Mindhealer

by lillith saintcrow

  Merrick nodded, taking his plate. He did, indeed, know. The specter of failure would haunt Asher, would torture his every waking moment. He’d lost a Lightbringer.

  “There were ten or twelve of them, and fifteen Seekers. They had a hideous number of zombies, too. They put the witch out of commission first and moved in on Asher while he was trying to get her to safety. They talked while they were working him over and sinking the filthy Dark into the Lightbringer. He says they’re trying to create Watchers of their own, looking for a Dark parasite that’ll give them the benefits of a tanak. They want something that can withstand Lightbringer magicks, so they’ve been trying to trap psychics and Lightbringers, infect them with these things—testing some kind of Seeker hybrid that they’ll eventually put into their version of us.”

  Merrick’s entire body went cold. He heard Caro’s voice, a faint distracted murmur, and her brother trying to make her laugh, telling her some humorous story. A faint breath of her green tea perfume reached him. And his shirt smelled like her shampoo now, since her hair had been damp while he held her. “Christ in Heaven.” His scars began to pulse with fire, a sharp reminder of the Dark.

  Keenan nodded, his sharply handsome face drawn and pale. “Yeah. Oliver said to give you a message—do not pass this on to your witch. We sent a detail out to take a look at some of the other victims, each one of them was dead except one that burst with one of those things while the Watchers were there. There aren’t any survivors, and your witch can’t treat the patients. The Council liaison’ll take care of breaking the news to her. We’re supposed to take her and her brother back to Saint City as soon as she’s well enough to travel. The Crusade’s targeted Mindhealers as priority-one terminations; something about them possibly being able to treat the infection.”

  Oh, good God, this just keeps getting worse. “Fucking hell,” he whispered, and tightened his fingers on the plate.

  “Whatever was in Asher was supposed to kill him. And whatever they put in the Lightbringer was supposed to birth itself, come out, and run riot in the safehouse before it escaped and made its way back to them. They were counting on the Lightbringer being brought in.” Keenan’s paleness wasn’t fear. It was tightly controlled rage, allowed to surface only because he was fairly sure neither Lightbringer in the other room was paying attention. “It gets worse.”

  How could it get any worse? Merrick didn’t ask, simply waited.

  “The Crusade’s hooked up with another organization, one that calls itself Dominion. We don’t know anything about them yet. The tech witches are working ’round the clock to find out. But the important thing is this. Do not, under any circumstances, let the Mindhealer out of your sight. Try to convince her to stay in the safehouse. If you absolutely can’t stop her, bring her back well before nightfall. Oliver said to tell you that certain . . . leeway . . . is permitted to Watchers in cases like this. It’s a goddamn emergency.”

  Merrick’s throat was dry. He looked down at his plate, the chicken curry, the salad, the neat double-slice of fresh bread. Caro’s brother was a good cook, and he seemed to be the only person who could make her see reason. “Her brother?” The question was only half articulated.

  He got the idea Keenan might have laughed out loud, if it hadn’t been so important to be quiet. “Understands, but he’s not sanguine. As he puts it, it’s like beating your head on a brick wall, only Caro wins against the wall almost every time. Time for ‘act first and apologize later,’ Merrick.”

  Keenan was deadly serious. The urge to laugh rose under Merrick’s skin. It was repressed with a savagery that made his plate tremble slightly. This has got to be a first. I am getting permission to do what I’d already made up my mind to do anyway. The gods have a sense of humor, at least. “Understood.”

  The other Watcher raised a single eyebrow. “You’re not going to have any trouble?”

  Bloody hell, I’m going to have more trouble than even I know how to deal with. She’s going to be extremely unhappy about this. “Doesn’t matter. She’s my witch. I’m not about to let the Crusade or anyone else get their filthy fucking hands on her. Right, mate?”

  “Right.” Keenan looked a lot more relieved. It was probably unpleasant for him to break this news to Merrick, not knowing how a newly-bonded Watcher might react to the threat to his witch.

  “Hey.” Caro’s brother, his voice a cheerful ribbon of brightness, called from the table. “You guys die in there, or is my cooking so good you’re standing up and scarfing?”

  Caro laughed. It was a tired, strained, but beautiful sound that tightened every muscle in Merrick’s body, curled through him like smoke and made him remember her fingers in his hair, the brush of her skin against his scars making them burn with an intensely pleasurable agony. Remember? No, he’d been thinking of her the whole time. No matter what thought crawled through his head, she was always underneath it now.

  “If either of you has a spare hand, I could do with a glass of water,” she called, and Merrick automatically cast around for a glass.

  “I’ll bring it.” Keenan’s voice dropped further. “Just be careful. You’re a good Watcher, I’d hate to mourn you.”

  “Honor,” Merrick mumbled.

  “Duty,” Keenan said just as softly. Then, louder, “We’re on our way. You need anything, Trevor?”

  “Just a crowbar to separate Caro from these papers.”

  Merrick paced to the round oak table, a move that prompted Caro’s frantic scrambling to clear places for him and Keenan. She still looked tired, but two days’ worth of sleep and Power had done quite a bit to erase the dark circles under her eyes and the slight trembling in her hands. She’d bounced back remarkably well.

  I shouldn’t have lasted six hours, her voice echoed, and he didn’t even try to squelch the flare of possessiveness that went through him. What a fine, ironic twist. He’d all but been given permission to drag Caro kicking and screaming up north, to where the Guardians kept the streets clear of the Crusade even if other Dark swarmed in.

  His conscience gave one last stinging twinge as he set his plate down and lowered himself into the chair, checking to make sure his coat was still lying across the foot of her bed. It was habit, keeping track of an important piece of gear. His attention touched Caro’s aura for a few moments, reassuring himself. She paused, stacking the file folders to one side, and gave him a shy smile that made her dark blue eyes light up and the persistent shadow of worry flee for just a moment. Her long earrings—a delicate cascade of tiny amber beads on thin gold wires—glittered in her ears. The vulnerable curve of her throat and the thinness of her shoulders made her look even more fragile.

  That gave his conscience even more to work with. You don’t belong to Circle Lightfall. You belong to her, Merrick. You were so insistent on that fact a few days ago, weren’t you? They’ve asked you to hide something from her, admittedly just so the Council liaison can try to make her see reason, but still. She’s your witch, you owe her your loyalty. You owe her your duty, your honor, and your obedience, remember? The Watcher’s watchwords. If she finds out you knew about this and didn’t tell her, you’ll lose her trust. She trusts you.

  He rallied as the other Watcher brought a glass of water, setting it down carefully as he leaned across the table.

  “Couldn’t find a crowbar,” Keenan said pleasantly, and Trevor laughed. But the boy’s laughter had an edge, and his eyes held a question, one the Watcher answered with a slight shrug as Caro’s head was down as she shuffled through the file folders again, murmuring to herself.

  Listen, Merrick told himself. You joined the Watchers because you almost killed a Lightbringer for cash. Now is not the time to be telling yourself that you have a problem with being a total bastard. Your government tried to use you, each client you pulled the trigger for tried to use you, and the Crusade tried to use you. She’s the only person in your miserable life who’s tried to protect you, and you want to start second-guessing yourself and possibly let her get hurt or, God
forbid, killed? Keep your mouth shut and do what you have to do, Merrick. It’s your only hope.

  “Caro, quit looking through those and eat. It’ll get cold, and you know how bad you feel when you let the curry get cold.” Her brother reached over and firmly subtracted the files from her unresisting hands. Amazingly enough, she didn’t give him a single sharp word. Instead, she looked at Merrick, and the softness in her wide, beautiful eyes was another kind of exquisite torture.

  “So I’ve been sleeping for two days, and you’ve been pouring Power into me.” She nodded a thank-you to Keenan. Then her gaze returned to Merrick’s, and he had the sudden uncomfortable idea that if she kept looking at him that way he was going to spill every secret he’d ever thought of keeping. “No wonder I don’t feel as backlashed as I should. You brought me out.”

  He dropped his eyes to his plate and couldn’t for the life of him remember what he was supposed to be eating. His scars tingled with pain from her brother’s weak light, but Caro’s aura glowed reassuringly.

  “How did you do it?” she persisted. “It’s dangerous to touch a Mindhealer, physically or mentally, while they’re in the space-between. How did you do it?”

  “They weren’t going to let him,” her brother volunteered. “But—I mean, it was either that or watch you fade, and we really had . . .” He looked down at his plate, a sudden flush rising in his cheeks. “I thought we were going to lose you.”

  “You didn’t lose me.” Her smile rewarded them, but there was a glimmer of uneasiness to it. The glimmer, however, was fainter than it should have been. “I’m right here. It was a bit frightening, but it all worked out in the end.”

  He would never get used to their faith in the goodness of the world. Just like a Lightbringer, so bloody optimistic, everything worked out, didn’t it?

  Not all the time, love. Merrick’s scars throbbed with heat. He knew how close it had been. He still had precious little idea of what he’d done to bring her out of wherever she’d been. He hadn’t cared where she was, just that he was supposed to follow. Even if she went down into the dark dry land of death.

  “Merrick?”

  She was looking at him. He felt the words rising—Caro, listen to me. There’s nothing more you can do here. I’m taking you back to Saint City and standing guard at your door until I’m sure it’s safe enough to let you out. That place you were in was no different than a jungle, sweetheart, and I tracked you because that’s what I do. I find targets and eliminate them. Only I brought you back.

  The hard, cold animal in the bottom of Merrick’s mind agreed with a snarl. She was his, his witch, it was that simple. Of course he’d brought her back. There was no other option.

  He swallowed, wished he had a mouthful of food or something that would give him an excuse not to talk. “Hm?”

  “How did you do it?” There was a line between her perfectly arched eyebrows. “If I knew how you did it, I might be able to help the victims. If I could pull them out, and get rid of the infection—”

  “No,” Merrick heard himself say. His voice rattled the plates on the table, made the wood groan, and Trevor looked up, his hazel eyes wide and warning. He pursed his lips and shook his head a little.

  And Caro saw him.

  “What?” She laid her fork down and folded her hands. Then she smiled, but it was the private smile of a schoolteacher who has suddenly caught her students out. “What’s going on?”

  Silence. Merrick’s heart gave another guilty leap, started to pound. He stared at his plate, not even daring to steal a small glance at her out of the corner of his eye. He felt her gaze pass over him, across the table, and finally come to rest on her brother.

  “Trev?” Soft, but irresistible. If she spoke like that all the time, Merrick would find himself doing anything she asked, danger or not. “Anything you want to tell me?”

  “You should talk to Fran.” It was the first time Merrick had ever heard the boy sound repentant and uncertain, his buoyancy gone. “She’ll tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” Caro’s tone was dangerously quiet. More silence. Then Merrick felt her eyes come to rest on him. “Merrick?”

  He’d thought he was prepared for anything, even for this. Oh, Christ. How can I lie to her? I can’t. He managed to look up, met her eyes, and the suspicion he saw there only sharpened the knife in his chest. Say something, Merrick. Something, anything. “The victims are all dead, Caro.”

  Her eyes darkened even further. “There’s sure to be more. We don’t know what the Crusade’s plan is, just that they’re involved somehow. They might be . . . Merrick? You’re going to break the plate if you keep stabbing it with your fork like that. Trevor, where’s your milk? Keenan, would you like something to drink?”

  The change in tempo was so abrupt he almost opened his mouth and spilled everything. But her eyes passed away from him. She seemed to dismiss her own suspicion and his objection at the same time. He was grateful for that, but Trevor suddenly looked far more apprehensive. His aura abruptly turned the acrid lemon-yellow of worry even as Keenan shook his head, staring at his plate.

  “No ma’am.” The younger Watcher seemed to be pulling into himself, as if preparing for an explosion.

  She took a bite, closed her eyes briefly in appreciation, and smiled at her brother. But her eyes were suspiciously bright and far too sharp for Merrick’s liking. “Trevor? Your milk. You need it.”

  “I’m not four years old, Caro.” But he got up, his chair scraping against the laminate flooring, and headed for the kitchenette. His back was tight under his T-shirt, his belt—a loop of chain, of all things—glinting in the warm light from the overhead fixtures.

  “Merrick? Want to tell me what’s going on?” Again, that soft irresistible tone. Her hair, drying, lay in gold-streaked waves against her shoulders and made his fingers tingle with the need to touch her again.

  Good God, she was relentless. “I don’t know much,” he hedged. “The Council liaison wants to see you. If I gave you what I had, it would just muddy the issue.”

  She examined him for a long moment, long enough that he almost started to sweat. Forgive me, love, I’m doing the best I know how. I can’t lie to you, but I don’t want to try to convince you to stay under cover while we go after the Crusade and make them wish they had never been born.

  “All right. I’ll be a good little girl. All of them are dead?” The sudden sadness in her voice was almost too much to stand.

  He nodded. Don’t worry. I’m going to make sure you don’t end up the same way.

  “And Fran wants to talk to me.” She searched his face, and he was glad he’d shaken his hair down habitually. His scars burned with shame and Dark-laced pain.

  Another nod. His neck was too tight, and the movement felt uncoordinated.

  Caro didn’t say another word, but applied herself to her lunch. The silence turned impenetrable. Her brother came back, and by the time his plate was clean he looked miserable. Keenan was tense too, trying like hell to make himself invisible without thickening his glamour, and Merrick was beginning to feel a little uneasy. He had never before thought that a Lightbringer’s silence could feel so much like a punishment. Caro’s quiet seemed designed to accentuate the guilty way his heart was pounding.

  Caro vanished into the bathroom once the meal was over, and Merrick caught Keenan’s eye.

  The younger Watcher shrugged, and Merrick cursed inwardly as he carried the plates into the kitchenette.

  He didn’t like the looks of this.

  * * * *

  Caro shooed her brother out gently but inexorably. “I’ll see Fran in an hour or so, after I’ve finished my research. Thank you for lunch, you make the most wonderful things. No, Trev, I mean it. I’ll be just fine. Merrick’s here. We get along just splendidly. Go on, now, tell Fran I’ll be along. No, no, I’ll be okay.”

  After about ten minutes, Trevor gave up, leaving Merrick facing a witch whose indigo eyes were beginning to glow dangerously.

  Still
, she didn’t quiz him. Instead, she paced for one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, the one that held her canvas bag. The skirt she wore made a soft, sweet sound as she moved, barefoot and with her hair tangling softly and streaked with gold. She looked more like a witch than her usual polished, professional veneer would have him believe was possible. Digging in the bag for a moment brought out her amber necklace and the slim, shallow jade bowl. She fastened and dropped the necklace down her shirt again before carrying the bowl into the kitchen, her footfalls still soft when the carpet changed to laminate underfoot.

  I don’t like the looks of this. Merrick leaned against the wall and made himself a statue, so still he felt his lungs cry out for breath.

  Caro brought the jade bowl and set it carefully on the carpeted floor. “Lock the door, please, Merrick. You can wait outside if you want to.”

  Was that an order, or just telling me I can? He decided to err on the side of misinterpretation and locked the door, moving slowly just in case she decided to notice him further. She was stalking around the room, trailed by nothing more than green tea perfume and the burned candle-wax smell of—what was it? Anger? He hoped not. The food he’d managed to eat turned into a cold lump in his stomach. If he had to sit through another long silence like the one Caro had subjected them all to, he might well swear off food altogether.

  She tied her hair back with an elastic band. Opening her canvas bag again, she brought out a thick, white candle and a little Ziploc bag full of something dried, as well as a small brass incense burner. This being a safehouse, she found a charcoal tab and candleholder in the kitchen, and obviously settled down to work some magick.

  She shouldn’t be doing this, she might get a serious case of backlash. Is she insane? What’s she doing?

  “Open the window a little, will you, please?” Her voice was careful and neutral, but the bald edge of anger was beneath it. He’d miscalculated. “And when you’re done, you can come over here and sit down. I won’t bite.”