Retribution (28 page)

The screen went fuzzy, and everyone looked at the modern day Layla, stunned by the vivacious and intelligent little girl they'd just discovered.

Layla blushed and shook her head. “I was a goofball.”

Quin laughed as he kissed her red cheek. “Yes you were, and too cute.”

“That's an understatement,” Caitrin whispered. “That was the most beautiful bit of film I've ever seen.”

“I bet Katherine never stopped laughing,” Daleen quietly noted.

Layla shrugged and fidgeted with the tips of her hair. “She did laugh a lot, but that was her personality. It didn't have anything to do with me.”

“I'm sure it had
everything
to do with you,” Serafin disagreed. “You were an entertainer, a comedic genius at the age of seven, and cute as a button.”

“I wasn't like that around everyone,” Layla confessed. “Katherine was the only person I felt comfortable enough with to be whatever I wanted to be.”

Morrigan took a shaky breath and wiped at blossoming tears. “That was so special, sweetie. I could watch it a million times and never get tired of it.”

Layla laughed as she magically pushed play. “How about we watch the next part instead?”
 

Everyone's attention returned to the screen as Layla and five other girls danced onto a stage in matching silver and blue leotards. Layla was the smallest in the bunch, obviously the youngest, but she led the others as she flawlessly performed a gymnastics routine.

Quin looked from the angel on film to the one in his arms and noticed her aura slowing as her lashes dropped and fluttered back up. He kissed her head while cuddling her to his chest and dimming the lights, and before the dance recital was over, she was asleep.

He and her grandparents stayed put, wide awake and raptly watching every moment recorded on the pile of video tapes. They stifled their laughter so they wouldn't jar Layla awake, but occasional tears flowed as they viewed more than a decade of birthdays, holidays and events. They watched her get her driver's license on her sixteenth birthday, just in time for Katherine to surprise her with keys to her first car. They saw her dressed for prom, and watched her walk onto a football field in an evening gown to be crowned homecoming queen. They witnessed her valedictorian speech and the opening of six college acceptance letters. And she gracefully crushed the competition in every sport she played. At sixteen, she blew an unsuspecting audience away as Shakespeare's Juliet, and at seventeen, she mesmerized an entire town when she emerged from the choir to sing a solo at the induction of Gander Creek's new mayor.

Her aura didn't show up on film, but Quin could tell when it touched the unwitting people around her, and this was particularly true with Katherine. Between the accomplishments, Katherine recorded lovely moments with just her and Layla, and on more than one occasion, Katherine had quietly gasped and reached for her cheek or heart, tears swelling in big brown eyes as a smile curved her lips. She had to be feeling Layla’s aura at the time, and though she didn’t understand it, she obviously loved it. Layla would curiously watch the reaction, but then Katherine would continue with the fun and games, compelling her daughter to do the same. They’d dance in the living room, sing cheesy karaoke, or put on fashion shows and skits.

The most recently recorded tape was only half-filled, and it ended with Layla disregarding an acceptance letter to NYU, because she wanted to head west, not east. The screen went fuzzy, and everyone looked at her – a woman now, thrust into a new world and a new identity, but the lively and fun person she’d been on the videos was still in there, stifled by worry and fear yet willing to step out when the world needed her.

The morning sun crept through the windows as Layla’s grandparents waved goodbye and left, but Quin didn’t move. Vanishing his and Layla’s clothes, he used magic to rewind the video to her graduation speech. Then he laid his head back and closed his eyes, falling asleep with her voice in his head and her body in his arms.

Chapter 18

Guthrie couldn’t have cut it any closer and kept his skin intact. The sun crept over the horizon less than five minutes after he landed in the Clatsop State Forest and directed his unit to the sleeping quarters.

“Find a place to sleep then report to the boss for inspection.”

Guthrie turned away, and his gaze flashed over Lynette, who hadn’t spoken to him since he kicked her out of bed. He couldn’t blame her, and it was just as well. Her silence in all matters would make their lives easier… and perhaps longer.

As Guthrie made his way toward Agro’s tent, a soldier named Wesley approached and fell into step beside him.

“Wes,” Guthrie greeted. “How’s it going?”

“The boss has been oddly quiet,” Wesley reported. “Like the calm before the storm.”

“No deaths?”

“I didn’t say that. Soldiers have been trickling in, and a few of them couldn’t keep their mouths shut during inspection. He also ordered the disposal of the wounded.”

Guthrie halted and turned. “He what?”

“The first night you were gone,” Wesley explained. “We were keeping about a dozen soldiers sedated until we could get a better healer in here. One of them started raising hell when we woke him for dinner, so Agro ordered us to put them all out of their misery.”

Guthrie sighed as he pulled Silestra from his cloak and laid her in the leaves. “Have you found a better healer in the newcomers?”

“Two,” Wesley answered, “or so they say. After Agro’s mass euthanasia, they have no way to prove it.”

Guthrie walked backward toward Agro’s tent as he finished the conversation. “I’m expecting more soldiers. They should be here by tomorrow. Question them as they come in then bring me a list of everyone who claims to be exceptional healers. I want to make sure they’re not cowards trying to escape the front lines. Oh, and get me a list of all the bonded children.”

“Yes, sir,” Wesley agreed, taking off in the opposite direction.

Guthrie turned and picked up the pace. Then he paused at the entrance of Agro’s tent, composing himself before going in. The chamber was dark, but Agro was awake and sitting on his throne, his elbow on the armrest and his chin on his knuckles.

“You were born for your position,” he greeted. “You have yet to fail me.”

His voice was calm, and his body was relaxed, but his aura was a tumultuous mess, as was his tent.

Stepping over a broken goblet and a torn dress, Guthrie moved closer and bowed his head. “I live to serve.”

“So it would seem. Do you have soldiers for me to inspect?”

“Yes, sir, and there are more on the way.”

“What about my soothsayers?”

“Vortigern says they’re the best he had on hand.”

“Vortigern’s scum and would lie to his own mother, but when you deal in dark matters, you must tolerate shady dealers.” Flipping on the lights, Agro stood and summoned a glass of wine. Then he handed it to Guthrie and nodded toward a chair. “Sit.”

Guthrie did as he was told, sipping as he slid his gaze across the illuminated room. Everything was out of order, and the thick crimson rug told the story of Agro’s pacing, a faded river of bare threads winding through the Persian design.

“Do you remember your first kill?” Agro asked.

Guthrie looked up, wondering why the boss was getting so personal. Maybe he was that way with all his lieutenants. “Sure,” Guthrie answered. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Still following the threadbare trail across his rug, Agro stared off into space. “I don’t remember mine. I was only one, barely walking, or so I hear. I smothered an infant. Whether by accident or on purpose, nobody knows. They say my mind held no remorse or pity afterward.”

“Who are
they
?”

“The coven I was born into.” He halted next to a table and shuffled through a drawer, coming out with a pipe and herb. “I do remember my second kill, though, a deliberate murder committed when I was nine.” Turning toward Guthrie, he tucked the stem of the pipe into his lips and touched a flame to the bowl. “What did you feel the first time you committed murder?”

Guthrie’s forehead furrowed. “Sir?”

“Emotions, Guthrie. What kind of emotions? Anger, sadness, relief, guilt?”

“All of the above, I suppose. Sounds like a common line-up.”

Agro kept his gaze on Guthrie as he slowly exhaled smoke. Then he turned away and resumed his pacing. “Maybe, but I didn’t feel any of it.”

That’s because you’re a psychopath
. Guthrie cleared his throat and leaned back. “So what did you feel?”

“Have you ever torn the ass off a lightning bug?”

Guthrie stifled a laugh and gave a nod. “I vaguely remember being intrigued by the light.”

“Yes, well that’s how I felt when I opened up my sister.”

A disturbing visual came to mind, but Guthrie hid his repulsion well. “She was your science project.”

“Not really. I didn’t kill her in a quest for answers, but I found the entire process intriguing – the idea, the plan, the execution, even the stillness that swept through the air when her aura disappeared and she stopped breathing. None of it felt unnatural.”

“It didn’t bother you that your sister was gone?”

“No. She was a sweet girl, but nothing on earth is permanent. It doesn’t make sense to mourn loss; you’ll mourn your whole life. Even at nine I understood that, yet others waste their entire lives trying to disrupt the cycle. And what happens? They spend all their time mourning not only loss, but their perpetual failure.”

The theory made little sense to Guthrie. Accepting loss and causing it were two different things. But he kept his mouth shut. If he disagreed with the boss, he’d be accepting the loss of his life sooner rather than later.

“Most of the coven branded me a lost cause at that point,” Agro went on. “I was locked up and mostly ignored. My mother tried to fix me by calling in magicians who specialized in healing and mental magic. But see, the thing is, I couldn’t be fixed, because I wasn’t broken. I was simply one of the lucky ones who somehow escaped the shackles of a delusional society hell-bent on fitting people into nice and neat boxes. Compassion for the dead is useless. And guilt defies human nature. I proved that at the age of one. Babies don’t cry over lives lost. They don’t feel guilt and compassion. It’s taught to them. Children are brainwashed into acting against the laws of nature, so their true colors stay hidden, seeping out only when they think no one’s watching. I eventually played along with my family, but only as a means to escape. I grew into an old man never feeling what they wanted me to feel.”

He turned and looked at Guthrie, like he wanted feedback, so Guthrie gave him a contrived reply. “You see things crystal clear, sir.”

“And you?” Agro returned. “Do you still feel guilty when looking down on your fresh kill?”

Guthrie swallowed, disheartened by the truth. “No, sir.”

“Then you’ve found your roots, a gift given by nature and restored by me.”

Guthrie bowed his head and replied through clenched teeth. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’ve spent over sixty years giving magicians the freedom to release their natural born instincts, washing away the guilt drilled into them by covens. And in return, I demand their respect and a portion of their plunders – a small price to pay considering the weight I take off their shoulders. Now, one might wonder what my motivation is. Do I do this because I want wealth and supremacy? Or because I care about the quality of your lives?”

Care?
The notion was laughable, and Guthrie smirked as he shook his head.

Agro lifted an eyebrow, a smile stretching across his gaunt face. “You’re right. I don’t give a shit about any of you.”

Ooh… shocker.

“Nor do I strive for wealth and supremacy.”

Now that was surprising.

“I do this for one reason,” Agro explained. “Self-preservation. And I don’t do it because I think my life is important. I do it because I know it’s not.” Puffing his pipe, he started pacing again. “I’ve lived longer than I thought I would, and while there are misconceptions that I’m a greedy man, the truth is – I’ve never wanted anything. Sure, I’ve been intrigued by things and I’ve taken things, but I don’t stay intrigued, and I don’t hold things dear, because this world is a toy on loan. What happens to it is none of my concern. Desires are fleeting; those I embrace can be disregarded in the next breath. The only constant in my life is the act of staying alive. And to do that, I must stay in power, which happens to be a position with perks I can use and abuse with mild interest.” He paused and looked over, motioning to Guthrie with his pipe. “You look confused.”

Guthrie smoothed his expression and leaned forward, placing his goblet on the table. “I guess I’m wondering why you’re telling me all this.”

“Because,” Agro answered, fire flashing in his steady stare, “after a life of wanting nothing, I’m ready to collect.”

Guthrie had seen the fire in Agro’s eyes many times, usually when a kill was moments away, but lately, the flame flickered constantly, threatening to roar into a blaze at the slightest misstep. “Collect?” Guthrie asked.

“Yes,” Agro confirmed. “I never mourned a loss, not until twenty-one years ago… almost to the day. And I’ve never wanted something so much I’d be willing to risk my life for it, not until now.”