Shifting Fate (19 page)

The Council’s men and Division soldiers began
to file in behind us. They knew what they were risking, what Morgan
was capable of, and they knew the alternative, knew how it would
end. The room was silent, each of them standing in wait as time
crept away. He would be joined with the others now, all of them
converging at once. It wouldn’t be long. Minutes. Seconds.

There was a shifting in the crowd, a subtle
brush of cloth. The sudden intake of breath. I glanced at Logan,
searching for an answer, and could see that he was listening, that
some news was coming through the device. His fist tightened, the
corner of his eye flinched. A few of the others, random faces in
the crowd and men that I recognized from the earlier meeting,
looked suddenly sick, or in pain.

“
What’s happening?” Emily
whispered.

“
Westlake,” Kara said, her
tone even and filled with fire.

Logan’s jaw flexed. A moment later he winced,
reaching up to pull the device free of his ear and crush it in his
fist. His gaze met Aern’s. It was over. That fast.

Brendan
.

“
Archer, front gate,” one of
the Council guards shouted, and the crowd was suddenly back, fully
alert and aware of
this
. Of what was had to be dealt with now.

I wondered at the use of Morgan’s last name,
when he had become a faceless enemy. These men had been raised with
him, led to be loyal, faithful to Morgan. But Morgan wasn’t that
boy anymore. He was something else.

“
Three minutes,” another
voice called. The seconds ticked by.

Would he turn the others, collect more men as
they went? Or would he save his strength, somehow knowing this was
going to be the battle that counted.

I pulled my hand from Emily’s, whispered,
“Stop sweating.”

She smirked as I wiped it on my jeans. “It’s
you.”

I tightened my grip on her, tried again. Aern
stood slightly in front of her, ahead of us all, his eyes only on
the door. He owed Morgan, and I could feel how ready he was to have
this done, to make things right.

And then it was there, the
steady
click, click, click
of the waiting guards, their weapons dropping to
the ready.

Chapter Twenty-one

Morgan

The sound hit first; the echo of steps, too
many treads on the ancient wood floor, the muffled shouts of their
men ordering Council guards down, the swish of fabric as the scouts
rushed the hall. Our hall. It rose up, marching high into the
vaulted ceiling as an orderly mass filled the room. There was a
throng of them, too many, and more waiting outside.

It was an army.

We scanned the crowd, waiting, but I could
see no one I recognized, not the dark-haired man my visions had
been warning me of. Not GQ. He’d led the other attack, then. The
one on Westlake. My eyes fell to the front line; uniformed men,
dark weapons in hand, waiting. They could have taken us right
there, opened fire to begin a bloodbath on both sides, no one left
standing. But they wouldn’t. They couldn’t fire without the order,
and Morgan didn’t operate that way.

He liked the theatrics of it.

Emily’s fingers tightened in mine as the sea
of men began to shift, parting near the center where three feet of
space was visible on either side of Morgan’s approach. He didn’t
want to be touched.

My gaze slid to Eric, his fingers trembling
over his gun, and I knew it took everything he had not to defy
orders. One shot, and Morgan would be gone. But it would have to be
the perfect shot, because he could heal, and because of the sway.
And Eric would never take it. Because the prophet had instructed
him not to. Because the visions had said we needed him.

He took a deep breath, glanced at me. I
nodded, assuring him the decision was right, and he looked back to
the entrance.

“
That’s close enough,” Aern
warned.

Morgan smiled, certain of his victory, and
said, “Brother.” His gaze raked the group, grin turning feral when
he saw me with Emily, hands clasped. His smile was a promise of
what was to come. He was going to take us alive. Our eyes
connected, the pledge meant especially for me. This was a game for
him, and he didn’t like losing, didn’t like that I’d escaped. A
chill ran over my spine and I searched frantically for the link in
my sister through the contact of our hands. I was too fuzzy,
muddled from my earlier work. I’d needed rest.

He held out a hand casually, pointed finger
running down our line, and stopped on one of the Division soldiers.
It was one of his, one that had defected to join with Brendan the
year before. Morgan closed one eye, not quite a wink, and the man
raised his gun, shot himself beneath the chin.

The sound echoed through the silent room, a
shock of noise and the crashing realization of what was happening.
I could feel it through the crowd; the tension, the strain. It was
all they could do to stay still, to not fight. Two soldiers knelt
beside his crumpled body, though there was nothing to be done.
Morgan had made certain it was a kill shot, something he’d probably
learned from his incident with Aern. Learned because he’d failed,
because I was still alive.

“
Just wanted to make sure we
understood I was serious,” Morgan said coolly. He clapped his hands
together. “Now, about this trade.” His eyes met Aern’s, waiting for
some rebuttal, waiting to play this game. Aern only stared at him,
unflinching. They were a contrast, Aern in boots and jeans, Morgan
suit and tie. Everything about them was different, as if
manufactured so, and Morgan was darker, from the black of his hair
to the heel of his custom leather shoes.

Morgan shook his head, slid a hand slowly
into the pocket of his slacks. “Let me make this clear,” he said.
“You,” he pointed at Aern, “are going to die.” My hand fell free of
Emily’s; it was happening too fast, I had to do something to stop
it, change it. Morgan’s gaze crossed our group, coming to rest on
my sister and me. “And the two of you are coming with me.”

Aern realized it, too. He knew that Morgan
was too angry, his game proceeding too fast. He spoke, trying to
delay him, mocking his tone. “Trade? Truly, brother, you can do
better than that.”

Morgan’s smile returned, but
it wasn’t the same pleasure it normally held when the room’s fate
rested in his hands. It was more a baring of teeth, a predator’s
warning. “It’s nice to see you still have faith in me,
brother
.” This time the
word was not a title. It was an insult, a threat.

Flashes were hitting me, throwing my
attention to chaos. It was coming. Morgan was about to cut down our
men, litter the floor with bodies, with blood. I squeezed my eyes
shut tight, drawing in. I’d done too much, fixed too many
connections outside myself without rest to keep working. I had to
do something different, something to slow him down.

I had to keep this path from playing out.

I fused another strand, joined another
network inside myself, and something clicked in place. My hand
pressed to my chest as I pulled in a deep breath.

“
Brianna,” Morgan whispered,
his quiet words cutting through the crowded room. My eyes opened,
head tilting to look at him from beneath my brow. “None of that,”
he murmured, warning me with a glance at Emily. I took her
hand.

There was movement behind me, a small shift,
and I realized Wesley had taken his place there. To guard us. But
if Morgan saw him, he wouldn’t attempt sway. He’d simply order the
boy shot. Morgan had been trained to lead an army, and he learned
from his mistakes. He didn’t make the same one twice.

Aern’s shoulders rose in a calm breath and he
took a step forward. He couldn’t let Morgan touch him, not again,
but he was determined to give us the time we needed. Emily tensed,
and I held fast to her hand, forcing her to remember what we were
doing, to stay with me. It was her reaction again, that tug she’d
felt when Aern was in danger that did it, that showed me the
thread.

Morgan laughed, apparently amused at Aern’s
stand against him, but their words were lost to me, because I had
found the line we needed. There was more talk, a shuffling behind
us, and Emily’s fingers twisted. Something was happening, she was
trying to pull free, but I squeezed hard, crushing her hand in
mine. “One minute,” I breathed, “one minute.”

There was a shattering of
glass, another body falling, and time froze as I drew the ends
together. I opened my eyes to find her. She glanced at me, unsure,
and then the missing link was there, tied securely in that network
of fibers, telling her what she could do. Suddenly, she was alive,
eyes lit with shock, and something else, something
foreign
.

“
No,” she roared, turning
toward the others, and I came back to the scene, realized that
Morgan had been ordering his men to fire, dropping Council and
Division guards for sport as Aern watched, helpless. He was moving
for Morgan, going in for attack, and Emily’s words were the only
thing that brought him pause, caused both him and Morgan both to
hesitate.

She stepped forward, suddenly too brave, and
I caught her arm. Her eyes didn’t meet mine, but I could feel the
tremor running through her. She needed to touch him, to lay hands
on Morgan, and that was going to be impossible from where we were
standing. Images flashed through my mind again, too many scenarios,
all of them wrong. She needed a distraction, some way to reach him
without coming to harm.

He knew what she could do. He would kill
her.

My gaze flicked to Logan and he understood,
saw what we had to have. When he moved my stomach twisted, a thrill
of terror flooding through me. This was a mistake, it wouldn’t
work. Logan threw his pistol down, striding toward the waiting
group with a purpose that left none of them in doubt. For half an
instant, I thought Morgan would simply order him shot, and I hoped
it hit somewhere safe, somewhere he could recover. Instead, a
bitter laugh rose through the room and Morgan said, “Ah, the
traitor wants in the game.” His gaze met Aern’s, a depth of
resentment and hatred I couldn’t fathom, and I suddenly remembered
Logan’s place. He’d been meant to be Morgan’s protector, but he was
Aern’s lifelong friend, most trusted ally. “Let’s make this slow,”
he said, and it was another promise, this time for Aern.

The crowd behind me swelled forward, unable
to stay, to leave the gap that would keep them safe, and Morgan
gestured toward three of his men. “Teach the treacherous dog a
lesson.”

Emily moved and I moved with her, but
Morgan’s gaze flicked to us, a dare. He had Logan and Aern, and he
had guns on every single man in this room. I had given them an
advantage, they could heal faster than most, but Morgan still had
the upper hand, and losing this battle would not be the end of the
game.

The three soldiers rushed Logan and he swung
first, a powerful uppercut that knocked the closest man back a few
steps. The second punched him in the ribs as the third dodged a
cross, and Logan ducked, taking the smallest man in the side to
throw him toward the crowd. They stumbled back, and he was suddenly
one step closer to Morgan.

He was good.

I felt Emily beside me, holding her breath,
both of us willing it to work, for Morgan to shift free of the
group, to move out where she could find him. But he wasn’t a fool.
He held the power, could sway anyone one he touched. Anyone but
us.

And Emily was the danger.

Morgan tapped a finger to his lips,
speculating. “No,” he mused, “I don’t think I like this.” He
glanced at his watch, back at the men. “I’ve really got things to
do.” Logan took one more swing, knocking the last man down, and was
another step closer to the crowd. His nose ran blood, but it wasn’t
deep and the wound had already begun to heal. His chest rose and
fell with a composure I didn’t feel, but his gaze met Morgan’s with
the next words.

“
You know what might be
fun,” Morgan said, the tapping finger suddenly gesturing between
Aern and Logan. He smiled, eyes connecting with Aern’s. “A much
more pleasurable way to watch you die.

“
Bring him,” Morgan said,
ordering his men to gather Logan. He was going to use his sway,
turn Logan. The men started grasping at him, unable to get a solid
grip as he fought, and the man nearest Morgan lowered his pistol,
shooting Logan in the thigh.

There was the sudden flash of a vision, the
soldiers behind me rushing forward, an eruption of gunfire and
death, and I screamed, “Enough.”

Logan’s struggling ceased, all eyes on me,
the prophet.

“
Now, Brianna,” Morgan said,
“you’re taking the enjoyment right out of this.”

I moved a step forward and he held up a
finger, warning me.

“
Stop,” I
pleaded.

He sighed. “Fine. The game is over.” His head
jerked, indicating Emily, and said, “Bag the girl, kill the
others.” A soldier stepped from behind him, a black head sock and
restraints at the ready, and Aern jerked, twisting to go for him
without thought. Another round fired and caught him close range,
throwing his leg out from under him. He caught himself, half-up,
and I launched my own body in front of Emily, her attempt nearly
knocking me forward. If she went for Morgan too soon, she would
die. We would all die. Without Emily, there was no one to stop the
prophecy, no way to end the fire.

“
No,” I said, “Morgan, if
you—”

He held up a hand, voice calm, deadly. “No
more threats, Brianna. I know the truth. There is only one way this
ends.”