Legacy (34 page)

I nodded.
As long as no one’s hurting Trevor.

“Go to her trailer. All four of you. Check her mind. If she’s the one behind the leak, keep her quiet and bring her to Blake House.” Williamson’s thoughts twisted through his mind. He genuinely liked Belinda, but if she’d put people—
his
people—in danger, he’d be merciless. He didn’t want to believe that she would’ve betrayed us, but he knew Belinda was resourceful…and also could be vindictive. He framed a thought as we trooped out.
Seth, see what you can do about tracing Belinda’s internet use and contacts.

I felt his distant response.
I’m on it.

I guess Seth had been putting all that time spent alone into developing some skills.

The walk to the far side of the lake took less time than getting a car and driving the long way around on the unpaved access road. We reached Ann’s cabin, and then followed the electric and internet lines that led several hundred feet into the woods beyond. The path seemed well worn; Belinda must’ve had a lot of company over the past few weeks.

Plastic strips of orange hunter’s tape marked the edges of the clearing in which Zack had charmed Belinda to stay. The track we’d been following led further into the woods where it joined the access road that ran along this edge of the property to the back gate. It didn’t look wide enough for a trailer to’ve made it through, but a trailer was here, so I guess it was.

I tightened my grip on Trevor’s hand, determined to keep him immune to Belinda’s ability. I met Ann’s eyes and she shook her head—neither of us could feel Belinda’s mind inside the trailer. Trevor opened the trailer door while we were still a dozen feet away. A quick look inside confirmed what we already knew—Belinda was gone.

Zack’s dismay flared red and orange, like a bonfire. “I thought I had it!” He kept muttering to himself—going over the charm commands he’d given her. Suddenly he let out a very loud version of a very bad word. Birds startled into flight from nearby trees.

“I told her not to set foot anywhere at Ganzfield outside the circle. NOT TO SET FOOT.” He clenched his fists to his temples in uncharacteristic frustration. “Arrrgh! She could’ve worked around that. Crawled…or gotten someone to carry her.”

“Or drive her.” Trevor looked at the tire tracks in the soft ground.

I pulled out my cell phone. No bars.
We need to get the RVs on this. We need to find her.

The tracks continued on the dirt access road and led toward the back gate. Katie Underwood and Jim McFee were ready to end their watch.

“Yeah. Grant was with the hot blonde with the fancy red car.” Jim frowned.
That’s weird. I thought I just said I hadn’t seen anyone.
“They came through just after we started our shift.”

I hissed out a sigh through my teeth. Dammit. She had a big head start.

Zack repeated his loud profanity.

“We need to use the phone.” Trevor called Williamson. “Belinda’s gone, Jon, and she took Grant McFee with her. She’s got a night’s lead on us. We’ll need the RVs to locate her. We’re coming back there now.”

Williamson scowled as he met us at the front door of the main building. “I asked Rick to find Belinda. He said she was in her trailer on the far side of the lake. But you were just there. And…it also looks like the infirmary’s been cleaned out of dodecamine.”

Urgh
. At least Hannah had brought some back with us from Allexor.
Did Rick have any “overly affectionate” memories of Belinda, by any chance?

He nodded.
You think she charmed him?

She charmed the watch at the back gate last night to forget that they’d seen her when she and Grant McFee drove out in her car. But Jon, she left BEFORE the thing with Isaiah went down last night. I think she’s running. I think she knew when to run.

Williamson’s mind filled with a phrase he’d never utter aloud.

We found Rick in the front room across from the library, packing up the search materials that he and the other RVs had used for tracking Isaiah. By now, we knew the drill.

“How did she do
that
?” Ann met my eyes.

Oh, crap.
What was that—a mental booby trap? Had Belinda somehow given a charm command that would clear Rick’s mind of any concept of her if another charm tried to undo her work?

Rick’s mind seemed to expand as that cool, 3-D model of the earth played across his thoughts like a video game world. He frowned and tried to re-focus. There was no spark of energy marking Grant McFee in his mind.

My gut twisted. Did that mean there was no Grant McFee anymore? We needed an RV who hadn’t been influenced by Belinda.

Claire.

We found her with Dave in one of the cinderblock buildings down with the sparks.

“Claire, where’s Grant?” Trevor’s voice didn’t convey his anxiety. “We need to find him immediately.”

The image formed in her mind. I gasped and felt my stomach lurch. Grant’s lifeless body—blackened and burned—lay on the shoulder of an isolated back road. Belinda must’ve needed him to get her out of Ganzfield. Once they were clear of the gates, had she tested her ability to “set foot” outside, and then decided she no longer needed Grant?

Oh, God. Had she actually charmed him into—
burning himself alive
?

That’s what it looked like. I covered my mouth with my hand.

Tears ran down Claire’s face. Dave put his arm around her. Her vision collapsed and she turned into his shoulder and sobbed.

Dammit! What was the frikkin’ point? I rubbed my face with both hands. We’d removed one enemy from the picture, but now we had Belinda trying to bring us down, and we had no reliable way to track her. Scary military types might descend on us with a battalion or two at any time and possibly put us in camps and experiment on us or God knows what else. And there was always the chance that Barry-the-mobster would snap out of it and come after us again.

The walk back up to the main building seemed to take decades. I flashed enough images to Williamson to let him know where to send people to find Grant’s body. Trevor silently picked up our gear from where we’d dropped it on the porch and we headed to the church.

At some point later today, I’d seek out my mom. I’d see how Rachel was doing. I might even hunt down a sociopathic, bottle-blonde charm and lock her in a soundproof basement dungeon. But right now, I was going to sleep. I dragged myself up the ladder to my loft and threw myself on my bed. And when I’d finished all of that, perhaps Trevor and I would feed each other grapes on the rock down by the lake.

Why wait?
Trevor levered up on his elbows and met my eyes with a sweet, tired smile.
Meet you lakeside in our first dream.

I sent him a wave of adoration
. You bring the lake. I’ll bring the grapes.

THE END OF BOOK THREE

Keep reading for a sneak preview of:

Coming in August 2011 from Spencer Hill Press

CHAPTER 1

“We’re going to Aruba.”

Trevor leaned one elbow on the check-in counter as he handed the airline employee our passports. His eyes met mine, sharing a secret meaning behind the words. I grinned back, holding my thoughts behind a mental shield. Boston’s Logan airport was crowded and hundreds of minds stomped across mine. I needed to keep from sharing them with Trevor, who’d pick them up through our special connection, so at least one of us would be able to concentrate.

—
passports here someplace —

—
so stupid we have to take off our shoes—

—
remember when the blood-sucking airlines didn’t charge us to check a bag—

—
already want to go home. This trip is going to—

—
forgets to feed the fish while I’m gone, they’re all gonna die and the apartment will smell like—

—
can’t pack lightly to save her life. What’s in this bag? Rocks? Is she bringing designer rocks to—

—
put the carry-on in front of me and wear the backpack, maybe they won’t notice the extra—

In about eight hours, Trevor and I would be in Aruba together. The two of us were renting a house for a week—with its own private beach. Giddy little amber sparkles passed through me at the thought. This trip took the phrase “dream come true” to a whole new level.

The desk agent handed back our passports, gave us boarding passes, and directed us to the security line. Trevor took me by the hand and led the way through the crowds. He knew how hard it was for me to focus with this many people’s thoughts pressing down on me. Sometimes being telepathic sucked.

It didn’t help that I was also functionally mute, thanks to that fight with Isaiah last spring. At least I could project my thoughts to others so I could still communicate. We tried to keep all that G-positive mental ability stuff low profile, though, so the whole getting-part-of-my-brain-burned-away thing kinda limited my social life these days.

We’d only been in the security line for a few seconds when I felt a cool prick of mental recognition.
Madeline Elizabeth Dunn.
Goosebumps prickled along my arms. Everyone who knew me called me Maddie. I didn’t recognize the mind.

I twisted to look behind me, trying to make the move look casual. At the second flash of recognition, icy yellow tendrils of fear shot through me.

Hunted.

Maddie, what’s wrong?
Trevor wrapped a protective invisible arm around me. I dropped my mental shield, wincing with him as my too-loud thoughts suddenly body-slammed his.

Someone’s targeting me. At least two of them.

Trevor’s grip tightened on my hand and his face hardened as he glanced around us. Four more people with my face in their thoughts approached, joining the first two.

They’re cops.

The uniformed transit police approached us cautiously. “Madeline Elizabeth Dunn?” One of the officers asked. Ah, hell. The repeated use of my middle name couldn’t mean anything good.

What do they want?
Trevor’s thoughts flashed to us making a break for it. Trevor could stop bullets with his telekinetic ability. He could also use it to move really fast.

I think…they’re going to arrest me.
I tightened my grip on his hand. There were too many witnesses here, too many security cameras for him to try anything.

Maybe taking a vacation right now hadn’t been such a good idea.

* * *

Acknowledgements

The Ganzfield series exists because a bunch of people enabled my writing addiction. I’d like to single out several for interventions: My incredible editor, Deborah Britt-Hay, and everyone at Spencer Hill Press. Jack Noon, who hasn’t seen this manuscript as of this writing, but I suspect he’ll find at least half-a-dozen typos before we go to press—he always does. Cassandra Hogle, Tyler Hussey, Rosa Burtt, and Kathy Mihachik, for making sure my kids didn’t play in traffic or die of linoleum-borne illnesses while I was writing. Olin, who successfully lobbied for a brief stay-of-execution for a favorite character (now you’re wondering who was going to be killed off, aren’t you?). Early readers Laura Jennings (a.k.a., Mom), Mitch and Alison Ross, Heather Tessier and “Aunt Nancy” Schoeller. A special mention to Rich Storrs and Jessica Porteous, who not only caught typos like pros but also filled their copy of the manuscript with comments that cracked me up. Nick Kessler, whose previous home outside D.C. inspired the sparks’ “stadium seating.” Taner, Aliya, and Logan, who still make me smile every time they shout, “Mommy’s book!” when they see one of the Ganzfield novels. Finally, Osman, who’s not only the partial inspiration for Trevor, he also made it possible for me to find enough time to write and bring all of Ganzfield to life. Çok teşekkür ederim, canım.