Invisible Recruit: Invisible Power Part 21

Zeid's brow popped up again. This time in surprise. "They are mere tools to achieve larger ends."

"Being?"

"That is where I require your help."

Ah, now they were getting down to bra.s.s tacks. "My help to do what?"

Zeid paused before looking Jeb directly in the eye, always a dangerous move from a fae. Many of them were masters at mind control and manipulation and used direct eye contact as windows to your mind. When he spoke again his voice sounded deeper, more m.u.f.fled, as though speaking through a dreamscape. "Your children may need to be sacrificed to expose the traitor."

Like h.e.l.l they would!

Jeb held his tongue though and stifled his thoughts. As a shifter he was as susceptible as the next being to fae persuasion, but as a shaman he could shield himself somewhat. Since he was a Native American shaman, this fae from the old countries, including what was now the Middle East, did not necessarily know the full extent of Jeb's abilities. By the time Zeid learned, it would be too late. Jeb would have already acted.

"You hear my words," Zeid continued, growing taller and broader, his shape becoming more fae and less human looking as he exerted his powers.

Jeb nodded, making sure the movement was slow and precise.

"Your son will be used to manipulate the Council into rash actions."

Another nod. This one as stiff as before but not because Jeb was faking it. Fear welded the muscles of his neck until they felt rock hard.

"Your daughter may be able to save him. But she is the only one who can."

Relief started flowing through Jeb. But the fae was not yet finished.

"But only one of them may live."

CHAPTER 43.

I was outside and in Bran's car, which materialized from nowhere, not by magic but by valets, before I found my tongue. "Why are you staying with me?"

Not what I meant to ask, but I blurted the words out before common sense reared its head. Only an idiot gnawed at the hand helping it. And right now Bran's hand was the only one a.s.sisting me.

His lips quirked up in a half smile as he steered his vehicle through the crazy Parisian traffic as he did everything else, with a.s.surance and smooth control.

No wonder the two of us could never find common ground. Our worlds were so different, and our personalities were at opposing ends of a spectrum. I was rash, he was rational. He acted with forethought, I ran off emotion. He used magic with deliberation and experience. I used magic as bombs to lob as a last ditch effort and hope I could clean up the mess afterwards.

"You're thinking too much," he murmured beside me, as if he could read my tumbled thoughts.

"I have a lot to think about." I folded my hands in my lap to control the craziness racing through me. Ling Mai. The Council. My dad. Oh, so don't go there. That betrayal cut the deepest in a day of betrayals.

Instead focus on the mundane, putting one foot in front of another. "Where are we going?" I asked, suddenly looking around, watching Paris flash past.

"To feed you."

I glanced at him, surprised my jaw wasn't unhinged it'd dropped so far. "My world is imploding and you want to eat?"

He kept his eyes forward. "When was the last time you had food?"

Who cared? I know I didn't as I realized the last meal I remembered was the croissants and fruit this morning. Also supplied by Bran if I recalled. What was he now, my caretaker? That would be the day.

As if summoned by my thoughts, or some spell Bran was casting, my stomach started rumbling.

"I thought so," he said, all smugness.

Fine. I'd eat, but that didn't mean I'd be happy about it. But leave it to Bran to find the perfect place to fit my mood. A small hole-in-the-wall with three tables outside. We snagged one of them, out of the day-to-day bustle of people going about their lives, unaware of the danger in their midst. Danger such as me.

"Stop frowning," Bran admonished after he ran a spate of French past the older woman taking our orders. I had no idea what we were going to get but I'm sure Bran knew what he was doing. In this at least.

I leaned across the table, my arms wrapped around my waist, not because I was cool as day eased into evening, but because I didn't trust my hands not to beat on his broad chest. "What would you be doing if your world had just imploded?" I snarled, keeping my voice low.

He gave me one of those lord-to-peon looks he no doubt learned in the cradle and said, "I'd be focused on how to fix the problem."

"Which one?" I threw one hand before me. "I'm no closer to helping Van. I don't even know if he's still alive. My . . ." I lowered my voice though it did nothing for the intensity of my tone. "My team has thrown me to the wolves."

"Technically it's to the Weres."

Maybe I should beat him.

"Easy for you to joke." I snapped back in my chair, too aware how fragile my hold on my emotions had become. "It's not your world that's come crashing down."

Like a switch flicked off his shoulders tightened, the banked emotion in his eyes searing through me. "You don't think I know exactly how you feel."

By the Great Spirits, he was right. How stupid could I be? His cousin and nearest family, his only family for that matter, barely buried, his business in upheaval as he lost his CEO with her death, the publicity in the world's press that splashed his pain like so much spilled wine across the media. If anyone knew what I was going through he knew. But dwelling on that made him too approachable, too human, and I needed all the distance I could get from him emotionally. But fair was fair.

"You're right. You do know." I scrubbed my hands across my face. "I screwed this up, too."

"Yes."

Fortunately the waitress interrupted before I had to grovel more, though I deserved it. Short-sighted and callous.

He didn't throw my lack of awareness in my face, nor rub my nose in my apology, brief as it was. Instead he grabbed a slice of bread, cheese and some type of sliced thin meat and shoved it toward me. "Eat first. Then we talk."

Twenty minutes later I had to admit he was right. About the needing to eat part. Not that I was going to blurt that out. I'd probably send him into shock with too many admissions in one day.

Besides I think this was the first meal we'd ever shared together that was peaceful. Last meal we sat down to ended up with his freezing the whole room in place and us going our separate ways. Not that good a memory.

"You're looking pensive, now." He crumbled his napkin and tossed it on the table. "But you're no longer so pale."

All I could think was that I can't be pale. I'm Native American.

"What are you thinking about?"

"How a person can never go back for a do-over."

His face tightened, the color of his eyes intensified, as if he knew exactly what I meant. The me and him bit. Not that I wanted to go down that road of what-might-have-been. Not today, and maybe not ever, given neither of us might have more than a day left if the Council had any say in the matter.

I swear he was a mind reader as he relaxed his shoulders, leaned his elbows on the table in a very un-Bran-like casual manner and said, "Ready for business?"

Of course. This was not seductive, s.e.xy Bran, this was deal-maker Bran, ready to conquer the world.

I gave a short, jerky nod. "Now what?"

His lips tilted, distracting me, then his smile deepened as if he caught where I was focusing. Thank the Spirits his voice was all focused as he said, "Now we figure out what to do next."

Like that was going to be easy. Not that a Noziak shied away from hard, but there was challenging, and then there was jumping head first into trouble. I had a whole lot more experience with the latter.

"Why are you helping me?" It was a variation on the question I'd asked him in the car, and I really wanted to know. Yes, I was obstinate but I'd had one too many rugs pulled out from under me today. I couldn't get a handle on where Bran was coming from and why he was sticking his neck out for me. If the Council decided my leaving that hotel room was a sure sign of flight, they'd take me out, and anyone around me that was in the way. No questions, no negotiations, no second thoughts. It's how they did business.

"You still don't trust me." His voice sounded resigned, and chiseled from granite.

I shook my head. "Nope."

For a second I thought I saw something flash in his gaze. Regret? Nah. This was the man who'd threatened to kill me if I didn't help him track down the man directly responsible for getting his cousin involved in testing designer drugs. I knew I was right when he tilted forward just a smidge. "I still need your help."

"To find Vaverek?"

"Yes."

We find him we find Van. But to find Vaverek I needed to find the doctor guy. "We're right where we started this morning only I don't think my scrying spell is going to work now." "Because?"

"You know how magic can be fickle. The spell brought me to the park."

"Where the man was located, or supposedly located."

"He was there." In my bones I knew he had been.

"And you can't cast a new spell because...?"

"In a public park that's had dozens of law enforcement and news teams crossing it to report the incident today? Too much cross-contamination to make scrying possible."

He rubbed his chin, but didn't seem as dismayed as I expected him to be. It was my turn to state the obvious. "You have something up your sleeve."

"Not something but someone."

No idea what he was talking about but I waited until he paid for the meal and pushed his chair back before I asked," Who are you talking about and what are they supposed to do?"

"Willie."

He was kidding, right?

I rose to my feet and double-timed it to keep up with his long-legged stride back to the car. "What's Willie Were-in-Denial got to do with anything?"

Bran unlocked my door and leaned into the car after I slid into the pa.s.senger seat. His size very effectively acted as a barrier to anyone overhearing us. Smart, though a small corner of my mind said I should be more wary with a deadly warlock trapping me in the enclosed s.p.a.ce.

But I wasn't. Odd. No time to deal with that though, back to business.

"Willie may be a recovering Were but he's still a Were."

The light bulb went off. "You mean he's been tracking the men from the park?"

He nodded, a real smile curving his lips. "He and Francois."

A dog. Of course. "It'd have been better if Francois was a bloodhound." I mumbled aloud as he closed my door and walked around the car to slide into the driver's seat. He waited until after he'd started the car and was pulling into traffic to say, "Who says Francois isn't?"

I didn't know if I wanted to slug him for holding back this information until now or slug him for lying. He didn't need my help if he had two experts at tracking hard on the trail.

So what did he need me for?

CHAPTER 44.

Van snarled and pulled at the chains eating into his skin but they didn't give an inch. All they did was make his temper even more tensile thin. That and the smell of the dead man across the cell. His wolf scented meat and wasn't too happy with Van holding him back.

Not that he was doing all that good a job of it. Whatever they had shot him full of earlier was still impacting him now. His thought process felt sluggish and disjointed, as if the dots didn't connect. He didn't trust what might have happened while he'd been under the full thrust of the drugs, or if he was hallucinating. Had he really heard Alex? Or was that wishful thinking? And fighting with his dad? A figment of his imagination? It had to be. He'd never let his wolf attack any member of his family. Never.

"Ah, I see you are more with us," Jean-Claude spoke from somewhere near him.

Van lunged toward the sound of the man's voice but no one was there.

"Il fait bon vivre," the doctor's voice swam against Van. "It is good to be alive, is it not?"

Where was the doctor? Had Van crossed into the spirit realm as his father could? No, not with the stench of the dead man deep in Van's nostrils, the pain of chains rubbing him raw, the sc.r.a.pe of sharp rock against his back. He was very much trapped in the physical plane, so where was the other man?

Van shook his head, trying to dislodge the voice.

"It will do you no good, my friend."

The doctor was no friend of Van's. He was a dead man if Van ever got loose.

"We have one more trial for you, Monsieur. One I am sure you'll be able to execute with flying colors."

No! No more drugs.

"You shall have to kill again."

Again?