Oblivious, p.5
Oblivious, page 5
I opened my mouth to suggest it, but as I turned to face her, the words dried on my tongue.
In front of Jet, the air wavered, drawing together into a shimmering force that looked impossibly tangible.
“Either mist or move,” she said through clenched teeth, not opening her eyes to see what I’d do.
I started to dissolve. There was no way I was crossing what I could only describe as an air bridge created by her sheer force of will.
But halfway through misting, my strength ran out. The blood loss, the pain, the exhaustion—I was worn down to a point where my body refused to do what I told it do. Even if I succeeded in disappearing, there was no way I’d be able to hold it—or, worst case, no way I’d be able to bring myself back.
My heart thrummed. I’d left the ability-blocking collar back in the cell, but I may as well have been wearing it. My greatest advantage was useless, and any delay would put me back in Carstairs’s grasp.
Come on, Gideon. What’s worse—a possible fall to your death or him?
My choice was obvious: I had to run.
I closed my eyes as I stepped onto the ledge, but I couldn’t keep them closed if I wanted to make it across without stepping off the side of nothing.
“All right,” I said under my breath. “I can do this. I can do this. Why can’t I walk on air? It’s absolutely able to hold my weight.”
If I said it often enough, maybe eventually I’d believe it.
“Come on,” Jet hissed. Her entire body trembled, her face a dangerous shade of red.
She was holding on for me and still had to get across herself.
Stop fucking around, Leigh.
I licked my lips and stepped onto the bridge, exhaling sharply when the air held firm under my boot. But the longer I stood still, the more the unseen surface gave way beneath me, so I stopped thinking and ran.
It was impossible to see the bridge if I looked at it directly, but if I kept my gaze glued to the roof across, I caught a glimpse of it in my periphery, a shimmering reflection in the sunlight of something that wasn’t supposed to be there.
Thirty feet. Twenty-five. Twenty. I counted off the steps, not once pausing to think of what awaited me at the bottom if I fell. Falling wasn’t an option.
My thighs burned with the uphill run, which would have been an easy dash on a good day. Sweat dripped down the collar of my shirt, and my lungs strained as I worked to keep my breath steady. I was pretty sure I was about to throw up.
And then, suddenly, there I was, standing on the roof of the next building. Alive. Free. Definitely about to throw up.
I collapsed onto my hands and knees and pulled myself to the ledge, peering over the side to watch Jet.
She opened her eyes, her brow still wrinkled with the effort of using her ability as she stepped onto the bridge.
Come on, Jet. Hurry.
Sweat shone on her face, and her legs wobbled as she sped into a jog. The strain of keeping the bridge intact was taking its toll. She’d only made it a quarter of the way across and patches behind her were fading.
Her foot slipped, and my heart jumped into my throat.
She caught herself, but her balance was too shaky, her pace too ragged.
She wasn’t going to reach the other side.
Cement dug into the pads of my fingers as I tightened my grip on the sharp corner of the ledge. I had to be ready to grab her if the bridge collapsed. I didn’t know if dissolving right now would kill me—or if I could catch her even if it didn’t—but damned if I was going to watch her fall without doing whatever I could to prevent her from hitting the ground at full impact.
Keeping low to stay out of view, I braced my feet against the roof, ready to throw myself at her if she needed me. She’d reached the halfway mark now and was picking up speed, her gait smoothing as she shifted into a run. Watching her sprint in what appeared to be mid-air between buildings made my stomach do flip-flops. How was this possible? How was she holding on?
Come on.
I didn’t care as long as she was able to keep it up for a few more seconds.
She hit the three-quarter mark. I moved over, positioning myself to grab her hand when she reached the ledge.
Just as I reached for her, the stairwell door on the roof across the way flew open.
Chapter 6
Jet
Almost there. You’re almost there.
The air bridge stretched out in front of me, a fragile walkway held together by stubbornness and the dregs of my determination. My need to hurry seemed to slow time, as though I were running through molasses, stuck at an infuriating crawl while the world zipped by me.
I should have started across right after Gideon, but I’d had to make sure my strength held until he reached the other side. He’d put his trust in me, and I needed to see him safe.
But now fatigue tugged on my muscles, the strain of keeping the bridge dense enough to carry my weight more than I had the energy for after too little food, even less sleep, and no chance to recover after the last time I’d exerted my ability.
So close now.
My foot slipped through the bridge where the air had grown thin. I caught myself mid-stride and kept running. It was a miracle I’d kept my hold this long, but in a few more seconds it wouldn’t matter that I’d gotten myself wrapped up in a fight against the syndicate and a corrupt government department. I’d be nothing more than a splatter on the roof of my car seven storeys below.
We were almost out, away from my team and free to find somewhere safe to hole up until I was ready to approach them on my terms. Hopefully with enough evidence of my innocence to get them on my side.
When I was within two steps from safety, a slam rang out behind me as the door to the roof of my building flew open and struck against the brick wall. My focus veered towards the sound, my third eye instinctively opening to gauge the threat, and as soon as my attention shifted, my hold on the air let go and the bridge vanished.
My stomach leapt into my throat as my feet flailed on open sky, and the blood rushing in my ears drowned out all other sound. For a split second, panic wiped my thoughts, my training. My breath stopped, my heart stopped—every sense caught in the anticipation of what waited for me on the ground.
Instinct returned first, and in a wild scramble, I grabbed for the ledge. Just before I slipped out of reach, Gideon grabbed my wrist. My body slammed into the side of the building, and at the impact, my years of training pushed through the fear that had fogged my mind. Gritting my teeth, I latched on to Gideon’s forearm and used my shoulder to shove away from the wall and give myself space to find my footing against the brick. Sweat dripped down my face, mirrored on his, but I measured my breaths, tightened my core, and concentrated on reaching the top, tearing up the side of the building at a pace that threatened to make me vomit up my lungs.
As soon as the ledge reached chest-height, Gideon gave me a final tug, and we both rolled onto the rooftop, hidden from view of anyone stepping onto the roof across the way.
I lay on my back and stared at the black spots swimming against the bright blue sky. My chest ached with sharp breaths I couldn’t seem to slow, and the muscles in my back squeezed and released, an uneven, agonizing rhythm of spasms that sent sympathetic pangs down my arms and legs. The pain was a relief, keeping me from considering the emotional significance of the last few seconds.
Gideon lay still beside me, his expression open with shock and lingering horror.
I guessed we were even now. A life for a life. There went my advantage.
And now I’d have to thank him. Shit.
He recovered before I did and pulled himself to the ledge, peering over it to scope out the other rooftop.
“Did they see us?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“Doesn’t look like it. The door blocked most of their view. They’re doing a tour of the roof, but not—oops.” He ducked down. I glared at him, but he shook his head. “They’re doing a scan, clearing the building.”
I heard the clang and clatter of boots going down the fire escape and joined Gideon at the ledge, my hand pressed against my ribs to try to keep them in place. I worried they were about to collapse on me, taking my heart and lungs with them.
We watched two of the soldiers head down the steps towards the parking lot and meet up with two more once they reached the bottom. My heart sank into my shoes as I recognized them. Adam. Eric. Katie. They’d sent my longest-serving troops to bring me in.
What would they have done if they’d found me? Considering all we’d been through together, I wanted to think they would have stopped long enough to let me explain. Eric and I didn’t see eye to eye about the dark truth behind the de Lauer attack, but maybe Adam, Katie, or Xander would have believed me and helped me convince Eric to take a chance and follow my lead. I wanted to think their loyalty would have stretched far enough to know I had nothing to do with the minister’s death and that my freeing Gideon hadn’t been an act of rebellion but an attempt to undo the injustice the syndicate had committed under our roof.
Would our years of training, our missions, our history have been enough for them to let me go, or would they have followed orders, turned on me, and dragged me in as a rogue agent?
Would they still see me as their captain, their packleader?
The thought that I’d broken their faith in me stole whatever calm I’d managed to regain. My palms turned clammy, and I collapsed with light-headedness, thankful I hadn’t needed to find out whether I had lost the trust of some of the most important people in my life.
“They’re gone,” Gideon said. He sagged to the ground beside me, his back against the ledge, and dragged his knees to his chest.
More blood had soaked through his shirt, and he grimaced, pulling up the ruined cotton to expose the gash across his stomach. It stretched from his rib cage to his navel and must have sliced deeper than his other wounds if he’d failed to seal it.
I’d seen the way he’d tried to turn to mist before he’d run across the bridge, and now that we were safe, I had time to understand what it meant that he hadn’t been able to. He might have stayed with me to have my back, but he’d been in no place to get himself away. He’d relied on me to keep him out of my team’s hands—out of Carstairs’s hands—and I’d almost failed him. All that running up and down stairs, him pushing through pain and exhaustion to keep pace with me, and we almost hadn’t made it. He might be angry with me for letting Carstairs get his hands on him the first time, but I’d had no idea what waited for him when Eric took him away. This time, however… If Carstairs got him again, Gideon’s blood would be on my hands.
Maybe it was the sight of him beside me, pale and sweating, but suddenly I found it easy to say, “Thanks for catching me.”
He grimaced as he pressed his hands into his side and shifted into a more comfortable position. “If you fell, my ticket home would be nothing more than a blood spatter on the concrete.”
His words were casual, joking, but his tone gave away enough of his fading fear, enough of his relief, to take the sting out of his seeming indifference.
For a change—a very brief window—I didn’t feel a desire to hit him.
While the two of us waited for our heartbeats to slow, I considered our next move. We needed to get the hell out of here before my team moved into phase two of their search for us. I knew them too well to think they’d let me disappear this easily. From here, they’d step up surveillance. Someone across the street, and someone on one of the neighbouring rooftops. Possibly this one.
A fleeting thought passed through my mind that maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess if I’d trusted my JetPack to help me from the start. If I’d brought them in on my conversations with the informants, they might have been at my side right now instead of hunting me down.
I shoved the wish away as soon as I noticed it. If they’d joined me, I would have had to hold that bridge for a dozen people instead of two. They’d be in the same situation I was—if not suspected of murder, then at least as accessories. Hard as it was to stand on opposing sides, they were safer this way. I had to remember that.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and with a sigh of relief and no small amount of irritation, I pulled it free, groaning with the effort of moving my arms. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen but took the chance it was the call we’d been waiting for.
“About fucking time,” I wheezed.
“Sorry,” Madison said. “I had to—”
“Don’t care. You’re somewhere safe?”
“I just left, but what—”
“They know.”
Silence stretched out on the line. At last, she said, “Meet me at our place,” and the phone went dead.
Chapter 7
Madison
The moment I hung up on Jet, I officially left my old life behind. Temporarily or permanently I couldn’t say, but until we stopped the syndicate, the Madison Prince of Laurier Avenue with her comfortable condo, uncomfortable shoes, and latest-model Acura was gone, and in her place was the Madison Prince of durable footwear, large sunglasses, and whatever beater Gary had picked up for me.
I was least upset about the shoes.
I didn’t bother to drive to Mooney’s Pub. It was a ten-minute walk away, and though I risked being recognized by any co-workers who happened to be out hunting down breakfast before work, I was less conspicuous on foot than my car would have been parked on the street. Besides, I appreciated the extra time to get my thoughts in order.
In the early morning, the bar was quiet. Mooney’s regularly stayed open just shy of twenty-four hours, closed long enough to clean up and change the guard. Not because it was the most popular bar on a street full of bars, but because it was the only one in the area that catered specifically to downtown’s supernatural population. The more nocturnal folk needed somewhere to go after standard last call, even if the mundanes believed it locked its doors at legal hours.
At this time of day, the few early birds had staked out their tables, but I’d either missed or beaten the breakfast rush. I was torn about whether the emptiness worked in our favour. There were fewer people to overhear our conversation, but it would be harder to go unnoticed.
Alyssa Mooney—owner, founder, witch—stood behind the bar filling orders for a couple of university students at the far end of the cherrywood bartop, the two young men unshaved, unrested, unmotivated.
Late-year postgrads were my guess, and I couldn’t have asked for better company. They would be too desperate to escape their research papers to pay attention to whoever else might pull up a stool.
Alyssa delivered their coffees with an extra bowl of beernuts out of sympathy, then made her way over to me wearing a bright smile.
“Bit early for you, isn’t it?” she asked. A glint of jade shone in her eyes, the unnaturally green irises one of the few signs of her magic-infused genes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here at the start of the day in all my years behind the bar.” Her smile collapsed under a wave of concern. “Everything all right?”
This was where mundanes often overestimated their idea of supernaturals. Fans of fantasy media might guess Alyssa had reached her conclusions so quickly out of some latent psychic ability, but I knew it was simply her bartender attention to detail.
Or maybe I was wrong and bartending called to people with a particular ability—either known or unknown—to poke around in people’s minds.
Either way, her skills were too good to bother lying to her.
“I’m in a bit of a jam, actually,” I said, though I kept my tone light and conversational. “Me and some friends of mine. I don’t suppose they’re here yet?”
It worked to my advantage I only ever came here with Jet. Alyssa would know who I meant without my having to spell it out, and right now vagueness would be safer for both of us.
She shook her head and shifted to put her back to the students and the two occupied tables near the front window. One of the bleary-eyed postgrads had already finished his coffee, and the complimentary beer nuts were almost gone.
“What’s going on?” She kept her voice low and pasted on an even brighter smile, giving her words a pleased, gossiping note for the benefit of any eavesdroppers.
Clever duck.
“Ran into a bit of a work sitch,” I said, and threw in an inane laugh for good measure. “You know, the usual top-secret, confidential nonsense.” The strain of maintaining my bubbly facade wore on me. “The sort of crap where, if I told you, I’d have to kill you and all that mess.”
Would she catch my too-subtle warning? I didn’t want to be any more overt.
As confusion crossed her face, I worried I’d have to take a step closer to honesty, but awareness dawned in the next breath, and she laughed through the stickiness of worry I sensed wafting off her. “I’ll save myself the bother and skip the personal questions.”
“I probably should have stayed home and gone back to bed, but to hell with it. It’s noon somewhere, right? I needed a drink and couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”
Last resort. I hoped she understood. The last thing I wanted was to put Alyssa in danger. She’d been a friend of mine and Jet’s for a good many years, and I didn’t want to lead the department to her door. But it had been the first and best place I could think of for me and Jet to meet up. I hadn’t felt comfortable giving her the address of the safe house over the phone, not if the department had already come after her.
Hopefully Alyssa would forgive me for bringing trouble to her doorstep.
She grabbed a rag from under the bar and started wiping the surface, taking particular note of anything I might have touched.
