by Jena Leigh
Aiden was silent for a long moment. “He was calling to tell me that my mom had died. That she’d OD’d on the bottle of pain pills Hal had been prescribed when he threw out his back a couple months before. That she’d downed a couple dozen pills and a bottle of Hal’s Jim Beam, and never woke up again. That he hadn’t found her until it was too late. That it had happened three days earlier, but that, in the chaos of it all, Hal had just forgotten to call me.” Aiden snorted in disgust. “He’d ordered her to be cremated and was sending my mom’s remains to some extended family we had back in Ireland.”
Alex could feel tears welling up behind her eyes.
She wanted to leap out of the chair and throw her arms around Aiden’s neck. To comfort him. To tell him how sorry she was for everything that he had been through. But she could tell from his body language that pity was the last thing Aiden wanted.
So instead she remained motionless, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the tears from falling, as she waited for Aiden to continue.
“By the time I’d processed everything he told me, Hal had already hung up. That stupid, lime green phone with its jacked up cord attaching it to the wall and God knows how many years of grease caked on the receiver. It just kept beeping in my ear. So I dropped it—left it hanging from its base, swinging back and forth—and I grabbed my keys from the hook by the office, walked out to Norma Jean, started her up and went straight back to the cabin, not saying a word to anyone.”
Aiden fell silent once more, shaking his head slowly as he stared off into the distance. Just when Alex thought his story might be finished, Aiden began again, his voice brimming with frustration.
“I was so angry,” he said. “Angry at myself. Angry at Hal. Angry at my mom. But the person I was the angriest with, was Grayson. I’d warned him that something like this might happen. And he’d told me that everything would be alright. That my mother could take care of herself. That the thing she wanted more than anything else in the world, was for me to be happy. And then she was just… gone. Forever. And in my mind, Grayson held most of the blame.”
Aiden reached for the bottle, discovered it was empty, and set it back on the table with a sigh. “Grayson was out somewhere when I got to the cabin. So when I couldn’t find him, I broke into his office, stole a set of keys from his desk, and headed out to the garage.”
Alex’s bleary vision cleared as a tear slipped onto her cheek. She surreptitiously wiped it away. Aiden didn’t notice. He was still staring at the floor and seeing a memory instead.
“Back then, Grayson had this car. God, was it beautiful,” he said, smiling sadly. “A silver, 1965 Aston Martin DB5 Vantage Convertible. James Bond’s car, in mint-freaking-condition. The thing had to have been worth about a million dollars.” He shook his head. “It was Grayson’s most prized possession. We weren’t allowed to breathe on that damn car, much less drive it.”
Alex held her own breath, afraid to know where this story was headed.
“So I took it out for a spin,” he said. “Right off the edge of the mountain, and straight down into a ravine and the river below. I managed to jump out of the driver’s seat just before it went over the ledge.”
Alex’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp that had lodged in her throat.
“When Nate and Declan found me about twenty minutes later, I was still just standing there at the edge of that ravine, staring down at the car’s metal bumper as it sank beneath the water, soaked from the rain, with this huge gash in my arm that I hadn’t even noticed yet.” He turned his left palm up and stared down at the jagged white line of a scar that trailed along the inside of his forearm, running his fingers along its edges. “I left for Seattle the next day.”
Aiden reached into his pocket, pulled out a lighter and lit the cigarette he’d been toying with earlier. He took one long drag and exhaled, away from Alex, before holding the cigarette out in front of him.
For a long moment, he just stared at it, the end glowing orange in the darkness.
With a sigh, he reached over and stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray on the patio table.
“One of these days,” he said. “I really am going to quit.”
Sixteen
“Christ, kid. What did I just say? The guy can’t talk if he’s dead.”
A few steps behind Declan, Trent stood with his arms crossed over his chest and an unsettling grin on his face, shaking his head in mock disapproval.
Declan loosened his grip around the P.I.’s throat.
But only slightly.
Larry sputtered and gasped, clawing fruitlessly at Declan’s right hand.
He’d been too drunk to stand upright by the time he’d stumbled out of the bar, keys in hand, and began weaving unsteadily toward the Crown Vic parked at the edge of the bar’s parking lot.
Six hours of tailing the guy had revealed little more than the location of the investigator’s favorite strip joint, his name—Lawrence Wetherby—and his preference for cheap hamburgers and cheaper booze.
And, well… Declan had grown impatient.
“Who hired you?” Declan asked again.
The man’s pulse raced ever faster beneath his fingertips.
Larry whimpered. “I—I don’t know what you’re… you’re talking about, man! I’m an accountant! I work in an office!”
Declan raised an eyebrow at the blatant lie. He tightened his grip around the man’s larynx.
“Who’s paying you to tail Alex Parker?” Declan repeated, his voice low.
“I’d answer him, Lawrence,” said Trent. “I’m telling you, this kid is not stable. He’s had a bitch of a week so far and I’m pretty sure he’ll be more than happy to take his issues out on you.”
The ‘good-cop/bad-cop’ routine was a tired one, but effective.
Especially when your target was falling-down drunk and had a vested interest in saving his own ass.
Closing the short distance between them, Declan twisted the fingers of his free hand into the man’s shirtfront and lifted him a few inches off the ground. Larry’s legs jerked as he tugged desperately at Declan’s arm.
Declan resisted an urge to cringe as the man’s hot breath filled the air between them. It reeked of stale onions and Old Crow bourbon.
“Alri—Alright!” the man choked out.
Declan lowered him back to the pavement, but kept his hand around Larry’s throat as a precaution.
The hum of electricity coursing through the man’s system was so weak it was almost nonexistent, but it was enough for Declan to recognize Larry for what he was—a fellow jumper.
A jumper with barely a tenth of Declan’s power, but the guy could still teleport in a pinch, nonetheless.
With the exceedingly small amount of energy at Larry’s disposal, it was likely that he would only be able to manage a single jump before running out of juice. After that, he’d be forced to wait a while to recharge and teleport a second time.
So long as Declan maintained his hold, if Larry decided to use up his lone jump, he’d be taking Declan right along with him.
“The name,” Declan demanded.
Larry winced. “I… don’t know it.”
Behind him, Declan heard Trent heave a tired sigh. Declan began to tighten his grip, but paused when Larry kept talking.
“He never gave it to me!” he said in a rush. “Paid in cash, right from the start! I’ve never even see his face! The dude arranged everything over the phone!”
Declan frowned.
“Well, what did he sound like?” asked Trent. “Young? Old? Did he have an accent? What?”
“I don’t know, man…” he wheezed. “Not young, not old… Just a dude, ya know? He didn’t have any kind of accent.”
“Not young, not old, just an unaccented dude,” said Declan. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”
Another mewling sound escaped the man’s throat. His eyes darted back and forth as he stared past Declan and searched his memory for a better answer.
“He… he sounded like a reporter,” said Larry.
“A reporter?” Trent echoed.
“Yeah, you know, like the kind you’d hear on the five o’clock news or in some old movie. All proper pronunciation and shit. And he talked kinda weird.”
“Weird how?” asked Declan.
“Weird, like… like he would’a aced the vocab section on the SAT’s as a kid. Big words. Educated.”
Declan scowled. There was only one name that came to mind after hearing such a description.
It fit his suspicions. As far as he knew, there was only one man who would have been interested enough in Alex Parker to put a tail on her in the first place.
“Does that look mean you know the guy,” Larry asked, searching Declan’s face. “Does that mean you’ll let me go now?”
“No.”
His hopeful expression fell. “Come on, man. I’ve told you what you wanted to know—”
“How long have you been feeding him information?” asked Declan.
Larry hesitated.
“You’re thinking about lying to my friend right now. Aren’t you, Lawrence?” said Trent, his tone amiable. “Not a good idea. Like I said. He’s had a lousy few days. No telling what methods he’ll resort to in order to get the truth out of you.”
The man pursed his lips, then said in a quiet voice, “I’ve been keeping tabs on the girl for a little over two years now.”
Declan narrowed his eyes, increasing the pressure around the man’s throat, a wordless demand for more details.
“It’s not—I mean it’s nothin’ like that, man!” said Larry, misinterpreting Declan’s anger. “I ain’t takin’ those kinds a’ pictures. I mean, shit. She’s just a kid! I just keep an eye on her!”
Now that Larry was cooperating, Trent’s friendly demeanor evaporated. “Then what sort of information are you collecting for your client?”
“He’s watching her for signs of an ability,” said Declan. “Isn’t that right, Larry?”
Larry’s eyes widened. Hesitantly, he nodded.
Although sensing other jumpers came easy for someone as powerful as Declan, most teleporters simply weren’t strong enough to know when another one was nearby. The sudden realization that he was being threatened by another Variant had given poor Lawrence a start.
And if the P.I. had been scared of Declan before, now he seemed downright terrified.
“What else are you watching for?” asked Trent.
“Well, I mean… I… I give him details about her daily routine,” he said. “Tell him about her grades, her extracurriculars. Names of her friends. Shit like that. The stuff he asks about… He… I mean, he kinda reminds me of a dad, you know? Like maybe he was a family member that wanted to check up on her, but couldn’t just pick up the phone and ask.”
“How do you get paid?” asked Declan.
“Cash.”
“How does he send it to you?”
“Through the mail. Two hundred bucks a week.”
“Return address?” asked Trent.
The man shook his head. “None.”
“Postmark on the envelope?”
Larry pursed his lips again.
With his free hand Declan summoned a swirling sphere of electricity above his palm and held it a few short inches from the man’s face.
“Postmark, Larry,” he said in a quiet voice. “Where’s the money coming from?”
As Larry’s eyes grew wide, Trent took a hesitant step backward.
“Seattle!” Larry blurted. “Seattle, man! It’s coming from there! I don’t know anything else, I swear to God. Please, man… please… don’t kill me…”
Declan dissolved the sphere with a flick of his wrist.
“Stay away from Alex Parker,” he ordered. “You ever come near her again, and I will find you, Larry. Understood?”
Larry nodded frantically.
Declan let him go.
The man disappeared from the parking lot in a blinding flash.
“Son of a… what the hell was that?” Trent’s voice walked a fine line between fear and awe.
Declan shook his head slowly, heading back toward the Civic. “Just making sure P.I. Larry and I understood each other. I needed to give him a decent scare so that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to go near her again.”
“Well shit, son,” said Trent. “After that display, I don’t want to go near her. What was that lightning-ball thing, anyway?”
Declan slid into the driver’s seat. “We call them ‘spheres.’ They’re basically just concentrated orbs of energy. A sphere like the size of the one I threatened Larry with can blow a locked metal door off its hinges and take some of the wall down with it.”
“You say that like you know from experience.” Trent reached for his seatbelt.
“The Alex from my time taught me how to create them.” Declan stared unseeing through the windshield. “Believe it or not, she can summon a sphere three times that size without even breaking a sweat.”
Trent’s hand froze around the buckle. “No shit?”
“No shit. The first time she created one, she didn’t even know what she was doing. Just misunderstood an instruction I gave her and suddenly… there it was. Liquid lightning, swirling in her hand. It’s kind of a miracle she only destroyed the ceiling fan.”
At the memory, Declan smiled in spite of himself. Then he blinked, realized where he was, and sighed instead.
His Alex wasn’t in Bay View. A full day of no leads had made that abundantly clear. Alex was smart. She would have found a way to let him know she was there, but he’d not seen a single sign to suggest that this was her arrival point.
“Let me see your phone,” said Declan. “I need to source a location real quick.”
Trent handed it over. “Next stop, Seattle?”
Declan nodded. “Seattle.”
“Larry wasn’t the only one who picked up on that scowl of yours, you know. I’m guessing you’ve figured out who it was that put the tail on Past Alex?”
“I have a good idea, yeah.”
“Well?” he asked. “Is it a name I’d recognize?”
Declan stopped thumbing through images from a street-view map of Seattle, but didn’t look up. “It is.”
“You gonna tell me?”
“I’m not.”
“Alright, man, alright,” said Trent. “You got your secrets and that whole ‘fate-of-the-Universe’ thing happening right now, so I guess I won’t press you. But there is one thing I really got to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“Isn’t Seattle where Nate moved a few months back? After that mess in Prague happened and he stopped working for Grayson?”
This time, Declan did look up from the phone.
After the events in Prague, Nathaniel hadn’t just “stopped working” for Grayson. He and the boss stopped speaking to each other altogether. Within three days, Nate had packed the majority of his belongings into the back of the Charger, and left to join Aiden in Washington.
During the ten months he was gone, the only time anyone at the cabin heard from him was when he called to wish Kenzie a happy birthday.
The phone call lasted two minutes and his sister spent the next two weeks loudly lamenting that she couldn’t read minds over a phone line.
Ten months and only a single two-minute phone call. It wasn’t just Grayson that Nathaniel turned his back on, it was his adoptive brothers and sister, as well.
Declan had been furious.
The day Nate left, Declan swore he’d never forgive his brother for abandoning them like that. For acting like they were all so easily forgotten.
And then, one rainy day in early May, Nate just showed up at the cabin, unannounced, asking to speak with Grayson. To this day, Declan had no idea what the two of them talked about during their hour-long discussion behind the closed doors of Grayson’s office.
But whatever words were said, it had been enough for the two of them to make peace and strike a deal.
Na
te moved back in, immediately went back to work for Grayson, and then spent the next month refusing to answer a single question posed to him by Declan or Kenzie about what had happened to him in Seattle.
Nor had they ever been able to explain the sudden 180 in his attitude.
The Nate that left for Seattle had been the very definition of low-key. He was always relaxed, often joking around, and never took anything too seriously. He was a good guy. A great brother. A better friend.
The Nate that came home in May gave them strained smiles. He spent endless hours alone, working around the property, or toying with the Charger in the garage—anything, so long as it meant he could avoid them. He did his jobs for Grayson with a sort of military efficiency that drove Declan half-crazy and turned Nate into the boss’s pride and joy.
Always the golden boy.
Always the good little soldier.
And he was always defending Grayson, no matter what bullshit play they were being asked to back. After Prague—after the boss made that terrible call and left Nate with the blood of an innocent kid on his hands for the sake of the “greater good”—Nate should have been questioning everything. Instead he followed the Grayson patriarch blindly and without reservation.
Nate had left the cabin that August swearing that he would gladly die before ever setting foot on the Grayson family’s property again.
Something definitely happened to Nate in Seattle.
Something big enough—important enough—that he chose to swallow his pride and move back home to New York.
And right now, Declan could think of only one person in the world who could have inspired his brother to make a decision as drastic as that.
Declan tossed the phone back to Trent, put the car in drive and tore out of the parking lot. He was returning this car to Alex’s neighbor and then he and Trent were getting the hell out of there.
“Whoa.” Trent splayed his hands on the low ceiling of the car as they took a sharp turn and he rushed to steady himself. “Was it something I said?”
