Whispered Visions (Shifters & Seers Book 3) (10 page)

“Listen to Layne while I’m away,” Pari said to her sobbing child. “He and Midge are in charge, okay? No fits. No whining. You just do as they say.”

“We’ll have a good time and be on our best behavior, won’t we, brat?” Layne said, abandoning his post as Lizzie’s protector to scoop the little girl out of her mother’s lap. She quickly transferred her death-grip from Pari to Layne, who held her not like an annoyed teenage boy, which was the way he had been packing her around for the past month, but like someone who knew what they were doing. He turned and caught Lizzie’s eye, and even without her Sight, she knew what he was thinking.

I’ll take care of her, if you’ll take care of you.

She would, but not the way he wanted her to. There was no way she was running off to leave him to God-only-knows what fate.

While Pari said her goodbyes to Caroline, Dr. Patel laid out his case of medical equipment. As Lizzie watched, he extracted a long, thin needle and bottle of clear liquid. The entire world fell away as he jabbed the needle down into the vial and pulled back the stopper, sending fluid rushing into the syringe. Once it was full, he pulled it free, tapped the side, and sent a small spray of medicine into the air.

Lizzie thought she might be sick.

“If you’re ready, Pari,” the doctor said, moving over to sit on the coffee table next to the couch. Pari blew one last kiss to her daughter and laid back on the couch, allowing Dr. Patel to push the needle into her arm. Lizzie watched the room slip in and out of focus.

“Deep breaths,” came a voice close to her ear. “Don’t think about it. Just take deep breaths.”

Of course he would be watching, waiting for her to hit the ground in an ungraceful heap. After all, Layne knew her just as well as she knew him, which meant he was aware of just how profound her fear of needles was.

In what now felt like a vast distance, Pari was counting backwards from ten, her voice growing softer and more sluggish with each passing number. Lizzie was dimly aware of Dr. Patel holding Pari’s wrist as he watched her chest rise and fall. The scene managed to crank her terror up another fifteen notches since it looked like he was waiting for the last thud of her pulse and whoosh of her breath.

“I can’t,” Lizzie said, her voice shaking just as hard as her body. “I can’t do this. Blindfold me or pack me up in a suitcase or something,
anything
other than the needles. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Patel said. “I did not know of your phobia. Next time, we will maybe try something different, but for now…” He shrugged apologetically and made his way back to his bag.

This time when he extracted a needle, Lizzie knew it was meant for her. The instinct to fight or flight kicked in, and she lunged for the door. She made it two steps when Mack stepped in her path. She tried to dart around him but a large, beefy hand shot out, stopping less than an inch from her skin.

“It’s sit and take your medicine like a good girl or get touched, princess. Your call.”

Lizzie had Seen Mack’s mind before and had no desire to repeat the process. Unlike Alistair, Mack’s brain was very neatly organized. His thoughts simple. In a child like Caroline, simple was beautiful, but in a person like Mack, it was disturbing at best.

Hurt.

Kill.

Destroy.

Not exactly the happy, sun-shiny thoughts one wants to hear on repeat.

“Where would you like me, doctor?” Lizzie asked through numb lips, never taking her eyes off of Mack’s hand.

The doctor puttered around as if oblivious to the tension in the room. “The chaise would be good, I think,” he said.

Lizzie made her way over to the chaise, forcing her legs to bend so she could actually sit. Her fingers were clumsy as she attempted to roll up the sleeve of her shirt. Dr. Patel helped her with the last few inches, making an effort to not come into contact with her skin. He wore at least two pairs of latex gloves, for which Lizzie was thankful. As long as she concentrated, she wouldn’t catch any glimpses into the older man’s mind, which meant she wouldn’t see something to make her not like him.

“There will be a little pinch, less painful than a bee sting.”

She squeezed her eyes so tightly shut little bursts of light flashed behind her closed lids. The pain was as insignificant as he promised, but she yelped in distress all the same.

“I don’t think it’s working,” she said, not feeling sleepy or sluggish in the least. “Are you sure you gave me the right thing?”

Dr. Patel smiled down at her. “Just count backwards from ten, my dear.”

It wasn’t working. He was going to have to give her another shot, and if he did, she might actually die from fear. But if counting backwards would make the good doctor happy, then counting backwards is what she would do.

“Ten. Nine. Eight. Sev—
”

Consciousness was slow in coming. More than once she opened her eyes only to decide being awake and alert was more effort than it was worth. She may have kept rolling over and going back to sleep for the rest of time if someone hadn’t set off a car alarm right next to her head.

“Make it stop,” she said, trying to burrow her head into her pillow.

“Sorry, but I’m not the one with super-powers.”

The unfamiliar voice was what finally pulled Lizzie firmly into the land of the alive and alert. Her eyes flew open, trying desperately to latch onto anything familiar.

Not my bed.

Not my television.

Not my walls.

Not my window.

Not my view of a busy city street.

Not my British girl in a one-piece jumper.

“Where—“

“The Indian chick is in the shower,” One-Piece Jumper said, not lifting her eyes from the phone in her hand.

Lizzie sat up, realizing for the first time the bed she was on was hard as a rock.

“Pari is Scottish,” she said, pushing a lock of frizzy red hair out of her face. She hoped Pari wasn’t going to be too much longer. It felt like she had a month’s worth of grime and ick covering her skin.

For all she knew, it was a month’s worth of grime and ick.

“What is today?”

“Thursday.”

“Of the same week I left Brownlow Manor?”

One-Piece Jumper looked at her as if she’d recently escaped from Bedlam. “No, you’ve been lying in that bed for two hundred years, waiting for true love’s first kiss. Unfortunately for you, princes and happily-ever-afters weren’t in the cards.”

Lizzie didn’t believe in insta-hate. It made even less sense to her than insta-love. But One-Piece Jumper was making her seriously reconsider her stance.

“Where are we?”

“A cheap-ass hotel.”

God, grant her patience.

“A cheap-ass hotel where?”

One-Piece Jumper made a show of rolling her eyes.

“London,” she said as if it was painfully obvious.

“I’m in London, England?”

“No, London, France.” One-Piece Jumper slid her phone into a pocket. “Are you always this stupid, or did the drugs they give you mess up your brain?”

Lizzie would have given a witty retort if she wasn’t too busy doing the happy dance in her mind. London! She’d dreamt of coming here since she was a little girl obsessed with
Peter Pan
. And now she was here! In London!

Okay, so maybe her visit wasn’t going exactly like she’d always imagined, but still. London!

“Which section are we in? Greenwich? Kensington?”

One-Piece Jumper obviously knew a losing battle when she saw it. “Westminster,” she said with a sigh. “Victoria Station is two blocks that way and the palace is about a kilometer away.”

Buckingham Palace!

Lizzie would not squeal. She wouldn’t. She was a prisoner being forced to use her talents to aid and abet an organization dead set on destroying all the people like her in the world. Squealing would be absolutely, positively wrong in such a situation.

But she could bounce up and down on the bed a few times.

“How far away are we from Hyde Park? Or Big Ben? Oh! What about the Tower of London? I’ve always wanted to see the Yeomen.”

“Jesus,” One-Piece Jumper moaned. “I hate Americans.”

The bathroom door swung open, and Pari ambled into the room, brushing out the miles and miles of her wet hair. If One-Piece Jumper was telling the truth, they’d only been out for a few hours, but Pari somehow looked thinner and more fragile than she had yesterday.

“Glad you finally decided to join us,” Pari said, sitting on the end of the bed. “I see you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Spring.”

“Spring?”

Spring, aka One-Piece Jumper, narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

Somewhere in the world there was a pair of British hippies who named their daughter for flowers and butterflies and got a thunderstorm instead.

Unwilling to sit around and spar with her newest warden - because what other purpose could Spring and her ridiculous outfit serve - Lizzie decided it was time to wipe the film of wretchedness from her skin. With a bag of clothes Pari helped her locate in hand, she locked herself in the bathroom.

Part of her wanted to stay in there forever. It was tiny, sparse, and just on the acceptable side of clean, but at least it was familiar. Bathtub. Sink. Toilet. Tiled floor and plastic shower curtain. Apparently no matter where you were in the world, cheap hotel bathrooms all looked the same.

Lizzie knew when she walked out the door, the next part of her life would begin, whatever that might be. Alistair still hadn’t told her exactly what she would be doing for him. It was all very vague, for-the-greater-good crap. She’d tried to explain that she wasn’t exactly the pull-bank-account-numbers-from-your-head kind of Seer, but she wasn’t sure he ever really heard her.

What if they asked her to do something she couldn’t do? Would they decide she was worthless and kill her? Or worse, what if they asked her to do something she could? Would she do it? What was she willing to give them? If it was only her life on the line, the answer would be simple. She could martyr herself all day long if need be. Self-sacrifice was practically the motto of the Alpha Pack. But her life wasn’t the only one at stake. If she failed the SHP, then Layne would be the one to suffer the consequences.

Which meant she would give them whatever they wanted.

Damn it.

Keep the important pieces to yourself. Just give them enough so they can’t question your loyalty.

The advice came from Mischa years ago when they were working together to bring down Sarvarna and her cronies. It was good advice then, and even better advice now.

She would give them just a little bit. A taste of what they wanted. And she would keep the important bits, whatever they might be, to herself.

It would work.

It had to.

Resolved to the task at hand, Lizzie finished getting ready, slipping on the stylish, yet understated navy sundress and white espadrilles. For the first time since she woke up on the floor next to an unconscious Layne, she put on makeup. The mascara and lip stain felt like war paint, emboldening her when she would rather blend into the textured wallpaper. Her last step was to slide on a cardigan and pair of soft leather gloves.

“What’s next?” she asked, tossing her bag onto the bed where Spring was now stretched out. It missed her head by less than six inches.

“Next,” Spring said, giving Lizzie the most impressive go-to-hell look she’d ever seen, “you sit on your freckled ass and wait until your freak powers are needed.”

So Spring was one of the SHP members who wasn’t shy about vocalizing her hatred of Shifters and Seers. Good to know.

“And when my freckled ass and freak powers are needed?”

“You will be given an assignment and a handler,” Pari said from her spot near the window. She had been contently watching the busy city street when Lizzie emerged from the bathroom. “Your handler will take you to your destination and ensure you complete your mission. When you’re done, he will bring you back here, Dr. Patel will return with his bag of tricks, and the next thing you know, you’ll be waking up in your room at Brownlow Manor.”

Spring sat up on the bed. She was thin to the extreme with fair skin and wispy blond hair, which made her look a bit like a living corpse sitting up in its coffin.

“And while you’re out on assignment, you do exactly what your handler tells you,” she said, brushing her bangs back from her eyes. “No yelling for help or trying to give him the slip. Your friend here has told you what happens when you disobey, hasn’t she?”

Lizzie thought of the little nub where Caroline’s finger had once been. It evoked a rage so powerful she could have easily bitten off Spring’s finger to make it even.

“I hear your little coyote heals completely every time he Changes. Mack loves that. Usually he has to wait much longer than a month to get his playthings back to working condition.”

Lizzie lunged at the same time the lock on the door disengaged. It was too late for her to change course. The door swung open as she plowed into Spring. It was only a matter of seconds before she was being lifted and restrained against a very wide and hard chest.

“What did you do?”came Alistair’s carefully polished accent from somewhere to her left. At first, she thought he was talking to her, but before she could defend herself, Spring said, “Me? What did
I
do? She’s the crazy supernatural freak who attacked me.”

Alistair stepped up so he was in her line of sight. He was dressed in jeans, a buttoned-up shirt, and a snazzy suit jacket. As always, he looked every inch the quintessential rich boy he was.

“David, put her down. She’s not to be touched.”

The barrel-chested man put her down, and she stepped as far away as possible. Unfortunately, it was a tiny room, so as far away as possible was only about six inches.

“Are you okay?” Alistair asked, something akin to concern in his eyes.

“Yeah. I’m good. He didn’t touch skin.” And fortunately, the shower revived her enough she was able to block what the dress couldn’t stop from trying to race through their connection.

Alistair gave her another once over with his eyes before turning back to Spring. In the brief moment it took to turn his head, his face went through a complete transformation. The carefully structured mask of concern and charisma was gone and replaced by one of cold contempt.

“I’ll ask you again,” he said, voice full of venom. “What did you do to her?”

Spring’s nostrils flared. “I didn’t
do
anything. I was just reminding her what would happen to her precious
boyfriend
if she tried to make a run for it on the outside.”

Pari had been watching the entire exchange with zero emotion, but at Spring’s words, her eyes rounded and sought out Lizzie’s. Once their gazes locked, she gave the smallest shake of her head.

You can’t let them know how the two of you feel for each other.

If she was reading Alistair’s expression correctly, he might be piecing together what no one else besides Pari had, and if he did, they were screwed. What would he do when he realized he didn’t have her wrapped around his little finger like he thought?

“She threatened a member of my pack,” Lizzie said, hoping no one else noticed the unevenness of her voice. “We protect pack. Always.”

True. It wasn’t the reason she’d attacked Spring with every intention of causing her lasting damage, but still a true statement that gave nothing away. At the very least it was enough to convince Alistair.

With a tilt of his head, he motioned to David, who yanked Spring against his mile-wide chest, capturing both her hands in one meaty fist. His other hand rested against her throat, his thumb and finger securing her chin.

“No. Please. Don’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Spring’s panicked pleas called to something inside Lizzie, but the Seer held her ground no matter how much she ached to intervene.

“Spring, your services are no longer required,” Alistair said, his tone deceptively bored.

“Please. Please don’t. Please.” Spring struggled against David’s chest, but it was useless. Alistair’s hand disappeared inside his coat, and when it reemerged, a knife was clasped in his fingers. With less emotion than Lizzie showed picking out something to watch on Netflix, he slid the razor-sharp blade along the inside of Spring’s arm. She screamed, but the heart-piercing sound was cut short by the discarded towel Alistair stuffed in her mouth before making three more slices to create a rectangle of flesh. He regarded it critically before running the blade along the length of the wound. With long, delicate fingers he peeled off the strip of skin.

“This is not the entire pound you’re due,” he said, offering the bloodied bit of flesh to Lizzie, “but it’s a start.”

The room spun in and out of focus.

Lizzie shook her head and backed up until the back of her knees hit the mattress. “No. It’s enough.” On the other side of the room, Pari covered her mouth with her hand as if to stifle a scream or stop herself from becoming sick.

He was insane. Lizzie had known it all along, but it wasn’t until she saw the evidence up close and personal that she realized exactly what that meant.

“Please, just let her go. She needs a doctor.”

Alistair turned back to Spring, and after letting her know that screaming wouldn’t be in her best interest, he removed the towel and wrapped it around her arm to staunch the blood flow. “You see, Spring,” he said in that eerily calm way of his, “the Shifters and Seers of this world aren’t our enemy, and treating them as if they are will no longer be tolerated. Your association with me and this organization is dissolved, as of this moment.”

“You’re not going to get away with this,” she said, tears thick in her voice.

“How original,” Alistair said, flicking a piece of imaginary lint off his shirt. “What is my line? Oh yes. ‘I believe you will find that I can, and I have.’ Goodbye, Spring. Please be a dear and don’t let the door hit your flat arse on your way out.”