Next day, however, it all goes horribly wrong.
Chapter 10
Roze
When I wake up, it’s not sprawled on the sofa with a likely sore neck, as I was hoping. (Maybe not the neck.) In fact, I’m somewhere I don’t recognize at all. My body aches, my tongue feels heavy, like lead, and it takes a moment for me to register the familiar rumble of a moving vehicle, and to observe I must be in the back of some truck or van. What’s more, I appear to be tied up at the feet and wrists.
From there, it’s a quick plunge into panic. I don’t bother screaming hysterically, because there’s no point, and instead look through the wiry meshing that separates me from the front seat duo. Both seem to be wearing beanie hats, and possessing a masculine profile. One part of my brain’s still rebelling, wondering how on earth I ended up from a night of passion into a van, and why there’s absolutely no memory of this. Had it all happened when I was asleep? Did I really not wake up when I was hauled out of bed. Didn’t the others?
Am I dreaming?
Dreams always felt real to the dreamer. But at the same time, I was thinking far too clearly to be in a dream, and I ached all over. A horrible pins and needles sensation began to creep up my arm, and I discovered that my left leg was cramping, too. I wanted to stay still, to not alert them to the fact I was awake, but the discomfit forces me to stretch and roll, trying to return some flow into the limbs.
The man in the passenger seat turns around at the sound of movement, and cold yellow eyes appraise me, before he says to his companion, “You didn’t give her a strong enough dose. She’s awake.”
The driver curses slightly. “What? How? That should have knocked her out for hours!” He grabs something from his pocket and hands it to his companion. Meanwhile, I think I recognize the look of the street they’re driving down.
This is a bad kidnapping. I can see where we’re going. Kidnapping. I still can’t quite wrap my head around it. “What do you want? Why have you taken me?”
They ignore my questions, but stop the vehicle in a secluded spot. The passenger gets off his seat and enters the back of the van. There’s a brief, futile struggle, before I’m injected with something, and feel the weight of the world crashing down on my consciousness.
Blinking awake next, I quickly take in the fact I’m still in the van, and a rushing disappointment floods through me, that it wasn’t just a dream, that I’m really, physically here. The only difference this time is that the man in the passenger seat is still in the back of the van with me, slouched on the side as there isn’t anywhere to sit. “God’s body,” he says, eyes narrowed as he regards me. “You just won’t stay asleep.”
“She awake again? Lawd, I bet Den sold me a tainted batch. Well, we’re hardly stopping on our route, so you’ll just have to make sure she stays quiet.”
I think of Beron and Cato, and a cold shiver goes through me as I know there’s no way someone could have crept into the rooms without them knowing. Their animal senses have a way of picking up on things human senses never can. Which means something might have happened to them. Something bad. My mouth goes dry, and my heart stutters faster, in fear and stress. I know the best thing to do is to keep calm, but it’s hard when you factor other people. Alex will be worried. Don’t know about The Morrigan. Don’t really care about her either, aside from the fact that I don’t want her abusing Tiffany’s body.
“Why am I here?”
“Questions, questions,” the man says. In the dim light offered by the front, his eyes seem dark, his face heavy, like a weight pressing down upon him. He raises a fist, and I scowl at him.
“If you’re going to knock me out, you could cause severe trauma. Do you want me in one piece or not?” I have no idea where the bravado has come from. Really, I just want to curl up, squeeze my eyes shut, and make this whole sorry situation disappear.
“Hmph.” He stays his fist, to my surprise, but I try to keep it off my face. “How’d you wake yourself up so soon?”
I contemplate answering him, since I have an idea how. “Why do you have me?”
He sighs exasperation. His fist slams close to me. “Answer my questions. You’re not in a position to bargain for anything.”
True. But worth a try. “I suspect it’s because of the implant inside me. I’m able to heal others because of it, and it probably heals me as well.”
Now I have a closer look at the man, I see his eyes are yellow. That he’s a supernatural, and I instantly feel colder. I’m fully aware not so many people appreciate humans with implants. Perhaps I should have been a little more discreet about that.
“That makes sense,” he concedes. “With The Morrigan’s bone inside you, you should be able to perform some feat of strength. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t had an allergic reaction.”
I stare sharply at him. “You’re kidnapping me for the implant, then.”
“Glad you’ve cottoned on,” he says, while the driver yells at him and tells him to stop “talking to the target.” He ignores this and there’s an odd gleam in his eyes now, and all the questions about Beron and Cato’s welfare rises to mind again.
“Are you planning to cut me up? Do you work for Gentleman?”
At this, he lets out a derisive snort. “No. I don’t work for Gentleman.” He shook his head as if offended. “No, I hate that demon’s guts.” I notice a slight lilt to his tone, and puzzle over it. Not American. European of some sort. Pale skinned, dark haired, a thick set to his jaw.
Irish? “You’re part of The Morrigan’s court.” I say it as a statement, not a question. I want to bluff him into thinking I know, when I don’t.
He raises one eyebrow, lips tightening and drooping as he regards me. “Not of her court. But you could say I know her. How do you know about The Morrigan, anyway?”
“I sensed it,” I say, figuring I’m not going to mention that The Morrigan happens to be walking and talking right now. “The bone in me sometimes gives me these little gut impulses.” A lie, but a plausible one, I think. The man certainly seems to consider it. I also notice that the driver has stopped trying to shut us up now.
“Interesting. I didn’t think that might be possible.” The man’s yellow eyes harden. “You were supposed to be a way to smuggle the bone out of Gentleman’s grasp.”
It takes me a little longer to put two and two together. “Were you the other auctioneer? The one who lost out to Cato on the bidding?”
He laughs softly this time in response. “Too clever for your own good. Yes I was.”
I nod to myself. In all our worrying about Gentleman, we didn’t really stop to consider too much about the opposing bidder. They’d placed a lot on attempting to win me as well – and from what I’ve gleaned about The Morrigan’s bone, I was never meant to have it inside me in the first place. But that makes it worse, in a way.
I was little more than a bone mule. The only significant thing about me was that I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. No other reason.
“How do you know The Morrigan, then? Who are you?”
The man shakes his head, and rubs at his left arm as if an insect bite was bothering him. “Oh, we’re not answering that one.” He grins rather maliciously.
“What will you do with me?”
“Depends.” He then delivers me a smile. “Perhaps we keep you safe. Perhaps we will have need of the bone inside you. But rest assured that the last thing we want is The Morrigan to become reformed.”
I believe him, actually. And it makes me feel uncomfortable. He speaks like he’s a good guy, but his actions of bone smuggling, kidnapping and knocking me out are all clearly not the actions of someone who proclaims to be good.
“What happened to Cato and Beron?” I say, the most important question waiting to be answered. The man nods, obviously expecting this one. I wait with bated breath, worried I’m going to hear the worst thing possible.
“There is nothing to worry about with them. You were all hit with darts. Though it’s
interesting to see you in the same room as two naked men. You were on the sofa. Kicked out of the bed, I wonder?”
I flush, but I don’t rise to the bait. “I’m glad you didn’t do them permanent damage.”
He examines me then like I’m a piece of steak. “You might be more valuable to us intact. With your healing powers, the Order could very well benefit from someone like you.”
The Order? My senses sharpen, and he doesn’t seem to have noticed his little slip. An Order – like a cult, perhaps. An organization. Dedicated to keeping The Morrigan’s bones out of dangerous hands.
Dedicated into making the Great Wish of hers null and void.
No. These aren’t good guys. They’ll end up using me just like anyone else would. I’d be tossed around the hemispheres, perhaps hidden from view forever, never able to contact my family again.
But maybe I can make them turn back.
“What if I told you that The Morrigan is actually alive right now?”
At this, the man’s eyes bulge slightly, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I’d say you were lying.”
“I’m not.” I remain casual. “Taking me won’t be good enough. The Morrigan lives and breathes. I know, because I’ve talked to her. She said how she was assassinated. How her Wish comes only every 500 years. That there’s one person who has most of her bones, but she doesn’t have to grant their Wish as long as a piece of her remains outside of the person’s grasp. And what if that piece is her soul?”
“You’re lying,” he says, but I can see it in his eyes that he’s doubting. The information I’ve given him is too precise.
“I’m not. Why would a simple human know so much about someone long dead?”
He chews the inside of his cheek, calculating, clearly furious at the wrench I’ve thrown. “How on earth would she manifest?”
“An empty body,” I say, trying not to flinch from referring to one of my best friends that way. “Recently dead. Have you seen the blonde woman with us? We pretend she’s still called Tiffany, but she’s housing The Morrigan’s soul.”
“Damnit! Jax, I think she’s telling the truth!” The man knots his hands together. “I knew I sensed something strange about that woman. I’d just assumed it was a bad implant. Christ. How is this possible?”
“You told me she wasn’t a jumper,” Jax says reproachfully from the driver’s seat. “I took your word for it.”
Jax rocks back and forth a couple of times, before coming to a decision. “We’re still taking you away first. That’s our mission. That won’t change. But we’ll have to go back and deal with The Morrigan afterwards.”
My heart sinks a little in disappointment. I’d hoped they might just turn around completely. Worth a try.
“We’ve got someone tailing us, Edwin,” Jax says. Edwin. I burn the names of my captors to mind, hoping all the details I scoop up will be of use later. “Some dirty vehicle. Latched onto us two stops ago. Tinted windows.”
Dirty vehicle doesn’t sound like the kind of thing Cato might rescue me in. From my uncomfortable position, I try to find a way to loosen the knots, the pins and needles biting through me. I can’t loosen the knots. But my magic flows through, trying to alleviate the blocking in my blood vessels. It can reach where my blood does not.
I might have all this power, but I’m trussed up as useless as a turkey for dinner.
A moment later, something slams into the side of the van with great force, and the whole thing totters and swerves. I crash into one side, along with Edwin squishing me, while Jax yells obscenities and attempts to control the vehicle. Pain blazes through my back, and my magic whispers, flushing out the damage in a determined sort of way, without me thinking on it too deeply. Edwin seems to be in worse shape. The sound of screeching tires, vehicles, shouts and even an explosion penetrates from outside, as something slams into the van again, toppling it onto its side. Jax yells something incomprehensible, before a hail of bullets stops the yells in a more permanent manner.
All I can do is heal myself and cower for shelter, unable to have the reach for anything else.
Edwin growls ominously, sheltering next to me, and I see his skin ripple as he prepares his own brand of magic. Fear rises in my throat like bile. This day’s already insane enough. Why doesn’t it just stop?
Light floods in as someone rips open the back of the van door, and I catch a glimpse of three figures, guns pointing at us, yells, shouts, and gunfire into the back of the van.
I recognize a fourth figure, standing back from the others. Gentleman.
Two of the bullets slam into me, and I gasp from the pain, my magic instantly targeting the damage. Abdomen. Lung. It spits the bullets out from me, but all my mind can register, beyond the blaze of pain, is that they’re shooting to kill. A furry bundle of malignant anger lunges out at the attackers as the bullets keep spitting, slicing the air, clanging into metal and sinking into upholstery, shattering glass and finding their way into my body. I shelter my head by placing my legs to face the open door, the bloodbath unfolding, and relentlessly heal whatever hits my lower half, hissing and whimpering from the pain, burning through my magic so fast that I’m not sure if I can outlast.
It’s an ongoing nightmare. Factions squabbling over the bone inside me. Waking up from a night of pleasure into a hailstorm of destruction. Secret Orders and a demon who want that bone back at all costs. The Morrigan being a constant source of desire, and by proxy, me, who can heal to foster political connections, or die to provide power to someone else.
There’s nothing I can do. All my power is spent into keeping me alive. I can’t run. I’m bound and worse than useless, but I can at least minimize my chance of death. Control my rising panic.
The bullets stop, and there’s additional voices, all of them a blur. Additional must be good. Perhaps the official police. Perhaps Cato and Beron. Something occupying the shooters.
Please, please, please, let it be help. Not that I ever wanted to be the damsel in distress, but there are some things I just can’t do.
Now the haze of pain has dissipated, I’m able to concentrate better on the noises from outside, though I don’t dare move, in case someone attempts to shoot me again. If they catch me in the head, I might not be able to heal damage like that.
“Ma’am? Ma’am?” The voice is loud but no-nonsense, and I stir, raising my head cautiously to see someone in police uniform holding a gun, clearly taking in the sight of my ropes, before hastily tucking it away. I don’t respond, and he calls for someone else. Another policeman arrives, and they clamber into the van, while two more see the dead driver. The police crawl like ants over the scene, and I’m lifted out as if I was a lamb, carried to a paramedic who is able to start working on my bindings, cutting them off. Sirens flash everywhere, and from what I can see, the street is in utter chaos, with numerous crashed vehicles, a few of them charred – and some bodies covered, others being lifted into ambulances. So much carnage.
All because of me. It’s horrifying. The type of person I want to be is someone who heals others. Someone who rejects violence. Not someone who causes it just by existing. It’s a gut punch to the stomach and I don’t know how to handle it.
“Ma’am? Are you alright? Ma’am? Let us see… you’ve been shot...”
Oh. Right. Even though I healed the injuries, I still have the bullet holes that tore through my clothes. I have bloodstains from where the blood spilled, before I was able to patch it up with my magic.
“I’m fine,” I say, as the paramedic begins to fuss over me. “I was shot, but I’m fine. I healed it. I can heal.” My eyes widen. “Let me help. Let me help the people who are injured. Please.”
The paramedic looks startled, and I suppose I probably sound insane, crazy. One of the police, however, has at best, what I’d describe as supernatural eyes, being a strange, light purple color, and an almost elven slant to his cheeks. He steps close and holds out an injured hand to me.
“Heal this, human.”
I nod. I have some energy left. My magic threads through me, past my fingers which have made contact with his skin. The injury on his hand heals up in an instant. His purple eyes widen.
“Get her healing. Now,” he says, grabbing me by the shoulder. “We need all the help we can get.”
The paramedic looks as if he’s touched something dirty, but doesn’t respond when I’m led away.
I’m happy, however, to be able to repair some of the damage I’ve done. I note that I can’t see Gentleman anywhere. He’d risked himself in coming out, when he could have left his cronies to do all the work. I’m not sure why. But he most likely got away without a scratch. People like him are cockroaches. There when you don’t want them, and hard to kill. They always seem to bounce back.
He’s not the concern right now, though. The people who need me are.
Chapter 11
Cato
I’ve never felt as useless as I did when I woke up with a banging headache, and realized Roze was gone. Beron had instantly sniffed out the danger, evidence of a break-in, a lone kidnapping in the night – and the tranq darts used to keep us down when we should have reacted and stepped up to the mark to protect our own.
We called the police. We told my father. He was more angry that the clients he had booked to visit Roze’s clinic would have to be delayed, but after some nudging, was reminded that perhaps he better be a little more considerate of the fact that she might be in danger. He wanted to go off in a mad dash himself after her, but Beron restrained him. There was nothing they could physically do right now until they figured out who had taken Roze.
It had to be Gentleman, of course. I couldn’t think of anyone else culpable. So fuck it. I called up all my contacts, all my private investigators, and sent them firmly down Gentleman’s path. Anything they could dig about him, they should. Yes, I was risking everything by defying the terms of his contract, but I didn’t care. He’d fucked me off by threatening us and sending a hit against us. Risking eternal torture and public exposure sounds like something mild when taking those into consideration.
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