Shield of winter a psy c.., p.32
Shield of Winter (A Psy/Changeling Novel), page 32
When large predatory birds, their talons wickedly curved, swooped from the sky to take down a number of aggressive infected, Ivy thought she’d begun to hallucinate as a result of the pulsing in her brain. But the feather that floated down in front of her a minute later argued otherwise. Changeling eagles, she realized through her exhaustion.
Their help turned the tide, and the street was under control within the next forty minutes.
Tongue thick, mind fuzzy, and body not quite under control, Ivy forced herself to her feet. Vasic?
I’m helping to check the buildings. You’re hurt.
The ice of his voice was balm on senses rubbed raw, as refreshing as the soft flakes of snow that kissed her upturned face. Psychic strain, she said as the vise around her head continued to tighten, the migraine vicious. I’m going to talk to Jaya. Her first stop, however, was to check on the little girl she’d rescued, but the child was gone, already claimed by her noncustodial parent.
“She was real happy to go with her mom,” said the Enforcement uniform who’d handled the transfer. “I checked the mom’s identification against the national database to make sure she wasn’t some weirdo out to steal a kid, but the way the two of them were clinging to each other, it was pretty obvious they were mother and daughter.” Blinking to dislodge a tiny snowflake caught on his lashes, he passed over a card. “Mother’s details. I figured you’d want to know.”
Ivy slipped it into a pocket, happy the child had a surviving parent who cared for her well-being. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He reached into an open first aid box on the hood of a squad car, came out with a cotton pad meant to go under bandages. “Your nose is bleeding, and I think one of your ears, too.”
Ivy cleaned up as best she could so as not to worry Jaya.
“Whatever you did,” the other empath said when Ivy found her, “it’s put some of the victims in a place I can reach.” There was a tired but hopeful glow in her eyes, the hood of her fluffy jacket protecting her face from the snow. “But”—a haunted look shadowed the hope—“I don’t know if I’m actually helping or just providing palliative care. Do you think I should keep going?”
Ivy nodded and hugged her friend. “Any victim you treat seems more at peace.” She didn’t tell Jaya of the report Vasic had received earlier that day that said a third of the infected survivors from the Alaskan outbreak were already dead. The victims had apparently convulsed in their hospital beds, strange blood clots breaking open in their brains.
It was clear the infection had mutated, become more virulent. But Jaya didn’t need the pressure of that knowledge on her; if she could change the odds with the instinctive use of her gift, that was a different matter. “You’re doing something good,” she reassured the other empath.
Shoulders squared, Jaya nodded and returned to her work. Sensing she’d be okay, Ivy walked slowly back down the street littered with blood, shattered glass, feathers, weapons of opportunity, paramedics, Enforcement personnel . . . and bodies. Dead, immobilized, injured, slumped over against walls and flat on their backs, the horror and agony in the air was a crushing weight.
And over it all fell a delicate, pure snow.
Chapter 43
It is clear Samuel Rain is not amenable to a live trial of his cutting-edge innovation. Given his brilliance, I suggest we covertly co-opt his research and put a watch on his files, rather than using force. A trial can be run without his knowledge.
Recommendation from analyst in charge of evaluating biofusion as a viable military tool
SAMUEL RAIN HAD disappeared so cleanly that most people assumed he was dead. Zie Zen wasn’t most people. His contacts had unearthed rumors the man was alive but brain damaged. Depending on the depth of the latter, Rain might well be of no use, but Zie Zen wasn’t about to assume anything. It had become increasingly clear that the man who had initially come up with the concept and underlying principles of biofusion was the only one who might have the solution to Vasic’s deadly problem.
At the time of Rain’s disappearance over a year ago, he had been residing in California. That meant nothing. He could’ve been transported anywhere in the world in the intervening period, but it was a starting point. Nikita Duncan and Anthony Kyriakus were the two most powerful Psy in the area, so Zie Zen would start with them. Nikita, he tabled for now. She might be ruthless, but she tended to be open about her financial interests—this type of long-term subterfuge didn’t seem her style.
Anthony on the other hand . . . the head of the NightStar Group was used to dealing with damaged minds. Regardless of Silence, F-Psy still went insane more regularly than other sectors of the population. That meant NightStar had private facilities for the care of its damaged members, and according to everything Zie Zen had been able to unearth, the family did provide care, rather than simply executing or hiding away its malfunctioning elements.
Decision made, Zie Zen contacted Anthony on a private comm line known to a very few. It was late to call, but Zie Zen knew Anthony was often in his office long past midnight. The other man’s interests had aligned with Zie Zen’s on a number of occasions, and Zie Zen considered him a courteous ally of sorts.
The former Councilor’s face appeared onscreen in seconds. “Zie Zen,” Anthony Kyriakus said in welcome, the silver at the temples of his black hair glinting in the overhead light.
“Anthony.” Zie Zen took in this man who understood family, who’d fought for his daughter’s right to live with a cold ruthlessness that to many had seemed to spring from a mercenary motivation, and considered how much to reveal. “I’m calling in a marker.”
“You’re the only man to whom I can bear being beholden,” Anthony said. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to know the whereabouts of Samuel Rain.”
Anthony’s expression gave nothing away. “He’s rumored to be dead.”
“Rumors mean little.” In the end, it wasn’t a difficult decision to lay talk of markers and debts aside and trust the other man with the truth. Zie Zen knew Anthony hadn’t fought for his daughter because she was the most gifted and, therefore, most lucrative foreseer in the world. No, he’d fought for her out of the protective instincts of a father for his child. “I ask for Vasic.”
This time Anthony did react, his eyes sharpening. “Is the gauntlet failing?”
“Yes.”
Anthony’s response was unanticipated. “The Net can’t afford to lose him—no one truly knows how much he’s done behind the scenes in the past decade, how many lives he’s saved.” An intent look. “I didn’t realize he was one of yours.”
Zie Zen could’ve let Anthony believe Vasic was simply another contact, but he didn’t. He wanted to publicly own his relationship with the child who was his blood. “He’s my great-grandson.”
A blink. “A relationship no one in the Net suspects. Masterfully played, Grandfather.”
Once, Zie Zen would’ve smiled at the honorific address, knowing it was both sincere and the rueful acknowledgment of an opponent who’d been bested. Today, he simply asked his question. “Do you know anything that will help me track down Samuel Rain?”
This time it was Anthony who caught Zie Zen unawares. “I have Rain,” he said. “He’s been in NightStar’s care since an attempt at psychic manipulation left him with severe bleeding in the brain.”
Unprepared for such immediate success, Zie Zen paused to gather his thoughts. “How?”
“You will find this apt; the SnowDancer wolves discovered him badly injured and I asked Vasic to pick him up after the leopards contacted me through my daughter.”
“My grandson is unaware who it is he saved?” Zie Zen asked, thinking of all the myriad connections that had led to this instant.
Anthony nodded. “He was on an Arrow operation at the time and could literally only give me a minute. I sent him what he needed to complete the ’port, which he did in under five seconds—and I believe from a distance.” The former Councilor’s expression held respect for the level and precision of Vasic’s skill; being born with an ability was only the start—what Vasic could do, it spoke of intense training, concentration, and intelligence.
“I’m not certain if he had any physical contact with Rain,” Anthony continued. “Even if he did, he wouldn’t have recognized the man. Rain’s face was covered in blood and distorted by a rictus of pain.” He paused, shook his head slightly. “And Vasic had no reason to follow up on it with me. He must’ve thought the man he rescued was another random victim, especially since Rain’s disappearance wasn’t reported until much later.”
This time, the pause was longer, but Zie Zen didn’t interrupt.
“Given the apparent success of the biofusion program,” Anthony murmured, “I never considered that Vasic might need access to Rain.”
Putting aside the ironic vagaries of fate, and the question of why a man who’d been an asset to those in power at the time had been targeted, Zie Zen said, “Rain’s current status?”
“He is . . . damaged.” Anthony clasped his hands behind his back. “I don’t know if he’s capable of assisting Vasic, but I also don’t know if he isn’t.”
“I will send through the files—”
Anthony shook his head. “No, Rain isn’t functional on that level. He can’t seem to focus on data—Vasic must meet him in person if we are to get a true indication of whether the man has any capability to do what he once did.”
Zie Zen understood the situation was grim, for Anthony wasn’t a man to exaggerate things, but it was a chance, however slim. “I’ll speak to Vasic, arrange a time.” Looking into the other man’s eyes, Zie Zen said, “Has it been worth it, Anthony? The choices you’ve made?” The ex-Councilor was considerably younger, but he was the patriarch of an influential and gifted family, had been faced with as many pitiless decisions as Zie Zen.
“I’ve lost a daughter,” Anthony said at last, “seen another find freedom, have a son who chooses to align himself with me though he was raised by his mother, my foreseers are more content and less in pain, but their minds remain fragile . . . I don’t know if it all balances out in the end, but I know I’ve done all I could. It is the only thing a man can do.”
Absolute focus in the eyes that remained locked with Zie Zen’s . . . before one of the most powerful men in the PsyNet bowed his head in an act of quiet honor. “Do not doubt yourself now, Grandfather,” Anthony said when he looked up. “Without you, we wouldn’t be standing in a time without Silence. You laid the foundations on which Krychek, Vasic, the empaths, my daughter, and I all stand.”
It was, Zie Zen thought, an epitaph a man might be proud to call his own. Zie Zen wanted more. He wanted a life for his great-grandson, a real life, such as the one Zie Zen had lived for twenty-three short, wonderful years. Sunny, I am alone without you.
How can you be alone, Z? I’m here.
At that instant, he could almost touch her . . . and he knew his mortal time would come to an end very soon. Not yet, he whispered to her. First I must save the son who is the best of both of us. Vasic might not carry Sunny’s blood, but he carried her heart.
Chapter 44
Only twenty-three and worn-out, worn-down. So many needed the help of an E after Silence, hundreds of thousands in agony . . .
Zie Zen to Vasic
IVY.
Having helped carry another stretcher to a waiting ambulance to free up a paramedic, Ivy looked up at Vasic’s psychic call. I’m here.
There’s a survivor. Not a child. Not an empath.
A spurt of energy from somewhere deep within. Where?
Number 24, apartment 5B.
Ivy stumbled and ran to the building as fast as her enervated and chilled body could take her, the snow a white lace curtain in front of her eyes and the hammer in her head a pounding drumbeat. When she entered the apartment, it was to find Vasic crouched in front of an open closet. He rose to walk to her, touched his fingers to her face. “The blood vessels have burst in your eyes.”
Ivy hadn’t even thought about that. “Let me wipe my face and wash out my eyes so I don’t terrify the survivor.” It’d help a little at least.
Vasic said nothing but shifted his hold to her nape and nudged her to a bathroom. “The surv—” she began, conscious of the air warming around her.
“I have a telepathic eye on him.” Stopping inside the tiled enclosure, he waited as she washed out her eyes using tepid water. When she was done, he drew her close to pat her skin dry with tissues he’d grabbed from a nearby dispenser.
Though his face betrayed nothing, she had the sense he was furious. “Vasic.” She curled her hand over the solid bones of his wrist.
“Do you think,” he said in a quiet tone that raised every hair on her body, “you could attempt not to kill yourself in front of me?”
She flinched at the whip of words. “I was trying to help.” It hadn’t been much in the scheme of things, but neither had she been totally useless.
“How will a dead empath help anyone?” Throwing away the tissues he’d used, he undid her snow-wet coat and ’porting it away, brought in his Arrow jacket. Zipping her up in it, he said, “Do it again, and I’ll have you back in the orchard so fast, you won’t have time to draw breath.”
Unadulterated anger had her ripping herself from his grasp. “Don’t threaten me.”
“I’m not threatening you. I’m taking care of you, since you seem incapable of doing it yourself.” He went to step out of the bathroom with that harsh judgment.
Ivy grabbed his upper arm, seeing through his cool ferocity to a violent darkness beneath. “Talk to me.” It was an order. “You’re hurting.”
No sign of a thaw. “We have a situation to handle.”
Placing herself in front of him, she shook her head. “You’re just as important.” She cupped his face, held that icy gaze, and let him see her own determined fury. “You know I’m stubborn enough to stand here forever.”
His jaw worked under her hand . . . and then he finally lowered his forehead to touch hers. “We found children,” he said, voice raw. “Trapped with their maddened guardians, with no way out. Tiny limbs, tiny faces, fragile bones.”
Eyes gritty, Ivy held him close, kissing his temple, his cheek, as she stroked his hair. “I’m so sorry.” She knew he’d carry the images with him forever. That was who he was—a man who cared, who remembered. It made her heart hurt for him, for her Arrow who would not cry but who felt more deeply than anyone she’d ever before known.
“The little girl you helped me save?” she said, in an effort to ease a little of his pain. “Her name is Harriet, and she’s safe and sound.” Touching his mind, she ’pathed him an image Harriet’s mother had sent to her phone after Ivy called the woman to ask how Harriet was doing. “See, she’s warm and snuggled up in bed, her favorite toy beside her.”
Allowing Ivy to hold him, comfort him, for another minute, Vasic raised his head and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Thank you for being mine, Ivy Jane.”
“Always,” she said, voice wet, then followed him out to the closet, where she crouched down to look into the tiny space within.
The thin man inside had to be in his late twenties, his teak-colored skin soaked in sweat. Having shoved himself totally to the back of the closet that appeared to hold neatly ironed shirts and pants, he whimpered at the sight of her. She wanted to absorb his fear, his hurt, but aware of Vasic barely leashed behind her, she controlled the instinct. As evidenced by the headache that hadn’t decreased in intensity over the past hour, her senses were too battered to take more . . . and she had no desire to end up in the orchard.
Because her Arrow would carry out his threat, of that she had not a single doubt.
“Hi.” She took a nonaggressive cross-legged position on the floor. “I’m Ivy.”
No answer.
She didn’t move, kept her face calm and reassuring until he gave a jerky nod. “Miguel.”
“Nice to meet you, Miguel.” She tilted her head slightly to the side. “I’ve never said that to anyone in a closet before.”
His lips curved shakily, then fell, his handsome face crumpling in on itself. “What’s happening?” It was a plea, his eyes wet.
“I don’t know, but your survival might be our first clue as to how to stop it.”
Miguel began to cry, the great gulping sobs shaking his entire frame. “I’m the most broken person I know,” he said between the sobs. “My Silence is so flawed, my family unit disinherited me.”
Ivy bit back a pulse of anger . . . and saw the bright glimmer of an answer on its heels, but her abused mind suddenly ran up against a wall. Enough, it said, stop.
• • •
VASIC caught Ivy before she would’ve fallen forward, smashing her head against the open door of the closet. Lifting her in his arms, her face tucked against his neck, he hauled Miguel out using his telekinesis. “Running will get you nothing—you don’t want to be hunted by an Arrow.”
The young male trembled so hard his bones had to be banging against one another, but Vasic had no mercy in him with Ivy so motionless in his arms. “Stay in this apartment—give your details to the Enforcement officers and tell them I’ve authorized you to remain here. Do not run.”
“I-I w-won’t.”
Leaving the man with his teeth chattering and his eyes glassy, Vasic teleported Ivy not to their bedroom, but directly to Sascha Duncan, using the other woman’s face as the lock. He’d expected to find himself in a night-dark home, but the empath and her mate were up.
Dressed in a short blue nightgown, Sascha was rocking her baby. Her gasp had barely cleared her mouth when Lucas Hunter’s claws were at Vasic’s throat.
