The next month was busy. Nick gave his exam the next day, muscles still protesting from the workout they had gotten moving Chris the other day—she hadn’t mentioned that her new desk was a mammoth oak affair, or that the old one was being accompanied by a solid old dresser on its trip to the Salvation Army—and spent the next three days grading them and then tallying up the final results.
He turned the grades in the day before they were due, and then spent a few days in the library, working on the review that Carmichael had given him and doing a little preliminary research on latent abilities.
He was there late one night, scanning an article about Russia’s long history of trying to breed psychic talents, when his cell phone shuddered against his leg. The motion startled him but he smiled once he’d checked the caller ID, and he was still grinning as he answered, standing and quickly stepping outside so the call wouldn’t disturb anyone else.
“Hey, Mom! I—”
“I do so love the modern technology.” The voice that interrupted him was smooth, soft, almost oily, heavily accented—and most definitely male. It stopped Nick cold, to match the chill that suddenly shivered through him.
“Where is she?” he demanded once he’d found his voice again. “If you’ve hurt her—”
“The world would not notice in the least. One little sheep lost, while so many still roam free? Who can keep track?” The man on the other end laughed, and something in that mocking sound was familiar. Nick frowned. He knew this man! Or at least they’d met.
“Francisco.”
“Ah, you do remember! I was afraid you had forgotten our brief introduction. You have been busy, after all. Daniel does like to keep his pets on such a short leash.” Now that he remembered, Nick could easily recognize the little Italian’s accent, and could all but see him smirking.
“Where is my mother?”
“She is safe . . . for now. Do as I say, and she will remain so. This will all become an unpleasant dream for her, nothing more—a hazy half-memory that fades with each year of her laughably short little life.”
“What do you want?”
“No, not over the phone—I do not trust these things. To send one’s voice over the empty air so! It gives me the shivers! Let us meet, rather. Someplace quiet.”
“Fine.” Nick thought for a second. “There’s a parking lot behind the old gym. Closed off while they redo the place. That work for you?”
“Admirably, dear boy. Shall we say one hour?”
“I’ll be there. Bring my mother—I want to be make sure she’s okay.”
“Of course. I look forward to it.”
Nick hung up without replying. His blood was boiling, and he had to take several long, deep breaths and force himself to calm down, his hands slowly unclenching from the tight fists they’d balled into upon hearing Francisco’s voice. The slick little Italian had his mother! And for all his claims just now, Nick knew the older Renewed wasn’t likely to let her go.
Or him, for that matter.
Francisco was Daniel’s biggest rival. And the battle between them was more than just a game, or a friendly rivalry. There was real hatred there, as Nick had seen that day back at the club.
And now he’d been dragged into the middle.
Most likely, Francisco planned to drain him, just to wave the act in Daniel’s face. Nick was nothing more than a pawn.
Nick left the library without a backward glance, taking the steps to the street in long, quick strides and turning toward his apartment—and the item he had stashed there.
This pawn had teeth of its own.
An hour later, he paced the parking lot, using the movement both to calm his nerves and to ward off the evening’s chill. Even in his long coat it was cool out, too cool to be just standing around outside. He’d gotten here a minute or two early, but that had been at least five minutes ago now. Still no sign of Francisco.
Had this all been some kind of sick prank?
But no, there were lights bouncing down the service road that led to this lot. As Nick watched, those lights resolved into headlights, and the dark shape behind them slowly gained definition and revealed itself to be a low, sleek sports car. The shark-like front end stopped mere feet from his legs, and then the door opened and a slight figure emerged. Nick tried to peer into the car, but the headlights were still on and their blinding light made it impossible for him to see past them.
“And here we are,” Francisco announced, both arms outstretched as he turned a slow circle. “Delightful!”
“Where is my mother?” Nick demanded. “I said to bring her!” He still had both hands in his pockets, and kept them there.
“And I don’t take orders for helpless puppies!” The playfulness was gone from the other man’s tone, revealing sharp steel and bitter rage beneath. “So hold your tongue, or I’ll mail her back to you in one of those little padded envelopes!”
Nick glared and considered taking a swing at the older Renewed, but knew that was just what the other man wanted. Instead he held his tongue and backed up a few steps, putting a little more space between them. That actually helped a bit—farther from the car he could look past its lights a bit more, and thought he could just make out a figure slumped in the passenger seat.
It stood to reason that, if Francisco were using his mother as a hostage for Nick’s good behavior, he’d want to keep her close.
Nick needed to be sure, though. “Fine, I’m not demanding,” he called out. “I’m asking. Please tell me where she is.”
Francisco laughed, but Nick saw the faint flicker as his eyes darted toward the car for just a second. “She is perfectly safe,” he promised. “We can talk more of that anon. We have other matters to discuss first, however.”
That was all Nick had needed. “No, I really don’t think we do.” He almost laughed at the other man’s shocked expression. “What, did you think I was just going to let you drain me? You really think I’m that stupid?”
“I think you will submit to my demands or your mother will face the consequences,” the Italian replied sharply, taking a quick, almost mincing step toward him.
But Nick shook his head and backed away again, his longer legs easily increasing the gap between them. “You have no intention of letting either of us live, and we both know it.” He watched Francisco’s face closely, and saw the need to brag battle with the desire to lie—and win.
“Well, well—so you have some intelligence after all.” It was almost a compliment. “I am almost sorry for this—we have not had new blood in quite some time, and with enough time and a chance to wean you away from Daniel, you might have been almost worth talking to.” Francisco took a step again, and a slow smile spread across his face when Nick didn’t bother to back away. “Good, good. Just submit to your fate, and it will all be over soon.”
“Yes, it will.” Nick pulled both hands free of his coat pockets. The right took more doing, but finally cleared the cloth.
Then he raised the gun he was holding in that hand, and shot Francisco point-blank in the chest.
Phut! Phut!
The gun made barely a sound, thanks to its silencer—good old Charlie, always prepared!—and the flash was all but invisible against the headlights, but Francisco stumbled backward, slipped, and dropped to one knee, his graceful hands fluttering up to clutch at the blood spurting from his torso.
“What?”
“It’s called a gun,” Nick explained, moving to stand near the fallen Renewed. But not too close. “One of those quaint modern technologies you like so much.”
“You shot me!” The surprise and affront in his tone were almost laughable.
“Yes. And now you’re bleeding out. Rather quickly. You’ll be dead in a few minutes.”
Francisco raised one blood-covered hand feebly in his direction. “Help me!” All the bravado had fled his voice now.
“Why should I?” Nick asked, crouching down safely out of reach and studying the other man coldly. “You kidnapped my mother, and planned to drain us both dry. Why should I do anything except walk away?”
“Your mother . . . she’s in the car. There!” Francisco coughed, a wet, bubbling sound, and some blood frothed up between his lips. “She’s not hurt—I took just enough to knock her out, and that’s it!”
“But you meant to do much more,” Nick reminded him. “As soon as you’d dealt with me. Guess that didn’t work out the way you’d planned, eh?”
“You can’t just leave me here to die!” There was real fear in the other man’s voice now, and Nick had to steel himself not to reach out and end this. But if he gave in now, Francisco would just try again. He couldn’t let that happen.
“I can, in fact,” he said instead, rising to his feet and stepping back to evade the older Renewed’s desperate attempt to catch his leg. “They’ll find your body in the morning, or maybe a few days from now, and everyone will assume it was a mugging turned violent. Or maybe a drug deal gone sour. Either way, I won’t have to worry about you trying anything like this ever again.”
“I won’t!” Francisco promised, his voice already going weak and thready. In the glare of the headlights Nick could see the pallor beneath the other man’s normally dark complexion—and the dark stain spreading across the asphalt below him. “I swear it! I’ll never bother you again!”
“You say that now, but if you survive, what’s to say you won’t change your mind?” Nick asked.
“I won’t! You have my word as a d’Montan!”
“Like that means anything,” Nick muttered, but he crouched back down. He’d had surprisingly little trouble shooting the other man, but leaving him here to die was a bit harder. “Fine,” he said finally. “But I’m telling you now, you ever pull anything like this ever again, I’ll shoot you again. In the head, this time. No recovering from that, not even for one of us.”
Then, before he could think better of it, he reached out and grasped Franciso’s blood-spattered hand.
As had happened before, time lurched to a crawl.
But this time, Nick kept a tight rein on his emotions—and his energy. He was in control here. He could feel Francisco scrabbling at him, trying to pull out his vitality the same way a drowning man flounders and flails at anyone coming within reach. He carefully staved off those attempts, which was made easier by the Italian’s injuries—he tamped down on the flow, allowing only a trickle to seep through.
It was enough.
He could feel the fatigue as he let the energy go, but it wasn’t all-encompassing as it had been before. This time it was just mild weariness, and Nick’s mind and senses stayed sharp—and his grip on the pistol stayed firm, its barrel still leveled at the other man’s head.
When he judged it had been enough, when Francisco’s breathing had steadied and the color had crept back into his face, Nick released his grip and stood. He was pleased to find he was only mildly unsteady.
“That ought to be enough to see you home,” he called over his shoulder as he strode toward the car. “You can heal up the rest of the way there.” He yanked the passenger door open, fully prepared to turn back and finish the job if Francisco had lied, but was relieved to see his mother sitting there, securely belted in and deeply asleep. Nick knelt and unhooked her, then shoved the pistol back in his coat pocket and hoisted her out of the car, draping her over his shoulder like a sleeping child. Fortunately she was a petite woman and he had inherited Daniel’s height—with that and his recently increased strength he was able to carry her easily.
“We won’t speak of this again,” he warned Francisco moving away from the car. The other man had regained his own feet and was staggering toward the vehicle slowly. “Ever.”
“No,” the little Italian agreed, his tone serious for once. “We will not.” The look he gave Nick was half-rage and half—respect? “Well played, sir,” he admitted softly. “I look forward to the day Daniel attempts to command you, and to your response.”
Nick didn’t know how to respond to that, so he merely watched as the older Renewed slid awkwardly into the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut behind him. A moment later he had reversed the car and pulled away, its headlights washing across Nick before leaving him there in the dark, his mother still unconscious in his arms and on his shoulder.
Nick sighed.
It was going to be a long walk home.
Nick made it back without incident, and called a car after pausing just long enough to stash the gun again, shed his long coat, and eat a quick bite to replenish some of what he’d given Francisco. The car pulled up as he was finishing his snack, and he carried his mother out and lowered her into the back seat, then slid in beside her and gave the driver her address. If the man thought anything about seeing a tall young man taking a small, unconscious older woman home, he didn’t say.
Once there, Nick carried his mother inside and over to the living room couch. He set her down there, looked around, and spotted a mystery novel on the coffee table. A bookmark was thrust in a little more than halfway through. Nick set the book beside his mother on the couch. She often fell asleep reading—with any luck she’d think that she’d done so again, and that the rest had been a dream.
Of course, that didn’t explain her cell phone.
Nick had forgotten to take it off Francisco. Maybe his mother would think she’d lost it somewhere, but that wasn’t like her.
Well, he’d worry about that later.
For now, he crept back out of the apartment, pulling the door shut behind him and locking it securely. Then he trudged off toward the L and home.
The next time he stopped by the club, Nick was told there was a package waiting for him. It was a small wooden box, simple but elegant.
Within was his mother’s cell phone, and a note:
On my honor.