by Jaime Rush
What would he see? The need to do it tugged and grasped at him, like a gaggle of kids. Pull them together.
It was the ultimate exercise of his control, something that had always been his pride. Petra, though, had shattered that illusion. He pulled in one deep breath after another, centering himself. In the space of his inner consciousness, he reached for one piece, then another. Each piece felt rubbery, but they fit together, the seams disappearing. One after another, some big, some small, morphing into one large, shimmering black window. When it was finished, when all the pieces were put back together, he looked into the blackness and saw . . . his reflection.
The answer is within you.
Not his father’s voice but his own.
The answer to what?
Get beyond the anger and look at the whole picture.
Petra’s image appeared behind him, not quite as clear as his own. Their souls were so intertwined, she was here inside him.
“False memories,” she said.
At first the anger came, making the whole image shimmer. Control it. He was able to maintain it, though Petra was gone. False memories. He had believed, had seen, Cody and Darcy die. You always believe what your senses tell you.
The answer . . .
What if Yurek saw him kill Pope, himself, and Petra? If the memory were put into his mind? He would return to Surfacia and report his triumph, minus being able to extract Pope alive. No one would be sent to replace a dead Yurek. The case would be closed.
The hunter inside him reared his head, wanting to kill instead. He pushed that down. Not this time. The ultimate control: not to kill.
He would have to talk to Wayne, though. He summoned him, and Wayne’s image appeared in the pseudoreflection.
“You have come to me, son? Even now?”
It was a struggle to hold back the anger, to humble himself to the man who had stolen so much from him. “Teach me how to implant memories.”
“The Otherling must die. You cannot allow him to return.”
“If I allow him to live, I am saving Pope, and Petra, and myself.”
“But—”
“Teach me.” Not a request; an order. “You owe me this.”
The command hung in the air for a few moments.
Then the window in front of him shimmered, became black. Like watching a scene on a television show, Wayne’s image hovered in front of his own. Wayne put his hand on Cheveyo’s forehead, sending a green energy into his mind. He watched himself, as though hypnotized, knocking furniture to the floor, setting the scene, and then falling to the floor. The scene faded, leaving only his father’s face.
“Do I have this ability?” Cheveyo asked. “And will it be dormant because of my healing?”
“I can give it to you, but you must allow me to go into your mind, your soul.”
Cheveyo paused at that. Could he trust this man now? Definitely not. What if he put some memory of Petra dying in his head?
Wayne said, “I’m sorry that you do not trust me.”
“Are you sorry that you deceived me? That you caused me such pain? You caused my mother pain, too.”
“No. I have done everything for the good of others, and those with a higher calling must often sacrifice their own desires.”
Anger made the image shimmer again, and Cheveyo had to once again rein it in. “But shouldn’t I have a say in what I sacrifice?”
“Perhaps, but it is done. Will you walk away from your life’s purpose because you are angry with me? Anger, love, these are temporary emotions that weaken you, lead you astray. You kept the girl with you, despite my warnings and the fact that you almost died. If she would have died—”
“My soul would have died with her. Give me the power. From now on, I make my own choices. I guide my own destiny.”
Wayne said, “Make the right choice. Do not give up what you are.”
“I know nothing else.”
“Very well.” Wayne’s hand reached out from the window.
“Only the ability,” Cheveyo told him. “Nothing more.”
He felt his father’s hand reach into his mind, creating a ball of heat and light that burst like fireworks.
Cheveyo’s eyes snapped open then, locking on Petra, who hovered nearby. “Yurek will kill all of us in a fiery explosion that will disintegrate our bodies,” he told her.
She sat back on the floor next to him, her face frozen in fear. “A precognitive vision?”
“What my father did was unforgivable. I’m going to use it against Yurek.”
Her face lit up. “False memories.” The exact words she’d said in the vision. She glanced at Pope, sitting on the bed. “Ohmigod, it’s perfect.”
“The only drawback is, I have to touch his forehead. Getting that close will be dangerous. For us and for him. I get that close, I’m going to want to kill the son of a bitch with every cell of my being.” It was a good thing Yurek wasn’t the one who’d tried to rape her.
Her face grew sober again. “He’s got that weapon that put a hole in you.”
“And he still has my ability.” That rankled the most; Yurek could become his cat. He grabbed a dagger that was hidden beneath the mattress. “All I’ve got are normal, everyday weapons. They’ll have to be enough.” He manipulated the dagger in his hand. It was likely World War One era, belonging to a Russian Imperial officer. “Let’s get back to the house. It’s time to finish this.”
Chapter 22
An hour later they stopped for gas. Petra watched a band of motorcyclists head out of the station’s lot as she stood next to Cheveyo pumping gas. “I hope you get your bike back.”
He watched them, too, one hand braced against the side of the Tank. “Compared to getting my son back, the bike is nothing.”
“Yeah, when you put it that way.”
He looked at her. “That was an amazing gift, one I don’t know how to thank you for. How did you figure it out?”
“I didn’t figure it out, exactly. It was the way your father said it was ‘necessary’ for your son to die, because he was making you soft. I just latched onto it and acted on a hunch.”
“There are no such things as hunches. That was your inner self telling you what you needed to know. It’s how I got the idea to use the false memory on Yurek. Your inner self helped in that, too.”
“Mine?”
He shifted toward her. “I want to try it, make sure it works before I put my hand on Yurek.”
She nodded. “Whatever I have to do.”
The moment his warm hand covered her forehead, she closed her eyes. Just his touch could do that to her. A burst of energy shot into her mind, and with it flashes of images: the two of them walking through a vast field of goldenrod, him pulling her close, kissing her surrounded by the lush, tall stalks, everything in fast motion like film speeded up. She felt his hands skimming over her bare shoulders, down her sides and hips. Just when her body began responding, it disappeared.
Her eyes snapped open. “That was beautiful. Especially the last part.”
He pulled his hand away, his gaze on hers. “I was going for a nice memory, but as usual with you, I got carried away.”
“Not carried away enough, I’d say.” She rolled it around in her mind. “Yes, it felt like a memory, as vivid as being in the tub in Vegas.” She gave him an impish grin. “Only it went by a little too fast.”
He looked at his hand. “It worked, then. I just projected what I wanted you to see, to feel.” The triumph on his expression faded.
“Now you’ll have to picture us being killed,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“I noticed I was wearing my vest in my false memory.”
He ran his finger down the top edge of the vest, all the way down to the vee at the bottom. “I like it. But I liked it better when it was off.”
She cleared her throat, feeling the skin on her chest flush with heat.
The gas nozzle clicked off, and he put it back in the pump. “Where’s Pope?”
“In the store.
”
Pope walked out then, carrying a large plastic bag and a six-pack of soda.
She smiled. “I like him. Really like him.”
“Yeah,” he said as Pope neared them and pulled out several bags of chips.
“Thought we might like some snacks. There’s something pleasurable about buying what you call junk food.”
Cheveyo was eyeing the selection. “We should get something more nutritious. We’re going to need it.”
More nutritious turned out to be a quasi-fast-food burger joint, but at least they had waitresses. Petra kept fiddling with the sheath on a belt that he had fit her with from the Tank’s special cabinet. Back in the RV, she worked with it, trying to maneuver it as deftly as Cheveyo had with the dagger earlier. Of course, she knew she would never be as good.
She loved his idea, but hated that he’d have to get close to Yurek to carry it out. They had talked about their plan during the drive back, mostly centering on subduing Yurek while Cheveyo did the memory-plant thing. He was quiet during the last part of the drive, and she had to stop herself twenty times from asking him what he was thinking about.
He had plenty to consider. The upcoming altercation with Yurek. His son. Would he give up his warrior role to have a normal life? Would he give her up to give his son the family he’d never had? It was more likely that he’d walk away from all of them. Walking away was all he’d ever known, as was being a warrior.
Prepare yourself for that.
She glanced back and saw that Pope was watching her, no doubt feeling her turmoil.
Cheveyo pulled into a parking lot just before they were to reach the road to his house. “Pope, you drive. Petra and I will stay out of sight.”
The sun was on its way down by the time they returned to the cabin, sending long shadows across the clearing. She watched him go into full alert mode as they pulled down the road, and she searched their surroundings just as he did.
Cheveyo said, “He’s here.”
Petra’s chest tightened. “How do you know?”
“Power’s out. I keep a light on that shines in that window and one around the back. They’re both off. Park to the right of the garage, where it’s darkest. As you’re walking out the door, we’ll go out the window on the other side.”
Pope’s face became a cold mask. “I’ll go in the front door, try the switch. That will give him the opportunity to cuff me.” His mouth tightened. “Or try. Don’t worry, Petra. He doesn’t want me dead. Well, he might want me dead, but bringing me back alive will garner him the most points. The two of you, though, have to be most careful. Killing you is likely all he wants.”
Cheveyo said, “But he might be happy to incapacitate you.”
Pope gripped the handle of the door. “I don’t feel him nearby. He’s probably inside the house.” He waited for them to duck down near the window before opening the door.
Cheveyo was already outside by the time Pope closed it. To be so agile. It took her a minute longer than it had taken him. Once on her feet, they crept around the back of the house.
Pope stepped on the first squeaky board, letting them know his position. Cheveyo pointed to an open window, Yurek’s point of entry. Cheveyo crept to the window and studied the darkness.
She joined him. I don’t hear anything.
He pointed at the opening. We go in this way. Pope will draw Yurek to the front door.
She nodded, and marveled at how easily he lifted himself through the opening. She would do the same. He watched the doorway as she climbed through and into the room she’d used the first time she came. The second floorboard squeaked.
Pope was almost at the front door. They needed to be in position before he came in. She heard him slide the key in the lock . . . and a shoe shift on the floor.
I heard him. He’s in the main area, somewhere in the middle.
Pope let the door slam open, and he would slam it shut, too, giving them a few seconds of sound camouflage.
She followed Cheveyo into the living area. He moved with liquid grace, body poised to react. He rounded the corner of the staircase, ready for attack. The house was dim, the shadows here even longer as they stretched across the wooden floors and leather couch. Cheveyo could see well in the dark. He obviously didn’t see Yurek.
Pope flicked the switch several times, muttering. He pulled out a cell phone and punched in some numbers. “Cheveyo, it’s Pope. The power’s out.” The light from the screen glowed against his cheek. “All right. I’ll try to find it.”
She gripped the handle of her small knife. Damn, her palms kept sweating. She wiped them against her pants. Cheveyo nodded for her to follow. He kept his back to the staircase as he edged toward the arched opening into the dining room. She watched the living area, alert for sound and movement in the deepening shadows. She heard a body bump against something solid.
There! By the china hutch!
The beam shot out of the depth of the dining room inches in front of Cheveyo. He jerked back into her. Pope dove for the floor, and the beam drilled a hole into the wall near the front door. Was Yurek so desperate now that he’d bring Pope back dead?
Cheveyo twisted around the corner, launching his dagger. A grunt of pain came from the dark.
He’d been hit! How bad?
Cheveyo reached up to the bookshelves built into the front of the staircase and pulled another knife from between two books. She ducked around him. She wanted to capitalize on Yurek’s shock and further incapacitate him.
He stood right there, ready to blast her with the Sinthe. She dropped, and Cheveyo lunged at his arm. Yurek shifted and the blade missed. The beam shot out again, dropping Pope to the floor as he made his way toward them.
She turned back in time to see Yurek aiming at her. A dead-close shot. She knocked his hand to the right, and the beam seared the edge of the sofa. The smell of burnt leather filled the room. Cheveyo leapt at him. Their bodies collided and the Sinthe flew out of Yurek’s hand. It skidded across the wood floor and beneath the couch. Yurek morphed to Cheveyo’s cat.
“Son of a bitch,” Cheveyo muttered.
Now Yurek could see in the dark. He rammed into Cheveyo, knocking him against the wall, and ran toward the couch. She stuck her knife out, felt him hit the blade as he passed. He didn’t falter in his leap over the couch, landing with a soft thud on the other side. She dropped to her knees and felt for the Sinthe. Her fingertips bumped the cold, smooth metal out of reach.
Dammit!
She leaned down, seeing a black paw, claws extended, about to clamp down over it.
Get the weapon, get the weapon.
Cheveyo ran up next to her and shoved the couch toward Yurek. She helped push, and it rolled over onto Yurek. A second later Yurek pushed free. Pope leapt at him. The cat bounded up and met him halfway, throwing them both through the front glass window. The sound of shattering glass made her shiver, but the worst was hearing their bodies thud hard on the front porch. The sound of flesh against flesh sent Cheveyo racing toward the window.
On her hands and knees, she desperately looked for the weapon. Cheveyo hadn’t even made it to the window when the cat jumped back in through the gaping hole, throwing Cheveyo to the side. Where was Pope?
Yurek leapt across the overturned couch, landing on her, claws sinking into her back. The force took away her breath, flattening her and banging her head into the wood floor. With a growl, Cheveyo came at them with his knife. Using her as a jumping board, Yurek launched off of her. She curled up in pain, unable to breathe.
Cheveyo jumped over the couch and out of sight. She pushed up. No time for pain. Catch your breath and go help.
Footsteps pounded across the floor. She got up in time to see two shadows, cat and man, dash into the kitchen. Cheveyo bounded up onto the island, crouched and ready to leap onto his opponent. He couldn’t change to cat, but he was all jaguar in movement and strategy. Yurek jumped up, too, probably aiming to knock him down. Cheveyo leapt to the next counter, slashing his knife mida
ir. The tip of the blade caught Yurek along his leg, making him hiss in pain.
She clutched her knife, but they were moving too fast for her to throw it, especially in the shadows. Yurek spun, sensing her behind him, snarling. He spun again, taking in Cheveyo on his other side. They had him cornered. He growled, spinning in slow circles as they moved in on him.
If she could distract him for just a few seconds . . . “Here, kitty kitty,” she said, clicking her tongue.
He did come, leaping at her. She twisted, feeling his furry body bump as he just missed her. She threw herself onto his back, wrapping her arms and legs around him. He shook, trying to throw her off, but she clung harder to his neck so he couldn’t turn his head to bite her. He lifted a paw to swipe at her, but she hindered his movement, preventing him from getting in a full swipe.
She felt the tips of his claws cut into her skin before Cheveyo jumped on top of both of them, sending Yurek collapsing to the floor beneath their weight. He morphed back to man and tried to grab at her again. His fingers grabbed her arm, but the angle was too awkward for him to do more than squeeze hard. She was pinned between them, two hot, angry males. She didn’t dare try to climb out and loosen the hold they had on Yurek.
Cheveyo reached around and held the knife to his throat, his hand shaking. His eyes were black and she saw the vibration, felt the heat, of the change that wanted to happen. He held on, his teeth gritted with the effort.
Yurek continued to struggle, managing to lift them a few inches before dropping again.
“Don’t kill him,” she whispered.
“I want to. It’s what I am, what I do.” He trembled, dragged in a shuddering breath. “I want to so damned bad.”
“But you won’t.”
Silence for a moment. “No, I won’t.”
Then he slapped his hand on Yurek’s forehead with his other hand.
Cheveyo’s eyes closed. His veins stood out in his neck, mouth clenched tight.
Yurek went limp. Cheveyo released a ragged sigh and let his head hang. A second later he lifted it and met her gaze. “Pope,” they said simultaneously and started to get up.
“I’m here,” he said from the doorway, clutching the frame, his clothing disheveled and torn. He looked at the form on the floor. “It worked?”