Closing the Circle (Guardians of the Pattern, Book 6)

by Jaye McKenna

  Miko nodded agreement.

  “All right, enough about Rafe. Can I do anything for you?”

  Can I… can I come back to the cabin with you? Away from Rafe?

  “I… don’t think that’s a good idea. Not yet, anyway. You were right. Draven was hurt. Right now, he’s fighting a raging infection and riptide addiction. If he survives, he’s going to need time to heal, and I don’t want to give anyone else reason to come poking around out there. If you leave, I’ll have to explain it to Kyn and Luka, at the very least.”

  Miko nodded slowly. I understand. It’s easy to wipe things from the records. Not so easy to wipe them from people’s minds.

  “Right. And I don’t want you to see Draven hurting, either.”

  What do you think you’re protecting me from, Cameron?

  Cameron winced, perhaps remembering just what it was he’d rescued Miko from all that time ago.

  When he’d gone, Miko decided the best way to shut out Rafe’s mythe-shadow was to bury himself in work again. As he sank down into the net, a flash tasting of fear and danger and something else caught his attention. He followed it, moving away from the level the data structures occupied, down into the depths of the mythe. Down toward the level where the warped, twisted remnants of the Pattern lay.

  Darkness and chaos. And in the thick of it, Cameron and Draven, their threads tangled together.

  Enemies? Or allies?

  Miko tried to follow the threads to find out, but the pattern shifted again, disappearing before he could see what forces bound together the first two people who had ever tried to protect him.

  Chapter Five

  Day and night tumbled over each other, light and dark, pain and sleep. Hot waves of agony crashed through Draven’s body, and he froze and burned, sometimes at the same time. He was dimly aware of someone moving about in the space around him, but he was too sick to identify who it was or what their intention might be.

  Sometimes his head was gently lifted from the pillow, and he was given small sips of water. At least, he thought it was water. It had a funny, metallic taste, and he didn’t like it. Later, though, his mouth was so dry and his body so hot that he gulped it down, not caring about the taste. Sometimes it came right back up, and then someone held his head and stroked his sweat-soaked hair while his stomach heaved.

  Light and dark flashed by again with dizzying speed. A hand brushed his forehead, then moved carefully behind him to lift his head. A straw was placed gently between his lips, and Draven sucked down cool water.

  “That’s it. Drink as much as you can.”

  Draven couldn’t remember who that voice belonged to. He forced his eyes open and found himself looking up at Cameron Asada.

  What the hell was Asada doing here?

  And where was here?

  Cameron laid a hand over his forehead. “Good. The fever’s gone, at least.”

  “Fever?” Draven whispered.

  “You got stabbed, remember?”

  Memory came surging back, and Draven recalled snatches of a hellish flight through a snowstorm, and lying in bed in a primitive lodge, a warm body beside him. He glanced around, but this room was different. Brighter. Warmer. No stove in the corner with dark shadows creeping from behind it.

  “Where…?” he rasped.

  “You’re on Institute property. This is one of the cabins we use for training. Or for getting people off of riptide.”

  Draven shuddered.

  Riptide.

  He wasn’t craving it, but he didn’t feel high, either.

  “Am I healed?”

  “From the stab wound, yes. But not psionically. Eleni fixed you up, and she did a nice job. Can’t even see a scar.”

  “You looked?”

  Cameron flushed. “It’s always… interesting to see what my sister can do. I couldn’t see any trace of the bullet wound she healed a few years back, either.”

  “She did that?”

  “Yeah, she was there that night. You won’t remember — you were already unconscious when she arrived.”

  Draven fell silent. He had plenty more questions, but lacked the energy to ask them, or deal with whatever the answers might be.

  Cameron shifted uncomfortably. “Eleni wanted me to talk to you about what happens next, make sure you understand. That infection was bad. It was everywhere. It’s under control now, but it’s left you weak. Ideally, we’d let you heal and get your strength back before we withdraw the riptide, but Eleni says we can’t wait that long. You’re getting a steady dose through the IV right now, but your liver and your kidneys can’t take much more. Eleni wants to start the detox now.”

  “And?”

  “And… the withdrawal could kill you. You’re in lousy shape right now, and the amount of riptide we’re having to give you to keep the withdrawal symptoms under control is pretty damn close to lethal. If you want to live, we have to stop it now.”

  “Do it,” he whispered, and tried not to let the fear show. It didn’t matter that most of his life had been a bitter struggle; Draven wasn’t ready to give it up. Not yet. He’d never been able to shake the belief that there was something better coming, and that he needed to be ready for it. It was probably just wishful thinking, but if, by some chance, it wasn’t…

  “You’re sure? Eleni says… she says it won’t be pleasant.”

  “I’ve seen riptide withdrawal before, Cameron. I know what I’m asking for. I… I want to live.”

  A hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed. “Then we’ll do our best to see that you do.”

  Draven closed his eyes, and time expanded and contracted, sometimes skipping by and sometimes dragging until he could almost feel the weight of every excruciating second.

  The next time he woke, the crawling things were back. They’d invaded every empty space inside him, and now they were chewing him apart. His skin ruptured as they burst free, only to dive back in, drilling all the way down to his bones.

  He burned and he froze, and through it all, the things kept coming, kept eating him alive. Desperate to get them off of him, he tried to brush them away, only to find his wrists were pinned.

  When they started chewing through his eyes and into his brain, he screamed and screamed until they filled his mouth and every breath became a fight.

  “Easy, easy. It’s okay. You’re hallucinating, Draven. None of it’s real.”

  That voice riveted his attention, and he grabbed at it like a drowning man might clutch at a rope.

  Get them off please get them off…

  His mouth was full of them, and they were running down his throat and into his belly. He couldn’t form words, but he could suck in enough air to scream again.

  He became aware of a warm pressure around his hand, as if someone was holding it and squeezing it gently.

  “I’m sorry,” the voice said. “I’m sorry it has to be so goddamn awful. I asked about getting something to put you under for the worst of it, but Eleni says no. Your body can’t take any more drugs.”

  He couldn’t answer, not even to beg for someone to end it.

  “It was the same for me. They couldn’t put me out, either. Had to go through it. Trial by fire. Get through this, and we’ll knock back a few beers and compare hallucinations.”

  Tremors rocked him, and he struggled to see, to breathe, to remember.

  The hand squeezed again, and something brushed lightly across his forehead. Not sharp, rasping claws, but something warm and soft.

  “It’ll be okay,” the voice whispered in his ear. “You can do this. You’re strong. You want to live. You wouldn’t have come to me if you didn’t.”

  The voice was wrong. He wasn’t strong.

  He was scared, and he hurt.

  Draven shivered and tried not to feel the tiny claws dragging over his skin.

  * * *

  This had to be one of the longest nights Cam had ever spent. By the time the pearly grey light of dawn crept in through the curtains, Draven’s voice was all but
gone. He was still trying to scream, but only a hoarse rush of air came out. Cam gripped his hand tightly, as he had for most of the night, trying to will some of his own strength into the man. Thankfully, he didn’t have to hold him down; he’d helped Eleni restrain him as soon as the pain had started.

  Now, Draven was using the last of his strength to fight against the restraints. Flashes of his own nightmare memories had Cam sweating in sympathy. His own struggle with addiction might have been well over half a lifetime ago, but he remembered it vividly.

  Remembered being a slave to the drug, doing whatever it took to get more. Remembered dragging himself up the narrow, dirty stairwell to that shitty apartment that was all he and Eleni could afford, tears blurring his vision, blood and filth soaking his jeans.

  The wad of cash had felt like a lead weight in his pocket, and he’d known it wouldn’t be enough. Maybe enough to pay the rent, but not enough to keep the promises he’d made to Eleni: a hot meal in her belly, a new blanket for the mattress she slept on, that cute T-shirt with the pink frogs…

  All the things she should have had, all the promises he meant to keep…

  The bitter truth was that with every passing day, Eleni was becoming far less important than his next hit. Every promise he made eventually turned into riptide coursing through his veins.

  “Cam?”

  Eleni’s voice jerked him out of the past, and he blinked up at her. She was switching out the IV bag. His eyes traced the line of tubing down to the figure on the bed. Draven lay still for now, his breath a harsh rasp in a throat that had to be raw from screaming.

  “You looked pretty far away,” Eleni said.

  “I was in Paris. Thinking about that shitty little apartment we had after we got away from him.”

  Eleni shook her head. “You still can’t call him Dad.”

  “Angus McKinnon is my father. Eric Asada stopped being that when he started smacking you around.”

  She gave him a tired smile. “You used to bait him so he’d leave me alone.”

  “And you used to heal me after he beat the shit out of me. Fair trade, I’d say.” Her eyes met his, and he sensed the conflict within her, the things she wanted to say, but wouldn’t.

  He could read her thoughts if he wanted. Eleni wasn’t a telepath or even an empath; she had no way to keep him out of her mind, and with the bond they shared, it would have been so easy. But he’d sworn, years ago, that he’d never violate her that way. Not her. She was his other half, the light to his darkness, and he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe and happy.

  Eleni didn’t look very happy now. There were dark circles under her eyes and shadows deep inside them, and he was the one who’d put them there. She’d slept while he’d watched over Draven, but it didn’t look like it had been a restful sleep.

  “How much longer is this going to go on?” Cam nodded toward Draven. “He’s still hallucinating, and he’s getting weaker.”

  Eleni pushed straggling strands of auburn hair out of her eyes. “Not too much longer. A few hours, maybe. Then all he needs is rest.” She cocked her head, dark eyes fixing on him. “Have you thought about what comes next? Once he’s out of danger, I need to be back on campus. He’s not going to be strong enough to be left alone for a while. He’ll need help getting out of bed for at least a few days. And even then, he won’t be able to do much for himself. He needs plenty of rest, healthy food, and a stress-free environment.”

  “Stress-free environment?” Cam shook his head and let out a tired bark of laughter. “If you figure out where I’m going to get that, let me know.”

  “I’m serious, Cam. Do I need to schedule one of the nurses to come out here and stay with him until he’s strong enough to manage on his own?”

  “No. I’m trying to involve as few people as possible. I’ll stay with him until he’s able to take care of himself. It might not be for too long, anyway. I want to get Jaana out here to take a look at him. If she can heal the psionic damage, then we won’t need to keep him isolated, and we can think about moving him someplace more secure.”

  “You’re going to heal him?” Eleni’s voice was flat, her features hard as stone.

  “What did you think we were going to do? We can’t give him Anarin.”

  “No, we can’t. Not if he’s going to survive.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “How soon does he need to testify?”

  “Does it matter?” he countered, neatly avoiding the question and another lie. “If we don’t heal his psi-centers, then everything we’ve done so far is for nothing, because as soon as he hits civilization, he’s back on riptide. Or Anarin.”

  There was a long silence before she said coolly, “I’ll put together some instructions for you. If all goes well, you won’t be needing me after tomorrow.”

  “Understood. And Eleni… thank you.”

  Eleni gave him a dark look. “Know this, Cameron Dean: if he cuts a deal with FedSec and walks free, I’m going to be very disappointed. In the Charter for allowing it, and in you for being an accomplice to it.”

  Cam didn’t have an answer for that. Not one Eleni would understand, anyway. He wasn’t even certain he understood.

  * * *

  All night, Draven’s mythe-shadow thrummed with the colors of tearing, searing pain, until Miko could barely stand another moment of it. He couldn’t sleep, not even after dragging his quilt into the corner. Pulling his own mythe-shadow in close made no difference, and he eventually gave up and turned his thoughts to Rafe.

  If they’d been as close as Rafe claimed, why did Miko have no sense of it? Why couldn’t he feel Rafe’s thread? Maybe Rafe wasn’t remembering Miko at all. Maybe they were clones. Cloning was illegal in the Federation, but he and Rafe had come from the Colonial Alliance, and although some Alliance worlds had legal codes based on the Federation Charter, many didn’t.

  The more he thought about it, the more sense it made.

  Miko dipped into the net and began digging around. Somewhere, hidden deep within supposedly protected data structures, there would be a gene-matrix for Rafe Azziani. If he could find it, he could compare it to his own, see how similar they were. The files were easy enough to find, but when he tried to compare them, Miko realized he had no idea which differences were significant and which weren’t. He was going to have to ask someone for help.

  When morning came, before he could change his mind, he grabbed the portable voice-synth unit and went straight to the infirmary. Eleni was out, taking care of Draven, but Damon was there, and Damon already knew about Rafe.

  Damon looked up, surprise flickering through his mythe-shadow when he saw Miko waiting in his office doorway. “Miko,” he said with a warm smile. “I was just asking Luka about you at breakfast this morning. How are you holding up?”

  Miko set up the voice-synth unit on Damon’s desk. “I’m all right, but I need help with something.”

  “Okay… what can I do for you?”

  Miko pulled the chair around the desk so he could sit next to Damon, then dipped into the net and set his own and Rafe’s gene-matrices side by side on the data screen on Damon’s desk. “I need to find out if these are from the same person, or if they’re relatives or… or something else.” Miko had copied the files and stripped out the meta-data that identified himself and Rafe, but from the worried frown wrinkling Damon’s brow, he’d already guessed whose they were.

  “There’s an app that’ll run a comparison and tell us how closely related the two matrices are,” Damon said. “Do you want me to run it?”

  Miko nodded.

  Damon’s pale grey eyes met his. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m sure.”

  Damon’s fingers flew over the keyboard as he called up the app. It didn’t take long for the screen to fill with information. Damon studied the data, his frown deepening as his eyes traveled over the screen. “Okay… this is a little weird.”

  “What?”

  “It says here we’re looking at identical twins, male, m
id-twenties… but… given the test dates and ages, there’s a two-year age difference. The guy on the right is two years older than the guy on the left. Has someone been messing with the data, do you think?”

  “Maybe. Some of it came from a lab in the Alliance.” Ropes of cold slithered through Miko’s belly. Two years. The Mathilde had been missing for nearly two years.

  Two years that apparently hadn’t passed for Miko.

  Except…

  Except they had. His memories of that time were vivid: Aio’s lessons in navigating the mythe; swimming and dancing with the dragons; and finally, the loss and desolation he’d experienced when Aio had told him he had to leave the mythe and go back to the human world.

  “Miko… this is you and Rafe, isn’t it?”

  Miko nodded. “Are you sure we’re twins and not… not clones?”

  “I’m sure. You’re definitely not clones. There are markers we’d see in clones that aren’t present in these matrices. Do you… do you want me to call Cam? Or Kyn?”

  “No. I’m all right. Thank you, Damon.”

  He left before Damon could suggest anything else — like maybe a visit to Psych Services — but he felt Damon’s eyes on him as he slipped out, and guessed he hadn’t heard the last of it.

  Damon would certainly say something to Luka if he was worried. And Luka would tell Kyn.

  In his own office, Miko mulled over what he’d learned.

  If he and Rafe were twins, that meant they were family.

  Miko had almost hoped to learn that they were clones, because then Rafe might be remembering someone else, not him. Although the fact that Rafe remembered him talking about the dragons did, as Rafe had said, clinch it.

  As if summoned by Miko’s thoughts, Rafe’s mythe-shadow, always an irritating presence at the edge of his awareness, flared through him, sharp and painful, oily and dark. The sense of wrongness was drawing closer, as if Rafe was approaching. Miko drew in his mythe-shadow and steeled himself, and moments later, there was a knock on the door.