Lost Girl: Hidden Book One

by Vanderlinden, Colleen

  “So. Welcome to the loony bin. Why are you here?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Reasons. First: message from Nain. And I quote: ‘Start answering your fucking phone or I’m coming over there no matter what Brennan says about giving you space.’” I rolled my eyes. “And second: I needed to get away for a while. George has been a real son of a bitch since I broke up with him, and it’s only gotten worse since the whole mindflaying thing,” she finished.

  “He still wants to quit?” I sat down on the lawn, away from her.

  She nodded. “Brennan talked him out of it twice already. Really, George has nowhere to go, but he hates pretty much everyone on the team right now.”

  We were quiet for a few minutes. “Why did you break up with him?” I finally asked.

  “He’s been pushy lately. He hit me, and that was the last straw.”

  I looked at her. “He did?”

  She must have heard the threat in my voice. She smiled. “I handled it. One thing about having my specific set of powers: no one can physically hurt me without getting hurt much worse. He hit me, and he went to hit me again. When his hand landed on me the second time, he got a little taste of what I can do. He was paralyzed for about twenty minutes.”

  I looked away. My chest tightened, and it took everything in me to ignore that voice in my head urging me to take her powers. Useful. Deadly. They’d be so good to have…

  I shook my head. “So you came to hang out with me.”

  “Well, you’re so much fun, you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  She laughed. “And I was hoping I could go with you if you’re finding your lost girls tonight.”

  I stared at her. “No.”

  “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”

  “Yeah, right. As long as I don’t lose control somehow in the heat of the moment, and as long as everything goes just right, and as long as you have the sense to stay away from me.”

  “See? What could go wrong?”

  “You people with your ‘I believe in you’ shit are going to get yourselves killed,” I muttered.

  Veronica didn’t answer, but I did sense a tremor of fear from her. And it was good.

  “You need to work on your control. I’m your friend, or I’d like to be. I’m willing to be scared of you, to put myself in danger because I believe in you. You kind of owe it to me to at least try,” she said.

  “What kind of moron puts themselves in danger like that?” I scoffed.

  Her eyes met mine. “The same kind of moron who goes out alone rescuing lost girls from god knows what.”

  I shook my head. These people. “Fine. You can back out at any time, otherwise don’t cry to me if you end up having to kiss your powers goodbye. We’re looking for one lost girl tonight: Dorothea Hopkins. I know where her boyfriend is going to be later. I’m pretty sure he’s the one that has her. If I can pick up a location from him, we’ll be doing a rescue tonight.”

  Veronica grinned. “Excellent.”

  Veronica and I had cereal for dinner, because it was all I had in the house and it seemed rude not to offer her something. I tried, several times, to tell her not to come with me, that it was a stupid idea. I came this close to forcing my will on her. I could have. I probably should have. She would hate me, Nain would lecture me until I was ninety, but at least I knew she’d be safe from me. She laughed me off.

  I ate two huge bowls of Cookie Crisp, trying to abate some of my hunger. It was a distraction for as long as it took me to finish the cereal.

  I ended up leaving Veronica in the kitchen while I went upstairs to get ready. “This is so stupid,” I muttered to myself as I pulled on a black t-shirt. Two of the imps, the ones I’d started to think of as the leader and his/her (I couldn’t tell the difference yet between male and female imps, or if there even was a gender difference) second in command, were sitting on the rocking chair in my room. I’d gotten used to them being around, for the most part. I glanced at them. I’d given them orders, but other than nods and chest-thumping, they’d never responded to me.

  “You can talk, right?” I asked as I started filling my pockets.

  “Yes, mistress,” the leader said in a gravelly voice. I nodded.

  “You know what’s going on with me. The mindflaying thing.”

  They both nodded.

  “How do I stop it?”

  The leader looked at me, consternation on his homely little face. “You don’t. You take. You kill. Is the only way to satisfy the need.”

  “Anger fills me. I can feed from anger, right?”

  He/she nodded. “It will not be as satisfying. Mistress would do better to take what she needs. Make her strong.”

  I glanced at him once more, and he nodded, ears twitching. “I can’t.”

  “Then mistress will grow weak. And mistress’s enemies will win.”

  “Who? The street thugs?”

  He/she gave me a withering glare. “Worse. Puppeteer. And he who pulls Puppeteer’s strings.”

  “I haven’t heard from her since that night,” I said. “She’s scared of me.”

  “Scared of Mistress, yes. But she craves Mistress’s powers. Mistress is a powerful weapon.”

  “I’m nobody’s weapon.”

  “No?” The imp scratched his bony knee. “What about demon skin?”

  “Nain?”

  He nodded, once.

  I was silent. Turned to the mirror and pulled my hair into a low knot. “I’m not his weapon, either.” The statement was met with silence. “So who pulls the Puppeteer’s strings, then?”

  Silence.

  I turned back to the imp leader. His mouth was clamped shut.

  “Tell me.”

  He didn’t answer, shook his head.

  I was starting to get angry (easy, since I was always on edge lately). “I command you to tell me,” I said.

  The imp only shook his/her head more furiously. I recalled something Nain had told me.

  “You can’t, can you?”

  The imp nodded.

  “Former master, huh?”

  The imp nodded again.

  “Nothing? Not a name? A clue? A hint?”

  The imp opened its mouth, tried to say something, and its voice died in its throat. It shook its head apologetically.

  I bit back my frustration. “It’s okay. Not your fault.” I sat on the bed to put my shoes on. “Do something for me,” I said quietly. The imp leader and its helper leaned in toward me. “I’m going to slip out the window. Hopefully, by the time she realizes I’m not here, it’ll be too late. Do not, under any circumstances, tell her what you know about where I’m going tonight.” I could hardly contain my hunger anymore. It filled me, felt like being pricked with rusty needles from the inside out. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t risk it. But I could put all of this energy to use saving a lost girl.

  “Promise me,” I whispered.

  “Promise, Mistress,” the leader said, and he thumped his fist once on his chest. His assistant mimicked his gesture. I nodded once. I was done with this. I was cutting myself off from the group. I couldn’t do it anymore, and they refused to listen to me.

  Getting out of the house was easy. I slipped out my bedroom window, down the roof, and climbed down the trellis next to the front porch.

  The car was the bigger issue. My Barracuda was loud. It was a muscle car, after all.

  So, public transportation would have to do. I jogged for the nearest bus stop. This was such a pain in the ass.

  After finally catching a bus (freaking DDoT, man) and two bus transfers, I made it to the location the imps had given me. The house was there, and so was the boyfriend’s car, just as the imps had described it. I crept around the house, keeping close to the foundation, trying to hear anything happening inside. A back window was open, and, the closer I got, the better I could distinguish several deep voices.

  Most of the conversation was focused on the card game going on and the music on the radio. But the thoughts I picked up gave me a
good idea of what I was looking for.

  An apartment, a quad. Not too far from here. I fixed the imagery in my mind. She was there, chained to a rod in the closet, bound, gagged, starving. But alive.

  So much anger, fear, hopelessness. What could make one person hurt another so badly? I listened more, got a better read on where the woman was being held, and got ready to leave.

  “How’s Thea doing?” one of the men asked. I stayed put, after all.

  I could sense irritation from the room. Boyfriend. “She threatened to leave me again. She’s having a time out until she comes to her senses.”

  There were a few seconds of silence. No one was surprised, I realized. One of the men thought, again with this shit? I shook my head.

  “You better hope that bitch that finds the lost girls doesn’t end up on your ass,” one of the guys at the table said.

  He was met with a grunt.

  “That bitch is spooky. Creeps up on dudes, pow! They don’t know what hit them, end up shitting their shorts and shit.”

  “Those stories are bullshit, man. You hear the description of her? Tiny bitch, barely five feet tall? Doesn’t even use a gun? Explain that shit.” There was a grumble of general agreement from the four guys around the table.

  The conversation moved on to something else, and I slipped away. Luckily, the house he had stashed Dorothea in was only a few blocks away. I knew where it was a surely as Dorothea's boyfriend did. Sometimes, telepathy is damn convenient.

  I jogged the few blocks to the quad, cutting through backyards when I was able to, and just generally trying not to be seen. About fifteen minutes later, I was there. The house was in decent shape, but the shrubs around the porch were overgrown, and the lawn was straggly and long.

  My lost girl was in one of the two upstairs apartments. This was an old-fashioned quad, with stairs running up the back of the house to the two upper flats. I went up the stairs silently, listened at one window, heard a TV and a baby inside. I listened at the other. Silence

  I’d hoped he’d left a window open, but I wasn’t that lucky. I took my lock-picking set (which I’d barely used — stuff like this was not my strong suit) out of my pocket and worked at the lock, listening. The last thing I needed was for someone to sneak up on me now. I looked around. This was all creepier than it should have been. I wondered again if I should have let the imps come with me. I wasn’t overly fond of them, but at least it was someone who could watch my back.

  Damn, I was hungry. I tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on what I was doing. The latch clicked, and I turned the knob, then shut and locked the door behind me.

  The apartment was sparsely furnished. A couch and a TV in the living room, a card table and chairs in the kitchen. The bedroom was down the hall, along with a bathroom. I pulled a small penlight out of my pocket and made my way to the closet. I opened the door, and the young woman, Dorothea, looked up at me, wincing from the bright light.

  I pointed the light at the floor.

  “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out.”

  Dorothea started sobbing, and I worked at the padlock on her chain. It had just clicked, when I heard the front doorknob start rattling.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, Dorothea sobbed. I shushed her. I put my hands in my pockets. Readied my pepper spray and knife.

  Footsteps came toward the bedroom, and I stood at the ready, barely breathing. The bedroom door opened.

  “Honey, I’m home,” the man from the other house said. And he switched on the light.

  “Welcome home, darling,” I said. The man jumped, then reached into his waistband.

  “You don’t want to do that,” I said, lacing my voice with will. He looked uncertain. Then he shook his head and continued to pull the gun. “I’m giving you one last chance. Drop the gun. Step away. And then don’t fucking move. It will be done.” My power snapped, and his eyes went blank. The gun fell from his hands, and he looked at me, confused.

  I walked toward him and kicked the gun out into the hallway, reached into my pockets for zip ties.

  “Guns. Weapons for cowards,” I growled, leaning in to tie his wrists together. He was deathly still. A blank look remained in his eyes. I looked at him.

  Something was not right.

  His eyes were completely blank, his face slack after that initial confused expression. He didn’t move. I went into his mind, tentatively.

  There was nothing there. As if he was empty. No. Broken.

  He was broken. I’d bashed my will into his mind with so much force I’d destroyed him. There was nothing there. The man was a vegetable.

  I stared at him. I’d done this. In my rage, my hunger, I’d lost control with yet another Normal. A piece of shit Normal, yes, but a Normal just the same.

  I remembered Dorothea, then. I walked, in a daze, to the closet and finished freeing her. The woman ran over to her captor.

  “What did you do to him?” Fear. Of me. Something in me woke up, savored that fear.

  I shrugged.

  “You did something to him! He’ll be okay, right?” Dorothea's fear reached a fever pitch, and I soaked it in. So good.

  “Are you kidding? He’s been beating your ass and keeping you locked in a closet,” I said. “He didn’t care about you nearly as much.”

  “He loves me,” Dorothea insisted. “He just can’t control his emotions.”

  I looked at her. “Are you telling me you would have preferred to stay in the closet?”

  Doretha shook her head. She looked at me. Her fear hit me then, full on.

  Her eyes. Why-the-hell-are-her-eyes-glowing-like-that?!

  I savored her fear for a minute, as she sat, terrified, next to her vegetable of a boyfriend.

  And then I went into her mind.

  I removed every memory of myself.

  And I locked the door behind me when I walked out.

  I stormed down the back stairs, fuming. Headed toward the nearest bus stop, trying to figure out what the hell I’d just done. Completely drowned in guilt, anger. So when I’d wandered a few blocks, to a less-populated part of the neighborhood, and looked up to see the street blocked by two cars and a half dozen or so heavily armed men, it was too late. Guns were pointed solidly at my head, and I had nowhere to run.

  The men watched me. They were all big, burly men. Dressed alike. Same posture, same expressions. I stopped walking a few feet from the cars, running through options in my head.

  “Angel,” the man closest to me said. “Our Lady has a proposition for you.”

  “What is it?” Sizing him up, weighing my options.

  “Our boss wants to give you another chance. Come with us, quietly, and you won’t get hurt.”

  “And your boss is?”

  “The Puppeteer.”

  “Ah. Of course. That explains some things. Does she make you all dress the same or was that by choice?”

  The six of them looked at each other.

  “Our Lady likes us to present a certain look,” the leader finally said.

  “You look like a boy band. Except that one doesn’t match. His shirt is cut totally wrong,” I said, pointing at one of the guys at the rear of the group. They all turned to look at the offending sextuplet and I took the opportunity to bolt back into the neighborhood.

  I liked to fight. There was a time to fight. This was a time to run my ass off and hope I was fast enough.

  I heard guns firing, felt bullets whizzing past me like angry hornets. There were shouts behind me.

  I ran through the neighborhood, jumped a few fences, zigzagged through a few streets. I lost a few, but there were two behind me. They must have split up, trying to box me in.

  I put on a burst of speed, ducked into a garage. I left the old-fashioned garage door swinging slightly open. Held a canister of my pepper spray in each hand.

  And the two puppets came around the side of the garage. They opened the door, and they each got a full-force, point blank dose of pepper spray. They went down, shouting in agony, and
I jumped over them and ran back the way I’d come, zigzagging through yards, hoping the misdirection would throw off the other puppets.

  I was just thinking I’d managed it, when I saw three more. They’d spotted me, and were running toward me, guns firing. I took a bullet to the thigh (again. Damn!) but I was determined to keep running. They followed, and my leg slowed me down while I healed myself.

  They were catching up with me. Running was not going to work. All they had to do was get one or two more shots in, and I was screwed. Time to switch tactics. I stopped, looked at them. “You hate guns,” I began, power filling my voice. One of them laughed.

  “Your powers are shit compared to the ones our Lady has.”

  “If you’d have come with us, we would have been forced to keep you safe.”

  “But since you ran, we get to do what we want.”

  “And take you to our Lady anyway.”

  The way they switched off, almost completing each other’s sentences, should have been creepy. But I was full of adrenaline and power, and I burst out laughing. I felt my power building.

  “You want me? Come on then, big boys.”

  They approached me, warily, guns drawn and pointed at me.

  “We’re going to rip your body to shreds.”

  “All we have to do is keep you alive.”

  “But you’ll wish you were dead.”

  I crossed my arms, shook my head. I hoped I looked cooler than I was feeling. My heart was about to pound out of my chest, and I felt like I was going to puke. But my power was filling me, near to bursting. I had to trust that it would be enough to keep me safe now.

  They came closer, maybe four feet away now.

  “She’s so scared she can’t even move.”

  “Not so tough now.”

  “I get first dibs.”

  I closed my eyes, pictured going inside the triplets’ minds. It was agonizing. One on one was one thing, but that was not possible. The Puppeteer had a hook into them, mentally, and they were linked together.

  Which explained why they talked in such a damn creepy way.