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“Who’s that?” James demands, gesturing toward Hannah.
I’m sandwiched between the open door and the fastest human being on the planet, as far as I know, anyway. Hannah is still huddled on the passenger-side floorboard. She looks up at us, arms wrapped around her knees, visibly shaking.
I take a deep breath to calm myself. A gun to my temple is a new threat. I wonder if James is serious and took the safety off and everything.
Of course, he’s serious, Marci. Don’t be stupid! A heart attack is nothing.
“Um, just a girl. Her name is Hannah.” I remember hearing somewhere that if an assailant knows your name, he’s less likely to kill you. Since he already knows mine, I give him the girl’s. “I was on my way here when I saw her. I wouldn’t have brought her, but two scouts spotted her, too. I couldn’t let them take her.”
“It’s hard enough to trust you already. This is pushing it.”
“I know. I know. But what would you have done?”
James says nothing to that.
“It’s . . . it’s true,” Hannah says from within the SUV, her voice so weak and shaky it’s barely audible. “She saved my life.”
“Don’t make any sudden moves.” James removes his arm from around my neck and proceeds to relieve me of my gun. When that is done, he steps back and moves his own weapon from my temple to the back of my neck. “Now, step away from the car.”
I do as he says. He sidesteps with me, staying at my back. When we are about ten feet from the SUV, he says, “Hannah, I’m going to need you to get out of the car. Hands up in the air.”
There are no signs of movement within the SUV. I think of the revolver she was carrying and hope she doesn’t try anything stupid. James almost strangled me once. I doubt that, under the circumstances, it would be hard to get him in a trigger-happy mood.
“Did you hear me?” James’s voice goes up a notch. The kind of deep tone a father might use on his daughter.
“I did. I’m coming out. I’m coming. Please don’t shoot,” Hannah says shrilly.
She wriggles herself out of the tight space and pushes onto the passenger seat, her hands up in the air.
“Now, slowly, open the door and come around the car, hands where I can see them,” James instructs.
Hannah follows the instructions closely, keeping her hands above her ears as she rounds the front of the SUV. She stops about ten paces away from us and gives James a small nod as if saying: “See, I’m just a girl.”
“All right, now take off your jacket and throw it aside,” James says.
Hannah frowns at the request but does as she’s told. It is a puffy jacket. Much could be concealed under it. She’s left in a tight-fitting t-shirt that barely hides her thin frame.
“Now both of you, move away from the car.” James gives me a slight push.
Hannah and I walk side by side down the middle of the road, James following but staying a fair distance away.
“All right, that’s good. Turn around.”
We stop and face him. James reaches into his back pocket and tosses me a pair of handcuffs. I catch them in midair. I get my first good glimpse of him since the attack at Elliot’s headquarters. James looks harried, the crow’s feet around his eyes more pronounced than before. His normally well-shaved head is sprouting a few hairs from the sides, and his shoulders appear narrower. He’s never been a big man, just average height and build, but he always looked fit. I guess this war is getting the best of him. I’m sure getting shot didn’t help either.
“Cuff her,” James says, his gray eyes as intense as ever.
“Is that necessary?” I ask though I know it’s a stupid question. We can’t trust anyone.
“I’m taking no chances.”
I face Hannah. “I’m sorry. He has a lot to safeguard, but I promise he won’t hurt you if you don’t cause any trouble.”
She nods shakily and lowers her arms. I clamp one cuff to her right wrist, then walk behind her and secure the other at her lower back. As soon as I’m done, I put my hands up again.
“Sit on the sidewalk and stay put, Hannah,” James says in a voice that is sounding kinder by the minute. “Like Marci said, just do as I say and everything will be fine.”
“I will, Mister . . .” Hannah sits with some difficulty. She lowers her head and sniffles a few times, but quickly composes herself.
“You can call me James.”
“Thank you, Mister James.”
He smirks and shakes his head. After a pensive moment, he jerks his head and the gun to one side, signaling me to move away from Hannah. As we walk toward the opposite sidewalk, I notice James’s ultra-firm grip on the gun. It seems he’s taking no chances with my telekinetic powers either. Ha! Like I’ve learned to control them. I can only wish.
James’s gray eyes drill into mine. “So . . . still Marci?”
I cock my head to one side and nod.
He sighs. “It’s a damn thing. I want to trust you, but . . .”
“Don’t feel bad. I’ve given you plenty of reasons not to.”
An image of my bloody hands after I failed to stop Azrael from killing Oso flashes in front of my eyes. My heart tightens with the regret that assaults me every time I think of that kind man, and of the way that petty creature took his life. A wave of disgust runs through me as I imagine the parasitic agent lodged, seething, lurking, inside my brain.
“Report,” James says.
I take a deep breath, trying to remember everything that’s happened since the last time I met with Aydan—too long ago for comfort. After IgNiTe’s attack at Whitehouse headquarters and the eradication of his Spawners, things have been busy for the Seattle resistance. Without Spawners the Whitehouse faction can’t grow its base—an advantage IgNiTe must fight to maintain.
“Well, everyone’s still in turmoil,” I say. “Lyra says Elliot has been busy doing damage control. He has been meeting with his captains, making plans few are privy to. He’s being extremely paranoid. He had his tech people check the network, but I made sure they didn’t find any of my hacks. So I’ve been able to watch the security system closely and have seen very little going on in the building. Whatever meetings he’s holding, they must be happening elsewhere. I suspect he has gone low tech. He’s taking no chances. The bastard. I wish you would just let me put a bullet between his eyes.”
“Stick to your orders, Marci. Killing Elliot would make his faction unpredictable. I know you’ve sworn revenge but, take it from me, you should strive to live for more, find a worthy reason. Revenge will blind you to the things that truly matter.”
“I know. I know.” Maybe James is right, but, at the moment, nothing sounds better than making Elliot pay.
James grunts and casts a quick glance in Hannah’s direction, frowning.
I continue, “Anyway, Lyra suspects he’s planning a trip to England, something in the next couple of months. She thinks he’s going to get the Spawners who survived the attack in the Glasgow safe house. The one the London IgNiTe cell couldn’t destroy entirely.”
“Yeah, that was unfortunate. The Takeover was more effective there, and our IgNiTe cells are weakened. I wish they’d been strong enough to carry out the job.” He runs a hand over his bald head. “But I can’t blame them, I suppose. They did their best. I wonder how many Spawners survived.”
“Don’t know.”
“At least we’ve slowed down the rate at which they’re infecting people.” The way he says this lets me know he thinks it’s not enough. “I wish we could destroy Hailstone’s Spawners, too.” A muscle jumps in his jaw, showing his frustration. “Anymore on Whitehouse trying to reach out to Hailstone to form an alliance?”
“No. That’s not going to happen. Lyra killing Zara Hailstone took care of that possibility. I doubt Luke would be up to working with his mother’s murderer.” The bitterness I feel is obvious in my voice.
Zara was not Luke’s biological mother. Her faction kidnapped him right from the NICU the day he was born, sending my family into lifelong turmoil. Karen is his real mother. The woman who, in spite of raising me and supposedly giving birth to me, isn’t my genetic match. Talk about an identity crisis. I don’t even know where the hell I come from. It turns my head and stomach just to think about it, and something tells me I don’t want to find out.
God, what a freakin’ soap opera.
“Even if Luke was game, Elliot would rather destroy them for daring to attack him. He’s dying to find out where they are hiding. He even has a task force dedicated to it, a small one, but still.”
James rubs his chin. “Is that so?”
I nod.
“We definitely need to keep an eye on that situation in case we can take advantage of it. What else?”
I pull out a thumb drive from my jacket pocket. “I’ve found some info I’m sure you’ll find valuable. Every day there’s less and less going through the network, especially this type of stuff, but I caught this.”
James holsters his gun and takes the thumb drive. I give him raised eyebrows as if asking “so you trust me, now?” He shrugs. It’s not like he really has anything to fear from me. I don’t have a weapon, and he could run a million circles around me in the time it would take to make up my mind to attack him.
“So what is it?” He gestures toward the thumb drive as he slips it into the breast pocket of his brown leather jacket.
“Weapon and ammunition delivery dates and routes,” I say, a huge smile spreading over my lips.
James’s eyes go wide. He puts a hand over his breast pocket protectively. For a moment, he looks on the verge of saying something but, instead, he presses his lips into a tight line. I know he can’t trust me with any details, but it’s better this way.
“It should be a win-win all around,” I put in. “Fewer weapons for Eklyptors, more for Igniters.”
His gray eyes narrow in assent, and I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get. If IgNiTe is hurting for weapons, that’s not something I need to know—not when I sleep in the lion’s den every night, and I’m a prime candidate for “Deranged Agent Takeover Syndrome.”
“We’ll check it out thoroughly. Thank you. Now . . .” He sticks his hand inside his jacket and pulls out an orange zip bag. “I need your blood.”
I frown. “What for? Kristen’s tests don’t work on me. She must be checking for antibodies, so I’ll always test positive after that crazy fucker took over me.” I gesture toward my head.
“We know that, but—”
“Look, I’m not an Eklyptor.” I know the conviction in my tone is useless after all the trouble Azrael caused for IgNiTe, but it’s there nonetheless.
“You can’t blame me for wanting more proof than your word,” James says firmly, though not unkindly. “Kristen wants to take another look at your blood. Maybe there’s a marker that sets you apart from Eklyptors, and she can develop a test that puts you in the clear. Wouldn’t that be nice? For all of us.”
I scoff. “Sounds too good to be true, but yeah . . . it would be nice.” I dare not think of what could happen if James and the crew were certain that I’m human. Would they let me go with them? Would my stint with Whitehouse come to an end?
James gestures to my arm. I take off my jacket and let it fall to the ground. He pulls out a thick elastic band from the bag and wraps it around my bicep. With surprising practice, he prepares the syringe, finds a vein and sticks the needle in the crook of my elbow. I wince, watching as he presses a glass vial into the cartridge and blood begins to flow and fill the tube. He removes the elastic band and draws two more tubes of blood.
“Done.” He pulls the needle and stuffs everything back in the zip bag.
“It didn’t hurt,” I say, surprised.
“Yeah, I’m a regular old nurse these days. Been getting lots of practice.”
I can only imagine all the people they’ve had to test. Aydan told me there are camps where the elderly, children and those humans who can’t fight are kept safely. As is to be expected, everyone is tested carefully before being sent there—buzzing or not. Of course, those who can fight are also scrutinized. In their case, it’s actually a daily thing, to ensure no one is infected while out on duty.
Suddenly, I remember Hannah and wonder how all of this looks from her perspective. I glance over her way. She’s sitting still as if frozen, her eyes wide and full of questions.
“I’ll have to test her before I take her with me. We all carry a handful of tests for emergencies. There’s no buzzing coming from her, but one can never be too careful.” He pulls another bag from his jacket. This one is blue. “I’ll keep one and give you the rest. Maybe there’s somewhere you can hide them just in case.” He takes one small packet out of the bag and hands me the rest.
“Thanks.” I doubt they’ll be of any use to me, but you never know. I pick up my jacket and put the tests away in one of its pockets.
“Did you at least kill the scouts?” James asks, gesturing toward Hannah.
In way of answer, my mouth twists into a satisfied smirk.
“Good. I hate those bastards. Well, we’ll be in touch. I should be heading back.” He gives me an apologetic smile.
“How’s Aydan . . . and the others?” I add the last part hastily. I got used to meeting with Aydan, having a more frequent link to the crew, but I haven’t seen him in a while. I don’t even know why. Things are more secretive than ever.
“They’re fine. Busy. Fighting.”
Just as I expected, he doesn’t give me much. “I’m glad. Well, thanks for coming out to meet me,” I say, staring at my boots. “I know you’re too busy to deal with the likes of me.”
James sets a heavy hand on my shoulder and gives me a gentle shake, forcing me to look at him. “If we had more like you, we’d be in better shape.”
I blink slowly, shake my head and, suddenly, find my vision blurring with tears. “If it wasn’t for me, for my weakness, Oso would still be alive. Also Xave.”
Crap! Get it together, Marci.
I can’t come undone in front of James. I need him to see me as a balanced person, someone who can control her emotions and doesn’t fall apart while begging for misery-canceling sedatives. Been there, done that. I sniffle and fight to keep back the tears. They spill down my cheeks in spite of my efforts.
“Look at me. Look at me!” he orders as I continue to stare at my boots. I can’t lift my eyes to his. My guilt is too heavy.
He puts a finger under my chin and forces my face upward. “It wasn’t your fault.” His tone is firm, but no matter how convincing, I don’t believe him.
“I need you to understand that, Marci,” he continues. “If you need to blame someone, blame me.”
I blink and search his troubled gray eyes. For a moment, I think he must be saying this for my benefit, but he’s never been the kind to engage in idle talk.
“I’ve been fighting this evil for a long time.” He breaks eye contact, turns sideways and lets his eyes wander over the many tombstones. They dot the grassy area like dominoes. “So long that I forget how difficult it is in the beginning, how disjointed and disorienting life becomes. All I seem to remember is the strength needed to overtake the threat, the will necessary to stay ahead and remain in control. From the beginning, all I saw in you was that strength, your determination to fight.
“I forgot how young you are. It was unfair to expect so much from you. When I finally tried to protect you, it was too late. After Xave died, I thought being with your mother and away from us would help, but . . .” He shakes his head. There’s really nothing else he could add. There was no way he could have known Luke had turned Karen into an Eklyptor or that The Takeover was imminent.
He shakes his head. “If I’d focused more on us, the team, rather than my blind desire for revenge, Xave, Oso and so many others would still be alive. Marci, I . . . I failed you.” James’s voice breaks. And it undoes me even further. He’s never talked to me like this. I never imagined he felt this way.
“So blame me.” He turns and faces me, his gray eyes as intent and decisive as ever. “Only me. For what has passed and what is to come. Because I shouldn’t expect you to go back and continue to put your life on the line, except that. . . I do. Because we need you. We need everyone willing and able to fight, especially if they’re as strong as you are. And for that, I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, emotions crashing against my chest like massive waves.
He doesn’t blame me. He doesn’t blame me.
For weeks, all I’ve known is despair and nightmares, both driven by the purest guilt imaginable. Xave and Oso’s faces live in my mind in their most ghastly forms: twisted in shock and pain as they died. Xave passed on my watch. Oso, at my own hands. In the end, they’re both casualties of my inability to control my agent and abilities, casualties of my weakness.
Tears flow freely, but I buckle down and manage to cry silently, even as sobs rise to my throat, desperate to get out.
James looks down at me, his gaze brimming with sympathy and emotion. “I hope you really are Marci or I’ll feel like a real fool after this.” He puts a hand on my shoulder again and, to my surprise, pulls me into his arms.
I thud against his chest, rigid, arms at my sides. He presses a hand to the back of my head and pats me gently as if I’m but a child who in a different life might have been his daughter.
“Whatever wrong you think you might have done, it’s forgiven.” He rests his chin on the top of my head. His breaths come in and out, heavy and quite audible.
I squeeze my eyes as waves and waves of emotion wash over me.
“I hope you can forgive me, too. Because I can’t forgive myself.”