Metawars: The Complete Series: Trance, Changeling, Tempest, Chimera (36 page)

“Guys?” Dahlia said. Her voice quivered, and she looked at us with the trepidation of someone who feared immediate pain if we disagreed. “What about someone in the MHC? I mean, they knew about the Warden and Fairview, and Spence couldn’t possibly have, right?”

Silence. One day on the job and she was voicing concerns I’d had and never shared out loud.

Dahlia continued: “The feds designed and maintained the prison, right? Someone in the ATF had access to the prisoners and guards, in order to fake Spence’s lock-up. Only three people there supposedly knew about the Warden. It makes sense, right?”

I thought of Rita McNally, a woman who’d been with us through all of this, who stood by the side of our parents and mentors fifteen years ago. She seemed weary, yet steadfast. Could I have been wrong in trusting her? Had Grayson, with his cheap suits and bad attitude, sold us out so he could play supervillain for a while? Was this other agent, McNally’s partner Garth Anders, even really dead? Hadn’t she said three years ago?

“It’s within the scope of probability,” Gage said. “It would help to have access to the old MHC records.”

“What would the ATF agents do if we knocked on their front door and demanded answers and records and personnel files?” Renee asked. “All the stuff you ask for when you’re investigating something.”

“Not a whole hell of a lot they could do, except throw us out or have us arrested for trespassing,” I said.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I, Renee. The Corps isn’t the only operation over-seen by the ATF. We’re a branch to them, and a defunct one, at that.”

“Well, we’re not their employees.”

“No, to them we are potential problems,” Gage said. “Why do you think McNally and Grayson hang around all the time? Support is one thing, but they’re here to watch us and report back.”

Something else was bothering me, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something to do with Psystorm. “All we’ve got are theories,” I groused.

“Agent McNally has been helpful, yes,” Renee said, “but what has the ATF really done for us?”

“Money,” Gage replied. “They pay for everything we have at the HQ. Our uniforms, our equipment, the copter and cars. It’s not like we could afford going freelance.”

“Still,” I said, “it’s about time we demanded answers and soon. I’m sick of being taunted by this psycho-in-Specter’s clothing and suspecting everyone who’s supposed to be on my side. I want to find him. I want this done.”

Gage draped his arm around my shoulders; I leaned gratefully against his chest and inhaled the clean scent of him. I had to be stinking up the back of the ambulance. Par for the course lately.

“What about Psystorm? Will he be okay?” Dahlia asked.

“I hope so,” I said. “He may be able to tell us something more, but I used his collar. He could be out for hours, and I’m not sure breaking his ankle helped much.”

Renee flinched. “He broke your hand, T.”

“He was being controlled.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Renee, I’m sure.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, amazed at how numb my face felt. Nice drugs. “Look, guys, today sucked. It really did, but we can’t blame everyone who’s trying to help us without more proof.”

“‘Sucked’ does not encompass today,” Renee said.

“If you want poetry, hire a poet. And I’m all out of subtlety, too, so I apologize in advance if I offend anyone now or in the near future.”

“I think you’re also a little high,” Gage said.

“Probably so, my teeth feel kind of numb.” I beamed a smile at him. “The good news is, no purple vision. Not even a fleck of violet.”

“Best thing I’ve heard today.”

My drugged brain couldn’t properly catalogue the conversation of the last ten minutes. It felt as though I’d listened to someone else have it, instead of actually participating. I’d have to rely on the others to refresh my memory. Pain or not, I couldn’t have this haze over my brain for the rest of the day.
We could be attacked again, or not—it didn’t matter. We had to be ready, and I couldn’t lead if I was high. I had to lead.

“So, the way I see it,” I said slowly, measuring my words, “one of two things is going on. One, we’re going to start our search over tomorrow from scratch, because whoever is so hell-bent on killing us is still out there and gunning. Or two, with the original Specter dead, he or she assumes we think it’s over and leaves us the hell alone.”

Renee snorted sharply through her nose. “Do you really believe in option two?”

“No, but it sounds nice.”

Instead of a sneer, Renee produced a smile. She stretched her entire torso far enough to throw her arms around my neck. Her shoulder pressed into my swollen chin; I winced, but still returned her hug.

“It does sound nice,” she whispered.

“That looks so gross,” Dahlia said. “Do you have to do it?”

Renee laughed as she let go and retracted back to her regular size. “It’s my power, darling, get used to it.”

“Come on, let’s get Teresa home,” Gage said. To which Renee added, “We need to get her and Marco matching slings.”

I stuck my tongue out at her—a move that seemed quite serious at the time and not as childish as it would have without the use of narcotics—and said, “For that, you don’t get to sign my cast.”

“Good, I would have put dirty limericks on it anyway.”

The comment struck me as quite hilarious; I started giggling and couldn’t stop. I looked at Gage. His face seemed
contorted, stretched thin, very funny. “Know what really sucks, though?” I asked between intakes of breath. “I may never play the guitar again.”

Someone was snapping their fingers, trying to get my attention. I turned and found Renee in my face asking, “Could you play before?”

“No.”

She looked over my shoulder, presumably at Gage. I refused to look for fear of another giggle fit. Instead, I let them talk about transportation home and settled into a drug-induced euphoria for the duration.

T
he novelty of waking up in a hospital bed ended completely after the fourth occurrence in a week. Throbbing pain drew me from the thick darkness around my mind, from which I had ventured out once. Someone setting a broken bone in your hand will rouse you from anything short of a coma. I remembered muttering about no more meds, and then drifting until my wish came true and the morphine worked its way out of my system.

Same drab walls. Still no clock. Between the drugs and jet lag, I had more trouble than usual orienting myself. Everything felt thick, murky. I managed to turn my head slowly in both directions. I was alone. The room’s door stood open.

My right hand reached up and a bolt of pain stabbed through it. Note to self: learn to be left-handed for a while. I tilted my chin and spotted the fresh white cast from elbow to knuckles. Only the tips of my fingers were exposed, little pink sausages, slightly swollen.

The raging headache was down to a dull roar, pressing gently behind my eyes and across my chin. Great plan I had.
Follow a tip, find Specter 1, get beat up. The only plus side to the fire at the Blue Tower was our discovery of Specter 2. Unfortunately, all plus sides come with downsides, and ours was a doozy: the doppelganger had access. Access to the ATF was the only way to keep Specter out of prison and get rid of the records. Access to and knowledge of the Warden in order to kill the Metas attached to it and release our powers—more that still made no sense. How had the doppelganger managed to secure the Specter powers in the first place?

Could the Wardens have sensed Marcus Spence was incapable of handling his powers anymore and gifted them to someone else? If so, why? Or had the powers bounced around like dandelion fluff until attracted to a capable body? Was the new user experiencing side effects like me?

All the questions and speculation were making me crazy.

With my left hand I felt around on the side of the bed until my fingers found the button to raise it. Gage appeared in the doorway before I could press anything. Bless him, he was probably listening and heard the sheets rustle. His smile swelled my heart and set butterflies loose in my stomach. I knew of nothing better to wake up to in the morning (or evening, afternoon, whatever).

“Hey, beautiful.” He reached out and took my left hand, holding it loosely like he thought he would break it.

“Liar.”

“Never. You’re still beautiful, just a little more colorful now.”

“Oh, right, black and blue on top of the purple.”

“It goes well with your uniform.”

I finally managed my own smile. He looked so tired. Dark smudges had appeared beneath his eyes, and his skin was ghostly.

“Have you slept?” I asked. “You look like hell.”

“I slept for a while this afternoon. It’s evening now, so you’ve only been resting for about six hours.”

Six hours—too much and yet not enough. I really wanted to curl up and sleep until my body stopped hurting completely. Maybe next week. “Did I miss anything? Ethan?”

His expression clouded. “Still nothing. Marco is going out of his mind. I think he feels responsible for letting Ethan get away, and I can’t snap him out of it. Dahlia’s with him right now, though, so he’s not alone. She has a peculiar knack for charming people.”

“Does she?” I hadn’t interacted with her as much as I’d have liked, and I regretted it. She was still learning the ropes; I needed to be available to her, to teach her.

“Yeah, she dragged him down to the housing basement to pick out a uniform for herself. She even picked out a code name. Ember.”

I turned it over in my mind. She didn’t create fire, just manipulated the source of it, absorbed its heat. Like the glowing center of a coal. It fit.

With the team accounted for, I grasped for something else to say. Anything impersonal—I wasn’t quite awake enough to follow the usual pattern of our more intimate conversations. I surprised myself by blurting out, “I’m sorry about this morning.”

His hand tightened around mine. “I know you are.”

“You told me something very private, and I was a bitch for throwing it back in your face.” Even through the fading haze of painkillers and everything that had happened in between, shame crashed over me. Utter shame at how I’d behaved—a petulant child misdirecting her anger. Not a trait becoming to the leader I was trying to be.

“I know you were hurting when you said it.”

“It’s no excuse.”

“No, but it’s an explanation.” He sucked his lower lip into his mouth. “I didn’t tell you those things for sympathy or pity. I know I run hot and cold, and I didn’t want you to think it was you. It’s not.”

If he’d forgiven me, he didn’t say it. I didn’t want it, even if I had thought I deserved it. I needed to learn patience. He needed to stop seeing me as his cause. We’d both be happier for those things.

“No, it’s not me,” I said. “It’s both of us, Gage. We both have things to figure out before we can really make this work. But I want to try. Do you?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.

“Good.” As much as I wanted to linger on that promise, I had to drag our conversation back to current things. “So, Dahlia. Is she engaging Marco because she’s really into this superhero gig, or to humor him?”

Gage lifted one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “More the latter, I think. She’s still pretty skittish, especially around Renee. And for some reason, she’s terrified of Agent McNally.”

“Probably because she’s convinced herself that the feds
are our enemy.” I frowned, then rethought the expression when my chin and lips twinged. Even scrunching my nose increased the intensity of my headache.

She may have been listening for quite some time, but Agent McNally chose that moment to scare the pee out of me by saying, “I hope you don’t think so, too, Trance.”

Gage jumped a mile and squeezed my hand hard enough to elicit a yelp. I was down to one good hand. If he broke it out of fright, I’d be very screwed. I didn’t know if it was possible to create an orb with both hands bandaged. One day I would have to experiment while wearing mittens.

“I’m sorry,” she said, stepping into the room. “I didn’t intend to startle you, and I apologize for eavesdropping.”

“How much did you hear?” I asked. Bit by bit, my racing heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm. New headline: “Hero Felled by Fear-Induced Myocardial Infarction.”

“After Ember’s choice of code name. It’s good.” She smiled, defusing any sense of annoyance she should rightfully feel. We had been talking about her behind her back, after all.

I cocked my head to the side. It wasn’t as intimidating as my hand-on-hip stance, but you work with what you’ve got. “Can we trust the ATF?”

McNally’s eyebrows arched slightly. “You get right to the point, don’t you?”

“Someone’s still trying to kill me, and he or she got damned close this morning. We are now fresh out of leads and shit out of luck. I need straight answers, and even though you lied to us once, I’m probably as likely to get them from you as from anyone else in the federal government.”

The complacent smile never wavered. “I admire your candor, Trance, and in the interest of honesty, I don’t know. I can’t speak for every agent in the ATF. As for myself, yes, you can trust me. I had no idea Marcus Spence was living here in Los Angeles. I don’t know who started the fire at Fairview, or who is manipulating the Specter powers now. Please believe me when I say that I’m on your side, and if I had information to share with you, I would.”

A glance at Gage and his subtle nod confirmed her words. I loved having a human lie detector by my side to validate my own judgment. “You lied about our powers,” I said.

“And I admitted to my mistake in doing so. I can’t change that I lied to you. All I can do is try to make amends now.” She smoothed one hand over her perfectly coiffed hair. The style was immaculate, every hair exactly in place. My mane of random tangles and waves shifted if I breathed too hard.

“Okay. Hey,” I said, the thought striking without warning. “How’s Psystorm? Is he awake?”

“Last I checked he was showing signs of waking and his vitals are strong. Dr. Seward had to remove the collar completely in order to treat the burns it created. While I believe we’d all be safer if he remained in deep sedation until this is finished—”