He was coughing wildly, hands gripping her shoulders so tightly she almost asked him to stop, except she knew the grip would loosen all too soon, and she would lose him . . .
"Art, no!"
Lue and Zarubin continued to wrestle. The detective's knee came up, and the guard doubled over, and again, and he let out a choked moan. A round fired and embedded itself in the one-way. Mercy was too low to see if anyone beyond had even noticed what was happening in this room.
Art's grip tightened, and she winced as she suppressed a cry. "Art, I'm here. It's okay."
He continued to hold her as she lowered him all the way to the floor. His breaths were short, and he was still coughing. She wouldn't look at his chest, wouldn't admit that there was a wound there, wouldn't recognize any blood she would see seeping across his shirt if she looked anywhere but his strong, beautiful face.
Silently, she cursed all three of them for taking off their own body armor once they had secured Evangelina in this building.
You didn't know, she tried to tell herself. You didn't know what the Regiment really was. Didn't know what they would do. Didn't know what could happen, what they could hide from the rest of the Bureau. From you.
Lying on the floor with Art gasping in her arms, she wasn't so sure of that.
Didn't know? Or didn't ask?
Lue had Zarubin in a headlock, and the firearm was out of reach. It was only a matter of time before he had the situation under control. In this room, anyway.
Then it would be him and her. What would happen then? What would they do, without Art? She couldn't believe she could feel this way about him after such a short time, but there it was: she loved him, and she was losing him, and she had no idea what she would do without him.
Lost, she looked up at the security screens. The dragon shape was still hot red, working its way down the hall. Even through her grief, Mercy noticed two things: first, there was never a spout of flame, or anything lethal, from the creature.
Second, every guard she left behind still had the warm colors of life pulsing through their unconscious bodies.
Even now, they don't kill. Even now, as they rescue their tortured loved ones from us, they leave us alive.
Then, another thought: They are handicapping themselves . . . and they're still beating us.
A sudden certainty cascaded through Mercy, an epiphany that utterly claimed her and embraced all she stood for, even as it showed her a different path.
That is the team I want to work for. That is the team I want to fight for. That is the team I want to die for. And I will. Oh, please, I will.
Art had stopped coughing now. His eyes were closed, his grip on her loosening, his mouth curled in a faint frown.
He never got the chance, but he would have died for them, too. In a way, he's doing that now.
She determined that she could not leave his body here. She would carry it out, no matter how much it slowed them down. Lue could free Evangelina, and they would meet up with this dragon-woman and convince her of their intent, and together they would manage . . .
Wordlessly, the man beneath her opened his eyes, tightened his grip on her, pulled himself up into a sitting position, and blinked.
Wordlessly, she gasped and grabbed him back. How?!
Wordlessly, Lue sighed as he dropped Zarubin's unconscious body, got to his feet, and stared at Art with disbelief as well.
They all stayed there as the sirens continued to blare, the woman's voice continued to announce a lockdown, and the screens continued to show the intruder's progress. The pulsing red and yellow shape was a woman's again, and she appeared to be manipulating a keycard panel by the door that would grant her access to this floor.
Mercy opened her mouth to speak before a voice stronger than the loudspeaker emerged in her head. It startled her. It startled them all.
Arthur get me out of here. GET ME OUT OF HERE!
Art jumped to his feet, and something small and metallic clattered to the floor--it was the bullet, flattened as if it had hit a Kevlar vest. He gently but firmly pushed past Mercy and stepped up to the one-way mirror, beyond which Evangelina was staring as if she could see them.
He struck where the stray shot had embedded itself in the glass, and his fist punched through. Mercy began to exclaim in alarm as he dragged his arm back through the jagged, narrow hole, but there was no blood.
Lue approached him cautiously. "Art, we can go through the door over there"--he pointed across the room.
They heard a slamming sound and turned to the monitors. It was the dragon shape, throwing itself against that very door on the opposite side of the room. The Elder Daughter was here for her sister.
"She'll get Evangelina," Mercy said, resting a hand on Art's left shoulder and trying hard not to think of the voice that had called specifically for "Arthur." "You don't have to."
With his right hand, Art brushed off Mercy's touch, and then swung at the glass again--this time right next to the hole, where the web of fractures was thickest. The hole got bigger, and Mercy watched in astonishment as Art's fist and forearm came back through unscathed.
"Art, your arm . . ."
"Looks fine to me," Lue said.
She glanced at him, mouth open but nothing to say.
"Special Agent, you must have figured this out by now." Lue gently pulled her back. "Detective Art McMahon is a newolf."
"What do you--"
"He has anomalous DNA. He fights unarmed. He has obvious evolutionary traits--look at that skin. And . . ." He paused, unsure of how to say it. "He has a life mate."
Art punched the glass a third time, a fourth time, a fifth time. The window began to resemble a rifle target with an overlapping grouping. His entire focus was on destroying the barrier between him and the woman in the room beyond. Mercy kept watching his unscraped arms, his unshot chest, his unpierced neck--that dart in the park never really broke his skin--and his unbroken spirit.
"I guess I should have seen it days ago," Lue said, shaking his head. "The whole alpha-wolf vibe fits the profile of how he can get pretty Regiment agents and gorgeous spider-women to fall in love with him. Anyway: more guards are coming." He pointed at the screen, which showed the corridors in the floor above crowded with bright shapes. "We have to figure out what to do. I advocate shrieking and passing out."
"Detective . . ."
"No, I know. I have your back, Special Agent. Give me the plan."
She stared at the monitors, and then realized she had no idea what to do. Perhaps shrieking and passing out is the way to go.
The monstrous shape took another run at the far door, and the room echoed with the sound of buckling steel. Art growled and punched faster and harder. Four or five more strokes, and the opening was large enough. He pulled himself through with a grunt and spilled onto the cold cement floor.
At the same time, the opposite door slammed open, and a brilliant blue dragon tumbled through. She somersaulted and rose to her feet as the stunning thirtysomething woman in the business suit once more.
Art did not even look at this new woman. He stepped up to Evangelina, grabbed hold of the lower end of the spinal restraint, and ripped it, and all of the attached electrodes, from her body.
In an instant, he and Evangelina were lost in a billowing cloud of shadow. As it consumed them, Mercy heard the sound of snapping steel. Small metal fragments flew about the room, and the table creaked under a sudden added weight.
The Elder Daughter gave a dry grin. "Are we ready to leave?"
"We don't need you," Mercy heard Art growling from the depths of Evangelina's shadow. "I can get her out of here myself."
"No doubt, Arthur. I should have realized you had everything under control when you sent your message from the car. Your devotion is unquestioned, and you've proven that Evangelina needs your help after all. But why not leave together, now that I'm here? After all, I did all this hard work getting in."
Arthur's stout frame emerged from the gloom. "I said we don't need you.
I sent that message as information, not a request for help. She's mine!"
The woman chewed her tongue and turned to the massive shadow. "As charmingly protective as ever. Isn't this why you dumped him?"
Please. Let's just leave.Together.
Art growled but relented. "Guards have cut off your escape route."
"Then I guess we'll have to plow through them. We can't stand here arguing, Arthur. Susan is waiting at the rendezvous point with our vehicle. She's worried sick for Vange, ever since the Saint George's incident resulted in that Regiment sketch." The woman nodded at Mercy and Lue, who were still staring at them through the hole in the one-way. "Speaking of which, I need to take care of the immediate problem."
"Whoa . . ." Lue whispered as he backed away from the window. "We had better go. Flee. Vamoose. Pick a verb."
Mercy could not move her feet. It was not fear, it was determination. It can't end like this. Not after what we went through. Not when I want to fight alongside them.
"Leave them be, Eldest," Art growled.
"Yes, Eldest." Lue pointed. "What he said."
Eldest? Mercy looked at the woman again. She had thought thirties, not "eldest." Wow--could she be in her forties?
"You suddenly care about Regiment soldiers?" the woman asked, even as she stopped. She looked Mercy and Lue up and down with silver eyes. "Why?"
"They're not Regiment. They're my partners."
Niffer, please. I want to go.
Still chewing her tongue, "Niffer" assessed Art's partners. "Are either of you going to make me regret not beating you unconscious?"
"I was hoping to follow you out," Lue replied. "Cringing with gratitude the entire way."
Mercy swallowed. "Let us help you."
Niffer snorted. "We need neither your help nor the distractions you'll cause by following us. If you really want to assist us, stay here until my sister and I are gone."
With that, she turned. "Vange, ready?"
The shadow's rapid movement toward the door, a murky current that seemed to sweep Art along, was all the answer Niffer needed.
"Remember, sweetie. We're trying not to kill anyone."
We'll see.
"Hey!" Mercy reached up and pulled herself through the glass, wincing as her fingers, shoulders, and hips scraped jagged edges. She fell into the room on her back and grunted. Niffer turned as the others left the room.
"I told you to stay. Stay."
Mercy was quick enough to track the woman's movement into a swirl of vapor, but not quick enough to protect herself. Something pricked her neck, and she felt the numbness spread. Son of a . . . my mother is never going to . . . frezzleblennhh . . .
Her vision faded, and her mind spiraled into timelessness.
Six Months Ago
"I don't care what you say, I'M GOING AFTER HER!"
"Vange, please, you don't have to yell. In fact, I'd hope you'd be smart enough by now to know that yelling only attracts attention. The walls are thin here. Please, sit down and listen."
She kept pacing across the room, brunette locks swaying about her tense face. "To what, Mom? What else is there to hear? They have Aunt Susan. They've got her in that fucking mental hospital, and they're going to drill holes in her head until she spills everything she knows. Or doesn't. Either way, she dies."
"They're not going to kill her, Vange."
"How do you know that?"
Elizabeth sighed and sat on the hotel bed as her daughter continued to pace. "How to explain? I know these people. I know how they see people like Susan. Killing her, even hurting her . . . they'd see it as impolite, even antithetical to what they do. They want to protect Susan, in their own distorted, horrific way. They'll lock her up. But they won't harm her."
"It doesn't matter. She doesn't deserve to be locked up!"
"I agree. Give me three or four months, and I'll put together a team--"
"Give me three or four hours, and I'll have her back here tonight."
"You already have a mission. Focus there."
"Niffer would understand. In fact, I'd be surprised if Niffer isn't breaking her out this very moment."
"Your sister is at a critical stage. We are taking the first few steps into a completely refashioned world, Vange. Only she can--"
"What, again with the Great Creator speech? I've heard it, Mom. I've been hearing it for years. It's why she was never there for me when I was younger, why Aunt Susan had to be my big sister instead. That's fine, but now Aunt Susan is in Regiment hands. If Niffer's doing something she thinks is more important, I'm doing this myself."
"You're putting a lot of people in danger if you do."
"Who, besides me? No one else has to go."
Elizabeth stood again, and her regal posture made Evangelina pause in her pacing. "How about those people in Moorston your sister expects you to save? What about them?"
"I can still get to them. I told you, this won't take more than a few hours . . ."
"The Regiment only needs to stay a few hours ahead of you to kill every one of them. Vange, we don't have a full list for each town, anymore. The remaining dragons are harder and harder for us to find. Some of them don't want to be found, or they think they're perfectly safe. The Regiment has all the resources we have, and more. I can guarantee you they have deployed at least one assassin, probably more, to the area already. They'll track down dragons and start killing them."
"I know the stakes, Mom. I wish you would trust me."
"I wish you would trust me. That's the problem, Vange. You don't trust anyone. Not for months. Not since you discarded Art--"
"Oh, I cannot believe you're going to bring him up again."
"I'm not saying you have to date him again, Vange. But he could be helping you. You found so many people when you worked together."
"That's because he has excellent stalking skills. I expect him to show up in this hotel room any second. You probably told him I was here!"
"Don't be ridiculous. You made your wishes clear. And you're right; he is obsessive. What do you expect? Newolves mate for life, Vange. You seduced him, brought him along on your mission, performed miracles together . . . and then dumped him. He's been inconsolable ever since. He won't stop looking for you, whether we help him or not."
"Maybe I should leave Minnesota."
"Moorston, Minnesota, is the only place for thousands of miles where we know there are dragons to save, Vange. He probably knows that."
"Yes, well, it's also the location of the so-called hospital where Aunt Susan is. So I guess I'm headed for that town anyway."
"Forget the hospital for now. Let me draw up--"
"I'll be back later tonight, Mom. With Susan. Have the Mustang ready."
"Vange, please." Evangelina turned at the pleading sound. Her mother's tired face was streaked with tears. "If they capture you, there's no one to come get you. Your sister can't come. Art won't be enough. And I'm too old."
"Nobody will need to save me, Mom. Saving is my job. Let me do it."
Elizabeth exhaled. "They'll get you on video."
"Not if I tear the place apart."
"Please don't kill anyone."
"I can't guarantee that anymore, Mom. Not with the Regiment getting bolder. Heaven knows they've already killed plenty of us. They deserve what they get."
Her mother sat down on the bed again. "The world has not truly improved during my lifetime. It makes me sad."
Evangelina turned and gave her last words as she opened the hotel room door to leave. "I thought that's why Niffer was building a new one."
CHAPTER 42
When Mercy woke up, the sirens were still blaring, and she was still in the interrogation room. The worried face of Detective Lue Vue hovered over her.
"Agent March, can you move?"
She tried to open her mouth but could not. Instead, she blinked.
"Blinking is good." He rubbed her cheeks with his hands. Flecks of frost sprayed up, and she realized she was breathing vapor. "Once you have
warmed up, we can get out of here. I imagine you want to leave as much as I do."
Art, she tried to say.
"They have quite a head start. About twelve minutes. The monitors"--he motioned to the system in the room behind the one-way--"suggest the Regiment, even with the resources of the full Bureau at its disposal, is running out of ideas. Also technology. Art with the two of us was pretty good. Art with the two of them . . ." He whistled.
His words twisted her gut, and she squeezed a cold tear out onto her cheek. How could I be so stupid? How could I think I was good enough?
"Try to sit up," he suggested.
With his help, she raised herself. The lockdown warnings echoed through empty halls, and she knew the fight was far away. She tried to tell herself she wanted no part of it, that they were gone, and her best bet was to stay here and rebuild her career, her life.
Sit. Stay.
She got up to her feet without Lue's help. Her limbs were blue, but she could feel the tingling sensation of renewed blood flow.
"Let's go."
It was not hard to trace the escape route. In places the guards were so thick, the unconscious bodies were heaped on top of each other. Mercy did random pulse checks as they went; every one of them was faint but steady.
Three floors up, they were back at ground level. Here, they saw the first evidence of unrestrained violence: the corridors were filled with smoke, and the acrid smell of burnt flesh was in the air. Bullet holes peppered the walls, and in places, Mercy was sure she spotted bloody claw prints.
"The Regiment did not want to give up their prize," Lue noted.
Mercy rushed over to the closest body she found. It was a special agent she didn't know--unlikely to be Regiment, but ordered all the same to defend the Bureau. The woman's charcoal hair was smeared with blood, and her young face had the pallor of death. She had no pulse.
There were at least half a dozen others like her, whom Mercy and Lue could not save. A few others were crawling, screaming, their body armor smoldering. Tear gas canisters sputtered across the foyer. Sidearms, assault rifles, flamethrowers (?!)--an entire armory was spilled across the proud marble floor, twisted among the remains of metal detectors and other trappings of security.
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