Rockwell Agency: Boxset

by Dee Bridgnorth

  The look on Whitney’s face was one of pure hate. She spat in Lydia’s eye, lifting her hand as though to strike her down. Lydia flinched backward, knowing that she should have kept her mouth shut. But she’d been unable to hold back. She hated Whitney with all of her heart, and she wasn’t sure she was getting out of any of this alive, anyway. So, she could only partially regret what she’d said.

  Whitney lowered her hand, her eyes narrowed. “No. You’re not tricking me into expending any more of my power. I need all of it to get Jack back, and I won’t waste it punishing you. You think you’re smarter than me, but you’re not.”

  Whitney got up, taking several steps back from her. She lifted Lydia to her feet, using the same spell that she’d used to put Lydia on lockdown before. “We’re walking out of here. We’re getting in a cab. We’re driving to the place that I’ve designated. And when we get there—everything will be fine. You think I don’t know what I’m doing, but I do. I always do, and I always will.”

  Chapter 32

  Quentin

  Quentin was driving down the road when his phone rang back, Jordan’s picture flashing on the screen. He swiped to accept the call without taking his eyes off the road. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sending you coordinates,” Jordan said. “I’ve looked through all the maps of the area that I could put my hands on with such short notice, and I think there’s only one place that she was referring to.”

  “Down on the west side of town,” Quentin said. “The stream that runs under the bridge that leads away from the park with the geometric mulch pattern.”

  Jordan paused for a moment. “Yep. That’s it. But you follow the stream down, and it’ll widen into a river. Follow that river down into the bayou, and you’ll come to a point where it joins into another river. I don’t know if a tree grows out of the apex or not, but it’s a bayou, so—trees basically grow out of the water everywhere. Anyway, I think it’s your best shot.”

  “So do I,” Quentin said, estimating that he was about ten minutes from the spot where he would need to walk his car and then take the rest of the trip by foot. “Thanks for confirming it for me.”

  “It’s the middle of the day, so be careful. Don’t do what I did and shift in front of all the world unless you have to,” she said, reminding him of just a few weeks ago when she had shifted in front of a crowd of jewel thieves to save her boyfriend, Wes. “We don’t need any more videos bringing people down here—even if you ended up being pretty crazy about the person that my video brought down here.”

  Quentin clenched his hand around the steering wheel. “I’ll do what I have to do. No promises.”

  “Yeah. That’s love. Blows, doesn’t it?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  “I’ll rally the troops out there. Don’t die.”

  The phone call cut off, and Quentin glanced over at Jack, who had not said a word since trying to convince Quentin not to go after Lydia because she wasn’t trustworthy. “Look,” Quentin said, pressing down on the pedal to get there faster. “You should know that I’ll try to save you if I can, but I don’t promise anything.”

  Jack was looking out the window. He shrugged a shoulder. “What difference does it make? I’m tired of running from her. Maybe it’s better not to.”

  Quentin shook his head. “You should fight back. Lydia would want you to.”

  “I don’t know Lydia.”

  “Well, Lydia knows you,” Quentin said, “and the other version of you—the one that’s lost in the other world right now—he knows Lydia, and I think he cares about her. So, in a way, you do know Lydia.”

  Jack said nothing, and Quentin refocused on getting to the place he needed to be. He didn’t know how Whitney was getting there, but he kept his eyes peeled as he drove down the road, looking for any hint of a cab, or of Whitney, or Lydia sitting in one of the cars that he passed, driving about fifteen miles faster than anyone else.

  He got to the park he and Jordan had talked about, and he parked his car. Getting out, Quentin looked all around him. He didn’t like the fact that it was the middle of the day, and that there would be kids and families near whatever was about to happen. But there was nothing he could do about that right now. He would have to protect people as best as he could later, when Whitney finally showed herself.

  “Get out,” Quentin said, rounding to Jack’s side of the car and opening the door. As Jack got out, Quentin noticed that the man looked pale and exhausted. He moved slowly, like his reflexes were sluggish. They were running out of time to get him back to his world, and to get the other version of him back here.

  Quentin grabbed Jack’s arm, helping him to walk along beside him and making sure that he didn’t try to run. Running would be foolish, because Quentin would track him down in a heartbeat, if he even got out of sight to begin with. But Jack was known to make foolish decisions.

  They walked as casually as they could along the bank of the stream, over the bridge, and towards the bayou. There weren’t too many people around in the early afternoon, and they didn’t attract much attention as they walked. Even still, when they slipped into the thicker part of the bayou, Quentin was glad to be shielded from the public—and to have the public shielded from them.

  As they walked, it began to rain, and Quentin glanced above them, noting for the first time that there were dark clouds rolling in. The rain got harder, a flash storm coming out of nowhere. Louisiana was known for its [occasional] torrential downpours, and they were suddenly caught in one, walking through the bayou over ground that was already marshy and soft, swarming with unseen creatures beneath the surface of the water.

  Quentin dragged Jack with him, as the man tried to stop. “Keep going,” Quentin shouted, the rain pouring down over him so that his shirt clung to his chest, and his jeans immediately became a heavy burden. His shoes were swamped with water, and he kept an eye on where he put them, knowing that the rain could flush out all sorts of creatures that he didn’t have time to deal with. He kept pushing towards the place where the river they were following was going to join the other. And the whole time, every sense was attuned to listening for Whitney’s approach. If she didn’t show up here, he didn’t know what he was going to do. He didn’t know where she was, because he didn’t think she was a predictable foe.

  Then, up ahead, he saw a large tree growing out of a bend in the river. He stopped walking, his eyes tracking every detail. It looked like the two rivers met there, but with the rain pouring down and the whole area becoming soaked, and dark, and swampy, it was difficult to tell if he was in the right place.

  “This is it,” he said to Jack, more confidently than he felt. “We’ll stay here.”

  “It’s raining.”

  “I’m aware of that, Jack.”

  “She’s going to win, you know,” Jack said. “Whitney. She always gets what she wants.”

  “Well she’s never wanted something I want before,” Quentin said. “I can be a very nice man, Jack. I like to be a nice man. But not when I’m crossed. When I’m crossed, I will destroy everything.”

  “Is she worth it?”

  Quentin didn’t respond, looking back at the tree that was supposed to be the marker for their meeting. I hope so, he thought. I think she is. I know she is. Unless she’s been playing me all this time. Please, I hope you haven’t been playing me, Lydia. I love you.

  The storm raged, lightning flashing up above. Quentin pulled Jack beneath a particularly large tree, even though it was hardly a safe spot with the lightning above them. But there were no safe spots in the bayou, in the middle of a thunder and lightning storm, and at least this way they were somewhat sheltered from the pouring rain.

  He hunkered down, watching the sky above him. He got the distinct feeling that this was not a natural phenomenon occurring, and he wondered if anyone outside the bayou was experiencing the same storm. The sky was growing so dark that it was almost black as night. The lightning that flashed across the sky briefly lit up the trees. Beside him, Jack wa
s shaking with fear and cold as the temperature plummeted to the teens.

  When he felt an arctic wind move over him, Quentin knew for sure that this was not some flash thunderstorm. This was a supernatural phenomenon, and Whitney was behind it. She was trying to level the playing field between them. She had discovered, presumably, that her spells didn’t work directly against him. But she could still create magic around him, and he admired her ingenuity.

  It was a shame for her, though, that it was going to backfire. The wind, and the rain, and the darkness might make it harder for him to see and move around, but it made it much easier for him to shift.

  Stepping out from under the tree, Quentin stripped his shirt off over his head and tossed it to the ground. The rain fell over his chest, running down his skin, as he stood with his broad shoulders squared and his legs apart, bracing him against the ground.

  “Come on, then,” Quentin shouted out into the raging storm, holding his arms out wide. “I know it’s you, Whitney. I know you’re there. You want to take me on? Intimidate me? You’re going to have to do better than that. Only a coward hides behind thunder.”

  He pulled his jeans off, tossing them on top of his shirt. “Can you handle this?”

  He got a flash in his head of Whitney stepping out from behind a tree, and he knew she was there. He knew that she could see him now, and he wanted her to see something that she would never forget. Something that would show her exactly who she was dealing with.

  Quentin jumped into the air, shifting as he did so. His maroon-scaled wings uncurled and his tail cut through the air, and he lifted his head, opening his mouth to display his jagged teeth and the fire on his breath. His eyes gleamed, and his head tossed back and forth as he dominated the small clearing, knocking over one tree with his tail alone. He was here to get what he wanted, and she might be powerful, but so was he.

  But he was far more motivated.

  Chapter 33

  Lydia

  They had ridden in a cab and arrived at a park. It was only a few minutes away from the hotel they’d been in. Lydia couldn’t decide if Whitney knew exactly what she was doing, or if she was playing this entire thing by ear. She leaned towards the latter, but sometimes, it seemed, things worked out too well for Whitney. Like this secluded park being so close by—and Whitney knowing about it.

  Lydia struggled to keep up with Whitney, as they walked into the bayou. Her mind was racing with possibilities, and she was looking for her opportunity to get away from Whitney in the depths of the bayou. She knew that the woman was powerful, but if she couldn’t find Lydia, then could she do anything to her?

  Whitney kept sipping from her canister as they walked, muttering to herself. But then she shocked Lydia by coming to an abrupt halt and rooting around in the marshy pools of water, scooping out fist after fist of sopping wet mud. Lydia gasped when Whitney rooted around within the mud and began to scoop out live bugs and worms, slurping them into her mouth and swallowing them whole.

  Lydia stumbled back, her stomach churning at the sight, and Whitney looked up at her, narrowing her eyes.

  “Little twit,” Whitney said. “They’re living things. Consumable, living things. For my magic. For restoration. They’ll do—they’ll have to do. Until I can harvest more. Until Jack is back again.”

  “Do you eat Jack’s organs?” Lydia asked, hardly wanting to know the answer. “Is that what’s in the bottle?”

  Whitney held up her drink, swinging it back and forth from its handle. “That and other things. Liquefied. It tastes foul, but it’s the best way to keep me running. Running, running, running. Powerful. Strong.”

  Lydia shuddered. “They grow in jars?”

  “From clippings of his hair, and his nails, and grafts of his skin,” Whitney said, straightening up as she slurped a few last worms from her fingers. “Human organs are the best. They work the longest. They run through you like silk. But other live things will do, too, in a pinch. I need more power. More of it. More control.”

  She was talking to herself more than she was talking to Lydia, and that was absolutely fine. Lydia was disgusted by the hunched, scrounging woman walking in front of her, and she was more and more desperate to escape. On the ride over, Whitney had had her locked down, but now she didn’t, and Lydia was falling further and further behind, ready to make a run for it.

  But, Whitney stopped. “He’s here …I can sense him. We’re close now. So close. Jack is here. Jack—my Jack. He’s here to feed me.”

  Lydia shuddered again, but quickly she realized that if Jack was here, Quentin was, too. Her heart soared, and she looked around the bayou, trying to see him amongst the trees. They were walking along a river, heading deeper into the bayou. He had to be in there, waiting for her. Could she run to him now? Would it be foolish? Wouldn’t he hear her? Wouldn’t he pick up her scent? He would come for her—she knew he would.

  Whitney drained the last of her bottle, licking her lips. She shoved the bottle into her purse, which she was inexplicably carrying over her shoulder, as they slugged through the marsh. Something slithered against Lydia’s foot, and she jumped, gasping in horror.

  “Shut up, you fool,” Whitney said. “This is it. I don’t want to use up any power or energy on binding you, but I will if I have to. If you really push me, I’ll kill you. Don’t forget that.”

  Lydia had heard those threats before, but this time Whitney emphasized them by throwing her hands into the air and letting her head fall back. Rain began to fall immediately, and in a torrential downpour. Lydia gasped, shielding her head as her hair and clothing became soaked in mere seconds. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled, and cloud cover became so dark that Lydia could barely see in front of her.

  Whitney grabbed her arm, pulling Lydia through the marsh, and almost running with her through the rain. Lydia’s feet slipped and her ankle, which still ached, sent jolts of pain through her with every step now that they were running at full tilt through the marsh. But she had no choice but to keep up. She ran as fast as she could, caught in Whitney’s grip and unable to see well enough to even think about getting away.

  They came to a sudden stop, dodging behind some trees, and Lydia’s eyes began to adjust. She looked around her, ducking behind the tree with Whitney because she had to but trying not to be any closer to the woman than absolutely necessary.

  And then, she heard his voice through the darkness and the pouring rain. She heard Quentin’s voice, and it sounded far away, but it was close enough that her ears could pick up on it between rolls of thunder.

  He was shouting. Challenging Whitney. He was calling her out. Daring her to come to him.

  Lydia covered her mouth, almost screaming out for him. The moment she heard his voice, she knew that her doubts earlier had been so foolish. The feeling she got, just knowing that Quentin was near, told her everything she needed to know about being in love with him, and she absolutely was. His presence gave her a feeling of safety and joy and suddenly, no matter what was ahead of them, she knew that she would be okay—no matter what happened—if she just got to see, and hear, and touch him again.

  “I love you,” Lydia whispered. “Quentin, I love you, too.”

  Maybe he would hear her, but she didn’t think so. Even his hearing wasn’t that good.

  A swoop of wings reached her ears, though, and she gasped, peering out from behind the tree to see the shape of a dragon flying around an opening in the woods not far from them. He was circling a tree—the tree where Whitney had instructed him to meet her. He was so incredible, gliding there through the air, and Lydia held her breath, watching him. She almost forgot everything else around her, mesmerized by his powerful form, as lightning briefly lit up the sky, illuminating him.

  But Whitney was grumbling to herself, muttering under her breath. She was rooting around in the ground again, swallowing mud-coated worms and swearing every other word. Lydia looked back at Quentin, who was so close to her now. Surely she could get to him. Surely if she got at least cl
ose enough, he could snatch her up, and they could fly away together with Jack. What would become of Whitney, she didn’t know, but they could worry about that when they were all together again.

  Whitney reared up from digging in the mud, her face covered with it, and her lips smacking around the grub she was digesting to fuel her power. She rushed out from behind the tree before Lydia knew what was happening, and Whitney threw her hands up in the air, bringing lightning down directly in front of Quentin.

  He reared back from it, fire coming from his mouth down towards Whitney. Whitney lifted a hand and sucked Quentin’s fire into a ball that she now controlled, lobbing it back at him, so that it exploded in his face. Quentin snapped his jaw at it, then flew down towards Whitney, breathing fire all around her. She held off the flames with a shield that he erected around herself, and Lydia realized that the two were far too evenly matched for her comfort.

  But what Quentin might not know was how Whitney’s power was limited by the fuel that she took in. Lydia knew that she was running low, and that the tactics she was using now wouldn’t last forever. She couldn’t control the weather, and shield herself, and use her power against Quentin, indefinitely. And she certainly couldn’t do that and anything else at the same time—like control or hurt Lydia.

  Lydia took off across the bayou, running as fast as she could. Her ankle screamed in protestation, but she ignored it, stumbling and flailing her way through the marsh until she saw Jack in the distance, hiding beneath a tree, trembling. She threw herself down beside him, grabbing Jack in her arms and gasping for breath. “Jack! Jack! Hold onto me. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”