Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt
"Exceptional!” —Jill Smith,
RT Book Reviews on The Diamond City Magic series
Riley’s lost the last damned thing she’s willing to lose. She’s declaring war and prisoners are optional.
After escaping the FBI, Riley and her family have become fugitives, and not just from the law. Every bad guy on the planet wants a piece of Riley. Gregg has been kidnapped. Worse than that, Price’s newly discovered magic is dangerously out of control, and her own is trying to kill her. She has little time to worry about any of that before all hell breaks loose in Diamond City, and she finds herself smack dab in the crossfire.
With the clock ticking down, Riley gathers her friends and family to execute a Hail Mary plan that will pit them against seven of the most dangerous thugs in Diamond City, a serial killer, Riley’s psychopath father, and a mysterious billionaire with plans of his own. If she succeeds, she makes herself an even bigger target. If she fails, everybody she cares about dies.
But the shadows hold danger even Riley will never see coming . . . .
Diana Pharaoh Francis is the acclaimed author of a dozen fantasy and urban fantasy novels. Her books have been nominated for the Mary Roberts Rinehart Award and RT’s Best Urban Fantasy.
Shades of Memory is the fourth book in her exciting new urban fantasy series—
The Diamond City Magic Novels.
Coming Soon!
Chapter 1
Gregg
WINDOWLESS
WHITE walls, white floors, white toilet, white sink, white table. The room was unrelentingly white. Though Gregg assumed he
was being monitored, he saw no signs of cameras or microphones. His rival in
crime— Savannah Morrell—had imprisoned him in this incessantly white box and
left him to stew. Stripped of everything but his clothing, he had no idea how
long it had been since he’d been kidnapped.
The room offered no
weapons. The bed was bolted to the floor, as was the table and the lone chair.
The toilet had no seat or lid, and the faucet was motion sensitive. Only his
mattress, the toilet paper, and the white cup could be mobilized, and while he
could make a knife of the latter, it would have done him little good. No one
came.
Nulls or binders
deadened his traveller magic. Food arrived periodically. It arrived inside his
table, which was attached to the wall. The tabletop rose, and within was a
compartment accessible through a narrow panel along the wall. The meal arrived,
and warned by the smell, Gregg ate, then shut the table again so that the panel
could open to permit the removal of his dirty dishes.
Though plentiful, the
food tasted like rehydrated camp slop. Gregg counted meals, even though he knew
it meant little to the division of the day or night. He paced and performed a
regimen of muscle-building exercises to keep himself ready. He slept in short
bursts only when forced to by exhaustion. Mostly he spent his time staring at
the sterile walls, mind spinning helplessly.
Somewhere outside this
prison, his brother, Clay, was being tortured by the FBI. Or maybe the long
week had passed, and he’d been released. Or maybe he’d broken, and they’d
locked him in a supermax for the talented.
Gregg knotted his hands
in his hair and let out an agonized moan. If he could, he’d kill Savannah for
getting in the way of his saving Clay. God, he hoped Riley had made it clear of
the trap. His brother’s girlfriend had been with him when Savannah’s thugs had
closed in. He’d sent her running into the night. She was smart and had skills.
Surely if Savannah had captured Riley, she’d have taunted him with it already.
He had to take comfort in that. He had no other choice.
Thirty-six meals later,
he received the newspaper. It came folded beside his paper plate. All the dates
had been blacked out. He flattened it on the table and read the headline: Marchont
Research Facility Annihilated. His chest exploded like he’d been punched.
He knew that place. It was a secret FBI facility, and the one he figured housed
Clay for interrogation. His breath coming in short pants, he scanned the
article.
A magical explosion had
not just leveled the compound, it had left nothing more than a black hole in
the ground. A grainy picture of the scene splayed over the entire top half of
the paper, with insets of blackened bodies and melted debris. The burn extended up the surrounding hills, leaving behind
ridges of slag and ash. One hundred and twenty people had been declared
dead or missing.
The article explained
that the place had been attacked, though no one knew who might have done it.
The reporter speculated that the explosion pointed to domestic terrorism or a
Tyet hit.
Gregg stared at the
pictures. Surely Clay had escaped. A scornful laugh wedged in his throat. God,
how naïve and stupid! Clay had been held as tightly as Gregg was being held
now.
Unless—maybe this had
been a rescue. If Riley had escaped Savannah, if she’d organized an escape
mission...
It wasn’t possible.
Resourceful as she was, she didn’t have the means. Hell, she didn’t even know
Marchont was an FBI compound. She was practically a babe in the woods when it
came to Tyet business.
He found himself sliding
to the floor, rolling onto his side as he curled into a ball. Scalding tears
ran down his face as he wept, the sounds he made ugly and harsh.
No one came.
Later he read the
article again. Then again. Three more times until he noticed the little box on
the back page in the "Too late for regular publication” box. It listed an
update. A helicopter discovered abandoned a few miles away. It belonged to
Hollis Aviation. Investigators were following up.
Gregg crumpled the paper
in his fists, hope lighting in his gut. Taylor’s helicopter. That meant she’d
been there, with Riley. That meant it was possible they’d got Clay out before—
For the first time in
hours, his brain shifted into gear. Had they caused the explosion to cover
their escape? Had Clay done it himself? But up until the FBI had arrested him,
he hadn’t known he even had a talent. And even if he had known, he didn’t make
fire. At least, Gregg didn’t think he could. His brother had moved a mountain
as a child, before trauma had sealed that memory away in his brain. He hadn’t
created one lick of fire. Neither could he imagine Taylor or Riley sacrificing
so many lives. It wasn’t their natures. So what had happened? Who had wanted
that building demolished beyond recovery? And why?
He paced. More food
came. Another sliding panel opened, revealing a small shower. How long had it
been since it last opened? He’d guess at least three or four days by his smell.
He went inside gratefully. He washed and put on the clothes left for him inside
the table. This time he was given a pair of gray sweatpants and a red Denver
Broncos tee shirt.
More food, several more
showers, no news. No contact. He fought to keep sane. He stretched and did
exercises until his body shook with exertion and sweat ran in runnels from his
skin. He made himself perform math equations out loud, if only to hear his own
voice, if only to break the crushing silence.
He could do nothing
about the smothering white.
And then, when his beard
had grown nearly an inch, a different panel slid open to reveal a hallway with
a pale blue carpet and flowered wallpaper between white Greek pilasters.
Graceful tables held vases of bright flowers. Mirrors reflected the light of
small crystal chandeliers.
A slender, dark-skinned
man waited with two bruisers at his back. His mouth curved an unfriendly smile.
He held up a heavy silver cuff. "Mister Touray, I am Dembe Heinu. Put this on,
if you please.”
Gregg eyed it balefully,
then snapped it around his wrist. He didn’t have to ask to know it was a null.
"If you’ll just raise
your arm, now?” Dembe held a small padlock.
Gregg did as requested,
watching as the other man slid the shank through the loop on the cuff and
clicked it home.
"I am to tell you that
should you attempt to escape, the Micha Center will be destroyed. A large high
school cheerleading competition happens there today. The death toll would be
eight thousand at a minimum. You should also know that explosives have been
placed at two dozen other sites throughout the city. Should you successfully
escape, every hour will see further deaths until you return to our custody.”
"You suppose I care
about other people’s lives,” Gregg said tightly.
"I suppose
nothing,” Dembe said. "If you will follow me.”
He turned and strode
away down the wide corridor. Gregg fell in behind, with the two bruisers
bringing up the rear. Tentatively, he reached for his magic, but as he
suspected, the cuff nulled his power. Not that he’d dare an escape.
He didn’t doubt for a
single second that Savannah would follow through on her threat. She didn’t mind
blood on her conscience. He snorted inwardly. As if she even had a conscience.
She was cold-blooded, ruthless, and devious as hell, not to mention ambitious
and greedy for power. She liked holding other people’s lives in her hands. She
liked knowing that they depended on her to keep breathing. She liked it when
they knew it, too. Most of all, she liked wielding that power. She’d left a lot
of corpses in her wake over the years and wouldn’t shy from adding to the body
count.
They passed a number of
doorways, then took a set of white marble stairs upward to a wide gallery
scattered with clusters of furniture and capped by a coffered ceiling. An enormous fireplace dominated one wall, with
floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a gorgeous view. The lights of the
snow-covered city clinging to the side of the caldera below glimmered like
stars against the velvet night.
On the other end of the
gallery, Dembe led Gregg around a wall and through a wide archway. Here was a
comfortable salon, with white couches and a fully-stocked bar along one wall.
The windowed walls rounded outward and rose to curve overhead. He sighed as his
deprived senses drank in the world.
"Welcome, Gregg. Would
you care for a drink?”
Savannah Morrell rose
from her wingback chair. She stood no more than five feet tall, though silvered
pumps lent her at least four more inches. Blond hair curved around her face in
a smooth cap. Her pale face was flawless, her clothing chic. She smelled of
expensive French perfume.
Gregg hated her with all
his soul. For weeks before his capture, he’d been hunting her, trying to find a
hole through her security to kill her. Now here he stood within a few feet, and
he might as well be on another planet, as much good as his proximity did.
He made himself relax.
He needed to play the game if he wanted to find an escape. "I’d take a scotch.”
"That’s right. You like
a good single malt, if I recall. Dembe, pour him a Macallan, if you please. It
is quite good, I’m told. The usual for me.”
She motioned for Gregg
to sit in a chair and sank gracefully back into hers. Her legs were clad in
silk stockings, her body sheathed in a long-sleeved cashmere dress the color
of blood rubies. She said nothing, waiting as Dembe prepared their drinks and
set them on the table between them.
"Leave,” she said with a
wave of her fingers.
In a moment, the two of
them were alone. Savannah picked up her glass and sipped, making a pleased
humming sound. "It’s lovely outside, is it not? The new fall of snow makes the
world seem fresh born.”
"And yet we both know
the world beneath the snow is crawling with maggots,” Gregg drawled, swirling
his scotch.
"We must take it as we
find it.”
"Or change it to suit
ourselves. Is that not what you’ve in mind?”
She shrugged, a liquid
movement full of feline grace. "You must admit that you plan the same.”
"Except I want to save
the city. Shut down the violence and the corruption.”
She laughed. "Call it
what you want, it’s still running the city to suit yourself.”
He forced a half smile,
lifting his drink to his lips and taking a large swallow. The whiskey was smoky
and woodsy, running down his throat in a delicious burn.
"You didn’t kidnap me to
discuss our competing views for the city,” he said. He wanted to ask for news
of Clay, of the explosion, but refused to give her the satisfaction. That, and
she’d use it against him. Savannah could spot weakness a mile away, and she
never hesitated to take advantage. When she went to war, she left nothing on
the table.
"Direct as usual,” she
said with a curve of her red lips. "Very well. I want the Kensington artifacts
in your possession, including the vial of his blood. Turn them over to me and
no one will be harmed. Don’t turn them over, and...” She
shrugged and looked out the window, lifting her glass to her lips.
Fire bloomed in the
night. Orange, red, and yellow swelled and burst into bright flowers. A few
seconds later, another explosion, then another, and another. Six in all. Gregg
leaped to his feet, coming to stand inches from the window, shocked horror
yanking the air from his lungs.
He whirled. "What the
fuck have you done?”
"I’ve made a point. Sit
down. We’re not done negotiating.”
Chapter 2
Riley
"HOW THE HELL am I going
to help you if you won’t even stay in the same room with me?”
I was yelling. I don’t
know if it was more from fear, frustration, or fury. With incredible restraint,
I did not pick up the chunk of petrified wood sitting on the shelf beside me,
and I did not sling said hunk of rock at Price’s head. I did stay in reach to
keep my options open.
"If I stay in the same
room with you, I’m going to kill you. Is that what you want? What will you do
then? Haunt me?”
Price’s voice emerged
through clenched teeth. He faced me from the doorway across the room. As usual
since we’d come to the safe house, he was in the middle of running away as soon
as I came in the room. This time I’d tried sneaking into his bed in the dead of
night, but the instant he became aware of me, he was off like he had a dog biting
his ass.
"You can kill me from a
football field away,” I pointed out, quite reasonably. "Probably a lot farther.
Your logic is completely stupid.”
"God dammit, Riley. This
isn’t a fucking joke,” he said, plowing shaking fingers through his shaggy
black hair.
I wasn’t sure when he’d
combed it last. The rest of him looked about as bad. He’d always been lean, but
now he looked gaunt. He’d lost a good twenty or so pounds in the last couple
weeks, and his sapphire eyes looked bruised and sunken. His cheeks had
hollowed, and his lips pulled flat in an angry line. He wore a pair of
low-slung pajama bottoms, exposing his chest. I could count his ribs. It hurt
to see his pain, to see him struggling so hard. The FBI had arrested and
tortured him, and though they hadn’t broken him, they’d done unspeakable damage
to his mind and soul.
I loved this man so much
I’d risked my life, my family’s lives, and committed a dozen felonies to break
him out of FBI custody. He could push me away all he liked, but I’d be damned
if I’d let him take a road trip into hell without me. That meant tough love.
I lifted my chin and
glared back at him. "I never said it was a joke. But you clearly aren’t getting
anywhere with your strategy, and we’re running out of time. Aren’t you the
slightest bit worried about finding your brother?”
The last was a low blow,
but I was getting desperate. I felt like he was slipping through my fingers
and no matter how hard I tried to hold on, he just kept getting farther and
farther away.
It didn’t help my anxiety
that I felt less than useless. I couldn’t help him, and I couldn’t leave him,
not without taking the chance that his worry for me would drive him over the
edge. That meant sitting on my hands while both of my brothers and my sister,
Taylor, risked their lives to find Touray, who’d been kidnapped while Price was
in prison. Price’s obnoxious brother had sacrificed himself so I could get away
when we were both being hunted by the Tyet bitch-queen Savannah Morrell. But
since going back to the city nearly two weeks ago, neither Taylor, Jamie, or
Leo had been able to find him.
But I could, if I were
there.
Everybody leaves behind
a unique trail of energy wherever they go. As a tracer, I can see it. I can
even see nulled trace, which most tracers can’t. In fact, I can do a lot of
things most tracers can’t. Or I could before I overloaded my magic channels
saving Price and escaping afterward. In the two weeks since, I’d recovered a
lot. I figured I was maybe at sixty to seventy percent of normal. I probably couldn’t
go jumping into the spirit world or do any major magic tricks, but I didn’t
need to. Right now, I only had to locate Gregg, and looking at trace didn’t
hurt that much. It wasn’t just for Price. I owed the bastard. Plus, finding him
meant taking my family out of the line of fire. For the moment, anyhow.
At my words, Price
flinched like I’d punched him in the gut. His face went gray. I held myself
still, just barely. God, but I wanted to wrap myself around him and hold him
tight. But even if he’d stay in the same room with me, he wouldn’t risk letting
me touch him. Not after last time, when a simple kiss had turned into a
roof-ripping storm. Luckily, Jamie and Leo had still been here and used their
metal magic to fix it.
Price’s newly
rediscovered talent was immense. And seriously scary. He could control wind and
air. But it seemed like he was always wrestling for control of it. He was
terrified it would get away from him and cause a disaster. When he was a little
kid, he’d been kidnapped, and that’s when his power first flared up. He’d
knocked half a mountain down, destroying villages and killing who knows how
many people. After that, he’d blocked his talent and his memories of it. Until
the FBI had tortured him, he didn’t even know he had a talent.
"Christ, Riley! Don’t
you think I’d be turning Diamond City upside down to find him if I didn’t think
I’d end up wiping it off the map in the process?”
"Then let me try to help
you—” That’s all I got out before he cut me off.
"I won’t risk hurting
you.”
"And I get no say?
That’s not going to work for me. I’m a grown-up. I get to make my own damned
choices.”
He glared, his jaw
jutting stubbornly. "Not this one. This one’s mine.”
"What if you never find
enough control? Where does that leave us?” My chest ached with unshed tears,
but I kept my voice even. He didn’t need to know how scared I was of losing
him. It already felt like he was halfway out the door.
Anger flushed his cheeks
red and glittered in his eyes. "It leaves you alive. That’s all that matters.”
It wasn’t, but he wasn’t
going to listen. My stomach tightened into a ball of lead. I only had one card
left to play. It would piss him off. No, it would devastate him.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
I didn’t want to force him. I didn’t want to push him where he didn’t want to
go, even for his own good. Who was I kidding? What right did I have to tell him
or anybody else what was good for them? I didn’t even know what was good for me
most of the time. But the cold hard truth was that if I wasn’t doing any good here,
I needed to go back to the city. Without him. I could help there, and here I
was useless.
I let go of a long
breath and squared my shoulders, opening my eyes. I gave a decisive nod. I
could do this. I opened my mouth, and my phone buzzed in my pocket. Saved by
the bell. I grabbed for it. I checked the caller ID. My best friend, Patti. Her
diner served as my unofficial office, so people came there or called when they
needed me.
"What’s going on?”
"How are you?”
"Good.”
Silence. "I see you’re
still a crappy liar. Are you going to tell me about it?”
I made a sound halfway
between a laugh and a sob. I glanced at Price and then turned and went back
through the kitchen and up the stairs, out of earshot. "Things here are rough.”
Understatement of the century.
"How’s Price?”
Frustrated. Obnoxious. Frustrating.
"Dammit, Patti, I don’t know what to do. Every time I try to get within ten
feet of him, he takes off like his ass is on fire, afraid to hurt me. How long
can we keep doing this?” I gritted my teeth and took a breath. "Never mind.
I’ll figure it out somehow. How are things there?”
"A young couple came in
a little while ago. Names are Emily and Luis. They were pretty flipped out.
They’ve got a missing teenager and need you to find her for them. Said you knew
them.”
I didn’t even think
about my reply or what Price would say. Emily and Luis had risked their own
lives to save mine the night that Touray was captured. If not for them, I’d be
locked up somewhere and Price would still be in prison. I owed them, and I
wasn’t going to let them down.
"I’ll be there as soon
as I can.”
"Are you sure that’s a
good idea?”
After freeing Price, I’d
overloaded my magic so bad that just tracing hurt. I’d only tried something
more demanding once, and that had dropped me like a sack of onions. I’d stayed
unconscious for a good hour. Luckily, Price didn’t know about that little
hiccup. But I could trace, and that’s what they needed from me.
"I’m sure.”
"What about Price?”
Now that was a problem.
I’d been about to threaten him with leaving in the hopes that his worry for me
would convince him to let me help him, but I’d never meant to go through with
it. Now I had no choice.
"He’ll understand.”
She snorted. "Right.
Good luck with that.”
"I’ll call you when I’m
coming into the city. Can you let Emily and Luis know I’ll meet with them later
tonight at the diner?”
"I can.”
"Okay, then—”
"What the fuck was
that?” Patti’s voice turned razor sharp.
"What? What’s going on?”
"I don’t know. Ground
shook and it sounds like a bomb went off. I’ll get back to you.”
She cut the call before
I could ask anything else. For a second I froze, uncertain what to do. Then I
shook myself. Whatever had happened, I could find out on the way back. Right
now I had to tell Price I was leaving and get on the road.
I sent a quick text to
Taylor, Leo, and Jamie to make sure they were all right, and then went to
confront the lion in his den. Again.
I started back
downstairs, then veered off toward our bedroom. Well, my bedroom, because
Price refused to share it with me. I wasn’t dressed for outside. Hopefully, by
the time I was, I’d have figured out how to break my news to him.
I strode across to the
spacious walk-in closet. Inside, I stripped off the comfortable fleece pants
and tee shirt I’d worn to bed, exchanging them for clean underwear, a pair of
jeans, and a long-sleeved henley. None of the clothes were actually mine. Jamie
and Leo, who’d built the safe house, had stocked it with a variety of sizes in
men’s and women’s clothing in case guests hadn’t had time to pack. I had
definitely not had time, and even if I had, my stuff would still be
somewhere back on the mountain near what used to be the FBI facility.
I pulled on a pair of
heavy wool socks, then grabbed a lightweight gray Patagonia jacket guaranteed to
keep me warm down to minus thirty degrees, along with a pair of snow pants made
of the same stuff.
I returned to the
bedroom. Price stood in the doorway. His body was tense, like he was burning
for a fight. He probably was. Curls of air swirled restlessly around me. His
control was slipping.
"What are you doing?” He
jammed his fists into his pockets.
I hesitated. He was
riding a knife edge between control and nuclear meltdown. Was I really going
to push him off that edge? I had no choice.
"Getting ready to head
back to the city.”
His face hardened, and
his sapphire eyes turned nearly black. "That’s not funny.”
"It’s not supposed to
be. Patti called and Emily and Luis need me to trace a missing girl. You
remember I told you about them. They were at that restaurant when I got trapped
by Savannah Morrell’s thugs. If not for them hiding me and helping me to
escape, I’d be at her mercy right now.” I hesitated. "There’s something else.
Just before Patti hung up, something happened. She said it sounded like a bomb
went off.”
His jaw worked. The slow
curl of air around me quickened. He swallowed convulsively.
I answered his protest
before he unlocked his jaw to make it. "I’ll be fine.”
"You don’t even know if
the FBI is hunting you.”
"The Marchont compound
was wiped out, and Leo and Jamie shut down communications before anybody knew
we were breaking in. Nobody knows it was us.”
"They found your
sister’s helicopter. Do you really think the entire Hollis clan disappearing at
the same time doesn’t look suspicious? Then there’s your father. What’s to keep
him from saying something? He’s got no reason to keep quiet.”
My father. The man who’d
messed with my brain and set bombs inside my head to kill me if I started
trusting anybody like Price with the secrets of my talent. The bastard had
abandoned me and the rest of the family ten years before and then popped back
into our lives the night the FBI arrested Price. I still didn’t think it was a
coincidence.
"He’s got no reason to
say anything,” I said, pretending I believed it.
His brows rose, and he
gave a harsh bark of laughter. "You don’t know that.”
"And I can’t sit on my
ass doing nothing because the world’s a scary place. Emily and Luis need me and
I’m going to help them.” I scraped my teeth across my lower lip. "You can come
with me.”
"You know I can’t.” His
voice was strangled.
I nodded. I did
understand. His time with the FBI had given him a serious case of PTSD. Well,
the FBI and the recently recovered memories of when his bitch of a mother had
taken him to South America at the ripe old age of three to exorcise the
magic out of him. The result had been a lot of dead people and Price
suppressing his magic and all memory of it. Now he fought bad guys in his
dreams. That’s what had driven him out of our bedroom at first. One night he
gave me a black eye and a couple of bruised ribs before he came out of it. He’d
moved out that night.
Of course I’d ignored
him. We had heal-alls to fix the damage. No harm, no foul, and I could take a
little pain. I’d suffered a lot worse.
The next night I’d
crawled into bed with him, which makes everything that happened after that my
fault. At some point he realized someone was with him, and not expecting me, he
went into a primal "stranger danger” mode. Caught up in his memories, fears, and
hatreds, he hadn’t been responsible for what he did. And that was to suck the
air out of my lungs with his magic and then seal up my nose and mouth so I
couldn’t breathe.
Luckily, he’d come to
his senses before I died. Not before I passed out, though, and that had sent
him spinning into overprotective land. Now he wouldn’t stay in the same room,
much less touch me. Anytime we crossed the physical boundary, his magic broke
his choke hold of control. The last time we’d kissed, all the furniture and
windows in the room had ended up shattered. I told Price that was because he
rocked my world. He was not amused.
"It’s okay,” I said,
which was a total lie, and we both knew it. It wasn’t okay for either of us,
but that couldn’t be helped. It was time and past time for me to get back to
Diamond City. Emily and Luis just provided a handy excuse to hit the road now.
"Dammit, Riley—” Price
snapped his teeth together, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he looked up at
the ceiling. White dents bracketed his lips and nose. The air in the room
tightened, coiling and knotting until it felt like it had to explode.
"I should go,” I said
finally, when he didn’t say anything more.
He didn’t move.
"Price, you have to get
out of the way.”
The words opened a
yawning pit of black fear inside me. It felt too much like we were breaking up.
But then, maybe we already had. I couldn’t help the resentment and bitterness
that washed through me. It wasn’t fair, but the last two weeks with him
constantly pushing me away felt like he didn’t care. Not enough. He feared
hurting me. I got that. In the meantime, he was killing me, and he hadn’t even
noticed.
When he just kept
standing there like a giant stump, I lost my temper. "What exactly do you want
me to do? You won’t let me help you. Fine. Your choice, but you don’t get to
tell me to stay here when I’m needed in Diamond City. Now, let me by. If I
leave now, I should be able to make it home by early afternoon.”
I held up a hand to stop
him when he started to speak. "I know the spiel. This is when you say you
aren’t willing to hurt me and blah, blah, blah, round and round and we come
back to where we started. That horse has been beaten to a pulp. The poor
carcass can’t take any more and frankly, I’m not feeling much better.”
"Did Patti really say
Emily and Luis needed you?”
I blinked. It took a
second for the words to percolate through my skull and make sense. My mouth
fell open. I considered sticking my fingers in my ears to see if they were
working properly. Instead I stepped back, my chest hurting like he’d punched
me. "Are you fucking serious? You think I’d lie about that?” My voice rose, and
my eyes burned with tears of frustration and hurt. "You think I’d play mind
games with you?”
He winced but didn’t
look remotely apologetic. "Riley, calm down—”
"Fuck you! I’ve got
every right to be pissed. You push me away and then when I’m actually going to
listen and go away and leave you the hell alone like you keep telling me to,
you accuse me of lying just to get away from you.” The words ratcheted out like
bullets. "I do not lie. But you know what? I don’t have to lie in order
to leave. I can just go. Wanna see? Watch me.”
I started toward him,
fully intending to do whatever was necessary to make him move. At the moment,
kicking him in the balls seemed like a fine choice.
"Don’t do this to me,
Riley. I can’t—” His voice broke. "You mean everything to me. Hurting you rips
me apart.”
I made a sound of
frustration and rage, stopping when the air around me firmed into the
consistency of Jell-O. One way or another, Price was going to keep me away from
him. Even as his magic escaped his control, it answered his primitive feelings.
"Watching you suffer is
no picnic, either, but you know what? As long as we were swimming in the deep
shit together, I was okay. But we aren’t in it together anymore. You made your
choice, and now I get to make mine. So get the fuck out of the way and let
me go.” Despite my anger, the words nearly broke me.
"You could die,” he
choked, and now the winds broke free. A gale roared up, spinning through the
room, knocking the pictures from the walls and flipping the blankets from the
bed. I dropped my coat and snow pants and walked toward him. The clothing
whipped through the air. Price’s hands remained jammed in his pockets. A white
film covered his eyes. When he was totally submerged in his magic, his eyes
went altogether white. I wanted to keep him as far away from that as possible.
At least until he had control.
"I can’t watch them put
you in a hole, too.” His gaze skewered me
with agonized desperation. The white in Price’s eyes thickened until I could
only see a shadow of his blue irises. I knew he was remembering the funeral
we’d had for Mel only a few days after arriving at the cabin.
In rescuing Price from
the FBI compound, my stepmother, Mel, had been killed. It had been an accident,
one that Price had caused. None of us blamed him. He’d been tortured past the
point of reason and simply wasn’t responsible. But every time he thought about
letting me help him, I knew he remembered Mel’s broken body as we carried her
out and her cold, white face as we lowered her into the ground.
My stepbrothers have
metal talents. They were able to dig through the frozen, rocky ground to make
a grave. Taylor, Price, Dalton, and I had built a coffin for her out of a
supply of lumber in the basement. The whole thing had been a nightmare, and yet
after, I was glad I’d had a part in laying her to rest. It gave me a chance to
grieve and share my sorrow.
For Price it had been an
unending nightmare. He was always going to feel responsible for killing Mel.
Nothing any of us said could change that. And now he was imagining me in the
wood box, me being lowered into a hole, me being covered by a mound of rock and
dirt. Me being the one he’d killed.
Deep grooves fanned his
mouth and eyes. All around us, the wind kicked higher. The window rattled, and
the doors slammed and shuddered in their jambs. The two lamps on the
nightstands turned into kites. Their cords gave way one after the other, and
the ceramic smashed against the walls, the shards and cords whipping into the
air with shoes, soaps, pillows, blankets, towels, and every other loose bit in
the room.
I hardly felt the pain
of things pelting my body. A trickle of warmth dribbled down my neck as
something sharp cut just below my jaw. I reacted without thinking, driven by
the knowledge that Price hovered on the brink of total meltdown. If he noticed
he was hurting me, I didn’t know what he’d do. Was there such a thing as a
land-based hurricane?
I did the only thing I
could think to do. The only thing that I wanted to do. I flung myself at him
and wrapped my arms tight around his neck, pulling myself up to press my lips
against his.
His body was all angles
and stone against mine. At first, he remained stiff, his mouth pressed tight,
as if his entire being refused me. Then in a convulsive moment, his arms
clenched me in a brutal embrace. I could hardly breathe. I didn’t care. For the first time in weeks, I felt
like I was where I belonged. A heavy weight fell from me. I’d worried
Price would never let me close again. That I’d never hold him or be held; that
I’d never taste him again or feel him inside me.
His mouth opened. His
kiss was desperate with need and hunger and want. Mine no less so. Not to
mention a healthy dose of fear on both our parts. I clutched his head. Our
teeth ground together, tongues jabbing and sweeping. Desperation is too little
a word for what we felt.
My body felt electric
beneath the sweep of his hands as they ran over my back and hips and back up.
Abruptly he lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling myself as close as I could. I wasn’t going to let
anything separate us.
All around us the wind
whirled and grew more violent. The window shattered, and its glass thudded against
the walls and ceiling, flung like ninja stars. We both stood in safety at the
center of the vortex, a calm eye in the storm.
We continued to kiss
with all the fury of our primitive needs. Crazy as it sounds, I wanted nothing
more than to strip away our clothes and get down and dirty. I ached to feel the
intimacy of it, to feel us be together the way we were supposed to be, skin to
skin, soul to soul.
It wasn’t to be. He
twisted away, jerking his head back. His eyes had turned entirely to milk now.
"Help me, Riley,” he
said, his arms clenching around me. "Help me. I can’t—” He broke off, his eyes
squeezing shut. Then they sprang open again. "You can’t go without me.”
Tremors shook him as
wild emotions crashed through him. He’d not dealt with anything since his
talent woke. Every little emotion brought on an uncontrolled eruption of
magic. He’d bottled up everything—his fear for his brother, his guilt for Mel,
his worry for me, his terror of his own power—but now they were ripping free.
I’d helped tear away the dam, and now I had to help him find a way to manage
his feelings so he didn’t tear apart the world.
I only knew one way to
do it. One way that had succeeded before. Unfortunately, I’d died that time.
Price had barely managed to revive me.
I pulled his head close,
pressing my forehead to his. "Don’t worry,” I said. "I’ve totally got this.”
One thing I knew for
sure—I’d be damned if I was going to die before I made sure he was going to be
okay.
Realization must have struck him. An electric
jolt ran through his body, and his eyes widened. He opened his mouth to
protest. I didn’t give him the chance.
