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

by Jaye McKenna

  “Jesus,” Kyn whispered.

  Miko wrapped his arms about himself and cast his awareness toward the shuttle. Draven and Cameron might be unconscious, but their threads were still entwined, both of them far dimmer than they should be.

  “Eleni’s the only reason he’s still alive,” Pat said. “She’s been busting her ass keeping him breathing ever since we dragged him aboard.”

  “What about Cameron?” Angus asked.

  Pat shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s unresponsive, but he doesn’t exactly read like he’s unconscious. He’s aware on some level, but really far away.” His gaze shifted to Miko. “Can you… can you sense him in your mythe?”

  I can feel him, Miko signed, but he’s lost, deep inside himself.

  Kyn translated that for the others, and Pat said, “Damn. I hope Jaana’s up to this.”

  They stood aside when the medical team started down the ramp. Eleni hovered beside Draven, holding an IV bag up as they moved across the floor. Cameron came next. He didn’t look hurt, but he felt so distant. Miko touched his hand as they wheeled the gurney past, but there wasn’t even a flicker of awareness from him.

  Alek was the last to be brought down the ramp. He was conscious, and his right thigh was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage. Angus moved toward him. “Are you all right, lad?”

  “Great, Dad… never better…” Alek’s words were slurred, his eyes dilated from the pain meds. “Dunno why you’re all makin’ such a… fuss. Jus’ a scratch.”

  Rhys, who was pushing the gurney, rolled his eyes and lifted a hand to ruffle Alek’s hair. “Might be all the blood, hotshot.”

  Angus took his youngest son’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Just lie back and enjoy the drugs. And let the nice med-techs do their jobs, aye?”

  “I’ll be good. Promise. Rhys, stop a sec… need to talk to Pat.” Rhys stopped next to Pat, and Alek blinked up at him. “Don’ be… puttin’ Draven in the brig, Cottrell. He went above… an’ beyond. Saved my fucking life…”

  Pat put a hand on his shoulder. “I know,” he said soberly. “I was there. Bravest thing I ever saw. We’ll figure something out, okay?”

  “I dunno…” Alek’s focus drifted for a moment, then jumped back to Pat. “Dunno if I would’ve done the same for him.”

  “Yeah, you would,” Pat said firmly. Alek gave him a doubtful look, and Pat squeezed his shoulder. “Do as you’re told, all right? I’ll be down to see you as soon as I’ve reported to Anja.”

  “Make sure you… tell her… ’bout Draven. He’s all right… for a Guild shooter.” Alek’s eyes tracked slowly over to Miko. “Great job, Miko… couldn’t have done it… without you.”

  Miko managed to give Alek a weak smile. Alek closed his eyes, and Rhys wheeled him off after the others with Angus walking beside him, still holding Alek’s hand.

  Luka was the last to emerge from the shuttle. He stumbled as he started down the ramp, face pale, eyes wide and stunned. Kyn hurried up the ramp to his side and steadied him with an arm around him.

  Are you all right? Miko signed.

  “I don’t know…” Luka looked lost as he leaned against Kyn. “I’m so cold. An’ my head hurts. Coulda fucking died down there, Miko.”

  “Looks like the shock’s finally setting in,” Kyn said. “I’ll take him down to the infirmary, see about getting him a tranquilizer.”

  It’s mythe-shock, Miko signed. He overextended himself. He needs some Anarin.

  “I’ll make sure he gets it,” Kyn said.

  “I’ll meet you down there after I’ve talked to Anja,” Pat said, and hurried off.

  As Miko turned to follow Luka and Kyn, Tarrin fell into step beside him. “You look tired, Miko. Can you rest yet?”

 

  Tarrin gave him a grim nod. “All right. But the minute we know something, I want you in bed.”

  Miko didn’t answer. He checked the Wanderlust’s data-net. Everything was quiet for now. The ship was headed out-system, and thus far, no one on the planet or the station realized they’d gone. That would change once Space Fleet got their AI untangled, but for now, Miko wasn’t needed anywhere.

  In the infirmary’s waiting room, Tarrin sat on one of the long, padded benches, and Miko curled up beside him. Tarrin’s arm went around him, pulling him close, and Miko pulled his mythe-shadow in tightly. So much fear and pain and worry…

  Would he ever feel safe again?

  Kyn joined them shortly. “Luka’s out cold,” he reported. “I made sure he got both Anarin and a tranquilizer. Hopefully, he’ll feel better when he wakes up. Any word on the others yet?”

  “No,” Tarrin said. “Nothing yet.”

  Warm and secure next to Tarrin, Miko set watches on the threads he was monitoring, then let his mind drift. He was nearly asleep when Jaana’s voice jerked him awake.

  “…can feel him so clearly,” she was saying, “but I can’t get through. There’s a shield around his mind… I can sense him, but I don’t think he can sense me at all. He’s cut the outside world off completely.” Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned against the wall. “It makes perfect sense. When what’s going on around you is too much to bear, you retreat inward and slam the door shut behind you. Unfortunately, with Cam’s conditioning, that door is so thick, I don’t think anyone’s going to get through it.”

  Miko rubbed his eyes and looked around. Pat had joined them while he was dozing.

  “What can we do?” Kyn asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jaana said softly. The dark colors of exhaustion were smeared through her mythe-shadow, and she was swaying on her feet. Kyn rose and went to her side, put an arm around her, and guided her to the seat he’d been sitting in. She gave him a tired smile as she sank down.

  “Has he taken psionic damage?” Pat asked.

  “No.” Jaana shook her head. “This is more like a defense mechanism. I don’t think he’s going to come out unless someone convinces him it’s safe.” She turned to look at Tarrin. “Tarrin, you brought Miko back once, after he’d retreated deep into himself. Can you reach Cam?”

  “This isn’t the same thing,” Tarrin said quietly, and Miko sensed his regret. “Miko was lost in the mythe. I’m not sure where Cam is, but he’s not in the mythe.”

  “He’s hiding behind a shield,” Jaana said. “A shield so thick, nothing can get through it.”

  There was a long silence before Kyn said, “I know someone who can break through shields.” He glanced down the hall toward the room where Eleni and Damon were still working on Draven. “If he survives.”

  Jaana’s eyes brightened, and Miko sensed the hope flaring through her. “Draven,” she breathed. “Of course. He broke down your shield, and I couldn’t even see that.” Her face fell and she shook her head. “But would Cam trust him?”

  “Yeah. I think he would,” Kyn said. “I think there’s something going on between them.”

  “Oh?” Jaana’s eyebrows rose.

  Their threads are tangled, Miko signed. Like mine and Tarrin’s. And Luka and Damon’s.

  Kyn and Jaana exchanged a long look, and finally Jaana said, “If it means getting Cam back, we need to try it. Do you think Draven would do it?”

  He’ll do it, Miko signed, then turned to look Kyn in the eye. But if he does, you need to make sure he has a place here. Cameron needs him. And Hope needs Cameron.

  “If Draven can help Cam, then I’ve got his back,” Kyn said. “And if anyone else has a problem with that, they can take it up with me.”

  “And me,” Pat said grimly. “He was ready to lay down his life for Alek. As far as I’m concerned, he has a place with us if he wants it.”

  * * *

  Draven was braced for pain. He ought to be drowning in it, fighting for every breath, but when he opened his eyes, he was breathing freely, his body almost tingling with energy.

  Eleni was sitting at hi
s bedside. She looked terrible. Sweat-damp hair straggled free from her ponytail, and her pale face was smeared with blood. His, probably.

  The smile she gave him when she saw he was awake looked forced, and her fear was like the edge of a knife, a sharp whisper slicing through his mind.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “Wanderlust. Infirmary.”

  “Cam?”

  “Needs you.” Eleni’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion. “Please.”

  “Where?” He sat up, her sense of urgency igniting his own, and only then noticed Kyn standing by the door.

  “He’s in the next room,” Kyn said. “He’s put up some kind of shield. Jaana says it’s a defense mechanism. She can’t get through it. We were hoping maybe you could. Eleni just gave you everything she’s got and then some, so you could help him. Clothes are there.” Kyn nodded toward the counter. “I’ll be waiting for you outside.” With that, he left.

  The jeans on the counter were his, but the shirt wasn’t. Cam had worn that shirt the last time he’d come out to the cabin, and it smelled faintly of him, a scent that transported Draven right back to those three magical nights when a raging storm had sheltered them from the world… lying in front of the fire staring into Cam’s eyes… touching his body and his mind… sharing his darkest secrets…

  He wanted that again so badly, it hurt. But he couldn’t see any way he could have it. When this was over, he’d be disappearing back into the slums of Aberdeen to hide from Alan Romani and the Sapphire Guild’s retribution, and Cam would be leaving the Federation.

  Forever.

  When he was dressed, Draven lifted Eleni from the chair and laid her on the bed. “Thank you for saving my life,” he said as he pulled the blankets up over her. “I… realize it might have been easier to let me die.”

  She gave him a tired smile. “Cam was willing to risk his life and his career for you. And I’d move the stars for him.”

  “Maybe, but there are plenty of people here who would probably rather you hadn’t.”

  “You might be surprised,” she said softly, words slurring with exhaustion. “You took two bullets for Alek. That kind of loyalty is worth a hell of a lot, Draven. Right now, you’ve got a lot of credit with the people who matter. Use it wisely, hmm?”

  On impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Eleni gave him a weak smile and closed her eyes. Draven squared his shoulders and headed for the door. The moment he opened it, Damon pushed past him and hurried to Eleni’s side.

  Kyn was waiting in the hallway. “Damon will take care of Eleni,” he said. “He wanted to send her to sleep when she’d finished working on you, but she insisted on waiting until you were awake.”

  In the next room, Miko was sitting at Cam’s side looking small and lost. He rose to his feet and stared up at Draven with wide amethyst eyes.

  Draven pulled him into a hug, and Miko squeezed him hard. Draven asked.

 

 

  Miko held on tightly for a few moments, then pulled away.

  Miko slipped out, but Kyn hesitated, meeting Draven’s eyes. “Good luck,” he said softly.

  Draven nodded, and Kyn closed the door, leaving him alone with Cam. He dropped down in the chair beside the bed and began to study the shield that hid Cam’s mind. At first glance, it appeared to be a solid, impenetrable wall.

  “How in hell did you manage to build this?” Draven muttered.

  He moved in closer, examining it in minute detail. Up close, it wasn’t as solid as it had looked, but it was nothing like the shifting, kaleidoscopic shapes and colors he’d encountered when he’d broken through Kyn’s shield. This was like a random network of interconnected paths and hallways. There was no discernible pattern; nothing upon which to base a counter-pattern or build a key.

  He’d just have to go in, see if he could figure it out from the inside. Risky, because if he ended up lost, he might never find his way back to himself.

  But Cam was somewhere in there, lost and alone, and that was all that mattered. Draven centered himself, focused on the largest of the openings, and slipped inside.

  * * *

  The maze was not a maze.

  It was a nightmare out of his own past, and Draven wished he’d never come. The moment he’d stepped inside, he found himself standing on the corner of Third and Hargon, center of downside Paris’s thriving adult entertainment district. It was late evening, peak hours for the dance clubs and sex pits lining the street. Everywhere he looked, huge screens played erotic vid-clips. Every pleasure that could be had — legal or not — could be found on the streets of downside Paris.

  Like Draven, Cam had grown up in this city. Draven hadn’t known him then, had no idea what Cam might be seeking here. Psi told him nothing; the psionic landscape was dead and dark in this place, which made sense if Cam had shut everything out with that nearly impenetrable shield of his.

  The mythe might tell him more. Draven sank his awareness deeper, into the writhing chaos of the mythe, and there it was — a tiny spark with a hint of the flavors and textures of Cam’s mythe-shadow.

  North. Straight up Hargon, it looked like.

  Of course. Right into the heart of his own hell.

  It isn’t real. It’s just a construct, something out of Cam’s memory…

  His senses told him otherwise. The cool summer air was laced with the musky tang of sex and the sweet smell of the euphorics piped into the dance clubs. It smelled real enough to make his stomach roll. Real enough to evoke a sense-memory that sent him to his knees, retching.

  Hot lights on his skin, cold floor beneath his bare feet, hands groping his body, and the burn of phoenix making him want those hands on him almost more than he wanted his next breath.

  With a muttered curse, Draven struggled to his feet, faced north, and started walking. He wanted to keep his head down, wanted to stare at the dirty pavement and not see the familiar buildings that had played host to the events of his darkest memories.

  He dared not allow himself that weakness. The ghosts dancing on the sidewalks and gathered in tight knots in front of some of the clubs might be figments of his own imagination.

  Then again, they might not be.

  His gut tightened and churned as he realized he was walking through Paris-that-was, not Paris as it existed now. The buildings, the fashions, the cars… this was the Paris of his childhood, the place that dogged his memories and haunted his dreams.

  Cam’s, too, apparently.

  Draven quickened his step as he approached the Meat Market. It didn’t exist in the real Paris. Not anymore. It had burned to the ground with Roark trapped inside years ago, much the same way DeMira’s mansion had burned. But here in Cam’s construct, it stood once more in all its chrome and neon glory.

  The boy he’d been — Diri — had withered and died in that place.

  The man he would become — Draven — had been forged in that hell, tempered with pain, quenched in blood.

  Once DeMira had made it clear that he owned Draven, body and soul, he’d taken the core of cold fury that was all that was left of him, and molded him into a killer.

  Draven kept his head down as he passed the place, distantly amused at the irony of the Sapphire Guild’s executioner cringing away from the shadows of his own past.

  When the entertainment district finally gave way to dingy blocks of high-density apartments, his steps slowed. He knew this place, too, but the memories here were bittersweet. His mother had loved him and cared for him before riptide had destroyed her. He’d loved her, too, and taken care of them both when she couldn’t, stealing food, money, and whatever else they needed.

  It had been a mean, precarious existence, but it was the only time in Draven’s life when he’d felt wanted, not for ho
w he looked or what he could do, but for who he was.

  Following that spark in the mythe that tasted of Cam, he found himself standing in front of a building that was indistinguishable from the rest, except for the black numbers spray-painted on the scarred brick.

  Draven went inside. Cam was somewhere above him, but the elevators were out of order, with fraying grey tape across their battered doors. He took the stairs, the resonance of memory vibrating along his nerves. The buildings were identical. He and Cam had only lived a few blocks apart. How many times had they passed one another on the street?

  Twelve flights, he climbed. On the twelfth floor, he turned down the filthy hallway that led to number 1204. The plastic numbers originally fastened to the door had mostly disintegrated. Someone had spray-painted the numbers in fading blue paint just below their crumbling remains.

  Holding his breath, Draven raised a trembling hand and knocked on the door.

  “Who is it and what do you want?” Cam’s voice, raised, as if he was in another room and didn’t want to come to the door.

  “It’s me — Draven. Can I come in?”

  There was a long pause followed by the sound of multiple bolts being thrown. The door finally opened, and Cam stepped aside to let him in, then shut it firmly behind him and began locking it, pushing each bolt firmly into place. Draven counted seven of them, and wasn’t surprised.

  He thought he’d be walking into an apartment identical to his mother’s, but instead, he found himself standing in a door-lined hallway that stretched into the distance as far as he could see. Threadbare brown carpet covered the floor, and the walls were as scuffed and dirty as those in the stairwell had been.

  When Cam had finished securing the door, he pushed past Draven and headed back down the hallway.

  “Cam.”

  Cam didn’t respond. Draven followed him into a sparsely furnished bedroom. A mattress lay in one corner, covered in worn blankets. Across the room, a tiny closet stood open, and on the floor in front of it was a pile of clothing.