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What is that? Alison sent.
My hand is trembling as though filled with a kind of power I don’t understand.
Mind-to-mind, she sent, Can you throw a hand-blast?
No, Fiona responded. I’ve tried but I don’t have that capacity.
A long pause, in which she could feel power building in Alison. At exactly the same moment, the vibration in Fiona’s hand got stronger and stronger.
“Fiona, work very hard to stay right next to me exactly as you are but open your eyes and look at me.”
Fiona locked herself into the mental position and opened her eyes. She gasped because she and Alison stood in the exact same position, a mirror image of each other, a true mirror image since Fiona’s right hand was raised but opposite her, Alison’s left hand was raised, palms up, fingers tense.
Fiona looked at her hand. She felt her connection to Alison, her being pressed close to Alison, connected. She felt power in her hand. She looked back at Alison. “What will happen if I release what I’ve gathered here in the palm of my hand? Will I blow the roof off the building?”
Alison laughed. “No. This is hardly anything. In fact … okay, this is what I want you to do. Come back to me and reconfigure what’s in your hand.”
Fiona closed her eyes and once more drew close. Again, she touched Alison’s arm metaphysically, mind-to-mind, then traveled back down to the wrist. She could tell Alison was doing something unusual, but she couldn’t tell what.
Got it? Alison sent.
I think so.
“Open your eyes but hold on to this thing.”
Fiona once more looked at her hand.
Alison was grinning now as she said, “On the count of three, just feel what I’m doing and follow suit. Okay?”
Fiona nodded.
“Oh … but don’t close your eyes this time.”
“Right.”
Fiona looked at Alison, who could hardly contain some sort of secret enjoyment. Then the miracle began. Alison lifted her hand and spread her fingers wide. Fiona felt the motions from deep within and did the same. Alison jerked her wrist. Fiona followed.
The next moment, two perfectly formed gold fireworks burst at the ceiling level and sent a shower of harmless sparks floating toward the floor.
“Oh, my God,” Fiona said as gold rain sparkled around her.
“It worked. Wow, it worked. I was pretty sure it would, but still. Fiona, this is fantastic.”
Fiona was still looking up at the ceiling, even though all the sparkles had just dissipated.
The next moment an alarm sounded, a shrill ringing of bells. Fiona looked at Alison and at the same moment, they both cried out, “Death vampires.”
Fiona turned toward the door, intent on finding Jean-Pierre, when he burst through bearing his sword. He moved in, stepping in front of Fiona. Seriffe was behind him, also with a sword. Gideon followed, yet one more sword.
“There’s nothing in here,” Seriffe shouted. “What the f**k?”
Jean-Pierre turned to look at Fiona. “The grid registered a surge of power, similar to a fold of several death vamps. Did you see anything? Hear anything? Are you all right?” Once more he looked around the room, holding his sword aloft, out of harm’s way.
Fiona was totally confused by what had just happened but Alison said, “Not death vampires. Fiona just channeled my energy and we released two fireworks at the ceiling.”
Seriffe looked from one woman to the other and finally settled his hard gaze on Alison. He ground his teeth, then said, “How many times do I have to tell you people not to use that level of power within my headquarters? Goddammit!”
He turned on his heel and she could hear him shouting up the hall. “Bev, false alarm. Shut it down. Shit, motherfucker!”
After five months, Fiona knew her son-in-law well. Seriffe never got that upset except when he thought someone he cared about was in danger. That this time, what he cared about brought tears rushing to her eyes.
Jean-Pierre put his arm around her. “No, no, chérie. Do not be upset by Seriffe. He was worried. That is all.”
She looked up at him and while pushing the tears off her face she said, “I know. That’s why I’m crying. I love that he cares about me so much.”
Alison drew near as well and laughed and smiled and even shed a few tears with Fiona. “Everything is just so intense with these men, huh?”
“Yeah, it is.”
* * *
Marguerite sat in chapel, that period of devotion required before dinner could be consumed. So much f**king bullshit.
Her cellmate, Grace, sat beside her. Thorne’s sister.
Grace was lovely, with wispy, ethereal blond hair and green-gold eyes. She had a straight nose and sculpted cheekbones. Her lips were not full but suited her face. Her chin had a faint dimple.
They were opposites in nearly every respect, beginning with their looks. Marguerite had dark brown hair, very thick, and her eyes were a matching brown.
Beyond that, Sister Grace was all about spiritual devotion, whereas Marguerite thought the whole setup was one big pile of bullshit designed to control as many people as could be brought under the banner called the worship of the Creator.
On the other hand, Marguerite liked Grace. She admired her intelligence and she appreciated the fact that despite Grace knowing all about Marguerite’s athletic relationship with her brother, she never judged either of them.
If anything, Grace had shown full support. She had once taken Marguerite’s hints to leave the cell for half an hour and had kissed her on the cheek before she left, saying, “You give him peace, if only for a short while, and that blesses and relieves my heart. I am more grateful for your presence in Thorne’s life than I can say.”
Marguerite had almost shed a tear. Almost. She wasn’t much of a weeper, never had been.
Neither was Grace, come to think of it. She met Sister Quena’s tirades with a stoicism so at odds with her delicate appearance. For a devotiate, Grace broke the mold.
As Sister Quena droned on and on, Marguerite found her mind drifting to thoughts of Fiona, the woman who had contacted her earlier. She wished she could find out what happened after the regulators stuck her in the neck with their quick-acting drugs.
But the way this institution was run, the outside world didn’t seem to exist. Certainly, no one spoke about a death vampire attack, not a single gossipy whisper.
There was just so damn much to dislike about her current situation. She despised the hard wooden benches, and the wall opposite the pews made of gray stone striated with amber. She hated the large slotted circle above the altar, backlit and meant to represent the unity of the Creator and his creation. Mostly, she despised Sister Quena, now and forever sister-bitch, as Endelle had called her earlier.
