by C. D. Hersh
She grabbed a quick shower and threw on her clothes. Then she dashed off a note to Mike to let him know she was leaving. If she left without telling him he’d probably send the entire police force after her.
The garage door rose with a loud rumble, and she prayed Mike and George wouldn’t hear it. When they didn’t appear, she roared out of the garage. Punching the close button as soon as she cleared the door, she raced down the driveway.
A very expensive helicopter waited for her at the destination Falhman had texted. When the pilot saw her approach, he started the engine. The chopper blades whirled, sending air toward the ground. Fiona grabbed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail, holding it against the wind sweeping the tarmac. As she neared the helicopter, she ducked and climbed into the aircraft.
“Fiona Kayler?” the pilot shouted over the noise of the rotating blades.
She nodded, and he handed her a headset with an attached microphone. She put it over her ears and settled onto the passenger seat.
“Buckle up,” the pilot’s voice said in her ears. When she’d done as he asked, he handed her a helmet with a blackened visor. “Put this on, please.”
She settled the gear over her headset. The pilot reached over the seat and flipped down the visor, blocking her vision.
“I can’t see,” she protested as she raised the visor.
“That’s the idea. Mr. Falhman wants to keep his location secret.”
“What if I get airsick because I can’t see?”
He returned the visor to its original position. “Can you see the floor of the chopper?”
She nodded.
“Then you won’t get airsick. But if you do, here’s a bag.” He shoved a paper sack into her hands.
She tipped up the visor and glared at him. “I’m not flying blind.”
“Then you won’t see Mr. Falhman.” He jerked his thumb toward the door. “I’ve got my orders. You fly blind, or you don’t fly at all.” When she didn’t move, he added, “He doesn’t give second chances, Miss. Make up your mind. Fast.”
She flipped down the visor, crossed her arms, and flung herself against the seat. “Mr. Falhman is going to get a piece of my mind when I see him.”
“Not a good idea,” the pilot said as they lifted off. “You might not get it back.”
The aircraft circled as it reached altitude, and Fiona grabbed the barf bag. Leaning sideways, she tried to peek out the window, but the pilot straightened the craft. Then they flew over the clouds.
So much for trying to figure out where they were going. She settled against the seat and glanced at her watch beneath the visor. At least she would be able to tell how long they were in the air. The pilot banked again, completely disorienting her. If he kept flying in circles she’d never figure out where she was.
But did it really matter? She was getting what she wanted—a training session. If he flew her to Timbuktu she shouldn’t care.
Forty-five minutes later, they descended.
“Can I look now?” she asked.
“Sure,” the pilot replied as he cut the engine.
She slipped off her helmet and gasped. The chopper sat inside a helicopter hangar, with an open roof. A rumble overhead drew her attention as she exited, and the ceiling closed.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” asked the pilot as he patted the side of the chopper.
She ran her hand along the side of the helicopter as her gaze swept over the hangar and the crew of men working there. “This must cost a fortune to maintain.”
“Mr. Falhman likes his air toys and gadgets. Twin turboshaft engine with a cruising speed of 190 mph and a 450-nautical-mile range. The best money can buy.”
“I didn’t know he was this rich.”
The pilot laughed. “Wait until you see the house.”
He led her through a series of glass-walled halls connecting dozens of freestanding buildings snaking across the green, manicured landscape. Every building was white, from the roof peaks to the foundations.
“It’s a maze in here,” she commented. “How do you find your way around?”
“You get used to it.” He led her through another glassed hallway into a larger building. “This is the main house. Mr. Falhman will be waiting through there.” He pointed to a wide doorway off a massive entry. “Good luck, Ms. Kayler.” He spun on his heel and strode off in the direction they had come.
Fiona crossed the entry, her sneakers squeaking on the highly polished marble floors. Falhman must have heard her, because he appeared just inside the arched entrance.
“Fiona, my dear,” he said as he approached. “I trust you had an uneventful trip.”
“Except for being sightless. Was cutting off my vision really necessary, considering your mentor-mentee trust issues? Trust is a two-way street, you know.”
“I’m certain as our relationship progresses we will reach that position. In the meantime, I truly hope you’ll forgive me. One in my position can’t be too careful.”
He sounded so sincere she found it hard not to believe him. “I suppose a man as wealthy as you must have to keep his whereabouts secret for many reasons.”
“Exactly, my dear. Wealth is not only a privilege, but a burden at times.” He smiled, but the expression seemed strained. “I’m glad you understand.” His gaze swept over her. “I see you came ready to work.”
“I didn’t know what to wear. I went for comfort.”
“Excellent choice, my dear. Shall we go to the ballet room to begin our session?”
“Ballet room? Are we planning to dance?”
He laughed, the sound more genuine than his smile had been. “The walls are lined with mirrors to help you see your transformations better.” He laid the palm of his hand on the small of her back and guided her out of the room toward a set of spiral stairs in the corner of the expansive foyer.
At his touch, buzzing shot up her spine to her head, dizzying her. She stepped away. Falhman kept pace with her, his hand firmly planted on her back.
“The first thing you must learn is to get used to the shifter sensations, my dear.”
She stopped and faced him. “How did you know?”
“I have been a shifter for many, many years. Your knowledge and abilities will never match mine.”
“An avoidance answer if I ever heard one.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Are you a mind reader?”
A smile crept up the side of his mouth, making her uneasy.
“Of a sort,” he replied. “But don’t worry, I can’t read all your thoughts. Only some of them.”
Some was way too many. She blanked out the expletive that came to mind, replacing it with a picture of flowers and bunnies. See what he does with that.
Falhman threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing against the stone walls. “I won’t be reading your mind today, my dear. I need you to concentrate on the task at hand, not worry I will ferret out some secret.”
She opened her mouth to protest that she had no secrets.
“Ah, ah, ah, my dear. We all have secrets.”
She clamped her mouth and her mind shut. He would not get anything from her today.
Multiples of Fiona reflected in the ballet room mirrors, extending into infinity. The sight disconcerted her, and she searched for a spot in the room that only replicated a single image. When she found it, she planted herself in that location.
“We’ll start today by showing me how well you can mimic shift. You do have the basics, don’t you?”
Nodding, Fiona shifted into Falhman’s image, her bones and sinew stretching for his height. Her mahogany hair shortened and silvered. She smoothed it with the same motion she’d seen her mentor use. Glancing down, she saw two skinny legs protruding from her yoga pants. Falhman stepped beside her, and the
y gazed at themselves in the mirror.
“Impressive,” he said. “Rather quick for someone who hasn’t had formal training.”
“I’ve had six months to practice, since OmniWorld didn’t provide me with a mentor right away.”
“You have some innate talent, my dear. It must be from your McCraigen bloodline.”
Pride swelled in her. Knowing she had a talent for shifting made her believe she was on the right track.
“However, if you look closely, you will see you missed something.”
She stared at the two images in the mirror, concentrating on every detail. “My eyes are still green.”
She squinted in concentration, willing her irises to transform to silver, as she had willed the rest of her body to copy Falhman. When staring didn’t help, she closed her eyelids and flooded her mind with the color silver until even the black floaters in her vision grayed. When she checked the mirror again, two green orbs shone from her face. Falhman no longer stood next to her. Her double did, dressed in her mentor’s clothes, her green eyes piercing the mirror.
At her startled expression, he morphed into himself.
“I’ll try again,” she said.
Falhman’s touch buzzed through her. “Don’t bother. Changing eye color is very hard. Mimic shifters rarely accomplish it. I merely wanted to see what you had learned on your own.”
So that’s how these sessions were going to play out. Her mentor was a show-me kind of fellow. He didn’t trust her word. “Teach me,” she said. “I’m a fast study.”
“Let’s see how good a study you are.” Falhman rang a buzzer on the wall. The ballet door opened, admitting a crew of male and females. As they entered, the buzzing shifter tingles increased. She rotated her neck and scrubbed the skin on her forearms.
“Are you uncomfortable, my dear?”
“A little. I’m not used to shifter sensations yet.”
He hit the buzzer again, and a second crew of shifters entered, elevating the sensation.
Fiona struggled to keep her hands off her skin. The tingling raced across her like insects crawling on her body.
“How do you feel?” Falhman asked.
She raised her chin to him defiantly. “Fine,” she lied.
He grinned and admitted even more shifters.
No longer able to resist, Fiona clenched her fists and rubbed her arms manically.
“Now, we’re ready.” He pointed at the mats on the opposite side of the room. “Choose one rogue to mimic and one to fight.”
“Fight?” Her voice chimed up the scale in fear. “You never said anything about fighting.”
“A rogue shifter must be ready to fight at a moment’s notice.”
The shaking in her belly must have translated to her body, because Falhman said gently, “Don’t worry, my dear. They’re under orders to go easy. I promise you’ll suffer no injuries.”
“I don’t understand. What does fighting mimic shifted have to do with learning how to shift to my alter ego?”
“Concentration. Holding a shift is a matter of concentration. When you can do it without thinking, you’ll be ready to discover your alter ego.” He gave her a gentle shove toward the mat. “Choose your mimic and opponent. When I say ‘shift,’ choose a new set.”
She chose a burly man for her mimic and a smaller woman to fight. They circled each other on the mat like wary cats. Then the woman charged and pinned her to the floor in one quick motion. Fiona lost her mimic form as the breath whooshed out of her.
Falhman shouted, “Shift!”
Every rogue in the room changed shape. The buzzing intensified, sending her into a near frenzy. She pointed at another woman and mimicked a second man. It took longer for the second woman to drop her to the mat. This time, Fiona leapt up and flipped the woman on her backside. Bone and sinew and muscles twisted and turned as she resumed her normal persona.
Falhman shouted, “Shift!”
The rogues stayed the same, but pressed closer to her. The buzzing reached new heights. Fiona chose her opponent and mimic without thinking, concentrating instead on blocking out the fierce tingling racing through her entire body. Her opponent took her out easily. When she hit the floor, she lost her mimic.
Frustrated at her failures, Fiona changed tactics at Falhman’s next command, using the pain of the shifter sensations to fuel her. Channeling them instead of fighting them. She ran at her opponent like a raging bull and knocked her to the ground. They fell in a jumble of limbs. Fiona rolled to the top and straddled the rogue. She glanced in the mirrors. She had retained her shift. Her gaze cut to Falhman who wore a broad grin.
“Choose two opponents now,” he commanded.
“Shit!” The word burst from her. She’d barely had time to celebrate, and he upped the stakes.
“I never said this would be easy, my dear.”
She crooked her fingers at two more shifters and mimicked a woman this time. Easy or not, she would not fail.
Chapter 18
Mike kicked the entryway newel post when he read the note Fiona left on the hall table and yelled for George.
“She’s run off again,” he said when George skidded to a stop in front of him.
George glanced at the black mark on the white banister. “That’s going to need painting.”
“Go buy some paint and fix it.” He waved the note in the air. “Where does Kyle live? She’s probably gone off somewhere with him.”
“Or she had an appointment with a doctor for women things and didn’t want to tell a couple of men.”
Mike stared at his coworker. “Where the hell do you come up with things like that?”
“She’s a nice lady, Mike. Don’t go getting all freaky about a little trip without you.”
“Someone shot at her. I think getting freaky is called for. Did she try to give you the slip while I was gone?”
“Nope.” He studied Mike. “Might say more about you than me though.”
“In what way?”
“She’s got a thing for you. I could see it, but she doesn’t want to admit it. Maybe her slipping away is about avoiding you.”
Mike slapped the note on the hall table, causing the lamp to shake. “Well, then you can keep on being her bodyguard. I’ll handle her security at the office and get outta here as soon as possible.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” George spun on his heel, headed for the kitchen. “Want some breakfast? Fiona’s been letting me cook in the big kitchen.”
Mike followed. “We should put a tracker on her phone. Then we’d know where she was.”
George sidestepped and faced him. “We never tracked other clients.”
“I don’t recall others giving us the slip, either. This woman requires special measures to keep her safe.”
George resumed his trek to the kitchen. “You should just screw this one, Mike,” he said over his shoulder. “Then maybe you’d get back to normal.”
“I am normal.”
George’s raucous laughter floated to him. “No way, man. The sooner you admit it, the better off you’ll be.”
“Forget breakfast,” Mike said, “I’m going for a ride.”
“Go to Kyle Morrison’s house, boss, and clear the air. He lives down the road at the big French Chateau. You can’t miss it.”
Mike slammed the front door shut on his way out, the sound reverberating in the clear morning air. When he caught Fiona he was going to shake some sense into her. As he mounted his motorcycle, his cell rang. He thumbed it on without looking at the number.
“It’s about time you called,” he growled. “Where the hell are you?”
“At the motel where ye left me last night.”
“Mary Kate. I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
“From the sound of yer voice, I’m glad I’m not. When are ye going to be here? Eli and the others will be landing any minute now. We’re to meet them at the pancake house across from the airport.”
Mike checked his watch. “It will take half an hour to get there. I’ve got one thing I need to do. About forty-five minutes?” It wouldn’t take long to punch out Kyle Morrison’s lights.
“I’ll be ready,” Mary Kate said. “I’ll let Eli know.”
He dismounted and headed for the guesthouse to get his duffel, then reversed course for the kitchen as he changed his mind. George was better suited for visiting Kyle than him. Hostile greetings usually didn’t garner much information.
“Call Kyle Morrison and find out if she’s there,” he instructed George. “I’ve got a thing I have to take care of.”
“Sure.” George dropped a couple pieces of bacon in the pan.
“Now, please,” Mike said.
George saluted with two greasy fingers. He dug in his pocket for his cell as Mike wheeled around and headed for the guest cottage.
His phone rang before he left the mansion.
“Kyle hasn’t seen or heard from Fiona since their date last night,” said George. “What do you want me to do?”
It took every ounce of willpower Mike had to keep from calling a taxi for Mary Kate and start searching for Fiona. His gut instinct said she was not in a safe place, but without a starting point, a search would be futile. Better, at this point, to see where Eli and his shifters were in their hunt for the children.
