Captive Heart (32 page)

The world around Andy swam and shimmered. Her elbows and knees got wobbly at the center. She thought she saw Griffen and his Coven marching toward her, then she thought she saw Jack and Duncan and John and a bunch of Sibyls drop out of the sky as what looked like a small army of Astaroths came swooping down. The golden glow of Curson demons filled the alley, making Andy’s vision prism as Bengal fighters roared and charged into view, their tiger-like appearance a jolt after seeing Tarek’s shell of a body riveted to that hospital bed.

Everything turned into snapshots.

Jack, slugging it out with Griffen.

Jack, going down. Something sticking out of his leg. A lot of somethings. Looked like syringes.

Then Griffen and the Coven were gone.

Then there was nothing but noise and clattering and shouting and flashing light. More officers. More Sibyls. Sibyls everywhere. Energy poured toward Dio and Andy grabbed it all, channeling it with her projective talent and using it for Dio’s healing. Was the bleeding slowing down?

“Motherhouse Greece,” somebody shouted as Camille started opening communication channels. “Now, now!”

Then, “Him, too. Take him to Russia. It’s his only chance.”

Jack …

Andy tried to keep herself upright, but she’d lost too much energy. She fell forward, still pouring everything she could into saving Dio, wondering if anything would make any difference.

“What am I now?” Jack stared straight into Mother Yana’s weathered face and wolfish blue eyes to be sure she told him the whole truth.

“Human, so far as ve can tell.” She put a pipe in her mouth and puffed once, filling the small wooden room with the smell of cloves.

Jack shifted on his cot, bending his right knee to work out the stiffness. “My damned leg felt like it got burned off. It’s still not working right.”

“Ve examined the contents of each syringe that affected you. They contained veakened versions of the formula used to turn Seneca into a monster, though vithout the Rakshasa element. I’m certain the serum did not come from the Eldest who is hostage to these madmen.”

“What, then?” Jack had to work not to start all his
w
-words with
v
-sounds. He’d been here too damned long already.

“
Who
would be the better question. The blood in that serum, it vas human, at least in part—though it did have unusual qualities.” Mother Yana beckoned for Jack to extend his arm. When he did so, she crammed her smoking pipe in her mouth, extracted a small blade from her brown robes and sliced across his wrist.

He didn’t feel the cut—and the blood barely had a chance to form a small ribbon before his skin started to heal. By the time Mother Yana put up her knife, the wound had vanished completely.

“Impressive, no?” She removed the pipe from her mouth and grinned, showing yellowed teeth. “Do not think you’re invincible. A serious blow or enough vounds might be enough to bring you down. You vill not fall to age, though. The aging of your human cells has ceased.”

Jack took a deep breath of clove and had to work not to cough. No more aging. That was … big news. Under better circumstances, he’d probably give a shit. “Anything else?”

“No changes in body proportion, no elemental talents ve can detect. Not even a small patch of tiger fur or scales or any hint of demon essence.”

Mother Yana leaned closer, and the light from the torch behind her head made Jack wince. He pointed at the bulb. “The light looks bright.”

“You may find all of your senses a bit stronger, but not overly much. All in all, you vere fortunate, Jack Blackmore. These enhancements should serve you vell, should you persist in courting Sibyls. Fewer broken bones, fewer near-death experiences. You might even be able to see them in the dark.”

Courting Sibyls. Yeah. You had to go there, didn’t you?

Jack’s heart ached as Mother Yana walked out of his sickroom and left him alone to cough out her clove smoke and think about Andy. He knew she was still at Motherhouse Greece with Bela and Camille, where she had been since last week’s raid went to hell in the worst way. Griffen and his Coven had managed to slaughter nine OCU officers across the city, murder four Sibyls, and wound two more officers before they retreated back to the warehouse. Then the fuckers got clean away, and somehow they spirited Tarek out of that warehouse with them. Saul thought the real under-Coven had smuggled him across the roof while Griffen and his bunch fought their way out the back. Jack had tried to take the bastard on and gotten a leg full of syringes for his trouble. The EMTs pulled nine needles out of his thigh, but only three had dumped their contents into his body.

But Dio—God.

Mother Yana had told him that Andy and her group were all sitting vigil over Dio, who still hadn’t opened her eyes. When she did, if she did, she’d realize her left arm had been torn away at the shoulder.

“Don’t screw it up.” Jack glared at the wooden ceiling over his bed. “Yeah, you did real good following that little rule.”

He hadn’t planned that raid alone, but he was responsible for it. Now people were dead and Dio was hurt so badly she’d never fight again, if she even survived. He’d let his officers and the Sibyls down. He’d let Andy down so badly she’d never want to look at him again, and he couldn’t blame her. This fucking fantasy he’d had of a wife and kids and a permanent home to call his own—what kind of crazy shit was that?

Fresh, helpless rage pumped through Jack. He felt seventeen again, standing over his dead father, knowing he’d never see his mother and sister again. He felt the desert in his heart, and remembered the sight of his tortured, mutilated men in the Valley of the Gods.

This kind of wreckage was his reality. His hallmark. His unmistakable fucking trademark. This kind of wreckage was his
life
.

He banged his fist against Motherhouse Russia’s dense petrified wall. From outside in the hall came the low growling of a huge gray wolf, and soon enough, three of the big bastards stood in his doorway glaring at him, tongues lolling.

“Fuck you,” Jack said to the wolves, and he got up and got himself dressed. No use hiding out in a place he had no right to be. Might as well get back to New York, get his shit packed and put in for transfer, and do what he could to help Saul and Cal and the Lowell brothers get the OCU past this new damned disaster he’d caused. Maybe they’d do the world a favor and shoot him on sight. Maybe that was better than he deserved.

Andy stared out the thick-paned windows of the crystal palace hidden on the slopes of Áno Ólimbos—upper Mount Olympus, near Litochoro, Greece, also known as the City of the Gods. Motherhouse Greece glittered in the afternoon light, a multicolored splendor in the clouds and mist, and Andy understood how ancient villagers might have believed Zeus and Apollo lived on these very slopes. Everything about the place seemed polished and pristine. Even the air smelled like scoured marble with the faintest hint of saltwater and evergreen.

Everything seemed so delicate and breakable—and extreme. Rooms in this Motherhouse were either opulent or thoroughly functional. The little antechamber next to the infirmary fell into the latter category, plain and purpose-driven, with reclining chairs, several benches, and nothing else save for a worktable sporting a notebook, a pencil, and a single light. It was a place made for meditation and silent waiting, and that’s just what Andy, Bela, and Camille had been doing since Dio stabilized. She remained in a combination of coma and healing trance, recovering from massive blood loss and the amputation trauma, but she had taken in all the healing energy her fragile body could accept. They couldn’t do anything now but stay close in case she woke.

Andy breathed in the too-clean air. Here in the little antechamber, waiting for Bela and Camille to get back from a quick check-in with the OCU, she had never felt so alone and so far away from home, wherever home really was. And Jack …

“Jack,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against the window and touching the warm, sun-drenched glass with her fingertips.

Her memories from the battle after Dio’s injury kept coming back to her in the same fast snapshots, no order, no detail, but she remembered the syringes. Motherhouse Russia had assured them he was healing fine, that he had virtually no supernatural effects from whatever formulas he’d been given. Andy felt torn in half, not seeing him, not helping to nurse him back to health, but she had to be here. No way would she risk Dio waking without her sister Sibyls ready to run to her bedside—God forbid there be some complication that might demand what little enhanced healing she could offer.

He’ll understand
.

The Mothers would have explained everything to him, and she knew Jack would do the same thing for one of his officers. She’d expect nothing less of him, and he’d expect nothing less of her. If they had any shot at a life together, they had to accept the fact that they each had so many other demands.

And that was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Tears slid down her face, warming fast in the sun.

She wanted a life with Jack. She wanted his children, and her quad, and her work with the OCU, and her duties on Kérkira. She wanted it all.

Did she have to feel guilty about that?

The antechamber’s outer door opened and closed, and Bela and Camille came in, dressed in clean jeans and T-shirts, and carrying bags with fresh changes of clothes and what looked like briefing reports. Jake had probably compiled them for Andy, or maybe it had been Merilee, Jake’s wife. Air Sibyls were always compiling something.

At Andy’s quizzical expression, Bela handed one of her bags to Andy. “Got some stuff from the brownstone. Riana said she’d do our laundry.”

Andy looked down at her own filthy jeans. “Good. These could about walk back to New York City on their own.” She knew the adepts at Motherhouse Greece would gladly wash their clothes and give them robes, but for some reason it felt better for friends to do it. “What’s been happening?”

Camille dropped her bag beside one of the chairs and flopped into it. “A lot of unrest and popping off between the crime families, but no civilian casualties and no new supernatural attacks.”

“You know it’s coming, though.” Bela sat and folded her hands on top of her knees.

“Something even bigger this time.” Andy muttered. “Something an even bigger level of awful.”

Bela’s eyebrows drew together. “Is that instinct or pessimism?”

The words stabbed Andy deeper than any blade, and more tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked away from Bela and Camille, letting the sunlight on the mountainside blind her. “I don’t know. Bela, I really don’t think we should trust my instincts ever again.”

After a long moment of silence, Bela came back with, “That’s ridiculous. Nobody can see the future.”

She sounds like Jack. Shit. Just what I need
. Andy tried not to cry harder. “It felt like the right course, but it all went to hell anyway.”

“We busted their stronghold.” Bela’s reflection moved in the window, and Andy thought she looked frustrated. “We disrupted their plans and we got a lot of info on their protections and what they’ve been up to with Tarek. We even got twelve boys and young men out of the Coven’s grasp, maybe before it’s too late for them. The raid was good. It was good, Andy, and we did it right.”

Andy shrugged to stop herself from saying something too awfully sarcastic. “We just happened to go in the night the Coven launched their own attacks, right?”

“That’s a little too coincidental for me,” Camille said. “John agrees. He’s talking to the Lowells and the Brents. We’ve got a leak somewhere in the OCU, and they’re going to find it.”

Andy took those words like another kick to the gut. One of their own, passing intel to the enemy? She rested her cheek on the hot window, letting the sensation jolt her back to full focus. “We need to be in New York City, but I can’t. I can’t leave her. I won’t.”

“Our place is here.” Bela sounded definite about that, but Andy caught something else in her tone and turned to face her.

“What?”

Bela looked at Camille, who quickly took a turn at staring out the window. When it got obvious Camille wouldn’t be saying a word, Bela leaned back in her chair, met Andy’s gaze, and said, “Jack left Motherhouse Russia last week.”

Andy’s heart did a quick tumble-flip. “Did he come here? Did Mother Anemone turn him away?” Damn it, she wanted to see him so badly she could almost feel his strong arms around her. She’d kill all the Mothers in Greece for not letting him get through the front door—because if he’d made it through the front door, she knew he would have bullied his way through all the crystal and glass until he found her.

“He didn’t come here.” Bela’s dark eyes mirrored sadness and discomfort. “He went back to New York.”

Andy’s mouth came open. All the muscles in her gut ached at the same time, and she had to squeeze her arms tight against her chest not to sob out loud. “But … I wanted to see him.”
Talk to him. Feel him holding me
. “Is he okay? Is there something I don’t know? Because if those syringes turned him into something with horns and scales or fur and fangs and nobody told me, I’ll—”

“He’s fine.” Bela stood and held up both hands to slow Andy’s tailspin. “No lasting negative effects from the serum he received. Those must have been test batches, too weak to do any real damage. That, or they were made with some kind of DNA other than Rakshasa.”

Relief competed with confusion, leaving Andy oddly empty and disoriented. She kept looking at Bela, waiting for more information, the rest of the story, some reason Jack wouldn’t have come here to see her when he was able, knowing she couldn’t come to him.

Bela didn’t seem to have any more information.

“He didn’t really talk to us.” Camille kept her gaze firmly fixed on the window, staring at a point somewhere over Andy’s right shoulder. “Kinda got the sense he was avoiding anything to do with us, actually.”

Anger. Disappointment. A hollowness she couldn’t even begin to describe. Heat crackled all through Andy, and she fought to keep a grip on herself and her rational thinking. Jack probably blamed himself for what happened to the Sibyls and OCU officers on patrol with no backup, just like she did. He might even blame himself for what happened to Dio—just like she did.

But she didn’t know that, did she? Because he hadn’t shown up here to say
hello
or
I’m sorry
or
kiss my ass
.

“I can’t deal with this,” Andy muttered.

Bela looked like she wanted to cross the floor and give Andy a big hug. Bela tended to be a hugger, but right that second, Andy felt too raw and nervous and confused to tolerate any affection from anybody. She thought about Dio, about how many times Dio had stepped away when people tried to touch her.

Christ, was this what you were feeling, Dio? Is this what you’ve been hiding from me?
Andy wanted to cry all over again. How could she let Dio walk around with so much pain and never even realize it?

“I think I really let her down,” Andy whispered, and then Bela had her, hugging her fiercely, and she didn’t let go even when Andy tried to pull away. The contact made her shake, made her hold on, and worst of all, it made her feel, it made her ache, then it broke open the gates and made her tears flow.

When Camille joined the party, Andy cried even harder. Elana’s voice echoed through her mind.
Do it anyway. Force the issue … This is your duty, Andy, and it matters
.

“My duty,” Andy muttered against Bela’s shoulder, then pulled back and wiped her nose on the corner of her T-shirt. “God, I have to get better at all this. I have to get a grip on what the hell I’m supposed to do.”

Camille and Bela stood with her and didn’t argue. They didn’t seem angry or let down at all. Maybe a little confused like she was. Definitely tired and concerned and full of caring—

I’m reading their feelings. Just like that. Fast and easy
. The realization startled her into backing away from both of them. She glanced from Bela to Camille, and they looked at each other like they understood what had surprised her.

“Man, that was easier than it should have been,” Andy said, trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

Camille looked a little guilty. “Reading our feelings, you mean?”

“You could tell? I didn’t do it on purpose. It just happened.”

“Maybe we’ve been fighting you a little on that point,” Bela admitted, her tone as sheepish as Camille’s expression. “It’s time we stopped. You have jobs to do in this quad just like we do. The least we could do is help you.”

The door between the infirmary and the antechamber rattled, and Mother Anemone made her way quietly into the room. Andy’s mind and emotions cleared like they had been wiped clean by a giant eraser. She suddenly saw nothing but the Mother’s misty green-blue eyes and the way her blue robes clung to her tall, thin frame like she hadn’t eaten in a week. Her ash blond hair escaped its leather bindings in every direction, making her look rumpled and disorganized—not at all her usual self. When she spoke, she took care to address her words to all three of them.

“Dio woke a few moments ago. Her mind seems to be intact, and she’s aware of what happened to her.” Mother Anemone stopped like she wasn’t certain what to say next. Her light Greek accent sounded unusually heavy, and her voice immeasurably sad. Andy had difficulty reconciling that with her own joy that Dio had finally opened her eyes.

“Are the other Mothers changing her dressings?” Andy took a step forward, followed close by Bela and Camille. Her heart beat harder than she could remember from any battle, and she didn’t think she could wait another second to see Dio, to finally talk to her again and make sure her favorite prickly air Sibyl was still firing on all cylinders. “When can we go in?”

The sadness in Mother Anemone’s voice transferred to her face, and the frown made Andy’s fists clench.

“She doesn’t wish to see you,” the Mother said, “and before you try to push past me, you should know I can’t allow that, and there are enough Mothers present for us to stop you. Please don’t press the issue.”

The heart of Áno Ólimbos rumbled, and flames actually crackled from Camille’s shoulders and arms. It started raining in the antechamber even though Andy hadn’t been completely aware of her pull on all nearby water. The notebook and pencil clattered off the work desk, and the desk chair chattered across the floor until it hit a big puddle and splashed around in the same spot for a few seconds. Then it caught on fire.

Mother Anemone stood in the middle of the earthquake, firestorm, and semi-flood, her powerful air energy wrapping around the three of them like a parent’s gentle but restraining caress. Other air energy joined hers, driving all the smoke and rain out of the antechamber and lessening the mountain’s menacing growl. Andy realized Mother Anemone must have gathered every air Sibyl Mother in Greece in the infirmary to back her up in case it came to a fight.

A fight we could win—but at what cost?

Hating herself for capitulating but knowing on some level it was the right course to follow, Andy forced herself to dial back her water power a few notches. She breathed and relaxed and made herself absorb as much of the water as she could. Camille’s flames died almost as fast, but Bela’s earth energy rolled out of her, relentless and nearly desperate.

“I know this must be terribly difficult.” Mother Anemone’s tone shifted to quiet and careful. “Perhaps it’s better if the three of you leave, at least for a time. When Dio’s ready for your company—if that comes to pass—I’ll send word immediately.”