Psy-Changeling [12] Heart of Obsidian

by Nalini Singh

  Vaughn shot her an unsmiling look, but she saw the amusement that prowled behind it. “Get to work, Ms. Kyriakus.”

  “I need a little time to get my zen on, as Mercy would say.” She nudged his arm with her shoulder, comfortable with him in a way she was with very few men aside from Kaleb. “Was it Faith? The unnamed NightStar foreseer who saw Luxembourg and Paris?”

  A small nod, Vaughn’s lazily feline posture attracting another admiring glance to which he seemed oblivious, though she knew those eyes of jaguar-gold missed nothing. As Kaleb would probably snap the neck of any other woman who tried to touch him without invitation, she knew Vaughn would respond with claws and teeth. Skin privileges, she thought, were not to be assumed lightly with men of this caliber.

  “Better for NightStar to handle the press and imply the F was one under their command,” Vaughn added, “than to draw further specific attention to Faith.” Reaching out, he tugged the front of her ball cap a little further down.

  He’d given her the cap when he met her and Kaleb in the deserted service corridor Kaleb had used as a teleport lock. According to him, the cap, branded with the logo of the champion local baseball team, would make her far less apt to attract attention, even if she spent hours in the station. Since she’d already seen a number of other people with the same cap, she couldn’t argue.

  “How’s Leon?”

  “Good. Really good.” Sahara spoke to her father every day and had already planned a visit in the coming days, no matter what. But first, she had to do what she could to help stop another wave of violence. “Okay”—a deep breath—“I’m ready.”

  It was the first time she’d attempted anything of this magnitude, and from what she’d heard of telepaths who had allowed their shields to drop in similar situations, she had to brace herself for a crushing blast of noise as a thousand different minds crashed into her own. Ninety-nine percent of individuals, Psy, human, or changeling, had a “public” mind, an upper level of inconsequential thought that was rarely shielded; that would be bad enough, but Sahara intended to scan the next layer down.

  Here I go, she said to the Tk who was her own.

  I won’t let you drown.

  Holding on to that promise, she opened her senses the smallest fraction, ready to shut everything down the instant she hit overload. Except—

  Oh!

  It wasn’t the same as with the telepaths. Her ability was unique, her mind created to filter data from other minds in a streamlined fashion. The thoughts of passersby were clearly delineated, her mind visualizing each individual as a separate, understandable strand . . . shimmering silver for Psy, a haunting, luminous blue for humans, and a stunning wild green for changelings.

  It was a multihued sea as extraordinarily beautiful as the PsyNet.

  Not feeling the least stretched, she expanded her senses bit by bit and had to bite the inside of her cheek to stifle her excitement. Her reach wasn’t only two to three inches around her body. It was far, far wider. At fifty percent strength, she could understand the thoughts of every individual passing within the walls of the station . . . including those of the changeling next to her, and changeling shields were meant to be impenetrable.

  What she caught made her want to grin—Vaughn was humming a nonsense tune clearly meant to obfuscate his thoughts. It worked, and it told her Faith had her suspicions about Sahara’s abilities. That didn’t worry her. Her cousin would never betray her. Now, after consciously blocking Vaughn’s mind, she began to scan and discard thoughts at a speed that turned the strands into a silver-blue jetstream vibrant with sparks of wild green.

  * * *

  KALEB didn’t teleport inside DarkRiver’s HQ after leaving Sahara and Vaughn at the station. He walked through the door in a gesture of goodwill that had him receiving a curt nod of welcome from the leopard alpha. The green-eyed male was around Kaleb’s height, with the sleek, muscular build so common in the feline changelings.

  “Krychek. You’ve beaten Anthony here.”

  The head of NightStar walked in two minutes later and Lucas gestured for them to follow him into a large meeting room dominated by an oval-shaped table that currently held seven people. Kaleb caught Judd’s eye, noting the other man sat beside the wolf alpha, Hawke. Next to Hawke was a male Kaleb ID’ed as Nathan Ryder, DarkRiver’s most senior lieutenant.

  Nikita was on the other side of the table, next to Max Shannon, her security chief. According to Kaleb’s informants, Max’s wife, Sophia, an ex-J with a huge network of contacts, had also quietly become one of Nikita’s most trusted advisers. Her reliance on the couple was a fact many in Nikita’s organization struggled to understand, since Max and Sophia were apparently as often in conflict with Nikita as they were in agreement.

  Kaleb understood. He didn’t employ the weak, either.

  Now Max Shannon caught his gaze and nodded in a silent thank-you.

  Kaleb thought to tell the other man theirs was a debt he might one day collect, but didn’t for the same reason he’d helped save Sophia’s life from a madman over half a year ago. He hadn’t been able to help the one woman who was everything to him, his mind a place of angry darkness, but in saving Sophia, he had gained, if not redemption, then an instant of grace in the darkness.

  Sahara, he’d thought, would’ve been proud of him for his actions that day.

  Accepting the thanks with the slightest incline of his head, he turned his attention to Teijan, alpha of the Rats and head of the best spy organization in the region. Opposite the sharply dressed alpha was a man Kaleb couldn’t immediately identify, until he realized the copper-skinned male had cut off his formerly long hair: Adam Garrett of the WindHaven falcons.

  “Your assistance,” he said to the falcon as he took a seat, “may be invaluable in pinpointing possible targets.” A falcon could fly lower than any aircraft, follow suspicious movements at the turn of a wing.

  “My people are already doing sweeps,” Adam replied, “working in partnership with teams on the ground. Nothing as yet.”

  The Enforcement vice commissioner for the city entered the room right then and took a seat. The middle-aged Psy woman, her skin an unusual papery white, was followed by an elderly human male of Asian descent identified as Jim Wong, representative of the shopkeepers in the warren of Chinatown, their reach extending citywide through a network of family, friends, and customers. At his heels came a tall black male the DarkRiver alpha introduced as the liaison from the Human Alliance.

  The silence was taut, as people who would never normally term one another allies found themselves facing each other across the glossy wood of the table. It was, Kaleb mused, a sight that would inflame Pure Psy.

  “Everyone’s here,” Lucas Hunter said after shutting the door, the savage markings on his face echoed by the look in his eyes. “Let’s get straight to it—we need to narrow down the list of possible targets.”

  “The offices of the mayor,” the vice commissioner suggested.

  Kaleb shook his head. “It doesn’t have as much shock value as a school, a nursery, or a hospital.” Pure Psy wanted to cause pain and loss and anger that would turn humans and changelings against the Psy. “Vasquez intends to cause a war that’ll leave only the ‘pure’ standing.”

  It was Hawke who next spoke, his ice blue eyes and silver-gold hair those of the predator within—a predator who now had Ming in his sights. “I have to agree with Krychek,” the wolf alpha said. “But we’ve already put all obviously vulnerable institutions on high alert, beefed up security, and Vasquez had to have realized that would happen. I think he’ll go for a softer target.”

  “Hawke’s right.” The Rat alpha leaned forward on the table, his dark eyes quick and watchful. “We’ve picked up nothing that even hints Pure Psy’s managed to infiltrate San Francisco like they did Hong Kong—I have enough faith in my people to state categorically that Vasquez is working without a foundation. Whatever he’s planning, it’s going to be quick and dirty.”

  “The scorch charges use
d in Hong Kong,” Judd said, evidencing his connections. “Even a limited number could do serious damage to the city.”

  “They’re too unstable to transport without proper containers: specifically, lead-lined boxes.” Kaleb knew that because he’d made it a point to access the hidden files on the charges. “All sightings of the operative we believe to be Vasquez state he’s moving with nothing but a small backpack. He could, however, have access to other weaponry if he was smart enough to hide a small cache in the city at some stage in the past—in a public locker hired under another name, for example.” Nothing that would set off alarm bells, even with the packs’ tight security.

  “So”—Lucas Hunter’s voice was grim as he spoke—“soft target, high possibility of casualties, intense political fallout, those are the parameters.”

  “Airports and skytrain stations fit,” Nikita said, “and have been alerted by my security team”—a nod of confirmation from Max—“but they’re more difficult to monitor, given the constant foot traffic.”

  Kaleb. Sahara’s telepathic voice vibrated with anger and fear combined. Something is about to happen here. I just caught a thought about timing “the purification” for rush hour.

  Have you identified the individual concerned?

  No. It appears this level of perception does have a cost. I can understand the thoughts of everyone in the station, but with my senses extended to cover such a large area, I can’t shift focus fast enough to zero in on a mind while a particular thought is in progress. However, whoever it was was thinking specifically about the layout of the station and how to achieve “maximum strategic impact.”

  Chapter 42

  “THE CENTRAL SKYTRAIN station is a target,” Kaleb said aloud, interrupting the conversation in progress. “Rush hour today.”

  Nikita turned cool eyes in his direction. “If we focus our resources on the wrong target or targets, we risk exposing other vulnerable locations.”

  “The information is highly reliable.” He switched his attention to the leopard alpha. “Do you have enough people to quietly evacuate the schools and check the hospitals for threats? We can’t risk tipping our hand.”

  “It’s already being done. Anthony’s and Nikita’s teams are working with the packs and Mr. Wong’s network.” Lucas glanced down the table. “Vice Commissioner, is Enforcement sweeping the shopping malls and movie theaters?”

  She checked the datapad in front of her. “No threats detected as yet. We cannot, however, clear these locations and assist with the central skytrain station.”

  “The Arrows and I can handle the station.” Kaleb had already sent the order to Aden’s rapid response team.

  The changeling alphas looked to one another, an unspoken communication passing between them, before Lucas said, “Agreed, but we’ll give you some of our trackers. If the attack is anything chemical based, they may be able to catch the scent.”

  Kaleb knew those trackers would also be keeping an eye on him and the Arrows, but that was to be expected. Acceding to the stipulation with a nod, he said, We’re on our way, to the woman who stood in the center of what could become a death zone.

  * * *

  SAHARA spotted Kaleb entering the station, though he was wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a UC Berkeley sweatshirt. Nice outfit, she teased, immediately blocking his mind from her continuing scans.

  My face is well-known, but people will see what they expect to see.

  And no one, she thought, expected to see Kaleb Krychek in a central city skytrain station, much less wearing an old sweatshirt and battered cap.

  Listen for any hint of alarm, he told her. The Arrows are better at blending in than you realize, but Vasquez is trained to spot covert operatives.

  I’ll ’path the instant I sense anything. She could not fail in her task. If this building went down, not only would hundreds of innocent people die, Kaleb might die.

  It was ten minutes later that she heard from him again. The changelings aren’t scenting any chemical explosives. The bombs may be small and well hidden, or we may be looking at something quieter; Pure Psy has been known to use poison gas.

  The connection between them open, she heard him give telepathic orders for all airflow conduits to be checked. I’m taking the main fans, he said to her. They’re outside, high on the building, but I have a line of sight.

  Sweat dampened her palms at the idea he might be teleporting into danger. Be careful.

  Always.

  She had to force herself to remain in the alcove where she’d been concealed for the past half hour. When she glanced over at the jaguar who’d kept her company throughout, it was to catch an impatient look on his face. “I’m sorry you have to babysit me. I know you’d rather be doing something else.”

  To her surprise, his lips curved. “I’m not impatient about watching you—I’m frustrated because I can’t scent anything that might give us a clue.”

  It’s the air. Kaleb’s voice sliced into her mind. A concentrated dose of poisonous gas attached to the conduit below one of the main fans and timed to go off at rush hour.

  Sahara’s throat went dry, her mind seeing the busy station go silent as people fell where they stood. Have you teleported it out?

  No. It’s very cleverly rigged. There’s a risk it’ll disperse before transport is complete. I need a tech; the wolves have a skilled female who came in with their tracking team—she’s at DarkRiver HQ helping coordinate information. Ask Vaughn to contact her.

  The tech was on the roof with Kaleb soon afterward, ’ported there by a dark-haired telekinetic Sahara hadn’t met, but guessed to be Judd Lauren from what Kaleb had told her of his friend’s allegiance to the wolves. A minute later, Vaughn received a call and asked her to follow him to the nearest set of public restrooms.

  “Anyone in the women’s?” he asked.

  Peeking in, she shook her head.

  Vaughn entered and went through it stall by stall. “Women’s West 2 cleared,” he said into his cell phone just as an older woman with red cheeks pushed through the door.

  “Excuse me.” She sniffed. “I know you young people like your ‘unusual environments,’ but really.” With that, she bustled into one of the stalls and slammed the metal door with a loud bang.

  Sahara kept her mouth shut until Vaughn cleared the men’s restroom and indicated they had to move on to the next set. “‘Unusual environments’?” she murmured, doing her best to appear innocent. “Did she mean to imply something sexual? Where, other than the bedroom, do people exchange intimate skin privileges?”

  “Talk to Faith.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “You’re just like an annoying little sister, you know that?” A sadness in his voice, in his eyes, that was old and worn. “Always asking questions.”

  Seeing the smile that balanced the sorrow, Sahara decided not to pull back. “So?”

  The smile grew wider, deep grooves forming in his cheeks. “So, talk to Faith.”

  Having arrived at their destination, Sahara checked to make sure the coast was clear. Except this time, she pressed her hand against the door once inside to make sure they didn’t inadvertently shock anyone else. “You’re checking for small incendiary devices?”

  A nod. “The Arrows found one at the other end of the station—cheap and easy to make, small range but big noise. Vasquez might have seeded the station with them to fool people into believing the entire place was mined to blow.”

  “To delay rescue efforts once people began to collapse from the gas.” Intelligent in the most psychopathic of ways.

  “Ye—” Vaughn’s sudden silence told her he’d found something. “Stay behind the wall until I give the all clear.”

  Sahara didn’t argue, well aware that, protective as he’d become of her, Vaughn wouldn’t be able to focus if she flouted his command. Earlier, he’d thrust a chocolate bar into her hand with an order that she eat the whole thing. “Psychic muscles use energy,” he’d said. “And don’t even try to argue. F
aith doesn’t get away with that and neither will you.”

  Sahara had taken great pleasure in pointing out that he was acting exactly like Kaleb. His growl would’ve raised every hair on her body if she hadn’t been grinning and eating chocolate at the time.

  “Done,” he said now, three minutes after he’d asked her to stay behind the wall. Placing the remnants of the device into his duffel bag, he rose. “Let’s go.”

  They had just stepped outside when—

  “—may have been compromised. Push go!”

  Sahara was speaking to Kaleb even as the final word echoed in her mind. They know! Kaleb! So close to the poison, he’d never survive the exposure.

  A minuscule pause that sent her heart into her throat before Kaleb said, It’s all right. We’ve defused the poison bomb. I’m in the process of teleporting the container out now.

  There were three small booms on the heels of Kaleb’s words, but though people hesitated, looking around for answers, no one panicked. Acting as planned in the event of a possible panic situation, the Arrows ducked their heads and merged into the flurry of people in the station, as changeling teams moved in to cordon off the damaged areas.

  Since Vaughn was one of those changelings, she heard him feed the curious a story about teenagers playing with banned fireworks. The explanation wasn’t wholly believed, but the travelers, regardless of race, relaxed as soon as they realized the changelings had the situation under control. It gave Sahara a glimpse of exactly how much San Francisco had become a changeling—specifically leopard—city.

  In the end, that was the only damage done that day, but Vasquez, faceless and unidentifiable, remained in the wind. Accepting Kaleb’s offer of a teleport, the changeling trackers used the faint scent found at the fan to begin their hunt, each changeling accompanied by an Arrow who could scan for and block possible psychic attacks.