by Tracey Ward
There’s only one other person on the planet who can do what Alex does. Only one other living being who can Slip through the air and end up across the globe. And there’s only a handful of reasons he’d want to show up on our doorstep, none of them good.
I keep the gun hidden as I crack the backdoor.
“Liam,” I greet him ambiguously.
He nods once, his voice equally unaffected. “Nick.”
He’s a little taller than I am. Older by a few years. Better looking in a few ways, depending on who you’re talking to. Some women prefer tall, blond, British doctors over dark, brooding, American soldiers. There’s no accounting for taste in this world.
I haven’t seen Liam in months. Not since the island and the bone ship. Not since his sister gave life to and then swallowed a shadow monster I still don’t understand. I haven’t especially wanted to see him. I don’t have a problem with Liam as a person. As far as I’ve seen, he’s not the worst guy in the world. He has his faults; he kidnapped me, held me for ransom, lied to Alex for months on end. He put a gun to her head once. I have not and will not forget that. But he has redeeming moments every now and then. Like when protected Alex from his dad before he even met her. When he didn’t abandon us on a sinking ship as I lay dying. In fact, he was the one who kept me alive. And he helped Alex Slip us all out of danger when she was too weak to do it alone.
What worries me the most about Liam is not his track record because so far it’s pretty fifty/fifty. He’s not an enemy but he’s not a friend either. What worries me is his future. I worry about how far this apple falls from the tree. His dad was a maniac, the doctor responsible for the science experiments that put every person in this house in the crosshairs. He’s just as brilliant as his dad was, and even though their focus is dissimilar, they’re equally driven. Dr. Evans wanted success. He wanted his insane dreams realized. Liam wants his sister to be safe. Very different goals, but when they’re both willing to pursue them with equal fervor, I don’t know that the reason matters much. I think the fallout from the drive to achieve will kill us all just the same.
We don’t know much about what Liam has been up to lately. We don’t know where he is or who he’s with other than Naomi. Alex is in touch with him once or twice a month over the phone, but every time she asks questions, she gets vague answers. And she gives him what she gets – nothing. She doesn’t tell him where we are or what we’re doing. She’s a little hostile toward him most the time, unwilling to forgive the things he did to her when she trusted him, but, all things considered, they get along more often than not. I hear her laughing sometimes when she calls him. I hate the sound.
I’ve never been jealous before, but if anything could come close to it, I think it’d be that; hating the laughter of the woman I love.
“I’ve come to warn you,” he tells me seriously. “I tried to call but Alex didn’t answer.”
“Warn us about what?”
“We were attacked this morning. My home in Belfast has been compromised.”
My hand flexes around the rough handle of my gun as Brody’s chair scratches across the floor. He comes to stand behind me in the kitchen.
“Who attacked you?” I ask Liam.
“People interested in my work.”
“You want to narrow that down for me?”
“Would that I could,” he replies, trying to sound calm but his eyes are agitated. His normally controlled hair disheveled and wild in the coastal wind.
“Did you lose anyone?” Brody asks.
“No. I moved my staff and patients out of the country immediately. No casualties.”
“And not a scratch on you,” I muse, looking him over. “Impressive.”
Liam meets my eyes with impatience. “We have protocol.”
“Yeah,” I tell him, kicking the door the rest of the way open. Letting him see the gun hanging from my shoulder. The shotgun dangling from Brody’s hand. “So do we.”
Liam takes an unconscious step backward. He hates guns. I remember that clearly. I also remember him using one to put a bullet in his dad’s head, so he can’t hate them that much.
Or maybe he hates them now more than ever.
He clears his throat, his eyes turning to the hills behind the house. “Yes, well, I’m afraid to tell you that you’ll probably need it. If they came for us, they’ll come for you as well.”
“If they know where we are.”
“Five Yanks living in a cottage in Mullion,” he replies dryly. “Not exactly flying far under the radar, are you?”
“It’s worked so far.”
“Has it? Ask yourself this; Alex has never told me where to find you, so how did I manage it?”
“I have a better question. If you can only Slip to places you’ve been before, how did you Slip to our backdoor just now?”
Liam doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move. I don’t know for sure he’s breathing. He keeps a carefully blank expression on his face, but I know how to look for tells. His pulse is throbbing in his neck. His fingers on his left hand tighten against his palm anxiously.
He’s cornered and he knows it.
I decide to press my advantage.
“Second question. And this one’s bothered me for a long time, so I’m happy we’re finally having this conversation. When Alex and I Slipped away from the island in the Behring Sea, we went straight to her apartment in Nebraska. We weren’t there ten minutes before you showed up, Slipping right into the hallway. Right outside her bedroom. But when had you ever been there before?”
He breaks. His face folds; his eyes pinching tight, his mouth dropping at the corners. He looks disgusted and confused. Genuinely confused. “I see what you’re insinuating, but I never—”
“Nick,” Brody whispers viciously. “We have company.”
“Is it Alex?”
Liam’s frown deepens. “She’s not with you?”
“Two trucks on the road,” Brody answers me, clipped and efficient. “They’re coming fast.”
I look at the hill behind Liam. The road is clear as far as I can see, probably for a mile or more, but that doesn’t mean anything. My sight is a joke compared to Brody’s hearing.
“Any voices?”
He shakes his head tightly, his eyes unfocused as he listens. “Nothing I can make out. I can’t get a body count.”
“How long do we have?”
“I’m not a GPS. I don’t know.”
“Ballpark it,” I demand.
“Three minutes. Maybe four. Maybe two.”
I back away from Liam, shouting over my shoulder, “Beck!”
“Yeah,” Marcus grunts. He’s already moving. I hear him shuffle to the table behind me.
“Grab the bags.”
“What are we going to do about Alex and Campbell?”
I go to the kitchen counter, digging deep in my pockets. “We wait for them.”
“How?” Brody asks. “These people are coming for us. Liam could get us out of here right now.”
“We’re not leaving without Alex and Campbell.”
“I know because they’re not here.”
“They will be, and when they Slip home, what will they find? Us gone and an ambush waiting for them. We can’t let them walk into that.”
“What’s your protocol for this, then?” Liam prods, pissing me off.
I pour four cold stones onto the counter. Black, red, gray, white. Four chances with endless possibilities.
“We don’t have one,” I admit, unashamed. “But I’m pretty good at improvising.”
I could hold off any army in the world with these four stones, but I’m worried about burning through them. Alex isn’t here, I don’t know when she will be, and I can’t get more of them without her. Without dreaming with her where I can make them and she can remove them, bringing them into the real world with all the power of my imagination inside. What if we get separated today? I won’t leave until I know she’s safe, but that could mean sacrificing my freedom to ensure hers. I
t might be a long time before I’m able to dream with her again and restock. I need to be smart about how I use what I have left.
I push the red rock to the edge of the counter, isolating it.
Liam is watching me closely. Eyeing the red rock. “What will you—”
I bring the butt of my gun down hard on the stone. It cracks into three large pieces, the rest disintegrating into amber dust. I holster my gun, scoop up the pieces, and push silently past Liam out the door.
The trucks are visible now. They’ve crested the hill, barreling quickly and openly toward us. They’re not even trying to be subtle. Do they not know what we can do? Don’t they know Brody can hear and see for miles? That Marcus could rip the wheels off their trucks with one hand? That Alex could Slip us away in the blink of an eye?
Don’t they know I can do whatever I want?
I get to the edge of the property, the stones clenched tightly in my hand. I let the trucks come closer. Close enough for them to see me standing there waiting. Close enough for them to wonder what I’m doing. The wind whips cold off the ocean on the other side of the hill. I smell salt in the air. I feel it gathering on my skin. It’s bitter on my tongue as I pull the largest piece of stone from my palm.
I rub it briskly between my fingertips, warming it. Speaking to it. It’s amazing how quickly the connection builds between us. It listens eagerly, filling with energy and life that I feel in the pit of my stomach. When I toss it toward the road, I feel like I’m flying. I feel like I’m with it soaring through the air, riding the cold wind. Clattering to a stop on the worn asphalt.
Bursting into flames in front of the first truck.
Tires screech like an angry animal, the black Hummer sliding nearly sideways on the road. It comes to a stop just shy of my bonfire that’s rising by the second. Six feet tall. Seven. Eight. It fattens, spanning the road until the whole thing is blocked.
I throw the second piece of stone, aiming for the second truck, but they’re too far away, even for my incredible reach. I can throw harder and farther than is humanly possible, a bonus of being a botched experiment as a kid, but even I have limits. The second truck slowed down when they saw what happened to the first. They come to a full stop, backing up quickly. But they’re not leaving. They’re coming around the hillside, tearing through a neighbor’s field. They break through a low, wooden fence, splintering it apart like it’s made of matchsticks. Mud flies up in a rooster tail behind the SUV as they rip across the countryside, looping around wide to come at me from the south. They’re flanking me. Trying to box me in.
They’re not as dumb as I thought they were. That’s good to know.
I rotate the third piece of red stone in my hand, debating. I could light them up if I let them get close enough, but it’s risky. The other truck is already following their lead, backing away from the flaming roadblock and maneuvering to dive into the ditch farther up the road. They’ll be able to pull out of it easily, cutting across another field to surround us on the other side. They’ll be at my front and my back.
I don’t like people at my back.
One fireball can’t stop them both. Nothing can stop them forever, nothing Alex would be proud of me for, but I need more time. I need something to slow everything down. Ideally, I need to scare them. That’s what’s worked in the past. I need to make them hesitate. Make them rethink trying to take me in.
And I think I know how to do it.
Alex would hate it. Campbell would love it. That’s how I know it’s the right choice. It falls into that perfect space between right and wrong. Just over the line without crossing into crazy.
I run back toward the house, shouting, “Get inside! All of you!”
Brody, Liam, and Marcus don’t hesitate to dart in. I’m a little surprised Liam is still here. I would have thought he would Slip away the second he saw the trucks. Maybe he wants to help. Maybe he wants to see how this pans out. Maybe he led them here and he’s their man on the inside. I really don’t know and I honestly don’t care. If he becomes a problem, I’ll deal with him. And I won’t need a stone to do it.
I skid to a halt at the back door of the house, just outside the cover of the roof where I can see the whole sky. Taking a deep breath, I lift my palm filled with red dust in front of my mouth. I point it at the sky. I exhale. Hard.
The dust disappears, rising high. It’s dizzying the way it flies away. So many pieces. So much to follow. I lose track of myself inside the whirlwind. I push it higher and higher, pushing myself with it. I can see the entire countryside from up here, my vision honeycombed into a million fragments. I can see the ocean pushing angrily against the shore. I can see the house sitting peacefully in the middle of green fields. I can see my fire burning brightly in the road, tire tracks branching out black, cutting across the countryside. They’re closing in on us. They think I’ve fallen back in retreat.
They’re wrong.
I close my eyes, closing off all but a sliver of self. Everything else, every other piece of me, is in the stone.
I am the dormant shard in my palm.
I am the fire in the road.
I am the blood in the sky.
CHAPTER THREE
ALEX
There’s gotta be a better way to make a buck. With the abilities I have, is this seriously the best I can do? Buying spices on the black market in a war zone? I’m not killing people the way Dr. Evans wanted me to, but is this that much better? I’m still breaking the law. I’m still risking my life. And for what? A few hundred bucks from some snooty restaurants in downtown London. Places I can’t even afford to eat at. Campbell doesn’t make much more than I do, but I don’t bother asking if it’s worth it to him. I don’t know what his answer would be, but there’d be a lecture for me in there somewhere, inevitably circling back to Wade Wilson, and I’m not into it. Not today. Not with sand in my hair and sweat dripping down my back into my butt. I just want to get back home. Back to the cottage and Nick and the cool ocean breeze.
“You sure you can get us there?” Campbell taunts. “You want to grab a map and go over where home is, just to be sure?”
“Back off or I’ll drop you in Florida.”
He smiles. “That’s vicious, SB.”
“Just give me your hands.”
“No foreplay. Nice.”
I take his hands, gripping them firmly. As much as I’d love to leave him here to fend for himself, I don’t want to be bothered coming back to get him, so I hold onto him tightly. I focus on him and me as I drop down into gear, revving up that low vibration that lives in my blood. The alley we’re hiding down is dark and sweltering hot, but the air starts to cool around us as I work my magic. We’re leaving Iran and heading into that nowhere. Into the void that used to terrify me so badly that I couldn’t Slip on purpose. I was convinced I’d get lost there, never finding my way out. That’s still a worry I hold onto in the back of my mind. A sliver of fear that’s embedded in my brain, but I don’t let it own me like it used to. Thanks to Nick, I have faith in myself. I have faith in my ability, and I boldly yank Campbell into the nothing with me.
The bubbly feeling is what always hits me hardest. I love it. It’s exhilarating, like I’m floating in a champagne bottle. It tingles in my skin, on my scalp under my hair. In my breath and my blood. It makes me feel alive in a way I can never explain and never get enough of. I take my time, reveling in it a little longer than I need to, just for fun. Just for me.
It’s raining when we come through on the other side. The landscape ripples violently as I bring us in for a landing just outside the back door. I stopped Slipping straight into the house three months ago when I startled Brody so bad one morning he slipped and smacked his head on the counter. He got a nasty gash on the back of his head. I pressed my palm to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but blood ran warm and thick between my fingers. Down my wrist. Dripping onto my shoes. It took hours to wash the stain out.
And now they’re soaked worse than before, more red than
white.
“What the hell?” Campbell mutters. He lets go of me, lifting his hand to catch the rain.
But it’s not rain. It’s red. Warm. Thick. It drips heavily in my hair, down my forehead. It touches my lips, the copper scent so overpowering I think I’ll gag on it.
“It’s blood,” I gasp, my heart racing in my chest. My stomach turns violently. “It’s raining blood.”
“It’s Carver.”
Campbell is staring over my shoulder, his body perfectly still. He’s a nightmare covered in blood, his face transfixed in surprise. His blond hair is coated in red, his narrow face dripping with viscous gore. He looks like a horror movie I never wanted to see. And the really freaky part is, I probably look exactly the same. And so does Nick.
When I look over my shoulder, I see him immediately. Tall. Dark. Dangerous. He’s not himself right now. I know that instantly, no question. His face is blankit’s . He’s everywhere else in the world but in his body. He’s in the sky and in the fire burning on the road. He’s in the rain of blood that’s pouring relentlessly down on us, washing out the hillside in a crimson flood, making it impossible for the truck spinning its wheels at the base of the hill. Its windshield is covered in blood. The wipers fly side to side, trying to clear the glass, but they only succeed in smearing it. Whoever is driving has no visibility. No traction. No interest in leaving the safety of their truck to face off with the man making it rain.
That’s telling. Another Super would deal with it. We’d look at the rain, note how supremely messed up it is, and then we’d adapt. We’d say, ‘Cool trick, but look what I can do.’ That means the people in these trucks aren’t powerful. They’re one-hundred-percent human, meaning we can take them, even if we’re out numbered.
Brody is standing guard in front of Nick, his rifle in his hands. He has it aimed at the truck at the base of the hill. He’s soaked in blood but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch as the red runs down the long locks of his orange hair, sliding inside his collar. Pouring over his eyes. “There’s another one ‘round back,” he tells us quietly. “They’re stuck too, but they’re closer. They could get a shot off, easy.”