Then, the only thing that was, suddenly wasn’t. He didn’t feel his body being jerked away from Harmony’s, or hear her shrieks; he didn’t hear his own moans. He only knew emptiness: infinity, bereft even of color or sound. It wasn’t the welcome embrace of oblivion, in whose arms he could escape consciousness. It was the terror of the void, where he fell/floated/sunk/shrunk/bloated fully awake in the hollow nothingness, his mind flailing about for the tiniest piece of something to hold onto. His senses, made material, stretched out from him in long cords of energy. Each time a tentacle reached out and touched/saw/smelled/heard nothing, his mind quailed in fear. After a second, or an hour, fewer and fewer tendrils made the attempt, and he began to retreat, to seek a place of safety within himself. Instead of extending away from him, the thin cords arced around what little was left of him, circling around and tightening up to enclose him.
From deep inside of him, a rebellious growl rumbled with the will to fight, but couldn’t lift its head, chained as it was by the chemical dose that he had injected himself with. Remember this, it commanded, I won’t be caged again.
Then, as another one of his tentacles surrounded him in a desperate embrace, he felt. In the void, it was a burning, sharp, agonizing invasion that made him weep and laugh and shiver. Slowly, he felt his face, soaking up the heat through his temples where two flaming rods, no, hot brands, no, warm hands pressed against his skin. Then, his body returned to him, sweaty and weak and, somehow, hurt in a way that wasn’t physical but ached down to his bones.
Scythe woke, curling into a ball and turning onto his side. The warm hands fell away and he reached up and cradled his head.
“That’s what you get, you bastard.” Harmony’s voice, heavy with spite, was sweet music to him.
“Thank you, thank you,” he gasped. “Thank you.”
“What did she do?” asked Pride.
“Thank you, so much,” he repeated. He didn’t know what had just happened to him but he knew he didn’t want to ever experience it again.
“What did you do?” Grant asked.
“I just massaged his temples,” she lied. “It can stimulate as well as relax. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but I thought I’d try it. It’s more than he deserves.”
Scythe focused on the boots in front of him, tilting his head up to see Smoke looking down at him. His friend was trying to cover his concern with a wry grin.
“You attract trouble like no one I’ve ever met, Mismatch.”
Scythe nodded and closed his eyes. He needed a moment longer. He could still feel the heat radiating from his temples and into his body. Everywhere the warmth touched, his body tingled, revitalized. Within minutes, the heavy weariness that had swamped him earlier had nearly dissipated.
Leandra squatted down next to him, “Listen, Scythe, can you move? Because we need to decide what to do now.”
“Yeah, sure, I can move.” He pulled himself up and looked around to see Grant, Pride and Leandra kneeling by him; Smoke stood by Harmony across from them. Standing by the car, Ungol looked uncharacteristically severe, a sign that he was worried about how things were going. Scythe couldn’t help but agree with him.
“The warehouse is packed. It looks like a capture setup. Give me a piece of paper and I’ll draw it out.”
After Scythe gave all the information he had about the warehouse to the Kin and then again in Human for Grant, he turned to Harmony, “Did I forget anything?”
She ignored him, her resentment still fresh on her face, and gave her attention to Grant, “You know I’m dead now.”
“You’re not dead yet,” he said gruffly. “How long have you been working for them?”
“Same as you, since the beginning.”
Grant took a step back, startled, “I’m not working for them.”
She closed her eyes, before answering, “Yes, you are. We all are.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We all work for them. The Human race is their workhorse and the cities are their barns and once you know it, you work for them or you die.” Tears started flowing down her cheeks.
“What are you talking about?” Grant demanded, his arms reaching out to grab her shoulders and shake her, but she refused to talk again.
Scythe turned back to the Blades, “I think that’s all we’re going to get out of her. What is your assessment?”
“It’s a bad situation, especially since we don’t have time or resources to prepare. I say we bypass,” said Pride.
“It looks like a bloodbath waiting to happen,” agreed Leandra “but what are our choices?”
“Walk away and live,” said Pride, holding out one hand and then another, “Stay, fight, and probably die.”
Smoke nodded, “It doesn’t look good to me either.”
Scythe shook his head, “They know damn well we will come, because there are too many prizes.” He counted on his fingers, “One, Ian and maybe two more of his family may be there. Two, we could get some answers for once if we manage to get hold of someone. Three, Harmony’s daughter Miriam is being held there.”
“Why do we care about her?” asked Pride.
“We don’t, but I do,” answered Scythe. There was no way he couldn’t, after feeling her mother’s love for her coursing through his mind; it had made its way into his heart and a now it sat there, humming: Miriam. Must protect Miriam.
“Okay, let’s stay focused,” interrupted Leandra. “So, I see two, no, three choices if we ignore Pride’s genius and set our sights on the warehouse. We can walk in like we’ve got no clue and work the situation as best we can, maybe with a few strategic parallel operations. We can try to catch them unaware and take down as many as we can. We can try to sneak out the captives and maybe a key player with a distraction or two. You guys have anything else?”
Smoke said, grinning, “I think all of those sound good.”
Chapter 23
Three quarters of an hour later, Scythe handed Smoke the last self injecting syringe, “You’d better take care of this for me, brother.” He thought it was best if Smoke carried it, because he knew that if he needed it, it wasn’t likely that he would use it.
Smoke pocketed it, nodding, “I gotcha, but, try to keep it together, will you? I’ve got stuff to do.”
Scythe, Grant, Ungol and Harmony got into their car and headed down the driveway, turning onto the road leading to the warehouse.
Ungol blew the air through his lips and then looked over at Scythe, holding his eyes for a minute before breaking into a grin. Scythe returned it, shaking his head. Behind both smiles was an eager look.
Ungol said, “Doing is way better than waiting, however it ends.”
“Hey, I’ve been in worse spots,” joked Scythe. “Wanna hear about them?”
“Spare me, kid.”
“We’re here,” said Grant with a tight voice. He pulled their car into a parking space outside the warehouse entrance, shut off the engine and turned to Harmony. “I still think you should wait here, Harmony.”
Scythe already knew what she would say.
“No, I’m getting my daughter,” she said firmly, stepping out of the car and shutting the door.
Grant nodded, walking around the car with Ungol and meeting her and Scythe at the door. She knocked and then tried the handle, which this time opened easily.
Scythe listened and took in a deep breath through his nose. His heart started pumping, and he nodded at Ungol’s own quiet grunt of recognition. The scent of the Young family drifted through the door.
Scythe and Grant followed Harmony inside, leaving Ungol at the door. Looking around, Scythe counted only about half the amount of soldiers he knew were at the warehouse; all the ones present were pointing various automatic weaponry at them.
Grant, his quick breathing matching his heartbeat, wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. He turned, as did Scythe, when the woman from Harmony’s memories walked out of the largest office on the second story.
She stepped up to the railing, patti
ng the baby in her arms gently. She waved congenially at them, giving Ungol a chiding look when he hesitated by the exit before following the others.
“Come on up, gentlemen. You’ve kept us waiting a very long time, but we’re not holding a grudge,” she said in an unnervingly cheerful way. She frowned slightly when she saw that no more were coming through the door. “Harmony, where are the others? I was told there were six.”
“They didn’t draw the short straws,” said Scythe, striding to the stairs. “They get to be the ones who live.”
The woman threw back her head, laughing forcefully, “Oh, I’m going to like you.” Then she shut off her humor like it was tap water and spoke again to Harmony, “You were ordered to bring them all.”
“I did what you told me to. They were the ones who decided to split up. I’ll be going now, Sheila, with my daughter.”
Sheila tilted her head, deciding. Finally, she glanced over at Scythe, Ungol and Grant and, apparently satisfied with her catch, she nodded. “Fine. She’s in the first office. Take her and go. We’ll be in touch if we need your services again.”
Harmony jogged to the office, pulling open the door and calling, “Miriam?” At the top of the stairs, Scythe could hear the quiet reply of a sleepy toddler, “Mommy?”
“Yes, lovie, time to go home.”
“ ‘kay.”
Scythe turned his attention from the swaddled child in Sheila’s arms to where Harmony and her daughter crossed the floor; they exited the building without a second glance. When he looked back, he found Sheila watching him closely. Scythe noticed that the fury that usually infected him around aggressive people was strangely absent, and assumed it was still repressed by the drug in his system. The will of that fury, however, he could still sense; it was just below the surface, waiting to bubble up.
“Your fondness for children is well documented, son of Scythe,” she said arrogantly.
“Can I hold Will?” he asked, stopping in front of her. The knot in Scythe’s stomach had begun to ease slightly now that he had proof that at least one of his friends was alive.
“Of course,” she gushed, handing the child over and grinning wider as he took care to tuck the edges of the blanket around the boy. “You are making my job so easy, it’s almost a bore.”
Will Young, a mere handful of months old, stared lazily up at Scythe and sucked his thumb erratically. His drooping eyes went in and out of focus.
“What is wrong with him?” Scythe demanded.
“What? Oh, that,” she rolled her eyes. “He was getting noisy, so we made him a little sleepy.” She leaned toward Will, “And now he’s a good little baby, aren’t you?”
Pulling Will away from her, Scythe asked, “Where are my friends?”
“Well, now, there’s where we have a problem. You see, not everyone is as practical as you will be, Simon.” She raised her eyebrow at him, “Shall we go inside? I have refreshments...”
“Why don’t you just pretend I’m a kid and spell it all out for me now? Kids have short attention spans.”
“Now, don’t spoil my fun. Let’s go. Everyone inside,” she cheerfully waved them through the door like a kindergarten teacher.
A pair of couches faced each other in the sitting area just inside the door. Faith sat in one, pale and obviously exhausted; an involuntary sound escaped from her throat at the sight of Scythe and her son. There were seven guards in the room, two behind the Kin man sitting across from Ian's wife, two behind her, one against the wall, one by the door and one leaning casually against the large table which took up the rest of the room. Four were Kin and all looked highly trained and experienced.
Scythe crossed to Ian’s wife immediately, handing Will over to her and saying, “Faith, I’m glad you both are okay.”
She nodded, clutching her son to her, “Scythe, thank you so much. I’m sorry for all of this.”
Watching her head and shoulders arch forward and around the small body and hearing her heart flutter in a panic, Scythe knew what it must have been like for her to have Will in her arms at that moment. He could almost feel it himself, and it made a thought flit across his brain. What would he do, to protect them? A gut reaction jumped forward, but, strangely, he couldn’t tell if it was his feeling, or Harmony’s; he was having the same problem with the thoughts that accompanied them. Hadn’t he already said he would do anything for them, long before he saw...no felt Harmony’s vision? He was pretty sure he had.
“Now, let’s have introductions,” said Sheila as if she were hosting a party. “Faith you already know. Grant, Scythe, and I believe you are the Blade Ungol, correct? This is Derril.”
Scythe, standing beside Faith at the edge of the couch, stared at the middle-aged Kin man, whose expression was attentive. His legs were comfortably crossed, and his arms were spread along the back of the couch.
Ungol boldly took a seat next to Derril, smiling as the guards behind the couch shifted slightly. Grant sat next to Faith, putting his arm around her and whispering, “We’re sorry it took so long to find you, Faith. Where is Ian?”
“Now, now, no giving away secrets, that’s our treat,” interrupted Sheila, positioning herself right next to Grant and patting his knee.
When Sheila didn’t speak, despite her boasting, Scythe looked back at Derril. Patiently he waited for the man to make his objectives clear, and, because he was watching the Kin, he noticed the tiny signal when it was given. He moved instantly, even before the man behind Faith had slid to the side, attempting to get at Scythe’s back. The Kin’s weapon, a long pin-like knife barely cleared the top of the couch before the man froze, Scythe’s own knife at his throat.
“Drop it,” Scythe said, despite the voice that whispered immediately but so softly in his head, Kill him when you have the chance.
The Kin looked at Derril for direction, dropping the knife when the man nodded; his heart jumped a beat when Scythe didn’t remove his weapon, but instead pressed it against the man’s throat until it pierced his skin. Yes.
“I am feeling a little dangerous, Derril.”
“Fair enough. Everyone move back. Let’s get down to business,” Derril said, sitting up, uncrossing his knees and leaning forward to take a drink off the table in front of him.
The soldiers moved back several feet to stand against the walls, except for the two behind Derril and the one at the table, still the farthest from the group.
Scythe picked up the thin blade and handed it to Grant, who held it lightly. He returned to his place at the side of the couch, his back to the wall, and waited.
“Let me be brief. I represent an organization that pulls strings in both the Kin and Human hierarchies. We decide, well, everything that happens in this society, from what laws are passed to what entertainment is provided to what is taught in the schools. Everything. This agency has been working behind the scenes for hundreds of years; our success in manipulation of information and public opinion is unprecedented in the Human world where the transmission of information is so easily controlled. We do feel a certain amount of pride for the years of prosperity we have brought the Human race.”
He paused to gauge their reactions, or maybe to give them a chance to ask questions. When no one spoke, he continued, “We employ many people, Human and Kin, but most are unaware of who they really work for. We are selective about who we chose to work as agents, the only ones high enough to know that they work for us. This brings us to your friends.
“Normally, Humans with strong abilities like the Youngs are way up on our list of people to recruit as agents. In the last few years, both Ian and Lena’s names came up as possible candidates for employment. After observing them for a while, though, it was determined that they were incompatible with our work. They are really not our type of employee.
“However, their recent inquiries have forced our hand. We are not comfortable with Humans who know about the organization, but don’t serve it. This is how we keep our secrets. Anyone, regardless of rank, wealth or popularity, who
does not preserve our secrecy is eliminated. We do not trust Humans who know of our existence but do not serve us.”
“I suppose that includes us now, right?” asked Grant.
“Absolutely, and you are lucky, Grant Wells, because we happen to have need of another person in a position of authority in the border patrol. Otherwise,” he gestured casually, “you would be useless to us.”
“Let me guess, Lena didn’t take to your idea,” Scythe said.
“You are correct. We prefer to use money to motivate our contacts; that is our number one method, by far, and we always start out by offering an extremely generous stipend for services rendered. Very few Humans are not swayed by money; for those rare people who are not, and who, like your friends, cling to morally or ethically inconvenient notions, we will resort to threats. However, neither Lena nor her brother were amenable to our way of thinking, even when their family was taken and held. In all fairness, we weren’t surprised. Lena, in particular, has a reputation for being...resistant to authority.”
He leaned back comfortably. “To be honest, we didn’t expect them to uncover us in the first place, especially when the reports indicated that their search for those behind the Kin abductions was at an end. But we knew we had underestimated them after your conference the other day. That, as well as some inquiries that Lena had made on the same date, showed us that they were all too close to the truth. That’s when it became clear that they had to be brought in, or let go. Let me assure you, it wasn’t something we wanted to do. We knew it would be a hassle and, after all, they are extremely productive citizens. We don’t like to mess up our well oiled machine.”
“When you say, ‘let go,' you mean ‘killed,' ” said Grant.
“Of course.”
“So your organization was behind the kidnappings in Poinsea three years ago?” Scythe asked.
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