INVISIBLE POWER BOOK TWO: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) (14 page)

CHAPTER 30

Van had been waiting. Patiently, because he had little choice. Trial? Experiment? Something was going down today and as he watched the dawn’s light brighten and fan across the floor he expected his jailors to return.

But they didn’t. Not right away. Even the human who brought his food hadn’t appeared.

As the cell grew lighter the nerves danced along Van’s skin. A  good sign because he’d been so drugged, so numbed for days that even pain was a welcome relief.

When he heard the screech of the outer door opening at last, he adjusted his balance until his weight was evenly on both feet. Then he relaxed his muscles as much as possible. The better to pounce the second he saw an opportunity.

The trio who’d come recently had brought reinforcements. A fourth person who smelled different, not like the Were who’d been here before. No talking today, just purposeful strides.

He sagged against his restraints, faking weakness when all his inner wolf wanted to do was rend and tear. But he wouldn’t let his beast gain control. Not yet.

“You are awake?” Jean-Claude the doctor asked, sliding up to Van, but not close. From where Van was restrained he could smell the stale sweat of the man’s fear
. The stench increased when Van raised his head, slowly, to glare at the man with eyes more wolf than human. A trick Van had perfected back in high school when jerks went sniffing around Alex. He knew his eye shape elongated, the color lightened from a dark brown to a golden amber, and the focus intensified, at least that’s what the one being viewed saw.

Which is why so many turned tail and ran. The doctor didn’t. He froze. A sure sign of being lower on the food chain, far lower.

The human assistant was either braver or too clueless as he stepped close enough to raise a water bag to Van’s lips. The liquid tasted tainted but as both human and wolf, Van knew he had to keep his liquids up. Dehydration would weaken him faster than missing his morning meal.

But it was only after he swallowed deeply that he noticed the change in the doctor’s position. His shoulders relaxed, as did the lines around the man’s eyes.

Of course, the liquid had been drugged.

Just then the doctor stepped forward, not close enough Van could swipe at him, but close enough the Were could raise a small instrument and shoot a dart at Van. One that struck his neck and lodged.

Something fast acting as Van felt it scream through his system, blurring his vision, numbing his reactions. So fast. Too fast.

“What
. . .“ he slurred, struggling against the freefall.

“Etorphine plus
acepromazine
.” The doctor smiled, a cocky who’s-in-charge-now smile. “No need to worry about side effects,” he added, stepping closer and poking at Van as if he were a side of beef. “Vets use it all the time on large animals. Fast. Effective. Little side effects.”

Van was crashing. He knew it and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Struggling only seemed to make the stuff work faster.

The other two stepped into the room. The one who’d taunted Van before was the one to speak first. ”After you shoot him full of the other drug he won’t have to worry about side effects.” 

Other drug?

As if called, the doctor stepped forward, swabbing something cool along Van’s arm.

“You’re sure the combination won’t kill him?” the new visitor asked, his voice not French.

“Non,” Jean-Claude murmured, focused on a vial in his hands.

Good news? Or bad?

There wasn’t energy to think more as a needle jabbed him.

Then a long, swift fall into darkness.

CHAPTER 31

Jeb looked at the address he clutched in his hand then the massive maroon door before him. “This is the number,” he said to Pádraig who’d found a parking place for his Peugeot Sport Coupe and was now standing beside him outside
72 Rue de Varenne
.

The building looked like the seventeenth century residence it once was, broad, imposing, with cool shadows striping the walls of the interior courtyard, a space Jeb couldn’t access from where he stood because of the closed and locked door.

This looked like a dead end as a row of white block buildings stretched on either side of him. There wasn’t even a tree in sight. How did the French survive in a city where greenery was regulated to spaces manicured and trimmed until even the grass wanted to weep? And how did Philippe, and Pádraig for that matter, live here being druids, beings tuned more than most to the earth? The only earth Jeb could see was buried in flower boxes on lower level windows behind wrought iron fencing.

“Let me see the note,” Pádraig offered, though Jeb wanted to wring the young pup’s neck for the suggestion. What was he going to read that Jeb had not read a million times already?

He thrust the crumpled paper at the other man, tempted to shift into his other self, his animal self, not his spirit form. As a wolf he could smell better, hear better, and see movement better. Right now all Jeb could smell was the scent of dark roasted coffee from a nearby café, hear the roar of the insistent Parisian traffic and see a limp French flag above the hotel’s doorway.

“Doesn’t even look like a hotel,” he muttered, frustration rampaging through him, a man who valued control.

“It’s not a hotel.” Pádraig looked at a small plaque on the wall to the left of the closed doorway. “It’s the Ministry of Housing and Cities. Which is why it’s closed today. A state holiday.”

“So where is this park? How do we find it?”

Pádraig shrugged, then glanced at his Patek Philippe watch. “We’re early, which is good. I spotted a
le bistrot
around the corner. I can ask a few questions there.”

It was solid advice. Which didn’t mean Jeb wanted to hear it. More delays. But hadn’t he tried to teach his children that the rushed man was a rash man?

Time to take his own advice.

“Lead the way,” he said to Pádraig. “But let’s make it quick.”

He might be listening to reason but his gut was giving him a different message.

Hurry.

CHAPTER 32

I waited till I was outside the museum to return Bran’s call. I had tried Ling Mai’s number once more but still no response, which meant by the time Bran answered I was primed and loaded for bear.

“Where are you?” he snarled. No hello. No how are you. No kiss my butt.

“Paris.” Two could play the snark game.

His inhaled breath was enough to create an airspace vacuum. “Alex.”

My dad could get that same tone. The one on the razor edge between I’m-trying-for-patience-here and the belt strap.

“I have no idea where I am. This city looks the same no matter where you are.”

“Try harder.”

Or I could hit the cancel button.

He must have heard my thoughts as he backpedaled. As much backpedaling as a warlock could do, which was measurable in micro-millimeters. “
François
and I may have some information for you.”

“Oh?” Van? Getting me off a murder rap? Vaverek?

“Best that we don’t speak of it over the phone.”

I sidestepped a puce-colored Citroen that was trying to park on the curb and reminded myself that I was low on allies. A quick look around and I answered, “I just passed the
Champs Élysées
on my way to the
seventh arrondissement
.”

There was a pause on the other end and some muffled words before he came back on. “Where are you heading?”

“I told you.” He must have been speaking to
François
, if he had shifted from his Fido form, but the streetlight had just turned red. Stepping out to cross French traffic took a heck of a lot more concentration than crossing a street in Mud Lake, Idaho. Unless there was a rodeo in town, then all bets were off.

“Let me rephrase.” He was using his put-upon tone. “Why are you going there?”

“To find the doctor who was with Cheverill. He’ll be able to validate that I had nothing to do with the old man’s death.”

“You know his name?”

“Not exactly, but I will soon.” I swerved to avoid a matron with half a dozen small pug dogs snorting on their leashes. They were cute as all get out but sounded like a miniature train convention.

“Alex? You still there?”

I guess I missed something but I was trying to decide to cut through the green swath of the
‪
Esplanade des Invalides‬
in front of me that looked like a wide park area between two busy streets, or head toward one of the thoroughfares, the
Rue Fabert
? Which area was creating the stronger tug?

I angled in the direction of the
Rue Fabert
but immediately halted. Using a casting spell might have been easier but it was like following a scent. I had to focus to make sure I didn’t get turned around.

“Yes, I’m here, but I’m busy. Can I call you after I track down the doctor?”

“No.” The single word felt like a cold splash of water, until he added, “The Rodan Museum is not far from where you are. A few blocks. Could you wait for us on the front stairs? I promise, we’ll be there in less than twenty minutes. We might even be there before you are.”

When he was sounding helpful I was most wary. It meant he had his own agenda and was placating me long enough to get me to do what he thought was right.

Like that was going to happen. Unless I agreed with him, which hadn’t happened that much.

“If you’re not there in fifteen minutes I’m leaving.” Not much of a gracious concession but I’d already walked across what felt like most of Paris, was hungry and cranky, so Bran had to take what I had to offer and right now it wasn’t much.

“We’ll be there.”

He hung up before I could ask who he meant by we, but figured it included
François
.

Today was feeling less and less like my lucky day.

CHAPTER 33

I’d found the Rodan Museum but only thanks to a pleasant Spanish gentleman I figured might be a gnome, even if he was out in direct sunlight. Something about his pointy beard, and the sly glint in his eyes. But he could have been a sprite. I wasn’t so sure about the nuances yet.

So much to learn about preternaturals. So little time given the IR team had been run ragged dealing with Vaverek and whatever the man, if he was a man, was up to. Which made me wonder if he might be a mage or sorcerer. Like warlocks they were always stirring up trouble.

Which brought me full circle to thinking about Bran as I cooled my heels near the steps leading up to the museum’s entry doors. There was a low-level stage set up directly in front of them so I had moved down a crushed rock pathway toward a pond complete with a spraying fountain. It was pretty in a rigid sort of way, but then that seemed to be the style of Parisian landscaping.

Where was he? I glanced at my cell phone and sighed as I stuffed it into my back pocket. I’d ditched the purse I’d been carrying as useless and to keep my hands free
. In spite of the soft blue sky and wisps of clouds the day felt foreboding. Or that could be my mindset, waiting for a shoe to drop, or smack me up side the head.

On the other hand I sensed that Van was near.

That’s what kept me going. Yes, I needed the doctor, but I needed to quit shilly-shallying along. Van needed my help and I’d spent all morning not doing a thing about it. On the other hand so much was murky. More questions raised than answers found and yet things seemed to be connected. The death of Cheverill. Bran being called before the Council. Vaverek and his machinations. What was connecting them? If anything?

One minute more and I was ditching Bran and whatever he was going to tell me. Standing around wasn’t getting me closer to my brother. Or the doctor guy.

I stepped toward one of the hedges bracketing the entrance area when a hand came down on my shoulder.

My response was immediate. Grabbing the wrist I twisted it into a nice lock, spun to the outside of it and jammed the elbow with my other hand. A few seconds more and I’d pop the shoulder.

“Damnit, Alex, enough!”

Just when the fun was starting.

I released Bran, stepping far enough away he couldn’t retaliate physically. At least not without bringing security guards from the museum down on us. As it was a few tourists milling about were giving us the stink-eye look that I smiled to deflect. Friends goofing off, that’s all.

I guess it looked more like a grimace as several of them hurried away, their footsteps churning the gravel.

“She always greet friends this way?” A strange male voice asked behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Frank in his
François
persona shaking his head at a broad-shouldered Mediterranean-looking man I’d never seen before. He smelled like a Were though there was no let-me-eat-you-then-meet-you vibe about him. He looked like a charmer. A Hugh Jackman type with an aw- shucks attitude, sun burnished hair a little long and curling over his forehead, and a smile that could slay women. Not me, not right then, and he looked like he knew it, keeping his hands loose at his sides, his head angled down so that even though he was well over six feet he didn’t threaten me with his size.

He wanted to disarm my resistance to the attraction he no doubt usually received from women. But why?

A Were who didn’t act like a Were. Why?

“Our Alex is a little jumpy at times,”
François
murmured.

“I’m not ‘your’ Alex and if I jump it’s because you scared the bejesus out of me.” I glared at Bran to make my point.

Rubbing his wrist he didn’t snap at me but nodded his head toward the newcomer. “Alex, this is Willie.”

And I cared because
? But I had no beef against this stranger, no need to take my pissy mood out on him.

He extended his hand but he shook as if afraid to crush my own. Thoughtful, but strange, as Weres usually were more aggressive. Even shifters had to practice giving human handshakes instead of pulverizing a stranger’s hand accidently.

“A pleasure,” he said, tipping his head further, but his eyes were wary, as if waiting for something to happen. From me? Like I was going to take out a Were? I could be rash but not too stupid to live.

I glanced over at
François
to see what was up.

“He’s our new consultant,” he said, as if I’d spoken aloud.

“Consulting for what?” This time I looked at Bran. When really confused go to the source.

It was the Were who answered though. “All things Were.”

Seriously? I raised brows at him, not intentionally because making fun of a Were was suicidal, but he just shrugged and explained, “I’m a recovering Were.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“I admit, there are not many of us.”  He shrugged his shoulders and I bit the inside of my cheek not to say anything that could get me killed. “In fact, I’m the only one I know in Europe.”

“Europe’s a large place.”

“I’m hoping with a little more visability, other Weres will start to hear about We’re Not.”

“We’re not what?” Talking to him was like walking into thick fog. I was getting more and more confused.

“No. We, apostrophe re. Get it? We’re Not. As in we’re not Weres. Kinda catchy don’t you think? I thought it was much better than Weres-R-Us or Recovering Weres twelve step program.”

I thought he was crazier than a Road Runner cartoon. “Sorry, William was it?”

“Willie. Less threatening.”

He was right about that. Willie the recovering Were. And this is what I’d waited on Bran for?

My look must have screamed as much as Bran stepped closer and said, “The Weres have been deep in the middle of this. And that’s before the attack by the two last night.”

“That’s what gives Weres such a bad reputation,” Willie interjected.

A well-deserved reputation I wanted to point out. Who said I couldn’t hold my tongue?

François
threw an arm across Willie’s shoulder. A move that had me cringing and stepping back. Except nothing happened. No blood. No head forcibly removed from the body. Nothing.

Just two het
erosexual buddies having a good time.

I must have fallen down a rabbit hole.

Shaking my head to clear it I ignored the Were, recovering or not, and
François
, who grinned a smile that dared me to say something, and focused on Bran. “I still have to find the doctor. You coming?”

I surprised myself by asking. I think I surprised him too as he nodded at
François
and Willie before falling in beside me.

We walked in silence for a bit, in spite of the crushed gravel. I was always amazed at how stealthily shifters and Weres could move as I was the only one making noise, but then I was the only one in stilettos
.

“What’s your new friend going to help with?” I asked, not bothering to keep my voice down. Weres have great hearing, and eyesight, and smell. They are like Shifters that way. The difference is shifters can change at will, whereas Weres are moon driven. They can change outside of a full moon but it is a painful process. Plus they are driven to change based on the phase of the moon
. Shifters have a lot more flexibility and can ignore the moon’s cycles.

Weres on the other hand could communicate to one another while in their animal form, the most powerful and older ones at least. Only a few very rare shifters could speak once their animal self manifested. My father was one of them, but my brothers could not.

Someday, maybe, but Van wouldn’t if we didn’t find him and make sure he lived.

I hadn’t realized I had started walking faster until Bran put a hand on my arm. “You’re worried. Has something happened?”

“Not yet.” But that was the problem. I expected something, something bad. And you know what they say, what you focus on you get.

“We here?” he asked a few minutes later as we stood on an empty street. On one side was what looked like an office building, an office building Parisian style with two wings thrusting toward the street and the main wing hunkered low and far from the sidewalk.

But that’s not the direction I found myself facing. It was the park area across the street calling to me. A U-shaped area bordered by shrubs and large trees on three sides, a white rock path bracketing a sweep of mowed lawn and deep into the area a bronze statue. Not Rodan’s Thinker but something with more mass. Park benches were scattered along the path, several of them occupied with what looked like ordinary office workers. A few strollers hugged the far shadows. It should have looked calm and innocent but something was telling me it wasn’t.

“He’s over there?” Bran brushed shoulders with me.

It was a sign of how unnerved I felt that I jumped when he spoke. I nodded my head, a slow, methodical movement. “I don’t know where, but the spell indicates somewhere in that park.”

“Then that’s where we need to go.”
François
was all business now.

Were Willie was the one who broke the tension. Or added to it as he said, “There are Weres around. Several powerful ones. A shifter, too. In distress I’d say.”

I couldn’t see or smell any though I usually could if they were close enough. I guess it could take a Were to recognize a Were.

François
glanced at Bran but spoke to me. “We still ‘going in’ as you Yanks say?”

I didn’t bother answering as I stepped into the empty street to cross it. Even the roar of traffic was muted here. A few birds twittered but I didn’t see any. A man turned the page of the newspaper he was reading but as I moved deeper into the park with Bran to one side,
François
and Willie on the other, there was very little sound.

Until the scream erupted.