He expected Evalle to press him over not answering her question, but she trudged along with her own thoughts while he tracked. He had told Evalle the truth about seeing her in a vision with the Ashaninka woman, but he hadn't explained why he needed Evalle's help to locate her.
In his vision, the Ashaninka witch doctor intended to kill Evalle.
Not as long as there was breath in his body.
Storm just couldn't pinpoint when to expect the witch doctor because his visions had no time element. Sometimes a vision would be realized within hours and other times it could take weeks or months.
When he'd had the latest vision just hours before Evalle had been on the way to meet with the Tribunal, Storm had come up with the only way she'd permit him to use his majik on her. He'd had to convince her that he needed her help or Evalle wouldn't have agreed to let him use majik for her benefit.
She'd go to her death protecting the world.
He'd have hunted her down no matter what.
She'd raided his dreams every night since he'd first set eyes on her, to the point he woke up exhausted. His body searched for her when he was awake. Thankfully, she'd allowed him to mark her with his scent, though she hadn't exactly realized what he'd been doing with the majik.
But why had the majik altered her aura from silver to gold?
Gold, silver or no aura, she was . . . exceptional, a fiery emerald you found tucked into a tight spot.
A gemstone that had to be lifted gently and held carefully, but when it glowed there was no equal.
He could accept lusting after a woman, but wanting more with any woman wouldn't fit in his plans. Not with his unfinished witch doctor business.
But he'd be lying to himself if he called this intense desire for Evalle merely physical.
And if she knew how much he wanted her she'd run faster than a gazelle chased by a lion.
She tapped one hand against her thigh in a sign that she was churning mentally on something that aggravated her. "You never answered my question about this woman you're after."
Guess he'd have to give her something.
"My father met her when he went to South America to help remote tribes, sort of a Navajo missionary, if you will. He was a shaman, but he felt many in his tribe had abandoned the old ways and lost touch with their rituals. He wanted to help other tribes preserve their ways."
"Why did he choose South America?"
Storm mentally picked through how much to share. "He had a friend who had started outreach-type programs for more primitive tribes to show them how to hold onto their culture while accepting aid to survive. My father decided to try it for six months, but he ended up staying. The Ashaninka welcomed him and treated him well . . . all but one. The woman I'm searching for repaid his kindness by stealing from him and causing his death."
She'd tricked his father and stolen his soul, then killed him. When Storm had found his father's cold body, he'd been out of his mind with wanting to find the killer. She'd used Storm's grief to convince him she could show him the face of his father's murderer.
She had, right before she'd taken control of Storm's soul.
But he was more powerful than his father and had attacked her before she'd been able to turn him into her personal demon. She'd escaped, but he would find her.
How would Evalle react if I told her I had no soul? The few who'd known that about Storm back in South America had called him a demon and tried to kill him.
"What did this woman steal?" Evalle asked.
"We both have secrets. I don't push you to share yours," he said as gently as possible. When Evalle nodded, he changed the subject. "Let's find your three Alterants, then we'll look for my target."
"Four Alterants now that Tristan is free."
"He might not make it back to a cage," Storm added darkly.
She cut eyes loaded with warning at him. "He's the only one who knows where the other three are hiding. You can't kill him."
Yet. Storm nodded his understanding, not his agreement.
He held Tristan responsible for the trouble Evalle was in with the Tribunal. Tristan clearly intended to use what she'd shared about her chance for freedom to cut his own deal with the Tribunal. Tristan should have thought about his future when he'd teamed up with the Kujoo.
Storm tracked Tristan's scent up and down the tunnels. After a while he started thinking Tristan had taken precautions in case Evalle had found a way to follow his teleporting. By late afternoon Storm was sure of it. He literally hit a wall in tracking, a concrete one where Tristan's trail ended, meaning he'd likely teleported away or to the other side.
Why had he spent the time leading them on a chase? Why hadn't Tristan just teleported again in case he could have lost her at some point?
"That's it for his scent," Storm announced. "What do you want to do?"
She brushed loose hairs off her face with an absentminded move. Her sunglasses hid any signs of exhaustion in her eyes, but no matter how often he'd adjusted his speed for her, she'd limped and lagged behind most of the last hour.
She finally admitted, "I'm beat and hungry."
"There's a service exit up ahead. The last two we passed were locked. Think you can open that one?"
She gave him a sly arch of her eyebrow. "I'm insulted you have to ask."
At the exit door, she raised her hands and moved her fingers in the air. A click on the inside of the door sounded, then the door swung open to expose a long hallway.
He followed her inside, noting how she closed and locked the door kinetically without even turning around. After passing through another door, they mingled with a crowd headed toward the wide concrete stairs that led to street level.
Putting his hand out, he stopped her, pretty sure he'd heard an encouraging sound upstairs. "Give me a minute."
"For what?"
"To see what the weather looks like up there. The sun hasn't set yet."
"Oh, that's right. My body clock is way off."
He ran up the steps, glad to see dark clouds to go along with the thunder he'd heard rumbling. Hurrying back down, he snagged her arm. "We're good. Bad weather coming."
"I feel guilty about being glad when it's going to make traffic worse," Evalle said. Her torn jeans received several double looks before being dismissed with pity reserved for the destitute.
Once he reached the sidewalk along Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta, he casually offered, "We could go to Six Feet Under for a quick bite, and you can crash at my place if you don't want to run into Tzader or Quinn."
The hard part of having Evalle that close would be not touching her, but he'd do whatever it took to keep her safe.
She stepped out of the foot traffic and turned to him with suspicion riding the frown on her face. "Did someone tell you Six Feet Under is my favorite restaurant?"
"I had an idea it might be one of your favorites."
"How?"
"When we were searching Piedmont Park for the Ngak Stone, I asked Quinn for a place to eat. He said you and Tzader liked that restaurant, which means--now that I think about it--you being out in the open isn't a wise idea. We could go somewhere else like . . . my apartment. I could order something delivered."
She chuckled. "Your apartment? Right. No. I need to stay out of sight, and I've got to head home for a bit."
He didn't like the idea of her being alone for even a few hours. Not that he'd expected her to say yes to going home with him, but it had been worth a try. "Why don't you let me grab some food and meet you at your place?"
"Let me think about that?" She tapped a finger against her cheek and looked up, mocking him. "Uh, no." She checked her watch. "Can you meet me in three hours back where we teleported? Inside the North Avenue Station?"
"Sure, but you look like you need more rest than that."
"You know what they say about getting all the sleep you need when you're dead. If I don't find Tristan soon I'm guaranteed plenty of rest," she said around a yawn. "And don't say anything to Tzader or Qu
inn about me being here or what I'm doing, okay? The Tribunal said I couldn't ask anyone from VIPER for help. I'm hoping they won't construe your help in any way to get you in a jam, but I didn't ask and I couldn't stop you."
She had that right. "I understand." His cell phone had been vibrating since he'd returned. If he answered any of the calls, he'd either have to abandon her or lie to the caller.
He'd just as soon not inflict pain on himself by lying, and he had no intention of leaving her.
Before she turned to go, Storm stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. When she didn't react to his touch, he lowered his head as though he had something to tell her and whispered, "Sweet dreams," right before he kissed her.
Her muscles beneath his fingers tensed until his lips touched hers, then she actually moved into his kiss.
Damn, he loved the feel of her in his arms.
He wanted her thinking about him when she closed her eyes.
When she didn't pull back, he let the kiss go a few seconds longer than he'd originally intended, but he could spend hours tasting her. She softened, fitting against his chest. Feeling her slowly open up to him was addictive, but the longer he let this go, the harder it would be to let her go.
Through sheer willpower, he lifted his head.
Her lips were still parted, as if she was not quite ready to end the kiss. Hell, he wasn't finished either, but another minute so close to her and he wouldn't be able to walk without limping.
He pulled his hands back. "Better get going. See you in three hours."
"Right. See you." She blinked, glancing around as if worried someone from VIPER or the Beladors might recognize her, then took off down Peachtree Street.
Following Evalle could be tricky.
Storm allowed her a head start so she wouldn't notice he was tailing her. He kept her in sight for a mile and a half while she wove her way to Marietta Street via cut throughs.
She headed straight to where he'd seen her emerge from that abandoned building this morning.
He'd bet she lived there belowground.
The tang of sulfur kept invading his nose everywhere he walked, but he had a jaguar's sharp sense of smell that could pick up scents from far off at times. Sirens wailed in the distance. Now that he thought about it, he'd been hearing those for a while, too. Could there have been a huge tanker spill of something sulfuric on the interstate?
He stopped at the corner, since Evalle would be alerted to his presence if he followed her to within the last quarter mile to her apartment. She was as safe as she could be for the next three hours. He headed back into the city.
Evalle needed more help locating Tristan than Storm could offer. She might not be able to ask anyone, but he could. A witch would be his first choice for scrying where Tristan, and possibly an Ashaninka witch doctor, might be hiding in the city.
Evalle would be upset if he involved Nicole.
And Nicole was a white witch anyhow.
To fight fire with fire, he needed someone from the dark side. VIPER had brought in a Sterling witch named Adrianna to help locate the Ngak Stone before the Kujoo.
Of course, Evalle didn't like Adrianna, especially when the witch openly flirted with any VIPER agent. Storm had no sexual interest in Adrianna, but he could use her skills . . . depending on what she'd want in trade.
And he hadn't promised Evalle he wouldn't hunt Tristan on his own while she rested.
As for the Ashaninka witch doctor, better that he found her before the witch doctor found Evalle.
SEVENTEEN
Thunderstorms were building outside the conference room, where a different kind of tension vibrated inside these walls.
Quinn used his kinetics to dim the lights in the boardroom and to draw the blinds tight. He wanted no distractions once he started probing Conlan's mind.
Tzader had been stalking the room, checking the door locks and practically rattling the walls with his anger until Quinn sent him a telepathic message to chill out. He'd reminded Tzader that the entire floor had been secured. In buildings scattered across this country, as well as several others, Quinn maintained a perpetually vacant floor at specific locations, such as this one.
An area available only via keyed elevator access explicitly for Belador use.
Having withdrawn to a corner, Tzader became as still as a stone, if one could image a stone blazing with energy.
Perspiration danced across Quinn's forehead, a rare reaction for him, to be sure. Did he want to tamper with the mind of someone he considered innocent? No, but Tzader had returned from his meeting with Brina looking kicked in the proverbial nuts. Something had gone terribly wrong. If it took a mind search to appease her demand for action, then Quinn would do this for his friend and his warrior queen.
"I'm ready," Conlan said quietly, as though intercepting Quinn's reluctance. He sat on a plush office chair with his eyes shut and his back to Quinn, who stood above him.
Conlan's next breath came out hard and shuddering.
Time was wasting.
The sooner this was done, the sooner they could find Evalle before she walked into a fog and shifted. Even if she controlled her beast not to kill, someone would kill her.
Quinn spoke in a hypnotic tone. "Focus on wherever you go to find peace and this will be easier for you." Then he laid his hands on Conlan's head and closed his eyes. Touching wasn't necessary to tap a mind, but touch enhanced his ability to delve into the subconscious more quickly.
And possibly with less disruption to Conlan's brain.
When Quinn began to roam the young man's mind, he felt his way past areas that were like doors he could open and see into--past and present.
Quinn usually avoided anything in the future because the future didn't come fully formed the way current or past events were revealed. The future held unknown elements, and knowledge gained from those excursions could change events.
Not always for the best.
If he found something to prove Conlan's innocence, Quinn would be spared having to find a link to Larsen O'Meary's spirit. Perhaps the good news was that if O'Meary had truly died, there would still be a link between father and son because both were Beladors.
Unusual for two Beladors in one family to be born under the PRIN star only, and only one generation apart. Little was known about those connections.
Opening the passage to Conlan's present, which covered anything since he'd last slept, Quinn found nothing damning or helpful. When he moved beyond that to Conlan's past, he tapped a flood of misery that washed through Quinn. He saw a grieving Conlan struggling to accept his father's betrayal and death.
Conlan's mother had abandoned the child early on, leaving him to be raised by their father.
Having been informed by a druid of Conlan's powers, and after Conlan's father had been revealed as a traiter, the Beladors brought the seventeen-year-old boy into their fold to train and protect.
The time had come to specifically dig for any hidden connection to the Medb, something that might remain as a shadowy image or telepathic conversation Conlan tried to keep to himself. Quinn searched for any memory the young man had of using his gift for splitting his image so he could travel--similar to an out-of-body experience. Quinn found nothing more than a few experiences from training exercises.
Memory after memory passed in front of Quinn's eyes without a glimpse of even one impropriety. He slowly released a breath over the confirmation that this O'Meary was proving to be the upstanding Belador Quinn and Tzader believed him to be.
But with no irrefutable evidence of his innocence, Brina would expect a full report, including a search of the precognitive area of Conlan's brain. Conlan had shown signs of precognitive ability several times in training, but no special gift with it as yet.
This area of a mind was where Quinn had connected to a spirit once before . . . by accident.
An encounter he didn't want to repeat, but this area also gave access to the future and his report had to include a review of that as well.
Swallowing against the dread that crawled up his throat, Quinn felt his mind settle completely into Conlan's and spread out to mentally finger one spot after another until he entered the zone for the future where one dark spot pulsed with energy.
Quinn hesitated, but he wasn't surprised to find that energy in this murky area. Resigned to his mission, Quinn called out to Larsen O'Meary.
Nothing happened at first, but he hadn't expected the spirit to just be hanging out waiting on him either. All at once, he could feel the temperature flash hot, then cold.
The spirit was reaching for the connection.
Powering up his energies, Quinn extended further, touching the connection.
He'd expected something bright and strong, but this felt cold and dead, disturbing. The last time he'd tried something similar, the spirit had connected back to the host mind, which would be Conlan's, in this case.
This was where Quinn had to decide if he was going to release his spirit to travel to another dimension through the connection in Conlan's mind.
A dimension that opened a path to any images Conlan might harbor of the future.
Quinn's palms were damp, but he couldn't back out now and clear Conlan completely. When Quinn released his spirit to travel, he felt light as he floated forward. He encountered muddled blobs of color.
Sounds warped in and out. Shapes shimmered in a kaleidoscope of psychedelic patterns.
He reached out to Larsen's spirit twice but fell short both times. When Quinn gave his spirit an extra push forward, the spinning shapes and colors tossed him back, as if he were a polar opposite. He realized he'd have to drop his mental shields to go farther.
This was the real test of whether he believed in Conlan's innocence, which he did.
Tzader would forbid the move . . . if he had a choice in Quinn's decision.
Disengaging his shields, Quinn tried again and passed through a gateway this time.
He shifted from viewing to engaging with the actual vision, a metaphysic change that allowed him to interact with the beings in this step into the future.
He stood still, allowing the visions around him to reshape and take form. Images fluttered between blurry and almost in focus. The stronger the emotion, the more defined an image would be.