Preserving Will Page 4

  Clint nodded, his eyes distant. “They’ll use us as bait to get their true target.”

  “Precisely. In this case, we are well-prepared for the attack the Hunters and Assassin will launch.”

  Clint looked at her. “Are you sure you want to do this? It wouldn’t be difficult to leave. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Someone must test the sword splitter,” Eva replied. Her tone left no room for argument. “I have some experience in being stabbed by murderous fiends and living to tell the tale. That makes me the ideal candidate.”

  Clint remembered the story, often told within the Alliance. Before the Aliomenti were named, they were a group of people living in a village built in a forest. Eva had challenged the power structure of the village—dominated by the same man who commanded the Aliomenti today—and had been banished. As she’d been escorted from the village, Eva had been stabbed in the back and left to die. Will had anticipated the attack, and his quick action had saved Eva’s life. She owed Will her very existence, and was willing to take a chance of her own, following his recent example.

  Clint sighed. “Should we cancel the party, then? I don’t want to get any humans hurt if the Hunters should choose to pay us a visit.”

  “No,” Eva replied, thoughtful. “The crowds will make the Hunters’ task more difficult. If they come to the party, they will need to be discreet in their efforts to lure you to capture and me to my death. There will be witnesses, too many to silence without drawing attention to themselves. If we cancel suddenly, just as the Hunters have arrived, they may begin to suspect the degree to which we are able to track their movements. No, it is best to let the party proceed as planned, and to exercise appropriate levels of caution throughout the festivities.”

  Clint had moved to the small town a year earlier, after “officially” severing ties to the Aliomenti by withdrawing significant amounts of cash from Aliomenti-affiliated bank accounts. He’d also planted the tracking chip extracted from his body in a location that left no doubt about his contempt for his former “family.” That meant he’d be on a watch list, certain to command a visit from the Hunters.

  That was what he’d wanted. And he’d worked to make certain they moved him to the top of that list.

  Eva had arrived in town not long after Clint, using the name “Eva Elizabeth Lowell” as a pseudonym. The name would mean nothing to the Hunters, but word that they’d killed Eva Elizabeth Lowell would undoubtedly haunt Arthur.

  Or had the self-proclaimed Leader forgotten them, two of the women who’d died at his wish and command, so many centuries earlier?

  “Miss Lowell” had used Energy to alter her usual appearance. She now looked less like a regal woman in her early forties and more like an emaciated, haunted woman in her late twenties. She’d arrived in town complaining that she suffered from a terminal illness, which explained her unhealthy appearance to the local human population. A chance meeting with Clint had occurred, and not long after, doctors in the area proclaimed her to be in perfect health. She’d let slip in several social situations that Clint had healed her, and word of the miracle had made its way back to Aliomenti Headquarters.

  Just as they’d intended.

  The Aliomenti had recognized the ability to solve two problems by retrieving Clint. A traitor would be in custody to receive his just punishment. And the only beneficiary of Clint’s Energy largesse would soon be dead, his departure ensuring that no more humans escaped the ravages of terminal illnesses through his efforts.

  The Aliomenti had no idea who Clint truly wished to help… or that they were walking into a trap to ensure he could do just that.

  Photos from recent encounters between the Alliance and the Hunters showed that the gash under Athos’ right eye had never healed. Will had somehow poisoned the blade, and all efforts to stitch the wound closed had failed. The wound originally held pods of nanos, highly specialized versions that would track down captured members of the Alliance and eliminate the Dampering effect of the prison cells holding them. Once Energized, they’d receive a message from the machines providing an image usable as a teleportation target. Alliance members hiding on the island housing Aliomenti Headquarters would help them into an undetectable flying craft that would carry them back to the Cavern.

  The plan had gone smoothly, perfectly, save for one thing. Will had insisted on being the one to plant those escape-enabling nanos on Athos, had insisted on proving that he didn’t fear taking on the Hunters directly. He’d done so because he’d been baited into believing that people saw him as one like Arthur Lowell, a man content to let others do the difficult, dangerous work while he remained a spectator. It was a taunt that had cost Will Stark his life.

  And Clint was the one who’d made those comments.

  The fact that he’d been in a type of trance at the time didn’t matter to him; Clint owed it to Will and the rest of the Alliance to make up for what he’d done, and there was no better way to do so than getting back on the inside, helping captured members of the Alliance flee. He knew the names of the escapees and the dates targeted for their rescue, and would have specialized technology with him to assist them in their escapes. He didn’t know how long he’d be in that prison, but given the depth of his remorse, he suspected his self-imposed penance would last for a very long time.

  Clint had scheduled a party that night for Halloween, a human holiday in many countries, where adults and children alike would dress in costume. Children would visit their neighbors, make comical threats, and be rewarded with candy for their efforts. Clint had always considered it a strange way to celebrate, but for purposes of fitting in, he went along with the pageantry.

  He’d hired a professional crew of decorators and caterers for the event, along with two plainclothes police officers to enforce the guest list. As Clint’s parties were already legendary in the small town, he needed to strictly enforce admission to avoid overcrowding the house… or worse, running out of alcohol. Nothing seemed to anger humans more than learning that the free liquor was gone.

  He provided the list of guests and a sample invitation to both guards, who positioned themselves at the front and rear doors of the house. “Make them show a photo ID, and ensure the name matches a name on the guest list. Everyone was instructed to bring the invitations that were sent to them. The cards have small RFID chips inside. Scan the cards with the wand; if the light turns green, the invitation is legit. That means that if the light is green and the name is a match, they’re allowed to enter. If not? Send them away.”

  “Don’t worry, sir,” the guard at the front door told him. “No one will get in unless they’ve been invited.”

  If only that was true, Clint thought. He wondered what would happen if one of the guards told the Assassin he wasn’t permitted inside the house, and shivered.

  He and Eva retired to their bedrooms to change into their costumes, and Eva took the time to redo her hair and makeup in line with the newly-buoyant public image she’d created for Miss Lowell. They both emerged a short time later, and Clint complimented Eva on her costume.

  Eva smirked. “Are you referring to the outfit, or my magical youthening cream?”

  Clint smiled. “Whatever answer would make you happy.”

  Eva patted him on the arm. “You are a wise man.”

  The caterers arrived and began setting out the entrees and snacks, and the bartenders arrived shortly thereafter with an assortment of sodas, wine, beer, and liquor, including a large selection of bourbons from the nearby distilleries. The disk jockey arrived, and it took him several trips to his passenger van to haul in the hundreds of CDs in his collection. He set up his speakers and stereo equipment, put on a mix CD of popular music, and began looking for Halloween-themed songs in his collection.

  Once the guests started to arrive, Clint forgot about the Hunters. The house vibrated in time with the bass from the speaker system the disk jockey had wired together, and the noise of the music and dozens of voices left everyone with little choice
but to lean close and shout in order to be heard. His nose wrinkled as the smell of alcohol and sweat began to fill the entire house. The sweet scent of the drinks and candy must have attracted flying insects; though Clint didn’t see or hear them, he was certain he’d been bitten a few times.

  He looked up from a conversation, suddenly feeling the Energy permeate the room, and spotted Porthos. The man was dressed in costume, and it was clear he’d been intent on sneaking up on Clint without detection. Clint snorted inwardly. Porthos must believe he was the only one capable of sensing Energy use in his vicinity.

  Clint scanned the room without turning around, his skin feeling the slight tingle from the Energy behind him. Athos and Aramis were there, not yet in his line of sight. Somehow, he hadn’t seen them enter the house or sensed them in the crowd. That was concerning. If Aramis approached him without detection, the Hunter could immobilize Clint. In this setting, people would think Clint had gotten drunk, had started to pass out on his feet, and then comment how great a party it was.

  They had him surrounded, trapping him in the place of his choosing, and he’d failed to put up even a modest defense. He needed to reverse the situation, and could think of nothing better than ruining their anonymity… to a degree.

  “D’Artagnan!” he called out, loud enough for everyone to hear him over the music and chatter. He fixed his gaze upon Porthos, and the crowd turned to look at the Hunter dressed as a pirate.

  Porthos scowled, and Clint could sense Eva’s internal laughter at the Hunter’s discomfort.

  He traded barbs with the Hunters, but became aware that Eva had started moving. He flicked his eyes around as the insults escalated, unable to locate her. He could only assume that the Assassin had arrived, and, as part of the plan, Eva had left the house with him.

  He didn’t dare risk communicating with her telepathically. Not with Porthos standing in the same room. He’d need to trust that she could take care of herself… and that the sword splitter would work.

  Porthos artfully ended the intensifying—and public—verbal banter between Hunters and Hunted, and the party resumed in earnest, the guests deciding the confrontation was nothing more than a staged act between old friends. As the party resumed, he expected the Hunters to try to close in on him, pinning him in the house, until Aramis’ deadly grip rendered him helpless.

  Instead, they left.

  That worried him. The Hunters were certainly not going to leave town, not without him. It could only mean that they were planning to wait until the party ended. A minor bit of panic arose; the Hunters were horribly efficient at their work. If they believed they could return to retrieve him later…

  It was ironic. He meant to be captured, wanted to be captured, and yet every instinct in him fought against his capture. His mind told him to run now, to ramp up his Energy Shield and sneak away in a car driven by a guest. Yet how could he? If they’d left, they’d certainly expect him to do just that. And that meant they’d ensured that option wouldn’t work.

  He wondered if Will had gone through the same type of emotional conflict a year earlier.

  Thirty minutes later, Clint felt extremely sleepy. As a man in unnaturally good health, Clint normally had no issues remaining awake and fully alert far later than this. He felt a chill. Had the Hunters somehow gotten a sleeping potion into him? He glanced down at the drink he held. Others drinking the same beverage showed no ill effects. If they’d not used the drink to get the sleeping potion in him, then… how?

  His hand slapped the side of his neck in realization. Those hadn’t been bug bites earlier. He’d been so preoccupied with the party that the Hunters—Shield-free—had walked close enough to give him injections. Clint cursed himself for his lack of attentiveness to his surroundings. Getting caught unaware by the Hunters—when he knew he was being Hunted—was an amateur mistake. He should have been keeping an eye on Eva, not missing Hunters sneaking sleep serum into him.

  Clint’s legs felt weak, and he began to sweat as if the temperature in the house had suddenly risen twenty degrees. The thundering bass from the music was creating a huge ache in his head, and made him feel wobbly on his unsteady legs. The overpowering smell of the various types of alcohol, normally something that didn’t bother him, was making him feel nauseous. The serum the Hunters had injected into him was starting to take full effect. He excused himself, and began to make his way outside, where the cool, fresh autumn air awaited him.

  “Fire!”

  Clint whirled toward the sound of the voice. The disk jockey alertly stopped the music. “What? Where?” He could feel the tension in the room, from guests worried that the fire was in the house and they’d struggle to escape.

  “The barn—the barn where the horses are kept—it’s on fire! I can see it from the front porch!”

  He knew, then, where Eva and the Assassin had gone. He hoped he’d pick up a hint of Energy from her, letting him know she was alive.

  Clint was pushed aside as guests rushed to the front of the house, trying to get a view of the fire. Realizing he’d never get out that way, Clint staggered his way through the suddenly empty room to the back door, limped down the stairs, and worked his way around to the front of the house, hanging on to the railing and leaning against the side of the building to keep himself upright.

  The barn was engulfed in flames, and even in his fatigue he could feel the heat from this spot, hundreds of yards away. Eva had lured the Assassin there, away from the crowd of humans, and allowed him to “execute” her. The Assassin, as he so often did, set the building containing his victim ablaze, eliminating all evidence of his crime.

  He squinted, using his enhanced sight. And he saw it—the glint of gold from the tiara in Eva’s costume, faint in the limited lighting, low to the ground… and moving. She’d survived.

  He sighed inwardly, the relief spreading through him. But he had a job to do.

  “The horses!” Clint shouted. “We need to get to the barn and check on the horses! They’re trapped inside!”

  Spurred on by their love of the animals and an irrational lack of fear of the flames, the guests raced toward the barn—and dodged out of the way as the dozen horses Clint owned raced by in the dark, illuminated by the sun-like blaze behind them. Clint wondered how Eva had managed to free the animals before her “death.” Or had the Assassin done that?

  “We’ll need to chase them all down,” Clint shouted, somehow able to construct a plan even as his body wanted to shut down and sleep. “There are fences surrounding the property. The horses can jump them, but they may calm down once they’re far enough away from the fire and elect not to make the effort. All of them will have bridles in place. Approach them carefully, talk in soothing tones, and pat their muzzle. Then take hold of the reins and lead them back.”

  The guests took up the challenge and spread out, none of them bothering to ask where the horses should go upon retrieval. The barn was gone. Clint didn’t worry about their oversight, because he’d be gone before they tracked the frightened animals down.

  Clint felt the Energy presence of the Hunters now, and knew the men were waiting to get him alone, away from his guests. The public confrontation earlier had served its purpose; the Hunters wouldn’t dare subdue him in the presence of the horde of humans who could identify them to the local press. But Clint would oblige their desire to isolate him. He moved past the barn, away from the house, and once he was certain he was beyond the sight of his human guests, he broke into a jog. The burst of adrenaline from the fire and the impending chase lessened the effects of the sleep serum; he felt more alert now than at any point in the past hour.

  Aramis materialized in front of him, and Clint sensed Athos and Porthos finish their own teleportation jumps behind him. Aramis reached out the hand that would immobilize him through the Energy Damper. But Clint slammed an elbow into Aramis’ arm, knocking it aside, and teleported five miles away. Given the effects of the drug—which adrenaline could overcome for only so long—he doubted he’d last ma
ny more hops.

  Before he’d had a chance to catch his breath, they were there.

  It was the modus operandi of the Hunters. In addition to their unique gifts, the Hunters were some of the most powerful teleporters in the Energy world. With Porthos’ Tracking skills, they’d force their prey to teleport to avoid the Damper, again and again, until at last the victim collapsed from exhaustion.

  Moments later, Clint was prone on the ground, his face nestled into the cool, fragrant grass, and he doubted he’d ever be able to move again. His Energy stores were drained, and the energy in his physical body was depleted by the lingering effects of the serum. He offered no resistance as the Hunters moved him to a rental car, and then into a transport craft with a Dampering cell. The craft was no better than an ancient relic by Alliance standards—there were few inertial dampeners in place and the air was warm and stale—but Clint offered no protestations about his predicament. He acceded to the demands of the serum and slept.

  When he woke, sunlight burned down on him from the large window inside his cell. With the artificial Dampering restraining him, he was no flight—or teleportation—risk, and the inclusion of the window allowed prisoners to view the freedom they’d lost through their capture. Ocean waves frothed below him, and he tried to imagine the sound of the water’s movement. The plane began its descent, and he saw the monolithic black marble Aliomenti Headquarters. Aboveground, he knew, the building served as the world headquarters for the international banking business that provided and expanded the great wealth of the Aliomenti. Below the surface, however, the Aliomenti worked in their labs and housed their prisoners.