Ghost Phoenix

by Corrina Lawson

  She did as he asked, and he wished pain didn’t prevent him from enjoying the touch of her fingers. He pressed his hand against the sweatshirt to keep it tight against him. “Don’t look so worried. It’s all right. Just stay put. I want you safe.”

  “I’m safer than you are.” She curled her hand around his forearm. “I’m going to look around and see if someone is sneaking up on us.”

  “You can’t—”

  “No one can shoot a phantom. Bullets go right through me.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I’ve been shot at before.”

  He wanted to ask where and when and, if she had, why did she look so pale now, but it hurt to speak again. His head lolled down against his chest. Blood loss. Dammit.

  She straightened, and by the time she stood upright, she was immaterial. Again. Sunlight streamed through her. Again.

  Angel.

  “I can’t see anyone or anything that looks dangerous.” Her voice was a low whisper, almost as immaterial as the rest of her, the sound of a ghost. She turned, and he lost sight of her in the sun. “Nothing.”

  “Did you look at the windows of all the buildings?”

  “Yes, but I don’t see anyone.”

  “Then come back here and return to normal, because there will be people at Bryant Park who might convince themselves they’ve seen a ghost.” She must not suffer any fallout from this attack. “I need you to help with the blood loss.”

  He took a deep breath. A sharp pain jabbed through his side once more, centered near the back. His healing fire couldn’t touch it. That must be where the bullet was lodged.

  Tires squealed around the corner. A black van sped toward them on the narrow street.

  Ally or enemy?

  “Damn,” he breathed out, cursing that he had no weapon to defend Marian. She pushed hard against his blood-soaked sweatshirt. His hand no longer had the strength to keep the pressure on.

  “Be ready to go phantom,” he told her.

  The van jumped the curb only two feet from them. The passenger side door was flung open.

  “Get in!” Montoya yelled.

  Marian grabbed Richard’s arm, and they stumbled together into the back seat. Montoya reached across and slammed the door shut. An instant later, they were speeding away.

  Richard hoped Montoya was a good driver, as he didn’t want to be jostled with the bullet inside him. Still bleeding. Too much blood. He hated feeling lightheaded. “Bandages?”

  “First-aid kit on the sidewall behind you.”

  The van took a corner hard. He bit his tongue rather than give in to a moan. Marian scrambled behind him and pulled the first-aid kit off the wall. She took out a wad of sterile pads and opened them. He grabbed them from her, let the bloodied sweatshirt fall away and pushed up his T-shirt to expose the bullet hole.

  “Put the bandages and your hand tight over the wound,” he rasped, “and lean closer.”

  She put her ear to his mouth. Lovely scent. Definitely a hint of vanilla.

  “Bullet’s still inside, Angel.” He caught his breath. “You have to get it out. Once it’s removed, I can heal, and the blood loss will stop.”

  “Is that how it works?” she whispered.

  “That’s how it works. Trust me.” His other hand gripped her shoulder hard. “Don’t let him see.”

  “You still think he’s the enemy?”

  “He was to my brother.”

  She took a deep breath and blocked the view from the front seat with her back. Good.

  “You know how to pull the bullet out?”

  “Weirdly, I do. My great-aunt made me learn.” She could heart Aunt Eunice’s voice in her head. This is a dangerous world we live in, Marian. You have to know how to help if someone you care for is injured.

  “How did you learn?” He closed his eyes, concentrating on her voice.

  “First on the same kind of dummies as emergency medical techs practice on. Then we moved to corpses. Once I got past my fear of the dead, that was easy enough. Next came living animals, just so I would get the feel of what a body was like inside.”

  It was a whispered monologue, all into his ear. Lovely voice.

  “Exploring Great-Aunt Eunice’s body with a phantom hand was the worst of it. But hey, I know what belongs inside a person and what doesn’t.”

  He realized she was rambling to calm herself. As a coping technique, he thought it was quite seductive. She had been so careful with her words previously. Now the floodgates opened.

  “When I put my hand inside, it’ll feel like a small itch that you can’t reach. Don’t move. It’ll be harder if you do.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Yes, Angel.”

  She flushed. “Trust me.”

  Her hand turned phantom in a matter of seconds. When the effect was up to her elbow, she plunged her arm into his side.

  He blinked. Interesting. Not so much an itch as a slight touch, like a feather tickled him from far away. Not unpleasant.

  He stilled his breath, willing himself not to flinch from the feather’s tickle. He could track her progress from his side to his middle and to his lung by feel. Unexpected.

  “Near the back,” he whispered, so low that he didn’t hear his own voice.

  She must have heard because in another instant, the feathery touch grew stronger, into that itch that told him where the bullet was lodged.

  She closed her eyes. Concentrating harder, he guessed. Montoya, Richard noted, hadn’t looked back. He was watching the traffic in the Lincoln Tunnel and checking the side and rearview mirrors. They were taking the closet exit out of Manhattan from Bryant Park.

  Marian’s arm slipped back outside his body and became solid once more. She held her hand in front of him and opened her palm. Inside was a malformed bullet. He smiled and kissed her cheek again. “Thank you, Angel,” he breathed out.

  The stabbing pain receded, leaving him with only his side on fire. But that would subside, in time.

  She applied more pressure against his bandage. “You’re losing a lot of blood.” This time, her voice wavered.

  “Healing in progress.” He said that in a normal voice. “Just keep the bandages tight.”

  “You’re a self-healer, then. Like your brother,” Montoya said.

  “Yes.” It would be impossible to deny. And let Montoya think the bullet had gone through him. He wanted his angel’s ability to remain secret as long as possible. He trusted no one but himself with her safety.

  “How long will it take to heal?” Marian asked him.

  “It depends.” He closed his eyes. “If I pass out, tell them to just control the bleeding, Marian. But they’ll know that…they have a self-healer there…”

  Healing definitely at full force. It always made him sleepy. Damned inconvenient when he had to keep his wits about him.

  “There? They?” She asked. “Where’s there? Aren’t we going to a hospital?”

  “No hospital, not needed.” Richard said.

  “Is he stable?” Montoya asked.

  “I think so,” she answered. “The bleeding has slowed down.”

  “Then we’re headed to the Phoenix Institute,” Montoya said.

  The dragon’s den, Richard thought. After this quest, he’d planned to visit them. Edward’s death needed explanation, at the very least. Or maybe vengeance. He wasn’t entirely sure. Now, he’d have to decide.

  “What the heck is a Phoenix Institute?” she asked.

  “You’ll see when we get there,” Montoya answered.

  “Not good enough, dammit.” She punched the driver’s seat.

  So this was what his angel was like angry. No, frustrated, he guessed. True anger would be nastier and less under control.

  “This whole situation is crazy. First, you follow me, then we’re shot at, my
client is injured, and now we’re speeding to a place I know nothing about.”

  “Sorry. The being shot at part was not my idea,” Montoya answered. “Anyway, the Phoenix Institute is a place to train people with abilities like your client there. But we have medical facilities too. No worries.”

  “Right,” she said, grinding her teeth. “Everything’s fine. No worries.”

  She was eating anger again, Richard thought, but in this case, that was a good idea. Montoya was somewhat of an unknown. For all Richard knew, the shot at Montoya had been a test for him, and he’d passed. Meaning, as he tested Montoya by pretending to hurt Marian, someone might have tested him to see if he’d defend Montoya.

  He didn’t know if Montoya’s leader was that Machiavellian, but Richard knew that the former head of the Phoenix Institute certainly had been. And now they’d sent Montoya to follow him when Richard had done nothing to threaten them.

  And his brother was dead.

  Richard wrapped his arm around his angel. He would heal and be at full strength. He must.

  “I’ll protect you,” he whispered into her ear.

  “I know,” she whispered back.

  Chapter Six

  To Marian, the rest of the ride seemed to take forever. She changed Richard’s bandage, sealing the second stack of sterile pads down with medical tape. It still turned red but far slower. She thought that was good.

  Richard said he would heal and she would have to believe that.

  If she’d had any doubt before that Richard was what he said he was, she didn’t anymore. A normal person would have bled to death.

  When she was finished changing the bandages, her hands were caked in dried blood. Ugh. It was just as well she didn’t have a problem with blood, like her sister. Jen nearly fainted every time she had a blood test. It was a wonder she had been able to give birth without fainting. Though Jen claimed she hadn’t looked, only pushed. Her sister would get a kick out of this, except for the blood. Jen liked adventure. I might too, Marian thought, if I could ever choose my own.

  The van took a sharp turn once they were out of the Lincoln Tunnel. She wrapped her arms around Richard to keep from being thrown to the side.

  “Nice,” Richard muttered.

  Bad enough he kept calling her angel. She didn’t want to be infatuated with him. He was a client, for one. It was hard, however, not to feel something when he spoke in that sexy rasp and he kissed her cheek. She pressed her palm against the bandage, just to keep the pressure on.

  “How you doing back there?” Montoya asked.

  “Okay,” she answered.

  “How is he?”

  “I’m not a doctor. The bleeding’s slowed. That’s all I know.”

  “Sorry about all this. I didn’t mean to get you involved.”

  “You two acted like enemies before someone started shooting at us. Are you going to hurt him at this Phoenix Institute?” Are you going to hurt me?

  “You’re not the enemy.” Montoya answered her unspoken question first. “Like I said, no worries. We’ll get you back home safe soon.”

  “And what about Richard?”

  “I’m not in the habit of letting people bleed to death if I can help it. Neither is Firefly. But it’s not safe to take someone like Richard anywhere else.”

  “Firefly? Who’s he?”

  “Alec Farley, the head of the Phoenix Institute.”

  They took an exit off the highway. Bergen County, she noticed. Well, better than Paterson or Passaic.

  “How do I know you’ll take care of him? All I know is that this Alec Farley sent you out to spy on me.”

  “He sent me out to spy on Genet, not you. Alec’s job is making sure guys like your Richard don’t mess with people’s lives. To him, people are pawns.”

  “Richard’s paying me a considerable sum for a job I do well. If that’s a pawn, I’ll take it.” What the hell was she in the middle of?

  Montoya only grunted.

  “What about the person shooting at us? What did they want?”

  “No idea yet who that was or what they wanted yet. When I do, I’ll let you know.”

  “Great,” she snapped. He was miffed. So was she. Except she wasn’t sure if she was angrier with Montoya or the person shooting at him or her grandfather for putting her in this mess.

  However, she was certain she wasn’t angry with Richard.

  “I’m curious to meet your Firefly,” Richard said, opening his eyes. She’d thought he was asleep.

  “He’s kinda anxious to meet you too, Genet,” Montoya said with a growl.

  “Why do you hate my client?” Did everyone but her know what was going on?

  “His brother was behind some really bad shit.”

  “They killed my brother,” Richard said.

  “He deserved it.”

  “And that means I deserve to die as well? Do you always try to kill the families of those who attacked you?”

  He didn’t, Marian noted, sound the least bit scared. What other immortal tricks did he have besides self-healing?

  “If you share your brother’s attitude about how to treat people, then we’re gonna have a long discussion. It won’t be pretty.”

  “I look forward to it,” Richard said.

  Marian shook her head. This was making her more confused. She lowered her voice. “Richard, why did Montoya call his boss Firefly?”

  “Farley is a telekinetic and firestarter. He makes the flames dance.”

  “Oh.” Someone else with powers? “Is Montoya a psychic too?”

  “Nope, not psychic,” Montoya said.

  “Montoya works for Farley. Tell your boss I disapproved of my brother’s methods. And that we might have some interests in common.”

  “I sincerely doubt that.”

  “Really? Then why am I bleeding in the back seat of your van after taking a bullet meant for you?”

  Montoya didn’t answer.

  “So what does the Phoenix Institute do besides send you to follow people around and kill immortals?” she asked Montoya.

  But Richard answered instead.

  “The institute is ostensibly a place given to the study of those with extraordinary abilities so individuals who possess them can use them responsibly. Do I have that right, Montoya?”

  “Yeah, Genet.”

  “Perhaps that’s true. Or perhaps Farley is busy gathering all the telepaths, telekinetics and other psychics of the world together for some other purpose. Such as manipulating those with no defense against him.”

  “Fuck you,” Montoya said.

  “Power was Richard Lansing’s goal. Why not the same for his heir?”

  “Who’s this Lansing and what was he to Alec Farley?” Marian said.

  “Lansing was the founder of the place. He raised Farley. Lansing is gone now but Farley’s lover is a telepath. They’re a team well suited to manipulate others.” Richard directed his last sentence at Montoya.

  “Lansing is dead, and Beth is the last person who would control someone. Besides, your brother worked with Lansing on his last project. It was Alec and Beth who shut that down. So what does that make you?”

  “The person who took a bullet for you. And I’m not my brother nor did I work with him on that operation. Or with Lansing. Ever.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  “Okay, so what is the actual goal of the Phoenix Institute? Was Richard right?” Marian asked.

  “Alec wants to help those with psychic abilities learn how to use them safely,” Montoya repeated. “He worries if people aren’t properly trained, their lives will be messed up.”

  That’s a really good idea, Marian decided, if that’s what this Farley really wanted. A firestarter and a telepath? Wow. She’d known about the family gift long before she st
arted manifesting the signs of the phantom power. What would she have thought if she had no knowledge that her gift was real?

  Terrified, most likely, especially when various body parts had turned immaterial without warning. She hated a lot of things about her power, mostly connected to her grandfather, but she wasn’t scared of it, and she knew damn well how to use it.

  Montoya tapped the steering wheel. “I’m sorry to bring you with him, Miss Doyle. We’re not kidnappers. We just need to talk to Genet.”

  “And if I pose a threat?” Richard raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re done.”

  “Forgive me if your threats mean nothing, coming as they are from someone who already needed rescuing today.”

  “Oh, it’s not me you have to worry about.”

  Under other circumstances, Marian would like meeting a firestarter and a telepath. But not if they wanted to kill her.

  She stared out the window as they turned off the highway onto a suburban road. Getting caught by customs had been her worst fear before today. She should have quit as she’d intended, at the party last weekend.

  Oh, hell, stop complaining, Marian. You love that Richard keeps calling you angel in a voice that makes you swoon. What was she, fifteen again when it came to this guy, ready to go weak in the knees? Apparently.

  But when she was fifteen, she hadn’t dared show her power to anyone. Her grandfather’s insistence on using it just for family gain had changed her perception of her gift as a true gift and instead as something to be ashamed of.

  Richard made it feel like it was part of her.

  She looked down at her bloodstained hands. This Phoenix Institute wasn’t even the worst of all this. There was somebody out there who had shot Richard.

  “So do you expect me to pick a side?” she asked Montoya.

  “Looks like you already did.”

  “Because I helped bandage a man who was shot saving your life?” Of course, maybe Montoya had noticed her clinging to Richard.

  Richard squeezed her hand.

  “Last time we dealt with this guy’s brother, he was specializing in medical experiments and kidnapping pregnant women.”

  “Why?” she asked.