INVISIBLE POWER BOOK TWO: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) (23 page)

CHAPTER 54

It took everything I had to block the fear racing through me, and the rage, to focus on the cloaking spell
. Whoever had hurt Van so badly was going to pay. I’d make sure of it.

If I didn’t get caught and killed in the next few minutes.

Betwixt and between. Command the seen to be unseen.

I kept my eyes squeezed closed, ignoring the stench as I repeated the chant over and over, listening as footfalls came closer
. Step by step.

Betwixt and between. Command the seen to be unseen.

“What has you so agitated, Mister Noziak?” a voice spoke so close I wanted to jump. Instead I squinted into what looked like a spotlight blasting through the cramped cell. Behind the light a shadow stepped closer.

But he weren’t paying any attention to me.

Finally, something went right.

The voice sounded familiar but maybe it was because he was speaking in English. But hadn’t I heard it before?

I waited for him to point the flashlight down and not directly into Van’s, and thus my, eyes. But instead of doing what seemed like a perfectly sensible move the man froze. And so did I.

He started sniffing the air, his head moving back and forth like a tracking beam.

Of course, how could I have been so stupid? Or clueless? He wasn’t a man, he was a Were. I could smell him now, even over the eau du cologne of a rotting body near my feet.

By the Great Spirits I might be cloaked but if he followed my scent trail it wouldn’t take that long to break through my spell. A cloaking worked only as long as another didn’t pass the barrier. If he did it dissipated as so much mist.

Van increased his struggles and it was killing me. I knew how much he was hurting himself trying to protect me by distracting the newcomer.

I swear hours passed as the three of us stood there. Me not breathing, because I didn’t dare to and Van howling and thrashing. The Were with the flashlight not moving at all, as if he couldn’t trust his senses.

At last the flashlight tilted down and he turned to look closely at Van. That’s when I caught a glimpse of his profile and gasped aloud.

Two things happened at once. First the Were turned, waving the flashlight toward the corner where I stood as he shouted, “Who’s there?”

The second a tug against me, like the pull that had shot me through the tunnel.

No. Not yet. I hadn’t found anything to help Van. They’d kill him if I didn’t do something.

I stepped forward, no longer caring if the Were saw me, realizing almost too late that he had keys. He was our way out of here. If I could overcome him.

But whatever traction was stretching me back into the cold airless tunnel was growing stronger. Too strong. As if fighting against quicksand I felt myself lifted and spun.

I tried to scream. To tell Van I’d be back. To say goodbye but there wasn’t time.

Over and over, tumbled like a dryer tumbles sneakers, thunk, kerthunk, kerthunk I flew through the cold darkness.

This time I knew I wouldn’t die. No matter how easy it’d be to give up and give in.

But that wasn’t the Noziak way.

That’s what I was screaming as I slammed onto another floor, still concrete, still harder than Hades, but less stinky, no dead corpse smell. Just three sets of eyes staring at me. Willie and
François
bending over from high above. And Bran. Bran smothering me in his grip as he shook me as if trying to extract the last ounce of stuffing from me.

“Ow!” I shouted, batting at his hands. “Let me go.”

His eyes changed immediately from worried to wary in almost the same way a shifter or Were’s eyes could morph.

Which reminded me. I sat upright, or tried to as the room kept spinning around me, pounding through my head, making me want to throw up.

“Careful, you’ve had a rough landing,”
François
said. “With that hard head of yours you may have dented the floor.”

“Very funny, Fido.”

“Yup, she’s really back.” Willie straightened.

If I wasn’t so woozy I’d have kicked at his knee. Who was he to talk? But he helped me focus.

“Were,” I said, my throat sore as if I’d been screaming for some time. “Gotta find the Were.”

“That’s what you’ve been screaming,” Bran said as he helped me to my feet, leaving one hand against my back to steady me
. I’d die before I told him I appreciated it.

“I found the Were!” I glanced from Celtic blue eyes to
François
and Willie’s brown ones.

Willie threw his hands wide. “Which Were? There seems to be a lot of them around this mess.”

“The doctor.” I glanced at Bran, willing him to understand as I fought to get the words out. That was one hell of a spell. I leaned over, resting my palms on my thighs. “The doctor who was there when
Cheverill died.”

Willie whistled.

“Let’s get you out of this room and sitting down,”
François
stepped in, guiding me toward the larger room and the lone couch.

“I’ve got to uncast the circle,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. Even novice witches knew you didn’t evoke the help of the Great Spirits and not say thank you. They tended to get very pissy about things like that.

“You broke the circle when you returned,” Bran said by my side. “When you landed outside it.”

Oh, crap, that wasn’t good. The circle was for protection and ripping through it could mean all sorts of things. All bad.

“Sit here,”
François
said, like a mother hen. “Willie can you find something strong to drink?”

I heard Willie shuffle off as I eased onto the couch, my legs not too stable. My head felt like it was splintering and my stomach was none too steady. No more scrying spells like that one.

“Tell us what happened?” Bran knelt in front of me, taking up my whole view.
François
slid to sit next to me.

I must look like I felt by the expressions on their faces.

“I saw Van.” I swallowed, fighting to get beyond the image of him hurting so badly. “He’s in a small cell, underground. The only light came from a small opening high in a stone wall.”

“You saw could see him then?”
François
asked, incredulity staining his words. “As from afar?”

“No, I was in the cell with him.” I unclenched my hands. “I could touch him, talk to him.”

François
cut a wary glance toward Bran, which I caught and resented.

“Seriously, I was in the cell with him. He’s shackled with silver chains.” I used my hands to show how thick they were. “And there was a dead man, a human, tossed in one corner. Just left to rot.”

Willie, with timing only a Were possessed, thrust a tumbler of liquor under my nose right then and I closed my eyes and pushed it away.

“Not right now Willie,” Bran said as I was busy convincing my stomach to stay down. “In a second maybe.”

Bran placed a hand on my knee, which helped anchor me, then asked, “Tell us about this doctor.”

Good. I could focus on that. “He must have heard us as he came down a long passage with a flashlight.”

Oh, please, don’t let him have hurt Van.

“And?” Bran cajoled.

I raised my eyes to him, knowing I’d failed and left Van at the mercy of sadists. “Van tried to distract him while I cloaked myself. But he was a Were and could scent me.”

“Not good,” Willie murmured, clutching the glass he held as if he’d been there
. “Did he know you were there?”

“At first no.” Then stupid me had to all but shout, look over here. “But at the end he did. ”

My words must have trailed off as
François
nudged my shoulder. “Then what happened?”

I shook my head, paying for it even as I tried to recreate the last seconds. “Then I was shot back through the tunnel and ended up here.”

Everyone’s eyes shifted toward Bran.

“What did you do?”

He stood up, breaking the tentative bond between us. He raked one hand through his hair then straightened his shoulders. “I called you back.”

“What?” I jumped to my feet. Anger pounded through me
. “What was the point of my looking for Van if you were going to yank me out before I could accomplish anything?”

He turned, towering over me even with my spiked shoes on, his anger bubbling below the surface, his hands clenched. But when he spoke his words were like a dash of ice water. “The shell of your body was going into cardiac arrest here. You wouldn’t have done your brother much good dead.”

He was right. But so was I. “All I needed was a few more minutes. I could have gotten the keys from the doctor. Freed Van.”

He stepped closer, his eyes glacial. “You didn’t have a few minutes.”

I leaned into him almost nose to nose. Bran the protector warlock had overstepped his bounds. Way overstepped them and now Van could die. “My spell. My call.”

He barked a laugh and stepped back.
François
grabbed my arm as I wanted to close the gap, but the didi-shifter hadn’t stopped my mouth. “I used blood magic because you said it was the only way. And you screwed with the spell. Screwed with me.”

Bran as a warlock understood loud and clear what I was saying. He couldn’t have it both ways. He couldn’t tell me I was a powerful witch and then not trust that I could use that power.

“If the tables were turned,” I said between gritted teeth, “If I cut off your magic and someone died because of it, you’d feel the exact same way.”

He turned then, looked me square in the eye. “You did. The street fight two days ago.”

A blow to the head couldn’t have been more lethal.

I’d told him why I’d done what I had done. I thought he understood, may not have liked it but at least he knew I hadn’t sucked his powers because I didn’t trust him. And that’s what it always came down to between us. Trust.

François
stepped in, trying to douse the emotion crackling between Bran and me. “Alex, did you find out anything about where Van was? The building? A smell, near water or out in the countryside? Something.”

I shook my head, frustration zapping the last of my energy. “Nothing.” I wanted to kick something, anything, including me. I’d been that close to helping Van but because of macho Alpha warlock I had zip.

A tight smile curved Bran’s lips as he stepped toward me.

I braced, expecting the worst, when he leaned forward and slid one hand into my back pocket.

I’d like to say that his being so close, his touching me, meant nothing, but it threw me for such a loop-de-loop I stood there like a ninny with my mouth open until he stepped back, revealing something in his palm.

“What is it?” Willie asked, saving me the trouble as I focused on taking my next breath. I hated that Bran had that effect on me and I hated even more that there didn’t seem to be a damn thing I could do about it.

“A passive GPS tracking device,”
François
answered, giving me an appraising look, as if he was assessing my reaction.

I didn’t have a reaction because I was swimming through a fog of thoughts. When? How? And the big one, why?

Bran seemed to know what I wanted to ask but couldn’t. “As a backup I slipped this into Alex’s pocket before she cast her spell. It’ll give us a general area where she was.”

He’d expected me to fail from the beginning. The coward didn’t even have enough courage to ask me to carry the tracker. No, he slipped it into my pants pocket while he distracted me.

Betrayal, just as swift and sharp as when I found out my father was on the Council of Seven, the ones who let me go to prison.

The bastard. The rat bastard.

CHAPTER 55

The only thing still holding Van upright were the chains biting into him. But he no longer cared. Alex was gone. She’d gotten out and was safe. He slumped against the bonds and released a deep breath.

Jean-Claude still didn’t know what had happened. After Alex’s catch of breath the Were had rushed to the corner, kicking straw right and left
. Then he’d punched speed dial on his cell phone, speaking in French.

Van knew enough to catch most of the words even spoken in agitation. With his shifter ability he could hear a male’s voice on the other end.

“Someone was here,” Jean-Claude’s voice resonated with breathlessness and strain.

“Did you stop them?”

“No. I never saw them.”

“Explain.”

Jean-Claude paced around the cell as he recounted what had happened.

“So you smelled someone?”

“
Oui
,” he barked, “But there was nobody in the cell.”

“The witch?”

Van stilled. They had to know about Alex if the voice on the other end of the line reached that conclusion so quickly. But why? What did Alex have to do with this mess?

“It might have been.” Jean-Claude sounded less sure, as if he was grasping for straws.

“
Bonne
. Then our plan is working. Till tomorrow.”

Jean-Claude didn’t have a chance to say more as the other hung up.

What plan? How was Alex involved? Van pulled against his chains.

The doctor turned back to look at him, his expression a mixture of pity and greed.

“Why?” Van found himself whispering around lips so dry they cracked and bled. “Why?”

There was a wealth of rage behind that single word. Why had they chosen Van? Why were they doing what they were doing? What was their goal? Why involve his father? And Alex, especially Alex. His childhood spent watching out for her was all for naught. She was in Paris for him, he knew it now and regretted it to the marrow of his bones. It’s not what he wanted. Or ever dreamed could happen. Now, if he didn’t figure out what was going down, and find a way to stop it, Alex was going to suffer.

“Why?” the doctor repeated, as if chewing on an old bone. ”Money.” He looked at Van as one would regard a father confessor. “It always comes down to two things. Money and power. They want the power, but for me, it was just the money.”

Van rattled his head, grappling with the banality of this man’s words. The doctor was willing to sacrifice Van, and Alex, and who knew who else, maybe his father, for money?

“
Oui
, it is trivial is it not,
Monsieur
,” Jean-Claude continued as if they were sitting on barstools, shooting the breeze. “I’m a gambler.” He coughed a small, bitter laugh. “Alas not a good one. But there is always that next roll of the dice, next turn of the card and I knew.” He clenched his hands in a jerky movement. “I knew I’d come out on top.”

He looked beyond Van, seeing something not limited by the stone walls and bars surrounding them. “I lost my wife. My two sons. My reputation, but I did not stop.”

His weary eyes turned toward Van before glancing at his palms now spread before him. “I’m a healer and yet I could do nothing against this disease.” he paused, then continued, “When they found me I was seven-hundred fifty thousand Euros in debt.”

Van flinched. This guy wasn’t talking chump change
. That was close to a million in US dollars. No shylock would continue to lend money to someone that far out on a limb. Even through the haze of his brain Van was listening to what wasn’t being said. Somebody had set up the doctor, knowing far in advance how far to string the Were along until he was solidly hooked. Van swallowed around the anger singeing him and finally managed another syllable. “Who?”

Jean-Claude shook his head, stepping closer to open Van’s eyelids and check his pulse, the gestures so automatic Van wondered if the doctor even knew he did them. “They have been very careful to hide their identities from you, have they not,” he murmured. “Though why it should matter anymore, with what they have planned.”

Van could feel his adrenaline kickstart and knew his pulse had jumped. The doctor had to know too, but still Van pushed. He was glad the doctor was so close because Van could barely mutter. “Who?”

“I doubt it matters now. But one should know who executes him should he not?” The doctor looked into Van’s eyes. “It is the human thing to do though neither of us can claim humanity.”

The doctor lapsed into silence long enough Van thought he had forgotten Van’s question. So he pulled at his chains.

The doctor stirred. “
Oui
. It is only right.” He stepped back before speaking again. “The man who comes with me. The one with the drug. He is
Delmore Vaverek.”

That made so much clear. The man Van had been seeking when he’d been taken, all those weeks ago.

“Ah, I see you know the name.” The doctor cocked his head. “He is as you Americans say a right old bastard.” His voice trailed off as he turned toward the cell door.

Van thought the older man was through but the doctor paused after locking the cell door behind him. He rested both hands on the bars as if he were the one imprisoned and not Van
. “Did you know there was one behind
Monsieur
Vaverek?”

Van raised his head. There always was another, but he hadn’t expected to learn who it was. Vaverek was a dead man for what he’d done so far, but if there was another, one keeping his hands clean, then he too would pay.

“Oh,
oui
. One who makes that Were seem benign.” Jean-Claude uttered a rusty chuckle that held no mirth. “The other. He is
le diable
. The devil incarnate.”

He started walking away but Van needed to know. He rumbled his chains, shouting out a weak, “Who?”

“The other?” The doctor paused, but did not turn around. “He’s called Byrne.
Pádraig Byrne. And if you ever cross paths with him run the other way. Run fast and run far.”