Invasion: Book One of the Secret World Chronicle-ARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  To her left was the picture of tranquility. Harmony, a statuesque girl with long flowing blond hair, sat in lotus position with a thin smile tugging at her lips.

  To Scope’s right, the young boy known as Acrobat continued to rock back and forth, his arms wrapped around his knees. For the entire flight he had not stopped talking, and only about one thing.

  “Can’t believe it,” he whispered again. “Wow. Can’t believe it. Red Djinni. It’s Red Djinni. We’re working with Red Djinni.”

  On the other side of the cargo hold, Bulwark sat sifting through a stack of reports. Behind him, Red sat with his legs crossed, his back to them all, staring intently into a mirror.

  “Check him out,” Acrobat continued. “Guy’s a rock. He hasn’t moved in an hour.”

  With a grunt, Scope put down her assembled pistol, reached over and smacked Acrobat across the head. He yelped in surprise.

  “Not going to tell you again, Bruno,” she growled. “Knock it off.”

  Acrobat rubbed his head and shot her a hurt look. She didn’t notice.

  “I’m sick of hearing your fanboy crap,” she muttered, and appraised Red with a glance. “Besides, he don’t look like much to me. He can change his face. So what? Don’t know what Bull expects us to learn from this guy, stupid power like that.”

  “He’s gotta have something else,” Acrobat insisted. “I heard he’s the guy that infiltrated the Goldman Catacombs. They say he, like, teleported in or something. How else could he have gotten past the motion sensors? And remember those hits on Horatio and Crackdown? Word is the Djinni did them solo. They were found together, both decapitated. Clean cuts too, right through their reinforced neck harnesses. Dude must be hiding some major muscle!”

  Scope answered with another smack to Acrobat’s head.

  “Scope!” Bulwark barked across the cargo hold. “He better have deserved that!”

  “Yes, sir!” Scope answered, coming to attention. “He did, sir!”

  “Very good,” Bulwark replied, looking back to his reports. “As you were.”

  Scope sat down and turned to Acrobat. “First, the Goldman Catacombs were never infiltrated. That was a hoax. Second, Horatio and Crackdown were taken out by the Blood Brothers, everyone knows that. Third, you’re an idiot. I liked you better when you were too shy to take a dump without permission, much less shooting your mouth off every ten seconds with the latest from the Geek Report and IPwnHotGirls.com.”

  Acrobat turned red and pouted in petulant anger.

  “I’m not a geek,” he mumbled.

  “Sure you are.”

  “Am not. I’m a superhero.”

  “I rest my case,” Scope replied and resumed inspecting her pistols.

  At last, Harmony chimed in, her voice gentle and soothing. “Scope, will you please put those guns away? They’re making ripples in my peace pool.”

  “Never,” Scope replied, touching the cold metal and fiber grips with reverence. “State of emergency, girls! I finally get to carry a real piece. Thank God for the Invasion!”

  She paused, and then muttered a low curse. In her excitement, her voice had carried a little too far. She caught Bulwark’s gaze over his papers. Red Djinni, who had finished altering his face, had turned around.

  They both shared the same, pained look.

  Scope stood up, her mouth open, trapped in the awkward tension. She didn’t have the words. She was saved by static as the transport’s speakers blared to life.

  “We’re about to set down in Detroit, folks. Best get up here and strap yourselves in.”

  Bulwark gathered his files and marched away. Scope ran to catch up with him, tripping over herself in apology.

  “Sir? Sir? Hey, Bull, wait—”

  Harmony, her expression now marked with sadness, gathered up her yoga mat and followed at a respectful distance. Bringing up the rear, Red walked alongside Acrobat, who seemed simultaneously apprehensive and giddy by Red’s proximity.

  “Hey, kid,” Red whispered. Acrobat felt a star-struck jolt of terror. “Remind me later to tell you how I cut through those neck guards.”

  * * *

  As Red steered the old rusted Ford into the alley, he dimmed the lights and eased the old boat to a halt. The car was an obvious choice; it blended in with the surroundings. He had chosen an appropriately worn face and threadbare work clothes to complete the illusion that he was just another blue collar worker. He was pleased to note that Bulwark had followed his lead, looking very much like a foreman in need of a stiff belt after a hard day on the job site. His trainees, on the other hand, entertained transparently romantic notions of undercover attire.

  “So what’s our story here, Bull?” Red asked as they piled out of the car. “You and I are out for a drink or two, perhaps to discuss our in-depth knowledge of struts and conduits, and we brought our three contract killers along to coordinate our part-time gig as enforcers?”

  “Nice trenchie, Acrobat.” Bulwark said, ignoring Djinni.

  “Cool, huh?” Acrobat grinned. “It’s all long and black and stuff.”

  “You all look like rejects from The Matrix,” Red muttered. “Screw it. Not much we can do about it. There’s no way to make this lot look like it’ll fit in here anyway.”

  “Why raise such a fuss about it then?” Bulwark asked.

  “It’s the principle of it,” Red snapped. “When you do a job half-assed with more people than you need, things will get messy.”

  Bulwark responded with a level gaze. That had sounded like a promise.

  Red led them along the alley, whispering instructions. “All right, we get in, sit down and wait for Vivian to come talk to us. Bull should do the talking. Neo, Trinity and Switch here will shut up and watch. You’re here to learn, not mess up the negotiations.”

  Acrobat sighed, looking bashful and guilty. Scope’s eyes widened and she started to retort in anger but was interrupted by Harmony.

  “Who is Vivian, and how do you know she’ll approach us?”

  “She’s our first mark and she can lead us to the others. She also owns this place. You’re looking at one of the last true speakeasies, with a long bloody history that trails back to Prohibition. This place has bullets embedded in the walls from the Purple Gang, the Chambers Brothers and was almost totaled during the Twelfth Street riot. These days, it’s a hideaway for vagrant metas. I suppose it’s safe to say that cops aren’t really welcome here.”

  Harmony looked confused. “So…why will she come over to us?”

  “Because everything about this group screams cops.”

  “Even you?” Bull asked.

  “We’ll see,” Red answered evasively. “It might help if they didn’t see me shackled like this.” He held up his arm and gave Bulwark a pointed look. Bull merely shrugged, and motioned Red onwards.

  Djinni led them through a dark entrance and up a long, narrow flight of stairs. They emerged in a smoke-filled tavern dimly lit by hanging oil lanterns. As they took seats around an old wooden table they noticed a few of the patrons fishing bills out of their pockets, dropping them by their unfinished beer steins and quietly exiting through the back. The bartender, an attractive black woman with short-cropped hair, sighed and strolled over to their table.

  “What can I get you?” she asked, her eyes cold and uncaring.

  “A round of whatever you have on tap,” Bull replied.

  “Coming up. That’ll be three hundred dollars.”

  “Beg pardon?” Bull asked, pausing as he reached into his wallet.

  “For this month’s protection,” she replied. “You can tell Alistair I’m getting tired of him crapping all over the agreement. He should know better. Donovan might be pricier, but he didn’t make captain for nothing. He knows the rules and he’d stick to the terms. He wouldn’t be sending his flunkies into my bar to chase off my customers like this.”

  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Bull said. “You’re Vivian Wilde, correct?”

  “How do you
know that name?” Vivian demanded.

  Bull reached into his wallet and slapped some bills down on the table.

  “Five hundred,” he said, “provided you have a seat and talk to us. We’re not who you think.”

  Vivian’s eyes narrowed. “Guess not. You might not be Alistair’s, but you are cops, and I really don’t like cops who know my full name.” Her eyes fell on Red. “And you must have balls of steel to get anywhere near me again.”

  Red chuckled. “Y’know, Viv, someday I’m going to figure out how you always know it’s me.”

  “Good luck with that, you backstabbing piece of crap,” Vivian replied. “You’re all about bad habits, Red. I know you too well. Even you can’t hide them all.”

  “Please, Miss Vivian,” Bulwark said, pulling a badge out of his jacket and laying it face up on the table. “We only wish some of your time. How much time is entirely up to you.”

  Vivian stared at the Echo insignia and pulled Red towards her by the neck.

  “Ow,” Red winced as she dug her nails into his flesh.

  “Echo?” she whispered. “You told Echo where I was and brought their dogs into my bar? This is low, even for you.”

  “I sense you’re angry,” Red noted blandly.

  “This isn’t angry,” she said in a dead tone. “You’ve seen me angry.” Her nails dug in harder. “This is irritated.” She spun and caught Red with a solid right hook, which got him to his feet and staggering. “That was annoyed.” She finished with a strong kick to his groin, and Red landed in a groaning heap on the floor. “And that, well, that was just fun.”

  Scope nodded in appreciation. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I kinda want to see her angry now.”

  “No,” Red gasped, clutching his genitals. “No, you really don’t.”

  “Please, Miss Vivian,” Bull repeated, motioning to Red’s vacant chair. “Please sit with us, we just—”

  “I’m retired,” Vivian said. “I don’t pull jobs anymore, there’s no peace in it.” She turned to Bulwark, and her features softened and sagged in weariness. “I’m not a danger to anyone, not anymore. I’m just trying to have a life here, man. Can’t you people respect that? Can’t you just leave me be?”

  “In a sane world, we could. We did.” Bulwark said. “But we don’t live in that world anymore.”

  Vivian stood her ground for a moment and eyed the crisp bills Bull had placed on the table. She reached out slowly, like putting her fingers into a fire, and took them. She tucked them gently into her shirt, and took a seat.

  “You’ve got five minutes,” she warned him.

  Bulwark nodded, and began his pitch. He told her of Echo’s need for personnel, of the terrible deficit left by the invasion day and the lengths they were willing to go to. Full pardons for a select few; their past wiped clean upon successful completion of a five-year service contract. He watched her carefully, gauging the effect his words had on her. There was guilt there, and remorse. Her records were rife with the sort of intrigue and violence common to those who chose the dodgy vocation of a cat burglar. On paper, Vivian was just another calculated risk, perhaps even more of a risk then Red Djinni. But Bulwark wasn’t the sort to give up on people based on cold, hard facts. He had researched his potential recruits extensively and had flagged those he needed to meet. You could only read so much from a dossier. Vivian Wilde had been a victim for most of her life, and Bulwark needed to size up what strength she had left. He glanced over to Red, who had crawled over to the nearest wall and was trying with difficulty to get up. She was still a fighter, it seemed, with a heavy kick.

  There came a long and uncomfortable silence as Vivian considered Bulwark’s words. Finally, she shook her head.

  “You don’t want me,” she said. “No matter how desperate you say you are. You need people who are ready to go, and right now. I still…” She paused.

  “You still have control issues,” Bulwark offered.

  “Yes,” she said. She held up her hand. Small bolts of electricity flashed between the digits. Acrobat gave a surprised yelp and teetered on his chair. Scope’s hands went to her guns but then relaxed. Harmony leaned forward and stared at Vivian’s hand in fascination. Bulwark didn’t react at all.

  “That’s about as much as I dare to do,” Vivian admitted, closing her hand. “Great for popping doors, overriding circuits, messing up pretty much anything with a current. Anything more and I risk overload.”

  “We can help you with that,” Bulwark said. “We have the best trainers—”

  “I don’t care,” Vivian sighed. “I never wanted this, y’know. I’ve learned to live with it, and I’m in a place now where I never have to use it. Don’t you realize this is for the best?”

  Scope snorted her disgust. “That’s it? This is who we came for? Some pathetic mouse who’s got some punch and won’t use it?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vivian said quietly.

  “Like hell I don’t,” Scope snapped. “Your grand scheme is to curl up in a ball and hide until you die.”

  Vivian nodded. “That was the plan.”

  “We’re offering you a place to help those you care about,” Bulwark said. “In time, we can arrange a placement here in your own city, to help protect your own. Perhaps even alongside those you’ve come to trust.” He reached into his jacket, produced a small card, and laid it in front of her.

  Vivian hesitated, but her curiosity got the better of her. She glanced over the list of names. “You want the Spitter?”

  “We want help,” Bulwark said. “We want your help.”

  “You’re not just talking about me,” Vivian said, her eyes now very bright. She flung the card away and stood up. “You want me to lead you to the others. Well, you can forget it!”

  She turned on Red.

  “How could you do this?” she cried, her voice breaking. “Again? Wasn’t last time enough? You took her away! She was the one thing…the only thing that mattered, and you…you—”

  Red felt her hands on him, her fists and incoherent sobs beating into his chest. He didn’t fight her off. He came to his feet, all pretense of his pain gone and his hands held deliberately high. The locals sat in shock as Vivian, whose icy stare and detached demeanor had become local legend, screamed her rage and lashed out in wild blows. Red stood and merely watched her pound into him. He was watching her.

  No, Bulwark thought in alarm. He’s gauging her!

  “Djinni!” Bulwark shouted, rising from his seat. But he was too late.

  Red had let Vivian’s tantrum rise to a fevered pitch. He caught her arm tightly, and squeezed. Vivian’s cries stopped with a startled yelp of pain. Red delivered a smart slap across her face and leaned in with a smirk.

  “She thought you wanted her to go,” he said. “She thought her mommy didn’t love her anymore.”

  Vivian came to a stop and Red watched as her emotions played themselves out. Shock, then anguish, and then there was just hate. She broke free of Red’s grip, her fingers darting for his eyes.

  “You worthless, piece of…!”

  She faltered and her hand stopped in mid swing. Vivian staggered back, her mouth agape in a quiet scream of horror. She began to glow, and her light coalesced into crackling threads of electricity. She grasped at empty air, struggling for control, but her aura only intensified. Brighter and brighter, the lights arced and danced about her, swarming away and back to her shaking hands. She doubled over, trying to contain the pulsing waves of energy, but she had reached critical mass. With a scream, her limbs flew outward and the waves fled from her with a deafening crack. The EMP tore through the room, and out.

  Breaking news on the local channels would report a freak electrical disturbance on Detroit’s south side, stunning locals and knocking out all electrical equipment for nine city blocks.

  It took a few minutes for Bulwark to wake up, clawing back to consciousness and shuddering to clear his mind. He picked himself up and surveyed the room. Most
the bar’s patrons were still knocked out, though a groggy few, including his team, were beginning to stir.

  “I feel terrible,” Harmony groaned.

  “Breathe, Harmony,” Bull said, propping her up to a sitting position. “Let your mind clear a bit.”

  “Uh, Bull?” Acrobat whispered. He jerked a thumb towards the bar. “What about…?”

  Bulwark glanced over at the patrons. Most of them were groggy, but a few had murder in their eyes.

  “Miss Wilde,” Bull said. “I believe your friends will need some assurance that we mean you no harm.”

  No one answered.

  “Miss Wilde?”

  Bull’s eyes darted everywhere but to no avail.

  Oh great…

  Vivian and Red Djinni were gone. All that remained was a ruined tracer bracelet, abandoned and lifeless on the hardwood floor.

  * * *

  Vivian was in love.

  A few weeks back, she wouldn’t have thought it possible. It was tough for a single mom to find someone, someone who was willing to look past the five-year-old child stubbornly glued to her leg every waking moment. Adele was a sweet, shy kid and so unlike her parents. This was a good thing. Her father, Victor, was a monster. As for her mother…well…how many mothers were armed with twin Glocks, habitually crawled through ventilation shafts and could bypass the security of state-of-the-art strong rooms? No, it was best for Adele to be as different from her parents as possible. It was her only hope for a normal life.

  And that’s what this job promised. Enough capital to run, hide, and start up a life in exile. Of course, running from Victor was easier said than done. He had eyes everywhere. It was miraculous that Vivian and Adele had made it this far. From the moment Adele had been born, Vivian had taken her into hiding. Twice now, Victor had found them, and both times Vivian had managed to thwart Victor’s goons, to free Adele from their clutches and spirit her away. Barely.

  Well, no one said a single mom’s life would be easy.

  And this time, she was close. She was so close she had to fight to keep from shivering with excitement, to keep the fantasy from clouding her judgment, but the man she had found seemed perfect. The timing was miraculous. He had sprung into her life, out of nowhere, and with the perfect job lined up. She was a little rusty, having been on the run for several years, but the schematics seemed tailored to her. His crew was a skilled lot, but for this particular gig they needed someone who could bypass a vault in absolute silence, without the usual explosive clamor involved in blowing safe doors. They wanted an experienced cat burglar, with a little something special on the side.