by Jaime Rush
All those years in prison, he could only use Darkness in private. Yes, he could have broken free, killed numerous humans, but he would then be a wanted man. That would not be the right life for him, for his plans. So he’d bided his time, behaving. The other prisoners left him alone, but he heard whispers that he was possessed of dark powers. He had encountered people who could sense it in him. During an altercation, he had started to Become, just enough to let his eyes darken and encourage the rumors that incited enough suspicion to keep even the most dangerous felons at bay.
No one was more dangerous than he was. Only one thing kept him from insanity, gave him a reason for being. But that thing was slipping away. Capturing Jessie was the only way to keep it.
The pain in his chest eased at last. He looked at his haggard reflection in the mirror. The strain of healing showed on his face, flushed with the effort. He looked at his chest, sculpted by years of working his body hard. His chest rose and fell with his heaving breaths. Those men with Jessie weren’t normal humans. Not mere bystanders either. Any normal man would have run away screaming or been frozen in fear of his wolf. The first one had been prepared to protect Jessie. The one with the sword had charged in. He felt something in them. Not Darkness, but the tremor of a fellow Callorian—someone like him.
He trudged into the living room of the small house he was renting by the week and sat in the recliner. Only three candles lit the space. He flexed his hand, staring at his palm. He had been working with Darkness since his release, using it in new ways. It was only recently that he realized he could create minions, sending off bits of himself and focusing on what form he wanted them to take. Connecting to them so he could use them as scouts.
He flung out his hand, sending Darkness into a stream that pooled at his feet. He held an image in his mind, and the smoke formed into the shape of a Doberman pinscher. At a glance, it would seem like a normal dog. Only if one looked closely would they see the black substance, the lack of fur and fine details. He created two more. The three stood at attention, facing their master.
“Find her.” He formed the image of Jessie in his mind, sending it to them.
Just like last time, they sped off, through the wall and into the night.
Chapter 5
Before Jessie could ask why she should keep her eyes open, two men appeared—out of thin air—in the courtyard. Lachlan pushed away from the counter. “Magnus told me about Pope doing that, but seeing it”—he shook his head as he headed to the door—“bloody wild.”
He waved for her to join them after he opened the door for them. They exchanged greetings, obviously having met but not knowing each other well.
She downed the rest of her ale and set the glass on the counter with a thud. Bubbles tingled along her upper lip, and she wiped them off with the back of her hand. She walked over to the group, wondering if it was trepidation or all the carbonation that filled her chest.
One man had Native American looks, with dark wavy hair that fell to his shoulders. The other also had brown hair, though his was thick and roughly cut, his eyes a beautiful violet blue.
Lachlan gestured to her. “What is she?”
The Native American’s thick eyebrow arched. “Is she a specimen?”
It seemed to take Lachlan a moment to realize he had bypassed manners. He gestured to her. “This is Jessie, Magnus’s girl, and I need to know if she’s an Offspring.”
“I’m Cheveyo,” the man who’d spoken up for her said, holding out his hand. When she took it, she realized he was analyzing her, despite his admonition. He nodded toward the other man. “This is Pope.”
She felt that tingle with them, too, as she shook the hand Pope thrust her way. He didn’t look different.
“She’s not an Offspring.” Pope’s hand tightened on hers before letting go. “But I sense Callorian energy, yes. And something else.” His expression tightened and he turned to Cheveyo. “Have you ever fought a being that morphs from human to black smoke that takes form?”
Her eyes widened. He knew.
Cheveyo shook his head. “I’ve never seen something turn smoky first. Usually they go right from humanlike to dog or creature.”
This conversation was getting more bizarre, but she latched onto the fact that Pope knew, and that he took her in without disgust or fear.
“Darkness.”
To hear someone else say the word took her breath away. She pushed out the words, “What is it?”
“The C—the government in the other dimension—tasked me, as an agent whose job it was to track down outlaws, to find two brothers who’d escaped here more than twenty-five years ago. All I knew was that they had something called Darkness, and it made them very dangerous. The C was desperate to get the men back. Darkness was nothing I’d ever heard of, and I knew a lot of classified information. The C would tell me nothing more, only that I was to destroy them or bring them back. I fought one of the brothers, and he turned into a smoky wolf and escaped. I never saw him again, nor could I find the other one.”
Her chest tightened. “My father and his brother, Russell, they’re from . . . this parallel dimension?” It sounded crazy just asking. “And you, too?”
“We are Callorian, yes.”
“Callorian. Does that mean they—you’re not . . . human?”
Pope said, “Most Callorians would emphatically state that they are not, but like the debate on whether humans evolved from apes, a similar debate exists among them that we all come from the same species. A long time ago a large population descended to live beneath the surface for reasons unknown. Some theorize that because we lived so close to the Earth’s magnetic field, it changed the characteristics of our energy, and thus our bodies. We lost the density of the human form and became capable of manipulating our energy, all energy.”
This was getting more and more bizarre. “So I have Callorian in me?”
“As we all do,” Pope said. “But you also hold Darkness.”
Cheveyo turned to Lachlan. “Eric said you needed help for Magnus?”
She answered. “My uncle mortally wounded him. I used Darkness to heal him, but now . . . now he has it in him, too.” She told them about her dog.
Lachlan said, “I need him out of here. Russell may come, and I’ll be waiting for him.”
A fire sparked in Cheveyo’s eyes. “I’ll fight, too.”
Pope put a hand on his shoulder. “You have a son now, and a wife to whom you promised you would not fight. It’s only been three months. But I—”
“Your abilities haven’t come back yet,” Cheveyo reminded him. “At least not in a way you can depend on.”
“I can handle him,” Lachlan said.
She waved her hands, getting their attention. “This is crazy. None of you should fight. He’s after me, only me. I can’t put you all at risk.”
Pope turned to her. “What abilities do you have?”
“I’ve never looked at it as an ability before. Only a disability. A curse. When I’m triggered, I can throw a man across the room.” She looked at Lachlan, feeling like she could do that just about now. “But I can’t turn into a beast.”
Something sparked in Cheveyo’s eyes. “That you know of.”
That tripped her heartbeat. “I don’t want to Become like Russell.”
Pope nodded at Lachlan. “You lost your abilities when you took the antidote?”
“Aye, but my ability to astral-project has come back. That’s how I knew Magnus was in trouble.”
“You can astral-project, too?” she asked.
He pressed his palm against the glass, staring at the back of his hand. “Like my dad, I could send my soul to other places, even to other time periods. For a while I lost that ability, but it came back spontaneously, showing me a vision of the future.”
What about the energy she’d seen when he fought? Did he not want these men to know about that? Maybe that’s why he hadn’t looked at anyone as he spoke.
“You feel you can deal with this man?” Che
veyo asked. “We can call in—”
“No, I don’t want to involve any of them. All I need is for someone to take care of Magnus until he wakes. Russell will be history by then.”
Lachlan gestured for them to follow him down the hall to Magnus’s room. They stood by his bed, and Pope waved his hand over him. “I feel the Darkness in him.”
Jessie dropped her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’d hoped, prayed, he wouldn’t have it. “When he wakes, I’ll tell him what I’ve done. And hope he’ll understand.”
Cheveyo said, “I only met him once, but he seemed like a good-natured guy.”
“If he stays that way,” she whispered, her eyes locked to Magnus. He’d been easy to talk to, with a quick smile and hearty laugh. How could he remain that way with something dangerous lurking inside him? He would be angry. Confused. She looked up at Lachlan, who didn’t appear to smile much. He’d been watching her but now shifted his gaze away.
Cheveyo said, “Petra will take good care of him.” His smile was warm. “She’s just that way. We’re staying in Annapolis, so we’ll be close by.”
Relief and gratitude suffused Lachlan’s face, but he simply said, “Thank you.”
“The car is out front, too.”
“You brought the car?” Lachlan asked. “How?”
Pope smiled. “Whatever we touch, we bring with us. I’ve never brought something quite so large before, but it worked splendidly.”
“Brought it with you?” She looked at the courtyard. No car.
“It’s out front,” Pope said.
“You just popped in, out of thin air.”
“Teletransported, actually.” Pope smiled. “Where astral projection is sending your soul to another location, I actually send my body. After Eric told me what was going on, I ’ported to Cheveyo’s and Petra’s, explained the situation, and then he and I went to Magnus’s car. We brought that here, then saved time by ’porting to the courtyard.”
All these years she was an oddity, but these people . . . they weren’t exactly like her, but they were definitely different. That they, and her father, came from another dimension, that was harder to believe.
“We’ll go, then. If you need help, call us.” Pope’s gaze flicked to her. “Be careful.”
Did he mean to warn Lachlan about her? Yes, because she was dangerous.
Cheveyo took a step closer to Lachlan. “I can put a psychic shield over this place. It helped when the others were hiding. Eventually the enemies who came directly from Surfacia did break through, but it should buy you some time.”
“What does that do?” she asked. “Will it keep Russell out?”
“If he has abilities to remote view or psychically see or find you, he’ll get stopped at the shield. It won’t keep him out physically.”
“Do it,” Lachlan said. “Thanks.”
Pope put his fingertips on Magnus’s forehead, and Cheveyo put his hand on Pope’s shoulder. They disappeared, all of them.
She rushed forward, running her hands over the flattened sheets where Magnus had just been lying. They were still warm, but he was gone. Completely . . . gone. She met Lachlan’s gaze. “This is crazy.”
“Yes.” He was staring at the bed, too.
“No, I mean all of this. You, astral-projecting, parallel dimensions—”
“Your father having Darkness.”
That stopped her. She was part of the madness. “Yes, all of it.”
“It’s late. Get some sleep.” He nodded toward the room in general. “You can stay here.”
She sank to the bed, her legs growing rubbery. “This was Magnus’s bedroom?”
He walked to the doorway. “For ten years. I’ll be next door if you need me.” He cleared his throat. “Like if you hear anything out of the ordinary. Even with the shield, we’ve got to be wary.” He started to turn away.
“You lost your abilities?”
That made him pause. “Ten months ago.”
“Then how did you know what would happen to Magnus?”
His body was rigid, fingers tightening on the door frame. “I don’t know. But seeing your picture triggered it.”
“Because it was my fault.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t slice Magnus’s throat. It was Russell. Don’t take the blame for that.”
“But it happened because he was with me. I tried to call off the flirtation between us.”
“Magnus could be persistent when he wanted something. Or someone. He likes you. You weren’t going to put him off easily.”
Magnus liked her and this is what happened because of that. Guilt dragged her shoulders down. “Why did you lose your abilities? Pope lost his, too.”
“Pope was court-martialed back in his dimension. They handcuffed his abilities, the deadly ones.” He started to move away. “I’m surprised they didn’t limit his ability to teletransport.”
“Maybe he couldn’t escape the place where they were holding him. And what about your ability?”
She saw pain in his expression and followed his gaze to a picture on the wall she hadn’t noticed before, a family picture.
“When I astral-projected,” he said, “it was like going into REM sleep. My body was paralyzed.” His voice was low, each word pulled painfully from him. “I went back to the battle of Culloden, 1746. I acted out the battle along with the other Scots, fighting for Scottish freedom. I stabbed a Brit in the stomach. Someone tried to grab me, and I kept slashing until I . . . well, it was like waking straight out of a dream. The soldier I stabbed . . . it was my mum. I killed my mum.”
She held in a gasp at those words. Only then did he meet her eyes, and she saw even more guilt than she’d just felt over Magnus.
“Overusing our abilities can make us go mad. My father spent the last many years of his life working on an antidote to prevent psychosis. He felt responsible for those people getting that DNA, though he hadn’t done it on purpose. Afterward . . . after I went crazy, I took the antidote, and it stripped my abilities. Magnus took it, too, in case you’re worried. He was fine.”
Was.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m—”
“Don’t say it. ‘Sorry’ means nothing. Believe me, I know.”
“But what you did, it was an accident.”
“My father warned me I was on the edge, to not astral-project anymore. But projecting was my escape, my entertainment. I became addicted to it. I am responsible.” He nodded into the room. “Do you need anything?”
A hug. A touch. Her mouth parted, those words threatening to pop out. “A toothbrush. Soap.”
He walked into the bathroom and looked through the cabinets. “Here’s a new toothbrush.” He set the package on the counter, along with a gnarled tube of toothpaste and a bottle. “Face soap. Nothing fancy.”
“I don’t do fancy.” She couldn’t afford fancy.
He set out a washcloth, too, and a small towel. “That should do you.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
His footsteps echoed down the hall. She walked to the photo. It had been taken some years ago, when the boys were teenagers. Even then, Magnus was big and beefy; Lachlan was whip-lean, though still broad-shouldered. Their father had a shock of white hair and light eyes, their mother obviously the one they took their looks from.
She touched the glass, thinking of the one family photo she had, tucked away in a safe place. Why had he told her so much? It was obviously painful, and he didn’t strike her as someone who shared his deepest feelings with anyone, much less a virtual stranger.
Because he wants you to know what he is.
Why hadn’t he mentioned the ability that had obviously not gone away? She shivered. He was dangerous in his own right.
She stumbled to the shower. Maybe she’d wake up enough to drive home. Except that Russell was in town now, so staying here for one night, where it was safe, would be okay. She took a shower, losing herself in the feel of the hot water washing over her body. She ached, insi
de and out.
Afterward she wrapped herself in a towel and realized she had no clothes for tomorrow other than her dirty, bloodied ones.
Magnus’s blood. Because of you.
She squeezed away the pain and eyed the dresser drawers. Maybe he’d left something behind.
Every drawer was empty. Fine, she’d sleep in the nude as she usually did and find something in the morning. Or not. What if she had a nightmare and Lachlan came running in? Which reminded her . . .
Wrapping the towel tight around her, she padded down the hall to the last door.
“Lachlan?”
She wanted to warn him she was coming, just in case, since it was open. She called out again as she approached the doorway and took in a room empty of anything but a bed, nightstand, and a small desk with a computer. No curtains or blinds on the French doors that looked out into the courtyard. No pictures, only a wall full of sticky notes. He walked out of the bathroom in his room, a black towel wrapped around his waist. He stopped at the sight of her.
She stared at him, his long hair dripping water down his bare chest, towel snug around his hips.
She pulled her gaze to his face, pausing at the bruises along his shoulder and arm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to barge in. I called your name.”
“Didn’t hear you.” His eyes were taking in her towel, all the way down to her bare legs. “You need something to sleep in, don’t you?”
“Just something to put on tomorrow would be great, yeah.”
He walked into a closet and came back with a bundle of clothes in his hand. “You obviously won’t fit into any of my pants, but you could tie the string at the waistband of these sweats tight. The T-shirt’s ancient. Haven’t been shopping in a while and don’t have much reason to.” He tossed them to her.
She grabbed for them as they split apart in midair, and her towel came undone. It slid down her body as she held the shirt up against her. Which barely covered anything.
He turned around, hands out to his sides. “Sorry. Go ahead and put it on.”
She could see the faint reflection of his face in the glass of the doors. “You’re peeking.”
