VECTOR (The Weaver Series Book 3)

by Vaun Murphrey

  I knew better than to interfere so I spoke out loud for everyone’s benefit. “Silver’s on it, Maggie. Just give her a minute or two okay? Malcolm can you keep an eye on our ‘friend’ over there? He can’t ‘port because he’s unconscious but that doesn’t mean someone else can’t pull him through the Web. If he disappears, don’t make a grab for him. I don’t want you accidently going anywhere. Maggie, go check on the twins and make sure they don’t come into this room.”

  My aunt jumped up from the floor at the mention of the twins, making the floorboards groan in protest, only hesitating once for a brief glance at our hand against Gerome’s neck before heading down the hall at triple speed. The bleeding had already stopped and I could feel the pulse beginning to strengthen and steady to a throbbing beat under the surface of his skin. Malcolm was already in position, most likely because he hadn’t required my instruction to know where he was needed, looming over the unconscious Axsian agent with his hands loose at his sides just waiting for an excuse to launch at a threat.

  I realized I was avoiding eye contact with Gerome and turned our head to stare into the light brown, whiskey-colored orbs that I shared in common with him and my deceased mother both. He was alert and holding down a barely concealed panic, but I knew from personal experience with Silver’s healing methods that he could feel the heat as my twin repaired his almost fatal wound from the inside out. The air still held the drifting fog of white powdery flour but it was almost all settled down now. A faint eddying wisp of white floated in between us and our gazes shifted to the distraction at the same time then back toward each other. I smiled widely as I felt the surge of power which signaled my sister’s final push in the healing process and said into the quiet room, “I’m guessing Silver and I get to clean up all this mess, huh?”

  I heard Malcolm give a grunt of amusement and Gerome’s eyes crinkled at the corners, though his mouth failed to turn up at the sides. Silver popped back into full awareness, no longer distracted with the process of healing, to give her report by taking over immediate control of our mouth. She removed our hand from our uncle’s blood coated skin.

  “It wasn’t as bad as it could have been but it was bad enough. You need fluids pronto, Gerome, and we need some food to replenish our energy before we pass out from a sugar low. What’s your recommendation on our sleeping beauty over there? We can keep him from teleporting out if he stays unconscious or hurt but that won’t stop an accomplice from pulling him through the Web.”

  Where there had once been a thin deep slash of a wound on our uncle’s neck, there now existed a strip of new delicate bright pink flesh.

  Gerome’s voice was rough and hesitant as if he didn’t trust it would work as he responded, “I don’t see any way to keep him permanently contained at the compound. I’m going to assume this isn’t Shiva?”

  He raised his eyebrows at that and I responded with a nod in the affirmative that his assumption was correct.

  Gerome’s voice firmed. “Go tell Maggie I’m alright first before we do anything else.”

  As we rose from the kneeling position we had taken in front of Gerome, every sore spot on our body objected and a wave of fatigue made us sway in place. Malcolm reached out a long arm to brace our right shoulder, giving a deep grunt of concern but still keeping half an eye on the unconscious Axsian halfway collapsed against the wall and floor.

  Silver grumped, “We used more juice than I thought—sometimes it’s hard to tell when our adrenaline is still pumping.” I had a thought and my twin picked up on it immediately. “It can’t hurt to try. I don’t like us being vulnerable right now. We don’t even know who else is involved in this or if and when they might show up. Tell Malcolm to go get Maggie from the kid’s room. If this works it should only take a minute or so.”

  Out loud I asked Malcolm, “Can you get Maggie? Don’t yell in case the twins slept through all the commotion.” Malcolm frowned but complied with one last look at our incapacitated would be assassin. With shaking hands, I removed our remaining glove and shoved it in our coat pocket with its mate.

  Gerome cleared his throat as if to test how it would feel and reached up to pull on a leather covered button then let it slip from his fingers. “Nice coat…thank you for…” He made a vague gesture toward the area of his neck.

  I shrugged, smiling to see him at a loss for words. His return smile transformed his face, making him seem years younger and we stashed the memory in our mind to look over later at our leisure. Gerome so rarely gave levity or joy freedom to roam that the sight of it was a treat.

  Maggie and Malcolm walked out of the hallway, ending the moment too soon. My aunt was wearing a shell-shocked expression and I knew what we were about to attempt might help her as well, so I motioned her over with a hand extended in invitation, including Malcolm with our other hand. They both looked a question at us and it was my turn to clear our throat and say in an exhausted voice, “Maggie, do you remember what happened with Melody in your office, after Silver healed your nose? We want to try that with you and Malcolm. We need a boost.”

  My aunt’s expression snapped into doctor mode and she really looked at our face; whatever she observed made her shuffle closer without comment and grasp our extended fingers tightly. Malcolm was still confused but he followed Maggie’s lead, taking hold, swallowing our hand in his warm baseball mitt of an extremity. Nothing happened until Malcolm and Maggie made contact to close the circuit and then a powerful humming, pleasurable tingling began to resonate all throughout our bodies

  All of our eyes widened in response but no one broke the connection. Silver reveled in the energy, drawing more and more into us, then dumping it back out to continue along its way until every cell in our body was renewed to the point of bursting. Every ache and sore muscle disappeared to be replaced by a feeling of energetic possibility. I could feel my sister pass through the circuit and give the same treatment to Maggie, who visibly perked up, and then move on to Malcolm. When I could tell we’d accomplished our goal, I reeled Silver in since she felt a little bit power drunk. Once she was settled, I broke the circuit by releasing the physical connection first with Maggie and then with Malcolm.

  Silence reigned absolute for a minute that felt like a century and then Maggie broke into an uplifted grin. “Wow, guys! That was like getting high on happy! Holy cow! I almost don’t care Gerome coulda died…no offense, Honey.”

  Gerome only grunted in amusement, carefully turning in the loveseat to better see everyone, then speaking up from his still seated position. “Did the twins sleep through everything or are they awake?”

  Maggie blinked rapidly a few times and then jerked her head in her husband’s direction to spout in a rapid fire delivery that ran every word together as if it was one continuous utterance. “No they didn’t wakeup which is weird because they usually do if we even sneeze too loud and why should tonight be any different? I’m just glad we’re all okay and what the hell was the point of all this? Holy crap how are we going to clean all of this up before morning? Your blood is everywhere, Gerome. Why can’t I stop talking?” Maggie slapped a hand over her own mouth and squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to stop the verbal avalanche.

  Malcolm chuckled then placed one of his huge, long-fingered hands on her shoulder. “Just take a deep breath, momma, it’ll be okay. You sound like one of those speed freaks we pick up downtown for soliciting. Cass or Silver…how the heck do I know who I’m supposed to talk to? How long is this supposed to last?”

  Silver took over to respond in her deeper voice. “Just talk to whichever one of us you want to talk to and we’ll answer. Don’t get your panties all in a twist about it, Big Man. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but according to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, entropy is always increasing so it can’t last forever—nothing in life ever does.”

  Malcolm rolled his eyes upward at Silver’s response, which made the increased white of his eyes stand out against the backdrop of his blue-black skin, and snorted, “Alright, what’s
next then, Dynamite, since you’ve got it all figured out?”

  I stepped in before the positive energy pulsing through all of us turned into something negative, to say, “I suggest Maggie call David at the infirmary and get him to bring something to the house for Gerome to replace his fluids. Meanwhile, we’ve got to get the Council involved this time instead of covering it up. They need to know in case my uncle isn’t the only target.”

  It felt surreal standing in the flour-coated living room, talking strategy with arterial spray patterns on the furniture. In each place it had landed, the bright red was already starting to change colors as it dried. If the regular police were involved in this, their forensics teams would have had hell trying to track the blood spatter and account for the way it was partially interrupted by our body as it flew through the air. The Winnie the Pooh blanket was lying discarded on the floor by Gerome’s feet and it looked frightening. Our heart began to race again in a delayed reaction to how close a call it’d really been. What if the agent had gone after the twins instead?

  Gerome offered, “Since I can’t do much physically, I’ll alert the Council in the Web.” My uncle closed his eyes, started to lean his head back into its prior position, exposing his neck, then thought better of it and slumped down in the loveseat to rest his chin against his chest.

  No one commented for a moment until Maggie snapped out of it and went down the hall again only to reappear, talking on her cell phone in a somewhat more controlled tempo but to my ears still faster than normal. I could hear a faint male voice and assumed it was David, the night shift nurse at the infirmary.

  Malcolm stood guard over the unconscious alien assailant so Silver and I drew the short straw, getting the joy of collecting the dumped flour from every flat surface in the room. Our cleaning options were going to be limited to anything that didn’t make noise until Reb and Ray were up. At least the spots with blood could be wiped up with a mop or rag on the hardwood floor. The furniture was going to be another matter, plus the blankets draped on the back of the couch and the one Maggie used to staunch Gerome’s blood flow would all need to be thrown in the washer.

  I expected Silver to grumble about being forced to clean and save the day, but she remained silent without adding anything snarky. I decided to let sleeping dogs lie, letting her woolgather or whatever she was up to while I grabbed all of the blankets to carry them to the laundry room.

  As we passed Maggie, she put her hand over the phone to give instructions. “Use the heavy duty cycle but no warm or hot water, just cold. I’ve got some color safe bleach and detergent in the cabinet above the washer.”

  Once the load was started, I grabbed a mop from the laundry room to head back into the war zone. Looking down at our long coat as it flared out with a forward step I noticed a few drops of blood on the black leather that only I could see with our enhanced vision. It wouldn’t do to walk around with even a small amount of my uncle’s blood on me, no matter that no one else could see it. We would have to see to it later, all of us were dusted with flour anyway. Silver bounded back into the forefront of our mind and rushed to take control of our body until she noticed the mop I gripped like a shepherd’s staff in our right hand.

  With comical feigned aplomb she half muttered, “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to…interrupt what you were doing!”

  Feeling wicked amusement I rejoined, “Sure you’re right, Sister. You can apologize by taking over…I don’t mind.”

  Silver started to backpedal immediately until the kitchen table came into view with its forgotten plate of reheated lasagna then she cried out loud, “Hey, you were going to eat without me!”

  Chapter Four: Follow the Leader

  I took over our mouth again to say, “Calm down, Silver. I obviously didn’t get to eat it, now did I? If I hadn’t been in the kitchen things might have rolled out a little differently so you should thank me.”

  The now cold lump of congealed melted cheese and pasta didn’t look the least bit appealing. It was just another item we had to clean up after we finished with everything else. A knock sounded on the front door, followed by the rattle of someone trying the knob without being acknowledged.

  James’ deep, concern-laden voice came faintly through the thick wood. “Sir, it’s Lee. Can you open the door?”

  Malcolm said to Gerome, “He isn’t on duty right now but he lives next door so Control probably called him.”

  Since we weren’t critically occupied guarding a prisoner, on the phone like Maggie, or disabled like my uncle, we walked over to answer the front door with the mop still in our hand. Our gloves were in our pocket and needed to be donned before anyone else showed up, but James had already been exposed to us so we didn’t fret too much about it.

  Silver added an unhelpful, “He most certainly has been exposed to you…gonna try it for real? Oh, and please don’t turn into a walking hormone just because he’s around. We need to stay focused.”

  I gathered my thoughts to reply acidly to her jab but when the door was all the way open to the night and James was revealed standing expectantly on the porch, all of my irritation evaporated. His green eyes travelled from our feet to the top of our head at a glance, not even pausing at the mop, ascertained we were unharmed and then moved on to the rest of the living room.

  Wind blew in a gust, plastering his dark hair to his forehead and rushed into the house to rattle the artwork Reb or Ray had scotch-taped to the wall by the entryway. The place was still a wreck with white dusting everything, and if you didn’t come all the way into the house you might miss the blood spatter from the doorway. The empty flour canister rested on the floor next to the kids’ toy basket and some of the magazines Maggie kept on the coffee table were torn and strewn around the room. You couldn’t see it from the door, but one limp leg of the still unconscious alien turncoat was visible behind Gerome’s loveseat as Malcolm motioned James forward into the house.

  He took in the room, cataloging everything as if he were taking mental pictures. Who knows, maybe he was…we’re Weavers after all. Who needs a camera when you can share your memories with your superiors in the Web instantaneously?

  James walked directly to Malcolm and whistled as the eight foot tall Axsian came into view. He bumped one of Malcolm’s massive triceps with a forearm. “He’s bigger than you, Moore. How’d you take him out?”

  Malcolm snorted. “I didn’t. Dynamite did.”

  James’ lips drew into a straight tight line and his brows furrowed as he darted a glance toward where we stood by the now closed front door, still inanely holding the mop.

  He turned back to Malcolm to remark, “Whose blood is all around the room? His arm looks dislocated but he isn’t bleeding. Why is he unconscious? I can see his chest moving so I know he isn’t dead, plus he’s still got a presence in the Web when I looked.”

  At that last comment he darted another glance our way, as if to remind us he remembered we could burn Weavers’ memories out of the Web.

  Silver took over our mouth. “We twisted his arm almost off so he’d drop his weapon after he slit Gerome’s throat clean open to prevent him from teleporting. Then we knocked his head into the wall for good measure so he couldn’t contact an accomplice in the Web. Am I gonna have to repeat this multiple times to every numb nuts security officer that comes in, or just you, Romeo?”

  Maggie ended her call to scold, “Silver, you be polite! The situation is bad enough without you pissing people off with your attitude. James is only doing his job.”

  My aunt held steady eye contact with us until Silver shrugged dismissively to indicate she acquiesced. After Maggie was sure she’d made her point, she walked over to kneel in front of her husband on the loveseat and check his vitals.

  Another knock sounded on the door and this time James walked forward to answer it, waving us out of the way. It didn’t matter if he wanted to play bodyguard, Silver’s remark had reminded us that the downed agent’s weapon was still on the floor somewhere behind Gerome’s chair. Casually
we strode over toward our uncle as if to comply with James’ hand motion to stand back, then used the mop to poke around. We had a fairly good idea of where it’d landed and our gut was telling us to find it before someone else did.

  The sponge of the mop head bumped into something, making a soft scraping noise on the surface of the wooden floor. As discreetly as she could, Silver worked a glove out of our pocket, letting it drop. She then bent down, using the folded glove to conceal the small hard object.

  Malcolm looked our way curiously and noticed our hand as it stuffed the glove back into our coat pocket. His eyebrows rose in question but I took over our body smoothly before my twin could say something else inflammatory. “Dropped a glove, sorry. I guess I should go put the leftovers back in the fridge before they ruin.” As I turned us away to match our actions with my words, a female voice, crisp, commanding and filled with anger, filtered through the front door that James held partway open in an effort to block entry.

  “You will step aside or I’ll have you removed from duty for interfering in Council affairs, Lee.”

  James straightened and threw back his shoulders, blocking even more of the entrance than before. “All due respect, ma’am, you don’t have the authority to overrule a direct order from another Council member. I report to Councilor Johnson of the Fox Seat not Councilor Harris of the Coyote Seat.” His words were those of a man who knew his place in the world.

  According to our uncle, the Weaver Council had decided long ago to dispense with naming seats after surnames since they changed so often through the years. There were about fifty places on the Council and right now, due to the decimation of our numbers, only forty were being actively held, and barely at that. Each seat was named after an animal to avoid confusion. Our grandmother Noemi had held the Panther Seat, as had our mother Rebecca, before she abdicated to run away with our father, Declan. None of this information was usually brought up in regular conversation though, so I imagined this was a reflection of how divided and tense our leadership was, if it was spilling over into the physical world this openly.