Metawars: The Complete Series: Trance, Changeling, Tempest, Chimera (124 page)

My attempt at a joke didn’t ease the tension in his shoulders or the tightness around his jaw. The man looked like a rubber band about to snap. I glanced at the half-open door, then lowered my voice. “I’m sorry about what’s happening with Noah.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I accidentally saw him here yesterday. I talked to Teresa about it.”

“Oh.” He wilted a little bit, the father in him overtaking the medical professional, and I got a flash of just how upset he was. “The Changelings were my project. They’re my sons. I should be able to fix this.”

“I bet you never imagined a scenario in which Ace fell in love with one of his two hosts.”

“You’re right. I never imagined a lot of this, including loving those boys so much.” He cleared his throat, and then the doctor mask was back on. “We’re doing everything we can for both of them.”

“I know. I wish I could help.”

“Thank you, Renee.”

The words sounded kind of like a dismissal, so I left. Two very different men remained behind in the infirmary. One father celebrating a reunion with the son he thought he’d lost years ago and who had spent a meager three days getting to know him again. Another father battling to save a son he’d raised from a test tube and ushered into adulthood. Despite myself, my heart hurt for both of them.

I took my aching heart down to the lounge. Little groups had assembled on couches and around tables, chatting, reading, and playing games. The whole thing often felt like a college dorm; some days I expected someone to break out a keg and start a party. But the mood tonight was subdued. Bad news traveled fast, and I got enough sympathetic looks to incite violence against the first person who asked how I felt.

Two people in the corner of the lounge drew my attention, mostly due to her familiar purple-streaked head. Teresa and Sebastian were sitting on a couch near one of the windows, facing each other and talking. They weren’t sitting close, and the conversation didn’t look intimate, but I couldn’t stop a flare of annoyance that felt a little like jealousy. Teresa had assured me she wasn’t cheating on Gage with Sebastian, but the pair were definitely sharing
something
.

Sebastian said something that made Teresa tilt her head back and laugh. A full, throaty laugh that pissed me off. I hadn’t seen her laugh like that in weeks, and Sebastian did it? Where was Gage? Gage was amazing and patient and perfect for her, damn it. She had him and loved him, and no one judged her for it.

Why the hell did one belly laugh feel like a betrayal?

Because you’re jealous, dipshit.

Jealous because the one person I’d been genuinely attracted to since William died was completely unavailable to me. He’d be back in prison in a week, and I’d be alone. As usual.

I didn’t register Teresa getting up until she was halfway to me, her expression one of open concern. I must have been scowling at her pretty good, because she hooked her arm through my good one and led me to a corner of the room.

“You all right?” she asked.

“I wish people would stop asking me that,” I snapped.

“Yeah? Well, just now you looked like you wanted to throw something through a window, so I thought I’d ask.”

“Sorry.”

She studied me. “We were just talking.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Really?”

I shrugged with my free shoulder, which was a huge mistake. Fire raced through my arm and shoulder, and I flinched.

“Sebastian knew my father,” Teresa said. “When he was a teenager. They met a few times. Dad tried to recruit Sebastian into the Rangers.”

“But he wanted to be a bad guy instead?”

“No. Remember what Freddy McTaggert told us? That any Meta who didn’t join the Rangers was considered, by law enforcement, to be a Bane and an enemy? That happened to Sebastian when the War began.”

McTaggert, aka Ethan’s biological father, had briefly been a Ranger and had an affair with Ethan’s mom. When McTaggert took issue with how the Rangers were used for publicity stunts, basically as marketing tools, he quit. ATF and its fellow agencies didn’t like that very much. McTaggert and Sebastian weren’t the only imprisoned Banes who’d told similar stories of being labeled criminals simply because they refused to register and submit to Ranger Corps rules.

“I like hearing stories about my dad,” Teresa continued. “He was such a great leader, Renee. I need to know how he did it.”

“You’re a pretty fabulous leader, too, you know,” I said. “Stop comparing yourself to your father.”

“That’s never going to happen. I’ll always be Hinder’s daughter. And it’s even worse now that there’s a clone of him running around out there somewhere.”

It hit me right in the gut. “You’re afraid you can’t beat him.”

“Terrified of it, actually.”

If we weren’t in the middle of the lounge with a dozen other people around, I’d have hauled her into a hug. Even before we discovered the clones of our loved ones, Teresa doubted herself and her ability to lead. She’d been shoved into the position because of her powers and her father’s history as an amazing Ranger hero. She did her best, and she kept us alive, but she still worried. All the time.

I tugged her into the hallway, which was empty and much quieter. In a whisper, I asked, “Don’t slug me for this, but have you thought about turning over leadership to someone else?”

She blinked at me like I’d just suggested she have sex with a goat. “What?”

“You have to have thought about it.”

“Sure, I’ve thought about it, but never seriously.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my job.”

“A job you can quit, if you want.”

She scowled. “I don’t want to quit.”

“Why not?”

“You need me. I can’t quit on you guys, and I care too much to leave your lives in someone else’s hands. I’m responsible.”

I grinned, glad she’d said all those things out loud and with only a little bit of prompting. “Exactly. This is your team, T, no one else’s. Not mine, not Gage’s, not Lacey’s, not your father’s. Yours. And your way has been working pretty damned well since we started this superhero gig.”

Her face softened into a grateful smile. “This is why you’re my best friend.”

“My amazing pep talks?”

“Yes, and your no-bullshit way of phrasing things. Thank you.”

“Anytime. But get it together, or I’ll start charging you for these little therapy sessions.”

She laughed, then hugged me gently, careful of my wounded arm. “Where are you headed?”

“No idea. I was—”

Her phone rang with a tone I didn’t recognize. Her eyes widened in surprised and delighted eagerness. She answered with a firm, “Trance.” A few seconds passed and she mouthed a word that made my heart pound.

Sasha.

Seventeen

Hero Call

T
eresa held the call long enough for us to get into the privacy of the conference room, then turned it onto speaker. “Okay, I can talk here,” she said.

“Who else is there?” Sasha asked.

“Just me and Flex.”

“Fine.” Sasha was doing an admirable job of sounding tough, but she was trying a little too hard.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the high school this morning. That wasn’t how I intended things.”

“Fucking cops.”

“How are your friends? One of them was shot.”

A long pause made us exchange a worried look.

“Maddie was hit,” Sasha finally said. “She’s not doing so well. We can’t take her to a hospital, and none of us knows any doctors.”

“You could bring her here. Our doctor—”

“No, that’s not why I called.”

“So why did you call?”

“We need supplies, but we can’t draw attention to ourselves by stealing it from a hospital or doctor’s office.”

Aha.

“You want us to give you medical supplies to treat Maddie?” Teresa asked.

“Yes.”

“I could agree to a trade.”

“What do you want?” From Sasha’s tone, it was clear she expected us to ask for her to offer up a kidney or something.

“Thirty minutes.”

“For what?”

“For you to listen to what Bethany and Landon have to say.”

“About what?”

She was either really thick or playing dumb to annoy us.

“About why they chose to come with us,” Teresa said. “Landon’s father knew your mother, Sasha. He knew Tate’s father, too.”

“I want to see all three of them.”

“Landon will only be available by phone. He was nearly killed on Sunday by some other Meta soldiers on orders from your Uncle, and he’s not allowed out of bed.”

“Fine. Bethany and Landon’s father. I’ve never met a Bane face-to-face before.”

“Thatcher isn’t a Bane anymore.”

“Whatever.”

“I’d like one of my people to go with them.”

“To make sure we don’t kill Thatcher, snatch Bethany and the supplies, and then run?”

“Something like that.”

“Fine. I pick.”

Teresa frowned. “Okay.”

“I want Flex. She seems harmless enough.”

I grunted, wanting nothing more than to put my hands through the phone and throttle Sasha for that little jab. It hurt, because it was something I’d thought about myself all too frequently. I wasn’t as powerful as my friends. My abilities only half worked, thanks to my scars. I got taken out in the first thirty seconds of the fight this morning. I was the perfect potential hostage.

Bitch.

Teresa waited for me to nod approval before saying, “Deal. Who’s coming with you?”

“Just Rick. I won’t need anyone else.”

“And Rick is?”

“He made the blue power sparklers.”

Firework Boy. Good to know.

“Where do you want to meet?” Teresa asked.

“Off the New Jersey Turnpike.”

“The J. Fenimore Cooper rest stop,” I said without thinking. I’d been there, I knew how to get back. And it seemed fitting, somehow.

“Agreed,” Sasha said. “Nine p.m.”

“They’ll be there, with the supplies.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Sasha hung up. We stared at Teresa’s phone for a few seconds, letting that sink in. My nerves jumped. Another clandestine meet-up with brainwashed superpowered teenagers on the side of the turnpike. The first one had ended in a semi-kidnapping to a strange, small town. I had to assume this one would end better.

I hoped.

•  •  •

Driving away from our HQ and my friends felt a little like saying good-bye. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to happen, something I couldn’t stop, and that I might never see them again. I tried not to look at the distant shape of the observation tower as it receded in the distance. Tried to keep focused on the tasks at hand.

First task: drive to the rest stop.

Second task: let Bethany talk without pissing off the kids she needed to get on our side.

Third task: get home safely.

Task three seemed to be the one giving my gut trouble as I turned onto the Jersey turnpike and drove south. These kids were unpredictable and dangerous, and our enemies had an inexplicable way of tracking us down whenever we left HQ. Anything could happen at any moment, and while Bethany and Thatcher had some pretty awesome powers, I had a Coltson strapped to my back and not much else.

Sarcasm was so not a useful weapon in nonverbal negotiations.

Bethany fidgeted in the backseat the entire trip, tapping her feet and humming nonsense until I wanted to stretch a hand back and slap her. Fortunately our destination arrived before I gave in to the urge.

The motorcycle Landon had arrived on a few days ago was gone, a prize too tempting for any thief to leave abandoned. I drove to the front of the empty restaurant where another car was parked—old, rusty, the kind of junker you wouldn’t expect to run at all. Next to it, my Sport looked positively Space Age.

A little bolt of apprehension tore through my gut as I climbed out of the driver’s seat. I scanned the parking lot but saw nothing distinctly out of place. The occasional hum of a passing car crept over from the turnpike. Somewhere a crow called out, and I couldn’t help wishing Marco was nearby, watching my back. I never went off without my friends like this, and now it was twice in three days.

Thatcher took point, approaching the glass restaurant doors with careful steps. Bethany followed with the satchel of medical supplies, and I brought up the rear. The glass was tinted and reflective in the sunlight, preventing a good look at the interior. The door opened with a tired squeal, and we walked into the lion’s den.

The restaurant lobby branched to the left and right into two separate eating establishments, chains long ago gone out of business. Booths with red vinyl and black tables filled the room on the right, and two familiar figures stood up front near the shiny metal counter. Sasha wore the same clothes as before, along with a brand-new weight of exhaustion. Next to her Rick was rubbing the fingers of his right hand together, creating little blue sparks that were probably supposed to intimidate us.

He looked too tired, young, and scared to be all that intimidating.

Thatcher stopped with a good six feet between us and them, then crossed his arms over his chest, doing a very good impersonation of an impatient parent waiting for his unruly kids to come clean about their latest disaster. This, of course, made Rick bristle, pegging him as the Alpha male of their little group. He moved forward half a step, putting himself in front of Sasha.

We went through the formality of introducing ourselves. Sasha glanced at the face of her phone, then said, “You have thirty minutes. Go.”

“Uh . . . ,” was Bethany’s inauspicious beginning.

After she found her voice, she launched into a brief history of the work she and Landon did for small, starving communities; our little battle at the warehouse and next-day meeting; Landon confronting his father for the first time and taking us to the little town with no name. While she spoke, Thatcher called HQ and got Landon on the line, and he added his two cents over speakerphone. Afterward, it was Thatcher’s turn on the floor, repeating the same things about the War, the Bane label, and being told his wife and son were dead—things that I already knew.

Since this was all an epic rerun of information for me, I studied Sasha and Rick while they listened and occasionally interjected to ask a question. They were exhausted, that was plain to see. And they looked lost. They were both raised to follow orders, to report to someone older and more experienced than them, and now they’d been cut off. They were floundering and doing their damnedest to be strong for the other kids. In some strange way, it was like looking in a funhouse mirror at Teresa and Gage ten months ago.

“Your mother was a good friend of mine,” Thatcher said to Sasha. “She was a strong woman, loyal and brave.”

Sasha’s eyes got glassy and wet. “Is she alive?”

“She died a few years ago. She got sick after her second daughter was born, and she never got better.”

He left out a big chunk of conspiracy theory there. Some of the island residents had blamed a handful of deaths on the depressant the government had pumped into the fresh water supply. Warden Hudson’s bosses had wanted the Banes docile, no matter what. No one had tried to prove the drug caused the deaths. Yet.

“Second daughter?” Sasha asked.

“Whitney. She fell ill, too, a few months ago. She passed away.”

She chewed on her lower lip. “You said something about a half-brother?”

“Yes, he’s eight. He doesn’t live in Manhattan anymore. Maybe one day you’ll be able to meet him.”

“They could be tricking you,” Rick said. He sounded like he was trying to make himself believe his own accusation.

“Your father’s name was Arnold Anderson,” Thatcher said to Rick. “We knew each other during the War. He was a good man. If he was anything like me, he gave you up to protect you from people who would use you against him.”

Rick’s expression soured. I flashed Thatcher a surprised look. I hadn’t been aware that he’d figured out who Firework Boy was, and I was annoyed that he’d kept that bit from me. I couldn’t help but wonder what else he was keeping to himself about these kids. And damn him, anyway, he wouldn’t look at me.

Thatcher didn’t say anything else, and Rick finally relented and asked, “What happened to him?”

“He was killed by police seventeen years ago. Forty-seven bullets.”

Rick flinched.

My heart beat with anger on Arnold Anderson’s behalf. Forty-seven bullets to kill one man? The fucking police had gone way overboard—but that wasn’t the first whisper of excessive violence used against Metas during the War. Just the first I’d heard spoken so plainly.

“We’re all Metas,” Landon said over the phone. I’d forgotten he was part of the conversation. “We need to fight together, not separately. We’re stronger as a family.”

Sasha looked at her phone. “Your thirty minutes are up. Medical supplies?”

Bethany inched close enough to hand over the satchel.

“Maddie will get better treatment at our HQ,” I said. “Bullet wounds are tricky, especially if they get infected.”

The look Sasha and Rick shared dinged a bell for me. The infected comment must have hit pretty close to home.

“Part of being a leader is taking risks,” I added, speaking directly to Sasha. “When someone’s life is at stake, sometimes you have to play the odds and trust strangers.”

“I want Maddie to get better,” Sasha said, voice rough.

“Then let us take her to our doctors. Please.”

“We’d need a trade,” Rick said. “One of you for her, just in case.”

“I’ll go with you.” The words left my mouth before I could even think them through. I couldn’t very well nominate someone else as a hostage, and while I didn’t relish the idea of being blindfolded and carried off again, I could do it. Just as long as they didn’t try to tie me up. Thatcher turned to glare at me, and I gave him a shushing look in return.

Off Sasha’s dubious look, I added, “What? I’m the harmless one, remember?”

Bethany snickered.

“All right, agreed,” Sasha said. “When we bring you Maddie, you’ll come back with us while she’s being treated.”

“Deal. Where?”

“There’s a place in Elizabeth, New Jersey. Warinanco Park. One a.m.”

“Okay.” I committed that crazy name to memory.

“I want to go with you,” Bethany said.

“We have a trade already,” Sasha replied.

“Not as a hostage or whatever. I want to go with you and meet the others. I just want to talk to them, you know? Please?”

Handing Bethany off to them was a double-edged sword. We were down one Looney Tunes teenager who seemed to entertain herself by hitting on anyone who struck her fancy. We were also turning her loose on the world, putting her right into the hands of some other wild-card kids I still didn’t fully trust. Plus Landon would shit himself if his “sister” ran away with the bad guys.

“It’s okay with me,” Rick said. He eyeballed Bethany, who cocked a hip for his benefit.

I rolled my eyes.

“Fine,” Sasha said. “You pick a fight or get out of line, and I’ll dump your skinny ass on the side of the road somewhere in Ohio before you’ve figured out what’s going on.”

Wow. Just how fast did the human tornado spin?

“Cool,” Bethany said.

I glanced at Thatcher, who finally met my gaze. He didn’t look any happier about this situation than I was, but we both knew the same thing—the decision wasn’t in our hands this time.

The three of them left first, marching out of the decrepit old rest stop in single file, Bethany a prize between them. Once the door swung shut with a bang, Thatcher made a strangled, somewhat infuriated sound.

“I can’t believe we let her go with them,” he said.

“What were we supposed to do?” I retorted. “Tell her no, she can’t hang out with her friends, she’s grounded?”

“What if they use her against us?”

“They can try, but they won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Instinct.”

“Great.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Look, I know you’re worried about how Landon’s going to react, but he’s a big boy. He’s not going to bust his stitches or throw a clot over Bethany going off on her own.”

The way his jaw twitched told me I’d hit right on the mark.

“Derek, the important thing is that Maddie is going to get the treatment she needs.” I didn’t even know the girl, and I wanted her to get help. She might have been raised on lies about how she became an orphan in Uncle’s care, but she was still a Meta. She was still a kid. She deserved a chance.

“You’re right.” The heavy sigh tacked onto the end made me think admitting that was a huge burden for him. The jerk.

I stepped up to him, better able to see the barely contained frustration and anger in the way he clenched his fists and breathed hard through his nose. The heightened emotions made him impossibly better-looking. “One step at a time. First HQ, then the swap.”

He stared down at me, mouth pressed into a thin line. He raised a hand and touched my cheek, and I didn’t flinch away. “I am so mad at you for trading yourself for Maddie,” he said softly. Roughly.