Mercury Page 3

  The world moved in lurches and lulls.

  One moment I was on the blessedly cold ground, the next, I was in someone’s arms and inside a mesmerizingly white building. My surroundings were confusing and indistinct, filled with faces that melted into necks and white coats. Every so often, pink and blue shapes would appear and make noise, but I could not understand them. Red was a constant, always nearby.

  And the heat—it could not be ignored.

  Static and snow, like an untuned television screen, pulled my vision away occasionally. Darkness would overtake me for a while, and then I’d be assaulted by colors and noises again. I had no sense of time or place, just of simple stimuli, such as my hand in someone else’s. A kind voice I thought I recognized spoke to me often, but the words were lost to me. A different voice, higher, occasionally spoke.

  I closed my eyes.

  Beeping in the distance called me to itself. I focused on the noise. It matched my heart.

  “Hey, how are you feeling?”

  I opened my eyes.

  Reid sat in the dingy vinyl chair next to my hospital bed. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, watching me with exhausted wariness. My head ached as though I’d been hit with a heavy object, but the heat was gone. I moved my head to the side and immediately groaned. “What happened?”

  “105.7,” he said simply. “That’s how high your fever spiked before they could get it under control. The doctor said if it had risen by another degree or so, you would’ve died, or at least had irreversible brain damage. You had at least one seizure.” He glanced at the wall clock. “The fight with Emily was four hours ago.” He handed me a cool wash cloth. “For your face.”

  I gently dabbed my face with the cloth, immediately sighing at the pleasure. The momentary relief allowed me to take in my circumstances for the first time since waking up. I was in a mint green hospital gown, hooked up to an IV drip through the back of my hand. My right index finger was inside an oximeter, itself connected to another machine which provided the beeping in the background.

  My uniform was folded neatly on another chair, sitting on top of my bulletproof vest. The small hospital room was unusually cool for a building in winter; I assumed this was because I’d been struck with such a high fever.

  The light in the room was odd. It was early afternoon, and the sunlight should’ve streamed in brightly between the cracks in the clacking blinds that moved back and forth in the breeze from the air conditioner. Instead, watery paleness barely illuminated the small room, recalling the infirmary in which I’d worked in Liberty.

  Reid sat back in his chair, his face receding into the slatted shadows cast by the blinds. “I’m sorry,” he said, so softly I wasn’t sure if I heard him for a moment.

  “For what?” I began to extract myself from my treatments.

  I took off the oximeter, then gingerly slid the needle out of the back of my hand. The machine flat-lined, no doubt remotely announcing my death to the nurses’ station down the hall. I hastily swung my bare legs over the edge of the bed and began to pull my pants on, relieved that the nurses hadn’t removed my underwear, at least.

  Reid didn’t react for a second. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I couldn’t have guessed that Emily would be here. I didn’t know she could inflict fevers. All I’ve ever seen her do is cause vomiting and things like that. You saved Jen and me. But I just…I’m sorry.”

  I stopped in the middle of dressing, standing in just my khaki pants. Déjà vu washed over me. Only weeks before, Jillian had apologized to me for a mysterious something, and in the dark infirmary to boot. I’d been in the middle of washing blood off her face. She’d apologized in heart breaking tones, the weight of a thousand tragedies causing her shoulders to sag.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but she’d been coping with a sexual assault as well as her not-so-dead little brother’s rejection, her team falling apart, and her horrible boyfriend’s immaturity and lies. I’d told her to “let it go.” She’d eventually taken my advice by letting everything go via a suicide attempt.

  Now another beloved leader of mine was apologizing to me. I pulled my undershirt on, strapped on my vest, then yanked my gray medic’s tunic over everything. Perhaps the fever had taken away my edge, because I didn’t feel angry that he was still mired in his issues.

  “Look, we’ve got a hell of a road ahead of us. I was kinda harsh back there in the truck when you were talking about Ember. I promise, we’ll sit down and figure out what to do about your relationship as soon as we can.”

  I’d calmed down enough to admit that the implosion of a long-term relationship as intimate as theirs had been was just one of those things a guy couldn’t ignore.

  But Jillian’s safety was paramount. I wasn’t budging on this issue.

  The door burst open and nurses flew in with a crash cart. There was an awkward moment in which everyone stared at each other, then the head nurse deflated. “You’re not supposed to—”

  “No,” I said curtly. “I’m going.”

  Ignoring mutters about superheroes and medical law, I pulled Reid out of his chair and we marched past the nurses into the hallway. My head thumped its protest, but with every passing minute, my body felt better. Fevers generally left a lingering weakness in the system, but Emily’s attack hadn’t been a natural fever. It followed that the fever would recede as quickly as it came on. Still, we’d lost precious time.

  I turned to Reid, whose blank sadness emanated from him in waves. “Where’s that woman? Jen, right?”

  “With Berenice and Lark in the burns unit.” He gestured to the elevator across the hall. “She’s been ducking in and out of your room for hours.”

  I pressed the ‘up’ button next to the doors, and the elevator came a few seconds later. A sign next to the doors displayed the floor location of every unit, so after the occupants filed out, Reid and I stepped into the elevator and I pressed the button for the third floor, home of the burns unit.

  Before the doors closed, I turned to Reid. “We’ll find Jillian, and then we’ll figure out you and Ember. It’s not that I don’t care—”

  “No, I get it,” Reid said. He looked away. “Jill first.”

  It was a testament to our friendship that I didn’t feel awkward as I asked, “Is there anything else?”

  His eyes met mine, and in them I saw what he simply could not hide: despair. “Jill left me with Will and Beau while you guys were cleaning up in the compound. They told me, in the most lurid way possible, everything they planned to do to Ember. And now they have Jill,” he finished, his eyes going unfocused. “This mission isn’t going to be a rescue, Ben.”

  I sucked in a breath. “Don’t—”

  “We’re going to be recovering her remains. You need to face that reality.” He spoke a little louder, though not unkindly.

  “No,” I growled. No, she was not dead. No, we were not—I was not—going to give up on her. No, I would not give in to pessimism. Jillian was my wife, and I’d see her again, alive and well.

  “She has the flu.”

  “That doesn’t mean she’s going to die. She’s a fighter.”

  “She doesn’t have powers. She is physically weaker than Ember right now. Even if she were to somehow escape from your parents’ house, she’d walk outside into a snowstorm. If the flu and injuries don’t kill her, the cold will.”

  “She’s not going to die!”

  “Listen to me.” He swallowed. “You’ve already witnessed what just one member of the strike team can do. We probably won’t survive an encounter with all of them. But if we do, and we somehow manage to get to Annapolis, you need to prepare yourself for what we’ll find.”

  “Shut up. Just shut up.” My racing pulse thrummed against my temples, causing my abating headache to roar back into existence. Reid was just upset about Ember. That was all. This was a tantrum, a last attempt to drag me down with him into wretched misery over a doomed relationship.

  The elevator dinged and the door
s opened, sparing him a profanity-laden rant. Jen was standing in front of the doors, texting on her phone. She glanced up and jumped a little. “Oh! You’re awake!”

  “I’m here to heal Berenice and Lark,” I said. “Where are they?”

  “Follow me.” She tapped her smart phone’s screen, and I heard the whooshing sound of a sent text. “I’ve been texting Gabriela, by the way. Everyone’s at her house. There’ve been no signs of the strike team, but they’re staying away from the windows just in case. Reuben is very concerned about Berenice and Lark. Gabriela was burned in the attack, but it’s all pretty superficial. Berenice and Lark, on the other hand…”

  She trailed off and cleared her throat. “They’re in here,” she said as we reached an unassuming door on the left marked 365. She knocked in a little pattern.

  “Come in,” a weary voice called.

  Jen faced me. “Stay here for a minute. I’m going to warn her that it’s you.” She opened the door a few inches and slipped inside. A few seconds later, she poked her head out. “You can come in.”

  This was the moment I’d long dreaded: the moment I’d have to face the woman I’d shot two years ago. She remembered me and had told her friend of my crime. What would happen once I crossed the threshold? Artemis…no, Berenice was possibly the strongest person on the planet. I was sure she’d imagined crushing various parts of my body in her hand many times since I’d attempted to murder her.

  I walked into the dimly lit hospital room. Healing energy coursed through my nerves when I saw the two patients.

  Berenice lay on the bed closest to the door, propped up at a sitting angle. Her face was red and peeling, while her hands were bandaged in thick white gauze. An IV dripped fluid into her veins through the back of her hand. Beautiful blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, but the appealing image was marred by the ugly scowl on her face. Her green eyes squinted at me, though that could have been because they were burned.

  Lark lay in the opposite bed. I’d been nearly defeated by the statuesque teleporter once; she wielded a staff that packed quite a wallop when slammed against the back of one’s legs. My speed was an even match for her teleportation, and we’d been in a stalemate until she’d nearly shattered my shins and I’d fallen on all fours.

  Her skin then had been a rich dark brown, but the little of it that was visible now was red and black. She lay still in her hospital bed, swathed in bandages and tubes. Of her facial features, only her nose and mouth showed. Her leader had done that to her.

  The bruised and bloodied faces of my four closest friends flashed across my eyes.

  “You,” Berenice snarled.

  Lark shifted uncomfortable and moaned.

  Every possible response melted away as I walked to Lark’s bedside and kneeled. I took her hand in mine and, with the energy that flowed from me to her, willed the sincerity of my condolences and regrets to go with it. Today was a new day. I was a new man. This would be the beginning of a new chapter for the Baltimore team and their relationship with Benjamin Trent.

  Lark inhaled deeply. “Wha…?”

  “Lark, my name is Benjamin,” I said tenderly. “We’ve met before.”

  She pushed herself up on her elbows and pulled off her bandages, rubbing at her eyelids and wincing against the light from the windows. She finally focused on me. Recognition, surprise, confusion, and finally understanding played across her features.

  She sat up fully and stretched. “So you really are one of us, huh?”

  Berenice snorted.

  I patted Lark’s hand. “Yes,” I said. “And we’ve got a lot to talk about, but not much time.” My eyes flickered toward Berenice, who was watching us without blinking. “I need to heal you, too.”

  “You stay the hell away from me,” she said, her fists clenching the sheets. “I can walk just fine.”

  Before I could argue, Jen sat down on the edge of the bed and took Berenice’s hand in hers. “You know that’s not true,” she said softly. “And he won’t hurt you. He saved my life, and Reid’s too. That woman very nearly killed me.”

  Berenice’s eyes darted back and forth between Jen and me. “Don’t take his side,” she pleaded. “He—he—”

  “I’m not taking anyone’s side. Remember, he’s why I’m here with you right now,” Jen said, her voice even softer. “Instead of in a body bag. Emily stabbed me in the neck and threw me down a stairwell. If Benjamin hadn’t saved me…”

  Berenice rubbed at her eyes. “Don’t talk about that. I’ve dealt with enough death in the past day to last a lifetime.”

  “You’ll be hearing about a lot more death if you don’t let Benjamin heal you so we can meet up with the others,” Reid said flatly. “He won’t hurt you. Even if he tried, there are two fully capable superheroes within arm’s reach, remember?”

  “Thanks, bro,” I grumbled.

  Berenice thrust her free hand towards me. “One second, that’s it.”

  Suppressing a sigh, I tapped my finger to hers. It was enough. Immediately the red skin faded to her normal peachy tone, and the swelling around her eyes receded.

  She smiled despite herself, and a moment later swung her long legs out of the bed. “Okay, Trent, you’ve got a cool power. I’ll give you that. No wonder Jill wanted you so bad.” She grabbed a hairband from her bedside table and casually swept her hair into a long ponytail while she rooted around in the bedside drawer. “Jen, where’s my uniform?”

  “Here,” Jen said, reaching underneath a nearby chair. Reid and I turned partially to give Berenice privacy.

  “Speaking of Jill, where is she?” Lark asked from behind the privacy curtain she’d partially pulled around her bed as she dressed.

  “Yeah, I need to thank her face-to-face for sending in Benjamin Trent to heal us without popping in herself,” Berenice drawled.

  I glared at Jen, then at Reid. Why hadn’t they filled in Berenice about Jillian’s whereabouts? Explaining it required thinking about it, which I’d done too much of already.

  Reid cleared his throat. “Jillian was abducted by Beau Trent and two members of the Rowe family last night. We came here to help you fight the strike team that’s after you, and then we will all go after Jillian.”

  For a few seconds, all I could hear was the rustles of Lark and Berenice dressing. I closed my eyes, waiting for the scathing response I knew was coming from Berenice, if not Lark. My wife had spoken only a little of her childhood bully, but already I’d picked up that there was no love lost between them, even as adults. Even if Berenice didn’t wish torture and death on Jillian, she probably wouldn’t want to stick her neck out for her.

  A hand on my shoulder made me turn around. Berenice stood before me, fully dressed in her sharp black-and-tan uniform. I couldn’t read her expression—she looked almost suspicious, as if she were, perhaps, trying to read mine. “Why did your brother grab Jill?” she asked evenly.

  “He thinks Jillian knows where the rest of the JM-104 is,” I said, taken aback by her demeanor. She hadn’t tried to crush my shoulder.

  She pursed her lips and frowned as she thought. “I have no idea why he’d think that. Jill was just as blindsided by that stuff as the rest of us, and I’m positive she would’ve mentioned knowing where the rest of it is.” She straightened. “I’ve fought your brother. I know what he’s like.” She crossed her arms, assessing me. “Just how badly do you want Jill back? You’re screwing, right? But do you actually love her?”

  Lark gasped, while Jen’s mouth fell open. “Berenice!”

  I mirrored Berenice’s stance, casually folding my arms in front of me. “What’s it to you?”

  Berenice shrugged. “I want to know how far you’re willing to go for her. I’m not going to rush into Trentland at your side if you’re going to wimp out when things get scary. I know how well you can run, kid. You’re good at running away, if I recall our, oh, half a dozen fights correctly.”

  I kept my face blank, but my insides had twisted. Berenice really was the witness of
my worst moments. She was being mean, but she was also being honest.

  “We’re married,” I said quietly. “And it was your kind of wedding, with your kind of vows.” My hand instinctively moved to my right pocket, which contained the necklace I’d bought for Jillian to commemorate our wedding. I’d rescue her if only to see her wearing it again.

  Her jaw dropped. “Why on earth would anybody marry you? Did you force her? Get her pregnant?” All her sarcasm had turned into insultingly genuine concern.

  Lark shook her head. “Berenice, can you not show your butt for five seconds, please?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t know why she married me. Why don’t you tell me why anybody would be friends with you?” I pointed at Jen, who did a double take. “All I’ve heard about you is stories from Jillian. Take a second and digest what that means.”

  She tutted. “Well, that’s skewed. I’m not…” She took a breath, clearly thinking. “Okay, I get your point. I was a jerk for years, but we made up. We’re cool now. I’m not…I’m not like that anymore.” She had the grace to look embarrassed. “I was never a murderer, though,” she muttered.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I am sorry for trying to kill you. I have no excuse. I know you’ll never forgive me, so I won’t ask. Maybe you’ll take comfort in the fact that it’s a memory that haunts me every day.”

  She stared at me for several seconds, a tiny wrinkle between her eyes. Finally, she raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess that’s one thing we have in common,” she murmured. “I’ll help you find Jill.”

  Item Four

  Excerpt of a letter from Christina St. James to her mother, dated December 2, 1897

  Dear Mama,

  Thank you so much for the beautiful table linens you sent us last month. They arrived in time for Thanksgiving….Patrick is so at peace down here in Richmond, especially with his salary, though there is much anti-Italian rumbles, and we have changed our names. I am Christina St. James now and he, Patrick St. James. When the child comes we will call it by an Italian name at home and an English name in public…Patrick and I adore Edward and Edoardo for our son, but can’t seem to agree on our daughter’s name. I prefer Juliana, for Grandmama Giuliana, but Patrick insists on Antonella and Nella for his aunt. I so much want to please him, Mama, but I hate that name…