A chill spread across Glory’s skin. This guy knew way too much. Next to him, Matthias Ludlam was only an amateur sadist.
“And then I’ll figure out how to best put your telekinesis to use. Unless you want to see Aidan and Mirren and all the other nice people of Penton burned out and killed, you will cooperate. Am I clear?”
Tears had welled up while he talked, and Glory felt one begin to slide down her cheek. “But Aidan is your friend—he trusted you.” Her voice came out no stronger than a whisper, but it was all she could do to keep from weeping.
“I like Aidan, but as is the case with Mirren Kincaid, he’s wasting his talents in that little town. Maybe if it’s gone, he’ll join the Tribunal and really use his abilities.” Lorenzo uncrossed his legs and slapped his hands on his knees. “Now, I have video equipment ready to be brought in for your statement. All you have to do is tell what happened at Matthias’s hand, from the time he abducted you until the time and means of your escape. You will not mention my name in any way. Do you understand?”
Glory nodded, her numbness and fear giving way again to a much more useful emotion: fury. “Bring it in, although what you’re doing to me is worse than what he ever did.” Matthias tried to use her skills; Lorenzo wanted to use her love for Mirren and the others as a weapon.
“Ah, well. We take opportunities where we find them.” Lorenzo opened the door and gestured to someone outside. Through the opening, Glory could see a hallway and, beyond it, a staircase. Her way out.
She recognized the boots of the beefy guy who came in with a tripod and video camera; she’d seen them through the keyhole. Her human babysitter—about five-foot-ten worth of heavy muscle, dark, shaggy hair, and blue eyes—was doubling as video producer.
He glanced at Glory briefly and nodded before setting the equipment down and turning back toward the hallway. “Still gotta get the lights.” He disappeared again and returned a few seconds later with some kind of floodlight attached to the top of a tall pole, a black umbrella attached to it.
Lorenzo watched silently as he set up the light so it was pointed at Glory’s chair, using the umbrella to control the bounce and shadows. Glory studied it and smiled. Another weapon at her disposal.
“You’re quite pretty when you take that petulant expression off your face,” Lorenzo said. “I’m glad to see you’re willing to cooperate. Maybe Thomas can reward you by bringing you some dinner after we’re finished with your film debut.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Caias.” Thomas—babysitter guy—was human. If she could incapacitate Lorenzo long enough to escape, she’d have to figure out a way to handle Thomas. She had no intention of sticking around for dinner.
Thomas handled the video equipment like a pro, and Glory wondered what role he played in Lorenzo’s life. A fam, maybe? He adjusted the angle on the floodlight again and clicked it on, almost blinding Glory as the glare from the bare bulb struck her face.
“Sorry.” Thomas tilted the light a fraction, enough to leave Glory lit but not squinting. Black dots did a two-step across her vision as she tried to readjust.
“Let’s begin.” Lorenzo dragged his chair until he was sitting slightly behind where Thomas leaned over the video camera and tripod, shifting it slightly as he peered through the viewfinder. “Look at me and talk naturally, as if it were just you and me having a conversation and you were telling me what happened with Matthias,” Lorenzo said. “Try to ignore the camera. We want you as natural as possible.”
Yeah, because I won’t be alive to question in person. Or at least that’s what Glory imagined Lorenzo was thinking.
“OK, let’s see. I was working the early night shift at the Circle K—that’s a convenience store that sells gasoline too—outside Atlanta. It took me a year to get that earlier shift instead of late night when all the drunks come in. It was the store in Roswell, Georgia, just north of the area people call—” She paused when Lorenzo circled his hand in a hurry-up-and-get-to-the-point motion. “Well, you said to tell all of it.”
Lorenzo cleared his throat, and Glory stifled a laugh at his lowered eyebrows and tightened lips. “So I did,” he said. “Thomas, start over. Gloriana, start at the point you actually met Matthias.”
So she told him. Whatever else happened, this would be a record that might be used to punish Matthias, and she wanted it told before she tried to escape—even if she didn’t make it out of this alive.
She talked about him coming in for cigars, how he did something to her—later, she realized he’d lightly enthralled her—to make her go to him after her shift ended. She talked about him biting her, feeding off her, and passing her on to his friends like that evil Shelton, who liked to hit her before he fed so she’d be half unconscious. She talked about things she’d overheard about Matthias wanting Will home, about turning Mirren back into a killer.
There were big gaping black holes of time in her story—she hadn’t realized before how many hours she’d lost to the drugs, and it made her mad all over again. And more determined that Lorenzo wouldn’t do the same thing to her.
She got to the final night, the night she’d met Mirren, and paused. She hated what had happened to her, but she couldn’t regret meeting him or any of the people in Penton. It was a place worth fighting for. It was the only place she’d ever felt truly at home.
“Y’all will just have to excuse me if I get a little emotional at this last part,” she said, lowering her voice and closing her eyes as if fighting back tears. Like she’d ever cry in front of these jerks. “It was such a horrible, scary thing that I thought I was going to die.”
“Take your time,” Lorenzo said, then to Thomas, “Just keep the tape rolling, and we’ll edit it down later. It’ll be more effective if she cries.”
Asshole. Glory kept her eyes closed. “Matthias came to that room and had Shelton shoot more drugs into me. He said he was tired of waiting for me to tell him about my being able to do telekinesis.” Since Lorenzo knew about it, there was no point in hiding it as the reason Matthias had taken her. “He kicked me, and I thought something inside had broken.”
As she talked, Glory pulled on what she thought was her link to Mirren, concentrating to gather her focus. She visualized everything in the room but didn’t unleash her full power. It built inside her while she talked about going downstairs. It grew as she recounted Matthias’s plans to give her to Mirren to kill. Her powers coalesced around her when she described Mirren’s raw, bloody wrists where they’d been tied with the silverlaced rope, when she described how thin he was, and how hungry she realized he was because of his eyes.
Then she unleashed her powers with a shudder that bowed her spine. She visualized everything around her moving, spinning, breaking apart—with Lorenzo and Thomas at their center.
Both men shouted and ducked into defensive postures, but Glory held her concentration, opening her eyes to slam the heavy wooden dresser on top of Lorenzo, then propel the whole thing hard against the wall, with him underneath. Thomas was already on the ground clutching an arm bent at the elbow—going the wrong direction. Papers, glass, lamps, video camera, spotlight, umbrella—all of it flew in a circle like one of those big tornadoes Glory had seen on the TV news.
This was as good as it would get.
CHAPTER 27
Mirren woke from his daysleep with a start and an unfamiliar ache in his muscles, as if he’d been straining to lift the heaviest weights in his gym. He felt for the bond to Glory but didn’t have to force it this time; it was there, strong and pure inside him. She’d been pulling strength from him while he was in daysleep, whether she was aware of it or not. Good girl. It might make his muscles ache, but it was worth it.
Grabbing his cell phone off the bedside table, he punched speed dial for Will. “Well?”
“I just freaking woke up.” The electronic beeps of a computer being powered up sounded in Mirren’s ear. “Give me a few minutes—I thought I was onto something when dawn forced me to shut everything down.” He hung up before Mirren h
ad a chance to remind him how important it was.
He’d just go over there and tell him in person. If Mirren had to sit here and wait, he’d go crazy. Might as well sit at Will’s and drive him crazy too. When the phone rang a couple of minutes later, he’d already pulled on his clothes. “What you got?”
Will was all business. “Tell you when you get here. Come prepared for a road trip with a fight at the end of it. Aidan and Hannah are on their way.”
Mirren opened the armoire and pulled out a pair of black combat pants exactly like the ones he’d just put on. He stuffed them into a duffel bag alongside a long-sleeved dark T-shirt. It looked gray, so it was probably red or green. That would do it for clothes. Sliding the hangers aside, he slid open a panel on the back of the armoire and studied what had been his stock-in-trade as a gallowglass. An iron helmet with pieces that came out to protect the forehead and cheeks, while leaving the mouth and nose free, its top shaped into a distinctive point. A tunic of fine chain mail that slid over his head and stretched to his knees. Neither were practical in modern combat.
Next to them hung a jacket of tanned leather, heavily quilted and virtually impenetrable. He pulled it out and slipped it over his lightweight bulletproof vest, pleased that it still ft him. He cinched it at the waist and turned to the next item, the heavy two-handed battle-ax he’d used so proficiently from the time he’d grown big enough to wield it. It was blunt-force work, and he needed speed, so he left it, pulling out Faolain in its scabbard instead. He slipped the .45 into the cinch of the quilted vest, fitted some throwing knives into arm and ankle sheaths, and finally slung the scabbard across his back.
He would bring Glory home tonight. Whatever it took.
A cold, righteous anger filled him as he drove to Will’s house and stalked to the door, not bothering to knock. Aidan was already there with Hannah, and all conversation stopped as they took him in.
“You forgot the ax and helmet,” Will said wryly, rising from the sofa and taking a seat behind a desk full of computer equipment.
“Don’t make me go back for it.” Mirren was in no mood for Will’s smart-assery. “Where is she?”
Will tapped some keys and swung the monitor around for them to see. “This is a Google Earth image of Renz’s most likely hidey-hole. It’s an enclosed compound in New Orleans.”
“What makes you think she’s there?” Aidan stood up to get closer to the screen.
“My vision tells me she’s there,” Hannah said from her perch in a corner chair. “She’s not afraid. She’s very angry.”
Mirren scraped fingers across his scalp. If Glory lost her temper, there was no telling what she’d do. The woman’s uncontrolled abilities made her a wild card.
Will pushed back from the desk to make room for Mirren to better see the image. “Here’s my thinking. I’ve been tracking recent expenditures at properties he has listed under the names we know about—his own name and a couple of aliases and dummy corporations. There’s been no activity around most of them except his main residence in New York, his estate in Rio, where people live year-round, and the New Orleans compound.”
Mirren chewed his lip, studying the sheets of paper Will handed him. “He wouldn’t take her to Rio because he’d want to be within reach of Tribunal business, especially if he’s going after Matthias. And he wouldn’t take her to the house in New York, where he spends most of his time—it’s the first place he’d expect us to go looking for her.”
“Exactly.” Will pulled up several images and aligned them side by side on the screen. “These are the photos of the property I was able to pull off real estate websites—still online from when he bought it several years ago, right after Hurricane Katrina.”
Mirren and Aidan studied the images. “There’s a main house and some kind of detached garage or apartment on the opposite side of the grounds,” Mirren mumbled. “Takes up a full city block?”
Will nodded, pointing to the photo at the bottom right side of the screen. “And there’s an eight-foot brick privacy fence that circles the whole thing. Only entrance is the one electronic gate on”—he checked his notes—“Foucher Street. It’s a nice setup for security, but not impenetrable. The wall can be scaled. Of course, I don’t know what kind of cameras he has on the inside to watch the grounds.”
“What’s the surrounding neighborhood like?” Aidan walked to the window and stared out at the silent street, but Mirren could tell by the set of his shoulders he was listening.
“Mostly residential, and heavily populated,” Will said. “An estate in New Orleans, especially one in the city, won’t have a lot of land around it like my father’s place in Virginia. The population’s crammed in there. So everything has to be kept quiet to keep humans out of it. I’m guessing Renz has the house itself pretty well soundproofed, though.”
Yeah, so Glory can scream for help all she wants and no one will hear her. Mirren’s stomach felt like it was being eaten from the inside by fire ants. “I need a feeder, and then I need to hit the road.”
New Orleans was a six-hour drive. If he left now, he could be in the city by one a.m. and have Glory out by dawn.
“That would be we need to hit the road,” Will said. “Aidan and Hannah are going to stay here, brief everyone about Omega, and offer to release them from their bonds if they want to go—both the scathe members and their fams. Tanner and Randa are keeping tabs on my father. I’m going with you.”
“You’ll slow me down.” Mirren started toward the door.
“He needs to go.” Hannah’s voice cut through the room like an icebreaker in the Arctic. “There will be trouble finding Glory. I think you will find her, but it won’t be the way you think. Will needs to go.”
Shit. Left to his own counsel, Mirren would ditch Will in a heartbeat, but Hannah usually steered them right even though her visions were more often than not incomplete.
Will strapped on his shoulder holster and stepped between Mirren and the door. “I’ll follow your lead, go where you tell me to go, won’t get in your way. This is your operation. Let me help you bring her home.”
Mirren studied the man in front of him. He and Will had never been close—he’d counseled Aidan against bringing him into the scathe at all because of Matthias. But if Mirren had learned anything the last couple of months, it was to take help and not sell people short. He hadn’t looked very far past Will’s pretty face, fondness for women, and rich-boy upbringing. But whenever it had been time to step up, Will had been there.
He nodded. “Thanks.”
Will grinned and opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. Mirren pushed past him. “Good move, Junior. Otherwise, I was gonna shut it for you.”
CHAPTER 28
Glory raced past Thomas, who lay on the floor with a piece of metal from the tripod sticking out of his arm just above where it had obviously been broken. She didn’t look back as she few down the staircase and grasped the handle to the front door, but then she paused a fraction of a second. Would there be guards outside? Should she find a back exit?
She didn’t dare wait. The doorknob turned easily, and she flung it open, ran onto a broad wooden porch, and tripped on her way down a short fight of brick stairs. Landing hard on her knees, she scrambled back to her feet, not stopping to assess the damage. She’d worry about a scraped knee later.
Soft lights illuminated well-manicured grounds, but the shadows were dark and fathomless. The house loomed white and majestic behind her, and ahead of her, she saw a high redbrick security wall. At the end of a circular drive stretched a wrought-iron gate.
She stayed in shadows as much as possible, limping across the lawn to the gate. It was electric, sitting on runners. OK, time for a magic show. Glory closed her eyes and exerted her will on the gate, concentrating hard as the machinery started up with a grinding whir. The gate cracked open before she heard a crash and shouts from inside the house and lost her concentration. But it was enough to squeeze through.
Outside the gate, a narrow brick-cove
red street stretched to the left and right. Where was she? What place still had brick streets, or were they cobblestones? The brightest glow seemed to come from the right, so Glory ran toward lights and, she hoped, people. She wasn’t naive enough to think she’d killed Renz. He was probably already up and calling his minions together to hunt her down. She needed to find a place to hide until daylight, and even then, she’d have to be careful. Thomas probably wasn’t the only human on Renz’s payroll.
The block ended at a broad street, split down the middle by a wide median. Huge trees like the one outside her window met overhead, creating a dark, leafy canopy. The corner sign read foucher Street and the cross street St. charles avenue, which sounded kind of familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
A rumble from her left materialized into a forest-green streetcar, and for the first time, she noticed the tracks and electrical lines running in both directions on opposite sides of the median. Finally, between the streetcars and the trees, it clicked: New Orleans. She had to be in New Orleans. She’d never been there, but she’d seen lots of photos.
Which didn’t help her a lot, but it might give her a way to put some distance between her and Renz. She dug in her jeans pocket, praying for change, and almost whooped with joy to find a five and a couple of quarters. Surely a streetcar ride wouldn’t be more than that.
Running across the street to the other side of the streetcar tracks, she took shelter behind the wide trunk of one of the big trees and waited until she saw another streetcar approaching from the other direction. When it stopped at the intersection, she climbed aboard, relieved to see the fare was $1.25. Except, the sign read exact change only.
“Please, can you make change? Please—it’s urgent.” She turned desperate eyes to the older man in the driver’s seat. He squinted ancient, rheumy eyes at her as he dug in a satchel next to his seat, grumbling.
Absolution (The Penton Vampire Legacy) Page 20
