by S W Vaughn
The article, scanned into website archives from a print newspaper, was dated seven months before Grace was born.
Her mother had been pregnant at the time. And apparently, she'd been prepared to marry her father. She wanted to blame the man she'd never met for failing to follow through, but she knew it was much more likely her mother's fault. Kendra had probably gotten bored and called things off. But the why of it wasn't important. Grace wanted the who.
She had a name. Her father's name. Beckett.
Her mind raced away, conceiving and rejecting possibilities. She wanted to run another search, find out more, but she had no idea whether Beckett was a first or a last name—or even a real name. Still, it was more than she'd ever had to work with.
Exhaustion tugged her eyelids down. She shook herself awake and glanced at the system clock. Three-thirty a.m. She'd have to sleep for a while and hope her dreams stayed in her head this time. She started to shut things down, but decided to check her e-mail again first. She had one new message, from Comp. Subject: Warning.
She opened it.
Kitten: You've stepped in a snake's nest. Watch yourself. More later. CR
Her heart slammed in her chest. She logged out, powered off, and gazed through the window at the night outside the train. Secrets whispered in the dark, and sleep eluded her for a long time. At last, there were no thoughts—and no dreams.
* * * *
The following morning passed in a haze of quiet desperation. Grace checked for messages every hour, but Comp sent nothing further than his initial cryptic warning. Megan sensed her unease but managed only a few wordless conversations between bouts of restless sleep. The girl's increasing fatigue worried Grace. It was possible that the reaction stemmed from overexerting her abilities. However, Grace didn't remember being this tired when she'd first changed.
They pulled in to Chicago around three in the afternoon. The layover on the schedule was an hour long, but Grace had already decided they should abandon the last leg of the trip. She suspected Megan would agree. The witch seemed to know where they were headed and if she wasn't waiting here, she would be in Syracuse. They could take a bus from here, somewhere they weren't expected.
"Megan. We're here."
The girl didn't stir. Grace touched her shoulder, intending to nudge her awake—and felt heat through her shirt. Fever burn.
Her stomach clenched. “Megan!” Come on, wake up, we have to get off the train ... Grace lifted her gently. Her wax-pale face gleamed with sweat. Deep shadows lay beneath her reddened eyelids. Megan moaned and tried to curl back on the seat.
Grace eased her back down and shouldered both of her bags, and then Megan's. She waited until the car cleared of people. Crawling awkwardly over her, into the aisle, she checked the opposite seats to make sure they weren't leaving anything behind. She bent and worked an arm beneath Megan's limp form. “Megan, try to get up,” she whispered. “I'll help you, okay? Come on, we'll find a seat inside."
"Mmm ... c-cold. Where're we?” Megan's eyes fluttered open, moist and bright even with the contacts. A shudder wracked her body.
"We're in Chicago. You're sick, running a fever. We're going to find a place to rest for a while, but I need you to walk with me."
"'Kay.” Megan stiffened and lurched to her feet. She slumped against Grace, and managed to stand in the aisle. “Gonna throw up...” She wavered, fell on her knees, and retched. Nothing came out. Grace knew she hadn't eaten or drank anything since dinner yesterday, but dry heaves meant dehydration. She had to get some liquid into her.
Grace knelt beside her and rubbed her back. “You okay?"
Megan nodded miserably. “That sucked."
"Yeah. Let's get off this thing. Maybe some fresh air will help.” Grace put an arm around Megan's waist and slung the girl's hand over her shoulder. “Try to hang on to me,” she said. Megan's fingers clenched feebly at her shirt. Grace boosted them both up and shuffled toward the exit.
Outside the door, a conductor gave them a concerned look. “Is everything all right?"
"Yes. She doesn't feel good. We're fine, thanks.” Grace attempted a smile and kept moving. The station entrance lay ten feet away, but the distance felt like a mile. They struggled through the glass doors. Grace stared with dismay at two flights of stairs leading down to the main station. How would they manage that?
The door behind them opened. “Excuse me, miss? You, er, dropped this back there."
Grace shifted awkwardly. The conductor held the silk wrap from the figurine, stained with Megan's blood. “Thanks,” she blurted, accepting the cloth. She shoved it in a pocket. “She had a nose bleed."
Concern creased the conductor's brow. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?"
"No,” Grace said a touch too fast. If Megan ended up in a hospital, they'd see her eyes and lock her up. “No, it's motion sickness. She just needs something to drink. But thanks."
"All right. If you're sure..."
"I'm sure. Thank you."
Grace steered Megan toward the stairs.
"Wait,” the conductor said. “I can get the elevator up here for you at least."
"Really?” Relief brought a genuine smile to her lips. It was a small thing considering the new crop of trouble sprouting around them, but it touched her. “That would be great."
"No problem.” The conductor unfastened a ring of keys from his belt, selected one, and turned toward the brass door Grace hadn't even seen to the left of the entrance. He inserted the key and pushed a button. The welcome hum of machinery drifted into the alcove. The door slid open and the conductor stepped aside.
"Thank you so much.” Grace moved into the elevator. Megan drifted along, still leaning heavily on her. The conductor nodded and touched his hat just before the door sealed him from view.
Grace thumbed the button for the first floor. “How are you doing?” she said softly.
"Better, I think,” Megan murmured. “Still cold. Thirsty."
"Right. First thing when we get down there, I'll get you something to drink. Make sure you take it slow. We don't have to hurry. We can catch another train later. Maybe a bus instead."
"Yeah. Good.” Megan hung her head. “So tired..."
Grace fought to control mounting alarm. If their choices amounted to hospitalization or death, she'd go with the hospital—but getting her out again would be hell. She'd barely managed to escape the institution her mother had imprisoned her in. For her own good, she'd said. Right. Kendra had expected to make her freak of a daughter famous and grab the glory herself.
She wouldn't let that happen to Megan.
A soft ding sounded, and the elevator stopped. Grace led Megan out and they started down the deserted hall toward the bustling station beyond. Before they reached the entrance, two men in jeans and button-down shirts separated from the crowds and came into the hallway toward them.
Grace eyed them briefly and dismissed the men as employees, or lost. She'd never seen them before, and Megan had no reaction to them. But they stopped in the middle of the hall and blocked her when she tried to walk around them.
"Excuse me,” Grace said. She moved aside, brought Megan with her. The men moved at the same time and refused to let them pass.
"Get out of the way! Can't you see she's sick?"
The slightly taller man on the left glowered. “Megan Jones?"
Grace suppressed a gasp. Megan raised her head, blinked at him. “Who're you?"
The man who'd spoken grinned. His companion grabbed Megan's arm and pulled her away from Grace.
"Your stepfather is worried about you. We're here to take you to him."
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Chapter 13
The man holding Megan dragged her down the hallway.
"Let go of her!” Grace ran after him.
The taller man intervened and pushed her to the floor with a laugh. “Down, girl! You run along back to wherever you came from. Megan can't play any more."
Bristling, Grace st
ood and glared at him. Megan, can you hear me?
Don't let them take me back...
I won't. Listen, pretend to pass out. Make yourself as heavy as possible.
Okay.
The shorter man grunted. “Damn it, she fainted. Gimme a hand, Kyle. She's heavy."
Kyle glanced over his shoulder and fixed Grace with a black grin. “See this?” He pointed to a bulging pocket. “That's a gun. Try and stop us, and I'll have to shoot you."
"Kyle!"
He turned and strode toward his companion. Grace sent her mind after the lights in the hall and shut them off. One of the men swore. The light spilling in from the station did not reach Grace's position. She slipped aside, flattened against the wall. Pulled the stiletto from her pocket.
"Leave her alone.” Grace edged closer. She had a few feet before her silhouette would reveal her. “She doesn't want to go back."
"Ah, Jesus. We're gonna have to do something about her. She'll..."
"Shut up!” That was Kyle. He stopped, turned in a slow circle. “Where are you, girl? Come on. I was just kiddin’ around. I won't shoot you."
Grace didn't respond.
"Honest. It's not even a gun."
Grace looked toward the end of the hall. The other man had drifted closer to the entrance, backlit with the station's lights and visible enough. Megan slumped forward in his arms. He struggled to hold her up. She needed him to let go.
Grace ... what's happening?
Just keep it up. You're doing great. Try not to worry.
"Hey, girl. Your friend's not looking too hot. Come out and we'll let you check on her."
Kyle paced toward her with slow, small steps. He stopped. His hand moved almost imperceptibly toward his pocket. “Aren't you worried about little Megan?"
In less time than it would have taken for Grace to draw breath, he pulled something out and thrust it into the shadow. The gun thumped the wall three feet from her position.
Grace closed her eyes and sought out the main power for the station. She strained for a moment, struggled to turn it off. A grunt escaped her clenched teeth.
Kyle whirled toward the sound. The gun skimmed the air, a hair's width from her arm. Finally, the electricity responded with a strident buzz and plunged them into blackness.
Murmurs and a handful of shouts drifted through the hall from the main building. “Shit, she's one of them,” the man holding Megan said.
"Lou, if you don't shut the hell up..."
Grace backed away, silent as possible. Rustling sounds came from Kyle. A pause, a small metallic click. Sparks in the gloom formed a flame on a butane lighter. Kyle grinned in its flickering glow. “There you are.” He raised the gun.
"There you are.” Grace ejected the blade and slashed his outstretched arm.
Kyle screamed. The gun clattered to the floor. Grace swatted the hand holding the lighter, knocked it loose. She moved to the other side of the hall and approached Megan. Behind her, Kyle scrabbled in the dark after his gun.
"Grab that little bitch!” Kyle shouted. Something slid across the floor. “Damn it. Lou! Get her!"
"I'm holding the other one."
"Put her down and grab the bitch! You hear me, girl? You're coming with us, too. We know what you are."
Megan. Did he let go of you?
Yesss ... I'm gonna...
The scrape of flint sounded hollow in the hall. Soft light bloomed from Kyle's lighter. Grace didn't turn around. She focused on reaching Megan, who lay in a heap near the entrance.
"Watch it, man,” Kyle gasped. “She's got a knife or something."
Lou circled her, wary and watchful. “Can't you just shoot her? What if she does something weird to me?"
"Idiot. She can't turn you into a frog or anything. Get out of the way."
Grace hesitated, then dove for Megan. Hold on. Clutching the girl bodily, she closed her eyes and tried to think of a place—any place besides this. And hoped Megan would still be with her when she got there.
A sense of weightlessness filled her like light spreading from her core. She tightened her grip on Megan, felt her laptop bag dig into her hip. Buoyancy departed abruptly when they thumped against something firm. Sounds reached her ears—outdoor sounds; wind and birds and rustling branches.
Grace opened her eyes in the woods.
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Chapter 14
Silver felt the echoes from the Nephil's shift travel through his wracked body. Somewhere west of him, he realized. Coming closer to the place Lorin intended to command yet another killing. The place called Syracuse.
Blood pooled around his feet on the floor of the crypt. Lorin had told him not to heal. She would call for him tomorrow. Today, she lay unconscious in a human dwelling with some dark substance running through her veins. It dulled her, this human poison, yet she seemed to crave it.
He approached Lorin's mind with caution. She had told him not to disturb her until he was summoned. The vague idea that he should inform her of the shift occurred, but she had not asked to be notified. He could not decide which would upset her more—a disturbance, or his failure to report the Nephil's activities.
But he would not be failing because she had not asked for a report.
Lorin had not sensed the shift. The substance she'd taken in filled her mind and altered her thoughts. He would not disturb her.
He desired neither further punishment nor the order to destroy this Nephil.
* * * *
When she caught her breath, Grace realized this wasn't the forest in her dreams. It was predominantly pine trees with a thick carpet of soft, browned needles. No ravine in sight, no trickling stream. She wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.
At least Megan had made the journey with her. Pale and limp, eyes closed, she sprawled on the ground beside her. Grace longed to stay where she was, to rest for just a little while. Moving them both had taxed her strength so completely, the idea of sitting up elicited a full body protest. But with no idea what condition Megan was in, staying put could be a deadly mistake.
The thought spurred her into action. She pushed herself up, sat next to Megan and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Megan,” she whispered. “They're gone. Well, actually, we're gone."
Megan's eyes fluttered under her closed lids. Her lips parted and a small exhalation stirred the pine needles. “Gone,” she murmured. “What happened? Feel like ... train hit us."
"I brought us somewhere else."
"Where?” Megan opened her eyes, blinked a few times. She flinched and sat up fast. “How ... Where are we? Did I pass out?"
"No. At least, not for very long if you did. I moved us here from the train station."
"What do you mean, moved?"
Grace shifted, shook her head. Exhaustion fought to claim her, but she forced it away. “It's hard to explain. Have you ever seen Star Trek?"
"I guess."
"You know those transporter things that take people off the ships and zap them onto planets?"
"Whoa. You can do that?"
Grace nodded. “Takes a lot out of me, though. I can't even hear your thoughts right now."
"I'm not thinking anything.” Megan flopped back on the ground. “Where are we?"
"Good question."
"You don't know?"
"Not a clue."
"Crap."
"Exactly.” Grace made a feeble attempt to rearrange the jumble of bags she carried. Taking them off would require too much effort. “How are you feeling?"
"Weak. Shaky. And my stomach hurts."
"We're going to have to get to a store or something. You need liquid, probably some food. Ibuprofen, at least. For the fever.” Grace bent her knees and moved to stand. Dizziness grayed her vision for an instant. “Maybe you should stay here. I'll go find something."
"Wait.” Megan propped on her elbows. “You're beat, and we could be miles from anywhere out here. Right?"
"Yes, but we don't know what's wrong with yo
u. You could—” Die. “Get worse."
"I don't think so. Actually, I think I figured out what's messing me up."
Grace arched an eyebrow. “What?"
"Withdrawal."
"You're on drugs?"
"No. I mean the stuff my stepfather used on me.” Megan rubbed absently at her arm. “He was dosing me every day. Three years, maybe longer. Said it was for my own good."
Grace shuddered. “Oh, no. I'm so sorry..."
"It's all right. I should have explained it better.” Megan's gaze grew distant. “Sometimes he missed a day. I'd feel crummy but I never connected it with the black stuff. Just thought I'd caught a cold or something. But now ... I can feel it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “My body is cleansing itself. Like this ... whatever it is, the power we have, like it's been there all along. And the black stuff smothered it somehow."
"My God.” Three years? That meant ... “Megan, how old are you?"
"Seven...” She stopped, bit her lip. “Sixteen. Sorry. I'm used to telling people I'm seventeen because it sounds almost eighteen."
"So you were thirteen when he started giving you this stuff every day."
"Yeah. Right after Mom died, he went fanatical. Why?"
"Because I think you're right. I think it cancels out the abilities. I was thirteen when I started hearing voices in my head."
"Oh man."
Grace frowned. If Megan's stepfather did belong to SARET, and the group had access to this drug, they were in bigger trouble than she'd thought possible. “Those men at the train station. You've never seen them before?"
"No. I would have remembered assholes like them."
"Ever heard anything about them? Maybe your stepfather mentioned something. Their names were Kyle and Lou."
"I don't ... Wait. Last summer, he was screaming at somebody on the phone. Something about losing a delivery. I think he said Kyle in there somewhere."
"I'm pretty sure they're with SARET. It would make sense if they had people all over the place. Easy enough to keep in touch online.” We know what you are. Though she still didn't buy the alien theory, these wackos must have figured out a few things about what made people like her and Megan tick. Bad news. Like Comp had warned her. “Wish I could check my email, and see if Comp found anything out yet. But I can barely move. Don't think I can work my computer right now."