The Gathering (37 page)

“Anything.”

“Don’t disregard what I said because of my feelings for you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” With a nod, he sets his hands behind him. “A little sound would be nice.”

I lift my attention to the trees and just like that, a chorus of birdsong bursts through the silence. The birds fly in impressive circles around us, an impromptu choreographed air show.

Link leans back against his arms. “All we need is some popcorn.”

A bowl appears in my lap. I hand it to him with a smile, rest my head against his shoulder, and enjoy the show.

We Meet Again

M
y plan? Grab Luka last. Maybe my linking abilities will fail like they did when we tried rescuing Gabe and he’ll have to stay behind. I definitely feel distraught enough.

I grab Felix, Lexi, Connal, Link, Clive, and then Cap, who gives me this look, like he knows exactly what I’m doing. It doesn’t matter. My hope is a no-go. Instead of feeling squished and exhausted, I feel strong, like I could grab ten more and keep going. Even my own gifting refuses to cooperate with my selfish desires.

With no more excuses at my disposal, I close my eyes and think of Luka. I feel the connection before he shows up. It’s this hot, pulsing thing, so strong it will not be severed. The eight of us hold hands—Link to my left, Luka on my right. Before we went to sleep, we created a separate board for Cormack in the investigation room and wrote down everything we could find. Widowed at the young age of thirty-two, long before she ran for office. No kids. An older sister with three. An avid golfer who’s no good at golf—a running joke in the media. A senator for the state of Maryland for twelve years before she considered running for presidency.

I run the random facts through my mind now. The ground beneath my feet gives way. My stomach drops. And when I open my eyes, the eight of us stand on the edge of a wood, covered beneath Clive’s cloak, the sky overhead a dull gray.

This is it. We’re really here.

Link squeezes my shoulder. “I’m off.”

I give him a hug and hold on tight.

“Remember what I said,” he whispers. Then he lets go and slinks off into the shadows, in the direction of a faint tugging behind my bellybutton.

There’s a lush, green fairway in front of us. Up ahead, the sound of laughter. A party of four gathers on the tee box, Cormack among them. In real life, the president of the United States would be surrounded by bodyguards. Not here. She’s golfing on an empty course with what appears to be three friends. But they aren’t really friends at all. They’re projections. The hijacker’s eyes and ears. If any of them see us or suspect our presence, things will get dangerous fast.

I watch as Cormack takes a few practice swings, then drives the ball straight and far, right down the middle of the fairway. Her fake friends break into applause.

“We have to figure out how to get her alone,” I mutter.

But how?

We wait through two more agonizing holes before my suspicions are confirmed. Not one of her balls strays from her target. And she’s not aiming for the woods. Each shot lands in the center of the fairway, far away from us. The gentleman she rides with in the cart never leaves her side either. We’re going to have to take a risk.

On the third tee off, on a hole where the fairway is slightly obscured by a hill, Lexi sprints toward Cormack’s ball under Clive’s expanding cloak. She grabs it and sprints back.

When she hands the ball to me, my insides stretch. It’s a familiar feeling, one that happens anytime I link someone. Link must have found the doorway. He must be pulling people through and since I’m linked to him, I can feel it. My breathing grows shallow. This is really happening. There’s no turning back.

Cormack and her projection buddies crest the hill on two golf carts. We duck further into the woods, listening as they search for the ball. My insides stretch again. Link’s getting more people through. He’s doing it fast.

A twig snaps not too far away.

“Just when I thought I got rid of that slice,” Cormack calls, her voice drawing nearer.

“I don’t think you were that far off, dear,” someone calls back.

“Let me just look in the brush over here.”

Cap moves left, circling around her. And then, when she’s close enough, he creeps up behind Cormack and clamps his hand tightly around her mouth.

Her nostrils flare. She tries to scream, but Cap traps the noise in his palm and drags her deeper into the woods, out of earshot. Her attention zips from me to Luka to Lexi to Connal, her eyes growing wider. She can’t recognize us from the Most Wanted list, not when she hasn’t been living in the real world. Unless, of course, the hijacker transferred that bit of information into her dream in case any of us decided to show up. Judging by the look of sheer terror on her face, that’s exactly what the hijacker did. And here we are. Four of us.

Cormack’s chest heaves. Her legs flail.

“Please.” I hold up my hands and step closer. “We’re not the dangerous ones. The people you’re golfing with are. We’re not going to hurt you. We’re here to protect you.”

The gray sky darkens.

My heart thuds faster. We don’t have much time, and this conversation is about to get really bizarre. “This, right now, is a dream. You’ve been locked up in here for months while the country you’re supposed to be leading falls to pieces.”

Cormack’s flailing loses its edge.

“I want you to think really hard. When’s the last time you went to work? You’re the president of the United States, but I’m willing to bet you’ve been spending your days improving your golf game. Which is strangely flawless, don’t you think?”

She goes still, a subtle crease forming between her eyebrows.

I hold up her ball. “We had to grab this off the middle of the fairway.” My attention shifts upward, toward the sky, which continues to darken, as if the dream is alive. As if the dream
knows
. “When’s the last time you saw the sun? Or windows without bars? Think about it. Why would a clubhouse on a course this nice need bars on the windows?”

“Sweetie?” The voice belongs to the same man who called to her earlier. “Did you find your ball?”

At the sound of his voice, Cormack begins flailing again. Cap tightens his grip over her mouth and around her waist.

I glance in the direction of the golf course. “Is that your husband?”

She nods wildly.

“Your husband is dead. He died of an aggressive form of testicular cancer sixteen years ago. It’s not possible for him to be golfing with you right now.”

The faintest pulse of clarity flickers in her eyes.

“We’re here to help you. We can’t do that unless you let us.”

“Sweetheart?” Her fake husband’s voice draws nearer. “Where did you wander off to?”

The wind stirs, rustling the tree branches.

Cormack has gone very, very still. Slowly, Cap removes his hand. She stares at me, her chest rising and falling quickly. “If my husband is dead, then who is that?”

“Nobody you can trust.”

There’s another shout from the man. “Abigail, answer me now, please!”

We try retreating further into the woods, but the brush grows taller, denser. Forming an impenetrable barrier of snarls and thorns.

“What’s happening?” Cormack asks.

“It knows we’re here.” I set my hands on her shoulders and squeeze until she looks me directly in the eye. “We don’t have much time. Listen carefully. Your body has been hijacked. You’re being held prisoner inside a dream.” I give her a rattle, like Link did when he awakened my grandmother and Clive from their drug-induced stupors.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t object.

“We are here to set you free. Your country needs you more than ever.” I give her another rattle. “When you wake up, trust nobody but Adam. He’s one of your bodyguards and he’s on our side.”

The clouds press lower. The wind strengthens, making the trees groan and sway.

All three golfers call the president’s name now.

“Adam will get you to safety. He will explain everything.” I shake her again, gathering her attention. “Trust nobody but Adam. Do you understand?”

“I-I think so.”

It’s not good enough. I rattle her as hard as I can, the wind whipping our hair about our faces. It howls so loudly, I have to yell. “Only Adam!”

“Only Adam,” she repeats.

The ground begins to vibrate. Luka grabs my hand. I grab Cormack’s. The thickening trees push us out into the open, but Clive’s cloak holds steady. Dark mist swirls with the clouds, forming a funnel that stretches toward the ground. The hijacker is trying to kick us out.

Luka grabs the trunk of a tree, his arm locked around my waist. With superhuman strength, he pulls me closer so I can grab on, too. I hold on for everything I’m worth. If I let go, I’ll wake up in my bed, Cormack will remain here, and our chance will be lost. If we don’t do this now, the
king
will be so heavily guarded there will be no hope of another rescue.

Clive grapples to hold onto a nearby tree, but it rips up by the roots and hurtles toward us. Clive and his cloak disappear. He vanishes into thin air. Cormack screams. Luka throws a shield that deflects the tree like it’s nothing bigger than a twig. He curls his hand into a fist and pounds the grass. A blast of light ripples through the ground and shoots up into the tornado, blowing it apart in an explosion of darkness and light.

The wind stops.

The dream goes still.

Cap, Lexi, Connal, Felix, Luka, and I stand out in the open, exposed. Cormack stands with us, her eyes round with shock. My muscles coil, preparing for attack. At any moment, the hijacker will appear. I’m sure of it. My heart pounds out the seconds. It thuds in my ears like a gigantic, amplified countdown—ten, nine, eight, seven, six …

Felix turns, surveying the course. Lexi stands up a little straighter. Connal’s attention darts back and forth.

My heart reaches
two
and a light appears. It grows out of nothing, taking shape until it’s as beautiful and stunning as I remember. It’s the being that sang to me after I destroyed Scarface. The same one that stroked my hair and lulled me to rest. It smiles at me approvingly. Proudly. “Well done. Your work is finished.”

What
?

I look around, my body filling with hope. Is it really? Am I done fighting?

“You have won. Victory is yours.”

Lexi looks as transfixed as I am, but Luka’s hand tightens around mine. “Tess.”

The being grows brighter, bigger. More magnificent. So beautiful I ache to touch. I want to step closer, but Luka won’t let me.

“Tess,” he says again. His voice is far away, even though he stands right beside me. “We have to go. We have to move.”

I close my eyes. I don’t want to listen. I don’t want his words to be true. I want this war to be over. I want this angel to be right. I’m so tired. And afraid. But something tugs at my bellybutton. The doorway.

That’s right. We have to destroy the hijacker and pass through the doorway.

As if sensing my thoughts, the ground turns into a thick mucus that swallows my feet. Panic coils as tightly as my muscles. The same panic I felt when I met with Scarface. The same panic I felt when Clive’s cloak wrapped around my legs. I let the sensation build in my hands until it’s impossible to hold and then I throw it out. A shield that sets captives free. A shield that chases the darkness away. Only this time, it chases away the beautiful angel in front of me.

The mucus binding my feet lets go.

I grab Cormack’s shoulders. “Remember what we said! Trust nobody but Adam!”

The sky begins to crumble.

I take off running, yelling for the others to follow. The ground quakes violently, pitching us up and down. It splinters open and swallows Felix whole. I sprint faster, urging everyone on toward Link, who stands at the doorway with Felicia and Bass. The dream is about to collapse. The doorway will shut. I scream for everyone to
go, go go
!
Get through
! I throw one final shield. It rips open what’s left of the dark sky and just before it all shatters into light, I grab Luka’s hand and we dive.

The Prophecy Fulfilled

T
he air crackles and pops, emitting heat like a furnace. Flames crawl up the drapes, inhaling the room’s oxygen, exhaling plumes of thick, black smoke that eddy and churn toward the ceiling, obscuring visibility.

Cormack screams in bed.

A door crashes open. Two secret service agents run inside, coughing and sputtering, covering their noses and mouths with the crooks of their elbows as the flames grow, feeding off the fresh bout of oxygen.

“Adam!” Cormack shrieks. “Where’s Adam?”

The taller one makes his way toward Cormack’s bed. “I’m here!”

There’s a glint of metal as the agent in the doorway pulls his gun. Adam doesn’t see. He’s too busy getting to the president, who shouts his name, paralyzed in her bed. The agent lifts the weapon and aims it at Cormack.

No
.

She will not be killed. Not now, when we’re so close. If any mission has to succeed, it’s this one. I run and dive at the man with the gun, my emotions so heightened I barely have to expend effort to focus them.

We tumble to the ground.

The gun fires.

Adam spins around, sees the secret service agent sprawled on the ground, and without hesitating, he shoots. The crack of the gun makes my heart seize. Cormack screams louder. I scramble off the ground. The man’s glossy eyes stare at nothing. There’s a bullet wound in the center of his forehead, a wedding ring on his finger, and the mark on his neck. He was hijacked. Innocent. And now he’s dead.

Adam scoops Cormack into his arms and carries her toward the door. Luka and I run ahead of them, ready to clear a path and fight away the enemy, except there’s nothing but black smoke and fire. It curls up the walls as Adam hurries toward the exit, his face twisted with determination as he steps over bodies. All of them secret service agents. All of them dead or grievously injured. All of them with the same mark on their necks. Adam keeps going. He doesn’t see us. He can’t see us. But we are there, prepared to fight.