Lost Girl: Hidden Book One

by Vanderlinden, Colleen

  “Join me,” the woman purred, and the sound of her voice, like she’d just finished eating the world’s most satisfying meal, was sickening.

  I took deep breaths. My legs wanted to collapse under me. Here’s the thing: I fucking hate feeling weak. I Hulk-smashed my way through life, mostly to avoid having that feeling ever again.

  And I had just gone from merely annoyed to flat-out enraged.

  The hatred I had for the woman sitting in my kitchen was stronger than my fear, at least for now.

  “Time to bleed,” I muttered, lunging across the table and throwing a hard right cross at the Puppeteer’s (seriously, how ridiculous is that name?) face. It dropped the woman to the floor, and when she got up, I was on her, hit her with a left, knocking her back into the table. A cup and a vase fell off the table, crashed to the floor. I kicked out, caught her in the stomach. The Puppeteer bent double, then recovered just enough to throw a coffee cup from the kitchen sink at me, and I ducked, snarled. It was just enough time for the bitch to make a mad dash for the open side door, and she was out, running into the night. I followed, sprinting as fast as I could. My bare feet hit stones, broken glass, but I kept running, the Puppeteer just a few houses ahead of me, glancing back with a look of “oh, shit” on her face every few seconds. It would have been funny if I didn’t still feel her slime all over my psyche.

  I put on a final burst of speed. Running had never been my strong point. I usually just smashed.

  I almost had her. Almost. And then a car pulled up and the Puppeteer jumped into the passenger seat.

  She glared out at me, nose bleeding profusely onto her perfect white shirt, I noted with more than a little satisfaction. “I don’t give second chances. Go, you idiot!” she shrieked at the driver. Then the car squealed away and I was left on the corner, trying to catch my breath. I bent over, resting my hands on my knees. Shook my head.

  After a few seconds of sucking wind, I limped back to my house. I really did need to take up running. Somewhere in all my free time, I guess.

  My feet stung. They’d heal, but it hurt like hell. I tried not to think about what the Puppeteer had forced me to see, but images swam before my eyes, the types of things I lived over and over again in nightmares.

  I got back, walked in the side door, and locked up. I’d have to get the window fixed. More damn money I didn’t have.

  I plopped down at the kitchen table, took a look at my feet. One large shard of jagged glass protruded from my heel. I grasped it and pulled it out, gritting my teeth against the pain. The bleeding stopped as the gash closed up. I put my elbows on the table and rested my head in my hands. Looked at the broken coffee cup on the floor.

  “Bitch broke my Jadeite,” I muttered to the now-empty kitchen. ”She’s gonna pay for that.” I sat there until the sun came up, staring at the floor, afraid to focus on anything else.

  Chapter Five

  I showed up at Farmer’s Restaurant a little after eight. After the night I’d had, the last thing I wanted to do was sit and chit-chat with Nain, have him poking around in my mind. I felt nauseous, still slimy, reliving the Puppeteer’s invasion of my memories.

  I walked into the restaurant, looked around, and spotted Nain in a booth across the room. A waitress came to seat me, and I pointed to Nain, headed to the table where he was sitting. He stood up as I approached.

  I sat down and ordered coffee, and Nain settled back into his seat. The aromas of coffee and frying bacon, usually two of the best scents on the planet, were doing a number on my stomach. I swallowed and tried to ignore them.

  “Have you been here before?” he asked, and I got the sense, somehow, that he was making an effort to be sociable.

  I nodded. “Yes, a few times. Good pancakes,” I said, messing with the green Jade ring on my right index finger.

  “Jade?” he asked, gesturing at the ring. I nodded.

  So, awkward silences were apparently our specialty. The waitress brought my coffee, refilled his, and took our order. Then we sat there for a few more minutes of awkward silence. Well. I felt awkward. He just seemed patient. Unnaturally patient. It was annoying. I looked at the sign on the wall next to our booth.”We’re a few eggs short of a dozen!” it said. Yeah.

  “Rough night?” Nain finally asked.

  I took a sip of my coffee, after mixing in plenty of sugar and creamer. “You could say that,” I muttered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head. “I had a visitor last night,” I said finally. “Someone broke into my house around three.”

  He was quiet a minute. I wondered if he was reading my thoughts. Fuck you, I thought at him. No response at all from him.

  Finally, he said, “Are you okay?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.” I took another sip of coffee. “Have you ever heard of someone calling herself the Puppeteer?”

  “Yes. We’ve come up against her and her little army a few times. She is vile,” he said, and the disdain in his voice made me smile a little.

  “Yeah. Vile is a good word,” I said.

  “You mean she was the one who broke into your house? Not one of her puppets?”

  “I had the pleasure of meeting her face to face,” I said. “What’s her story?”

  “She takes people. Erases their thoughts and memories. And then she uses them for muscle for her crime syndicate. She’s into all kinds of evil. Drugs. Human trafficking, prostitution. Her puppets are a thoughtless, perfectly-programmed defense force.”

  “Who does she take?”

  “Whoever she can. She seems to prefer them big and strong. She prefers that they already know how to shoot or kill. Less training required that way,” Nain finished, watching me. “What happened, Molls?”

  I raised my eyebrow at the nickname, shook my head. “She had a business proposition for me.” I fiddled with the sugar packets on the table between us. “Join her. Unlimited power and luxury. Be her second in command. Own this city. Blah, blah.”

  “You said no.”

  “Obviously,” I said, glaring at him. “She wasn’t happy about that.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  I was silent for a few seconds. Remembering. Then I shrugged. “She tried to be more persuasive,” was all I finally said.

  I felt something in my mind, and realized Nain was in there. I stood up. “That’s it. I told you to stay out of my thoughts. This was a bad idea. I’m not a people person. Just stay the hell away from me.” And then I left, stalking out and slamming the door open hard as I left the restaurant.

  Violation. Theft. Assault by psychic methods. That’s exactly what that was, and I felt my power spike with my rage. I stalked toward my car, my power practically burning through me, and I snarled when I heard heavy footsteps behind me.

  “Molly,” Nain shouted, running to catch up with me. I walked faster. So did he.

  He closed in on me, reached out and grabbed my elbow.

  I don’t think I planned what happened next.

  I turned, and rewarded Nain with a growl and a blast of pure energy that sent him across the service drive and slammed him into the chain-link uprights on the bridge.

  Oh, shit.

  Well. He did have it coming.

  I took a second to watch him pulling himself out of the mangled chain link. And he was pissed. Royally, royally pissed. My rage still burned within me, and his washed over me just as strongly. I did tell you to stay out of my thoughts, I thought at him.

  I jogged to my car, got in. Sat there, trying to breathe. “What the ever-loving fuck was that?” I asked the empty car. I could feel myself starting to panic, feel my power spiking again.

  It hurt. I gritted my teeth against it. And of course, just then, the son of a bitch was knocking on my window. I snarled, pushed the door open.

  He towered over me, three hundred pounds of very pissed, very powerful demon. “Explain,” he said, and it sounded as if it was taking him some effort to control himself. This wasn’t gonna be good.


  I could feel my power building within me, burning hotter in response to his anger, my own fright. It happened sometimes, when I was very emotional, and being near him just seemed to magnify everything. I glanced up at Nain, and I could tell from the way he positioned his body, defensive, that he felt it, too.

  “I felt you in my mind, again,” I said, aware of the threat in my voice.

  He just looked at me, seething.

  “I told you to stay out. Between you and the Puppeteer, I have had entirely too many people violating my conscience in the last day or so.”

  I felt a tiny bit of guilt from him, but not much. “What did she do to you?”

  “She dug out some old shit I’ve been trying to bury. Turned my thoughts against me,” I finished, hating the tremor in my voice. “I couldn’t even move. I was just stuck there.” I hated remembering that feeling of absolute helplessness. I’d spent my entire adult life doing what I could to avoid feeling that, ever again. I balled my hands into fists as my power surged.

  “So, did she just decide to leave, or?” Nain asked finally, nervousness from him.

  I looked at a spot just over his shoulder. “After she was done, she made her offer again. And it just pissed me off.”

  “And?” Nain asked.

  “I punched her in the face. Twice.”

  Nain let out a short laugh. I felt his rage dial back, just a little. “I never would have thought of that,” he said.

  “I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to hit her. Hard. Anyway, after a few hits, she ran for it. I chased her about a block, determined to hit her some more. But she had a car waiting.”

  We stood, leaning against the side of my car. I took deep breaths, trying to draw down my power. He looked at me. “That still doesn’t explain your reaction to me,” he said quietly. “What the hell was that?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” I muttered.

  “That’s never happened before?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t turn it down. I had so much power built up in me, and it just blasted like that…that was nuts. And I am loaded up again, and how do I avoid blasting the shit out of someone? What if I hurt someone? What if I’d blasted some innocent pedestrian instead of your infuriating ass?”

  “It’s not the first time I’ve seen someone do that.” I sensed apprehension from him, something else I couldn’t quite pinpoint. “You need training.”

  “I do not want you messing around in my head.”

  “It’s the only way. I’ll promise to stay out unless I tell you I’m going in first. And I’ll only go in when we’re training.”

  I was quiet. My power had receded again. Relief. “This seems unlike you,” I finally said.

  “Meaning?”

  “You seem like a pushy, entitled, take-what-you-want asshole. Why are you giving in so easily?” I looked over at him, met his eyes.

  “Right on all counts.”

  “So?”

  “One: you need to train. I don’t want distrust of me standing in the way of that. Two: that fucking hurt, Molly. Damn.”

  I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. I hated him. I really, really could not stand him.

  Unfortunately, he was my only chance to get my powers under control and my mind protected from the Puppeteer and anyone like her.

  “Yeah, Okay.” I finally said. “But I’m still not super hero squad material.”

  “Okay. You want to practice now?”

  I looked at my watch, shook my head. “I’m already late for work,” I said. One more irritation. Blasting my boss like that would be a really bad move, too.

  “All right.” He wrote something down. “This is my cell number, the phone number and address at the loft. Soon, Molls,” he said; an order. I just glared at him, giving his back the evil eye as he walked away.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Two days and about two dozen nagging/threatening text messages from Nain later, I gave in and headed to the address Nain had given me. I pulled into parking garage below what looked like an old warehouse. Expensive part of town, nowadays, between Midtown and Downtown. Something told me Nain had owned the building long before the recent real estate boom in this area.

  I got out of the car and walked toward an elevator. It was one of those kind of old-fashioned elevators with a gate that you pull down instead of solid doors. The way it creaked its way down when I pushed the button made me wish for stairs.

  And, just my luck, Nain had decided to play welcoming crew. I could feel him before the elevator creaked down to my level, before I got a glimpse of his brown hiking boots, then jean-clad legs, then t-shirted torso. And then there was the ever-present glare he gave me when his face did finally come into sight.

  When the elevator squeaked to a stop, he lifted the gate and I got in. He closed it, hit the button to take us back up. “It’s a good time to get acquainted. Everyone’s here, and we’re meeting about some intel we just received.” I nodded, and we rode the rest of the way up in silence. I was more nervous than I’d been about anything in a long time. That was irritating. After everything I’d been through, what the hell did I have to be nervous about now?

  “Because you’re about to meet a whole group of people like yourself, people with power,” Nain said. “Your eyes are about to get opened, Molls.”

  “Stay out of my mind,” I muttered.

  “Learn to shield it, and I won’t be able to hear you,” Nain said. The elevator came to a stop, and he opened the door. We walked into a little foyer-type area, with a large oak door ahead of us. Nain opened it, waved me through. I stepped in and looked around. Someone was doing very, very well for himself. The loft was spacious. Full of natural light and soaring ceilings. Expensive leather furniture in the living room, which was situated near a wall of windows looking out over the Cultural Center. A kitchen with granite counter tops and dark wood cabinets was on the other side of the loft, along with what looked like a small office area. Most of the loft was empty, and mahogany floors gleamed. Two sets of stairs, one at each end of the loft, led to a second level, to what I guessed were bedrooms, bathrooms.

  I could have spent more time admiring the (very expensive) decor, but the group of people sitting in the living room caught my attention. Really, they were impossible to ignore. They all looked up as the door opened, and every one of their gazes landed solidly on me. I steeled myself. I was a total badass, right? The Angel, finder of lost girls. Right.

  The expressions on their faces ranged from shock to curiosity to distrust. I felt all of that, and something that felt like active dislike, coming from the group of six powerful beings staring at me.

  Nain started walking toward them, and I had no choice but to follow. To be fair, I did consider bolting for the door. But that seemed undignified.

  “You have something, Ada?” Nain asked as he approached the group.

  The middle-aged black woman sitting on the sofa nodded, dragged her gaze away from me. “We know where he’s going to be tomorrow night. It’s not going to be easy, though.” She looked at me again, and I forced myself to meet her gaze. No showing weakness, not now. Ada transferred her gaze to another man, and I followed it. The man was staring at me.

  “Hello, Angel,” the man said, warmth in his voice. He was probably around fifty, bald, and built like a brick shithouse (as one of my foster fathers had liked to say) – solid, huge. He wore a leather biker jacket and jeans. Work boots on his feet and a white mustache on his face.

  I just nodded. Felt like if I opened my mouth, I’d puke. Definitely undignified. I could feel the power swirling in this room. Nain’s was strongest, and then one of the men, then Ada, then the biker guy, then the others. Emotions ran strong here, a stampede. It was very close to overwhelming me. This was one of the many reasons I avoided groups of people. Too loud, too emotional, too everything. I took a deep breath, worked at deadening myself against their emotions a little. Not completely; I’d still know what they were feeling. But enough so that their emotions didn�
��t have such a punch to them. Not easy, but it was something I’d been doing for a long time. A few seconds later, and I had managed to deaden their emotions to a dull roar.

  Nain was standing next to me. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Molly Brooks. Molly, this is the team. Stone,” he said, gesturing to the biker guy. “Brennan,” pointing at a thirty-something with dirty blond, longish hair and a five-o’clock shadow. “George and Veronica,” he said, pointing to the couple on the loveseat. “And Ada,” gesturing to the woman who’d been observing me.

  “A pleasure to meet the finder of lost girls,” Stone said to me, still watching me closely, as if trying to place me.

  “She’s more than that,” the blond guy, Brennan, said. “She’s powerful.” He looked at me. “What can you do?”

  I felt curiosity, respect coming from him. It made me wonder if there was a social order among those with powers the way there was among animals. This man reminded me of a wild animal, a predator. Something in his eyes, in the way even the smallest movements looked controlled and deadly.

  I glanced at Nain. He met my eyes and nodded.

  I took a breath. “I can read thoughts. Sense emotions.” I looked at Nain again, and he nodded for me to go on.

  All of it, Molls, he thought at me.

  “I can take memories, plant things that weren’t there. I can make people act against their will.” I felt a torrent of emotion, most of it dread, coming from the rest of the people in the room. I gritted my teeth against it.

  “And I can self-heal,” I finished. And a storm of emotions — shock, disbelief –hit me, all at once.

  Stay strong. I can imagine what you’re feeling from them.

  Uh, yeah.

  I forced myself to look at them. The man and woman on the couch looked as if they were looking at a cobra that was getting ready to strike. Ada looked thoughtful. I looked back at the man who had asked the question in the first place. Saw open admiration, curiosity on his face.

  “But that’s not the only way you rescue lost girls,” he said, standing up and walking toward me. “I’ve heard the stories. About a tiny woman who pounds much bigger men into oblivion. Broken knees, broken noses. I heard about a time you broke all of the bones in a guy’s hand, just because he was being uncooperative. Was that true?” By now, he had reached me, and was practically circling me, like a dog getting ready to fight. “Or was it all bullshit?”