Mindhealer, Page 2

  She told herself not to think about unpleasant things and watched the glimmer of gray water, seagulls skimming in a white line offshore. Wish I had time for some beachcombing. That would be nice.

  Vincent would have been sitting across from her, would have eaten if pressed, and would have let his dark eyes travel across the café and the street beyond—only two lanes, with a short scallop of beach below the opposite pavement, and a wall to keep people from falling onto the sand. He would have waited for her to finish her coffee, then shepherded her out to the car with only a faint, ironclad smile. His worry would have been tightly controlled but still like static spilling out from his aura, and she would have been glad to feel it. He had been unfailingly patient, of course—all Watchers were; but Vincent’s quality of patience hadn’t irritated her. It had been rather pleasant, since he mostly asked instead of told her what to do. His hair had been getting long, and sometimes, just before she fell asleep, she would think how she needed to take him for a trim, since it was a witch’s duty to do things like that for a Watcher.

  Then her stomach would churn, like it was churning now, and she would remember the shattered bowl and the sound of her own screams.

  And the smell of the Bane as it killed her Watcher.

  Caro paid and left a good tip, with a faint relieved feeling that she never had to worry about money, and found the Miata parked on the street. Rain lashed down, spotting her sweater, and she hadn’t bothered with a coat. She rarely did unless it was snowing or icy, which almost never happened in Saint City.

  Home.

  I was right. I do feel better when I’m traveling. Why is that? Maybe because I’m not being reminded every moment of what I am. Here on the road, I’m just another car. If it wasn’t for travel I’d probably go nuts.

  She shivered and turned the heat up. The thought of insanity, after seeing so much of it, was chilling and comforting in equal measure. She could be fairly sure she wasn’t insane. Maybe wound a little too tight, but not insane.

  And that was another thing, it was the travel she enjoyed, not arriving at the destination and certainly not arriving home. It was the state in-between that appealed to her.

  She drove south, listening to oldies on the radio, tapping her fingers on the wheel, and singing along as the rain poured down. She was ahead of schedule and doing fine. When she reached Altamira and the safehouse there she would spend the night listening to rain falling on the roof, maybe getting up for a midnight cup of hot chocolate since she would probably have trouble sleeping, as she did in every new room.

  Hold that thought, she told herself, humming along to the music as the highway dipped and curved along the humps of the coastline, priceless scenery unrolling out the passenger’s side, scenery she was too busy driving to appreciate but soaked in nonetheless. A whole new city to be an insomniac witch in. Who says life isn’t fun?

  Two

  The storm had arrived, lightning and thunder sweeping inland and penned by the coastal range into dumping its fury here. Merrick crouched in the lee of a HVAC vent, watching the last scraps of daylight succumb to the double assault of storm and night. His face burned in three stripes, the scars seamed and stitched with fire. Dark-made scars reacting to the Dark. It was coming out early to play in the concrete canyons.

  He crouched easily, a big man in a long black leather coat, the sword riding his back and the guns—dull black instead of the shiny silver most Watchers used—low on his hips. An onlooker would have only seen an indistinct dark shape, thanks to the glamour, better camouflage than he’d ever had before. There was a trick to staying unseen he’d known since his first mission: believing yourself invisible. That the Watchers had a magickal method only made it easier.

  The city sat under a pall of cloud, rain washing down. The wind was rising. This was his part of the city; he’d patrolled for three months now. It didn’t take long for a Watcher to get to know a quadrant, know all the little alleyways and the deep wells of blackness, all the places Dark liked to hide. Just like tracking back in the jungle, really, learning the habits of a different wilderness and hunting through its labyrinths. It was why they called him the Tracker. He was famous for hunting down and dispatching the most dangerous and difficult Dark.

  For all the good it bloody well does me. Don’t think about that, Merrick old man.

  Being on patrol was restful in its own way, and he was taking double shifts. Weariness wasn’t a problem, not with the tanak burning inside him. The Watchers were, as always, stretched thin, barely enough of them to keep the city under control. Things were a little different up north in what the Watchers were calling Hope City, but that wasn’t for him. Patrol, more patrol, endless patrol, and maybe sometime soon he would meet a piece of Dark and get careless, and that would be the end of him. Might even be a relief.

  After the sun slipped below the horizon and full night covered the streets, he moved out onto the roof, ignoring the sudden heavy stinging of rain, and reached the edge, scanning Fourth Avenue below. He was restless tonight, something was happening. Expectancy brushed at him, maybe his very slight precognitive ability warning him of a fight ahead. But this wasn’t the cold lethal tension of a situation about to get critical. It was just . . . electricity. A type of call, as if he were tracking. But he hadn’t been called upon to track anything—or anyone—for a few months now. The last prey had been a belrakan, difficult, dangerous, and causing havoc all through Altamira. He’d taken a team and found its lair. Lost two good men in that stinking cave, lucky not to have lost more.

  Still, it had been a little quieter since they’d rooted out the last of the Bane. More time to think, and that was the worst part about being a Watcher. The adrenaline and crises he could deal with. It was having so much bloody time to brood that got to him.

  His hair tangled over his eyes as he glared at the city, daring it to throw another enemy at him. He was off kilter, hadn’t felt this strange since . . . When? The feeling had been growing for a good fortnight. He’d almost gone to the infirmary to get checked out, but another Watcher had bonded, and they needed someone to pull a double shift on patrol until the replacement could get here. Still, he wondered about the odd sensation.

  Then again, nothing about being a Watcher was normal. Nothing about what he was had ever been normal. He seemed to have missed the normal train, so to speak.

  The north end of the city wasn’t technically his zone, but he moved toward it anyway. The few normals out on the street tonight wouldn’t be able to see the sword hilt over his right shoulder. They would only see a man in a black trenchcoat, a man their instincts would warn them not to mess with. Of course, a Dark predator would see him for what he was: a lethal crimson-black swirl, tightly controlled, trouble written all over the night with neon, in capitals and underlined. Given how he felt tonight, he might almost welcome a fight.

  The voice of his trainer echoed as he cut through a close, dim alley reeking of garbage, allowing himself a single nose-wrinkle. Don’t go out looking for a battle. That’s the best way to give us one less Watcher. Stay cool, stay controlled, don’t back away from a fight, but don’t start one either. Always remember your first duty is to the Lightbringer in your care. And the less Watchers, the more danger for Lightbringers.

  Here Stone had smiled, a brief bitter expression that wasn’t amused at all. He’d looked at his two students, noting Calhoun’s attention and Merrick’s seeming inattention, and the smile had turned back into a habitual straight mask. Of course, every now and again you have to keep the iron sharp, he’d remarked, and gone on.

  Merrick was almost to Ulvill Street when the sense of danger returned, thickening and swirling through wet air, making the scars on his face tingle and run with hot pain. Thunder crackled, he smelled salt wind from the coast. Altamira was thirty miles inland, up the curve of a great river. The sea seemed to reach up that long sheaf of water and drain the city of all color. Still, it wasn’t a bad place. Not really. Less crowded than Seoul and more relaxed than
New York, with the mountains and the beach close for nature buffs. No architecture, but then, nowhere in America had decent architecture.

  He faded into another alley. A few moments of effort on the rusted-out fire escape brought him to another rooftop, this one unprotected. The full fury of the wind boiled across the roof as he peered down into the street below, the freeway offramp melding with the rest of Chess Street and creating a traffic nightmare during rush hour. Now, though, there was only a washed-clean street glimmering in the darkness. Nine o’clock, just barely into his second shift of patrol, and not usually a time for any heavy Dark activity. Not yet.

  A sword of headlights jutted through the rain. It was a sports car, dark and sleek, going slowly as if the driver was uncertain. As Merrick watched, it pulled over, and the dome light inside went on. Someone lost, maybe?

  His eyebrows pulled together. Wait a minute. Just one goddamn minute.

  But there wasn’t time for waiting, because he saw the flicker between shadows two blocks up. Long, low, and lean with a reptilian snout and claw-tipped legs, the thing lifted its head and sniffed like a dog. Only it wasn’t a dog, not precisely. The dome light flicked off, but the car stayed in place, idling. There was a deeper glow behind the screen of warding on the car, and Merrick had to tear his eyes away to track the shape two blocks down.

  It was koroi, a cross between dog, lizard, and Dark, with needle-sharp teeth that could make a wound septic and a habit of roaming in packs. Merrick swore to himself, reaching for a knife hilt. Paused. The thing slunk forward, its hide gleaming wetly, far more physical than it should have been. Like some other Dark predators, the koroi was mostly insubstantial until just before it struck, not wasting the energy to keep a physical form together until it could be sure of a return on the investment.

  His eyes scanned the street in one smooth arc, and Merrick swore to himself. There were more of them, of course, moving in on the car in a pattern he recognized. They had probably been chasing for a while, herding the occupant through a tangle of side streets. Koroi just didn’t do that unless they were sure their prey was helpless. They stalked like jackals, moving in on other predators’ kills, and only taking the weak or unwary.

  Like a lone Lightbringer in a little toy of a sports car, with a cloth top a set of claws could easily rip through.

  The screams rose again in Merrick’s memory, He shoved them down with an effort of will. He’d seen what happened to a Lightbringer when a pack of lizard-dogs descended.

  That was why he was on patrol. It was a sight he never wanted to see again.

  His hand blurred for his sword hilt and he hurled himself forward, out into empty air. He was going to hit hard and braced himself for it, spending Power as the laws of physics bent just a little to let him land without breaking a bone. Not like it mattered, but a broken bone might slow him for a few critical seconds. And that Merrick wouldn’t allow.

  The glow coming from inside the sports car dimmed slightly, as if the Lightbringer inside was concentrating. What the hell was a Lightbringer doing out alone? Maybe she was a flyer, moving from place to place, a few steps ahead of the Dark. Maybe she was just visiting.

  He hit and whirled, sword ringing free and cleaving through Dark not-flesh. Four koroi, sneaking up from this side of Chess Street. He could take these out and get to her before the others did—maybe.

  Then the sound of crunching metal jerked him around in a tight half-circle, bright blade tearing through another lizard-dog’s body. It gave out a shattering psychic squeal, and he heard smoking tires, an engine revving.

  Get out of here, he thought, wishing she could hear him. I’ll hold them, you just get the hell out of here!

  Another crunch of metal. He dispatched the last koroi and whirled to see the car skewed across the road under three of the lizard things. One of them leapt with scary, nimble grace to rend at the cloth top, but something sparked and smoked, driving it back. She’d tried to get away from them and been stopped, the lizard-dogs spending Power recklessly to bring her down.

  That’s Watcher work on the car. What’s going on? He flung himself at the car, blurring through space with all the preternatural speed the tanak could give him, tasting adrenaline as the symbiote jacked his hormonal balance to make him sharper. His left hand, full of the knife, drove forward as he landed, black rune-chased metal smoking as it tore through the insubstantial bonds holding the lizard-thing to the world. It let out another deafening psychic screech, ringing through Merrick’s head. He ignored it and dropped a few layers of camouflage, letting what he was shine through the landscape of Power.

  The two remaining koroi retreated, hissing, step by step. Merrick hopped down from the car’s bonnet, sword held level, knife hilt tucked in his hand, the blade lying against his forearm. Ready for anything.

  The rest of the lizard dogs—Christ, there’s bloody ten of them, must be a nest around here somewhere. Got to get together a sweeps detail—regarded him with their orange eyes. Then, deciding he was too much for them, they faded back. His breath came harsh and tearing as his attention swept the street, making sure. They were retreating. He was more than they’d bargained for.

  At least, for now.

  Merrick dug in his pocket for the cell phone, fished it out. His attention followed the retreating koroi as the lamps of their eyes extinguished two by two. There would be other Dark predators on the way, attracted by the mess and noise of battle, as well as by the stench of death.

  The phone came to life in his ear. “Report.” It was a Watcher, thank God. He placed the voice. Drake, the one with the tattoo of a scorpion. Quiet man, good Watcher, even if he did have a death wish.

  I’m not far away from that myself. Merrick’s heart thumped against his ribs, coming down from the redline of combat. The thought was there and gone in a moment, so familiar he barely noticed it.

  “Merrick, Zone 45. I’m at Chess and Hollworth with a possible flyer in a sports car and a bunch of bloody koroi.” His voice sliced the air, steamed sharply between raindrops. Thunder ruffled the clouds overhead. “I need cleanup and possibly a tow truck. Not to mention a little backup, if we’ve got any.”

  “How many Lightbringers?”

  “Just one, maybe two. Can’t fit more into that car. I’m going to secure it and stand guard.”

  “Help’s on the way.” Just like that. And the connection was terminated.

  Merrick turned back to the car. There was definitely a Lightbringer in there, the clear glow pulsing and stuttering. It was subtly wrong, and he paused, trying to think of why. Nothing that glowed that brightly could be Dark. But instead of a jewel-toned shine, this was a sheer golden aura, full of golden pinwheels. He let out a soft breath.

  Mindhealer. Of course. He’d met a few, back in the day when he was on guard duty, before he’d requested to be put on patrol. Difficult, vulnerable to Darksickness, and exquisitely sensitive to Watchers.

  In other words, a real joy.

  His scars twinged. Now that the battle was over—or at least, taking a breather—he could feel that he’d almost pulled something in his leg, leaping over the car like that. His shoulder hurt, he’d pulled a tendon meeting the koroi head-on. The tanak twisted at the pain, bathing the slight wounds with Power from the spent deaths of the lizard-dogs. It hurt, but the pain was so natural by now that he ignored it.

  The driver’s door rocketed open. He caught sight of light hair, glowing under the streetlamp, and braced himself to deal with a hysterical witch who had no idea why a man with a sword had just fought off nightmare creatures. She’d probably cry, too. He hated to see Lightbringers cry. They were such gentle souls, it was hard to watch them suffer.

  He’d reached the front end of the car, headlamps still uselessly burning and the bonnet dented and crumpled, when she made it all the way out, moving shakily. He wanted to tell her to stay down in case she had any injuries, but she held grimly on to the door and a pair of dark eyes met his.

  The shock stopped him midstride.
Outside the Watcher warding that still sparked and fizzed against the structure of the car, bleeding energy into the wet air, she glowed all the more brightly. The force of that light should have brought Merrick to his knees, if not literally then damn close, especially when he was still smarting from the battle. Her aura, pure Light, should have made the scars on his face and the deep channels of his bones fill with acid. Should have hurt him, in short, the way every other Lightbringer did. The brighter the glow, the more pain—after all, the tanak was a creature of Darkness, for all it was symbiotic to a Watcher. The tanak got a safe harbor, food, and physical being. A Watcher got superhuman strength, endurance, and a level of Power to work the combat magicks that gave him a chance against other Dark predators.

  It should have been agony.

  It wasn’t, and that brought him up short, blinking at a woman who was almost incandescent with anger. Her hair was rapidly being lashed down and darkened with the rising wind and water. She wore a flimsy blue sweater and a pencil skirt, drew herself up to her full height and glared at him with dark eyes that threatened to strip their way past his skull and right into the center of his brain. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded, and her voice was another surprise, clear and firm. Beautiful, with the same bell-like quality other Lightbringers had, but also with a snap of command. “Have you been following me?”

  “No ma’am.” Training rose under his skin. When a Lightbringer spoke, you damn well listened. Duty. Honor. Obedience. “I’m out on patrol. Those things—”

  “Koroi.” She shivered. “Gods above and below, how I hate koroi. I suppose you’ve already called in?”

  Relief flooded him. She was a Circle Lightfall witch. He wouldn’t have to contend with giving The Speech, hopefully calming her down while he tried to explain he wasn’t the enemy, even though he was armed and looked like a piece of Dark to otherSight himself.