Blood Recall

by Connie Suttle

  "You're wrong. She's still alive."

  He slid onto the empty edge of the circular booth where we sat, all pretending to drink except Alif, who was enjoying his martini.

  Xenides had never seen our scientific benefactor, Liron, before. Something about him appealed greatly, no matter who or what you were. I'd seen scientists staring at him with worship in their eyes at the top-secret facility where our experiments were performed, and our new agents were created.

  The news of my failure to destroy Xenides' princess was disheartening, but Liron did not appear angry over the matter. In fact, he sounded as if he expected it to be as it was.

  I didn't argue—one didn't argue with Liron; I'd learned that early on. Whatever his talent was, it wasn't because he was vampire, werewolf or any other creature I'd heard of. I imagine I should have been more curious, but oddly, I wasn't.

  "Who is alive?" Xenides asked.

  "Your princess, who else?" Liron said, taking his napkin from the table and setting it across his lap. A server appeared at his elbow moments later; Liron ordered a full meal and a drink.

  I glanced at Alif; he had the worship in his eyes that so many others did when they gazed upon Liron. As if he were a god or some such. I dismissed it; he was merely a very powerful man.

  "General Baikov," Liron turned his gaze upon me, "I wish to move two prisoners from the facility in Siberia. They will be brought to Vladimirsky Central, then transferred to the research facility for reassignment."

  "I only need the names and I will see to it," I shrugged. If Liron wanted them, there was a good reason.

  "Here," he drew a piece of paper from a pocket and handed it to me. I had the fleeting thought that the pocket had been empty until he reached inside it, but dismissed that thought immediately.

  "These two—I do not think they will make good candidates," I began after reading the names.

  "It's already done, Ivan. They're on their way to Vladimirsky now."

  I wanted to argue, but the words caught in my throat and nothing I could do would force them from my mouth.

  Liron didn't wish to hear my arguments. I must accept that.

  What did it matter that they were dissidents, or Ilya Kuznetzov's cousins? We'd kept them to keep Kuznetzov under our control and fully cooperative. We had eyes on his daughter, too, and he knew it.

  We still didn't know where he and his son were, but wherever they'd gone, we'd find them soon enough. Kuznetsov would go back to his old work or he and all his kin would be eliminated.

  "Exactly," Liron nodded as if he could read my mind. That should have troubled me. It didn't. "The trap for the werewolf is now here at the hotel. You will have him very soon, I think. These two," Liron tapped the paper I still held beneath my fingers, "are part of a larger plan. You may be surprised by how well it will work."

  Ilya

  Two for transfer—chanson—B.

  "That's not a song, is it?" Zaria's eyes met mine after I allowed her to read Bespalov's message.

  "No. Mikhail Krug's most famous song is about Vladimirsky Central, a prison," Andrei answered for me. He'd known exactly what the message meant, as had I. "In Russia, chanson has a deeper meaning than the French assign to it. It specifically is used to describe songs about criminals, or romanticizes organized crime and such—like Robin Hood or whatever. Our only cousins were being held as political prisoners in a Siberian prison camp. Bespalov is saying they're going to Vladimirsky."

  "And from there, who knows. They may be marked for those unholy experiments, to get back at us," I sighed.

  "Does he know how long your cousins will be there?" Zaria asked.

  "I can ask. I cannot guarantee he can get the information."

  "Will you? Ask, that is?"

  I wanted to say I was willing to do anything for her. I held back. Stupid, I know. "I will send a message," I said, rising to walk into the bathroom.

  Zaria

  I watched him shut the bathroom door behind him. Andrei's shoulders drooped; he didn't see the necessity for the privacy, but Ilya wanted it for some reason.

  "I have a different place for you, if you want to go," I told Andrei. "Randl says you can come work for him if you want."

  "The blind one? What does he do—besides stop time?" Andrei asked.

  "He and those around him are hunting down the biggest threat to the known universes," I said. "He told me he has a place for you—if you want it. Have you ever wanted to be a pirate?" I added.

  "I played a pirate when I was young," Andrei admitted. "But," he gestured with a hand, indicating he was now an adult.

  "They are an entity for justice, hiding behind the façade of piracy. They're not really pirates," I smiled at Andrei. "They call themselves the BlackWing Pirates, and they have a fleet of starships and cruisers at their disposal."

  Andrei went still. "You mean like in the movies?"

  "There's very little similarity between them and the movies. Movies are fantasy, no matter what planet or culture you're from. There is real danger involved, but the work is rewarding."

  "What if I don't fit in? It sounds as if I need to learn many things."

  "Talk to Randl. I believe he'll let you take a trial run at it, then decide for yourself."

  "Then I accept, but I have to tell Papa."

  "Of course. Let me know when that happens; I'll either take you myself or have Randl come for you."

  "Papa won't accept the offer; he'll stay to protect Katya."

  "I know. They both have things to do here, anyway. I couldn't take them, even if I wanted to."

  "Do you know how strange that sounds?"

  "More than you know."

  "They'll be held at Vladimirsky for three days, once they arrive. The location for transfer has not been revealed to Bespalov's contact inside the facility." Ilya was back after having a conversation with his ally.

  "I need to speak with Lissa," I said. "If you're hungry, order room service and call if you need me."

  Ordinandis, Refizan

  Breanne

  Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, with cracks and vital differences between this and the first time. Fifteen spheres filled with rogue gods now resided inside Nefrigar's vault at the Larentii Archives; we'd accomplished that much, at least.

  The days were winding down, too, with the huge battle at the end already forming, and no doubt Liron was padding the original ranks with who knew what or whom.

  Somehow, somewhere, Liron had set up a warning to his past-self, in case his future-self died. I had no idea what that warning was, or what form it took, but it had been more than effective.

  After all, if he were able to stop Lissa somewhere in the timeline, his future-self was less likely to die. And, if he were able to eliminate other major players, then his job of staying alive would become easier, still.

  Liron.

  Creator and father of the god who always comes at the end. Randl had passed that information along, and frankly, it made all of us afraid.

  Had we fought so hard to win the God Wars, only to have everything collapse afterward? I was beginning to think if there were an actual devil, as so many believed, his name would be Liron.

  I'd seen him, as had Lissa, in all his falsely-radiant, winged beauty. Zaria and I had seen past that, however, to the corruption beneath his façade.

  "Why couldn't you just stay dead?" I whispered aloud.

  "Did you say something?" Erland now stood beside me as I gazed out the window of our large apartment in Refizan's capital city.

  "Nothing that makes any difference," I hugged myself. I was worried, as was everyone around me. One slip and we could all go down.

  "There are Ra'Ak attacking the Solar Red temple up the river," Drake and Drew arrived, breathing hard. "Lissa is there, trying to get those children away. We have to go help."

  I didn't bother with a reply; instead, I gathered everyone and folded space to help my sister.

  London

  Lissa

 
"I think we could get in and replace his cousins with no difficulty. After all, if they're being delivered to Experiment Central, then that's the easiest way to get there," I pointed out. "Right now, we're held back by Sirenali or Sirenali bone dust, and can't find anything."

  "It's a decent idea," Charles agreed. He, Bill and Winkler were all in this impromptu meeting, after Zaria told me about Ilya's cousins—both women—who were political guests of the Kremlin.

  "But we still don't know what Liron has up his sleeve," Zaria cautioned.

  "True, but let's face it, I'm stronger than he is," I said. "The old me isn't, but this me is. If he thinks to coerce us, somehow—he tried that last time, and you showed him how useless that was."

  "What did he do?" Bill asked.

  "He had my daughter, and threatened to kill her," Zaria shrugged.

  "How did that turn out?" Bill's forehead wrinkled as he gazed at me.

  "Zaria killed her before Liron could."

  "What?" Winkler shouted.

  "Relax, she's fine," I held up a hand. "It's just something Zaria can do—changing things that happened. It took Liron by surprise."

  "You know he's plotting something we won't expect," Zaria said. "We need an ace up our sleeves, too."

  "Then good luck finding one," I told her. "I don't know what might affect him anymore."

  "I'll think about this. We have three days," Zaria said before disappearing.

  Zaria

  "I can take you to Sirena now," I told Andrei. "Ilya can come, too, to see where you'll be and understand that you'll be taken care of. I think I want to talk with Randl again in private, so you can get to know some of the others at the palace."

  "Palace?"

  "Well, there's no king or queen," I replied to Ilya's worried question. "Just a few people in charge, you know, and it's nothing like you've ever seen or experienced before."

  "Then take us; I wish to see this—Sirena." Ilya now wore a frown. He didn't trust any government, and with his past experiences, I couldn't blame him.

  "I'll introduce you to Tamp," I told him. "He used to be one of the biggest criminals ever."

  "What?" Andrei's speech was cut off as I bent time and folded space.

  Sirena

  Randl Gage

  "You'll have a place—and work if you want it," I explained to Andrei, who walked through the great hall, his eyes on the high ceilings once decorated by Sirenali royalty.

  That was before the original planet was destroyed by the Larentii long ago. Sirena was currently rebuilt from the dust of the first; Zaria had done that for us. Those of us living at the palace belonged to the Formidables, a special, self-governed division of the BlackWing Pirates.

  I chose those who could come here to live and work. Andrei would fit in if he wanted to fit in. We had need of someone with his talents, I think.

  "This is Phrinnis Tampirus," I introduced Tamp as he walked toward us. "He will show you where your quarters will be, should you choose to stay. And he'll give you a tour of the rest of the palace, and answer questions."

  "They haven't eaten," Zaria told Tamp. "Will you take them through the kitchens first?"

  "It will be my pleasure," Tamp smiled at her. "Andrei, Ilya, if you will come this way," he led them toward an exit that would eventually take them to the kitchens and food.

  "You wanted to talk to me?" I turned to Zaria.

  "Yeah. Something worries me, and I think you're the only one who might understand. Plus, if you'll agree to it, I may need to borrow a couple of things."

  "Whatever you need," I told her.

  "Wait until you know what it is, first."

  Lissa

  Winkler wanted a drink, so I followed him to the bar inside the hotel. We were shown to a booth, large enough for two-and-a-half people.

  Larger booths were occupied against the opposite wall, with the bar in between, but Winkler and I had the best view out the window. That's how things usually went for him—even disguised, he looked wealthy and important wherever he went, so of course he was given the best.

  I was dressed in nice jeans and a top, but my appearance didn't scream money like Winkler's. He was the peacock; I was the peahen. Go figure.

  The hostess who led us to the booth wasn't eyeing him either. Uh-uh. Nope. Winkler grinned after sitting across from me and lazily draping an arm across the low back of the booth, as if he owned the place.

  "Someone will be here shortly to take your drink order." She kept smiling at Winkler and didn't bother to look my way.

  "She smells like she had sex ten minutes ago," Winkler's mouth turned downward as he frowned.

  "Honey, I didn't want to say anything," I said, toying with the napkin on my side of the small, round table. "I had to cut off the scent after a second or two because it was so strong."

  "May I take your drink order?" The waiter arrived. He was all business and wasn't the one the hostess had sex with, thank goodness.

  "I'll have a Scotch on the rocks," Winkler ordered, "And some of those chips I saw walking past when we got here."

  "Which part of the U.S. do you come from?" Our waiter smiled.

  "Texas," Winkler grinned.

  "I knew it," the waiter chuckled. "You have a bit of that drawl I heard earlier today. Someone else was here, who said he was from Texas and he sounded like you."

  "We do get around, now and then," Winkler agreed. "Lissa, what do you want?" He turned the waiter's attention away from himself.

  "I want a glass of Riesling," I said. "And I'll help him with his chips," I added, indicating Winkler.

  "We'll have your drinks out soon, and the chips after that," the waiter promised and walked away.

  "I was gonna say fries," I told Winkler with a grin. "Just so he could correct me."

  "Beat you to the punch, eh?" He winked at me.

  I hadn't even had a sip of wine, yet, and still I wanted to mist him to his bedroom and tear his clothes off. I figured it was remembered frustration from centuries ago, and I could fold space and have sex with the Winkler who was all mine, but there was still that bit of bad girl in me that I wanted this one, too.

  This one is married to a very pregnant Kellee, I reminded myself and resolved to mind my manners. That meant looking out the window at the behemoth that Wembley Stadium was, until I caught the reflection behind us from inside the bar.

  I didn't understand at first how Winkler and I were suspended in midair and pulled away from our booth, but we watched in horrified fascination as Winkler's father—or his duplicate, anyway, in werewolf form, leapt at us in slow motion while we were held away from his onslaught.

  The subsequent crash through the plate glass window sent guests flying toward the exit, some of them screaming and shouting as they fled.

  Outside and below, the wolf hit the walkway with a sharp yelp, and then everything reversed itself.

  The wolf rushed backward through the window, while shattered glass repaired itself as he was pulled through it in reverse. Suddenly, Winkler and I were in our seats again, while I watched the werewolf's image recede in the reflective glass.

  The crowd was back, normal sounds were back, the werewolf disappeared somehow, and a shout of anger sounded from the other side of the bar.

  "We have to go," Charles said when he and Zaria appeared beside our table. "Liron and his bunch don't need to see any of us."

  "What happened to my ah—the werewolf?" Winkler growled once we were inside Bill's suite. Like a caged wolf, he was pacing the length of Bill's windows.

  "His particles are separated," Zaria said. "I'm sorry if that upsets you, but he'd been programmed to kill Lissa and take you," she answered Winkler's question.

  "Do you think there are more of them?" Bill asked. He'd raked fingers through his hair at least a dozen times after we got to his room and Charles explained what we'd seen.

  "It's possible—they took enough to create more than one from the body," Zaria replied.

  "I hate this," Bill shook his head. Rigo,
leaning against a wall, listened to everything with quiet interest. It was the spy in him, analyzing what he knew and building a picture from who knew how many puzzle pieces.

  "We can't take Liron on here," Charles explained what Winkler wanted to know but hadn't voiced, yet. "Too many things could go wrong, and the entire city of London could be destroyed if he sees fit. Zaria pulled us back until just before Liron and your father's duplicate became aware of your presence. She destroyed the wolf as he was on his way to join Liron's group."

  "So, where is he now—this Liron guy?" Trajan demanded.

  "Gone, thank goodness, to whatever hole he crawled out of," Charles growled. "He took Jovana, Alif and the others with him."

  "So he was here to have a meeting with them?" I turned toward Charles.

  "I believe so," he dipped his head in a curt nod. He didn't like letting Liron go any more than I did, but he was right—London was in danger every moment Liron spent there. If destroying it meant destroying me, then he'd be all for it.

  He could have taken Winkler, too; that was probably his goal—to hand Winkler to Baikov to placate the Kremlin and destroy me at the same time.

  He'd have to destroy me if he took Winkler; I wasn't about to settle for that. Maybe he understood how much Winkler meant to me, and how determined I'd be to get him back if Liron did succeed in taking my wolf.

  Or, maybe he didn't know those things. Frankly, I had no idea what Liron knew or didn't know.

  The only one who'd actually faced off against him was Zaria, and she'd beaten him back both times, the first by outsmarting him, the last by killing him—in the future, of course.

  That left this middle-Liron to deal with, who'd waited until his future-self alerted him somehow of an impending demise. I had no idea how he'd accomplished that, but he had and here we were.

  "I have a question," Ilya said. He'd been brought in by Zaria; I understood that Andrei, his son, was now on Sirena with three of my sons to look after him—and Randl, of course.

  "What's that?"

  "We are disguised, are we not? How were you and Winkler targeted?"