Captive Heart (30 page)

“Enough.” He did his best to smile at her and keep his worries to himself. “Seems to me the next steps are straightforward enough.”

Her eyes shined at him again, but this time the right way. The happier way. “I’m listening.”

“Breakfast. Coffee. Lots of it. Then we’ll look at whatever intel’s come in about the three buildings Junior coughed up in your interview last night. What does your gut say about that?”

He took a little risk and pulled her closer.
Definitely better shining in those pretty eyes now
. He liked that. A lot.

“I think we need to scour those buildings,” she said, “top to bottom.”

“See?” He kissed her quick and lived through it. “Not so hard for us to agree.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be hard to do breakfast. It’s already, like, five in the evening on Kérkira. I’ve missed morning and noon training classes. If I miss evening, too, Elana will kill me.”

Jack kissed her again even as she pulled away. “What a life you live,” he called after her as she headed out of his bedroom, aiming for the townhouse’s communications room.

“Oh, yeah,” she yelled back, her sweet voice echoing down the hall. “I’m a real globetrotter.”

The whistling came next, that old basketball theme, “Sweet Georgia Brown.”

All Jack could do was listen and laugh.

Rebecca blinked in the early-morning sunlight, immediately estimating the time to be between 6:30 and 7:00
A.M
., as New York City measured its passage. She was growing ever more accurate with figuring time, and with estimating and predicting other natural occurrences and forces like outbursts of dangerous weather, how much it might rain on a given day, and how many sparrows had hidden themselves along a leafy branch in Central Park.

She had no idea why she could do those things, but the skill was proving useful. For example, somehow she knew her brother would wake in the next handful of minutes, and he’d go immediately to her quarters to check on her. For “safety,” of course. Because he “cared.”

It would be safer if he found her where he expected her to be, at least for now.

Despite her great care to slip quietly from the man’s bed, Donovan Craig woke with a start. His big hand shot out and captured her wrist, squeezing the delicate bones just hard enough to make her gasp with pain.

“Sorry,” he murmured, thick beard twitching around his lips as he turned her loose. He sat up, giving her a full, delicious view of his scarred and muscled chest. His usually gruff voice sounded chagrined as he said, “Didn’t mean to grab you like that. You startled me.”

Rebecca shrugged and massaged her wrist, drinking in the pain. Then she pulled on her clothing, enjoying the big man’s look of disappointment. She liked him best of all the Coven. He had decorated his earthy-smelling private cell with stone crosses, intricate metal knot sculptures, and colorful prints from his home country. The sight of those crosses and knots and pictures gave her strange comfort, as did his Irish accent. His wild, passionate lovemaking fed her need for energy in ways she hadn’t thought possible, save for standing near death and letting the darkness take over her senses. She felt renewed and strong from their night together and pleased by the flickers of adoration in his gaze.

“I have to go back to my room.” She allowed herself to pull in the energy of Craig’s lust for her, thrilled yet again that she had discovered so many new ways to meet her need to absorb energy from other creatures. Death and torture, after all, could be messy and inconvenient. Sex always seemed to be possible and readily accessible.

“Don’t worry about your brother.” Craig’s voice became a possessive growl. “I won’t be lettin’ him cage you or chain you like he did before.”

None of the Coven would stand for that, Rebecca was fairly certain. She gave Craig a grateful smile anyway, as she had come to learn some of what men needed. She wasn’t a child and hadn’t been for many years, no matter what her brother thought.

“Griffen’s not what he once was,” Craig added, pulling Rebecca back toward the bed and treating her to another burst of hot, satisfying lust.

“He’s obsessed with vengeance.” She kissed Craig’s rough mane of hair. “He’ll find his way out of that dark forest soon enough.”

Craig let her go. “Before he destroys everything we’re building? If I don’t miss my guess, you’re far more powerful than he ever was. Am I wrong?”

Rebecca studied the man’s dark eyes and considered his question, then gave him an honest answer. “I don’t know.”

“You are. I can see it. Everyone can, except Griffen. Whatever blood you’ve got running in you, it’s stronger than all the concoctions he’s mixing.”

Rebecca bent down and kissed Craig’s whiskery mouth. He wasn’t the first man she had been attracted to in the Coven or elsewhere, but he was the first of Griffen’s group she had allowed to touch her. A good choice. A strong choice. If her brother did force her to act to bring him under control, Craig would be both powerful and loyal in the fight.

“I have to go,” she told him again as she separated her body from his. He didn’t argue as she let herself out of his cell, but she had figured he wouldn’t. Craig wasn’t ready for outright conflict with Griffen, either. Rebecca didn’t know why they were both avoiding that course of action, but she had a sense it was the right choice, at least for the moment.

She blended into the shadows still lingering in the warehouse, padding back to her room so quietly she didn’t disturb the mice and cockroaches she sensed scuttling behind the old, damaged walls. They kept to their own paths, and she resisted the urge to take energy from them. It wasn’t necessary. She was full for the moment, brimming over, after her time with Craig.

Keeping her movements quiet and economical, she covered the last few feet to her own cell and let herself in without a single noise.

The hulking figure of Seneca waited on the single chair in her room. He lifted his monstrous head and studied her with his flat, glittering eyes. Rakshasa-like claws and fur tufts extended, he smelled like ammonia and death—but the air of despair that had clung to him until she convinced her brother to release him from his barred prison had dissipated.

Rebecca moved immediately to a small, covered cage she kept at the foot of her bed. She worked the elemental lock that had been keyed to her energy, reached into the darkness inside, and snatched the larger of two field rats she had stored within the bars a few nights ago. Without comment or recrimination, she carried the writhing, snarling creature to Seneca, and he took it from her with an almost dignified gratitude.

Before he could begin twisting and breaking the rat’s limbs, Rebecca backed away from him and sat on the edge of her bed. She didn’t need this energy. Seneca could have it all, and she knew he appreciated her generosity, her understanding—and her silence until he finished torturing the creature to death. When he had taken from the rat every bit of pain and terror the animal had to offer, Seneca quickly and quietly consumed the carcass, dusting away his mess until not even a hair remained.

He folded his hands in his lap, and Rebecca saw the claws on his gnarled hands retract. “You take chances with your brother’s temper,” he said in a low voice as, down the hall, Griffen’s door banged open.

Rebecca glanced at her own door, waiting for Griffen’s entrance but feeling nothing. “I’m not afraid of him now.”

Seneca grunted, giving away his trepidation. “Why?”

“Because his men are becoming my men, and you’re my friend.” Rebecca didn’t smile at Seneca because he didn’t need tokens from her. He only needed rats and rabbits and squirrels—and her respect.

He grunted again. “I have no friends.”

Griffen opened Rebecca’s door, and she noted that his jeans and black hooded sweatshirt needed a wash. He could use a wash, too, with his greasy blond hair and food-flecked chin. Her brother had begun to slip in ways she hadn’t expected, but she still didn’t fear him. Perhaps she was being careless, but she didn’t think so.

Griffen’s cold blue eyes shifted to Seneca for a second, then flicked back to Rebecca. “You really have done a great job with him. He’s so much more useful and controllable now.”

Rebecca tensed at the way her brother spoke about Seneca, as if he wasn’t even in the room. To spare the monster his dignity, she got to her feet and moved out of the room, knowing that her brother wouldn’t try to stop her, that he’d follow her—so she led him where she wanted him to be. Downstairs, to the center of the training floor, where most of the Coven was assembling to work with Griffen’s genetically enhanced fighters. In the farthest area of the room, Craig made an appearance, leading two of the fighters with him and making a good effort to keep his greedy eyes off Rebecca.

Keeping each gesture casual, Rebecca greeted some of the men, then turned back to Griffen, who was trotting along behind her like a dog. “Do you have a plan to capture one of the creatures we ran into in that basement the night the Sibyls raided that stock operation? The winged things who seemed to be made of shadows. I think they were fascinating.”

Griffen slowed, then stopped walking, facing her a few feet away. He seemed to give her words some consideration, but quickly waved them off. “They were interesting, yes. But they’re distractions. No real concern of ours.”

Rebecca saw the Coven members eyeing Griffen. They had all experienced what Rebecca experienced near that basement—blasts of dark energy beyond anything they had encountered in the past. She kept her tone even and kind and tried to sound very innocent and curious as she said, “I believe they’re important. And powerful.”

Griffen gave her what he probably thought was an indulgent grin. “See, that’s why I’m the oldest. Because I have perspective. I can keep focus.”

The Coven went about its work, training the fighters to take better stances and level their weapons more quickly.

Rebecca watched each man, though she felt certain her brother would think she was ignoring them. “What if their blood could enhance your formulas, Griffen? Maybe their genetic structure is just the ingredient you need to make the injections stronger and more stable.”

She could tell Griffen was listening even though he wanted to dismiss her again, so she plunged ahead, letting herself go a little breathless. “Imagine, all that dark power binding with the Rakshasa talents. Sometimes the universe provides. Puts things in your path. I think the creatures were brought to your awareness for a reason.”

This type of plea played to Griffen’s belief in his own importance—maybe even better than she had thought it would. His eyes got brighter, and he focused on her more completely. “Would their power be controllable, you think?”

Rebecca let her gaze stray to the upper level, to her door, where the dark figure of Seneca stood silent and watching, waiting for any command she might give him. “Anything is controllable if you understand what it needs.”

Griffen nodded. Thought for a few moments. “Yes. I see. If we had a better formula, we could kill Sibyls faster.”

Rebecca held back a sigh.

There it was again, his incessant obsession. She had grown so weary of it, and she could see in the eyes of Griffen’s men that they had, too. Like Craig, they weren’t ready for outright rebellion. Not yet. But it wouldn’t be much longer. The way they looked at her, with interest, with lust, and sometimes with surprise and admiration—they were coming to respect her.

“I believe I can track the creatures,” she told Griffen, increasing that respect on every face in the room, save for her brother’s. He had become too distracted to notice such basic, important elements in his world. “If we take a few fighters with us, perhaps we can shoot one from the sky as it tries to fly away from us.”

This time Griffen’s grin was more bloodthirsty than condescending. “I like the way you think, Rebecca.”

Do you, brother?
Rebecca let her smile be kind even though she was finally feeling a few emotions like disgust and a bone-deep dissatisfaction. She let her expression remain sweet, young, and innocent as she regarded the man who had once kept her chained and behind bars to soothe his own fears.

Then you’re twice the fool I thought you were
.

The wood and stone gym smelled like rubber and wet puppies, courtesy of the room full of nattering girls rolling in every direction.

“Any dreams?” Elana asked as she and Andy positioned two eight-year-old adepts for a round of hand-to-hand fighting and made sure their pads were secure.

“Just the one about the ocean,” Andy said as she stepped off the training mat.
Last night, after Jack made love to me for hours
.

“Your quiet spot?” Elana’s white eyes seemed brighter than usual. “Yes, I had the same dream. I think it’s of great importance.”

Andy turned to stare at her just as the two adepts started punching it out, using hand pads to block each other’s blows. “But what could it possibly mean? What good are these dreams if we can’t interpret them?”

“I don’t know that any interpretation is necessary. The dreams may be quite literal.” Elana gestured at the girl on the right. “You. Savannah. You’re pulling your punches. Do you think a demon will do that? Hit her, for the sake of the Goddess. Let your partner learn something that might save her life one day.”

Andy watched the girls reposition and start over, wondering if she could ever be as perceptive as Elana. “If I follow your logic about the dreams, evil minions are going to kidnap Neala and me and use us to bring dead demons back to life, and then what? I’m going to get buried at sea in that quiet spot?”

Elana didn’t even treat that like a joke. She just looked perplexed. “I sensed no death in my dreams. Only possibilities.”

“Yeah, right. Look, if you don’t mind, I’ll worry about my water dreams after I take care of the kidnapping-demons-rising-from-the-dead nightmares, okay?”

Elana clucked. “Savannah’s still throwing sissy punches.” To Andy, she said, “It’s about time for you to go home, my dear. Instead of dreams, try to focus on the emotional needs of your fighting group.”

   Andy traveled back to New York City through the townhouse communications platform. Jack and the Brent brothers weren’t there, and Jake told her they were out distributing architectural diagrams of their next target to Sibyl fighting groups and grabbing an early dinner. Grateful for the few minutes of to-herself time, Andy walked back to the brownstone through the park, letting herself enjoy the slight coolness of the late-afternoon breeze. Fall would be coming soon.

Maybe I’ll get to slow down enough to notice it
.

Once she got back to the brownstone, she went straight upstairs and took a quick shower, then spent a few minutes studying herself in the foggy bathroom mirror.

“Still have the red hair, and it’s still curly.” No huge bags under her eyes, but she could definitely use a few nights of uninterrupted sleep. Overall, she didn’t look that much different than she used to, back when she was just an OCU officer rousting fortune-tellers and telephone psychics running scams. All the new roles—Sibyl, Mother, close friend, advisor, lover—none of those changes showed on her face.

Do they show on my heart? Can Jack see them all?

She thought maybe he could, that he could see all of her, even when she couldn’t. It amazed Andy that he never seemed to blink at all the different parts she was supposed to play. He worried, but he didn’t try to control her or stop her, just to help her. That was something special about him. One of a lot of special things.

Her fingers traveled to the bare hollow at the base of her throat. She felt a little naked without her crescent moon pendant, and she wondered if Camille had managed to create new ones yet. The air in the bathroom stirred, and remnant steam swirled across her cheeks and eyes. Andy pulled the moisture deep into her depths, enjoying the soothing sensation of the fresh water even as she caught another jolt of air energy.

She pulled on her blue jean shorts and cotton top and opened the door, still toweling her hair.

Dio stood outside dressed in a stylish, matching shorts outfit with beaded seams, arms folded, like some impatient kid waiting for her turn in the bathroom.

“Something’s bothering you,” Andy said, immediately aware of Dio’s low-level agitation.

Dio looked surprised, then yawned with a bit too much drama. “Just the same dream. It keeps me awake. I never get enough rest—but nothing like what you’re going through.”

“Yeah. Right.”
Don’t push her
. Andy couldn’t help glancing at the clock on the hall wall. One o’clock in the afternoon. She had been in Kérkira for four hours, and now she had at least eleven more hours of work to do here, at the townhouse, and tonight out on the streets. This living across time zones was enough to melt anybody’s brain. “Have you gotten briefings from the OCU today?”

“Jack and Cal and Saul think one of the properties looks more promising than the other two. We’ll probably start there, maybe as early as tomorrow night. He brought schematics over this morning, and we’ve been looking them over.”

Dio made a mighty effort to conceal any evidence of real emotion, but she didn’t fool Andy. Andy made a tentative reach with her water power, intending to offer Dio some energy and find out why she was being more evasive than usual about her feelings, but Dio stepped back from her and held up both hands. “Wait a minute. Don’t—don’t go doing that.”

“It’s my job.” Andy didn’t sigh, but only because she refused to allow herself that indulgence. “I’m supposed to sample your feelings, to sense your emotions. Flow. If you need energy, I give you energy. If you need clarity or relief, I help you find it. It soothes you, and it strengthens the group, so it helps me, too. Christ, am I sounding like Elana now?”

That brought a rare smile from Dio, and her strange gray eyes brightened a shade. “A little. But I can handle that. I think I can handle you giving me energy, too. It’s that other thing you do, where it feels like you’re brushing across my heart or something. That gives me the willies. Am I supposed to know when you do it?”

Andy tossed her towel back in the bathroom. “Of course. It’s not a secret.”

“Oh. Right.” The brightness faded from Dio’s eyes and she fidgeted with the beads at the bottom of her shirt. “I’m not sure I can get comfortable with that. I really don’t want you to do it.”

“Why? Have I not earned your trust?” Andy realized she sounded more wounded than she felt. Maybe. “Am I not here enough, not spending enough time here or with you or doing whatever the hell I’m supposed to do to help you get comfortable? Come on, Dio. Elana busts my chops for not trying hard enough to assume my role in the quad, and y’all bust me when I do try. Give me a break here?”

Dio’s eyes widened until she looked seriously distressed. “It’s uncomfortable. I can’t help it—it feels invasive or something.” She frowned. “Maybe it’s just too new.”

A new wound opened somewhere in Andy’s depths. “Like me?”

“I didn’t say that, and I don’t see you that way.” Dio waved off Andy’s words like a cloud of steam. “Yes, having water Sibyls back is different, and I guess we all have to practice letting you take on all the duties you’re supposed to have in the fighting group.” Another frown. “I think I could tell you how I’m feeling, but I’m not sure I want you to know stuff I don’t even know myself. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. A lot of sense.” Andy had to admit she had never considered that possibility, but with Dio, she should have. “Maybe it wouldn’t be like that. Maybe I’d just help you put words to things you haven’t been able to express yet. At some point, you’re going to have to let me try to do what I’m supposed to do.” She put on her best Elana expression, but the accent she came up with sounded like something from a cheesy Saturday-afternoon horror flick. “If you don’t, terrible things might happen. Doom, I tell you. Dooooooom!”

Dio punched her and laughed.

Then she frowned. She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes like Andy was about to make her bend over, grab her ankles, and submit to a really painful, embarrassing medical procedure. “Okay. Give it a try.”

“Christ, Dio. I’m not planning to stab you or anything.”

Dio’s posture didn’t change.

Andy stared at her, trying not to laugh, then tried to relax enough to actually make an attempt to help Dio’s energy. It took her a few seconds, but she managed to reach out again and share a small measure of her physical reserves, letting her water power mingle with Dio’s air power until Dio visibly relaxed. Then Andy moved her concentration to the water blended all through Dio’s body, to how the water moved, and what the patterns told her.

“Tired,” she said aloud. “And frustrated. Excited we might get somewhere with this next raid. It’s all a mix.”

Dio kept her eyes closed, but she still seemed relaxed, so Andy pushed a little farther. Pain, not far below the surface. Self-doubt. Lots of worry. Her own emotions welled, because she hadn’t realized she and Dio had so much in common.

Then … 
fear
.

The cold taste of it flooded through Andy’s mouth and made her teeth chatter. Imbalance. A wrongness Andy couldn’t quite grasp, like she was sensing a small earthquake changing the course of a determined river, or a huge pile of toppled trees damming up the pure flow of a mountain stream.

Dio opened her eyes, looking peaceful and surprised, but also a little confused. “What? Did you find something I need to know about?”

Not good. What am I supposed to do now, Elana?

Andy didn’t want to wreck this first experience for Dio and freak her out, and she was a little freaked out herself. “Pain, self-doubt, and worry,” she said, deciding most of the truth was better than a lie, and filing the rest to discuss with Elana later. “Not too far below your surface, but I don’t think that’s any big surprise to you.”

“That pretty much describes Bela, Camille, me, and you. It’s why we’re a match. Too many losses, strange abilities nobody understands—and not enough of a grip on how we’re supposed to use all of our impressive talents.”

“I was busy figuring out how to make you comfortable with everything I sensed, but you’re the one making me feel better.” Andy wanted to hug Dio, but that was usually a no-go. Today was no different. Dio backed up another step, probably on instinct, seeming barely aware that her shoulders were pressed against the hall wall.

“We should go downstairs and make Bela and Camille sit still for one of your little, um, readings. Wouldn’t that be a start to what you’re trying to do? Get a baseline on all of us, or something like that?”

“Yes. And get you comfortable with me lending you emotional energy and helping you with emotional healing.”

Dio’s expression shifted like she had been slapped, but she covered quickly. “How about we take baby steps, okay?”

“Baby steps it is.”

Dio led the way downstairs, and she and Andy found Bela and Camille seated around the communications platform, studying copies of old surveys and reconstruction plans on a property in the Garment District.

“That’s not too far from where we examined the pile of bodies.” Andy squinted at the schematic. “What’s the word so far?”

“Hey,” Dio said, trying to interrupt, but Andy stopped her with a pointed glare.

“Jack thinks an all-out hit would be best,” Bela said. “Just leave skeleton patrols in the city and pull the rest of us in to join up with the bulk of the OCU forces. He even wants the demon allies and Bengal fighters to join in, just in case we run into paranormal forces we don’t expect.”

“Or supermobsters.” Camille stretched and yawned, then made a shooting motion with two fingers.

Dio raised her hand.

“Yeah,” Andy said, ignoring her. “Especially them.”

“Andy wants to read your emotions now,” Dio announced.

Bela looked up from her schematics, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

“Hey.” Dio propped her hands on her hips and let loose with slapping breeze. “I fucking had to do it make her happy, so you do, too.”

Bela’s gaze moved to Andy.

Andy stared at the ceiling for a second, then did her best to find her courage. “It’s my job in this group. I need to practice, and I need you all to get comfortable with it.”

“I see.” Bela sounded thrilled.

“Do you have to look like I’m about to squish your boobs in a mammogram? It’s painless. I swear.” Andy raised her right hand.

Bela looked at Camille, who said, “Oh, no. You first. I insist.”

With a loud, long exhale, Bela capitulated with a shrug. Then she closed her eyes just like Dio had done. Andy didn’t bother to try to reassure her. She just got on with it, picking up Bela’s low-level irritation about having to go through this, followed rapid-fire with fatigue, distraction, and several different layers of worrying. No surprises on the first level, but deeper down, Andy found a few things that made her lift her eyebrows. So much of the pain and unrest she often sensed clinging to Bela had dissipated, maybe even healed over and flowed out of her. She didn’t have the same murky pit of self-doubt that Dio had, that Andy knew she herself had. And there was no sense of that … 
wrongness
Andy had sensed in Dio, either.

After a few seconds, Bela muttered, “So, do I need a straitjacket?”

“No, you need to tell me how you do it.” Andy drew back her energy. “How do you stay so calm inside and out? I always thought it was a mask you wore.”