by Sandy James
The images on the monitor flew by so fast, she wasn’t sure how he could keep up. Faces of missing kids. Reports from families who were desperate to know what happened to their teenagers. So very many. What if they all ended up like Ashley Douglass?
“Max,” Megan whispered.
Johann nodded. “Rebecca? Can you see if this has hit the airwaves yet?”
Rebecca grabbed the television remote and turned the channel to CNN. “There it is.” An enormous grid full of young faces filled the screen. “Damn, look at all those missing kids. This one’s too big to hide. If this is something we’ve got to fight, cleanup’s going to be a bitch.”
Megan couldn’t find enough calm to sit, so she paced behind the sofa. It was hard to concentrate, wanting to give her attention to both Johann’s computer and the television reports of the lost kids. CNN won the battle. Parents like Nita Douglass begged for information about their children, and Megan couldn’t possibly ignore their pleas.
“They’re all connected,” she said. “The kids. Maksim Popov. Chernabog. Freya. Ashley and the other girls. Somehow all of them are connected. Don’t you think? Chernabog said the goddesses were going to pay. This is it.”
“Could be a coincidence that Max is making his move when Freya’s missing,” Rebecca replied.
“’Twould be a muckle lot of coincidence, Becca mine,” Artair said. “Without Freya, we’re weaker. ’Tis also too much coincidence those who are missing are from Chicago. Popov sang there, and it’s where Megan was posted. Remember what she overheard between Chernabog and him”
Rebecca considered his words for a moment before nodding.
Max’s voice crashed into Megan’s mind so suddenly, she couldn’t throw up some type of defense. The booming Russian-accented baritone filled her head, drowning out everything around her.
“The time has come, dorogoy. You are mine. The time has come for you to be with me, to be mine for all eternity.”
She wanted to shout, to scream—she wanted to be able to drown that horrifying voice out of her mind. But she couldn’t. Maksim Popov’s image flared to life. Dark eyes bored through her as he crooked a finger, drawing her to him. She had to move. She had to obey. She had no choice.
“You are mine. Created for me. Meant for me. The time has come, dorogoy. Follow me.”
Warm lips touched hers, snapping her back into reality from the dark thoughts and the hypnotic voice and eyes of Max.
Johann was kissing her.
It took a few moments for Megan to understand she wasn’t in Rebecca’s house anymore. “How—how did I get out here?”
His hands were alternately squeezing and rubbing her upper arms, and she was grateful for the support.
She’d been trying to climb into the Amazons’ enchanted van.
Johann’s face held a concerned frown as his gaze searched hers. “You just walked out. I couldn’t get you to listen to me.” He nodded toward where the Guardian and Sentinel stood at the front of the van. “Neither could Rebecca and Artair. What happened, Megan?”
“It’s Popov. He—he called to me, and I—I needed to go to him. I couldn’t stop myself.” Tears stung her eyes as she tried to choke down the horrible feeling of helplessness. “I can’t fight him.”
He squeezed her arms again. “Yes, you can.” She started to shake her head, but he grasped her chin, cradling it in his warm fingers. “Listen to me. You can.” He reached for her hand and splayed it against his chest, over his heart. “We can. Together.”
Her palm rested against that broad chest, measuring the strong, steady beat of his heart. She wanted to believe him—to know she wasn’t helpless at the hands of evil. “When he calls to me, I don’t know how to shut him out. I don’t know what’s real.”
“This.” He flattened her hand harder against him. “This is real. My love for you is real.” He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “Let me help you. We’re bound together somehow. When he reaches out to you, use that bond to call to me.”
“Call to you? I don’t understand.”
“I could hear you, Megan. When you screamed, I could hear you. Remember?”
It took her a moment to understand he was talking about their visit to the Paramount Theater when Max had given her the kiss that knocked her for a loop. And not in good way.
Kissing?
No.
More like sucking the life right out of her.
“I didn’t scream,” she said. “Not out loud. But you heard me?”
Johann nodded.
“How could you hear me?”
He kissed her forehead. “My heart heard you. Whenever he sneaks into your head, think of me. Call me. I’ll bring you back. You’re strong, baby. You can fight this.”
Megan hadn’t wanted to trust him when Johann told her he loved her. She’d pushed it aside each time those words had fallen from his lips. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it.
Yet now, she wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t taken her powers away, even though it was clear the goddesses wanted him to. He’d allowed Freya to turn his skin fireproof, no matter that Apollo’s cloak had changed him permanently. He’d made love to her when her powers blazed hot and fierce, never once making her feel like some magical freak.
Lord, how she wished there was more time to convince herself that he loved her as much as she loved him.
But time was running out.
The rhythmic beat of his heart calmed her, giving her a flicker of confidence. Was it enough? Megan would need a hell of a lot more than a flicker of confidence to defeat Maksim Popov. The man was in her head, and she wanted nothing more than to shove him right back out. She closed her eyes and felt the steady cadence of her lover’s heart, drawing as much strength as she could from their connection.
“We can fight this, Megan. Together.”
He gave her hope, and for the first time, she knew what Rebecca meant when she said her love for Artair made her stronger. When Johann was with her, Megan felt as if she could beat anyone or anything.
Including Maksim Popov.
“Where were you going?” Johann asked.
She hesitated. How could she explain what she didn’t honestly understand? “I’m not sure. Chicago, I think. I knew I needed to follow that voice.” She took a hard swallow. “This is bad, Johann. This isn’t just some dead girls now, it’s a missing Ancient and two more that want her dead. This is one of those change-the-world moments. We’ve got no help from Rhiannon, and we don’t even know who Chernabog’s fucking queen is. How do we fight this?”
Rebecca drew closer. “We fight this together.”
The Guardian’s voice was full of calm and conviction, exactly what Megan needed to hear from her Amazon sister. Earth’s confidence washed over Fire, just as Johann’s assurance and love reached Megan’s heart.
“We do this like we’ve always done everything,” Rebecca added. “Together. You’re not alone in this, Megan. You’ve got sisters. You’ve got Sentinels. We’re stronger than Popov—stronger than Chernabog and whatever other Ancient is involved in this mess.” She reached for Megan’s free hand and enfolded it in both of hers. “Use our strength to turn this back around on him. Let him lead you, but let us follow. And when we find him, we’ll kill him.”
Such cold, calculating words from such a beautiful, serene face. Rebecca was, under all her Mother Earth warmth, a formidable warrior. Megan tried to picture one of Rebecca’s enchanted arrows buried deep in Popov’s chest. The image brought a smile to her lips. After what he’d done to Ashley Douglass and those other girls, it would be a fitting end.
Megan nodded, feeling for the first time that she might be regaining some control over this power Maksim Popov held over her. “I’ll try.”
“Nay,” Artair replied. “You shall. You are Fire, Megan Feurer.”
&nb
sp; Fire. I am Fire.
“You are mine,” buzzed the voice in her mind.
“That’s what you think, you fucking asshole.”
“And you’re not alone,” a familiar voice from behind her added. “No Amazon is ever alone.”
Megan turned to see Gina, hands on hips, face full of confidence.
Sarita stood next to her, arms folded over her chest as she tried to make her petite size stern. The grin on her face contradicted her stance.
Megan smiled at them both. “The cavalry has arrived.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“We’ve done all we can do here,” Artair said. He gathered together a few more goddess-blessed arrows and stuffed them in Rebecca’s quiver. “’Tis time to head to Chicago to plan the battle.”
“The battle,” Johann echoed. “But when?”
“Your lass will let us know.” Artair put the quiver over his shoulder, picked up Rebecca’s bow and slung it over his shoulder as well. “’Twill not be long, I’d guess. He’s called to her once already. He’ll try again when the time is right.”
Johann picked up another dagger and then a sword, reminding himself to check the readiness of all of Megan’s other weapons when they got back to the condo. Not just her swords. She’d want to hide that .38 of hers somewhere on her body. Not that it would help her if she faced a god. Or Popov for that matter. The gun was just an ex-cop’s security blanket.
“You’re right,” he said. “We should get back to Chicago. I’ve got some more high-tech stuff there for us. You’ll all need to be trained in how to use it first.”
“Aye. Your gadgets aren’t always easy to master. Ix Chel said to call her when we’re ready to go. ’Tis getting late.”
Following Artair out of the arsenal with their arms loaded down with Amazonian weapons, Johann kicked the door closed behind him. One question kept twirling in his brain, and this might be the only chance he’d have to ask Artair in private. Knowing he was revealing an awful lot about the depth of his feelings for Megan—and knowing Artair wasn’t usually a man open to discussing his own feelings—Johann dragged up the courage to ask anyway.
“How do you do it, Artair?” He hated the desperation that colored his voice.
Artair stopped and turned to face him. “Do what?”
“Let her fight. How do you let Rebecca fight? You know what could happen to her. You know all it takes is one damn revenant getting too close, one demig with the right magicks, and she’s helpless. One trick by a guy like Maksim Popov, and you’ve lost—” He had to take a ragged breath because the panic was starting to choke him. “Why is it so easy for you to let her do her job?”
Artair’s face usually hid all he truly felt. But for a moment, the emotionless façade faded. His features hardened in irritation. “Easy? You think ’tis easy?”
“You never hesitate.”
“’Tis not easy, lad. Sending my wife into a battle is harder than facing my own death. But ’tis what’s necessary. I have to let Becca be what she is. Would I keep her from fighting if I had the choice? Aye. Definitely aye. But then she would not be the woman I fell in love with, would she? Nor would I be the man she fell in love with.”
“She could…die.” The last word was a breathless whisper, as if speaking in a low tone would keep it from ever becoming reality.
“Aye. She could. As we all could. ’Tis a fact, if she dies, I do as well.”
Johann flashed back to the MacKay’s wedding, where Rhiannon had announced that Rebecca’s life and Artair’s were tied—that when she died, so would he. “Sorry. Forgot about that.”
“We fight for what’s right.”
“I can’t lose Megan,” Johann said, not guarding his words now. She’d come to mean too much to him. How could he ever survive losing her? Without her, the future would be nothing but never-ending heartache.
“My Becca is Earth, and she fights for the greater good because that’s what she is, what she was born to be. I could nae ask her to be something else. Aye, she’s my wife and the mother of my children, but she’s Earth above all. Just as Megan is Fire.”
“So you just let her go, just let her run toward a pack of revenants knowing—”
“Nay,” he interrupted with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “I don’t let Becca do anything. Should she hear you say that, you would be picking your way out of a nice cocoon of vines. Becca is an Amazon and walks the path the Fates set before her. I cannae keep her from it. And you, lad—if you love Megan as it seems you do, then you must ask yourself if you love her for who she is—for what she is. If you do, you must let her fight, even knowing the fate that might await her. If you try to shelter her and hide her away from the evils of the world, then you don’t really know her at all.”
* * *
Being flashed from place to place always left Johann disoriented. Since it was almost midnight and he was exhausted, the unsettling feeling was hard to push aside.
At least Ix Chel had put him right outside the door to Megan’s condo. Taking a steadying breath to try to banish the residual dizziness, he watched as the rest of the Amazons and Artair appeared, one by one. Each arrival sounded like the cork popping from a bottle of champagne. The last thing to appear was their stockpile of weapons.
Megan punched the code into the keypad to let them inside, grabbed several of the weapons and then disappeared down the hall to her bedroom.
The muted alarm on his phone caught his ear as soon as he opened the door to the blue bedroom. Something supernatural was happening.
He picked up the gadget and started to look over the information gathered in his absence. Almost a thousand teenage boys and girls were now missing from Chicago, specifically the suburbs in and around Aurora.
The Paramount Theater was in Aurora. Max had obviously been using his concerts to hypnotize all those kids. Why he was calling them now was what they needed to know. More important, how were the teens going to be used to accomplish Chernabog’s goal? Ix Chel and Ganga didn’t give them any guidance—as usual—so whatever other Ancient was behind this remained a mystery.
Johann grabbed his laptop and took it and the phone into the living room.
Gina was sprawled over the rust-colored recliner. Rebecca and Artair talked quietly in the corner, his forehead pressed to hers, his hands on her shoulders. Sarita sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor right in front of the television, watching CNN as if it held the answers to all the universe’s riddles.
Where’s Megan?
Johann’s stomach churned. In the time it took for him to get his equipment, had Megan been called by Max again? He didn’t bother with subtlety. “Where the hell did Megan go?”
The flush of a toilet, splashing in the sink and the opening of the bathroom door all answered his question. Gina and Sarita exchanged knowing smiles while Artair and Rebecca chuckled.
Johann scowled at all of them as he set the laptop on the kitchen island.
Megan came to stand next to him. His hand shot out to cover hers. He gave her fingers a quick squeeze before sitting down on one of the tall chairs and going back to work.
A male reporter’s overly loud voice caught his attention. Judging from how everyone else in the condo stared at the television, Johann wasn’t the only one bothered by the reporter’s terrified tone.
“You’re not going to believe this!” the journalist shouted. “It’s like some kind of Stephen King novel. Reports are pouring in from all local hospitals as well as the Cook, DuPage, Kane and Kendall County morgues. No one knows why the bodies were stolen. Hold on—” The reporter pressed his white earpiece tighter against his ear. “It appears not only are dead bodies missing from hospitals and morgues, but local funeral homes. Several, in fact, seem to have had the same type of thefts. Folks, I just don’t know what to say. This reporter is absolu
tely speechless.”
Gina frowned. “I know exactly what to say. We’ve got someone making a whole bunch of new revenants.”
“Revenants,” Sarita whispered as her whole body trembled.
The Water Amazon’s fear—especially of facing revenants—had always been palpable, ever since Johann had first trained her. Not that she shied from a fight, although her powers weren’t nearly as helpful in a battle as those possessed by Earth, Fire and Air. Unless of course the battle involved some kind of water. Sarita could stay below the surface so long, she might as well have been a mermaid. And she could turn any kind of liquid instantly to ice with the touch of her hand, although she’d only mastered that ability with small amounts of water. It wasn’t like she could freeze Lake Michigan.
She really had few active powers—not like Rebecca’s earthquakes and debilitating plants, Megan’s fire throwing and now her shape-shifting and telekinesis, and Gina’s ability to sense revenants and jump great distances. Gina could hover in the air for a few moments or summon a bolt of lightning from the closest cloud. Sarita’s swimming abilities seemed to come up a bit short in comparison.
To help her protect herself, Johann made sure Sarita was a master of martial arts. Small though she was—especially when training next to six-foot Gina—five-foot Sarita could pack a wallop. Because of her short stature, a heavy sword had never been her best weapon. But she could throw any kind of knife from a long distance and nail a target the size of a postage stamp. She could also move around with absolutely no sound, a trick Johann had learned in the service and passed on to her. She wasn’t without skills—her Sentinel had seen to that.
Unlike the other Amazons, Sarita’s emotions were always easy to read. Every feeling showed plainly on her beautiful face. Sometimes her openness reminded him so much of his sister, Janelle, Johann had a hard time not wanting to reassure her. What he’d learned as Sarita’s Sentinel was that if he could harness her fear—especially if he could use it to inspire her anger—the timid woman became a fantastic warrior.
