Ghost Heart

by Ripley Patton

  “Yeah, sure,” I said.

  “Good,” Mr. James said, his eyes assessing me. “I’m glad I can trust you.” He turned to head down the stairs.

  “When are you going to get Olivia back?” I asked, stopping him in his tracks. “It’s been days and you haven’t done anything.” I was probably pushing my luck, but it seemed like the right time to push it.

  “I am working on it, I assure you,” Mr. James said, staring at me over his shoulder. “But the current priority is the recovery of Samantha and David.”

  And the recovery of The Hold. It was obvious that was a priority. People, and troops, and guns had been in and out of the farmhouse over the last forty-eight hours like it was Fort Knox. Mr. James had a room set up downstairs full of maps and plans that was even more off-limits than Marcus’s room. Mr. James wasn’t just waiting for his daughter and his nephew to recover. I didn’t buy it. Even weirder than that, where was Samantha’s mom? Whenever I asked, Samantha looked uncomfortable and immediately changed the subject. I was beginning to think Mrs. James was a figment of everyone’s imagination. And what about Olivia’s mom? Where was she in all of this? Was she still back in Indy wondering where her daughter was and expecting Mr. James to find her?

  “What about Dr. Black?” I asked Mr. James. Might as well get it all out while I had his undivided attention. “She paid you to find Olivia. She gave you all her husband’s paintings to find Olivia.”

  Pete shot me a warning glance. I was pushing my luck and I knew it.

  “I no longer have that payment, it seems,” Mr. James said, his cheek twitching in annoyance. “Perhaps the new Hold will help her out, but I doubt it.”

  “So that’s it? You just left her in Indy at their mercy?”

  “As a matter-of-fact, I didn’t,” he said. “I’ve been in contact with Dr. Black, and my people are keeping her safe there. But it’s much too dangerous to try and get her out at the moment. It would only draw unwanted attention to her.”

  The door to Marcus’s room creaked open and Reiny poked her head out. “Would you please keep it down?” she growled. “My patient is sleeping without a sedative, which I have promised not to give him, but I may have to inject the three of you.” She glared daggers at us.

  “Our business is done,” Mr. James said, straightening his suit jacket and heading down the stairs.

  Reiny gave a final glare to Pete and me and tucked herself back into Marcus’s room, shutting the door softly but firmly behind her.

  “Be careful,” Pete said, practically a whisper, his eyes glancing down the stairs. “That is not a man you want to challenge.”

  “I know.” And I did. How could I forget the moment in the back of that truck when Mr. James had killed two people without hesitation? He was a dangerous man. Marcus had once tried to tell me that, but I hadn’t wanted to believe him. Now, I was beginning to.

  “And if the CAMFers have your friend,” Pete said, “he may be one of the few people alive who has any chance of getting her back. So, don’t go doing anything stupid, you hear me? Bide your time, and be smart. You understand?”

  “Yeah, okay.” I wasn’t sure why he was going out of his way to warn me.

  “Good. When Marcus is awake again, Reiny or I will come get you. Will you let Samantha know?” He nodded toward her room at the end of the hall.

  “Sure,” I said, turning away from him.

  Samantha would be thrilled. She’d been asking to see Marcus.

  And then I remembered she didn’t know about his memory loss yet.

  Great. I guess I got to tell her that part too.

  * * *

  “So, what are you implying?” Samantha asked, glaring at me, her face pale and angry.

  “I’m not implying anything,” I said. “I’m just telling you what I heard.”

  Crap. This was exactly what I’d been afraid of.

  I was standing at the end of Samantha’s bed. She’d taken the news of Marcus’s memory loss really well. Then again, she hadn’t been a huge part of his last eight months. Samantha and Marcus had been reunited at the Eidolon, so for her it was the loss of one night, one night all of us would have gladly paid to forget.

  But the topic of the connection between her father and Jason? That wasn’t going so well. I’d told her what I’d heard. I’d also mentioned, as delicately as I could, the men her father had killed in the truck and the interrogation I’d received at the hands of both him and John Holbrook.

  As soon as I’d said Holbrook’s name, all the blood had drained from Samantha’s face. Something was going on here. Something no one was telling me.

  “Who is Holbrook anyway?” I asked. I figured I’d come this far, I might as well push all the way. “You’ve never mentioned him, or a council. It’s like they just appeared overnight.”

  “Well, they didn’t,” Samantha said, pain and anger flashing across her face. “He’s been around for a while, chipping away at my father’s power. They used to be best friends.” Her hands were clutching at the blanket on top of her.

  “Why didn’t you ever mention him?” I was trying to understand. Hadn’t Samantha herself been chipping away at her father’s power? That’s what the Eidolon had been. Didn’t she realize that? It was almost enough to make me feel sorry for Alexander James—both his best friend and his daughter had been trying to overthrow him at the same time.

  “You really want to know who John Holbrook is?” Samantha asked, turning away from me to look out the window. She was blinking back tears and her jaw was clenched. “He’s my mother’s lover.” She turned back to me, letting out a shaky breath. “My mother hasn’t been away on business. She’s been away on pleasure. Well, maybe part of it was business. My father suspected that John was after more than my mother’s heart when she started bringing up the idea of a council-led Hold. They fought about it all the time. Probably more than they fought about the fact that she was sleeping with someone else. But I didn’t really think she’d betray him like this. I didn’t think she’d leave us.” Samantha’s voice had grown small like a heartbroken child’s. She looked back out the window again, and I could see the tears running down her face.

  I didn’t know what to say. No wonder the animosity between the two men had been so thick, and no wonder Mr. James was scrambling. His wife had cheated on him and left him for a man who wanted to take his place in more ways than one. And I’d thought my family was messed up.

  “I was stupid enough to think I could rescue The Hold from all three of them,” Samantha said bitterly. “I thought if I could get the Marked on board, if I could give them more of a sense of power and ownership, then we could save it from the dickishness of adults. I was sick and tired of them fighting over it like it was their plaything.” She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, strength coming back into her voice. “It doesn’t belong to them. They don’t get to destroy it along with everything else.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. Samantha had already felt betrayed by both her parents, especially her mother, and then I’d come along spreading more doubt about the one parent she had left. “I mean, I could have misunderstood,” I backpedalled, wanting to wipe the agony from her face. “Maybe he wasn’t even talking to Jason. I was at the top of the stairs, and everything was muffled.”

  “No,” she said, turning back to me, her voice defeated. “I’m sorry. You could be right. My father has a lot of connections through The Hold. If it sounded like he knew Jason already, he probably did. Tell me what they said again.”

  I had never wanted to be less right in my life, but I couldn’t shake the feeling this was important. “Your father complimented Jason on doing a good job and said something about him being as good as Bruce said he was. Then he asked Jason if he was sure no one had seen him. Jason said something back, but I couldn’t quite hear it, and then he laughed.”

  “It sounds like Jason knew Bruce before too, not just my father,” she pointed out.

  “Well
, yeah, Jason and Bruce met on the way to Indy when we stopped here to learn how to shoot. I mean, Jason was already pretty good, but the rest of us—” I stopped, my mind catching up with what I was saying. Bruce had been in Jason’s lane when we’d trained at the gun club, but Jason hadn’t needed much instruction. He’d already been a good shot. Is that what Bruce had told Mr. James—that a bunch of PSS kids had stopped by for guns and ammo and one of them was an accomplished marksmen?

  “What?” Samantha asked, scanning my face.

  “The only thing Bruce really knew about Jason was that he could shoot,” I said. “Maybe that’s what he told your father.”

  “So, the ‘good job’ was the shooting he did at the Eidolon to save you,” Samantha said, her voice full of relief. “My father was just thanking him.”

  “Maybe, but it doesn’t explain the last thing he said about no one seeing it. If he was talking about saving me at the Eidolon, why would that matter?”

  “I don’t know,” Samantha snapped. “You’re determined so see my father as some kind of villain, aren’t you? I know you think he’s terrible, but he’s not. What he did in that truck saved you, Jason, and David. Sometimes he does things that seem awful, but it’s always to protect The Hold and what it stands for. He would do anything to protect the people under his care. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this, when all he’s ever done is help you. I thought you’d be grateful. You could have been taken by the CAMFers if it wasn’t for him. Instead, you’re here, safe, with me. I don’t understand why you’re trying to smear him like this.”

  “I’m not trying to smear him,” I protested. “I’m just trying to figure this out.” She was hurt. She was pissed at me. I’d messed everything up. Again. Maybe I just wasn’t cut out to have a relationship with anyone.

  “Why don’t you go ask Jason, then,” she said, “instead of dragging me into your conspiracy theories and trying to get me to take your side against my own father? I’m sure Jason will be happy to explain everything to you.” She was dismissing me, turning her back to me even as she said it.

  “Samantha,” I pleaded. I’d come seeking her help, and instead I’d destroyed everything we’d had.

  “Leave me alone, okay?” she said, still not looking at me. “I just need some time to myself.”

  So, that’s what I did.

  I left Samantha alone.

  9

  OLIVIA

  “Wake up,” a voice commanded.

  Instantly I was awake and alert, every muscle and nerve in my body wired. But I didn’t show it because the owner of that voice fed on my fear. It was his aphrodisiac. His tool. His weapon against me.

  Instead, I opened my eyes and stretched my arms over my head, ignoring the pain and smiling sleepily. In my imagination, I was in my bed at home, not on a slab of cold stone in a prison cell. In that safe place where I hid myself, there were still such things as a snooze alarms, warm coffee in the kitchen, and my mom griping about me being late for school.

  “Get up, bitch,” Anthony said, his nostrils flaring. He reached out to grab me and I let him, let myself pretend I had a choice. He pulled me against him, his cigarette breath huffing in my face like the stench of death. “The doctor has some tricks for you today, and this time you’d better perform.”

  My ghost hand was pinned between us, the metal cuff they’d put on my wrist digging into my chest. I’d experimented with the cuff, doing everything I could to get it off, but the closer it got to my PSS, the more it resisted, like they were two magnets with the same pole. And I hated it, because without it I would have reached into Anthony right there and eviscerated his psyche without a second thought. I would have found his deepest, darkest secret and stripped him of it, then used it to destroy him. I found it funny that there had been a time, not so long ago, when I’d been afraid to use my hand. In a few short days, all that had changed. Now, I constantly fantasized about showing my enemies, firsthand, exactly what I was capable of.

  “Let’s go.” Anthony shoved me toward the door. It was open and I could see down the well-lit corridor of metal and stone.

  The compound must be underground. It was the only real explanation for the lack of windows or outside sound, or the way the temperature stayed the same, day and night, without any visible heat source.

  It all added up; everything I’d been able to observe and notice on my way to my daily visits to Dr. Fineman’s lab. I’d even begun to map the corridors and doors in my mind for when I escaped. Not if, but when.

  Just the thought of it made me giddy, and I darted past Anthony toward the threshold of the cell, my bare feet padding softly on the smooth floor. I’d made it my habit to push the boundaries and test his limits, just like I’d done with my last guard, Felix. They’d taken my boots away after I’d kicked Felix in the balls. Then they’d replaced him with Anthony, which I hope meant I’d ruptured something important.

  “Not so fast.” Anthony grabbed my arms, pinning them behind my back, twisting a little to remind me who was boss. He propelled me down the corridor in front of him, and I kept up my fake limp. It bothered me that my knee and ribs had healed so quickly. They had both been badly injured. I remembered the raw pain, the inability to move. I should have still been hurting, but I wasn’t. It made me wonder if the CAMFers had drugged me more than I’d realized, or if I’d been their prisoner much longer than I thought.

  Anthony and I took a right, then a left up a flight of stairs. Finally, we entered another corridor ending in the familiar double lab doors with their rounded windows.

  He pushed me straight through, using my face and chest as his personal battering ram. The doors swung open, revealing the crisp pure white and gleaming metal of a large research laboratory complete with all the fixings; whirling complex-looking machines, busy lab techs in white coats, and racks of rats in glass cages. Everything a mad scientist could ask for.

  Dr. Fineman wasn’t anywhere in sight though, and Anthony led me past all the science stuff to the interrogation room. It was grey and drab, with a table in the middle of it bolted right into the floor like I’d seen on a million cop shows. It had a metal chair too and, of course, the obligatory two-way mirror built into the wall.

  Anthony escorted me inside and left, locking the door behind him. They’d make me wait a while before they did anything or anyone came in. It was all part of the game. Except this time, something was different. There were things on the table. Things I recognized.

  I glanced at the mirror, my own reflection staring back. My hair was a mess. My clothes were filthy. My face was dirty. They’d promised me a shower once I cooperated, like I’d really want to take a shower with Anthony watching.

  I raised my hand and waved at Dr. Fineman, sure he was behind the glass and hoping it would piss him off. Then, I crossed to the table and looked down at what was on it.

  There were four items set out for me, all neatly in a row.

  First in line were the dog tags Marcus and Yale had made for me out of one of Passion’s blades. They’d once protected me from Dr. Fineman’s minus meters and kept me hidden from him. But I was done hiding. If I ever got away from the CAMFers, I wasn’t going to cower and run anymore. I was going to come for them the way they’d come for me. I was going to wipe them out.

  I looked up at the two-way mirror. Did Dr. Fineman know what else the tags did? Did he know they provided a connection between Passion and me?

  Maybe it was a trap, but it was worth the risk, so I slowly reached out and touched the metal tags, rubbing my fingers across the engraved letters of my middle name. They were watching me from behind the glass, so I didn’t linger or let my face change expression, but before I pulled my fingers away, I felt her. I got a flash of Passion on a comfortable bed in an old-fashioned looking room. She was okay. They didn’t have her. She was alive and safe, probably still back in Indy. She had gotten away, and hopefully Jason with her. And maybe they’d gotten Marcus out too. Surely they would have.

&nb
sp; I stifled the smile of victory rising inside of me. The next item on the table was Dr. Fineman’s cube, the one I’d pulled out of him back in Greenfield that had sent him into a coma. The cube had Jason’s bullet in it. The two of them combined had saved us all from the giant minus meter the doctor had set as a trap, though he’d since claimed it had been a fake.

  I stared down at the cube, my heart beating faster and faster. This cube had once jumped me forward in time three days, simultaneously transporting me three miles away. It had whisked me to safety—and not just me, but everyone touching me. If it still worked, I could escape, right now, simply by touching it. And I wanted to so badly, I could taste it. I wanted out of this hell-hole, and it didn’t matter where I went, or how I got there, or what I lost in the process. But that would only happen if the cube still worked, which I seriously doubted. Combining the bullet and the cube had been a fluke, a hare-brained idea I’d tried on a whim. But my gut had been telling me ever since that it had been a one-shot deal, like a bulb that blows in a sudden flash when you turn on the light, and then fades forever. Sometimes the big magic only works once.

  And Dr. Fineman had put it in front of me for a reason. He wanted me to touch it.

  The man had already revealed his agenda for keeping me alive. He wanted me to solve the mystery of the cube, put it back in him, and become his personal PSS pickpocket, yanking things out of people at his command. But I would never forget what he’d done with Passion’s razors in the room under Mike Palmer’s house. He had no conscience. No hesitation in creating experiments that tortured and killed people.

  The items on the table were obviously some kind of test. If I touched the cube, it would establish a connection between the two of us. He wanted me to fall for his little trick so he would know things about me. So he could get inside my head.

  My fingers trembled, but I didn’t touch it, and my eyes moved past it to the next item on the table. It was Mike Palmer’s matchbook, the one he’d left as a warning for us not to go to the Eidolon. Or as a way to entice us to go. I still wasn’t sure which. The gasoline soaked message once written on it was unreadable now, smeared into oblivion.