by Hope Anika
But that’s exactly what Shirley had done.
Wanda was still trying to wrap her brain around it. Shirley and the Primaries and Eva—
Eva.
Fear churned in her stomach, and she reached up to rub uneasily at her nape. No matter the hooded man’s talk of family and love and belonging, Wanda felt nothing but dread at the knowledge he had Eva. Eva, who was—despite her power—a child. One who needed guidance and protection. A parent—or as close to one as she could get. Not a collection of genetically engineered teenagers who thought nothing of striking a man down in cold blood.
Primaries.
Wanda had been grappling with Eva’s ability to heal ever since she’d experienced it. But to know there were more like her out there...others who were so powerful that Eva—who, alone, had killed a small army of men—feared them...Well. Wanda had only ever truly feared one thing: Devansh Patail. But somehow the threat he represented faded to gray when confronted with the miracle of healing she’d experienced, the wave of death she’d witnessed, and the lightning that had bolted from the sky and struck Wylie down.
Compared to those events, Devansh felt like a minor inconvenience. Not that it would feel that way should he catch up to her...but the last two days had offered an entirely new perspective.
And Wylie...
It had been everything she could do not to storm the hospital and plant herself at his side. But Wanda was painfully aware she had no right to do so. Ash had been the one to hold vigil over him, and that was as it should have been. They were family.
Wanda was not.
So instead she had prayed. And prayed. And prayed.
When he’d awoken so quickly from the coma he’d fallen into—fully recovered, no less—trepidation had marred her elation. Because...he should not have. His nearly instantaneous recuperation was not natural. And Eva had only touched him once, right after the explosion.
Which meant...what? That the healing she’d performed would continue...indefinitely?
Wanda shivered, chilled by the thought. All of the cuts and scrapes and bruises she’d gotten when the cabin blew up—and from their subsequent scramble down Charlie’s mesa—had healed before they’d crossed into the city. By the time Ruslan had screeched the Impala to a halt at Las Vegas Memorial, she’d felt like she could run a marathon. And win.
It was not a good feeling; in point of fact, it scared the hell out of her.
Wanda didn’t want to live forever.
Not that that would happen. She hoped that wouldn’t happen.
And what of Wylie?
She hadn’t told Ash what Eva had done. Not the healing or the killing, and she knew her boss had questions—how could she not have questions?—but thus far, she’d respected Wanda’s silence. But that, Wanda knew, would not last.
It couldn’t. Because Eva had been taken, and in order to get her back, they were all going to have to be on the same page. Which meant telling the truth. But the idea of admitting to Ash—to any of them—what, exactly, had happened made Wanda cringe.
Because they would think she’d lost her bloody mind.
No matter Wylie’s miraculous recovery. So she’d decided to wait for Wylie. Perhaps, if they were to tell Ash together, maybe—hopefully—Ash would be able to suspend her disbelief and, if not accept the truth, then at least consider its possibility. Maybe—
“Hey, baby.”
A jolt of adrenaline lanced through her, and she glanced up to see Wylie standing in the narrow doorway of her small office/server room. He was unshaven, clad in black t-shirt, worn jeans and his scuffed boots. His golden hair stood up in tufts, as if he’d just awoken, and his dark blue gaze was clear and intense when it met hers.
“Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi,” she whispered, frozen. Her heart suddenly jerked to life, and her throat swelled as her eyes soaked in every detail of him. He looked...
Fine.
“I need a hug,” he said solemnly, and Wanda could no more deny him than fly to the moon. She flew from her chair and into his arms, and when he crushed her to him, a small, jagged sob erupted from her.
“I’m okay,” he murmured into her neck, his breath hot, his scent enveloping her. “Just need to hold you.”
Another sob burst from her, and she squeezed him hard. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes. He was warm and strong and solid around her; nothing had ever felt so good.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said. All of her angst toward him seemed to evaporate; all of her disappointment and anger and frustration, leaking away like water circling a drain. “So glad.”
He held her for a long, silent moment, swaying just a little, and Wanda wanted to stay there, in that hushed, breathless space, with his arms tight around her, his breath on her skin, his scent deep in her lungs.
“I’m good.” He leaned back, his brows arched. “I figured you’d know that.”
The chill that had slid through her earlier returned. “You healed.”
“I did.” He swept a look over her, and in spite of everything, she blushed. Her skin prickled in awareness, and suddenly she wanted to kiss him again.
Really kiss him.
“You look pretty good, yourself,” he murmured.
“Yes. Not a scrape.” Her voice lowered. “What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know,” he replied grimly. “We’re going to have to go get Eva and ask her.”
Wanda nodded and then, unable to help herself, hugged him again, tightly.
“I know, baby,” he whispered in her ear. “I know.”
“Christ, not you too,” said a caustic voice from behind them, and Wanda looked up to see Butch standing in the hallway, scowling at them.
“Jealous old fart,” Wylie retorted.
Butch only snorted. He met Wylie’s gaze and nodded. “Glad you’re okay, son. Gave us quite a scare.”
“Thanks. Me, too.”
Aware that she was still wrapped in Wylie’s arms, Wanda tried to discretely step away, but his hold only tightened.
“Everybody’s here,” Butch said. “You bring the pizza?”
“It’s on its way,” Wylie said. “We’ll be right there.”
Butch sighed and shook his head and walked away.
“Did you tell them?” Wylie asked, watching him go.
“No,” Wanda said. “Not yet.”
He turned and looked at her. “Then I guess we do it together.”
Relief and something deeper—something she didn’t want to look too closely at—flooded through her. Her hands curled into his shirt, and she nodded.
“Together,” she said.
*****
“Here’s what we know,” Ash said.
Nothing. We know nothing.
But Ruslan was watching her with that steady, pale gaze, and his voice rang in her head—patience—but she sucked at patience, and then her cheeks were getting hot, because that look—after that kiss—well.
Focus, woman.
“Eva Pierce is a Primary,” she continued and slapped a hand against the list of Primaries pinned to the corkboard she stood beside. “The Primaries are genetically engineered individuals who were—we believe—originally commissioned by an organization referred to as Architect. Eva was one of thirteen Primaries created by Dr. Anson Grant, Dr. Reginald Kline, and Dr. Bethany Little while in the employment of GenTek Industries, a biotechnology firm run by a man named Leonard Masters. The stated purpose behind the creation of the Primaries was to eradicate genetic defects and anomalies. In effect, they were attempting to create a disease-free collection of humans who would then pass their untainted DNA down to successive generations, eventually eradicating all genetic disorders.”
She took a breath. “However, according to Grant’s research, the Primaries were born with some unexpected abilities. Abilities both unnatural and unmanageable. Grant’s records indicate at least two of the original Primaries were terminated by GenTek for exhibiting anomalous behavior.”
“Christ,” Wylie muttered.
“Indeed,” Ruslan intoned flatly.
“The program was sacked by GenTek approximately six years after it began,” she continued, “and Grant was let go. We don’t know why, and GenTek isn’t talking. Before leaving GenTek, Grant engineered a thirteenth embryo utilizing the data compiled from the previous twelve, took it home and implanted it into his wife. That embryo was Eva Pierce.”
She let that sink in. “Six years later, Grant and his wife were killed in the explosion of their boat on Crystal Lake. According to the press clippings, a faulty propane heater was blamed, and it was presumed by authorities that Eva died as well, although her body was never found. How she survived is yet one more question for our growing pile. But survive she did, and Joe Pierce—who’d been hired as private security by Grant after they returned to the city—became her de facto guardian. Joe was former CIA—which may or may not have anything to do with this cluster—and he cared for Eva and kept her safe for the next five years—until, presumably, her existence was discovered by someone who disagreed with the fact that she was breathing. That someone could have been GenTek, the Architect organization, the nutjob sect led by Reginald Kline—I’ll get to him—or someone else unknown to us at this point.”
Jesse stared at photographs on the board beside her, his bottle green eyes dark in his pale face. Butch was taking notes. Wylie and Wanda watched her, motionless, their faces grim. They didn’t seem surprised.
“For whatever reason,” Ash said, “Joe determined he could no longer protect Eva on his own and came to the Firm for help. He was unaware of Charlie’s death when he showed up. It was Joe who supplied us with Grant’s research.” Ash met Wylie’s gaze, and steeled herself. “He also made the claim that he’d served with Charlie in ‘Nam, but it was more likely their connection went back to the CIA.”
Wylie straightened in his chair, his eyes narrowing on hers. “The CIA?”
“Charlie used to worked for the Agency,” she said.
“No way.” Wylie shook his head. “No way. Are you high? I would’ve known if he was a fucking CIA agent. He would’ve told me.”
That’s what I thought, too. Ash only watched him, silent.
“It’s true,” Butch said. “Charlie didn’t talk about it, but he got recruited right out of ‘Nam and spent seven years with the Agency.”
Wylie looked at Butch, his face like granite. “Bullshit.”
“It’s true,” Ash echoed quietly. “I didn’t want to believe it either, but this—whatever it is—it has everything to do with him, Wylie. With him and the Agency and all sorts of shit we didn’t know about him.”
“Fuck.” Wylie scowled blackly. “Fuck.”
“Agreed,” Ash told him.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Get in line.” She took a deep breath and continued. “The men in black who came for Eva are members of an organization called The Order. The Order is led by Reginald Kline—the same Reginald Kline who helped Anson Grant engineer the Primaries. He had an apparent change of heart about his creation when he witnessed their alleged ‘abilities,’ and he formed The Order for the purpose of eradicating them, although he has several Primaries under his wing—including Jesse’s brother, Jace.”
Now it was Jesse’s turn to shake his head. “My brother’s no science experiment.”
“You sure about that?” Butch asked bluntly.
The boy blinked. He looked at Ash, opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“How did you come to be at the hostel?” Ruslan interjected. “Did someone direct you to it?”
“I...” Jesse looked at each of them and shrugged; he looked as confused as Ash felt. “The phone number was written down on a piece of paper in his room. When I called and found out what it was, I thought he might be there. He wasn’t, but I stayed because it was cheap, and I thought I might run into someone who’d seen him.”
“And he never mentioned Reginald Kline or the Order?” Ruslan pressed.
“No.” Jesse scowled. “He doesn’t talk to me. We’re not close, not since we were kids.”
“Kline is collecting Primaries,” Ash cut in. “Assimilating them. If they don’t choose assimilation, he kills them. He believes they plan to use their powers to destroy humanity.”
It sounded fantastical, but no one laughed.
“He’s hunting them,” she continued. “And his boys aren’t employees—they’re disciples. Thus the suicide by cyanide.”
“Which means what?” Butch asked, looking up from his notes. “Why the hell are they killing themselves?”
“Architect,” Ruslan replied. “We believe Kline does not want the organization to discover what he is doing. His men sacrifice themselves in order to maintain secrecy.”
“Holy shit,” Jesse breathed.
No one disagreed.
“There is also this.” Ruslan pulled a slip of paper from the interior of his suit. Ash blinked as he unfolded it and pinned it to the corkboard; shock jolted through her when it came into focus.
“It is a series of alchemic symbols which were painted on Anson Grant’s living room wall during a break-in,” he continued. “They are elemental symbols: air, earth, fire, water. We have been unable to ascertain their meaning, if any, or any significance in their order.” He paused and met Ash’s gaze, and her chest tightened. He wasn’t going to—“They were not, however, unknown to me.” He pushed up his suit sleeve and showed the group his tattoo; his features were cold, his tone as distant as the moon. But Ash could see what it took from him.
To share. To trust. And she knew the only reason he was doing so was because of her.
“Holy shit,” Jesse said again. “You’re one of them.”
“Unlikely but possible.” Ruslan’s tone could have frosted glass. “I have no memory of receiving this tattoo; I know neither where it came from, nor what it signifies. I have been unable to attach the symbols to any particular organization or specific meaning.”
“That tatt is old,” Wylie muttered. “When did you get it?”
Ruslan looked at him, his eyes like mirrors. “I was an infant.”
“You parents did that to you when you were a baby?” Jesse demanded.
“I did not have parents,” Ruslan said shortly and tugged his sleeve down again. He stared at Jesse, whose mouth snapped shut.
End of discussion.
But he’d shared. He’d taken a step into the fold and invited others into his history.
He’d evolved. Damn it.
She might have to kiss him again.
“What the fuck,” Wylie said. He was staring at Ruslan, his face hard. Suspicious. “You just happen to show up out of nowhere right as all this shit starts? And now you have a tatt that might make you one of them? That smells like bullshit.”
Ash couldn’t argue with that. But she didn’t think it was Ruslan’s bullshit.
She hoped it wasn’t. Goddamn it.
“Agreed,” Ruslan said. “We are being manipulated. The question is by whom.”
Wylie only shook his head and shot Ash a grim look, and the tension and guilt and angst she felt threatened to spill over. She’d spent the night tossing and turning and trying to ignore the pallor of death and blood that permeated her apartment, worried about Eva, enraged at Kline, and trying to let go of her anger and resentment at Charlie for being someone she hadn’t known. Dreams of her father had punctuated the night, filled with his soft, mocking laughter and violence.
“While at GenTek, we encountered a Primary who resides within the complex,” Ruslan continued. “He warned us to be wary of someone he referred to as the Exiles. We believe he was speaking of the other Primaries.”
“We think they might have banded,” Ash added. “There was a kid at Kline’s sermon we think is an Exile—implanted into Kline’s organization to spy and give the Exiles access to the other Primaries Kline manages to get his hands on—like Jace. And Ellery St. Clair.”
“This is sup
position,” Ruslan said. “We are making deductive leaps, but we have no proof those leaps are factual.”
Ash resisted the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him. She ground her teeth instead. “Indeed.”
His gaze flickered to hers and glinted, and heat tore through her, unexpected and fierce. Her body clenched with sudden, breathtaking intensity, and her knees went weak, and she knew she shouldn’t have kissed him. But she was having a hard time regretting it. He’d let her touch him.
And he’d touched her. That kiss had been the most erotic experience of her life—which spoke to just how lame her sex life was—and no matter how unwise, she wanted to do it again.
Even though that would be heroically stupid. Especially when the trust growing between them was so nascent and fragile. Especially with the insanity of what was going on—and his possible connection to it. Especially—
“Not supposition,” Wylie said. “Factual.”
Ash looked at him. “Explain.”
He exchanged a look with Wanda.
“It wasn’t Kline who took Eva,” he said. “It was the Exiles.”
“How do you know that?” Ruslan asked.
Wylie glanced at him, clearly annoyed. “Because they fucking struck me with a bolt of lightning, that’s how.”
A moment of silence punctuated that statement.
“And because Eva killed all of the men in black,” Wanda added.
Ash blinked at her in disbelief. “Come again?”
“The men in the field, she did that.”
Ash only stared at her.
“How?” Ruslan asked.
“I don’t know.” Wanda shook her head. “She put her hands to the ground and...they died. I think...it looked like she took their life force.”
“Is that even possible?” Ash wondered.
“I believe so. I think it’s possible for her to take something she can also give.”
Rulan’s pale gaze narrowed. “Explain.”
Color filled Wanda’s cheeks. “Eva can heal,” she said. “That’s her ability.”
Ash leaned back against the corkboard, her heart suddenly beating with painful intensity. “And you know this because...?”
“Because while on the run from the men in black, I was shot.”
