Resistance (The Variant Series #2)

by Jena Leigh

  Not when they were so close.

  He squared his shoulders. “The deal was to provide you with information about John Grayson and his family. For the last two years, I have kept my end of the deal,” he said. “I have no intention of reneging now.”

  “Two years ago, you came to the Agency asking for assistance, Nathaniel. Assistance that we graciously provided—under the provision that you kept us provided with important information. We were to be told everything, Nathaniel. That includes any and all information regarding Alexandra Parker.”

  “She didn’t arrive at the cabin until two weeks ago,” he said firmly. “You know that. And I haven’t exactly had a chance to check in since relocating to Florida.”

  The Director’s eyes narrowed. “Did you really think I wouldn’t remember her, Nathaniel?”

  Desperation gave way to fear. Nate swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Careful, Nathaniel,” she hissed. “You’re forgetting who holds the cards here.”

  “What is it you want?”

  The Director smiled. “Daily updates.” She slid a disposable cell phone across her desk. “If John Grayson so much as blows his nose, I want to hear about it.”

  Nathaniel reached forward and took the phone. “Fine.”

  “And I want you to start including Alexandra Parker’s movements in your reports,” she added.

  “That’s not going to be easy,” he hedged. “Declan’s the one shadowing her during the day. Not me.”

  “Then I highly suggest you get to know Ms. Parker outside of school. You’re a resourceful young man. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

  Shit.

  “Sure,” he said. “You got it.”

  The Director smiled and pressed a button on her office phone. Another of her faceless lackeys walked in.

  “I’m so glad we were able to sort that out, Nathaniel,” she said. “I would so hate to be forced to dissolve our agreement. Especially knowing what that would mean for your family.”

  Nathaniel bit back a string of curses.

  “Yeah,” he said finally. “So glad we could sort it out.”

  At a signal from the Director, the agent grabbed his arm.

  “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Palladino,” she said, nodding to the agent.

  They jumped.

  Nathaniel fell to his knees and landed with a splash at the center of the training field. While he’d been gone, the sky had opened up.

  The unidentified agent disappeared in another flash of light.

  Nathaniel stood, tilting his head back as the rain crashed down around him in powerful torrents. Within seconds, he was drenched. He closed his eyes as droplets of rain fell heavily against his face.

  Dancing with the devil was getting harder every day.

  * * *

  Declan rang the doorbell for a second—then a third—time.

  Still no answer.

  He stepped back from the red lacquered door, pausing to peer through a darkened window before hopping off the porch and making his way around the side of the two-story, blue Victorian.

  Alex was home.

  He knew she was home because someone had just turned off one of the upstairs lights, only to turn on another in a separate room. The faint signature of electricity emanating from behind the house had already told him that Alex’s aunt was working out back in her studio, so it couldn’t have been her.

  It had become obvious that Cil only used her jumping ability when the occasion absolutely called for it and, because of that, her draw on the currents was barely noticeable.

  But it was still there, provided you knew to look for it.

  She and her niece had that much in common, at least. Neither of them seemed inclined to embrace the Variant side of their nature unless they absolutely had to.

  Now that Alex had allowed her jumping ability to fade out, she was impossible to sense.

  He wondered what bothered him more—that Alex was refusing to use an ability that could save her life down the road, or that, because of her decision, the unusual connection between them had been severed.

  Jumpers, as a general rule, were rarely powerful enough to sense a fellow teleporter nearby.

  Declan had always considered himself unique in that regard.

  Then he met Alex.

  Her jumping ability had immediately rivaled, and then very quickly surpassed, his own. The link between them was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  They didn’t just sense each other’s presence, they were conscious of each other’s emotions as well. While she possessed his ability, Alex’s draw on the electrical field was so clear that he could immediately detect when she was nervous, when she was angry… And then there was that funny way the currents around Alex danced any time she laughed.

  Declan told himself the loss of their bond only frustrated him on account of his new job as Alex’s bodyguard. Easier to watch over someone when you were linked in such a way that you would instantly know if there was trouble, right? Right.

  Most days, he could convince himself that that was the only reason he missed it.

  Other days…

  Declan pushed that thought from his mind. He was here for the job.

  That was it.

  The muffled sounds of Simon and Garfunkel carried through the evening air as he walked toward the shed. Since Alex was refusing to answer the door, he’d just have to relay his news to her aunt instead.

  Kenzie had warned him that Alex was ignoring the texts she and Cassie had sent tonight. Declan had just assumed he’d be an exception. After all, it was Red that had gone digging through Alex’s head earlier, not him.

  A light breeze picked up, rustling the leaves and clumps of moss hanging from the gnarled oak tree in Alex’s backyard.

  Night had settled quietly over Bay View, bringing with it a short break from the rain and a welcome relief from the heat. The forecast called for more rain after midnight, but for now, the darkened sky was holding back.

  Halfway across the yard, another sound reached him. Someone was singing.

  Badly.

  Oh, man. Really badly.

  “Alex!” he called toward the open second floor window. “Hey, Lex!”

  The singing continued.

  From this angle, all Declan could see was the spinning of a ceiling fan and a rope of soft white lights strung up around the dimly lit room.

  Declan stood beneath the oak tree, glancing between the shed and the open window, weighing his options.

  He’d never actually seen the inside of Alex’s home, so jumping to the hall outside her bedroom and knocking on the door was out of the question.

  But there was a second option.

  Turning his back on the shed, he returned to the base of the sprawling, ancient oak. The massive branches radiated up and outward from a point only a few feet above the ground. It was the sort of tree that had been tailor-made by Mother Nature for the purpose he now had in mind—it was, quite possibly, the most perfect climbing tree he’d ever seen.

  One of the branches had grown close enough to the second story of the home that it had been shorn off, just two feet below the open window.

  Practically an invitation.

  Declan carefully made his way up and into the twisted limbs of the tree, jostling smaller branches as he went. Accumulated water from the afternoon rains dripped onto his coat, down his collar, and soaked through the heavy fabric of his jeans.

  The singing was louder now, a classic rock song he quickly recognized.

  As he reached the edge of the branch, just outside the window, Declan was rewarded with an unobstructed view into the room.

  Alex lay sprawled on her stomach on the top of her bed, clad in black yoga pants and a pale green shirt. Her legs swung back and forth through the air in time to the music blasting from her earbuds, her chin propped in one hand as she perused the textbook opened in front of her.

  “Now you’re messin’ with a, a son of
a bitch!” she sang.

  Declan lost it.

  He laughed so hard, in fact, that he was forced to reach out and grab a nearby branch in order to support himself.

  The movement attracted Alex’s attention.

  With a yelp of surprise, she yanked the headphones from her ears and sat up. “Declan, what the hell?!”

  Slipping off the bed, she approached the window seat and knelt on the cushion beside the open center window.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, fighting back another round of laughter. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Then what the crap are you doing in the tree outside my window?”

  Grinning, he answered, “Heard you singing. Thought I’d say hello.”

  “There is such a thing as a door.”

  He shrugged. “I rang. You didn’t answer.”

  “So you decided to try your hand as a peeping Tom instead?”

  “What can I say, Lex?” Declan swung his leg over the side of the branch and readied himself to jump. “Your voice was like a siren’s call. Just couldn’t resist.”

  He slid off the branch. Alex let out a cry as he plummeted toward the ground.

  Declan smiled as he teleported, reappearing behind Alex in her bedroom.

  “And by ‘siren,’ I mean an actual klaxon,” he continued. Alex spun, hand over her heart and mouth open slightly in surprise. “I realize it’s tough for anyone to sing Nazareth and sound good, but damn, Lex. I’m kind of amazed you hadn’t attracted an audience of neighborhood strays howling along beneath your window. Half those notes you were hitting were in that range only dogs can hear.”

  Her look of surprise evaporated. Alex rolled her eyes and pointed toward her closed bedroom door. “Out, Decks.”

  “But I haven’t told you why I’m here yet,” he said, making his way to her desk. He pulled out the small, armless chair, spun it around and straddled it as he sat down, folding his arms over the back. “And besides, you still need to tell me what happened in art today when I was taking that call.”

  Sighing heavily, Alex ran a hand through her hair. She sat down on the edge of her made-up bed. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Bullshit.”

  She frowned, but didn’t reply.

  Declan’s gaze shifted to the iPod on the bed behind her. The music coming from the earbuds had changed to the Nelly song ‘Just A Dream.’ Interesting mix she had going there.

  “It’s on shuffle,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. Guess Alex didn’t need the connection in place to be able to read him. He wished she was half as easy to gauge.

  “What happened with Jessica, Alex?” he asked.

  She fell back onto her bed, staring at the ceiling so that she wouldn’t have to look at him. “Why are you even asking? Didn’t Kenzie already tell you?”

  Her voice didn’t sound angry, just resigned.

  “I’m asking, because the others are worried about you,” he said. When she didn’t reply, he nudged her bare foot with his boot and tried for honesty instead. “Because I’m worried about you.”

  “Ack.” She jerked her foot back. “Your boots are wet.”

  Alex turned her face toward him, but didn’t answer his question. He took the opportunity to study her a little more closely.

  She’d been crying. There was a telltale puffiness and a fading red sheen to the whites of her eyes.

  “I’m fine, Decks,” she said. “No worries.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  She frowned. “I can handle it.”

  “You shouldn’t let her get to you like this,” he said.

  “Last I checked, you were being paid to babysit me, not act as my therapist.”

  God, he hated the B-word.

  “Bodyguard,” he corrected.

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Decks.” Her smile was wry.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, deciding it was time to change the subject. “In case you were wondering, that phone call I received this afternoon was from Oz.”

  “Ozzie called you?” Alex sat up again. “Why?”

  Over the course of the next few minutes, Declan explained that Ozzie—the reclusive genius he’d only ever seen through a wall of monitors in an empty London flat—had called to negotiate the terms of a job Declan had for him.

  In the end, Ozzie agreed to cross-reference Bay View High’s current list of students and faculty with Agency files of known Variants.

  The results? Well, Bay View beat the odds with an almost unheard of five Variants on campus—but three of those five were Kenzie, Alex, and Declan himself. As for the other two, one was a freshman Alex had never seen before and the other was a janitor that worked nights, long after Alex had gone home.

  She was officially safe to roam the halls again without much worry.

  Of course, that information hadn’t come cheap. Ozzie was now holding the promise of a future favor from Declan over his head, in exchange for services rendered.

  “What kind of favors does a guy like Oz ask for, anyway?” she mused.

  Declan had a pretty good idea, but he wasn’t about to share that idea with Alex. He shrugged instead. “It’s no big deal.”

  “Actually,” she said, “it is. This is exactly what I needed.” Alex set aside the photographic print-outs of the freshman and the janitor and graced him with a relieved smile. “Thank you, Declan.”

  In that moment, he realized that no matter how troublesome Ozzie’s favor turned out to be, it wouldn’t matter. He’d still make the same deal a thousand times over.

  He got to his feet. “See you in the morning?”

  She nodded.

  Relaxing for the first time since he woke up that day, Declan jumped.

  — 6 —

  “Kick me under the table one more time, Runt,” said Cassie, eyes narrowed at her little brother. “See what happens.”

  Runt’s swinging legs stilled for a moment.

  But only for a moment.

  “Ow! Dammit, Runt,” said Cassie’s older brother, Tom. “Don’t kick me, either, unless you want to miss your next birthday.”

  “Dollar in the swear jar, Thomas,” said their father, studiously refusing to look up from his plate of arroz con pollo.

  Cassie couldn’t really blame him. If he looked up, he’d be forced to take inventory of what was happening on the battlefield that was their kitchen table. Easier just to ignore it.

  Probably safer that way, too.

  “Oh, come on, Dad,” Tom protested around a mouthful of food. He pointed at Runt with his cornbread. “He freaking kicked me!”

  “Swear jar,” their father repeated, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork. “Dollar.”

  Runt’s swinging foot connected with the nearest leg of the kitchen table and he smiled at the sound it made. His gaze zeroed in on one of the bowls across the table. “Hey, can someone pass the black beans?”

  “Don’t give him the beans, Dad,” said Runt’s twin brother, Danny, with a panicked shake of his head. “If you pass him those beans, I’ll have to wear a gas mask to bed tonight ’cause the Runt will be passing SBD’s out of his leaky butt until morning.”

  Well, now.

  There was an appetizing thought.

  Cassie lowered her fork and dropped the tiny mound of yellow rice back onto her plate.

  Had she been born an only child like her best friend Alex, Cassie probably wouldn’t have known what SBD even stood for.

  And she certainly wouldn’t be aware of just how pressing Danny’s concerns regarding his twin brother’s bowl habits were, because she would have been blissfully ignorant of just how toxic an eleven-year-old boy’s silent but deadly gases could get.

  “Daniel,” their father chided. “We don’t talk like that at the table. Matthew, put your cell phone away. And Runt—I mean, Taylor—take the bowl, for god’s sake. It’s burning my hand.”

  Runt finally took hold of the bowl his father was offering.

  Beside him, Dan
ny sank back into his chair with a disgruntled, “Really? Really? Come on, Dad! You don’t have to share a room with him tonight!”

  Just another typical evening in the Harper household.

  Cassie sighed.

  Family dinners in this place were about as relaxing as a root canal. And usually twice as loud.

  The twins—Danny and Runt (whose given name was Taylor, though only their parents ever remembered to use it)—were making faces and obscene gestures at each other while their father wasn’t looking, and their fourteen-year-old brother, Matthew, was busy texting someone on the cell phone he’d concealed beneath his napkin.

  Next to Cassie and at the end of the table, Tom—the eldest Harper child—sat glowering at his enchilada and muttering a string of curse words under his breath that was being drowned out by the repetitive thunk-thunk-thunk of Runt’s foot knocking against the table leg.

  Cassie, meanwhile, sat slouched in her chair, chin cupped in her hand, poking dejectedly at the scraps of food on her plate and counting down the minutes until she might be excused from the table.

  It was bad enough she’d been forced to suffer through an afternoon of babysitting the twins. Getting suckered into staying home for dinner tonight instead of going to check on Alex was only adding insult to injury.

  She snuck a glance at her own cell phone, which she’d hidden in the folds of her gray skirt.

  Still no reply from Alex—but she did have five new texts from Aiden.

  Raising an eyebrow, she checked her message inbox and fought back a smile at what she found waiting for her.

  Today 6:32 P.M.

  SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY, LIKE THE NIGHT

  OF CLOUDLESS CLIMES AND STARRY SKIES;

  AND ALL THAT’S BEST OF DARK AND BRIGHT

  MEET IN HER ASPECT AND HER EYES;

  THUS MELLOWED TO THAT TENDER LIGHT

  WHICH HEAVEN TO GAUDY DAY DENIES.

  Today 6:47 P.M.

  CHRIST.

  IGNORE THAT TEXT FROM EARLIER. KENZIE HACKED MY PHONE.

  BRB. GOTTA GO AVENGE THE LOSS OF MY LATEST PASSWORD. AND MAYBE MY MANHOOD, TOO, CAUSE DAMN.

  Today 6:55 P.M.

  IF YOU NEED TO TALK TO RED TONIGHT, CALL THE HOUSE LINE. TURNS OUT, HER PHONE DOESN’T REACT SO WELL TO POOL WATER.