Heir Of Doom Page 2

  “I can talk to Vincent,” I offered, not knowing what else I could do.

  “No! Uncle Vincent would only send me home. If there's a contract for me, he won't interfere.”

  I fell quiet, at a loss for words.

  “I'll run away now. I'll jump leeways every time I sense someone,”

  “No – no,” I cut her off, “No, don't do that. What if there is no contract? What if whoever you sense is just someone trying to bring you home? There are other things out there, monsters with more horrific intentions than the PSS. It's too early to say.” I frowned, because maybe she was right. “What about your father? Couldn't you talk to him?”

  “If she's not my mother, then he isn't my father. And he left for Austria yesterday. I don't know when he'll come back.” She got up, wiped at her tears with the sleeve of her coat before shrugging it back on. “I have to go. If she finds out … please don't tell anyone I came to see you.”

  She was afraid of Elizabeth. I had never been this afraid of her when I was growing up. Even when I did something worth being grounded for, I had never been this afraid. Maybe she wasn't her mother after all and treated her badly. I had been the first, so she was more tolerant? Maybe her disciplinary punishments were fierce with Mwara?

  I followed Mwara outside, my mind spinning with questions that I couldn't answer. Before Mwara could cross the street, I stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.

  “Look, Mwara, If … if they take you, I'll vouch for you.” It wasn't a small thing, considering if I vouched for her I'd be announcing we were part of a pack and she was my responsibility. I could, inadvertently, be putting myself back in the clutches of the PSS.

  “And if that doesn't work?” Meaning I wouldn't have the voice of the clan behind me. They might even cast me as rogue, just to thwart the claim.

  “I don't know.” I murmured, because I didn't think I had anything more to give her. I wasn't going to storm the PSS HQ and compromise my life or my freedom for her, or for anyone else.

  She nodded once before she crossed the street, ignoring the honking vehicles she passed in front of. The clan might not back me up, but if the hunters did, the PSS wouldn't be able to keep her. But she'd be my responsibility from then on, and I had no idea what I'd do shackled with a teenager. I watched her until she was lost in the middle of all the chaos, before I turned and made my slow way home, just a block away.

  PART I – The Bait

  Chapter One

  “It's a trap,” Vicky, my childhood best friend informed me from the kitchen, peering at me with her brows furrowed. “That Elizabeth is trying to set you up for some fall.”

  “Why'd she do that for?” I asked, propping my legs on the coffee table. I'd had just enough time to place my keys on the kitchen counter before Vicky had arrived for our girl's night in, which we had most nights since Tommy had given her a call. She'd hung up with him and called the number he'd given her, and after that first awkward meeting, it was like there wasn't a ten-year gap in our friendship.

  I'd relayed my encounter with Mwara while I had showered and changed into my version of PJs – flannel pants and an oversized T-shirt. “She got rid of me ten years ago.” I sighed with relief as I stretched.

  In the kitchen, divided from the living room by a half wall, Vicky fiddled with shredded ice. She shrugged, dumped ice in the blender, and emptied a can of Mountain Dew after it. “Women are evil creatures. You never know why they do the things they do,” she stated. As if we both fit under a different category.

  “I don't know. Her fear was real enough,” I said.

  She paused what she was doing to look at me. “Can you, you know,” she rotated a slender, manicured finger, “tell when someone is lying?”

  “I can sense strong emotions. I guess in a way, that's like sensing the truth.”

  Vicky frowned. “But what if she was afraid of something else? Like, Elizabeth sent her to deceive you and she was afraid she would fail? Then you would sense her fear, but not the reason for it.”

  I stared into her earnest blue eyes. “Where do you get all those convoluted ideas?” I asked, baffled.

  She shrugged again and took out a can of condensed milk from the grocery bag she'd brought with her. “You haven't learned the deceitful ways women conduct themselves yet. That's why I'm here. To point out other women's evil plots.” She gave a cheeky grin, and a shallow dimple appeared in her right cheek before her expression grew serious. “Why didn't she go to that guy Vincent, or that other one, Dimple? You know the one you're hung up on his friend?” She gave me a pointed look.

  “Diggy, and I'm not hung up on Logan,” I said in a defensive tone.

  Diggy, aka Douglas, aka Doug, was the owner of the basement apartment Logan had taken me to after I had returned from the Low Lands five weeks earlier. He was also a rejected, a Dhiultadh from our rival clan. And a respected member of the Hunters team, only one step below Vincent. It had been his position with the Hunters that had kept him from accompanying us to Archer's rescue attempt. He'd been the one to mark a trail for us to follow in the woods surrounding the PSS, as well as supply us with the equipment and weapons we'd used. I remember Logan explaining that Doug, or Diggy as he was known by the Hunters, wouldn't accompany us in the event we were caught and needed someone to bail us out.

  Vicky gave me a pitying look, but didn't argue. Logan had become a tired topic between us ever since I told her about him, something I've regretted dearly. She thought I was pining for him, which I so was not.

  I glanced down at my wrist, at the bracelet he had given me. Arianna's bracelet, he'd called it. I had used it to blow up an entire building into smithereens, along with whoever had stood between it and me. It was a simple trinket, with five copper wiry straps braided together, supporting a jet-black rock in the center. Once, back when he'd first given it to me, the rock had been blue and had hummed with power. Now it was nothing but a simple bobble, devoid of anything. I don't know why I hadn't yet taken it off, but I was sure it wasn't because I was pining for him.

  “Strawberries in the fridge?” Vicky asked and turned, not waiting for a reply, her long blonde hair swishing in her ponytail. She opened the refrigerator, scanned the contents once, grabbed the strawberries and shut the door, not blinking twice at all the raw meat stuffed inside. Amazingly, she had waltzed into my life five weeks ago and accepted all the absurdity I'd dumped on her without batting one eyelash.

  She added the strawberries and condensed milk into the blender, pulsed it a few times.

  “Anyway, why didn't she go to them?”

  “She doesn't trust them.” I leaned my head back on the couch and closed my eyes.

  “Exactly!” she exclaimed. “See what I mean. You're the last person on earth she should trust, and you're the first one she turned to.”

  I frowned. “Maybe because she knows I understand her fear.”

  Vicky snorted, but let the topic drop when her phone rang. She took a glance at the screen and scowled. “God, doesn't he understand a letdown? I'm ignoring you so I can move on!” she shouted at the screen. “Guys are so dense,” she muttered, throwing the iPhone on the counter.

  “David?” I guessed, David being the last guy she'd gone out with. She bared her teeth in a savage grin and turned the blender full on, effectively silencing the ring. Behind her, a small shadow, no bigger than that of a child, suddenly appeared.

  I dropped my feet to the floor and sat forward. The shadow unfurled itself, gaining at least a foot in height and began slowly stalking forward. The creature itself wasn't visible. Its shadow was that of a thin child, if one overlooked the pointed, arrow-like ears and tail. The protrusions on its back were small; no one would guess they were wings without seeing them.

  Just a few feet away, Vicky was oblivious. His approach was slow, pausing when the blender turned off and again when Vicky reached for two glasses inside the cupboard. When she reached for the next cupboard, I held my breath, sure she would see him. She grabbed a plastic bowl a
nd returned to the blender, the shadow unnoticed.

  I exhaled, watching the shadow slip closer and closer. It was going to get her. Vicky whirled around, her eyes focused on an empty spot behind her. “Gotcha!” she shouted.

  Frizz blinked into existence just an arm's length away.

  Features softening with an affectionate smile, she said again, “Gotcha. Shouldn't have tried to get this close. You could have jumped from back there.” She turned her back on him then, and he hopped on, like a small monkey.

  “Are you sure you're human?” I asked, sagging back on the couch and returning my feet to the coffee table. “Frizz is supposed to be a predator. He's supposed to be able to catch his prey unaware.” I aimed a disgusted look at him. “It's embarrassing.”

  Vicky flashed a smile, poured the cocktail in both glasses, then poured the rest in the bowl for Frizz. He let go of her and grabbed for it.

  It was amazing how the two had bonded. And to think I had kept him a secret from her for the first two weeks, afraid of what her reaction would be. I'd thought she believed me to be unhinged, making up a story about fairies, vampires, scientists and werewolves to account for all the years I'd been gone. Then, one evening, while I had been giving Frizz a shower, she walked in unannounced. She admitted later she had expected to find a guy inside, and I admitted that a part of me had wanted to share Frizz with her, but was afraid. She had taken to him, treating him like a small child, or an intelligent animal.

  “How old do you think she is?” she'd asked as she'd patted him dry.

  “Frizz is a he.”

  “How do you know? She doesn't have the equipment to be a he,” she pointed out.

  Both of us looked down at Frizz.

  “Well, he doesn't have the equipment to be a she either,” I argued in a reasonable tone. Frizz sat on her lap, docile as a puppy, as if he had been doing that his entire life. Vicky, on the other hand, patted his round head and scratched his ears and rubbed his neck, cooing and lisping as if Frizz were an infant.

  They have bonded ever since.

  “I caught her shadow when I reached for the bowl.” Vicky handed me a cocktail glass and sat beside me, propping her legs beside mine on the coffee table. “I ordered pizza from Oliver's down the block. Half cheese, half veggie.”

  In the kitchen, Frizz made a slurping noise, and both of us turned to watch him drink the smoothie.

  “You know, you're going to spoil him,” I said. “He's a carnivorous predator. He shouldn't be slurping strawberry cocktails.”

  Vicky gave an unapologetic smile and reached for a bag. “I got us three movies. I figured you'd be too tired for a night out on the town. Besides,” she added, “it's a circus out there. I swear, half the human population is out this weekend. I practically had to shovel people out of the way to get here.”

  I grunted, recalling how packed the city had been earlier.

  “So, are you going to talk to Vincent about the kid on Monday?” Vicky settled back and the movie trailers began.

  I took a sip of the cocktail and studied her face. Although the question had been asked in a no-nonsense tone, the concern in her eyes was quite obvious.

  “I don't know,” I replied, almost sure I wouldn't.

  “Come on, Roxy, can't you see this doesn't make any sense?” Vicky implored, trying not to show the concern I was beginning to sense as well as see.

  It did to me, but I didn't say that out loud. Vicky wouldn't understand. Not because she was dense or unsympathetic, but because she hadn't been there and known such terror.

  “Look, just think about it over the weekend. If by Monday you're still unconvinced, then at least test the waters, you know, throw in some random questions and see if there is any reason for the kid to be worried. If you find that there's no root for her fears, then at least you could give her some peace of mind.”

  I considered her words for a moment, then nodded in agreement, if not for Mwara's peace of mind, then to ease the worry from my friend's eyes. “Alright. I can do that.”

  Chapter Two

  As it turned out, I didn't get to talk to Vincent on Monday, or Tuesday or Wednesday, or that entire week. Every time I saw him he was in a bad mood, though bad was a gentle word for it. And it wasn't like I could just ask, “Yo, Vincent, is Elizabeth Mwara's mother?” I wanted to ease into the topic – just in case the kid was right – and, seriously, saw no opening there to do so. Most of my training happened in the gym and was crammed with muscle building, endurance building and some sort of focus building - keeping my body occupied with exercise while Vincent explained about traditions, cultures and rules of the preternatural world.

  He'd make me run for hours, bench-press, do pull-ups and push-ups until I could no longer command the muscles of my body. Of course, he'd be right there beside me, running and pressing and talking, rarely breaking up a serious sweat.

  Once, I'd complained about the hard and tiresome training, and he'd informed me that my complaining only served to emphasize how behind I was, that most preternaturals my age could endure double what I was being given, and have enough energy to go dancing half the night.

  Still, as demanding as he was, if he sensed I was lagging, he'd stand by to give me a chance to catch my breath and start talking about past assignments, joke about funny mishaps, or feed me information about the preternatural community I couldn't fathom needing. I suspected his reason to stay so close was also a ploy to ensure I wouldn't be picked on by the other members because of their prejudice against my mixed-breed status. That, and he always managed to extract some of my experiences from the years I'd spent with the PSS.

  But for the entire week before Christmas, I exercised alone. Vincent would drop by occasionally, check on me and make sure I wasn't slacking or being bothered, instruct me on the next exercise before stomping out, his mood as foul as rotten meat. I knew this was due to a hard case and the fact that he wanted to lead it, and Roland wasn't letting him go. Because of me?

  Despite his lack of supervision, by the time five o'clock came around, my muscles would be so sore, even sitting or lying down hurt. I dreaded when it was time for my extra ability training, both afraid Vincent wouldn't have much to work with, or that he would find more than I was supposed to have. There were times I couldn't wait to find out myself, but whenever I recalled losing control to that raging monster inside of me, goosebumps broke out all over my body. What if I lost control to my Unseelie side again? How would I be able to tell right from wrong? Would I even care?

  Natalia, a powerful witch who I'd been told had known my father, would be taking up my training after I had mastered hand to hand combat. Vincent had reassured me he'd be present in case something unexpected went wrong, but the fact he'd tried to reassure me made me uneasy.

  The weekend brought Christmas with it and the loneliest time of my life. This time last year I had worked as a waitress in a small restaurant back west. Vicky had gone to Sacramento for the festivities, and it was only me and Frizz at home, listening to the laughter, the ho-ho-ho of Santa Claus through thin walls and the TV.

  Early Monday morning I walked the six blocks to base, something I did most days and evenings rain or shine. I guess it was a way to prove to myself that I no longer needed to hide and could do whatever I pleased, no matter if sensible or not. I paused by Megan's Heaven – the bakery where I had met with Mwara – their coffee was really good. The order line was just as long, but the barista was steady and fast, filling up orders with efficiency and no delay. The tables were mostly empty, including the one where I had sat with Mwara, and I wondered if she was alright, or if she was still living in fear, then forced myself to push the worry from my mind. I'd try to talk to Vincent today, and as I'd promised Vicky, if Mwara was worried for nothing, I'd tell him about her apprehension so that someone could reassure the kid. No one deserved to live in terror, not even Elizabeth's daughter.

  The Hunters' base, located in upper-east Manhattan, took up the first four floors out of the ten in the Edga
r Lon-Kis building. The gym, an open floor plan, took up the entire fourth floor. It was there I spent most of my time. The first floor housed a few conference rooms, Roland's and Vincent's offices. The second floor held the offices of the NSA Intelligence Preternatural Team, or, to be precise, where the virtual team kept tabs on preternatural cybercrimes, whatever that meant. The third floor held the offices of the field members, a lounge area and a crib area for those who needed to crash before a job or after one. There was also a cafeteria and lounging area on the ground floor, but aside from that one time when Vincent gave me a tour, I'd never been there.

  The gym came equipped with the latest and best tools a modern fitness center could ever offer. There was a large locker room and a small showering area – for both male and female members.

  Not finding Vincent in the gym or near the lockers, I went down to the first floor to check his office, knocked once and stuck my head inside, but there was no one behind his simple, utilitarian desk. Seeing the bathroom door closed, I hesitated. Was it polite to knock at the bathroom door to check on your mentor? Not knowing if I should, I moved to his desk and leaned against it to wait. The surface was as neat and uncluttered and organized as the owner. There was a stack of papers pushed to one side, with a yellow file placed atop. The name Fin was written on the edge with bold red lettering, and I picked it up, the stylized handwriting familiar. I'd seen it before… in Elizabeth's office, back when she'd bring work home.

  My eyes moved to the photo that had been underneath the envelope – a teenage boy with sharp green eyes and piercings on his eyebrows and lower lip, a military buzz cut that no doubt was meant to make him look older, but the mischief in his eyes and the crooked curve of his lips canceled the effect. There was nothing in the photo that indicated he was a preternatural, but the fact that he was here, in this office, spoke volumes. There was a dark spot to the side of his chin, just under the edge of his lip, and I picked up the photo to examine it closer, discovering a heart-shaped mole. Cute, I thought, returning the photo to the stack and the file on top of the photo. I looked at the closed bathroom door.