Tegan's Return (The Ultimate Power Series #2) (11 page)

 I peer up at her tired features. She's been through so much today, lost her home. She doesn't need to be dealing with my problems. “You're right, thanks for talking to me,” I tell her with a small smile.

 Before she leaves the room she hovers for a moment, her back to the door which is slightly ajar. “Would it be too much to ask that you keep what you know about Rita to yourself?” she asks in a hesitant voice.

 “Of course not,” I reply.

 Noreen sighs in relief. “Thank you Tegan, I really don't know how Rita would react if she discovered Theodore was her father.”

 I'm about to assure her again that I won't say anything when the kitchen door bursts open and Rita's furious face emerges.

 “Theodore is my father?” she asks, staring at her mother with cold, accusing eyes.

The drama that ensues is not exactly what I'd expected. Rita shouts at her mother, but only to tell her that she had her suspicions all along and now that everything is out in the open they can get on with their lives. She seems slightly withdrawn though, like she knew Theodore was her dad ever since she stared into his eyes for the first time back on Ridley Island. Perhaps she'd been trying to pretend that it wasn't true. Her anger at her mother is half-hearted, more like weary acceptance than anything else. The two of them go up to Finn's room, where I can hear them having a conversation that switches between earnest and dramatic, and sort of simmers down to hushed.

 “Well, that's a turn up for the books,” says Alvie, in an excitable tone, relishing the salacious piece of gossip.

 Gabriel leans back against the counter with his arms folded. “You and I both know what it's like to have unpleasant fathers, Alvie,” he says in a low voice.

 “Yeah,” Alvie sighs. I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, but he just shrugs and answers sadly, “I haven't spoken to my dad since I was seventeen. He threw me out of the house because he couldn't abide by my choice of
lifestyle
.”

 I nod in understanding then. I already know about Gabriel's father, Alin Cristescu, who rejected him because he was a dhamphir. I wonder how parental rejection affects a person's psyche. My dad has always been supportive of me, and thinking this causes a stab of guilt to twist in my gut. I have no clue where he is, and he could be suffering right now, all because of the choice I made to run away.

 I try to clear those thoughts from my head. “So, did Rita manage to save anything from the house?” I ask.

 “She got a few pieces of furniture that we put out in Finn's shed and some clothes for her and her mum. Everything else was too damaged. She says they had insurance though, so hopefully the money from that will help in rebuilding the place.”

 “That's good, I'm going to bed. I'll see you both in the morning.”

 Alvie and Gabriel say goodnight and I go up to my room to find Finn under the covers sleeping like the dead. He's completely silent, not snoring or anything. I strip off and get into some shorts and a t-shirt before slipping under the blanket, doing my best not to wake him.

 It doesn't take long for me to drift off. I dream that I'm tied to a chair in the middle of the dance floor at Crimson. Around me are standing a circle of vampires, their eyes glowing red. I struggle against the rope that ties me down and the rough texture grates against my skin. All of the vampires I've ever met are here, even Antonia and Howard Herrington, despite the fact that they're both dead.

 At the head of the circle is Jeremy Whitfield. He steps forward and a slow, snakelike smile curls around his lips, almost to the point of a rictus grin. My eyes keep focusing on the edges of his lips as they curl and curl. Then he begins to laugh quietly, but increasingly it gets louder and the rest of the vampires join in. Suddenly he steps closer and glares down at me from his massive height.

 Then he opens his mouth and says, “Did you think you could fool me?”

 I gasp and open my eyes. The cold December sunlight is shining through the bedroom curtains. My entire face is pressed into Finn's neck and his arms are snug around my waist. Okay, this sleeping in the same bed thing can't go on for much longer. It's only been one night and already the boundaries have started to blur. I'll sleep downstairs on the couch if that's what it takes. I try to slip away from him, but he feels me move and pulls me closer.

 “Quit it, would you?” Finn groans, still half asleep.

 “I will if you let go of me,” I hiss and this seems to wake him up. His eyes open blearily and he notices how close we are. Then he smiles knowingly and removes his arms from my waist. I scoot out of the bed and run into the bathroom.

 I'm too embarrassed to go back into the room and face Finn, so I head downstairs in search of breakfast. Rita, Alvie and Gabriel are already up and have made a feast of toast, eggs and fried tomatoes.

 “Where's your mum?” I ask Rita, as I sit down at the table and butter myself some toast.

 “She's not feeling well. She's going to stay in bed for the morning.” Rita answers with a solemn note to her voice.

 A minute later Finn pops in the door in only his boxer shorts. The magical poultice has shed his wound and in its place is perfectly healed skin. He pats Rita on the head, scruffing her dark hair. “Look at me,” he exclaims, “good as new. I'll have to get you to see to me the next time I'm injured.” He's got a massive grin on his face.

 This makes Rita scowl like nobody's business. “Don't ever do that to me again,” she threatens.

 Finn laughs merrily and gives her a comical pat on the arse. Her expression sours even further and I have to hold back my laughter.

 She lifts up her cup of coffee and walks over to the table. “You're lucky I need you to let me stay in your house or you'd be growing a tail right now Finn,” she tells him darkly.

 He shakes his head. “Lighten up misery guts,” he says, before pulling up a chair beside me and plopping food onto his plate.

 Rita clears her throat. “By the way Finn, you wouldn't mind if I had my clients come see me here today? They usually come by the house, but obviously that's not going to work until it's rebuilt.”

 Finn chews on a piece of toast. “You should be nicer to the people you want to ask favours from,” he says, and I can tell he's enjoying himself immensely.

 Rita lets out a heavy sigh. “I healed your stupid leg didn't I?”

 “I suppose,” Finn accedes. “Go on then, you can bring them into the living room and do whatever it is you do in there. Just clean up the mess when you're finished.”

 “Fine,” says Rita sharply, spooning excessive amounts of sugar into her mug.

 My curiosity piques. “What do you have clients for?” I ask.

 “Rita and her mum do spells for people,” Alvie answers for her. “Small stuff like minor love potions, cures for acne, that kind of thing.”

 My eyes widen with interest. “Don't they wonder how you do it?”

 “Lots of people believe in magic,” says Rita. “You'll find that once you can achieve the results they want they don't ask a lot of questions. Besides, how else are we going to pay the bills?”

 “I guess it's as good a job as any. I like that you're using your magic to help people,” I admit, and Rita seems pleased.

 Finn's leg brushes against mine. I glance at him quickly and he winks with a mischievous expression on his face. So he hasn't forgotten how we woke up this morning then.

 I throw him a look of annoyance. “Can't you put some clothes on?” I ask.

 “My house, my rules,” he answers happily.

 “I definitely don't mind if you want to walk around topless,” Alvie puts in, wiggling his eyebrows.

 That wipes the smile right off Finn's face, and we all burst out laughing a second later.

 After breakfast I join Finn and Gabriel on a trip to the nearest supermarket. We need to stock up on food since there's so many of us in the house now. We end up spending a phenomenal amount, but Gabriel insists on paying for everything. I wonder where he gets his money from these days, since he doesn't work at Indigo anymore. Then again, he probably has a lot of savings if he's as old as Finn told me he is.

 I lounge around for a while when we get back, watching as various men and women come and go from the house. Rita shuts the living room door each time they come though, so I can't eavesdrop at what's going on. For some reason I'm fascinated by the fact that humans who live very normal, ordinary lives can accept magic as a feasible method by which to rid themselves of their ailments. It takes all sorts I suppose.

 I'm munching on a bowl of tortilla chips when Finn gets back from some slayer business he had to attend to. Alvie and Gabriel are upstairs checking to see how Noreen is doing, since she still hasn't emerged from the bedroom all day. I have a feeling her illness is emotional rather than physical. Rita discovering the true identity of her father must surely have taken a toll on the woman.

 Every second chip I pick up goes on the floor for Wolf to eat. He seems to like them, too.

 “Having fun?” Finn asks, shrugging out of his leather jacket.

 “Lots,” I reply, grinning down at Wolf, my new found canine companion.

 “Good, because you're not going to like what I have to say next.”

 I put down the bowl and turn to face him. “What?”

 “I spoke to Pamphrock today, he's getting impatient. He says you have three more days to get to Rebecca before he gathers his men and breaks into Whitfield's mansion himself.”

 “Great,” I answer, deadpan. “Does he actually think brute force will work? I mean, he could always try attacking during the day while the vampires are at their most vulnerable, but I have a feeling Whitfield has lots of protection set up for the hours when he's asleep. I can't see a man like that leaving himself open to attack at any time of the day or night.”

 “You're right,” Finn agrees. “But give Pamphrock a break, he's worried about his daughter. He's not thinking straight.”

 I dust the salt and crumbs from my hands and stand up. “So three days?” I say to Finn.

 “Three days,” he tells me.

 “It looks like I've got some vampire grovelling to do then, doesn't it.”

Girl With One Eye

I shower, put on some make-up and dress myself in a calf length black dress and boots before heading to Crimson. I despise lowering myself to this level, but I need to get back into Ethan's good books if I want to gain access to Whitfield's private home.

 It's ten at night by the time I get there and the revellers are in full swing. I spot Dru and Lucas standing at the door, so I take a deep breath for courage and skip the queue, walking towards them. I'm not normally self-assured enough to do this kind of thing, but I don't have the time to wait in line for an hour. I only have three days left to get to Rebecca. Lucas smiles when he spots me.

 “Tegan, looking delectable as always,” he leers.

 “I have to see Ethan,” I tell him, making my way to walk past him and into the club. He grabs onto my arm.

 “What makes you think he wants to see you?” he breathes down my neck. “The last I heard you pissed him off pretty bad.”

 I pull my arm out of his grip. “I can handle him,” I reply, but my words come out shaky.

 Lucas is thoroughly amused. “If that's what you think then you don't know Ethan half as well as I thought you did.”

 Dru watches our exchange with interest. “Quit messing with her Lucas,” she says.

 Lucas shoots me a look as if to tell me it's my own funeral, then he shakes his head. “Well, you were warned.”

 I purse my lips and continue inside. So Ethan
was
angry with how I walked off on him last night. Shit. The club is packed and there's barely enough room to breathe, let alone move. I struggle past the masses and manage to slip through to the bar where I promptly order a vodka and orange juice. I swallow the whole thing back in two very long gulps. I'm suddenly terribly thirsty, it must be my nerves.

 I turn around and lean against the bar to scan the crowds, but I don't see Ethan anywhere. Then my eyes focus in on a girl who's headed in my direction, her gaze is fixed determinedly on mine. She's got short brown hair and is wearing tight denim jeans and a black tank top. But the most noticeable thing about her is that she's got an eye patch, like a pirate.

 She seems out of breath and panicked. When she steps before me and puts her hands on each of my shoulders, I look down to find that they are visibly shaking. She pulls me into a hug, her mouth is right over my ear and she talks rapidly.

 “Don't move or pull away. I know you don't know me, but I have information for you. I know where your father is.”

 My jaw drops and my eyes gape at her in shock. She pulls me into her again. “Wait until I get to the door and then follow me outside.”

 She lets go of me then and looks at me meaningfully, before heading toward a side exit. My body won't move for a minute, and I don't know if I should follow her or not. This could be a trap, and if I go outside I'll be walking right into it. But there's something about her panic, her shaking hands, that makes me believe her. This girl has the answers I've been looking for, and I'm not about to let her slip from my grasp.

 I push past the crowds to the door she just slipped through, but before I step outside I stand cautiously behind the steel frame and peer out. The girl is rubbing her shaking hands over her bare arms just as a sleek black town car pulls up to the side of the club. She barely has time to react when several people emerge at once, Ethan, Eliza, Jeremy and his bodyguards. Her expression drops, and stark, undiluted fear covers her face.

 For a second I feel like I might walk out to her, but I stop myself. This girl has information about my father, but the vampires seem to terrify her. I can't let them know that she's already spoken to me. The girl turns and begins to run away, but a second later Jeremy has her within his grasp. He'd moved so quickly. His hand is holding tightly onto the back of her neck, and then he tosses her to the ground while his bodyguards surround her.

 Ethan is standing off to the side, watching Jeremy intimidate the poor girl. He doesn't move to help her and there is no expression on his face.

 Jeremy peers down at her as though he has a million questions on the tip of his tongue. “Now, what is a witch doing on my territory?” he asks finally, after an agonising wait.

 “I can help you,” she offers weakly, holding herself with shivering arms that betray her fear.

 Whitfield laughs, and it brings back memories of the dream I had last night, where I'd been helpless and tied to a chair. The helplessness of the girl with the eye patch is so similar to what I had felt that it takes so much will power not to run to her aid. I'm too weak to do anything that will stop Whitfield from harming her. So she's a witch who knows something about my dad. Does that mean it's the magical families who've got him? Or is she here to warn me that the vampires are not to be trusted?

 “I don't need help from a pathetic witch. Now who sent you here?” asks Whitfield, scowling hatefully. He's bent over her with one hand digging into her thin, pale arm.

 She turns her head a fraction to look up at him, and I flinch back in surprise when she spits in his face. Whitfield lets go and throws her to the ground. She crawls backward on her hands as he advances on her with bloody murder in his eyes. But he stops just short of her and Eliza provides him with a handkerchief.

 “You have two choices,” says Eliza, as her father wipes his face. “You can either tell us what you're doing here and we'll kill you quickly and painlessly, or you can continue to refuse and we will torture you until you give us the information we want. Quite frankly, it would be much more pleasant for all involved if you were forthcoming.”

 “I'm n-not here for any particular reason. I was observing, that's all,” the witch answers with a stutter.

 “Observing what?” Whitfield asks casually. He seems to have calmed down now. In my head I'm praying that the witch comes up with a good excuse for being here, because she obviously wasn't in Crimson tonight to observe. She came to provide me with information about my dad. I try not to think about the fact that this is what has brought about her imminent death. Both Whitfield and his daughter seem intent on killing her.

 “Your movements, what you're planning. We're at war aren't we?” she replies.

 Bless her quick thinking. Still, Whitfield doesn't appear to be satisfied, despite the fact that she's answered him.

 “Indeed we are,” says Whitfield. “A war of which you just happen to be the most recent casualty.” Then he slides his hand inside his dark blue designer coat and reveals a beautiful antique knife. Beautifully lethal.

 He lifts the knife and then lowers it to the witch's throat and presses into her skin. I wonder why he doesn't just use his fangs. Then again, the Governor of South Tribane probably doesn't lower himself to such base behaviour. Air catches in my lungs. I can't let him kill her. Not only due to the fact that it would weigh on my conscience for the rest of my life, but also because she has information about Dad.

 “Ah, now I know who sent you,” Whitfield whispers in her ear and then presses his knife in, drawing a small drop of blood. How can he know? Only a moment ago he was threatening her for answers. Perhaps his ancient mind suddenly realised who she is.

 The witch shakes her head. “You're wrong, I don't work for anyone. I'm rogue.” She's begging for her life now, and I can't just stand here and do nothing.

 Against my own better judgement, my body moves. Words leave my lips in a blur. I feel like I'm having an outer body experience. “What's going on?” I ask, trying to sound dumb and surprised and not like I've been spying on them this whole time as I step out into the alley. All eyes dart to me, and my throat tightens like a vice. But then, before the vampires can react to my presence, something else happens.

 A white mist seeps from the sewer drains that line the alley at the side of the club. My eyes are drawn to it as it swirls and takes human shape. A moment later two tall men and a woman stand before the vampires. They all look sort of bedraggled, like they've been living rough for the past few nights. The woman's deep brown eyes land on me immediately, and there's a strange questioning look in them that I can't quite decipher.

 Then strong arms are dragging me back and closing in around me. Ethan. “You shouldn't be here,” he says to me, in a low, hard voice. It makes me feel like I'm in danger, because there's no warmth in his words. Perhaps I pissed him off even more than I thought I did last night.

 “You will regret this move,” Whitfield declares, speaking to the magical mist folk who have just appeared out of nowhere. He still has his knife pressed to the throat of the witch with the eye patch. One of the men throws a bolt of mist at Whitfield's hand, perhaps to loosen his grip on the knife, but it doesn't work. It only functions to increase his anger. And now, it seems that the witch isn't going to survive this night, because Whitfield slits her throat in one clean and swift movement.

 I whimper and try to break free of Ethan's hold, but he only tightens it and whispers, “Do not interfere.”

 Whitfield drops her slack body to the ground and advances on the three, but the woman makes a hand gesture that knocks him back. There are tears streaming down her face. She's got long dark brown hair that begins to fizzle with electricity. It's as though the magic is a manifestation of her grief at seeing her friend killed. She raises her palm at Whitfield, and his bodyguards are now by his side. She talks swiftly. Her words sound like somebody's put them on fast forward on an old video player. They don't make one bit of sense.

 A stream of white light bursts from her open palm, and Whitfield seems to think better of getting any closer to her now. He nods to his bodyguards, who then swiftly escort him back to his town car, with Eliza in tow. Ethan picks me up without any effort at all and slides me inside the car with him.

 A moment later we're speeding away from the club. Ethan has me on his lap in the back of the car. It's a bit of a tight squeeze and I'm not entirely comfortable being so close to Whitfield and his daughter, who by the way, clearly despises me. I twist around to look out the back window and find that the three are right on our tail, gliding through the air like ghosts.

 “Who are they?” I ask Ethan in a quiet voice, a determined silence permeates the car, and I feel everyone's attention flick to me when I speak. It makes me wish I had kept my mouth shut.

 “That is none of your concern,” says Ethan. He's still using that horribly cold tone with me, like he suddenly hates me or something.

 The car speeds through the night time city streets, but then we come to a road that's blocked with traffic. I turn around again. The two warlocks and the witch are still coming at us, getting dangerously close now that the car has stopped. For a moment, I wonder if the people on the street can see them fly through the air, but then I remember what Finn told me about glamour.

 “What should I do, sir?” asks the driver/bodyguard worriedly.

 A small sigh escapes Whitfield. “Use the footpath,” he instructs. The driver nods and pulls the car up onto the path, causing pedestrians to dive out of the way. Lots of cars out on the road honk their horns at us, but we're going too fast for me to pay much attention to them. My heart is in my throat as I consider the fact that the vampires could probably walk away relatively unharmed should we get into an accident. I, on the other hand, would not be quite so lucky.

 Then there's a loud bang on the roof of the car. It seems we've been caught up with. I look to the side to see the woman with the long brown hair peering in the window right at me as she glides along rapidly. She looks confused as to why I'm in the car with the vampires. Perhaps she can sense my magic and thinks that I'm a witch like her.

 I give her a small shrug but I don't think she notices, because now she is saying something and running her hand over the glass of the window. It begins to sparkle and glitter, and then the hard glass fizzles away as though it has been melted. Cold air gushes in the now non-existent window.

 “Why don't you stand and fight vampire?” says the witch, directing her question at Whitfield.

  “I am doing you a service, little witch,” Whitfield replies calmly. “If we were to fight you would not come out of it well - or alive.”

 “Care to test that theory?” A male voice chimes in from above. One of the warlocks is currently standing on the roof of the car. I wonder how he's managing not to slip off at the speed we're going.

 “If you do not refrain from your pursuit I will murder every person you ever loved while they sleep in their beds,” says Whitfield, and judging from the hate in his words, I don't doubt him. At the moment my hair is getting blown into my face since the car is doing well near 100 miles an hour and we're currently minus a window.

 The witch laughs, but I can see the grief in her eyes. “Too late for that bloodsucker. That was my sister's throat you slit back there, and I'm sure you know just how ruthless an enemy can be when they've got nothing left to lose.” A lone tear falls down her angry face, but the wind blows it away.

 It makes me feel so completely horrible, because I'm thinking that I'm definitely on the wrong side of this fight. Not that I had much choice in the matter, since Ethan practically threw me into the car. I may not be a witch myself, but the magic in me has me feeling a connection to the three people pursuing Whitfield's shiny black car.