Thirteen (Otherworld 13)

"It's nothing," she said. "Come back to--"

He lifted a finger, still asking her to be quiet.

"Sure," the guard said. "Bring it over."

"What's going on?" Karl called down when the guard rang off.

"Nothing, sir. Peters next door offered to bring over some pizza. He has extra." A pause. "Would you like some?"

The guard seemed relieved when Karl said no. She didn't blame him. While Karl was careful not to eat too much in public--even with those who knew he was a werewolf, he considered it uncouth--the night guards had arrived to find the fridge bare. As high as a normal werewolf's metabolism runs, it has nothing on a stressed-out one.

Karl retreated to the bedroom, closed and locked the door. She pulled back the sheet and he climbed in, pulling her into a kiss that made her decide maybe he wasn't as distracted as she feared and--

The doorbell rang. Karl growled at the interruption. Hope laughed, wrapped her hands in his hair and pulled him back down--

The room swirled into a dark vision. A flash of light. A voice said, "What the hell?" There was the soft whistle of a silenced gunshot. Another flash. A man lying on the floor, eyes open and unseeing, beside his head a pizza box, slices spilling out.

Hope jerked upright. Karl swore and reached for her shoulders, massaging.

"Relax," he murmured. "Just relax. It'll pass--"

"No." She wrenched away from him and scrambled up, words tumbling out. "It's real-time. A chaos vision. Downstairs. The guard. He's--"

Karl was off the bed before she could get out another syllable. A split-second pause while he listened. Then he grabbed her, fingers digging into her arm, hauling her out of the bed even as he murmured apologies. He threw open the sliding closet door and pushed her inside.

"Do not come out," he whispered. "No matter what happens, Hope, do not come out. Do you understand me?"

She wanted to say, No, don't go. Come with me. Hide in the closet. Lock the door and hide, just hide, please hide. She knew it would do no good. As she blinked back chaos flashes from downstairs, she knew what was happening. The guard from next door had betrayed them and they were under attack and it didn't matter how many guards were on their side, how well trained they were, Karl had to go down there and he had to fight.

So she nodded and reached up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but it was too late, he was already turning away, not noticing. She wanted to call him back. Just wait. Wait one moment. Please, please, please.

The closet door closed. His footsteps whispered across the carpet. And he was gone.

She moved to the door, went to press her ear against it. A blast of chaos--light and sound and terror and rage--sent her crashing into it, and she stumbled back as fast as she could, before anyone heard. Another chaos blast. A flash of Karl grabbing a black-clad man at the top of the stairs and breaking his neck before throwing him over the banister. Hope took a deep breath and forced herself to back into the corner, then lowered herself to the carpet, knees up as far as they would go with her swollen stomach. She huddled there and closed her eyes and let the visions sweep over her.

Chaos. It was food and drink to a demon. It was a drug to her. There's good chaos--happy confusion, joyous celebration--but that was like watered wine to an alcoholic. She needed the stronger stuff. Hate. Rage. Fear. Pain. As the battle raged below, Hope should have been in heaven, drinking it in. But she felt nothing. A blessed defense mechanism--if the chaos threatened her or those she loved, she felt nothing. Nothing more than anyone else would feel, locked in a closet as her husband fought for their lives. Terror. Frustration. Helplessness.

She didn't want to cower here. She wanted to be at his side. But she knew that even if she had the energy to fight, if she showed her face outside this room, they'd stop what they were doing and refocus everything on getting to her--and her daughter.

Benicio had asked them to stay at headquarters. They'd given in at first. But Karl couldn't rest and she couldn't sleep and neither of them could shake the feeling that they were prisoners and that Benicio wanted them there only so she could be watched for f

resh visions. Karl demanded new arrangements. Benicio had taken her aside and begged--begged--her to reconsider. She'd refused. Make it safe someplace else, she'd said. They'd be fine there. She'd have Karl, and Jeremy would be right next door. Only Jeremy wasn't next door tonight and they weren't safe and--

The bedroom door opened with a click. Hope stiffened. It wasn't locked? Why wasn't it--?

Of course he hadn't locked it. That would be like sticking up a sign saying "Hope is in here!"

She should have grabbed a weapon. Something, anything, so she wouldn't be cowering there, waiting to be discovered. All she could do now was be still and silent.

Footsteps rounded the bed. They stopped at the closet. She clenched every muscle, ready to leap up, to attack. Another two steps. Going past? Was he really going to--?

The sliding door opened. The one beside her. Caught off guard, she staggered to her feet and stumbled, her back to the wall, hands raised. There stood a man with a gun, but seeing her, he turned the gun away.

"It's okay," he whispered. "We're not going to--"

He looked sharply to the left and aimed the gun at her again just as Karl shot into view.

"We aren't going to hurt her," the man said.