Jacqueline said, “This is beginning to sound like a ‘Drink the Kool-Aid’ speech.”
“It’s actually more of a warning speech,” she shot back, staring Jacqueline dead in the eye.
To her credit, she didn’t blink. She simply waited, tense yet controlled, her pulse beating fast in her throat.
“Hawk is a friend, and a good man, and whatever you remember or don’t, you should know that you’ve changed him. I can see it. It’s all over him like he’s been dipped in honey. You’ve given him hope, and if you take it away . . . I think it will kill him. He’s strong, but no man is invincible. For him, as it was for me, hope might mean the difference between life and death.”
Jacqueline processed that, her expression severe yet contemplative, and Morgan felt the same admiration she’d felt when Jacqueline had offered belu at the punishment tree. Whatever her faults, this was a woman of strong convictions, serious thought, and more than a little self-control. She might be afraid, angry, and utterly confused, but she wasn’t intimidated, she wasn’t backing down, and she definitely wasn’t allowing her fear to make the decisions.
They’re a good match, Morgan thought, surprised and pleased.
Jacqueline asked guardedly, “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“I mean that in just a few hours Hawk is going to put his life on the line in a contest against the man who leads this little colony of ours . . . and only one of them is going to emerge from that contest alive.”
Jacqueline blanched, but Morgan forged ahead. “It’s our way. It might not be the best way, and it’s definitely not the most enlightened, but there you are. This isn’t a democracy. I can explain more later, but suffice it to say that I have no doubt that you’re the flame that set that particular stick of dynamite alight, and whatever Hawk thinks is going on between you and him will affect the outcome of their battle.” Her voice darkened. “And believe me when I say that it’s in everyone’s best interest if Hawk is the victor. Including yours.”
Jacqueline’s jaw worked. “So you’re asking me to . . . what? Pretend?”
“No. I’m asking you to be patient. And understanding, even though you don’t understand, and never will, because you’re a different species from him.” She smiled. “Just like every other woman who loves a man.”
Jacqueline stared at her for a long time. Eventually, she huffed a soft laugh, then stood. She dragged a hand through her hair, paced a circle around the table, and stared out into the jungle. After several minutes of chewing her thumbnail, she said, “Okay. Walk me through this. How long have I been here?”
“A few days. Before that, I believe it took another ten in travel from New York.”
Silence. Then: “And you say I was brought here to observe. To witness.”
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
Morgan said, “Do you remember writing an article for the New York Times about Shifters? ‘The Enemy Among Us,’ it was called.”
Jacqueline turned to look at Morgan. “No.”
“Very effective piece of propaganda, that. And extremely well written. You were nominated for the Pulitzer.”
“Did I win?”
“No. But it was the reason you were chosen. You’re a voice they listen to. You’re a voice we need to win them over to our side.”
Jacqueline studied her closely. “They?”
“Humans.”
The word hung there between them in the air, until finally she came and sat across from Morgan again, shifting her weight restlessly in the seat.
Her expression conflicted, she said, “I remember that word you said before, Ikati. I do remember what that is. What you are.”
“What about how you feel about us? Do you remember anything about that?”
Jack looked her over, lips pursed. She said drily, “Well . . . aside from being the lovechild of the Wolverine and Coco Chanel, you seem all right.”
Morgan laughed, long and loudly. “I’m gratified to hear it. I’m sure under different circumstances we could have been good friends.”
Jacqueline looked down at her hands, and Morgan noticed they were slightly shaking. She gathered herself, took a breath, and said, “There are holes. The past few days are a black wall, but before that it’s all pretty clear. My job, my life, my friends. But there are these big, gaping holes, too, like something’s been . . . censored. Blacked out. I can’t get too close to my childhood, for instance. I remember bits and pieces, but I don’t remember my parents. I don’t remember where I grew up.” Her voice grew quiet. “I don’t remember if I have any siblings. Or if I was happy.” She looked up, her eyes filled with trepidation. “What do you think that means?”
Morgan debated whether or not to head down this particular path. After a few cheek-chewing moments, she decided that if the roles were reversed, she’d definitely want to know.
“There’s a way I might be able to help you. I don’t know if it will work, but I’d like to try. If you’re willing.”
“Does it involve drilling holes in my skull?”
Morgan smiled, faint and wry. “No, no drilling. But it does involve something you might not be willing to give. And if not, I understand completely. I’m leaving this entirely up to you.”
Jacqueline’s expression grew pensive. “What would I have to give, exactly?”
“Your trust.”
They sat staring at one another while a brilliant green hummingbird zipped around the table, in search of food. Finally it darted off with a muted buzz of its blazing wings.
“I assume if I wait long enough an explanation will be forthcoming,” said Jacqueline.
Morgan held out her hands, palm up. “I have a Gift called Suggestion. It means that if I touch you with the intent to direct your behavior, I can. For instance, if I touched you now and said, ‘Quack like a duck,’ you would do so.”
Jacqueline stared at her. “That doesn’t engender much confidence, just so you know.”
“Not that I would say that, of course, that’s just an example. But if I said something like, ‘Remember your past,’ well, you get the idea.”
With narrowed eyes, Jacqueline said, “How do I know you wouldn’t say something like, ‘Jump out of this tree,’ instead?”
Still with her hands extended, Morgan said softly, “You don’t. That’s why it’s called trust. But if it makes any difference, I give you my word the that only thing I will Suggest will be for you to remember your past.”
Jacqueline crossed her arms over her chest and sat back in her chair. She looked away, letting her gaze travel slowly around the room, over the fabric flowing down from above, the dais with the Alpha’s sumptuous throne, the flowers massed in vases. Morgan wondered if it looked like a fairy tale or a nightmare to her, and decided probably a little bit of both.
“Okay,” Jacqueline said finally. She sat forward and held out her hands. “I don’t know why, but I do feel like I can trust you.”
Morgan beamed. “Smashing! Let’s begin by—”
“Just in case this goes totally sideways and you accidentally wipe my brain like a crashed hard drive, I want you to tell him something for me.”
Morgan was too intrigued to be insulted by the insinuation that she wasn’t in perfect control of her Gift. “Who? What?”
Jacqueline glanced up at her, looking a bit sheepish. “Hawk.”
Morgan drawled, “Oh?”
“Tell him I said . . . tell him I said . . .” She looked away, took a breath, and said, “That he seems like someone I would have wanted to know. That’s all.”
“Handsome as the devil, isn’t he?” Morgan whispered conspiratorially. Jacqueline glanced back at her, surprised. “Not as handsome as my husband, of course, but then I’m biased. Most of the women in this colony think Hawk is nothing short of Adonis.”
“He’s . . . very . . .” Jacque
line cleared her throat, then waved her hands in front of Morgan’s face. “Can we just get on with this, please?”
Morgan tried to press the satisfied smile from her lips. “All right. Give me your hands.”
Jacqueline carefully rested her palms atop Morgan’s. She grasped her hands lightly, noting the slight tremble. She looked up, into Jacqueline’s eyes, and said forcefully, “You’re not afraid of me.”
Instantly, the trembling stopped. Jacqueline’s face went slack. Her eyes hazed. All the tension went out of her body.
“Tell me your name.”
“Jacqueline Anne Dolan.” Her voice was faraway, to match the look in her eyes.
“And what is my name?”
“Morgan Montgomery Luna,” she repeated dutifully.
“Correct. Very good. Now, Jacqueline, I want you to remember your life. I want you to remove any blocks you may have constructed around your memory, and tell me where you were born.”
“Boston,” said Jacqueline instantly.
Relief, warm and thorough. Success! “And where have you been for the past twenty-four hours?”
Silence. A blank, eerie stare. Then, “Nowhere.”
“Oh bollocks!” muttered Morgan. “Jacqueline, do not suppress your memory. Access it. Think. Now: Where have you been for the past twenty-four hours?”
Jacqueline blinked. “Nowhere. But I . . .”
“Yes?”
“But . . . it was nice there. I felt safe.” Some emotion flickered across her face, there then gone. “I felt free. But that’s all. There isn’t anything else.”
Morgan closed her eyes and bowed her head. She whispered, “Remember your mother.”
Like a robot: “I don’t have a mother.”
Morgan’s throat was closing. It was becoming hard to breathe. “Remember your father.”
“I don’t have a father.”
It wasn’t working. Whatever had happened to her memory was beyond the reaches of Morgan’s Gift. She’d failed.
Or have I?
A chill ran up Morgan’s spine. She lifted her head and stared at Jacqueline.
She’d trained since childhood to control her Gift, to be careful around others, careful not to touch, not to think any thoughts that might hurt someone. Because she had so much power, she had to be more vigilant than anyone else. She had to use her Gift sparingly, and only for good.
For good.
Sitting here with this woman at this moment, Morgan had the opportunity to do more good in one fell swoop than she could in her entire life.
The words were right there. So beautiful, so terrible, they burned like acid on her tongue.
You love the Ikati. Humans and Ikati should coexist in peace. You rescind everything you said in that article. You will work for peace between our races for the rest of your days.
Her hands began to shake. All she had to do was say it, and it would be so. Everything they’d wanted by bringing her here could come true.
“But it would be a lie,” she whispered to herself. A voice inside her head whispered back, And it would save lives.
“You are happy and comfortable. Stay seated in this spot,” she directed Jacqueline. She released her hands and began to pace in a circle around the room, debating with herself, as Jacqueline sat blank and docile as a lamb, waiting.
Morgan saw the future stretched out bright as a new penny before her, all the possibilities for good shining like stars in the sky. She didn’t know why this hadn’t occurred to her before, possibly because she’d been so vigilant for so many years, so trained to limit her Gift, but this could be a miracle for them. She could visit every single major politician and religious figure in the world, and Suggest they love Ikati, too. She could simply walk through crowds, touching people as she passed, murmuring words of peace and brotherhood. She could transform the human race.
Morgan stood looking out over the rainforest through drapes that lifted and fell with the slight breeze, slipping against her legs. She thought, I could change the world.
Aloud she murmured, “Hitler thought the same thing.”
So did Caesar. So did a lot of other lunatics with visions of grandeur and perverted ideas about how people should live, and who gets to be in charge of that.
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” A certain Lord Acton said that, back in the nineteenth century, and Morgan had to admit she agreed with him.
She could change the world . . . but it would all be a lie. And only minutes ago, she’d made Jacqueline a promise. I give you my word that the only thing I will Suggest will be for you to remember your past.
Her hand went to her hip, to the place she’d had tattooed with the words “Live Free Or Die.” It was her personal motto, because she held freedom as dear as hope. A life without those two things was simply not worth living.
And therein was her answer.
She couldn’t take away even a single person’s free will. To do so would make her no better than the other monsters throughout history, no matter how noble she thought the cause.
With a heavy sigh, she turned from the view and made her way back to Jacqueline. She sat across from her, and gathered Jacqueline’s hands into her own once again. The urge was still there, strong and terrible, so Morgan did the only thing she could think to do.
“Jacqueline Dolan,” she said, looking into her eyes, “no matter what I say to you from this moment forth, you are immune to my Gift of Suggestion, and will be forevermore. I release you.”
Her heart felt like a dead fish lodged beneath her breastbone. She stood and walked away.
For a long while, there was a silence, only disturbed by the sound of bird calls and monkey screeches, far off in the forest. Then from behind her Jacqueline said, “I know that was hard for you.”
Her voice was tight. Angry. The dead fish flopped over, and Morgan thought, Caught.
Morgan sighed, passed a hand over her face, pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “It would have been so much more convenient if you weren’t quite so clever.”
“For us both,” Jacqueline rejoined.
Morgan heard her stand, and turned to face her. Jacqueline’s face looked carved from granite.
“I owe you an apology.”
“Keep it. I hate sorries. They’re meant to make things better but they inevitably make things worse.” They looked at one another across the room. Jacqueline said, “I want to leave. I want to go home, to New York. Now.”
Morgan had never felt claustrophobic. She’d never experienced a panic attack, or suffered a nervous breakdown, or even had a single nightmare, in spite of all the tragedy and loss and iron-fisted repression she’d suffered up to now. But staring at the livid woman who she’d once imagined was the possible solution to bridge the chasm between humanity and her own kind, she felt the horrifying, soul-freezing reality of all of them combined.
For the first time in her entire adult life, she was rendered speechless.
Then a voice, raspy and kind, spoke from the other side of the room.
“And go you shall.”
Morgan turned. Kalum smiled at the two of them like the Cheshire cat as he pushed the cowl of his white robe off his head. It fell around his shoulders, revealing his face, his glittering green eyes. He looked at Jacqueline. “As shall we all. Just not quite yet, Gibil. There’s yet work for you here, work that can only be completed by you. When that work is done you shall go back from where you came. And after that . . .” His smile deepened, grew vaguely melancholy. “You will have to decide where home truly is.”
From outside there came a tumult. Voices shouted, rising up through the canopy, the beat of drums began. Morgan didn’t have to look to know what was happening, and she shivered, cold in spite of the humidity.
The Alpha of Sommerley had finally arrived.
�
��Hawk! Xander!”
Morgan rushed across the room, throwing back the gauzy fabric that led to the suspension bridge outside. She seemed panicked, frantic, and it set Jack’s already frayed nerves on edge.
As if they’d been waiting close by, the two men appeared quickly, wearing matching expressions of worry, tension radiating from their bodies. The three of them started talking over each other, the words tumbling out of their mouths.
“Leander’s here—”
“Did you have any success?”
“But something’s wrong, I can feel it—”
“She doesn’t remember, it didn’t work—”
“Alejandro’s going out to meet him—”
“Nothing at all?”
“The Queen isn’t with them.”
Morgan stopped and stared at Xander. “What do you mean, the Queen isn’t with them?”
“Just what I said. It’s Leander, the children, the viscount and his family, a few others. But no Queen.”
In a horrified whisper, Morgan said, “Oh my God. Do you think something happened to her?”
Jacqueline said, “What’s going on here?”
Xander and Morgan looked at her, but Hawk had already been watching her, since the moment he stepped inside.
“It didn’t work,” he said dispassionately, glancing between her and Morgan. His voice was cool, his expression was neutral, but there was something strange in his eyes. Something that, if she hadn’t known better, almost looked like . . . relief.
“No. It didn’t. Now will you please tell me what’s happening?”
“I have to go to him. He’ll be expecting me,” said Morgan, smoothing her hands over her hair. She’d turned pale in the past few moments. Xander stared at her, concerned.
“We’ll both go. Don’t worry, amada, it’s going to be fine,” he murmured, and pulled his wife into his arms.
Jacqueline looked away. Even that small gesture of affection felt too intimate, as if there were no one else in the room but the two of them.
Darkness Bound (A Night Prowler Novel) Page 27