Metawars: The Complete Series: Trance, Changeling, Tempest, Chimera (56 page)

“Have they contacted you since they escaped?”

“Why would they?”

“You just said you raised them, Doctor. Why wouldn’t they? I can’t imagine they were prepared for living in the outside world without any sort of guidance.”

“They are more well equipped than you think.”

“Why would they want me dead?” I asked.

Dr. Kinsey blanched, stared. “What?”

“You know about yesterday’s shooting?”

“Of course.” His confusion concerned me.

“Arnold Stark was the one who pulled the trigger, aiming at me and hitting Trance instead,” I said, measuring his reaction with every word I spoke. So far, he was following, just not comprehending. “Stark was our third victim. He was possessed by one of your Changelings at the time of the attack.”

The man actually grew paler. His hands clutched into fists so tight his knuckles popped. “That’s impossible,” he whispered.

“Really?”

“Look, I’ve already told you more than is safe for me to say. How you extrapolate the data is up to you, but those boys are not murderers. Not in cold blood, not like you think. They are trying to survive, and we are trying to bring them home. I told you all of this so you might help me do so.”

“Not happening,” Tempest said. “If we catch them, they’re going to jail to face charges. They don’t get to run around killing
people in our city, and then go home like nothing happened, so you can forget that fantasy right now, Doctor.”

Dr. Kinsey’s eyes narrowed. “If you take anything I’ve just told you to the police, I will deny it wholly and under oath. This is a good-faith interview, Tempest, not a confession.”

Tempest glared. “My only concern is for the safety of the people left in this godforsaken, rotting city, Dr. Kinsey. Saving your job and your precious Recombinant project is nowhere on my list of priorities. Just so you know where we stand.”

“I am asking you, please—” Kinsey tried again.

“No.” Tempest stood up. “Unless you have some other information for us that will be useful in apprehending three suspects now wanted for murder, I think our interview is over.”

Dr. Kinsey also stood, nostrils flaring. “You’ll be able to tell them apart by their birthmarks,” he said. “They are absorbed by the host body, sort of like a fail-safe switch in case we lose one of them. It’s a brown mark, about the size of a quarter, located in the small of the back. It’s shaped like Australia.”

Of all the random shapes . . .

“Thank you, Doctor,” Tempest said. “We’ll be in touch.”

“I appreciate that.” He switched off the white noise and silence settled back over the room. “Good day.”

“Fat chance,” I muttered.

Twelve

Simon Hewitt

A
heated argument over what exactly to relay to Detectives Pascal and Forney filled the first ten minutes of our drive to the hospital. Oddly, Marco and I found ourselves pitted against Ethan, both of us in favor of telling them nothing—for now.

“We’re not saying keep them in the dark forever,” I said. I had scooted forward between the front seats. Marco drove, so I had to take point on our side. “But Dr. Kinsey took a calculated risk telling us what he did. If we go to Pascal, he’ll turn Weatherfield inside out looking for information on the Changelings.”

“And why is that a bad thing?” Ethan asked. His eyes flashed angrily. Surprisingly so. “You of all people should want the cops to bust down the doors and put that place out of business.”

“I do. But this isn’t the way, Ethan, and you know it. Something about today’s conversation makes me think Kinsey is on the level. He wants us to find the Changelings before the
cops do. The cops won’t be able to stop them without killing them.”

“The Changelings have killed.”

I blew hard through my nose. “And you really think I’ve forgotten that? Look, we don’t work for the police. We work for ourselves. Isn’t that why we left the ATF? So we wouldn’t have suits breathing down our neck, waiting for results?”

“She is right,
hermano,
” Marco said. I braced as he negotiated a sharp left turn. “Teresa said we would work with the police, not for them. If we handle this ourselves, it is likely to stay out of the media. The public is already afraid of us, and knowing our kind—”

“They aren’t our kind,” Ethan said. “They’re experiments.”

“They’re still living beings,” I snapped. “Maybe they had donated DNA, but they’re alive. And something tells me they didn’t break out of Weatherfield solely to try to kill me, so there’s another reason we aren’t seeing.”

Ethan quirked an eyebrow. “Chili cheese fries?”

“Ass.” I punched his shoulder, but it was lighthearted. He was coming around, and I needed to work that so it was three of us talking if Gage needed convincing, too. Renee wouldn’t; she didn’t like working with the police. Period.

“Brat.”

“Windbag.”

“Fire-eater.”

Ethan’s com rang, interrupting my turn at jabbing an insult. He plugged in the earpiece. “Tempest. Go ahead.” Pause. “Really? When?” Eyebrows furrowed. “Okay. Listen, we’ve got
a lot to talk about when we get there.” Pause. “Maybe ten minutes. See you then.”

Call over, his attention diverted back to us. “Teresa’s fine. The seizure was mild, some sort of reaction to the pain medication, and she’s resting again. They could move her out of ICU as early as tonight, if she keeps doing well.”

My chest felt lighter. In my book, no seizure was a mild seizure, but getting out of ICU was a great sign. She was getting better. She’d be fine.

“And you’ll never guess who’s in town,” Ethan continued. “Our old friend Psystorm.”

Simon “Psystorm” Hewitt was a formerly imprisoned Bane-turned-ally, and Teresa’s liaison with the current residents of Manhattan Island. He was working with her and the government to gain pardons for many of the residents and to establish their own community on the island that had once been their prison. He had a five-year-old son named Caleb, and the unlikely pair doted on each other, the son taking care of the father as much as vice versa.

Both also had strong powers. Simon was a telepath, and his son was already a high-level telekinetic. I had never personally seen their powers in action, but had heard the stories. They made me glad the pair was on our side.

“Social call?” Marco asked.

“Not strictly,” Ethan replied. “Sounds like he’s heard about our little problem and wants to assist.”

“Which is good news for us, right?” I said. “Maybe he can help us distinguish who’s real from who’s a Changeling.”

“Let’s hope,” Ethan said.

Marco hit another turn too hard, tossing me into the side of Ethan’s seat. I crossed my eyes at him in the rearview mirror. Next time, I was driving.

The waiting room
outside of the ICU wasn’t as private as the surgical waiting area. Another couple was there, so once Simon Hewitt joined us at the hospital, we held our little meeting down the hall in a storage room. It wasn’t ideal and left six people crammed in together.

Ethan and I took turns narrating the interview with Dr. Kinsey, accommodating occasional questions from our audience. Gage seemed more relaxed than he had last night, even though the circles under his eyes had darkened. Fatigue, more than fear, hovered around him like a storm cloud. Renee listened attentively, glaring in all the appropriate places and biting her lower lip to stop errant comments.

Simon asked the most questions as he caught up on a new case. Renee had filled him in as best she could before our arrival, but he was still missing salient details. He hadn’t changed—still balding, holding on hard to the last of his light brown hair. He had kind, gentle eyes and a narrow face that lit up when he smiled. Something we all did too rarely.

“You can’t take this to the police,” Simon said, once we’d finished.

“Agreed,” Marco said. “Dr. Kinsey took a large risk in telling us—”

“I don’t give a good goddamn about Kinsey,” Simon said.
“He made his bed, he can lie in it and get boils on his ass for all I care. This isn’t about him or his company, it’s about how the public will react.”

“The public?” Ethan asked.

Simon nodded. “It’s bad enough the media is starting to report the bodies and that a Meta could be responsible. How do you think people will react when they learn there are three of these Changelings out there? And the police, for that matter? They’ll get jumpy and innocent people will get hurt.”

Gage tilted his head, regarding Simon for a moment. “This isn’t Ocean City, Simon,” he said. “We don’t shoot first and ask questions later.”

“You don’t,” he replied, “but some people still do, and this isn’t about me, Gage. It’s about catching these kids before they do any more damage, either on purpose or by accident.”

“By accident?” Renee repeated. “You think leaving three people’s skins out to dry is an accident? Shooting Teresa was an accident?”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “You know what I mean, Renee. They don’t know how to be anything other than what they are.” He held up a hand. “And before you snap, no, I don’t condone what they’ve done, but I’m in a better position to sympathize. I don’t wish to see them dead.”

“So we don’t tell the police,” Ethan said. “What do we do instead?”

“Gage is going home for a shower and some sleep,” Renee said. Her tone left no room for argument, and judging by the slump of his shoulders, she wouldn’t get one. “I’ll stay and
keep an eye on Teresa if you guys want to . . . you know, do investigative stuff.”

“I’ll go back to the house with Gage,” Simon said. “I want to go over the information you’ve pooled together and get a better feel for things. Then I’d like to talk to your detectives.”

“What for?” Ethan asked.

“As much as I don’t want to see a human corpse that’s been reduced to a pile of skin, I may be able to get something from one of the bodies. A feeling or an image, something to help me locate one of the Changelings’ minds.”

“You’re looking for a needle in a stack of needles.”

“Yes, but occasionally one of them rusts and becomes distinguishable from the rest.”

“Good point.”

“Glad we agree.” Simon grinned. “Because I’m going to need an escort. I don’t know this city, and your detectives don’t know me from Adam.”

Ethan groaned. He’d just been volunteered and he knew it. “Want to tag along, Dal?”

The pleading look in his eyes made me smile. “I think—” Wait a minute. “What time is it?”

Simon tugged back the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s half past eleven. Something wrong?”

Crap. “No, I just need to make a call and cancel something.”

“Don’t cancel, Dahlia,” Gage said. He shook his head, jaw set. “We don’t need you until another lead stumbles across our path, so do your thing this afternoon. Don’t cancel it.”

I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and hug him,
but he looked fragile enough to shatter into a dozen pieces if I even poked him. Instead, I poured my gratitude into a hundred-watt smile. I wanted to have lunch with Noah. I craved the sense of normalcy I’d get from such a simple thing. It beat pacing the house with nothing to do, or having to look at those skin piles again. Gross.

The frown creasing Renee’s face voiced her silent disapproval. I smiled at her until she looked away. I neither needed nor wanted her approval anymore.

“Who wants me?” Marco asked.

“Keep me company until they need you,” Renee said, slipping one arm through his.

We continued to stand there, a ragtag corps of Metas, united by our shared knowledge and pain and by our determination to see this thing through to whatever end. It hummed through the room like a bass vibration, an invisible thread binding us. Another moment passed, and then we parted company.

I rode back
to the house with Gage, Simon, and Ethan, impressed that Gage didn’t fall asleep in the backseat. He walked stiffly into the house and up the stairs. I followed at a distance, waiting until his bedroom door clicked shut before heading to my own room to change. I didn’t want to show up in uniform and scare the locals.

I also didn’t want to tempt fate, since someone was obviously trying to kill me, so I put a plain black blouse on over the armored tank top, and switched out my pants for denim
shorts. I let my still-damp hair down, and it spiraled around my shoulders in soft waves. No makeup, though, as I rarely wore it. The fatigue circles under my eyes weren’t too visible, so I ignored them. He knew I was tired, and he knew why.

I opened my bedroom door and stepped back, a startled yelp rising in my throat. Ethan stood against the wall across the hallway, arms folded over his chest. Struggling to keep my pounding heart from blasting out of my chest, I glared at him. “Hover much?”

“Are you sure this is safe?” he asked. “Going out alone, when we know someone is targeting you?”

“Gage seems to think so.”

“Gage is exhausted.”

I stepped past him and started down the hall toward the main staircase. He caught up, grabbed my arm, and spun me around. I yanked out of his bruising grip, and he backed off a few steps. “I do not need a chaperone, Ethan.”

“No, you need an automatic Changeling detector, but since we’re all out of those, chaperone is the next best thing.”

“Forget it.”

“What if someone attacks you?”

“What if I get hit by a bus while crossing the street?” He flinched; I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Look, I appreciate the concern, I really do, but Noah’s an old friend, not a crazy stalker-man. And I swear I will be careful and alert. I don’t need you guys to protect me. I’m a big girl.”

“You’re twenty-two.”

Windbag was pulling the age card on me? “So what? Teresa is only twenty-five.”

“But she . . .”

He stopped. I didn’t relent, knowing precisely where that line had been headed. “But she what?” I said. “Had parents who were Rangers? Grew up around this sort of thing? Is our default leader and therefore the only female in this group capable of taking care of herself?”

“That’s not fair, Dal.”

“Tell me one damned thing about all of this that is fair. Go on, I dare you.”

Nothing. Good. Hoping the discussion was over, I turned and stalked toward the stairs. He caught up again at the top of the landing. This time, he didn’t grab me. He bolted down two steps and cut me off.