rooms, something opulent enough for visiting guests. Someone had tried to hide the construction with colorful throws tacked to the walls or furniture placed in front of stacks of boards or bricks. She drifted to the window overlooking the street and stared at the bustle below. Maybe she’d ask for a skylight and a ladder so she could climb to the roof and see the city spreading below her like a buffet.

  Smiling at the thought, she wondered where Dillon was. In the days they’d been in Gale, he’d avoided Liam’s old friends like the plague. He seemed happy to oversee the construction, and she was happy to let him. She’d kept contact with Jonah out in the plains, but he hadn’t reported anyone coming from the north, just some minor agitation with the plains dwellers, but no concerted attack such as Cordelia Ross had warned them about. Patricia didn’t bother to tell anyone about a minor scuffle, not wanting to let slip that she had scouts. Who knew what the Galeans would do if they discovered Dillon’s old body up walking around?

  They were already poking around too much. Patricia was growing tired of shooing away Horace’s telepathic probes. For someone who was supposed to be in love with Simon, he certainly spent a lot of time trying to pry into Liam’s mind. She’d tried to make her new blocks resemble Horace’s old ones, but so far, every time she thought he was satisfied, she’d catch him sniffing again. When Cordelia or the others tried to visit, Dillon put them off, claiming he was too busy for chitchat, but that couldn’t hold forever. Cordelia stunk of suspicion, and Patricia knew she wanted to grab the mayor so Horace could do a deep dive into his psyche. She thought Patricia was manipulating him.

  She didn’t know the half of it.

  Patricia wandered down the hall to the mayor’s new office. Dillon sat at a desk, looking at some paper. The sunlight slanting through the window picked out strands of his dark hair and turned them gold. When he looked at her with eyes as bright as emeralds, she smiled. She couldn’t have picked him a more handsome face if she’d tried. Liam’s body was leaner, without the command inherent in Dillon’s old muscles, but Liam’s body seemed to have charm genetically implanted behind its high cheekbones.

  “I never enjoyed paperwork before,” Dillon said, “and that hasn’t changed.” He tossed the paper aside.

  “Don’t you have people to do that? Mayoral aides?”

  He grinned. “I have to learn some of it if I’m going to fake being the mayor, at least for a little longer.”

  That was a surprise. “Not planning to keep the job?”

  He mumbled something, and she had to clench her hand to keep from reading him. She’d have to break her own blocks to do so, but more than that…she couldn’t let him be completely right about her! She’d changed, damn it.

  And she didn’t want to ask what he was planning to do if it wasn’t being the mayor. “Cordelia and her friends are going to come for the mayor. Soon. They haven’t stopped fishing.”

  Dillon leaned back in his chair and scrutinized her. The color might be different, but there was something about the intensity of his stare that she remembered from before: charisma he’d managed to take with him. “You got all that from surface thoughts?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t gone prying and tinkering. Cordelia Ross happens to think very loudly. I’m still playing by your rules. No ‘mind fucking.’”

  He sighed. “You’re still using your power when you don’t need to. One look at that woman’s face will tell you she doesn’t trust you.”

  Patricia’s anger flared. “So, I’m only supposed to use my power when you give me a direct order, Colonel?”

  He stared at her like a parent waiting for the end of a temper tantrum. Patricia took a deep breath. She was getting tired of playing his games. As soon as she didn’t need him…

  She forced herself to take a breath. Contemplating three murders in one day had to be her limit. She was not going to kill Naos just to become her. “What are we going to do about the mayor’s friends?”

  Dillon stood. “Head them off. Come on, you and me are going out.”

  He led her to a bar in one of the nicer areas in town. She wasn’t sure alcohol was a good idea, but as they settled amidst the tables, and people said hello to the mayor, Patricia began to relax. A distraction was just what she needed. She even sipped the local mead and enjoyed the smell of fresh flowers arrayed in a clay vase on the table. The place was only a quarter full, and the conversations around them were background murmurs. The walls were a light sky blue that put her in mind of a spring morning.

  Patricia hadn’t tried the alcohol at the mine. As she sipped, she found that she’d missed the burn, the way the tongue went slightly numb in its wake. It was like a signal for better times to come.

  On her second glass of mead, Patricia felt someone prying around the edges of Dillon’s telepathic blocks. She nearly dropped her cup before slamming it down, splashing the table and Dillon’s sleeve.

  “Hey!” he cried, frowning at her.

  “They’re doing it again,” she said, wanting to shout but keeping her voice down. “Someone’s tr
ying to get in your head.”

  He sighed and put his own cup down. “It’s my fault. I’m not doing a good enough job fitting in. I should have come here before you and eased the way.”

  She blinked, beyond surprised that he would admit such a thing. “That’s…they would have just broken your blocks without me.”

  “But they might not have suspected anything if you weren’t with me.”

  So, he was blaming her after all. Before she could yell for real, he held up a hand.

  “Don’t worry. I thought this might happen. I’ve got an idea.”

  “Run for it?”

  He snorted a laugh. “As if Ross the bulldog would just let the mayor go.”

  The psychic probe came again, irritating her like a splinter embedded too far under her fingernail to reach. “Is now when you order me to use my powers? Or are you still trying to prove you’re not a hypocrite who’ll say whatever he needs in order to get what he wants?”

  To her surprise, he laughed again. “Doesn’t make me wrong.”

  “What are we doing, Dillon?”

  He frowned hard and leaned forward. “Louder, please. The whole fucking town didn’t hear you.”

  Patricia clenched a fist and took another breath. She did not have to lash out. She was not Naos. “If they gang up on me, they could overwhelm me like they’re planning to overwhelm her.” That niggling tendril came again, and Patricia felt along it to Horace’s power on the other end. “I’ve got him in my sights.”

  Dillon drained his glass. “Lead me there.”

  Patricia’s hackles raised at being ordered about, but she did as he said. Maybe he was going to pummel Horace into submission. Whatever happened, she was certain he’d be begging her to use her power by the end.

  Patricia led the way out of the bar and down the street, following Horace’s signal until it snapped off; Horace sensed her coming, but she had the pattern of his brain down now. She could follow him anywhere.

  When she and Dillon turned the next corner, Horace was standing by a rug stall on the edge of the market, Cordelia Ross with him. They were pretending to shop. Simon Lazlo must have had more important things to do, but Patricia bet he was waiting somewhere, power at the ready for the slightest telepathic call.

  “Horace, Cordelia!” Dillon shouted, raising an arm.

  They turned, but their smiles were hesitant, caught in the act.

  Cordelia took a step forward. “Liam, what—”

  “What’s with the mind probes?” he asked as they reached each other.

  Her eyes widened while Horace glanced at the ground. Neither bothered to answer.

  “I was just sitting and having a drink with our new friend and ally.” Dillon nodded at Patricia. “Then she tells me someone’s trying to wiggle into my mind. I asked her to trace it, and here you are.” He smiled, but even Patricia could tell that the look seemed wrong. It didn’t reach his entire face.

  As if realizing that himself, he settled on a frown. “What gives?”

  Cordelia frowned right back. “I should ask you that. You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Maybe I have more important things to do.”

  She tsked. “And you’ve been making more pissy comments. If something’s wrong, blow up at me, for fuck’s sake.” When Dillon took a deep breath, Cordelia pointed at his face. “See, that’s what I mean. Something’s holding back your anger, and I think it’s her.” She switched her glare to Patricia, who shrugged, so ready to shut her down.

  Dillon reached up slowly, put his hand on top of Cordelia’s, and lowered it. “Yeah, you got me. I think it’s bad form to fight in front of our allies.”

  “That’s a load of shit. She’s in your head. She got around Horace’s blocks and replaced them or something.”

  Or something was right. Patricia smiled, starting to enjoy herself. She kept her power coiled, unseen, around Horace’s brain, ready for when Cordelia tried something physical. It would feel so good to let loose, even here under Simon’s nose. Without Horace as his right hand, maybe Patricia would be able to best him.

  Dillon was saying something about diplomacy. Cordelia shoved his shoulder. Horace’s power rose but didn’t flow, not yet. Dillon staggered one step and put his arm out across Patricia’s body as if holding her back.

  “I’m fine,” she said, telling him she wasn’t using her power, not yet, not until Horace did.

  “If you’re not under her influence, prove it,” Cordelia said. “Let Horace scan you.”

  “And lose the blocks?” Dillon asked, frowning. “The only thing keeping our new ally from…” He cleared his throat. “Manipulating me?”

  “He put them up; he can put them back. So?” Cordelia lifted an eyebrow.

  Dillon stared her down. His mind was probably racing. He so clearly thought Cordelia would back down when confronted. He’d been too used to that in his old life. Patricia risked a probe toward Cordelia’s mind. If she could pick some childhood memory, she could feed it to Dillon. Maybe that would placate her, and then…

  Her gentle probe hit a wall, the same sort of block Liam had in his mind when she’d first met him, the reason she’d had to scatter his consciousness instead of just putting it aside.

  Horace’s wide eyes turned toward her. His mouth opened.

  Patricia slammed into his telepathic power with her own, blocking his signal, but he pushed back, ready, and he wasn’t a fool. He grasped Cordelia’s arm. Swearing under her breath, Patricia took control of his body, the first thing she should have done, but Cordelia had already seen his face, the direction of his gaze.

  “Motherfu—”

  Cordelia grabbed for Dillon, but Patricia took her legs out from under her; she tumbled to the ground. Patricia’s control over Horace slipped. A signal went out.

  Patricia mentally grabbed them again, but she already felt Simon Lazlo’s power sweeping over her. She grunted as waves of pain stabbed through her, her nerves on fire. “We have to run.”

  Dillon hauled her tight to his side, and they left Cordelia and Horace in the street. “Fuck, fuck,” Dillon said. “I had that! I had—”

  A crack like thunder boomed in the cloudless sky. Patricia looked to Dillon, thinking he’d struck with his lightning, but he seemed as confused as her. A flash of light came from the west, and Patricia winced. The flash resolved itself into a burst of flame, and Patricia was barely able to make out the meteorite streaking through the sky to slam into the fields outside Gale. She stumbled as the ground shook, and people screamed around them. Dirt flew into the air as if sprayed from a giant fountain, and several market stalls shuddered as if threatening collapse.

  Patricia realized she was hugging Dillon for dear life; he had an arm around her, too, but his eyes were locked on the dirt falling from the sky like rain. Patricia’s heart thudded in her chest so hard, she wouldn’t have been surprised to feel it punch through her shirt. Simon’s attack had ceased, but now she felt something new, a tingle across her scalp, and buzzing filled her mind as if her skull was full of bees.

  All around them, the people of Gale grabbed their ears and shook their heads. As the sound grew louder, they shouted at one another, but Patricia couldn’t hear them. Her heart sank. The sound wasn’t outside of them; it was inside, and she knew of only one telepath with the strength to send such a message to so many at once.

  “I’m tired of waiting, chickadees,” a voice said, Naos’s low purr. “I thought you’d have come in droves by now. Well, since you’re all so terribly shy, how about a gift? The first group to come find me in my mountain hideaway gets all the metal that their hot little hands can carry. And if you don’t come…” Patricia received a flash of images: Naos’s power hunting through the stars until she found an asteroid that would suit her purposes. “Not too big, not too small. My own little baby bear.” She had yanked on that flying rock, altering its course, steering it like a goddamned ship until it crashed just where she wanted it. Maybe Celeste had gotten the same.

 
“And that’s just the beginning. See you soon, lovelies.”

  “No,” Patricia said with a sob. “It’s a trick. She won’t give you anything.” She muted her power to almost nothing, but Naos wasn’t speaking to her specifically, not yet. First, she wanted to see how many enemies she could get out of the way.

  The sounds and images faded as swiftly as they’d come. Naos might not be able to possess anyone, but her power was still too awesome to comprehend.

  “Fuck,” Dillon whispered.

  “Indeed,” a voice behind them said.

  Patricia spun around. Simon stood behind her, a revived Cordelia and Horace at his sides and a host of yafanai and paladins at his back. Patricia snapped her telepathic shields tight around her and Dillon.

  Simon held up a hand. “We can’t afford a fight right now,” he said, “if we’re going to go after Naos. Who knows what she’ll do with all the people she’s now luring to her hideout?” He looked between them, a frown on his face. “But we need to know the truth.”

  “And you have to let Liam go,” Cordelia said, glaring at Patricia.

  Patricia swallowed and looked to Dillon. She opened her mouth, desperate for something Simon would believe, the brain damage excuse he’d come up with. Since he wasn’t a telepath, the damage was all he’d see if he looked.

  From the confident look that stole over Dillon’s face, he was thinking something similar. Time to find out if they’d ever have made it as actors.

  “I’ve got good news and bad news,” Patricia said. “The good news is, I’m not controlling Liam.”

  “And the bad?” Simon asked.

  “He’s not exactly…himself anymore.”

  * * *

  Cordelia didn’t want to believe it. According to Patricia, when the Atlas crashed, the mine collapsed, sending tons of rock down on Liam’s head as he took a tour. By the time Patricia and company had gotten to him, his brain had been damaged on the deepest level.

  “I fixed what I could,” Patricia said, “but there was some memory loss, and I don’t know him, and your paladins only knew him a little. I had to…improvise.”