“This blood tie with Mina will be broken, Miliya. I will go to the gates of hell and bring all the Darks with me.”
The perimeter of the hazard zone covered two football fields, edges touching areas of homes and businesses whose only damage were broken windows, bricks shifted out of place, or shingles missing. The hot zone centered over ground zero, a space that looked like a nuclear blast hit, disintegrating the West Brook Mall as if it were made of sawdust. Cars were flattened and humans killed. It was hard to say how many because a majority of the bodies couldn’t be found. The missing was in the double digits. Those bodies that could be located were discovered outside the hot zone, their demise evident by the injuries of blunt force trauma of objects falling on the hapless victims or their bodies being flung against a surface as if a tornado had hit. But the skies were clear.
Poppy Delacruz read the hastily prepared dossier, complete with photos—one of the few benefits of cell phone cameras—as she sat in the back of the Hummer. She turned to the young Marine next to her to ask a question. She opened her mouth, gazed at the granite countenance, and shut it. No one was talking. She didn’t expect them to. This was the government and not her first consultation.
Could this be for real?
She shifted through the rest of the papers. She’d read them at least half a dozen times since she’d printed them. Of those found alive, most were unconscious, their ears bleeding. There were no burn marks on any victim found to indicate a blast occurred, but something happened. The question was what.
Some sort of sonic weapon?
Many would be permanently deaf. This quick report was doing nothing to help. She shuffled the pages together and shoved them into her briefcase. She shifted in the bucket seat of the large vehicle; this wasn’t the luxury model, but military. This was no joke. She wasn’t going to be investigating the murder of some political dignitary. No, this time they were going to utilize her to her full potential. Finally.
She examined with interest the area they headed into. Monthaven was a mid-level city, not as big as Atlanta or Birmingham, with well-developed suburbs filled with greenery. This town sprawled. The blast, had it occurred in the center of someplace like Chicago, would’ve been a greater nightmare. Here, it took out a small portion, and life could go on.
The streets were filled with citizens trying to get their lives back together, nosy news channel trucks from all over the country, and an abnormal military presence.
Despite the false sense of normalcy in the outskirts, martial law was in place, and they had to go through a series of checkpoints to get to the perimeter. Everyone was checking IDs more than once. Supposedly this was to prevent looters, but, from what she observed, there wasn’t the sensation of desperation and opportunism associated with ransacking unprotected homes and businesses. No. Instead, she glimpsed many with the vacant, hallowed-eyed, grim expressions she’d witnessed from survivors at countless natural disasters or major accidents. There wasn’t time to loot.
This was getting more and more curious.
“What’s going on here?” Poppy asked as she watched families being herded from their homes as they waited in line to be cleared through into the next stage.
“A precaution.” It was all the young man would give her.
“From what?” She had to try, even if his fatigues were dry-cleaned and starched. Totally non-regulation. Something her father taught her.
He didn’t even look at her. My, he is well-trained.
The ground underneath the vehicle rippled, and the houses swayed for a second or two as if propped on a wave made of dirt. Poppy’s stomach lurched.
“What the hell?” she cried and then clamped down on her reaction. She’d grown up in California; she knew what this was—an earthquake, and she hated them. She had no control over them—who did?
“Ma’am, are you all right?” The young soldier turned to her. She waved his concern away, uncomfortable with his regard.
“Fine, just startled. Let’s get to the site.” She saw the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. He wasn’t fine.
“It feels weird, but we’re over lots of limestone here. It’s not unusual to have an earthquake.” Poppy tried to reassure him when she wasn’t feeling it. What a hypocrite she was.
“I’m from Pennsylvania.” He ran one hand over his buzzed haircut. “We don’t have these.”
“I’m sure.” That old panic was beginning to crawl up her spine. She needed to get out of this vehicle and soon. She couldn’t stand being in a car or building when the ground shook. Who in their right mind did?
Get a grip, Poppy told herself sternly, taking deep, even breaths. She was a scientist. A teacher. She wasn’t going to fall into the well of panic here. She could safely say Alabama was another state she’d cross off her list to live in. She’d stay in Tennessee, near Vanderbilt.
As soon as the quake started, it stopped. Outside, everyone stood frozen for a few minutes. Parents hugged children; even the police and military escorting the families out of their houses with only their valuables had the grim flat effect of what the hell now? Soon they’d be talking the end-of-the-world crap again.
As they inched further toward the hot zone, she looked at houses shifted off their foundations. Cars flipped. Trees standing tall, and Poppy blinked.
Trees.
Adrenaline filled her in a rush, making her heart beat faster, her breath catch. Here was a puzzle to solve. She knew blood or nerve agents killed only humans and animals, leaving buildings and trees untouched.
But, what kind of blast took out humans, cars, and buildings—but didn’t touch the trees?
Chapter Five
XANDER STARED AT THE YELLOW NOTE PAD under the dim light of his desk lamp. The notes he took were from a legal brief about a man accused of treason.
Another set up.
His cell phone vibrated on his desk, but he ignored it. Phone calls after ten at night were never good. Whatever pathetic excuse for an emergency his latest client currently suffered, it would have to wait until the daylight hours. He laid down his pen, looked at his notes, and then ripped the page off the pad. Carefully, he folded it in half.
A flicker of light caught Xander’s eye. He tensed. He threw up a glamour automatically, the equivalent of drawing a curtain across what was present, replacing it with what the caster wanted another to see. He did this to hide the other bits of yellow folded paper littered around the room. The surface of the wall across from his desk shimmered and then slowly steadied to reveal the broad features of the Chairman.
Fuck.
“Ignoring my calls?” Chairman Tepes’ voice was amused, but this didn’t mean anything. The man sounded the same giving an order for execution as he did when ordering his lunch.
“No, just going over my new assignment.” Xander tapped his notebook to illustrate his point. “You didn’t give me a lot to go on.”
“You’re a smart man, Xander.” The Chairman smiled. “You can come up with something that will stick. Thomas Voda is asking too many questions.”
Of course he is.
“I may have to use spells to get him convicted.” The words were like ash in Xander’s mouth. The most senior of the Chairman’s Board members, Voda’s inability to back down was going to get him killed.
“Do what you have to do.” The chair creaked beneath the Chairman’s heavy body as he shifted and leaned forward. “How is your mother?”
“She’s well.”
“Excellent. I thought I might allow her a visit with your father. He’s getting lonely.”
Xander’s face ached with the effort to remain emotionless. This was part of his punishment, demoted to working for Tepes as a low-rung legal gopher, his assets frozen and his father imprisoned indefinitely. He’d failed with Petrov. Now his family was disgraced, and it was up to him to recoup the loss.
“She’d enjoy that.” Bastard. He would free his father from the Chairman’s gilded prison even if it cost him his life.
&nb
sp; “It angers you that I have this control over you.” No matter what Xander did, Tepes always saw through the façade. “I bet you wonder why I kept your parents alive and why I didn’t kill you, even after you failed me. Don’t you?”
Xander said nothing. Of course he’d deserved death after his botched performance as Regional Mage, but he’d given up trying to figure out the many twists and turns of the Chairman’s mind a long time ago.
“It’s because I am a compassionate man.” The Chairman sighed and then looked at his watch. “Charge Voda with whatever you think will finish him. I want it done by tomorrow, five o’clock. I have a dinner to attend.”
A dinner Thomas Voda probably thought he’d be attending as well, Xander thought cynically. Too bad Voda was too convincing in his push to negotiate a treaty with Cazacul while the Chairman only wanted his brother dead.
Politics are a bitch.
The Chairman left as abruptly as he’d arrived. Xander let out a breath and released the glamour. He looked around at the thirty or so origami birds and animals he’d created over the last six hours. Mindless little decorations he always made when bored or under stress.
Six hours spent on them and still not a clue what he was going to do about Voda. There had to be something he could do to save a man whose only crime was to try to end a war that promised to destroy whatever fragile bonds were left between the three races.
Xander stretched, feeling the joints in his shoulders pop. A little origami bird flew by his head. He jerked back, momentarily confused, and then an origami elephant lying next to his hand picked itself up and walked across the desk, its trunk waving snakelike in the air.
“The hell?” With a soft whoosh, the rest of his creations suddenly sprang to life—stumbling, sliding, and lurching toward him with a sort of deranged enthusiasm, leaving him in little doubt of the spell caster responsible.
“Hello, Mina.” He flicked a giraffe off his arm and then sat back in his chair, resigned.
“I almost thought you forgot how to make them.”
His gaze followed the sound of her voice and found her curled up on his window seat, shadows wrapped around her slender body like a blanket.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He was being too harsh with her; he knew that. It was just that the girl always had the worst timing.
What if the Chairman had seen her?
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Had he heard tears in her voice? It gave him pause. In the dozen or so years he’d known Mina, he’d never seen her cry.
“What makes you think you’re safe here, Mina?” Xander tried to keep his tone brisk, wanting her to understand the brevity of her appearance here. “Under your uncle’s nose isn’t the best choice for you. Mikhail already chase you away?”
“It wouldn’t be safe for Misha and Laurie. You’re the only one that can handle this.” Mina scooted forward until the light revealed her face. It was covered in blood, dripping from open wounds where her silver piercings had been ripped out. Two deep slashes laid open the flesh along both of her cheekbones.
“Jesus, Mina.” Xander stood and moved across the room toward the Darkling. “What the hell happened?” His stomach knotted at the ravage to her delicate heart-shaped face, her lean dancer’s body tensed at his stare as if poised for flight. Her generous lower lip trembled and, for a moment, he forgot they were on opposites sides of a war.
Mina’s fathomless black eyes slid from his to a point behind him; she was likely tracking the origami still in motion around the room. Some flew, others scuttled around. He’d have a devil of a time finding them later. On his desk, a yellow frog jumped into his coffee mug with a splash. She smiled and then winced in pain.
“What’s going on, Mina?” Xander whispered. He knelt in front of the Darkling, trying not to startle her as he gently touched her chin to wipe away the blood. She flinched, and it made him go cold inside. Who would’ve hurt her like this? Someone wanted to make a point, to humiliate and maim. For all Mina’s faults, she didn’t deserve this.
She focused back on Xander. “I need your help,” she said.
It would be a death sentence if he assisted her. Their people, the Mages and Darks, were at war; any aid by him would be an act of treason. He watched her sway. Always pale, she now appeared ghostly.
“What do you need?” he said, and as the words left his mouth, Xander knew he was damning himself. Just as he did the first time he defended her, years ago.
“It’s my mother,” Mina whispered. “I need you to find out why she’s trying to kill me.”
“That’s not new, Mina,” Xander murmured as he brushed his fingers along her cheek.
She couldn’t stop her flinch; the skin burned here, where her mother’s nails had raked her face and the knife sliced.
His lips tightened for a moment. “Hasn’t she been trying to poison you for years?”
“A game.” She couldn’t speak louder than a whisper. Her throat ached from the effort not to scream. To cry. Hot trails of salty tears snaked down her face, making the cuts sting. “I thought it just a lesson.” A sob welled up and broke out before she could stop it. “I didn’t know she wanted me dead.”
How could she relate to him the custom of the Darks? Sometimes the things they did to help train their children made no sense to others. Poison was a game, something to teach a youngster to sense things out of the ordinary. Smelling and tasting food was a critical skill in their development. The highest paying jobs were assassins and protection detail—even among their own kind.
“Stop talking.” Xander laid a finger on her mouth.
The contact made her skin tingle, and emotions, the roiling mass of feeling that only surfaced around him, rose up and filled her to overflowing. Her body moved before her thoughts gave voice to her desire. She wrapped her arms around him, ignoring the ripple of pain from her injured left arm, and pressed her face to his fine linen shirt.
“Mothers aren’t supposed to want to murder their children,” Mina said.
“No,” he answered, his voice held an odd softness she rarely heard from him. “They should not.”
He shifted beneath her, the flex of muscles under her cheek causing her to cling tighter. Mina found herself enfolded in Xander’s arms, cradled in his lap. With the contact, all those feelings he kept hidden from her seeped into her bones. She didn’t have to consume his emotions—they were a part of her. Concern was paramount; it had the flavor of nutmeg. But there was coldness, a rage that wasn’t hot, but artic, and it tasted of nothing but ice. She shivered. She ignored the strange bit of guilt and disgust layered there. Mages were always struggling with guilt.
“Do you remember the first time you saved me?” Mina couldn’t stop the tremors, the reaction to the violence she’d escaped. Here in his arms was warmth. Safety.
“Which time?” His tone was playful, but the icy rage still wrapped around him, even as his arms protected. “You’re always getting into trouble.” He murmured spells, soft, musical cadences that dulled the burn in her cheeks.
“The garden party.” She felt him go still for a moment. A faint taste of smoke touched her. Regret? He had regret? She tried to pull back to look at him, but he wouldn’t let her move. The dusky essence of lemon with leather followed—affection. She relaxed.
“Be still. I have to knit the skin together,” he said, his voice firm. “That party was a long time ago,” he added. “I barely remember it.”
“I remember,” she whispered. “Every bit of it.” She knew he lied. He remembered everything. It was why she came to him and not to her family. Not to Laurie the Elemental with whom she had a blood tie.
Xander was always there for her.
Mina knew curiosity drove her. A driving need flowing through her as surely as blood moved in her veins. This inexplicable push propelled her to venture outside the confines of her known existence to explore. The clannish Darks frowned on inquisitiveness, but Mina differed. She wanted to touch the outside
world of Mages, Elementals, and humans. To taste the plethora of emotion and see the brilliance of color bathing the daytime world.
Cazacul, her father, hated her wanderings. His efforts to keep her safe—to keep her forever locked up behind walls of stone and magic—failed. Especially when, at six, she learned to move through shadows, a gift which should’ve occurred after puberty.
But being peculiar was Mina’s nature.
Her incessant wanderings brought her to Xander, to the Mage garden party she’d meandered into when she was but eight years old. She could still see the adults drinking their elegantly-made cocktails served by collared Elementals-in-training while the youth scattered out into the yard. Behind manicured hedges and neatly laid-out flower beds, the children ran, happy to be far away from the scrutiny of their elders.
“All I wanted to do was play with them,” Mina murmured as the tingle and slight burn of the healing spell worked on her torn ear. Xander could’ve brought her to a Mage doctor, even a Dark, but he didn’t. More points in his favor.
“You knew better than to show yourself,” Xander chided her as he worked on her other ear.
“See, I knew you remembered.” She winced at the tug on her lip. He hadn’t fixed it yet. “It was a game called football. It looked fun.”
“I didn’t say I forgot. You’re wiggling too much. You’ll have scars.” His hands tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowed as he examined her cheekbones. This focused, serious look, his sculptured lips frowning, echoed in her memory. “And football is a rough sport.”
He’d been very angry. She could still see his face, the blazing blue of his eyes as he confronted her tormentors, but his anger hadn’t been icy as it was now. It’d been white hot.
“I didn’t know that. Football still looks fun, but I’m too small now,” Mina told him, watching as his eyes flicked to hers, crinkling just a bit at the corners. How does he do that? Be amused and pissed off? “I didn’t know many spells then.”
“It wouldn’t have helped you. There were far more of them than you.” He murmured another spell, and she felt a dull, throbbing ache in her cheek. “If you don’t get in a fight, this should help the scar fade a bit.”
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