Matt Archer: Bloodlines (Matt Archer #4) (4 page)

Uncle Mike and I exchanged glances. “A rock?” I asked. “Are
you sure?”

“Positive. I stumbled off of it and almost fell trying to…I
don’t know…run away from the headache somehow.”

This sounded familiar—and it wasn’t good. “Uncle Mike, this
could be like Africa. We need go back to the old campsite and look under the
rock Will was standing on.”

“Not you. We can’t afford for you to be cut off from the
knife-spirits again.” He capped his pen and stashed his papers under his
canteen to keep them from blowing around. “I’ll send Julie and her scouts over
there, see what they turn up.”

“Okay…and we need to speed up our plans to visit the coven.
They might be our only chance to fix…” I glanced at Will. “…things.”

“Agreed.” Uncle Mike stood and adjusted his sling. “We’ll
figure this out, Cruessan. Just hang in there, okay?”

“Okay,” Will murmured.

After Mike left us, Will rolled over on his cot and put his
back to me. I could see where the blade pierced through. The scar was on this
side was just as ugly. “I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

“I’m not,” he muttered. “You should’ve killed me.”

“Uh uh, no way. I was
not
going to kill you.”

“If I was attacking the rest of the team, you should’ve
killed me,” he said, his voice rising. He reached up and covered his head with
his hands. “God, I nearly…I keep getting these flashes, of stuff I did.”

“You told Mike you didn’t remember.”

“It’s not much, and everything’s all disjointed…did I really
harass Captain Tannen?”

I sighed. “Yes, and she threatened to kill you with a nail,
so you’re even. Don’t let this eat at you. None of it was your fault.”

“I just…do you think my knife will write me off? I mean, I’m
contaminated or something now.”

That boy is too hard on himself sometimes,
Coach Shaw
said.
Give the knife back to him, please. He needs my help.

I thought it was more likely he’d give Will a lecture on
moral fortitude, but he was right. Will needed his knife back in his hand.
“Whatever you say.”

“What?” Will rolled over, a horrified look on his face. “You
mean I really am contaminated?”

“No…crap, sorry. I was talking to Coach Shaw.”

He frowned. “So my knife transferred to you?” His expression
went from miserable to stricken.

“Just temporarily--
you’re
his wielder. He misses
you.” Smiling, I pulled the knife free and pressed the handle into his hand.
“Go on. I’m getting kind of tired breaking up squabbles between him and Tink.
It’s like being a dad on a really long, dull road trip with two bored
Kindergarteners.”

At that, both spirits started berating me, each talking
louder and louder to be heard over the other. With an annoyed growl, I wrapped
Will’s fingers around the handle. “Please, for the love of all that’s holy,
take the damn thing.”

As soon as I let go, the handle flashed blue and Coach
Shaw’s voice abruptly cut out.

And if you think for one minute that I…wait. Is he gone?
Tink
let out a tiny whoop.
Thank the Maker. It was much too crowded in here. I
never thought one human could take on both of us and I’m kind of sorry I found
out. That pompous windbag. I’m not
that
bad, right?

“Um…not sure you want the answer to that question.”

Will was saying, “I know, I know…it’s cool now…yes, really…I
promise. I’ll watch out next time…ha, was she?...No, I wouldn’t, either.”

They’re talking about me now, aren’t they?

“Probably and I imagine you deserve it.” I dropped into
Uncle Mike’s camp chair. “What about the vision problem?”

We need one of the witches.
Tink let out a growl that
raised the hairs on my arms.
They are acting like children trying to tame a
rabid dog, reaching out for things they can’t possibly control and I can’t
reverse what they’ve done.

“But why is he blind? We exorcized the demon, right?” I
asked her.

A safeguard—that’s the only explanation. They left a
residual, masked deep inside Will, that would render him incapacitated if the
demon was drawn out. I can feel it now that I’m not fighting with the shadow or
Captain Blowhard over there. Having him in your head with us mucked up my
signals.

Nodding, I said, “Tink says it’s Coach Shaw’s fault.”

Will laughed. “He just said it was her fault.”

“Great. Mutual blaming…how predictable.” I rested my chin on
my fist. I felt terrible; we
had
to fix Will. “I need to go find my dad
and ask about the coven.

“So I didn’t just imagine that while I was possessed,” Will
said, sitting up taller on his cot. “Your dad really is in camp with us.”

“Yes.”

“Wow, how’s that? I mean, you always wanted to meet him? Is
he cool or an ass?”

I was still so conflicted about how I felt, I couldn’t
really answer that question. “Jury’s out. But he’s the only person who can help
us find the witches. Do you mind if I go grab lunch and talk to him? I mean, I
can stay if you need—”

Will’s smile was forced. “I’ll be fine. Quit feeling guilty
about this. You say it isn’t my fault? Well, it isn’t yours, either. Go find
your dad so you can drag one of those witches back here to undo whatever they
did. Maybe we’ll get some answers, too.”

You could call Will many things—and I often did—but coward
wasn’t one of them. “I’ll do it myself. All Dad needs to do is point me in the
right direction.”

And there’d be hell to pay when I found them.

I left Will and went to find lunch. I wanted to talk to Dad,
but my stomach rumbled mercilessly, so I’d have to take care of that first.
Most of the team had already eaten, but Captain Johnson was sitting in the
shade of a Humvee tire, singing off-key while he cleaned his rifle. I hunkered
down next to him to eat my ham-potato hash and canned green beans.

“I hear my wielder’s blind,” Johnson said in his deep,
rumbling voice. An atypical undercurrent of anger threaded through the bass.
“He all right?”

“Better than I would be. He’s acting chill, but I can tell
he’s scared and pissed off. Our only hope, at least according to Tink, is to
find one of the witches. So that’s what I’m going to do if I have to drive out
there by myself.”

“I’m furious, too, but think for a second. You’re still the
only wielder standing. Don’t go do something stupid. We all want to get
Cruessan some help, so there’s no reason for you to go off half-cocked by
yourself.” He reassembled his rifle, piece by piece. “Seriously, I sometimes
think the two of you are enough to give a man a coronary. I live through this
thing, I’m gonna need a three week vacation in the Bahamas to recover my
sanity.”

“If
I
live through this thing, I might just join
you.”

Johnson wiped sweat from his forehead. “Uh oh, looks like
you have a new admirer.”

I glanced up from my so-called lunch to see the new
guy—Blakeney—staring avidly at me. To be fair, he wasn’t the only newbie on my
wielder team, but the other one, Greene, had been killed in the monster raid
the night Will got possessed, so that made Blakeney
the
new guy. I liked
him and hoped he survived this mission. I wouldn’t get too attached, though. Not
yet, anyway.

But now there was another problem. He’d finally seen me
fight under the influence of the knife-spirits. He’d been briefed about how
things worked, I was sure, but witnessing it was a whole different deal.
Sometimes guys would make the sign of the cross when I walked by and took care
to stay on the opposite side of camp after that. Others, like Blakeney it
seemed, became somewhat awed by the process…which was just as tough to handle.

“Better get this over with,” I told Johnson.

“Yep.” He stood, his wide shoulders creating a shadow over
my head. “Good luck with that.”

After Johnson ambled away, I waved Blakeney over. He trotted
my way with a big smile. Pair that with his tall, gangly frame, and he looked
like puppy being offered a treat. He’d been this enthusiastic when we first
started out, so I had no way of knowing if this was his typical cheerful,
Texas-boy self, or if I’d have to endure a little hero worship. It made me
uncomfortable, to be honest. These guys were older, every bit as strong—if not
stronger—and professional soldiers. I was just a contractor with a very weird
skill set.

“Hey, Sergeant.” I crumpled up my trash and tossed it at the
bin. I missed by a foot. Good, maybe that would make me seem more human.

“Archer…last night? That was badass. I never seen anything
like it.”

So much for trying to look human. “I wish I could say you’ll
never see anything like that again, but I’d be lying.”

Blakeney’s friendly expression faded. “Yeah. I knew this
misson was gonna be dangerous. I knew it was gonna be weird. Still…it’s weirder
and more dangerous than I thought. Guess the ‘green bean’ will wear off me
pretty quick out here.”

“It does that to all of us,” I said, thinking about how
Johnson had once said I’d changed in the last year, how the eager, excited Matt
had died and left a hardened soldier in his place. I wanted to believe some of
the old me lingered somewhere inside, but as each day went by, I couldn’t be
sure.

“I keep forgetting you’re only seventeen,” Blakeney said.
“You seem older than me, and I’m twenty-three.”

“Well, you can buy beer and I can’t.” I gave him a quick
smile. “And vote. And play the lottery.”

“Don’t seem right. Your life’s on the line and you can’t
even buy lottery tickets.”

“It’s not a big thing to me. I’d rather my luck hold out
here, rather than gamble my money on something kind of stupid.”

“True story.” Blakeney stuck out a hand and I shook it. He
glanced over my left shoulder. “Looks like someone’s waiting his turn to chat.
I better run, anyway. Lieutenant Lanningham wants me to dig a new latrine.”

“Lucky you.”

As he walked off he laughed. “Think I’d rather have me one
of those Lotto tickets.”

I turned to see who was waiting in queue to find my father
standing ten feet away, watching the exchange. Good, now I wouldn’t have to
look for him.

“I’m glad to see you up and around,” he said. He was
squinting in the bright sunlight, but had changed into desert-print BDUs. By
his easy confidence, he seemed more at home out here than Blakeney did. “I hear
your friend needs some assistance.”

I nodded, hoping I didn’t look as fidgety as I felt. I hated
sitting here talking when there was a job to do. “When can we get going?”

“Mike sent Captain Tannen out to our old camp a few minutes
ago. She’s traveling with a heavily armed guard and said she’d take pictures of
anything unusual. We want to check that out before we travel to the compound.”

He called Aunt Julie by her rank, but not Uncle Mike. “You
mean Major Tannen sent the captain out?” Okay, that was kind of a jackass
comment, but I was sick of this subtle dissing-war the two of them had going
on. “Because out here he goes by Major.”

“Even with you?” Dad asked.

“Especially with me,” I said, crossing my arms and staring
him down. “He’s earned that kind of respect.”

“I see.” Dad’s face gave away nothing. “And I haven’t.”

Part of me wanted to tell him I was sorry for being rude.
But I wasn’t. Not really. “You’ve been gone. I don’t even
know
you, so
no, you haven’t. The major taught me to ride a bike without training wheels,
how to tie a square knot and build a fire. He took me camping nearly every
month when I was younger. And when the knife picked me, he helped me settle in
with the team. He was
there
, Dad. For me, and for Mamie and Brent.”

He stood quiet with his lips pressed together like he wanted
to say a whole lot and was barely keeping the words in. “That’s why I could do
it.”

I frown. “Do what?”

“Leave.”

 I dropped my arms to my sides, fists curled. “It was
okay for you to leave because another man was there to help raise us in your
place?” My voice rose, and I struggled to keep it down. “I don’t see how.”

“What did they tell you? About me?”

Something about his cautious tone cooled some of my anger.
“Mom and Uncle Mike?” He nodded and I said, “For a long time that you were a
deadbeat who abandoned us right before I was born. Later, after Mom found out
about my job, she let it slip that you were CIA and that she asked you to leave
to keep us safe.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” he said. I started to
ask, but he pointed at my jacket pocket. “Did you keep ahold of that medal last
night?”

The change of subject was obvious, but I didn’t feel like
pushing. Maybe I’d be ready to hear his side of it in a few days. Or a month.

Or never.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the St. Christopher
medal. Not really caring what he thought, I kissed it for luck and clutched it
in my right hand, hoping that somehow Ella would sense I was thinking about
her. “I never let it out of my sight.”

“Good,” he said, sounding like he meant it.

Remembering that our conversation last night had been cut
off by the Dingoes, I asked, “What did you mean when you said ‘true north’
yesterday?”

His expression softened for the first time since we started
talking. “It’s the direction that pulls on my heart.” He fished the antique
compass out of his pocket. “Know where I got this?”

“No.”

“My girl gave it to me.”

We were going to talk about
his
girlfriends now?
Didn’t he see how awkward this conversation was getting? “Okay. Am I supposed
to ask who?”

Now I got a sly smile. He handed me the compass. “Read the
back.”

The compass was heavier than it looked, and the brass was
smooth as glass. A sign that it had been handled a lot in its past, giving the
metal a dull sheen. I flipped it over and glanced at the engraved message:
Your
true north, Dani.

My stomach jolted…my mother had given him the compass.

I handed it back to him, feeling like I’d walked in on
something private. “Please tell me Mom wasn’t that sappy back then.”

“She gave it to me as a wedding present. In my line of work,
it’s not a good idea to carry identifying articles on your person, but I
just…can’t go without it.”

The rawness in his tone surprised me. “She never got
remarried, you know.”

“I know,” he said. “She never asked for a divorce.”

My body went rigid with shock. “What? Are you telling me--”

“We’re still married, Matt.” Dad smiled. “No matter what’s
happened the last seventeen years, she never asked for a divorce. And I never
wanted one.”

“But…but she’s dated a few guys!” I said. They were still
married? But…but…but…

“I dated a few women, too. None of them stuck,” Dad said. “I
just never found anyone else that fit.”

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. It took several
heartbeats for me to recover enough to say, “She said the same thing about the
guys she dated.”

“Did she?” Dad’s smile broadened into a grin. “Huh.”

I couldn’t believe it…they were still married. Oh, man, if
Mom found out Dad was here with me, I would be toast. It’s not like I could
email her about it—his involvement with Pentagram Strike Force was highly
classified. The CIA had given Aunt Julie and Colonel Black all kinds of grief
when they asked to contact him. Apparently military intelligence wasn’t
“spooky” enough to warrant more cooperation. Stupid, but no one asked me.

Feeling weird, but like I needed to share a secret in kind,
I held up the St. Christopher medal. “Her name’s Ella. She has auburn hair and
green eyes, gets straight As in just about everything and is the best
snowboarder I know. And…” I’d never told anyone, not even Uncle Mike, but for
some reason, it seemed like the right time to tell Dad. “And I love her.”

He didn’t roll his eyes or make a face like most adults
would at an admission like that from a guy my age. Instead, he nodded solemnly
and said, “Then keep that medal close. Maybe it’ll help you find a way back to
her.”

I let that sink in, then asked, “This trip to the
coven…should I be worried about it?”

He looked out across the desert, like a guy weighing his
words. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things—watching you fight last night
included—but I’ll tell you this…I’m worried about the trip out there. There’s
something unpredictable and unnatural about what these people can do. I can’t
say whether or not you should be worried, but I will say be wary. Watch,
listen…don’t rush to do anything, not until we’ve assessed the entire
situation. Okay?”

He’d only met me—well, for real anyway—two days ago, and yet
he already seemed to know I had a tendency to rush in first. I didn’t think
Uncle Mike told him. Maybe he was just good at reading people. Either way,
hearing “be careful” from a guy like my dad, someone who lived at the
intersection of dangerous and crazy, was more than enough to convince me not to
do something stupid, no matter how badly I wanted to.

“Yes, sir.”