That was the reason for the base bomb. He would send Ty and April in first to feel the place out. If she didn’t remember anything, she would probably agree to talk to them, and she would still be wary of Victor Black. Both of those were good things.
If she remembered her sister’s death, then she would instantly resist anything Ty would tell her. He would have to use the bomb, and Max would have to move fast.
The Game Lord didn’t want anything happening to his precious Red Rose. And neither did Max.
* * * *
Jeannine Cure punched in the code on the console that would seal the Medical Research Unit behind her. It was empty now that GC had ordered its evacuation. She was supposed to have gone with the others, but when the order had come through, she stayed behind. She’d known deep down in her gut that it had something to do with Victor Black.
She’d always had hunches about things. It made her a good doctor. What machines couldn’t detect, she would get a gut feeling about, and she’d never been wrong.
So when Game Control ordered the first evacuation of the Field in Cure’s long tenure as head physician, she knew. She knew it was Victor and that the time to take action had finally come.
For many years, Jeannine had harbored doubts about the intentions of Game Control. Patients were often sent to her after having their memories initially erased or after “rehabilitation.” Often, they were in pain. Sometimes there was minor brain damage. There were bruises on wrists and cuts and scrapes in various places on the body. She knew what they were. She was a doctor and not at all an idiot. They were signs of struggle.
Jeannine couldn’t recall her own adoption into the Gaming family, but in the hundreds of years since, she had seen too much not to wonder.
Victor Black was a dark leader and there was no arguing that he was a dangerous man. He seldom had to come into the MRU, as he was powerful enough to keep from getting hurt on the Playing Field. But over the centuries, he’d been in enough that Cure had gone from one of the plethora women in the Field who were both attracted to and terrified of him to Victor’s friend and confidante.
There was a lot of good in Victor. She wouldn’t be able to prove it if anyone had asked her to. It was small things. The way he went easy on those who had just been brought on to the Field, the way he never told a lie, the look he would get in his eyes when he visited the MRU and witnessed someone suffering.
He didn’t like it when people suffered. As far as Jeannine was concerned, that was the mark of a good man.
During one of those earlier infrequent visits, Victor had inadvertently read Jeannine’s mind. She’d been angry as hell with him for doing it, for invading her privacy in such a manner. But he’d quickly begged forgiveness, insisting that it was hard for him to shut it off after being on the Field for too long.
What was done was done, however. She’d been thinking that Game Control was hiding something. She’d been going over the patient docket in her mind – two memory wipes, one rehabilitation; three cases with signs of struggle and pain.
Victor turned to her, took her hands, and told her that he agreed with her. She had stared at him with wide eyes – but she believed him unequivocally. It was her gut again.
That was years ago.
Now, Jeannine turned away from the double doors and faced the small group waiting for her in the hall. She took a deep breath and met a pair of intense, green eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?’
Victor nodded.
“All right.” Jeannine pulled a few things out of the deep pockets of her lab coat and held them up for everyone to see. “Here’s what I’ve got. If you’re right and Red is carrying a tracking device, then this right here will cause it to become inert and, because the tracker is probably a bio-device, it’ll dissolve and be processed by her body.” She handed a small black pouch to Victor. He opened it. Inside was a single capsule. “The down side is, you have to get her to ingest it.”
Victor nodded. “Shouldn’t be too difficult,” he quipped. “I’ll just invite her to tea.” He pocketed the pouch and shot Jeannine a skeptical look.
She smiled sheepishly and went on. “This is for the guards we’ll no doubt come across. It’s a variant of our anti-nausea gas. It always makes people sleepy, so I extended and strengthened those effects and concentrated the gas so that it could be placed in something combustible.”
She held up a tiny glass capsule for the others to see.
“In other words, we smash this on the ground and the bad guys go to sleep,” Simon said, nodding at the container.
Jeannine smiled. “Basically, yes. Except it will work on good guys too, so stand back when you break it.” She handed the glass pill to Simon, who seemed the most eager to take it. “On the up side, if it does get you, you won’t be nauseated when you wake up.”
“How many will it take out?” Storm asked. John Storm had never come into the Medical Research Unit, not once. So, Dr. Cure had heard his rumbling voice only a few times since she’d met him, but each time she did, he reminded her of thunder.
“Half a dozen at most. One at the very least.” She nodded at Simon. “Aim well.”
He nodded back.
“These are regenerators. They’re incredibly difficult to make, as they require light leader power to alter some of the molecular development of the drugs incorporated. I only have a few. One for each of us was all I could manage.”
“What’ll it do?” Storm asked, eyeing the handful of small red button-like tablets in Jeannine’s hand.
“Cure what ails you, Mr. Storm.” She handed one to each of them. “Barring dismemberment, that is. I can only do so much.”
“It’s enough. Thank you, Jeannine.” Victor nodded and smiled at her. It was an uncharacteristically warm smile, coming from the man who some of the women in the MRU called “the god of ice.” It made his eyes light up like green magic and melted everything in Jeannine’s body from her neck down.
She smiled back, naturally.
“Right then, let’s get going.” Storm pocketed his regenerator and fingered his hammer.
“Where is Jonathan?” Victor asked, referring to Jeannine’s longtime lover. Victor was hoping to have Jonathan’s help in locating Victoria’s tracking device.
“He’s waiting for us in a cubby.” Cubby was her term for a hiding space. She used cubbies now and again to pilfer components for experiments she was conducting; sometimes it was better to conduct them in private.
Victor gestured for her to lead the way. “Right. Let’s get going.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Now may I see her?” Andromeda asked.
Loki regarded her. She was so lovely gazing up at him with her gold orbs that were even now bright with unshed tears. Her expression bore such earnest and such yearning, it stoked the flames within him.
“It’s nearly time. Give her a few moments more. You’ve had years to mourn; she’s had seconds.”
Andromeda turned away. Loki recognized her expression as a sharp mixture of frustration, anger and keen eagerness.
She had no idea how her sister felt. Andromeda had never had to suffer the loss of a loved one; she’d been the one killed. Loki understood that she missed her twin with a true fierceness. But she would never know the pain that Rose Tyrnan felt at that moment. It was easier to die.
From beyond the walls of the cabin that separated them, Loki could hear her sister sobbing. He could hear the old maid, Elizabeth, trying to soothe and comfort her.
It was a few minutes before this passed and a more subdued conversation drifted toward them. They were talking about Rose’s necklace now. It was a locket – one of a pair. Andromeda had worn the other. Loki remembered that now. The young goddess had died with it on.
“It’s time, love. Let’s go see your sister.”
* * * *
“It has five directions,” Victoria sniffed, wiping her nose on the small rag Elizabeth had given her. “I’ve never understood it. It always points in one of th
e four directions on a map, and then either up or down.”
Elizabeth took the compass locket in her old, ginger hands and gazed down at it in wonder.
“Your sister had one just like it,” she said softly. An already scratchy voice cracked under the weight of her memories. “Though it didn’t ever point up or down. This is new… and I understand why it’s happening. Andromeda’s compass would help her find you when you wandered off into the forest alone.” She laughed, and it was an ancient, wonderful, emotional sound. She shook her head slowly, her fingertips tracing the edges of the golden compass. “Yours told you where she was when you were cheating at hide and seek.” She laughed again, softly and contagiously. Then she sighed. “They point to one another, Rose.” She looked up then, and cupped Victoria’s cheek in her withered hand. “Do you remember, child?”
Victoria closed her eyes as Elizabeth wiped away the wetness that was still staining her cheek. She nodded. She remembered everything now. She remembered enough even to know that the necklace she now wore was not hers. It was Andromeda’s. They had traded that morning, the morning of the day Andromeda died. They’d been hoping to confuse their parents about who was who.
They’d been so young. They never would have imagined that the day would end as it had, with one of them stolen… and the other dead.
“I found the locket under my bed in my quarters in the Red tower,” Victoria whispered. “I don’t know how it got there. But ever since – its compass has pointed either up or down.”
“It’s confused. It’s trying to point at you,” said Elizabeth. But even as she said it, the compass in Victoria’s hands shifted. She frowned. “And now it is now pointing at… the door?”
Victoria frowned. The strange arrow that had long plagued her with its confusing tendency to either point toward the heavens or gesture toward the earth was now very clearly aimed at the front door to the cottage.
She lowered the golden sphere and stared at the front door.
The door opened.
Victoria’s first instinct was to shield and safeguard her old nanny. She was up and out of the bed in a flash, a ball of flame gathering in the palm of one hand, her telekinesis spinning, building, and waiting behind her glowing eyes.
But when the door opened fully, the world stood still. Time hiccupped. Elizabeth slowly stood.
On the threshold stood Victoria’s look-alike, draped in white and gold garb, her long golden hair braided intricately, her expression one of cautious hope and her shimmering eyes filled with love.
Victoria’s hand dropped to her side. The fire in her palm sputtered and went out.
* * * *
Loki remained invisible as Andromeda tentatively stepped over the threshold of her old nanny’s home. He could feel her hesitation, her fear and her hope.
But he was more worried about his champion just then. The shock of seeing her sister alive again after having only accepted her death moments ago might prove to be too much.
He would have to help her with this. Carefully, he crept into the home beside Andromeda, his eyes locked on Victoria face. He watched her expressions change and read her mind. At the exact moment when the weight of the world and its reality would have cracked her spirit, he lightened the load.
His power poured out of his body and into hers.
“Rose.” Andromeda said her sister’s name, and her beautiful voice broke off into a sob. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her; he could see the white of her knuckles. “It’s me. Andromeda.”
Loki could read the thoughts spinning through Victoria’s mind. She didn’t want to trust what she was seeing. She was a smart girl, and dark leaders could change their forms. She also thought she might be imagining things or even asleep and dreaming.
So when her instinct was to doubt her sister’s presence there, Loki forced her to move past it. They didn’t have the time for doubt.
“Oh…. My….”
Fuck. He’d forgotten about the old woman. She would have a fit of course. If the whites of her too-large eyes were any indication, it was already happening.
Elizabeth was trembling madly beside the bed, just behind Victoria’s protective stance.
“Meeda,” she whispered. “It can’t be. N- no…. I saw you die!” Her voice fell away into silence, leaving only her quaking body and persistently shaking head.
The gods were not as powerful as they’d once been. The Game Lord’s wretched wall had done more damage than any of them were willing to admit. Loki could protect the old woman from the same shock he was protecting his champion from, but as far as he was concerned, it was an unnecessary drain on what power he did have.
Danger was on its way. The wolf would be at the door in a matter of minutes. Loki wanted to be able to fight it off, if need be.
As if sensing her nanny’s distress, Victoria turned. She caught the old woman as she fell, holding her aloft in strong arms.
“Beth!” both sisters cried at once. Andromeda also rushed to her maid’s side.
“Help me get her on the bed,” Victoria told her sister. Andromeda didn’t hesitate. She took Elizabeth’s feet, and together they lifted the old woman, gently laying her over the blanket on the mattress.
Victoria moved her hand before Elizabeth’s mouth, checking for breath. Once she was convinced her nanny was alive and only sleeping, she lowered her hand – and very slowly turned to face her sister.
“Am I dreaming?” she asked.
Andromeda looked steadily into eyes that mirrored her own. She shook her head. “No, Rose. It’s me. Ullr took me to Valhalla when I was killed.” Very gradually, so as not to frighten her sister, she raised her own hand and cupped Victoria’s cheek. “Odin has allowed me to see you again.”
Loki looked on as Victoria’s face reflected the torn emotions inside.
In the next magical, miraculous moment, the sisters grasped each other in a hug that not a million men in an eon of years could have separated.
* * * *
Victor pulled back from where he’d been crouching in the bushes beside the trail. Blood hadn’t seen him. He hadn’t sensed him. The Red captain severely underestimated Victor.
But that was a good thing.
Jonathan Thatcher managed to locate Victoria’s signal in record time. He also determined which transporter cube and location Maxwell Blood and his band had utilized.
Victor, Storm, and Simon had to face several more contingencies of guards on their way to the same transporter, but these were handled with incredible, relentless efficiency. Storm commented that he’d never seen Black so determined.
He was right.
Once they’d zipped to the same location that Max had exited to, they began to run. One thing about the Gray and Red teams was that everyone was in excellent shape. They could run a great distance at great speeds.
Game Control’s guards, on the other hand, would be confined to walking at a quick pace. This gave Victor and his men a distinct advantage over Bloody Max since Max had decided to rely upon GC manpower.
As he and the others moved in on the unsuspecting Blood, Victor erected a wall around his consciousness to keep Blood from detecting him. Max was clearly a dark leader, but how powerful a leader was he? He was too strong to be as young as he appeared. And the name “Bloody Max” was one that had to have been earned. Did a mere fifteen years on the Field merit such a designation?
Victor crept back toward his waiting companions and pinched the bridge of his nose. Thinking about Maxwell Blood was giving him a headache. There was too much fuzziness around the figure for Black’s liking. There was too much that Victor didn’t know and couldn’t figure out and wasn’t remembering.
Remembering….
Bloody hell! Victor stopped in his tracks and ran a shaking hand through his thick, raven hair. A realization had just struck him, and it was beyond cruel.
I’ve been rehabilitated.
He almost swayed there, in the hollow shadows of the trees that loomed so high overh
ead. His heart raced. He broke out in a sweat.
How many times? When? What had happened during his tenure on the Field that he was not recalling? Not allowed to recall?
Bloody sons of bitches! They’d altered his mind, invaded his thoughts, and destroyed a part of who he was. In fact, the gods only knew what and who he really was!
He swore internally. His thoughts seethed now. The insight was more certain, and more painful for that certainty. They would pay for what they’d done to him. They would pay for what they had done to all of the Gamers on the Field. They had taken away identities and forced people into slave labor. And for what?
For a Game that he knew in his heart did not need to exist.
It’s fake. It’s a sham. It was created by the Game Lord to…. Victor blinked. His head was spinning. It was really beginning to hurt now. He was slightly dizzy.
Gods, not now! he thought, even as sickness rose in his gut and his hand found support against a tree.
“Black!” Victor looked up to find Storm and Roon running in his direction, their expressions concerned. “What ails you, man?” Storm asked, his gravelly voice booming through the darkness of the shade trees.
“I don’t know,” Victor whispered. He could put no more force behind his words. He felt too dizzy, too ill. “But keep it down.”
The memories rammed him, one after another, sounds and colors and voices.
A sham…. He has to keep the Gamers inside the wall. He’s stealing their strength. Another voice said, You’re one of the strongest, Black. It echoed through the recesses of his mind, and bile rose in his throat. He swallowed hard. So you’ll understand why we need to do this. We can’t have you causing a fuss. Don’t worry, Victor, the voice now whispered. The Game Lord was lowering his lips to speak into Victor’s ear. He couldn’t move. He was strapped down. It’ll all be over before you know it.
Laughter. And then there was pain.
“Black!” Storm’s voice boomed again, this time closer. Black felt himself falling. He felt strong hands on him, strong arms trying to lift him. “Help me get him on his back, lad!”