by S W Vaughn
Them?
The government. He works for them, not Michael. If they found out what he's been doing...
Grace shivered. If Michael wasn't working directly with the government, they probably had separate agendas. How much did Michael really know about what happened to them when they left? “I've got to talk to him. Right now."
"Wait. I'm coming with you.” Megan stood, swaying slightly. You can't talk to Michael about Lawrence. They won't just arrest him. He knows too much.
"I won't say anything.” But you can't come with me. I don't want Michael to decide to send you away, too. And you're exhausted.
I'm going. I won't let you go alone.
Grace shook her head. “You're just as stubborn as me. Can we compromise? I'll aim for the greenhouse and you can wait there. That way you'll be close if I need you."
"Aim? I don't know if I like that word. It means you might miss."
"Don't worry. If I do, we can always rely on your Girl Scout skills.” Smiling, Grace grabbed her hand. “Ready?"
"No. But let's go anyway."
Grace closed her eyes and pictured the greenhouse—the double rows of greenery tinged with pink, the warm air heavy with moisture, the earthy scent of soil and leaves. Gravity ceased to affect them for a moment and returned as her vision became reality.
Only the faint light of a half-moon reached the greenhouse, diffused through the heavy plastic covering. Layered shadow saturated the interior of the long building. At the far end, a silhouette froze with a long, slender object in hand. It looked like a gun. The figure darted behind the left-hand row of bushes. The plants rustled in its wake like hissing snakes.
Megan gasped. “Lawrence?"
* * * *
The whisper of power from the Nephil seemed to pierce Silver's chest, effectively as the spike through his stomach. He knew where she was. He didn't want to know.
Had Lorin felt it? His mother's ability to sense power was not as developed as his own. With something this small, if she were far enough away, she would not know—unless he told her.
He sought Lorin, found her miles to the west. No longer in the mountains. He sensed no awareness in her, nothing to indicate she'd felt the Nephil give herself away. He lingered undetected in her mind, conflicted and bewildered.
She'd commanded him to report the Nephil's whereabouts the instant he discovered them. He had discovered them. Every moment he did not convey this information to Lorin was a moment of disobedience, refusal.
He should tell her.
She would force him to kill the Nephil. And torture her first.
He couldn't do that.
Lorin would kill her anyway. Leave him here forever, impaled and bleeding, an eternity of anguish. Augment his torment with periodic visitations of further, extended pain. Make him long for death, though she could not grant it. He could not destroy himself either. He had tried.
He should tell her.
Regardless of what happened with this one, Lorin would not stop until she had destroyed them all. If Silver refused to cooperate, he would suffer, and they would still die.
But at her hands. Not his.
He should tell her.
He would not.
* * * *
"Megan?” The voice rose from the shadows, thin and quavering. “How did you ... Who's that with you?"
"It's Grace. She's safe."
"All right.” More rustling, and the silhouette emerged. As he approached, his features became more defined and Grace made out the object he carried. The “gun” was a trigger device connected with a hose to a slender metal canister. He must have been spraying the plants with something. “How did you girls get in here? Not through the door."
"Grace brought us. It's kind of hard to explain."
"No need. I understand now.” A small smile formed on his slender lips. “It's nice to finally meet you, Grace, though I think the circumstances could have been better."
"I'm such a dolt,” Megan said. “Grace, this is Lawrence, my stepfather. I never introduced you."
"Hello. I'm sorry, but can I ask what you're doing out here in the dark?"
Lawrence sighed. “I could ask the same of you. Look, you really should get back to the house. If Michael finds you out here ... or me..."
"Actually, I came here looking for him,” Grace said.
"Oh. Well, I didn't. In fact, I'm trying to avoid him."
"What are you doing, Lawrence?"
"Stopping this. At least temporarily.” He held up the device. “It's plant killer. No Devil's Backbone, no drug. Until they find another source. But I'm just trying to stall until I come up with something better."
"You can't do that,” Megan whispered. “What if they find out?"
"Megan,” Lawrence said gently. “I'm past caring what they do to me. It's what they're doing to you and your friends I'm worried about. It isn't right, and I'm not going to stand around and watch it happen any more. I'm certainly not going to enable it.” He set the canister down, hesitated. “Chances are, they'll find someone else to do this. What I hope is that you'll be long gone by then. I was going to talk to you about it..."
Megan giggled. “Grace and I kind of had the same idea.” She hugged him, and smiled. “I'm sorry about before. You know. I was a bitch to you. I didn't know..."
"I'm sorry, too. Maybe if I'd explained all this to you sooner, it wouldn't have come to this. I just thought you'd be better off not knowing.” Lawrence squeezed her for a moment and stepped back. “I'm ashamed of my part in this. I want to do something to make it right."
Megan nodded and looked at Grace. “Maybe we can come up with something together?"
"The more, the merrier.” Surprised and pleased to have another ally, Grace glanced toward the camp house. “Do you know if Michael's there?"
"Probably. He came back about an hour ago and I haven't seen him leave."
"Back from where?"
Lawrence shrugged. “Town, somewhere. He might have been picking up supplies, but Dorinne usually does the shopping. The van is the only transportation up here."
"Okay. I'm going to talk to him."
"I'll stay here and help Lawrence.” Call me if you need me.
I will.
Grace left the greenhouse and started around the back of the camp house. One way or another, they would settle this tonight.
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Chapter 25
Light glowed dimly behind a drawn curtain in one of the front windows. Grace hoped that meant someone was there. She knocked, waited. Kendra opened the door.
"Grace? What's wrong?"
"I'm not sure. Can I come in?"
Kendra glanced back inside the house. “I guess so. No one ever ... yes. Come in.” She stood back, and closed the door behind Grace.
"Is Michael here?"
"He's in the shower.” Kendra worried her lower lip. “Did something happen?"
"Not yet.” Grace stared at her mother. Clad in cotton pajamas the color of creamed coffee, her hair loose and unstyled, she looked like a teenager in a department store catalogue. Not the type of sleepwear she'd pictured Kendra wearing—especially around Michael. Maybe she had grown up. A little.
"Here. Let's sit down.” Kendra gestured to the room on the right where two overstuffed chairs and a love seat had been grouped around a brick fireplace currently devoid of fire. A corked bottle rested in a bucket of ice on the stone hearth. Mismatched wine glasses lined the mantle. One glass sat half-full on a table beside the chair to the left.
Grace shook her head. “Planning to get lucky tonight, Kendra?"
"How did you get so tactless?” Kendra grabbed the bottle, flipped the loose cork out with a thumb, and refilled her glass. “I never raised you to speak like that."
"You never raised me, period!” Grace drew a sharp breath and forced herself to calm down. “Look, I didn't come here to fight with you. Let's agree to disagree and I'll just sit here and wait for Michael."
Grace drop
ped into the right-hand chair. Kendra hesitated and reached toward the mantle. “Would you.... Oh, you're not twenty-one. You probably don't even like this stuff.” She started to replace the bottle.
"Actually, I would like some.” Grace almost added please. She decided against it. Drinking had never been a regular occurrence for her, but she had a feeling it would help tonight. Besides, the appalled look on her mother's face came close to making her laugh.
Kendra wordlessly selected a narrow, lilac-tinted glass flute with a stem that coiled like a spring. She poured it half-full, handed it to Grace, and replaced the bottle. Taking the chair opposite Grace, she sipped from the glass beside it and let out a sigh. “Why did you come out here?"
"I told you, I have to talk to Michael.” Grace tried the wine. It was crisp and bittersweet, heavy with fruit. Like thinned apple cider with a bite. Not bad.
"About what?"
"A lot of things."
"Grace...” Kendra put her glass down with a hollow clink. “I'm not completely stupid, you know. I haven't been the best mother. Believe me, I'm aware of that. I only want to help, but I can't if you don't tell me what's going on."
Grace frowned. Kendra sounded sincere enough, but her mother had a knack for lying with a straight face. She searched her thoughts.
What is she doing here, anyway? I just don't understand why she has to be so difficult. If I was her, I'd be happy to have someone help get rid of the weird stuff. The glowing eyes, the mind-reading thing. I wouldn't want people thinking I was some sort of freak.
Shallow, self-serving crap. Kendra hadn't changed. She still obsessed over other people's opinions—except when it came to her men. Disgusted, Grace drained the rest of the wine and set the glass down hard on the table beside her.
"Grace?” Kendra said. “What is it? You...” She gasped and leaned forward. “Your eyes! They're blue. They've never been blue before. What does that mean? Are you sick?"
"Yes, do tell. What does it mean, Grace?"
Michael's voice drifted into the room, low and reproachful. Grace turned to find him leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at her. “Does it really matter?” she said.
Michael straightened and offered a careless shrug. “I suppose it doesn't. It is interesting, though. I doubt you've mastered suppression in a week. Especially since I haven't even lowered your dosage yet."
"Do you expect me to believe you were going to?"
"No. But I was.” Michael crossed the room to the fireplace and poured himself some wine. “I'd planned to bring you here tonight anyway. Not sure why you came, but you did save me the trouble."
"Trouble. That's what I am to you?” Grace shifted and leaned forward. “What about the rest of them? What about Megan, is she trouble too? You were trying to pick her up."
Kendra paled and cast her eyes down. Anger tightened Michael's features. “I already explained that. I had to get her here. And if you're suggesting ... Christ, she's only sixteen. I would never."
"Yeah, and you're twenty-two. And my mother is almost forty. Sorry, Kendra, but don't you think there's something wrong with that?"
Michael stood silent for a moment. At last he returned his untouched glass to the mantle and faced Kendra. “I'm sorry to have to ask this, but would you mind if I spoke with Grace alone? It's important.” He offered a hand.
"Go ahead.” Kendra took it and Michael helped her stand. “I think I'll go straighten up in the kitchen."
Michael kissed the corner of her mouth. “Thank you."
Kendra sent Grace an imploring look and left the room.
"It's nice to have my mother's money, isn't it?” Grace said when Kendra was out of earshot.
Shaking his head, Michael moved to the loveseat and dropped onto the cushions. “Not everyone in the world is out to use you. Or your mother. I'm not."
"Right. Your intentions are entirely altruistic. And I'm ... Elvis Presley."
"What?"
"Never mind.” Grace drew a breath and let it out slow. “You do understand why I'm a little suspicious. It's an old trick—younger man, rich older woman. Believe me, you're not the first to think you can land Kendra Carrington."
"I'm not trying to land her, Grace,” Michael said quietly. “And I'm sixty years old."
Grace snorted. “Oh, come on. I figured you were lying to Megan, but that's pushing it. I'd give you thirty, maybe."
"I'm sixty,” Michael repeated. “We don't age. At least, not like normal people."
"Uh-huh. So what happens when we hit eighty or ninety? Do we just drop dead?"
"If we don't die of ... unnatural causes, we can live for centuries."
Grace started to object again, but her intuition whispered that Michael was telling the truth. “Centuries,” she said. “So, you expect us to spend centuries working for the government?"
"No. I expect you to spend a few years learning to survive. I can't protect any of you here for very long. Those unnatural causes I mentioned? I'm talking about the angels. They're older, stronger, and more powerful than all of us combined. And they hate us."
"Not all of them do. What about Dawn and David's father?"
Michael closed his eyes briefly. “Just one of them could slaughter all of us here without breaking a sweat. Especially the one that controls the Stalker. The one looking for you. That's why I had to talk to you.” He paused and passed a hand over his face. “Keeping you here, even with the drug masking your power, is a serious risk. I've tried everything to come up with an alternative, but there just isn't another option."
"Another option besides what?"
"My contact will be here in a few hours. You're leaving tonight."
From somewhere in the depths of the house came the sound of shattering glass.
Michael sprang to his feet and whirled. “Kendra! Are you all right?"
Silence replied.
Michael made his way around the couch and strode for the doorway. Kendra stepped into view before he reached it. She regarded him with moist, accusing eyes. “You said a few days,” she whispered. “A few days. Not tonight! I didn't even get to..."
"Oh, Kendra. How much of that did you hear?” He drew her to him, rubbed her back. “I'm sorry. I really am. Please try to understand ... It's the only way she'll be safe. I'm trying to protect her. Protect all of us."
Grace stood. Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging her palms. “I don't need your protection,” she said in a tight voice. “I'll leave because I don't want anyone else getting hurt. But I'm not going with your government buddy. You might want to reconsider your strategy, Michael, because none of the others want to participate. In fact, before I go, I'm going to ask them to come with me."
"You really don't get it, do you?” Michael said. “If you head off alone, they'll find you. They'll kill you. And anyone else with you."
"I've managed to survive so far.” Grace clenched her jaw. Why did he have to be right, again? She couldn't protect anyone else. Asking them to come would be selfish and cruel. Still, she would try to accomplish what she'd come here for in the first place. “Look, Michael. I'm the danger here, right? I'm the one with the bulls-eye on my back."
"There's more to it than that."
"Fine. Debate semantics if you want. But that's what it boils down to.” Grace took a fortifying breath. “I'm going to leave. By myself, not with your contact. The others don't want to join the Army, or the CIA, or whatever. Just ... please. Let them stay here. Without me around, they'll be all right. Won't they?"
Grace, no!
Grace flinched. Megan's voice screamed in her head, drowning Michael's reply.
I have to go, Megan. I can't let those monsters kill you.
Either you stay, or I'm going with you.
Megan...
"Grace?” Kendra stared at her. “Will you think about it?"
"Think about what?"
Michael's brow furrowed. “I said, I might be able to let them stay if you go with my contact. I have to know you're sa
fe. If they find you, they can force you to tell them about this place. Remember?"
Can you hear me?
Grace fought to conceal her reaction. That was Michael's voice.
You can! How? You're not supposed to be able to do anything. They'll sense it!
"Get out of my head!"
Michael recoiled, nearly knocking Kendra over. “How did you do that?"
"Do what?"
"You forced me out."
"I did?” Grace shook her head, attempting to clear the ringing in her ears. “I ... didn't know you could do that. The telepathy thing, I mean."
"It's called Reaching. The one power we all share. Mind abilities are different with everyone, but technically, you should be able to Reach any Nephil."
Grace. Megan's voice sounded small and worried. I think someone's coming...
Grace glowered at Michael. “Your contact is early."
"What? No, he can't be. He was too far away to get here so soon."
Someone pounded on the door. Once, twice, three times.
Michael glanced at Kendra and then Grace. “Can't be him. Impossible."
A heavy thud shook the house. The windows rattled with the force.
"You two stay here.” Michael left the room, headed around the corner. A brief pause followed. The door opened. Michael spoke in strangled tones.
"Oh Jesus no ... Kaden!"
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Chapter 26
Kendra raced from the room. Grace followed, speaking to Megan as she moved. You guys better come to the house. I think there's trouble.
The front door stood open, the porch light on. Kendra froze just outside the entrance with one hand clasped to her mouth. To the left, Michael crouched beside a filthy, ragged heap that vaguely resembled a person—a young man, though beyond that it was impossible to determine more. Dirt caked his hair, smeared his face and lined his cracked lips. Dark beads of blood glistened at one corner of his mouth. The remnants of his clothing were stiff with mud and red-brown stains that looked like blood as well.
"Kaden,” Michael murmured. “What happened?” Not expecting an answer, he hooked his hands under Kaden's arms and pulled the lax form toward him to prop him on his thighs.