by Jade Kerrion
The “why” of it she had yet to figure out. If it could not be directly attributed to Danyael’s empathic manipulation, then the only possible conclusion was that she had to be the most contrary female who had ever lived. When offered perfection, pick the physically and emotionally crippled alpha empath instead. Zara gritted her teeth. Maybe I need to get my head, and heart, checked.
She turned her back on Galahad; she did not have time for distractions. “This isn’t about us.”
“And it’s about Danyael instead?”
Maybe it should have been. If even one of us had given a damn about him when we should have, we wouldn’t be here trying to salvage the ruins of his life out of the hell we put him in.
Galahad’s response was a twisted smile, as if her extended silence had provided the answers he needed. Abruptly he asked, “Why would Miriya take over his apartment?”
Grateful for the change in topic, Zara played along. “Damned if I know why mutants do the things they do.” She led the way into the concrete stairwell and up five flights of stairs. Frowning slightly, she laid a hand on the rail and shook it. It wobbled like a loose tooth. “This isn’t in any better condition than it was last year.”
“I’m surprised you expected it to be,” Galahad said. He knocked on the door. Its wooden edges were frayed beneath the cracking paint. He glanced up at the ceiling where naked light bulbs hung from rusted fixtures, and he shook his head. “Why did Danyael surround himself with so much ugliness?”
“Maybe it’s all he could afford,” Zara shot back.
“You are what you choose to surround yourself with. It’s true of both people and places. Life is too short, too precious to spend it…here.” He waved his hand to encompass his surroundings.
She sneered. “Why, Galahad. That almost sounded philosophical.”
“The one year I spent outside of Pioneer Labs taught me more about life than the twenty-five years I spent in there. I don’t take my surroundings lightly.”
Zara bit down on her lower lip. Galahad had adapted so easily, so perfectly to life outside Pioneer Labs that it was easy to forget that for most of his life, he had been little more than a caged lab animal. Where was the admiration, the respect she had felt for him in the early days of his freedom? Why had those feelings faded so quickly?
With a sharp shake of her head, her long dark hair swaying, Zara pushed those thoughts out of her mind. She never lingered too long in the past. The doubts and what-if questions were pointless; she could not undo her past actions and decisions. Only the future mattered.
Galahad knocked again. “Miriya? It’s Galahad. Open the door.”
“If she’s in there, she’ll sense you through the closed door. Move aside.”
He stepped away from the door. “What are you going to do?”
“Employ some of those borderline illegal skills that allow me to live a life of moderate luxury.” Zara pulled a lock pick out of her pocket and knelt in front of the door. Within seconds, the lock clicked. She stood up, put her lock pick away, and was about to turn the doorknob when Galahad placed a hand lightly on hers. She looked up, startled.
“I don’t think surprising a telepath is a good idea,” he said.
“You knocked twice and announced yourself. How would entering now constitute a surprise?”
“Let me go first, all right?” Galahad pushed the door open and stepped quietly into the studio apartment.
Zara rolled her eyes at his back. He was delusional if he thought that he was any better at protecting her than she was at protecting herself. She was right behind him. The smell hit her first, stale sweat mingling with the pungent scent of rot. She flicked the light switch next to the door. “Looks like power has been cut off,” she murmured.
“Someone’s in here,” Galahad said, his voice as quiet as hers. “I hear breathing. Up ahead.” He strode quickly to the main living area.
Zara would have followed him, but her attention was drawn to the kitchen. More than a year had passed since she had been in the apartment. She recalled sitting at the table, staring narrow-eyed at Danyael while he washed down dry toast with tap water. The kitchenette had seemed as small then, but it had been clean, the appliances old but treated with care. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Pizza boxes, partly filled with rotting leftovers, were piled high on the floor. A rat scurried across the filthy tiles.
She frowned as she swiped a slender finger through a thin layer of white powder on the table. A quick taste confirmed her fears. Damn it.
Galahad called. “Zara, over here.”
He had found Miriya, but Zara scarcely recognized her. The alpha telepath appeared barely conscious, her breathing slow and languorous. She had always been slender, but she looked emaciated, her bones jutting out on her petite frame.
Zara nudged her head toward the kitchenette. “I found heroin.”
“How long do you think she’s been using it?”
“No idea. Xin said Miriya left the council about five months ago. Maybe since then?”
“What do we do?”
Zara reached for her cell phone and hit the first number on speed dial. “Xin? Do you know of any good drug detox clinics?”
Xin chuckled, soft and low. “Found Miriya, huh?”
Zara’s jaw dropped. For several seconds, words eluded her. “You knew?” Zara demanded finally. “And you did nothing?”
“The methods people employ to manage their pain, or someone else’s pain, are really none of my business.”
“What do you mean ‘someone else’s pain’? Danyael’s?”
“She’s hooked into his mind, after all,” Xin said.
Zara’s eyes widened. “She feels all his pain?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her. I don’t know what’s in her head. I’ve called ahead and made a reservation for Miriya at the Healen Addiction Treatment Center. It’s in Stowe, Vermont. There’s a private jet waiting for the three of you at Teterboro Airport, in New Jersey. A car will meet you at the Morrisville-Stowe airport and take you to Healen.”
Zara hung up on Xin. Her generous lips drew into a frown. “I’d forgotten how much I hate that about Xin.”
“The fact that she’s always three steps ahead of us?”
“It’s hard not to feel like an idiot child in comparison.” She pointed to the woman on the bed. “Can you carry her?”
Galahad nodded, lifting Miriya with no apparent effort. Zara wrapped a heavy coat around the telepath’s skinny frame and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “She’s in dire need of a bath.”
“She needs a great deal more than a bath,” Galahad said. “Let’s get her to the clinic. They should know what to do for her.”
~*~
Over the following two weeks, Xin monitored the reports of Miriya’s recovery. Annoyed by the lack of progress, she made a few phone calls and then headed out to Stowe. Zara was often a catalyst of events, most of them cataclysmic. All Xin had to do was to precipitate a confrontation between Zara and Miriya.
Galahad met Xin at the treatment center. He had, for reasons Xin did not understand, decided to stay in Stowe after delivering Miriya to the center. According to the clinic’s daily reports, Galahad spent hours each day with Miriya as she struggled through the detoxification process. Was that man the same one Zara had accused of being a self-centered, hedonistic pig? Xin found little to dislike in Galahad. He was easy on the eyes, though perhaps Danyael deserved credit for those rare good looks. Galahad’s formidable charm seemed subdued, but it could have been attributed to their surroundings; a drug detox clinic was not the right place for flirtation.
Xin cut off her quiet conversation with Galahad at the familiar sound of high-heeled boots clicking sharply against the polished wooden floor. She looked up at Zara. “What took you so long?”
Zara Itani tossed her long hair back over a shoulder. The assassin had the slender, long-legged build of a model and a face to match, courtesy of her mixed racial heritage. Her white cowl-necked dres
s offset her dark hair and her bronzed skin. She had, when she chose, a killer smile, but she was not smiling.
Her generous lips drew into a scowl. “It takes a while to get from Washington, D.C., to Stowe. Finding an emergency babysitter for Laura wasn’t easy either,” Zara retorted. “This had better not be another trip for nothing.”
Galahad led the way, striding down the corridors toward Miriya’s room. “You could have stayed around.” The accusation sounded sharp in spite of Galahad’s quiet, melodic tenor.
Zara kept pace beside him. “I had a life to get back to. I’m surprised you chose to stay. Are you going to tell me why it was so important I show up in person? Why couldn’t whatever problem you’ve run into with Miriya be resolved over the phone?” She glanced over her shoulder at Xin, who trailed behind them. “And what are you doing here, Xin?”
Xin, at a petite five feet four inches, was much shorter than Zara and Galahad. She walked faster to compensate for the length of her stride. “I thought I’d come by to see how she’s doing. You do know why she’s reluctant to help, don’t you?”
Zara stopped, turning on Xin. “No. Why?”
“Don’t you remember what Erin said to her, after Danyael was taken?”
Zara’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “You weren’t there.”
Xin gave her a flat stare. “Lots of others were, and I read their reports. You, however, were there, and you should have remembered.”
The rebuke did not register. Zara could be thick skinned when she chose and thin skinned when she was spoiling for a fight. The assassin spun and stalked down the corridor. Xin smiled; Zara was indeed spoiling for a fight, just not with Xin.
Without knocking, Zara flung open the door of Miriya’s room. The heavy drapes had been pulled back, and natural light flooded the room. The large clusters of medical equipment monitoring Miriya’s health were no longer required after her condition had stabilized. For the most part, the hospital room resembled a charming bedroom decorated in cool pastels.
Miriya was not alone. Zara paused at the door and tilted her head slightly. Her cool smile contrasted with the warm purr in her voice. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Alex Saunders. What brings you up here? Surely not the skiing?”
“Hello, Zara. I came up with Xin,” Alex said quietly. Three decades past his professional wrestling days, the director general of the Mutant Affairs Council radiated authority in the erectness and strength of his frame, but his eyes were tired, his natural energy subdued.
Miriya Templeton, gaunt and pale, looked up from the bed. Her blond hair was devoid of sheen and style, but her green eyes were alert and glittered with irritation. She glared at Zara and Galahad. “Great. Now that you’re both here, you can tell him the same thing I’ve been telling you two in person and over the phone for the past two weeks.”
Galahad smiled faintly. He propped a shoulder against the far wall. “With or without the curse words?”
Alex sighed. “Miriya, I need to know where Danyael is.”
“He’s not in pain, and he’s safe from all of you,” Miriya snapped. “That’s where he’s going to stay.”
“I know I hurt Danyael,” Alex said. “Changing his threat classification…it was not something I did lightly. I was convinced that it was the right thing to do at that time.”
“For who?” Zara challenged. She closed the distance and stood in front of Alex, hand poised on her hip.
Alex met Zara’s gaze without flinching. “For the country, but that point is moot now.” He turned back to Miriya. “You’re the only one who can tell us where he is, Miriya.”
Miriya shook her head sharply. “I didn’t hold on to the hook in his mind for an entire bloody year only to turn him over to his betrayers without so much as a fight.”
“Fight?” Zara chuckled. “You’re lucky to manage coherent thought processes after snorting that much heroin.”
“Why, Miriya?” Alex sounded pained. “Why did you use heroin? Why didn’t you just turn to the council for help?”
Miriya looked at him askance. “After the way you helped Danyael? Why in God’s name would I turn to the council?”
“As an alpha telepath and a former enforcer at the council, you should have known better. Drugs are hell on everyone, but they’re especially a bad idea for mutants. Your mind—more than anyone else’s—is a weapon, and to subject it to drugs—”
“I’m not interested in a sermon, Alex.” Miriya folded her arms across her chest. She scowled, her lower jaw jutting out. “I just needed a way to—”
“To what, Miriya?” Galahad asked, without moving away from his position by the wall. He exchanged a quick glance with Xin, and Xin nodded, acknowledging his unspoken observation. Miriya had spoken far more in the past ten minutes than she had in two weeks.
Miriya turned her face away from them, her thin fingers wrung together, tangling into the bed sheets. Her lips quivered, and she bit down hard before saying softly, “I just needed a way to silence his screams. I couldn’t take it anymore. For the first few months, I kept thinking that surely someone must know how much pain he’s in. Surely, someone’s going to step in and stop it. When no one did, I thought perhaps I could be strong enough to take it.” She swallowed hard and paused for a long moment before continuing. “I guess I was wrong about that, too.”
“Do you feel his pain, Miriya?” Zara asked.
Miriya shook her head. “No, it’s just a hook, not a psychic bond. Physical pain doesn’t transmit through the hook. In fact, in most cases, nothing but location transmits through the hook, but the rules don’t seem to apply in Danyael’s case.” She laughed, the sound bitter. “Nothing is ever simple with Danyael. I didn’t feel his physical pain, but his mental anguish came through loud and clear.”
“Why didn’t you drop the psychic hook, Miriya?” Alex asked.
“Because it was that damned hook that sent him to ADX. I led you—all of you—to him.” Her voice caught. She looked up at them, her emerald green eyes filling with tears. “I thought maybe someday the hook would actually be good for something…that even if I couldn’t help, I would at least know when he was dead and finally at peace.”
Zara chuckled, low and bitter. “Damn. There’s so much guilt going around over what we’ve all done to Danyael, it’s a wonder no one has started a support group yet.”
Miriya lifted her gaze and met Alex’s eyes. “Why didn’t you help him? How could you just let them hurt him so badly?”
“I never intended for Danyael to get hurt.”
Miriya’s eyes widened. “You classified him a class five criminal—”
“No. The classification is for threat, not criminal status.”
“Cut the bullshit, Alex,” Miriya said. “That threat-level classification gives the government the authority to treat mutants like criminals and take them into custody. You sent Danyael to a super-maximum security prison.”
Alex sighed. His shoulders sagged. “I sent him to ADX to keep him away from General Howard. I made provisions to protect him, even in prison, but…” He swallowed hard. “It went wrong. When the prison director realized how badly injured Danyael was, he had Danyael taken in for surgery. I don’t know exactly what happened. The reports are unclear, but it appears that Danyael’s internal psychic shields collapsed when he went under general anesthesia.”
“Oh, my God.”
Alex nodded. “Everyone in the operating theatre died; they committed suicide. The surgery was aborted, and Danyael was tossed back into solitary. Five guards who had lost friends in that accident went into Danyael’s cell. Maybe they wanted to rough him up for what happened, maybe they just wanted to question him. No one knows for certain, because they’re dead too. Danyael had been shot up with drugs to keep him docile, but he fought back anyway, and killed them.” Alex shook his head, his eyes downcast. “At that point, the prison director said to hell with the promises he’d made to me to keep Danyael safe. The electric collar was set for sixty-second intervals.
There was nothing I could say or do to convince him that Danyael wasn’t a class-five threat.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “They weren’t prepared to deal with an alpha empath, and I couldn’t get Danyael out.”
Zara arched a brow. “You screwed up, you’re sorry, and that’s it? Do you know what they did to him in there?”
“I know the reports glossed over the worst parts of it. Danyael is not well—in fact, he’s far from it—but you can help him now, Miriya. Tell me where he is.” Alex sat on the bed and reached out, placing his hands over hers. “I swear, I want only to help Danyael. He’s been through enough, and he needs to be protected until he’s strong enough to protect himself again.”
Miriya shook her head sharply, her blond hair swaying. “You will stay away from him. He’s okay now, or at least as okay as he’s ever going to be. No one’s hurting him anymore.”
Alex sighed. “Miriya…”
Zara’s eyes narrowed. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?” she asked.
Miriya looked up. “Afraid of what?”
“What Erin Bryne said.”
Miriya blanched. Her fingers clenched into the bed sheets.
Zara’s lips twisted into a humorless smirk. “I’ve been accused of being a selfish bitch, but it appears I’m not the only one. You don’t want us to find Danyael, but not for any reason associated with Danyael’s well-being. You don’t want us to find Danyael because you’re afraid. You’re petrified that Erin might be right.” Zara turned to look directly at Alex Saunders. “Has Erin ever been wrong?”
Alex shook his head. “Erin is an alpha precognitive. She’s never been known to be wrong, but occasionally, her tendency to be cryptic has led to misinterpretation. Am I missing something here?”
Galahad spoke up, his voice quiet. “Erin’s last words to Miriya after Danyael was arrested by the Mutant Assault Group was ‘Danyael will never see you alive again.’”
Alex’s shoulders moved in a silent sigh. “That can be interpreted in different ways.”
“But the most obvious interpretation is scaring you to death, isn’t it, Miriya?” Zara closed in on Miriya, intruding on the telepath’s personal space with the certainty of a predator stalking wounded prey. “You’re afraid that if you find him, or if you help us find him, you’ll die.”
