Splinter (The Machinists Book 2) (25 page)

Liam didn’t seem to hear him. He raced across the room and leaped onto the table near Allyn. With his head only inches below the dark florescent light, Liam grabbed the wires connecting it to the ceiling and yanked them free. The light swung gently as the wires fell onto the table, their ends fileted. Liam brought the wires to his mouth and bit then grabbed the jagged piece of rubber insulation and pulled it back to expose more of the copper interior. He did this with both sets of wires that connected to the ballast of the light fixture.

“We can practice with this,” Liam said, holding up both electrical wires. “Wield only a trickle and project it into these. Then slowly amp it up until the light glows consistently.”

Allyn took the wires, watching as Liam jumped off the table. When he landed, he turned to Allyn anxiously.

Allyn felt foolish under the weight of the young man’s expectations. Sure, he enjoyed being underestimated—hell, he relished it—but he loathed blind faith and the idea that success was something other than the culmination of years of hard work. Still… the sounds of battle continued to ring outside, and for a second, he was able to take a mental step back. For that brief moment, he didn’t care about the pair of anxious eyes waiting for him to succeed or fail. He was transfixed with the continued sounds of fighting. His friends were dying, and his ability to stop it began with the wires in his hand. Foolish as he felt, he had to try. He had to succeed.

“Stand back.” Allyn closed his eyes, so he couldn’t be sure if they stepped back or not, but he
felt
as though they had. The void was easy to find and was already pulsed with energy. Grasping the bare wires, he imagined the void was a sponge soaked with water, and instead of twisting it, he gave it a gentle squeeze.

He felt the energy spring forward and opened his eyes as the coils of electricity connected with the copper wiring in his hands. For a brief moment, the wiring glowed, and Allyn’s hope swelled.

And then the light exploded.

Jaxon rushed across the grounds, favoring speed over concealment. Something tugged at him like a rope tied around his midsection, compelling him forward, pleading with him to move faster. The feeling terrified him, and he wanted to stop and retreat back into the forest, but the compulsion intensified, snapping at him like a switch to his backside. He kept his eyes alert, scanning the landscape for unseen assailants. Part of him wondered if the unnatural feeling was a new ability found by an enemy machinist. One thing was certain—it was pulling him toward the battle.

His squad, splintered and only numbering five in all, followed in his steps. He could hear the crunching of their boots and their labored breathing growing more distant behind him. But he didn’t care—he had to get into the battle.

The battle itself was contained to the flat ground in front of the library, where the ankle-deep ash made moving slow and laborious. Jaxon stumbled as he stepped into it. The sudden resistance felt as though he’d been lassoed around his ankles. Running through it was like running through sand, but unlike sand, the ash hung in the air like a dense fog, obscuring his vision and making breathing difficult.

The first magi appeared out of the fog, lost and alarmed, wide-eyed like a frightened doe. Jaxon started, hesitated, realized the magi wasn’t one of his, and struck. He booted the man with an air-aided foot, sending him skidding through the ash and disappearing into the haze. He waited, watching as dark figures punctuated by flashes of red, orange, and blue streaked chaotically through the white smog.

He was fighting a battle unlike any he had ever fought before. Without cover, the magi units had dissolved into multiple one-on-one battles. It had become a free-for-all, where being struck by friendly fire was as likely as being struck by an enemy, the kind where luck won as often as superior tactics or numbers did.

The rest of his unit caught up to him, skidding to a halt as they suddenly came upon him.

Someone coughed. Another cursed.

Jaxon barely heard any of it. The compulsion was stronger than ever, willing him toward the edge of the battle near the library.
No. It’s pulling me toward the library itself.

“Continue forward,” Jaxon said. “Rally our magi into a cohesive unit and fall back into the rubble, where there’s cover. Restore order. Chaos favors Darian.”

“Where are you going?” Andrew asked.

“Toward the library,” Jaxon said. “Go.”

His unit streaked past him, entering the fray, and Jaxon veered off toward the library. As he drew closer, the air grew less hazy, and two figures appeared atop the roof.

Jaxon recognized Ren’s effortless movements. She fought with a deadly grace that was in contrast to her short and slender frame. Her opponent was taller than she was by almost a full head, with sandy-blond hair and pale, shining skin.

Cason. He’s supposed to be dead.

He struck with reckless abandon, moving from one attack to the next, making up for his lack of efficiency with persistence. It kept Ren on the defensive. She backed across the library, countering fire with water and meeting ice blasts in midair with blasts of her own. She neared the edge but didn’t appear to notice. She took a final step, and her foot came down on nothing but air. She teetered, arms flailing wildly as she worked to regain her balance.

Cason exploited her lapse in concentration and hurled a volley of fireballs in her direction.

With nothing else to do, Ren dropped. She fell off the library, the fireballs narrowly missing the top of her head. At the last possible second, she caught the edge of the roof. Cason advanced. Ren dangled off the side of the library, kicking the walls, searching for a foothold or rough patch of concrete she could use for leverage. As Cason neared, Ren stopped, peering upward at him, calm and resolute.

Charging forward but still more than twenty feet away, Jaxon knew he wouldn’t get there in time. Frustration gripped him. His hands balled into fists as he ran, and he threw his arms forward, sweeping the air as if he were charging through water. His scream tore across the distance.

Cason looked up.

Ren let go of the edge and launched herself backward. The air near her feet warped and cracked, and the wall fractured. Chunks of concrete fell to the wet ground below as Ren was propelled backward with unnatural speed. Something thin and blue formed in her hands then shot across the void. It took Cason in the neck just as Ren struck the ridge. Her head snapped back, and she did a backward somersault, landing on her stomach, her feet and hands sinking into the ash.

Cason gripped his neck. The blue shard of ice was red with blood, and more poured across his compression armor. He fell to his knees then his side, and his body shook as he took his last ragged breaths.

Jaxon came to stop atop the ridge. Ren was on her feet again and moving away from him.

“We lost the ridge,” she said over her shoulder. “We need it back.”

The compulsion willed Jaxon into the pit with such intensity that he nearly leaped into it. His logic won out, though, and he kept to the high ground, circling the pit, moving in the opposite direction as Ren. He hadn’t heard it before. They had been muffled within the depths of the pit and overshadowed by the sounds of Ren’s battle, but Jaxon could hear them now.

Labored breathing. Gasps. Curses.

He moved with a renewed sense of urgency. He knew who was down there. Crystal clear amid the static of battle, her voice cut through the rest.

Leira.

Jaxon froze. He understood the feeling now. The distance. The compulsion. And the reason it resembled fear and pain mixed with hope and determination.

A contradiction in two parts. In two people.

The echo.

Jaxon cursed.

Chapter 28

“W
e only get one shot at this,” Liam said, sliding the table beneath another set of florescent lights.

“I know,” Allyn said.

“And if we fail—”

“I understand the consequences,” Allyn interrupted. “But the fact remains that I can
practice
until I’ve blown out every light in here, and I still won’t be any closer to being ready.”

Liam stopped and took a sharp breath. His shoulders dipped in resignation. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to trust me.”

Liam squirmed under Allyn’s gaze, and his eyes slid away, turning to the bare walls instead.

“I…” Allyn began, “I can’t explain it, but I’ve never been as good at practicing something as I was when I was under pressure. I remember rehearsing my opening and closing statements. My words were always jumbled and forgotten, but when I stepped in front of that jury…” Allyn smiled, cocking his head to try and catch Liam’s attention. “I thrived, Liam. I don’t know why, but I need the external pressure. Practicing with these lights isn’t going to help.”

Liam met Allyn’s eye, his face a furious mix of logical fear and desire to believe in the irrational.

“Not to interrupt,” Nolan said slowly. “But shouldn’t I have a say in this, too?”

Allyn remained quiet, refusing to turn away from Liam.

“Because if I do,” Nolan continued. “I say we trust him. If Allyn thinks he can do it, then I believe he can.” When nobody responded, Nolan added, “Just thought you’d want to know.”

Allyn thought he could hear a tinge of embarrassment in Nolan’s voice, but he kept his eyes on Liam. It wasn’t that he felt he had to convince the young magi; he just wanted his blessing. When Liam finally met Allyn’s gaze, Allyn offered him a small shrug.
What do you think?
it asked.

Liam gave him a small nod, grabbed something off the table beside him, and tossed it at Allyn. A glint of silver soared through the air. Allyn instinctively slid out of the way and caught the object by its leather hilt. It was heavier than he’d expected, and it threw him off balance, twisting him about. Once steady, he held the object in front of him. Three feet long, with a polished double-edged blade and intricate carvings of the magi symbols for fire, water, and air on its hilt, the broadsword had to weigh close to five pounds. On the pommel was a symbol he’d never seen before—a shield with tarnished red, blue, and white paint, decorated with more elemental symbols. A family crest perhaps.

Allyn held the sword reverently, his dark shadow barely visible in the gleaming blade. He turned to Liam. “Did you just throw a
sword
at me?”

Liam blushed. “Sorry about that.”

“I’m glad I caught it,” Allyn said sarcastically. He turned to the wall and drove the sword between it and the wire housing that ran down its edge. It made a rough scraping noise across the concrete, likely tarnishing the blade. Allyn winced. The damage already done, he took the hilt and pommel in both hands and, using the point against the wall as leverage, pulled back. The black housing ripped free. Allyn then sliced through the wires as easily as if they were flesh. From there, he quickly cut away more of the rubber insulation, exposing enough wire for him to grasp.

Outside, the booms of battle were growing more distant. Was it drawing to an end?
Who’s winning?
He had to find out. He had to find Darian.

Oozing feigned confidence, Allyn took the wire in his hand and wielded. He followed Liam’s earlier advice and began with a trickle of energy—roughly the same amount he had used when the light had exploded. The copper wires glowed and—

Nothing happened.

More
, Allyn thought. He projected more energy into the wire, willing the keypad to glow to life.

Still nothing happened.

More.
Allyn took the cable in his other hand, and dueling coils of electricity poured into the wires. They sparked and clashed as the raw tendrils of energy touched each other, but still, the keypad remained dark.

“It’s not working,” Allyn bellowed over the crackle of exposed electricity.

Liam rushed forward, careful not to step too close. He followed the insulated housing up the wall, tracing the wires back to the pad itself. Halfway up, he stopped.

“Stop!” he yelled.

Allyn released, and the library went dark again.

As the coils dissipated, Liam set to work. He grabbed the sword from the ground and pried the metal housing away from the wall. A portion of housing was glowing, and the concrete wall was black behind it.

“There,” Liam said, fishing the thin wires out of the metal housing. The color-coated wires were black where the rubber insulation had melted away. “They were arcing inside. Give me a minute.” Liam licked his fingers then ripped back the rubber insulation, trimmed the wires, and reattached them to the main circuit by twisting them around each other. “It won’t be perfect, but it should do the trick.”

The red coils sprang back to life as Allyn took the cables back in his hands. He watched as the energy coursed through the hastily reattached wires, sparking intermittently, but continuing to blaze with power.

The keypad glowed to life.

Liam was on it in a flash, typing in the FBI’s four-digit code. The chime was lost in the crackling of electricity, but the red light quickly turned green. Gears inside the wall let out a deep groan, and the door shuddered open an inch.

“More!” Liam shouted.

Allyn squeezed the void, wringing out all the energy he could. Light flooded the room as the florescent bulbs sprang to life, then popped with a flash and shattered. Sparks and glass rained from the ceiling. Liam and Nolan took cover, but Allyn continued to hold onto the cable as if his life depended on it.

It’s not enough
, Allyn thought.
How?
He’d seen less power accomplish more.
There’s another bad connection somewhere.
They didn’t have time to track it down. He had to get that door open.

“Aaaahhhh!” Allyn screamed, willing more power into the cable.

Magic has limits
, Jaxon had said.
We don’t know what yours are.

Allyn was again caught between two likely deaths. One had two people he cared about dying with him. The other had him sacrificing himself to save them. Liam was more important to the Family than he was. Liam was their future. He was the future of the entire magi race. Allyn could die for less.

Allyn squeezed the void dry, willing every bit of energy he had into the cable. The power raged through him, searing at his insides like a torn stomach spilling acid and bacteria into his bloodstream.

Something tore, and pain shrieked through his chest. He collapsed, dropping the cable.
No,
he thought.
No!

Nolan caught him before his head slapped against the floor and laid him down gently.

“I’m sorry,” Allyn said, weak and gripping his chest. His heart thumped sporadically like a child hitting a drum for the first time. “I failed.”

“No,” Nolan said. “No, you didn’t.”

Allyn followed his eyes. Liam stood in front of the door. Allyn blinked.
No.
Liam was on the
other
side—outside.

A cool breeze blew into the library, carrying with it a scent of soil and smoke. Allyn smiled in spite of the erratic thumping in his chest.

Halfway down the ladder, Jaxon jumped. The sheet of plywood cracked under his weight, and muddy water splashed up from the edges.

A single magi lay on his stomach a few feet away. Jaxon hesitated, peering into the shadows around him. The sun had risen above the ridge, but half of the corridors were still bathed in darkness. When no one attacked, Jaxon rushed forward and rolled the magi onto his back. It was Gerek, one of Leira’s squad. Mud caked the side of his face, and a deep gash cut across his temple toward the back of his head. Jaxon placed two fingers on his neck, checking his pulse.

A muffled scream.

Jaxon dove into the muddy water as something sliced through the air where he’d just been and struck the dirt wall with a solid
thwack
.

Ice
, Jaxon thought. It had to be ice.

He jumped to his feet, fire burning in each of his hands. Water, thick with mud, dripped from his elbows onto the moist ground, sounding like muffled footsteps. Whoever had attacked was using ice to avoid giving up their position. Still, only so many places could conceal him from Jaxon’s direct line of sight. The trajectory of the attack limited the possibilities even more.

The next attack was little more than a ripple in the night, a moving shadow that shouldn’t have been possible. Jaxon met the ice blast in midair with a fireball, and half-melted ice pebbles peppered him harmlessly. Jaxon hurled a fireball into the corner of the corridor. It struck against the wall, briefly illuminating two figures.

It was all he needed to recognize Leira—then again, he’d already known she was down there.

Darian emerged from the shadows, using Leira as a human shield. One hand covered her mouth. The other was outstretched beside her head. The threat was clear—Darian could kill her before Jaxon could kill him.

The two men scowled at each other. They didn’t say anything—there was nothing to say. Darian wasn’t going to let Leira go, and Jaxon wasn’t going to leave without her.

Leira remained silent and alert. She moved with Darian, her steps only half a beat behind his. Her eyes never left Jaxon’s, and behind them was a storm of emotions that Jaxon struggled to make sense of. Anger. Frustration. Determination. Even embarrassment. The last one surprised him.

“Jaxon!”

Darian’s eyes shot from Jaxon searching for the voice.

Jaxon launched a fireball, propelling it forward with air. Darian leaped to the side. He dragged Leira with him, and the two of them splashed into the mud. The fireball exploded against the wall with such force that it rippled the ground. Loose chunks of mud fell from the wall, landing with sloppy
slaps
.

Leira scrambled to her feet and dashed across the slick ground toward Jaxon.

Jaxon stepped closer to the wall to get a better angle on Darian. The blond man was wielding fire. Jaxon didn’t pause. Ice was in his hands in a heartbeat, and he blasted it forward indiscriminately. The first three ice blasts shot through the air, sticking into the muddy wall behind Darian, but the fourth collided with Darian’s fireball in midair. They exploded, sending chunks of ice and wisps of fire into the narrow corridor.

Jaxon didn’t let up. He launched another volley. Darian rolled, rose to his feet, and dove behind the corner of the library.

Jaxon caught Leira in his arm and spun her so that he was between her and Darian’s cover. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

She didn’t respond. Embarrassment swelled inside him. It was so powerful, he almost thought it was his.

He turned toward her. Even wet, muddy, and sporting a deep bruise across her cheek, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He longed for her. He wanted to hold her. Be with her. Tell her he understood. And he could sense the same feelings in her.

“I…” He didn’t know where to start. His eyes searched hers. Did she know? Could she feel it, too?

“Something’s wrong.” Liam stood a dozen steps behind Leira.

He’s the one who called out
, Jaxon thought, replaying the confrontation in his mind.

“It’s Allyn,” Liam continued. “He… I think he pushed himself too far.”

“I’ve got it,” Leira said. “Find Darian—he’s been gone for too long already.”

“Get them inside the library and wait for me,” Jaxon said.

Leira lingered for half a breath then moved away without word. Jaxon watched her go, though he ached to follow her.

A sudden
crack
from the other side of the library saved him from dwelling on it further. Leira stopped, shooting him a curious expression.

Jaxon’s torment bent itself into a smile.

“Ren,” he said.

Ren took sadistic pleasure in tormenting Darian. She was a lioness playing with her prey. He put up a fight, but somewhere deep down, he had to know it was over.

Atop the ridge, she had the high ground and, with it, a clear vantage of their battlefield. More than that, she had cover and leverage. She kept Darian moving, breaking his will a little more with every attack. It wasn’t as though she could kill him at any time, but the advantage was clearly on her side.

The final blow came when Jaxon rounded the edge of the library behind Darian. He stopped when he saw Ren, and she halted her game.

Darian froze. His eyes slid to his feet, and he let out a defeated breath. “And so it ends.”

“And so it ends,” Jaxon agreed.

Darian turned to face his would-be executioner, and before Ren could blink, desperation replaced defeat. He threw his hands forward, and a steady stream of white-hot flame burst forth.

Jaxon retreated behind the wall. Darian pursued, the fire pouring out of his hands like water from a fire hydrant. Constant. Steady. Powerful. The gray wall turned black, and fire sizzled against the damp ground. And still, Darian pursued.