by Jena Leigh
Alex imagined someone she cared about being in the line of fire one day. And then she thought about Nate. About the child he’d been forced to let die in Prague. The child who had been so overwhelmed by the call, he’d nearly killed fourteen people.
She considered the consequences of her lack of control… and then she imagined the guilt that would inevitably follow.
Alex forced herself back onto her feet
Fighting against her desire to allow the fire to flourish, she eventually swallowed her need long enough to take hold of the flaming coils. With tremendous effort, Alex was able to gather the different strands together, combining them into a single flame that blazed above her open palm.
It took her well over a minute to accomplish her goal. When she was finally able to look down at the massive fireball in her hand, beads of sweat that had nothing at all to do with the orb’s violent heat were breaking across her forehead.
“Better.” This time Brandt sounded almost—but not quite—impressed. “Even the O’Connell boy took a while to manage that for the first time.”
Brandt had been the one to train Declan?
She’d known someone must have taught him after his change. He’d used the ability during her rescue from the Grayson cabin, though she’d never learned who he had initially absorbed it from. Brandt was long gone by the time she woke up in her new bedroom at the safe house, groggy and disoriented. They hadn’t had a fire-wielder staying at the compound since.
Brandt’s head cocked to one side as he examined her with an odd look on his face.
“What?” she asked.
“Did anyone ever tell you… ” His brow furrowed. “Your eyes… It’s the damnedest thing…”
She had been told. She knew exactly what it was that had him looking so unsettled.
“What color this time?” she asked.
“Gold,” he replied. “Your eyes are like liquid fire. That’s me being entirely literal here, not some pathetic attempt at poetry. It’d be terrifying if I didn’t know what was causing it. Then again, even Samuel’s eyes never glowed like that.”
Declan’s didn’t either. She’d watched him carefully in those first few days after her return from the past, curious to see just how alike they really were now that he’d been changed. His eyes still turned a brilliant shade of violet in the split seconds before and after a jump, but other than that, they remained a familiar, if somewhat mutable, swirl of hazel.
With a little more effort, she was able to shrink the orb down to a manageable size, roughly as large as an apple, before sending it sailing back toward Brandt.
“Would you like to continue?” Brandt asked, his voice mocking. “Or do you need a break?”
Alex wiped distractedly at her brow, straightened her posture, and gave a nod. “I’m ready. Let’s keep going.”
Brandt smiled. “As you wish, little girl.”
He split the orb he held in two before allowing each of them to double in size—and then he lobbed one of them directly at her head.
Standing as they were, only a few yards apart, she barely had time to dive out of the way. The fireball hit the ground just behind her, singeing the earth to a blackened char before fizzling out.
Alex got back to her feet. Again, Brandt split the orb he held in two before sending one spiraling toward her face.
This time she was ready and managed to catch the fiery orb just a few fleeting inches from the tip of her nose. She shrank the ball little by little until she was able to force it to blink out entirely.
Distracted as she was by her efforts, she almost failed to notice the next orb hurtling her way. It took everything she had to react in time to catch that one, too, and dissolve it. This time, she glanced up to discover two fiery masses spiraling in her direction.
Again, Alex was forced to redouble her efforts in order to catch both simultaneously and dissipate them.
And then there were three.
Four.
Five.
Soon Alex’s world consisted only of the flames hurtling toward her and the effort it required to force each orb out of existence.
Within another two minutes, the number of orbs being launched simultaneously in her direction had hit double digits.
Drowning beneath the constant onslaught, Alex grew desperate.
“Brandt, stop!” she gasped out. “Please!”
Instead of slowing, the speed and strength of his volleys intensified.
“Stop?” he repeated, incredulous. “I thought you were here this morning to learn. To train. Are you really going to give up so easily, little girl?”
Exhaustion turned swiftly to rage. Alex growled as she countered orb after orb, dissolving each one with barely an instant remaining to prepare for the next explosive torrent.
“Stop calling me little girl,” she spat through clenched teeth, struggling to hold back the barrage.
“Then stop acting like one,” he replied. “If you just wait around for people to start taking you seriously, you’re never gonna get anywhere. You want to go toe-to-toe with the boys? You want to stand on an equal playing field? News flash, little girl. Such a field doesn’t exist. Not for you.”
She could feel the anger burning through her, hotter even than the fire she wielded.
“Don’t ask to be their equal,” Brandt said. “Demand it. Then ready yourself so that, when the time comes, you leave them all behind. Make certain that there will be no doubt that you’re so much more than they ever dreamed.”
Alex could feel her strength—and her ability to focus—waning. She had seconds at most before her concentration gave out and the hailstorm of orbs made contact.
Summoning the last of her willpower, Alex took hold of every lick of fire in the open field, including the ones Brandt still held. Ripping them away from his control, she stretched out her arms, drew the nearly two dozen orbs toward her, and formed a veritable wall with them… and then she catapulted them all back toward her opponent.
Eyes widening in surprise behind his wire-rimmed glasses, Brandt stumbled backward, unable to stop the attack that was now heading straight for him.
With one final rush of power, Alex dissolved every last orb simultaneously, their glow blinking out of existence just before they could make contact with their target.
Brandt let out a startled laugh and ran a hand through his long hair.
“Well done, Miss Parker,” he said finally. “Well done.”
Brandt sat down with a tired grunt. He looked nearly as exhausted as she felt. Maintaining that attack for so long must have taken quite a toll on him, even with his strength.
Utterly spent, Alex staggered over to Brandt and collapsed beside him in the grass, folding her arms over her bent knees and hanging her head between them as she struggled to catch her breath.
Sweat dripped from her chin and her clothes were soaked through in multiple places. She was going to need a shower before her session with Aiden. Truth be told, she was going to need a break if she hoped to survive another hour of training that morning.
The sun was creeping up over the horizon, but had still yet to fully rise. With any luck, Aiden wouldn’t mind her being a few minutes late.
“I don’t get it,” she said between gasps. “Why do this? Why help me?”
It took a while, but eventually Brandt shrugged. “Would you believe me if I said it was because I see a little of myself in you?”
She arched a dubious brow.
He gave a laugh at her facial expression, but the smile he wore was sad.
“No, it’s true,” he said. “I’ve spent my entire life struggling to control the fire, instead of allowing it to control me. From the looks of things, you and I, well, we have that much in common at least. We’re both struggling, every waking moment, just to maintain our sense of control. Our sense of balance. We’re doing so in a world that will never—can never—begin to understand the endless trial we’ve been damned to face, simply because of who and what we are.”
&
nbsp; She looked at Brandt, truly looked at him, and saw an entirely different man sitting beside her now than the one she’d been seeing every day since their first meeting.
This time, Alex saw a man who’d tamed his demons the only way he’d known how. First by embracing them and then by employing them for a specific purpose.
A purpose that, while still undeniably barbaric in its consequences, must have stemmed from his desire to channel a normally destructive power toward something that, to Brandt at any rate, resembled a noble cause.
All of a sudden, Alex could almost understand how Carson Brandt had evolved into the man she knew today.
An entire life spent listening to the hypnotic voices of the fire? Even the weakest fire-wielder might struggle with his desire to use the flames under his command. But someone as powerful as Brandt?
He must have known early on that he’d rarely be able to resist that urge to surrender to the fire’s call and use his ability. So instead, Brandt had made certain that the only people on the receiving end of his flames were somehow deserving of retribution. Of what he deemed to be justice.
As if sensing her train of thought, he slowly added, “‘There is no hunting like the hunting of man.’ Hemingway wrote that. He was absolutely correct with regards to its more addictive qualities. Though that particular craving will forever pale in comparison to my true addiction.”
Alex suppressed a shudder. Next to her, Brandt pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicked it open, and stared for the next few moments into the depths of the golden light.
“Every man has his demons, Miss Parker.” Flicking the lighter closed, he got to his feet. “I just keep mine on a longer leash than most.”
Offering her a hand, he added, “That’s enough for one morning, I think. Shall we head back?”
She slid her hand in his. “Thank you, Brandt. For helping me.”
Eyebrows raised, he replied with a nod. “Anytime, Miss Parker,” he said, helping her to her feet. “Just try not to go mentioning this arrangement to your aunt, if you’d be so kind. It might be pushing the boundaries of a promise I made to her yesterday, and I’d rather like to keep my head attached to my shoulders a while longer.”
Alex smiled. “You got it.”
Ten
Declan was distracted.
Roughly half a dozen concerns waged war for his attention as he stumbled through his morning routine, grateful that he didn’t have anywhere to be for a while yet.
The main house’s kitchen was less crowded than usual when he arrived in search of breakfast, probably because he’d slept in for nearly an extra hour that morning. Only Trent was still there, nursing a steaming mug as he slouched against a counter.
“Morning,” he said between sips.
Declan managed a grunt.
After glancing around, he passed up the pitcher of OJ on the counter and headed straight for the coffee carafe—only to find it empty.
He sent Trent a dark look.
The shade smiled wordlessly over the brim of his mug, then took a long, slow sip, complete with unnecessary slurping noises.
“Asshole,” Declan mumbled.
Trent chuckled.
“Alex seen you yet?” asked Declan.
“Nah,” said Trent. “With everything going on last night, Jezza and I figured we’d just stay out of the way for a while and save the happy reunion for today. We’ll go looking for her later.”
Declan gave an absentminded nod in reply.
Far too caffeine deprived to fumble through the motions of brewing another pot, Declan rummaged through the fridge in search of the iced coffees they kept on hand for Kenzie and Alex’s aunt. The only flavor left was some sort of low fat mocha frappaccino concoction in a pint-sized container. Rubbing his face tiredly, Declan resigned himself to his fate and swiped the last two remaining bottles.
“Watching your figure, Decks?” Nate asked, wandering in through the doorway behind him. A Chinese telekinetic named Jian Liu was with him, having just finished one of the half-hour training sessions Grayson’s team offered the recruits in order to hone their skills.
There were usually two or three guys—and gals—like Liu staying at the safe house on any given day—volunteers and assets Grayson had recruited to assist the resistance in a variety of different ways and in myriad locations around the world. They’d usually stick around anywhere between a couple days and a couple weeks, depending on what they were there to accomplish.
Liu had been with them for just over a week. Nice enough guy, though he seemed to prefer to keep to himself. The language barrier didn’t help. The only member of the family who knew any Chinese was the boss—and Liu’s English was almost as rough as Grayson’s Mandarin.
Thankfully, Oz was more than fluent in both languages and usually, albeit grudgingly, served in the role of interpreter.
Declan watched his brother make a beeline for the coffee carafe, grab a mug, and…
“Son of a bitch.” Nate sighed. He eyed the bottles in Declan’s hand. “I don’t suppose there are any more of those disgusting things left in the fridge?”
This time it was Declan’s turn to smile.
His brother shook his head and started digging through the cabinet for one the massive tins of coffee they burned through at an alarming rate.
Clearly, if there was one thing most of the people residing at the compound couldn’t do without, it was their morning cup of Joe.
They were going to need to make another run for groceries soon, though who they could safely send into town was a good question, now that most of the team’s faces had been plastered all over every news outlet in the country.
Declan opened one of the bottles and downed it in a few quick gulps. He grimaced as he tossed the empty container into the bin, noting the queasy way his stomach responded to the sickly sweet concoction. Deciding to drink the next one a little more slowly, he absconded from the kitchen with the last bottle of pre-made coffee and headed outside.
The morning air was pleasantly cool, the sun shining brightly in a perfectly clear sky. Unfortunately, the cloudy nature of his thoughts didn’t give him much room to appreciate it.
He’d been replaying the things Kento Nakamura had told him last night over and over in his head, trying to make sense of everything that was said—and trying even harder to make sense of how he felt about all of it.
“When Samuel Masterson first injected himself with the VX-2, he was like you and Alexandra,” Kento had said, leaning back against the kitchen’s apron sink. “He only borrowed. But he hated the fact that, eventually, the abilities faded. It wasn’t until later that he began to steal the abilities outright, killing any Variant he absorbed from.”
That bit of information was news to Declan. He’d always assumed that Masterson began murdering people from the outset. How had he altered his absorption ability in such a drastic way? And why?
“Just before he changed his method of absorption from borrowing to murder, he confided something in my cousin, Hanako.” Kento’s gaze grew distant, lost in the memory. “Hana always was an excellent confidante. Grayson’s team went to her often, seeking her advice. She was stoic and impartial, no matter the subject, and they relied on her honesty. Hana never had any trouble giving it to you straight, for better or for worse. That’s just the type of woman she was.”
He shook himself slightly. The small smile that had softened his features vanished as his stern countenance slid back into place. “Anyway. At some point in those early days, Samuel absorbed John Grayson’s ability of precognition and had a series of rather disturbing visions. One of them apparently involved his girlfriend, Gwen Palladino, and Jonathan.”
Declan frowned. Nate’s mom dated Samuel Masterson prior to his change, that much was true, but this was the first Declan had heard about any “disturbing visions” Masterson might have had before he went off the rails.
“I never learned all the details of Samuel’s visions—Hana refused to share most of them with me. She
said they were too terrible to utter aloud. But whatever it was Samuel predicted disturbed Hana so much that she came to me seeking advice. She was worried that he might do something drastic to prevent his visions from coming to pass… and she was right.”
Masterson started killing people because of his visions? If that was the case, what the hell had he seen that was so awful it could justify murdering his own friends in cold blood? The team that, for years, had been his only family?
Kento folded his arms across his chest and stood up a little straighter. “The point is, Declan, this idea that Samuel killed Gwen never sat quite right with me. Samuel loved that girl more than life itself.”
Declan felt a chill creeping its way up his spine at Kento’s insinuation.
“So I want you to ask yourself this: what did Samuel actually see with regards to Gwen and Jonathan? What had Hana so unsettled? And more importantly, how well does anyone actually know John Grayson?”
At that point, Kento told Declan that if any record existed that might shed light on what transpired the night Gwen Palladino died, it would be in Hanako’s journal. A journal that was most likely stowed away in the attic above the garage with the rest of the detritus and forgotten mementos leftover from the time Grayson and his team spent at the mountain facility.
Years earlier, while shifting those boxes around, Nate stumbled across that last photo of Grayson’s team members with their families in the Parkers’ backyard. It wasn’t impossible to think that Hanako’s journal might have ended up there, too.
With a little digging, Declan found the book half-buried in a box labeled simply “Hana.”
Making his way across the courtyard, Declan turned left onto the well-worn path between the main house and Oz’s workshop. Breaking off, he headed for the training field that stretched across the flat expanse of grassland behind the compound.
