A Sea of Purple Ink (10 page)

Joplin shaded his eyes and peered up at the fire-blackened timbers. “I don’t see him anymore. I think he’s gone.” He lowered his hand and turned towards her. “Oh, your face…”

“What about it?” Realization struck. “Did some of the paint come off?”

The king nodded. “At first I thought it was from the crying, but now…”

Reese waved a hand. “I understand.”
Blast.
She licked her fingers and tried to smear over the revealed ink stains. After a moment she looked up. “Better?”

The king looked embarrassed.

“Never mind,” Reese said, turning away. “We’ll fix it later.” She moved forward into the rubble, pulling her mind to sharp focus. Oddly enough, the crying seemed to have helped clear out the chaos. She felt the usual tickings and hummings of thoughts, but none of the frenzy of an hour ago.

Floorboards were broken and falling into the tavern basement. Chunks of two walls lay strewn about. Reese stooped at the edge of the hole and picked up a panel from the old bar. Bullet holes traced a tight line through the stained and battered wood.

Reese let it fall. “There doesn’t seem to be much here,” she called to her companion, who stood leaning one elbow on an overturned table. “I’m going below. Keep your eyes open for anyone watching.”

Joplin gave her a casual salute.

Don’t salute me.
Reese pushed a heap of plaster out of her way and lowered herself feet first through a hole in the floor.
And if you try to run away, I’ll find you.
She landed in the center of the old storeroom. The workbench was on its side, a long crack running through the middle. Bullet holes and smoke marked the old red armchair, and a ceiling-high pile of wall stones lay collapsed in a corner.

Reese sniffed hard and blinked back tears. The building reeked of needless violence and pain. She bit her lower lip. Niela’s idea of eliminating the police force had never seemed so good. She stepped toward the old hallway door.
It’s certainly tempting, and I know Tyrone would help.

Reese fell to her knees by the pile of rubble and began pushing bricks out of the way. A section of debris fell outward in a puff of dust, revealing an empty space beyond. She craned her head and peered into the dark hole. A second hole led away from the pile and out into the hallway, like an open mouth in the shadows.

Did someone get away?
Reese rose to her feet and picked her way to the partially collapsed door.

The hallway was dark, but even in the dim light Reese could see that it was filled with rubble. If anyone had gotten out that way, they had either been buried in the sliding heap or had escaped altogether.

Reese clenched her jaw, her mind running probabilities and possible scenarios. The police were hitting harder and harder every time she tried to out-maneuver them. How much more could she do? Her throat ached and she turned away.

A gleaming sheet of paper hung against the battered paneling, the king’s seal emblazoned across the top.

Reese strode across the room and tore the offending sheet from the wall.

Insomuch as you have defied the law of the king
, the paper began,
by possessing and using outlawed extranormal abilities, we hereby reclaim…

Reese lowered the paper. The usual anti-ability arrest notice. She started to crumple it into a ball, then stopped. Something else was there. Something on the back of the paper. She carried it to the patch of light beneath the broken ceiling.

On the back of the page, in a strange, scratchy hand, curled the words “Reese Darren.”

Reese smoothed the paper and continued reading.

I’m eager to speak with you. I have your friends, and I know that without them your illegal activities are crippled. I would venture to guess that, without them, you are crippled as well.

In exchange for a list of names and access to your special abilities, I will consider a trade.

I almost had you with Grahm. He has paid for his mistakes. If you choose to ignore me, you will pay for yours.

- Stryker

Reese crushed the paper in her hands. Anger smoldered deep in her chest. The room grew too small to stand in, too hot to be tolerated.

In exchange for access to my abilities and a list of names?
The whole note had to be a joke.
He’s toying with me.
Reese narrowed her eyes.
Trying to test the waters. Well. He can test them.
She looked down at the paper, breathing hard.
And I’ll be ready.

She crammed the wad of paper into her pocket.
Whoever you are, Stryker, I am going to get my friends back. Without your help.

14

“The harbor official is absolutely mad,” Tyrone drawled, waving a forkful of dark meat. He tipped his chair back until it thudded against the wall, then motioned toward Joplin, who sat across from him. “They must have gone through my warehouse three times in one hour.”

Reese picked up her cup of coffee and walked to the edge of the warehouse. There was far too much noise to think. She stopped in the doorway and stared into the shadows of the massive room beyond, mind ticking away. And despite her caution in retracing her steps, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had followed them from the tavern.

“I mean, it’s one thing to be thorough,” Tyrone went on—she could picture him without even looking, the epitome of outraged innocence— “but I’m beginning to think they actually want to find something.”

Joplin mumbled in reply.

Reese leaned her shoulder against the side of the doorframe, closed her eyes, and took a long sip of coffee. The dark liquid flooded in over her tongue, carrying a faint aroma of the mainland.
Think
, she told herself, pulling in her mental focus. The question of the king had mercifully been overshadowed by the policeman’s note.
What does this Stryker want?
It didn’t take much imagination to guess.
Help finding and arresting his enemies. And that’s not going to happen.
She blew into the porcelain cup.
If Stryker is really hoping to bargain with me, he’s keeping my crew somewhere easy to get to. Somewhere close.

Memories blurred into a mesmerizing stream. Random bits of data popped to the surface, like splashes of light.
If they’re still alive.
She set the drink on a broken crate.
And how long has this Stryker been watching me? He claims he set up Grahm’s betrayal. What if he’s working with the king as well?

“Are you all right?” Tyrone’s voice asked in her ear.

A burst of new thoughts streaked through Reese’s mind. She jumped and swung around, trying to brush the threads away. Her elbow crashed into Tyrone’s chest.
What is he doing right behind me?
She stepped back and tried to clear the tangle in her head. “What did you say?”

Tyrone stood on the other side of the doorway, one hand held where Reese had elbowed him. The light from the oil lamp on the table fell on the shoulder of his deep red vest and illuminated half his face. “Did you know,” he began, studying the lace on his sleeve, “that on the mainland, if you go far enough northeast, they can walk outside at night without worrying about the fog?” His coy smile eased into a thoughtful expression. He folded his arms and leaned against the wooden frame. “They even have little balconies and things just so they can go out in the cool night air and think.” His gaze met Reese’s. “I have a feeling you’d love that right about now.”

Days long gone by rose in Reese’s mind. The colored lights of an evening garden party in the Inner Circle. Laughing. Talking. Her father congratulating the young prince on becoming king, condoling him for the loss of his father. Reese’s chest constricted.
The king.
With a monumental effort, she pulled her thoughts from the memory and planted them in the present. “Where’s Joplin?” she asked, standing on tiptoe. She peered over the merchant’s shoulder at the empty dining room.
What if he’s running for the police?

Tyrone half turned to follow her gaze. “Off somewhere being Joplin.” He looked back at her and grinned. “Or whatever it is you types do when you’re not trying to save society.” His smile faded and a look of tender earnestness filled his eyes. “Reese, what’s wrong?”

Something fluttered in Reese’s heart. She hadn’t seen that look in years. Childhood secrets, growing-up pains.
How long has it been since we really talked?
she wondered. When he was serious, Tyrone could be a good listener. Slowly, Reese reached into the pocket of her vest and withdrew the crumpled sheet of paper. The note trembled as she held it out to him.

Tyrone took the parchment and smoothed it out.

Reese saw that he was looking at the warrant side, and her stomach twisted.
Please don’t make a joke about it. Not now.

The merchant glanced up at her, then turned the paper over and read. A shadow crossed his face. “You’re not…” He caught himself and lowered the sheet. “What are you going to do?” he asked, an odd tightness in his voice.

Reese folded her arms. The warehouse felt colder than before. “Go after them.” Her grip tightened. “I don’t see much choice.” She registered his expression without wanting to.
Why does he think it’s a bad idea?
“If I can find out where they are,” Reese added. She nodded at the parchment in the merchant’s hand. “They should be alive. I don’t think he was bluffing about being willing to exchange.”

Tyrone frowned down at her. “And then what?” he asked. The green of his eyes looked dark with concern.

Reese hesitated. She watched the merchant’s face, wishing she really could read his thoughts. “I’ll plan the next step.”

Tyrone crumpled the paper in one hand. “You’ve played chess. This fellow—” he shook the paper, “—is planning rings around you.” A few stray wisps of dark hair escaped his careful ponytail and flickered bronze in the lamplight. “He’s planned all the way to the end of the game.”

The words hit Reese like a fist. Possibilities exploded in her mind, swirling like a hurricane. But before they achieved a result, the question of the king took its place at the front. Pain lanced through her head. Reese clenched her jaw and tried to force the calculations back down. “There’s too much to think about,” she said, looking away.
What if something really is wrong with me? Thinking shouldn’t be this hard.

The merchant seemed to be weighing his words. “You remember when I got my father to believe you were still a noble? When I got him to not bat an eye at your coming for dinner night after night? I out-maneuvered him because I knew where I was going. I knew what I wanted.” He raised a hand and reached toward her, then hesitated. “All you’ve been doing is surviving, haven’t you?” he said. Frustration seeped between his words. “You used to know exactly what you wanted to do. What happened?”

Indecision. People. Lives.
Reese began trembling. Her head felt like it would explode.

Tyrone stooped and looked her straight in the eye. “You’re keeping it all in again,” he said softly. “I know you, Reese.”

Reese caught her breath. The look shot past her carefully guarded walls, touching an old wound that threatened to engulf her. Her hands felt clammy.
Not now
, she told herself, struggling to breathe. She could smell him, and for once the smell was home. “There are too many factors,” she said. The words slipped from her mouth as if drawn by his presence. “Even the greatest mastermind in the world couldn’t plan that far in advance.”

“Not when you’re overthinking,” Tyrone said. He moved closer and slowly laid one hand on her shoulder. “Sometimes I think you’d be better off without that gift.”

Reese’s neck tingled. A strange sense of lightheadedness swept over her, as if her mind was hesitating. She could feel Tyrone’s presence like a supporting wall. A wall that was pulling her in.
Not now!
Reese let her breath out slowly and focused on the oil lamp. She had a most irrational urge to cry and laugh at the same time.

“Look,” Tyrone said. Warmth from his hand seeped into Reese as his grip on her shoulder grew stronger. “If I help you find your gang,” he said, a smile easing onto his face, “will you at least think about what I said this time, instead of disappearing for a couple of years?”

Reese felt her whole body trembling.
Does Tyrone still love me?
The thought kept circling in her mind. Circling and multiplying as if refracted from thousands of crystal mirrors. Heat flooded over her face. Once it had seemed obvious, but they had never discussed it. Then she had left. But now… The thought went on, driving away the plans, the data streams—the effect was maddening, but somehow wonderful. Like the man who inspired it. A soft, curving smile crept to Reese’s lips.
Who knows?
she wondered.
Maybe I even—

“You know,” Tyrone said, straightening and tapping his chin with a long forefinger. “I bet your gang is still on the island.”

Reese felt the shock of her brain shifting back into gear. The magic swirled away into the depths of the warehouse.
Sea Level Prison.
She rubbed her sweating hands on the sides of her pant legs. “I think I know where,” she said. The thought made her dizzy. She grabbed the edge of the doorway and hung on, trying to stop the room spinning.

“Reese, what’s wrong?” Tyrone lunged forward and caught her by the arms. “Are you all right?” His grip felt strong and supportive. “Don’t make me get those tablets out again.”

Breathe.
Reese forced herself to inhale. “I’m all right,” she gasped. Unshed tears tingled at the back of her eyes.
Back to work. Back to business. Think.
She half turned and leaned against the tabletop. The oil lamp rocked as she bumped into its stand. “Do you have a map of Sea Level?” she asked.

Tyrone snorted. “Nobody has a map of that prison, unless they built it.”

Reese shook her head. “I meant outside.” The movement broke loose one of the tears. Reese felt its warm touch trail down her face. “The outside of the prison. The back palace grounds.”

“Oh, that.” Tyrone’s voice sounded relieved. “I’ve got maps of practically every back alleyway on the island, although I don’t like everyone to know that.” He supported her elbow. “I’ll get Daro to bring them in, and you can sit down before you give me the scare of my life.”

Reese lowered herself into a chair and tried to keep her focus on the issue at hand. Memories collided with new plans and possibilities in a dizzying dance.
Really,
Reese scolded herself,
I don’t know when you’ve been this easily distracted before. And emotional.

Across the room, Tyrone stuck his head out into the building lobby. “Daro?” he shouted. “Bring me the reports on off-shore woolen prices, will you?” He pulled his head back in and left the door ajar. “They should be pretty recent,” he said, walking back to the table. He slid another chair out and folded himself down onto the seat. “Although I don’t know how much good they’ll do you.” He glanced at the door, then folded his hands on the tabletop. “Are you actually planning to break into Sea Level Prison?” he asked, voice low.

A piece of Reese’s hair fell into her face. She brushed it away. “I’ve done it before.”

Tyrone’s eyebrows shot upward and he stared at her. “Well,” he said. “You’ve had a busy few years since I saw you last.”

A lump rose in Reese’s chest. She could feel it just beneath her heart, challenging its movement. “It was before that,” she said. She looked down at the table. Wood grain slipped in and out of her vision. “Years ago.” She traced along the lip of the table, feeling its dents and splinters. “When they took my father,” she added softly.

Tyrone gasped. Silence hung in the air between them. “And you never tol—” Tyrone began.

The dining room door swung open, and Daro entered, a thick book held in one hand. “Here you are,” he said, his dry gaze moving from one to the other. “Need anything else?” He hefted the book onto the table. It landed with a thump, dust rising from the scratched leather jacket.

Tyrone reached out and grabbed the book. “No, thanks, that’ll be all.” He dragged the tome across the table in a tangle of dinnerware. “Shut the door behind you, will you?”

Daro looked at Tyrone for a long moment, then nodded and left. The latch clicked shut.