by Jade Kerrion
That said, Clarissa ran her project team tighter than an elite military unit, and she had only to raise an eyebrow in mild disapproval to make everyone around her jump to rectify the problem.
Dee glanced up. “It looks like we’re all set for tomorrow.”
Clarissa nodded, her smile broadening. “The final step was the sound check this morning, and Dum was very comfortable on center stage. The check took longer than I’d anticipated because no one wanted the music to stop. Your brother is quite the miracle.”
Dee grinned. “Yes, he is.”
Two months of frantic planning on Clarissa’s part had finally come together. The Verizon Center had been decorated with festive lights for the event. A two-thousand-person security team was in place, and another team of two thousand volunteers had been recruited to manage the ticket booths and run the concession stands. Souvenir T-shirts, posters, mugs, key chains, and every conceivable type of memorabilia lined the passageways, with Dum’s half-smiling face featured on all the souvenir items. The media coverage had been extraordinary, every single one of them declaring the event “the party of the decade.” Later, Dee discovered that Lucien either controlled or highly influenced every major news conglomerate in the world, but she found it hard to begrudge him his obscene wealth. Almost single-handedly, Lucien had made the event possible by throwing his seemingly infinite resources at it.
“We’ve pre-sold three quarters of the tickets, for a total of one point two million dollars. Mr. Winter is donating all expenses related to the event, so the full income from the ticket sales will go toward the foundation.”
Dee’s eyes widened, and she swallowed the yelp of glee. The foundation had raised over a million dollars, and counting.
“On December twenty-sixth, Mr. Winter would like to see you to discuss the appointment of fund managers for the foundation. Would ten in the morning work for you?”
Ten in the morning felt too early for her, but it was hard to say no to her generous benefactor. “Ten would be great.”
“Excellent. A car will come by your apartment at ten to pick you up.”
Dee nodded. She glanced at her watch. The dance party would begin at eight in the evening on Christmas Eve. They were at the twenty-four hour countdown. Twenty-three, actually. She had to get to the clinic to meet Dum; his training session with Danyael would be almost over, and they could head over to the club together for Dum’s final performance at Legends.
She slid the tablet across the table. “What time do we have to be at the center tomorrow?”
“A car will come by your apartment at four p.m. The crew will need time to do your make-up and run the final sound checks. We’ll provide dinner for you, no worries.”
Dee did not worry at all. It appeared that nothing slipped past Clarissa Clark.
She pushed to her feet. A man nursing a cup of cold coffee in another booth stood up. Zara’s mercenaries had unexpectedly reappeared two days earlier, coinciding with Jessica’s out-of-town assignment with a team of enforcers. He trailed behind Dee as she traveled along the now-familiar streets to the free clinic. She no longer tensed when she passed the dark alleys; instead, she peeked in and waved to the gang members loitering in the alleys. The gangs almost always waved back.
It was, Dee reflected, the difference between a place to live, and a home where she was welcomed. It would be hard to leave Anacostia for college the following year, her full scholarship from Princeton University notwithstanding. Once again, Lucien had pulled strings, and when the story of her foundation and her college ambitions hit mainstream media, the college scholarships started streaming in. Dum had been inundated with scholarships too, though he had not spared a second glance at any of them. He had furrowed his brow at her when she pushed him to accept a college scholarship and then turned up the volume on his iPod, effectively tuning her out.
Even on his best days, Dum was dense and annoying.
The free clinic came into view. Dee dug the key out of her pocket and let herself in. She glanced over her shoulder at Zara’s employee. He had stationed himself across the street and did not seem inclined to enter with her. She shrugged and closed the door, and then tossed Danyael and Dum a cheery wave as she walked past Danyael’s office and into the bathroom to dig out the cleaning supplies.
A half hour later, she had just finished mopping the floors when Danyael and Dum completed their training session.
“How are things going?” Danyael asked. He leaned heavily on his crutch, exhaustion evident on his face.
She grinned at him. “Fabulous. Everything’s all set for tomorrow night. You will be there, won’t you?”
“I can’t leave until the clinic closes. I’ll be late, but I’ll be there. I’m looking forward to it.”
Dee glanced up sharply at the low thud against the door. Zara’s mercenary was pressed up against the glass, his face alarmed. She gasped and darted to the door, flipping the lock. Dee pulled the door open and then staggered back under the man’s dead weight as his limp body fell forward. She shrieked and scrambled out from under him, her hands wet with his blood.
Danyael ordered, his voice calm. “Get back, Dee.”
Pain stabbed like jagged edged knives into her mind. Dee screamed, blackness swarming across her vision, only dimly aware that Dum had screamed too. Nausea ripped through her stomach. She curled into a fetal position, her arms wrapped around her body, gripping her shoulders with white-knuckled fingers.
Her vision was still hazy when Seth’s voice broke the silence. “Now you know what it feels like when psychic shields shatter.”
Danyael’s voice remained steady. “Jessica—”
“—is dead. I still have friends in the council. When I escaped from the council’s custody last week, I made sure rumors of my presence surfaced in California. Inevitably, Alex sent Jessica and others to retrieve me. Unfortunately for Jessica, Alex selected my friends to accompany her.”
Blearily, Dee raised her head as booted feet strode past her. Six people, no, seven, including Seth stepped into the narrow clinic. Dum was sprawled on the ground behind Danyael, his hands pressed against his head. Danyael stood, apparently unafraid.
Seth snickered, a sound both mocking and taunting. “Dee and Dum aren’t shielded, but we are. You know better than to use your empathic powers—you would kill them before you hurt us, and I know you won’t put them at risk.”
Danyael gritted his teeth, but said nothing.
Seth nudged his head toward Danyael, and three of Seth’s burly associates moved forward, one of them holding a filled syringe. Two men seized Danyael’s arms, and the third rolled up the left sleeve of Danyael’s shirt and inserted the needle into Danyael’s vein before slowly depressing the plunger.
Danyael’s breath caught. His throat worked as he exhaled shakily. He closed his eyes, his body apparently struggling to resist the effects of the drug pumping through his veins. He swayed unsteadily on his feet and then slumped over. The crutch fell, and Danyael tumbled forward.
Seth’s men caught Danyael before he hit the ground, grabbed his hair, and pulled his head back. Danyael’s eyes flickered open, but the dark depths were unfocused. He did not resist when one of the men fitted a gas mask over his mouth and nose and then released the valve on the metal canister attached to the mask.
Danyael’s chest heaved. His eyes fluttered close, and his body went limp.
Oh, God, no! Dee shouted into the silence of her mind. Jess!
Jessica did not answer. Where Jessica’s chirpy voice had once filled her mind, there was only silence.
“Prepare him for the transfusion,” Seth ordered. He turned to two of his men. “Keep an eye on the twins, though you might as well let them witness what I’m about to do to their mentor and friend.”
The men dragged Danyael over to the operating room and lifted his body onto the narrow table. “I’m going to drain his blood,” Seth said matter-of-factly. “The blood loss will kill him, of course, but that’s inevitable now. Trans
fusion from pre-extracted blood isn’t as effective as a live blood transfusion, but my experiments are yielding results. With this much blood, I will have enough source material to cultivate an endless supply of Danyael’s blood.” He smiled, a macabre grin that shot shivers down Dee’s spine. “I will have no need of Danyael anymore, and none for either of you.”
Dee’s eyes widened. “You were just using Dum and me as a way of getting to Danyael.”
“Of course. Why would I care about an empath’s power when I can tap into an alpha empath’s power? After Sakti, I didn’t dare approach Danyael. He had broken through his moral restraints; he no longer had any qualms about using his deadly empathic powers. He would have killed me if I touched him again.”
“He should have killed you the day you came to the clinic.”
“Danyael is a fool. He will kill in self-defense, but he still adheres to a moral compass. If someone else’s life is at stake—someone he cares for—he can still be controlled and manipulated.”
“And he cares for us.”
“Oh, he cares for a great many more people than you and your brother, but Zara—for all the fact that she’s a human—is impossibly difficult to target. She will not hesitate to kill if she suspects the faintest hint of a threat. You and Dum were simply the most accessible.” As Seth spoke, he worked with the easy expertise of a trained doctor and attached the blood transfusion kits to the large needles he had inserted into both of Danyael’s arms. He released the valve, and blood surged from Danyael’s veins through the clear tubes and into the translucent blood collection bag. The bags swelled as Danyael’s life flowed out of his body.
Seth filled bag after bag with Danyael’s blood, transferring each sealed bag of blood into an ice-filled cooler. With each bag that filled, the speed of the blood flow slowed, as if Danyael’s body were running out of blood. The dread that clawed at Dee intensified with each moment until she could scarcely breathe. Danyael lay pale and unmoving on the operating table, the gas mask still over his nose and mouth. His chest scarcely seemed to move with each breath.
“That should do it,” Seth said finally. He placed a stethoscope against Danyael’s chest, listened intently, and then smiled. “He’s well into Stage Four hypovolemic shock. He’ll be dead in minutes.” Seth removed the final bags of blood and placed them in the cooler. “Load them into my car.”
“Do we just leave him in here?” one of his men asked.
“No. No one must know I took his blood, or there will be a hunt to recover it. I want you to take him out and shoot him in front of the clinic. It’ll spill whatever blood he has left, and it may be enough to convince the authorities that he was killed by a bullet instead of blood loss from a transfusion.”
Dee’s eyes widened. “You can’t do that! Danyael’s psychic shields will drop when he dies and his empathic powers will kill everyone who’s not shielded.”
“Yes, it’s a pity his backup shields—Jessica—failed too. Danyael will probably wipe out half of Anacostia. It’s ironic; he’ll kill the people he has tried so hard to help.”
Dee threw herself at Seth, but one of his men pulled her back. “You’re a monster!”
Seth shook his head. “Hardly that. I tried to help Danyael. He was twelve and traumatized when Lucien brought him to the council. Danyael couldn’t form psychic shields, and his life would never have changed. I thought that a live blood transfusion from a defense-class alpha telepath would kick start his ability to form psychic shields, and I was right. I put my life and my reputation on the line to help him.”
“But you’re killing him!”
“He destroyed me first. His blood gave me a rush of vitality, of power. It made the world come alive for me. The colors are brighter, more vivid. The sounds are clearer. Every sensation, filtered through an empath’s senses, is dazzling and brilliant.” Seth stared out into empty space, apparently lost in memory. “Do you know what it’s like to lose access to Danyael’s blood? The withdrawal claws at you like a demon trying to break free. The world turns grey. Food and wine lose their taste—”
Dee curled her lip. “You got addicted to a drug you had no right to consume, and now you expect pity because you’re suffering from withdrawal? Unbelievable. People call us teenagers self-absorbed, but you take the cake—”
Seth’s blow caught her across her face. Spots of light exploded across her vision.
Seth turned his back on her and strode out of the clinic. He paused at the door and issued final orders to his men. “After you shoot Danyael, bring the boy in the van with you. Leave the girl. We’ll let Danyael kill her.”
Seth, accompanied by two of his men, climbed into his black car, and it roared away from the sidewalk. Two of Seth’s thugs pushed out Dee and Dum of the clinic, and two others half-dragged, half-carried Danyael out, dumping him on the sidewalk. One man reached down and removed the gas mask from Danyael’s face.
Danyael inhaled, a single, shallow breath. He was still alive.
One man pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Danyael’s head.
No! Dee lunged out of the grip of the man holding her. Fabric tore. Her arms outstretched, fingers curled like talons, she threw herself at the man holding the pistol and pushed his gun hand up. The bullet slammed into a brick wall instead of piercing Danyael’s skull. Her unexpected weight sent the man sprawling, and she scrambled on top of him. Rage, murderous rage, like a cauldron boiling over, poured strength into her. Her fists flew indiscriminately, and she pounded the man’s face.
Dimly, she heard the sound of racing feet. Strong hands pulled her off the man, but before she could wrench herself out of the firm grip, three people jumped in to take her place. Instead of fists, they wielded switchblades and hunting knives.
“Let me go!” Dee shrieked.
Dum’s cheek pressed against hers, and his arms wrapped around her. Stunned, she stared as members of Anacostia’s varied gangs swarmed over Seth’s four men. Psychic shields provided no defense against guns and knives. Blood spilled over the sidewalk, none of it Danyael’s. Fury pulsed through her, like the sound of wings beating against her ears, so loud as to drown everything else out.
The last man screamed, the cry ending in a bloody gurgle.
Like a plug pulled from its power source, the anger cut off.
The ensuing void was startling, and she realized she could think again. The same, apparently, was true of everyone else. The gang members straightened and stared at each other, their expressions confused.
Dee twisted around and stared at Dum. He had used his empathic powers to fuel the violence of Anacostia’s gang members to save Danyael’s life.
She dropped to her knees beside Danyael. She could not find a pulse but she knew he was not dead yet, if only because no one else had died yet from his empathic supernova. She looked up at the gang members. “I need to get Danyael to a hospital. Do you have a car?”
The gang members exchanged somewhat stupefied glances. One of them sauntered over to Seth’s van and hotwired it. The engine thrummed to life. Several other gang members lifted Danyael and placed him in the van. Dee slammed the back door shut, pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, and scrambled into the driver’s seat while Dum climbed in on the passenger side of the van.
Zara answered the call on the third ring.
Dee accelerated away from the curb. “Danyael’s dying. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“What—”
“It was Seth. I’m taking Danyael to the hospital.”
“Take Danyael to the council. I’ll meet you there.”
It belatedly occurred to Dee that if Danyael died on the way to the council, his psychic shields would drop and kill both her and Dum. She pulled the van over. “Get out.”
Dum scowled at her and pointed to the road ahead. It was clear that he had no intention of leaving her.
They had scarcely covered a half-mile when a squadron of four police cars found them. Sirens wailing, one police car pulled ahead of the van, clearing
the way, while two others flanked the van. The last police car followed closely behind. Together, the five vehicles arrived at the council headquarters at Arlington in record time.
A horde of people scrambled out of the door the moment the van pulled up. Dee caught a glimpse of Zara amid all the chaos, but the first one to make it to Danyael’s side was a slim young woman, her black hair knotted in a French chignon. Her elegant formal dress suggested that she had rushed out of a performance. Her slender fingers wrapped around Danyael’s hands, and she closed her eyes, raising her face as if to feel the wind. Her breath caught sharply, and she paled, reeling slightly.
“Marcia?” Alex Saunders’s voice called out.
“I’m all right,” she whispered. “I’ve got him, but I can’t hold him for long. He’s fading fast. He needs blood, and hurry. My healing powers can’t replace blood.”
“Carefully, now,” Alex ordered. “Move him into the infirmary.”
A telekinetic raised Danyael’s body and carried him into the building and to the infirmary on the second floor. A swarm of people followed, but before Dee could sneak in behind them, an arm grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. She spun around to see Zara and Xin.
Zara shook her head. “Leave Danyael to those with strong psychic shields. They’ll know what to do for him.” She drew them into an adjacent room. “Tell me what happened.”
The story poured out in a jumbled rush. Dee’s voice caught, trembling on the edge of tears when she spoke of Jessica’s death, but Dum grasped her hand. Dee shivered from the echo of his gut-wrenching pain—oh, God, how he had loved Jessica—but the infusion of his strength and love allowed Dee to keep going.
Zara seemed to accept the death of her employee with equanimity, though her eyes had narrowed and her jaw was tense. Zara exchanged a glance with Xin. The Chinese clone nodded and walked away.