Call Out

by L. B. Clark

  “Drop your shields.”

  London sat up with a sigh and leaned back against the headboard. He looked from Ashe to me and back again and then leaned back against the headboard. A few seconds later Ashe moved his head in an abbreviated nod and turned his attention to me.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  I concentrated for a moment just to be sure, and then shook my head. “Not a thing,” I answered, surprised when it came out as a whisper.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Ashe said. “I might actually have gotten it right.”

  “Might?”

  “Proximity counts, Elizabeth,” Ashe said, nodding his head toward London.

  I swallowed hard and forced myself to take the few steps between the door and the bed. Still nothing. I reached out and took London’s hand, watching emotions I couldn’t name flit across his face.

  Emotions I couldn’t name. Glory hallelujah.

  I lifted my hand to stroke London’s cheek, to smooth along his jawline. I had never wanted to kiss him as much as I did right then – maybe not even while I was under the effects of our combined emotions. I forced myself to look over my shoulder at Ashe.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Ashe flashed me a smile, and I beamed back at him.

  “What’s going on?” London asked.

  I held up the little triangular pendant. “It’s an amulet. A shield. Ashe made it for me.”

  London reached out to touch the necklace, a look of wonder on his face. His fingers brushed the metal, and he snatched them back.

  “Everything okay?” Ashe asked.

  “Yup,” London replied, taking the amulet in his hand. “Just didn’t know what to expect. It’s fine now.”

  “Good.”

  “What to expect?” I asked.

  London looked up at me and gave me a small smile. “I can feel the magic in it. It’s a little weird.” He touched my cheek and added, “Not bad, just weird. And I’m guessing it means no more second-hand torture?”

  I didn’t answer, instead I asked, “Can you still tell what I’m feeling?” I wasn’t sure if he’d felt my worry or seen it on my face, and I needed to know.

  “No. I’m back to having to guess.”

  “Good.” I held his hand to my cheek.

  “Thank you,” London said to Ashe. “Thank you for looking after her.”

  “Yeah, well, Elizabeth doesn’t seem to have a very strong sense of self-preservation. Someone’s got to save her from herself.”

  I saw a mischievous grin spread across London’s face and had only a split-second to wonder what he was about to say before he said it.

  “That’s very fatherly of you,” he told Ashe.

  Ashe made a sound of disgust. “I’m not that old,” he said, opening the door and stepping out into the hall, “and I’m sure as hell not too old to beat your ass and take your woman.”

  “In your dreams,” London replied.

  “Sometimes, Stretch,” Ashe said, as he pulled the door closed. “Sometimes”.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After Ashe left, I scooted across the bed to fiddle with my iPod, setting it on my mellow playlist and making sure it was plugged into the docking station. When I turned around, I found London sprawled across the bed, one hand resting lightly on his now bare chest and the other flung wide in an invitation to cuddle. I accepted, and he held me close.

  “This is amazing,” he told me. “You just don’t know.”

  “I can imagine.” And I could. After days of not being able to let his guard down around me – or most anyone else – it had to be a refreshing change.

  At first we simply lay there, snuggled up, content just to be together. But after a while, our casual touches became more measured, teasing. And then London surprised me by pushing me over onto my back, rolling with me to settle in the vee of my legs, propped up so he could look down into my face.

  “Hi,” he said, smiling.

  I smiled back. “Hi, yourself.”

  He leaned in for a kiss, and I moved one hand to cradle his head, my fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss went on and on, and for once no wave of emotion rose up to threaten us. Or at least not an overwhelming wave of our combined emotions; my own tangled feelings were enough to deal with. I pushed away the negatives ones easily enough and lost myself in London’s kisses.

  Soon he broke the kiss, moving to nip at my earlobe and then to seek out the most sensitive points on my neck. A whimper escaped my throat, and my legs wrapped around his waist without running the idea by my brain first.

  “Not fair,” I told him.

  “So I should stop then?”

  I answered by tightening my grip on his hair and pressing his face back to my neck. He laughed, which I felt more than heard, and then went back to his exquisite torture. It didn’t take long for me to become a writhing mess and only a little longer for me to come completely undone. Only then did he pull back, urging me to sit up enough that he could help me out of my t-shirt.

  London eased me back to the mattress and lowered his head to rub his slightly stubbled cheek against the smooth, sensitive skin just above the line of my bra. He moved just a little to one side, and I carded my fingers through his hair again, holding him to me as he grazed my nipple with his teeth.

  I expected to lose my bra then and for London, like most other guys I’d known, to spend the next eternity obsessing over my breasts. Instead, he trailed kisses down my sternum and belly. He paused to deal with the button and zipper on my shorts, pushing my hands away when I tried to help. Scooting backwards, he dragged off my shorts and dropped them on the floor. For a moment, he knelt at the foot of the bed, just looking at me. I could feel myself blushing and had to fight to keep from trying to cover various flaws with my hands. He’d seen me naked before, but this was different. Without the magical reverb, I was free to feel self-conscious and vulnerable.

  In the next moment, I forgot about feeling awkward as London covered my body with his again, kissing me until I was dizzy with desire. He fumbled my bra hooks open, stripped the thing off of me, and tossed it over the side of the bed. A few minutes of licking and nipping, and he was scooting back down the bed, stripping off the last of my clothes as he went. He stood at the end of the bed, again just looking at me. This time I couldn’t seem to stop myself; I found myself trying to hide behind my arms and hands.

  “Don’t,” London murmured, and I forced my hands back to my sides. He beamed at me and rubbed my leg in a comforting gesture.

  A moment later he withdrew his hand to unfasten his jeans, and as he stripped, I flashed back to the vision he’d sent me. When he looked up at me again, he had the same feral gleam in his eye that he’d had in the sending. I felt my breath catch in my throat as desire curled into a hot ball deep inside me. Just like in the vision, he stalked toward me like some great jungle cat, sliding his hands up my legs as he crawled onto the bed. And just like in the vision he licked his lips and lowered his head – but unlike with the vision, he didn’t stop just when things were getting good. He followed through this time, driving me to grasp his hair in one hand and the sheets beneath me in the other. It didn’t take much of his attention before the hand grasping the sheets curled into a fist that I jammed into my mouth to keep from screaming as he pushed me over the edge.

  I lost track of the world around me for a long moment, coming back to awareness with London trying to coax my fist from between my teeth. I let him, and he kissed the marks I’d left on my knuckles before covering my mouth with his.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  I smirked up at him, feeling smug. “What do you think?”

  He grinned down at me for a moment before kissing me again. Again he kindled my desire, and then fed the fires a little at a time. We kissed and touched and tasted, made a couple of lame jokes about the freakin’ huge box o’ condoms, and then my legs were around London’s waist again and he was inside me at last.

  We moved together like we’d been made for one
another, without any of the awkwardness that sometimes rears its ugly head. London took control, and I was glad to let him. He brought me to the edge again and again before finally, finally pushing me over into shuddering, clawing, jaw-clenching ecstasy. London wasn’t quite there, but I was content to bask in the afterglow and urge him toward his own happy ending.

  Afterwards, we lay side-by-side, only our hands touching, until our blood and skin had cooled a little. London surprised me by curling against my side and pressing his face into the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I stroked his hair and nuzzled his face, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. His lips moved against my neck, forming silent words. I had a feeling they were the sort of words that he wasn’t ready to say aloud and I wasn’t ready to hear. I hugged him closer and kissed his forehead again before mouthing two silent words of my own: “me, too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Over the next couple of days, London and I followed our best friends’ example, stealing every moment we could to be alone together. The other guys didn’t seem to mind, or at least they didn’t bitch about me and London the way they had about Brian and Dylan. Then again, they’d never complained in front of Dylan, so maybe they were just giving London hell behind my back. I didn’t know, and I didn’t really care.

  Quinn used his not inconsiderable resources to learn what he could about Julia. He managed to find out who had recruited her, an older agent who still worked as a recruiter. In spite of the fact that the man was still an active agent, Quinn didn’t trust him enough to let him come to the safe house. He arranged a meeting and reported back to us.

  “Grimes is one of the most respected recruiters in the agency,” he told us over dinner. “Apparently there’s no one better.”

  “I remember him,” Ashe said. “Never knew him that well.”

  “I did,” Carmichael chimed in. “He’s the one who brought me on board. He’s a good guy. One of the best.”

  Quinn smiled across the table at Carmichael. “That’s what everyone says about him, and I believe it. Anyway, you could have knocked the guy over with a feather when I told him what Julia’s been up to. And he confirmed that she’d definitely not a mimic. He’s not sure how she’s managing what she’s managing – especially since, according to him, she’s always been really bad at thaumaturgy.”

  “So that’s two options down,” I said. “That leaves us with....what? She’s just developed new skills at random?”

  Ashe shook his head, but it was Quinn who responded. “I think that leaves us with option D.”

  “Which is?”

  “I have no fucking clue.”

  Carmichael snorted. “Not real helpful there, boss,” he noted. “If Grimes didn’t know how she’s pulling off sendings, I’m guessing he didn’t know how she masked her magic.”

  “Actually, I felt really dumb when I brought that up. I answered the question myself not two seconds after I asked it.”

  Everyone looked at Quinn for a moment, waiting for enlightenment. I shifted in my seat, and felt the not-yet-familiar slide of metal against my chest.

  “Amulet,” I said, my eyes meeting Quinn’s.

  He gave me a smile. “Bingo.”

  “Her ring,” London said, laying his fork aside and sitting back in his chair. “She had this ring she wore all the time. She said it was her mom’s and that it...that it reminded her that we shouldn’t live our lives just for ourselves. That there was a bigger picture.”

  “That fits with what Grimes told me about her,” Quinn said. “He couldn’t believe that she’d gotten involved in anything that would involve hurting anyone. He said she was a big believer in the greater good.”

  “Yeah, well,” Dylan said, “so were Hitler and Mussolini.”

  London pushed away from the table and stumbled out of the room, his face pale and drawn. I started to follow, but Ashe waved me down.

  “Best let me handle this one, baby girl.”

  I nodded and slid back into my seat, my heart heavy. The hurt I felt for him was an almost physical weight in my chest. I pressed a hand to my ribs as if I could relieve the pressure there, even though it was all in my mind.

  To my surprise, Carmichael reached out and took my other hand to give it a little squeeze.

  “It’s not really about her, darlin’,” he said. “It’s about him. Remember that.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I nodded anyway.

  For maybe ten minutes, I forced myself to sit there, aware of the ebb and flow of conversation around me, but not a part of it. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I went to find London and Ashe. I found them in the bedroom, London with his back against the headboard and Ashe leaning against the wall. Their conversation met an abrupt end as I stepped into the room, but London, at least, didn’t seem to mind the interruption. He patted the bed in invitation, and I went to curl up beside him. He wrapped an arm around me and kissed my hair.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He considered a moment before answering. “Not great, but yeah...I’m okay.”

  Ashe watched us for a minute before pushing away from the wall. “You gonna remember what I told you?”

  London nodded, his face solemn, and pulled me a little closer. “I will,” he said. “And...thanks.”

  “Don’t make me regret it, Stretch,” he said, letting his eyes rove over me in a way that made me want to squirm and, to my utter mortification, did make me blush.

  “I won’t, I promise,” he said. “Now...fuck off.”

  Ashe laughed as he walked out, turning the lock on the door before he shut it behind him.

  “Do I want to know what that was about?” I asked.

  “Probably. Can’t tell you though. Need to know, and all that.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” I said, without any heat.

  “How about I make it up to you?” he suggested, his tone leaving no question as to how he planned to follow through.

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re incorrigible.” I turned his face toward mine and kissed him. “Lucky for me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Frantic knocking woke us hours later.

  “Em, open the door!” Dylan shouted.

  “Just a minute,” I yelled back, scrambling into my clothes.

  “The shit just hit the fan,” Dylan told me the second I had the door open.

  “Here?” London asked.

  Dylan shook her head. “The field team...they found Julia.”

  I darted down the hall toward the library, Dylan at my side and London right behind us. Once we were all assembled, Quinn addressed us.

  “My field team has a positive ID on Julia,” he said, as Carmichael and Peterson did something scary and kind of noisy with what seemed like an army’s worth of weapons. “Ron, James, and I are going to meet with them to assess the situation – and hopefully bring this thing to an end.”

  Martine took a step toward him, her fists clenched. “And I’m to stay behind?”

  “We need fighters, Martine. You have your strengths, but we both know combat magic isn’t one of them.”

  “I’m better than you,” she spat, her accent more pronounced than I’d ever heard it. “Better with a gun as well.”

  “I’m the head of the fucking operation!” Quinn snapped.

  “Quinn’s right,” Ashe said, stepping in between the two of them. “And so’s Martine. No, just shut up a minute, Robbie. You can do what you want. Like you said, it’s your operation. But you need to think about what’s really best for the operation and for your team.”

  Quinn deflated like the last balloon left over from a kid’s birthday party. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, he met Ashe’s gaze. “You’re right. With this whole sending thing...they’ll probably need you, Martine.”

  She nodded and started strapping on gear.

  “Someone has to stay behind, to keep an eye on things here,” he added.

  “Ashe will be here,” Peterson pointed out.

 
“Like hell.”

  “You’re a civilian, Ashe,” Peterson said. “I know you and Quinn already had this argument.”

  “I was wrong about that, too,” Quinn said, surprising everyone. “If anyone can get my people through this mess in one piece, it’s Ashe. I want you to take Martine and Peterson and rendezvous with the team.”

  “You’re not going?” Martine asked at the same that Carmichael said, “I’m staying behind?”

  Quinn nodded. “I have two priorities here – neutralizing the threat and keeping the civilians safe. Ashe is better suited to the former. I’m taking lead on the latter. It makes the most sense. I hate it, but it makes the most sense.”

  “And why’m I staying here?” Carmichael asked. “They need all the help they can get.”

  Quinn rubbed his forehead between his eyes. “I need someone else here. Just in case.”

  Carmichael growled and turned away.

  Peterson laid a hand on Carmichael’s arm. “You go. I’ll stay.”

  Carmichael stared at him.

  “I just have a feeling I need to be here.”

  “Shit,” Carmichael said, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “I hate when you ‘just have a feeling’.”

  “Me, too,” Peterson admitted.

  Ashe, Martine, and Carmichael suited up, armed up, and headed out to meet up with the away team. The rest of us stayed put, not even venturing away from the library. We all wanted to be together, and we all wanted to be close to Quinn so we’d be in the loop, so we all hung out in the library...and we waited.

  Waiting is one of the most difficult things that a human being can endure. Anyone who has ever taken a major exam, sat in a hospital chapel while a loved one underwent surgery, or applied for a job can attest to that. There have even been songs written about that particular grueling experience. Waiting is never easy, but sitting around wondering when – or if – we would hear from Ashe and the field team was sheer hell.

  Peterson parked himself in front of the monitors, gun in hand, to wait. Brian sprawled in one of the big leather chairs not far from him, and Adrian curled up in its opposite number near the bookcases behind me. Dylan, true to her nature, started looking for a book to pass the time with. London, Quinn, and I paced.