Shades of Memory

by Francis, Diana Pharaoh

  My body felt electric beneath the sweep of his hands as they ran over my back and hips and back up. Abruptly he lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling myself as close as I could. I wasn’t going to let anything separate us.

  All around us the wind whirled and grew more violent. The window shattered, and its glass thudded against the walls and ceiling, flung like ninja stars. We both stood in safety at the center of the vortex, a calm eye in the storm.

  We continued to kiss with all the fury of our primitive needs. Crazy as it sounds, I wanted nothing more than to strip away our clothes and get down and dirty. I ached to feel the intimacy of it, to feel us be together the way we were supposed to be, skin to skin, soul to soul.

  It wasn’t to be. He twisted away, jerking his head back. His eyes had turned entirely to milk now.

  “Help me, Riley,” he said, his arms clenching around me. “Help me. I can’t—” He broke off, his eyes squeezing shut. Then they sprang open again. “You can’t go without me.”

  Tremors shook him as wild emotions crashed through him. He’d not dealt with anything since his talent woke. Every little emotion brought on an uncontrolled eruption of magic. He’d bottled up everything—his fear for his brother, his guilt for Mel, his worry for me, his terror of his own power—but now they were ripping free. I’d helped tear away the dam, and now I had to help him find a way to manage his feelings so he didn’t tear apart the world.

  I only knew one way to do it. One way that had succeeded before. Unfortunately, I’d died that time. Price had barely managed to revive me.

  I pulled his head close, pressing my forehead to his. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve totally got this.”

  One thing I knew for sure—I’d be damned if I was going to die before I made sure he was going to be okay.

  Realization must have struck him. An electric jolt ran through his body, and his eyes widened. He opened his mouth to protest. I didn’t give him the chance.

  Chapter 3

  Gregg

  “JESUS CHRIST. What the hell have you done?” Gregg whirled to face Savannah, squeezing his glass so hard it shattered in his hand. It cut into his flesh, but he didn’t feel it. His shock and horror overrode everything else. “There weren’t supposed to be any explosions, not if I didn’t try to escape.”

  “No, they were promised if you tried to escape. But that didn’t mean other things wouldn’t demand the need. I’ve now demonstrated my resolve,” Savannah said with a cool smile as she swirled her drink. “You needed motivation to give me what I want and now you have it. If you fail to produce the artifacts within the next thirty-six hours, I will set off more. Every hour you are late after that, the cost will grow.”

  He stared, his mind racing. He had three artifacts, plus the vial of Zachary Kensington’s blood. None were of any use unless she’d found the last two artifacts, plus Riley.

  In the early years of Diamond City, the Wild West ruled. Prospectors poured in, looking to get rich quick. Hundreds of Tyets sprouted, turning the city into a perpetual warzone, but Zachary Kensington ended all that. He created a weapon to take down all the Tyets in the city and force a truce.

  After that, he broke the weapon up into pieces and hid them. Thanks to Riley, Gregg had acquired three, along with a vial of Kensington’s blood. He hoped Riley would be able to use the vial to trace Kensington’s workshop and possibly locate the last two pieces, along with instructions on how to assemble and use the weapon. It was the same reason Savannah needed her.

  Or maybe not.

  Riley was the only tracer Gregg knew of with that level of ability. That didn’t mean Savannah didn’t have somebody else up her sleeve. The real question was whether Savannah already had the remaining two sections. If not, then he could afford to turn his over to her. That would buy him time to stop her before she razed the city. What were the odds she had the last two?

  Savannah’s cool voice broke into his musings. “Such a shame, really. I believe that one of the explosions destroyed an elementary school. Fortunately, as late as it is, the school was empty. Next time the children might not be so lucky, though.” She arched a meaningful eyebrow at Gregg.

  Every muscle his body tightened, and it was all he could do to keep from jumping on her and snapping her neck. He didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to give her the satisfaction, but he couldn’t stop himself. “And the other targets?”

  She smiled her triumph. She knew she’d found his weakness. One of them, anyhow. “A movie theater, a cafe, a medical clinic, a church, and oh, what was that last one? I just can’t remember. Oh dear, was it a hotel?” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Being that it’s so late, there may not have been too many casualties.”

  Gregg made a sound low in his throat. “God, you’re insane.”

  “I am simply a businesswoman who knows what I want, and I’m willing to do what’s necessary to get it.” She rose gracefully and set her glass on the marble bar top before turning to face him.

  “You should get going. The clock is ticking. You have thirty-six hours. It’s more than you need, but then, traffic will be terrible after the explosions. And”—her eyes flicked to the cuff—“you’re short on your usual resources. I’d wish you good luck, but the truth is, whether you succeed in your mission or not, I still win.” She smiled, her expression cold as a penguin’s dick. “You see, I want the artifacts, but watching you fail offers its own delightful pleasures. Besides,”—she gestured at the blue, red, and white emergency lights flickering all over the city—“it never hurts to remind people how much they should fear you. I do so love fireworks. I can always retrieve the artifacts later. I’m sure you’ve been keeping them quite safe for me.”

  “You’re a fucking cunt,” Gregg choked out through clenched teeth.

  “And you, my dear, are a hopeless fool.” She tossed her head. “Just think: if only you cared for the city as little as I do, I couldn’t blackmail you into giving me the means to destroy the whole damned place.” She bent closer, lips thinning. “Thanks to you, I’m going to own every living soul in Diamond City, including yours.”

  With that, she left. Gregg could hear her heels clicking across the floor, lending rhythm to her smug laughter.

  She hated him with an insanity he could hardly comprehend. He’d done his best to get in her way, to choke her out of the city, and clearly she’d taken it personally. Was he really going to turn the artifacts over to her? He glanced back out the window. What choice did he have?

  Dembe stepped inside the doorway, his face expressionless.

  “Shall I see you out, sir?” he asked. He eyed Gregg’s bleeding hand and went behind the bar to retrieve a white towel.

  Gregg took it and wrapped the cloth tightly around the shallow gash in his hand. It wasn’t bad, just messy.

  Dembe motioned for him to follow and walked out of the room. Gregg paused to gaze once more out on the city, his lips pulling back in a snarl. He told himself he didn’t have to decide what to do yet, but deep inside he knew he’d already chosen. And he still didn’t know if Clay was alive or dead.

  Chapter 4

  Riley

  PEOPLE DELUDE themselves all the time, thinking if they’ve done something once, that means they can do it again without any trouble. That’s true for some things, I suppose. Like falling down stairs. Or breathing. Once you do either of those once, you’ll pretty much know how to do it a second time. Falling down stairs doesn’t take a lot of skill or talent. Just a willingness to fling yourself off the edge.

  Moving my spirit into Price’s body was everything and nothing like that.

  As a tracer, I’d learned that if I dove down into my own trace and made a hole, I could leave my body and go into someone else’s using their trace. I’d done it a few weeks ago with Price, ironically enough, to help him gain control of himsel
f in the middle of a tornado he’d created. Apparently, learning how to control his talent wasn’t as easy as falling down stairs either.

  The unfortunate side effect of my sort of spirit travel, much like falling down stairs or playing with hand grenades, is death.

  I’d died the last time I’d tried this trick, saved only by Price giving me mouth-to-mouth and CPR. Once I left my body, I lost the ability to keep it working. Here’s hoping I got back before it became too much of a problem.

  The first order of business was to sink down into myself to where my trace rooted inside my body. Once there, I told myself to shoot through into my trace as fast as possible. Once again, myself was a horrible listener and did no such thing.

  The feeling of being inside my own trace was almost indescribable. Orgasmic, euphoric—like touching God.

  I was engulfed in a crystal silence so profound that I ached. Chills ran through me. There’s a feeling that druggies talk about, like they are as big as the universe and can feel every breath, every blink, of every soul everywhere. Now I knew what that felt like. I wanted to bask in the experience—soak it up, live on the peak of ultimate pleasure.

  But . . . Price. Not to mention impending death.

  The last time I’d done this, I’d been exhausted, running close to empty, and panicked. Now I was only one of those things. Surely that meant I could speed the process? We had to figure out why Price hadn’t been able to maintain his control himself after I’d helped him the first time. I wasn’t sure how many times I could keep doing this.

  As many as it took, and I’d damned well learn to like it, I told myself. Because I’m no quitter, especially when it comes to the people I love. I’d even put my life on the line for Price’s brother, Touray, even though he scared the shit out of me most of the time. It’s what you do for family.

  A thin wire of molten emotional pain pierced me, wrapping and tangling around me. Mel. My stepmother had died in the course of rescuing Price from the FBI. I hadn’t yet let myself deal with the grief. I couldn’t. Embedded deeply inside it was guilt—that she’d been there at all, that she’d involved herself for me.

  I wasn’t ready to accept her sacrifice. I didn’t know if I ever would be. Which made me ridiculous and contrary, since I would risk myself, sacrifice for those I loved. I’d learned that from her. I shoved the thought away. Now wasn’t the time to contemplate my total lack of logic. Do as I say and not as I do, and all that sort of crap.

  Focusing again, I pushed out of my body, but not before taking four fast, deep breaths. Maybe that would help my brain last longer. The fact was, a tinker or heal-all could do a lot to help the body, but they couldn’t fix a dead brain. Or stupidity, for that matter.

  Once I shoved out into my trace, I needed to make a hole. This was easier said than done. Trace is part of a person’s spirit. It doesn’t want to be damaged. I hadn’t let myself think about the long-term effects of putting a hole in your spirit. The last one I made seemed to have healed up. At least, I couldn’t see where it had been.

  I steeled myself against the pain I knew was coming, and gathered power. I let it build inside me, potent and hot. I concentrated, forming it into a knife. No, a scalpel. Sharp and precise. The next thing I had to do was harden my trace. Otherwise, it would bend away from the scalpel, or flow around it like water. Ready at last, I swiped with the scalpel.

  I didn’t remember it hurting this much last time. Maybe because I was already in such pain at that point, it hadn’t seemed like too much more. Apparently I’m not fucking Wonder Woman or Superwoman or whatever, because I was finding out just how bad it actually hurt. Like swimming through a vat of boiling acid while cockroaches chewed on every inch of every one of my nerves.

  Too late to stop, even if I wanted to. As I made the opening, an aura of emptiness flowed inside. A deadening, like a patch of barren ground in the middle of a meadow. Ignoring it, I pushed through the opening and into the spirit realm.

  It was cold. Graveyard cold. Not that I really felt it. The pain continued and didn’t let much else through. I was surrounded by an endless velvet night filled with brilliant streamers of flickering light. This was the land of the dead. This is where my mother lived. If you could say dead people lived anywhere.

  I didn’t look for her. I didn’t have time. The space around me rippled and churned. It surrounded me, closing like a fist. Pressure clenched on me. All of a sudden, a demon-possessed woodchipper swallowed me. And I’d thought cutting into my trace had hurt. I didn’t know what was attacking me, or if this was just what happened when you went unprotected into this realm. Something similar had happened before, though I didn’t remember it being nearly so awful. That was turning into a theme for this adventure.

  I had no idea how to fight, so instead I launched myself into Price and hoped that would get me away. I followed his burgundy-blue trace back to where it connected with his spirit. This next bit was tricky. The last time I’d done this, he’d not reacted well.

  I dove into the magic aura swelling around him. It felt incandescent. Everything else burned away as I sank into the flood of power. It crackled and danced over and through me. It didn’t hurt. It invaded every part of me, prying and digging. I swam through it, following his trace, arrowing into that secret, private place where his spirit and body linked.

  I felt his jolt and the instinctive revulsion at my invasion. I flung out my magic, pouring all my love, respect, and pride for him into it. I felt him turn into me, reaching out. The heat of him twined around me, cradling my spirit in delicate silk.

  What the fuck are you doing? You died last time we did this.

  I felt the horror and fear he was trying to hide. Of me dying, of him killing me. I’m helping you.

  Hurry up, then.

  The words smoked with the heat of his fury. He might be holding back his rage, but it still leaked out. All the same, he wasn’t going to waste time on an argument. Not when we both knew my body was dying. Later he’d have a thing or two to say. Loudly. And with many bad words.

  I pushed out into him, melding and weaving our spirits together so we were essentially one person. I wished I could have savored it, that intimacy, that sweet friction of us rubbing up against one another on a level where we needed no words.

  I kept myself focused on my task. I needed to follow the flow of his power to its beginning within Price. It wasn’t going to be easy. Power surged from every direction, buffeting and swamping me. I got caught in a whirlpool and spun before getting flung out and wrapped in coils of electric magic. I felt the strands of myself linked with Price snap and fray.

  Shit. I twisted, searching for the headwaters of his magic. But it was everywhere around me and seemed to come from nowhere. I’d never experienced anything like it. He seemed to be made entirely of magic. I tried not to believe it. If that was true, if he was what he seemed to be, I couldn’t help him.

  I dove back down, drawing on my own magic to protect me. It wasn’t enough. I was too thin, too woven into the fabric of Price. More threads of me popped and tore free of our melding. I felt myself starting to shred. I contracted, trying to reel in the flying strands, but the wild churn of Price’s power pulled back.

  I struggled, trying to keep my shock and fear from reaching Price.

  What?

  Of course. Melded together like this, I couldn’t have hidden vaginal itch from him. I decided honesty was the best policy, especially since he’d know if I lied.

  I can’t find the source of your magic. You’re different. You’ve changed.

  What does that mean?

  His entire being drew together, like he was tensing to fight. I could feel the sour pulse of fear and self-doubt running through him. Scared wasn’t something he was good at. He was a doer; he made things happen, and he didn’t fail. He’d never wanted to have magic. He’d been happy without. Only t
he FBI had ripped open the walls holding back his abilities, and now that power was out of control. Price was sailing blind on a storm-tossed ocean. He was going to crash on the rocks unless he could tear that blindfold away, unless he could find a way to pull the power back in. And he was out of time. Here, now, this was his stand. Guilt skewered me. He wasn’t ready, but I’d pushed him to this edge. I’d been so sure of myself, so sure I could save the day. And now we were both going to pay for that arrogance.

  Riley? Price prompted me.

  It’s not going to work like last time. I paused, not wanting to admit the rest. Guilt and embarrassment made me want to curl into a ball. I don’t know how to help you.

  A moment of bleak silence. Then get out. Get back to your own body and get away.

  Trust him to think of me first. I don’t know that I can get away.

  Try. Hurry up.

  Beneath his clipped, cold words, he burned with wild emotion. I felt him grappling with it, forcing it down inside, and layering them over with icy determination. Before I could even think, he turned his attention to untangling himself from me.

  I wanted to grab hold and not let him go. But what could I do? I’d only get in his way. Maybe make things worse by stirring up his fears for me.

  Your magic used to flow through you like a river. Now it’s like you’re made of it. It churns inside you like a hurricane—like six hurricanes playing bumper cars.

  Fine. Now get the fuck out. The implacable order came with a hard shove.

  I dug in my heels. You don’t understand.

  He needed to understand what he was. It was the only way he might figure this out. You’re an elemental. This magic isn’t like a normal talent that feels like a tool in your hands. It’s part of you, just like your heart or your liver. Fighting it only makes you weaker, makes it try to protect itself, the way the body will protect itself from infection.