Metawars: The Complete Series: Trance, Changeling, Tempest, Chimera (62 page)

On my feet without difficulty, I walked to him and pulled Marco into a tight hug. His arms looped around my waist in a crushing embrace. We had shared so much laughter and joy, tears and sorrow, and every other emotion in between. It was impossible to stay angry or withhold forgiveness. Face pressed against his lightly furred neck, I inhaled his cologne, a musky fragrance I associated solely with him, and started to feel better. Not great, but better.

“You care about him, do you not?” he asked.

“I do. Is it stupid?”

“No, just human. He is a fool, you know,
Ascua
. He did not know what he had.”

Noah knew exactly what he had, and what he gave up the moment Kinsey tranquilized me and they dumped me in an abandoned yard. “You’re wrong. Thanks, though.”

He pulled back, bright green eyes searching mine.
“¿Todavía amigos?”

“Always. Ass.”

He grinned.

We parked behind
the store. Both vans were gone and the lot was empty. Gage stood at the base of the stairs for many long minutes, letting his senses do their job. Sniffing the air, listening to the creaks and groans of the old wood. Simon did his thing, too, searching for leftover psychic imprints. They found no sign of anyone home. Gage began a slow ascent of the wooden staircase to the apartment door above. I went up last.

Gage stopped at the door, still listening. Nose wrinkling. He tested the knob, then opened the door. Hot vanilla- and coffee-scented air filtered out.

Into the kitchen, one at a time. The mugs and carafe were still on the table. Noah’s shattered mug and spilled coffee had not been cleaned up. Even my kicked chair still lay on its side by the far wall. They’d fled in a hurry.

“There’s a lot of anger in here,” Simon said. “From a lot of different people.”

Gage wandered into the living room. I followed, lingering in the doorway. He walked around, studying the room. Watching him, I finally realized what it was about the living room that had bothered me the first time. The one thing missing from every other lived-in space I knew: photographs. Not a single picture of anyone, anywhere.

I wandered down the hall to a bedroom. The door was open. It was small. A bed and dresser, some music poster
tacked to the wall over an old desk. Piles of magazines and albums on the floor. The desk held neatly stacked books, a pile of loose-leaf paper, sharpened pencils and ballpoint pens. A framed quote about living each day to the fullest.

I opened the top drawer. Paper clips, erasers, scraps of paper, and a few foil-wrapped sugar candies. Nothing exciting or telling. Next drawer was more of the same. Down to the bottom drawer. It stuck, squealed, and I tugged it open to discover stack after stack of photographs. Three boys, about ten or eleven years old, with matching grins. I recognized Jimmy and Noah. The third boy, his eyes closer set and squinting, had to be the elusive Aaron.

Dozens more photographs of the three of them, all ages and combinations, filled the drawer. Near the bottom, I found one of their parents—a nice-looking couple, happy and kind. The boys got their looks from their father, and their glimmering green eyes from mom. One of the last pictures was of Noah, dated six months ago. He was bald, cheeks sunken, skin sallow. He lay in a hospital bed, surrounded by flowers, holding a two-foot-tall birthday card with a cartoon dog on the front. Pain and exhaustion bled through his forced smile.

Noah Scott was dying, Dahlia.

And he let Ace save his life. They were one and the same now. They were Noah Scott.
He
was Noah Scott.

“Dahlia?” Gage stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest. “You should see this.”

I put the pictures back in the desk and followed Gage to the room across the hall. It was stark, unlived-in. Aaron’s room? Simon hovered over the bed and a slew of photos. He
moved aside to let me see them, twenty or so in all. My chest tightened with each image I studied. One after the other, photographs of me—in uniform, in civilian clothes, on the street, at jobs, with others or alone. In each one, I had the familiar orange streak in my hair. All of the photos had been taken since January.

My eyes were drawn to one near the top of the bed. I picked it up with trembling fingers. The stained jeans and old sneakers. Hair piled up in a messy ponytail. Standing on the sidewalk, one can of paint in each hand. “This was taken three days ago,” I said.

“They were targeting you from the start,” Gage said.

“They couldn’t have been. They were in Weatherfield until two weeks ago. Kinsey said the Changelings had no contact with the outside world. They could not have been stalking me since January, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Then someone else was, Dahlia. How else do you explain this?”

“I can’t!” I wanted to curl into a ball and scream until logic returned and reared its lovely head. “I can’t explain any of this, Gage, and it’s driving me crazy. It’s like I woke up this morning and the world stopped making sense.”

“They could have left this behind on purpose,” Simon said. “Maybe some clue as to why she was targeted at the warehouse fire. They couldn’t talk about it openly, but that didn’t prevent them from leaving bread crumbs.”

“Leading back to what, though? Some mysterious third party who wants me dead?”

Simon nodded.

I sank down on the edge of the bed, pictures crinkling beneath me. The world seemed gray, fuzzy. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“We’ll take the photos with us,” Gage said. “The fire marshal still hasn’t declared the fire an accident or arson. If it was arson, then we know someone set it to draw us, particularly Dahlia, out into the open.”

“Why would someone want me dead?” Shivers racked my body despite the heat in the apartment. “Why?”

Gage crouched in front of me, silver-flecked eyes boring into mine. Determined and strong. “That’s what we’re going to find out, Dal, I promise.”

I trusted his promise—when Gage gave his word, he meant it. I just didn’t trust the people around us, particularly the unknown party who wanted me dead. Even if Gage fulfilled his promise and found out why, nothing prevented the would-be conspirator from following through with his intentions.

Nothing.

Except three Changelings and a scientist. We just needed to find them.

Seventeen

Leads

G
age’s com rang while he negotiated our exit from the parking lot. He accepted the call, swerving a bit before carefully maneuvering the Sport back into its proper lane.

“Cipher.” His grip on the wheel tightened. “Following up on some leads, Detective Forney, same as you, I’m sure.” He looked into the rearview mirror, right at me, and winked. “Unfortunately, I don’t have anything new I can share with you.” Messing with fire, playing with words.

“Yes, my people did interview Dr. Kinsey again. . . . We didn’t believe he told us the entire truth during our first conversation.” He started to speak, but was cut off. Then, “He did? That’s good to know.” Pause. “I’ll do that.”

He ended the call and rolled his eyes. “She and Pascal have less to go on than we do. I just hope we can figure this out before she calls again and I really have to lie.”

“Me, too,” I said. “What was the second part of the conversation about?”

“Apparently Kinsey’s boss at Weatherfield has sworn out
a complaint against Kinsey, accusing him of conspiring to steal top secret materials and for embezzling funds from corporate accounts. Dr. Abram Kinsey is now a wanted man.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“Forgive me for voicing an unpopular opinion,” Simon said, “but now that Kinsey has been implicated by his own people, wouldn’t it be better to tell Pascal what you know? Two thousand more eyes in the city looking for the Changelings is better than just our five pairs.”

“We can’t,” I said. “Even if the police find Kinsey first, he won’t give up his sons.”

Simon twisted around in his seat to look at me. “How do you know that?”

“Because I saw them together, Simon. He’s their father. Is there anything you wouldn’t do to keep Caleb safe?” It was a low blow. He turned around without another word.

Gage made a left onto a one-way street. “Dal, call Tempest and see if he’s got anything.”

I put my com piece into my ear and speed-dialed. Crackling, then the whirring rush of wind blasted over the channel. “Tempest, you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here, Ember. I’m above Burbank right now. Nothing but me and the birds. I don’t really know what the hell I’m looking for.”

“Suspicious activity?”

“I should stay away from Santa Monica, then, or I’ll be chasing people up and down the street.” His teasing tone made me smile. “How’d your house call go?”

“The good news is, the place wasn’t rigged to explode the minute we opened the front door. We found a few bread crumbs, but no pieces that make any sense.”

“So, no sign of them?”

“No, and there’s a pretty good chance someone who isn’t Kinsey or the Changelings is responsible for the shooting, in a roundabout kind of way.”

“You mean they were hired to do a hit?”

“Yeah.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s your next move? House-to-house searches?”

“You say that like it’s a bad idea.” Streetlights whirred by in a blur of color, making the nighttime city streets as bright as normal daylight. “Don’t stay out too late, okay?”

“Yes, Mom.”

He hung up. I settled back against the seat, catching a glimpse of the clock. Had it really been only a day since Teresa was shot? It felt like a lifetime had passed. So many things in such a brief period, combining to turn the world on its head. Normal was a freshly foreign concept.

“I’m guessing Ethan has nothing new?” Simon asked.

“You guessed right.”

Gage’s com chimed again. He grunted as he accepted the call. “Cipher . . . what?” The tone of his question made me sit up straight and take immediate notice. “We’re on our way.” He leaned forward, checked the street signs, and made a hard right onto another block.

I slammed sideways into the door. “What the hell, Gage?”

He looked into the mirror, a new pallor drawing color from his skin. “They had to take Teresa back into surgery.”

I buckled up and held on as Gage navigated the city streets, sparing neither speed nor safety to get to the hospital.

He stormed the
surgical floor’s nursing station. A woman with tidy brown hair and pink scrubs saw us coming, and didn’t flinch when Gage began asking questions, demanding to know what was going on, without ever raising his voice. Simon flanked him, a little scary in his intense silence.

I hung back by the elevator, observing without interacting. Useless.

Gage started gesturing, apparently not receiving the answers he wanted. I watched, concerned now, as his expression grew more and more confused. He asked to speak with a doctor, someone in charge. Not good.

“You’re Ember, right?”

I jumped, head snapping toward the voice. An orderly stood next to me, his linen uniform stained and rumpled. His face was lined with age and too many emergencies, but he regarded me kindly. Almost curiously, without threat.

“Yes, I am,” I said.

He put his hand in the pocket of his trousers. “Someone asked me to give you this.”

My heart nearly stopped. Stark. The gun. Chaos and the odor of wet pavement. All of it flashed through my mind in a symphony of images and memory. I struggled to react, to summon up some measure of my power in order to defend myself.

The orderly produced a flash drive. I stared. My heart started beating normally again.
Paranoid, much?

“Here,” he said.

I took it carefully between two fingers. “Who is this from?”

“Punk kid gave it to me, along with fifty bucks to wait here until you came along, and to make sure you got it.”

“Did he have green eyes?”

“Yeah.”

I turned the memory stick over in my hand. Something was on here Noah wanted me to see. So that meant—

“She’s not in surgery,” Gage announced, unexpectedly standing next to me, Simon next to him. He didn’t acknowledge the orderly. I half expected his head to explode from the sheer force of his fury. “What kind of sick joke is this? The nurse said no one here placed the call.”

“Someone wanted to get us here,” I said, holding up the stick. “I just got a gift.”

“From who?”

“I think it’s from Noah.” I slipped past him, down the hall toward the nursing station. The woman in charge tensed. I tried to charm her with a smile. “This is going to sound weird, but do you have a computer I can use?”

“Is it an emergency?”

“It could be.” I held up the flash drive. “This could have important evidence in an ongoing criminal investigation, and I need to view its contents right away. I just need the computer for a minute.”

She eyed it. “What if it has a virus?”

“I’ll buy you a new computer network,” I said. “I’m rich, I can do that. Please?”

I hated pulling the money card, but it seemed to work. She relented, waving me toward the room at the back of the station. It led into a small lounge, with a table and chairs, refrigerator and coffeepot, and a computer workstation. Gage and Simon followed me inside, heads lowered and eyes averted. I could only imagine the tense conversation they’d had with the head nurse a minute ago.

“Thank you so much”—I glanced at her badge—“Alice. I promise I’ll take care of the computer.”

She sniffed and retreated from the room. I glared at Gage over my shoulder. He shrugged, chagrined. Rolling my eyes, I sat down in the desk chair and inserted the flash drive into an appropriate port. It initiated, and in a few seconds, a video program loaded.

The image opened on a shot of Cipher, Trance, Onyx, and Tempest, all in their original Ranger uniforms. I knew it instantly. Remembered the way they stood there, Trance and Tempest facing off against the crowd of reporters. Firetrucks and rescue workers in the background, frozen in midmotion.

“Is that when I think it is?” Gage asked.

“Yes,” I said, and pressed Play.

It was six-month-old footage of the very first press conference given by the reactivated Ranger Corps. A demolition accident had brought them to Inglewood, and the quartet worked together to rescue four trapped construction workers. They all made it out successfully and chose to speak to the throng of reporters desperate for the hottest scoop in town.