Page 19 of Bones

I know that truth all too well. There’d been the occasional zealous supernatural person who believed in the ways of the Justicars. They’d be welcomed into the compound, all too eager to give up locations and answers about their own kinds, then Father Xavius would have them killed in the name of purifying the world.

Rather than answering, Cinder asks from where he’s seated at Reaper’s side, “Did they teach you anything about shielding your mind or preventing unwanted connections?”

The knee-jerk response of horror at the suggestion is a red-flag to me now after so many sessions with Dr. Grayback. Taking another breath, anger replacing the horror as I understand how thoroughly I’d been manipulated. “I was taught that only certain people were able to connect with me and that keeping my abilities secret was the best protection I had.” I twist my lips up in a mockery of a smile. “That if a demon ever knew of my ability, they’d claim my soul and enslave me forever. And that I should kill myself rather than allow myself to be used as a weapon to turn the world into a new Hell. Considering that I’m surrounded by demons, my soul safely in possession, and not even a request to use my abilities, clearly it’s another thing they were wrong about.”

“Or lied about,” Brute countered, drawing my gaze. His name really fits him, with how massive he is. Even sitting, he’s a head taller than the rest of the demons, and he’s broader than the rest. Even with his rounder face, he looks like pure strength--not like the supermodels my friend and I crushed over in high school. Like those grizzled men who call the wilds not just their home, but their domains. The type of man who would and has taken on a grizzly bear with nothing but his hands and won.

I don’t disagree that Father Xavius would have lied to me. I shrug, “I don’t know what else I’d be, then. Questions were actively discouraged and it wasn’t long before I stopped asking.”

Bones lets out a rough breath and when our eyes meet, his are clouded with anger and something else. Something that makes my belly warm. He lifts a hand to my face, touching the back of one of his knuckles to my cheek so, so gently.

“Bones.”

Reaper’s voice is a clear reprimand and Bones pulls away without another look at me. My face burns as I turn back towards the conference table. Bones stalks to his chair, pulling it back towards the table from where it’d rolled away when he’d rushed to my side. As he takes his seat, Cinder raps his scarred knuckles on the table, calling all of our attention to him.

“We suspect you’re what’s called a Siphon, Sloan. It’s similar to an amplifier, but more powerful and much more coveted by organizations like the Justicars. A siphon isn’t just able to amplify another’s abilities. With a strong enough connection, the siphon can take on the other’s abilities and use them on their own. Sometimes even after the connection is severed. With enough training, it’s something a siphon can willingly do.”

I stare at Cinder blankly, not even registering the burned and scarred half of his face as he waits for my reaction. My brain whirls, trying to rationalize all the ways he has to be wrong. He has to be wrong, right? If I had this siphon ability, Father Xavius would have told me. More than that, Cinder can’t be right because--because-- because there’s no way it’s possible. I start to laugh. How can I not?

“No way,” I argue with a grin. “You’re telling me I’m like, what, Rogue from the X-men? I can touch someone and use their powers? No way.”

To prove my point, I reach out and grab Brute’s wrist. My hand barely wraps halfway around his wrist and yet the demon tenses as hard as marble. I gesture to our connection with my other hand, like I’m a game show model and Brute is the next prize. “See? Nothing. Not even close to what it felt like when I amplified someone.”

The moment I start to pull away, Brute yanks his arm away with a shiver. I frown at him, hurt at his clear offense.

“Ain’t that simple, sweetheart,” Chainz says, his lip curled up in an arrogant grin. He taps a thick finger on his temple. “You gotta be open up here. That takes practice, or brute force. Which, from the little you said, I gather is what they used.”

I grit my teeth, clasping my hands in my lap under the table. “Well, then if anyone can force a connection, what’s the damn point?”

I hate the ringing silence around me. My ears burn under the weight of their stares. I wish Bones was still here in front of me but I begin another grounding exercise Dr. Grayback taught me. I need to stand on my own, and I’ll get there one day dammit. Father Xavius has taken enough of my life already. I’m not giving him my future either.

“It’s possible to keep everyone out,” Reaper says, the words disrupting the silence like a stone tossed into a lake. The implications roll into me like ripples. I look up at him shrewdly. “I suspect Xavius didn’t want you to have the tools to deny him or anyone else.” Then, his face softens with something like understanding. Something I didn’t even think was possible for the stone faced president. “I swear to you that not a single one of us will ever ask you to use your abilities for our own use. I cannot predict the future, and with Xavius still out there, you may be forced to choose to use it for your own safety. However, that choice will solely be your decision and no matter the circumstances, it will be honored.”

Emotions tighten my throat and my sinuses tingle with the threat of tears. Clearing my throat into a balled fist, I nod quickly. “Thank you. I--I appreciate that.” I lean forward andgrab the ignored water pitcher and fill one of the short glasses from the middle of the table. After draining one glass, I wipe the water from my lips and steel myself for my next question. I look between Reaper and Cinder, the leaders here and the ones who retrieved me from Sydney’s. “Is that all you needed from me? Or...?

Reaper and Cinder share a look, an entire conversation happening in a flash of a second between the two. Reaper straightens from the table, folding his massive arms over his chest. “If you were an amplifier, Xavius would want you back. But a siphon? That’s a resource he’ll fight for. All of our intelligence shows him lying low. He hasn’t even returned to the compound you came from. Which means something is keeping him near. We think that reason is you. We want your help luring him out.”

12

BONES

The metal wire cage door rattles as I open it harder than necessary. I ignore Cinder’s pointed stare from where he leans against the cage’s wall and head straight to the cabinet where my personal weapons are kept. Stubs is right behind me, a black duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and focused on the laptop balanced on one hand. Even distracted, he’s able to move around the wide metal island in the middle of the cage, setting the laptop down with a quiet clank while simultaneously sliding the empty duffle off. The tech demon tosses the bag with noticeably less care onto the table.

Pressing my thumb to the biometric blood lock--courtesy of the Nightshade Vampires--I try not to grit my teeth at Cinder’s clear hovering. It’s been hours since Sloan agreed to be fucking bait for Father Xavius. Every single part of me wants to tell Reaper to go fuck himself for putting her in danger.

I have no right to Sloan like that.

I don’t know what pisses me off more: that I have no right to Sloan or that I want one and Reaper made it clear I can’t.

Actually, what is pissing me off the most right now is the oppressive weight of Cinder’s unspoken opinions.

Unlocked, I snap as I wrench open the door. I study my mounted guns and snarl out, “You clearly have something to say so just fucking say it already.”

Cinder at least doesn’t deny it. “We’ve got concerns about you and the lady.”

“Of course you do,” I mutter and reach for a Beretta 92F and pop its magazine out to verify that it’s loaded. Grabbing the holster for it, I turn and take the single step to the table where Stubs is setting up a hotel reservation for Sloan and me. I slide the 92F into the leather holster and set it beside the gear bag. I press both hands flat on the metal table, glaring at my vice president.

Cinder’s face and neck are brutally scarred from literal Hellfire. I know the burns travel under his Tartarus Taps shirt and Knights of Hades leather vest, all along his side and down his leg. He got them in our rebellion against Prince Tol’vazir as we escaped Hell. Reaper lead us, Blaze having assisted our leader in stealing the Dark Helm from his own father. We all owe Cinder and Reaper our lives. I owe Cinder more, though. He helped keep me sane during the worst times in our old life. When I was forced to break my own bones for Prince Tol’vazir’s demands. When I thought the weight of the souls I carry on my back were too heavy, Cinder was there making me get back up. Not for our prince. For myself. To not let the bastard win.

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