Chimera m-4

by Kelly Meding

  “Yes,” Teresa replied.

  “Landon, too.”

  “Landon, too, by phone only.”

  “Okay.” Bethany smiled, then attacked the rest of her dinner.

  I ate my soup and pondered what I’d been told. I really didn’t know how I felt about the DNA-tampering idea. On one hand (and for Thatcher’s sake), I wanted Landon to be safe from the authorities. Bethany’s fate mattered to me less. On the other hand, Landon and Bethany had committed multiple crimes in Pennsylvania, and they were actually guilty. But who was to blame for them committing those crimes? Themselves? Uncle, who raised them to be vigilantes and criminals?

  Too many shades of fucking gray.

  Maybe it made me a coward, but I was glad I didn’t have to make this decision. I wasn’t a leader. I was very content being a minion and doing as I was told.

  Marco left the table first, Lacey less than a minute after. The soup was sitting nicely in my stomach, and I contemplated getting some crackers to add to the broth. The decision was interrupted by Aaron standing so abruptly his chair nearly fell over backward. Ethan grabbed it before it could. Aaron mumbled something, then strode out of the cafeteria.

  I glanced at Teresa, but she wouldn’t look at me. “Is he okay?” I asked softly.

  Ethan shook his head, then exhaled hard through his mouth. “Not really. Noah and Dahlia have been acting funny recently, and they won’t talk to either of us about it. Aaron’s worried. Really worried.” So am I hung off the end of his sentence.

  I had no idea what to say to that, considering I had been sworn to secrecy. I also didn’t want to lie to Ethan’s face, so I said, “I’m sorry.” It had the advantage of being completely true.

  “He’ll get it out of Noah sooner or later. He’s persistent like that.”

  The dinner table broke up without much more conversation. I wasn’t certain what to do with myself next, so I decided to do something brand-spanking-new. I put two bowls of soup on a tray, along with a handful of crackers, and I took it down to the infirmary.

  Halfway there, I knew it was a bad idea. My arm was screaming from the weight of the tray, and broth sloshed back and forth as I tried to balance it on one hand. Sweat popped out on my forehead, and I had horrible images of the whole shebang crashing to the floor. Thank God Jessica was leaving as I wanted to get in, because she held the door for me.

  The steady cadence of Thatcher’s voice filled the hallway, coming from the half-open door to Landon’s room. I stood outside it a moment, listening, curious at the nonconversational sound. Then it hit me—Thatcher was reading a book. The idea of a father reading a book to his injured son hit me like a sledgehammer, right in my solar plexus. It was beautiful and depressing all at once.

  I didn’t want to walk in, and my hands were full, so I tapped on the doorframe with my foot. The recital stopped. Fabric rustled, and then he stood in the doorway. A grumpy scowl melted into a warm smile, and I smiled back. He looked down at the tray and his eyes widened.

  “I brought you soup,” I said.

  Nice and lame. Good job.

  “Thank you,” Thatcher replied. He took the tray, and my throbbing arm thanked him back. “Please, come in.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt.”

  “It’s okay,” Landon said. He was sitting up in bed, looking more alert and healthy than he had just twelve hours ago.

  Thatcher placed the tray on a bedside table. “Hungry?”

  “A little.”

  He sat on the side of the bed and held one of the bowls out for Landon. Landon glanced at me, then picked up the spoon and sipped some of the broth while his father held the bowl. The sight—considering two days ago they’d been mortal enemies—made my heart swell, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Thatcher filled the role of the protective father perfectly, and I hated that in a week they’d be separated again.

  “How’s your arm?” Thatcher asked.

  “It has a hole in it,” I replied.

  “You don’t say?”

  “I’m sorry you got shot,” Landon said.

  “It’s not your fault, Junior, but thanks.”

  “Feels like my fault.”

  “This entire mess is Uncle’s fault, not yours. The big challenge is figuring out his end game.”

  “Division,” Thatcher said. “He’s giving you another enemy to watch out for, stacking the odds against you.”

  “For what, though? Another war?”

  “Possibly. The late Angus Sewell can’t be the only person who wants all Metas destroyed.”

  The name sent a shot of irritation down my spine. Angus Sewell had once been a friend, an ally to the old Ranger Corps, and he’d been there in January as we reassembled in Los Angeles. He’d also been a double agent, coming at us sideways using stolen Meta powers while pretending to be on our side. His ultimate goal was to force the government, once we twelve Ranger kids were dead, to use its fail-safe on the Banes residing in Manhattan—murdering them all via their security collars, to protect the world from their powers.

  Needless to say, we foiled the plan and stopped the bad guy. The betrayal still cut deep, though.

  “Uncle may not be counting on our ability to convince people of the real truth,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Thatcher replied.

  “Speaking of the real truth, Landon, Teresa has agreed to Bethany’s request to let you two talk to Sasha and the others. Over the phone only, for you.”

  “Really?” Landon said, his eyes widening. “She’ll let us?”

  “Yes. We just need them to contact us first.”

  “Right.”

  Thatcher’s expression was passive, impossible to read. “Meeting with those kids could be a trap.”

  “You’re right,” I said. I almost added that Bethany getting captured by the bad guys wouldn’t be a huge loss, but held my tongue. She meant something to Landon, and I didn’t want to upset him while he was stuck in a hospital bed, because that would just piss off his father. I much preferred Thatcher smiling to snarling. “But the potential benefit is worth the risk.”

  “You sound like Trance.”

  I shrugged, surprised by the compliment. “She’s my hero.”

  He started to say something, then stopped. Changed course. “We’re in the middle of reading Huckleberry Finn, if you’d like to stay and listen for a bit.”

  I’d read it what seemed like a million years ago. My foster parents had been almost militant in their insistence that I read a huge swath of literature from all countries and centuries. While I didn’t have their same abiding love for Mark Twain, I appreciated his work for what it was and could at least hold my own in a conversation about him. Being smart always flabbergasted people who couldn’t see past the blond hair and big boobs.

  “Thanks, but I should go,” I said. If I stayed . . . It wouldn’t do me any good to get any more attached to a man I should simply tolerate and nothing else. To Landon I added, “We’ll let you know when we hear something from Sasha.”

  “Thank you,” Landon said. “For the soup, too.”

  “No problem.”

  I held Thatcher’s gaze a little longer than I probably should have, then left. In the hall, I nearly ran into Dr. Kinsey. We avoided a collision, and my arm silently thanked him for that.

  “Renee,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  You know how irritating it gets when everyone asks how you feel, and your answer never changes? Yeah, that.

  “I’m on my feet,” I said.

  “What’s your pain level like?”

  “About a six, I guess.” Carrying that tray of soup hadn’t helped.

  “Come on.”

  I followed him into his office. He punched a code into a locked cabinet, then withdrew a white bottle. I couldn’t read the label. He shook a dozen pills out into another, smaller bottle.

  “Take one of these with a glass of water when the pain gets above a five,” he said, handing me the bottle. “But no more often than every six hours,
okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  “They’re formulated for Meta physiology, so if you don’t use them all, make sure you return the rest to me.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’d like to see you tomorrow, too, just to check the wound.”

  “Right, I’ll stop by, barring the usual emergency or five.”

  My attempt at a joke didn’t ease the tension in his shoulders or the tightness around his jaw. The man looked like a rubber band about to snap. I glanced at the half-open door, then lowered my voice. “I’m sorry about what’s happening with Noah.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “I accidentally saw him here yesterday. I talked to Teresa about it.”

  “Oh.” He wilted a little bit, the father in him overtaking the medical professional, and I got a flash of just how upset he was. “The Changelings were my project. They’re my sons. I should be able to fix this.”

  “I bet you never imagined a scenario in which Ace fell in love with one of his two hosts.”

  “You’re right. I never imagined a lot of this, including loving those boys so much.” He cleared his throat, and then the doctor mask was back on. “We’re doing everything we can for both of them.”

  “I know. I wish I could help.”

  “Thank you, Renee.”

  The words sounded kind of like a dismissal, so I left. Two very different men remained behind in the infirmary. One father celebrating a reunion with the son he thought he’d lost years ago and who had spent a meager three days getting to know him again. Another father battling to save a son he’d raised from a test tube and ushered into adulthood. Despite myself, my heart hurt for both of them.

  I took my aching heart down to the lounge. Little groups had assembled on couches and around tables, chatting, reading, and playing games. The whole thing often felt like a college dorm; some days I expected someone to break out a keg and start a party. But the mood tonight was subdued. Bad news traveled fast, and I got enough sympathetic looks to incite violence against the first person who asked how I felt.

  Two people in the corner of the lounge drew my attention, mostly due to her familiar purple-streaked head. Teresa and Sebastian were sitting on a couch near one of the windows, facing each other and talking. They weren’t sitting close, and the conversation didn’t look intimate, but I couldn’t stop a flare of annoyance that felt a little like jealousy. Teresa had assured me she wasn’t cheating on Gage with Sebastian, but the pair were definitely sharing something.

  Sebastian said something that made Teresa tilt her head back and laugh. A full, throaty laugh that pissed me off. I hadn’t seen her laugh like that in weeks, and Sebastian did it? Where was Gage? Gage was amazing and patient and perfect for her, damn it. She had him and loved him, and no one judged her for it.

  Why the hell did one belly laugh feel like a betrayal?

  Because you’re jealous, dipshit.

  Jealous because the one person I’d been genuinely attracted to since William died was completely unavailable to me. He’d be back in prison in a week, and I’d be alone. As usual.

  I didn’t register Teresa getting up until she was halfway to me, her expression one of open concern. I must have been scowling at her pretty good, because she hooked her arm through my good one and led me to a corner of the room.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  “I wish people would stop asking me that,” I snapped.

  “Yeah? Well, just now you looked like you wanted to throw something through a window, so I thought I’d ask.”

  “Sorry.”

  She studied me. “We were just talking.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you? Really?”

  I shrugged with my free shoulder, which was a huge mistake. Fire raced through my arm and shoulder, and I flinched.

  “Sebastian knew my father,” Teresa said. “When he was a teenager. They met a few times. Dad tried to recruit Sebastian into the Rangers.”

  “But he wanted to be a bad guy instead?”

  “No. Remember what Freddy McTaggert told us? That any Meta who didn’t join the Rangers was considered, by law enforcement, to be a Bane and an enemy? That happened to Sebastian when the War began.”

  McTaggert, aka Ethan’s biological father, had briefly been a Ranger and had an affair with Ethan’s mom. When McTaggert took issue with how the Rangers were used for publicity stunts, basically as marketing tools, he quit. ATF and its fellow agencies didn’t like that very much. McTaggert and Sebastian weren’t the only imprisoned Banes who’d told similar stories of being labeled criminals simply because they refused to register and submit to Ranger Corps rules.

  “I like hearing stories about my dad,” Teresa continued. “He was such a great leader, Renee. I need to know how he did it.”

  “You’re a pretty fabulous leader, too, you know,” I said. “Stop comparing yourself to your father.”

  “That’s never going to happen. I’ll always be Hinder’s daughter. And it’s even worse now that there’s a clone of him running around out there somewhere.”

  It hit me right in the gut. “You’re afraid you can’t beat him.”

  “Terrified of it, actually.”

  If we weren’t in the middle of the lounge with a dozen other people around, I’d have hauled her into a hug. Even before we discovered the clones of our loved ones, Teresa doubted herself and her ability to lead. She’d been shoved into the position because of her powers and her father’s history as an amazing Ranger hero. She did her best, and she kept us alive, but she still worried. All the time.

  I tugged her into the hallway, which was empty and much quieter. In a whisper, I asked, “Don’t slug me for this, but have you thought about turning over leadership to someone else?”

  She blinked at me like I’d just suggested she have sex with a goat. “What?”

  “You have to have thought about it.”

  “Sure, I’ve thought about it, but never seriously.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s my job.”

  “A job you can quit, if you want.”

  She scowled. “I don’t want to quit.”

  “Why not?”

  “You need me. I can’t quit on you guys, and I care too much to leave your lives in someone else’s hands. I’m responsible.”

  I grinned, glad she’d said all those things out loud and with only a little bit of prompting. “Exactly. This is your team, T, no one else’s. Not mine, not Gage’s, not Lacey’s, not your father’s. Yours. And your way has been working pretty damned well since we started this superhero gig.”

  Her face softened into a grateful smile. “This is why you’re my best friend.”

  “My amazing pep talks?”

  “Yes, and your no-bullshit way of phrasing things. Thank you.”

  “Anytime. But get it together, or I’ll start charging you for these little therapy sessions.”

  She laughed, then hugged me gently, careful of my wounded arm. “Where are you headed?”

  “No idea. I was—”

  Her phone rang with a tone I didn’t recognize. Her eyes widened in surprised and delighted eagerness. She answered with a firm, “Trance.” A few seconds passed and she mouthed a word that made my heart pound.

  Sasha.

  Seventeen

  Hero Call

  Teresa held the call long enough for us to get into the privacy of the conference room, then turned it onto speaker. “Okay, I can talk here,” she said.

  “Who else is there?” Sasha asked.

  “Just me and Flex.”

  “Fine.” Sasha was doing an admirable job of sounding tough, but she was trying a little too hard.

  “I’m sorry about what happened at the high school this morning. That wasn’t how I intended things.”

  “Fucking cops.”

  “How are your friends? One of them was shot.”

  A long pause made us exchange a worried look.

  “Maddie was hit,�
�� Sasha finally said. “She’s not doing so well. We can’t take her to a hospital, and none of us knows any doctors.”

  “You could bring her here. Our doctor—”

  “No, that’s not why I called.”

  “So why did you call?”

  “We need supplies, but we can’t draw attention to ourselves by stealing it from a hospital or doctor’s office.”

  Aha.

  “You want us to give you medical supplies to treat Maddie?” Teresa asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I could agree to a trade.”

  “What do you want?” From Sasha’s tone, it was clear she expected us to ask for her to offer up a kidney or something.

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “For what?”

  “For you to listen to what Bethany and Landon have to say.”

  “About what?”

  She was either really thick or playing dumb to annoy us.

  “About why they chose to come with us,” Teresa said. “Landon’s father knew your mother, Sasha. He knew Tate’s father, too.”

  “I want to see all three of them.”

  “Landon will only be available by phone. He was nearly killed on Sunday by some other Meta soldiers on orders from your Uncle, and he’s not allowed out of bed.”

  “Fine. Bethany and Landon’s father. I’ve never met a Bane face-to-face before.”

  “Thatcher isn’t a Bane anymore.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I’d like one of my people to go with them.”

  “To make sure we don’t kill Thatcher, snatch Bethany and the supplies, and then run?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Fine. I pick.”

  Teresa frowned. “Okay.”

  “I want Flex. She seems harmless enough.”

  I grunted, wanting nothing more than to put my hands through the phone and throttle Sasha for that little jab. It hurt, because it was something I’d thought about myself all too frequently. I wasn’t as powerful as my friends. My abilities only half worked, thanks to my scars. I got taken out in the first thirty seconds of the fight this morning. I was the perfect potential hostage.

  Bitch.

  Teresa waited for me to nod approval before saying, “Deal. Who’s coming with you?”