The smaller seer gripped Revik’s arm with both of his hands, but he’d stopped struggling. I knew Revik was reading him, trying to find whatever remaining details he could before we had to go. I also knew he’d likely sedated Dulgar with his light, given that those previously sharp, gold eyes looked blank, lifeless. Revik wasn’t holding his throat tightly enough to have done that by cutting off his air alone.
I didn’t have a lot of hope Revik would find anything particularly helpful––beyond what we’d already found. Then again, I was feeling pretty damned frustrated at the moment, and outmaneuvered.
We were losing ground. I could feel it in my light.
Focusing back on the link, I frowned.
“Yeah, they’re already in Dubai,” I said, blunt.
“They have reached Dubai already? You are sure? There’s no chance they are in transit still, that we might––”
“No,” I cut in. “They’re there. Revik got the buyer’s name. The name Dulgar got, anyway.” I exhaled, letting my frustration grow audible. “I don’t know if the name’s real, but Revik remembered it from one of the sales records, so it’s at least an alias that’s been used before.” I shrugged. “It’s worse than that, ‘Dor. This guy, he’s definitely collecting Listers. Seers, at least. We don’t know about humans. But he definitely has his own copy of the seer portion of the List.”
The silence on the line deepened.
Then Balidor clicked softly. I felt a real pulse of frustration off him, too.
“Did they know we were coming here, do you think?” he said.
I bit my lip, glancing at Revik.
I knew what Balidor was asking me, at least in part. He wanted to know if I thought Shadow had found a way to hack Revik’s light––meaning, inside the safety protocols we’d set.
He wanted to know if I thought we were being played.
I studied Revik’s back, scanning his light carefully, looking for taps. I knew his higher structures were connected to Shadow, regardless, but I also knew those were the parts of him Shadow couldn’t easily pull intel from, or use to manipulate him.
Those higher structures operated in their own plane.
I’d wondered if was some kind of trickle-down effect––from his higher to lower structures––that caused the delay between when Revik left the tank and when Shadow could pull usable intel off him. We’d also speculated that it might take that long for Shadow to get past Revik himself, at those higher levels of his light as well as down here, on the ground.
We’d been looking for the trigger points Shadow used to get into his light for months, but apart from the usual trauma crap my husband was put through as a kid, we hadn’t found anything new.
I knew we were missing something there, too.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice closer to angry. “Honestly? I don’t think so. Revik’s still reading Dulgar, so maybe he’ll get a better indication of how the transaction went down. So far, he says it was just a normal sale from Dulgar’s side––if a higher-priced one than usual, and one with unusually specific requests regarding individual seers. Revik thinks Dulgar didn’t want us to know because he wanted to keep up the pretense he would sell those seers to us.”
I exhaled in annoyance. “…Of course, it’s now clear he didn’t intend to sell us anything. I guess he decided owning his own breeding pair of Elaerian was better business.”
Feeling a pulse of Balidor’s anger defused some of mine.
“Yeah, well.” I sighed, tugging a few strands of hair out of my face. “Whatever the reasons they timed the transport the way they did, the List seers left Macau more than a week ago, on more than one ship. They rerouted light imprints in transit back to here… meaning Macau… which is why we didn’t feel them leave.”
“Why would they do that?” Balidor said, sharper. “Did he know we would be looking for these same seers?”
“Maybe,” I shrugged, mirroring the expression with one hand. “But also maybe not. Apparently, there are a lot of pirates on these seas. Seers are a hot commodity right now, and the black market is growing, not shrinking, particularly around Shadow cities. From what Revik told me, they’ve simply learned to take these kinds of precautions during transport for big sales. It might not mean anything.”
I felt Balidor digest that information, too.
I felt him go higher in the Barrier, maybe talking to Tarsi.
He clicked back, seconds later.
“All right,” he said, curt. “We’re sending a boat for the two of you in that canal. We’re out of time. I have your position now. Three minutes, Alyson.”
Grimacing, I fought the impulse to kick the wall. “Understood. Did Jon find the human Listers, at least?”
Balidor exhaled, clicking. “Most of them. A few were mysteriously absent. Yumi tells me their signatures now read as dead. So you were right––there are most likely agents of Shadow here, in the casino and probably Macau itself. Another reason for you and your husband to get the hell out of there, if you’ll pardon my saying it, Esteemed Bridge.”
I nodded, glancing at Revik, then at Dulgar.
“Dulgar?” I said.
Balidor clicked a little louder, but I could feel him thinking.
“If you are asking my advice, I would leave him,” he said, after another pause. “The Legion of Fire would never have been our friends, but if we do not do anything unforgivable, we might be able to avoid adding to our list of active and extremely pissed-off enemies. After all, they did intend to enslave the two of you. The fact that you didn’t kill every last one of them will likely be perceived as some kind of restraint.”
I grunted humorlessly. “Understood. And agreed. Anyway, like I said, I think this well is dry.” Feeling a pulse of agreement off Revik when he glanced at me, I frowned, even as my mind went over the rest of what Balidor said. “If he’s not already, get Jon back to the ship. And Maygar. I don’t want them anywhere near that damned casino if they have agents here.”
“We are in process with that.”
I nodded, but felt another hard tremor in my light, even as I exchanged a look with Revik.
“Good,” was all I said.
10
A FEW ODD OCCURRENCES
“WELL, WHERE DID you feel him last?” Maygar grumbled, giving Jon a hard stare with his dark brown eyes. “Or is that too complicated of a question for a half-worm like you?”
“It’s a her, actually,” Jon said, a little hotly. “And I felt her in the back area of the bar. I told you… she was pretty much right where we’re standing now.”
Maygar frowned, pulling the rifle strap higher on his shoulder.
“Well?” he said, glancing around them. “Where the hell is she?”
Jon bit his lip, subduing his voice with an effort. “I told you what I saw. How about you help me look, instead of complaining like a big jerk?”
Maygar scowled.
Ignoring him, Jon looked around the dimly-lit floor area with its scattering of round, black cocktail tables and red-upholstered chairs. The chairs were high-backed, brightly colored, and fuzzy, like they belonged in Alice in Wonderland––not the spare, chrome and vinyl seats normally found in bars. Then again, this whole resort seemed to be about comfort and excess, even when it made no sense.
Jon’s eyes shifted to the stage that stood over the sunken seating area, lit by green and purple gels. A single, old-fashioned, dead-metal microphone stood there on a stand. What looked like a stripper pole took up part of the stage behind it.
He glanced back at the wooden bar, where bottles of every shape and color filled the glass shelves. Platters of olives, cheeses and sliced meats stood on rotating display cases at either end. High stools with the same, fuzzy upholstery stood around the mirrored edge.
The place looked and felt totally deserted––but recently deserted.
“Well?” Maygar said, shoving him lightly with a hand.
“Will you stop doing that?” Jon said, scowling. “Jesus. You’re
like a kid, pushing at me all the time. Aren’t you getting enough affection from ‘Dad,’ Maygar?”
The brown-eyed seer frowned, in a way that made Jon regret his words.
He was about to say something, when a glass fell to the floor to his left and shattered, making both of them jump.
Their heads and Maygar’s rifle jerked toward the far end of the room.
As he turned, Jon saw a long, blood-red curtain twitch.
Realizing the curtain didn’t cover a wall, but instead sequestered off part of the room, Jon gave Maygar a look, then motioned towards it with his head. Seeing a similar understanding in those dark chocolate eyes, Jon started walking towards that same segment of curtain. Maygar followed, covering them both with the rifle.
A few yards away, Jon stopped again, letting his light snake out ahead.
Humans. At least two.
Of course, that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be seers back there.
It just meant, if there were any, they were well-shielded.
“Do we need back-up?” Jon muttered. “Balidor didn’t want us taking any chances.”
Getting only a dismissive shrug from the other male, Jon exhaled, fighting irritation at the unreadable expression on Maygar’s face. He resumed his slow steps forward, still moving as quietly as he could, although he knew it would make little difference at this point.
Whoever was back there knew they were here.
Jon continued to scan behind the partition, looking for any hints of an ambush. He tried not to think about Wreg, or how pissed off his mate would likely be if he saw him right now.
Truthfully, Jon’s main concern wasn’t his own skin.
He couldn’t even imagine what Revik would say to him, if he let his son get kidnapped by these dicks.
Hesitating, he glanced at Maygar, about to tell him to hang back––
When something burst out of an opening in the red cloth.
Jon saw a flash of metal, even as the person slammed into him. He felt a sharp pain in his side, just below where his armored vest ended. Letting out a gasp, he fought to jump back, to evade, but whoever had him gripped the front of his clothes, refusing to let go.
The pain in Jon’s side worsened.
Gripping his assailant’s arms, Jon let out an involuntary cry.
Maygar appeared beside him. Jon saw the butt of the seer’s rifle get drawn back, had a momentary flash that Maygar was about to hit him in the face––when Maygar slammed the gun into the skull of the person holding him.
The force threw Jon’s assailant harder into Jon’s body.
Jon’s knee buckled, partly from the blunt force and partly out of shock. The next thing he knew, he was on his back, and the person lay on top of him, unconscious.
“Jesus Christ!” he gasped. “Get her the fuck off me!”
Maygar leaned down. He caught hold of the clothes of the young female lying on him––Jon still couldn’t tell if she was seer or human––and yanked her unceremoniously off him by the back of the leather jacket she wore.
Jon let out a longer cry once he had, as the pain in his side abruptly worsened.
Maygar tossed her unceremoniously to her back by the row of fuzzy barstools. Jon caught a glimpse of the long blade in her hand, now covered in dark-red blood. Letting out a gasp, he clamped a hand over the hole in his side, fighting not to pass out.
“Are you all right, brother?” Maygar asked, going down on one knee.
Jon looked up, biting his lip and grimacing, in part to keep from yelling at him.
Still looking at Jon, and now apparently seeing the blood, Maygar glanced at the female on the floor, seeing the bloody knife she clutched in one, white-knuckled hand.
“Gaos,” he said. “The bitch got you.”
He reached for the wound, but Jon pushed his hand away.
“No,” he managed. “Cover us, goddamn it. See who else is back there… just be careful. I’ll send the ID to Wreg on the one you just knocked out.” Fighting to breathe, and to think, he pulled his hand off the stab wound, peering down at it. After a pause, he shook his head. “If you talk to anyone on the carrier, don’t tell them about this.”
“Why the fuck not?” Maygar frowned, his hand halfway to his earpiece. “She stabbed you, brother. There could be internal damage.”
Jon let out a humorless laugh. “The thought had occurred to me. But I’m not sure how making Wreg flip out and send in the calvary to shoot the place up is going to heal my side, brother. The bad news can wait. Let’s find the Lister, first.”
Jon winced as he braced his weight, fighting his way up to a seated position, pressing his palm over the hole.
Maygar let Jon’s “brother” go by without comment, just like Jon had with him. Clicking under his breath, the dark-eyed seer exhaled.
“Fine. But let me put a field dressing on it, at least––”
“In a minute.” Jon motioned towards the curtain, wincing. “Look back there, first. Or all of this is for nothing. Just be careful,” he repeated, harsher. “I mean it, Maygar. I don’t want your ‘Dad’ stabbing me a second time.”
Maygar grunted, flushing. “Whatever.”
Adjusting the rifle in his hands, he turned towards the red velvet curtain. Before he could take a step in that direction––
The curtain parted a second time.
A person walked out that time, their steps slow, unhurried.
Jon found himself staring up at a muscular seer.
It was definitely a seer that time, no question, with black and gold streaked hair and light green eyes, almost the color of Allie’s. An unusual ring of pale violet circled the outer edge of his irises, reminding Jon strangely of Revik and Allie’s daughter. While the colors weren’t the same, he’d never seen ringed eyes like that on anyone else.
Jon’s eyes finally drifted down.
The seer held an automatic rifle in his hands.
Jon swallowed, glancing at Maygar before returning his gaze to the strange seer. The male wore a dark green armored vest wrapped around his chest, heavy military-style boots, what looked like a short sword hung through his thick leather belt. The rifle he carried as his primary weapon was an older model than their people used––well, at least since Revik took over the armory. It still looked plenty menacing, though.
Jon noted the dark green organics grown into the even darker gray metal. He counted two sidearms strapped to the seer’s hips.
He wasn’t dressed in the black of the Legion of Fire.
He didn’t wear one of those cheesy armbands, either.
In fact, if Jon didn’t know every single seer deployed in their current ground mission by face and by name, he might have thought he was one of theirs.
He was handsome. Unusually, strikingly, disarmingly handsome, even compared to Balidor. He was so handsome, Jon highly doubted he could have met him and not remembered that face. His sculpted lips were beautiful even for a seer. High cheekbones and faintly slanted eyes made his ethnicity difficult to pinpoint, even more so than Revik. He was tall, nearly Revik’s height, and had a strangely regal look to him, like he’d been born a king or prince in another life.
He felt… Adhipan.
Definitely infiltrator. Probably highly-ranked.
He had that crystal-clear quality to his light Jon associated with Balidor. That same frequency of light could also be found on Balidor’s most highly-trained seers, the ones who’d worked and trained out of the Pamir since they were children. A lot of Balidor’s Adhipan were even roughly the same age as this mystery seer, which Jon estimated to be in the three-hundred to four-hundred range.
So yeah––Wreg’s age, more or less.
“Yes,” Maygar muttered, glancing at him.
Jon wasn’t sure which of his thoughts Maygar was responding to, or if it was all of them. From the sense he got off of the other male’s light, he suspected it was all of them.
“Yes,” Maygar said again.
Maygar didn’t take his eyes off
their mystery guest.
Seeing Maygar’s hands out at his sides––more or less in the seer gesture for peace––Jon put something else together in his head. In fact, the most important detail of this new seer’s presence had entirely escaped Jon’s notice up until now.
The seer was pointing that automatic weapon at him.
“Who are you?” the green-eyed seer said.
Swallowing, Jon glanced at Maygar.
He could feel Maygar weighing his chances of getting the drop on this mystery seer, and not liking his odds. The man was standing too close to Jon; Maygar worried he’d throw shrapnel into Jon if he tried using the telekinesis to detonate his rifle.
Somewhere in that, Jon felt the even less-comforting thought of Maygar’s, that he probably couldn’t use his telekinesis accurately enough to stop a bullet in midair. Apparently, Maygar had seen Revik do it, but was less sure of his own ability to pull it off.
Jon also glimpsed Maygar worrying he might have to explain to the rest of them how he’d gotten Jon killed. He squirmed at the idea of telling Revik and Allie––even beyond having to tell Wreg, who he guessed would likely try to kill him.
Clicking under his breath, Jon gave Maygar an irritated look.
Then he decided to take matters into his own hands. Fighting his way up to his knees, he gritted his teeth, still gripping his side. Once he’d caught hold of the nearest barstool, he used it to haul himself back to his feet.
For a few seconds he just stood there, panting and hunched, using the fuzzy, red stool for balance. He aimed his grimace at the strange seer.
“We are people who did not harm you… or stab you, brother,” he remarked.
“Nor did I,” said the green-eyed seer said, glancing down at Jon’s bloody hand where it pressed against his side. “Nor did I ask her to attack you, brother. Are you going to tell me who you are? Or must I guess?”
Hearing the humor underlying the other’s words, Jon clicked under his breath, shaking his head as he glanced at Maygar.
Fucking infiltrators and their constant, unrelenting caginess.
Revik’s son looked openly wary now, and on the verge of possibly doing something really stupid. Realizing he needed to head that off, Jon straightened to his full height, facing the handsome seer as he spoke in a forced voice.
Prophet: Bridge & Sword Page 9