INVISIBLE FATE BOOK THREE: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) Page 8

  Until her kicking foot connected with the crotch of one of them. He doubled, shouting, “Merde,” before he backhanded her.

  She flew like crumpled paper across the tiny room, slamming into the far metal bars before sliding into a shapeless heap. One that wasn’t moving.

  “What the—” I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say as I fought against straps holding me. With an oath my brothers used quite often, I popped the canvas and levered myself first to an elbow, then a sitting position. I didn’t hurt as bad as I had been, but still felt groggy and stiff. With a quick glance down, I realized I was still in the clothes I’d worn to go to Versailles, however long ago that was. Grass stains and dried blood streaked my jeans and sleeves.

  With one tentative hand, I raised fingers to my neck, expecting to feel where my brother Van in his shifter form had savaged me. Not intentionally but under the influence of whatever drugs his kidnappers had pumped into him.

  But instead of a raw, oozing wound, or even a wad of bandages, all I could feel was smooth skin. No scarring at all like the last time I’d touched the same spot.

  How long had I been out of it this time around? An injury like this should have taken weeks if not longer to heal. But my astonishment was short-lived as one of the goons glanced in my direction.

  “Look what you’ve done, now.” The one who could stand upright smacked his buddy with a closed fist to his chest. “Boss said not to wake her.”

  The other guy’s response was in French but even in my fuzzy state I got the gist of it. None of it flattering to me, or women in general, with a few extra comments for either his crappy job or his crappier boss.

  If he really wanted crappy he should feel like me. I raised my head to glare at him, as if that was going to do anything. But it must have as he paused, casting quick, furtive glances between his cohort and me.

  Why was it always Weres? They were not only among the strongest of the preternaturals, but the stupidest too. I could deal with one but not both.

  “Let’s get out of here,” the English-speaking one said. French Guy must have been on the same wavelength, as he scrambled over to the unconscious girl and grabbed her, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of feed.

  I eased off the metal gurney, glad when my feet smacked the concrete floor, and my legs held. “Going somewhere?” I asked, my tone saying loud and clear that it wasn’t a good idea. My throat still felt sore on the inside but I could sound like a badass and not a puffball waiting to get the stuffing kicked out of me.

  Small improvements but I’d grab what I could get.

  “What can she do to us, anyway?” English Guy spoke to his friend, as if seeking assurance.

  When he didn’t see any he looked back at me, his chin nodding upward. Pure bravado. I could smell his hesitation, hear the increase of his heart rate, the blub, blub of his blood surging through his body. Something about me scared him. Didn’t know how I knew, but I’d take the extra little win.

  “Why don’t you set her back down.” I wasn’t phrasing it as a question. “Nice and gentle.” I spoke to the guy who could understand me but looked at the goon clutching the girl.

  I must look in worse shape than I felt, which was hard to imagine, but he started doing what I asked, keeping his gaze locked on mine, every movement slow and non-threatening.

  Who said negotiation never worked? Oh, yeah, that would be me.

  What was really surprising me, though, was I could hold the Were’s gaze. Weres, shifters and vampires didn’t go for the gaze-locking or even looking eye-to-eye thing with humans. They so got their panties in a twist. Saw it as some kind of aggressive body language. Which it was and why I was doing it for as long as I could. If this Were was powerful I’d be slammed into my place any second now, but not until he realized he wasn’t dealing with an equal.

  Before I even had a chance to congratulate myself on a job well-done, English Idiot grew some balls. He twisted with a snarl, and lunged toward me, snapping the gunmetal bars that separated us like pretzel sticks.

  I moved before I knew it. One second propped on the gurney, the next meeting Goon Guy, head-on, like a battering ram hitting a tank. I used my uninjured shoulder bone as a weapon as I barreled into him. The move had worked on another Were recently so I tried it again. Only this time I added power punches from beneath his chin. One. Two. Fist to jaw. Elbows following in quick succession. Bam. Bam. Then a step back, just enough to give me some room to raise a foot high enough to thrust him backwards.

  My IR teammates would have given me a high-five. Team instructor Stone a slight chin nod. My brothers? Beers all around, and not the frou-frou craft beers, but cold draft pulled from the Iron Mule Saloon in Idaho Falls. Upscale by Mud Lake standards and one of the few bars that one or the other of my brothers hadn’t been banned from in Southern Idaho.

  I expected the Were to stagger, not sail through the air like a football in the winning penalty kick at a high school football game. The only thing that kept him from flying farther was the stone of the far wall.

  Ouch. That had to hurt.

  Score me.

  I didn’t know who was more surprised, him or me, or the guy still clutching the girl.

  “You next?” I snarled at him as he dropped the girl.

  Damn, she was going to have one nasty headache when she woke up. If she woke up.

  French Goon now stood in front of me, his arms swinging loose at his sides as if he debated morphing into his animal self or fleeing. The other guy was pulling himself into a sitting position, shaking his head. Probably hearing a few bells going off inside. Served him right.

  I stepped away from the open cell door, their only means of escape, and nodded toward the hallway behind me. “Be my guest.”

  I guess French Guy understood more English than I gave him credit for as he rabbited past me in a blink. The other guy swayed to his feet, still looking dazed, then growled before raising his hands. Should I give him a lecture on the lack of good judgment by sending mixed messages to the person who’d just clobbered him?

  Nah. You couldn’t un-do stupid.

  “Go. Now.” I meant it, and he must have heard the steel beneath the two simple words as he shuffled past, his head hung low, one leg dragging behind the other. I was tempted to shout “boo” as he passed.

  Who said I couldn’t be magnanimous?

  Poor baby.

  I waited till he was out of sight before I crossed to where the girl still lay on the floor and crouched down beside her. Two fingers on the pulse in her neck told me she was still alive, though I could hear her heartbeat, too. That scared me because it wasn’t something I was used to hearing. An after-effect of my being out of commission for whatever length of time I’d been recovering?

  Possibly. I didn’t want to think any deeper than that. Or about the words the Colin Farrell voice had said. So did not want to go down that rabbit hole. Besides, I had a hurt girl who smelled of unwashed clothes, fear and magic.

  I guessed she’d been the one who begged for help earlier. Or maybe that had been another nightmare. Hard to tell anymore. But common sense told me it was time to skedaddle.

  “Here you go,” I mumbled, planning to lift her up at least as far as the welded bench/bed in her cell. Guess I didn’t know my own strength, though, as I almost threw her into the air. I caught her at the last second as I jumped to my feet, having her sag against me. Last thing she needed was to get banged around some more.

  Speaking of last things, remaining where we were wasn’t too smart. No telling how soon goons one and two would reach their boss, or reinforcements, and return. I didn’t want to be here when they came back.

  I had no idea who the girl was I held. Didn’t care right then. In the goons against girl debate, I landed firmly on the side of helping the girl. She looked about fifteen with stringy brown hair that needed a good wash and showed bruises along her too-thin face.

  Mud Lake, Idaho, where I was from, didn’t have too many strays, of the hu
man variety. It was hard to run away when most folks in the county knew you by name, as well as the names of your siblings, parents, grandparents, plus, when your truck last had an oil change.

  But my gut told me this was a stray, someone with no mom or dad who gave a rat’s tail where she was. And that alone made me want to make sure she made it out of here alive.

  “Come on,” I said, thinking walk waltzing her might be the best option. It wasn’t. Reminded me of the three-legged sack race I’d lost once at the Jefferson County fair back in my stupid days. Of course choosing to be hog-tied to Jimmy Calhoun of the roaming hands as my partner earned me a smack upside the head all by itself.

  We hadn’t even reached the cell opening when, far down the hallway, I could hear the roar of male voices raised. That pissed-off and sharing it sound.

  Running out of time.

  Without wondering how the hell I was doing it, I swung the girl across my shoulder in a fireman’s hold and started running.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I jogged down two lengths of a stone and brick hallway that looked like it was old when Paris was new, straining to listen to voices up ahead. Pausing before the next turn I heard what I’d been dreading, the sounds of low-timbered tones pitched for battle. They weren’t necessarily out for blood, but were that low-vibe, rah-rah thunder of bullies psyching themselves up.

  Not what I wanted to meet.

  I’d paused at a T in the hallway. To my left, about four-feet in, the hall dead-ended. The right led to the oncoming reinforcements. A quick glance around showed me no doors, no windows, and only one option. A half-crescent shaped arch along the base of the dead-end part of the hall, with chiseled stone blocks creating an opening that might be just large enough for me to squeeze the girl through and follow her.

  First, I had to get rid of the metal grate covering the opening.

  When were things going to get easy?

  I eased the girl down in a heap against the far wall, the better to protect her if we were trapped, but as close to the opening as possible. Then I grabbed the bars with both hands. They were rusted in spots but unfortunately, solid through and through.

  What was someone protecting? As if anyone who had any other choice wanted to head into the stink wafting from behind the bars.

  It was all I could do not to scream. Instead, I pulled. I wedged one foot against the stone wall and pulled again. Then both feet. Another pull. But only a small shift.

  The pounding feet were stampeding closer.

  What now?

  I offered a quick prayer to Saint Jude, the patron saint of bad situations then remembered what I’d been trying to avoid. I was a bloody witch. Hello? I knew magic.

  Okay, most of my spells backfired, but I didn’t have a lot of options.

  A protection ward wasn’t going to keep them away from us, not without glyphs drawn on the stone floors to back it up or enough time to round up some garlic, cedar or sage. A propulsion spell might push one of them away for a moment or so, but not for long, and not very far.

  Think, Noziak, think.

  Of course. Like a quick slap to the forehead, which I must have been ignoring not to immediately come up with magic 101, the basics. A cloaking spell.

  It’d work better if I had a cape or jacket to hide us both, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  I quieted my pounding heart as much as possible, whispering the first words of the chant:

  “Create me a barrier between man and monsters.

  Between dark and light.

  Between good and evil.

  Hide and shadow us.

  To the light, better things.

  To death, watch over and guide.

  To struggle and emerge, advance.

  I am willing to pay the cost.

  So mote it be.”

  It was rough and I felt like I dragged the magic from deep within me, as if I struggled to shape the words. Still shadows hovered a little deeper around us.

  It wouldn’t help if anyone ran up close but it’d work well enough to let me see the length of the hallway without being clearly seen in return.

  I hoped.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The thunder of half a dozen men pounding the stone floor echoed through the hall, reminding me of the rage of a certain Werebison I’d killed recently. Probably not the best thought as I continued to mumble/whisper the chant.

  “Between dark and light.

  Between good and evil.

  Hide and shadow us.”

  The first attacker, a Were, rounded the corner, his comrades packed closely behind him, all preternaturals, by their odors. They looked like angry footballers denied a touchdown. I had a feeling I’d be the pigskin they’d like to toss around if they got their hands on me.

  I barely breathed as they headed toward where we huddled, then veered off like a wedge of compact anger disappearing down the hallway leading to the cells.

  Once they reached there it wouldn’t take them long to realize we’d escaped. Then the real search would begin.

  Chewing my lip, I returned to the iron bars, wondering if a propulsion spell might work on them. I’d only used it on preternaturals and not inanimate objects but it might help. Or maybe an unlocking spell? That’d be easier.

  Besides, it was one of the first spells I learned on my own. I’d wanted into my brother Jake’s room. Couldn’t remember why but at thirteen I knew it was important. A few minutes searching on the internet, and once I got past all the gaming spells, I actually found an unlocking spell that worked like a charm.

  I glanced at the girl beside me who remained out of it, slowed my breathing and closed my eyes, raising my hands to point toward the metal grate.

  “Luce. Light.

  Prima luce. First light.

  Umbra. Shadow

  Behold that which is closed now opens.

  Behold that which binds is unbound.

  Behold a need greater than thou.

  Release what stops us.

  Free the way.”

  At first, there was nothing. I creaked open one eye, hearing angry shouts in the background. Goon Squad had reached the cells.

  “Come on, you freakin’ spell, do something. Now!”

  Sometimes it’s the simple things that work best. A low rumble started, followed by a squeal I’m sure they could hear two countries away, but it was working. The bars were melting for lack of a better word. Think butter on a hot August day.

  “Yes!” I pumped my arm. “Thank you, Mother Goddess, and the Great Spirits, too.”

  And just in the nick of time, as the footsteps had roared to life again. Coming back down the hallway.

  “Alley oops,” I whispered to the girl as I scooped her up and slid her through the opening.

  I stuck my head through to make sure I wasn’t dropping her down an inky well. Just my luck. It was dark, hades dark, but I could see the faint glint of water on stone not that far below. Smelled it, too. Think cow-rendering plant on steroids on a hot summer day. Pew!

  I’d say the drop was the height of a tall man but not much higher. Still, any fall when you’re unconscious wasn’t a good thing. Any jump that same distance when you didn’t know what you were going to land in wasn’t a win-win either.

  Even the stench made me hesitate but needs must. I angled the girl feet first and leaned over with my hands under her armpits so she didn’t have far to fall. Then I let go.

  I cringed as she dropped like a bale of hay.

  Now my turn.

  The footsteps were so close I could feel their vibrations against the concrete floors. I had squeezed myself into the half moon opening, realizing the unconscious girl might be younger than I thought as she didn’t have to be contorted like I did to slide through, too many French pastries no doubt on my part, then, as I gripped the edge of the opening I thought of what I’d forgotten.

  If I just disappeared as the goons ran past, they’d see the open hole. They might be stupid but not totally dumb. Even a Wer
e could put together an open hole and missing hostages to come up with a possible escape route.

  Maybe I could buy us some time.

  Clutching the rock walls on either side of the opening, I started mumbling the cloaking spell again. Easier than it sounded. Dangling like wet laundry, only heavier, my fingers cramping, while I focused on the words.

  “Create me a barrier between man and monsters.

  Between dark and light.

  Between good and evil.

  Hide and shadow us.”

  My fingers were slipping.

  “To the light, better things.

  To death, watch over and guide.”

  Hold on. Hold on. For love of the Spirits, hold on.

  “To struggle and emerge, advance.”

  Footsteps neared. The first legs appeared around the corner. Not running.

  “I’m willing to pay the cost.”

  Why couldn’t they run? Whiz past me? Too focused to look in my direction?

  I air-paddled my feet, seeking a purchase on anything beneath me, a wall, a pipe, something, but nothing was there. Only open space.

  “They have to be near,” a Were snarled.

  Please. Please. Please.

  Fresh blood stained my lower lip as I bit into it.

  More legs in my view. Standing in a huddle.

  If I let go and dropped, the spell would break. As it was, it wavered, like an old black and white TV set. All it needed was one set of eyes to look too closely.

  Hold on. The voice washed against me. An out-of-thin-air smack.

  Bran?

  No one was around. How could I hear his voice?

  Hold on.

  It was his voice. Deep. Resonate. Pissed. Maybe that last part was coming from me. Soul-deep anger welling from within.

  Don’t let go.

  For love of monkeys, as if I wasn’t trying to do just that. And how dare he order me around, not when all I wanted to do was find a spell that would scatter him from one end of the planet to the next. Payback.