Alone in the Darkness Read online

  “You sure? We can take a break if you need it. Maybe lie down. Elevate it.” Simon cocked a finger back the way they’d come. “There was a smoothie place just outside that looked—”

  There was a sudden crunching sound, and Simon’s eyes snapped shut in pain. By the time he’d opened them again, Tristan was already standing back by his side. He never broke stride and was looking ahead so calmly, it was hard to believe he’d just snapped Simon’s wrist.

  “There,” Tristan flashed his friend a sweet smile, “now we’re like twins.”

  Simon raised his eyebrows and acknowledged defeat. “Well played, well played.”

  He massaged it gently as they continued down the labyrinth of identical hallways, before coming to a sudden stop. As one both boys tilted their heads upwards, staring at the sheer slab of titanium that stretched a hundred feet into the air. Perched at the very top was a lever that was meant to unlock the door carved into the side. The one that led to the vault.

  Once they did that, Simon’s newly-acquired strength would take care of the vault itself and they’d be home-free, early enough to pick up a celebratory pizza before the shop closed down.

  That was...if they could get that lever pulled down.

  “Well, it could be worse,” Simon remarked, tilting his head to the side as he examined the impossible feat his friend was about to attempt.

  Tristan tore his eyes away from the wall long enough to shoot Simon a hard look. “Yeah—how’s that?”

  Simon shrugged. “It could be covered in lava.”

  A reluctant snicker escaped his friend’s lips as he moved a few steps backwards, gazing up at the colossus before him. “You’ve already been at this job way too long...” His blue eyes dilated with concentration as he considered the trajectory, the momentum, the angles, and precise bursts of speed that would be required to pull this thing off. A faint frown shadowed his face, and he moved back several more steps. Then several steps after that.

  “What’s the holdup?” Simon taunted. “You said you could do this when they showed us the blueprints a few days ago.”

  Tristan gritted his teeth, still focused in absolute concentration. “Of course I said I could do it. Masters was in the room. I would have said I could do anything.”

  Simon grinned but held his tongue, watching with sympathetic fondness as Tristan backed away a little farther still before beginning his run.

  It was an incredible thing to watch. Not that you could really see it.

  Stripped of his usual sensory awareness, Simon squinted as his hair whipped past his face. It was like standing on the sidewalk when a car raced by. By the time you registered it, the thing was usually already gone. Tristan was the same way.

  Simon could see bits of color. Maybe the blurred outline of a man? Mostly, he could feel the vibrations coming off the wall as Tristan sprinted vertically, tearing towards the lever with all his not-inconsiderable might.

  Only, for one of the first times...his might wasn’t good enough.

  There was a soft cry as he flung his body as far as he could, hand stretching up to catch the metal bar, but even from where he stood Simon could tell it wasn’t going to work. Instead, his fingers closed down upon nothing and his feet scrambled against the slick surface as he began to fall.

  He hit the ground with a painful gasp, but rolled out of it. Ready to try again.

  And again. And again.

  On the fifth attempt, it became clear that it wasn’t going to happen. No matter the desperation of his will Tristan’s body was quickly tiring, and the latest attempt had been the farthest one from the lever. He landed in a defeated pile at Simon’s feet, glaring up at the thing like it was his own personal Everest.

  “One more try,” he panted, sensing what Simon was about to say. “Just give me one more try. I can do this.”

  “No one can do it,” Simon said lightly, offering him a hand up. “That’s exactly why they built it exactly that high. They must have had a guy with wings or something on the payroll.”

  “No, let me try.” Tristan shook him off, backing up for one more attempt. “Maybe if I can kick off from the wall, I can—”

  “Wait a second!”

  Simon caught him by the arm in a sudden burst of illumination as he soared past. Usually, that wouldn’t have been nearly enough force to stop him, but with Simon’s newfound strength Tristan jerked back to his side like a rag doll.

  “Shit!” Tristan cursed, rubbing his shoulder. “Be careful, would you? You’re like a freaking cave troll.” When Simon ignored him, Tristan smacked him in the arm for good measure. “You’re getting rid of that ink the moment we get back to the house—”

  “Listen!” Simon clapped a hand over his mouth, pointing to the stone wall beside them. “What if I gave you some footholds?”

  Tristan yanked the suffocating hand away, but his eyes lit up as he considered Simon’s plan. “I think it could work.”

  Without saying another word he lifted his hand and pointed at three strategic locations, zig-zagging up the wall. Simon nodded mutely and dug his fingers into the granite, pulling out three small handfuls of stone. Tristan watched in fascination then shook his head as he paced back once more, ready for a final attempt.

  There was a silent nod followed by a whoosh of air, and then they were off.

  Simon whipped around and hurled the rock at the wall with as much force as he could. In a way, it was a little terrifying. If he accidentally hit Tristan instead, it would most likely be an impact that his friend could not survive. But they’d done risker things than this. They’d learned to trust each other. Even with their lives. Even with something this irrationally crazy.

  There were three deafening booms as the rocks made contact one by one. As they did Tristan leapt lightly upon them, using each one as leverage to push himself higher up the wall. By the time he launched himself off the third, he was finally within reach of the top.

  His fingers closed upon the lever and he swung his body from it, yanking it down with all his might. There was a mighty groan as the thing gave way.

  The next second, the tiny metal door swung open.

  “Trist, you did it!” Simon called, elated with their success.

  Tristan flashed him a tight smile then dropped back down to the ground for the last time, somersaulting halfway across the floor before he was able to stop. “It’s not fair,” he panted when he finally got up, “that you got the warlock. I should be the one throwing rocks, while you have to flip around like a circus freak.”

  “Hey, don’t say that.” Simon patted him casually on the back, the force of it collapsing him to his knees. “You do the freak thing really well. Everyone says so.”

  “You’re a bastard.” Tristan grinned, pulling himself up painfully. “Everyone says that, too.”

  A wicked smile flashed across Simon’s face as the two of them ducked through the hidden door and headed down the final hall. “They’re not wrong, you know. I am a bastard.”

  Not a minute later, they found what they were looking for.

  The vault. The reason for all their suffering and, coincidentally, the target they had beat out no less than three other teams to be assigned to cracking.

  It looked exactly as the blueprints had described it—the only piece of furniture in an otherwise barren room. A single keypad on the silver paneling allowed for access inside.

  “Well,” Tristan crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, “you’re up. Time for you to do some heavy lifting for once.”

  Simon snorted sarcastically as he approached the door. “The forty guards I took down on the way in here wasn’t ‘heavy lifting’ enough for you?”

  “It was not that many.”

  But the banter stopped as Simon ran his fingers lightly over the surface of the door. He didn’t know what was inside. Nor did he care. He was there for one reason, and one reason only: To gather up whatever documents lay inside and deliver them back to the Privy Council.

  If onl
y it turned out to be that easy...

  First he simply touched the door, hoping to gauge the thickness and strength. Then he dug his fingertips suddenly against the surface just as he had with the stone, trying to force his way inside. When that didn’t work he leaned his entire body against it, half a minute later panting with strain.

  “Having some trouble?” Tristan gazed down from his high horse with mock sympathy, watching as his friend panted and pushed against the vault. “Funny, that door’s a lot smaller than the one I had to do.”

  “Would you shut up?” Simon gasped, finally pulling back a step to wipe a drop of sweat from his brow. “Or would you like to try to dig your way through titanium?”

  “Have you noticed that our conversations have started getting really weird?”

  “I’m serious, Tris. This isn’t working—”

  “So don’t dig through it then.”

  That message was clear.

  Simon pulled in a sharp breath, already wincing with anticipation before he attacked the vault door suddenly with his fists. Again and again he struck it, his arms blurring with the speed, his knuckles leaving little bloody streaks in their wake. He stopped a few minutes later, stepping back to catch his breath as he examined his headway.

  He hadn’t even made a dent and his hands were aching, along with the broken wrist Tristan had given him.

  The corner of Tristan’s lips twitched as he reached slowly into his pocket. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Simon caught on a second later, and shook his head viciously. “No. No, we’re not nearly there yet. Just give me a little time—”

  “We’re out of time.” Tristan glanced at his watch, unable to contain the little grin that was creeping up his cheeks. “The second guard shift will be here in less than thirty minutes.”

  “So let them come,” Simon insisted, pounding at the door with all his might. “We can handle another round of—”

  “Simon.”

  There was that look again. That ‘good-people-don’t-revel-in-unnecessary-violence’ look.

  Simon dropped his arms in defeat, glaring at the bloody door in front of him. He knew he should have taken a different tatù before the mission. There was this little blond kid at Guilder who had the power to manipulate metal. Granted, he didn’t have his tatù yet, not for at least another ten years at least. But his father had it, so both Simon and Jason were sure the ability would be the same. Simon had spent hours with the kid, trying to extract the dormant power early so he could play with it. He had to stop when he burned the kid’s arm too badly. Now he wished he’d tried longer. Of course, he couldn’t tell Tristan any of this.

  “Fine,” he snapped, running his fingers down over his face with a groan, “but you know they’re going to be freakin’ insufferable for the rest of the week.”

  Tristan clucked his tongue chidingly as he brushed a layer of bloody plaster off the tiny screen. “This is what you get... mixing business with pleasure.”

  “Just shut up and type,” Simon growled. He hated it when Tristan was right, but had been working very hard to control his increasingly-volatile temper. Instead, he redirected it to something smaller. “I don’t know how the hell you have reception down here anyway.”

  Tristan smirked, gazing down at the screen. “Dude, I know you’re all about open rebellion and everything, but hate the power, not the phone plan. I have reception, because, unlike some people who shall remain nameless, I wasn’t an idiot and opted to go with the company phone.” His fingers flew over the tiny keys. “It comes with perks.”

  A second later there was a cheerful beep, and Tristan looked up with a grin.

  “Oh good. They finished early and they’re in the area. Be here in ten.”

  Simon sank down against the wall with another groan. “Perfect...just perfect.”

  He refused to say another word until backup arrived. He spent the time running through tatùs he liked and ones he wished he had. One day he would figure out a way to manipulate them. He’d find a way to make the ultimate tatù that he could mimic and never need another again. One day...

  Exactly ten minutes later he heard footsteps echoing up from the hall. The footsteps were followed by long shadows. Shortly after, there was the sound of muffled laughter.

  Simon’s eyes snapped shut with a painful grimace as Tristan stood up with a grin.

  “Hello ladies,” he greeted them, wiping his bloody hands on his jeans. “Thanks for coming.”

  Beth and Jennifer came to a stop at the same time, moving with an ingrained synchronicity that had come from months of side-by-side training. Most days Simon found it intriguing, wondering if he and Tristan moved the same way. Today it simply grated on his nerves.

  “Well, look who it is.” Jennifer tossed back her long hair with a mischievous wink. “Tristan Wardell and Simon Kerrigan.”

  She and Beth exchanged another grin, the latter stepping forward with a chiding frown, cocking her head teasingly to the side.

  “What kind of trouble have you boys gotten yourselves into this time?”

  Chapter 2

  “LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT. You break into this secret complex by sky-diving down through the roof. Take out about seventy armed guards—great job with the covert entry by the way—and scale a hundred-foot titanium door. All to get stopped...by a little metal box?”

  Things always sounded a lot worse when Jennifer said them.

  Simon seethed silently and refused to look her in the eye. There was an unofficial competition brewing between their two teams. He and Tristan versus Jennifer and Beth. An ongoing race to see who would prove the agency’s best. They had only been at it for a little over a year, but most other contenders had long since fallen along the wayside. And while Simon would swear up and down that he and Tristan had it in the bag, the girls had already racked up quite a reputation for themselves. Which made calling them for help almost more than his tender ego could take.

  “Could we just get on with it already?” he muttered, looking around the underground room like it was a cage from which he was dying to break free. “There’s a second guard shift coming...”

  Tristan shot him a sarcastic ‘oh, you care about that now?’ look, while Jennifer and Beth shared a superior smile that made Simon’s blood boil.

  “Sure baby,” Beth stroked his cheek teasingly as she waltzed past. “I can help you out. But only because you asked so nicely.”

  Simon smiled in spite of himself and took a step back as she approached the vault. Tristan could tease him about mixing business and pleasure all he wanted—it was still damn nice to see his girlfriend dressed up in a black leather bodysuit every time he went to work.

  The time working for the PC had changed her. Not just in the obvious ways, the fitness, wardrobe, ability to spontaneously light herself on fire. But in more subtle ways as well.

  She was confident. Actually, to everyone who knew Beth, confident was a bit of an understatement. The girl was unstoppable.

  It had only taken her about four weeks to be named one of the most promising recruits the PC had ever seen. Another two weeks after that to get paired up with Jennifer and sent out into the field. That alone was a huge compliment in and of itself, as not only was Jennifer Jones the official unofficial favorite of Jason’s, but that leopard tatùed on her back made her a force of nature.

  But then, Beth didn’t need any of that. She could move mountains all on her own. And the confidence wasn’t contained just to the workplace. Simon had recently gotten the distinct pleasure of experiencing that new bad-ass mentality of hers after-hours as well.

  “So how’d it go with that guy you were supposed to be transporting?” Tristan asked as he and the other two routinely backed away to a safer distance. “What was he, the French ambassador?”

  “Actually, he was the ambassador’s son,” Jennifer said lightly.

  For whatever reason, she and Beth shared another knowing smile and the giggling began anew. While Tristan brushed
it off with a roll of his eyes, Simon found himself highly intrigued.

  “His son, huh? Like a little kid, or something?”

  Jennifer leaned back against the wall and stretched out her long legs with a smirk. “No, he was about our age. And there was nothing little about him.” She flashed a devilish wink. “Trust me.”

  Oh. Oh crap. Not again, Jennifer.

  “You should know.”

  There was a slight reproach in Beth’s voice, though that same grin was still playing across her face. She and Tristan were very similar in that regard, Simon realized. On a slightly higher moralistic plane than the others, but still willing to roll up their sleeves when the situation required.

  Case in point.

  “You didn’t,” Tristan said with a look of bemused disapproval. “Tell me you didn’t go and screw the French ambassador’s son.” Jennifer innocently batted her long lashes at him, and he chuckled. “Your debriefings must sound a lot more interesting than ours.”

  “Well, what do you expect me to do?” She gestured to herself defensively. “Keep all this magnificence to myself? I’m a teenage super hero, you know; I have certain needs.” Her voice lowered the slightest degree. “And since everyone around here is obviously already taken ...”

  None of the others noticed anything at all strange about her words, but Simon shifted uncomfortably. He could feel the piercing weight of her stare from across the room, and it took everything he had to keep his eyes fixed innocently on the ground.

  Things had gotten rather...strained with Jennifer.

  She had always been very clear about her affections from the very first day the two of them had met. And while she would never say or do anything that would alert the others, specifically Beth, both she and Simon were very much aware of the hidden implication layered beneath the rest.

  Just last week, there had been an actual incident.

  The four of them had been watching movies and eating take-out back at the house. A typical mission-is-over-now-let’s-destress celebration. It was an especially festive occasion, since Tristan was there as well. He had been spending almost every free second he had with Mary, so they had decided to celebrate by drinking a bottle of wine. Then another. And then another.