“You don’t understand,” the redhead said, her eyes darting from Mirissa to Greco and back again. “My friend’s been kidnapped. I have to find him.”
Greco stepped forward. “Miss McMillon. My name is Greco Costa and this is Mirissa Colson. We work with Orano and Phoenix. We’re here to help.”
The woman took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Please, call me Gracey. Did you just come in from Washington?”
Mirissa crinkled her forehead. “Uh, yeah. Why?”
“So you’re the one more powerful than any human Orano’s ever met.” Her gaze held firm. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Rarely did Mirissa find herself at a loss for words, but all she could come up with in response was, “You, too.”
Greco seemed to overcome the surprise comment first. “Miss McMillan.” He corrected himself after she raised her eyebrows. “Gracey, tell us what you remember about the accident. Any detail might help us figure out who took Orano.”
“Everything seemed fine, and then I think our tire blew out and the car flipped over. Two men pulled up behind us. I thought they were coming to help until one of them shot Orano.” Gracey must have noticed the horrified expression on Mirissa’s face because she quickly added. “Not with a bullet. They used some sort of tranquilizer. Then they dragged him into their car. I tried to stop them. Really I did. But they shot me, too.”
“It’s all right. What do you remember about the men?” Greco asked.
Gracey closed her eyes as though replaying the entire thing in her mind. “They were both black. The driver had dark skin, young, maybe mid-twenties. The other one had lighter, coffee-colored skin, but he was at least ten years older. He came right up close to me when he took back the dart.” She absentmindedly rubbed a spot on her chest.
“What about their car?” Greco asked.
Gracey scrunched up her face in thought. “It was a sedan, silver, but I don’t know what kind.” She paused for a moment, then shot to her feet. “I got the license plate. At least, I think I did. No, I know I did. Right before I passed out I remember studying it.” She pushed the palms of her hands into the sides of her head. “Ah, I can’t remember. I think it started with an X.”
Mirissa huffed a laugh. “Was it XKF 94?
Gracey’s eyes grew wide. “Yes! That’s it. How did you know?”
“You’ve been mumbling those letters and numbers over and over again since we got here.” Mirissa looked over to Greco who’d already pulled out his phone.
“But I didn’t get the last two numbers before they drove away. I’m sorry.” Gracey’s shoulders slumped at the admission.
“A partial plate is a good start. You did well. Now, why don’t you climb back in bed and get some rest. We’ll take it from here.”
“Oh hell, no.” Gracey planted her hands firmly on her hips. “I don’t care how powerful you are”—she tilted her head back, taking in Mirissa’s full height as though just noticing her six-foot stature—“or, how tall you are. You’re not going anywhere without me.” The woman pushed past her and opened the door to the hallway.
Mirissa simply raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for little Miss Feisty to realize her mistake. It didn’t take long.
Gracey dropped her gaze to the hospital gown draped round her. She slowly reached her hand around to her backside, noticed the lack of material covering it, and let the door close.
Gracey’s cheeks flushed and she cleared her throat. “If you wouldn’t mind giving me, um, a minute to change ….” She peered around the room before continuing. “Could you please, maybe, ask an orderly to bring me my clothes?”
Mirissa couldn’t hold back the laugh she’d been stifling since first watching the woman strut across the room with her SpongeBob panties in full view. “I’m pretty sure your clothes were destroyed, but I’ll see if I can round you up something to wear.”
********
Joy held an empty syringe in the pocket of the nurse’s scrubs she’d stolen from a locker room. Twice now she’d been moments away from killing Gracey but gotten interrupted. First by the ambulance, and then by an unusually tall, and very impatient, young girl.
She’d been lucky the girl barged in when she did. If she’d waited a minute longer, Joy would have been caught smothering Gracey with a pillow over her face. That wouldn’t have been an easy situation to talk herself out of.
If only she’d had time to make a mojo bag, then none of this crap would have been necessary. Joy could have simply used magic to stop Gracey’s heart or constrict her airway like Tori did. But nope, she’d been forced to do it the old-fashioned way.
Third time’s a charm, she thought. Although she had absolutely no medical training, Joy had watched enough episodes of CSI to know that injecting air into someone’s IV would kill them. It could also be done very quickly.
Joy strode down the hall toward Gracey’s room. This time, she’d get the job done no matter what. She could return to Tori as a hero instead of the weakling everyone thought she was. Yes, this would be her chance to prove she’d earned her place in the inner circle.
Or not.
Up ahead, the exceptionally tall girl led Gracey and some blond guy to the elevators. Joy could hear the doctor walking with them trying to convince them not to leave, but he was getting nowhere. Gracey simply smiled and shook his hand before disappearing into a waiting elevator with her two friends.
Crap. Tori’s gonna kill me.
Chapter 17
Orano awoke to total darkness, but he didn’t need his eyesight to know that he was in trouble. His hands were tied across his torso, palms flat against his chest, and a piece of heavy tape sealed his mouth shut. If that weren’t enough, he’d been locked inside some sort of box. If the silky material surrounding him was anything to go by, he’d been placed inside a coffin. He tried to bend his legs so he could push open the lid with his knees, but found he couldn’t move. They’d somehow strapped him down, rendering him immobile.
Gracey! What did they do to Gracey?
His body jerked forward, the top of his head banging against the end of the coffin. Orano hadn’t even realized he’d been moving until the sudden stop. Now he recognized the rumbling coming from below as an engine. His captors, whomever they might be, seemed to be transporting him somewhere.
When the engine ceased, muffled voices could be heard.
“Sorry for the delay, gentlemen. We had a bit of a paperwork snafu with customs, but it’s all taken care of now. If you’ll just sign here, we’ll have your comrade loaded into the cargo hold,” said a man, obviously some kind of official.
I’m being loaded onto an airplane? Is Gracey here, too?
“We would like his body placed in the main cabin, please. Religious reasons.”
Orano felt his mouth go dry at the familiar accent of the second man’s voice. He hadn’t heard it in a very long time, but he wouldn’t soon forget it. His captor sounded almost Caribbean with a slight British overtone. Exactly the same way as the man who’d tried to kill him on his sixteenth birthday.
Somehow the religious zealots from his father’s family—the Ọwọ ti Ọlọrun—had found out about him.
The top half of his casket rose up before immediately crashing back down.
“I’m so sorry, gentlemen. We weren’t expecting it to be so heavy,” the official apologized.
“The casket is lined with lead,” the Nigerian said. “Again, for religious reasons.”
Orano couldn’t believe the official would actually buy that crap. Why didn’t he question them about what the casket really held inside? If they had paperwork from customs, didn’t that mean someone would at least open the lid to take a look?
They once again lifted the casket, this time bearing the weight, and placed him onto what must have been some sort of conveyor belt. Orano’s body lay at almost a forty-five degree angle, moving slowly upward until his top half tilted down, presumably to the floor of an aircraft.
Orano felt himself getting slightly dizzy, perhaps the aftereffects of whatever drug they’d used to knock him out. A loud clunking noise signaled the airplane’s door had been closed. They would soon be on their way.
“Open it,” one of the men said.
“But what if he gets loose?” the other answered, sounding far less calm.
“He’ll die if we don’t let him have some air. We need to keep him alive until we arrive home.”
Lack of air. That explains the dizziness.
“I don’t understand why you can’t just perform the ritual. That’s why we were sent to this country in the first place, isn’t it? Had that boy in Texas been cursed, you would have freed him from Satan’s slavery yourself.”
The other man—older, if Orano guessed—paused a beat before answering. “Our target in Texas was just a boy. If he’d manifested the curse, I would have freed him before Satan’s hold on him grew strong. This one is a man who has been under the devil’s care for many, many years. Freeing him will require more strength than I possess. Bishop Abiola is the only one of us strong enough to defeat this evil.”
“Do you think the bishop will allow me to observe the ritual?”
“I believe so. It will most definitely be a better first experience for you than the young Texan.”
Pinpricks of light began exploding throughout the darkness surrounding Orano. The lack of oxygen would soon become lethal. He slowed his breathing but couldn’t stave off the delicious sleep that beckoned him. His eyelids grew too heavy to hold open. Then—
Bright light seared his retinas. Sharp pain had him clenching his eyes shut, while cool air made him gasp in huge lungfuls. Both sensations lessened their intensity within a few seconds, and Orano opened his eyes as soon as he’d gotten himself under complete control. This would not be the time to lose focus.
Two men stared back at him. The same young man who’d shot him with the tranquilizer on the road knelt by his side, one hand holding the lid of the casket open. Another, the older one who seemed to be mentoring the student, stood slightly behind.
Orano tried to speak, but the tape made that impossible. He calmly held the gaze of the older one while quietly attempting speech again, hoping to show the men that he wouldn’t scream should they remove the tape. Apparently they got the message.
“Go ahead,” the teacher told the young one. “Even if he yells, there is no one to hear him now.”
“Gracey,” Orano choked out as soon as they uncovered his mouth.
“Who?” The young trainee looked confused.
“I think he means the woman in the car.” The older man stepped forward and focused on Orano. “I’m happy to inform you that she has been rescued from your clutches and taken by ambulance to one of your hospitals. Your evil cannot hurt her anymore.”
The casket lid closed, enveloping Orano in darkness once again, yet relief still washed over him at those unexpected words. He’d been horrified by the thought of Gracey being dragged into this nightmare simply for being in the same car as him. At least now he could die knowing his team would pick up where he left off, and make sure she stayed safe.
********
Mirissa’s foot tapped incessantly on the floor of their rental car as they careened down Interstate 264 on their way to Norfolk International Airport. Greco weaved in and out of traffic at almost double the posted speed limit, while Gracey chewed on her fingernails in the back seat. She’d tried scrying for Orano’s location, using some crystal on a chain, but had given up after several failed attempts. She said something had him cloaked, but she didn’t know what or how.
Julian had been the one to work magic. He’d successfully traced the partial license plate they’d given him to a rental company. When he hacked their system, he found that the car had been reserved by the Consulate General of Nigeria in Atlanta. A little more snooping, and probably several broken international laws, and he’d hit pay dirt.
The Nigerian Ambassador had scheduled a diplomatic flight to carry the body of a vacationing Consulate employee home for burial. In and of itself, that wasn’t entirely uncommon. The fact that there were no hospital records for the man they claimed died of a heart attack thirty-six hours ago, coupled with the incredibly quick turnaround time for that type of flight, made the odds too good to ignore that Orano would be on board. Gracey’s story of Orano’s lunatic family back in Nigeria sealed the deal, and they’d set off to the airport.
They didn’t, however, have any chance of making it there before the flight’s scheduled departure time. That’s where the CIA Director came into play. It turned out that he was Gracey’s godfather, a weirdness Mirissa really didn’t want to think about yet. Director Finley couldn’t actually stop a diplomatic flight from taking off, nor could he have it searched without setting off an international incident. What he could do, however, was slow down the departure process with bureaucratic bumbling.
They were less than six minutes away and more than ten minutes past the scheduled departure, when Gracey’s phone rang. “It’s Uncle Robert,” she said before answering.
The silence that followed lasted far too long. When Gracey finally pressed end, her glistening eyes said the news wouldn’t be good.
“They delayed the flight as long as they could, but it’s taxiing to the runway now,” she said, a single tear escaping over her lower lashes.
Mirissa once again considered trying to teleport. She’d pretty much mastered the ability in the months since acquiring it but still couldn’t travel distances greater than about a mile or so. Being more than three miles from the airport, she couldn’t ensure a successful attempt. But if she didn’t at least try, they’d lose Orano—maybe forever.
“Don’t even think about it.” Greco grabbed her chin and turned her face toward his. “We’re too far away and you know it.”
“I have to do something.” There were few things Mirissa hated more fervently than being useless.
“I have an idea.” Greco pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial.
********
“Got it.” Myrine Colson, leader of the Omega Group, allowed a mischievous smile to tug at her lips as she shoved her phone back in her pocket. She rose from her seat near the back of their private jet and strode to the cockpit door.
“Not again.” The groaned comment came from Han Li. He pushed himself up from his chair, his body travelling through his buckled seatbelt as though made of air. “Has someone taken control of our jet again? Weird red clouds out there or, I don’t know, flying monkeys perhaps?”
Myrine understood his concerns. Their track record while flying hadn’t been all that great lately, and each episode had been preceded by her getting up from her seat and heading to the cockpit. The other members of the team seemed to share Han’s worry.
“Not today,” she said, as she opened the door on their pilot. “Today, we’re going to play a little game of chicken. If you’re up for it, of course.”
The pilot smiled. “Ready when you are, ma’am.”
Myrine called Julian. “I need to know what runway that diplomatic flight is using for departure.” She heard his fingers tapping furiously on the Cray computer he’d nicknamed Big Duck. His response came within seconds of her request.
“Captain? Change of plans. We’ll need to land on runway five. Any chance you can do that without notifying the tower?”
He nodded his response while switching the radio comms from his headphones to speaker. The tinny voice filled the small space. “Bombardier 700 this is Norfolk Tower, intercept the localizer runway two-three, cleared for approach.”
“Norfolk Tower, Bombardier 700 with you on the localizer two-three,” the pilot lied.
“Bombardier 700, roger, cleared to land two-three.”
Myrine watched out the window as the pilot lined up their approach to what she assumed was runway five. The harried voice coming through the speaker confirmed it.
“Bombardier 700, turn immediate left to zero-six-zero for approach. Repea
t, turn left to zero-six-zero.”
“Norfolk Tower, confirm left to zero-six-zero.” The pilot let out a bit of a laugh as the tower responded to his complete lack of cooperation. He turned down the volume just as the controller began yelling at him about a departing flight gearing up to take off on a collision course.
As though he made landings like this on a daily basis, the Omega Group pilot touched down without so much as a bump and brought the jet to a stop partway down the runway. The nose of the departing jet sat only a couple hundred yards ahead of them, the pilot, bathed in the lights from his control panel and clearly visible through the cockpit window, having a conniption fit.
“Norfolk Ground this is Bombardier 700. We’ll be hanging out here for a bit.” The captain turned his radio off and powered down the engines.
Myrine turned to the rest of her team. “Let’s go break a few diplomatic protocols, shall we?”
Chapter 18
What the hell is going on?
Orano felt sure they’d been preparing to take off a moment ago. The low rumbling of the jet’s engines revved up to high whine, and the sensation of acceleration had been unmistakable. Yet they’d come to a sudden stop. The angry rants of his Nigerian captors gave him an explanation.
“Damn Americans!” the young one bellowed like a child. “They think money gives them the right to do whatever they please. Are they blind? Could they not see us on the runway? They almost landed right on top of us.”
“Calm yourself,” the mentor instructed. “Our pilot says it will be only a few more minutes, and we will be reassigned to another runway. Take a seat and focus on your prayers.”
Orano waited for another outburst, but none came. Apparently, the student knew when to shut up. The silence somehow made the casket feel smaller, and Orano struggled to stay calm. He’d never been even the slightest bit claustrophobic, but his inability to move any part of his body made the dark, confined space unbearable.
Chaos (Book 4) (The Omega Group) Page 12
