"She doesn't hate anyone, that's her problem."
Still, you've done a good job of teaching her to hate Sigma, haven't you? What if she uses that lesson on you?
"She'll forgive me."
Maybe she won't. Maybe this will be the thing that shows her what you are. Who you are. And you pushed her, Delgado, you pushed her right over the edge.
Shadows lengthened, dusk turning into night. The fields surrounding Headquarters fell under folds of darkness. Past dinnertime. Where was she?
If he reached, he could probably tell. But that was a violation of her privacy. Just because she shared a space of her mind with him didn't mean she wanted him spying on her ... even if she was the only thing he could think about.
The only thing he could care about.
Even if he was worried, standing in front of the French doors, trying not to strain for the sound of footsteps in the hall outside. Worried enough to make a fist. Worried enough to curse under his breath, touching the fogged glass, and tracing the letters with a fingertip. R. O. W.
Footsteps outside, a low laugh, and the door slid aside. The air inside the room tightened in anticipation. “Let me grab my purse,” she said over her shoulder as she entered.
Delgado's shoulders tensed. He stared at the fog on the glass, his breath drawing a vapor curtain over the world outside. The light flicked on, blazing, and he turned around, trying not to blink as it stung his eyes.
"Justin,” she said, quietly. She didn't sound happy. There was a raccoon-mask of yellow-green bruising over both her eyes, and the bridge of her nose looked a little swollen. She had her purse, was digging in it. Had he frightened her? Couldn't she tell he was in here waiting for her? “We're going to town, some emergency snack cravings. You ... um, you want to come?"
How does she manage to do that, rob me of every good, sensible, logical thought? He closed his mouth with a snap. A green and white shirt with a teddy bear printed on it stretched across her breasts, the bear had a four-leaf clover painted on its belly. She pushed a few stray strands of pale hair back, tucking them behind her ears. Then she ducked into the bathroom, and he heard her moving, the clatter of something dropped in the sink.
She came out, sliding a second earring in—a silver Celtic cross, swinging gently. “Justin?” she prompted, pulling her coat up over her shoulders, her purse safely stowed under it. “Cath wants Pop Tarts and I was thinking of a cheap bottle of wine and some Cheetos. Brew says he has to return some movies, and Yoshi wants a beer. Are you coming?"
He managed to find his voice. “Do you want me to come?” I sound like a teenage boy, he thought, and took a step away from the French door. Please, Rowan. Forgive me.
She shrugged, her face closing, the glitter draining from her eyes. “You don't have to,” she said, and someone knocked on the door. She turned away, her boot heel scraping on the floor.
"I'll come,” he said. “Just let me get my coat. Can I? I mean ... Rowan?"
"Well, then, come on.” She tapped her toe, cocking her head to the side. “I didn't think you'd be up here,” she said as he ripped his jacket off the hanger and shrugged into it, automatically easing the coat over his rig.
"I was waiting for you. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot."
"I know you're an idiot,” she said sharply, and turned on her heel, her pale hair flaring out in a luscious wave. “Come on."
It was a good thing he was wearing his boots, he reflected. She might have left him behind otherwise.
Waiting in the hall were Brew and Catherine, Brew's wire rim glasses glinting in the hall light. “You coming, Del? Good thing Henderson's getting the van.” There was an edge of uneasiness in his clipped British voice. Catherine threw Delgado a pointed look, eyebrows raised, and slid her arm through Rowan's.
Rowan's hair glowed, and he searched for something polite and normal to say. “Well, I've been wanting to go into town for a beer myself.” It was the only thing he could think of. Rowan and Catherine were heading down the hall already, arm in arm like schoolgirl chums.
"Come on, mate,” Brew said. “Beer it is. I've talked the ladies into stopping by a little bar on Sixth Street. You can buy her a drink and try your luck."
"Am I that transparent?” Del muttered.
"Not to most. Don't worry, she hasn't said a word about it."
"Great.” That could mean she's too angry to speak, he thought.
"Yeah. She even insisted we come up here and see if you were in, so we could invite you along.” Brew's white teeth flashed in a grin. He rolled his shoulders back under his bomber jacket. “A good sign, eh?"
"Maybe.” Del kept his tone clipped. How about that? Five minutes ago I wanted to smash everything I saw. Now I feel like laughing.
He was actually relieved.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rowan's headache got worse as they took the freeway into the city. Henderson drove, Brew rode shotgun, and Rowan was in the middle row window seat, Catherine and Yoshi beside her; Justin and Zeke shared the back seat. Catherine chattered, Yoshi hummed an odd discordant song to himself, and Rowan tried to listen to Catherine through the pain that seemed to force diamond needles through her head.
Then, as if she had passed through a wall, the headache faded between one mile marker and the next. Rowan let out a short breath and felt Justin's silent presence in the seat behind her. It was oddly comforting, she had to admit it. They had started calling him “Rowan's shadow,” she'd heard it whispered behind her back. It seemed they weren't so scared of what Rowan could do anymore; she was a known quantity. All the uneasy glances at her were a result of Justin's presence. They seemed far more frightened of him than of anything Rowan could do.
He shifted behind her, and she felt the movement. Trying to keep him out of the corner of her mind he inhabited was impossible. Even when he didn't press, like he had this entire afternoon, she still felt him like a nagging, lingering toothache. Only he didn't hurt her—it was as if he was a part of her, and if she tried to block him away he was still there. Like a phantom limb.
Just as she thought it, Henderson took an off ramp, swerving to avoid something. “Look at that,” he said. “Bad driving strikes again."
"Almost merged right into that semi. Wonder if he's drunk?” Brew shook his head. “Little bit o’ bad karma there."
"Karma?” Catherine snorted, leaning forward, her Mohawk nodding. “There's no such thing."
Rowan dropped her head and covered her face with her hands. Her eyes and nose throbbed, healing. Being around the others helped—they were a cohesive unit, and she was a part of it. She'd never been a part of anything before, except her own family.
Memory rose. Daddy's face, the little gurgle in his chest...
No. She wouldn't let it happen. Not to any of them. Not to Justin, not to Catherine, not to any of them. She would fight with every ounce of her being to protect them.
And if Justin didn't think she was ready...
He's wrong. I'm ready.
Why would he act that way? How could he be jealous?
Not jealous, she realized. He hadn't struck out at Ellis. He'd pushed her.
There is no “friend” in the practice room, he'd told her once, lying next to her with his hand spread against her hip, warm and forgiving. They taught me that.
A dawning realization made her take her hands away from her face. Catherine was staring at her. “You okay?"
"I just had an idea,” Rowan said softly. Cath blinked, then reached over and caught Rowan's chin, her fingernails scraping slightly.
"Christ, you've healed up. That's pretty powerful mojo you've got, baby."
"Really?” Rowan glanced down at her lacerated knuckles. They now looked smoother, as if the scrapes were weeks old instead of hours. “That's a good thing, isn't it?"
"Wow,” Cath breathed. “That's incredible."
"If that's why my head was hurting, I'd rather it didn't happen.” Rowan stared at the back of Henderson's head as he drove. Her gaze suddenly cl
ouded.
She felt something else, then, Delgado's hand on her nape. His fingers closed, hard and warm, and his strength flooded her. “Your head's hurting?"
"It was. But not now.” Rowan's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong.
Her stomach rose sharp and sour. She closed her eyes, searching for the source of the disturbance.
Immediately Justin was there. I'll anchor you. Go as deep as you need to. He didn't care that she'd shouted that she hated him, and he didn't care that she hadn't been kind to him. He just offered his strength, a hot tide of it pouring into her spine, wrapping around the core of her.
I don't know what's wrong, she thought disjointedly. “Something's wrong,” she said. “My head hurt, and then..."
Does it feel like Sigs?
"We're not under attack,” Brew said. “If we were, I'd know."
"I'd trust Rowan's senses,” Yoshi said quietly. “Let her work."
"What should we do?” Zeke piped up.
"Quiet.” Henderson sounded crisp. “Del?"
"Hang on.” He sounded funny, almost dreamy, disconnected. “Rowan, move a little bit. Here.” And he pushed, to show her.
She followed—and lost it. The sense of nausea drained away. “It's gone,” she said. “I'm sorry. Maybe it was something else."
Henderson was quiet.
"I'm sorry,” Del said, and Cath gasped as if he'd sworn. His fingers were still clasped around Rowan's nape, warm and comforting. “I should have just let you do it."
"It wasn't you. Whatever it was, it's gone now.” She paused. “Don't pay any attention.” She tried to say it lightly, failed. “Maybe it's nothing.” I'm jumping at shadows. And here I thought I was so competent.
"Not likely,” Henderson said finally, braking and pulling into a parking lot. “Let's be circumspect tonight, ladies and gents. It's 2100. Rendezvous by 2300, and everybody go with a buddy or two. You got me?"
Murmurs of assent, Brew pulled the door open and cold air sparkled into the van. Rowan stayed where she was. Zeke helped Cath out, Brew scanned the parking lot, and Yoshi exchanged a few words with Henderson. They were all waiting, despite Henderson's orders to rendezvous. It seemed that whatever Henderson's Brigade did tonight, they would do it together.
"Ro?” Justin's voice was soft. His hand slid away from the back of her neck.
"I'm here,” she said. He didn't feel angry. Didn't sound angry either.
"You coming?"
"If I stay here, will you go?"
"No.” Now she could almost hear him smiling. “I don't want a beer that badly. But you'll break Brew's heart."
"I guess I'd better go, then.” She moved across the seat and hopped out, catching her balance. Instinct made her glance around—the parking lot was on Eighth Street. She had a pretty good grasp of this part of the city by now, having come for shopping trips and supply runs with Cath and Justin so many times.
Justin unfolded himself from the black van, turning to close the side door. He paused just slightly, his awareness scanning the perimeter. “Looks clear,” he muttered.
Cath slid her arm through Rowan's. “Come on. Let's go to the grocery store. If we get our junk food, we can all go to a bar."
"You're too young,” Brew shot back from Rowan's other side.
"Says you."
"Children, children.” Rowan was still trying for a light tone. She felt Justin behind her, suddenly thoughtful, a deep well of silence.
Rowan's shadow.
"Okay, Mom.” Cath rolled her eyes.
"How did we every get along without you?” Yoshi asked dryly.
"You just sort of blundered along.” Rowan rolled her eyes. The sudden burst of laughter—even Henderson made a sound of amusement—rewarded her. But in the middle of the laughter, a sudden uneasy feeling made Rowan almost stumble, as if a cold finger had traced up her spine.
She stopped dead, closed her eyes. Brew halted after realizing she'd stopped, Justin stepped up behind her.
"Row—” Cath began.
Delgado clapped his hand over her mouth. “Shhh. Gather up and give her some cover."
Rowan's eyes flew open. “We have to go back,” she heard herself say. Her voice rang against pavement and fell flat into the gutter. The parking lot was deserted, the van crouching in a pool of shadow. “We have to go back now."
"Why?” Zeke asked. “Goddammit! Why didn't you say something before?"
"We've got to go back,” Rowan insisted, suddenly absolutely certain. “Now. Now."
"Back to where?” Henderson asked.
"Back to Headquarters. Something's wrong. We don't have much time.” I sound so certain.
Rowan flinched, feeling Justin's fingers close over her shoulder, steadying her. “Everyone back to the car,” he said. “She can feel Sigs, so let's be safe."
"Let's move, troops,” Henderson said, and it was official.
"Awww, crap.” Cath sighed. “I was looking forward to Pop Tarts."
"Hurry,” Rowan pleaded, and they all started back toward the van, Justin's arm coming over her shoulders. She tilted forward, walking quickly and unsteadily, and he pulled her back.
"We are hurrying, angel. Just relax. We'll get there in time."
He sounded so utterly certain she almost believed him.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Nobody said anything on the way back. Rowan shook with distress the closer they drew to home; Justin set his jaw. This was an enemy he couldn't fight, so he simply offered his strength, sitting in the back seat with her, Brew doing his best to shield her from the other side.
When they took the off ramp, he reached over the back seat and brought out the emergency kit. “Everyone arm up,” he said, and started handing out the guns. Rowan accepted a Glock, and the small sounds of checking clips and chambering rounds resounded through the tense silence. Next came the comm-links fitted in everyone's ear
"Well,” Yoshi said from the front passenger seat. “The place still seems to be standing. I don't see any smoking craters."
"It may only look safe,” Delgado supplied.
"You're paranoid,” Zeke piped up.
"It doesn't mean they're not out to get us."
"Can we have a little less chatter?” Henderson asked, turning to the right and flicking the headlights off. Delgado felt a sudden flare of gratefulness—the old man had believed Rowan without question. “I'm going to use the access road. I hope nobody wore heels."
"I left mine at home,” Brew cracked, and Catherine giggled.
Delgado felt Rowan stiffen. “Can't you feel that?” she whispered.
"What?” he whispered back, his mouth close to her ear. She shivered.
"Exactly,” she said. “It's too quiet."
"No psychic chatter,” Brew supplied helpfully. “We're too far out to feel it, Rowan."
"Something's happened. We're too late.” She was cheesy-pale in the darkness. He felt the waves of trembling gripping her, the shortness of her breath, and wished he could push her into fearlessness. Instead, he sank into his link with her, feeling her headache and nausea as if it was his own. Christ, if she feels like that no wonder she thinks something's wrong. He took the pain for her, took it and took it until she went limp against his side, curling into him. A small thread of nasty satisfaction curled through him. She hated him, but he could still comfort her.
"General?” Brew, with the quiet tone he used very seldom.
"Brew?"
"I'm getting it, too."
"Could just be static from her.” Zeke shifted in his seat.
"It's not.” Delgado heard the clipped tone in his own voice and realized something was bothering him too. “The lights,” he said. “The lights should be on. There's no glow."
He was right. If it wasn't for the almost full moon overhead, Henderson would have been unable to drive without the headlights.
"I know,” Henderson said. “But thanks anyway."
"What could take the grid and the backups out?” Catherine shivered.
“I hope nobody's stuck on the transports."
"If they are, they're relatively safe,” Delgado pointed out. “It takes time to crack a transport line."
"What do you think's happened?” Cath turned around to look at Delgado. “Rowan? What do you think?"
"I don't know,” she said miserably, her breath hitching. Henderson cut the ignition, rolling to a stop and then slipping the van into “park” without touching the brakes.
"Hear that?” he asked, and the entire van went silent.
A faint noise filtered through. Delgado's skin went cold, then roughened with instinctive goose flesh. “Choppers,” he said against Rowan's temple, then inhaled the clean scent of her hair. “Christ."
"What is it?” Cath was still twisted in her seat, looking at Rowan, who slumped into Delgado's side, her head hanging. The gun was in Rowan's hand, pointed at the floor with fingers locked outside the trigger, just in case.
"What else?” Henderson said quietly. “Sigma."
"How?” Yoshi shifted slightly, uncomfortable without his computer. “And what are we going to do?"
"Go in or go to ground,” Delgado said. “That's the question."
"Something terrible's happened,” Rowan whispered. “If there's someone alive in there..."
Silence. The entire group waited.
"We'll recon,” Henderson said heavily. “If it's an attack, we'll be needed to cover an exit so we can get the noncoms out. And if it isn't, if it's just a power failure, they'll need Rowan to calm everyone down."
"It's not a power failure,” Rowan said suddenly, quietly. A terrible certainty colored her voice.
The thudding of helicopters faded a little, then returned louder than ever. “Sweeps,” Delgado said. “It's Sigma."
Nobody said a word.
"All right,” Henderson said. “Del, you cover Rowan. Rowan, you sense anyone, point ‘em out to Del and let him take care of it. Rest of you, let's spread out and go in quick and quiet. It's maximum prejudice."
Catherine swore, but nobody else said anything. Don't worry, Del thought, laying the words gently in Rowan's mind—as gently as he could.
That's like telling me not to breathe. No matter how much her body rebelled against the nearness of Sigma's presence, her mental tone was strong and clear. He pressed a kiss against her temple; nobody else would see in the darkness.
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