Broken Elements (Elements, Book 1)

by Mia Marshall

  “Exactly. After that, Aidan didn’t know any of the victims. They were all men I dated.”

  “So, when they found Richard and the soil in your trunk, they had a damn good reason to arrest you,” I added.

  “Which only left you more isolated,” Sera said.

  “Brian never planned on having me arrested, either. I think Vivian and Simon are right—the burnt body had to be Josiah’s work. It was intended to free you, but because they still suspected me from the previous murders, it backfired on me.” We stared at each other across the room, the pattern painfully obvious once we put the pieces together. “For Brian, this was always about me.”

  Sera nodded. “I’d love to tell you that you have a damned high opinion of yourself, but I’m pretty sure this time, you’re right.”

  I wanted to argue some more, to find some reason our theory was wrong. There wasn’t one. I settled for an irate glare in Sera’s general direction and added a much needed dollop of whiskey to my dwindling tea, figuring it was good for my throat.

  “I’ve already notified my father. Now that we know who we’re looking for, Brian will actually be pretty easy to catch.”

  One thing still didn’t make any sense. “But the firebomb. Brian was here. Even if his partner threw it, what did he hope to accomplish?”

  Sera’s face became grim. “I don’t know, but we’ll find out, and we’ll get the bastard’s name while we’re at it. My father has ways to extract the information, I’m sure. Hell, it looks like he’s even more ruthless than I suspected.” She grimaced, then appeared to set that thought aside. She had enough to deal with at the moment without also considering a homicidally overprotective father. “And, until Brian and his partner are found, we protect the hell out of you.”

  I protested, but each face that looked back at me was determined and immoveable. I knew that none of my arguments would be seriously considered, and I couldn’t even blame them. If a powerful and psychotic serial killer was fixated on one of them, I’d feel the same way. Reluctantly, and with very little grace, I agreed.

  I lied. I waited until everyone was asleep, then another hour after that just to be sure, before slipping quietly downstairs. I took nothing but my handbag with me, figuring I could buy some toiletries en route. Mainly, I wanted to get out of there before anyone figured out what I was doing. More to the point, I wanted to get out of there before I had time to reconsider my plan. It was foolish, and I knew it was best to avoid obviously foolish behavior.

  Unfortunately, no matter how loudly that voice of caution screamed at me, I could not stop remembering the unhinged look in Brian’s eyes, an expression that promised deep wells of pure crazy, and his absolute conviction that we were somehow connected. Brian, it turned out, was half-ice, and he had fallen into madness. I was half-water, and I felt madness beckon every time my own power danced away from me. And, a seven-hour drive away, another half-water sat locked in a mental institution, his own battle with sanity long lost. I had to know.

  That did not mean I had to share my concerns. I did not doubt my friends cared for me. I did not doubt they would support me if they knew. I was less sure, however, that they would be able to view me the same way if what I was beginning to fear turned out to be true. I couldn’t stand for my friends to constantly be searching for signs of impending madness or the occasional homicidal tendency.

  Right now, it was just a theory. When I had an answer to my questions, I’d figure out what, if anything, they needed to know.

  Something seemed to go wrong with half human elementals. Not all of us, but even two was enough to cause dread to settle heavy in my stomach. Considering the trouble I had with my magic, I suspected I made three. I had to know if I flirted with the same madness that had claimed Trent Pond and Brian. I could not wait another week or two for that knowledge, the fear gnawing away inside me the whole time. But while I needed to know, they did not. This was my journey to make, and mine alone.

  I told myself that I wasn’t being wholly idiotic. Impetuous, yes, but not unsafe. Josiah would find Brian soon. Our role in this investigation was finished. The sole practical reason for me to linger in the area was to enable my friends to protect me, and that only placed them in greater danger. Where I was going, Brian would never look, leaving me as safe as if I remained in the mountains, and the rest of them far safer. I knew I was justifying my actions, but my arguments sounded almost credible. If I repeated them to myself for the duration of the drive, I might even come to believe them.

  The night was clear, the storm long passed. Sera’s car was parked down the driveway, forcing me to take a long walk that left me far too exposed. I almost turned around in that moment, the warm cabin beckoning me with its promise of safety.

  Instead, I pulled water to me, ready to be used at the merest hint of noise, and began walking to the car. Every muscle begged to run, but that would cause too much noise, and the churning gravel could easily wake the others. I took slow, cautious steps, stopping frequently to listen, trying to hear any threatening sounds over the rhythmic roar of my own heart.

  One step, then another, and finally I was there. I slid the keys into the lock with a shaking hand and gingerly lifted the handle. Behind me, the gravel shifted. It was the smallest of sounds, a bare hint of another’s presence, but I knew I was no longer alone.

  Without pausing, I turned and flung the gathered water toward the intruder with the force of a gale wind. It caught my target, lifting it several inches in the air before depositing it back on the ground. One very wet and utterly terrified rabbit stared at me, then hopped quickly away, severely regretting the decision to emerge from its home on this particular night. I spared a quick mental apology for the poor creature and hoped his warm rabbit home wasn’t far away.

  I slid into the front seat and locked the door. Seconds later, I was moving as swiftly as I dared down the drive. In the rearview mirror, the house remained dark. No one followed me, and as I turned onto the River Road and then merged onto Highway 80, I kept my eyes glued to the rearview mirror as much as I dared and continued to do so for the next hour. I took several unnecessary exits and returned to the freeway. No one appeared behind me.

  Finally, I felt the knot of tension inside me unwind the slightest bit. I popped out Sera’s tape of Iggy & the Stooges. She hadn’t changed the station since I last rode with her, and while Loretta Lynn sang about living “High on a Mountaintop” with her family, I began my descent off this one and away from my own.

  I drove through the night, only stopping for gas at an independent station in a small town, the kind that looked as if its version of a security system involved a baseball bat and a large dog. Between her father and the two agents, I knew Sera could find me if she put her mind to it, and I didn’t want to make it easy for her. Tomorrow, I would return, and I’d willingly take all the grief they wanted to give me for my unplanned field trip, but I needed the head start.

  And so, when the phone rang at nine o’clock the next morning, I almost didn’t pick up. Sera would have questions I wasn’t yet ready to answer. My thumb was on the phone, ready to send the call to voicemail, when a thoroughly annoying sense of guilt caused me to hesitate. She would be worried. If she vanished while a killer with a hard-on for her fiery self was on the loose, I’d want to hear her voice.

  If the golden rule wasn’t enough to make me answer, I was already parked before my destination, an inoffensive, forgettable building that was just coming to life for the day. Even if they borrowed a helicopter, I would already have completed my interview and be on the road back to Tahoe. Reluctantly, I answered the phone.

  “Where the fuck are you?” Sera demanded before I had even spoken. Behind her I could hear raised voices and loud crashing sounds.

  “I left a note.”

  “A note. Yes, a note. ‘Have something to do. Be back tonight.’ I’m surprised you didn’t add a smiley face at the end of it.”

  “Don’t be rude. You know I would never draw a smiley face in my
life.”

  “I am going to kill you.” An awkward pause interrupted her anger. It seemed this was one hyperbolic threat we could never use with our friends again. “Too soon?”

  I laughed, anger at Brian intermingled with affection for Sera. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Fine. You live. But give me one reason I shouldn’t report my car stolen.”

  “Do you really want it impounded far from home?”

  “How far?” Her voice was too innocent, a tone at which she had little practice. She sounded like a snake oil salesman.

  “Not so far that I won’t be home late tonight. I’m looking into something. No one knows where I am, which means no one else should be able to find me, either. I’m going to have to sleep in the afternoon, but I’ll head back this evening. You won’t even have time to pilfer my stuff.”

  “So, you’re tired. Did you drive through the night?”

  “Stop drawing a mental radius of my possible locations, Sera.” A crashing sound reverberated through the line. “What the hell’s going on over there?”

  “What do you think? Mac is currently dismantling the deck. You better get back before he moves on to the main house, because I prefer to sleep with four walls surrounding me.”

  I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. I almost asked to speak with Mac, but I feared just hearing his voice would convince me to divulge my location before I was ready. “Tell him… tell him I say ‘impulse control.’ And I’ll see you tonight.” I hung up without waiting for a reply.

  I figured I should get the other call I ought to make out of the way, too. Carmichael answered on the second ring. “We solved it,” I told him.

  I enjoyed his moment of pure, stunned silence. No matter how weird this case became, I don’t think he ever expected it to be solved by some skinny, mouthy blond. “Seriously?” he finally managed.

  His happiness was mitigated by the fact that I wouldn’t tell him who it was—I’m sure Sera would appreciate that—or what was going to happen next. “Someday, Carmichael. When you’re ready,” I told him sagely.

  I heard much grumbling from the other end, including a few assurances that he was ready now, thank you very much. I smiled. There was something inexplicably satisfying about watching someone used to always getting their way be denied, but eventually I took pity on him. “Seriously, you and Johnson can’t handle this. Sera and I together couldn’t handle this. If we sent you after him, we’d be finding your bodies in a campsite.”

  “What am I supposed to write in my report?”

  “Hell, Carmichael, if you figured out what to write after Sera’s and my little demonstration the other day, you’re already well ahead of me.”

  “We’re working something out.” He spoke in a deliberately mysterious tone.

  That sounded ominous. “Now who’s being all vague and unforthcoming?”

  “I can’t let you have all the fun, Ms. Brook. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up before I could reply.

  With no further reasons to delay, I walked swiftly toward Crescent Beach Psychiatric Hospital. Even with my coat wrapped tight around me, the early morning chill slithered in through the cuffs and collar. We were near the ocean, well free of the mountain’s snow, but the coastal winds carried their own bite.

  I slipped through the automatic doors and into the welcome blast of heated air. The interior was as vaguely pleasant and uninspired as the building’s exterior. Everything was clean and orderly. Artificial flowers dotted the room, and the walls held peaceful landscapes painted in subdued colors. The utter lack of personality was almost as disturbing as the thought of who lived in the building. This was the sort of place where people drifted away, losing themselves in a bland sea of nothingness.

  “I’m here to see Trent Pond,” I informed the woman working the reception desk.

  She smiled benignly and moved a clipboard toward me. “Please sign in. Mr. Pond has not had any visitors in a long time. It was good of you to come.”

  I wasn’t sure about that. I scrawled a fake name, but answered honestly when she asked my element. As I followed the woman’s instructions to Trent’s ward, the reason for tracking magic within their walls became clear. Every hundred feet or so, I spotted another elemental using power. Few were doing much of anything. Most were popping small bursts of flame the size of matchsticks, or using water to wash their hands repeatedly. One woman moved the soil from one potted plant to another, and back again. It all appeared harmless, but none were left alone. They were surrounded by nurses and orderlies, all of whom presumably held their own powers. A delicate balance had been struck, and I imagined it would take little to disturb that balance.

  Trent’s wing was upstairs and at the end of a sterile hallway. I had to pass through two sets of double doors, the second of which read “High Security,” before finding myself in front of a second reception desk. The man behind the desk requested that I leave my purse in a locker before visiting the patient. Finally, I was directed toward Trent’s room.

  Two orderlies manned the doorway like statues. Neither was very large, but I supposed size wasn’t the issue. They only needed to collectively be strong enough to deal with an emotionally unstable half water. They nodded to me, then moved aside, letting me into the small, dim room.

  Trent Pond sat at a rectangular metal table in the center of the room with his back to me, and he made no effort to turn when he heard me enter. He wore a green t-shirt and matching drawstring cotton pants, the uniform of all the hospital’s patients. I eased slowly around the table, expecting him to face me at any moment. He never moved. Finally, I sank into the chair across from him, watching him quietly.

  He looked like every pure water I had ever seen, and like none of them. His hair was a delicate blond, but where the sun would have gleamed off its highlights, it hung lank and dull. His eyes were grey, but not the shifting tone of pebbles in a stream. They were a matte gunmetal grey, and their depths revealed nothing of what Trent held inside. Where my skin was pale, his was wan and sallow. I was certain he had once been beautiful, but now it appeared as if the very life had been drained from him, leaving him with only enough energy to continue living, whether he wanted to or not.

  “Who are you?” It was a whisper, breathed through lips that barely moved.

  I told him my name. “Your sister told me you were here. I am sorry to bother you, but I have questions, and I think you are the only one who can answer them.”

  He tilted his head far to the right, then back to the left, studying me from each angle. “How is Lana?” His tone was indifferent, as though he really didn’t care about the answer.

  “She’s fine. It looks like she’s become a proper northern California hippie.” I wondered if that image of his sister would bring life into his eyes. It didn’t.

  He continued to study me. “You’re a water.” I nodded. “But not just water.” He centered his head and immediately reached out both hands, one after the other, and placed the fingertips softly on my cheeks, turning my face to catch the harsh light cast from the fluorescent bulbs above.

  It was strange, and certainly unexpected, but I felt no sense of danger in his touch. “No. I’m half human.”

  “You are like me.” He let go, fingers drifting gently back to the table. “Well, not quite like me.”

  That, at least, I was glad to hear. While he exhibited none of Brian’s violent madness, there was a clear disconnect between his mind and the rest of the world that I did not seek to share.

  “Lana told me that she never had any problems with her magic, and she is also half human. There have been countless half humans over the years, and I’ve never heard of anyone having the problems I have. But, recently… there was someone else. Another half-human with problems. I need to know. Can you always control your power?”

  His mouth went slack and his eyes dull. For a moment, he appeared little more than a wax dummy sitting before me. Then he blinked, and the illusion broke. “No, it’s still there. The magic would n
ever leave me. It loves me. It makes me special.” He began humming a soft, tuneless song and appeared to forget me altogether.

  “Trent. Mr. Pond. Are you saying that you never had any problems with your magic? You’re not in here because of…” I stopped mid-sentence, unsure how I planned to finish the sentence.

  “Am I in here because of my magic? Oh, yes. Yes, I am. They say I can’t use it. They say I can’t hurt myself. They tell me to stop. They say it’s dangerous. They don’t know what it’s like. It must be used. The magic insists.” With each sentence, he rapped the table, each tap growing progressively louder under the final sentence almost disappeared under the clanging metal.

  One orderly peered through the window, eyebrows lifted, and I shook my head at him. Even as his gestures became more emphatic, Trent’s voice never rose above a gentle whisper. His hands dropped to his side, and he turned those gunmetal eyes on me. This time, they did not appear dull. In their depths, I saw an unfathomable well of sadness. Whatever else he might be, Trent Pond was utterly despondent. “They leave me incomplete.”

  I found myself speaking as quietly as he was. “Why do they tell you not to use your magic, Trent? Why is it dangerous? How would you hurt yourself? Do they think you might hurt someone else?” I knew I was asking too many questions, but they fell out before I could stop them, so desperate was I to understand.

  He twisted in his seat, looking over his shoulder at the open doorway. Years of limited movement had stolen from him the typical fluidity of a water, and he used short, jerky movements. “They are watching,” he hissed.

  “No, they’re not,” I insisted. “They’re turned away, and you are speaking too quietly for them to hear. Please, tell me what you know. I am scared that I might do the same, that I might hurt people.”

  “I don’t hurt people. I’m not crazy, Aidan.” For a moment, he sounded indignant at the prospect, and then he started giggling, a high-pitched noise that started deep in his throat before slowly developing into a full cackle. It took a long time for the volume to rise high enough for the orderlies to hear and come rushing into the room. By then, it was too late. He had shown me his magic.