Witches' Waves (26 page)

“Not like Shaw, you mean.” Meaghan's voice dashed over Deck like a cold wave. He could only imagine how it was for Garrett. “But you still do what they say.”

“I can kill people with a touch. I can lock down other people's magic. And when the Agency found me, I didn't have any control over either power. I was an ER nurse. One night the police brought in a suspected serial killer who'd been shot resisting arrest. He wasn't hurt badly, and there were reasons to keep him alive. Bodies to locate. Closure for families. A possible accomplice to track down. I had my job to do, but that time I really didn't want to. Not when there were other patients waiting, children and old people in pain, and this guy didn't deserve life. But I went to do my job—and he died under my hands. The doctor figured it was some freak thing they'd find during the autopsy. But the next day the Agency showed up at my door.

“I shut the magic users down without knowing how I did that, either. Hard. One of them was in a coma for days afterward because I broke things in her head. But someone had a tranq gun. When I woke up, they explained to me that I was both a witch and a sorcerer, which is weird since witch magic is innate and sorcery is mostly a matter of will and training, and it's rare to have both. Neither form of magic was under my control and they weren't playing well together. They understood acting in self-defense, and they understood subconsciously wanting to bring justice to a killer, but I had to get my magic under control and they could help me. It took awhile for me to figure out I'd been arrested, that they were studying me. But they were right I was dangerous. I kept hurting people accidentally.”

“Until they got you doing it deliberately.” Deck was guessing, but it seemed like a reasonable guess.

“They said if I worked for them I'd be allowed freedom to come and go as long as I remained stable. After a couple of years of imprisonment, I couldn't resist. When they needed a nurse who could also monitor the magic locks on Meaghan, I figured I might actually be able to do some good. Take care of a sick child, ease her pain, like a nurse is supposed to do. Better that than shutting down magic the Agency couldn't control, or euthanizing subjects they'd broken too badly.” He paused, drew a deep, sobbing breath. “I thought you were dying, in the end. All I could give you was a chance to die on your own terms.”

“You
thought
I was dying.”

He shook his head. “You were, but not from the neurological disorder. From being magic locked for too long on top of already having a medical problem.”

“Deck and I are going to ask you more about that,” Kyle slid in, “later, once we're safe. How can we get out of here with the least risk of being killed in awful ways? Since we just found out Meaghan's not dying, we have even more incentive to get out of here alive.”

When Garrett moved, Deck jumped forward, poised with a spell—or, failing that, a right hook. But the older man simply got out of bed. He was wearing worn green-plaid pajamas that reinforced his look of a kindly uncle. “I'm on lockdown right now—I was angry, which makes my magic unstable, and since I was angry
at
the Agency, the higher-ups were concerned—but most of the staff doesn't know that. They think of me as an agent, not a subject. They know I've worked closely with Meaghan. If anyone asks, I caught you trying to break one of our subjects loose. When I realized one of you was a Donovan, I thought it would be a bad idea to just make you disappear, so I magic locked you and was bringing you to the director. You
are
a Donovan, aren't you?”

“How do we know you won't do that anyway?” Deck asked instead of confirming. He supposed anyone who worked for the Agency would recognize the magical signatures of any of the major witch lines, even in their funkier forms.

Kyle stepped closer. Rather than just sniffing the air, he sniffed Garrett more directly. Garrett looked distinctly miserable. “Still telling the truth as far as he knows it. Still might be crazy.”

“I believe you,” Meaghan said. “I have no reason to believe you, but all those years, you and Becky were the only people who cared about me.”

“Becky's brother is telekinetic, which is almost unheard of for a human. The Agency found out and took him, thinking he might be useful as some kind of weapon. Becky tried to intervene. When they caught her, she was given two choices and the other was worse than working here. All those books she reads help her to feel like she's free, but she's not, no more than I am, even if she can go off-site at night.” Garrett was dressing as they talked, white short-sleeved shirt and navy pants like a business man, but a scrub shirt over the other shirt. “You can help her and the kid brother, right? You Donovans.”

“Of course,” Deck said, though at this point he had no idea how. Then he did. “I'll need files. Proof of what's going on here. My father and Elissa's are still connected.”

“Flash drive in a safe deposit box in Eureka. It's not everything, but it's enough, combined with what's up here.” Garrett tapped the side of his skull. “After I let Meaghan go, I figured I might be in danger, so I took precautions. Not for my safety, but to get the information out. There are innocent people stuck here. Kids. And I know they'll make another try for the Donovan baby as soon as they figure out how.”

Before they headed out the door, Garrett grabbed a set of scrubs and handed them to Kyle. “Put some clothes on, kid. I'm guessing you're a dual and don't give a damn your cock's flapping in the breeze, but it's making me nervous.”

Despite everything, they all laughed.

Because it was better than screaming, which was the other alternative.

To survive, they had to rely on one of the enemy staying a turncoat to the organization that had given him a sense of purpose when his world went mad.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The handcuffs were an unpleasant, though logical, surprise. Garrett might have some seriously weird magic—Kyle had to take the witchy types' word for that—but he was a middle-aged, chunky guy who moved like he had a touch of arthritis. Even if he had mad martial arts skills, they were rusty. Kyle and Deck could overpower him and if they really were captured, would certainly try.

Hence handcuffs.

At least the psytech in them wasn't activated. He could still shift, which would get him free in 1.2 seconds.

Hopefully that would be enough time if it became necessary.

After all the skulking around, they were moving openly now, if awkwardly. At the slightest hint of noise, Garrett grabbed Kyle's cuffed hands and began to frog-march him. Deck supported Meaghan; they'd both been instructed to act sedated. Since Deck was also cuffed, it wasn't graceful, and it was definitely slow.

But the first group of agents they encountered seemed to buy Garrett's story of finding the intruders everyone was looking for and neutralizing them.

Bought it all too well, in fact. “Should have called for backup, Mr. Clark,” a burly uniformed man said. “You could have been hurt.”

Garrett laughed scornfully. He sounded different, Kyle thought. Harder. More like he'd expect a senior agent to sound. And he smelled of lies, though lies mixed with just enough truth to be convincing. “You know what I can do, Mack. And it wasn't like I was in danger. This moron's an otter dual. What's he going to do, cute me to death? And the blond kid's a Donovan, a
gooood
witch”—his voice dripped scorn and he stank of lies and what Kyle thought might be envy—“so as soon as he realized he was caught, he surrendered in hopes he could keep his friends safe.”

“The good thing about idiot liberals is they don't fight back real well. But let me and José take the guys just in case. The big guy could do some damage if he comes around feeling less cooperative.”

Kyle supposed the only way Garrett could keep his cover was to let the bruiser Mack take charge of Deck. At least José, who took charge of him, wasn't quite so huge. Which didn't help much, since the guy was armed and Kyle was not only unarmed but handcuffed.

Not to mention that Kyle sensed something strange about José, a flicker of something not human, but no longer dual either. He couldn't tell if Mack was also something unknown, but he moved like his human-looking body didn't fit quite right.

Like the guy they'd encountered in the hallway, the one whose blood tasted alien.

Hadn't Shaw and his people been trying to mutate duals into supersoldiers? These guys didn't seem particularly super, but they might be prototypes, usable mistakes.

Lovely
.

The Agency guards kept them moving at a brisk pace, chatting about baseball, beer and plans for the weekend like there was nothing odd about the situation.

Which, from their point of view, there probably wasn't. All in a day's work. Apparently they hadn't heard about the mess in the stairwell yet.

Instead of endless stairs, though, this time they all squeezed into an elevator. José made sure to jostle Kyle's injured shoulder against the door as he shoved him in.

As if being a handcuffed captive of a heavily armed mutant frat boy wasn't bad enough, he was now about to endure every dual's favorite part of the human world: the dreaded rising-and-falling metal box. Small-animal duals like Kyle endured elevators better than their larger cousins: Kyle didn't even want to think what Jude might do in an elevator.

On second thought, he did want to think about it. The thought of Jude going postal, shifting and eating a few Agency employees was a pleasant one to cling to as the elevator started its climb.

It even helped as he was once more pushed, injury first, into the door when they reached the ground floor.

This would be over soon. And then they'd kick ass.

Garrett, supporting a Meaghan who wasn't nearly as groggy as she seemed, started to head down a dimly lit corridor, the two agents and their seeming prisoners following them.

Then he turned and gave Meaghan a small shove forward.

He raised his hands, seemingly casually. But from the way Meaghan darted away, the way Kyle felt water currents in the air and the prickle of lightning on his skin as if both his lovers were preparing for action, it wasn't casual at all. Kyle started shifting as soon as he felt that subtle change, twisting to make sure he was free of his borrowed scrubs.

Garrett still didn't look like he was doing anything but pausing for breath, but Mack let out a grunt and staggered a bit.

And José fell, not breathing.

Mack drew his weapon. Laughed.

Shot at Garrett. And despite a thug-sized sleet storm and a healthy jolt of electricity slamming him more or less at the same time, he hit. “They hadn't worked out all the bugs when I went through mutation. I ended up immune to healing magic,” he said casually. “Which totally sucks, but it means I'm also immune to
you
.”

Garrett tumbled toward the floor in slow motion, his eyes wide with shock, his hands still pointing at Mack as if he were trying to get off another spell, but couldn't focus. “It's time,” he said weakly.

Mack retargeted almost too fast to see. Deck screamed, “Meaghan, down!” and flung himself at Mack, while Kyle jumped in front of Meaghan and braced himself for bullets ripping through his flesh. He felt Deck's resolve, too, through their bond: whatever happened, they wouldn't get Meaghan. Even if Deck had to kill or die himself to be sure of that.

And three more agents poured down the hall.

Meaghan heard the shots, smelled the blood. Felt blood as it splattered her.

Garrett's life energy flared, bright in his blood. Colors she couldn't name swirled in her mind, then faded. “No!” she screamed. She was furious with Garrett, but she understood as well. Understood how the Agency and especially Shaw could twist you with words, twist you until you believed you were a freak, a monster, and had no choice but to do the Agency's bidding. She wasn't ready to lose him with so much left unsaid.

Not ready to lose herself now that she'd finally found herself.

And she would never be ready to lose Deck or Kyle, even if they all lived to be older than Roslyn Donovan.

Meaghan rose to her knees. Water energy surged through her link to Deck, water energy and others she couldn't use, but that cool blue power was open to her and she drank it in. She reached down those cords connecting her to Kyle and Deck. Reached Kyle's love and his abundant feral sexual energy, so fierce it could be dangerous if he wasn't careful. Reached Deck, and his magic embraced her, fluid water energy, hot red magic and energies she knew were earth and lightning.

Power filled her, more power than she'd ever experienced, more power than she knew how to use. Colors filled her mind and she knew she was sensing auras: Deck's, Kyle's, Garrett's fading one. One of the guards was gone, but she sensed the other's energy, scarred and warped and muddy, and more people had entered the fight. Couldn't tell how many, but a few, one with sorcery. Deck was doing something. The floor vibrated, and water was pouring from somewhere.

But it wasn't enough. Their enemies weren't slowing down. Garrett was still fading.

And another shot echoed in the corridor.

She felt it as it struck Deck.

A glancing wound, she thought, but enough to make him stagger and cry out, enough to make Kyle cry out as well. For an instant, all she felt was the shock of impact, filtered through her link with Deck, a dull throb.

Then pain washed over her and she knew it was only an echo of what Deck felt.

The bastards would shoot again.

She pulled back from Deck and Kyle, reached out to the guards. They felt both slimy and spiky to her magic. Four, including the original one. Three didn't seem human, nor did they feel like Kyle or the other duals she'd met at the Donovans' estate.

But their bodies were still over 60 percent water, their blood and brains more than that. And water would do what she told it to do.

She remembered what Garrett had told her and
pulled
, pulled with all the force of will and magic, pulled the water from their bodies. She'd done this on a smaller scale before, enough to make her enemy dizzy and light-headed.

This time she didn't stop. Didn't stop when she could sense the water in their bodies was running dangerously low, didn't stop when one began to beg incoherently, didn't stop when Deck, his voice laced with pain, commanded, “Meaghan, no!” She pulled. She kept pulling. Vomit rose in her throat, metallic and sharp, but she choked it back and kept going.

She didn't stop until someone put his hands on her shoulders and shook her. The hands felt like Deck's, hot and solid on her skin. She thought he was speaking to her but the words were tinny and distant. Everything was tinny and distant except for the magic that had taken control of her and the need to make sure that her lovers and her very first friend were safe.

She swayed and Deck's arms caught her. She knew it was Deck, knew he was worried, knew she loved him and ought to say it, but the magic roared too loudly.

Then a hand slapped her face. Smaller than Deck's, harder than Garrett's, even if Garrett had the strength. Kyle.

It had to be Kyle anyway, because she could feel his love coming through the slap and she knew that was how he rolled, that love and pain and dominance and submission were all mixed up for him.

She still couldn't stop. But the pain, and the love behind it, jarred her enough that she could comprehend what Deck was trying to tell her. “They're all dead, Meaghan. You're pulling the water from the cistern and the earth around us and the building's flooding. We need to get out of here. And you're burning so much power you're hurting yourself.”

Her brain was still fuzzy, full of magic. The words made it through, almost made sense.

The lips touching hers definitely did. Deck's lips, sweet with red magic.

Her instincts told her to suck that out, use that to move more water, bring this evil down around their ears.

But there were innocents here, prisoners and maybe more agents like Garrett, people who might not exactly be innocent but who didn't deserve to die.

Garrett.
Her rage and her magic were willing to flood the building and kill everyone, but she really wasn't willing to kill herself, and certainly not Kyle and Deck. And Garrett was still alive, but his energy was fading. He was dying.

She pulled back, reined in the magic.

Her head swam. “Thirsty,” she muttered against Deck's mouth. Her tongue was swollen in her mouth, her lips cracked, and she realized she'd used some of her own body's water to fuel the magic.

Instead of water, Deck breathed red magic into her. It couldn't help her parched cells, but the red magic rejuvenated her seared spirit. She wrapped her arms around Deck, drank deep—then pulled away. “You're hurt!” She'd almost forgotten, the memory washed away by the tide of magic.

“Just nicked, but it hurts like hell.” Somehow, Deck managed to sound cheerful.

“And Garrett?”

“Not good,” Kyle said quietly. “I can't do much without equipment, and he's bleeding pretty badly.”

“I can slow the bleeding, like I did for myself.” Meaghan felt Deck stir, knew what he must be doing.

“I can help.”

“You're drained.”

“Garrett got shot defending me.” Exhausted as she was, she had a feeling she could help, that she could redirect some of what she'd pulled from the dead agents. Instinct told her that Deck wouldn't want to know that.

Silently, Deck kissed her again, not sharing his red magic this time, but waking hers. Exhausted as she was, that was enough to arouse her, enough to give her a flicker of magical energy.

Deck took her hands, guided one to Garrett, held the other one. “Follow what I'm doing,” he said, “and if it hurts, pull out.”

She didn't answer, just touched Deck's strong power, touched Garrett's failing energy and went to work.

Time had little meaning in the state she was in, but she thought it had been only a few minutes, if that, when Kyle said, “He's doing better. We should be able to move him.”

Garrett's voice was shaky but determined as he insisted, “I can walk. Crawl if I have to. But we need to go. Not many staff on duty now, and Meaghan took out a lot of them, but signals…must have gone out.”

Deck released Meaghan's hand, and she knew he was helping Garrett to his feet. “Grab my shirt,” he said, and they were on the move.

Not as fast as they should have been. Not as fast as they probably needed to be, not with Deck and Kyle supporting Garrett. He kept insisting he could walk but it was pretty obviously not true.

Not as fast as the magic told Deck they needed to go. The cistern had already flooded the lowest floor and the water was rising. Worse, the cistern was leaking into the surrounding earth as well. The underground structure hadn't been built with that in mind, and everything felt unstable. “Are prisoners kept on the lowest levels?” he asked Garrett, He hated to force the injured man to talk, but he needed to know. Deck didn't want anyone else to die tonight, but he couldn't hold the water back much longer.

“Not on the lowest level, and no one works there at night. A few on two. Bad ones.”

Meaghan asked before he could, “Bad how?”

“A naga. Couple of blood drinkers. Cannibalistic wolf dual serial killer.”

In other words, beings even a Donovan might agree needed to be off this plane.

He couldn't guarantee the water wouldn't go higher, that the building wouldn't destabilize further. But after the first few floors, it should be slow, slow enough that people would have a chance to escape.

And the doors were all open.