Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle - eARC Read online

  “Dammit girl, we’re not doing this! You can’t just—”

  Red stopped as he felt her desperation. There was nothing there, nothing to reason with, nothing to talk down. What could he have said, anyway? With her own body destroyed, she was trapped inside him. All that kept her alive was her will, and when she tired she would slip away to nothing, unless she took this body from him.

  It was a matter of self-preservation for both of them, and friendship, trust…love?…nothing mattered except to live. Justine struck first, impulsive as always, using the mental version of her fires. She tried to cage him in flames, to incinerate him at best, drive him out at worst. He dodged back, her cage grasping at nothing, though he felt the scorch as if from a real blaze. He responded instinctively with “cold,” and oh, he could be cold if he had to be. He took the fuel, denied the energy. Justine countered by trying to smother him but he eeled out of her grasp, slippery ice. Without her fire, she had nothing except pure will. He kept retreating; she kept coming. He realized that this could go on…if not forever, for far too long. He lunged, enveloping her as she had tried to envelope him, and without her fire to protect her, he overwhelmed her, and with a great and desperate squeeze he felt something snap. She shuddered and stiffened in his grasp. Loosening his hold, he cradled her ebbing consciousness within his.

  “I didn’t…I couldn’t…oh Red…this isn’t really happening, is it?”

  She was fading too fast. Red clung to her, but there was nothing he could do. She slipped out of his grasp, and away, forever into the dark.

  “Good-bye…” he sobbed. “Oh God…good-bye…”

  * * *

  …when nothing, not even Amethist, could have prepared him for the price of reckless magic. It’s different this time, he reminded himself, again. Different, with someone who’s actually trained for this crap. Someone who knows and understands, and accepts the cost. Someone who’s careful. Just reach out, Red, reach out and bring her back.

  He fell into his routine, alarmed at how easy it was to bring up his cycle of memories. Each of Amethist, each one a powerful glimpse into the heart of someone he had actually cared for more than he cared about himself. Their first encounter, her flash of anger, his dismay as she chased him with jagged shards of ice, and through the fear he fought down a growing attraction to this enraged—and feisty—girl. Their first kiss, after a titanic battle when he had finally, finally, gotten the upper hand and she lay helpless before him. She was vulnerable, all it would have taken was a slash of his claws, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he cradled her to him and carried her home, and as he turned to leave she reached for him, and brought his head down to hers. It had all changed then. Their first battle, as partners, how they moved in sync, and the sweet taste of that victory. One by one, he ran through them all, his mind afire with memories of love and the promise of forever.

  And then, it all went wrong. Something new and unexpected, and in a jarring flash Red watched the memory he had been fleeing from for the past year.

  Amethist, leaping to save him, and vanishing in a burst of white light.

  And as the Djinni screamed his loss, the line anchoring him to Vickie fell away, lost in the void.

  * * *

  The lifeline…wasn’t there. Instinctively, she curled in on herself, to preserve as much as she could, for as long as she could. But this was like being in a sandstorm, with the whirling remains of Harmony’s trap etching her, scouring away at her protections. Without an outside source of power, she would last only as long as her will did. Or…or until Red could punch through again. If he could. If he would. If he had second thoughts, wanted to eliminate the uncomfortable magician from his life…now was the time.

  No, she wouldn’t think that of him. If he could, then he would. And if he couldn’t—

  Then at least I go out saving someone else. And until she knew that for certain there was no getting out of here, she would believe he could do it, he could reach her. Her will had kept her going for a long, long time now. She hardened it, and herself, and held on.

  * * *

  Bella knew immediately when something went wrong. She sensed the drain on Bulwark stop, and her heart leapt, but then she sensed Vickie…go missing. Her attention was ripped from Bull; Vickie was white as a piece of paper, rigid, eyes glassy, a statue caught in the glowing matrix of her own protections.

  If this had been anything other than magic, Bella would have lunged off the stool and grabbed Vickie with both hands—but Vickie had warned her, the protections would guard her from anything, including the best of intended help. There was no way to reach her—

  —except through Red.

  So Bella lunged for the Djinni instead, clamped both hands around his head, and shoved energy into him. ::Dammit, chowderhead!:: she “yelled” at him. ::FOCUS!::

  But she couldn’t reach him. And he couldn’t reach Vickie. He was caught in some terrible memory of pain that she couldn’t break past.

  Screw that. YES I CAN.

  “Red!” she shrieked. “Snap out of it!” She backed up her physical shouts with psychic ones. ::Home, you rat bastard! Bring her home!::

  But instead of anger, she surrounded him with something else entirely. The satisfaction and pride she felt when he finally started coming up to the mark. The odd affection when he started helping Vickie. The surety that, yes, he could do this.

  And…what do you call the opposite of loneliness? Whatever it was, she shoved that at him too. You’re not alone anymore. We’re in this together. I have your back, now you get hers…

  * * *

  It came back to him, those long days spent in that cramped ECHO prisoner cell, the torture of sleep, the faces that came to the surface, taunting him with his failures. And her face, most of all, that serene beauty that could in an instant radiate girlish charm, infectious laughter, unwavering determination or a righteous wrath. Amethist knew he loved her, but she could never have guessed how much power she had over him. From her, a simple look of gratitude gave him a desire to accomplish five impossible things before breakfast. A mildly scornful expression would plague him with doubts and self-loathing for days. But the worst, by far, were her fierce stares of blame, and he would simply want to shrivel up and die, right there.

  For weeks now, that had been the expression that haunted him most. Even though that was not what he had seen in that last moment. His fault, his fault, and surely, surely she must have felt that in the nanosecond of her death. He couldn’t bear it, the accusation, the—hate—

  It spilled over to everything else. She surely hated him in that moment, and so he hated himself, and so everyone else, by extension, had to hate him, and the fact that no one alive knew of his guilt but him was irrelevant. There were plenty of other things he’d done. How many had paid for his greed and ambition over the years. How many had he knowingly manipulated for some paltry sum? How many had died, whether by his hand or indirectly from his actions, simply because they had gotten in his way? And just this past year, god…

  He’d almost killed Vix. He’d opened the door for Jack…so he was responsible for Tesla, and for Bull…

  Here he was again, looking for redemption, fooling himself into thinking it was even possible. It was a tired lesson he could never seem to learn. There was no redemption, not for the things he had done. Any time he tried, it only seemed to make things worse. Amethist’s look, that look…that wasn’t just blame. It was every failure he had ever endured, masked by the illusion of past victories, shielded by false pretenses of atonement. The truth was, he doubted he could ever outrun his past.

  He was utterly alone because he deserved to be. There was no one, no one…

  ::Dammit, chowderhead!:: Her voice rang inside his head. ::FOCUS!::

  Red cringed in annoyance. For all her beauty, Bella had the most piercing voice of anyone he had ever met. It was typical of her too. Here he was, trying to enjoy some much deserved self-loathing, and she had to intrude with—

&nbs
p; “Red!” she shrieked. “Snap out of it!” She backed up her physical shouts with psychic ones. ::Home, you rat bastard! Bring her home!::

  He felt her then, her presence, and through the darkness she appeared. Her look was encouraging, her posture inviting, and she smiled at him.

  You’re not alone anymore. We’re in this together. I have your back, now you get hers…

  He felt her pushing through the guilt, through the absolute cloak of solitude to where he was. He felt her bombard his mind with pride and friendship. He shrank away from it. He didn’t deserve feelings like that. He was who he was, a cynical bastard, and as much as part of him longed for such acceptance, the rest of him knew better.

  She persisted, stubborn wench, refusing his rejection, drawing ever closer, until he could almost feel her breath upon him. She was radiant. He had desired her since the moment she had first marched up to him and cold-cocked him across the jaw. Here, in the dark weft of Vickie’s spell, it was so cold. And Bella was so close, and so warm…

  He reached out, drew her close, and kissed her. Hard.

  She fought for a moment, a sense of shock, surprise, indignation blanketing everything else. Then, unexpectedly, she melted into the kiss, for just a moment.

  Home, Red. This is home now.

  Home, he thought, and gasped as the tether blazed back into existence.

  * * *

  She felt it, the lifeline, and grabbed onto it with everything she had, with the desperate will to live that had kept her going for this long.

  Then, she was out, taking in a huge, gasping breath, as her protections blazed up around her, then winked out. She staggered backwards and came up against the wall.

  That wasn’t just Red…

  She shook her head to clear it, and saw them. Together. Bella and Red. Which…explained why the tether hadn’t been “just” Red.

  Of course…

  Bella had her arms around him. While it looked like it was for support, and Red seemed very shaken, in her estimation there was a ninety-percent probability that a moment before she saw them it hadn’t “just been for support.” Hell, she wrote romances. The guy the girl hates and fights with was always the one she ended up with. Right?

  And now she felt the bitter bile of…not jealousy, no, how could someone like her be jealous of someone like Bella? But. Envy. The way Red was looking at Bella. No one, not even someone as damaged as Red would ever, ever look at her that way. No matter what she’d…hoped? Subconsciously, anyway…

  Yeah, right. And pigs would fly in attack formation over Beirut before that happened. Be grateful for what crumbs you get.

  She fought down tears, swallowed down the sharp-edged lump in her throat. Be happy for your friends being happy. Try, anyway. Because that’s the closest you’ll ever get.

  Still, they had just saved her life. You would think they would turn to look at her or something.

  The terrible armor of her scars closed in around her, a tangible barricade that would, forever, stand as a barrier to anything beyond friendship. Forget it, move on. Concentrate on something besides yourself. You aren’t the star of this story, and it isn’t all about you. It’s about the team. Don’t forget why you were here in the first place. She clamped down on her heart, hard. You get half an hour to feel sorry for yourself and cry when you get home. That’s it, that’s all the self-indulgence you get. Then you concentrate on something productive.

  While they were still staring into each others’ eyes, she dashed her glove across her own to clear the burning tears away, and turned her attention to Bulwark. And frowned.

  There were some things even she could tell, from the machines, and from him, thanks to Sovie’s briefing. He was breathing on his own at last. And that dreadful draining was shut down for good. But he wasn’t coming out of the coma, and she wasn’t medic enough to guess why.

  “Bell,” she said, without turning to look at the other two. “What the hell is going on with Bulwark?”

  Bella and Red came apart with a start, as if awakening from a dream, and looked at Vickie blankly. Bella snapped fully into work mode first, and wobbled a little as she raced to Bull’s side. OK, breathing on his own. She disconnected the respirator; there was nothing good that came of keeping a meta on one of those if he or she didn’t need it. She checked the EKG; looked like a coma, but not a vegetative one—there was something going on in his head, something very active. But he wasn’t coming out of it. She glanced at Vickie, who shrugged.

  “Metas,” Vickie said, and shrugged again. “I mean, I’m no doctor, but Sovie says you can’t always tell how they’re going to recover. For some of them, at least from the conversations I’ve had with her, it’s like they’re doing a systems-check constantly, and they stay out cold until everything’s repaired, then they come to all at once.”

  Bella scowled, Djinni, for the moment, forgotten. “Well…at least now I’ve got brain activity and I don’t need to keep anything but the IV drip on him. So nobody’s going to have the excuse to pull the plug on him.”

  They both knew who that “nobody” would be, too. Nothing like eliminating the last witness to what had happened in Tesla’s office.

  “I’ll put a magic cyber-snoop tag on him. If anything looks hinky, it’ll alarm for me, and in this state we can move him to Sovie’s bay,” Vickie said firmly. “Won’t hurt him to be off the drip for the hour or two that would take.”

  Bella let out a sigh of relief. “That’ll work. Murdock can probably do the heavy lifting. Or Chug.”

  Red looked back and forth between the two of them. “We done here, then?” he asked, finally.

  Vickie jumped as if she’d been stung. “Shit! Sorry, Djinni. You were…” Her voice caught for just a moment, then she swallowed. “You did great. Like I figured. Thanks.”

  He shook his head. “No, I really didn’t. Almost got you killed. Lucky Bella was here.” He favored Bella with a strained look. Bella averted her eyes and turned back to Bulwark’s monitors. Red shrugged in defeat, and stepped next to her. He paused, as if unsure of what to say, and shrugged again. He laid a hand on Bull’s shoulder, and gave it a rough squeeze.

  “Hope this helped, big guy,” Red murmured. As he turned to leave, he brushed by Bella and felt her flinch away.

  But Vickie touched his arm with a flick of a gloved finger, as if she knew how sensitive his skin was. Of course she knew. She’d been in it.…

  “With or without Bella, you did good. The only way she could have reached me was through you.” She smiled wanly. “Thanks.”

  He wouldn’t look at her. He and Bella were seriously off…uncomfortable. With the kind of confusion you saw in high school kids who just had a Moment with someone they’d never considered romantically before. She watched him leave, closing the door behind himself quietly.

  She wanted to feel good. Instead, she felt like hell.

  And it’s not all about you, she reminded herself. She glanced at Bell, who was busy with Bulwark. Go home. Cry. Then work on those sensor-balls and get them integrated with the cybermancy. You’re going to need them. The team is going to need them and the team is counting on you. There’s just too much at stake for you to play at self-indulgence now.

  * * *

  It was a garden. A garden with no paths, arranged with little geometric plantings of flowers, green turf between them. So far as Gairdner could tell, it went on forever. There was a great deal of light, but no sun, no way to tell time.

  It was peaceful here, but it was also…isolated. He hadn’t been really alone in a long time. Alone, as in “no people around,” that is. “Alone” as in “without someone”…he’d been achingly alone since Victoria vanished, but that was different. But so far as he could tell, and he had walked for what seemed like miles through this garden, he was the only thing in it that wasn’t a plant or a bug.

  So he finally sat down, even though he wasn’t tired, and waited. Eventually, something changed.

  The “something” was a light in the dist
ance, growing nearer. It seemed in no hurry to get to him, but then, he was in no hurry to see what it was. There just was no sense of urgency here. Eventually, he saw that the light had a human shape. When it grew near enough, he recognized it, or at least, he thought he did, because he had never actually seen this…person…with his own eyes, only had her described to him. If he was right, this was the one that had been tagged as “The Seraphym.” She wasn’t in ECHO, she wasn’t in any organization that he could tell. Opinion was divided on whether she was a metahuman or a real angel.

  It appeared that he was about to find out for himself.

  She stopped, a few feet away, and contemplated him. Her gaze was somewhat unnerving, since her golden eyes had no pupils. “Greetings, Gairdner,” she said, quietly. Her voice had some odd overtones, as if more than one person was speaking with her mouth.

  He nodded politely. “Ma’am,” he said in way of greeting. Heaven wasn’t exactly as he had pictured it. As inviting as his surroundings were, he felt wary and on his guard. Still, minding his manners seemed the thing to do.

  “I assume you understand at this point that you are not…in the world you knew.” There was no irony, no amusement in her tone; more like a grave serenity. “And no, this is not Heaven. Although there are as many of those as there are believers, and for some, this might be Heaven. For you, however, this is…call it a rest stop.”

  He glanced around. “So this is my Platform 9 ¾?”

  Now she smiled. It was a radiant smile, one that bathed him in approval. “Clever man. Yes, in a sense. And in that same sense, thanks to herculean work by your friends, you actually have a choice in destinations. I think, however, given your temperament, you would prefer to think about those destinations before choosing.”

  “Careful consideration of options and assessing the cost, risks and potential benefits of each.” Bull bowed his head for a moment, then looked up at the Seraphym. “Yes, that sounds like me.”