Chains of Ice

by Christina Dodd

  “She came to the mansion. Give your friends a call and check it out.”

  Striding forward, he grabbed Dina’s arm and wrenched her around to face him. “How do you know this?”

  Dina wasn’t a bit intimidated by John’s strength, by his fury. Coolly she asked, “Isn’t it obvious? We’ve been watching her.”

  John released Dina’s arm. “Why?”

  “She’s a person of interest.”

  “Genny is at her father’s house?” John hadn’t liked Kevin Valente when Genny spoke of him; he hadn’t liked him when he had met him. And after Irving’s revelation of this morning, that the Gypsy Travel Agency hadn’t sent Genny to Russia . . . the idea of Genny at her father’s house sent a chill up John’s spine.

  “Kevin Valente is a real prick.” As if she heard a call, Dina glanced at Irving, leaned over him and smoothed his hair.

  For a second, just a second, Irving’s eyelids fluttered.

  In a distracted voice, she said, “You’d better go. If you don’t get there in a hurry, you’ll lose your Genny . . . again. And this time, it will be forever.”

  Chapter 48

  The recovery room nurse removed Dina and restricted her access. Irving received a stern lecture about not giving up, but did not respond. Caleb, Samuel and Isabelle were in the hospital elevator on their way up.

  John ran outside and caught a cab. “A hundred bucks if you can get me to the Bronx in under an hour.” He tossed five twenties in the front seat and barely got the door shut before they shot away from the curb and into rush-hour traffic.He fastened his seat belt, braced himself, and called Jacqueline.

  She picked up on the first ring. “John, thank God you called. Ask me the right questions and I’ll tell you everything.”

  So he did. And she did.

  Genny had been at the mansion. She had left to return to her father’s house. She had refused to allow anyone to accompany her, citing family issues. She extracted a promise from Jacqueline and Charisma that they wouldn’t tell John she had been there. Then she swore to return that night.

  But now both Jacqueline and Charisma struggled with a growing unease.

  “A vision?” he asked Jacqueline.

  “No, just a feeling.”

  Charisma got on the line. “This isn’t a premonition. It was the way Genny acted, like she didn’t trust her own father.”

  “The guy stole from the Gypsy Travel Agency, got caught, took down his accomplices, and has been a bastard to his only child. Yeah, I don’t trust him, either.” He took a breath to ease the constriction in his chest. “Listen, I want Caleb, Samuel, and Isabelle to stay at the hospital to protect Irving. Is Aaron still in Australia?”

  “The job was a success. He’s on his way back. But his plane doesn’t land for another hour.”

  “Damn.” John looked around. The cab was already crossing the Alexander Hamilton Bridge, which at this time of the day was a testament to the driver’s greed. “Where’s Aleksandr?”

  “In class. Do you need backup?” Charisma sounded brisk.

  “Yes.” He told her about Dina’s warning.

  “It’s a trap,” Charisma said flatly.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re going to walk in willingly.”

  “Yes.”

  Charisma didn’t try to talk him out of it. She was the most practical woman he knew. “Do you have any weapons on you?” she asked.

  “The metal detector at the hospital makes that damned difficult.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t like the plan, but in a worst-case scenario, he had one. “I wouldn’t be adverse to some insurance.”

  “I’ll grab McKenna and a couple of handguns and I’m on my way.”

  “Be careful.” He grabbed the door as they jumped the curb. “Traffic is wicked.”

  “Right.”

  John hung up and watched grimly as the seconds ticked by. The sky was gray; the short winter day was fading. He didn’t know how many enemies he would face, what kind of gifts the Others would have. He had weapons coming, but not soon enough. He flexed his fingers. His nails glowed blue, a good sign that his powers were revving up under the influence of his grim determination.

  But would the energy fail him at the crucial moment?

  He jumped from the cab as it pulled up to the Valente brownstone.

  What was the point of attempting to sneak up on the Others? They knew he was coming, and besides, he didn’t have time for guile. Genny had left Irving’s mansion over two hours ago.

  He ran up the stairs, and stared at the front door.

  It was slightly open.

  Shit. Not a good sign.

  Pushing open the door, he walked in. He was cautious, of course; he would just as soon not get knocked out as soon as he set foot inside. But if they had wanted to kill him, they would have done so already. And he knew what they knew: as long as they had Genny, they had him. He would go in regardless.

  The house was cold.

  He shut the door behind him.

  The entry hall was empty, dim and narrow. A flight of stairs went straight up to the second floor. A light at the back of the house beckoned. He walked toward it and thought how very much this reminded him of the frozen cave in the Andes, another trap into which he had willingly walked. But then he had walked with friends. Now . . . Now he walked alone.

  Toward the right, another stairway went down to the basement.

  A woman’s long trench coat was flung over the banister.

  Genny’s coat, and a lure to pull him in.

  To the right, the light showed him a sitting room decorated sparingly in leather and hardwood furniture. The sound of voices drew him.

  He stepped into the doorway.

  A short, drugged-up troll of a guy squatted on the floor by the sofa, crying and wiping his tears on the hem of his T-shirt.

  My God. Was that Brandon?

  John recognized the tall, young Indian woman, the one from Lubochka’s team. What was her name? She looked the same, yet she was thinner, with a cruel twist to her mouth and a bruise on her cheek. No wonder Brandon resembled a bag of bones. He was in thrall to her and whatever drug she was supplying him.

  She stood by a bare wooden kitchen chair in the middle of the room.

  There Genny sat, wrists tied behind, head hanging, her clothes tattered and smoking. Burn marks pocked the carpet around her.

  For the first time since he’d left Russia, John felt the savage rise in him.

  What had they been doing to her?

  “Look who’s here, Genny.” Gary leaned against the back wall, pointing a Glock at John in ugly triumph. “I told you he would come.”

  She lifted her head. She was thinner, tanned, as if she spent her life outdoors. Her body was no longer softly rounded, but street-fight ready. Her golden eyes were tough, intelligent, but when she gazed at him, her expression softened. “Did you . . . ?” She coughed, then continued hoarsely. “Did you bring the cavalry?”

  The residue of tears and black soot smeared her face.

  She had been screaming, he could tell.

  “I am the cavalry.” He walked into the room.

  The tall woman created a spark in her hand.

  “No, Avni, don’t!” Genny strained at her bonds.

  Avni tossed it at his feet.

  He stomped it out.

  No wonder Genny’s clothes were smoking. Avni was a fire-starter. And she had been torturing Genny.

  The savage spoke in his head. I’m going to kill them. I’m going to kill them all.

  But John carefully contained his ferocity. When wielded correctly, surprise was a weapon.

  Showing them his empty hands, he said, “I can’t take you all out, not with Genny in the way, and I can’t use my power in so many different directions. Besides”—he looked right at Gary—“I think someone’s learned how to curb me. Haven’t you, Gary?”

  Gary’s cocky grin made John want to punch him in the
face. “You’re right. Avni, let him go to her.” He held the pistol negligently, because at this range, hitting John was no problem at all.

  Avni stepped back, her eyes a glassy, dark brown.

  John knelt beside the chair. He put one hand on Genny’s tightly bound hands, and used the other hand to pat out the last of the fires. She had marks on her face, her thighs, her chest: burn marks, as if someone had been extinguishing a cigarette on her skin.

  “There’s only me. Will I do?” Staring into her battered face, he sent a small, warm pulse of power through her body.

  “You’ll do very well.” She smiled at him, and whispered, “Thank you. I feel stronger.”

  “Yes.” Although if he didn’t pull this out of the bag, they’d both be dead. “Where’s your father?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Good. One less problem. He had feared Valente had betrayed his daughter and fled. Better for her peace of mind that he hadn’t, and easier for John that he had no one else to rescue.

  John stood. “What do you want, Gary?”

  “I want the same thing you want—a bag of bones.”

  John carefully kept his face blank, his voice neutral. “A bag like the one we rescued from the cave in Chile?” The match to the one in Irving’s study?

  “Exactly. I searched and found it listed as one of the items Valente stole from the Gypsy Travel Agency.”

  “How interesting. Why do you want it?”

  “For the same reason you want it.”

  “I don’t want it. All I want is Genny.”

  “You can have her . . . after she tells us where to find the bag.”

  Genny turned toward Gary, so exasperated she shouted, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen my father in over two years. I haven’t lived here in more than eight! How would I know where he put the stuff he stole when I was fifteen?”

  Avni lit a flame in her hand.

  Genny froze.

  The guy by the couch whimpered and twisted as if the fire was burning him.

  “Shut up, Brandon.” Avni met John’s gaze, smiled, then tossed the flame toward Genny’s lap.

  John unleashed enough power to bat it aside.

  Avni turned and snarled at Gary. “You said you could control him.”

  “He can,” John said. “If you let her go, I’ll give myself up and you can do what you want with me.”

  Gary’s handsome face puckered as if the thought was too foreign for him to comprehend. “What?”

  Genny shook her head. “No, John, don’t.”

  “Let her go. Promise you’ll let her leave, and I’ll let you tie me to the chair. With my hands bound, you won’t even have to worry about containing my power.”

  Just as John had hoped, Gary couldn’t resist the chance to hurt him. He surged forward. “Untie her,” he said to Avni.

  “No,” she said. “It’s a lie. It’s a trap.”

  “Don’t you know? John Powell isn’t like us. He’s one of the Chosen Ones,” Gary sneered. “He can’t break his word.”

  “You’re one of the Chosen Ones, too, Gary,” John said.

  Gary’s laughter turned to a snarl. “Not since the day you burned my team to death. Not since the day you put me into a coma.” To Avni, he said, “Untie her! Then sit down, John, and take the punishment that is your due.”

  “No!” Avni said. “What good will that do us? We need that leather sack!”

  Gary blinked at her.

  Suddenly she was on the ground, flopping like a beached fish, a drop of blood oozing from her nose.

  “Oh, my God!” Brandon leaped toward her, then away, jumping and flinging his arms up, then down and slapping his hands on the floor. He seemed to want to touch her, but he approached and retreated, approached and retreated. Whatever they had done to him was horrible; this was like watching the regression of man into ape.

  Avni sat up slowly, wiped her nose with the back of her hand and stared at the crimson drop. She looked up at Gary. “What did you do to me?”

  Gary grinned nastily. “The same thing I’m going to do to you again if you don’t untie Genny.”

  John remembered that time in the cave when he thought Gary had flung a thought at him; what had Gary done with his gift? How had he twisted it to become a weapon?

  Avni crawled to Genny’s side. With shaking hands, she untied her and pushed her out of the chair.

  Genny collapsed onto her knees.

  John helped her up, gave her another pulse of power, murmured in her ear, “Run.”

  Avni used the support of the chair to get to her feet. “Stop fondling your girlfriend and sit down.”

  John removed his coat.

  The scratches on his shoulder had bloodied his shirt. They throbbed and burned, and he was glad. The Chosen Ones’ prophecy said that when they found their true love and dedicated themselves to that person, their marks expanded.

  John hadn’t been born with a mark. He had earned it when he threw himself in front of Genny. Now the pain and blood gave him hope . . . hope that he was doing the right thing.

  “Sit!” Avni said.

  He did, and hoped Irving was telling the truth. He hoped a willing sacrifice, even one that wasn’t a life, counted for something on the eternal scales of weights and measures.

  Because Avni used the ropes to tie his hands to the posts on the back, and did a good job. They bit into his wrists, cut off the circulation in his hands.

  John couldn’t budge them—at least not by any normal means.

  Quietly, carefully, he started to use his mind on the knots.

  Chapter 49

  No one was paying attention to Genny.

  Everyone was focused on John. John, willingly taking her place in the chair where they had tortured her. John, bound and helpless . . . and the center of attention.He might be vulnerable, but he was still making them nervous.

  She eased toward the hallway.

  She didn’t know where her father was—but she did know where he kept his weapons.

  Then Avni’s shiny obsidian-glass eyes swung her direction. She snapped her fingers. “Brandon! Hang on to Genny.”

  Genny turned on her heel and dashed.

  Brandon lunged, grabbed her, gripped her wrist, ripped the scab off one of her burns.

  She screamed in pain, then in protest. “You promised John I could leave!”

  “Don’t.” Brandon tried to pet her hair. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “Don’t touch me!” She slapped at him.

  He ducked and sniveled.

  “Damn you, Brandon. Control her!” Avni raised her hands—a spark glimmered.

  He twisted Genny’s arms behind her back. “Please,” he said. “Stop fighting. She’ll hurt us. I love you.”

  “I thought you only loved me, Brandon,” Avni mocked.

  “I do. I love you, Avni.” The poor fool had become nothing but a tool in Avni’s hands.

  Avni laughed. “You see what his love is worth, Genny.”

  “I love you,” he whispered in Genny’s ear.

  She had to try. “Then let . . . me . . . go.”

  “I can’t.” He reeked of sweat and urine and something sickly sweet.

  She wanted to gag.

  Instead, she forced herself to relax. She stood calmly, got her breath, ignored his stench and the agony of the burns Avni had so carefully placed across her skin.

  No matter how emaciated he was, Brandon was still stronger. Yet deep inside his belly, she could see a flame burning. Whatever Avni had given him was consuming him, destroying him. His mind was a ruin, his attention span destroyed.

  She had to wait for her moment.

  “John, look at your girlfriend,” Gary said. “You gave yourself up for her. She can’t wait to leave you.”

  John flicked a glance at Genny, looked toward the entrance. “You promised she could leave.”

  Yes, I’ll run when I get the chance. Although he didn’t intend that she return.

  She had
other plans.

  “Gary promised. I didn’t.” Avni laughed, a harsh sound that sounded as if it tore at her lungs.

  In the last two and a half years, Genny had learned a few things about survival.

  Conserve your strength.

  Weigh your opponent.

  If you can only strike once, strike to kill.

  Most important—the person who stays alive the longest, wins.

  Genny intended that she and John should win.

  “I can’t believe you,” she said, pinning Avni with her accusing gaze. “You loved the lynx, the outdoors, the wildlife studies. You helped me find my feet in a strange land. Was it all acting? I thought you were my friend.”

  “I was never your friend. I wanted to study in India, and instead I was in that lousy village on a mission. I was supposed to keep an eye on him.” Avni lifted her chin toward John. “I was supposed to recruit him. I couldn’t even get close to him. Then you showed up. So I told you all about what an animal he was, how good he was in bed. I got you interested in him.”

  Genny writhed in embarrassment.

  John gave off such an impression of ease, his grin looked genuine and amused. “Is that right, Genny?”

  “No.” The single word was all too obviously a lie.

  “You can tell me about it later.” His smile looked casual, but his blue eyes were light and icy.

  Genny could have told the Others he was furious.

  But maybe they knew, for Gary snapped, “There isn’t going to be a later.”

  “You, Genny . . . you were such an innocent ass. Always were so easy to influence.” Avni’s dark eyes gleamed with remembered elation. “You fell in love with him. Then he fell in love with you and it was perfect. I thought he’d follow you like a puppy to New York; I would remind him how much he hated the Gypsy Travel Agency and we’d have him. But it didn’t work that way. Somehow, when he thought you had died, that convinced him to return to lead the Chosen Ones.”

  “John Powell was always so freaking honorable.” Deliberately, Gary placed the pistol on the table. “Of course, all that honor didn’t stop him from trying to steal my team while he thought I wouldn’t notice. He undermined me. Made fun of me.”