Ascension, Laura Hall [black books to read .txt] 📗

I stopped to rest, he asked with forced levity, “Who’s winning the Super Bowl next year?”

I rolled my eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Sorry, no future-tripping since my Sibyl frenzy last night.”

The humor left his face, replaced by concern. “Anything yet on your dad?”

I shook my head. “Still a blank space when I think of him.” I met his gaze. “Dec, what if that means he’s dead?”

“Oh, sparky.” He reached for my hand and I jerked away. He froze in understanding. “Dammit.”

I sighed, pressing fingertips to my eyes. The resulting kisses of electricity triggered nostalgia. And not the good kind.

“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it in so many ways.

Indeed, I had substantial regret for not taking him up on his offer of intimacy. I had no doubts he would have been a skilled, generous lover. But the window of opportunity had passed and now I’d never know.

Before, celibacy had been a fact I’d accepted because there was no choice. The reprieve of the last days, however, had given me hope, which in turn made the renewed weight of an eternity of solitude nigh unbearable.

In my estimation, the only feeling worse than this would be giving in to my desire for Connor, and the inevitability of my heart being smashed to pieces.

I wouldn’t go through that again.

When I had myself under control, I asked, “Any news?”

He pointed at a nearby gazebo. “After you sit.”

I hobbled to the enclosure and plopped onto a bench, groaning as I stretched out my throbbing ankle. After the failed efforts of another three mages whose focuses were healing arts, I’d resigned myself to old-fashioned recuperation.

Declan sat beside me, a safe three feet between us. It felt like a mile.

“Eve and Charles finished testing the sample ahead of schedule. From the physical description they gave, Malcolm determined it belonged to your father, probably planted as a part of the trap.”

I nodded grimly. “What else? Did Connor speak with Prime Kilpatrick about . . .” I waved vaguely at my face.

“Yes,” he said, then paused. “Kilpatrick thinks the Liberati have targeted you as an asset. He tore Connor a new one, accusing him of being reckless with your safety. Adam agreed with him.”

I blinked. “Say what?”

Declan smiled thinly. “I heard about it secondhand, but I guess it comes down to something the Liberati said that night in Snoqualmie.”

Words rang like a bell in my memory.

Give us the girl.

I had, unbelievably, forgotten that fun nugget. Blacked it out, ignored it, shoved it under the same rug with the man I’d killed.

“Shit,” I whispered. “But why . . .” I trailed off as a sudden image appeared in my mind’s eye: the photograph from my dad’s office.

“What’s going on in that head?”

I looked at him, my eyes wide with dawning horror. “I was trying to work through what would happen if someone strapped me to an electric chair.”

Any other time, I might have laughed at Declan’s expression. “That’s twisted.”

“I agree,” I said, shivering with unease. “It’s the Liberati. Somehow my dad got a picture of a shifter strapped to an electric chair. He was . . . well, fried. It must have been one of the experiments. Adam said they need catalysts to perform their alchemy . . .”

“What are you getting at?”

I swallowed thickly. “My mother told Adam and Connor that I was a catalyst. What if the Liberati somehow know that? It would explain why they want me. But how did they find out about me? How long have they known? Did my dad suspect? Is that why he didn’t involve me in the case when the Prime asked for his help?” I stood up, wincing as my weight hit my ankle. “I need to talk to Connor.”

Declan’s hands wavered helplessly as I teetered. “Come on, sparky, sit down. You’ll hurt yourself. As soon as you started rambling, I linked up to Connor. He’s listening.”

I sat, my burst of energy fading and taking my strength with it. “So weird.”

Declan winked. “Keep talking.”

I stared at my hands, which were vibrating with anxiety. “It’s genius, really, if I’m on the right track and not writing science fiction. Put me in an electric chair, hook up alchemical tools, crystals, or whatever, and the molecular disruption of a lightning strike—one fueled by arcane power—would be the motherload of all catalysts.”

I looked at Declan; whatever my expression was, he went a little pale.

“It’s what they want,” I whispered. “They don’t have to come for me. They just have to wait until I learn my dad’s location. He’s the bait. I’ll walk straight into their trap.”

“No fucking way, Fiona,” he snapped. “We’ll go in full-strength, with the whole pack, Connor’s nest, and an army of mages.”

I laughed shrilly. “They’re ciphers.”

“Just because we can’t turn them doesn’t mean our claws can’t eviscerate them,” he countered darkly. “Or that vampires can’t rip their throats out. Or that gun-toting mages can’t blow holes in their heads.”

My hysteria calmed a little. “Good point.”

Declan’s expression froze, gaze going distant. Then he gave himself a shake and said, “That was Connor. You have a phone call in the library.”

His tone lifted the fine hairs on my neck.

“Who?” I asked.

“Delilah.”

I made it to the familiar hallway in half the time it had taken me to get outside. In the library, Adam and Mal stood near the blazing fireplace. Connor stood before the windows, his back to me. The mages turned as I crossed the threshold, but the Prime maintained his vigil.

“Where’s the phone?” I asked shortly.

Connor held out a hand, displaying a slim black cell phone. I hobbled across the room, grounding my charge as I went, but as I reached for the phone his cool fingers gripped my wrist. Glimmering green eyes met mine, his aura flashing behind him like shadowy wings.

Evidently, my power-promotion had negated any further need to shield me from his true presence. For a few moments, I just stared, struck dumb by his power.

“Your suspicions are correct,” he said severely, jolting me from my daze. “Your father discovered evidence that the Liberati know of your talent.”

I swallowed. “How did they find out?”

“It could have happened anytime. An accidental spark in public witnessed by the wrong person. Since we found out, you’ve had a protective detail in Los Angeles. And when your father didn’t arrive at the compound as planned, we came immediately to retrieve you.”

I didn’t react to the bodyguard statement, either beyond denial or numb from too much input. “And the electric chair? Was I right about that, too?”

He nodded shortly. “The photograph you saw was from a Liberati lab the FBI raided in Arizona, some six months ago. It seems they’re using the fundamentals of the electric chair to develop a method of extracting power. Ether, they call it. The ultimate catalyst, the unseen force that fuels all supernatural ability. Experts have determined that, yes, it’s plausible that if you were to channel lightning while strapped to such a device, you could charge highly advanced alchemical weapons.”

I glanced across the room at Mal, Adam, and Declan, taking in their dark expressions. I tried to think of a joke, but my usual defense mechanism was broken. The weight of everything I’d learned pressed heavily on my shoulders, shortening my breath.

“I won’t let them have you,” said Connor with quiet intensity.

I looked at his strong fingers, encompassing the whole of my wrist and impervious to the buzz of electricity at the connection. Then I met his heated gaze. He wasn’t even attempting propriety—the message in the green depths was deeply possessive, carnally charged, and damningly dominant.

The world tilted a little.

“Connor,” said Adam softly.

The grip on my wrist vanished, leaving an echo of emptiness and a waiting cell phone. My hand shook as I lifted the phone to my ear.

Then I remembered who was on the line, and anger stilled my quaking.

“Hello?” I snapped.

“Fiona,” said the woman who’d given birth to me. “I know you likely want nothing to do with me—”

“Exactly right. Get to the point.”

A sigh passed through the line. “Every action has a result, and each result catalyzes new actions. Choices. I don’t expect you to understand.”

I saw red. “You have five seconds before I hang up.”

“You can’t sense your father because I’m withholding him from you.”

My winter coat began smoking. The phone hissed ominously as it, too, heated. “Where is he?” I snarled. “Tell me right now, or so help me God, I will hunt you down. Can you survive a lightning bolt, Delilah?”

There was a beat of silence, then, “He’s hurt. In incredible pain. He wouldn’t want you to see him—feel him—that way.”

I totally fucking lost it.

“How do you know the first thing about what he wants!” I hollered. “You selfish, conniving, heartless bitch! Tell me where he is!”

“No!” she yelled in anguish. “You will not sacrifice yourself. I won’t allow it. Please, Fiona, just listen! There are forces at work you don’t understand. There’s a war going on. Listen to Connor, let him protect you.”

Something inside me snapped. Literally.