Phoenix Freed Page 6

  A surge of pain raced through her and she sensed Cody start to open the door.

  "No," she thought to him. Because the pain wasn’t for her. It was for Tyler.

  Who’d been through so much because he’d tried to protect her. He’d tried to fight the compulsion Elisabeth had forced on him.

  And had nearly died.

  “You could have stabbed him,” she said.

  He frowned. “I almost fucking did. And it doesn’t matter anyway—”

  “You fought Elisabeth’s order,” she interrupted. “We both know everyone was affected by the magic here at the Colony. My guess is that Elisabeth set up something before she left, implanted something dark into the walls or the power structures, but that’s only a guess.”

  His eyes widened in surprise.

  “It’s just a working theory,” she said, “But I can’t think of another explanation, can you?”

  He shook his head, Dante mirrored the action.

  “And anyway, I do know that regardless of that stain on your arm, you weren’t the only one who was affected.” She bit her lip when Tyler stiffened but pressed on anyway. “You’re not immune just because you want to be.”

  His stare darted away. “That doesn’t matter.”

  “The hell it doesn’t.” Daughtry reached down and gripped Tyler’s shoulders. Shook him until he looked at her. “You weren’t alone.” Another shake. “You fought.”

  Piercing blue eyes met hers, almost defiant in his guilt.

  Screw it. Her hands slid behind his neck and she hugged him.

  He was frozen for a long moment then a sigh passed through his lips, a long hiss of air that released the tension from her as much as from him. His chest hitched once, almost a sob, before he pushed her gently away. “I didn’t want this. I’m not looking for absolution—”

  “You have it,” Dante said.

  The soft words drew both her and Tyler’s focus.

  “You have it,” Dante said again.

  Tyler shook his head. “Stop. My guilt—no matter how well deserved or not—isn’t the issue. The important thing is the Orb.”

  “What is it?” Daughtry asked.

  “A weapon.” Her breath hitched and Tyler inclined his head toward Dante. “Ask him, he’s been looking for it.”

  “I’ve been searching too since Tyler mentioned it, but I haven’t found a single mention of an Orb in any of our histories,” Dante said.

  “Me too,” she said. “I searched the Library, every book that Francis gave me and there’s no mention of it, as a weapon or otherwise.”

  “I’m not sure what it is, exactly,” Tyler told her. “I remember Elisabeth talking about it when we’d been taken, down in that dark dungeon. She wanted it, said it was the ultimate weapon.”

  She shivered, because fuck, that sounded scary.

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t remember. So much of that time was frantic and black and after I . . . just . . . it was as though the memory was erased from my brain.” A sigh. “It was only when we hurried off to backup Cody in the clearing that the fog holding court over my thoughts seemed to disappear.”

  “We broke the compulsion,” Dante said. “Or someone did.”

  “Yes, I think so,” Tyler agreed. “The memories began drifting back in when I left the Colony.”

  “So more credence to Daughtry’s theory that Elisabeth left some sort of ticking time bomb at the Colony to drive her out.” He shook his head. “I gave you money without question, didn’t protest when you left and went home to deal with the consequences of your visions, even though I never would have normally let you leave under those circumstances,” he said. “More evidence.”

  She nodded. Except . . .

  “What?” Tyler asked.

  “Well, you, at least, were gone for a while,” she said. “You and John went on several missions, but neither of you seemed to snap out of the magic’s hold.”

  “There is that,” Dante murmured. “I wonder if it had to do with the bond. We all seemed to come out of the fog after you and Cody patched things up.”

  Another nod. “It all does seem to have an eerie sort of connection.” She blew out a breath, knew that only time would tell if her theory proved correct. In the meantime, she’d walked every corridor she could manage, searching for the smallest sign of dark magic. Nothing had struck her senses and so she had to assume that whatever Elisabeth—or whoever was behind the manipulations—had done was gone. But she definitely wasn’t letting her guard down.

  “Have you asked the Council about the Orb?”

  Silence descended for a moment until the truth hit her.

  “You don’t trust them?”

  Dante shrugged. “I wish I could say I had confidence in them, but I do wonder. They worked much more closely with Caroline—Elisabeth—than the LexTals. They had to have looked the other way sometimes.” He fisted his hands. “I’m willing to acknowledge that I didn’t recognize Elisabeth for what she was, that her ability to hide what she truly is was astounding. But the Council is useless for our purposes. They don’t want to act on any of this.”

  “Act?”

  “They want to hide. Call everyone home, shore up our shields and endure whatever siege the Dalshie will surely impose on us.” Dante turned away and paced. “I won’t let that happen. Not again.”

  His words reminded her of Cody’s guilt—the heavy weight he carried on his shoulders for not intervening when the Dalshie had begun influencing the events of WWII. Dante had to feel the same amount of responsibility, perhaps even more, since he was the leader of the LexTals.

  “I agree that we need to fight,” she said. “But the question is, how?”

  Dante’s gaze locked with hers. “We find the Orb, discover it’s purpose, and use it against the Dalshie—”

  “Or we destroy it,” Tyler said. “If the cost is too great then we must destroy it.”

  The infirmary was empty. And while she knew it was a good thing that no one was injured, what Daughtry really wanted was something to keep her busy.

  Her mind was whirling. Tyler. The Orb. The Dalshie and Elisabeth. It seemed impossible that Elisabeth had managed to manipulate so many people through such a small action.

  Yet someone had. And Elisabeth had been perfectly placed to have done so. The fact that even Tyler, the strongest telepath in the Colony, had been affected meant that whoever was responsible had created the perfect weapon.

  They’d needed to be powerful, to have full access to the Rengalla.

  Magic-wise, Elisabeth had been stronger than them all and Daughtry couldn’t think of anyone else who might have been able to manipulate the whole of their people, from their strongest right down to their weakest.

  The sheer volume of that power was hard to comprehend—it took vast strength to keep up the façade, to penetrate the shields around shielded minds.

  And what about Tyler? His telepathic skills were beyond powerful, his shields like granite. But he’d been hurt, affected and infected with black magic in the dungeon. Cody had thought the feat was only possible in the first place because Tyler’s body and brain had spent most of his energy while captured into healing his various injuries and so his mental barriers weren’t as strong. It might have made him more susceptible to the magical manipulation that came later.

  Long story short, their enemy had taken advantage of their weakened state, had figured out an effective way to divide them.

  Daughtry wasn’t going to ever let that happen again.

  “It makes more sense,” Cody thought. “Why he refused to heal you in the dungeon at first. Some part of him must have known. Hell, I even vaguely remember seeing the spot now, but I didn’t think about it afterward, not until I saw it again in the clearing.”

  Another fine piece of magical manipulation.

  “Poor Tyler,” she thought.

  “It wasn’t his fault.” He paused. “Now hurry up and finish. It’s ki
lling me to not be with you.”

  She understood that Cody wanted to be with her, that he was worried about the Dalshie’s imminent attack. “I just want to make sure all of the emergency kits are packed for Suz.”

  It was an excuse, plain and simple, and they both knew it. Suz had enough gear packed and prepped for ten times the amount of people in the Colony. But she had needed time and space to process, to think about the Orb, to try and understand what it meant to her and the rest of the Rengalla.

  Cody was giving her the necessary space.

  Mostly.

  “You’ve got an hour,” he thought.

  A smile tugged up her lips. “Noted.”

  The door to the infirmary opened with a squeak.

  Cody’s voice drifted to her mind. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she reassured him, the bolt of pain at seeing Darcy having dissipated somewhat. “It’s Darcy.”

  “You need me?”

  “No, I’ll put on my big girl panties.”

  “You call and I’m there.”

  “I know.”

  “Hey,” Darcy murmured.

  Daughtry picked up the bin in front of her, feeling awkward with someone with whom she’d once been so close. “Hey.”

  “Need help?” Darcy pointed at the row of open bags—more emergency kits that Daughtry was stocking.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, but then she reconsidered. Because Darcy was trying. And if Daughtry was willing to forgive everyone except for Darcy, then what did that say about her? Her friend had been acting out of self-preservation, out of fear. Daughtry understood the feeling, had actually forgiven Darcy the moment she’d found out the truth.

  So why not move forward?

  “Never mind,” Darcy said, starting to turn away.

  “Sure,” Daughtry hurried to say. “Grab one of those boxes and I’ll tell you how much to put in each bag.”

  Darcy hesitated for a long second then nodded and moved to the first box.

  They worked in tandem for almost half an hour before Darcy spoke.

  “Beats stocking cheap underwear, am I right?” Darcy asked. It was weak joke, one that referenced a crappy job Daughtry had been fired from.

  She laughed and knew right that eventually they’d make it back, that at some point they would be the friends they once were. “You’re right about that,” she agreed then picked up the next box and plunked it into Darcy’s hands. “But this isn’t the bar at happy hour so get moving. We have more packs to fill.”

  Nine

  A few hours later, Daughtry was going through her books one more time, hoping she’d missed a mention of the Orb. But instead of that, she was now staring down at the page in front of her, unable to believe what she was reading.

  “Holy fucking shit,” she said, every inch of her skin prickling.

  She’d revisited the Journals—the past accounts of every previous Oracle in Rengallan history but—

  How had she not seen the notation before?

  The leather-bound journal was worn, as if caressed by many fingers. It no doubt had been, since every Oracle had taken pen to those yellowed pages.

  Including her mother.

  She removed the slip of paper that Francis had placed at the start of her mother’s section and turned back one page, to one she’d never bothered to look at.

  Elisabeth Stewart Galloway

  Born. July 17, 1862

  Married: Daniel Galloway, March 16th, 1902

  Children: Daughtry (b. June 8th, 1989)

  Died: September 22nd, 1994

  Her heart stopped beating, literally froze in her chest for one long moment before it managed to begin pumping again.

  “Daughtry?” Cody poked his head out of the bathroom, steam billowing around his head. “You okay?”

  Five minutes ago she’d been considering joining him.

  Now everything had changed.

  “It’s not a glamour.”

  “What?” he asked.

  When she didn’t immediately answer, he strode across the room and grabbed her arms. “What is it?”

  Her mind was heaving, throwing random thoughts up without making sense of the mess. “She didn’t even bother to use a fake name.”

  “Who?”

  A sense of horror swept over her. “She wanted me to know.”

  “Fuck, cowgirl.” Cody tightened his grip almost painfully. “Tell me what’s happening.”

  The words wouldn’t cross her lips. Instead she nodded at the Journal, wide open on the pale blue bedspread.

  Cody released her and grabbed it. “Is it the Orb—?”

  The question was cut off as he cursed viciously.

  “Your—”

  Daughtry nodded. “My mother. Elisabeth is my mother.”

  Ten

  “I’m not running,” Daughtry said. “Really, I’m not.”

  “Then why are you backing toward the door?” Cody asked.

  The warm wood of the exit in question bumped against her back. “It’s not running, it’s—”

  “You’re bolting.”

  “No.” "No."

  Except she’d sensed the wave of horror wash over Cody at the thought of her mother torturing his sister, of all of her mother’s machinations at the Colony.

  Daughtry understood.

  Because she felt the same way. The woman who’d given birth to her had done all those evil things. It made her sick.

  Half of her genes came from a homicidal maniac.

  “You’re not like her.”

  Aside from her powers being based in foresight. Aside from her harming more people than she’d ever helped. Aside—

  “Stop it.”

  The knob turned under her hand. “You should probably tell Dante what we discovered.” Her words were a mix of breathless and harried. “I just need—” Shit. What did she need? “Space. I just need a little space.”

  "Cowgirl, you’re not your mother."

  "I know."

  Daughtry was striding head down, shoulders hunched, through the halls a second later.

  Cody’s voice whispered softly into her mind. "You need me. I’ll be there."

  She’d heard the words from him many times before, but today they meant more, today they helped her breathe a little easier, today she might have the strength to believe in them again.

  Despite the fact that the fragile hope she’d held on to regarding her biological parents was shattering before her eyes.

  Her feet moved faster.

  Seeing as it was midday, the corridors were crowded and she had a hard time trying to keep her face calm while her emotions raged out of control.

  Because though what she’d told Cody was the truth—she knew she wasn’t her mother—she also knew that biology didn’t lie.

  Revolted didn’t begin cover how she felt.

  How long would it be until the darkness took her over? How long until she committed her own atrocious acts?

  Or perhaps with her past failures at manipulating deaths, she was already well on her way.

  The gardens were close to their quarters, only a few turns down the maze of hallways. It took just a few moments for her to arrive in what she’d always considered her sanctuary.

  To find that it had been taken over.

  Of course it had. She shook her head at herself. It was two o’clock on a Tuesday. Kids had classes, moms and toddlers were out and . . . toddling. Francis was teaching a group of middle-graders just a few feet off the main pathway. The trees lining the trail practically vibrated with excited squeals of the younger children—

  No peace to be found. Not here anyway.

  Leaving the open-aired space to those who’d found it first, she turned for the exit, the scent of jasmine and roses trailing up to tease her nose.

  God, she’d really wanted to walk through the empty paths, to allow the quiet of nature to surround her, to silence the destructive thoughts swirling through her mind and emotions.

&nb
sp; Daughtry slid out the door and started to head toward the front entrance of the Colony only to stop again.

  The last time she’d taken off this way—tears clawing at her throat, panic pressing on her lungs—she’d been kidnapped.

  It was too much of a coincidence. Especially with her luck.

  So without a destination in mind, and wanting to avoid everyone who knew her and could see through her façade, she went in a direction that she hadn’t gone before, her only goal to get lost.

  It was amazing how quickly that could happen.

  The maze of hallways forked more frequently than a winding river, with corridors branching out every hundred or so feet. Left. Then two rights. Another left. The panic of the last half hour began to fade. The murals were different in this part of the Colony, looking as though they’d faded with age. It wasn’t the same as the space where the Forgotten had been assigned—that had exuded an air of disuse. This area was weighed down with the sense of decay.

  Her powers were brilliant violet against the dull pictures lining the walls. A vibrant swathe that was absorbed and brightened the murals for a few seconds before they faded back to their previous sepia colors.

  “Strange,” she murmured, her fingers coming up to touch a depiction of a forest. There was something about that particular picture, a tickling in the back of her mind, a nudge that had her lifting her hand, tracing down the portrayal of a waterfall crashing against rocks.

  Except her hand didn’t actually touch the picture, didn’t feel the light buzz of magic against her fingertips.

  Instead, they passed right through.

  As did her elbow. Her shoulder.

  It only took a heartbeat before Daughtry found herself in darkness. “Oh God,” she whispered, feeling for the wall behind her. The lack of light was suffocating.

  Her hands scrabbled, pressing, frantically trying to find her way back into the hallway.

  The wall was solid.

  Tongue dry, breaths sawing in and out, she slammed herself against the barrier.

  It didn’t give.

  She shoved again. “Dammit.” Her legs wobbled, weakened, and she slid to the floor, clutching her knees to her chest.