FREED (Angels and Gargoyles Book 2) (11 page)

Her powers seemed to be growing. She no longer had to picture the repair. All she had to do was want it done. That was new.

She stood and looked around the small clearing where she had been dumped. Her captor, or whatever, was nowhere to be seen.

“What do you want?” she called out.

There was no immediate answer. She moved to the other side of the clearing, looking into the trees for some sort of clue as to what was happening to her. She couldn’t see anything. The thought passed through her mind that it would be helpful if she could see better in the darkness. But the thought did nothing to help her find her captor.

“Where is Sam?” she cried. “Did you hurt him?”

“No,” a voice said from behind her.

Dylan spun around. A man stood there, tall and dark, too thin. He reminded her of a story she had once read. The main character was described almost like this man looked. Ichabod Crane. That was the character. This man looked exactly like Ichabod Crane.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded.

“You were in danger.”

“I’m always in danger,” she said, kicking at a stone in a need to vent a little of the frustration that seemed to explode in her chest every times someone said things like that to her. “Tell me something new.”

The man seemed confused by her words. He tilted his head, almost like he was listening for a distant signal. “Gargoyles were coming for you. Someone had to do something.”

“I can defend myself.”

The man laughed. “The only one of you capable of any fight is that Wyatt. And he is too far away.”

“What do you know about it?”

He turned away. “Get some rest,” he said. And then he burst into a pillar of light and disappeared.

Dylan had seen some interesting things since leaving Genero. This had to be the most interesting.

“You can’t just leave me here!” she screamed into the canopy of trees when she realized that he wasn’t coming back. She didn’t get an answer. She hadn’t really expected to.

After pacing for a time, exhaustion finally began to kick in. She settled under a tree, her thoughts on Sam. Where was he? What had happened to him? Was he safe?

If something had happened to him…

She closed her eyes. Normally when she focused on someone, really thought hard about them, she could see them, as though she were a bird floating just behind their shoulder. It had worked with Wyatt on multiple occasions. She had never really tried it with anyone else. Until now.

She focused on Sam. Almost immediately she saw him, saw him still lying in the field where he had been when they gone to sleep. He wasn’t asleep. He was talking to someone.

“I don’t know where she is,” Sam said.

“You better hope we find her first.”

And then the connection was cut off, as though someone had sliced it with a knife.

That had never happened before.

Dylan couldn’t sleep.

Thoughts spun around in her mind.

Where was Sam? What had happened? Who was that talking to him?

She had tried to connect with him again, but it hadn’t worked. It was like something was blocking her.

There was something familiar about the voice she had heard, the person talking to Sam. A woman. Someone she knew. She couldn’t shake that feeling, that sense of familiarity. The voice belonged to someone she knew. But who?

She began to run it through her mind, all the people she knew. Demetria. Donna. Davida. And the other sisters in D dorm.

It wasn’t one of the first three, and she doubted it was one of the latter. Most of them were dead or still in Genero.

And it wasn’t anyone she had met on the outside. At least, she didn’t think so.

But, again, could it be? Could it be someone in the resistance?

It seemed impossible. Not because those people were so trustworthy, but because she knew most of those people had not survived the attack by the Redcoats. And those who had were too far away to have caught up with her and Sam already. Not even Davida, who knew which direction they would be traveling, had reached the others yet. How could someone else track them?

She didn’t think it was possible. Unless they could fly.

And that made her think of the gargoyles.

Of Stiles.

Had Stiles led someone to them? To Sam? The man who brought her here had said the gargoyles were coming. Had Stiles betrayed her trust?

He saved her. Over and over again, Stiles saved her. He led her to water when she was dying from dehydration. He saved her and Wyatt from another gargoyle. Then he saved them again, along with Sam, when they were about to be slaughtered by the Redcoats. He saved them when those gargoyles showed up before Demetria.

Why would he do all that if he meant to lead her to harm?

He told her his stories about humanity. Convinced her that he believed she was the future. But did he really believe it?

She couldn’t accept that Stiles would hurt her. It just seemed so unlikely. He had been injured twice in her defense. Didn’t that mean something?

And yet…someone had led that stranger to Sam.

And there was something about Stiles, about his perfect gray eyes.

She closed her eyes as she worked at the memory, as she tried to form some connection. And there was a connection. She could feel it like a palpable mass in her mind. There was something about Stiles, about the way he looked at her, about the way he talked to her. It was all so…familiar.

And then she remembered.

It had been tickling at the edge of her thoughts for a long time.

Now she knew she had seen him before. Knew why he seemed so familiar.

She laughed despite the tears that flooded her eyes, that made her throat raw with the urgency of the emotion.

Was everything in her life a lie?

What had he said about her test? That he had rigged it?

Now she had a better idea of how.

Dylan rolled it over in her mind again. Stiles said that Davida knew the moment she saw Dylan what she was because of the color of her hair, the paleness of her eyes. But had she really?

Was it possible that no one knew who, or what, Dylan was until Stiles figured it out?

And who had Stiles told? Who, besides Davida, had known about Dylan during her time in Genero?

Dylan’s thoughts swirled so fast, she couldn’t catch them all. She suddenly realized she had no idea who she could trust.

She made a list in her head, each person she had counted as a friend, someone she could rely on.

Davida was her guardian. She warned Dylan each time trouble came her way, steered her in what seemed like the right direction. But that right direction had taken Dylan to Viti and the Redcoats. Had that really been an accident? Or had Davida wanted for Dylan to be arrested, for her to meet Lily and Luc? And, if that had been her intention, why?

Jimmy was the leader of the resistance. He wanted to protect the humans and create a world where they could live free, as they had before the war started. But he distrusted Dylan. She could see it each time he looked at her. He distrusted everyone who was different. Yet, he kept Davida close to him. Why? Was it possible that his distrust was the only honest thing about him and the role he planned to play in the outcome of this struggle?

Ellie was another Genero girl, someone who grew up in the same reality Dylan grew up in. She seemed attached to Wyatt, but was it an honest attachment? Or was it a ploy to distract Dylan? Was Ellie like Demetria, another gargoyle in disguise? Or something else? Or was she really just a vulnerable girl who was as scared and confused as Dylan had been, and still was?

Sam. He was injured the first time Dylan met him, so they never really had that conversation people normally have when they first meet. She healed his ankle, and he was on her side when Wyatt threatened to kick Stiles out of their group. And when she was arrested…if not for Sam, she might not have been as calm as she was. She owed him that. But was his loyalty real? Or just a way to win her trust?

And then there was Wyatt.

It was Wyatt’s job to look for girls like Dylan, Genero girls abandoned to the desert who managed to survive the first day of their survival ‘test’. He had never found one, not until the day he came across Dylan. And then there was Ellie and Sam. Three in one trip.

Wyatt lied to her about what he was doing, about why he wanted her to go to Viti with him. She wanted to believe that he had always intended to take her to his father. But had he? Then why did he tell Sam to take her to that back door, to a door where the Redcoats had been waiting for them? Whose orders was Wyatt really following all that time?

All these people. She wanted to trust them. She needed to trust them. But it seemed like every time she turned around, someone else appeared, wanting something from her.

Lily wanted to survive. Dylan understood that. She was ill, and she needed something from Dylan to make the illness leave her body. That she could understand, too.

The gargoyles wanted to use her as a weapon. She didn’t even understand how that was possible, let alone why she was the only one they could use.

Or why some of the gargoyles wanted to force her to help them, while others wanted to kill her.

And then she was back to Stiles.

Why had he helped her yet never asked anything of her?

Was it really what he said? That he wanted to protect her and her kind so that, when the war was over, the hybrids could mix with the humans and make a better, stronger race? Could he really be the one to make that choice?

Everything she had known, everyone she had trusted…was it all a lie?

Dylan dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to decide what she should do now.

Why hadn’t she put it together before?

Anita.

Anita was the only person associated with D dorm who didn’t have a name beginning with D. It had been a novelty. She was grotesque, her body twisted in some accident when she was a child. But she could cook like a dream. Her food was perfection. Dylan remembered all those days when it was her chore to help out the cook, all those days when the other girls mumbled and grumbled about their work assignments. But Dylan had always looked forward to it. Anita gave her first taste of all her wonderful concoctions, including the mini cakes. And she would allow Dylan a glass of milk with honey every night after the dishes were washed.

Sweet, kind, loving Anita.

Anita. With the gray eyes.

The sun came up, but Dylan couldn’t see it. All she could see was the delicate pink light filtering down between the leaves of the trees. She began walking. She had no idea which direction to move in, but she knew she couldn’t just sit in one place and wait for someone, or something, to come find her. So she walked.

Memories floated through her mind. The first time she met Anita. The smile Anita had offered her, the reassurance, the sense of respect.

No one had ever treated Dylan quite the way Anita had. Not even Davida.

One memory played on the edges of her consciousness over and over, niggling at her as though there was something important about it. The thing was, however, it was an ordinary day, an ordinary memory. She wasn’t even sure what there was about it that made Dylan remember it so clearly.

“Cut the potatoes likes this,” Anita said. “They will cook faster that way.”

Dylan watched as Anita ran the knife from corner to corner of the tuber and then diced it into thick chunks. Her hands moved quickly, with the confidence of someone who had done this for most of her adult life. Dylan found herself wondering if she would ever wield a knife with half that confidence.

“Just be careful you do not slice off a finger,” Anita added. “Protein is important, but I’m sure most of the girls will want it from the stew, not from you.”

Dylan giggled even though it was a joke Anita told often. Somehow, it never grew old.

“How did you learn to cook?” Dylan asked.

“I like to eat,” Anita said, slapping a hand against her wide hip. “So I figured I should learn to cook, too.”

“I wish I could cook like you do.”

Anita shook her head. “You are meant for far better things, my love,” she said, stroking Dylan’s head gently. “One day, you will change the world.”

It had seemed like the same, comforting words anyone might say to a child. But now, with a different light shining on them, the words seemed to hold so much power.

How? Dylan wanted to ask now. How would she change the world?

She didn’t even know where she was or where she was going.

It would all be so funny if she hadn’t been so completely frightened.

Dylan walked quickly, moving over the unfamiliar terrain without concern to her safety. She just wanted to find a safe place to hide. Somewhere she could think, somewhere no one could find her. No one and nothing. But she knew that was a stupid thought.