Mind Magic (25 page)

He went down just like he was supposed to. Only somehow she went down, too, landing on top of him in a discombobulated tangle of knees and elbows and backpack. He rolled so fast she barely registered the motion. And then she was on the bottom, ungainly as an overturned turtle, the lumpy backpack her shell, with him straddling her. One of his hands gripped both of hers. When had he gotten hold of them? His other hand covered her mouth—again? Still? Her lips tingled. Everywhere his skin touched hers tingled with magic. It wasn’t a type of magic she’d ever felt before, but . . .

Moonlight fell across his lips and jaws, but shadow made mysteries of the rest of his face. “Good takedown,” he breathed.

Terror somersaulted into anger. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair at all! It
had
been a good takedown. She’d executed it just right. He should be on the ground, not on top of her. She should be running away as fast as she could. And her laptop—if her laptop was damaged—gods, what would she do without it?

His voice was a silky thread of sound in the darkness. “We need to talk. We’re going to get up and go back inside where you can tell me—no?”

She’d shaken her head frantically. Or tried to. The hand that covered the bottom half of her face hadn’t let her head move, but apparently he’d gotten the idea.

“You don’t want to go back inside? Perhaps you’d rather stroll off into the woods with me.”

She tried to nod.

He stared down at her. “You’d rather go into the woods with a man who’s assaulted you than go back in your trailer.”

She almost-nodded again.

“Did you plant a bomb in there, perhaps?”

She stared at him. Was that supposed to be a joke? It wasn’t funny.

“Come along, then.”

But he didn’t let her get up and stroll off into the woods. He pulled a scarf from his pocket and gagged her, then lifted her easily to her feet. He leaned in close. “No tricks,” he whispered. “I’m bigger than you, faster than you, and so much stronger. You haven’t a chance.”

She glared at him, but tears stung her eyes.

Neither the glare nor the tears affected him one bit. He tossed her over his shoulders like a bag of laundry and set off at an easy run. It was horrible. Her head bobbled with each step. He held both of her legs and one arm, so she hit him in the back with the other. He ignored that. She thought she should try to wiggle free, but what would happen if she did? She’d fall to the ground. She knew how to fall without hurting herself, but her computer was in her backpack. She couldn’t risk hurting it.

At least he ran toward the woods, not back to the trailer. It was creepy dark under the trees. He hardly slowed at all, dodging around things she couldn’t see. He ran for a long time. Finally he slowed and stopped and set her on her feet. She wobbled, so dizzy she hardly knew how to stand up. His face was a pale blur in the darkness. She couldn’t see his features, much less his expression.

When he spoke, he didn’t bother to keep his voice down. It was so silky it seemed to be made out of shivers. “Let’s have that little chat. No one will hear you but me . . . no matter how much noise you make.” With one hand he pulled down the gag.

“This,” she said in a voice that wobbled even worse than her legs, “is a huge disappointment.”

TWENTY-ONE

RULE
blinked. That was not the reaction he’d been expecting. He’d decided to handle this encounter himself because he didn’t think his men would be good at threatening a woman. Apparently he wasn’t, either. “Disappointing?”

“I don’t suppose you fantasize much,” she said bitterly. “I don’t suppose you need to, so maybe you don’t understand how awful it is to have one of your favorite fantasies ruined. Fantasies aren’t reality, but they still require verisimilitude.” When he didn’t respond right away, she added, “‘Verisimilitude’ means—”

“I know what the word means, Miss, ah . . .” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“I know yours, Mr. Turner.” She sounded sulky.

He could have sworn he’d kept his face in shadow. That was strike two for tonight’s plan. “Call me Rule. What should I call you?”

“Danny.”

“You aren’t a boy.”

“You didn’t ask if I was a boy. You asked what you should call me, and I told you.”

“True. So tell me, Danny, where were you going in such a hurry tonight?”

She jolted as if he’d goosed her. “My computer!” Quickly she slid the backpack off her shoulders. “I can’t believe I forgot—if you’ve damaged it with all your grabbing and rolling and running, I’ll—I’ll—I don’t know what I’ll do, but you better not have hurt it.”

He watched, bemused, while she unzipped the backpack and carefully pulled a laptop out. She dropped onto the ground, legs crossed tailor-style, opened her precious computer, and powered it up. It seemed, to his inexpert eyes, to be working fine. “Now that you’ve reassured yourself, perhaps you could answer a few questions. Let’s start with why Homeland Security believes you’re a terrorist.”

“I expect Mr. Smith told them that.” She didn’t seem bothered by the idea. Her whole attention was focused on her computer. “That works . . . the drive’s okay . . . but there’s no Wi-Fi here. I can’t check the modem.”

“Is Mr. Smith with Homeland Security?”

“No, he’s NSA. I’ve been on the run from him for eleven months, one week, and three days.”

“Have you now.” Should he add the NSA to his list of federal agencies who were out to get him, Ruben, and one or both Units? Or was that one of her fantasies? Or a simple lie, he reminded himself, but he didn’t believe it. She didn’t smell like she was lying, and instinct agreed with his senses. She was telling the truth—or what she thought was true. “And are you a terrorist?”

She snorted and at last looked up, but only for a second. Her gaze skittered away from his face. “About as much as you’re a distributor of child pornography.”

Rule considered her for a long moment. Frightening the girl hadn’t worked. Try another tack. “It seems you and I are both on the run. I’ve got a place to hide and a great many questions. Would you care to hide with me for a time?”

She shook her head, slid the laptop back in its pocket, stood, and slipped the straps of her backpack in place. “I’d better stick to my plan. It never works if I change plans when I’m panicked.”

She assumed he’d just let her walk away. That wasn’t an option, but he decided not to point that out. “Are you panicked? You don’t smell like it.”

That startled her. After a moment her eyes narrowed, as if her current lack of panic was highly suspicious. “Not as much,” she said grudgingly. “I think I need to think.”

His lips twitched. “All right.”

Thinking apparently involved staring over his shoulder while her fingers moved in an odd, deliberate pattern. Spellcasting? It didn’t look like any spell he’d seen Cullen use, but to be safe, he moved a few silent paces away. Most impromptu spells had to be aimed, and he doubted she could see him. It must be very dark here for her.

Not for him. The light was dim, but he saw her face clearly and marveled that everyone had taken her for a boy. Even Lily had done so, from what José had said, and she wasn’t easy to fool. Perhaps his sense of smell informed his viewpoint too thoroughly for him to see what others did, but she simply didn’t look like a boy to him. Not that she was conventionally pretty. Her features were more intriguing than that. Her mouth was as Anglo as his; her buzzed-short hair was pure African; her skin and nose split the difference between the two continents. Her face was long rather than rounded, which must have helped her disguise. So did her build. She was a skinny thing, all angles. But her eyes, with those long, curly lashes, struck him as innately feminine. So did the curve of her chin.

Her fingers paused in their repetitive motion. “Where are you hiding?”

“In the wildlife area south of Whistle. It will be a bit of a hike, I’m afraid.” Not that they really had to walk the whole way. Kevin and Tucker were in a car parked on a nearby road and could easily meet them. He didn’t mention that.

Find Lily. Find the enemy.

His wolf’s priorities were clear. They were the man’s priorities, too. Rule had two reasons for not taking the car. The first was obvious: cars travel on roads, and so do cops. But he had a second, equally important reason. He didn’t just want to hear whatever she decided to tell him. He needed to learn the things she didn’t plan to tell him, too—everything he could about this girl who wanted him to call her Danny. How could he know what to believe, what to check out or dismiss, without context? And she herself was the context.

She didn’t trust him, and no wonder, given how he’d treated her. He needed time to change that.

After frowning into space for several moments with one hand hovering in midair, ready to resume its motion, she dropped that hand and shook her head. “I was planning to walk, so hiking is not a problem, but I’m not much for camping out. I like nature, but I like showers and toilets more. And Wi-Fi.” She sighed regretfully. “I won’t get any of that for a while. But I guess I should tell you about Mr. Smith before I go. You won’t believe me, and it isn’t going to help you much since you’re on the run, too, but I guess I should tell you. You probably don’t know what’s going on.”

That was certainly true. “I’d appreciate that.”

“All right.” She continued to look over his shoulder rather than at his face, took a deep breath, and began. “For many years Mr. Edward Smith, a special assistant to the director of the NSA, has illicitly channeled federal funds to support a clandestine operation that purports to help children with magical Gifts learn to control their Gifts. Operating through a nonprofit organization called Bright Haven Refuge—”

“Bright Haven? In West Virginia? That’s—”

“Don’t do that!” She cleared her throat and resumed what was clearly a prepared speech. “—Bright Haven Refuge for Gifted Young People, which obtains legal custody of orphaned and abandoned minors who meet his criteria, he’s conducted experiments on the children. These experiments include the administration of a secret drug that greatly increases the strength of their Gifts. He controls these children—and their Gifts— through a combination of psychological brainwashing and mind control.”

Rule was silent for several heartbeats before saying softly, “You really are going to have to come with me, you know.”

TWENTY-TWO

DEMI
didn’t know what she felt. Everything was such a stew—a hot, lively stew, zingy with spices that tangled in her gut and tingled in her brain. “You believe me?”

“I believe you’re speaking the truth, as you know it,” Rule Turner told her.

Rule Turner. It was hard to believe he was right here, in front of her. Talking to her. Listening to her. It was as if Gandalf had stepped out of the pages of
Lord of the Rings
, or Jean Luc Picard had stepped out of the screen, to have a little chat.

Or Darth Vader. “I don’t want to.” She was almost sure of that.

“Danny, do you even know where you are?”

She didn’t answer.

“You can’t follow through with whatever your original plan was. I interfered with that. Even if you could figure out where you are, you can’t see where you’re going. It’s too dark for you.”

She scowled and looked down. “I brought a flashlight.” Which she did not want to use in case someone saw it. But maybe that wasn’t an issue. Maybe she was too deep in the woods, too far from any road, too
lost
 . . . a bubble of panic rose, stopping in her throat. Her hand lifted, playing the flute she hadn’t actually held in eleven months, one week, and three days.

“You’re fingering an instrument,” her fantasy-destroying companion said suddenly. “A flute?”

No one had ever guessed correctly. Mostly they just told her to stop being weird. Maybe the fantasy wasn’t entirely shattered, after all. “It used to be. Now it’s just stimming, to help me calm down. Why did you grab me? Were you trying to scare me into telling you things?”

“That was the general idea.”

“It was a stupid idea.”

“Yes,” he said meekly. “But I didn’t yet know you. What if you’d really been a terrorist?”