by Zile Elliven
He was a fool for allowing his desperation to lead him into a trap. Fourteen had only a handful of seconds before someone arrived in person to collect him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Trapped inside his unresponsive body, he raged at his inability to stop himself from being picked up from the side of the road like a bag of trash and carted to the closest facility. The first thing they would do would be to find out why he went AWOL. With the right commands they could get him to spill everything that had happened.
Everything about Aeyli.
He couldn’t let that happen. The Company would love nothing more than to get their hands on an asset like her. God, what they would do to her . . . His entire being blazed from the inside out.
Fourteen’s hand twitched.
Footsteps approached from his right. “Agent Fourteen, I had a feeling I’d be the one to find you.”
Harper. It didn’t surprise him that the Company would send their most diverse agent to bring him in. The man was known for being able to drop into any environment flawlessly, without previous knowledge of the situation. He wondered what Harper would have done if he had been in Fourteen’s shoes for the past two days.
“At ease, Agent Fourteen.” Now that he had triggered Protocol Seven, Harper was Fourteen’s temporary handler until he got him back to the base. The only person that could override him would be his original handler, but since Protocol Seven was usually enacted after the death of a handler, it didn’t come up much.
Fourteen relaxed at the command. He was no longer stuck at attention, but he could do nothing of his own volition other than talk until Harper told him otherwise. For lack of any other options, he turned to the one thing he had left at his disposal—his mind. He observed his opponent closely searching for anything, any weakness he might be able to exploit.
Harper hadn’t changed since Fourteen had seen him last, his sandy-blond hair was close-cropped on the sides, much like Fourteen’s—the Company was big on conformity—but Harper’s hair was straight where Fourteen’s was wavy. His navy blue peacoat and worn jeans made him look like he could be a grad student going out for coffee before class. They were close in height, but where Fourteen was densely muscled, Harper was lean. Visually, it looked as though Harper would crumble under a solid hit, but Fourteen knew better from years of sparring in the practice hall. The man was fast and seemed to flow like water when he was hit.
“The Company must not think much of me if all they sent to fetch me was you.” Fourteen kept his voice monotone, doing his best not to show how much he had changed.
Harper smiled broadly. “There may be one or two others running around looking for you. You do have the most kills, after all, but I’m not too worried about you. The Colonel has you bound much tighter than the rest of us. With a leash around your neck, you’re about as troublesome as an old Labrador Retriever. Now, if you were Rust, I would have brought back up.”
Fourteen kept his expression bland as he explored his inner landscape. He could feel the constraints Protocol Seven had placed around his mind, but it was like he was watching it from the outside, rather than being trapped within. Harper’s command wove around any action he considered taking, locking him down and preventing him from executing it.
“Now, I’m not supposed to ask you why you failed to report in. The Colonel has specific orders to bring you to him for debriefing, but if you felt like volunteering the information, well, I wouldn’t be averse to hearing about it.” Harper’s affected southern drawl grated on Fourteen’s nerves. He knew for a fact that the man had been born and raised in Romania and had yet to set foot in the South. He also knew Harper could have easily affect a convincing Boston accent, should he so choose, and was doing it specifically to be annoying. Considering that Fourteen was known for being unflappable, it was probably a test.
“Negative.” As he was also known for being taciturn, it felt like a safe response. He continued to throw random ideas at his constraints, hoping something would get around the barricade encompassing his mind, but it remained impenetrable. Panic crept up his spine, and his reptile brain kicked in, scrabbling wildly at the edges of his prison desperate for escape.
Agent Fourteen, retreat!
Startled, Fourteen almost jerked his head around to look for Aeyli before he realized he was only hearing a memory. He turned his attention back to his mental prison, and to his surprise, he found the tattered remnants of Aeyli’s last order to him entwined with Harper’s command.
He could work with that.
Harper gave a sigh, followed by another grin. “Ah well.” The southern accent was gone, and in its place was the neutral one all of the agents used when out of the field. “Okay, Agent, in the interests of keeping a low profile, you clear up this mess, and I’ll reset the cache. Be quick about it, the street is getting busier. I’d rather not have to answer a lot of questions. This was supposed to be a quick stop and hanging around here is going to look suspicious.” His eyes moved casually over the sidewalk, taking in a woman in her fifties wearing a purple tracksuit and carrying a box of doughnuts. He gave her a polite nod.
Fourteen bent to the task, efficiently and methodically clearing the clothing away from the front of the box, making sure that the pull-down door was unobscured. When asked, he handed the bag he had removed from the box to Harper so he could put it back inside.
“Can’t clear the place out, you know. It’s in the rulebook, man. Something in your head really must have gone off for you to forget that.” Harper said as he closed the false bottom and reset the latch.
Fourteen gave him his best dead-eyed expression and kicked Harper in the solar plexus, knocking him inside the box. With his other foot, he kicked the door closed and braced himself against it, sliding the lock into place.
Leaning against the box, he said conversationally, “So, got a minute?”
✽✽✽
“Let me get this straight. You’ve come up against a new kind of tech, and you want my help?” Harper couldn’t keep the skepticism off his face.
Fourteen had taken Harper to a coffee shop across town. He thought it would be a good idea to get some distance from the charity drop box. Too many people had noticed their interaction, and it was only a matter of time before someone called the police. Neither of them wanted that complication, so it hadn’t been difficult to negotiate a ceasefire.
Fourteen leaned his chair back until it touched the wall. He had pointblank refused to sit with his back to the door, a point Harper had grudgingly conceded him. “I’ll admit it sounds unlikely, but ask yourself this, would we be sitting here now if I didn’t need you for something?”
Harper’s eyes lost their customary spark of humor. “I have a feeling I’d be nothing more than an unpleasant surprise for the person that empties the donation box.”
If Fourteen had been running on his old OS, Harper would have been correct in his assumptions, but having more control over his own actions meant he could choose less lethal options now. However, Fourteen felt no need to correct the man. It suited his purposes for Harper to have a healthy fear of him, so he only smiled, making sure to show plenty of teeth.
Harper didn’t conceal the shudder it provoked. “Okay, so you need me for something, I’ll accept that much. What’s so terrible that even you need help?”
Here came the tricky part. Fourteen had no desire to spend the rest of the day convincing someone that magic was real, so he’d have to improvise. “Like I said, there’s a new company making experimental weapons for the American government. It’s unlike anything either of us have ever come up against.”
“And you want to, what? Steal it?” Harper asked, a glint of avarice flaring in his eyes. “If what you’re telling me is true, the Colonel would welcome you back with open arms. The loss of Steve and Frank would be nothing compared to this. That’s why you ran, isn’t it? You wanted to make up for bungling your last mission before coming back.”
It would have been smart for him to agree. He could have ma
de that story work for him until it was time to bail, but the wash of red over his eyes at the mention of the Colonel made it a moot point.
Fourteen’s hand tightened around his cup, causing the coffee to spill over the edges, ruining the fancy heart the barista had drawn in the foam. “I’m not coming back. I’ll see you all dead before that happens.” His voice was a low growl.
Harper didn’t flinch this time; instead, his eyebrows came together in irritation. “Come on, man. It’s not that bad. We all volunteered for this gig, after all.”
He was ready for the anger this time and had taken his hands well away from his abused coffee cup and braced them on the table. “Volunteer? None of what was done to me was my choice. I didn’t even know how old I was until—” An audible crack sounded through the small cafe as the edge of the wooden table broke off in his hands.
“Oh for god’s sake, what is wrong with you?” Harper looked around the shop anxiously. Fortunately, the place was empty of customers, and the barista had gone into the back. “How could your training have degraded so quickly? Your file said you were fine a week ago.”
Fourteen was grateful the table had given out before he had a chance to reveal more than he’d wanted to. He watched the anger until it settled back into place before replying. “It’s not your concern anymore.”
“It’s my concern if you’re asking me to partner with you. Getting a chance to work with you in the field is one thing, but I’m not insane. I’m not going anywhere with you if you’re unstable.”
“Just don’t mention him, and I’ll be fine.” Harper looked unconvinced, so Fourteen elaborated. “Trust me, what I’m offering you is worth the risk.”
“I’m listening.”
“The people creating this new tech took something from me that I want back. There are enough of them that I am going to need every advantage I can get to get it.”
“So you aren’t after this weapon?”
“I don’t give two shits about their weapons, I just want . . . my property back.” He imagined what Aeyli would say about being referred to as property and smiled.
Again Harper looked unsettled by his smile. “What’s in it for me?” His eyes darted toward the door like he was about to bolt.
“I have armor that stops their weapons cold, and I happen to have a spare set I’m willing to give to you if you help me get inside.”
Harper’s body language shifted subtly; until now, he had given Fourteen the impression he was about to flip the table and run at the first sign of trouble. Now he looked conflicted. All Fourteen needed to do was emphasize the reward enough to override the man’s sense of self-preservation.
“Think about this: a new player shows up on the scene with weapons no one knows what to do with—they can bring WMDs anywhere and go undetected, they have cloaking technology”—Fourteen was wildly speculating at this point, but Astin had done something like cloaking when he was inside that hole of his—“the Colonel would kill to get his hands on. The entire world would be in an uproar, and then you show up with a set of armor that negates the energy that powers these things . . .” he trailed off, allowing Harper’s imagination to take it from there.
“How . . . how do I know you aren’t lying to get me to let you go?” Harper had completely abandoned looking for escape routes and was focused on the conversation. All he needed was one more push, and Fourteen was happy to oblige.
He pulled out his phone, opened his security app, and found the video he wanted. “This was taken two hours ago.”
Harper watched the security feed of the fight inside the warehouse. There was a lot of distortion, but the footage showed Stella creating something in her hands and throwing it at Fourteen and Aeyli. It also showed the something bouncing away at the last second and pulverizing the wall beside them. It was more than he wanted the Company to know about Aeyli, but her face was small and fuzzy in the shot, so it was an acceptable risk.
He pulled his phone back anyway, not wanting to give Harper the chance to see enough of Aeyli to be able to recognize her in the future. If he played it right, Harper would never even see her, but he’d rather not tempt fate.
“This could be faked.”
“True. But if it isn’t, you’ll be kicking yourself for not taking the chance. Come with me, and I’ll prove it. If I’m lying, you can abandon the mission. All I need is a distraction. Once it’s done, we can part ways and pretend we never saw one another.”
“If anyone finds out about this, I’m a dead man.” Harper’s words didn’t match the excitement on his face.
“I wouldn’t be asking you to help if I didn’t think you were good enough to keep this a secret.” Fourteen wasn’t lying—he’d known Harper long enough to respect him as an agent, and he knew he was lucky Harper was the one that found him. He had the skills necessary to get the job done, and unlike most of the other agents, he’d never treated Fourteen as an object.
A shadow crossed Harper’s face. “You really didn’t know how old you are?”
“No,” he said shortly, his voice not inviting further conversation on the subject.
“Well, I reckon a man has the right to decide his own fate,” Harper drawled irritatingly. “As much as I have the right to take a chance on helping you.”
“You’re a true humanitarian.”
“Soon to be a very rich one, I hope.”
Fourteen nodded. It was possible Fourteen’s spare set of armor would help Harper climb the ladder in the Company. Even if the magical community didn’t clash with the Company in the future, his armor was better than anything any of the other operatives had.
He just had to hope they could evade detection long enough to retrieve his armor from the warehouse. They were going to have to try. His plan wouldn’t work without it.
Chapter Fifteen
Aeyli
Being trapped inside a dog crate wouldn’t have been as bad if it hadn’t smelled so horrible. The odor of paint thinner and motor oil, wafting from the corner of the garage she had been stored in, couldn’t hope to compete with the reeking doggy bed she was sitting on. Aeyli was tempted to try and cram it through the narrow bars to get away from the smell but thought better of it. She had no idea how long she was going to be stuck inside the thing, and the idea of sleeping on a cold concrete floor in an unheated garage was more unappealing than the smell.
She shivered in her thin tank top. She should have taken the time to steal a shirt from Fourteen before they tried to make a run for it.
Waking up alive had been a novel experience. She’d been certain the family had decided to wash its hands of her, though if they were planning on sending her back to her gilded prison, she’d prefer death. It sounded less boring.
She’d held tight to the memory of Fourteen plowing through the mercenaries to safety and hoped he was far away from anything even remotely connect to the Other. If he could stay away from the Company, it was possible he could find his way to a normal life—get a job somewhere in security, meet someone . . .
Her heart twisted, and she kicked at the bars of the crate in irritation. It was selfish of her to wish to have a life with him, and she needed to get used to being alone. It wasn’t like they’d even spent much time together. It was ridiculous of her to feel so attached.
A snippet of memory chose that moment to interrupt the scolding she was giving herself, and suddenly she was drowning in the sensation of Fourteen’s hard body pressed against her own softness. She remembered the way he’d looked at her when they’d woken up together, like if he had to choose between being with her and breathing, he’d see how long he could hold his breath before he died. It couldn’t have just been the conditioning, she told herself. It had felt real to her.
A loud clattering shook her from her thoughts as the door rolled opened to the garage. Her mother sailed through the opening, looking like a socialite arriving at a press conference. Her blonde hair was piled artfully on top of her hair, and a large pair of sunglasses perched on top. The line
n dress she wore was incongruous with the chilly weather, but witches didn’t make a habit of worrying about the cold. If they didn’t like the weather, it was a small matter of changing their own body temperatures. If she wanted, Elanor could have sauntered in wearing only her underwear and been perfectly comfortable. Aeyli shivered and chafed her bare arms with her hands, wishing she’d learned that trick before her confinement.
“Darling, I’m so glad they found you!” Her mother cooed and flapped her hands distressingly.
“Um.” This wasn’t what she’d expected at all. Threats and menacing glares, sure, but motherly concern? She hadn’t known Elanor had it in her.
“How could they put you in a crate? I could slap that boy sometime. Sterling!” She shouted through the door. “The future heir of the family does not belong in a dog crate! You go find something better for her this instant.” Elanor made a shooing motion, presumably to Sterling.
“What do you want, Elanor?” Aeyli did her best to channel Fourteen, making her voice as cold as possible.
Tears sprang up in her mother’s eyes, and her lip began to quiver. “Baby, how could you ever—” She cut herself off and looked toward the open door. “Okay, he’s gone now. Honestly that little shit is going to be trouble later.”
In a split-second her mother had gone from a forty-something, cooing socialite to an ageless, calculating creature. It wasn’t that her features had changed, but more like a hidden depth had emerged, exposing something dank and rotten. Aeyli gaped at the transformation.
