Shades of Memory

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “You can release him,” Tyrell said.

  Dreadlocks slid a knife through the plastic cuffs. Gregg’s hands separated, and he leaped to his feet, swinging around to face the other three men, his hands clenching. He shook his aching arms to get the circulation going again. Unfazed by any threat Gregg presented, Tyrell stepped up and lifted the null from around his neck.

  “There’s a null field surrounding this room. You won’t be able to travel.” He dropped the chain into a basket on a wooden side table

  Gregg reached for his magic the moment the null had come off, but ran into a wall blank of nothingness.

  “Do keep your clothing as is,” Tyrell said. “I don’t want to have to redress you before you wake. At any rate, this won’t take long. Boys?”

  Bruno and Randall grabbed Gregg. He fought, but it was like wrestling with two buffalo. They shoved him facedown over the table, one of them holding him in place as the other hoisted his legs up, twisting and flipping him so he lay on his back. A few seconds later, the straps snugged into place around his shoulders and waist, followed quickly by more around his hips, thighs, calves, and feet. Finally the white goon fastened the last one over Gregg’s forehead so he was forced to stare straight up at the ceiling. A bright light shined down from above, making his eyes water and producing black splotches across his vision. He squinted.

  He twisted and yanked against his restraints. He wasn’t going anywhere. Gregg mentally kicked himself for getting into this situation. He should have protected himself better. Been more careful, somehow.

  He heard the door slide open again. He slid his eyes sideways, but couldn’t see anything more than Bruno’s or Randall’s ass.

  “Good, you’re here,” Tyrell said. “Be as quick as you can. Boys, step outside if you please.”

  After a moment, Gregg’s view was unobstructed, but he still couldn’t see the dreamer.

  “You’re going to stay?”

  Gregg’s eyes widened as he now recognized the voice. Vernon Brussard. Riley’s father. What was he doing working for Tyrell? And what was the charade about providing Gregg with resources and giving him the opportunity to say yes and no? Hell, that deadline was still hours away, and yet here he was on a table about to be mind-fucked.

  “I believe I shall stay this time.”

  “Please remember not to interrupt.”

  “This is not my first erasure, Vernon,” Tyrell rebuked, a slight edge to his voice.

  He walked past Gregg, his cologne pungent and expensive. Out of sight, chain clinked and rattled. The null Gregg had been wearing. Tyrell must have put it on. In order for Vernon to erase Gregg’s memories, the binder field had to be turned off. Tyrell clearly didn’t trust Vernon, putting the null on to protect himself from Vernon’s magic.

  “Get started.”

  Vernon gave a little sniff and then came into view. He stopped by the table, leaning over Gregg, tilting his head to face him better. “Relax. This won’t hurt. You won’t even remember it when it’s over.”

  Gregg opened his mouth to lambaste the other man. To demand to know what the fuck was going on. Before he could speak, he felt his tongue grow thick, his jaw too heavy for him to even think of speaking. He glared hatred at Vernon. Clearly the bastard didn’t want him talking—didn’t want Tyrell to find out about Vernon’s little extracurricular visit to Gregg.

  Exactly.

  Vernon’s dry voice rippled through Gregg’s mind. Goddamned, motherfucking dreamers.

  Are you sure you want to be rude to the man digging into your brain?

  Go fuck yourself.

  Not a constructive or original response, but hatred and anger were the only way to fight the panic flaring in his gut. His greatest fear was to lose himself and not even know it. To have his mind tampered with, the way this same man had tampered with his own daughter’s mind. Riley had nearly died fighting against the constructions Vernon had made in her brain. If not for Cass, the one dreamer on the planet Gregg had come to trust as much as he could trust any dreamer, Riley would have died.

  When Vernon was through with him, he’d be Tyrell’s willing slave and he’d never know things could or should have been different. The thought made him want to vomit. Instead, he gathered what little spit remained in his mouth tried to launch it at Vernon. His swollen lips doomed the effort. It wouldn’t have made a difference. Vernon had already stepped back, reading Gregg’s intent in his mind.

  “Now, now. None of that.” He glanced over his shoulder at Tyrell. “Everything still as we discussed?”

  “Yes,” was Tyrell’s succinct response. “Get on with it.”

  His tone was sharp. Clearly there was animosity between the two men. Why else would Vernon betray him by secretly negotiating with Gregg?

  “Relax. This won’t hurt a bit.”

  Vernon leaned over Gregg. Butterfly wings flickered inside his skull. He clenched his teeth, sucking in a harsh breath. He wrenched at his bindings, to no avail.

  I hope you are as smart as I expect you are.

  What did that mean?

  A sliding movement along his wrist and under his coat sleeve. Pain tracing a thin line. A cut, not deep, just enough to bleed.

  Do try to figure out how you got that later, won’t you? Otherwise, I’ll have to rethink my plans.

  If you don’t want me to forget, why not just pretend to mess around in my head?

  Tyrell is brilliant and he likes to randomly double-check the work of his employees. This must be done properly.

  “Riley may be dead,” Gregg blurted aloud. Maybe he could distract Vernon or delay him long enough to find a way to escape. A long shot at best.

  The other man froze, skewering Gregg with a gimlet stare. “What did you say?”

  “My brother and Riley—they were trapped in the middle of a gang battle. I was supposed to travel to pull them out. I ended up here. They were surrounded, about to be overwhelmed.”

  “What was that?” Movement and the soft clank of chain. Tyrell appeared beside Vernon. “What is he saying?”

  Butterfly wings flickered inside Gregg’s skull. Vernon’s eyes widened and then narrowed, his nostrils flaring white, his mouth thinning into a flat line.

  “You aren’t lying.”

  “About what?” Tyrell asked.

  “Nothing important.”

  “I’ll decide what’s important.”

  Something deep and dark moved in Vernon’s eyes, but his voice remained even.

  “He says that my daughter may be dead.”

  Curiously, he left out any mention of Clay. Gregg watched the interaction between the men.

  “Oh dear. I hope not. Her tracing abilities could be invaluable,” Tyrell said. “What has happened to her?”

  He asked Vernon, not Gregg. More butterfly wings. The bastard lifted the details of the situation out of Gregg’s mind with little effort.

  “It appears she took a trace job finding a runaway girl who shacked up with a wannabe Tyet gang lord in south Downtown. Looks like she was in the middle of a firefight when our boy here travelled the runaway girl to safety. He was supposed to go back, but came here instead. Unless the gang took her prisoner, she is likely dead.”

  And so was Clay. The thought gutted Gregg, but the idea of losing his daughter seemed not to bother Vernon in the least. He spoke as if describing the events in a movie. No emotion at all. “I thought you had a watch on her,” Tyrell said, shaking his head with obvious displeasure. “As soon as you finish here, I’ll send someone to investigate. If she’s alive, it’s time to bring her into the fold where I can protect her. She’s too great an asset to risk. Be sure to get the exact location from him for my team.”

  “Of course,” was Vernon’s tight-lipped reply.

  “Be quick, then,” Tyrell sai
d, returning to his seat. “Oh, and be sure that he tells us about the girl after you’re done, to avoid inconsistency. He can ask for my help.”

  Like hell he would. He’d jump into a pit of burning tar first.

  You’ll do it because it will be your idea, came Vernon’s response. You’ll want to because I will tell you to want to.

  If he could have, Gregg would have ripped the man’s throat out.

  A gathering tension like pulling together a handful of ropes tugged in Gregg’s brain. He twisted and fought the bindings with all his strength.

  The last thing he heard was Vernon.

  You’d better damned well hope you haven’t fucked everything up, or I will turn your brains into pudding and put you in a Bottoms brothel where you’ll be ridden like a mare in heat for the rest of your days.

  “NOW THEN, I have other business to attend to. Is there anything else?” Tyrell asked crisply from behind his desk. Not waiting for Gregg to answer, he continued. “I expect speedy results, and toward that end, I’ve given you access to immediate funds. No worries about tapping it dry. You won’t. I’ve also given you a roster of available talents you might want to utilize. I keep teams of travellers at my operations around the world. Anyone in my organization can be at your disposal within an hour at the very latest. Everyone is on standby. All the necessary information for personnel requests is provided in the files.”

  He pushed an electronic tablet across the desk. “I’ve also included a number of contacts that you may need, including my own.” He glanced down at his watch. “You’re on the clock. You should get going. Do not attempt to lose Bruno and Randall. It would be unfortunate for both them and you.” He gestured at the black bodyguard. “Remove the null. We’re done here.”

  Just like that. Summoned and dismissed, and Clay and Riley likely dead. The fury that burned in Gregg’s gut exploded. “You’re a fucking bastard,” he said, lunging forward out of his chair. His bodyguards/captors grabbed his shoulders and dragged him back down, though what they thought he’d do with his hands bound behind his back, Gregg didn’t know.

  His mouth twisted into a snarl. “While I’ve been sitting here, my brother’s likely been getting murdered. So help me God, if he’s dead, I’m going to make you pay.”

  He’d caught Tyrell’s attention. The other man leaned over the desk, gaze sharp and cold as winter ice.

  Something like surprise flickered across his expression. “Your brother murdered, you say? Explain.”

  Gregg hesitated, but then decided there was no point in keeping it a secret. “His girlfriend took a trace job and they got into some trouble. I went to give them a hand and we were mobbed by a gang of street thugs. I travelled out to take the teenaged girl—the trace target—to safety. I was supposed to go back and travel them out as well. Only you grabbed me before I could.” His lip curled. “The odds of their survival aren’t good.”

  Tyrell nodded and reached inside his suit jacket, removing a phone from his breast pocket. “We will do something about this,” he said as he pressed a button and put the phone to his ear. “Your brother’s girlfriend is Riley Hollis, is it not?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “She’s a powerful tracer. Perhaps the best.” His attention hooked back to the person on the other end of the line. “Ready the team,” he said. “You have ten minutes,” and then hung up.

  “Let me go,” Gregg said. “Now. Ten minutes is too long.” A deep rage boiled in his gut. Clearly Clay was of little importance to Tyrell, and on one hand, that was a good thing. It meant Tyrell didn’t know Clay had an elemental talent. Those were rare as uranium and a thousand times more valuable. On the other hand, Clay being in danger likely wasn’t what motivated Tyrell. He wanted Riley.

  His new boss considered him through narrowed eyes. “I don’t know that I want to risk you. Your death would cause me some headaches and rearrange my plans.”

  “Screw your plans,” Gregg said. “I’m going to go help my brother and if he’s dead because you held me here, then our deal’s off.” His lips peeled back in a vicious smile. “Not that you’ll care. You’ll be too dead to worry about it.”

  Tyrell pushed back from the desk. He walked unhurriedly around the desk and stopped in front of Gregg. His eyes had turned dark and hard, like a snake’s. He put his hands in his pants pockets, his pose casual and yet menacing.

  Gregg refused to be impressed. A dark wildness whirled inside him. A combination of desperation, rage, contempt, and an animal desire for freedom. No matter what Tyrell thought, Gregg was not going to be caged.

  “I suggest you think carefully about your position,” Tyrell said finally. “I do not tolerate treachery. The consequences for you would be catastrophic, and that would be unfortunate. You have potential. You could go far with me. The rewards are nearly infinite for quality employees.”

  Gregg sneered. “As long as we’re making things clear—the only catastrophe you could possibly inflict on me is the death of my brother. This deal of ours hinges on him keeping to this side of the dirt. Not just that. If he lost Riley, it would destroy him and I can’t have that either. Both of them and her family are totally off-limits to you. Anything different I will regard as treachery and I’ll tear your world apart. Now cut me loose and let me go before it’s too damned late, if it isn’t already.”

  Another long moment of consideration before Tyrell nodded at the two men behind Gregg and stepped back, leaning against his desk.

  A knife slid between Gregg’s wrists, and they parted. His hands and arms ached, but he had no time for pain. In one movement, he tore the null from around his neck flung it aside, then snatched the knife from the white thug’s hand. A second later he was flying through dreamspace, hoping to hell he wasn’t too late.

  Chapter 15

  Riley

  “GOD DAMN YOU, Riley. Why didn’t you run?” Price demanded hoarsely over his shoulder. An impossible breeze swirled through the cavernous skating rink. Price’s eyes were cloudy and turbulent. “If you’d have run, I could let my talent loose,” he said. “Now I can’t risk it.”

  I’ll admit, his none-too-subtle accusation stung, but not because I didn’t run. The truth was, it was my fault for taking the trace job, but I refused to accept I should have just abandoned him. Anyhow, the likelihood I’d have escaped was between slim and none.

  “Do it anyway,” I said. “What have we got to lose? If you don’t, we’re dead anyway, which isn’t as romantic as Romeo and Juliet makes it out to be.” The next words hurt me to say. “I can’t help us. I tried.”

  Annoyingly, my voice cracked. My magic had never failed me before. No, it was me. I’d failed to handle it. I wiped a trickle of blood away before it dripped into my eye, surreptitiously brushing away the hot tear that escaped my custody. God, I was such a baby.

  That’s when Ocho woke up. He rolled onto his back, swearing loudly. He’d lost his Mexican accent. He sat up. The look he sent our way wasn’t just angry. It was psychotic.

  “I think you might have cracked his brain,” I said to Price, trying to pretend I didn’t want to pee my pants. I didn’t have to ask to know what kinds of plans Ocho had for us. They weren’t going to be pretty.

  “I love you.” I said it because it’s what you say when you think you’re about to die. My voice shook. I’d been kidnapped and held prisoner before—was it only a couple of months ago? Getting casually burned all over my arms with cigarettes had been beyond awful. I don’t know how I’d survived it. This would be a thousand times worse. That is, if I let it happen. But I wouldn’t. I’d fight until there was nothing left of me. I would not become Ocho’s personal voodoo doll. Or blow-up doll, for that matter. I shuddered at the thought.

  Price stiffened, and smoke practically poured out of his ears. He couldn’t turn around to face me, what with us being mostly surrounded by bad guys wit
h guns and magic and him trying to shield me even with his hand up in the air.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I thought it was obvious. I love you.”

  “And you thought you’d mention it now.”

  No sense beating around the bush. “If I die I want to know I said it before I headed for the great white yonder or wherever I end up.”

  Now the breeze really kicked up. In point of fact, it was more like a stiff wind. The front doors rattled, and everything that wasn’t nailed down inside the building started to wave, sway, and tumble.

  “You aren’t going to die,” Price said in a flat voice.

  “Because saying so makes it true.” I don’t know why I was needling him. Oh right. I was scared shitless, and the link between my brain and mouth had shorted out. Not to mention we needed him to let go of his magic. We really didn’t have anything to lose.

  Ocho chose that moment to snatch a gun out of someone’s hand and level it at Price. “Stop it right now or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”

  Randomly, I wondered if he was that good a shot.

  The air in the room seized up. That menacing just-before-the storm stillness swallowed all sound. My fingers curled in Price’s shirt. What could I do? I stepped around Price, aiming for Ocho’s chest. I’m a good shot, but I wasn’t going for flashy.

  “Hey, Bozo! Or is it Zero? You aren’t as scary as you think you are. Oh, unless you’re drugging little girls and pimping them out.”

  “Riley.” Just that one word squeezed out of Price. Agonized, demanding, pleading.

  Ocho’s hot gaze settled on me, followed by the barrel of his gun. My finger tightened ever so slightly on the trigger, but I didn’t follow through. Not yet. The moment I shot Ocho, we’d get hit with a hail of lead from his companions. Who was I kidding? At any second it would start. My finger tightened.