Fearless (Dominion Trilogy #2)

by Robin Parrish

  "She's still over near the 405 interchange, working cleanup. She's fine."

  Grant nodded; he knew it was true from the sense he had of her, but it was always good to know details. "I've got to get back, just wanted to make sure you guys are safe here." Grant squared his shoulders and turned to go, but something caught his eye.

  "What's up with the new decor?" Grant asked, nodding at a large, bright, and rather gaudy banner that hung from the center of the converted warehouse. In big, bold letters, it read, "WHAT DO YOUR EYES SEE?"

  "Ask your sister," Fletcher replied.

  The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Julie came running across the room, a stack of folders clutched to her chest, and grabbed him in a gigantic bear hug, dropping the folders as she did. "Thank God you're okay! That was too close."

  He smiled and returned the hug. "You saw the thing with the truck."

  Julie had been carrying a stack of manila folders over a foot high in her arms when she approached. There were Ringwearers applying to join Grant's team within the folders, approval of which was one of Julie's primary responsibilities.

  As she loosened her hug, she turned and saw the folders, hovering neatly in their stack, right where she'd turned loose of them.

  "Every time I think I've seen it all, you do something that blows my mind all over again." She placed a quick peck on his cheek. She couldn't stop looking into his eyes.

  One of her knees buckled slightly, as if the muscles had simply given out. Grant steadied her at once, while guiding the folders to rest on a nearby table. He smiled at her, and she allowed him to cradle her in the crook of his arm.

  For the hundredth time that day alone, he found himself thinking of her illness and how much he hated it. It was still in its early stages and would take several years to fully deteriorate her motor control, but he despised it. He reviled that despicable disease, in every possible way that hate could be felt.

  And he loved her more than ever for the millions of little ways she fought it.

  He pretended to be looking at the folders-knew they must be profiles of the new applicants she was screening-so he could blink back hot tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Because there was no way he would do that to her. Not here, not today.

  "Took your meds today?" he asked her softly.

  She nodded, concern still written on her face for him and his adventures.

  "I'm okay, really," he comforted her. "The truck thing wasn't even a strain."

  "It's not that ..." she said, smiling even more broadly. "I've been glued to the TV, and I just-I saw what you did. And I'm not talking about your amazing feats of telekinesis, or whatever. What I saw was raw and real. What you did, those people you saved ... The gentleness, the fierceness, the compassion, the strength ..." She swallowed. "You were magnificent. I love you so much-not because you're my brother, but because of the man you've chosen to be."

  Tears spilled down her cheeks, and he saw a slight shudder in her gait. He kissed her on the forehead.

  "I want you to know," she said, "I have never been more proud of anyone than I am of you, right now."

  Grant felt his cheeks redden. He smiled but looked down. It was too much, she'd gone too far ... Julie's words, coupled with the exhaustion he felt from the day's events ...

  "Hey, where do you want these two?"

  Grant and Julie released each other and turned to face Lisa, who stood off to the side with two men just behind her. One was enormous, the size of a bodybuilder or professional wrestler, the other was frumpy and mousy, with greasy black hair and a few bits of stubble scattered across his cheeks and chin.

  Both of them wore gold rings with burgundy gemstones upon their right middle fingers.

  New recruits, Grant recognized.

  If Lisa knew she was breaking up a sentimental moment, she didn't show it. She appeared more bored than anything.

  "Oh, um," Julie said, switching gears, "I'd like you to meet Hen- rike-is that how you say it?" She nodded at the big bull of a man who wore a camouflage tank top to show off his intimidating muscles, and he nodded back. He had earrings in both ears, and a crew cut that looked like he had somehow managed to bleach blonde what little hair there was. "And this is Wilhelm." Julie nodded at the little guy, who seemed to be trying to figure out a way to melt into the cement floor.

  "They're joining us from different parts of Europe."

  That was nothing particularly new. As more Loci found them, increasingly they were showing up from places of origin that were great distances away from Los Angeles.

  Henrike was clearly awed by Grant's presence, though he puffed out his chest even further than it already was. Wilhelm briefly glanced up at Grant before returning to his examination of his feet.

  "I still need to talk to you," Lisa abruptly said to Grant. She'd been trying to get him alone for days now, and Grant was sure he knew why.

  He sighed, glancing at the stairs to his right. "If it's about him-"

  "It's not," Lisa replied, staring him down. He wouldn't have blamed her if it was, but he was as tired of that conversation as Daniel was. Daniel had made his office upstairs home and was rarely seen by anyone on the ground floor. Lisa's unrequited feelings for Daniel were widely known among the group, though never discussed openly. Everything had changed for both of them the night he pulled the trigger on Matthew Drexel, the corrupt police detective.

  Grant sighed again. "I have to go back out, help the others finish the cleanup. We'll talk when I get back."

  Lisa walked away. The new recruits followed her.

  "You need to rest. I know you're exhausted," Julie said. "You've been going nonstop for hours."

  He smiled for her benefit, but even his powers weren't strong enough to wipe the weariness from his face.

  "What is that?" Grant overheard one of the new recruits asking Lisa as they walked away. It was the heavily accented voice of the big man, Henrike, and his finger was pointing to the loud banner hanging over the center of the room.

  "I was wondering the same thing," Grant mentioned softly to Julie.

  "It's a reminder, so we don't forget," Julie answered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  She put an arm around Grant's shoulder and ushered him into the center of the warehouse, where a makeshift Common Room had been pieced together. It resembled the original Common Room, from Morgan's converted asylum, in name only. No walls separated this area from any other part of the warehouse, save the sleeping quarters in the northwest corner, which were cordoned off with sheets and drapes.

  Much of the old building had been quickly converted over the last few months into an all-in-one central hub for the Loci.

  Those in the room stopped to regard Julie, who stood in the center of the Common Room with her brother on her arm.

  "What do your eyes see?" she recited the words from the banner. "Are you letting perspective and purpose guide your actions? When you open your eyes and look around, do you see the trivial, the mundane, the routine? Or do you see the profundity of what we do? The changes we make upon the world? The miracles we spread?

  "What do your eyes see?" She said it again. "Where is your focus?"

  The room was filled with silent contemplation, and it was several moments before anyone realized that Julie was finished and they could go back to what they were doing. But now they attacked their work with more vitality in their movements.

  "You," Grant said softly so only Julie could hear, "are the most amazing person I know."

  She gave him a tired, shy smile. "We're growing so fast-more Ringwearers find the Railroad every day-and a few days ago it occurred to me that everyone could use a noble idea to rally around, a mission statement that defines why we do what we do. I made it as loud and ugly as I could just so it would be hard to overlook or forget."

  He smiled again, appreciatively. "If you weren't around to think of these things, I don't know who would."

  Julie shrugged. "We're in the business of handing out second chan
ces. We can't forget that everybody deserves one, and why."

  Grant looked away, something about the phrase "second chances" stirring up feelings in him he'd fought to bury. He turned in Julie's direction when he felt her hand holding his.

  "You never talk about it," she said softly, "but I know you miss her."

  Hannah.

  He blinked back the rising emotions. No. Not on this day would he allow himself to go down that road, see her face as he held her and watched the life drain out of her...

  He smiled, and squeezed her hand. No matter how many amazing feats or displays of power he could unleash, he would never feel superior to his sister. As far as he was concerned, if there was one person deserving of the title of "hero" in this building, she was the one.

  "Thank you for doing this," he said, squeezing her hand and gazing up at the banner again.

  "You better see this-the Brits are at it again!" Fletcher called out.

  Fletcher had dubbed his cubicle "command central"-though no one but him referred to it that way. His work area was near the side entrance that everyone used, which was adjacent to the stairs that led to Daniel's office.

  Grant and Julie quickly returned to Fletcher's station, taking in the scene on the largest monitor, directly in front of him.

  Two weeks ago, a second group of Loci had appeared on Grant's internal radar; they were all in London, and Grant counted five of them. Fiercely patriotic to their homeland, this new team had also been using its awesome abilities for heroics, but their agenda and tactics left much to be desired. Instead of hiding their faces from the cameras, they appeared often on British television, using the media as an added tool in their arsenal. Grant had no idea what their powers were, but they had pulled off a number of astonishing feats, all in the name of keeping the motherland safe.

  Their spokesperson-an older gentleman with a clipped accent, bushy mustache, and roguish demeanor-stated often and loudly that they would do "whatever is required" to keep Great Britain safe in the wake of the world's unending calamities.

  British authorities were supposedly in an uproar, but so far had found no way to deter the group's actions. They referred to themselves with the unabashedly pretentious name, "Upholders of the Crown."

  On Fletcher's computer, he was displaying a full-screen live feed from CNN, which brandished a red "BREAKING NEWS" banner at the bottom of the screen.

  A red-cheeked reporter with male pattern baldness and a little too much makeup was breathlessly giving an account of some sort of upheaval.

  "What is it?" Julie asked.

  "Forced lockdown of some kind," Fletcher replied, inching up the volume.

  ". . . Local authorities are at a loss but promise not to rest until the heart of the city is reopened. With no information coming out of the quarantined area, we have no idea who is responsible for this startling turn of events. The only thing we know for certain is that no one can get in or out of a significant portion of the city-a portion, I should add, that includes key edifices such as the Houses of Parliament and Buckingham Palace.

  "Speculation from local law enforcement is that the group calling itself the `Upholders of the Crown' may somehow be responsible; others believe the prime minister or Parliament took drastic measures to ensure a working government, in response to the riots erupting around the globe. Shelley, back to you," the reporter signed off, still trying to catch his breath.

  The camera shifted to a perfectly coifed redhead sitting behind an anchor desk. For a second, she looked terrified, but composed herself and, obviously improvising, said, "If you're just joining us, this is breaking news, so please bear with us. Charles, do you have any idea at all what method or methods have been used to cut off access to the city?"

  The reporter in London shook his head. "I'm afraid not; details on this subject are particularly hard to come by. All we know is that no one can get in or out. I heard a rumor a few minutes ago that attempts to get live satellite feeds of the quarantine area have brought back nothing but static. As you can imagine, the friends and loved ones of those trapped within the quarantined zone are both fearful and outraged, demanding action from the police. We've heard rumors that MI-5 is considering this to be an unlawful action, and I personally have heard the word terrorism, but they've not yet released a public statement using those terms. Until a course of action can be determined, access to all of London proper, north of the Thames, is completely cut off."

  "Thank you, Charles," the anchorwoman returned. "We're expecting a briefing from Washington momentarily with their response to both the new situation in London and the day's events in Los Angeles....

  "It's crazy." Julie shook her head. "Did they do this? Those 'Upholders' people?"

  Grant frowned, concentrating. "They're definitely in London somewhere; I can feel that much. But I'm not familiar enough with the city to tell you where they are, exactly. It looks like they're just sitting around a table together, chatting."

  Fletcher cleared his throat. "Am I the only one wondering where this group came from to begin with? Without the Keeper around to plot and scheme, who's out there passing out rings? And why have all of these new wearers popped up in London-and at the same time?"

  "You're not the only one wondering," Grant replied, his eyes still on the news report. He suddenly felt very tired.

  "All of this can resolve itself later, honey," Julie said in her most motherly tone. "You've been running from one crisis to the next for over six hours now. You need to get some rest. Surely the firefighters and police have things more or less under control by now."

  He shook his head. "No, I have to get back. It's way too much for them to-"

  "The entire world is talking about what you did today," Julie said, looking into his eyes. There she saw remnants of the lives he hadn't been able to save, the fires he couldn't make it to in time. "They're crediting you with a new world record for the number of lives saved from immediate danger in a single day."

  "The Fansite already has pictures," Fletcher added offhandedly.

  "The whatsite?"

  "You didn't know?" Julie grinned, taking his arm again to steady him. "There's a full-fledged `Guardian Fan Club' and everything."

  Fletcher's fingers danced over his keyboard and a monitor to his right switched to a website, the front page of which bore a blurry photo of himself from about an hour ago, holding the eighteen-wheeler in midair. He saw links to news articles, a photo gallery, and some sort of message board where members could post "Guardian Sightings."

  Grant's shoulders slumped. "I can't believe people . . ." he whimpered. He wasn't even remotely kidding. He knew Julie couldn't help teasing him, but even she must see the danger in this sort of hero worship ...

  "You should see the boxers in the merch section," added another voice. A noble, intelligent voice with an impeccable British accent.

  Grant turned to the building entrance, where Morgan was closing the door behind her, smiling mischievously.

  "The prodigal librarian returns," Grant mused, thankful for the opportunity to change the subject. He smirked curiously in the elder woman's direction.

  "And bearing gifts, no less," Morgan added, indicating the bag full of books in her arms.

  "You could have checked in," Fletcher said irritably. "You must not have noticed that there's a war going on out in the streets. It's not safe out there, and we had no idea where you were or what you were doing. As usual."

  "Fletcher, your observational skills," Morgan coolly replied, "as always, are on par with the great detective, Sherlock Holmes himself. I do apologize for leaving you in the dark about my whereabouts, but I was quite safe and quite far from any danger."

  "Is that all we get?" Grant teased. "No details?"

  "For now," she replied. "But very soon, you will know everything I know, I promise. And you have my word it will be worth waiting for."

  Starting several weeks ago, Morgan had taken on the habit of disappearing from the warehouse, sometimes for hours, sometimes f
or days on end. But before leaving the first time, she had approached Grant and asked him, on their friendship, to do her a favor: She requested that he not use his awareness of the Loci to find her or look into her activities. All would be explained in due time, she assured him.

  It wasn't a hard decision. He was as curious as everyone else, but he trusted her.

  Remarkable to see her actually enjoying being outside again, Grant mused as he watched her.

  Their conversation over, Morgan turned to Julie. "Do you remember our conversation from a few weeks ago, about books worth reading again and again?"

  Julie smiled warmly. "Of course."

  Morgan and Julie, over time, had developed a close mother/daughter type relationship. This particular new habit they'd developedexchanging favorite books-Grant found amusing, since Morgan had an overwhelming advantage. Since her power allowed her to perfectly recall every detail she was exposed to, and since she was a former librarian and an avid reader, Julie had a very hard time finding books to recommend that Morgan had never before gotten her hands on. Morgan, on the other hand, never experienced any difficulty recommending books to Julie. She was a walking encyclopedia and often quoted from literature as reflexively as most people inhale oxygen.

  Morgan herself had undergone a drastic change thanks to Grant and the events surrounding his life. Once a reclusive hermit, Morgan fled her home for the first time in years when it was destroyed by an enemy of Grant's in a terrible fire. Forced outside, she'd felt a sense of renewal or rebirth, and though she now made her home alongside Grant and the others at the warehouse, it was rare that she wasn't out and about, doing ...

  Well, no one really knew what she was up to, Grant had to remind himself. Morgan was relishing the mystery and theories her actions were igniting among the group, but was in no hurry to offer an explanation for her activities.

  "Well," Morgan continued talking to Julie as if no one else were there. She retrieved a hardback from her satchel and handed it to Julie. "I know this book backward and forward, and yet sometimes I find I simply crave reading it again, slowly. I can't recommend it enough."