Reckoning (The Variant Series, #4)

by Jena Leigh

  “The catalog,” said Alex. Suddenly, each of the Agency’s odd actions over the last few years were showing signs of being connected to a much larger scheme. “This is why the Agency created their catalog of known Variants, isn’t it? To make it easier to find us all when the time came. And those threat level assessments in our files will tell them who might be strong enough—and angry enough—to fight back.”

  Grayson nodded. “And many will fight back.”

  “Of course we’ll freaking fight back.” Alex jumped to her feet and started pacing angrily back and forth across the short length of the cell. “They can’t just expect us to stay silent and… and docile, while they strip us of all our rights and of our own free will!” Her frenzied pacing came up short. “Oh, my God. Samuel Masterson’s visions of the end of the world were correct, weren’t they? Because, this? What we’ve been doing the past few months? It’s just been one small uprising. But the ‘world’s descent into violence and chaos’… That apocalyptic vision will probably begin the same day Carter puts her plans into effect. The day she uses me to…”

  This time, the sudden weakness in her knees had less to do with pain and more to do with terror. She sank into a seated position on the glassy floor and stared blankly into the distance.

  Grayson studied her carefully from where he remained standing by the bars.

  “I wasn’t aware you were so familiar with the details of Samuel’s prophecies, Alex.”

  When she didn’t reply, he left his post at the bars and returned to the bench. Long minutes ticked by in silence, Grayson’s face unreadable as Alex became lost in her thoughts, reassessing what she knew—and still didn’t know—about the man currently trapped with her in that cell. About all the many things he’d kept from them as time went by.

  About all the secrets he might still be keeping.

  “I should have taken Linus at his word,” Grayson muttered to himself. “It was a mistake to doubt him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Hmm? Oh. Linus. He came to us with information suggesting that the Agency had a plan in place to use you to out our existence to the world at large. It was such a ridiculous proposition that I assumed it was misinformation leaked to him on purpose in order to throw us off of Carter’s real intentions.”

  Alex stared back at him, slack jawed in disbelief. “You knew?” she managed to say. “You knew that Carter might want to use me like this and you never warned me?”

  He shook his head. “As I’ve already explained, I didn’t take the threat seriously. That was my mistake. Though if you hadn’t snuck off earlier tonight just to go on a drunken bender, none of this would be happening in the first place.”

  “A bender?! Are you freaking kidding me?”

  “Honestly, Alexandra,” he continued, “I understand the need to blow off steam every once in a while, but I’d put the lockdown in place for a reason. It was grossly irresponsible for you to put yourself and everyone at the compound at risk in such a ridiculous way.”

  “I wasn’t on a freaking bender!” she shouted. “I only went to The Corner Pocket tonight in order to… to…”

  “Yes?” he prompted. “To what? I’m all ears, Miss Parker. Because there are few things that particular dive bar is good for other than to quaff yourself into a drunken stupor alongside a roomful of morally ambiguous Variants that hate the Agency just enough not to turn you in and claim the bounty on your head. Though you clearly underestimated someone’s greed this evening, didn’t you?”

  Infuriated by Grayson’s description of the men and women she’d just seen brutally murdered for no obvious crime other than spending a night out in the wrong place at the worst time, Alex finally snapped.

  “If you’re looking to blame someone for everything that happened tonight, boss,” she hissed, “then maybe you should try looking in a fucking mirror. I just watched Carter’s goons literally rip a barroom full of innocent people to shreds—and it didn’t happen because I was out looking for a goddamn drink! I was only there to pick up a surveillance package that we were going to use in order to spy on you.”

  “I… What?”

  “We have Hanako’s journal, Grayson,” she said. “We know that Samuel Masterson came to you and told you about the things he saw after he borrowed your gift. We know that you basically laughed in his face when he tried to warn you about what was coming… And we know about Gwen Palladino. How could we trust you after finding out that you killed Nate’s mom and then lied about it for thirteen years straight? Clearly we were right not to trust you, seeing as how you refused to trust us with any of the information that might have kept us safe. So you know what, boss? Everything that happened tonight? That’s on you.”

  Grayson’s face transformed into a stony mask.

  The hollow click of high-heeled footsteps carried down the hall outside of their cell.

  “Oh, no, no, no.” Carter tsked. “This won’t do at all. How will I be able to gauge the implant’s efficacy if you already despise the person I ask you to kill, Alexandra?”

  Carter appeared in the hallway on the other side of the bars, flanked by two guards—and holding a gun to the back of a very familiar head full of dirty-blonde hair.

  “Cassie!” Alex shouted, taking a step forward.

  “Not another step, Miss Parker,” Carter ordered.

  Alex hesitated. Cassie’s hair was mussed, her pajama bottoms were covered in mud, and her cheeks were streaked with furious tears, but otherwise, her friend seemed to be uninjured.

  “Come any closer to these bars—try anything that might harm myself or one of the guards—and I will not hesitate to put a bullet in your friend’s head,” said Carter. “In fact, why don’t you turn around and face the wall?”

  Slowly, Alex complied. She could hear the metallic clank of a key being inserted into a lock.

  “Now,” Carter continued, “since it’s clear we’ll need to resort to a different emotionally charged target for our next test, I suppose we’ll go ahead and trade your current cellmate out for one you might be a little less inclined to harm.”

  The doors opened behind her and, at the sound of movement, Alex realized that Grayson was exiting the cell… and Cassie was taking his place.

  The cell door clanged shut just as someone latched on to her from behind, hugging her tightly.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay!” said Cassie, momentarily tightening her hold before taking a step back.

  Alex turned, then ran to the bars just in time to see the guards and Carter escort Grayson down the hallway, disappearing from her line of sight.

  “Where are you taking him?” Alex demanded.

  “Settle in, Alexandra,” Carter’s disembodied voice replied. “We’ve only just begun.”

  Twenty-One

  Nate turned the Charger off the small highway and onto a narrow drive, nearly hidden from the main road by an overgrowth of trees. The dirt lane carried up at an incline before disappearing around a corner. He parked the car out of sight at the bottom of the hill, deciding to wait before going any further.

  “Well, Red?” he asked.

  From the depths of the backseat, his sister replied, “Only one signature.”

  Her voice had taken on an unsettling monotone two hours earlier when they first began the long drive north—but it now held traces of wry amusement.

  “The guy’s mental shields are down,” she added. “Aaannnd for whatever reason, he’s singing that drunken sea shanty from Jaws. Loudly… and more than a little off-key.”

  In spite of himself, Nate managed a tired smile. “Is it the one that starts ‘show me the way to go home, I’m tired and I want to go to bed?’”

  The song wasn’t technically a sea shanty, though he wasn’t about to argue the point. And it certainly hadn’t stopped his friend from singing it loudly and consistently during their long shifts topside on the Misty Rose, battling the drone of the wind with his gruff vocals as they pulled an endless line of pots filled with
Alaskan King Crab from the frigid depths of the Bering Sea.

  “That’d be the tune,” she said. “Complete with a realistic, boozy slur. Your friend must really love that movie. He seems to be aiming for authenticity.”

  “Nah,” said Nate, putting the car in drive. “Considering how he reacted to my phone call earlier, Magnus is probably halfway through his liquor cabinet by now.”

  To be honest, Nate was simply relieved that Pike—a jumper—hadn’t teleported himself to Barbados the second he hung up the phone.

  “In that case,” said Brandt from the passenger seat, “I hope this friend of yours has a healthy constitution. Or that, at the very least, he saved some for the rest of us. I could bloody well use a drink right now.”

  “It’s been a long night,” Declan agreed.

  “It’s been a long drive,” Brandt corrected. “This car certainly wasn’t designed for comfort, was it?”

  “At least you’re not the one stuck sitting on the hump,” Brian mumbled.

  “Send him a head’s up, Kenzie,” said Nate. “Let him know we’re here.”

  Unfinished paint job or not, he didn’t feel like adding “shotgun blasts” to the list of repairs he still needed to complete on the Charger’s exterior. And after that phone call…

  Magnus Pike was almost certainly on edge.

  A few seconds later, Red actually laughed.

  “Wow, Nate,” she said. “I always thought that ‘curse like a sailor’ thing was just a stereotype, but your friend has a truly impressive gift with words. His vocabulary is even more extensive than Aiden’s.”

  “Did he sound angry?” Nate asked warily.

  “Not angry,” she said. “Just startled. I don’t think he’s encountered a telepath in a while. I caught him off guard.”

  Hours earlier, when they first arrived in Seattle and pulled up to the old house Pike had called home two years earlier—only to discover that he’d recently moved—Nate had been worried that they’d have to seek out a different safe haven entirely.

  For the first time that night, luck happened to be on their side.

  The home’s new resident was Magnus Pike’s younger brother. He wasn’t too thrilled about waking up in the dead of night to find a bunch of people knocking on his front door—but he still offered up his cell so that Nate could make a call. He seemed keen to do just about anything if it meant they would leave and he could go back to bed.

  Pike was happy to hear from him at first, albeit surprised. As soon as he found out why Nate was calling, however, he’d been a little less enthused. It took a bit of convincing before he grudgingly offered up his new address and a few brief directions on how to find the place.

  Two hours later, they’d finally arrived.

  Nate pulled the Charger to a stop in the front yard of a one-story house with dark wood paneling, beside a beat-up old Bronco. As everyone piled out of the car, a security light flicked on and illuminated the area with a brilliant white light.

  Pike appeared on the wooden deck, screen door slamming behind him. His naturally ruddy complexion made it difficult for Nate to determine just how intoxicated he might be.

  “I don’t see you for almost two goddamn years and then you call me asking to come over in the middle of the night.” Pike shook his head. “Christ, greenhorn. What am I? Your ex?”

  Nate summoned a smile as he climbed the stairs, his steps heavy with exhaustion. “You’re cute, Magnus,” he said. “But you ain’t that cute.”

  Pike snorted in amusement. “Yeah, well. Come on in. There’s coffee if you need it and bourbon if you don’t.”

  Looking past Nate, Pike raked his gaze over the others, then took a surprised step back. At first Nate assumed it was in response to Declan’s appearance.

  “Carson.” Pike’s flushed skin turned noticeably pale.

  “’Allo, Magnus,” said Brandt. “Long time.”

  As Brandt stepped past them and inside the house, Pike watched him go with a wary scowl.

  “Not nearly long enough,” Pike muttered, then sighed. “What’d you throw your lot in with him for, son? You do know who that is, right? What he does for a living?”

  “Oh, trust me,” Brian said, the last of the group to file past them and into the home. “We’re all second-guessing that decision right about now.”

  “Surely you’re aware I can hear you both,” Brandt’s voice called. “Now where are you hiding that bourbon, Magnus?”

  “Coffee! Oh, thank god,” Kenzie said at the same time. “I’ve missed you, my love. Did you miss me?”

  Pike stared into the house with a furrowed brow. From the entryway they had a clear view of the open concept living area, straight through to the kitchen.

  Declan was perched on the edge of a couch, elbows on his knees, head in his darkly stained hands. Kenzie was rooting through the kitchen cabinets, coffee carafe in tow as she searched for a mug, muttering to herself. Brandt was raiding what appeared to be Pike’s liquor cabinet, inspecting a brown-tinted bottle he’d pulled from its depths. Brian, in contrast, was now seated in an overstuffed recliner with his eyes clamped shut and his fingers in his ears—presumably trying to force a vision, just the same as he had been for most of their drive north.

  “By all means,” said Pike, “make yourselves at home.”

  Nate heaved a tired sigh and headed inside. “We really appreciate this, Pike.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “You know I’d never leave a friend out to hang… Just praying that I don’t end up hanging for it instead. This is the Agency we’re talking about, after all.”

  The door closed behind them and Pike settled down on the opposite side of the couch from Declan. Seeming to notice the bloodstains on his clothes and his haggard expression for the first time, Pike gave him a once-over—and then turned to Nate with a grave expression.

  “I could tell the shit had pretty well hit the fan by what you told me over the phone earlier,” said Pike. “But exactly what sort of a shit storm are we talking about here, son? I’d like to have a better idea of what I just got myself into.”

  Declan didn’t look up. Face still buried in his hands, he said, “Well, replacing ‘shit storm’ with ‘firestorm’ might be a good place to start.”

  Pike looked to Nate in silent question.

  “The Agency’s taken Grayson,” he replied. “And Alex Parker.”

  “Alex… Parker.” Pike’s eyes narrowed—and then closed. He blew out a breath like he’d just been punched in the gut. “Ho-ly shit, greenhorn. That girl you fished out of the water. It was the Parker girl?”

  Nate nodded. “That night when I saved her… I was being honest when I told the crew that I didn’t recognize her. She’d somehow combined two abilities and traveled back through time. She knew me—but back then I hadn’t seen her since I was a little kid. I had no clue who she was.”

  Pike shook his head. “Time travel… And two abilities? Damn. So the rumors are true? Someone really did shoot her up with the same drug as Samuel Masterson?” His eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “And now Carter has her?”

  Declan finally dropped his hands and sank back against the couch cushions. “The Agency raided our safe house. They took Alex and Grayson for certain. Possibly a few others.”

  Pike harrumphed. “So what now?”

  As the room fell quiet, Nate could hear the soft drone of conversation coming from a television in another area of the house. Kenzie watched them intently from the kitchen, staring over the brim of her mug, while Brandt loitered in between the two rooms, sipping at a tumbler half filled with golden liquid.

  What now? Nate mused.

  Truthfully, he had no clue where to begin.

  They hardly had the manpower at their disposal to launch a rescue mission for Alex and Grayson. And even if they could raise the necessary numbers, first they needed to know where to aim them. Without that intel, even the largest army would be of little use.

  Brian was still seated in the recliner, laser fo
cused on conjuring a vision.

  Seeming to sense that he was being watched, the boy cracked open one eye and removed the fingers from his ears.

  “You might as well get comfortable. I’ll keep trying, but you know that’s not how this works. It took me more than three years to collect the information that I had.” His expression soured and he turned his head to the left, directing his next words toward Brandt. “And now that the timeline shifted, I’m starting again entirely from scratch. We’ll be lucky if I have actionable information by Christmas, at this rate.”

  “The cell phone,” Declan said, staring off into the distance.

  “Need to make a call?” Pike asked.

  Declan shook his head. Reaching into the right pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a small elastic band.

  Pike arched a bemused brow. “Ain’t your hair kinda short to be carrying around one of those?”

  Nate’s memory finally clicked. “Alex’s cell phone. The one we used to find her after she went to face down Masterson solo. Are you saying… Decks, is that what I think it is?”

  Declan nodded, handing the hair tie to Brian.

  “I took it out of her hair the other night while we were…” Declan trailed off, pain creeping into the lines of his face. “Think you can use it, Bri?”

  Brian inspected the band closely, turning it over in his hands. “Possibly?”

  “You don’t sound too certain,” Pike observed.

  The boy shook his head. “There are a lot of variables to consider. Its size. How new it is. How often Alex wore it. The emotional charge it might have captured. How long it’s been since she last held it…”

  “Just try, Brian,” said Nate.

  He shrugged. “Just saying. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

  Hope.

  They had precious little of that left, right now. And at the moment it all rested on a hair tie.

  They were so, so screwed.

  * * *

  “We are so screwed,” said Linus. “Oh, God. I really don’t wanna die in here, dude.”