Grace perched on the edge of the cot, her feet planted on the concrete floor of the basement room. Since waking up several minutes ago, she'd sat here immobile, her thoughts muddled by the sedative hangover. How long had she been unconscious? What had Amador done to her during that time?
Where was the dark-haired girl?
The wooden chair was gone. The girl too. Besides Grace and the cot, nothing else occupied the room. The overhead light sliced a circle out of the darkness. The white glow petered out before reaching her toes. Her cot, wedged into the corner of the room, creaked when she adjusted her position.
Her gaze was drawn to the center of the lighted circle. There, a dark stain had spread across the floor.
The heavy scent of blood permeated the room.
Had Amador killed the girl? Grace shuddered. She'd been a fool to come here alone, hunted by Tesler's goons. Amador could easily hand her over to the mad scientist.
Unless she agreed to whatever plans he had in mind for you.
His words replayed in her mind, searing her soul. I need you, he'd said, I've come too far to turn back, and my plans will fail without your power. Of course. Like every other nutjob out there, he coveted her psychic talents. His offer to aid her was a trick, to gain her trust. She should've seen this coming, should've steered clear of Amador. Instead, she let him guide her metaphysical endeavors, took his advice about her powers, and… believed him when he urged her to stop being afraid. His assistance had been a ruse, and she fell for it — out of a reckless compulsion to liberate her mind from the shackles of amnesia and post-traveling migraines. She was as obsessed with her own quest as David was with his.
She should've listened to him.
The door pivoted inward.
Amador traipsed straight to her, carrying a tray of food. He deposited the tray at her feet. Crouching before her, he laid a hand on her knee. "How do you feel?"
His expression revealed nothing. His hand warmed her skin through her jeans. He squeezed a little, his mouth crooking into a ghost of a smile.
She resisted the impulse to slug him.
"I'm fine," she said. "Where's the girl?"
"Gone."
Her stomach thrust up into her throat. She clutched the cot's edge.
Amador huffed out a breath, and his face scrunched with annoyance. "Not dead. She needed a break, so I transferred her to a room where she may sleep for a time. I have no desire to kill her."
She grunted.
He shook his head. "I am not your enemy, Grace."
Words tumbled out of her mouth, despite her efforts to contain them. "Great, you won't kill her. But torture is acceptable? And how about drugging me? That's okay too, right? I thought you were sincere about wanting to stop Tesler, but you're just as bad as he is."
His head drooped. He lunged both hands up to clasp them at the base of his neck. He puffed out sharp breaths and rocked on his toes.
She reached out to touch his shoulder, then yanked her hand away. Why the hell should she want to comfort him?
An ache started in her forehead, this time from annoyance and drugs, rather than power usage. She stuffed her hands under her thighs. "What have you done to me?"
He lifted his head a smidgen, enough to meet her gaze. "You were terribly upset. I sedated you for your own protection."
"Uh-huh." Arguing the validity of his claim seemed irrelevant at the moment. "I meant before that. Every time you… " She bit her lip. Saying too much afforded him an advantage, but right now, she must know the answer. Risk everything to save the world, right? "Every time you touch me, I get confused and I feel weirdly limp. I don't feel like myself, and it's freaking me out."
He studied her for so long she wondered if time had skidded to a halt. Finally, he planted his hands on her knees and said, "You are correct. I administered an experimental serum designed to encourage compliance. I hoped it would relax you, and help you overcome your fears of your own powers."
"How did you give it to me? In the food?"
Grimacing, he turned one hand over. "The serum works best when absorbed through the skin." He dived his hand into his pocket and brought out a small glass vial. He held it between his thumb and forefinger. "I place a small amount of this on my fingers, then I… touch you."
He tipped the vial, and the pale yellow liquid sloshed inside it.
"If you had it on your skin," she said, "how come it didn't affect you?"
Replacing the vial in his pocket, he said, "I gave myself a counteracting agent. It does not last long, but I didn't need much time." He returned his hand to her knee. "I regret the serum was necessary."
"I said no drugs."
"After I'd given you the serum."
"You drugged me again after that."
He exhaled a long, exasperated sigh. "That was for your own good, Grace."
"Bullshit." She sprang off the cot, jumped to the side, and flattened her back against the wall. The door looked so far away. "What the hell do you want from me?"
"Cooperation."
She barked out a derisive laugh. "This is how you think you'll get my cooperation? You're insane."
"Please understand. My priority — my sole purpose in life — is to end the horrific reign of Karl Tesler." He inched closer, but when she gave him a warning look, he backed off. "I need you fighting at my side, at full strength, not hobbled by migraines."
"Cut the crap. You've been manipulating from the beginning, and I want to know why. What exactly do you expect me to do for you?"
"Fight. In ways I cannot."
She flexed her fingers against the cold wall. Her gaze flicked to the door, then back to him. A hard pit bounced around in her stomach, set off by a slithering suspicion she knew what he wanted from her. "No."
"Think about it." He strode toward her, grasping her shoulders in his big hands. "It is the only way to defeat Tesler. You are the one person in all the world capable of handling this task."
"I said no."
He squeezed her flesh and let go, squeezed and let go, in a gentle rhythm probably meant to lull her. Instead it pissed her off. Oblivious, he kept up the rhythm, his fingers massaging deeper with each squeeze. "You must make use of your greatest gift. You must employ the Golden Power."
She glanced at the door and then down at his hands, restraining her. The sedative's aftereffects, coupled with faint-inducing fear, weakened her in every way. The last time she accessed her innate powers, a force had snapped her mind in two. The Golden Power was far more dangerous.
Why had her powers failed her?
She'd crashed into a barrier, like the one she constructed to barricade her mind. Had the psychic firewall gone haywire?
No. The instant before her powers imploded, Amador shouted for Wickham to "push the button." Then the buzzing started. And her powers went kablooey.
When she tried to contact David, her mind struck a similar blockade.
Her fingers curled slightly, and she tapped them on the wall. "You put up some kind of psychic dampening field, didn't you?"
Shuffling backward, he lowered his gaze to the floor. "You left me no choice."
"There's always a choice, and you made yours." Anger simmered inside her, but a solitary spike of ice punched through it. Not the cold of fear. The pacifying influence of reason. Listen to his words. What is he really saying? His statements replayed in her mind in rapid succession.
I need you. My plan will fail without your power. He referred to more than the Golden Power, which wasn't really hers, but borrowed energy.
I spent time in a Siberian facility. He carefully avoided calling himself a traveler or a prisoner.
And when she chastised him for RV'ing her in her bedroom, his response had, once again, been carefully phrased. I did not realize you were alone in your bedroom until after the excursion began. Why not say "after I traveled to you" or "after my excursion began"? He was distancing himself from the action, misleading without lying outright.
The truth rippled through her in a chilling wave. Of course. She'd gotten everything wrong. Confronted with Amador's claims, and so intent on unmasking her psychic stalker, she hadn't bothered to consider another possibility. He was lying, yes. But about more than his motives, or the fact he imprisoned and tortured a young woman.
She pushed away from the wall, narrowing the gap between them, and stabbed a finger into his chest. "You don't have any psychic powers, do you?"
His body jerked. Lifting his eyes to hers, he winced. "No. I do not."
A horrifying thought surfaced, and she prayed it was not true. But she knew it was. "That's why you abducted the girl. She has psychic abilities, and you tormented her, probably with drugs, until she broke down and agreed to do your bidding. You made her stalk me with RV. You made her assault my mind. That poor girl was your psychic puppet." Grace jabbed her finger harder into his chest. She recognized the folly of her anger, of letting it show, but the fury flamed too hot and wild to contain it. "You are a monster, just like Tesler."
Amador shook his head violently. His mouth hung open, his lower lip trembling. "No. Grace, no, please understand — "
"Shut up." Spittle sprayed from her lips. Her stomach roiled, and her thoughts whirled. Terror and rage melted into one swirling, scorching mass in her gut. This man conspired to torment her by enslaving and brainwashing a child. He was a monster. The impulse to throttle Amador mushroomed inside her, made her body go rigid, and consumed common sense. Through clenched teeth, she snarled, "Turn off the goddamn dampening field, or whatever the hell it is. Shut it down. Now." She stomped one step closer, her face inches from him. Her breaths huffed in his face, reflecting back into hers. "Do it, or I will rip you apart molecule by molecule. You know I can. You've seen what I'm capable of. Remember the woods, and those commandos I eliminated without lifting a finger?"
The shame and anguish on his face converged into an indefinable expression. He stared at her for several seconds. Then, his features contorted and a single tear rolled down from his eye. "I am sorry, Grace. I never intended to — I believed we could — " He hauled in a long breath, exhaling slowly. The pained look washed out of his face, replaced by the impassivity she'd witnessed on him before. "I had no choice, believe me. I needed you alone, and there was no other way to draw you out. Your affection for David is too strong."
Her hand twitched, anxious to slap him.
Get a grip. She watched him for a moment, while she collected her wits. It took some time, since her wits had scattered to the four winds. The fury dwindled to a bed of coals. Radiating heat without setting fire to the landscape. Sweat sheathed her forehead, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Most people introduce themselves with a handshake, not a mental assault."
"We are not most people."
"I am nothing like you." She took a breath, but her stance remained rigid. "You don't know me. We met yesterday. I appreciate how you lent a hand last night, but if you try to keep me here against my will, I'll find a way to escape. Or I'll die trying."
He raised an unsteady hand and let it hover near her cheek. "I have no wish to harm you. As long as you are under my roof, Tesler will not touch you. You have my word."
She snorted. "This from the man who swore he could help me with my psychic abilities."
"I did try to help you, no? I may have no abilities myself, but I have experience in counseling those who do."
"Is that what you call what you did to that girl? Counseling?" His lips parted, but she cut in before he could respond. "You lied about having powers. You used an innocent child to spy on me. Pardon me if I have trouble trusting your word."
He nodded in resignation. Bending over the cot, he began to fluff the pillow with a deliberate gentleness, so intent on his task that his lips pursed. "There is more you should know. If you are to trust me, then I must reveal everything to you. I see that now."
Grace caught sight of the doorway out the corner of her eye. She edged sideways toward it. "Fine. Tell me."
"It's about Tesler." He smoothed the wrinkles out of the pillowcase. "I placed a tracking device on the DVD I gave you. Tesler's men found you at the motel because I alerted them to your location."
His admission stopped her in her tracks. Suddenly paralyzed, she watched him out the corner of her eye. "But you took me away from Tesler's men. You gave me shelter. Why would you do that if you called in the goons?"
He ran his hands over the sheet covering the cot, straightening it with a light touch. "I needed to isolate you, to drive you to me. I knew you would escape Tesler's men. And with David away, you would have nowhere to go." He straightened, turning to face her. "It was a gamble. I hoped you would call on me for help. If not, then I had plans to stumble upon you wherever you decided to hide."
"That's a pretty crappy plan." She shuffled toward the door, one inch at a time. Her shoes scraped across the floor. The walls buzzed faintly. Her pulse beat fast, and she fought to remember to breathe. "I didn't have the DVD with me anymore. You had no way to track me then."
"Cari did." He raked a hand through his dark curls. "The girl. She could've tracked you."
Wonderful. He conscripted a child to be his psychic GPS tracker. She tried not to think about what he'd done to the girl, but images flashed in her mind. Drug injections. Physical torture. Amador had a bizarre idea of what constituted noble behavior.
She must get out of here — with the girl.
The dampening field, or whatever it was, seemed confined to this room. If she got past the doorway…
Grace bolted for it.
Wickham leaped in front of the doorway.
She halted so abruptly her feet slipped. Her arms flailed. Her body tumbled backward.
Straight into Amador's embrace.
His hands gripped her under her arms, suspending her fall. He eased her onto her feet and let go.
Breathing hard, she tugged her shirt hem down to cover her midriff. Wickham had planted himself just outside the doorway, jaw set, arms crossed over his chest. He must've jumped out from alongside the door, outside the room.
A memory unreeled in her mind. Wickham firing a handgun. Hitting the target with each shot. His deadly accuracy suggested he was more than a butler. He was Amador's enforcer.
The scent of Amador's cologne — spicy and musky — lingered on her skin and clothes, even in her hair. If she ever hoped to get out of this house, she needed a real plan.
"Please Grace," Amador said. "Allow me to finish explaining."
"Apparently, I have no choice." She angled sideways to both men, keeping watch on them peripherally. "If you want to have any hope of earning my trust, then you need to make a show of good faith."
"In what way?" Amador asked.
"Shut down the dampening field. Or whatever it is you're using to block my powers."
"It is an electromagnetic field."
She braced her hands on her hips. "Turn it off."
Amador strode up to the wall, plucked a small remote control device out of his pocket, and punched a button on the remote. A rectangular section of wall sunk inward, sliding out of the way to expose a doorway. Beyond the threshold, she spotted electronic equipment.
He entered the room, leaned over a console, and tapped keys on a keyboard.
The buzzing fizzled out.
Her powers bloomed inside her. Energized. Alive. Ready.
Agony slammed into her. She gasped, stumbling backward. The pain ruptured her from the inside, blistering hot, razor sharp, driven deeper and deeper each second. A strangled cry escaped her.
David.
Another surge battered her. She crumpled to her knees, weeping, overwhelmed by sheer terror. Her connection to David pulsed with pain and anguish. And guilt. Its gravity towed her down into an obsidian whirlpool. His last thought blasted through her mind.
Please forgive me, Grace.
Dammit, he did not get to abandon her again. Not like this. Not forever.
She launched up into the crossroads, barreling through the darkness toward a single blindingly bright star. Her mind crashed into the light. Dived down the tunnel. Exploded out into the world. She collided with the barrier. Her mind bounced back, reeling toward the crossroads.
No.
With every iota of energy left, she latched onto David's location. If she couldn't reach him directly, maybe she could anchor herself to the facility. The EM field surrounding David shoved her away. She clawed at it and scrabbled around the edges of the barrier. Trapped in the pitch dark, she couldn't make out shapes.
But she heard voices. Indistinct. Nearby.
Zeroing in on the sound, she catapulted toward it — and vaulted out into a control room.
An alarm screeched. Technicians banged their fingertips on keyboards at computer workstations, their movements furious and panicked. Two men in white coats stood behind the techs, arguing in loud, angry voices. The workstations faced a window that filled the wall's entire width and half its height.
"Where the hell did he go?" someone shouted.
Grace trotted to the glass. Please, God, let David be alive.
The window overlooked a larger room constructed from bare concrete. In the center of the room, three chairs hunkered. One was empty. The other two held human beings, though all she could see was the tops of their heads. A bald black scalp belonged to no one she recognized, at least not from the crown of his head. But the instant her gaze fell on the other head, crowned in blond locks, her gut twisted and her head swayed with internal motion. She'd recognize that head anywhere, whether she could see his face or not. She'd run her hands through that hair, and kissed the top of that head.
David.
Neither of the men stirred. Dread burrowed deep into her. It crystallized into spikes that punctured her soul, shattering hope.
He wasn't dead. She would not believe it until she touched him.
But how? The walls and windows vibrated, evidence of the EM field's existence. Her mind pulsed with pains triggered by her link to David. Despite the barrier between them, part of her reached out to him constantly. She'd relied on that bond far more than she realized. She'd counted on it to always be there. Even now, her mind sought his — and bounced off the EM field.
An invisible vise bore down on her forehead. Starbursts flashed in her vision. How much time did she have before the migraine snapped the tether grounding her in this place?
Not enough.
She rushed to the nearest technician, a young man with dark eyes and tawny skin. Computer-code gibberish unfurled on his monitor as his fingertips fluttered over the keyboard. Sweat dribbled down his temple. His tongue protruded between his clamped teeth, and his breaths puffed fast and sharp.
One of the white-coated men barked, "Where's Dr. Tesler?"
Grace's attention snapped to the speaker. A name tag sewn into his jacket declared the older man "Dr. Yellen."
"I don't know," the young tech in front of Grace said, panic constricting his voice into a whine. "I lost track of him when he ran out into the corridor."
"And the boy?"
The tech shrugged and flapped his head side to side, emitting tiny gasps of confusion and desperation.
"Dammit," Yellen said, "somebody find Sean Vandenbrook."
Sean escaped. Good. But David…
Drawn by an inevitable need, her gaze veered to the concrete room. Tentacles of ice coiled around her heart.
Focus. She bent close to the tech's ear — and hesitated. The last time she exploited this aspect of her powers, the guilt over what she'd done haunted her for months. The regret lurked inside her still, an amorphous tumor on her soul. She'd had no choice then, when she manipulated a sweet old man's mind to encourage him to sell her his car for twenty bucks instead of five thousand. She had no other options in this moment either.
And so she gathered her courage, stifled her conscience, and adopted the most commanding whisper she could muster. "Destroy the EM field. Hurry, before it explodes and everyone dies."
The tech went still, from his furious fingers to his panting breaths. His eyes were aimed straight ahead, but unfocused.
She had no clue whether EM fields could explode, but that hardly mattered. Shutting off the field might not be good enough. Someone else could flip the switch to turn it back on. She needed the barrier gone. Permanently.
"Do it," she commanded, using her astral voice to inject her wishes into his brain. "Destroy the EM field. Save everyone."
His eyelids fluttered.
"Hurry," she insisted. "It's going to blow any second. You can feel the pressure building. Dismantle the field."
The tech's eyes closed.
She'd done this before without really trying. But today, when she needed her powers at full throttle, when lives depended on her ability to —
The man's popped flew open. His fingers descended on the keyboard, typing with such speed and ferocity she expected the keys to smash apart.
The buzzing ceased. The pressure in her head let up a smidgen.
It worked. A frenzied laugh bubbled out of her, but died in an instant.
Giving the tech an imaginary pat on the shoulder, she told him, "Good work, but shut off the blasted alarm."
Keys clicked. The alarm silenced.
Yellen scampered to the tech, bowing over his shoulder. "What the hell did you do? Saints in heaven, Toby, you disabled the EM field."
Looking dazed, Toby muttered, "I did?"
"It'll take hours to get it back online, if we can do it at all."
The bickering of the men and the clacking of computer keys faded into the background. The world around her dimmed, like a TV screen with the brightness cranked down to the lowest setting. Something inside her dimmed too.
Her connection to David.
It hadn't died, not yet. But it had weakened into a thread, frail and tattered, ready to disintegrate at the slightest pressure.
Faster than a clock tick, she shot into the concrete room to stand before him. A sob tore out of her, rupturing the tomb-deep silence of the concrete vault.
No one could hear her, not even David. He no longer heard or saw or felt anything. Restraints pinned his limp body to the chair. Blood oozed from his nostrils and lips. His head sagged onto his shoulder.
And his eyes. Another sob jarred her body. His eyes were glazed and vacant.
Her knees folded under her, striking the floor.
David sacrificed his own life to defend hers. Despite lacking any knowledge of what transpired here, she recognized what he had done for her. The truth of it ruptured her heart, smothered her breaths, pumped the life out of her.
He died for her.
"No!"
Her cry reverberated in the room. She scrambled to her feet. They had not conquered amnesia and psychopaths, clawing their way back to each other, for everything to end this way. The universe owed her a debt. It ripped away her parents, stripped her most precious memories of David, and threw her into a flaming pool of psychic trauma and unending danger. She was supposed to keep fighting alone? Like hell.
The universe would pay up. Now.
She rocketed up into the crossroads. Hurled out tendrils of her power. Latched onto the limit of the crossroads. Tunneled into it. She split a hole through the fabric of the metaphysical plane, propelling her mind beyond the limits of psychic faculties, straight into the essence of the universe.
She seized the Golden Power.
And gorged on it.