Metawars: The Complete Series: Trance, Changeling, Tempest, Chimera (58 page)

Noah snatched the bill before I could see the totals. He removed cash from a worn leather billfold and tossed it onto the center of the table between our plates.

“I have to say, Dahlia, I’m impressed.”

“By what?”

He pointed at my ketchup-smeared plate. “At your ability to pack away more food than me.” His own plate still sported half a dozen fries and two bites of burger.

“Lightweight.” I plucked a stray sandwich dill off the corner of his plate and popped it into my mouth, savoring the salty tang.

He stood and offered his arm. I tucked mine through it, and we walked outside into the afternoon sunshine. I spotted his van at the back of the lot; I’d been too harried before to notice it there.

“Do you want to follow me back?” he asked.

I stared, uncomprehending. Wait, his place. I tried to cover my flub by scratching a pretend itch on my ankle. I wasn’t ready for our date to end. I also wasn’t sure if I was ready for his place. It was an ideal distraction from the multiple
problems stressing me out. Someone wanted me dead. Pulling Noah into my crazy world only put him in danger. No. “Maybe that’s not a good idea.”

He blinked. Hard. “Dahlia, I’m not asking you home to have sex with me. We just met. Sort of. And I really do have dessert at home. Store-bought blueberry pie and canned whipped cream.”

“I didn’t mean to imply . . .” Okay, yeah, I had. “It’s just . . . people near me keep getting hurt.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“I can when the shooter was aiming for me.”

Anger simmered in his eyes—at me, at my intended killer, I didn’t know. “Just for pie,” he said quietly. “I don’t have a lot of friends. The, ah, shop keeps me pretty busy now that Mom and Dad are gone.”

I couldn’t help remembering the skimpily dressed Asian girl I’d seen at the shop, or from wondering how she fit into his schedule. Not that she was any of my business at this point. Noah and I had been on exactly one date. Personal histories and ex-girlfriends could wait.

Noah’s sincerity convinced me to follow him. “Yeah, okay, I’ll follow you. In case someone calls or something happens.”
Or in case you chicken out and run away like a startled pigeon.

“Okay.”

Noah’s cell rang. He fished it out of his pocket, frowned at the display, then answered. “Jimmy?”

I looked at the pavement, trying to not eavesdrop until Noah said, “Yeah, she’s right here, why?” I gave him a sharp
look. He held up his hand, and I barely kept silent long enough for him to finish the brief call. “Thanks, Jimmy, I’ll tell her.” He hung up.

“What?” I asked, nearly bursting with anxiety.

“Jimmy said your friend Onyx called the shop looking for you.”

Marco. Figured he would—wait. “He called the shop?” I patted myself down, seeking a familiar bulge. Well, hell, I’d left my com in the car. “Why?”

“He said to tell you Tempest and Psystorm were in an accident and to get home.”

If Noah added anything else, I didn’t hear it over the roar in my ears.

Fourteen

Nadine Lee

T
he moment rubber hit the road, I was on the phone, dialing the house. Noah had kindly offered to drive me. I think I mumbled an apology and thank-you before fleeing the parking lot. I drove with a white-knuckled grip, trying to keep a cap on my panic until I knew exactly what was happening. Marco said to go home, not to the hospital, which was a good sign. Unless they were dead, in which case the hospital was pointless.

No, they were fine, just shaken up or bruised. No big deal. Had to be no big deal.

Someone picked up on the third ring. “Where the hell have you been?” Renee asked.

“What’s going on, Renee? What happened to Ethan and Simon?”

“Hold on.” Muffled voices on her end. “Dahlia? It is Marco. They are fine, but Gage is calling a team meeting. Are you coming home?”

They are fine.
The best words ever, but they left me with a smoking kernel of anger in the pit of my stomach. Why all
the panic if they were fine and it was just a meeting? Furious words nudged at the back of my brain, but I reined them in. No sense in screaming at him over the com.

“I’m in the car, maybe ten minutes away,” I said. “And don’t you ever leave a freaking message like that again, you ass. That was cruel.”

“I apologize,
Ascua
. I did not mean—”

“Yes, you did.”

Silence. “I am truly sorry.” Penitence coated his words, pouring a little water on my smoking anger.

“See you in a few.” I smacked off the com and gripped the wheel. I should have asked what exactly had happened to Ethan and Simon. Now I had to spend the rest of the drive wondering. Briefly, I considered calling Noah to tell him everything was okay. Only, I didn’t know what was actually happening, or if it really was okay.

Ethan was sitting
on the porch when I drove up. Only one Sport was in the driveway, which struck me as odd. He stood, the sun glinting off a white bandage taped to his forehead. His nose was red, swollen, and one eye had darkened. He was out of uniform, in khaki shorts and a blue T-shirt that read “Get Real.” I parked, palmed the keys, and practically flew into his arms.

“For a minute I thought you were dead,” I said, words muffled against his shoulder.

One hand stroked my hair. “I’m fine, Dal, just a little sore.”

I pulled back. “I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, just don’t punch me in the ribs or anything, okay?”

Not a problem, since someone else with greener eyes and cat-shifting abilities was currently on my list of people to punch.

We ascended the porch steps, and I pushed open the front door. My roller still lay where I’d dropped it yesterday, dried to the paint pan.

“Did you enjoy your afternoon?” he asked.

“I was starting to.” The way I ran off, I’d be lucky if he wanted to see me again. The joys of being an on-call superhero. “So what happened, anyway?”

He lingered in the lobby, casting furtive looks down the left hall, toward the War Room. “Simon was caught up on the details of the case, so we called Pascal and got permission to visit the morgue, to see the Stark and John Doe remains. We decided to shortcut across town by using the freeway. Someone came up behind us on the exit ramp and smashed right into the bumper. I was so surprised, I couldn’t hold the wheel.”

He cringed, probably reliving the still-fresh memory. “We went over the embankment, flipped a few times. I guess there’s a great example of why one should always wear safety belts, because we both walked away from it.” He seemed to notice my expression for the first time. “What?”

“Someone drove you off the freeway and nearly killed you.”

“He gave me a splitting headache, but I’m nowhere near almost killed. Neither is Simon. He just got a bloody nose and glass in his hair.”

“Do you think it was a Changeling?”

“Gage does, which is why he wants a team meeting. Everyone in one room.”

One room. “Who’s at the hospital?”

“Agent McNally’s keeping an eye on her.”

Voices bounced back and forth in a heated discussion, drifting out of the War Room’s open door long before we reached it. Words died and arguments stopped as we entered. Gage, Simon, and Renee sat on one side of the long table; Marco kept the other side warm. Simon sported a swollen nose and bruise across his left cheek.

“Did Ethan fill you in?” Gage asked.

“Yes,” Ethan replied.

He sat down next to Marco, and I took the neighboring chair. Right across from Renee, whose intent gaze drilled into my head. I ignored her and focused on Gage.

“I don’t like the word
coincidence,
” Gage continued. “Teresa never believed in it, and I don’t think it applies here. I think they were purposely run off the road, because of their destination and intentions.”

“It seems impossible, no?” Marco asked. “That the Changelings would know precisely where they were going and when to cut them off?”

“Not if they were following them from the house,” I offered. “We didn’t exactly keep Simon’s presence a guarded secret, so people know he’s here. They know who he is and what he can do.”

Gage nodded. “My thinking, exactly. We haven’t been careful enough, and we’ve underestimated our enemy. They
know what they’re doing, and they also seem to know what we’re doing.”

“Which means they see me as a threat,” Simon said. “My powers could find something useful to us and damaging to them. It’s even more important that I see those bodies. Get a feel for them, see if there’s any residual aura I can trace. Especially Stark, since it’s been just over twelve hours since he was killed.”

“Have we learned anything new about Stark?” I asked.

“Actually, we do have a lead on that,” Renee said. She pushed a sheet of paper across the table. A police report. “He had a girlfriend named Nadine Lee, who worked part-time at a coffee shop down in Anaheim. She didn’t show up for work yesterday or today.”

“I take it that’s not like her.”

“Her boss said you could set a watch by her schedule. She does things down to the minute. Obsessive-compulsive disorder, he said. Less the counting thing, and more keeping things organized and tidy.”

“And I don’t suppose,” Ethan said, “there’s anyone in Nadine Lee’s life who’s gone missing? Someone who could be our John Doe?”

“We’re still digging into that angle,” Renee said. “But so far, nada.”

“What’s our timeline on this so far?”

Gage stood up and walked over to one of the dry-erase boards. He picked up a marker and wrote as he spoke. “Eleven days ago, the Changelings break out of Weatherfield using Ronald Jarvis. His skin must have been shed as soon as they
get out, because he’s two days gone when his body is found. There’s an unknown period of eight days between finding him and John Doe, the next victim, who died yesterday.”

“The same day Lee was noticed to be missing,” Renee added.

“Right.” Gage scribbled that down. “From John Doe, we go to Arnold Stark, who was used to get close enough to try to kill our people.” I squirmed; he studiously avoided eye contact. “From Stark, we get Miguel Ortega and now we’re stuck. He could still be in Ortega, or the body could be out there waiting to be found.”

“Doubtful,” Simon said. “They know you’re onto them now. They won’t leave any more bread crumbs, not if they’re smart, which they seem to be.”

Scary good point.

Ethan drummed his fingers against the table. “We’re also assuming the same Changeling is moving through all of these people, but there are three of them.”

“That’s true,” Gage said. “But I don’t think any of these host choices are coincidental. They were all chosen for a specific reason, like stepping-stones toward another destination.”

“But why do all of this?” I asked. “They’re Changelings, for God’s sake. They could become anyone they want to be, and no one would be the wiser. They could settle down and live normal lives, right under our noses. So why this elaborate charade? Why a public assassination attempt and uncontrollable road rage? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Lots of good questions, Dal,” Gage said. “On the list of things I’ll ask when we catch these sons of bitches, believe
me. As far as easy escapes go, theirs ranks up there, but they didn’t stay under the radar. They’re doing this for a reason.”

Renee snorted. “Another anti-Meta statement?”

“Maybe.” Gage drew a star above the line that represented the eight days between Jarvis and John Doe. “This is what I want to know more about. And I want to find Nadine Lee. Pascal has another detective looking into her disappearance, and he’s agreed to copy us on anything he finds.”

“You guys trust this Detective Pascal to do right by you?” Simon asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Good enough.”

“Do we know what Nadine Lee looks like?” Ethan asked. “In case we see her on the street or something?”

Gage shuffled through a stack of papers and withdrew a photograph printed out on a half sheet. He slid it down the table to Ethan. I scooted a bit closer and peered over his arm. A pretty Asian girl with long black hair and about my age grinned off to the left of the picture taker. I studied the oddly familiar image, but couldn’t place—

Are you going out in that?

Sure. Why the hell not?

You look like a hooker.

My stomach seized. I tried to inhale and choked. My vision blurred, obscuring the photograph. It couldn’t be, it was just a coincidence. My mind was playing tricks, that’s all. It couldn’t be the same girl.

“Dal? You okay over there?”

Gage’s voice, concerned. I stood up, sending the wheeled
chair rolling backward into the wall.
Lie, you idiot, just get out of there.

“Lunch,” I ground out, gasping for air. “Not agreeing with—oh no.”

I bolted from the room, tearing ass down the hall to the bathroom near the kitchen. I shoved the door open without bothering to turn on the light, skidded to my knees in front of the toilet, and vomited up every bit of that burger and fries. Acid scorched my throat. I swallowed hard, gagged, and retched a few more dry heaves into the bowl.

It wasn’t possible. Nadine Lee had no reason to be in the Scott apartment. No reason whatsoever. I had to have confused the mystery girl with Nadine. My imagination was working overtime. They just looked alike. Everyone had a twin, that’s what they said.

That’s what who said?

My hands gripped the sides of the porcelain bowl. Tears spilled across both cheeks and dripped down my chin and neck. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to think. Noah was not involved in this; he couldn’t be involved. It was a coincidence. Maybe Teresa and Gage didn’t believe in coincidence, but it did exist. It had to exist.

I spat and flushed, desperate to rinse out my mouth. The sink seemed so far away. I crawled toward it on shaking limbs, but collapsed against the wall before making it halfway. My entire body trembled, as much from the violent vomiting as from shock and fear. Noah wasn’t a killer. I knew deep down, in a place where logic didn’t go and instinct ruled. I knew it
like I knew the sky was blue and the Pacific Ocean was just a few miles west.