Balanced Chaos (The Void Series Book 3) Page 17

  She glanced down at her t-shirt. “What? What’s Down-ton Abbey?”

  “Downton Abbey. It’s a T.V. show. Your t-shirt.”

  “Oh. All our clothes come from donation bins placed around the city. I’ve never seen the show. What does it mean? I always liked it ‘cause it seemed kinda, I don’t know, anti-establishment.”

  Philip smirked at her. “Sad to disappoint, but it’s anything but anti-establishment. Bates is a valet in the show accused a murder, much loved by the audience. During the season when he was in jail, there was a major out-cry by the viewing population to get the writers to free him, hence the t-shirt.”

  “You mean people made t-shirts just to get writers to free a fictional character from jail on a T.V. show?”

  He nodded, a sheepish grin playing at his lips.

  “Like… they had nothing better to do?”

  Werner burst out laughing, collapsing against the footlocker. Sam laughed too, though she wasn’t exactly sure what he was finding so funny.

  “Oh Sam, if only more humans could hear you talk. That is an excellent question.”

  “Well, damn. You’ve just ruined my favorite t-shirt for me.”

  Slowly, he stopped laughing and regained control. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

  “We should get going. We have to go see Dave.”

  “Gotta check in with the lieutenant colonel first,” Werner said as he climbed to his feet.

  He reached down and helped her up. Sam grabbed her bedraggled-looking leather jacket and slipped it on as she followed Werner out. They went to his room where he grabbed his gear before heading up to the central hub of the National Guard’s headquarters. As always, they found the colonel barking orders from the entrance of his office.

  “I see you two are alive after all,” he growled before nodding towards his office.

  He did an about face and marched inside. They followed him in and waited until he motioned toward the seats on the opposite side of his desk. Sam swallowed a lump forming in her throat, amazed at the hostility pouring off the lieutenant colonel. Whatever her expectations had been, she wasn’t prepared for open anger. She snuck a glance at Werner and found him sitting stiff as a board.

  “While I am glad to see you recovered, Corporal, and I would never wish harm on you or any of my men, I cannot support what you did, Gollet.”

  “Sir?” Sam asked, not sure what she had done wrong.

  “It is illegal for a military outpost to use fae magic to heal its men. Had I known about your actions, it would have jeopardized the legal standing of this command.” He paused. “Lucky for you, I don’t give scuttlebutt much credence. Now, we did not get much information from the men Corporal Werner captured before they died.”

  “They died, sir?” asked Corporal Werner.

  “Yes, Corporal. One of them began talking about Sam, how Mr. Newberry had ‘brought her in’ and then the other fae roasted them both alive with fire.”

  Sam squeezed her eyes shut, the image of the two fae burning to death easy to imagine even though she hadn’t been there.

  “The fae version of an arsenic tooth?” Werner asked.

  Gallagher nodded.

  “What’s that?” Sam asked.

  The colonel let out a long sigh, all signs of anger gone as he leaned back in his desk chair and intertwined his fingers. “It’s an old Cold War suicide method.”

  “Wh-what’s the ‘Cold War’?”

  The two men looked at her, shock and consternation clear on their features.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Werner asked.

  “No. What is it?”

  “It was a war back in the second half of the 20th century. A war that didn’t have any battles.”

  “What? A war without battles? Why would I know about a human war from hundreds of years ago that didn’t have any fighting?”

  The two men glanced at each other for a moment before letting it pass.

  “Anyway,” said Gallagher. “Secret agents implanted in foreign governments would use these fake teeth filled with poison to kill themselves if captured. This captured fae decided to kill himself and his comrade rather than risk us finding something out.”

  “But the other guy did say something,” hinted Werner.

  “Yes, he mentioned Mr. Newberry and ‘bringing her in.’ You know what he means?” Gallagher asked, glancing at Sam.

  Sam nodded hesitantly. “I think he is referring to a rash of murders the reservation suffered recently. Specifically fae murders. Mr. Newberry was the clan leader who specifically asked me to help solve them.”

  “Brought her in,” repeated Werner to himself.

  “Fae murders. Why didn’t the FMB handle it?” asked the lieutenant colonel.

  Sam tried to hide her smile. “The FMB didn’t ‘handle’ much of anything, sir.”

  “And did you find the murderer?” asked the lieutenant colonel.

  Sam felt her jaw flex and her shoulders tense. “In a manner of speaking. They sorta found me. I got too close and they attacked me…”

  “You’re referring to the massacre…” suggested Werner.

  Sam nodded, her jaw flexing until it hurt. The men were silent for a moment.

  The lieutenant colonel slumped forward, bringing his desk chair down with a thud. “So this new threat is angry with Newberry for bringing you into fae business?”

  “That would be my guess, sir,” Sam said. “And I need to tell him.”

  Gallagher nodded slowly before motioning for them to leave.

  “We going there next?” Werner asked.

  Sam heaved a deep sigh and nodded. It was time to go see her “dad.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Once again, Sam stared at her front door, trying find the willpower to raise her fist and knock. Roman’s marker was still there, throbbing against the chipped wood of the door, just as strong as it had been the day before, and Sam’s fear pulsed just as strong, too.

  Only this time, she had Philip at her side. But Philip was only so much in the way of a “line of defense” against the craziness that was her family.

  As she thought of her family and their hatred, a new fear tickled the back of her mind—what if Philip met her family, realized they were a bunch of ass-hats, and decided she wasn’t worth his time?

  “We gonna go in, or we gonna watch the door age?” Werner asked from behind her.

  “I haven’t decided.”

  From the other side of the door, Sam heard a rustle of noise. A second later, the door creaked open a fraction.

  “Dave will be home any minute. You better come inside,” her mother said before pulling the door open all the way.

  Sam took a deep breath and followed her mother in, trailed by Philip. She tried not to watch the corporal, but she couldn’t help but catch his expression out of the corner of her eye as they emerged into the tiny living room. It was a perfect mixture of polite disinterest and shock. Sam tried to look at the small space from the perspective of a stranger, but all she could see were the inner workings of a domestic system that were as familiar to her as the back of her hand.

  On the small kitchen table sat her mother’s ill-equipped sewing basket, her precious three needles poking out of her homemade pincushion, and her single bobbin of all-purpose black thread sitting atop a torn garment. Sam remembered going to school embarrassed by her patched clothing, the dark thread standing out against whatever color the garment might have been. It wasn’t until her later years of school that she realized all the kids wore patched clothing.

  The chairs around the table didn’t match and not all their legs were the same length. One of the legs only reached the floor with the help of a folded up piece of cardboard. Sam thought back over the years, wondering how long it had been since she had noticed the cardboard foot. But to Werner, all the little oddities—the necessities, really—denoted just how poor they really were.

  Does he pity us? she wondered to herself as they took their seats on the loveseat. She noted t
he way his knees nearly hit his chest as they sank into the old cushions. Philip gave her his habitual smile, which she struggled to return.

  The silence dragged on, even after her brother emerged from his bedroom and took up a seat on the chair supported by the piece of cardboard. Sam battled against the silence, certain her own heartbeat was audible to the whole room the longer she sat, waiting for Dave to enter.

  Eventually, even her mother began to fidget. Ryan seemed to be the only one at ease, and Sam could easily read the source of his ease. Her brother was pouring all his emotions—all his fear, all his dread, all his insecurities—into detesting the human presence in the room. He sat glowering at Philip, his expressive features set in a glare perfectly formulated to be just shy of offensive.

  Sam glanced at the corporal, wondering how he was taking it. To her amusement, Werner had plastered a smile on his face.

  “So, Mrs. Gollet, what do you do?” Werner asked as he shifted his smile to Sam’s mother.

  “Oh, well, I did work at Fae Manufacturing, but since the massacre they had to downsize.”

  Sam frowned; no one had told her this. “What do you mean, Mom? Where are you working now?”

  “I’m not. There’s no work to be found.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were too busy with your own life,” growled Ryan.

  “Quiet,” chided their mother. She turned to Sam. “I didn’t want to worry you. You were just getting well and all.”

  Sam just stared at her mother. Fae Manufacturing had been destroyed because of the battle with the psychotic fae who had wanted to eliminate the vampires within the reservation. And now her mother was out of work as a result. How were they paying for the basic necessities? Granted, they had one less mouth to feed, but still. Sam knew they needed their mother’s income. Hell, when she had been living here they had needed all four of their incomes to keep them fed. Sam looked at her mother and brother again, noting just how thin they were.

  Was this what Ryan had been hinting at before? she thought to herself.

  Before Sam could speak, the door opened. They each waited in silence for Dave to make the short journey down the hall and into the living room. He stopped short, barely visible in the gloom of the hallway.

  “What the devil is she doing here?” he demanded.

  Each one rose to their feet, the tension in the air rising.

  Sam held her tongue, seeing if Ryan would defend his decision. After all, she was here upon Ryan’s request. When her brother didn’t say anything, her mother spoke up.

  “Ryan thinks Sam can help. He asked her here.”

  Sam eyed her ex-father. He looked thinner than she remembered, but then again so were the others. His skin had a greenish hue to it, much like Mrs. Newberry, but unlike the succubus, he was walking and talking. If Sam had to guess, they had just started to poison him, or they were giving him much smaller doses.

  “Help with what?”

  “Your health, Dave.”

  “How can she help? She’s no healer.”

  Miranda glanced over at Ryan, unsure how to answer. Sam suddenly realized her family didn’t know the true nature of her powers. She had hidden it for all these years.

  Surely they’ve heard the rumors after all these months of fighting?

  “Well, Sam?” asked Ryan, suggesting he, at least, had heard some rumors. “You gonna say it or you gonna make me do it?”

  Sam felt the sting of his words, and wondered if her mother would forgive her for keeping such a secret for so long.

  “I can do more than steal mystical power.”

  Her mother stared at her as though she was seeing a ghost. Slowly, her bottom lip began to tremble and she slid into her chair.

  “Wh-what do you mean?” Miranda asked.

  “The powers I take, I can use… for a short period of time.”

  All the color drained from her mother’s face. “That’s how you’ve gotten involved in s-so much…”

  “Violence?” Sam asked, trying to finish her sentence.

  Miranda nodded.

  “So the freak is more freakish than we thought!” growled Dave.

  “And more powerful,” added Sam, giving him a look that made him take a step back.

  He glared at her in return and squared his bony shoulders.

  “Makes me all the more glad I kicked you out when I did.”

  “You and me both, Dave, but I’m here to keep up my end of a deal. I’m here to see you healed.”

  “What do you think you’re here to do with me?” asked Dave, a touch of fear coloring his eyes.

  Sam turned to Ryan with a raised eyebrow.

  Her brother let out a sigh and said, “Dad, you’re sick, you’re being poisoned. You know it as well as I do. Sam can help figure out who’s poisoning you. She solved Becky’s murder and all those murders last month. The whole Res knows she’s the biggest busy-body there is. If anyone can figure out who’s poisoning you, it’s her.”

  Sam rolled her eyes. Leave it to Ryan to make my sleuthing skills out to sound bad.

  “Fine. Go sniff around. Just leave me alone, little louse,” growled Dave.

  Sam glanced at Philip, wondering how he would take hearing her called by her old nickname. His hands were balled up into fists. He glanced at her and mouthed the words “little louse.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “I need to examine you,” Sam said, tensing for his response.

  “Examine me? What for?”

  “I need to ‘catch the scent,’ if you will, of the poison inside you.”

  “So you are nothing short of a little hound dog bitch.”

  “Now that’s enough,” snapped Werner.

  Sam jerked, grabbing his wrist before he could put himself between her and Dave.

  “Ooo, looks like I struck a chord with you little human lover,” sneered Dave.

  “That’s because, unlike some people in this room, Corporal Werner knows what it’s like to have common decency,” Sam replied as calmly as she could. “Now, will you allow me to use my powers on you or not?”

  “You’re not stealing any of my fae gift,” Dave snapped, what little color he had draining from his cheeks.

  Sam had taken his gift only once, but it was enough to frighten him until he took his final breath.

  “No, Dave, I won’t steal any of your gift, but I do need to feel within your gift. The poison working inside of you likely has magical properties, and if that is the case it will be attacking your gift.”

  “You have to do this, Dad. You don’t and you’ll be dead inside a month, I guarantee it,” said Ryan, not bothering to pull any punches.

  Dave glanced around at his audience, taking in set expression. Even Miranda, who had years of practice obeying her husband, had crossed her arms and was glowering at Dave.

  “Fine,” he snapped, throwing up his arms.

  Sam stepped forward, preparing to cross the small space.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded before she had taken more than a step.

  “I need to touch you,” she said, no more relishing the idea than he was.

  “Why?”

  “My powers are stronger and faster when I touch you than if I don’t.”

  “Fine. But no stealing.”

  Sam crossed the small space and reached up to touch his sunken cheeks, willing herself not to think of all the bruises she had sported from his fists. The fears of her childhood came roaring back, and with them her gift awoke, ready to defend her from the beating she was conditioned to expect.

  Sam battled her own gift, as she sought to find balance within the tumult of her own emotions. She willed herself back into control, but the more she struggled, the harder it was to block the images of herself in the mirror after an argument with her father.

  “What’s taking so long?” demanding Dave.

  “I’m making sure I have complete control over my gift before it probes yours. You want that, don’t you?” she
asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her voice.

  His tone, dripping with disdain, brought back more painful memories, making it harder for her to wrangle her powers into any semblance of control.

  “Well, hurry it up. I don’t got all day.”

  “Trust me, Dave. No one wants to be around you any longer than necessary,” she said with her eyes still closed.

  Ignoring the warning her conscious gave her, Sam sent her gift in, doing her best to keep it under control. It snaked and slithered into Dave, refraining from taking by the slightest thread of strain on Sam’s part.

  After a slow and steady search, Sam found the poison deep within Dave’s gift, slowly working its magic, and, just like with Mrs. Newberry, Sam’s gift recoil at the mere touch of the poison. Sam jerked her gift out of Dave’s power, accidentally taking a little.

  Dave reacted on instinct. His own power turned him invisible in the blink of an eye. He reached out, grabbing Sam by the neck and slamming her against the rickety table. Sam tried to scream, but he had already begun to squeeze her throat and the sound was cut off before it was more than a squeak.

  Sam tried to call her gift to her, to take more of his power, to drain him into unconsciousness, but as Dave squeezed her neck, all the fears of her childhood came rushing back, strangling her gift just as he strangled her body.

  As the blood rushed into her ears, drowning out most of the sound, she heard one thing very clearly—the sound of Philip’s voice.

  “Let her go, or I swear to whatever god you serve, I will blow your head off.”

  Sam felt a brief hesitation before the grip of Dave’s hand lessoned. She blinked back the tears and opened her eyes. Though Dave was still invisible, Sam could see Werner plainly enough, his sidearm poised at what Sam assumed would be Dave’s head. Slowly, Dave reappeared and, sure enough, Werner’s aim was completely accurate.

  “Now step away,” Werner ordered.

  Dave pulled his hands away, raising them above his shoulders. “Seems you have quite the champion,” he sneered.

  “I have… quite the… friend,” Sam replied between coughs.