by Jessica Roe
She must have passed those tests because eventually the mundane tasks came to an end and Pablo began having her pick up and drop off mysterious packages of all shapes and sizes to shady looking Dark Ones all over the city. Chase warned her to never look inside the packages. He wouldn't tell her what had happened to the last person who had, but she could tell by the way his face paled when he thought about it that it was bad. Gable was a naturally curious woman, but she soon realized that the Outcasts hadn't been wrong—Pablo was not the kind of man she wanted to cross. She taught herself to be compliant, rule abiding, indifferent. When Pablo said jump, she asked how high. When he told her not to look inside the packages, she didn't freaking look.
Forget helping her out, Chased saved her ass at the beginning.
Once he was satisfied that he could trust Gable to not stick her nose in where it didn't belong, Pablo sent her debt collecting. Inevitably, she came across those who didn't want to pay up, and it usually turned violent. The first time it happened was with a little shit of a Telepath named Xenophon who didn't want to hand over his money to a 'baby girl' and soon became vicious when Gable refused to accept that as an answer. Gable left with a bloody nose and the money, and Xenophon walked away with four broken fingers and a black eye, vowing that he would never get on the bad side of 'Pablo's Crazy Bitch' ever again.
The nickname stuck.
Pablo was impressed with Gable's ability to fight and to handle herself, although he was bothered when she told him she'd learned all her skills from Sacha. He demanded to know whether she was still looking for her friend, and when she admitted that she was, he ordered her to stop.
“He's been missing so long now that he's either dead, or doesn't want to be found,” he pointed out bluntly. “You're wasting your time on a fruitless search, and I don't like time wasters.” He softened, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “If you continue, you will only end up suffering more heartache, and I don't want that for you. Do you understand?”
Gable nodded and agreed to stop searching for Sacha, but in her secret heart, she knew she never would. Whenever she could get away from Pablo she continued her hunt, but always came away empty handed.
Over the next year, Pablo became a father figure to Gable. He praised and rewarded her when she did well, and scolded her when she displeased him. He taught her to hone her fighting skills, and helped her learn new languages. He took her on trips around the world, showed her places she'd never have imagined. Some were inspiring, and some just plain awful. Gable found that she could talk to him about things; people who pissed her off, things that made her happy, or sad. She talked to him about her parents, and about her childhood. Pablo pushed Gable to do better at everything she tried. He wanted her to be the best she could be, and the more he pushed her, the more she desperately wanted to impress him. He believed in her, he took care of her, and so when he asked her to do things for him, she found it impossible to say no...even if it meant hurting people. It wasn't like he was asking her to murder anyone, but there were often times she would get home from a night of work and have to wash the blood from her hands. The worse his requests got, the more it would eat her up inside, until she came to the conclusion that she needed to lose any morels she had left before she lost her mind to guilt.
Before she had met Sacha, Gable's life on the streets had turned her cold and hard, but he had softened her, opened her up and made her remember what it was like to be happy. With Pablo, she went back to that hard place. Her heart turned to ice, because it was the only way she could deal with the things she had done...by being empty. Eventually, she stopped caring about the people she hurt. This pleased Pablo; he liked her that way. But he didn't know that a little piece of her remained, buried with the Outcasts at Yarmac and Bogely's, and with Keston and her children, and with the memory of Sacha.
But the truth was, she was bad inside. Maybe she'd always had it in her, or maybe it was something that had grown in time. It didn't matter. She was evil, just like Pablo. Only an evil person would do the things she'd done and not even care.
Sometimes, late at night when she was alone in bed, Gable would wish really hard that she had been the one to go out for pancakes that day.
“IT ISN'T PABLO,” Gable confirmed to Terelle, strong in her belief. “I'd know. It isn't him.”
IT HAD BEEN days since Nicky had left headquarters and he was going crazy with boredom. There was only so much training he could do before his muscles shut down completely, and computer games were okay until he lost his effing mind.
Since they had rescued Heidi and Becky and learned of Pablo's plans, Charles had been extra careful, and was only allowing the team out for emergencies. He knew that Pablo would suspect they had Heidi, and they couldn't take any chances.
Nicky got it...he just didn't like it. He was totally done with being stuck inside. It was like prison all over again, except prison had windows.
And even worse, the sexual tension between Heidi and Charles was practically palpable, and they didn't do anything to disguise it. Watching two middle aged people eye fuck each other was just all kinds of gross. Charles constantly found ways to touch her—pinching her waist, slipping his arm around her shoulders, playing with her hair—and Heidi would always respond with a high pitched giggle. Nicky was going to puke if he had to hear her sigh oh, Charlie one more time.
Perhaps even more annoying than that was little Becky and her crush on Nicky. She was cute and all, but he'd never been good with kids and she wouldn't stop following him around, asking him questions. There was literally no answer on the face of the earth that he could give her which wouldn't cause her to respond with his new most hated word...why?
“I reckon we can convince dad to let us go out on patrol,” Zay, who was just as fed up as Nicky, announced as the two of them left the work out room, sweaty from playing basketball. Zay's wrist was healing nicely, but Nicky had still beat his ass.
“Yeah, looking for Outcast trouble sounds way better than the only other thing I had planned today. I can blow my brains out next time Charles puts us on lock down.”
“I hear ya. I need to get out of here.”
“Things have been quiet on the Outcast front though, right?” Nicky asked, as they entered the main room to get drinks from the kitchen area.
“Weirdly quiet, actually. Usually there's more daily catastrophes that we have to deal with holy mothering fuck!” Zay turned his back from the horrifying sight they had stumbled onto and covered his face. “Oh God, my eyes! My eyes are burning!”
Heidi was sat upon the kitchen counter, her skirt hiked up and her legs wrapped around Charles' waist as they tried to suck each others tongues out of their mouths. They quickly sprang apart when they realized they weren't alone.
“Oh hell,” Heidi muttered, blushing furiously as she scrambled to button up her shirt.
Nicky frowned and crossed his arms. “We prepare food on that counter,” he informed them accusingly.
Zay was groaning. “I'm officially scarred for life. I'm going to have to scrape my eyes out and feed them to Xantherus.”
“Now let's not overreact,” said Charles, smoothing out his ruffled hair. “We were just—”
“Making me a new little brother or sister in the same spot I made a sandwich an hour ago? Yeah, I saw.”
Heidi whimpered in embarrassment.
“We may have gotten a little...carried away.”
“Wow, this is awkward.” Nicky tried to smother his grin. He was thoroughly enjoying watching them all squirm. “So awkward. I should probably go so you can all feel less awkward.” He didn't make any move at all to leave.
“I'm going out to get trashed. Only alcohol will make this better. Try not to get pregnant while I'm gone.” Zay walked towards the elevator, still shuddering. “Maybe I'll call Uda and...nope! Sex is ruined!” He turned in the elevator to point an accusing finger at Charles. “You've ruined sex for me, dad. Hope you're happy. Hope you're happy!” The doors closed, shutting out his voice
.
There was silence in the kitchen. Heidi and Charles were busy staring at their shoes and Nicky tutted at them. “Shame on you. Shame. On. You.” He was having fun.
“Nicky—”
“It's a good job Becky wasn't with us.”
“Is she still painting with Queenie?” Heidi asked.
“Yuh huh.”
She looked everywhere in the kitchen but at Nicky and Charles. “I'd better go...um, help her.” She scurried out of the room with her head bowed.
“Do we need to have the talk?”
“Oh, do behave,” Charles insisted, zipping up his pants. “We are two consenting adults, and we—”
“Hey,” Nicky held up his hands. “No judgement here. She's a babe. You should totally hit that. I just don't need to see it.”
“Yes...well...sorry.”
“If you wanna make it up to me you can give me a job to do. I need to get outta here.”
“Why? Did it look that bad?”
“What? Oh, no. Well, yeah, but that's not the reason. We've all been cooped up in here for days. I just need to do something.”
Charles nodded. “Come with me.” He led Nicky out of the kitchen and down the corridor to their storage room. It was filled with weapons and books and emergency supplies. More interestingly though, was the locked chest full of confiscated items; things they had taken when stopping Outcasts or Dark Ones who were were causing trouble.
“There is something you can do. This morning I was contacted by one of my sources, Gad Teater. He's a Warlock with very little power, and has taken up supernatural trading.”
“He buys and sells supernatural artefacts?”
“Correct. The thing about Gad is that he has no scruples at all, and just enough power to keep himself out of trouble. He's a very annoying fellow. He called me this morning to tell me that a while ago, Pablo asked him to find a certain weapon and promised to pay him handsomely for retrieving it. Gad has found it.”
“That doesn't sound good. What was the weapon?”
“He wouldn't say over the phone.” Charles shook his head. “Like I said, he's very annoying. Luckily for us, we have something Gad wants even more than money, and he's offered to give us the weapon in exchange for it.”
Nicky was immediately intrigued. “What do we have?”
Charles unlocked the chest of confiscated items and sorted through a pile of books before pulling one out. It was old, and the leather brown cover was well worn. When Nicky took it, he was surprised by how heavy it was. A pentacle was etched into the front cover. He tried to open it but the pages wouldn't budge, like they had been super-glued together with extra strength glue.
“This is Gad's family spell book,” Charles explained. “You won't be able to get into it; only those of the Teater bloodline can—standard for family spell books. The Head Keeper in charge here before me confiscated it from his family twenty years ago when they began to use it for evil. To lose a family spell book would bring great shame, and I imagine they've been desperate to get it back. Gad will be quite the hero when he takes it home. He has assured me that they will not take the darker path again, but even so, we must watch them carefully from now on.”
“I guess getting a hold of this weapon is more important that a few naughty Witches, huh?”
“Indeed. I suspect this weapon may have something to do with the missing Outcasts and Pablo's plan for them, which makes getting our hands on it before he does rather vital.”
“Where am I meeting him?”
“A hotel in Manhattan. I'll write down the address for you in a moment. I was going to go myself but I suppose it is rather daft to keep you all inside. Go now and meet him in the lobby. I'll call to tell him you're on your way. The trade should be quite straightforward, but take Walker with you just in case. You are still training, after all.”
“Sure.”
But Nicky ignored Charles' request. He'd spent more hours with Walker than he cared for during their short incarceration, and if he had to spend any more time with her his head would probably explode from all the times he'd tried to turn her to dust with his brain. She was the most irritating, arrogant, meanest person he'd ever met. And that included himself, and he could be a royal ass.
So he showered and dressed in good jeans and a grey coat—casual, but nice enough to go unnoticed in a posh hotel—and slid Gad's spell book into a shoulder bag. He slipped out before Charles could notice that he was alone.
THE HOTEL WAS nice, the lobby decorated in whites and blues.
Nicky must have been getting better at his job because he recognized Gad straight away, though nothing about him screamed Warlock. He was tall and skinny and frizzy wild curls framed his head like a big, brown bush. Not even the odd top hat he wore could tame them. His beady eyes darted around the room nervously, and he was positively twitching with paranoia. Clearly a man used to dealing with danger.
“Mr Teater?” Nicky asked, approaching him.
“Keep it down, you bloody pillock,” Gad snapped, eyeing Nicky suspiciously. “You're not Charles.”
“He sent me.”
“He—”
“I've got your book.”
Gad's face reddened with anger. “Shut your gob before someone hears you. Bloody Guardians. Get your arse on the roof and we'll deal. I'm not trading down 'ere. Too many eyes. Do you even know how much Pablo is going to want to see me dead after this?”
Nicky bit his tongue and followed Gad into the elevator. Charles was right, Gad was very annoying. “So where you from?”
“Don't flirt with me,” he smart mouthed back, much to Nicky's chagrin.
“You're not my type, buddy. I was just making conversation.”
A long suffering sigh escaped Gad's lips, like he was tiring of Nicky's presence. “I'm from London.”
“Yeah, well...you talk funny.”
“It's called a cockney accent, you stupid American twerp.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
The roof was empty, save a few old crates filled with empty glass bottles, and the wind was strong. Gad stopped in the middle and nodded towards Nicky's bag. “You first.”
Nicky shouldered off the bag and tossed it to him.
Gad sighed with relief when he looked inside the bag and he stroked the spine of the book fondly. He pulled out what looked liked a ring box from his pocket and handed it to Nicky. It was covered in black felt and had a small golden latch. In fact, it looked exactly like a ring box.
“What the hell is this?” Nicky demanded.
“I'm proposing. What do you think it is? Your weapon, clearly. Sodding amateur.”
“It's a ring box,” Nicky pointed out obviously. He hadn't been sure what to expect. Perhaps a laser of some sort, or an explosive, or a big gun from another realm, but he'd definitely expected it to be...bigger. “You've got to be shittin' me. What kind of a weapon would fit in here?” He began to open the tiny latch.
“No!” Gad yelled, grabbing his hands to stop him. “Do you know how much power is in there? You open that thing and who knows what'll happen. There'll be little Guardian/Warlock hybrids running around before we know it, and I don't know about you, but I don't fancy being your baby daddy.”
“Okay, I...didn't understand a word you just said. And if anyone was going to be the daddy here, it would totally be me. What is this thing? And by the way, at this point, we're just holding hands.”
Gad dropped Nicky's hands immediately. “It's creation, you fool. A tiny little spec of energy so powerful it can repopulate or create an entire species of Outcast.”
Nicky gaped; he had never heard of anything like it. He wondered if Charles knew of it. “How?”
“Well, say your race is dying out, Banshees, for example. You can't just make more more like you can with Vampires, so you use creation energy. All you need is one Banshee, or even just the DNA of a Banshee, and you touch the creation energy and voilà—Banshee energy. You put that energy into someone else and they bec
ome a Banshee. Get me?”
“Um...I think so.”
“And that little spec of energy in there could make a thousand Banshees, that's how powerful it is. There used to be a lot more of it, but it's been used up over the past few thousand years. This is all that's left in the whole world. Took me soddin' years to track it down. It was being hoarded by a bunch of Vamps in Ubatuba, Brazil. What the bloody hell they wanted it for I'll never know. Like they can't just bite their way to a bigger population. They probably wanted to sell it. I had to sneak my way past four Vampire guards, I did, and trick their pet Succubus into letting me go without sexing me to death. It's just a good job I'm so endearing and dashing. I should be demanding a whole lot more off you for this. Luckily for you, I'm just a generous soul.”
Gad talked a lot. It was distracting Nicky, and he was trying to think, because something wanted to click into place inside his brain. “Gad, you mentioned something about hybrids before...”
“You know, a being of mixed heritage? You're not a very smart Guardian, are you?”
“I know what a hybrid is, dick shit. Could this energy make a hybrid? If it touched more than one energy source, I mean?”
“Yes, supposedly.”
“Would it work if it touched a whole bunch of energy sources?”
“You mean like a super hybrid?” Gad looked horrified at the idea. “I've not heard of anything like that being attempted before. But I suppose it would work...Don't know why anyone would want to do it, though. Sounds dangerous to me.”
“Shiiit,” Nicky breathed to himself. He wasn't the quickest Guardian in the tool box, and he was still fuzzy on exactly how the little creation energy spec worked, but even he could figure out why Pablo wanted it. He'd finally be able to create his monster hybrid army.
Nicky stuffed the box inside his jacket pocket. “Fuck. I need to call Charles. Is there signal up here?”