He took a closer look. She was taller than average, with a mass of black hair that was wavy like Litha’s. She was definitely looking at him, looking with an intensity that reminded him of the way people described him. It was a girl who… who…
Storm stepped off the curb without thinking about oncoming vehicles. An electric blue, electric car honked and he narrowly avoided being hit. He held out his hand and dodged cars to get across the street. When he got to the other side, he was close enough to see Litha’s emerald green eyes staring at him from a slightly younger, feminine version of the face he shaved every day.
Rosie. Completely grown up.
As she came toward him, looking teary-eyed, he felt his own eyes burning and it was getting hard to breathe. She walked straight into him. Just before she made contact with her cheek to his chest, arms wound around his waist, he saw her bottom lip tremble and her eyes spill over.
“Daddy.”
He hugged her to him. “I missed it,” he whispered to the top of her hair and she heard him even with all the crowd and lunch hour noise. She sensed every one of his conflicting emotions: relief and happiness to be found, disappointment and sadness that he missed her growing up.
She hugged him tight, clinging like she might lose him again if she let go. He hugged back and rocked her just a little, remembering the last time he saw her.
Found.
After a while he pulled back so he could get a close look at her face. “Let me see you,” he said. He reached up and pushed a lock of hair back while he studied her features. “How old are you?”
Her expression said she felt like a failure for not being able to give him a straight answer to that and didn’t want to disappoint him.
"I don't know. Monq thinks maybe twenty-three. He did tests on skin elasticity and bone density. That’s his best guess.”
Storm smiled, his eyes sweeping over her features again, drinking her in. “Looks good on you.”
“There’s a gang of people who might as well be wearing black arm bands,” she laughed. “Everybody has been so scared you were lost forever and nobody wanted to even think it or say it out loud. They’ll be dying to see you.”
“They can wait. I need to see your mother first.”
“I need something to tie you to me.”
“We’ll find something. I need to take care of one thing before we leave anyhow.”
On the way to Halcyon, he told her about his job at the bar.
When Storm didn’t get Hal, he left a message saying, “It’s Storm. I’ve got to go. I’m leaving the keys and the story I owe you. I wrote it out. And this phone. Give the clothes to charity, I guess. I, ah, don’t know how I would have gotten through this if… Just wanted to say thank you for everything.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Anyway. Thanks. Oh. And, if four guys show up sometime asking for me…” He raised his eyes to meet Rosie’s, “…just tell them I made it home and put their drinks on my tab.”
Storm knew exactly which cupboard held the duct tape. He hesitated before he put it on Rosie’s skin. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t want to get lost again either.”
She laughed. “I don’t care.”
When their wrists were locked together to his satisfaction, he picked up the bag that held the necklace and its case and wound a length of tape around that, too.
“What’s that?” she asked.
He grinned. “Present for my wife.”
“Shhhh.,” she said smiling. “Not so loud. I’m sure that’ll break some Council rule of another to transport goods across dimensional lines.”
“I’m in a mood for rule-breaking.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Hal opened up that evening, he wasn’t surprised to find a phone, a set of keys, and a letter. He was surprised to find a little over three hundred dollars that hadn’t been mentioned on the phone message. The bar and apartment were both locked up tight with the keys left inside. He wasn’t entirely surprised, but couldn’t wait to sit down and read the letter.
Three nights later four guys came in right before closing. They stopped just inside the door, looked around, and their eyes came to rest on Hal behind the bar. They were all late twenties or early thirties with a physical presence that reminded Hal of Storm. He wasn’t at all surprised when they walked up and asked for his former employee.
Hall said nothing. He went about silently setting out five shot glasses, one at a time. Then he reached up high for the top shelf Scotch. He filled each one of the glasses, set the bottle on the bar, and said, “He told me to offer you a drink and say he made it home.”
The four glanced at each other and at Hal. Each took a glass, then Brandeskin said, “There’s no place like home.”
The other four grinned and clinked glasses, repeating, “No place like home.” Then they drank to the salute. And to their extra-dimensional Black Swan brother.
CHAPTER 22
After neutralizing all elevator operations in the building, Fennimore and Angel had sealed the entrance to S3 at the east end stairwell. Their plan was to make their way to the other end of the floor and repeat destruction of the opposite passage at the west end stairs, once they were safely above at S2. Then they were planning to double back and blow the central stair unit from above.
When Z Team heard the explosion on Sublevel 3, they raced toward it assuming that it was related to the cause of alarm. Either they hadn’t heard Elora’s warning that charges were going to be set or they forgot. They encountered no resistance between the Hub central stairwell and S1 so they proceeded to Sublevel 2.
At the west end of S3 Angel and Fennimore were preparing to be out of the way when the popper hit the stairs, which they would do from the other side of the landing above after climbing to the next level. So occupied, they were never seen by Z team who had just arrived on S2 and vice versa.
In a comedy of coincidence that had the Fates laughing their asses off, another group of alien visitors dropped in without calling first and appeared in the central hallway of S1 at the same time. It seemed that, on the other side of the Atlantic, the French vampire contingent was running low on vaccine. Thinking the kids could handle what should have been a simple ten minute errand on their own, they sent the four teen immortals to pick up a fresh supply for their night’s work.
The vamps had just popped into the Central hallway of S2 as Z Team reached that level. On first look, naturally they assumed the boys were trainees who were in the wrong place. The fact that the four teens showed no sign of either hostility or fear, in the face of Z Team on alert with weapons drawn and aimed, certainly supported that conclusion.
Torn lowered his weapon. “You lads were told to get to cover and stay out of the way. You could have been killed. Are you gettin’ that?”
Javier just shrugged and grinned. That was when Z Team was clued in that they were definitely not looking at trainees who’d lost their way.
One look at those exquisite long sharp fangs, so beautifully white they could have been veneered, and Glyphs pulled the stake out of his boot. He hadn’t thought he’d encounter vampire when he got dressed for the day, but old habits die hard.
He lunged for Javier, who was not expecting an attack and made no move to get out of the way, which meant he ended up with a stake sticking out of his chest. Again.
Javier looked down at the stake and then scowled at Glyphs, saying, “Pas ça encore! Qu'est ce qui ne va pas avec ces gens la!”
The veteran hunters of Z Team were so shocked to get that reaction from a vampire that they froze in uncertainty, until Glyphs leaned into Gunnar and asked, “What did he say?”
Pierre, having overheard the question since he was two feet away answered. “He said, ‘Not this again! What is wrong with you people?’”
The humans watched in stunned silence as Javier pulled the stake from his chest, threw it aside and proceeded to pet the hole in his shantung shirt like it might somehow repair itself. Having recovered from the initial novelty of a vamp not being fazed
by a staking, the knights of Z Team switched to Plan B and started to raise the weapons. Since the immortals were no longer trusting of the new humans they hadn’t encountered before, they disarmed them in an invisible flurry that left the hunters wondering what had happened.
Pierre said, “These people are too dangerous to clothing to be allowed to roam free. Look at them. They are ruffians with no understanding of fashion, much less haute couture. They should be confined.”
“Agreed. What should we do with them?”
“There’s a thing on the lowest place. A cage.”
Each of the four vampire took charge of one member of Z Company who were, of course, no match for the strength of pure vampire immortals. Five minutes later, the Zed Knights found themselves deposited within the chain link enclosure that had been Blackie’s kennel once upon an unpleasant time. Because the kennel was six feet tall, none of them could stand up straight. Since no lock was handy, one of the vampire just bent the gate latch so that it couldn’t be opened, at least not by humans.
The vampire popped straight from S3 into Monq’s lab where the stores were kept.
“No one is here.”
“Should we leave a note?”
“Jean-Etienne told us to get vaccine, not write letters.”
“Yes. You are right.”
They took enough vaccine to last a month and popped out just before detonation of the west end stairs sent a rumble through the building.
Throughout Jefferson Unit, everyone, friend or foe, went statue still when the intercom came on loud and clear.
“Testing. Testing. Special announcement. Repeat. We have a special announcement.” Elora looked at her watch. Good on you, Spaz. Right on time. “Elora Laiken would like to invite all our uninvited guests to join her on Sublevel 3. For those of you who are new to Jefferson Unit and unfamiliar with the layout of the building, that would be the lowest level.”
Elora turned to her self-proclaimed shadows. “Is he always this talkative?” Kris and Wakey both shook their heads and said no. “Some people just can’t handle a microphone. Goes to their heads.”
Spaz continued. “I repeat, join Elora Laiken on the lowest level of the building, that’s Sublevel 3. Once again, new arrivals, there’ll be a mixer in a few on the lowest level.”
Spaz clicked off the mic and looked around. He’d never been in that part of media before. It was so well disguised, he hadn’t even known it was there. Kind of looked like a broom closet from the outside.
On the inside though, there was an entire wall of dormant monitors, six rows of seven each, all black screens silently waiting like sentries. On a whim, because fiddling with mechanical or technological things to see what will happen was a universal gender trait, he flipped a few control board switches marked as cameras.
Apparently surveillance equipment had been installed in the public areas of the building, probably as some sort of standard security procedure or precaution. The cameras weren’t turned on and were obviously not monitored because there was no need, but they came online right away when he started flipping switches.
It was a spy’s wet dream. He stood there grinning at the surveillance wall with eyes alight, knowing how he could be helpful.
He started by dragging everything he could fit into the room with him, then locked the door and started building a barricade. He was thin, not filled out yet by a long shot, but like all potential Black Swan hunters, he worked out like a demon and was strong. The completely nondescript look of the space from the other side of the door could be useful. No one would guess there was a high tech security operation within, but if they did, they’d have to work at getting inside.
When he was finished he turned to sweep his gaze over the rows of monitors and grabbed the microphone. “Kris. Wakey. E.T.’s around the next corner. Duck into Havvy’s.”
Havvy’s was what J.U. residents called the coffee stop at the Hub because a woman named Havila had been running it for longer than anyone could remember. If Spaz had said, “coffee”, he might have tipped the hostiles off, but they would have no way of knowing what or where Havvy’s might be.
The two boys had gotten a little ahead of Elora, thinking they would protect her by drawing fire first. Not needing to be told twice, they ducked behind the coffee counter thinking Elora was right behind them. Clearly, they didn’t know her very well.
She continued past coffee, where the boys had wisely taken cover, to the next corner and plastered herself against the wall to wait. One of the things about searching with long barrel weapons was that it meant the bearer was always preceded by the gun he was carrying. Elora quietly slipped her own pistol into its holster and waited, hoping she could pick off a couple without making a fuss that would bring more.
When the end of the gun came into view, she grabbed and jerked. Because of the element of surprise, it loosened in his hand enough for her to send it back into his nose with as much force as her equalized strength could muster. Elora had never thought of herself as a bloodthirsty person, quite the opposite. But hearing that crunch, seeing blood spurt like a fountain, and hearing the large man mewl as he grabbed for his face with both hands? It was satisfying.
She had no time to enjoy that little piece of victory because his partner rushed her. She was too close to the Ralengclan for his buddy to fire, so he used the butt of his own gun and smashed her in the face. He missed her nose, but hit her cheek bone. She hadn’t felt a jar like that since she’d arrived in Loti Dimension. While she processed the pain, she thought about the advantages of denser bones and promised herself she’d count her blessings every day if she lived through the night.
While she was getting her bearings, broken nose stumbled backward a couple of steps which allowed his partner to bring his weapon around to fire at her like he was twirling a baton. She reached for her holster to pull the pistol and counter, but knew she wasn’t going to be fast enough with her slowed reaction time.
She heard two pops, but was still too disoriented to know they were coming from behind her. The Ralengclan who was aiming at her jerked his trigger finger and fired uncontrollably when one shot hit him in the forehead and another in the groin, almost simultaneously.
Elora yelled out as one of the alien’s stray bullets tore past the fleshy part of her left shoulder and knocked her back on her rear end. The jolt from the pain when she hit the floor caused her to yell out. The good news was that, when she went down, it gave Kris a shot at the alien who had recovered from the initial shock of a broken nose and was then picking up the weapon that had been taken from him.
As he started to swing toward Elora, Kris put a bullet in his temple and dropped him on the spot.
Elora looked up at Kris and said, “See. I told you practice makes perfect.”
And, with that, Wakey began to retch loudly. She knew that teenage boys ate a lot, but as she and Kris watched in horror, it looked like Wakey was vomiting everything he’d eaten for the last three weeks onto the high polish of the Hub floor.
Spaz’s voice came through the intercom system loud and clear.
“E.T’s at the middle ladder and the track gate. Watch out for a trio of civvies south of med. AND! Major cleanup needed right away on Aisle Three.”
Kris reached over like he was going to take a look at Elora’s shoulder, but she stopped him. “Get away from that. We don’t have time to play doctor.”
He dropped his hands. “Yes ma’am.”
Wakey got off his knees and half-staggered toward the coffee counter still looking three shades past puke green.
He flopped down and groaned. Kris nodded then turned to Wakey. “Gah, man. Do not breathe in this direction. You reek.”
“Leave him alone,” Elora said. “He’s never killed anybody before.”
“Neither have I,” countered Kris.
“Yeah, well, we’re all different. There’s a place for heart in knighthood.”
Wakey looked at her with gratitude.
“I’m gathering that Spaz
has found cameras and is feeding us information.” She winced when she moved her shoulder.
“When this is over, I’m going to give that kid a medal. Trying to decipher his makeshift code-on-the-go, I think he just said we’ve got aliens at the central stairwell and the exit to the rugby field and three non-combat personnel close to the clinic. If I’ve counted the number of explosions correctly, S3 is sealed off, but we don’t know how many aliens are unaccounted for. I need that count.
”Let’s get to a camera and see if you can get that across to him.” They nodded. “Wakey, when we clear cover, you look left toward the Courtpark exit. Kris, look right toward center stairs. Moving toward Farnsworth’s office on three.” She looked at Kris. “Count it down.”
He and Wakey pulled their weapons and got ready. “One. Two. Three.”
From where they were it looked clear to cut across the Hub to reach the short hall to Farnsworth’s office, but they couldn’t be sure until they were out in the open and then it might be too late. On Kris’s count of three, they jumped out, adrenaline pumping.
There was no question in Elora’s mind that her job was to insure those kids made it to the other side. It was a toss-up as to whether that was going to be accomplished best by going first or hanging back. She chose bringing up the rear.
Her right eye was almost swollen shut from the gun butting that crunched her cheek. That was especially unfortunate because she was a one-eyed shooter and, as luck would have it, her dominant eye was the right one. That luck was balanced with a little victory when they made it to Operations without engaging. Hearts were racing, lungs working like bellows, but they were safe for the moment.
Once there, they located the camera, and Wakey started miming the need to know how many assassins were still out there.
Spaz’s voice was so strong and upbeat that no one would ever guess he was announcing a life and death battle with pithy commentary. Even though his attitude might be disturbing, he was proving to be smart and resourceful.
Gathering Storm Page 21
