by Nancy Gideon
His casual comment had her jaw trembling. “I am. I’m so glad you’re here.”
His arm tightened. “Hey now, if there’s gonna be waterworks, my grease and brews are going back downstairs.”
“No weeping. I promise to stay dry-eyed,” she cast a glance up at him, “if you will.”
“Deal. Which way to the dining room?”
“Too far to walk.” She dropped down onto one of the opulent couches. As he set the takeout bags and beer on the glass-topped table, she startled him by collapsing upon his chest. He scooped her up, feeling fearful shudders race through her.
“What am I going to do without him, Jacques?” she moaned against his shoulder.
“Here now, chere, don’t you worry. I’m working on that already. I’ll get him back for you. You’re making a mess of my shirt. You promised.”
“I lied.” She sniffled, sounding shaky and fragile, and alarming him into crushing her close.
“There’s a lot of that going around.” He tipped up her chin, frowning at the waxen quality of her skin and the fever brightness in her eyes. She looked beyond fatigued. “Want to see what’s in the bag?” he coaxed.
She nodded and sat back without leaving the curl of his arm, smiling as he laid out a pair of sloppy breakfast burritos and a double rasher of hash browns with packets of hot sauce. She sighed. “Oh, baby. The way to a girl’s heart.“
“Enjoy.” He offered one of the beers to her.
She shook her head. “I’ll just have a sip or two of yours. I’m trying to behave myself.”
His gaze dropped to her middle and he grinned, “You’re gonna be one badass, sexy mama.” Still smiling, he pitched the extra can at Giles, who caught it and popped the top in one easy move.
“Yes, I am,” she agreed, snuggling into the crook of his arm to munch contentedly on her burrito and drip grease all over his lap. “And this baby is going to have one badass, sexy godfather.” She glanced up at his stunned silence. “Hey, no crying.”
“It’s the hot sauce,” he muttered.
“Yeah, right. Pass some of that excuse over here.”
Susanna’s heart jerked as the six-year-old looked up at her through her father’s bright blue eyes.
“Hi, baby,” she called softly. “What are you working on?”
“A picture for you. You can’t put it on the wall where you work so I made it small. You can take it with you in your purse like a photograph.”
She continued to stand by the door so Pearl couldn’t see the distress working her features. “I need to tell you something, sweetheart. Now that you’re a big girl, Damien and I are sending you to a new school.”
“I like my old school. I want to stay there.”
“In this new school, you’ll have your own special teacher who’ll spend all her time with just you. And if you don’t feel well, she’ll be there to take care of you and make you better.”
“I have you to take care of me and make me better. I don’t need anybody else.”
Susanna took a slow breath so her voice wouldn’t shake. “You’ll be starting there next week. I think we should go out and buy you some special things to celebrate.”
“It’s not my birthday. I don’t want to go to a new school. I like my teachers and my friends. Will I still see them and be able to play with them at this new school?”
“No, baby. They won’t be there.”
“Can they come over here to play after school?” She’d never been allowed company before so the request took Susanna by surprise, making her founder.
“This is a very special place,” she continued, trying to sound cheerful when her heart was breaking, “just for you. You’ll be living there, Pearl, all the time. You’ll have your own room and your teacher will come there to meet with you.”
“And will you come to see me there?”
“Every chance I get.”
Pearl had no more questions. Her head was bent over her drawing, her hand moving quickly. She was just a child, but Susanna got the feeling that she knew exactly what was happening, that she was being sent away from home into exile.
Smiling weakly, Susanna went to stand over the little girl’s shoulder to inspect the artwork. There were four figures depicted in surprising detail. One adult figure was her with her gigantic purse, beige dress, and red slippers and the smaller figure Pearl, wearing what looked like a bright pink ballerina tutu and a princess crown. The male figure was big and bald and definitely not Damien.
“Who’s that, Pearl?”
“My daddy.”
The casual remark hit like a surprise punch. Susanna took an uneven breath and asked, “What’s that you’re holding? A doll?” The child had no dolls. Damien thought they were frivolous bits of gender propaganda.
“That’s my baby brother. And this is where we live.”
There was no mistaking the wide river snaking behind them or the sprawling branches of the live oak reaching overhead. In the sky was a star with a crescent moon above it like the one of the NOPD doorway.
New Orleans.
“Where did you see these things, baby? On TV?”
“Damien doesn’t let me watch TV shows, just my DVDs. I saw them in my head.”
“Like in a dream?” she whispered, skin going cold and clammy.
“No. I was lonely while you were gone and this picture came to make me happy. Does it make you happy, too?” Pearl glanced up and her expression froze when she saw her mother’s face. “Did I do a bad thing?”
She clutched the child close. “Oh, no, baby, no. It’s not bad. It just surprised me. I didn’t know you could . . . see pictures.” She held the little girl back by her shoulders, smiling. “How long have you been seeing them?”
“Since I was four. I saw a dog, but it turned out to be a toy you got me for my birthday.”
Careful not to convey her alarm, she asked, “Does Damien know you can see these pictures?”
Pearl made a stubborn face and went back to her coloring. “He thinks the things I say are silly so I don’t tell him anything.”
Relief shivered through Susanna. “Let’s keep this just between the two of us for now.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
She sank down on the edge of the bed to watch the child’s industrious movements. Her daughter had Sight. Of all the Chosen gifts, precognition was the most prized. If anyone knew of it, Pearl would be taken away so her talent could be developed. And if it proved to be inferior, she would be used for other, less pleasant study.
“There. All done.”
The child held up the picture. A family portrait. Her, Jacques, and their two children living in New Orleans. Her daughter’s glimpse of the future and her every dream.
Susanna made the call from the cafeteria at work. She’d stolen the cell phone from the tray next to hers while the technician was reaching for tuna on rye. Her audacity shocked her. Her calm alarmed her, especially with so much hanging in the balance.
She got voice mail and left a brief message.
“I’ve got the information you requested. I sent it overnight early A.M. delivery to the club. If you have any questions, they’ll have to wait until you get here.”
Hands shaking, she ended the call and deleted it from the history. As she passed the young man enjoying his sandwich, she placed it on his tray with a friendly, “I think you dropped this.”
He looked up in surprise and even as he mumbled his thanks through a mouthful of tuna salad, Susanna was moving quickly away, head down to avoid the security cameras.
Now all she had to do was pretend nothing out of the ordinary was going on.
Pain consumed Max from inside out, scalding along his nervous system, twisting through his joints and muscles, hammering at his brain until he was helpless to move or even think. He couldn’t trust the visions that darted before him, not knowing if they were real or the product of whatever they were beating into his head in great cramping pulses. He hung shaking and sweating in the circle of his restraint
s, saving all his strength, all his concentration for one purpose, keeping them blocked from his mind.
A losing battle, a fool’s battle, but hell, he had nothing better to do. He was alone. No one was coming to rescue him. Escape was impossible, resistance less than futile. The best he could hope for was making them work for it, making them earn in frustrated efforts and aggravation the time it took to break him down into nothing. He took a grim, if fatalistic pleasure in it.
They were persistent bastards, sending their mental, chemical, and electrical probes sneaking about his gray matter, to poke and dig, seeking a way to infiltrate. If he’d learned nothing else from those childhood lessons in paranoia and fear it was how to erect an impenetrable barrier about his thoughts. They couldn’t breach it so they were reduced to looking for a way to surprise or weaken him into dropping it. Good luck with that. His lips curved away from gritted teeth in a goading smile that said, Do your worst, you monsters.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the attack ended.
The urge to slump in relief shuddered through him but he fought to cling to a wary edge. What were they up to now? Some new, sinister type of torture?
He had no chance to prepare for the stroke of cool fingertips along a fevered cheek or the soft sound of a regretful female voice.
“Oh, Max. Look what they’ve done to you.”
Afraid to hope, let alone believe, he pushed into that consoling palm to inhale her scent, touched a dry tongue to smooth skin for a shockingly familiar taste. And with a jerk, his system collapsed.
“Mama?”
He slit bleary eyes open, doubly stunned by the features that swam just out of focus. A trick. It had to be a trick. A cruel, cruel illusion.
Too late to grab on to the raspy plea that moaned from him in broken desperation. Crying out for what he knew, he knew, wasn’t real.
“Mama. Mama, please don’t leave me.”
Too late to shore up the walls of strength that crumbled about that mournful cry. He was lost. And he didn’t care.
“Shh. Hush now,” she whispered, bending close, brushing back the sticky hair that had matted to his brow. “I won’t let them hurt you anymore. But you’ve got to do as I say. You’ve got to trust me, Max.”
Hazel eyes, not green like his own. Like his mother’s had been. He flung his head back, smacking the metal table hard enough to make the vision before him dance and his mind clear once more. His tone growled out, low and harsh. “Who are you?”
Her reply was absurd. “Family.”
“I have no family. Get away from me, liar.”
“We don’t have time for this,” she ground out impatiently. She lifted her hand to her mouth and bit down hard, until rivulets of blood trickled from the puncture of her tiny fangs. She pressed that hot liquid to Max’s lips. “Deny what you see, what you smell, what you taste, but you can’t deny what blood reveals. Marie was my sister. I’m here to make sure you live.”
She was telling the truth. He was too weak to question how or why, almost too exhausted to hold back the sobs that threatened to spill out in a crazy jag of relief. But a whisper of caution called him back to sanity. He had no idea what this woman was, tormentor or savior.
“Let me go.”
“I can’t. It’s not that easy. They would know it was me and there are greater things involved than just you.” She cupped his chin. “You look like him, that charming bastard Rollo, but I see Marie in your eyes. He told me she’d died but wouldn’t tell me where you were.”
“Why would he keep that a secret?”
“To save his worthless hide, I assume.”
“When did you see him? Where?”
“In Baton Rouge, in the spring.”
He went to meet family? Not to betray him? Bile rose up to burn Max’s throat but he pushed it down. He didn’t know that yet. Being family was no guarantee against treachery.
Her fingertips rubbed against his temples, relaxing his defenses, and just like that, in an unguarded second, with a quick connecting shock, she was flipping through his memories as if paging through a microfiche at the local library. The information gushed from him like blood from a heart wound and he was helpless to staunch the draining flow.
Finally, she’d learned all she needed and gently eased back from his mind. He crumpled, too sick and shaky inside to even hate her for the intrusion.
Now she would kill him. And then she would use what she’d discovered to destroy everything he cared about.
She knew about Oscar. About the child Charlotte carried.
“Don’t be alarmed,” she crooned quietly. “Your secrets are safe. I just needed to be sure. Oh, Max. You are more than I ever expected.”
Hardly comforted, he groaned, “What are you? You’re not a Shifter. Are you one of them?”
A musical laugh. “Oh, no. I’m like you. Different.”
“Do what you like with me but don’t harm them.”
“I’m not in the harming business, brave boy. But if you want to save them, you must trust me. These people—”
“They’re not people!”
“These . . . creatures will break you. That’s what they do. It’s all they do. They’re still toying with you now but when they discover you will never give them what they want, they’ll smash open your skull like a lobster claw and take what they need, then throw the rest of you away. You will not survive that. Then what good will your sacrifice be to anyone? To her?”
Charlotte. His attention sharpened. “What are you proposing?”
“If there’s nothing there for them to find, you’ll be of no use to them. An accidental wiping of your memories. It happens sometimes. Once they realize you’re just a blank slate, they’ll leave you alone and let you be imprinted and set free to go about productive business for them.”
Like Jacques.
“So I’ll remember . . .”
“Nothing before you open your eyes to a new life. Then they’ll be safe. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes.” More strongly. “Yes.” He took a steadying breath. “Will you do it?”
“In just a moment.” She pushed a button and the table rotated, tipping back and then settling flat until he was stretched out on his back, the discomfort and stress upon his body easing. “There’ll be no pain, Max. You won’t be conscious. You’ll wake and you’ll be someone new, someone with no past, no dangerous secrets.”
“An infiltrator, like my father?”
“Perhaps. Does it matter as long as they’re protected?”
“No.” What happened to him wasn’t important.
“When it’s safe,” she continued, beginning to make adjustments to the levels on the machine next to him, “I’ll find you.”
“Why? I won’t know who you are.”
“Because, brave boy, I can bring those memories back.”
That promise lingered like sweet perfume as she made more of the necessary changes and hung a new bag of solution on the stand beside the table.
In mere moments all he knew and loved would be erased. In a way, she would be killing him. Everything that made him who he was would be no more. He’d lose the sound of Oscar’s laughter, the lessons his mother and Jimmy had taught him, the scent of Charlotte’s Voodoo Love, the heat of her kisses. He’d never see his child. How could he let those things go? Unless he believed she could help him recover them again.
And because he knew that even if that was a lie, by disappearing from their lives, he would no longer be a danger to those who gave his life meaning.
“Do it.”
She smiled and said with a soft conviction, “You are the one who will save us all, Max. I have no doubts about that now. Ready?”
He took a gulping breath as objection leapt. Charlotte! He could see the flash of her dark eyes above the tempting part of her lips. You make me hot, Savoie. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and let that breath out in a slow, steady stream. “Yes.”
“It’ll be like falling asleep,” she told him. �
�You’ll feel the drug in your system, cold at first, then hot. Don’t be afraid. I’ll be right here with you.”
A tingling chill started inching up his arm from the IV needle. Panic quickened his heartbeats. His body tensed.
“You need to relax, Max. It’s more comfortable that way.”
The icy serum branched out, down into heart and lungs, up into his brain.
What if she was lying to him? He pulled against the restraints, beginning to resist. It was like drowning, like dying. His blood vessels began to burn.
“Easy. Not much longer. Be still.”
He began to pant. “Tell me something about my mama,” he insisted even though he soon wouldn’t recall the story. “About when she was young.”
The woman . . . he’d forgotten to ask her name . . . rumpled his hair while her eyes grew faraway. “Marie was special. Blessed.”
Max, you are special. Blessed.
Max sighed. And surrendered.
Eighteen
They moved down the hallway in tandem, all in black, from caps pulled low, impenetrable dark glasses, and gloves to military-style boots. Whether it was the stun guns clipped to their belts or the grimness of their expressions, personnel scurried out of their way. They’d gotten all the way to the end of the hall before someone had the nerve to intercept them.
“Excuse me. This is a private area. You can’t be here.”
A brisk voice interceded. “They’re with me, doctor. Here are my credentials.”
The sweaty little man glanced at the government ID and took a quick step back. “I’m sorry to have detained you.”
A chill smile. “Don’t apologize for doing your job. We’re looking for Section C-7.”
“Right through those doors, Dr. Duchamps. At the end of the hall.”
“Thank you for your cooperation.”
Susanna pushed open the double doors, closely followed by the two security guards. They’d only gone a few yards before one of them spoke up.
“You showed up just in time.”