Dancing on the Wind (42 page)

stitched across the heavens.

“I love bad weather,” she said. “It invigorates me.”

The Supervisor looked around at the dark, wet landscape. “This is a most unusual

summer for us.”

She set her tea cup aside. “You wanted to speak to me about this creature called

Martiya.”

“What can you tell me about it?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. It is of the Romany mythos. The name as you know means

Spirit of the Night. It is a female creature with immense strength and power. Where it

resides, I cannot tell you nor do I know how to destroy her.”

“The gypsy who called her down on Fallon cannot be found. Do you know anyone

who might be able to control this creature? Who might be able to summon her?”

“It is never wise to summon the spirits of evil, Supervisor,” Madame Gregorovich

cautioned. “Even if I knew of someone who has dealt with this creature in the past—

which I’m afraid I don’t—gaining control over such a being is dangerous work. Many

times such entities are linked to a certain family. I suspect it is allied to the gypsy’s

family and he learned to invoke it at his mother’s knee. If that is the case, the creature

would have some modicum of loyalty to the family—most likely through a blood

oath—but anyone else who attempts to summon her might not fare as well.”

“In other words you think we should leave her the hell alone?”

She inclined her head. “For now. Trust me when I tell you the creature will be dealt

with in time by he who will know her weakness.”

“You mean
An Fear Liath Mor
?”

“When he returns, he will not be in a good frame of mind when he learns what has

happened to Misha.
An Fear Liath Mor
has chosen my son to befriend and that is indeed

a great honor. He will have learned all he could about Martiya and will know how best

to fight and destroy the creature.” She pulled the shawl tighter around her as though a

cold wind had blown down her spine. “I would not like to witness the meeting between

them.”

The Supervisor leaned back in his chair. “Then you don’t think we have to worry

about this Roland commanding the creature to come after Fallon again?”

“No,” she said. “That will not happen.”

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“Luckily Matty Groves was there and realized Fallon’s dying would cause

Keenan’s,” the Supervisor said. “If only we could find him and the others…”

“If you are speaking of the evangelist and the man who was once Keenan’s lover,

they are no more.”

“You think the gypsy killed them?”

“When he denied Martiya the soul she was after, he had to appease her. The gypsy

gave the man and woman to her.”

A hard shudder went through the Supervisor. “And what of our other man? What

of Matty Groves? I’ve used every power in my personal arsenal and can’t locate him.

It’s as though he dropped off the face of the earth. Could he too have been a victim of

the creature?”

Madame Gregorovich considered the question for a moment, staring past the

Supervisor at the rain trickling down the window. “No,” she said at last. “I do not get

the impression he is dead, but rather incapacitated.”

The Supervisor’s brows clashed. “In what way?”

“In such a way he cannot be found,” she said. “Picture him in your mind then use

your tactile senses and tell me what you feel.”

He did as she asked then frowned sharply. “I have a strong taste of iron in my

mouth.”

She smiled. “Which implies what?”

“Iron is an inhibitor of psychic powers, it stops the flow,” he said. “Groves has

some psi abilities, and if the gypsy has him for whatever reason, he could have locked

Groves in a building with iron sheathing. That would block my ability to locate him and

his ability to send mental transmission or use any form of his psi powers. Is that what

you think?”

“Yes, that is the impression I receive, but I have never met this man Groves. What I

know of him I have taken from your mind. I would not know how strong his powers

are.”

“Not very,” the Supervisor said. “At least I don’t believe they are.”

“If the Rom has taken him captive, he might be holding him as…what do you call

it? Leverage?”

“Leverage, yes. You may be right.” The Supervisor pinched his nose between his

thumb and middle finger.

“Your head is bothering you?”

“Psi overload,” was the answer.

“It happens with Misha as well,” she reminded him. “The stronger the powers the

worse the pain when it is wielded or perceived.”

The intercom on the desk buzzed and the Supervisor leaned forward to depress the

button. “Yes, Jonas.”

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“He is showing some signs of waking.”

“We’ll be right there!”

* * * * *

Fallon’s chest expanded and a harsh, sucking sound came from deep down his

throat. With his jaw wired shut, he could not open his mouth and began to whip his

head from side to side. With his arms strapped to the bed, immobilized with IVs and

casts, his right leg suspended in traction with steel rods buried into the bone, his broken

pelvis and the tubes running from his body to various plastic bags, he could move

nothing except his head.

“Agent Fallon?” Fitzroy said, leaning over the bed, but the woman at his side put a

hand on his arm and shook her head.

It was Keenan who reacted with a calm and firm voice, stroking Fallon’s head with

one hand as she threaded the fingers of the other with his right hand.

“Fallon, it’s all right. It’s all right, baby,” she said softly. “I’m here and you’re safe.

You’re at the Exchange.”

Fallon paused for just a moment then began making pitiful sounds that tore at

Keenan’s heart.

“No, lineman, no! You’re not blind. You’re not! Your eyes are covered with gauze

pads because there were retinal tears.” She glanced up at Fitzroy. “You’ll be able to see

as soon as they remove the pads. Do you hear me?”

Another pitiful moan came from him.

“Your jaw is wired shut and you have casts on your arm and your leg but they’ll

heal. They
will
heal,” she stated. “You have a new hellion and she’s working overtime

to heal you. Okay?”

“I should be able to remove the wiring in about two weeks,” the surgeon said.

“Were you entirely human, it would be closer to six. You can talk if you try. Just move

your lips.”

Keenan glanced up at the surgeon. She knew—just as Fallon’s mother and the

Supervisor knew—the Reaper would not mumble his words. If he couldn’t yet speak,

he’d say nothing at all.

He quieted somewhat although he continued to move restlessly.

Keenan bent over him and placed her lips to his sweaty forehead. “I’m not going to

leave you, lineman,” she whispered in his ear. “Don’t talk if you don’t want to, okay?”

He stilled instantly then eased his cheek into her hand.

“Your mama is here,” Keenan said.

Fallon’s mother leaned over him too and spoke softly to him in Russian, telling him

everything would be all right. “Your powers will return,” his mother said. “As soon as

the hellion can devote time away from bearing her young.”

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“We know it’s hard for you not to be able to communicate with us, but try to relax.

Let the hellion do her job,” the Supervisor ordered gently. “It’s going to take time,

Misha.”

“I really need to give him a thorough exam, ladies,” Fitzroy told them. “Would you

wait out in the hall please?”

“Ladies,” the Supervisor said, holding a hand toward the door.

Fallon groaned again and Keenan squeezed his hand. “I’ll be right outside the

door.” She unlaced her fingers from his and followed his mother from the room.

“This is going to be very hard for him,” Svetlana Gregorovich said. “He is not

accustomed to being an invalid.”

The Supervisor’s cell phone rang and he unhooked it from his belt. “Yes?”

Keenan watched as anger flitted over the Supervisor’s face then his eyes met hers.

“Hold on,” he said. “Your mother is asking to speak to you.”

“No,” Keenan said, shaking her head. “I have nothing to say to her.”

“Jonas, tell her that isn’t going to happen,” the Supervisor told his assistant, “then

make arrangements to have Mrs. McCullough taken to the airstrip. Instruct her pilot to

leave immediately. I want her off Exchange property.”

“Thank you,” Keenan said softly.

“I don’t care what she wants!” the Supervisor growled. “Make it clear to her that

she has absolutely no power here. She can call all the government bigwigs she knows,

but that won’t cut any ice with me.”

“Your mother is a very determined woman,” Madame Gregorovich said.

“So is her daughter,” Keenan stated.

“I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on, but I will be back to check on him,” the

Supervisor said. “I am making arrangements to send him to the Island to recuperate.

Naturally you will go along with him, Keenan.” He turned to Fallon’s mother. “Would

you like to accompany them?”

“No, I’m sorry I can’t. I must go home,” Madame Gregorovich replied. “There are

things I too must do. Perhaps I can discover the whereabouts of the Martiya creature.”

“That would be a great help, Madame,” the Supervisor declared. “Let me know

when you’d like to leave and I’ll make the arrangements.”

“I will.”

Keenan and Fallon’s mother were quiet for a moment, each lost in her own

thoughts, then Keenan sighed deeply and leaned against the wall, scrubbing her hands

over her tired face.

“You are worried about your friend Dr. Groves,” Madame Gregorovich said.

Keenan nodded. “It’s as though he’s dropped off the face of the earth. They were

friendly,” she said then clarified the statement. “Matty and Roland. They were always

hanging out together.”

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“Did you tell the Supervisor this?”

“It was in the report I wrote up the third day I was back,” she replied. “In the frame

of mind I was at that time, I’m lucky I was able to write anything down, but I did

mention the friendship between Matty and Roland.”

Madame frowned. “Could Dr. Groves have had a hand in what happened to

Misha?”

“No!” Keenan said, vehemently shaking her head. “Definitely not! Matty and Fallon

are friends. Matty would never have done anything to harm Fallon.”

“Then let’s hope wherever he is, no harm has befallen Dr. Groves.”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Matty restlessly paced the confines of the hotel room, dragging at the iron collar

fastened around his neck. The heavy metal had rubbed a blister on his flesh and the

weight was giving him a wicked headache.

Across the room, Mizhak Roland sat watching a news show as the local

weatherman gave new coordinates for the ninth hurricane that season. He looked

around, apparently not bothered by the iron collar he also wore. “It seems this one will

bypass us.”

“Good,” Matty said.

Roland batted away a persistent fly that kept buzzing around him and cursed.

“You don’t like the tropics, do you?” Matty asked.

“No,” came the clipped reply. “I hate the heat. It doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m from Georgia. I’m used to the humidity.”

Roland grunted. “I will never grow accustomed to it. I prefer the snows of my

native Romania.”

The phone rang and both men jumped. There was only one person who could be

calling and Matty lunged from the receiver.

“Hello?”

“She wouldn’t see me so I am headed back to Georgia,” the voice on the other end

said.

“Did you get what I asked for?” Matty asked.

There was a derisive snort from the other end. “Of course and the woman agreed to

help us just as you said she would. I will pick you up at the airport in Salvador

International Airport in three days and we’ll go from there.”

“How is Keenan?” Matty asked, but the line had already gone dead. He growled as

he replaced the receiver. “Bitch.”

“She’s on her way?”

“She’ll pick us up in three days then take us to the private island she owns,” Matty

reported.

“Where exactly is this place?” Roland asked as he took up a world atlas and flipped

the pages to South America.

“All I know is it’s on the Dende Coast near Bahia,” Matty replied. “Apparently it

has as much security—if not more—than the island owned by the Exchange.”

“And where exactly is that?” Roland inquired.

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Matty shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea. It’s somewhere in the Caribbean, but

its exact location is on a need-to-know basis. Everyone is taken to and from there on a

plane that has its windows shielded. Only the pilot and copilot have the coordinates.”

“Then how will we find it?” Roland asked.

“We’ll have to leave that up to Mrs. McCullough. She says she’ll have the info by

the time we need it, and we have to trust she will.” He smiled nastily. “Money can buy

you just about anything, Mizhak, if you have enough of it.”

“I would like to experience that firsthand,” Roland quipped. “It was a good thing I

had with Mother Bolivar. With Sister Tan…” He shook his head. “With Keenan, it could

have been even better.”

“Yeah, well, Keenan wouldn’t have continued healing people,” Matty said.