by Jena Leigh
Within seconds, Alex was entirely consumed by the flames.
Carter’s smirk faded and she took a nervous step back. It wouldn’t help. The woman could have broken into a dead sprint in that moment and it still wouldn’t have been fast enough.
The siren’s song of the fire consumed Alex, leaving behind any hint of conscious thought or reason until all that remained was instinct.
Instinct… and rage.
Alex raised a hand, and Dana Carter was no more.
Months before, when Masterson killed Vee Hudgens on the dock in Bay View, he left behind a pile of charred remains.
When Alex turned her fire on the Director, anyone not blinded by the intensity of the light would have seen the flames turn a dazzling blue and then solid white before blinking entirely out of existence. By the time the afterglow faded, all that remained of Dana Carter was a pile of ash.
Long seconds ticked past before Alex returned to her senses enough to realize that she was at risk of torching the entire area if she didn’t take a breath and reign in the ability.
It was only the thought of Brian that brought Alex fully back into the moment. She looked down at herself, willing the flames rippling just above her clothing and bare skin out of existence, then turned and ran to Brian’s side.
She knelt beside Nathaniel, across from Declan, and stared down at the growing circle of blood staining the boy’s shirt.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “No… No…”
“This was the first vision I ever had,” Brian said in a daze. “It always had to happen this way. Saw it again last night… and I knew.”
Across the many, many months since their first meeting, the memory of Brian’s words to Alex at the cabin found her as she knelt there in the grass outside the Agency facility.
“I was in a park at night.” Brian shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down, swaying back and forth on his heels. “You were there. So were Nate and Declan. We were… We were having a picnic! That’s what it was. A picnic.”
“A picnic?” she asked dubiously. “At night?”
To that, Brian only shrugged.
Alex reached out with a trembling hand to brush the hair from the boy’s eyes.
He needs a haircut, she thought absently. How long has he needed a haircut, and I never even noticed?
Weakly, Brian shook his head. “Don’t.”
Alex dropped her hand, realizing it was a warning not to touch his bare skin.
“A hospital,” Declan said, reaching out to take hold of his brother. “We have to get—”
“No! You can’t—” Brian grimaced.
Declan hesitated.
“I’m almost… You don’t want this. Either of you.” He was struggling to get the words out now, his voice a strangled whimper. “And I don’t want it for you.”
His ability. Brian must have known that if they were to touch him in his final moments, they’d live with his visions forever.
“Hush, Bri,” said Alex. “We’ll get you help. Just hold on, okay?”
“Promise me.” Brian’s gaze grew distant and his words became a faint whisper. “You’ll make your own future.”
His eyes closed.
Brian was gone.
Still hunched over his tiny form, Alex drew a ragged breath… and then let out a scream that sent telekinetic shockwaves through the entire facility, rattling the foundations of the nearby buildings. She staggered back as she felt the flames consume her, just as they had moments earlier with Carter. Alex crawled away from Brian’s unmoving body, from the others, knowing that she would not be able to control the fire this time, even if she wanted to.
And she didn’t want to.
She wanted to scream. To rage. To embrace the flames and the strange comfort they provided.
Unable to bear the guilt of knowing that she made this happen—that she was the one who failed to save Brian from meeting his death that night—Alex did the only thing she could do.
She jumped.
Alex reappeared in the pitch-black shadow of Shiprock, then lit up the night with flames that stretched toward the heavens, and an agonized cry that shattered the stillness of the desert.
And there, alone, Alex allowed the fire to grow and expand as it willed until the flames were all she could see in any direction.
And there, alone, Alex wept.
Twenty-Nine
Nathaniel always hated funerals.
After nearly a week of mourning Brian’s loss, two funerals in two days had left him utterly drained. The sorrow and agony of losing his baby brother had consumed his waking hours—and then his nights, turning his dreams into an endless parade of horrors as he relived Brian’s final moments over and over again.
Nate stared at Carson Brandt’s silver coffin, musing over the irony that a man who so loved fire would spend eternity entombed in the earth, instead of being granted the cremation he likely would have preferred.
But even in death, the body of a fire-wielder was impervious to flame—and so a burial it was.
It was clear from the paltry gathering that Brandt hadn’t made many friends in this life, but the Grayson family and assorted resistance members stood vigilantly beside his final resting place as they said one last goodbye.
No matter his crimes in life, he’d died for their cause. For their freedom.
Brandt deserved this much. And more.
Nate watched as the casket was lowered into the ground. Watched as the small group surrounding the gravesite tossed handfuls of earth onto Carson Brandt’s final resting place. Watched as Cil placed a single rose upon his coffin, her eyes swollen and red from so many days of tears.
And then he watched as the crowd silently dispersed, each going their separate ways.
Only Alex had failed to show that morning.
According to a brief explanation provided by Cil, her niece had locked herself away in her room immediately after Brian’s funeral the day before and silently refused to emerge again.
She still hadn’t spoken to anyone since returning home to Bay View.
Not even to Declan.
Nate held a sneaking suspicion that Alex now blamed herself for everything that happened. To Brian. To Carter. Even to Brandt.
They held that feeling of guilt in common, Nate supposed. Carter’s bullet had been meant for him, after all.
The last to leave, Nate turned away from the gravesite—and nearly collided with Grayson.
He took a step back. “Sorry, boss,” he said. “Didn’t see you there.”
Grayson didn’t appear to notice. Instead he said, “Walk with me?”
Nate nodded. They made their way slowly back toward the road that bisected the massive cemetery.
Though he’d been born in Scotland, Brandt had no family to speak of, and had moved around so much in the last two decades that he had no real home to speak of, either. With no will in existence to divulge his wishes for a burial location, Grayson and Cil decided to bury him in a cemetery in Bay View.
The location itself was beautiful, dotted with sprawling oak trees and well-kept grounds.
Nate looked around at the cemetery, unseeing, as he moved slowly down the path beside Grayson.
As the silence stretched out, Nate began to fear the moment the boss would break it and speak. He could think of only one thing Grayson might want to discuss with him, and it was a conversation that Nate wasn’t sure he was ready to have yet.
For his part, Grayson had spent the last week mourning the loss of his son in private, holed up in his office, eating little and saying even less. He’d already lost a fair amount of weight. His dark suit, once perfectly tailored, now hung loosely on his tall frame.
The boss cleared his throat and stopped walking. Nate turned to face him.
“Declan told me that you were made aware of…” Grayson hesitated, searching for the right words. “Of their doubts about me.”
Doubts?
It took Nate longer than it should have to remember th
e conversation to which Grayson was referring. To remember Brian and Declan standing in the desert, illuminated by the harsh glare of the Charger’s headlights, arguing over why Alex had left the compound that night.
“They didn’t go into detail,” he said. “But, yeah. It came up.”
Grayson nodded, still staring blankly at the handful of cars leaving the cemetery. “Before I addressed Alex and Declan’s concerns, I wanted to speak to you first.”
“Me?” he said. “Why me?”
Grayson turned to face him. “Because their doubts all stem from what actually happened on the night your mother died.”
Nate felt his breath leave him. “What do you mean?”
Unable to hold his gaze, Grayson turned back toward the procession of exiting cars. “Samuel Masterson didn’t kill your mother, Nathaniel.”
“I… I don’t…” Nate stuttered. “Then who did?”
Grayson frowned. “The night your mother died, the mountain had already been placed on lockdown. With Samuel on the loose and his motives still uncertain, we locked up the facility in the hopes of keeping him from returning to his lab. Gwen wasn’t working in the lab that night—she was in the process of breaking in.”
“She—what?”
Grayson shook his head. “Dana Carter was aware of the VX serums. Of the incredible power they held. I’ll never know what it was Dana said to convince your mother to help her… But that night, Gwen broke into the facility—into the lab—intending to retrieve the remaining VX samples and take them to Dana. Possibly, Dana convinced her that the serums would be safer outside of the mountain, hidden from Samuel in a place he wouldn’t think to look.”
“But if Masterson didn’t kill my mom then who—”
“No one.”
Nate stared blankly back at the man who had raised him. In that moment, John Grayson appeared infinitely older than his forty-eight years.
“That night, I was at the mountain. I’d just had a vision of someone going inside, so I went there to investigate. When I arrived, I expected to find Samuel. Instead I discovered your mother in the lab, collecting the samples and placing them in a cooler. When Gwen saw that it was me, she tried to explain that she was retrieving the serums for Dana—and that’s when we began to argue. I told her the samples should remain locked away in the mountain. She made it clear that her mind was already made up. When she turned to leave, I made a grab for the cooler. She dodged out of my reach… and then she tripped.” Grayson’s eyes closed, the pain of the memory still evident in the lines of his face. “Her head glanced off the corner of a metal lab table. She died instantly from the force of the blow.”
“So my mom’s death… was an accident?” Nate asked, struggling to process this unexpected revelation. “But why, Grayson? Why lie about it? Why blame it on Masterson? Why not just tell everyone the truth from the outset, instead of covering it all up? ”
Grayson heaved a tired sigh. “Because I panicked,” he said. “I knew what the scene must have looked like… and when Carson showed up a few minutes later, I was too shell-shocked to attempt a proper explanation.”
“What the hell was Brandt doing there?”
Grayson shook his head. “I called him after my vision. I thought I was going to face down Samuel, not your mother. I asked Carson to come to back me up. He arrived moments after your mother… fell.”
“The fire in the lab,” said Nate. “You set fire to the lab to cover up what happened?”
Grayson nodded. “Carson made his own assumptions about what had taken place that night—and I didn’t know how to correct him. Before I could say a word, he’d already moved your mother’s body, torched the lab and the remaining VX samples, and then concocted the story of Samuel breaking in and killing her. And I… I was too much of a coward to correct him. I knew he’d keep my secret—and I was too afraid that no one, not even Carson, would believe the truth.”
Nate shook his head, too numb from the day’s events to even begin to process how he felt about this unexpected confession.
“After Gwen’s funeral,” Grayson continued, “I walked into a flower shop down the street and made a deal with the owner to ensure that there would always be fresh irises at her gravesite.”
“John Smith,” said Nate. “That was you, then? Not Masterson?”
Grayson didn’t reply. “I apologize for waiting so long to tell you the truth. You deserved to know what happened long before now and I… I’m truly sorry, Nathaniel.”
Nate shook his head. Turning his back on Grayson, he walked away without replying.
What was there left to say?
He’d spent most of his life fueled by his hatred of Samuel Masterson—only to find out that his mother had died in a pointless accident, instead.
Eventually, Nathaniel’s aimless movements sent him toward an ancient, towering oak tree near the edge of the cemetery… where he caught sight of a familiar face standing there amidst the low hanging branches, dressed in a long black coat, her unruly hair tossed about by the wind.
Alex.
She’d come after all.
She noticed him approaching and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clearly trying to decide whether or not to jump—or simply walk away—in order to avoid speaking to him.
In the end, Alex remained where she was, crossing her arms over her chest and casting her gaze toward the ground.
He was still twenty feet away when Alex lifted her head and stared directly at him. What Nate saw next caused his heart to falter and his breath to freeze inside his chest.
Alex’s face was drawn, her cheeks wet with tears—tears cascading from a pair of eyes suddenly as black and empty as a moonless night.
The device.
They were wrong. It hadn’t been destroyed.
Samuel Masterson’s lanky form shimmered into view beside her. He fixed Nathaniel with a cold smile and placed his hand on Alex’s shoulder.
“Lex!” Nate shouted, breaking into a run.
It was too late. Masterson jumped—and Alex disappeared right along with him.
Afterword
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About the Author
Jena Leigh is the author of the Variant Series novels Revival, Resistance, Redux, and Reckoning. Born and raised in Tampa, Florida, she spent ten years in the mountains of North Carolina before returning home to the lightning capital of North America. A shameless geek, she loves coffee, loud music, bad sci-fi movies, Skittles, and shenanigan-filled road trips to faraway concerts.
To find out more about The Variant Series and author Jena Leigh, visit her online:
www.jenaleighbooks.com
Also by Jena Leigh
The Variant Series
Revival
Resistance
Redux
Reckoning
Acknowledgments
This book might never have been written without the incredible support and encouragement I received from a lot of truly wonderful people. I owe each of you a tremendous amount of thanks.
Thank you to my family. To Mom and Dad for all your love, encouragement, and for your unwavering faith in my ability to overcome anything. To Mimi, for all of your support these last few years, and for making sure that everyone you knew in Mobile, Alabama had copies of my books. And to my family in Florida, for the laughter and the love. You all mean more to me than you could ever know!
Thank you to Carrie Gambill for the hours of conversation spent hammering out plot points and filling in plot holes, and for never giving up on this story, even when I was ready to. Without your patience and encouragement these past two years, I never could have finished this book. You rock, ma’am.
Thank you to my editor (and absolute lifesa
ver), Sara Meadows, for helping me whip this story into shape.
And last, but certainly not least, thank you to every reader, blogger, and fellow writer that has shown their support for The Variant Series. I never could have done this without you! Thank you!
