Heavy Metal (A Goddesses Rising Novel) (Entangled Select) (19 page)

Chloe let go of him, but he couldn’t move. He heard the rhythm of the ocean across the beach, and his blood seemed to surge and ebb along with the waves. But he felt none of the euphoria he’d felt after Jennifer’s transfer. Only nausea and a pounding headache that also, unfortunately, emulated the crashing of the waves.

“Sam.” A voice penetrated the pounding and surging. Not Quinn’s. Another woman. His heart rate picked up, as did the nausea. “Sam, honey.” The woman speaking was older than Quinn, and her voice was accompanied by a soft hand on his forehead. Chloe. He grew slowly more aware, but as the world around him solidified, his insides churned even more.

“Oh, shit.” He shoved Chloe aside and scrambled to the steps off her deck, stumbling, falling down the last few and landing on his knees in time to retch in the sand. He heaved until his stomach was empty, then heaved a few more times for good measure.

“Come on, buddy. You done?” Nick half helped, half hauled Sam to his feet. “You all right?”

“Quinn,” he managed, collapsing onto the steps and watching Nick kick sand over his mess.

“She’s okay. Chloe’s helping her.”

He couldn’t raise his head to see Nick’s face. “Did it work?”

“Yeah. Chloe seems okay. She’s not like you two, anyway. How are you feeling?”

“Like crap.”

“Yeah, you look it.”

Sam reached for the banister and dragged himself back up the steps to the deck. He leaned on the rail and stared at the ocean. His blood still followed the rhythm of the waves, but the sluggishness remained. He had no compulsion to test his abilities this time. Hell, he was barely compelled to keep from collapsing into a heap again.

“That didn’t go so well,” he told Nick.

“I noticed.” He climbed the steps and settled his hand on Sam’s shoulder, and for some reason, it steadied him.

“Are you sure they’re okay?” He wasn’t convinced Chloe hadn’t been damaged the way he had.

“Yeah, you seem to have gotten the worst of it. Quinn’s tired but actually better than she was before. And Chloe said it felt like she was normalizing, like she’d been sick for a long time and now she’s suddenly healthy again.”

“She didn’t have any pain?”

“No.” Nick dropped his hand and shoved them into his pockets, leaning with his back to the water so he could see Sam’s face. Sam looked down at his hands braced on the rail.

“How bad was it?” Nick asked.

Sam shrugged.

“Come on, I could see it. You looked like something was slicing you up inside.”

“That’s how it felt. Like the power was full of needles or barbs. It resisted until I connected with Chloe. Then it flowed into her.”

“Did it—was it—dammit.” Nick hunched his shoulders. “Did it feel malevolent?”

Sam shook his head. “It’s hard not to put human terms on it, like firefighters do with fire, but no. It’s just energy. There’s no intent or emotion to it. It’s what we’ve made it.” He drew a deep breath, the salt and sand scents easing into him and relaxing some of his muscles. The stomach cramping had passed, and his headache eased a little.

He heard Quinn’s footsteps crossing the deck, and she came to stand between them. “How are you?” she asked Sam.

“I’m fine.”

Her eyebrows lowered. “Tell the truth.”

“I’m getting to fine.”

“That’s better.” The frown eased, though she still looked concerned. “I heard what you were saying. It was Marley’s power.”

“What? You put the wrong power in—”

“No, no. I mean the problem was Marley’s power. I had trouble separating them, and it wouldn’t let go. The resistance you said you felt—I think that was it.”

“Great,” Nick said. “What’s it going to do when you try to take Tanda’s out?”

Quinn didn’t answer.

“How about you?” Sam asked. “Did it hurt you?”

“No. I’m feeling much better. Honestly,” she said. “Like when you throw up, everything feels better for a little while.”

“Thanks, I just lived that metaphor.”

She grimaced. “Sorry.”

“What was it like from your end?”

She sighed. “Like a too-tight bolt on an engine block.”

“Hey, I get that one!” Nick joked, making them all laugh.

“Why do you think it was so different?” Sam asked Quinn. “Jennifer’s went so easily.”

Quinn glanced back to the house, probably making sure Chloe wasn’t in earshot. “Jennifer didn’t have as much capacity as Chloe did, for one thing. She’s younger, too, so she hadn’t developed the same ability to draw power.” She shifted toward Sam but reached back to take Nick’s hand and hold it tight against her thigh.

“When Marley gave Anson some of her power, and then he leeched power from the rest of the goddesses, he created something new. Like putting milk and sugar into tea. There are methods for separating those items from each other again, but they won’t separate cleanly. That’s why you’re so important for this.”

Sam gripped the smooth, weathered wood of the rail and held in the rest of his questions. He wanted to know how much the filter was catching and holding. How much of what wound up in him was damaged and what that would mean for the next transfer. And after. But he didn’t want to reveal his fears or make Quinn think she had to stop now—it was more crucial than ever that they keep going.

He focused on her. “You’re suffering from the effort of separating the energy, aren’t you?”

She smiled ruefully. “I think you’re suffering more this time.”

“Nah.” He released the rail and flexed his hands to ease the cramps in his fingers. “I just lie there. Easy as pie.”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “Anyway, we need to get to Tanda faster than we got to Chloe. I’m losing the moon.”

Sam didn’t like the sound of that. “You didn’t say this was contingent on the moon.”

“It’s not, but I don’t want to head into my weakest point at the end of this. I mean, I will anyway, but having the last quarter will help my equilibrium. I should have planned this better,” she said with sudden anger. “I should have known time would be a factor and had everyone together.”

Nick stroked her hair. “You didn’t know it would go like this. And you wanted them to be near their main sources. Ohio wouldn’t have provided any of them.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “That’s true.”

Chloe came out of the house carrying a basket of muffins and croissants. “Anyone still hungry?” She stared down at the basket she held in both hands, levitated a muffin, and flung it through the air. Nick caught it one-handed.

Chloe beamed. “God, that feels good.” Before she could pitch any others, a familiar rumble reached their ears.

“Riley’s here!” Sam straightened and strode toward the front of the house. The Charger came into view, and he froze, his heart leaping into his throat.

“Son of a
bitch
!” Nick flew past him, fury in every line of his body.

The side of the car was wrecked.

Before Sam could take another step, the driver’s door opened, and Riley spilled out onto the ground.

Chapter Thirteen

Success can be measured in many ways, and one is the range of partnerships made available by status and authority. Never hesitate to seek partners in unusual places, even in spheres that might seem opposed to our aims.

—Numina manifesto,
revised

Driving with Tom was like driving alone. He never talked until Riley asked him a direct question, never requested a rest stop, never offered an opinion on where to get food or sleep for a few hours, even when asked. On the plus side, he didn’t seem to care what kind of music she played.

She merged onto I-95 near Mystic, a few miles from the route they’d take to Chloe’s, and Tom offered to drive. He hadn’t offered to do that at any point along the trip, not even during a major traffic jam outside New York City or when they were almost sideswiped by a gray sedan that changed lanes too quickly. Weird.

“We’re nearly there,” Riley demurred. “I’m okay to make it the rest of the way.”

“You must be tired, though. You can navigate.”

“No, thanks. There’s GPS.” She motioned to the unit, which beeped obediently and told her to drive one point four miles and then take the exit right.

Riley took inventory of the cars around them. She’d studied everything around her intently for the first hundred miles, cataloging dents and scratches and bent antennae and anything else that would help her keep track of followers. The longer they drove the harder it became to remember everything she’d seen, but she hadn’t been able to stop trying.

Like that gray sedan passing them now. It didn’t look any different from the dozens of similar cars on the road, except for a slight curve in the edge of the hood, like something had bent it a little. She’d swear the car that almost hit them yesterday had the same curve.

“Tom, look at that car up there. The one that just passed us. Did we see it yesterday?”

He glanced at the other lane, not even moving his head. “No.”

“Are you sure? They all look similar. But that one has a dent that—”

“It’s not the same. Trust me. That’s what I’m here for.”

Riley frowned at him, but he didn’t react. That was the most he’d said at one time since he got in the car. She sped up to get near the sedan again, trying to figure out why she had this low-burning anxiety, despite Tom’s dismissal of her concern. She’d missed something—she could sense it.

And then she felt it, too. The prickling, like in Anson’s office.

She was cruising in a pack—I-95 was one big pack most of the time—but could still pinpoint the origin of the sensation. The gray sedan, now a couple of cars ahead of her in the left lane.
Son of a bitch.

There was only one way they could have found her.

She stole a quick look at Tom, who crossed his arms over his chest and watched the passing landscape. She tried to keep her breathing even and quiet.

With her exit coming up, Riley didn’t have much time to formulate a plan. She slowed gradually to let the sedan get far enough ahead that they wouldn’t be able to get over fast enough to follow, but they must have been watching her closely. They smoothly dodged cars and switched lanes until they were two cars behind her. Riley debated her options for a few seconds. Stay on or get off? Taillights flashed ahead, so she hit the ramp to Route 234. Maybe she could lose them down there.

“Something wrong?” Tom asked, eyes now narrowed on her. He shifted so his left arm was across the back of the seat, his hand uncomfortably close to Riley’s head, and rested his right hand on the dash. Good placement to grab the wheel…

A bubble of hysteria threatened to make her laugh. She needed metal and a plan. She’d tucked one of Nick’s shotguns from the trunk next to her seat since she wasn’t wearing any metal. She hadn’t wanted anything in direct contact with her skin, afraid she’d unconsciously draw energy and burn herself again. Plus, Tom was
supposed to be on her side, dammit
.

“No,” she answered his question as calmly as she could. He’d never expect to be shoved out the door, but she couldn’t reach his door handle from here, and even the shotgun probably wouldn’t give her enough strength to succeed, and opening the window and sticking her hand out to use the vehicle’s chassis would be too obvious. He’d be able to yank her away before she could draw enough energy.

But maybe she could do something less physical. She ran through the steps in her head until she knew what to do.

She had to act quickly. Traffic had thinned considerably on this smaller road, and Riley and the sedan were already the only cars on the quiet two-lane. Towering trees dappled the road with shadow. The few houses were mostly large, on giant tracts of property and set way back from the road. There were few streets to turn onto, all residential neighborhoods lined with cars. No room to maneuver, no way to get enough speed to lose them. Besides, the Charger was too distinctive to stay lost for long.

Riley spotted a crossroads up ahead that was open enough for her plan. She reached down next to the seat to grip the shotgun while she hit the accelerator, sucking energy and concentrating hard on using it to pull the door handle on the passenger side.
Please work, please work, please work.
A
click
reverberated along the thread of energy, like the vibration of a thread on a spider’s web.
Yes!

Riley jerked the wheel left, spinning the car. The door flew open and Macho Tom, who hadn’t bothered wearing a seatbelt, flew out the opening with flailing arms and a shouted curse.

Riley kept the car going in a circle. It lurched almost to a stop, facing the way she’d been going originally. She hit the gas, the vehicle’s momentum slamming the passenger door closed. In the rearview mirror, she saw Tom sit up at the side of the road. The sedan sped by him without even slowing down.

No time for her to even take a breath. She’d slowed so much the sedan closed in on her tail, then suddenly whipped out into the oncoming lane and pulled up next to her. She glanced quickly over but only saw two silhouetted figures, their shapes unlike the men who’d been in Anson’s office. But the prickling was a lot stronger now, with them only a few feet away, so they had to be part of Numina.

The passenger motioned her to pull over.

“Hell, no.” Time to see what Nick’s car was capable of.

She slammed on the accelerator and pulled ahead, letting up for the curves but picking up speed halfway through each of them. The car was heavy and the steering tight, but it handled those curves like a lover. She whooped as she rounded the third turn, the sedan so far behind now she couldn’t see it. But she didn’t let up. She kept going, reducing her speed to a safer level, but still flying toward the ocean and Sam.

“Recalculating route.”

“What?” Riley glanced at the GPS a few times. Fuck. She’d overshot her turn.

“Recalculating route.”

The Charger burned a good quarter mile of pavement before the stupid freaking GPS said “turn around when possible.”

Cursing, Riley slowed and pulled to the right, preparing to make a three-point turn on the narrow road, when flashing lights appeared in her rearview mirror.

Fuck again. The cops.

She waited until they got close, making sure it was a real cop and not the sedan with a flashy light. It was real, dammit, and she pulled over as far as she could. The cop pulled in behind her, half out into the street to provide a bit of safety for the officer. Riley leaned to check the glove box for the registration, gasping when the door opened to reveal a pearl-handled pistol lying inside. She grabbed the envelope underneath it and slammed it closed again, her heart pounding.

“Calm down, Riley.” She checked the mirror. The cop hadn’t gotten out yet. She took a deep breath and scanned the interior of the car for anything else incriminating, and pushed the shotgun deeper under the seat, out of sight.

Driver’s license. They’d want that, too. She pulled it out of her back pocket and straightened, forcing herself to sit still and breathe. By the time the officer—a female with her hair pulled up in a tight twist and her uniform without a wrinkle—reached the side of the car, Riley had managed to calm down. She didn’t smile when she rolled down her window and handed over the license and registration.

The cop checked her face, eyed her hands on the wheel, and peered around the inside of the car. “Do you know how fast you were going, ma’am?”

“Not exactly,” Riley answered, not even considering lying. “But I know it was too fast.”

The cop’s eyebrow went up, but she kept jotting information on her ticket pad. “Why were you going so fast?”

“It’s going to sound insane.” Riley slid her hands up to the top of the wheel, then back to ten and two. “Um…there was a gray sedan following me. Did you see it?” She hoped like hell the cop hadn’t seen her dump Tom. She’d be arrested and a sitting duck in some little regional jail. Well, at least there’d be easy access to the metal bars there.

“No, ma’am. You were the only car on the road.”

So the cop had been sitting around the third turn, after Riley had pulled well away from the sedan.

“Well, they followed me off the highway, pulled up next to me, and tried to get me to pull over. They scared me, so I sped up instead. This car has some muscle,” she finished, sure she’d said exactly the wrong thing.

But the cop’s lips quirked a bit. “Yes, it’s a beefy one.” She slid the license and registration card under the clip on her pad holder. “It’s not yours?”

“No, it’s a friend’s. He had to fly east, and I offered to drive the car for him so he didn’t have to leave it behind.”

“Behind where?”

“We started in Atlanta.”

The officer peered in at Riley. “You been resting?”

“Yes, I stayed in a hotel last night.” Okay, some lying wouldn’t hurt.

“Good.” She tapped the holder. “I’ll be right back.” She returned to her car, and Riley watched in the side mirror, then the rear when the cop climbed into the cruiser. She was anxiously watching still, chewing the cuticle on her thumb, when the gray car eased around the last curve and stopped well behind them. She glared as it backed up a little, then did the three-point turn Riley had planned and zoomed away.

“Yeah, you better get your ass out of here.” Speeding fine notwithstanding, maybe getting stopped had been the best thing. The minutes ticked by. A few other cars passed, three in a row, then a truck, but no gray sedan. Finally the cop returned and handed Riley her cards.

“I’m issuing you a citation for failure to obey posted traffic signs.” She scribbled something on her pad, initialed it, and ripped off the ticket to hand to Riley. “I suggest you use more caution from here on. My colleagues will be posted in various areas,” she added.

Riley smiled her thanks. “Is it okay if I turn around here? I missed my turn.”

The cop motioned ahead. “It’s safer to drive down about a quarter mile to the Dew Drop Inn and turn there. Good coffee, too.”

“Thank you.” She waited until the officer was back in her car before opening the glove compartment, tossing the Nick’s registration back in, and quickly shutting it. Then she put her license back and stuck the citation in her pocket. The cop hadn’t moved, but Riley couldn’t tell if she was watching her, talking to her dispatcher, or making notes in her log or whatever. Riley put the car in gear and pulled out, hoping the cop would follow her for a while. That would ensure the people in the sedan would keep their distance. But almost immediately, the cruiser did a U-turn, probably to go back to the speed trap.

“Safer to go forward, my ass,” Riley muttered. Fine. She’d take the cop up on her suggestion and stop for coffee and crowds.

The Dew Drop Inn appeared on the left a few minutes later, a ramshackle clapboard diner with a half-full parking lot. Riley drove around to the side and behind some cars parked in the center of the lot. The Charger wasn’t hidden from the street, but they might pass without seeing it. She eyed the empty road, hoping she could get inside before the sedan drove by and spotted her.

Since the building blocked her view down the road, she climbed out, locked the door, and jogged up to the entrance, slipping quickly inside the cozy little diner, and releasing her held breath.

“Hello, sweetheart!” The man in front of her had wild white hair and sparkling blue eyes, and he wore a threadbare cardigan over baggy khakis as comfortably as his broad grin. “Early lunch today?”

“Um, just coffee, I think. And maybe—is that peach pie?” She indicated the pie safe on the counter.

The old man beamed. “It certainly is, fresh made this morning. I’d be double-dee-lighted to serve you some.” He waved at the woman behind the counter and led Riley to a booth halfway back in the main dining area. The little place seemed to be a warren of rooms, and she thought about asking if she could be seated in one of the other areas, but they could take her by surprise back there. Here, at least, she could sit facing the front windows and see the road and entrance to the parking lot.

She thanked the white-haired man—who’d introduced himself as Curtis, the owner of the Dew Drop—when he set down her pie and filled her mug with coffee. He was chatty and seemed about to join her, something she normally wouldn’t have minded, but right now she just wanted to lurk without distraction. Luckily someone called him over to their table and he sat with them, instead, leaving Riley to slowly eat her pie and keep an eagle eye out the window.

Half an hour later, she hadn’t spotted the gray sedan, and she couldn’t nurse her coffee anymore. She paid at the cash register before returning to the car. She reprogrammed the GPS, pulled out onto the empty road, and relaxed as she approached her turn.

She’d driven a scant quarter mile when her pursuers pulled up beside her again, so suddenly she didn’t know where they came from. The passenger, no longer in silhouette, motioned again for her to pull over. He was younger and more refined than she’d expected. With sandy blond hair hanging over his forehead, he had the look of a trust-fund kid.

She drove faster. This time they were ready and surged up the road with her, pulling alongside quickly and veering right, bumping the Charger and pushing her toward the shoulder.