Invisible Recruit: Invisible Power Part 27

"Great, so we'll have to do this the hard way," she muttered, stepping closer and placing her hands on one chain.

Nothing happened. Or maybe he blacked out again. Either way when he stirred himself and looked over at her there were tears tracking down her cheeks. Alex never cried. Never.

"What happened?" he growled, his wolf near the surface, willing to fight whoever put the grief he saw in her eyes.

"Nothing," she mouthed more than said the word, shaking her head. "I can't do it. I don't know any magic to break the binds. Nothing that I can do here. Now."

He found himself relaxing, knowing the frustration only too well. "Doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters." There was more power in her words now, her hands clenched as if she wanted to punch someone, just didn't know who. "We've got to get you out of here. Time is running out. I don't know how long the spell will last."

He shook his head. "You've got to go."

She turned away from him, walking the perimeter of the cell as if looking for a weakness. Against the far bars she stumbled across the corpse and started gagging. With her sleeve over her mouth she managed to ask, "What . . . who . . ."

"Jailor." He licked his lips and tried for more. "Power broker got p.i.s.sed."

She stumbled away from the body, not removing her arm from her face until she drew near to Van again. "I can't believe I didn't smell him earlier." With a shudder, she shook herself and stood close so her words wouldn't carry. "Tell me about the park. Who were you with? Why'd you s.h.i.+ft in public?"

Her words. .h.i.t like body blows. Vague images danced just outside his thoughts. The more he strained to remember, the faster they tangoed. All he had to offer was a stuttered shaking of his head. Then one image slammed against him. "Dad?"

Her expression tightened as if she'd sucked on a lemon.

"Did I . . . did I kill . . ." His thoughts jarred with his questions. No way. No way would he ever fight his father.

"You didn't kill him," she said, each word a nail against his heart.

"Why?"

She knew what he meant. Not why didn't he kill his beloved father but why would he even consider fighting him.

"Long story." She scrubbed a hand over her face, her voice low and tense. "They're drugging you. Making you do things against your will."

"No." He shook his head, the movement becoming stronger and stronger as he fought what she was telling him. "No."

She rested her hands on his shoulders, calming him by touch as she whipped him with each word she uttered, "You have no choice. That's the way the drug works. Then it wipes your memory."

It made no sense. Nothing tracked, not to his human half, not to his wolf self. "Kill me now," he whispered, aware this might be his only chance. If what she said was true, he wouldn't risk more lives.

That's what he'd remember, the pus.h.i.+ng thought that had escaped him before. "Again," the word trailed off.

She stepped closer, cupping his chin in as light a touch as possible, one that still burned through him. "They're going to use you again? Is that what you're telling me?'

"Tomorrow." Isn't that what they'd said. With a half turn he looked at the moonlight peeking through the slit in the wall. "Today. Don't know. Soon."

"Oh, Van. I won't let that happen."

Hope flared then died within the same breath. Whoever these people were they would not be stopped just because Alex wanted them to stop.

"Can you give me anything?" she asked, laying her forehead against his chest. "Any hint of who or what they are?"

There was one thing. Not that it'd do her any good. "Were . . ."

"Where is something?"

He shook his head, then heard the sound he'd feared. Adrenaline coursed through him, helping him fight the lethargy, the pain making thought and words so difficult. "Go. Now." He pulled forward on the chair, masking his words to her with the rattle of his chains. "Were. Find the Were."

She looked at the silver binding him, knowing she couldn't have him s.h.i.+ft into his wolf self with so much silver surrounding him. Then she froze, hearing at last what he'd already heard, the squeak and shuffle of the far door opening and some one coming.

She kept her head, but he expected no less from a Noziak. He could scent her fear as she glanced around the small s.p.a.ce. Nowhere to hide. No way out.

Inhaling a deep breath, she kissed his cheek then retreated to the far corner, one obscured by shadows. He hated to point out that she was still visible and would be the minute whoever was swinging a flashlight turned the illumination on her as he came down the hall.

He started to growl and rattle his chains, no matter his throat was raked raw, his skin bleeding enough he caught the scent of fresh blood. He hoped to keep the focus of whoever was coming on him, only him.

With his s.h.i.+fter hearing he could hear Alex's whispers above his sounds.

Betwixt and between. Guide and protect.

Betwixt and between. s.h.i.+eld thine in this darkest hour.

Betwixt and between. Command the seen to beunseen.

Enchant those eyes who seek harm.

So mote it be.

This was his sister, who rarely even played with her magic. What the h.e.l.l did she think she was going to accomplish now?

Whoever was coming was drawing nearer.

Now they'd both die.

CHAPTER 53.

Jeb turned off Philippe's computer, rubbing tired eyes as he looked at the stack of printouts next to his monitor. He might be a Rez rat from Idaho but even he knew how to find a wealth of information via the Internet. He'd been searching for the last three hours to compile anything and everything he could on this Bran, the warlock.

Even as exhausted as he was he was still impressed. If he didn't know the dress designer was a warlock, he might have bought into the rags-to-riches story of a kid from wealth, but more as a p.a.w.n between the two egos who'd birthed him, who clawed his way to the top of a small but very compet.i.tive industry.

But Jeb did know warlocks, knew how they thought and how they loved playing the game, no matter who they screwed over in the process. How Alex got herself involved with this mage was out of Jeb's ken, but he did know that he'd move anything in the physical or spiritual realm to make sure his little girl wasn't going to get hurt.

"Late night," Pdraig spoke from the doorway leading into Philippe's study.

Jeb hadn't even realized the young man was still awake. He was thankful Pdraig had asked to remain at Philippe's home as that gave Jeb permission to remain too. The more he learned about the intrigues swirling around Philippe and the Council the more he suspected there would be answers here, in this place.

"Had a little more research to do," Jeb said, offering Pdraig a tired smile. "You're up late."

"Ever since the Council told me to be prepared for tomorrow my mind has been whirring." The Irishman rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. "Can't sleep."

Jeb knew about the closed Council session before the formally convened meeting tomorrow but didn't have any details about what was going to be discussed among the six remaining members. Getting a bunch of preternaturals sharing information ahead of time wasn't ever going to happen, at least for another few centuries, after old memories faded. It made sense that the conversation would involve a replacement for Philippe's spot but beyond that Jeb didn't have a clue so could offer Pdraig no advice or guidance.

The Irishman was a druid, as Philippe had been, but fairly young and as a result, lacking in experience. There were not many true-born druids and as a race they were old ones, as old as the fae but more haughty. A running joke among non-humans was that the word arrogance, from the Latin word arrogans, had been coined to describe druid behavior. But then the druids always maintained the word was created for the warlocks, ancient enemies. And so the feuds continued.

So far, though, Jeb had found that Pdraig was more like Philippe, the exception to the druid haughtier-than-thou reputation. Most likely why the older man had mentored the Irishman. And Pdraig had been nothing but helpful to Jeb, something Jeb would not forget.

"I think we'd both better get some sleep," Jeb offered, turning off the desk lamp and patting the young man on his back as Jeb would have done with one of his sons. Which is how Jeb was beginning to feel about Pdraig, as a fifth son. "I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a very long and important day."

It would as far as he was concerned. No matter what the Council decided about the warlock, Jeb was planning a little tte--tte as the French would say with the dress designer. A very private, up close and personal meeting.

CHAPTER 54.

It took everything I had to block the fear racing through me, and the rage, to focus on the cloaking spell. Whoever had hurt Van so badly was going to pay. I'd make sure of it.

If I didn't get caught and killed in the next few minutes.

Betwixt and between. Command the seen to be unseen.

I kept my eyes squeezed closed, ignoring the stench as I repeated the chant over and over, listening as footfalls came closer. Step by step.

Betwixt and between. Command the seen to be unseen.

"What has you so agitated, Mister Noziak?" a voice spoke so close I wanted to jump. Instead I squinted into what looked like a spotlight blasting through the cramped cell. Behind the light a shadow stepped closer.

But he weren't paying any attention to me.

Finally, something went right.

The voice sounded familiar but maybe it was because he was speaking in English. But hadn't I heard it before?

I waited for him to point the flashlight down and not directly into Van's, and thus my, eyes. But instead of doing what seemed like a perfectly sensible move the man froze. And so did I.

He started sniffing the air, his head moving back and forth like a tracking beam.

Of course, how could I have been so stupid? Or clueless? He wasn't a man, he was a Were. I could smell him now, even over the eau du cologne of a rotting body near my feet.

By the Great Spirits I might be cloaked but if he followed my scent trail it wouldn't take that long to break through my spell. A cloaking worked only as long as another didn't pa.s.s the barrier. If he did it dissipated as so much mist.

Van increased his struggles and it was killing me. I knew how much he was hurting himself trying to protect me by distracting the newcomer.

I swear hours pa.s.sed as the three of us stood there. Me not breathing, because I didn't dare to and Van howling and thras.h.i.+ng. The Were with the flashlight not moving at all, as if he couldn't trust his senses.

At last the flashlight tilted down and he turned to look closely at Van. That's when I caught a glimpse of his profile and gasped aloud.

Two things happened at once. First the Were turned, waving the flashlight toward the corner where I stood as he shouted, "Who's there?"

The second a tug against me, like the pull that had shot me through the tunnel.

No. Not yet. I hadn't found anything to help Van. They'd kill him if I didn't do something.

I stepped forward, no longer caring if the Were saw me, realizing almost too late that he had keys. He was our way out of here. If I could overcome him.

But whatever traction was stretching me back into the cold airless tunnel was growing stronger. Too strong. As if fighting against quicksand I felt myself lifted and spun.

I tried to scream. To tell Van I'd be back. To say goodbye but there wasn't time.

Over and over, tumbled like a dryer tumbles sneakers, thunk, kerthunk, kerthunk I flew through the cold darkness.

This time I knew I wouldn't die. No matter how easy it'd be to give up and give in.

But that wasn't the Noziak way.

That's what I was screaming as I slammed onto another floor, still concrete, still harder than Hades, but less stinky, no dead corpse smell. Just three sets of eyes staring at me. Willie and Francois bending over from high above. And Bran. Bran smothering me in his grip as he shook me as if trying to extract the last ounce of stuffing from me.

"Ow!" I shouted, batting at his hands. "Let me go."

His eyes changed immediately from worried to wary in almost the same way a s.h.i.+fter or Were's eyes could morph.

Which reminded me. I sat upright, or tried to as the room kept spinning around me, pounding through my head, making me want to throw up.

"Careful, you've had a rough landing," Francois said. "With that hard head of yours you may have dented the floor."

"Very funny, Fido."

"Yup, she's really back." Willie straightened.

If I wasn't so woozy I'd have kicked at his knee. Who was he to talk? But he helped me focus.

"Were," I said, my throat sore as if I'd been screaming for some time. "Gotta find the Were."

"That's what you've been screaming," Bran said as he helped me to my feet, leaving one hand against my back to steady me. I'd die before I told him I appreciated it.

"I found the Were!" I glanced from Celtic blue eyes to Francois and Willie's brown ones.

Willie threw his hands wide. "Which Were? There seems to be a lot of them around this mess."

"The doctor." I glanced at Bran, willing him to understand as I fought to get the words out. That was one h.e.l.l of a spell. I leaned over, resting my palms on my thighs. "The doctor who was there when Cheverill died."