by Sue Duff
“What are you doing?” Orr asked.
“I’m betting that a connection is more likely if Sombra trusts me, not the other way around,” Ian said.
The wolf reacted to him like any other encroaching animal but soon calmed when Ian didn’t challenge him for dominance. Sombra pressed against him and allowed Ian to reach out and stroke him. There was no attempt to connect. Ian released the others, continuing to be relaxed with all three.
“May I have some food?” he asked.
Allison poured some into one of the bowls. He coaxed them to approach with the morsels. Ian opened up his thoughts to invite a channel but the white noise filled the void.
The others observed silently, the scientists making a few cursory notations.
Ian loved interacting with the wolves, but after an hour, no connection was made. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this isn’t what you had hoped for.”
Allison pressed a button on the wall when Orr and Ian returned the animals to their kennels.
A knock on the door and Allison opened it. “Drake, since we still can’t get in touch with Cooper, would you mind taking care of the animals again tonight?”
“Of course, Doctor.” He headed for the counter and set out the metal bowls like he knew his way around the supplies.
“Was it quiet around here last night?” Ian asked casually.
“Like babysitting sleeping infants.” Drake poured dry pellets into the closest bowl.
“Must be hard to stay awake.” Ian noticed that Drake added a couple of extra wet ingredients to the bowl marked Sombra.
Drake chuckled. “No one could snooze with the way Sombra snores. Talk about waking the dead.” He shoved a bowl through the slot at the base of Dante’s kennel. “You thinkin’ about using one of them in your act?” Drake looked up at Ian.
“Considering it,” Patrick said.
“I’m only asking because they know me so well.” Drake reached in and scratched Dante behind the ear. “I could maybe help train them for what you need.”
“I don’t know if I could spare you, Drake,” Orr said and stuck his finger in his tie to loosen it. “You three go on ahead. I’ll catch up after we take care of the animals.” Orr opened the door and ushered them out.
Ian, Patrick, and Allison stepped outside. The bright sun glistened off the nearby patches of snow and a frigid wind snaked around them. They donned their jackets.
“Do you still feel that last night might have been a channeling experience?” Allison pulled her collar up around her ears.
“After today’s trials, I’m leaning more toward a nightmare. Albeit, a vivid one,” Ian said.
“I asked because, we euthanize the test subjects,” she said in a voice dripping regret. She led them down the path with hunched shoulders.
“You kill them all?” Patrick said falling into step beside her.
“This is a research facility. We’re interested in their genetic codes and their brain development. We can’t study those areas without dissecting the animals. If we wait for them to die naturally, our research wouldn’t advance very far in our lifetime. That was why this test was so crucial,” Allison said. “Our plan at this stage was to provide some of the Sar elders with live test subjects that we could continue to study.”
“But with Ian’s failure to connect with the wolves,” Patrick said. “Dr. Orr won’t pursue it.”
“He’ll follow protocol as before and study their brains hoping next time will yield more positive results.” Allison’s steps slowed than came to a halt. “There is one other possibility.”
“What?” Patrick said.
“Saxon, one of our first test subjects, escaped before we could euthanize him. It was the night of a terrible blizzard. Since he didn’t have any developed survival skills, we assumed he didn’t last long. But I never gave up hope.” She turned toward Ian. “You said it felt like you were chasing a prey?”
Ian didn’t respond, overcome with the same prickling sensation of being watched from the previous night. He studied their surroundings, but the vast grounds appeared deserted. His pulse quickened. Something wasn’t right. He pulled out his phone to call the girls. No service flashed across the screen. The prickling spread. His vision clouded.
“Are you all right?” Allison asked.
Ian swayed, overcome with a channeling episode. From a high location, his host looked down onto a building rooftop. Through the hazy image, a flash of sunlight reflected off exhaust vents and solar panels. The figure of a man hunched down behind the roof’s parapet. Something long rested on his shoulder with its tip on the edge of the parapet. In the distance, a pathway wound throughout the grounds. Three figures—Ian couldn’t quite make them out—stood in the middle of the path.
Ian broke the connection. He grabbed Allison while knocking Patrick to the ground. A rifle shot rang out.
{44}
Thanks to the metal chair, Rayne couldn’t feel her butt any longer. The metallic vigil had robbed her of the last of her body heat. Whatever they used to make her complacent in the car left her queasy, and she contemplated arguing to trade in the god-awful chair for a toilet.
Footsteps approached from behind then paused. A hand grabbed at the top of her head and pulled the hood away leaving a static-cling sizzle. A man in a QualSton security uniform stuck thick rubber gloves on her arms that covered from fingertips to elbows.
“What’s this about? Where am I?”
He didn’t speak but regarded her with a grave expression. He had brought her to a room with a dim overhead light. It appeared to be an unfinished basement with rough concrete walls and floor. A second chair sat across from her. Her breath came out in quick opaque spurts.
From behind, a door opened then closed. The guard moved closer, a clear warning to stay seated. A moment later, a man stepped in front of her. Rayne squinted to make out his features in the hazy light.
“Rayne, I am Dr. Benjamin Harcourt.” In spite of the casual tone in his voice, he didn’t extend his hand in greeting. His dark eyes were lined in deep, etched folds. The man’s hair was the color of his lab coat. She guessed his age to be in the late fifties.
Harcourt scooted the empty chair back a couple of feet then settled on it. If Rayne hadn’t been so scared, she’d be offended.
“Do you want me to turn into a Popsicle?” Her voice cracked in spite of her attempt to sound bold.
“For heaven’s sake, give her your jacket, you imbecile.” His tone carried authority, and the guard jumped at his command. He removed his jacket, then placed it around her shoulders and stepped back. It brought instant warmth without a drop of comfort.
“You were never meant to get close,” Harcourt said. “I should have anticipated the potential and made amends long before now.” He rested against the back of the chair, but his expression was far from relaxed. “It was imperative that I separate you from him.”
She shook her head at his odd words. “Who?”
“The illusionist who helped you gain access to this facility.”
Rayne tightened her grip on the jacket and peered at him with a mixture of unease and bewilderment. His chuckle triggered a chill that spread across her arms and rang in her head like a long-forgotten melody.
“Are you saying that Ian is dangerous?” Her heart slid into her gut.
“Not to us. Not anymore. But in this case, it’s you.” His casual persona faded. He rose and placed himself behind the chair as if the distance between them wasn’t barrier enough. His voice hardened. “It’s you who are the threat.”
What the hell? Who are these people? Rayne nibbled on her lower lip.
Harcourt reached out, and the guard handed him a tablet. He pressed the screen and stared at it, then touched it and swiped across it as if searching for something.
She scooted to the edge of her seat. “Don’t you think you’re taking this Martha Stewart thing to the max, or are you just germophobic around here?” She held up her gloved hands. “If my punishment for
sneaking in here is to do the dishes, then just point me in the direction of the kitchen and let’s get this over with.”
Harcourt finished whatever he was doing and handed the device to the waiting guard. “What brought you here?” Curiosity tinged his voice. “Was it because you found out there was more to your mother’s death? Or, perhaps, you couldn’t let go of the illusionist?”
“You know something about her accident?” Her thoughts tried to snag something, anything to make sense of him.
“Where do you think that envelope came from?”
Her shivering came to a standstill. “You were the anonymous source?” She shook her head. “Why?”
“I needed someone else to make the inquiries for me,” he said. “After I discovered where you and your mother were hiding, it was an opportunity to take care of so many things at once.”
Hiding? Rayne thought. Take care of, what?
He rose to his full height, and his eyes turned to ice. “Accidents are so … unexpected.”
Rayne gasped. Her sight blurred. Breath escaped in short bursts. Instinct told her to run for a bathroom. She threw her gloved hand to her mouth and tasted rubber.
The door opened. A guard let himself in and closed it behind him.
“What is it, Drake?” Harcourt said.
“Ning has taken the Channels. He’s headed to the warehouse,” Drake said. “He was livid she wasn’t with them. He nearly killed one of them to make them talk. You can’t hide her any longer.”
Harcourt furrowed his brow and shook his head. “If the illusionist hadn’t come to your aid yesterday, my men would have gotten you out of harm’s way. But when you arrived with them today, you sealed your fate.” He sighed and nodded.
Drake grabbed Rayne under the arm and pulled her to her feet. Unable to resist, she walked with him to the door.
“That’s a good princess,” Harcourt said.
Her breath caught in her throat. She struggled in Drake’s grasp and twisted around. “Who are you,” she said, but the childhood memory had already given her the answer.
He stared at her with a look of joy tinged in madness. “I’m your father.” He cocked his head and smiled. “Welcome home
{45}
Ian shielded Allison and poked at an unmoving Patrick. He hesitated to shyft them, unsure of possible witnesses. Another shot rang out. This one barely missed his shoulder. Bits of stone sidewalk sprayed across the side of his face and scraped his cheek.
With a firm grip on Allison, Ian reached out and grasped Patrick. He shyfted all three of them to a large outcropping of boulders across the lawn. The maneuver didn’t fool the gun-man. Ian’s corona gave their new position away. Another shot ricocheted off the largest rock and struck the turf beyond, gouging out a divot any golfer would envy. He checked on Patrick, while Allison quivered from the vortex trip.
“I hope you got the license plate of that truck.” Patrick groaned.
“That truck would be me.” Ian settled against the rock.
A shudder overtook Patrick. “Oh, you didn’t!”
“He had to,” Allison said through chattering teeth. “Someone shot at us.”
“What?” Patrick sat up, too fast by the grimace on his face.
Ian peered over the boulder but wasn’t greeted with additional gunshots. “I don’t see him.”
“Just conjure the gun out of the guy’s hands,” Patrick said.
Ian shook his head. “I can’t conjure something my hands haven’t touched.”
“You have to have physical memory of it?” Allison asked.
“Superpower rules shouldn’t apply in emergencies.” Patrick peered over the edge of the rock then ducked back down. “There should be an override button, or a kill switch.”
Hunkered in the shadow of the boulder, Ian attempted to channel with whoever or whatever warned him of the danger in the first place. After a few unanswered attempts, he got to his feet. “I think it’s clear.” He stepped away from the granite’s protection.
“Think doesn’t quite cut it for me. I’m not moving until you’re positive,” Patrick said.
“How did you know to push us out of the way?” Allison regarded Ian when he didn’t respond. “You received another channel, didn’t you?”
“It was a lone gunman from the edge of that rooftop.” Ian pointed then set out in the direction of the structure.
“Wait a second.” Patrick grabbed his sleeve. “We can’t go there. We have to get some help.”
“Whoever did this did it in broad daylight and right in the middle of this campus. I don’t know who to ask for help, do you?” Ian said.
“I could find security, report the incident,” Allison said without a lick of confidence.
“I don’t believe this is a secure Weir facility, at least not a Pur one,” Ian said. The alarm in Allison’s eyes confirmed his suspicions of her innocence. He headed for the shooter’s building with the two of them close on his heels.
Caution slowed Ian’s steps as he approached the front door. He paused long enough to peer through the glass-paneled windows. Acoustics Lab Division was spelled out in large metallic letters on the receptionist’s wall. The front doors were locked, and the lobby area deserted.
Ian touched the front glass panel beside the door. It disappeared. “Do you know anyone who works in this division?” he asked. Allison shook her head. He slipped in with them following and traversed the lobby before ending up in a main hall. A row of portraits lined their path. A nameplate for the current and acting director of the facility read Dr. Benjamin Harcourt.
“Looks like a cocky asshole,” Patrick said under his breath.
“I’ve seen him talking with Dr. Orr two or three times,” Allison said. “We were never introduced.”
They paused at the door to the stairwell. Steps led in ascending and descending directions. “It looks to be about six upper floors,” Ian said after perusing a map on the wall.
“The shooter could be hiding out in any one of them,” Patrick grumbled.
Ian stood still, listening.
“It’s too quiet,” Patrick said.
For the first time since entering, Ian had second thoughts. If the girls were here, their trained team approach would be the safest.
“You two go and hide behind the reception desk. I’m going to the roof to see if I can still intercept him.”
“Ian, wait, at least channel the girls and have them meet you here before you go any farther.”
“Patrick, just do it.” Ian took the steps two at a time.
“Wait,” Patrick said from below.
He stopped and leaned over the railing. “Patrick, I can’t channel with the girls. I’ve been trying.” The panic in Patrick’s eyes gave Ian pause. “Go hide. I’ll find you when I finish upstairs.”
“And if you don’t come back?”
“Do superheroes always have to think for the sidekick? Make your way to the auditorium and get the girls.” Ian took off up the steps.
The deserted rooftop offered a panoramic view of the entire facility. He traced the parapet and peered over the edge. It was a straight drop to the concrete below. He walked the space like a grid, checking any potential hiding spaces and searching for clues.
Did you get downstairs and out of the building quickly? he thought. Are you still inside—he remembered the auditorium—or did you shyft?
Ian checked his phone after another failed attempt to channel with the girls. It remained useless. He wandered around with it held above his head, hoping to grab a signal from the elevation of the rooftop.
Movement came from a ledge, high on the hill behind the building. Ian stared at the cliff, but the movement didn’t repeat itself. He took in the view it offered. It was the same angle as the warning channel he received from the path.
{46}
From his spot behind the reception desk, Patrick drew out of his slump. “Crapola.” On two of the security monitors, half a dozen guards rushed up a staircase.
; “Where are they going?” Allison whispered.
“My money’s on the roof.” Patrick pulled out his cell. “It’s a trap, and Ian walked right into it.” A steady No Service propelled him to his feet, and he took off toward the elevators.
“We’ve got to get to the auditorium to find help,” Allison said.
“You go. I want to see just how fast these elevators are.” The digital readout over the doors remained static. The guards weren’t using them.
A ding and then a swish and Patrick stepped inside. He punched the topmost floor.
The chimes counting off the rising floors fell in sync with the throbbing pulse at his temples. The second the doors opened, Patrick ran in the direction of a posted sign for roof access. He rushed up the steps and burst through the roof’s door, then slammed it shut. “Fuck-a-duck,” he spewed at discovering the door locked from the inside.
He searched the surroundings and found a loose metal rod in the railing. He wedged it between the door jam and the overhang. When he tugged on the knob, the door stuck in place.
Wary of the temporary fix, he started across the rooftop. “Ian,” he called out in a hushed tone. “Ian?”
The door handle jiggled. Pounding erupted. He ducked be-hind a solar panel and peered over the top, but the reflected sun blinded him. He cried out, covering his eyes.
From behind, a hand grabbed him across the mouth. A voice whispered near his ear. “You can’t follow a simple direction, can you?”
“Guess not,” came out muffled from under the hand.
Ian pulled away. “What happened to getting help?”
“This seemed like the more immediate solution.” Patrick grabbed his sleeve and cringed. “Okay, shyft us out of here.” He shut his eyes and held his breath, waiting for the dreaded cold.
“I can’t,” Ian said.
Patrick opened his eyes to find that Ian wasn’t messing with him. “What are you saying?”
“I can’t shyft,” Ian said. “We’re trapped.”
{47}
The car followed a narrow service road along the fringe of the facility. Emotions jockeyed for dominance while Rayne stared out the window. Harcourt sat up front in silence, while Drake held onto her in the backseat.
