Heroes 'Til Curfew (Talent Chronicles #2) (32 page)

I stood there, shocked into silence while
Dylan yanked his jacket and boots out from under the bed. “Wait a
second. What are you doing?” I just needed a minute to think about
this. To run the what-ifs and figure out what to do.

“Joss,” Dylan’s voice had a warning note,
and he cast a wary glance toward my dad. But that was all he said.
He pulled on his jacket without looking for his shirt, stuffed his
socks in his jacket pockets while he shoved his bare feet into his
boots. Just like that, he was all ready to leave me.

“Just hold on,” I said, clambering onto the
bed as the quickest route to get to him.

“Don’t make me do this, Joss. He
has
to leave now. Just let him go.”

It was like the room froze when Dad leveled
the gun on Dylan. I couldn’t even breathe. Couldn’t think what the
hell was happening. Then it flew out of his hand.

For just an instant, I thought I had done
it. I thought that instinct had taken over and I had whipped the
gun out of his grip without even thinking. But I hadn’t. Before I
could finish the thought, Mom was taking it from Jill’s hand.

“‘You never point a gun at anybody, ever,
unless you intend to kill them,’” Jill scolded.

“Jillian…” he growled.

Mom untangled the gun from the vine Jill had
grown and thrown out to wrap around it. She dropped out the clip
and stuck it in her back pocket, ejected the round in the chamber
and stuck that in her pocket too. “Gene, you have to stop
this.”

“Okay, yeah, you have to go,” I hissed at
Dylan. “Phase out and go out the window. I’ll call you later. We’ll
meet up and figure this out.”

“No way I’m leaving you now. Not with him
like this.”

Dad whirled toward him. “Get out of my house
and stay away from my daughter. I don’t need a weapon to kill you
where you stand.”

“Jill,” Mom said, quiet but firm, “I need
you to go downstairs and call Jayce. She’s on speed dial. Tell her
your Dad’s sick and we need her and Ben to come over.”

A sob escaped my throat and in my head there
was nothing but
no, no, no,
overlaying the echoes of the
past.

Dad turned toward the door again. “Go to
your room.”

Jill turned and fled. Down the stairs.

“You see what you’ve done?” Dad advanced on
Dylan and I jumped between them. “Stand aside, Jocelyn.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Joss,” Dylan said calmly, “I don’t need you
to—”

“Phase out, Dylan. Please.” I was shaking
all over. I’d only seen that look in Dad’s eyes once before.

Dad reached out to grab me and a burst of
focused air knocked his hand aside. I watched the shock turn to
something else on his face as I crossed my arms over my chest. I
imagined drawing in the atmosphere around us, imagined it
concentrating in front of me, thickening, forming a wall.

“Daddy, please don’t do this.” I heard the
tears in my voice, tasted them sliding over my lips.

“Gene, please,” Mom pleaded. I reached out
with my mind, sent a gentle push of air in her direction and
slammed the door.

“Jocelyn, open this door!”

“It’s him, don’t you see that?” Dad’s eyes
glittered. “You know that at least one person at that school is
working for NIAC.”

“I know that because Dylan found that out.
When he was helping me.”

“He’s been working against me, trying to get
you to slip up, give yourself away. And you’re so starry eyed you
can’t see it. But I can. It’s my job to protect you.”

He lunged at us and I did what I had to do.
I yanked my arms down, my mind releasing the shield, pushing it out
and shoving him away from us. Dad flew back, arms and legs
flailing, and smashed into the wall.

He got right back on his feet, hands up in
front of his face, eyes glittering with rage.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before
you came for her. But I’m never gonna let you have my daughter. I
know
. I know better than anyone what you are, and I’ll never
let you get to her.”

At first I thought he was talking to Dylan,
but he was looking at me. “Dad,” I said calmly as we circled each
other, “it’s me, Joss.”

“Don’t you say her name. You don’t get to
say her name!”

“Dad! You need to stand down!” I was
panicked, afraid I was going to have to hurt him. Afraid that he
and Dylan would hurt each other. I didn’t feel Dylan behind me
anymore. He was still somewhere in the room and I couldn’t see
him.

Dad came at me with a series of quick, hard
jabs. He was just testing me as an opponent, but already I could
feel the difference in his style. We weren’t sparring anymore. He
wanted to hurt me.

Not you. Whoever he thinks you are.

Like that’s supposed to make it better.

He stumbled to the side, his arms seemingly
pinned in place.
Dylan.
I went for Dad’s middle, launching
myself at his ribcage from the side, wrapping my arms around his
waist, trying to wrestle him to the floor. But even pinned to his
sides, his hands were still free. He grabbed my head and forced it
down as his knee shot up.

Pressure exploded into my face, a tingling,
numbing sensation that wasn’t pain yet, but would be. I went down
hard, rolling to my back.

Dad used the distraction to twist in Dylan’s
hold. I tried to get back into it, but I wasn’t fast enough. He got
a foot planted, bent, heaved, and flipped Dylan over his head.

Dylan phased back into view when the back of
his head bounced off my floor. He was already rolling over,
scrabbling up, but the seconds I spent watching him cost me. Dad’s
fist plowed into my gut, driving the breath from my body and
doubling me over. I got my Talent guard up just in time to protect
most of my injured face. Dylan came up off the floor, aiming at
Dad’s midsection. With the size of his shoulders and the strength
in his long legs unbending beneath him, it was a move that usually
worked well for him. But Dad wasn’t another teenage boy, he was an
experienced fighter with the muscle and mass of a grown man. They
grappled for a moment before Dad raised his hand over the back of
Dylan’s neck, preparing the a strike I knew to be potentially
lethal.

Something flashed through me. Dad didn’t
know me anymore, and I didn’t know him either. I whipped my leg
around and drove my foot into the small of his back. The kick might
have lacked some power because of my positioning, but I beefed it
up with my Talent. The force of it made Dylan stumble and lose his
grip. Dad fell forward over him, and they went down in a
tangle.

My father and my boyfriend were wrestling on
the floor of my bedroom like kids on a playground, and I couldn’t
find an opening to separate them. Dylan stayed in it by his wits,
disappearing and reappearing to keep Dad confused and off-balance.
Every time I almost had a hold on Dad to even try to drag him off,
the battle shifted and they rolled again.

The door flew open. Ben stood there for a
second, filling the doorway with his massive frame, then came
straight at me. I was so shocked by the attack that he was wrapped
around me with my arms pinned to my sides before I knew to defend
myself.

Dad had finally subdued Dylan who lay on his
face, both arms bent up behind his back. Just a little shift and
Dad would break his bones.

“Nichols! About time you showed up.” Dad
said.

“What’s the situation, Sarge? Who are these
guys?”

What the hell? Ben’s last name is Duncan,
not Nichols. And Ben’s never called Dad “Sarge” before.

“NIAC agents, I think. Undercover at my
daughter’s school. They came to take Joss.”

“Joss is fine. All your girls are
downstairs, safe. These guys should have found an easier mark,” Ben
laughed.

“We need to interrogate them. Find out if
there are more.”

“Jayce’s here. She’s got her bag of tricks.
I’m sure she can shoot these guys up with something that’ll make
them talk.”

“Sounds good.”

“Jayce! We’re ready for you!” He leaned down
to my ear and muttered, “You might want to struggle or something,
kid. Make it look good?”

It wasn’t like this happened every day. In
fact, nothing like this had happened for over a decade. Jayce and
Ben were always around when I was a kid, but then when Jayce became
more my dad’s doctor than a family friend, they didn’t come around
anymore. Yet they acted like this was some kind of game, and they
were totally used to it. I made some attempt at struggling against
Ben’s hold, but I was too busy trying to figure it all out to ‘make
it look good.’”

Jayce came in with a small, black zipper
case. She smiled at my Dad. “Joe, why don’t you pick on someone
your own size?”

“You’re hilarious,” he told her.

She held a syringe up to the light, flicked
her finger against it and knelt down by Dylan. She yanked his
jacket down to bare his upper arm and then pulled a little package
from the case which she opened with her teeth. She rubbed the
alcohol pad over Dylan’s bicep.

“Is that really necessary? Give him the
stuff already.”

“Do I give you pointers on how to knock
heads together? No, I don’t.” To Dylan she said, “Now you’re going
to feel a pinch…”

Then she jabbed the needle into Dad’s neck
and depressed the plunger.

Dylan cried out as Dad’s grip tightened, and
Ben was already on the floor with them, pulling Dad gently away,
rolling him onto his back.

“I’ve got you, Sarge.”

“Brian, she…what…did she…?”

Dylan moved away from them, pulling his
jacket back into place and shaking his arms. Dad’s arm fell away
from his body and Jayce touched his pulse point and looked at her
watch.

“It’s all right now, Joe. Just take a break.
I got this,” Ben told him.

Dad was struggling to speak, to keep his
eyes open. He kept jerking his head in Ben’s lap, trying to rouse
himself. “Got to…take Joss…away from here. Not gonna get my
girl.”

Then he went under.

Chapter 15

Dylan

“Tim, I told you to stay downstairs.”

“Dispatch is on the phone.” I recognized the
kid in the doorway from the fire at Mueller’s. Joss had said his
dad was the Fire Chief. He was holding up a cell phone, wiggling it
in the air. “They—”

“Tell them I’ve got a personal emergency and
I’m taking a friend to the hospital. They can call White.”

“Okay.” He started to leave.

“And tell Joan she can come on up.”

“Okay.”

“And take these two downstairs, clean ’em
up, make ’em drink some water.”

“And see if you can find some bananas or
some source of electrolytes,” the woman with the needles added.

“Anything
else?
”

“We’ll let you know,” the man called Ben—and
Brian, apparently—said, giving Tim a look.

Tim ducked back out of the doorway to relay
the message into the phone, but he was hanging out, waiting for us.
I stretched my neck and rolled my shoulders as I made my way over
to Joss. Everything felt sore and slightly out of place.

“He’s gonna be okay,” I told Joss, hunkering
down. “Let’s go down and see your sister. Show her you’re all
right.”

With blood all over from the nose down, she
didn’t really look okay. And she didn’t look at me. It seemed like
she wasn’t really looking at anything. When she didn’t move on her
own, I stood and pulled her up with me. She was steady on her feet,
just…not really there.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Marshall grabbed Joss
away from me and wrapped her arms around her. Joss didn’t really
move. “Look at your face.” Mrs. Marshall’s voice broke a little,
and tears were spilling down her cheeks, but she wasn’t sobbing. It
was hard for me to watch, but Joss just stood there while her
mother dabbed at the drying blood with her own sleeve.

“Aunt Joan,” Tim said awkwardly, “Dad said
to tell you to come up.”

“Are you hurt, sweetheart?” Her thumbs felt
along Joss’s nose.

“It’s not broken,” Joss told her in a weak
voice.

Tim pulled an ice pack out of the freezer.
“Go ahead. I got this.” He said it like his father said it, and I
could see the resemblance, how he was a much smaller and scrawnier
version of the mysterious man upstairs who had burst into the room,
called Joss’s father ‘Sarge’ and had his immediate trust. What was
that about?

Mrs. Marshall kissed her daughter’s cheek
and patted me on the shoulder as she left the room.

“Want some hot chocolate?” Jill asked as I
maneuvered Joss into a chair. She had whipped cream-stache.

“Not so much sugar for these guys, kid,” Tim
told her. “Not until they get some of the adrenaline out of their
systems.”

Was everyone around here some first aid
expert except Jill and me?

“Here,” Tim said, holding the ice pack, now
wrapped in a dish towel, out to Joss, “put this on your…whole
face.”

She just stared at it, so I took it. I sat
in the chair between her and Jill, pulled her chair around to face
me, and set it gingerly against the side of her nose. She winced a
little, but didn’t say anything.

“Can you get me a damp—”

“I’m on it,” Tim said. He brought back a
warm cloth, and then moved away so he wasn’t hovering. I kind of
liked him.

“All right, Marshall,” I said, putting her
hand over the ice pack. “You just hold that right there while I go
to work on this mess.” Her hand stayed where I put it.

“So what’s up, slacker? How come the first
aid kit isn’t out here?” I asked Jill as Tim cracked open the caps
on some bottled water and put them on the table.

“If I’d known you were still here, I never
would have put it away.”

I chuckled, turning to her. “You were
awesome, you know that? What did you do?”

She grinned hugely, swiping her sleeve
across her mouth, the same way her big sister would, and stood up.
She pulled a little drawstring bag that was hanging around her neck
out of her shirt and knocked out some of the contents into her
palm.