Leaping (18 page)

Gabe slips quietly through the door, gun up. He pans the
entrance of the barn, holding his stance for three long seconds to let his eyes
adjust. His aura clamps close to his body, a frosty blue hue. In a crowd of humans
his quiet, low aura would make him almost invisible to an angel’s sixth sense,
but here in this big, silent barn the humanness of his energy feels extravagant.

His eyes sweep down the empty corridor. My heart pounds so
hard I’m surprised it isn’t bruising itself against my ribs. I tighten my grip
on my gun even though Tarren has taught me to stay calm and relaxed as I shoot.
Pain shivers into my shoulder and down my arm. As soon as Gabe turns to check
the first stall, I’ll come up, shoot, and get back down before he can
retaliate.

Gabe takes one careful step forward, and I inch up, gazing
just over the lip of the stall door.

“Hey buddy,” Gabe whispers to the black and white speckled
horse whose big head hangs out of the first stall on the right. “Got anyone in
there with you?”

Yep, only Gabriel Fox would pause to greet a horse while in
the midst of a highly dangerous search for hidden angels. Gabe turns to peer
into the empty stall on the left.
Now.
I press onto my toes, feeling the
adrenaline jack through my body as I rise.

“Have to! Have to!” A voice cries.

“Caleb!”

The skinny angel bursts through the last stall door,
splintering it. His face is slack with hunger.

Fiona cries, “Please, don’t!” as she leans out of the stall
and grabs for Caleb’s arm.

Gabe pivots in one swift, elegant motion and pulls the
trigger. The tranq dart burrows into Caleb’s chest but does nothing to stop
him. He shakes Fiona off his arm like a rag doll and advances on Gabe. My
brother puts another dart into Caleb. The frenzied angel only picks up speed as
he charges at Gabe, who drops the tranq gun and pulls out his Berretta.

And here I am, standing up in the middle stall choking the
holy hell out a pitiful tranq gun that won’t stop Caleb before he latches onto
my brother and won’t stop Gabe before he gets at least one shot off at Caleb.
All Gabe needs is one shot.

So I push.

It’s an instinctual reaction. I push the gun out of Gabe’s
hands in my mind.

Push, Push, PUSH!

At the same time, I leap out of the stall and collide with
Caleb, wrapping my arms around him and pinning his hands to his sides as we
crash to the ground. He squirms and grunts against me, and I hold on for dear
life, wondering if Gabe shot him or shot me. My chest screams with pain, and I
feel wetness running down my back. I manage a glance up.

Gabe reaches behind him, pulling out the short, sharp blade
I’ve seen him use with fatal accuracy from his holster. His other hand is at
his ear, fingers reaching to unmute his earpiece. Our eyes meet, and his widen
with surprise. He takes a step back as if thrown off balance, and his mouth
drops open in a surprised O as if his processor overloaded trying to decrypt
this crazy scene. I don’t have any more time. Caleb is bucking.

“Help me!” I growl at Fiona who stands uncertain in the
middle of the stable. She moves then, just as if I’ve wound her up. She rushes
over and grabs Caleb’s legs. His movements are beginning to slow, and his
strength is ebbing fast. My right arm spasms with pain, but I keep holding on.

“All clear in the chicken coop,” Tarren says, his voice
echoing from both our earpieces. “Report.”  

I lock eyes with Gabe. His hand still hovers near his
earpiece. I shake my head.

Gabe blinks, and then his mouth tightens as he unmutes his
earpiece. “Nothing here.” His voice is flat. “There’s a loft with some boxes.
I’m going to check it out. May have some records.”

Caleb’s head nods forward, and his body goes slack in my
arms.

Tarren doesn’t say anything for a moment. I hear the faint
sounds of clucking chickens from his side of the com.

“There’s one vehicle in the garage,” Tarren says. “They
could still be here.”

“It’s probably a backup car.” Life is returning to Gabe’s
voice. If he wasn’t staring at me with volcanoes in his eyes and holding his
sharp blade in front of him, I’d really think he was just rummaging through old
boxes in a loft that doesn’t exist. “They’re not here. Probably isn’t worth
sitting on it…”

“We don’t have time for that anyway,” Tarren says, and his
voice is flat with defeat.

“I’ve got a couple more boxes to go through,” Gabe says. “Why
don’t you look through the house again. Find me some computers to crack into.”

“Chariot,” Tarren says, his voice weary.

I untangle myself from Caleb’s limbs and quickly unmute my
earpiece. “Check,” I say. “I’ve got the mirrors out. I just need to pack them
up. Be there shortly.”

Gabe and I both mute our earpieces together. “Explain,” he
says in a sharp, cold, very un-Gabelike voice. “Fucking…now.”

“They don’t kill people.” I make it to my feet, and Fiona
stands up beside me. She seems shorter standing this close to me. I wonder if
she can even ride all of the roller coasters at Six Flags.

“Yeah, how convenient,” Gabe spits back. He swipes sweat off
his forehead with the back of his knife hand. “If they told you they made toys
for Santa’s workshop, would you believe that too?” He drags in a breath. “And
how are you even here? What happened to waiting in the truck?”

I notice that the tranq gun is at his feet where he dropped
it, but what about the Berretta?

“I…I…” Is it time to tell Gabe about my other half-brother?
The angel one who romped around in my brain and knows where we live and the
faces of all our allies, including Francesca? My stomach turns. No. Even Gabe
wouldn’t understand. He’d tell Tarren, and then if they didn’t disown me as
their sister, we’d have to go underground, cutting all of our ties. Starting
from scratch.

“I wanted to help, keep you guys safe,” I say weakly. I feel
a rivulet of blood dribble down my back from my throbbing, burning chest. My
stitches are probably history. “While you were in the house, I checked out the
stables, and I found Fiona.”

“Hello,” Fiona says, “It’s…”

“No.” Gabe points the knife at her. “You don’t talk. Just her.”
He nods to me to continue.

Gabe isn’t angry often, but when it does happen his aura
ignites with a shower of golden sparks.

I swallow and try to keep my voice calm. “Gabe, look around
at this place. They raise chickens and feed on them. They use the sun. They
live out in the middle of nowhere ON PURPOSE.”

“You can’t just believe them.” Gabe’s voice is harsh now.
“They lie.”

I know why he needs to think this way. It’s simpler to
believe in pure good and evil. It makes him a hero. It lets him sleep without
nightmares.

“Raven, come out,” I say.

She doesn’t, not at first.

“It’s okay, Hon,” Fiona says.

She creeps out of the back stall, stepping over the
splintered ruins of the door. Her white dress is a stark contrast to her dark skin.

“How old are you Raven?” I ask.

“Seventeen next month.” Her voice trembles.

“Raven. Does that name sound familiar?” I ask Gabe. I look
back at the girl. “What was the name of the town where you were kidnapped and
changed into an angel against your will?”

Raven bites her lip. Tears swell at the corners of her eyes.
“Peoria.”

I see it – the moment it clicks with Gabe. His whole aura
swells with pale crimson shades of pain. But it’s not enough. I need him to
really see Raven. I need to humanize her.

“Raven, what’s your little brother’s name?”

“Abe,” my brother says. “You’re Abe’s sister.”

A look of fear ripples across Raven’s face. “What did you do
to him?”

“Whoa, whoa.” Gabe holds his hands up. Not exactly a
reassuring gesture with his fingers still wrapped around the hilt of his knife.
“Nothing. It was just a coincidence. We were staying next door to your parents
in Peoria.”

“He’s okay?” Raven practically shrieks the words, and I
wince. I hope to God that Tarren is in the house, routing through desks and
cabinets.

“He misses you,” Gabe says, “but yeah, he’s okay. I’ve been
keeping tabs on him. He calls sometimes and we talk.”

I turn to look at my brother. So that’s who he’s been
squirreling away to chat with when we pull in at rest stops. I’d thought he was
on the line with his gun dealer or one of his World of Warcraft girlfriends.

“You talk to him?” Raven’s brown eyes are shining. She takes
a step forward. “What’s he say? He’s not messed up, right? About me? I write
him letters. Him and my parents. They know I’m alive, but I can’t tell them
where…why….”

“I know,” Gabe says. “He gets your letters. He reads them to
me. Nice birthday card, by the way. Transformers. You know your audience.”

Raven looks away.

“They don’t kill people here,” I say to my brother. “They’re
not the bad guys.”

“That one.” Gabe points with his knife at Caleb.

“He isn’t used to being around auras,” Fiona says. She keeps
her calloused hands clasped in front of her modestly. “It was too much. We keep
ourselves isolated out here just for that reason.”

“But they could slip,” Gabe insists. “Someone could come out
here selling Bibles or vacuums and they could ice him.”

“I could slip too,” I say. I look at Gabe, really stare into
his eyes. I want him to see what I see. That every angel possesses free will.
The majority choose to be angels for the power it brings and to find ways of
justifying the need to kill. But there are outliers. There are always outliers.

“Remember what you said to Tarren the night I was turned?”

Gabe actually winces at the memory, and the shades of pain
in his aura deepen to a richer red. “You shouldn’t use our names,” he whispers.

“Tarren wanted to kill me, because of the danger I
presented. But you protected me. You wouldn’t let him kill me just because of
what I am. You said ‘She may feed on humans one day, maybe not. Until she does,
she’s an innocent, and we don’t kill innocent people. Not today. Not ever.’”

“That was different. You’re my sister.” Gabe is cracking. I
can see it. Just like at the veterinarian’s office. The moment I get his heart
involved I’ll have him. Unlike Tarren, Gabe cannot be cruel even if it serves a
higher good.

“Raven is a sister too. Are you going to let Lo cut up Abe’s
sister?”

“Fuck.” Gabe whispers. He looks at Fiona. “You did your mind
thing on my gun. All I had was a knife. A knife against him…” Gabe points at
Caleb. “Against you and her.” Now he nods at Raven. “Those are good odds for
you, but you held him back. You didn’t even try to go after me.”

“Twelve years ago I vowed never to take a human life again,”
Fiona replies.

I immediately wonder what happened twelve years ago; what
Fiona did that scarred her so brutally. She doesn’t look frightened at all, not
for herself at least. This utter lack of self-regard for her own safety reminds
me strongly of Tarren. I think Gabe must feel the same way.

“Oh, holy fuck,” he mumbles and turns around. He unmutes his
earpiece. “Nothing of use here. I’m coming into the house. Got anything for me
to download?”

“Two laptops,” Tarren responds. “Maya, status.”

“Not much of a road out here. Coming in slow,” I say.  

Raven makes a face. “Are you going to take our stuff?” she
asks Gabe. 

Gabe and I share a look that says,
We can never, ever
tell Tarren about this
.

“Invisibility cloak,” I whisper. Gabe nods, and something
hardens inside him. I can see it in the crimson that splices through his aura.

He turns his gaze on Raven. “I’m going to download the hard
drives from the computers so our partner doesn’t get suspicious,” he tells her.
“Though I have a feeling I won’t get anything useful off of them.”

“Don’t look at….” Raven stops.

“What?” A small grin twitches on Gabe’s mouth. “Got some
Justin Bieber smut on your little pink laptop?”

“NO!” she hollers. “Just some…um…poetry.” She presses
herself against the side of the stall, and I notice her arms shaking a little.
She’s doing a good job of resisting Gabe’s aura, but the struggle is obviously
wearing on her.

“Yuck. Teen angst poetry. Nope, I’m staying away from that,”
Gabe says, and Raven’s face brightens for a moment.

“He’ll be okay,” I say to Fiona as she kneels down and puts
her hand on Caleb’s forehead. “He’ll probably be out the rest of the day. Just
make sure you get a lot of water in him when he wakes up.”

I move toward Gabe. “I have to go get the truck.”

His expression changes, and I see his real face, the one
that looks older than his 23 years. The one that has been fighting too long to
start asking questions like the ones I’m making him ask today.

“Thank you,” I tell him, and I wish I could make those words
bigger and heavier so he would know how much I love him.

“You’re bleeding,” he says. “I’ll patch you up when find a
place to stop.”   

After the world’s longest and most strained car ride, we return
to Lo’s empty-handed. Tarren and Lo lock themselves away in the lab, and I
listen to the faint rise and fall of their voices as I lay out on a lounger in
front of the pool. The lab is padded with sound absorption panels as Lo has mentioned
on a number of occasions, staring pointedly at me as if I were just dying to
stand creepily outside and listen to their conversations. Okay, so I’ve
actually tried this before, but Jesus, Lo and Tarren could be building nuclear
bombs in there for all I know. The sound absorption works. I can hear the deep
vibrations of their voices, but the words are always too smudgy to make out.

Now I close my eyes at another burst of Lo’s muted yelling. Tarren
was as warm and animated as a marble statue on the drive back. I could almost
hear the sound of his mind reviewing everything from the past 48 hours,
replaying his perceived mistakes over and over, listing all the things he could
have done differently. Should have done differently.

I sigh as the sun washes over my body, tickling my skin with
its light kiss of energy. My chest is one huge ache, and I’m going to need
another sit-down with the Prism soon to help refuel my battered body. The
voices have dampened from within the lab, but I can still practically feel
Tarren’s self-reproach from out here. He’s going to be the world’s most morose
person for the rest of the week. Hell, maybe the rest of the month. Then again,
Gabe might just give him a run for his money. My usually happy-go-lucky
brother’s face was closed off the whole drive over here. He couldn’t have been
any more clear about his feelings if he’d posted a sign on his forehead that
read,
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

I sigh again…because that’s apparently a thing pathetic
people do after they betray both their brothers and don’t know how to glue all
the pieces of their family back together again. And then there’s that other
thing. My phone is in my hand, but I won’t look at Rain’s message. I won’t, I
won’t, I won’t.

I feel Gabe’s aura sloshing toward me. He’s drunk already,
an impressive feat considering we’ve been here for less than an hour, and he
hasn’t even cleaned off the sweat and dust of the desert yet. Then again, he
knows where Lo’s step-mom keeps the good stuff.

“I hate this,” he says plopping down on a lounger next to
me, almost toppling it over.

“Hate what?” I guess he’s talking to me again. I’m too
exhausted to jump up and do a happy jig, but I mentally jig.

“We’re not supposed to spare them, Maya,” he says.

Gabe’s face is weary, and the usual trickster light in his
eyes is gone. My mental jig deflates. How many Chuck Norris jokes would it take
to get that light back in his eyes? I’ll tell them all.

“They’re evil. We kill them. End of story,” he says.

“Raven wasn’t evil.”

“I know!” This is thrown at me like an accusation. “Fuck. I
know. And that other lady. She was alright too.”

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of my lounger.

“We lied to Tarren,” Gabe says.

“He wouldn’t have understood.” No, that’s not right. It’s
worse than that. I think Tarren would have understood, actually. He would have
listened to Fiona and Raven. And he would have cared. But that wouldn’t have
stopped him. He had a plan. A mission. He would have swallowed his feelings and
found a way to justify it, Spock style. The needs of the many outweigh the
needs of the few.

Gabe must know this too, but he lets my sentiment stand. He
plants his elbows on his knees and looks at the desert dust still caking his
thin arms. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

The sun shines overhead and bounces off the clear water in
the pool. Many people would think a place like this is paradise.

“It’s not supposed to be complicated,” Gabe says. He takes
off his hat and rakes a hand through his shaggy hair. I catch a glimpse of the
silver lock mixed in with all that golden brown, and my gut clenches.

But it is complicated. More complicated than you can imagine.

The door to Lo’s lab swings open, and Tarren stalks out.
He’s got his Grade A scowl on, the one he only takes out of the box and dusts
off when Gabe or I (or usually both) are acting liking absolute fucktards. Even
though he still maintains at least some control over his aura, it jumps in cruel
arcs of red anger around his body.

Sadness blooms inside me with long, sharp petals. Gabe and I
betrayed Tarren, but he’ll blame himself for the failure of the mission. We did
the right thing, but it’s still the wrong thing. Hell, there is no right thing.
There are only horrible choices and slightly worst choices.

But this isn’t all on us. The only reason we were at the
farm in the first place is because Tarren and Lo are cooking up some secret
together. And it’s got to be something bad. Why else the silent act? 

Lo storms out of his lab, slamming the door like the
sixteen-year-old that he is. Gabe gives him a grinning salute and Lo answers
with a one-finger wave. I stand up and hiss at the pain that jags through my
chest. Gabe sewed up the puckered wound at the first rest stop we hit after the
farm and swathed me in a new set of bandages. Now the wound throbs as I follow
Lo and Tarren into the house.

“Tarren,” I call out, and my voice echoes in the large,
formal dining room that I can’t imagine Lo or his step-mom ever using. Tarren
pauses in front of a massive fireplace that has probably never been lit. He
stares at me with a steady, quiet gaze. No hint of the hurricane I know must be
raging inside of him. Lo turns into another room, his aura a storm cloud of red
anger.

Here. Now. I’m going to confront Tarren. Which secret should
I demand first? What they’re doing in the lab? Or Tammy?

“What is it?” Tarren asks, and I realize I’ve been staring
at him, trying to mentally grill the answers out of him. His face is pale,
highlighting the purple petals of exhaustion under his eyes. I try to remember
the last time I’ve seen him sleep or eat. He dozed a little on our way to Los
Angeles to Tucker Cartwright’s bloody bash, and there was that half pretzel he
nibbled on before we drove to Fiona’s farm. Maybe he got some sleep like I
ordered after leaving Grand Junction, but maybe not. Dammit. Gabe and I haven’t
been taking care of him.

“I want to show you something,” I say and head up the
stairs. Tarren doesn’t move, so I add, “It’s important.”

He doesn’t ask. Just follows, his footsteps light behind me.
I walk down the long hall of doors and pick one at random. I swing it open and
step aside, so Tarren can look in.

“It’s a guest room,” he states.

“It’s a bed. Get some sleep.”

He frowns. He hates my mothering routine, but I really don’t
give a fuck. “We’re alive,” I say. “We’re okay.”

The frown deepens.

“Tarren, we’re alive. We’re here together.” The words come from
a deep, true place inside me. “We’ll go back out there. We’ll keep fighting.
But let this be enough for today.”

“It’s getting worse,” he says, taking his turn as Captain
Obvious, but I understand his meaning. We have to fight harder. Be smarter. We
can’t afford even the smallest mistake, and we’ve made some ginormous ones
these past days.

I nod.

“I have to stop them.” His words are soft, but the
determination in his voice practically thunders.

In this weird moment where right and wrong seem like two
shades of the same gray paint, I make a decision. I won’t ask Tarren about
Tammy. He has his secrets for a reason. Maybe he’s protecting her, like Gabe
and I are protecting Raven, Fiona, and Caleb. Maybe he’s somehow protecting
Gabe, so he never has to know that his sister is an angel. Perhaps a killer.
Tarren has a reason for keeping it from us.  I need to let that be good enough

“You are not saving the world alone,” I tell him. “Gabe and
I want in on that action. Think about how pissed he’d be if he doesn’t get his
monument in Washington next to Lincoln like he’s always dreamed?”

A teeny, tiny smile touches Tarren’s lips, but my heart
soars. I’ve got him now. I hit him where I know he’s vulnerable.

“Gabe’s exhausted, and I need to give this time to heal too.”
I nod to my shoulder. “We all need down time.” I beckon toward the bed. Now for
the kill. “Sleep. Clear your head so you’ll be sharp when we start planning our
next mission.”

Tarren’s gazes at me. He knows the game I’m playing, the low-blow
tactics I’m clearly desperate enough to use against him. He blinks, and his
expression softens.

“Okay,” he says, acknowledging his defeat. He steps over the
threshold into the room.

“Watch,” I say and hold out my hand.

Whatever flicker of humor I roused in him is replaced by a
scowl. But, amazingly, he does it, unstrapping the watch from his wrist with
the alarm he always sets for four hours, and handing it over. Our hands touch,
his aura on my fingertips for just a moment, before I pull back.

“You saved my life last night,” I tell him as he sits on the
bed and unlaces his shoes. He stops and looks up. His eyes are pale blue. “Thank
you,” I stutter.  

He’s going to dismiss it, I know. Brush away his heroic deed
like he does all the others. But instead his mouth quirks into a small smile.
“Who’s Michael Wilkens?”

“What?” I croak as my face flushes with the heat of a
thousand suns. “No one.” Oh God, now I remember that the biggest crush of my
elementary school life dropped in for a cameo during my drugged up dreams.

 “He sounded pretty important,” Tarren says with a shrug. He
bows his dark head and pulls off a boot.

“Well he’s not,” I snap. “Go the fuck to sleep.” I whirl
around and close the door.

I find Lo in the kitchen, sitting on the counter, scarfing
down a pile of cookies Carmen baked for Gabe the last time we were here. His
black boots kick against the expensive oak cabinets.

“Where’s your mom?” I ask as I swing open the massive fridge
and pull out an apple, yogurt, and jars of peanut butter and jelly.

“Step-mom,” he corrects. “I believe she is paying someone to
pump botulism into her face right now.”

I place everything on the counter and pull a plate from the
cabinet.

“Do you hide away at night and rub human food all over your
naked body?” Lo asks. “Since you can’t eat it anymore?”

I throw him a look with all the disgust I can muster. “If I
ever went inside your brain I don’t think even a Hazmat suit would be enough to
protect me,” I say. “Seriously, what dark corner of the internet did you find
that on?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He gives me a crooked smile,
which I decide is all show.

I turn and lean against the counter. “What are you two
working on? Why the live angel?”

“We want to make it run through mazes and then see if it
will hit the heroin button instead of the food button until it starves to
death.”

If I hadn’t seen the pain prickling along Lo’s aura last
year when he came to visit while Gabe was in a coma, I would seriously wonder
if he had a soul beneath all that black eyeliner. “Be serious,” I say as I drop
two pieces of bread on the plate.

He shoves another cookie in his mouth. The way he’s growing,
he’ll probably burn through all those calories in a minute. He shrugs. “Trying
to save the world.”

“It’s not a cure. I’m not stupid.” I open the jar of jelly.

“Oh, it is a cure.” His eyes light up in a way that might
just be a little evil. He switches to a grave tone. “A storm’s coming. Humans
and angels. Who will prevail?” He laughs, blinks, and grabs another cookie.
“The end is nigh.”

His words echo too closely to War’s crazy revival tent of
doom racket, and I shiver. “You give weirdos a bad name,” I grumble as I swipe
a generous portion of peanut butter on the bread and join it to its jelly
partner. I put the containers away and take the plate.

“Have fun with your food,” Lo calls after me with a snicker
as I walk out of the kitchen.

Tarren is already asleep in the bedroom, his head resting on
a folded arm. His eyelids twitch with dreams. With all the worry gone, his face
is smooth and looks shockingly young. I have to remind myself that he is only
27. I watch his aura to make sure his dreams are being kind to him. The color
is a deep blue, vibrant in a way it never was before Gem dipped into his mind.
Peaceful. I put the plate on the nightstand next to his phone.

Clever, clever.
I tap it on and see the alarm icon in
the corner. That’s why he turned the watch over so quickly. “Nice try,” I
whisper under my breath. I don’t know his password, so I can’t turn the alarm
off. A small hurdled that I effortlessly clear by pocketing the phone.

“Sweet dreams,” I whisper to my brother and close the door
silently behind me.

Outside, Gabe is still on the lounger, though now a case of
sweating beers keeps him company.

“Here,” I toss Tarren’s phone at him, and he catches it with
only a few bobbles. “Hide that somewhere interesting when you get a chance.”

A smile dashes to his lip. “Yes Ma’am.”

“Tarren’s sleeping. Make sure Lo doesn’t bother him.”

“You got him to sleep?” Gabe turns over onto his stomach.
“You’re a miracle worker. Helen Keller has nothing on you.”

“Anne Sullivan was the miracle worker.”

“Wait, but who was the blind and deaf one?”

“Helen Keller.”

“Right.” He takes a long pull from his beer.

“I need two days off,” I say. The words are a surprise.

“Tarren won’t like that,” Gabe says.

“We all need a break,” I reply.

“Damn right.”

“You got any girlfriends around here?” I ask.

A sly smile curves his lips. “I can find some.”

“Amelia Earhart was having some plane trouble. Chuck
Norris offered to give her a little push,” I say. “She was never seen again.”