Vicki Pettersson - Cheat the Grave

He continued gazing into the distance, breathing in deeply before allowing a slow nod. “It may be possible to redevelop your senses. With time and study and Io’s help.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Then I’d go after my mother myself. Because with her granddaughter’s second life cycle approaching fast, she’d be sticking close to Ashlyn. Thanks to a Shadow agent named Regan DuPree, the Tulpa knew of his granddaughter’s existence, and was gunning for her too. A feminine triptych, I thought wryly. He wanted us all.

Yes. My mother would be very close.

So with that alone as incentive, I would have agreed to help Carlos. But Mackie wouldn’t stop until either he or I were dead, and I certainly couldn’t take him on by myself. But with the grays’ help, an army at my back, it might be possible to survive.

As for a return to Solange and Midheaven and the special horrors awaiting me there…well, that was a worry for later. And I owed Carlos enough to try.

So he smiled when I nodded, a heady look bringing out new angles on the beautiful face, and I glanced back down at the conduit in my hand. It was archaic and not even my own, but my fingers twitched with the need for action, to once again take my fate into my own hands. Sure, I made mistakes-I had never pretended otherwise. But I did it armed. “Let’s try that gun again.”

So they took me back to Vegas to do what was previously thought impossible. Kill the Tulpa.

The opportunity wouldn’t come immediately. I was hosting Suzanne and Arun’s rehearsal dinner at the estate that night. Though far less crowded than the eight hundred wedding guests due at Valhalla the following day, it was still a big undertaking. Making sure there were enough hors d’oeuvres would be challenging. Killing the Tulpa might be a little too ambitious for cocktail attire. Which meant I had to stay alive at least until the next day.

Valentine’s Day, I remembered with a frown. Silk-lined boxes of chocolate. Intimate candlelight dinners. A body studded with weapons in order to kill a friggin’ tulpa.

Just like every other girl on V-Day, I thought wryly. Dressed to leave an impression.

I shook my head. Weaker than I’d ever been in my life and I was going to attempt to murder a being birthed through calculated thought and mean ambition. One who had taken over the Shadow organization with a virtual snap of his fingers. If it was really the thought that counted, why couldn’t I just wish him away? As it was, I had no better plan than to leap and lunge at the opportune moment.

Speaking of leaping and lunging, I glanced to the back of our stolen van to find Gareth, Vincent, and Roland all eyeing me speculatively.

“No,” I told them all. “I won’t go to the dance with you.”

Gareth and Roland shot me small smiles, and while Vincent didn’t offer me a promise ring, his scowl didn’t deepen either. Guys who looked at you and smiled, or at least didn’t frown, always wanted something, so I waited. Gareth finally held up a comic book…a manual depicting the last days of my time in Zodiac troop 175, and as an agent of Light. I assumed that’s what it was anyway. The cover art showed me drowning.

“You were the Kairos,” Gareth said, jutting out his pockmarked chin.

“So they said.”

“But you gave up all your powers for a mortal child. Someone less than even a rogue.”

I shook my head. “She wasn’t lesser than anyone.”

“And that’s why I will follow you.” Vincent crossed his arms over his beefy chest, his nostrils flaring. “Not because Carlos tells me to. Not because you’re a female and you can enter Midheaven and increase our numbers.”

“’Cuz the only number you care about is one,” Gareth snorted.

Vincent punched the kid’s shoulder so hard his entire arm went limp. I winced, but Vincent’s eyes were back on me. “Because I’m independent, and I am honorable. I don’t mask my deeds, good or bad, with lies. I won’t deceive you like that.” He jerked his head to the manual where the story of Warren’s trickery was literally spelled out. “I won’t betray you like the other one either.”

I’d wondered if Hunter’s story would show up. I swallowed hard. Now my personal life was splayed along those pages in the comic book equivalent of a gossip rag. And all these men had read it.

“Nor will I,” Gareth added solemnly, which had me glancing up despite my embarrassment. He seemed to have forgiven me for questioning his experience. Meanwhile, Oliver muttered his agreement from the driver’s seat. Carlos beamed. Tripp, gazing out the window, said nothing.

“I’ve a gift to seal my oath,” Roland said, rising from his seat. Oliver stretched to see through the rearview mirror, and Gareth leaned close. Vincent rolled his eyes before leaning his head back and closing them.

“What is it?” I asked, accepting the object. It looked like a fork that had gone head-to-head with a Roto-Rooter.

“It’s from the original Doom Town,” he said, returning to his seat. “I found it buried closer to ground zero than any other artifact to date. I want you to have it.”

How sweet. He was proving his loyalty to me with radioactive rubble. I could practically feel the ions banging against my palm. It was like the entire city of Whoville was jammed together in a metal mosh pit. Yet looking back up at the three men, I found their expressions as open as I could expect on people I’d known for fewer than twenty-four hours.

“And I want you to have these,” Gareth added, lifting a small duffel bag over the seat.

“Nah, man!” Vincent came to life then, making a grab for the bag. “I wasn’t done with the last issue!”

Showing his quickness in spite of-or because of-his size, Gareth dodged, ending up next to me before the larger man could swipe again. “She needs them more than you, bro. More than that stupid fucking cancer spoon too.”

Not a fork, then.

The van rocked as Roland lunged.

“I love the cancer spoon!” I yelled, wanting to prevent being squashed by an errant fist while trapped in a moving vehicle. I held out my hand for the manuals. “And I’ll read the issues backward, and return them as I go, okay?”

That calmed everyone sufficiently…except for me. Now I had a bag full of manuals detailing what the troop had been doing since my absence. I swallowed hard, and tucked the bag beneath my feet. Truthfully, I didn’t know when I’d get to them. My feelings were too raw where the troop was concerned. Seeing them on the pages of a comic book-even if the action no longer lifted from the page, coming to life before my eyes-might pull the scab from that mental injury before it’d fully healed.

Still, glancing over at Carlos, I found Alex, Fletcher, and Milo all smiling at me from behind him. He inclined his head, like he’d known all along they’d accept me. I turned back in my seat, and found that despite the day ahead of me, I was smiling too.

Yet, just like the clouds that’d once dotted Frenchman’s Flat, another worry immediately mushroomed. Harlan Tripp. Unnervingly silent since learning of Carlos’s plan, he was gnawing on one of those strange brown cigarettes he’d brought back with him from Midheaven, running his tongue along his teeth as he stared out the window of our stolen van. Carlos had paired us up, so while the other rogues were to observe and protect me from afar, Tripp had instructions to never leave my side. If spotted, we’d act in tandem to make either Shadow or Light believe we were together against my will.

“Is this it?” Oliver, in the driver’s seat, pulled me from my thoughts, and I leaned forward to see around Tripp’s bulk. The building was immediately recognizable, and I instinctively glanced around for signs of the Light.