by Nalini Singh
His alpha paused midstep. “Why didn’t I know about this?”
“I was going to brief you, but then we heard about Leila’s message and it didn’t seem particularly important.” Malachai shrugged. “It was only a fringe group of fanatics, nothing major, but they were apparently planning to storm the Alliance offices with weapons.” He folded his arms. “Bowen confirmed our intel was right, thanked me. I told him one day, we’d call in the favor.”
Miane’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Sometimes, Mal, I think that brain of yours is a dangerous weapon. Good thing you’re on my side.” She input the call after Malachai moved out of the shot.
Vasic teleported home to Ivy before the call connected. His part was done. Leila Savea’s life now depended on countless pairs of human eyes.
Letters to Nina
From the private diaries of Father Xavier Perez
November 3, 2076
Nina,
I’ve crossed many borders in the past year, somehow ended up making a home in San Francisco. I have a church, a congregation. They call me Father Xavier. It felt too big a thing at first, the respect inherent in it unearned, but I’ve come to accept my place here.
I may be but a humble man from a distant mountain village—but in this big city, there are many broken souls who need solace. I attempt to provide it, even as I fight my own demons, fight my own anger.
I’m no longer surprised when I find Psy sitting in the pews. They used to leave when they saw me, as if afraid I’d turn them in for believing, but now sometimes, they stay and we talk. I was such a fool before, Nina, thinking they weren’t people but automatons. There is nothing that separates us but a twist of biology—they have psychic abilities and we don’t. That is the only difference. Beneath the skin, they are as human as you or I.
My Psy friend though, he’s as different from the parishioners as a rabbit is from a bird of prey. He is always in such control, so cold. Frigid as ice, until it would be easy to believe that he is an unfeeling robotic killer. Yet I’ve seen this man take a bullet to protect a child.
Heroes, I’ve learned, don’t always wear white.
Sometimes they come from the darkness, shadows among shadows.
Your Xavier
Chapter 40
KALEB HAD BEEN searching for another area of the Net as healthy as Sophia Russo’s ever since Sahara made the request. The NetMind and DarkMind had proven singularly unhelpful on that point. So much so that Kaleb was starting to become concerned at the twin neosentiences’ behavior. Previously, even when the DarkMind turned erratic, the NetMind had remained unwavering and resolute in its duties.
The fact that the more stable neosentience was displaying erratic behavior of its own told him the problem with the PsyNet was far bigger than even the empaths realized, the flaw so fundamental that it was causing catastrophic damage to the “organs” of what was clearly a living system.
Given the lack of help, Kaleb had set up tightly defined search patterns that ran continuously. He’d devoted a significant percentage of his brain to the search. And after all that, he’d found only two other areas that appeared flawless in their health. It was possible there were more, since he’d basically run a manual search, but if so, it had to be a highly limited number.
The first new area was simple enough: it emanated from Clara Alvarez. Interestingly, she was an ex-Justice Psy like Sophia Russo. Coincidence?
It was the second clean area that proved problematic.
That small isolated region of the Net was pristine, beautiful, strong . . . and the mind behind the effect invisible. Not well shielded. Invisible. The only people Kaleb knew who had shields that effective were Arrows. He’d only detected that there was a mind anchored in the area because one, he was a dual cardinal with the attendant power, and two, because he’d made it a point to learn how to spot Arrows back when the squad had been under the command of Councilor Ming LeBon, who’d used them to mete out death to his enemies.
It hadn’t mattered if a particular assassination required an Arrow to give up his or her own life; the ex-Councilor had treated the highly trained and extremely intelligent men and women of the squad as replaceable. Despite growing up in the “care” of a psychopath, Kaleb had never made the same mistake when it came to his own people—and it was because of Sahara. She’d taught him that people weren’t disposable or replaceable by being the unique, wild, extraordinary gift that she was . . . and by how she’d seen the same in him.
“Don’t get hurt, Kaleb! Who will I play with if you break your legs?”
“You’ll find other friends. There are lots of children in the NightStar compound.”
A reproachful look from the ten-year-old girl standing at the bottom of the tree, the one with dark, dark blue eyes that always filled with light when he stole away to see her. “But only you’re you. Only you are my best friend.”
It was a fragment of memory that had reminded him to stay Kaleb no matter how his psychopathic trainer tried to break him down over the years. Because Sahara loved Kaleb, no one else. And he loved only her.
Sahara was also the one who’d made him see that, sometimes, it was better to extend the hand of friendship than to force compliance by fear. Santano Enrique had tortured him until Kaleb hated him with every ounce of his being. Sahara had loved him, and for her, he’d do anything.
In line with that thought, he didn’t attempt to break into the shielded mind.
Instead, he dropped out of the PsyNet, made contact with Aden, and asked the leader of the Arrows to meet him on the PsyNet, at the site. “Do you see it?” he asked.
“You’ll have to explain.”
“The Net,” Kaleb pointed out. “No rot, no disintegration, nothing but pure strength.” He didn’t need an empath to confirm it, could feel that strength like a crisp, fresh wind against his psychic senses.
Aden examined the psychic fabric with care. “You’re right.”
“The Es need to know who’s causing the effect,” Kaleb said. “It would give them a third data point for comparison.”
“I’ll check with the individual in question.”
Kaleb let it go at that; pushing an Arrow was a useless endeavor.
Aden’s message came in ten minutes later, while Kaleb was in a meeting with the alpha of the BlackEdge Wolves: The Arrow is Stefan Berg, stationed on Alaris. He’ll contact Ivy Jane personally.
Kaleb knew he’d only been given that information because Sahara would share it anyway, once she learned of it from the empaths. Even Arrows, it seemed, didn’t expect bonded pairs to keep secrets from one another. Excusing himself from the wolf alpha for a short period, he thanked Aden, then passed on all the information he’d discovered to Ivy Jane.
Stefan Berg, he mused as he returned to his meeting. As far as Kaleb knew, the powerful teleporter stationed on the deep-sea station had never officially been an Arrow. Clearly, however, Aden Kai considered the man one of his. Yes, it was never a good idea to take the Arrows for granted—or to assume you knew all their secrets.
• • •
IVY couldn’t believe the identity of the third calm space in the Net . . . then she thought of Sophia and Clara, and suddenly the connection between the three was blindingly clear. Heart thumping, she sent a message to Stefan. The Alaris station commander had most recently visited the orchard two months earlier, during his mandatory leave “upside,” as station folk termed it.
You don’t need to teleport up to see me, she told him. I think I know what’s going on. Though Stefan was a violently powerful telekinetic, he wasn’t a born teleporter like Vasic. ’Porting took serious energy for him and he needed to maintain that strength to evacuate Alaris should the station ever suffer a serious incident.
Are you sure? Stefan messaged back. I can meet you on the PsyNet without issue.
Yes, I’m sure. I’ll contact you if I need further informa
tion.
You know where I’ll be.
Ivy laughed. These Arrows, they were definitely developing senses of humor.
When Rabbit barked and ran around her, she bent down to give him a rub that had his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Goofy, wonderful dog. Leaving him with a smiling pat, she took a seat in one of the comfortable couches arranged just off her kitchen area, the nearest counter close enough that she could put drinks there, and people on this side could pick them up.
Almost the entire first level of her and Vasic’s cabin was built this way—as open plan as possible and full of light. It was on purpose, so that any Arrows who visited would never feel isolated or alone. Ivy had decided that they’d had quite enough of that. And it seemed to be working; more than once, she’d had members of the squad drop by and just sit on a couch and work while she went about her own work nearby.
Today, Rabbit jumped up to sit beside her, his small body warm under her hand as she entered the PsyNet and went to the location of Clara Alvarez’s mind, for which Kaleb had given her coordinates.
He was right: the area was clean of infection and vital in its strength. No disintegration, not even a single frayed thread.
Hope bloomed inside her.
Dropping out of the Net, she thought of what she’d learned at Zie Zen’s funeral, knew she couldn’t assume anything. The bond . . . that was the key.
She could call Clara, but that didn’t feel right. She knew the other woman in Clara’s capacity as Manager of Haven because that was where Samuel Rain continued to live, but Ivy and Clara weren’t close enough for easy confidences—and Clara probably didn’t want this information going out over a comm network. It would have to be a personal visit.
Clara was a good person and Ivy believed she would share what Ivy needed to know once she understood the gravity of the situation in the PsyNet.
Vasic was home, could teleport her if the former J-Psy agreed to a meeting.
Ivy hesitated, loathe to disturb him.
She’d finally gotten him to rest; he’d worked nonstop since the day after they scattered Zie Zen’s ashes. She knew it was his method of coping but she’d had enough, had threatened to drug his food to knock him out if he didn’t listen to reason.
He’d smiled that slow, quiet smile that melted her. “You’d never do that, Ivy.”
“Ugh!” Glaring at him, she’d pointed to the bedroom. “Don’t make me turn to the dark side, Vasic Zen!”
Smile deepening, he’d teleported them both into bed and been asleep less than a minute after she stripped off his clothes; that stripping had taken some time since he kept teleporting off her own clothes and stealing kisses when she gasped in surprise.
Ivy had zero willpower against Vasic in a playful mood.
After he fell asleep, she’d stayed in his embrace until there was no chance he’d wake, then left him with a caress through his hair. Her intent had been to finish up her own work before snuggling back against the heat of his body for a lazy nap till Tavish returned home from school. She’d known one of the other telekinetic Arrows would teleport the boy to the orchard if Vasic was still asleep, Tavish having been strictly warned not to attempt the ’port himself.
He was too young, didn’t have the control.
That instruction might not have worked to stop him, but Vasic had quietly told the boy it was a matter of trust. “I’m not going to trap your mind so you can’t teleport,” he’d said. “I trust you to follow the rules.”
Tavish’s small face had filled with determination. “I won’t let you down.”
“I’m not waking him,” Ivy said to Rabbit now, her voice decisive. “If the PsyNet’s survived this long, it can survive another few hours while my Arrow rests.”
The only reason she’d wake him early was if Miane Levèque called. Vasic wouldn’t want Leila Savea to suffer any further if he had the power to help her. Despite her desire for Vasic to rest, Ivy hoped the BlackSea alpha would call, that there would be some news, especially of the SUV that had taken Leila from the compound Vasic had helped infiltrate, but when she slipped in to snuggle beside him, the comm was quiet.
As her powerful husband with his beautiful eyes of winter gray moved in his sleep to tug her tight against his body, Leila Savea remained among the vanished.
• • •
EIGHTEEN hours after the alert went out on the Alliance network, Miane got word that the SUV they were searching for had just been found, abandoned and torched in a gully. She’d made the wrong call. The Alliance clearly harbored one or more Consortium informants. That didn’t surprise her—money talked, regardless of race.
Rage still burned ice-cold inside her.
At those who had taken her people, at the traitors within BlackSea itself, and at herself, for making the wrong choice. She knew rationally that all she’d had were bad choices, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this wrong call might’ve killed a vulnerable member of her pack who was counting on Miane to get it right.
“Emergency services found no body in the wreckage,” she reminded herself.
That truth provided a slender reed of hope, but the anger that lived in her wouldn’t ease until all her people were home and the ones who’d dared harm them had been brutally punished. There was strength in that anger, a cold-eyed and ruthless determination.
However, Miane knew no alpha could function as a true alpha if she ran on anger alone. That would poison her entire pack, leave it no place anyone wanted to be. Water-based changelings might not be like other changeling groups, might be other even amongst their own kind, but they were changeling and had a human side. As such, they were social enough to need a community on some level.
And even though the mammalian creatures in BlackSea often found it hard to understand those whose blood ran colder, they were one. The traitors didn’t count, would be eliminated the instant Miane confirmed their identities. All the others . . . they were one, because water was life and they were united in protecting that precious resource.
As they were united by their very otherness.
When it came to BlackSea’s alpha, she needed to function the same way as the alpha of any other changeling pack. Miane had to hold her people together, make sure they had what they needed for their souls to bloom and to stay strong. For Persephone, a little girl who’d been kept captive in a small room for months, torn away from her mother after having already lost her father, that meant a party to celebrate the birthday she’d spent alone and scared and far from home.
Persephone didn’t know the date was wrong; she just knew it was her birthday party.
Miane scooped the still-thin child up into her arms while instinctively maintaining her balance on the gently rocking platform in the center of the floating city that was BlackSea’s heart. There were a number scattered around the world, but Lantia was the biggest, and it was where they held the Conclave on alternate years.
To the world, the Conclave was the ruling group of BlackSea. In truth, it wasn’t a thing but an event—a yearly gathering of as many of BlackSea’s people as could make it. The reason for not always holding it at Lantia wasn’t in fact the water temperature, as outsiders might assume. All healthy BlackSea changelings could survive and thrive in such waters—the ocean, after all, was deep and sweetly cold no matter where you were on Earth.
No, the reason the Conclave switched location between Lantia and Cifica in the tropics, was that it wasn’t fair to always ask packmates from that side of the world to do the traveling.
Persephone and her mother had both missed the last Conclave, had been trapped and alone at that time. As Leila was now.
Forcing back her anger once again, Miane said, “You look like a princess,” to the child in her arms.
Giggling, Persephone fluffed at the pink tulle that cascaded over Miane’s arm. “Mama present.” It was more than she usually said; he
r speech wasn’t what it should be for her age, the trauma she’d suffered having left more than one mark, but the pack’s healers assured Miane that Persephone was healing.
Children are far more resilient than we give them credit for, their strongest healer had said. Surround her in love, keep her safe, give her the space and freedom to talk about what happened, and Persephone will overcome this, grow into the strong, unique individual she was always meant to be.
Miane could do that, was doing that.
“Your mama gives good presents.” Miane was so damn proud of Persephone’s mother. Olivia had lost her mate at the hands of the murderous bastards who’d taken their small family, and for many changelings, that would’ve been a fatally crippling blow.
That didn’t even factor in Olivia’s torture and imprisonment.
But instead of curling up and dying, the other woman had pulled herself together with a fierce strength of will.
“For our baby,” Olivia had said to Miane while still bruised and battered from her ordeal. “For the baby Cary and I created together in cool waters off the coast of New Zealand.” Tears had been thick in her voice, tears she refused to shed. “I’ll never allow her to feel lost and alone and scared again.”
“I know.” Miane had taken Olivia into her arms, held her close for a long time, until the dam had crashed open, until Olivia had cried brokenly for her lost mate. “I have not a single doubt that you’ll be strong for Persephone,” Miane had said afterward. “But you come to me when you need to grieve—and remember that she needs to grieve, too.”
Persephone might be a baby, only two years old, but she’d been a daddy’s girl. “Talk to her about her father,” Miane had advised her wounded packmate the week after Persephone’s rescue by the Arrows, “answer her questions, and if it gets too hard, you come to me.”
Miane had stayed awake with Olivia that entire night. They’d watched Persephone sleep and then, when Olivia was ready, she’d spoken about the day of the kidnapping, about how she and Persephone had been forcibly separated from Cary, who’d been strong, had fought hard to protect his mate and child . . . and about how Olivia had known when Cary was murdered.