Shatter the Darkness

I do as he says. He sidesteps with me, staying at my back. When we are about ten feet from the SUV, he says, “Hannah, I’m going to need you to get out of the car. Hands up in the air.”

There are no signs of movement within the SUV. I think of the revolver she was carrying and hope she doesn’t try anything stupid. James almost strangled me once. I doubt that, under the circumstances, it would be hard to get him in a trigger-happy mood.

“Did you hear me?” James’s voice goes up a notch. The kind of deep tone a father might use on his daughter.

“I did. I’m coming out. I’m coming. Please don’t shoot,” Hannah says shrilly.

She wriggles herself out of the tight space and pushes onto the passenger seat, her hands up in the air.

“Now, slowly, open the door and come around the car, hands where I can see them,” James instructs.

Hannah follows the instructions closely, keeping her hands above her ears as she rounds the front of the SUV. She stops about ten paces away from us and gives James a small nod as if saying: “See, I’m just a girl.”

“All right, now take off your jacket and throw it aside,” James says.

Hannah frowns at the request but does as she’s told. It is a puffy jacket. Much could be concealed under it. She’s left in a tight fitting t-shirt that barely hides her thin frame.

“Now both of you, move away from the car.” James gives me a slight push.

Hannah and I walk side by side down the middle of the road, James following but staying a fair distance away.

“All right, that’s good. Turn around.”

We stop and face him. James reaches into his back pocket and tosses me a pair of handcuffs. I catch them in midair. I get my first good glimpse of him since the attack at Elliot’s headquarters. James looks harried, the crow’s feet around his eyes more pronounced than before. His normally well-shaved head is sprouting a few hairs from the sides, and his shoulders appear narrower. He’s never been a big man, just average height and build, but he always looked fit. I guess this war is getting the best of him. I’m sure getting shot didn’t help either.

“Cuff her,” James says, his gray eyes as intense as ever.

“Is that necessary?” I ask, though I know it’s a stupid question. We can’t trust anyone.

“I’m taking no chances.”

I face Hannah. “I’m sorry. He has a lot to safeguard, but I promise he won’t hurt you if you don’t cause any trouble.”

She nods shakily and lowers her arms. I clamp one cuff to her right wrist, then walk behind her and secure the other at her lower back. As soon as I’m done, I put my hands up again.

“Sit on the sidewalk and stay put, Hannah,” James says in a voice that is sounding kinder by the minute. “Like Marci said, just do as I say and everything will be fine.”

“I will, Mister …” Hannah sits with some difficulty. She lowers her head and sniffles a few times, but quickly composes herself.

“You can call me James.”

“Thank you, Mister James.”

He smirks and shakes his head. After a pensive moment, he jerks his head and the gun to one side, signaling me to move away from Hannah. As we walk toward the opposite sidewalk, I notice James’s ultra-firm grip on the gun. It seems he’s taking no chances with my telekinetic powers either. Ha! Like I’ve learned to control them. I can only wish.

James’s gray eyes drill into mine. “So … still Marci?”

I cock my head to one side and nod.

He sighs. “It’s a damn thing. I want to trust you, but …”

“Don’t feel bad. I’ve given you plenty of reasons not to.”

An image of my bloody hands after I failed to stop Azrael from killing Oso flashes in front of my eyes. My heart tightens with the regret that assaults me every time I think of that kind man, and of the way that petty creature took his life. A wave of disgust runs through me as I imagine the parasitic agent lodged, seething, lurking, inside my brain.

“Report,” James says.

I take a deep breath, trying to remember everything that’s happened since the last time I met with Aydan—too long ago for comfort. After IgNiTe’s attack at Whitehouse headquarters and the eradication of his Spawners, things have been busy for the Seattle resistance. Without Spawners the Whitehouse faction can’t grow its base—an advantage IgNiTe must fight to maintain.

“Well, everyone’s still in turmoil,” I say. “Lyra says Elliot has been busy doing damage control. He has been meeting with his captains, making plans few are privy to. He’s being extremely paranoid. He had his tech people check the network, but I made sure they didn’t find any of my hacks. So I’ve been able to watch the security system closely and have seen very little going on in the building. Whatever meetings he’s holding, they must be happening elsewhere. I suspect he has gone low tech. He’s taking no chances. The bastard. I wish you would just let me put a bullet between his eyes.”

“Stick to your orders, Marci. Killing Elliot would make his faction unpredictable. I know you’ve sworn revenge but, take it from me, you should strive to live for more, find a worthy reason. Revenge will blind you to the things that truly matter.”

“I know. I know.” Maybe James is right, but, at the moment, nothing sounds better than making Elliot pay.

James grunts and casts a quick glance in Hannah’s direction, frowning.

I continue, “Anyway, Lyra suspects he’s planning a trip to England, something in the next couple of months. She thinks he’s going to get the Spawners who survived the attack in the Glasgow safe house. The one the London IgNiTe cell couldn’t destroy entirely.”

“Yeah, that was unfortunate. The Takeover was more effective there, and our IgNiTe cells are weakened. I wish they’d been strong enough to carry out the job.” He runs a hand over his bald head. “But I can’t blame them, I suppose. They did their best. I wonder how many Spawners survived.”

“Don’t know.”

“At least we’ve slowed down the rate at which they’re infecting people.” The way he says this lets me know he thinks it’s not enough. “I wish we could destroy Hailstone’s Spawners, too.” A muscle jumps in his jaw, showing his frustration. “Anymore on Whitehouse trying to reach out to Hailstone to form an alliance?”

“No. That’s not going to happen. Lyra killing Zara Hailstone took care of that possibility. I doubt Luke would be up to working with his mother’s murderer.” The bitterness I feel is obvious in my voice.

Zara was not Luke’s biological mother. Her faction kidnapped him right from the NICU the day he was born, sending my family into lifelong turmoil. Karen is his real mother. The woman who, in spite of raising me and supposedly giving birth to me, isn’t my genetic match. Talk about an identity crisis. I don’t even know where the hell I come from. It turns my head and stomach just to think about it, and something tells me I don’t want to find out.

God, what a freakin’ soap opera.

“Even if Luke was game, Elliot would rather destroy them for daring to attack him. He’s dying to find out where they are hiding. He even has a task force dedicated to it, a small one, but still.”

James rubs his chin. “Is that so?”

I nod.

“We definitely need to keep an eye on that situation in case we can take advantage of it. What else?”

I pull out a thumb drive from my jacket pocket. “I’ve found some info I’m sure you’ll find valuable. Every day there’s less and less going through the network, especially this type of stuff, but I caught this.”

James holsters his gun and takes the thumb drive. I give him raised eyebrows as if asking “so you trust me, now?” He shrugs. It’s not like he really has anything to fear from me. I don’t have a weapon, and he could run a million circles around me in the time it would take to make up my mind to attack him.

“So what is it?” He gestures toward the thumb drive as he slips it into the breast pocket of his brown leather jacket.

“Weapon and ammunition delivery dates and routes,” I say, a huge smile spreading over my lips.

James’s eyes go wide. He puts a hand over his breast pocket protectively. For a moment, he looks on the verge of saying something but, instead, he presses his lips into a tight line. I know he can’t trust me with any details, but it’s better this way.

“It should be a win-win all around,” I put in. “Fewer weapons for Eklyptors, more for Igniters.”

His gray eyes narrow in assent, and I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get. If IgNiTe is hurting for weapons, that’s not something I need to know—not when I sleep in the lion’s den every night, and I’m prime candidate for “Deranged Agent Takeover Syndrome.”

“We’ll check it out thoroughly. Thank you. Now …” He sticks his hand inside his jacket and pulls out an orange zip bag. “I need your blood.”

I frown. “What for? Kristen’s tests don’t work on me. She must be checking for antibodies, so I’ll always test positive after that crazy fucker took over me.” I gesture toward my head.

“We know that, but—”

“Look, I’m not an Eklyptor.” I know the conviction in my tone is useless after all the trouble Azrael caused for IgNiTe, but it’s there nonetheless.

“You can’t blame me for wanting more proof than your word,” James says firmly, though not unkindly. “Kristen wants to take another look at your blood. Maybe there’s a marker that sets you apart from Eklyptors, and she can develop a test that puts you in the clear. Wouldn’t that be nice? For all of us.”

I scoff. “Sounds too good to be true, but yeah … it would be nice.” I dare not think of what could happen if James and the crew were certain that I’m human. Would they let me go with them? Would my stint with Whitehouse come to an end?

James gestures to my arm. I take off my jacket and let it fall to the ground. He pulls out a thick elastic band from the bag and wraps it around by bicep. With surprising practice, he prepares the syringe, finds a vein and sticks the needle in the crook of my elbow. I wince, watching as he presses a glass vial into the cartridge and blood begins to flow and fill the tube. He removes the elastic band and draws two more tubes of blood.

“Done.” He pulls the needle and stuffs everything back in the zip bag.

“It didn’t hurt,” I say, surprised.

“Yeah, I’m a regular old nurse these days. Been getting lots of practice.”

I can only imagine all the people they’ve had to test. Aydan told me there are camps where the elderly, children and those humans who can’t fight are kept safely. As is to be expected, everyone is tested carefully before being sent there—buzzing or not. Of course, those who can fight are also scrutinized. In their case, it’s actually a daily thing, to ensure no one is infected while out on duty.

Suddenly, I remember Hannah and wonder how all of this looks from her perspective. I glance over her way. She’s sitting still as if frozen, her eyes wide and full of questions.

“I’ll have to test her before I take her with me. We all carry a handful of tests for emergencies. There’s no buzzing coming from her, but one can never be too careful.” He pulls another bag from his jacket. This one is blue. “I’ll keep one and give you the rest. Maybe there’s somewhere you can hide them just in case.” He takes one small packet out of the bag and hands me the rest.

“Thanks.” I doubt they’ll be of any use to me, but you never know. I pick up my jacket and put the tests away in one of its pockets.

“Did you at least kill the scouts?” James asks, gesturing toward Hannah.

In way of answer, my mouth twists into a satisfied smirk.

“Good. I hate those bastards. Well, we’ll be in touch. I should be heading back.” He gives me an apologetic smile.

“How’s Aydan … and the others?” I add the last part hastily. I got used to meeting with Aydan, having a more frequent link to the crew, but I haven’t seen him in a while. I don’t even know why. Things are more secretive than ever.

“They’re fine. Busy. Fighting.”

Just as I expected, he doesn’t give me much. “I’m glad. Well, thanks for coming out to meet me,” I say, staring at my boots. “I know you’re too busy to deal with the likes of me.”

James sets a heavy hand on my shoulder and gives me a gentle shake, forcing me to look at him. “If we had more like you, we’d be in better shape.”

I blink slowly, shake my head and, suddenly, find my vision blurring with tears. “If it wasn’t for me, for my weakness, Oso would still be alive. Also Xave.”

Crap! Get it together, Marci.

I can’t come undone in front of James. I need him to see me as a balanced person, someone who can control her emotions and doesn’t fall apart while begging for misery-canceling sedatives. Been there, done that. I sniffle and fight to keep back the tears. They spill down my cheeks in spite of my efforts.

“Look at me. Look at me!” he orders as I continue to stare at my boots. I can’t lift my eyes to his. My guilt is too heavy.

He puts a finger under my chin and forces my face upward. “It wasn’t your fault.” His tone is firm, but no matter how convincing, I don’t believe him.

“I need you to understand that, Marci,” he continues. “If you need to blame someone, blame me.”

I blink and search his troubled gray eyes. For a moment, I think he must be saying this for my benefit, but he’s never been the kind to engage in idle talk.

“I’ve been fighting this evil for a long time.” He breaks eye contact, turns sideways and lets his eyes wander over the many tombstones. They dot the grassy area like dominoes. “So long that I forget how difficult it is in the beginning, how disjointed and disorienting life becomes. All I seem to remember is the strength needed to overtake the threat, the will necessary to stay ahead and remain in control. From the beginning, all I saw in you was that strength, your determination to fight.

“I forgot how young you are. It was unfair to expect so much from you. When I finally tried to protect you, it was too late. After Xave died, I thought being with your mother and away from us would help, but …” He shakes his head. There’s really nothing else he could add. There was no way he could have known Luke had turned Karen into an Eklyptor or that The Takeover was imminent.

He shakes his head. “If I’d focused more on us, the team, rather than my blind desire for revenge, Xave, Oso and so many others would still be alive. Marci, I … I failed you.” James’s voice breaks. And it undoes me even further. He’s never talked to me like this. I never imagined he felt this way.

“So blame me.” He turns and faces me, his gray eyes as intent and decisive as ever. “Only me. For what has passed and what is to come. Because I shouldn’t expect you to go back and continue to put your life on the line, except that … I do. Because we need you. We need everyone willing and able to fight, especially if they’re as strong as you are. And for that, I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, emotions crashing against my chest like massive waves.

He doesn’t blame me. He doesn’t blame me.

For weeks, all I’ve known is despair and nightmares, both driven by the purest guilt imaginable. Xave and Oso’s faces live in my mind in their most ghastly forms: twisted in shock and pain as they died. Xave passed on my watch. Oso, at my own hands. In the end, they’re both casualties of my inability to control my agent and abilities, casualties of my weakness.

Tears flow freely, but I buckle down and manage to cry silently, even as sobs rise to my throat, desperate to get out.

James looks down at me, his gaze brimming with sympathy and emotion. “I hope you really are Marci or I’ll feel like a real fool after this.” He puts a hand on my shoulder again and, to my surprise, pulls me into his arms.

I thud against his chest, rigid, arms at my sides. He presses a hand to the back of my head and pats me gently, as if I’m but a child who in a different lifetime might have been his daughter.

“Whatever wrong you think you might have done, it’s forgiven.” He rests his chin on the top of my head. His breaths come in and out, heavy and quite audible.

I squeeze my eyes as waves and waves of emotion wash over me.

“I hope you can forgive me, too. Because I can’t forgive myself.”

Chapter 5

I make the drive back to downtown in a lonely daze. Hannah went with James after she tested 100% human. I watched them walk away, wishing I could switch places with her. My legs trembled as they disappeared over the crest of the steep street, and I heard James’s Harley roar to life on the other side. It took everything I am not to run toward them, begging to let me come.

Now, I’m headed south on Pacific Place, almost back to the place where She-Bird and Griffin lie dead—if no one has found their bodies, that is. If they have, I’m sure the situation at Whitehouse HQ has gotten pretty interesting.

When I get to the parking lot where I stashed my Kawasaki, I pull in and park the SUV next to the delivery van I stole several weeks ago. I hop out and check the van. It looks untouched besides the four punctured tires and busted headlights I personally inflicted on it—which so far have been enough to keep anyone from repurposing it.

Nervously, I peek through the driver side window to confirm my bike is still inside the windowless delivery area. I spot the tip of a handlebar and breathe out a pent up breath. It’s ridiculous how relieved I am at the sight of it, especially when I could repurpose something much better out of the thousands of abandoned vehicles throughout the city. But I don’t have much from my previous life, especially things that link me to Xave the way my bike does.

He helped me make the choice when I bought it. Afterward, we worked on the custom details and adjustments I wanted, then rode it through Seattle together. I can still feel his arms around me when I take it for a spin and close my eyes against the wind. He’s been gone for some time now, but the way my chest tightens at his memory makes it seem as if it was only yesterday that I lost him. I miss him so much. I turn, press my back to the van and throw my head back. Shutting my eyes against the now-gray sky, I inhale and try to regain my composure.

I pull myself back into the moment and remember James ad how his words dismantled me. I don’t know why I thought having his acceptance would make things easier.

It doesn’t.

On the contrary, I feel as if the strength that has fueled me all this time just ran empty. Puff, gone up into the atmosphere, much like the air from the van’s tires. From the beginning, a big part of my drive against Eklyptors has been the desire to prove myself to James, to show him I’m good enough to be part of his team. Now, it seems I’ve been wasting my time and, all along, he’s considered me worthy, capable.

I exhale, unclench my fists which have tightened of their own accord, and find myself feeling sort of … aimless. I don’t need to prove myself to James anymore. I never did, it seems. I chuckle at the irony.

Could I leave now? Could I abandon this side of the fight and go back to IgNiTe? I think of the test James talked about, of the possibility of regaining my humanity in the eyes of my Symbiot friends. Would they blame me for wanting to go back? Would they accept me in spite of everything?

Or could I quit altogether? Lay down my weapons and let others do the fighting? Could I do that without disappointing James and the others, without feeling I failed them? Would they understand I’ve already given so, so much?

I laugh a short, derisive laugh.

Who am I kidding?

I may not have to prove myself to James anymore, but he did say he needs me and asked for forgiveness for what he still expects of me. But even if that wasn’t the case, there’s that small promise of revenge I made to myself. I have a score to settle with Elliot Whitehouse and Luke Hailstone. I’m not going anywhere.

Yes, James’s acceptance is satisfying, but it will pale in comparison to the pleasure of making Elliot and Luke pay for all they’ve taken from me.

For that, I can be courageous.

For that, I can be strong.

Chapter 6

As soon as I enter the mess hall, I sense a charged mood in the air. Everyone is talking animatedly, hardly touching their meals. I move to the food line, ears perked to the many ongoing conversations. I catch words, but nothing definite.

Captains. Trip. Scouts. Shot. Igniters.

I snatch a red tray from the pile, place it on the metal rails and slide it forward. As I point at the braised pork chop, steamed vegetables and rice pilaf, I think of Hannah clutching a bag of chips to her chest, her face gaunt and pale. My stomach turns to stone.

The server—a tall, blond guy with a face as smooth and white as a toilet bowl—hands me a plate full of food. I force myself to take it.

“Good deal. Good deal, Narcissus,” I ramble in my usual Azrael fashion.

“I’ve told you a thousand times my name is not Narcissus,” he barks.

“Yeah, whatever,” I mumble.

He’ll never convince me he doesn’t spend hours in front of the mirror, looking for wrinkles and blemishes so he can zap them with his Eklyptor morphing powers.

I turn and give him a backward wave. My gaze sweeps the dining area looking for Lyra. She’s not here. My boots tap against the chevron-patterned linoleum floor as I practically march in place. Briefly, I consider dumping the food in the garbage can and leaving. My appetite has vanished, and eating among these beasts isn’t likely to improve it.

Except not staying might appear fishy, so I find a spot on an empty table and set my tray down. Dozens of Formica tables are lined up in rows, most occupied by camo-clad Whitehouse members. The place never fills to capacity, since people eat in shifts based on their scouting and fighting duties. Though it’s always seems crowded enough for my taste, especially when some of the diners are too big for the narrow chairs.

I stare at the pork chop and can’t help myself but wonder how many people are starving to death, hiding in vacant buildings, too afraid to go out and look for sustenance. I stab my fork into the center of the chunk of meat.

“Both shot dead. I knew Griffin, but not the other one,” Hounddog says as he and Gecko Man take a seat at an adjacent table.

I perk up and surreptitiously watch them, eyes on my plate most of the time.

Gecko Man’s tongue flicks in and out of his mouth so fast that he leaves me no doubt he could catch flies in a snap. The fleshy appendage flicks out a few more times before he gets it under control and says, “Fuckin’ Igniters! They’re getting bolder. But let them keep venturing closer. We’ll show them.”

So they found the dead scouts and think Igniters killed them. Well, they’re not wrong. No wonder everyone seems more irritated than usual. I press my lips tight to repress a grin. It’s nice to see my efforts giving the beasts some heartburn.

On my way back to headquarters, I avoided passing by the deli, fearing no one had found the bodies and trying to avoid being spotted anywhere near the scene of the crime. I wonder who found them.

Gecko Man’s protruding eyes blink with lids as big as napkins. God, someone needs to tell him he’s taking the bug-eyed look way past gecko and well into giant bullfrog territory. If he doesn’t watch, he’ll poke an eye out with his fork one day.

“Have you heard the rumors?” Hounddog leans forward and, from where I sit, I can almost see his features reflected on Gecko Man’s eyes.

“You mean about Lyra and the tailed one, what’s her name?”

I frown and lean slightly forward, wondering what sort of rumor could involve both Lyra and “the tailed one.” He’s talking about Lamia, the lizard-looking woman who’s had it in for me ever since I killed Tusks.

Food twists in Gecko Man’s mouth like laundry inside a washing machine. Gah, talk about an appetite killer. Come on! It’s not like I need extra help with that.