Chimera

Thirteen Burn Card

Everyone except Bethany was wearing a seat belt when the Sport went into an unexpected barrel roll across two lanes of traffic, flipped over the guardrail, and then slid down the side of an embankment into a field—all things I processed after the fact. During the fact, I had both hands braced on the ceiling so I didn’t slide out of my lap belt. I was probably one of the people screaming. I know Bethany yelled a lot between landings.

The Sport came to a jolting halt, still upside down. For a split second, there was total silence. I didn’t hear a damned thing, not even my own heartbeat.

Then the world exploded in noise. People talking, tires squealing, metal thudding, something else hissing. I was keenly aware of soreness between my shoulder blades, but couldn’t tell if it was whiplash or if someone had hit me.

“What the hell?” Ethan asked. “Anyone hurt?”

“Fuck, yes!” Bethany whined from the back. “Shit.”

“We’re okay up here,” Teresa said. She tried to angle back to see us, her face half hidden by a curtain of purple-streaked hair. “You guys?”

“Okay,” Thatcher said, just as I said, “Peachy.”

“Did something hit us?” Ethan asked. “Landon?”

“I’m not sure,” Landon replied in a shaky voice. “It was like we hit a ramp or something, only nothing was in the road.”

“We need to get out of the car,” Teresa said. “Right now.”

Ethan undid his seat belt first, then landed on the ceiling in an awkward pile. He shoved at the door while I unbuckled and executed a much more graceful landing, thanks to my flexible limbs. After Teresa righted herself, she blasted through the frame of the passenger door with a couple of orbs. In less than a minute, everyone except Bethany was out of the Sport. That’s when I took note of our path.

A few cars had stopped along the turnpike above, and several people were watching us, at least two on their phones. I rubbed at my sore neck while I turned in a circle, positive we weren’t alone. Teresa was doing the same, ignoring a cut on her forehead that was oozing blood down the center of her face toward her nose.

Landon and Thatcher went around to the back of the Sport. Together they got it open and pulled Bethany out into the grass.

“Let’s go to their HQ, he says,” Bethany whined. “It’s a good idea, he says. My big fat toe, it’s a good idea!”

Why couldn’t she have broken her jaw or something?

“Can you walk?” Landon asked.

“Yes, I can fucking walk, you jerk. Where do you want to walk to, exactly?”

“Do you guys feel—” Ethan started to ask.

Landon cried out as he was flung through the air, only to be caught by a big, well-muscled man in all black, standing a good twenty feet away.

The Recombinant clone referred to by us as Sledgehammer held Landon by the front of his shirt. The whirlwind that followed Landon’s sudden flight across the field came to a halt next to Sledgehammer—the Jasper clone.

Teresa raised both hands into the air, each one glowing with an orb. Ethan pulled the wind in around him. I stood beside them, wishing I had my damned gun. I’d been pretty useless in the first fight with the clones, and I didn’t see myself faring much better today.

Thatcher prepared to charge. I grabbed his arm and yanked him back with a terse, “Don’t.” Sledgehammer could snap his neck without thinking.

“Well, well, well,” Jasper said. He wore a patch over his left eye like a wannabe pirate. “We meet again. Some of us.”

“If you wanted to talk, you could have called,” Ethan snapped.

“And spoil the surprise?”

I didn’t see the heat blast as much as felt it charge past me, a concentration of hot air unlike anything I’d ever felt. Jasper moved just in time for Bethany’s shot to soar past him and hit a small tree that instantly burst into flames. Sledgehammer spun and threw Landon like a human shot put, sending Landon right into the burning tree. He hit with a scream and a thud.

Teresa fired her orbs. Both caught Sledgehammer in the knees, and he toppled over. Then Teresa went sailing sideways into the grass—Jasper, the speedy little bastard. Ethan caught him with a wind wall, which got Jasper to slow down to normal speed long enough for Thatcher to tackle him.

Useless in the actual fight, I yanked a blanket out of the back of the Sport, then raced toward Landon. The smell of burning wood filled the air. Smoke made my eyes sting. Landon had rolled away from the tree and was slapping feebly at a spot of fire on his pants leg. I draped the blanket over him and smothered the last of the flames. His face was streaked with ash, both cheeks red but not quite blistered. I moved the blanket to take stock of his injuries, aware of the fire nearby.

The sounds of fighting continued behind me, but my senses zeroed in on the scorched fabric on his left arm and the red, weeping flesh beneath. The arm was badly burned from wrist to elbow, but nothing else that I could see from the front. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he was gasping for air—not good.

“Gonna roll you over a little,” I said. “I need to see your back.”

Landon nodded, and in that moment, he didn’t seem eighteen. He didn’t look older than twelve, and my heart broke a little bit for him. He was just a kid, and he was suffering and scared.

And he was about to suffer a little bit more. I slid my arm beneath his shoulders and lifted. Stretched my neck out enough to get a look at his back. The shirt was burned in several places, the skin blistered all over. Worse, though, was the piece of tree protruding from between two ribs on the left side. Cold fingers crept up my spine. The wound wasn’t bleeding heavily, but God only knew the damage it had done internally.

“Landon!”

Thatcher skidded to an ungraceful stop next to us, then dropped to his knees hard enough that I heard one crack. He had a red mark on his temple and another under his right eye. I looked past him. Teresa, Ethan, and Bethany were together by the Sport, all three a little frazzled and grass-stained. The clones were nowhere in sight.

“Did we lose again?” I asked.

If a thumbs-up could be sarcastic, Ethan managed it.

“How bad is it?” Thatcher asked.

“He has a piece of shrapnel in his back,” I replied.

“Hurts to breathe,” Landon said on a wheeze. “Want to cough.”

“Don’t cough,” Thatcher said. He cupped Landon’s jaw in the palm of his hand, his face a study of fierce determination. “You might have a punctured lung, so don’t cough. Try not to move.”

Landon blinked his understanding.

“He needs a hospital.”

“If he goes to a hospital, they’ll arrest him,” Bethany said. The others had gathered around. She looked battered and tired, but she was on her feet.

“If he doesn’t go, he’ll die,” Thatcher snarled.

“No hospital,” Landon said. “Please. Dad.”

Thatcher wilted. “I can’t let you die.”

Ethan crouched next to me. “I can try flying him back to HQ.”

“Can you fly that far with another person?” Teresa asked.

“I haven’t tried this kind of distance before, so I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.”

“What about the wood in his back?” I asked. “What if it shifts during flight?”

“Take it out,” Bethany said. “I’ll cauterize the wound so he doesn’t bleed to death.”

Landon groaned, probably having the same mental image I did of her searing his flesh with her powers.

“I don’t know—” Thatcher said.

Landon grabbed at his leg with one hand. “Please. Let her. We’ll fly.”

Something in the finality of his decision snapped the rest of my world back into sharp focus. I saw the burning tree, smelled the burning wood, saw the burnt skin. Tendrils of dread curled around my spine and into my stomach, pulling everything tight. I scrambled away from it all, my eyes blurring with tears. Everything around me was on fire, and I had to get away, get free of it before it consumed me.

Before I was burned alive, too.

“Renee?”

A warm hand touched my bare arm, jolting me back to awareness. Teresa’s concerned, blood-streaked face filled my vision. I was sitting down, my back to the side of the Sport, an empty, rolling field in front of me. I didn’t recall moving this far, or sitting down, or really much of anything in the last couple of minutes. God, I really needed to get this . . . whatever it was, under control.

“You with me?” Teresa asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. I didn’t convince myself, either. “Fuck, I hate fire.”

“I know. Ethan and Landon are gone.”

“Already?”

Teresa blinked, but didn’t say anything. Guess I was out of it for longer than I’d thought. “I’m sure the police will be here any moment to find out what happened. Right now we’re going with ‘unknown Metas’ as the enemy.”

I snorted. “I can see it now. Six Metas handed their asses by two, film at eleven.”

“Bastards had the element of surprise.”

“We still lost. Again.”

“We’ll beat them eventually.”

“I’m glad you believe that.”

Her determination cracked briefly. “I have to.”

I pulled her into a hug, grateful to have her here and not asking questions. Maybe I’d tell her about the fire and the compound one day, but not here. Not now. “How are we going to get home? The one person who could have flipped the Sport back over is airborne and out of range.”

“Working on it.”

Goodie.

Turns out that the Pennsylvania State Police don’t like Metas very much, and they were more than eager to help us get on our way. In less than an hour, we’d secured a rental car and were back on the turnpike, heading east. Teresa looked kind of pale after our latest encounter with the clones, and Thatcher hadn’t been behind the wheel of a car in a decade and a half, so I was driving. Bethany stayed blessedly silent in the backseat with Thatcher.

We hadn’t found any decent clues about the direction the clones had gone, or how they’d been traveling. Jasper was thin and wiry, and even at super-speeds, I couldn’t imagine him carrying Sledgehammer around. It was like trying to imagine a ten-year-old hefting a two-hundred-pound football player. The police promised to tow the Sport; we’d collect it later.

Teresa managed to find one working phone in the wreck and she called ahead to let HQ know we were alive, but that Ethan was coming in with an injured Meta. She kept the conversation brief and professional—my guess was she was talking to Marco. We made the drive home in a haze of silent wariness, everyone on the lookout for another sneak attack.

I don’t know how I kept us on the road. Halfway home, the enormity of what happened on the roadside hit me. My hands didn’t shake, but I felt the tremors deep in my bones. If the entire quartet of clones had been there they could have easily killed us all. We were trapped in that vehicle for nearly a full minute—more than enough time to blow it up or crush it into tiny bits. Instead, they waited for us to get out, and then they tried to kill Landon.

Why him?

I didn’t dare broach the question with Bethany in the car. The last thing we needed was for her to freak out in an enclosed space. Once we were back on the island, I’d ask Teresa her thoughts. Most likely, the frown lines on her forehead were because she was already pondering the question—she’s smart like that.

The only thing I knew for sure was that the Overseer was going to find out very soon that the kids were with us—if he or she didn’t know already. Maybe Uncle, too, if they weren’t the same person.

Bethany eyeballed the puddle-jumper with disgust before she climbed on board. Gage and Sebastian were waiting near the helipad when we landed back on Governors Island, and questions started flying before most of us had both feet on the ground.

“Are you all right?” “Is anyone else injured?” “What happened out there?” “Is that blood?” I kind of lost track of which one was asking what.

Teresa made a time-out gesture with her hands, which shut them both up pretty effectively. “I want all Alpha leaders in the conference room in thirty minutes for a briefing,” she said. “If Dr. Kinsey can’t be there, I want him on video feed, since this involves the clones.”

“Done,” Sebastian said.

She turned to face Thatcher, who kept looking at the HQ building like he wanted to storm it—and he probably did. Landon was inside, condition unknown. “I need you at that meeting.”

“As long as Landon is stable, I’ll attend,” Thatcher said stonily.

“Good enough.”

“Can we go see him now?” Bethany said in a familiar whiny tone. Several new bruises had darkened on her face and arms during the trip home. She’d taken a pretty good banging when the Sport tumbled over.

“Yes, Renee can take you to the infirmary. You need to get looked over, anyway.”

Bethany grimaced, but didn’t argue (for once).

I groaned inwardly, even though getting volunteered as tour guide shouldn’t have surprised me. I was Thatcher’s official babysitter, after all.

“What about you?” Gage asked, pointing to the bandage at Teresa’s hairline.

“It’s a cut, it’s fine.”

I didn’t wait around to see if the cut turned into a larger argument. I headed toward the HQ entrance, not bothering to check to see if Bethany and Thatcher were following me. We got a few speculative looks as we marched down the main corridor, mostly from the youngest Metas in residence. Everyone knew about Thatcher by now, but Bethany was new and therefore interesting.

The infirmary waiting room was mostly empty. Only Ethan and Aaron were there, pacing in one corner of the room. The two exam cubicle curtains were open, their areas empty, which meant all of the doctoring was happening in the rear rooms, hidden behind a large swinging door. Conversation stopped abruptly when we walked in, and I couldn’t even appreciate the awesomeness of the glare Aaron shot at Bethany because she bolted for the door at the rear.

“Hold on a second,” Ethan said. He got in her way before she could burst into the back and interrupt something important.

She pulled her right hand back like she was going to hit him, but Thatcher snagged her wrist. “How’s Landon?” Thatcher asked.

“He’s being operated on,” Ethan replied. “Dr. Kinsey said the wood shard nicked his lung, so he has to repair that before he can property treat the burns.”

“How long has it been?”

Before Ethan could answer, the door swung open and Jessica Lam stepped out. She wore blue scrubs and still had a mask hanging around her neck, but she’d removed all other evidence of her recent surgery—good tactic for not scaring the family. She nodded at me, then gave the two newcomers a curious look.

“How’s Landon?” Thatcher asked.

“He’s stable and resting,” Jessica replied. “And you are?”

“Derek Thatcher. I’m his father.”

Her eyebrows arched.

“And I’m his sister,” Bethany said.

“Not biologically,” Thatcher added.

She gave him a withering glare. “Like I’d claim you as a sperm donor.”

I covered a bark of laughter with a cough.

“Can I see him?” Thatcher asked.

“In a few minutes,” Jessica replied. “Dr. Kinsey will come out when it’s all right. In the meantime, is anyone else injured?”

All eyes went right to Bethany, who heaved a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, I guess me.” Then she gave Jessica a second, more appraising look. “Definitely me.”

The girl just didn’t stop.

Jessica took her to the nearest cubicle, then pulled the curtain. Their voices continued behind it, muffled and soft.

“How was the flight home?” I asked Ethan.

“Exhausting,” he replied. A new bruise darkened his jaw, and he was definitely paler than his usual Irish self.

“He almost crashed in the courtyard,” Aaron said with a protective growl. “Will you please tell him he can stop playing guard dog and go rest?”

“Stop playing guard dog and go rest,” I said. “I’m serious, Ethan, I’ve got this.”

Ethan actually looked a little grateful for the order. “Follow your own advice, Stretch, you look like hell.”

“I was born this way.”

He rolled his eyes, then let Aaron lead him toward the door.

“Ethan?” Thatcher said. He strode over to the pair and extended his hand. “Thank you for doing that. For getting Landon here.”

“You’re welcome.” Ethan shook his hand, then followed Aaron out.

Thatcher and I stood awkwardly in the middle of the waiting room, neither of us speaking. The soft rumble of voices behind the curtain droned on. I hoped Bethany would be ordered to get bed rest and be silent for a while, but I’ve never been that lucky. I also had the oddest urge to say something comforting to Thatcher. He was as tense as I’d ever seen him, jaw set and eyes hard, probably one good push from putting his fist through a wall.

“You didn’t cause this,” I said.

“I didn’t do anything to prevent it, either,” he replied.

“Like what, exactly?” I lowered my voice so it didn’t carry beyond the curtain to Bethany. “They were targeting him, you know. Probably Bethany, too.”

“I realize that. This Uncle of theirs probably wants to make sure they won’t talk.”

“Probably.”

“Landon could have died.”

“Any one of us could have died today, Derek. But none of us did.”

He blinked and looked at me for the first time. Some of the stone in his expression softened, and I swear he wanted to smile. “You’re right. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the middle of something like this.”

I snorted. “It’s been my life all year, and it’s likely to stay that way until my luck runs out and I end up a smear on the pavement.”

“I hope that doesn’t happen.”

“Thanks, but I learned a long time ago that wishing someone safe doesn’t keep them alive.”

My thoughts turned to William and our private good-bye before he left for a studio interview on his own two feet and came home in a body bag. We’d only been together a few days, and we’d made love the night before—our first and only time. Everything was still so new, but also familiar and right. We’d made plans for an official date once everything settled down. We’d dared to think ahead and look to the future.

And then he died and something inside me cracked.

Thatcher touched my cheek with the tips of his fingers. I tilted my head to look at him and saw the same stark grief in his eyes that was raging inside of me. How could two people who were so damned different feel the same things so strongly?

“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve lost,” he said softly.

My heart pounded. “Why? You barely know me.”

“I’m trying to fix that, Renee, if you’ll let me.”

The words to answer him stuck in my throat.

“Mr. Thatcher?”

We both pivoted to face the rear door, which Dr. Kinsey held open with one hand. Despite the fact that he’d been a murder suspect when we first met him, Kinsey had become part of our little Meta family—even though he was just a mundane human.

“How is he?” Thatcher asked.

“Landon’s stable and likely to make a full recovery. The left lung was nicked, but it didn’t collapse, so we were able to repair the damage easily. The burns are what concern me the most.” Kinsey’s gaze flickered to me; burns were kind of my area of expertise, too. “He has second-degree burns on his back, hands, and face. We have to monitor him for signs of infection, but I hope to keep any scarring to a minimum.”

“Is he in a lot of pain?”

“Not at present, but he will be. Some of the burns on his back are severe, bordering on third-degree. I have him on IV fluids and antibiotics, and I’d like to keep him here a few days for observation.”

“Whatever is best for him. May I see my son now?”

Kinsey’s professional veneer cracked. “Certainly.”

I followed them through the door and into the private area of the infirmary. The hallway had eight closed doors. The one at the end of the hall read SURGERY. The door immediately to our left read OFFICE. Four of the rooms were larger, semiprivate areas for recovery, and two others were treatment rooms.

Outside one of the recovery rooms, Kinsey handed Thatcher a yellow gown and mask. “Just for now,” Kinsey said. “You’re rather filthy, and I don’t want to risk any infections. There’s a sink inside where you can wash your hands.”

“Thank you,” Thatcher said.

Kinsey offered me a gown, too, but I shook my head. “I’m just here for moral support,” I said in my best aren’t-I-so-adorably-sarcastic tone. Plus Thatcher needed privacy with the son he’d only known for twenty-four hours, and who’d almost died.

I caught a quick glance of a figure on a bed when Thatcher went inside. He left the door cracked slightly open, and I was grateful for that. I could keep an eye on them without actually going in.

“How are you, Renee?” Kinsey asked.

“My neck’s a little sore, but I’ve had whiplash before,” I said.

He gave me a look that said that wasn’t what he meant, but didn’t press the issue. “Can I get you anything?”

How about a stiff drink? “I’m fine, thanks. Although Jessica probably has her hands full with Bethany out in the front room.”

“Hands full in what way?”

“You’ll understand when you meet her.”

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Sounds charming.”

“She’s unstable. She zapped Ethan with that collar he’s wearing just to prove a point.”

“She what?” He looked at the exit door as if he could see through it. “Damn it, Ethan didn’t say anything.”

“And that surprises you?” Teresa would give him hell later for not getting himself checked out, but Ethan was like that. He kept attention off his own injuries when someone else was hurt, sometimes to his own detriment. “Aaron took him upstairs to rest. We can all gang up on him later.”

“Count on it.”

Sometimes I really hated Aaron and Noah for having such an awesome, protective father. My biological father had failed miserably at portraying a human being, much less a decent parent.

Kinsey excused himself to go check on Jessica and Bethany. I paced the hallway for a little while, kind of wishing I had a chair or something to sit on. The aches were coming back, and I debated finding Kinsey to ask for some ibuprofen to take the edge off. Resting for a bit would probably help.

I opened the door to one of the treatment rooms, hoping to find a chair I could pull out into the hall. Instead, I found Noah Scott sitting on an exam table, hugging a wastebasket to his chest, face white as snow, and the sour odor of vomit in the air.

“Noah?”

His glare could have melted steel. “Shut the door,” he said in a rough, exhausted voice.

I did, closing us both into the ripe-smelling room.

“I meant with you on the other side.”

“You should have been more specific,” I said.

He hunched his shoulders and pressed his lips together in a classic I’m-going-to-barf posture. “Can you leave?”

“I can but I’m not going to.”

“Renee—”

“What’s wrong with you? I thought your Changeling half didn’t get sick.”

“I’m not sick.”

“No?”

Noah stared at me over the wastebasket, as if he could will me to stop interrogating him and leave. Technically, he probably could use his telekinetic powers to do exactly that. He didn’t, though. “You can’t tell Aaron about this,” he said. “We don’t want him to worry.”

I swallowed against a nervous flutter in my stomach. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me and Dahlia, and Dad. Teresa knows, too.”

Teresa and Kinsey were in on something that Aaron wasn’t—not good. Not good at all. “Knows what?”

“The Changelings weren’t made to hold more than one host for any period of time. Ace has been holding on to Noah and Dahlia for months.”

Images of Double Trouble over the last month or so came flashing back. No matter which one was in charge, they seemed tired. Run-down. Understandable, with the stress of the election campaigns, then the L.A. earthquake and our relocation. And they’d probably been happy to blame those things for their fatigue, so their loved ones didn’t worry.

No wonder T’s been so distracted.

“Holding on to Dahlia is making you sick?”

“I think it’s more than that.” He grimaced. “I think it’s killing us.”