“The Others. They’re after Sophia. They know her power has grown.” Liam kept whipping his head around to the door, as if expecting for it to be knocked down at any moment. “You have to go. You have to protect her.”
Amanda felt sick. She knew who the Others were. When Sophia’s beautiful mark had begun to change last year, blooming into a white lily, Amanda had furiously researched what this could mean. Because of the wonders of Google and her tattered old library card, she had ascertained that Sophia was one of the Abandoned Ones. Most were abandoned at birth by parents too scared or full of hatred to care for them. Then they were up for grabs by either the Chosen Ones or the Others.
She supposed that Sophia had not been taken as an infant because Amanda had stayed behind to care for her. But with Sophia’s power growing, the time had come for her to be taken by either good … or evil.
The only question was: how did Liam know this?
Which is what Amanda was going to ask when they heard rough voices in the hallway.
“They’re here.” Liam turned to Amanda, his gorgeous sapphire eyes glistening. “I’m so sorry.”
Sophia grasped Amanda’s arm tighter.
The door burst inward, slamming into Liam and knocking him into the wall. He stumbled back, fell to the ground, a bloody gash at his right temple.
Sophia screamed as three enormous, muscled men, covered in tattoos and holding guns and knives, stormed the room. The first one through the door, a man with icy blue eyes and blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, turned to Liam’s slumped form. He said, “Good work, sweetheart. Thanks for leading us right to her.”
Liam groaned and touched his hand to his forehead. “Damn you, Eric, you didn’t have to hit me.”
The other two laughed.
The red-head kicked Liam in the ribs.
The blond guy looked Amanda and Sophia up and down. “It’s a shame we can’t keep you both. Pretty little things like you.” His voice was silky, slimy, like a serpent’s hiss.
Amanda felt Sophia shudder.
She couldn’t believe it.
Liam had led the Others to Sophia.
He had sold her baby sister into the heart of evil.
The bastard had betrayed them. She felt her love for him shrivel, becoming something ugly, something like hatred.
Pulling herself up to her full height, Amanda said, in a voice that shook, “You’re breaking and entering. Leave now, or we’ll be forced to call the police.”
The three men laughed even more uproariously.
“Go ahead, honey,” Eric said. “Osgood controls pretty much the whole force, so I doubt they’ll be much help. Besides, unless they can get here in the next two minutes, we’ll already be gone.” Turning to one of his greasy-haired cohorts, he ordered, “Kill the blonde. The boss doesn’t want her.”
“Ah, come on, Eric,” the red-haired one pleaded. “Can’t I play with her first?”
“You know the rules,” Eric said.
“Yeah, yeah.” The redhead wiped back his oily red hair, raised his gun and aimed directly at Amanda’s heart.
“No!” Liam lurched to his feet.
Amanda flung herself aside.
Too late.
The redhead fired. The pistol roared.
And like some horrible misfire, the bullet ricocheted back at him. He fell backward, shot through the head … by his own bullet.
The other guy, tall, hulking, dropped to his knees beside Sean. “Geeze, boss. He’s dead!”
“Whoa,” Eric said. “That’s cool.”
Amanda turned to Sophia, her mouth agape.
Sophia was concentrating, creating and holding a protective bubble of energy around Amanda.
“Oh, no,” Liam said. “The kid can generate force fields already. They are going to want her so bad.”
Eric gestured to his remaining partner. “Robbie, handle this. But don’t kill him!”
Robbie grabbed a handful of Liam’s hair and slammed Liam’s skull against the wall. Once. Twice. The thump echoed like drums of doom.
Liam put his hand to the gash in his head, looked at the blood, and slumped against the wall.
Amanda ignored the way his knees gave way, the trail of dark red against the white paint, the chalky cast to his complexion.
This was his fault. All his fault. Except … that it was hers, too. Her mistake to love him. Her mistake to fix.
Eric looked at Sophia, horrified and gleeful at the same time. “Man, I didn’t know anyone could make force fields strong enough to repel bullets. The boss is gonna be thrilled.”
As the force field shimmered around Amanda, Eric looked Sophia over thoughtfully. “We better take both of them to the Sculptor. He might want to change the plan when he hears this.”
At that moment, the force field flickered and died.
Sophia swayed, sweaty and shaking from the energy she had exerted.
Amanda rushed to her, holding the lanky 13-year-old, stroking her dark hair off her forehead.
Sophia looked at Amanda, tears in her light green eyes. “Oh, Mandy, I’m so sorry. I just wasn’t strong enough.”
Amanda hugged Sophia to her, the way she had every day since their parents left. She heard one of the Others moving toward her, but she didn’t take her eyes from Sophia’s. “You were perfect, Soph. I promise.”
Eric raised the butt of his gun and smashed her temple.
And the world went black.
CHAPTER FIVE
AMANDA LEANED back against the worn vinyl seats of the cab, remembering that awful night. How she had fought her way to consciousness, ignored her pounding headache, only to find herself bound and gagged, tied with rope and cords to a cold metal chair.
She faced giant double doors opened into a hallway filled with white statues, likenesses of humans in horrible torment. She wanted to gasp, to pray, to close her eyes and go mad so she didn’t have to face this reality.
But a man stood by the doors, a tall, powerfully built man with short, brown, lustrous hair, chiseled features, and a tattoo on his arm that seemed to be a tiger with glittering eyes. The Sculptor. This must be the Sculptor.
He allowed her to take in the terrible scene, then glided toward her, his gait easy, lithe, effortless. He knelt beside her chair and pointed. “Do you see that statue? The woman on her knees? The one in the slutty clothes? She’s been that way for years … I froze her while she begged for mercy. You see, she wanted to change her career, but once you’ve signed on with Osgood, the deal is for eternity, and cannot be broken. Osgood lost the income from her, of course, but the other prostitutes fell right in line.” His voice sounded kind, like a pervert uncle pointing out a torture scene to his cringing niece. “And there. See him? He’s almost a man, but when he came here, he was a gangly adolescent, taken from his mother as a payment on her loan. Foolish of her to think she could default, but Osgood was fair. He gave her the chance to repay. Too bad, what with being ill and all, she couldn’t manage it. She died of cancer, poor thing, and grief.” From his crouching position, the Sculptor looked up at Amanda. “As the boy grows, I’ve had to re-plaster him. It’s a bit of a nuisance, but I like the continuity of all white statues. It makes my display a little more artistic. Don’t you think so?”
Amanda wanted to rage at his callus disregard for so many lives wasted, so much time stolen. But the gag filled her mouth with cotton, and when he stood and put his arms on either side of her, she cowered.
Wrapping his hands around the back of her chair, he turned her to face into his workshop.
He stepped out of the way to allow her to see … Sophia, standing still as stone, her arm outstretched toward Amanda, tears frozen on her cheeks.
As long as she lived, Amanda would never forget that moment.
Her heart stopped. She screamed, the sound muffled by the gag.
“How do you like it?” His voice was gravelly, the voice of a smoker, perhaps, or a much older man. “How do you like my newest masterpiece? I call it, �
�Little Sister.’” He chuckled at his vile joke, and his laughter was a crackling, strained noise.
Amanda screamed again. She strained at the ropes.
“I’m not going to plaster her, like the others.” He waved his arm in the direction of the statues in the front hall. “I like her expression best of all … her futile faith that you would save her.”
Amanda stared at him, incredulous, shocked, revolted.
Her fault. When she read about the Others, she should have acted. Taken Sophia away. She had thought they were safe. She had trusted Liam.
She had been so wrong.
“I’ll bet you’re wondering why, when we have won the prize, you’re still alive.” He smiled conspiratorially and leaned in to whisper, “I hear she saved you with a lovely little force field.”
Amanda recoiled from his hot breath on her ear.
“Now’s your chance to save her.” The Sculptor moved to face her again, his brown eyes sparkling with menace. “I’ve been thinking what I can use I have for you, and I’ve got a most brilliant idea. My boys inform me that you are a nurse, correct?”
Amanda stared at her sister. She couldn’t get her breath. But she didn’t dare faint, either. She had to listen. She had to do … whatever it was the Sculptor wanted.
“I assume you’ve heard of the Chosen Ones.”
She nodded.
“Their little leader, Irving, is in need of a private nurse. The fool went and got himself pushed down the stairs. Horrible injuries, I hear.” He moved to the long steel table where each instrument was placed just so, and picked up and examined the chisel. Looking up quickly, he caught her staring in horror at the sharp, metal edge he caressed so lovingly. “You do understand me, right?”
She nodded again.
“Good. Because here’s where you come in. You are going to infiltrate the very heart of the Chosen Ones, take care of Irving, and earn their trust. You’ll report back to me everything you hear and see, especially information about Irving’s whereabouts. If I can capture him, Osgood will reward me handsomely.”
Amanda thought if this horrible man had had a mustache, he would twirl it … and that thought proved to her how far gone she was in hysterics.
“Do this, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll see about giving you back your sister. Do we have a deal?” The Sculptor looked triumphant, secure in the knowledge that Amanda’s love for Sophia wouldn’t allow her to refuse.
And it was true. Amanda didn’t have a choice.
She thought bitterly of Liam and her childish plan to proclaim her love to him.
He hadn’t even cared for her. He’d been biding his time, playing his part until it was time for the Others to take Sophia.
She had trusted the wrong man. Loved the wrong man. And now she would pay for it by betraying the good guys, the Chosen Ones.
But to get Sophia back, she would fight the devil himself.
So once last time, she had nodded.
“Excellent!” The Sculptor put down the chisel, arranged it precisely on the table, then clapped his hands, bringing Eric from the hallway outside the studio. “Make the call,” the Sculptor said.
Eric had untied her roughly, loosening the cloth gag that made her jaw ache.
He had escorted her by gunpoint back to her and Sophia’s little apartment to pack up a few belongings: clothes, two pairs of sensible shoes, and her nursing bag. Without a second glance, she left behind the Christmas tree with all of its lovingly wrapped gifts under it, the bloody smudge on the wall where Liam had fallen, and all her hopes and dreams of the future.
She didn’t bother to ask where Liam was; he was probably getting some sort of medal for treachery, and some claps on the back from the Others for drawing her into his web of lies.
Eric briefed her in the car as he drove. The Others had pulled strings to get her promptly hired at the hospital as Irving's private nurse. When the doctor advised that Irving needed someone to continue his at home care, he would recommend Amanda.
“What if the doctor doesn’t do that?” she asked.
“The doctor will do as he is told.”
“What if Irving doesn’t like me?”
“It would be sensible of you to make sure he does.”
“Right.”
She was not to tell anyone of her sister’s situation. She was to make friends with the Chosen Ones if it would benefit the Others and give them more detailed information.
Eric stopped the car a block from the hospital. He turned to her, caressed a lock of her blond hair and smiled. “Break any of these rules and your sister will be killed.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll do whatever I’m told.” She got out, leaned into the back seat to get her bag…
Then Eric let the ax fall. “Oh, and every Sunday without fail, you’re to report to … Liam Gallagher.”
She jerked her head up and stared into his nasty, smirking face.
At that moment, Amanda realized she had been cherishing the faintest hope that Liam had been duped, too. That when he came to their door, he had truly been trying to save them.
What a fool she had been.
But a fool no longer.
“It doesn’t matter who I report to. And don’t you worry — I will tell Liam Gallagher everything I can find out about the Chosen Ones. Why wouldn’t I? I don’t care about them. I only care about freeing Sophia.”
That was true … until she met the Chosen Ones. Until she got to know them. Until she realized how much they cared for Irving, how hard they fought against evil, how kind they were to her even when she froze them out, cut them off, snapped at them and waved away their attempts at friendship. Unwillingly, she had begun to care about them, to realize she couldn’t without conscience betray them.
Now she prayed that in the next few critical hours, the strength and courage they had shown would be hers.
Her sister’s life depended on it.
CHAPTER SIX
LOST IN her memories and steeled with determination, Amanda stared, unseeing, out the cab window.
Sophia had been her life.
Liam had been her love.
Now she was alone, and in her coat pocket she had a piece of paper with an obscene amount of money written in Irving’s shaky cursive.
Thank goodness, the cab driver stopped at the curb in Columbus Circle, bringing her out of her prison of self-loathing and into the real world. She counted out change, slid across the seat, and got out before the honking horns reached full pitch. People hurried by in black peacoats and velveteen hats, hands in their pockets and eyes downcast as they plowed their way through their fellow commuters and shoppers. She glanced up at the Time Warner Center, its glass windows shining in the wintery sunshine.
Since Christmas, she had met Liam ten times. Ten weeks of seeing the person she hated most in the world, while knowing the sister she had always loved was frozen, motionless, trapped.
He always tried to talk to her, act normal, ask how she was doing, whether she’d seen Sophia. He always tried to act as if he cared.
She had stared at the bruising on his face and the stitches in his scalp and wished they had been twice as bad.
Eventually he had given up, and now he just watched her as if trying without words to convey his concern.
She must have been such a sucker for him to believe that would work.
Of course, that was exactly what she had been.
Squaring her shoulders, Amanda took off her fleece hat, smoothed her blond hair away from her face and went through the heavy glass doors of the building, skirting the escalators and entering Williams-Sonoma.
She had to concentrate now. Liam would be able to smell deception, so she had to play this perfectly.
Instantly an overly enthusiastic greeter bounced over with a cheery, “May I help you find anything today?”
Amanda had worked plenty of minimum wage jobs in high school, and it didn’t seem fair to take her crappy day out on this poor girl. So Amanda gave her a strained sm
ile. “Could you direct me to the seasonal section?”
“Good thing you asked. We just moved the store around! I can barely find anything anymore!” As the girl led Amanda towards the back of the store, she babbled about the spring green KitchenAid mixers and chick yellow wooden spatulas and robin’s egg blue mixing bowls. And every sentence ended in an exclamation point!
She made Amanda feel tired and old.
Then, so abruptly Amanda almost ran her over, the greeter stopped. “Here you are! Every bright, light color you could ever want!”
“Thanks, I’ll look around and see what’s new.” Amanda needed to get rid of the salesgirl so she could find Liam and be done with Part One of the plan.
“Great!” More exclamation points. “Just let me know if you need any more help!”
The air smelled of spiced potpourri and there were the usual samples set out next to a sign proclaiming, “Hot tea and glazed pecans!” in artful script, but Liam was nowhere in sight. She would have thought he’d be easy to spot in a Williams-Sonoma. How many tall, black-haired Irishmen could there be in a kitchen goods store? But all she saw were two housewives earnestly discussing the pros and cons of salad spinners, and a balding, middle-aged salesman wearing a deep green apron with matching oven mitts, presumably in case of an oven-related emergency.
As if sensing that she was looking for something, the salesman approached Amanda, adjusted his round eyeglasses, and in an unexpectedly gruff voice, asked, “May I help you?”
“No, thank you. I’m waiting for someone.”
“No doubt a devilishly handsome fellow.” He winked at her.
His eyes were a gorgeous blue.
Of course. She should have realized. It was Liam.
In a low voice designed to avoid attention from the housewives, Amanda said, “Damn it! Would you be serious and stop changing into other people every time we’re supposed to meet?”
He blinked at her from behind his owl-like spectacles.
“There’s no need to get so uptight, darlin’.” His Irish lilt was evident now. No wonder his voice had been so gruff before. Liam could look like other people, but he had never been much good at imitating voices.
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