Part 25 (1/2)

Oh, no, not another blow. But I couldn't ignore what he was saying, even if I was surprised at his saying it in a gentle tone, as if aware he was dumping a pile of bricks on my head.

Willie looked from one of us to the other. ”I still don't get it.”

”What he's saying is they didn't let Van go because they plan to do something more with him.” My words were so quiet I could barely hear them but a Were could and Bran knew what I was going to say anyway.

”More like what?” Willie asked.

”Like another exhibition of a s.h.i.+fter running amuck,” Bran said looking at his phone again, as if it had clues.

”Francois, the station where you and Willie lost the trails. That was Invalides?”

”Oui.”

We had been discussing my brother being set up to die and Bran was looking at subway information? It took everything I could do not to whack him with a clenched fist.

”Just what I thought,” he murmured, tapping his phone over and over.

”You going to share?” Sure my voice was a little testy, okay, a lot testy, but I had a lot of reasons for that. A large one of them sitting right next to me.

”I'll share when I'm certain,” he said, still not looking up.

Did that help? No, he made things worse.

I stood, rubbing a headache building along my temples. Thank the Spirits Francois stepped in to ask what I didn't trust myself to ask, not without a snarl. ”When are you going to be certain?”

”We have to do one more thing.” He rose himself, jamming his hands in his pockets. ”Then all will be clear.”

”We?” I asked as Willie said, ”Do what?”

”A scrying spell,” Bran answered Willie, no doubt because he had no doubt I figured out the 'we' word. Since I was the only witch around, and the only one able to scry with any hope of find something or someone, it looked like I was the we.

”Small problem your Mageness,” I bit off every word. ”I need something to scry with. You have a piece of Vaverek handy?”

”No.” Every muscle of his body was tensed, which gave me a strong hint I wasn't going to like his next words. But he didn't speak. Not until pulling out a small wadded napkin from his pocket. One stained brown.

”I'm not going to like this am I?” I said mostly to myself as Bran shook his head.

”No.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly too dry. ”Is that blood?”

”Yes.”

Willie stepped forward, his nose twitching. Once a Were always a Were.

”Whose?” Francois asked.

I didn't need to ask as I raised my gaze to clash with Bran's. His dark and implacable, not giving an inch even though he knew what he was asking of me.

That SOB set me up. He planned to reach this point all along.

”My brother's blood,” I answered Francois but I kept my gaze riveted on Bran, aware my breathing had gone shallow, my muscles ramrod stiff. ”You want me to do blood magic, black magic to find Van.”

He nodded, aware of what blood magic meant. A slippery slope that might start slow and seemingly easy, but always ended in a bad place-a very, very bad place.

”And if I say no?”

”Then your brother will be used and discarded like so much dead meat.” And, in case he hadn't jammed the knife in deep enough and twisted it, he added, ”Your choice.”

CHAPTER 49.

Van was cramped in a fetal curl against the cold cement floor. Old, blood soaked straw stinking in his nostrils, a fever raging through him. But it was more than a fever; sweats, the shakes, teeth chattering, wave upon wave cras.h.i.+ng against him. But it was the dreams, the nightmares that hurt the worst. Alex walking toward him, then running, calling his name, but he couldn't reach her. He'd stretch his hand, watch as the skin morphed into fur, the nails into claws and then see her expression. The horror and repulsion that had him skidding to a halt.

But that was wrong. Alex knew what he was. Knew what all the males in his family were. So it made no sense. Unless it wasn't what he was but what he'd done that made her reject him. And that's when he'd look around and see the limbs and blood scattered at his feet. His father's sightless eyes staring up at him though his head was nowhere near his body. And the other pieces were his brothers, Jake and Luke and even Simon, torn apart and savaged.

Had he done that?

Alex's expression told him he had. But sometimes the vision s.h.i.+fted and he was wading through the corpses of children, screaming and retching. He couldn't. No way.

”Yes, you can Mister Noziak, take another sip,” the voice urged him. Jean-Claude's voice.

Van cracked open one swollen eye.

The doctor knelt beside him, but the man wasn't alone. Two men stood beyond him, one with a tranq gun pointed at Van. The other though was the more deadly, the power-broker.

”See, Jean-Claude, you have exaggerated the threat to our guest here. He is not a total beast. Not yet.”

Jean-Claude shook his head, holding a small vial in front of Van. ”You must eat this. It's only soup. Your sodium levels are too high and you need the liquids.”

Van's growl through closed lips was his only response. His last element of control. If he was dead they'd use another poor schmuck to do what they intended to do, but it wouldn't be him.

”See what the problem is?” the doctor said, his voice terse. ”s.h.i.+fters require more nutrients than humans but it's the liquid levels I'm most concerned about. His sodium level is already at 164.”

”Which means what?” the power-broker sounded bored, more than concerned.

”He only has a few hours to live, if that much.”

The power broker leaned forward, kicking Van's shoulder with Italian leather shoes. ”We need him for tomorrow. It's too late to find another carrier.”

The doctor threw up his hands. ”Oui! It's been what I have been saying.”

”Can't you give him the drug and tell him to drink?”

”We are too close to the time of the experiment. I can't administer the drug, give a suggestion and in less than twelve hours administer more of the drug and a different suggestion. This is not a puppet we are dealing with here.”