“Next,” Spring said, giving Lizzie the most impressive go-to-hell look she’d ever seen, “you sit on your freckled ass and wait until your freak powers are needed.”
So Spring was one of the SHP members who wasn’t shy about vocalizing her hatred of Shifters and Seers. Good to know.
“And when my freckled ass and freak powers are needed?”
“You will be given an assignment and a handler,” Pari said from her spot near the window. She had been contently watching the busy city street when Lizzie emerged from the bathroom. “Your handler will take you to your destination and ensure you complete your mission. When you’re done, he will bring you back here, Dr. Patel will return with his bag of tricks, and the next thing you know, you’ll be waking up in your room at Brownlow Manor.”
Spring sat up on the bed. She was thin to the extreme with fair skin and wispy blond hair, which made her look a bit like a living corpse sitting up in its coffin.
“And while you’re out on assignment, you do exactly what your handler tells you,” she said, brushing her bangs back from her eyes. “No yelling for help or trying to give him the slip. Your friend here has told you what happens when you disobey, hasn’t she?”
Lizzie thought of the little nub where Caroline’s finger had once been. It evoked a rage so powerful she could have easily bitten off Spring’s finger to make it even.
“I hear your little coyote heals completely every time he Changes. Mack loves that. Usually he has to wait much longer than a month to get his playthings back to working condition.”
Lizzie lunged at the same time the lock on the door disengaged. It was too late for her to change course. The door swung open as she plowed into Spring. It was only a matter of seconds before she was being lifted and restrained against a very wide and hard chest.
“What did you do?”came Alistair’s carefully polished accent from somewhere to her left. At first, she thought he was talking to her, but before she could defend herself, Spring said, “Me? What did I do? She’s the crazy supernatural freak who attacked me.”
Alistair stepped up so he was in her line of sight. He was dressed in jeans, a buttoned-up shirt, and a snazzy suit jacket. As always, he looked every inch the quintessential rich boy he was.
“David, put her down. She’s not to be touched.”
The barrel-chested man put her down, and she stepped as far away as possible. Unfortunately, it was a tiny room, so as far away as possible was only about six inches.
“Are you okay?” Alistair asked, something akin to concern in his eyes.
“Yeah. I’m good. He didn’t touch skin.” And fortunately, the shower revived her enough she was able to block what the dress couldn’t stop from trying to race through their connection.
Alistair gave her another once over with his eyes before turning back to Spring. In the brief moment it took to turn his head, his face went through a complete transformation. The carefully structured mask of concern and charisma was gone and replaced by one of cold contempt.
“I’ll ask you again,” he said, voice full of venom. “What did you do to her?”
Spring’s nostrils flared. “I didn’t do anything. I was just reminding her what would happen to her precious boyfriend if she tried to make a run for it on the outside.”
Pari had been watching the entire exchange with zero emotion, but at Spring’s words, her eyes rounded and sought out Lizzie’s. Once their gazes locked, she gave the smallest shake of her head.
You can’t let them know how the two of you feel for each other.
If she was reading Alistair’s expression correctly, he might be piecing together what no one else besides Pari had, and if he did, they were screwed. What would he do when he realized he didn’t have her wrapped around his little finger like he thought?
“She threatened a member of my pack,” Lizzie said, hoping no one else noticed the unevenness of her voice. “We protect pack. Always.”
True. It wasn’t the reason she’d attacked Spring with every intention of causing her lasting damage, but still a true statement that gave nothing away. At the very least it was enough to convince Alistair.
With a tilt of his head, he motioned to David, who yanked Spring against his mile-wide chest, capturing both her hands in one meaty fist. His other hand rested against her throat, his thumb and finger securing her chin.
“No. Please. Don’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Spring’s panicked pleas called to something inside Lizzie, but the Seer held her ground no matter how much she ached to intervene.
“Spring, your services are no longer required,” Alistair said, his tone deceptively bored.
“Please. Please don’t. Please.” Spring struggled against David’s chest, but it was useless. Alistair’s hand disappeared inside his coat, and when it reemerged, a knife was clasped in his fingers. With less emotion than Lizzie showed picking out something to watch on Netflix, he slid the razor-sharp blade along the inside of Spring’s arm. She screamed, but the heart-piercing sound was cut short by the discarded towel Alistair stuffed in her mouth before making three more slices to create a rectangle of flesh. He regarded it critically before running the blade along the length of the wound. With long, delicate fingers he peeled off the strip of skin.
“This is not the entire pound you’re due,” he said, offering the bloodied bit of flesh to Lizzie, “but it’s a start.”
The room spun in and out of focus.
Lizzie shook her head and backed up until the back of her knees hit the mattress. “No. It’s enough.” On the other side of the room, Pari covered her mouth with her hand as if to stifle a scream or stop herself from becoming sick.
He was insane. Lizzie had known it all along, but it wasn’t until she saw the evidence up close and personal that she realized exactly what that meant.
“Please, just let her go. She needs a doctor.”
Alistair turned back to Spring, and after letting her know that screaming wouldn’t be in her best interest, he removed the towel and wrapped it around her arm to staunch the blood flow. “You see, Spring,” he said in that eerily calm way of his, “the Shifters and Seers of this world aren’t our enemy, and treating them as if they are will no longer be tolerated. Your association with me and this organization is dissolved, as of this moment.”
“You’re not going to get away with this,” she said, tears thick in her voice.
“How original,” Alistair said, flicking a piece of imaginary lint off his shirt. “What is my line? Oh yes. ‘I believe you will find that I can, and I have.’ Goodbye, Spring. Please be a dear and don’t let the door hit your flat arse on your way out.”
There must have been some signal Lizzie didn’t see because the door swung open, revealing a solidly built man with skin so dark it hardly seemed real. Upon seeing him, Spring went limp. It was as if all the anger fueling her packed up and headed off on vacation. Only her eyes, which were wide and wild, appeared to have any life as she let the newcomer lead her away.
“I’m sorry for that unpleasantness,” Alistair said, turning once again to Lizzie. “I should have known better than to put her on assignment here. She was one of my father’s most diligent disciples.”
Lizzie hoped what her mouth was doing looked like a smile rather than a grimace. “All’s well that ends well, I suppose.”
“Exactly.” Alistair’s eyes were practically glowing. “That is it exactly. What comes at the end is the important part. You and I understand it, but someone like Spring…” He shook his head with a sigh. “But someday they’ll see, won’t they?”
She wanted to scream, rage… anything other than stand there and act like nothing horrific had just happened. But stand there she did. There really was no other choice. She knew that what happened to Spring would look tame compared to what he would do to her - or Layne - if he thought she had betrayed him.
“They’ll all see,” Lizzie agreed, helplessness a heavy weight in her stomach.
“Today, it begins. The wor
ld is changing even though it doesn’t know it yet.” He said in full-on cult leader mode, complete with vague prophesying and inherent charm.
There was no doubt of Alistair’s role in all this. The question was, if he was the cult leader in this made-for-CNN story, what did that make her? What role would a bleached-blond anchor with a too-big smile assign her when all was said and done? Would she be a victim or an accomplice? Would she be willing to fight for what was right, or do whatever he asked to keep Layne safe?
Would she be a hero or a villain?
Alistair flashed one of his most endearing smiles and held out a gloved hand. “Are you ready to change the world, Lizzie Anders?”
Chapter 12
Victoria Station was busy but not overly crowded in the early afternoon. The smell of baked goods from various stands made Lizzie’s stomach growl as she and Alistair walked through the station to the stairs leading down to the the Tube.
She could make a run for it. There was no doubt in her mind if she made a break for it, screaming for help, there was no way Alistair could stop her. But she remained by his side as they darted around other travelers and fed their cards through the stalls leading down to the platforms.
David the Giant tried to talk Alistair out of taking public transportation, but he had insisted. Once they were out of the car carrying Pari off to wherever her assignment was, Alistair apologized for David’s lack of trust. “One day they will all come to know you like I do, but until then, I’m afraid we’re going to face a few obstacles.”
If those obstacles were his followers thinking she was going to stab him in the back at the first available opportunity, then she could handle it. Especially since the incident at the hotel had cemented her resolve to stab him in the back at the first available opportunity.
But that opportunity wasn’t here nor now. Sure, she could run off screaming and get away, but what would happen to Layne? Spring was right. They would torture him, leaving him near death until the full moon, and then once he was whole again, they would start all over.
Her stomach rolled at the memory of what they did to him on the night of the full moon. He thought she didn’t know, but of course she did. She Saw it the moment they carried him back into the apartment.
What if they didn’t wait until his salvation was only hours away? What if the next time they left him half-dead for days or even weeks? How much would he have to endure before she could find him?
It was too big of a risk, so instead of walking up to the uniformed officer on the other side of the platform and informing him she had been kidnapped, she stood stoically beside Alistair and waited for the train to come. One day, he would slip up and give them a way out. She just had to be patient and wait. Already, he trusted her more than most of his own people. It said more about his issues than it did her personally, but it was a start.
A whoosh of air tickled her cheeks, followed quickly by the sound of an approaching train. The cars whizzed by, and she briefly wondered if it was going to actually stop.
She’d never been on any type of subway system before. She’d grown up in Southern California, where burrowing into ground that had a habit of shaking and quaking every few years was a bad idea. Since then she’d been around the world as a member of the Alpha Pack, but that travel normally involved private planes and convoys of military-ready vehicles. She hadn’t used public transportation since she was thirteen and took the bus once a week to buy groceries.
The train was much cleaner than she was expecting. Maybe it was because of all the old movies set in New York that Mischa loved so much, but she’d been expecting graffiti and trash. Instead, overly-cheerful ads smiled down on cold, hard seats that looked remarkably clean considering the number of people who sat on them daily. Layne probably would have gagged and said something about the stink of too many bodies and food combos, but to her nose, even the smell was innocuous.
The train was crowded, but Alistair led her to a lone empty seat next to a stack of packages a woman had piled up beside her. The train jerked away from the station the instant her butt hit the seat, causing Alistair, who was clutching the handle above her head, to sway towards her. On instinct, she recoiled, a strangled noise emitting from her throat when his leg swayed too close to her knee. If Alistair noticed, he didn’t show it.
To be so crowded, the train car was almost silent. People stared at their phone screens or empty space, fastidiously avoiding one another’s eyes. A few people made quiet comments to their travel companions, but for the most part, no one said anything. The lack of voices made it all seem like a dream. For the first time in weeks, she was out in the real world, surrounded by people, yet there was no cacophony of voices. She could almost convince herself that they weren’t people at all, but some sort of hallucination brought on by extreme cabin fever.
They changed trains once before exiting at Charring Cross. The weather had been warm and sunny when they were at Victoria Station, but by the time they spilled out onto the street, clouds had begun to move in.
“We best get moving if we’re going to beat the rain,” Alistair said, leading her down the sidewalk. She was so disoriented, both from the drugs still coursing through her bloodstream and being thrust into an unfamiliar city, she didn’t realize what she was seeing at first. A concrete plaza stretched out before her. In the middle, two golden fountains were surrounded by merfolk. Stone lions lounged, watching the endless parade of double-decker busses and cars stream by. Lording over it all was a man in a tricorn.
“Trafalgar Square.”
“Indeed,” Alistair said. “I’m sorry. I’m being a horrible host.” He stopped, forcing a family of four to split up in order to move around him. “If you’ll look over there,” he said, pointing back towards the way they came from, “you can see Admiralty Arch. Beyond that is the mall, leading to Buckingham Palace. Parliament and Westminster Abbey are just down that road there.” He motioned to a busy road leading away from the square. Lizzie could see Big Ben stretching regally up towards the sky in the distance. “Directly in front of us,” he continued, “is the National Gallery, our destination.”
He had started walking again, and Lizzie had to practically jog to keep up.
“You do know I can’t grab onto a guard and figure out how to steal a Monet, right?” she asked, only half joking. She still wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to ask her to do. Fortunately, Alistair laughed as if she was the hottest thing to hit the stage at the Apollo.
“If I thought you could do that, we would be at the Tower of London shaking the hand of every person who was involved with securing the crown jewels,” he said, jogging towards their destination.
Lizzie had spent enough years living in giant, fancy houses as an Alpha Pack member so the entrance of the National Gallery shouldn’t have felt imposing, but it did. She wanted to look at everything, examine every column and contemplate each arch, but Alistair didn’t slow as they climbed the stairs and plowed through the lobby. His gait didn’t slow as they passed the spot where other visitors were tossing donations into a receptacle. Lizzie felt guilty walking into a place filled with priceless art and culture without giving something, but since she didn’t have so much as a pence on her, there wasn’t much she could do. She sent up a silent promise to the art gods that she would return one day and make it up to them.
Since it was the middle of the week, the museum wasn’t overly crowded. Only a handful of people stood in each gallery. Alistair pulled her through a set of rooms with blue walls where she briefly spied Monets and Picassos hanging on the wall. They finally came to a stop in a room where a gaggle of school kids in matching uniforms stood, listening to a curator tell a harrowing tale about the loss of an ear.
“Are those Van Goghs?” Lizzie asked, craning her neck to try to see over the children. Although, on second look, they appeared to be high school students, so maybe not so much children.
Lizzie had graduated - if you can really call it graduation when you’re getting homescho
oled by people only four years older than you - a year ago. Layne had finished up his last year at the Catholic high school Charlie forced him to attend in May. So, in a different life, in a world where her Sight didn’t cut her off from the rest of the world, those students could have been her friends. Still, she couldn’t help but think of them as kids. The number of years she’d been on this earth wasn’t much more than theirs, but with the amount of living she’d done she felt like she could have been their grandma.
“Van G…? Oh, Van Gogh,” Alistair said, pronouncing the painter’s name with a hard “f” sound. “Yes, we have quite a few of his works here. Are you a fan?”
“A bit.”
In truth, Lizzie didn’t know much about art. Maggie had taught her just enough to complete her arts appreciation course requirement. But like any other eighteen-year-old girl, she’d seen Starry Night enough times to develop a few romantic ideas about Paris and the painter. Educated and sophisticated she was not, but at least she had sense enough not to wax poetic about something she knew nothing about.
Too bad the girl with a loud, New England accent on the other side of the room wasn’t in possession of the same level of self-knowledge.
Maybe it was because she was distracted by the loud Americans, or maybe it was simply because she’d been drugged mere hours before, but Lizzie wasn’t aware they were no longer alone until a deep voice sounded just inches from her ear.
“Langford.”
Lizzie turned on the ball of her foot, bringing her fists up to protect her face.
“Did I startle you?” the newcomer asked with an impish smile that wasn’t anywhere close to age-appropriate. The guy looked like he was probably in his thirties or so. He might have been able to pass for younger if it wasn’t for the occasional strand of gray decorating his beard, but as it was, it took everything Lizzie had not to curl up her nose in disgust. “Distracted by art?”
“Something like that,” she said, carefully tugging off her gloves at the pointed look Alistair threw her direction.
Whispered Visions (Shifters & Seers Book 3) Page 10
