Shield of winter a psy c.., p.28
Shield of Winter (A Psy/Changeling Novel), page 28
“I don’t know.” The Gradient difference between them was a mere .5, Jaya at 8.8. “Did you feel anything before you collapsed?”
“It was like my mind just shut down,” she said, as Ivy pulled herself to the window. However, when she tried to assist Vasic with a particularly virulent knot of fighting, she couldn’t even muster a single pulse of empathic power. Her mind was fried.
Jaya hauled herself up beside Ivy. “My God, Ivy.” The helpless horror in the other empath’s whispered exclamation echoed Ivy’s own feelings.
Sirens pierced the air now, shots were fired. One woman fell the second after she sank her teeth into another woman’s jugular, blood painting her face in a macabre red mask.
Ivy knew from Vasic that Kaleb Krychek’s office had sent out instructions to all first responders on how best to deal with an outbreak should there be no or limited psychic assistance available, but the responders had clearly had no time to internalize those processes.
It was . . . bad.
By the time it ended, seventy-five people lay dead on the street, with fifty-one others critically injured. One hundred had been or would soon be placed into induced comas from which they would never awaken, the infection eating away at their brain. Allowing them to remain conscious was not an option—not only were the infected viciously violent, hurting themselves and others, the infection progressed at an accelerated pace in those who were awake and aware. A coma, at least, gave them a slightly higher chance of surviving long enough for a cure to be discovered.
Deciding to leave Rabbit safe in the apartment, Ivy and a still-hurting Jaya went down to sit on the top step of their apartment building, the street littered with blood and debris in front of them. Numb, her psychic senses dulled to fog, Ivy stared. The authorities had cordoned off the area, but it was simply too big to keep that way for long, and already some of the yellow caution tape was flapping in the wind.
“I thought I was ready but this . . .” Jaya hugged her arms around her knees. “Are we fooling ourselves that we have the ability to halt this?”
Ivy didn’t have an answer, all her hopes of helping to save her people in ashes at her feet. Vasic, Abbot, the cops, and firemen, even the strangers who’d stopped to assist the vulnerable, they’d done something. While Ivy had collapsed after ten seconds. Incredible as those ten seconds had been, they would never win this gruesome war.
Unable to comprehend the scale of the death in front of her, she watched Vasic walk through the street to another Arrow. With his razor-straight black hair, slanted eyes, angular bone structure, and a more slender but still muscular build, she recognized Aden at once. He was a medic, she remembered. Of course he’d be here. Right now, he was using a handheld scanner to examine one of the dead.
Vasic crouched down beside his friend.
And she remembered how long Vasic had been fighting, how long he’d been walking in the darkness. “We should go check the bodies.” Giving up was simply not an option, even if she felt bruised black-and-blue by her spectacular failure, her faith in her ability a hollow shell. If she did quit, then Vasic would have to do this over and over and over.
No, she thought, just no.
Her Arrow had earned a life that wasn’t drenched always in blood and death, and if she had to try and try and try again until she figured out how to fix this so he wouldn’t have to step back into the shadows, that was what she’d do.
When Jaya didn’t rise with her, she reached down to squeeze her friend’s shoulder. “There might be something we sense that they can’t.”
“What’s the point?” Jaya’s tone was flat, her face drawn. “They’re dead. They’re all dead.”
“Hey”—Ivy changed position to stroke sweat-damp tendrils of hair off the other woman’s elegant, lovely face—“you said it yourself; we did help, even if it was only a little.” The reminder was as much for herself as for Jaya. “It’s a start.”
The younger empath didn’t respond but followed when Ivy headed down the steps. A uniformed member of Enforcement would’ve stopped them from crossing the yellow tape, but Aden waved them in.
Skirting the blood that splattered the road, Ivy went to where Vasic and Aden hunkered beside the body. “Why this one?” she asked, not ready to look at the victim.
Aden was the one who responded, though Vasic curled his hand around her calf in an unexpected and welcome expression of support. A single contact, and already she felt more steady, despite the continued opacity of the fog in her brain.
“Her skull is still whole.” It was a statement pitiless in its practicality. “She was stabbed through the gut and collapsed slowly rather than falling, so her brain wasn’t damaged by a blunt-force collision with the ground. An examination of the tissue may give us more detailed answers as to the progression of the disease.”
“I-I ca—” Sobbing into her hand, Jaya ran back the way they’d come, Abbot heading after her.
Ivy wanted to escape the carnage, too, but she focused on Vasic’s touch, tensed her stomach muscles, and forced her eyes to what remained of a woman who appeared to have been in her early sixties. Her black winter coat was open, revealing a dress of simple blue wool over tights. It was rucked up around her knees and bloody and torn at her abdomen; the skin of her face was marked by deep gouges that said someone had come at her with their bare hands.
“Are you sure she was one of the infected?”
Vasic squeezed her calf. “Yes. I saw her while she was alive.” You’re feeling better?
It was all she could do not to throw herself in his arms and burrow into his strength. Yes. Jaya had a much more debilitating response—I think she’s still in quite severe pain. Crouching down between the two men, she touched her fingers to either side of the woman’s head, though she didn’t hold much hope of sensing anything.
The dead, after all, didn’t feel.
And yet . . . “I can almost sense something,” she said, trying to push through the blank wall of nothingness.
Strong hands clamping on her wrists, jerking her away without warning. “You’re bleeding again,” Vasic said, touching the pad of one thumb to below her ear. It came away dark red.
A rustle sounded from behind Ivy at the same instant.
“Sorry for before.” Jaya came down beside her on that husky whisper, her blue-eyed Arrow standing watch at her back. “I felt her death agonies, her confusion and shock, and it was like I was dying.”
Biting back her questions, Ivy shifted to create some space, Aden steadying her with a hand on her back when she might’ve become unbalanced.
Beside her, Jaya tugged down the woman’s dress with gentle hands, tears rolling down her cheeks. “She suffered terribly at the end.” A statement so hoarse, it was barely recognizable as Jaya’s voice. “The echoes of it are trapped in her brain, and the pain, it wasn’t just from the stab wound, but from the horror inside her mind.”
Ivy held her breath, unwilling to break the other empath’s concentration.
“The darkness was trying to become part of her,” the younger woman said. “But it didn’t fit. There was no place for it, so it stole space, and it broke her.” She fell back into a sitting position in a jerky move, sobbing into her hands. “It hurts to die from the infection. It hurts so much.”
Chapter 37
My dear, gorgeous, scary smart Z2—I love you and will into eternity. I know you know that, but I wanted to write it down. Things . . . they’re changing so much, and I never ever want you to wonder. Silence might quiet the whole world, but it will never quiet this heart that beats only for you.
And Z, promise me this—even if something bad happens, even if we’re separated for some reason, you’ll continue to fight for our people. We are better than this fearful cowardice, and I know you have the courage to show others that truth.
I’m sorry for sounding so melodramatic, but I just have a bad feeling deep inside me. It’s so cold, my love.
You’ll probably find this in the morning and tease me mercilessly for my theatrics, but for now, I’m going back to bed and to your arms. I intend to think up some brilliant rejoinders to the inevitable teasing as I warm myself against you. Perhaps I’ll be terrible and wake you for a kiss, though I know you’re tired, my strong, fearless Z.
I could watch you forever as you sleep, your lashes shadowing your cheekbones (it really is unfair that you have such beautiful ones you know), and your lips relaxed as they never are in life. I am definitely going to wake you.
—Your Sunny
ZIE ZEN HAD lived a long lifetime, and in that lifetime, he’d met countless people. Many of those people owed him favors. Some he’d never collect, his actions not undertaken for any personal gain, but because those actions spoke to the part of him that was and would always belong to Sunny.
Ashaya Aleine was one of the people he’d helped in Sunny’s name. The gifted neuroscientist was also a trusted friend, despite the wide difference in their ages, and so he’d spoken to her about his great-grandson. “Can you or Amara do anything about the gauntlet?” he asked her over the comm now. Ashaya’s twin was a true sociopath but for one thing—she loved Ashaya. For Ashaya alone, Amara would put her brilliant, broken mind to work on this complex problem.
Ashaya went as if to thrust a hand through her hair, then seemed to realize the electric mass was in a neat knot at the nape of her neck. She dropped the hand to her side, her forehead lined in thought and her distinctive blue-gray eyes striking against the deep brown of her skin. She’d never been so expressive when he’d known her in the Net.
“We’ve done a detailed first pass through the data you sent us last night,” she said. “The technology is highly experimental.” Folding her arms across a cardigan of pale gray, she shook her head. “It’s a stunning construct on one level but lethal on another—even Amara admits we’ll certainly kill Vasic if we attempt to remove it, and you know the razor-thin safety margins within which she operates.”
Zie Zen heard pained frustration in her tone. “Every fragment of data will assist,” he told this woman who had no genetic connection to him, but who he trusted more than any of his blood aside from Vasic. “Send through any and all information or theories you collect as you continue to explore possibilities.”
Ashaya didn’t argue with his request. “You’re worried you’ll need to move in an emergency situation.”
“It’s a ticking time bomb.” Fused to the body of a son who should’ve had a century more of life to live.
“I’ll forward you everything we have to this point and set up an automatic forward for any new material,” Ashaya said, open compassion in her gaze. “I’m sorry. I never realized how much he meant to you.”
“I did not allow anyone to realize. It was better that way.” Permitting them both to work in the shadows with no one aware that they were two sides of the same coin, one older, one younger. “And you, Ashaya? Are you well?”
“Oh, yes.” A deep poignancy to her expression, she said, “I sometimes feel as if I’ve been given too many gifts.”
“You’ve earned every one.” She’d saved the Psy race from the slavery of a hive mind, helped the humans develop a covert technology that appeared to protect them against psychic coercion, but most important of all, she’d fought for a child’s right to live.
Ashaya went to respond when there was a sound offscreen, and she turned, her face wreathed in a smile so vibrant, it held purest joy. “Keenan, come here. Grandpa Zen is on the comm.” Reaching down, she lifted her son into her arms, the boy’s eyes the same distinctive blue-gray as Ashaya’s, his skin the color of aged gold.
Keenan leaned forward excitedly. “Hi, Grandpa Zen!”
Zie Zen was listed as Keenan’s father on this extraordinary child’s birth certificate, but that was a fiction meant to preserve Keenan’s life. Now, the boy had a real father in the leopard changeling who’d mated with Ashaya. Zie Zen had kept an eye on the family unit from afar, seen photographs of the changeling playing with Keenan—the dominant male, who was a gifted sniper, treated Keenan with the same discipline and affection as if the boy was his own natural cub.
Keenan’s open smile, his hand pressed to the screen of the comm, was another reassurance that he was in good hands. Zie Zen caught not even a hint of the strained pain and fear that had so often been in his eyes at the start of his life. “Hello, Grandson,” he said. “What are your plans for this day?”
“We’re going to study the alphabet!” he cried, before lowering his voice. “I already know it, but some of my friends don’t, so I help them.”
“That is a good thing, Keenan.” The boy, Zie Zen thought, was showing every sign that he’d one day become a strong, honorable man. And unlike another child Zie Zen had once known, he was being given the chance to grow into himself in an environment where that honor and strength would be nurtured rather than abused.
Zie Zen had often wondered what would’ve happened had he simply stepped in and removed Vasic from the Arrow training program. At the time, he hadn’t done so because even he hadn’t been immune to the deadly power of the Council, and to show his hand in such a way would have jeopardized a thousand other lives. So he’d made the ruthless decision to sacrifice one small boy for the good of many.
Vasic did not blame Zie Zen for his choice, but then, Vasic did not expect anything from anyone, even from the one person he accepted as family. The matter of the gauntlet was the only time he had ever asked for Zie Zen’s help, even as he laid his own skills at Zie Zen’s disposal.
“Why don’t you recite the alphabet to me?” he said now to Keenan, knowing he would have to beg forgiveness for his crimes from Sunny when he crossed the threshold of this world, for she would’ve never made the same choice.
Each life, every life, is important. Even this incredibly terrifying insect with way too many legs. Take it outside, Z. Don’t squash it!
Keenan’s young voice intersected with the memory of Sunny’s. The boy ran through the entire alphabet without hesitation, complete with examples for each letter. A smile of pride on her face, Ashaya cuddled her son before Keenan scrambled away with a cheerful good-bye.
“He’s extremely intelligent,” she said. “Far beyond his age level.” In her face was the knowledge that Keenan’s DNA held myriad secrets. “But he doesn’t want to skip anything, wants to attend the same classes as all his friends.”
“It is a happy thing for a child. To have friends.” Vasic had only ever had one, but sometimes one was all that was needed to maintain a hold on reality, on the world. “You can always work with his teachers to make sure he has more challenging assignments as he matures.”
“I’m already in touch with them,” Ashaya said, before her lips curved. “And I wouldn’t have him miss anything, either—I want him to be a child, to grow up at his own pace. He does finger painting and loves it just as much as any other child. And yesterday, he joined a cubs and pups baseball team that’ll start practicing come spring. Dorian’s coaching.”
Zie Zen saw the softening in her expression as she spoke her mate’s name, and he didn’t admonish her for that tenderness of feeling. He’d once seen the same expression on his own face in the mirror, and he knew it did not weaken but rather, made one strong. He wanted to see the same on Vasic’s face, wanted him to have the chance to grow into the love that had rooted itself in his heart.
I could not save the child, Sunny, he told the woman who had lived in his own heart through all the cold, lonely decades. But I will save the man. I promise you this.
Chapter 38
An Arrow trusts no one but another member of the squad. Any Arrow who breaches this rule must be placed under immediate probation and given corrective training.
First Code of Arrows
AN HOUR AFTER Jaya’s unexpected, pained reaction on the street, the tall, elegant woman lay curled up on Ivy’s bed. “I’m different from you.”
“Yes.” Sitting down beside her, Ivy stroked the lustrous hair Jaya had released from her braids. “That must be why you collapsed when you tried to calm the crowd. Your tolerance for that type of empathic act is lower than mine.” Because, as had already become clear, empaths weren’t all the same. “But I couldn’t even penetrate the victim’s mind. You saw everything.”
“What use is it?” Jaya grasped a fistful of the sheet, crushed it, released the wrinked fabric, then repeated her actions. “To read the emotions of the dead?”
“Maybe it’s not about the dead,” Ivy said, having had a chance to consider it. “Remember that bit in the Eldridge book about the impact on Es of long-term critical-care work? We all assumed it had to do with conscious patients, but what if she was talking about—”
“People in comas.” Jaya sat up, twisting to face Ivy, her pupils huge.
“Or those otherwise trapped in their bodies.” Wonder burst inside Ivy at the miracle of Jaya’s gift.
“I have to know.” Jaya’s hand shook as she thrust it through her hair. “I have to know, Ivy.”
Ivy nodded—if Jaya did have the ability to help people trapped within their own minds, they couldn’t waste a single minute in confirming it. “The nearest hospital isn’t too far. We can walk.” Ivy paused, considered the logistics. “We should probably have an escort though.” Confirmed Es continued to be the targets of attempted violence and simmering unrest. “I’ll ask Vasic.”
Aden will go with you, he said in response to her telepathic query, and that was when she understood just how much he trusted the other Arrow. There may be further outbreaks—Abbot and I should remain close to the scene.
The ice in his tone was somehow harder, edgier. Ivy wished she could hold him, remind him that life wasn’t only horror and pain. We’ll be down in a few minutes, she said, as Jaya rose and motioned that she was going to get her coat.
