Chimera

Sixteen The Odds

Quite a lot happened while I was sleeping off the heavy dose of painkillers, and I got the rundown later that night at dinner. My arm still ached like someone had clamped it into a vise that kept getting tighter and tighter, but I’d spent way too much time wounded on the sidelines lately. A bullet hole was nowhere near as debilitating as those burns had been, so after a long (slightly awkward) shower, I threw on some sweats and wobbled downstairs to the cafeteria.

The usual suspects were gathered at one of the long tables: Teresa and Gage, Ethan and Aaron, Marco, plus Lacey and Bethany. I helped myself to a bowl of what looked like chicken noodle soup—didn’t want to tempt vomiting with anything heavier—and plopped down next to Marco.

“So what did I miss?” I asked.

“How’s your arm?” Ethan asked back.

“Still attached. Hurts like hell. What did I miss?”

Teresa shoved food around on her plate, her exhaustion plain to see in her pale face and the dark smudges under her eyes. Next to her, Gage became her mouthpiece. “Mostly we’ve bought some time to keep figuring things out,” he said.

The short version: New Jersey police had a fit about our fight at the high school and the two dead bodies left behind. Teresa hadn’t corrected the detective when he suggested the two dead kids were the same wanted in Pennsylvania for a string of burglaries, which was a temporary positive for Landon and Bethany. She also spoke with Warden Hudson about keeping Thatcher out of Manhattan for another week to help us find other Meta kids, to which Hudson agreed. The job will probably take longer than a week, but Teresa won’t push her luck too hard. Extensions are easier to ask for than an unlimited release.

Teresa seriously had Hudson wrapped around her little finger. I needed to learn how she did that.

“So what’s the plan with Thatcher?” I asked. Knowing he was here for another week caused a small flare of happiness, tempered only by it driving home the point that his stay was temporary. A conditional release. Period.

“Sooner or later, Warden Hudson will feel compelled to tell the authorities what he knows about Landon and the robberies,” Gage replied. “Once the Jersey police run DNA tests on Louis Becker, they’ll figure out the body they have is not Thatcher’s son.”

“Unless . . .” Teresa trailed off. The sour looks that passed between them flashed Argument! in bright neon lights. This was not something they agreed on.

“Wait,” I said, “you want to mess with DNA tests? Make the authorities believe Bethany and Landon are dead?”

“It would keep them safe,” Teresa said. “This Overseer will know the truth, but at least the human authorities won’t be after them anymore.”

“What about Louis and Summer? Their families deserve to know they’re dead, don’t they?”

Her purple eyes sparked with anger. “Of course they do, Renee. We’ll keep looking for their surviving family. That’s not in question.”

“What’s in question is the ethics of using their deaths to our advantage,” Gage said.

I glanced around the table, a little lost and hoping to gauge the opinions of the others. Mostly they were eating, eyeballs on their plates. Only Bethany was paying close attention, and when she met my gaze, I swear she looked ready to burst into tears.

“What do you think of all this?” I asked her, baffled why I even bothered.

“Those guys are dead because of me and Landon,” Bethany said, her standard bravado completely gone. “The others? They’re all alone now. They hate us. We don’t deserve your help. You should have let those clones kill us on the side of the turnpike.”

She ducked her head, hiding her face behind a fall of hair. She was on Gage’s left, between him and Lacey. Lacey gave the teenager’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Letting the clones kill you was never an option,” Teresa said. “Sometimes good guys and bad guys are a matter of perspective, but not in this case. You and Landon were used, manipulated, and lied to for a long time. What’s happening now isn’t your fault, okay?”

Maybe it was a little their fault, but I wasn’t about to say that and interrupt T’s moment with the mouthy brat.

Bethany sighed, then reached into her pocket for something. She tossed it across the table, and it clanked next to Ethan’s plate. “That’s the key to your collar,” she said.

Ethan stared at the slim black piece of plastic like it might explode. Aaron picked it up and studied it, while still managing to scowl at Bethany.

“Stick the skinniest end into the slot at the back of the collar,” Bethany said. “It will click open, promise.”

Aaron did as told, and the collar fell into Ethan’s lap. He picked it up with two fingers and put it on the far end of the table. Ethan rubbed at the red ring of irritation around his throat, then nodded at her. “Thank you,” he said.

She shrugged.

“No, really.”

“Whatever.”

Aaron squeezed the back of Ethan’s neck, his scowl a little less fierce, but still there. I didn’t think it was meant for Bethany anymore, though.

“I want to talk to them,” Bethany said. “Sasha, Tate, and the others you met today.”

“Why?” Teresa asked.

“Because they think we’re traitors.” The teenage whine was back in full force. “Maybe me and Landon can convince them we’re not. We can tell them why we came here. That we believe you about our parents. Maybe they’ll believe it, coming from us.”

Bethany finally believed us about her parents? Halle-fucking-luiah.

“They’d never agree to come here, and Landon is too weak to leave the island.”

“So I’ll go. He can talk to them over the phone.”

“Sasha did seem willing to listen before the cops showed up,” Gage said.

Teresa nodded. “I like the idea, but first Sasha needs to contact us.”

“How’s she supposed to do that?” I asked. “Carrier pigeon?”

“No, I left a few phones behind at the gym. I’ve called them all with no answer. Hopefully she took at least one with her.”

No one could ever accuse Teresa of not thinking ahead.

“So if Sasha calls, we can talk to her?” Bethany asked.

“Yes,” Teresa replied.

“Landon, too.”

“Landon, too, by phone only.”

“Okay.” Bethany smiled, then attacked the rest of her dinner.

I ate my soup and pondered what I’d been told. I really didn’t know how I felt about the DNA-tampering idea. On one hand (and for Thatcher’s sake), I wanted Landon to be safe from the authorities. Bethany’s fate mattered to me less. On the other hand, Landon and Bethany had committed multiple crimes in Pennsylvania, and they were actually guilty. But who was to blame for them committing those crimes? Themselves? Uncle, who raised them to be vigilantes and criminals?

Too many shades of fucking gray.

Maybe it made me a coward, but I was glad I didn’t have to make this decision. I wasn’t a leader. I was very content being a minion and doing as I was told.

Marco left the table first, Lacey less than a minute after. The soup was sitting nicely in my stomach, and I contemplated getting some crackers to add to the broth. The decision was interrupted by Aaron standing so abruptly his chair nearly fell over backward. Ethan grabbed it before it could. Aaron mumbled something, then strode out of the cafeteria.

I glanced at Teresa, but she wouldn’t look at me. “Is he okay?” I asked softly.

Ethan shook his head, then exhaled hard through his mouth. “Not really. Noah and Dahlia have been acting funny recently, and they won’t talk to either of us about it. Aaron’s worried. Really worried.” So am I hung off the end of his sentence.

I had no idea what to say to that, considering I had been sworn to secrecy. I also didn’t want to lie to Ethan’s face, so I said, “I’m sorry.” It had the advantage of being completely true.

“He’ll get it out of Noah sooner or later. He’s persistent like that.”

The dinner table broke up without much more conversation. I wasn’t certain what to do with myself next, so I decided to do something brand-spanking-new. I put two bowls of soup on a tray, along with a handful of crackers, and I took it down to the infirmary.

Halfway there, I knew it was a bad idea. My arm was screaming from the weight of the tray, and broth sloshed back and forth as I tried to balance it on one hand. Sweat popped out on my forehead, and I had horrible images of the whole shebang crashing to the floor. Thank God Jessica was leaving as I wanted to get in, because she held the door for me.

The steady cadence of Thatcher’s voice filled the hallway, coming from the half-open door to Landon’s room. I stood outside it a moment, listening, curious at the nonconversational sound. Then it hit me—Thatcher was reading a book. The idea of a father reading a book to his injured son hit me like a sledgehammer, right in my solar plexus. It was beautiful and depressing all at once.

I didn’t want to walk in, and my hands were full, so I tapped on the doorframe with my foot. The recital stopped. Fabric rustled, and then he stood in the doorway. A grumpy scowl melted into a warm smile, and I smiled back. He looked down at the tray and his eyes widened.

“I brought you soup,” I said.

Nice and lame. Good job.

“Thank you,” Thatcher replied. He took the tray, and my throbbing arm thanked him back. “Please, come in.”

“I don’t want to interrupt.”

“It’s okay,” Landon said. He was sitting up in bed, looking more alert and healthy than he had just twelve hours ago.

Thatcher placed the tray on a bedside table. “Hungry?”

“A little.”

He sat on the side of the bed and held one of the bowls out for Landon. Landon glanced at me, then picked up the spoon and sipped some of the broth while his father held the bowl. The sight—considering two days ago they’d been mortal enemies—made my heart swell, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Thatcher filled the role of the protective father perfectly, and I hated that in a week they’d be separated again.

“How’s your arm?” Thatcher asked.

“It has a hole in it,” I replied.

“You don’t say?”

“I’m sorry you got shot,” Landon said.

“It’s not your fault, Junior, but thanks.”

“Feels like my fault.”

“This entire mess is Uncle’s fault, not yours. The big challenge is figuring out his end game.”

“Division,” Thatcher said. “He’s giving you another enemy to watch out for, stacking the odds against you.”

“For what, though? Another war?”

“Possibly. The late Angus Sewell can’t be the only person who wants all Metas destroyed.”

The name sent a shot of irritation down my spine. Angus Sewell had once been a friend, an ally to the old Ranger Corps, and he’d been there in January as we reassembled in Los Angeles. He’d also been a double agent, coming at us sideways using stolen Meta powers while pretending to be on our side. His ultimate goal was to force the government, once we twelve Ranger kids were dead, to use its fail-safe on the Banes residing in Manhattan—murdering them all via their security collars, to protect the world from their powers.

Needless to say, we foiled the plan and stopped the bad guy. The betrayal still cut deep, though.

“Uncle may not be counting on our ability to convince people of the real truth,” I said.

“Exactly,” Thatcher replied.

“Speaking of the real truth, Landon, Teresa has agreed to Bethany’s request to let you two talk to Sasha and the others. Over the phone only, for you.”

“Really?” Landon said, his eyes widening. “She’ll let us?”

“Yes. We just need them to contact us first.”

“Right.”

Thatcher’s expression was passive, impossible to read. “Meeting with those kids could be a trap.”

“You’re right,” I said. I almost added that Bethany getting captured by the bad guys wouldn’t be a huge loss, but held my tongue. She meant something to Landon, and I didn’t want to upset him while he was stuck in a hospital bed, because that would just piss off his father. I much preferred Thatcher smiling to snarling. “But the potential benefit is worth the risk.”

“You sound like Trance.”

I shrugged, surprised by the compliment. “She’s my hero.”

He started to say something, then stopped. Changed course. “We’re in the middle of reading Huckleberry Finn, if you’d like to stay and listen for a bit.”

I’d read it what seemed like a million years ago. My foster parents had been almost militant in their insistence that I read a huge swath of literature from all countries and centuries. While I didn’t have their same abiding love for Mark Twain, I appreciated his work for what it was and could at least hold my own in a conversation about him. Being smart always flabbergasted people who couldn’t see past the blond hair and big boobs.

“Thanks, but I should go,” I said. If I stayed . . . It wouldn’t do me any good to get any more attached to a man I should simply tolerate and nothing else. To Landon I added, “We’ll let you know when we hear something from Sasha.”

“Thank you,” Landon said. “For the soup, too.”

“No problem.”

I held Thatcher’s gaze a little longer than I probably should have, then left. In the hall, I nearly ran into Dr. Kinsey. We avoided a collision, and my arm silently thanked him for that.

“Renee,” he said. “How do you feel?”

You know how irritating it gets when everyone asks how you feel, and your answer never changes? Yeah, that.

“I’m on my feet,” I said.

“What’s your pain level like?”

“About a six, I guess.” Carrying that tray of soup hadn’t helped.

“Come on.”

I followed him into his office. He punched a code into a locked cabinet, then withdrew a white bottle. I couldn’t read the label. He shook a dozen pills out into another, smaller bottle.

“Take one of these with a glass of water when the pain gets above a five,” he said, handing me the bottle. “But no more often than every six hours, okay?”

“Thanks.”

“They’re formulated for Meta physiology, so if you don’t use them all, make sure you return the rest to me.”

“Of course.”

“I’d like to see you tomorrow, too, just to check the wound.”

“Right, I’ll stop by, barring the usual emergency or five.”

My attempt at a joke didn’t ease the tension in his shoulders or the tightness around his jaw. The man looked like a rubber band about to snap. I glanced at the half-open door, then lowered my voice. “I’m sorry about what’s happening with Noah.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I accidentally saw him here yesterday. I talked to Teresa about it.”

“Oh.” He wilted a little bit, the father in him overtaking the medical professional, and I got a flash of just how upset he was. “The Changelings were my project. They’re my sons. I should be able to fix this.”

“I bet you never imagined a scenario in which Ace fell in love with one of his two hosts.”

“You’re right. I never imagined a lot of this, including loving those boys so much.” He cleared his throat, and then the doctor mask was back on. “We’re doing everything we can for both of them.”

“I know. I wish I could help.”

“Thank you, Renee.”

The words sounded kind of like a dismissal, so I left. Two very different men remained behind in the infirmary. One father celebrating a reunion with the son he thought he’d lost years ago and who had spent a meager three days getting to know him again. Another father battling to save a son he’d raised from a test tube and ushered into adulthood. Despite myself, my heart hurt for both of them.

I took my aching heart down to the lounge. Little groups had assembled on couches and around tables, chatting, reading, and playing games. The whole thing often felt like a college dorm; some days I expected someone to break out a keg and start a party. But the mood tonight was subdued. Bad news traveled fast, and I got enough sympathetic looks to incite violence against the first person who asked how I felt.

Two people in the corner of the lounge drew my attention, mostly due to her familiar purple-streaked head. Teresa and Sebastian were sitting on a couch near one of the windows, facing each other and talking. They weren’t sitting close, and the conversation didn’t look intimate, but I couldn’t stop a flare of annoyance that felt a little like jealousy. Teresa had assured me she wasn’t cheating on Gage with Sebastian, but the pair were definitely sharing something.

Sebastian said something that made Teresa tilt her head back and laugh. A full, throaty laugh that pissed me off. I hadn’t seen her laugh like that in weeks, and Sebastian did it? Where was Gage? Gage was amazing and patient and perfect for her, damn it. She had him and loved him, and no one judged her for it.

Why the hell did one belly laugh feel like a betrayal?

Because you’re jealous, dipshit.

Jealous because the one person I’d been genuinely attracted to since William died was completely unavailable to me. He’d be back in prison in a week, and I’d be alone. As usual.

I didn’t register Teresa getting up until she was halfway to me, her expression one of open concern. I must have been scowling at her pretty good, because she hooked her arm through my good one and led me to a corner of the room.

“You all right?” she asked.

“I wish people would stop asking me that,” I snapped.

“Yeah? Well, just now you looked like you wanted to throw something through a window, so I thought I’d ask.”

“Sorry.”

She studied me. “We were just talking.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Really?”

I shrugged with my free shoulder, which was a huge mistake. Fire raced through my arm and shoulder, and I flinched.

“Sebastian knew my father,” Teresa said. “When he was a teenager. They met a few times. Dad tried to recruit Sebastian into the Rangers.”

“But he wanted to be a bad guy instead?”

“No. Remember what Freddy McTaggert told us? That any Meta who didn’t join the Rangers was considered, by law enforcement, to be a Bane and an enemy? That happened to Sebastian when the War began.”

McTaggert, aka Ethan’s biological father, had briefly been a Ranger and had an affair with Ethan’s mom. When McTaggert took issue with how the Rangers were used for publicity stunts, basically as marketing tools, he quit. ATF and its fellow agencies didn’t like that very much. McTaggert and Sebastian weren’t the only imprisoned Banes who’d told similar stories of being labeled criminals simply because they refused to register and submit to Ranger Corps rules.

“I like hearing stories about my dad,” Teresa continued. “He was such a great leader, Renee. I need to know how he did it.”

“You’re a pretty fabulous leader, too, you know,” I said. “Stop comparing yourself to your father.”

“That’s never going to happen. I’ll always be Hinder’s daughter. And it’s even worse now that there’s a clone of him running around out there somewhere.”

It hit me right in the gut. “You’re afraid you can’t beat him.”

“Terrified of it, actually.”

If we weren’t in the middle of the lounge with a dozen other people around, I’d have hauled her into a hug. Even before we discovered the clones of our loved ones, Teresa doubted herself and her ability to lead. She’d been shoved into the position because of her powers and her father’s history as an amazing Ranger hero. She did her best, and she kept us alive, but she still worried. All the time.

I tugged her into the hallway, which was empty and much quieter. In a whisper, I asked, “Don’t slug me for this, but have you thought about turning over leadership to someone else?”

She blinked at me like I’d just suggested she have sex with a goat. “What?”

“You have to have thought about it.”

“Sure, I’ve thought about it, but never seriously.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my job.”

“A job you can quit, if you want.”

She scowled. “I don’t want to quit.”

“Why not?”

“You need me. I can’t quit on you guys, and I care too much to leave your lives in someone else’s hands. I’m responsible.”

I grinned, glad she’d said all those things out loud and with only a little bit of prompting. “Exactly. This is your team, T, no one else’s. Not mine, not Gage’s, not Lacey’s, not your father’s. Yours. And your way has been working pretty damned well since we started this superhero gig.”

Her face softened into a grateful smile. “This is why you’re my best friend.”

“My amazing pep talks?”

“Yes, and your no-bullshit way of phrasing things. Thank you.”

“Anytime. But get it together, or I’ll start charging you for these little therapy sessions.”

She laughed, then hugged me gently, careful of my wounded arm. “Where are you headed?”

“No idea. I was—”

Her phone rang with a tone I didn’t recognize. Her eyes widened in surprised and delighted eagerness. She answered with a firm, “Trance.” A few seconds passed and she mouthed a word that made my heart pound.

Sasha.