Seduced by the Storm (41 page)

"Don’t
say that," Faith said, and then barked out a bitter laugh, because
politely calling Hill Heritage a hospital didn’t
not
make it an asylum.

An
asylum where, thanks to her, Wyatt had been imprisoned.

Paula
rolled her peridot-green eyes. "Fine. Loony bin, then." She steered
Faith toward the staircase. "One of the men who survived the battle turned
up on our SAO document."

Faith
stumbled to a stop. The SAO listed special-ability operatives known to TAG.
"Who?"

"An
Itor agent named William Young. From what we’ve been able to piece together, he
infiltrated the ILF years ago. Probably keeping tabs on them for Itor."

She
remembered the warning Sean had received about a spy on board the platform. The
Itor guy must have known the ILF had arranged for the theft of the weather
machine and found a way to warn Sean. That e-mail Sean received hadn’t been
about Wyatt. It had been about Faith.

"Young
also said that the ILF has been after the weather machine for a long time. At
one point, they offered up your sister in trade."

Faith
let out a low whistle. Biokinetics as powerful as she and Liberty were
rare—perhaps a half dozen in the entire world, counting Wyatt, and it must have
been a tough decision to refuse the deal.

"What
about the motherboard? Where is it?"

"It’s
in the science lab. Lab guys found a tracker on it, but we took preventive
measures, constructed shields, and the bug is now on its way to Belgium to
throw off anyone still tracking it. Hopefully whoever put it there—Itor or your
ACRO agent—didn’t get a bead on us before we got the shields up."

Itor
might have tagged all important machine parts to keep track, but Wyatt could
have done it as well. The idea made her even more nauseous than she already
was. He hadn’t trusted her—and for good reason. Her betrayal ripped through
her, and if she’d had anything in her stomach, she’d have lost it.

"It’s
taking longer than expected to start building a machine casing for it,"
Paula continued. "Still, what a coup. Britain will never be vulnerable to
terrorists again. If we make some preemptive strikes—"

"That’s
not what the device is for. We discussed this. We’re going to study it, that’s
all."

Paula
rolled her shoulder in that way she did when she was going to argue. "And
we will study it. But if we build our own machine, we can stop severe weather
in its tracks. We can even help out farmers during droughts and such. And if we
need to, we can use it against our enemies."

"Absolutely
not."

"Why
not?"

"Because
we aren’t Itor."

"Of
course we aren’t." Paula’s tone was condescending and careful, as though
Faith were a child, and she half expected a friendly pat on the head. "But
if we can use it with minimal damage to nontargets, why rule it out?"

"It’s
too dangerous, Faith,"
Wyatt had
said on the helicopter.
"The temptation to destroy an enemy with it
would be too great. Collateral damage could be catastrophic. And just by having
the thing, you’d invite enemies to try to steal it. You’d always be worried
about someone on the inside betraying you for power or money."

On
some level she’d agreed, but her drive to make her parents’ deaths mean
something had been as all-consuming as her drive to find Liberty. Now that it
was all over, her mind felt less cluttered by emotion. She’d truly believed
that TAG could do good with the machine, could at least study it and destroy it
after finding out how to identify and disable any machines that might crop up
in an enemy’s arsenal.

But
keeping it for any amount of time wasn’t worth it. That Liberty had been
willing to betray Faith for it was proof of that.

So
was the fact that Faith had betrayed Wyatt in the same way.

And
now it seemed that with power in their grasp, even TAG personnel had decided
that building a machine would be a good thing in the hands of the good guys.
But how long would it be before the good guys crossed a line?

Faith
forced herself to not argue more with Paula, and instead flicked her hand in a
dismissive wave. "You’re right. I’ll keep an open mind." She pulled
the hospital gown tight in the back and started down the stairs to her
quarters, which took up half of the north wing she shared with Paula. "Will
you gather materials for a briefing this evening? I’ve missed a lot in the last
few days."

Paula
nodded. "Of course. It’s good to have you back."

"Thank
you. I’m going to shower and then visit Liberty." She was also going to
grab the motherboard and get Wyatt the hell out of the hospital.

A
stab of guilt cut through her gut, and suddenly the disappointment that she
wasn’t pregnant made sense.

There
was no doubt whatsoever that Wyatt hated her, not only for betraying him for
the motherboard but for landing him in the place of his nightmares. She’d lost
him, but at least if she were carrying his child, she’d still have something of
him.

Now
the most she could hope for was that he wouldn’t want to kill her.

HILL
HERITAGE’S STAFF recognized Faith right away. They worked closely with TAG, had
a private, secret wing set up to handle the special needs of people with unique
abilities. Unable to face Wyatt yet, she headed to Liberty’s room, the satchel
containing Mr. Wiggums and the motherboard over her shoulder.

Sneaking
the motherboard out of TAG’s lab had been a challenge, and though she’d slipped
out undetected, she wouldn’t get back in the same way. She’d have hell to pay
to both her colleagues and the British government.

Punishment
would likely be severe.

"I’ve
really done it this time, Mr. Wiggums," she said, and realized she’d
slipped her hand inside one of the bag pockets and was stroking the stuffed
animal. Hopefully Liberty would be happy to see it—assuming she wasn’t too
messed up from meds.

Her
sister had been given psychic suppression drugs, the very ones that had
probably been given to Wyatt to keep him from escaping. With any luck, he was
being kept sedated as well. The idea that he might have been fully awake and
trapped in his own personal hell for the last day made her stomach hurt.

Liberty
was sitting on her bed, wearing blue hospital scrubs and reading one of the
facility’s ancient magazines when Faith entered her sterile, cell-like room.

"Faithie,"
she said, setting aside the magazine. "Mary, Mother of God, don’t you
look…
free.
"

"It
doesn’t have to be like this." Faith took a seat near the door, in the
only chair in the room.

"You
think we can go back in time? Be a family again?"

"Maybe
to start we could just try talking?" After a long silence that wasn’t
encouraging, Faith added, "I’ve looked for you all my life, Liberty."

"Am
I supposed to cry now? Be grateful? Please. I have no idea who you are."
Liberty laughed, like this was all a big joke to her. "And my name is
Saoirse."

"Is
that the Irish version of your name?"

Tugging
one bare foot up on the bed, Liberty nodded. "Much prettier. Now, why are
you here? And don’t be giving me the you’re-my-family malarkey."

Faith
shook her head grimly. "I am your family. Our parents—"

"Sent
me away like a dog they didn’t want, like rubbish."

"That’s
not true."

"No?
Why didn’t they ever come to see me? Never once. They left me, alone and afraid
in a world where I didn’t know anyone.
They abandoned me.
"

"They
were afraid of your power, Lib. They didn’t understand it. They’d have come
around."

Liberty
laughed. "It doesn’t matter now, does it? When Fiona took me from here,
she and her husband became my parents. They understood me. They embraced my
differences and abilities."

"They
used them," Faith snapped. "Used them to make you a weapon for the
ILF."

"You
don’t know anything."

"I
know that your precious ILF offered to trade you to Itor for the weather
machine." The flash of surprise and hurt in Liberty’s eyes told Faith she
hadn’t known about the failed deal.

"They
wouldn’t do that."

"The
machine brings out the worst in people," Faith said, because she knew
firsthand how true that was. "There’s something else I know. I know I miss
my sister." Faith reached into the satchel and removed Mr. Wiggums.
"I held on to him for you."

The
blood drained from Liberty’s face. "Sweet Jesus, you still have him."

"I
took him with me. Everywhere."

For a
moment it seemed as though Faith had gotten through to her sister. Swallowing
repeatedly, Liberty seemed on the verge of an emotional breakdown. A heartbeat
later, the cold, distant gleam came back into her eyes, and Faith felt her skin
grow tight.

"You’re
a sentimental fool, Faithie. You should have burned it."

Faith
stared at her sister, noted the fine lines at the corner of her eyes and mouth
that spoke of a hard life, the scar running from right temple to cheek that
confirmed it.

"You’d
have killed me for the motherboard, wouldn’t you?"

"Yes."

The
answer didn’t surprise Faith, but it did reinforce her decision to not get her
hopes up about her sister’s potential for rehabilitation and deprogramming.
Faith carried the stuffed toy to Liberty and placed it on the bed beside her.
She wanted to say something, but what?

Perhaps
someday they’d find common ground and a new relationship, but not today.

Silently,
Faith left the room and braced herself for one more visit.

FAITH
HAD BETRAYED HIM. One hundred percent completely betrayed him, and Wyatt had
done nothing about it but fall to the ground like a pussy and was now lying in
a locked and padded cell in some fucking mental institution in Yorkshire.

Hurting
her that same way had never been an option. He was all for a good game of
chicken, but she’d made her choice, and he was finished with the game playing.

The
last time he’d been put in a room like this, he’d been drugged to the gills, so
much so that all he could do was lie there, unable to move a muscle, his
teenage mind racing. Panicking. His powers had been immature and he’d forced
himself time and time again to remain calm, plot and plan and think. No one had
helped him then—they’d left him all alone in that hell that was his own mind.

Like
now, except that this time his powers were far more developed, the drugs they’d
pumped him full of were nearly out of his system, and he was through thinking.

When
he’d woken, the anger roiled like molten lava through his body—he’d fought the
urge to howl like a wounded animal and instead had remained docile, played nice
so the men in white coats eased up on the drugs. He’d heard the men who brought
him in here mention Liberty, knew she was in another wing of the hospital and
wondered if Faith would come to visit.

He’d
asked one of the nicer nurses if Faith had survived the gunshot and the woman
had been kind enough to nod yes and smile. He’d wanted to smile too, with
relief, but the anger had rushed in right behind the relief. She might not have
died, but he had. Some part of him had gone dead on that Irish hillside.

If
not for the fact that ACRO was no doubt right now tracking the motherboard and
mounting an offensive to take it back, he didn’t know how hard he’d fight to
get the fuck out of here. But fuck that. He was going to be there when they
took down Faith’s agency.

Until
then, he’d just revisit all those oh-so-happy teenage mental hospital memories.

This
place was different, though. There were all sorts of special-ability people
here, which made this a much more dangerous place—and he wondered how many of
them were institutionalized because they were thought to be simply uncontrollable.

ACRO
was now full of such people. He needed to get back there, to get rid of the
betrayal that hung sour in his chest. All he had to do was think about that and
the heavy, double-reinforced steel door began to groan on its hinges.

He
was vaguely aware that a telekinetic had been stationed outside the door to
counteract Wyatt’s own powers.

It
wouldn’t matter—Wyatt was stronger, his powers inflated with anger.

His
heart was broken, his faith betrayed.

Faith.

Fuck
it all—that was ironic as shit.

The
door blew off its hinges with little effort on his part beyond the internal
rage of betrayal, a twisted hunk of metal that took out people in its path.

"Move
aside, motherfuckers. I’m checking out," he told them calmly, heart
beating double-time in his throat.

Someone
shot a tranquilizer dart at him—he used his telekinesis to stop it mid-air, and
sent it back toward the man who’d thrown it, hitting him in the chest and
taking him down within seconds.