Chains of Ice Read online

  But the women loved it, too, because Davidov had commissioned one of those artsy decorations with a fifteen-foot ceiling covered with leaves and branches to resemble a forest canopy, and the lighting was just right: not too bright, not too dark, and dappled like a sunny day beneath an oak tree in the European woods a thousand years ago.

  Samuel didn’t know if Davidov made sure the pub was available to them when they needed to be alone, or he just didn’t have any other customers—because when they met here, the Chosen Ones were always alone.

  Good thing, because this meeting was due to be a stinker.

  The problem wasn’t between the Chosen. The circumstances surrounding their initiation into the group had been so dark, so horrendous, so dangerous, they’d formed bonds that could never be severed.

  Every single one of them was normally pretty pleasant to be around. If Samuel had to point out one asshole in the group, he guessed it would have to be . . . himself. He wasn’t proud of it. When a guy like him is told from the time he was born that he was an orphan, that he ought to be grateful for a roof over his head, that he ought to be pleased to be able to settle for becoming a servant . . . well, that gave him an attitude.

  So, instead, he became a lawyer—the kind who won every case, the kind who collected enemies. The kind who, if he deemed it necessary, used his gift to influence the judge and the jury.

  Hey, he wasn’t proud of it, but he wasn’t ashamed of it, either.

  Now he was paying. He’d been caught, and if he hadn’t signed up for the Chosen Ones team, he’d be in prison right now.

  At least if he were in prison he’d be safe.

  But he would also be scared to death for Isabelle, so he guessed everything had worked out for the best.

  Charisma and Jacqueline moved their chairs so close to Isabelle, their shoulders were touching. Rosamund took Isabelle’s hand and held it.

  Samuel was glad the women on this team were so empathetic. They supported and talked to each other, helped each other pick out clothes and put on cosmetics. They watched chick flicks together. And it was weird, because other than the fact that they had the same kinds of sexual organs, they had nothing in common.

  Isabelle was twenty-six, a woman with a proper Boston accent, a classic Chanel watch, and the most beautiful face Samuel had ever seen . . . although as the son of her family’s butler, he might be slightly prejudiced. She didn’t look at all like her family—of course not, she was adopted—but it was certain that somewhere in her unknown bloodlines, she boasted an Asian ancestor, for her bones were as delicate as porcelain and her dark blue eyes were almond shaped. It was that indefatigable air of always knowing the right thing to wear and the right thing to do that made her a leader. And in recognition of her skill with people and her dedication to the cause, the Chosen Ones had voted her in as their director.

  On the other end of the spectrum, there was Charisma Fangorn, flake extraordinaire. He’d known her—what? Seven months? And in that time her hair had changed color four times, not always colors found in nature, either. His least favorite had been the screaming orange with streaks of pomegranate red, but there had been black and purple, black and blue, and now platinum blond. Her makeup was a disaster—charcoal black outlining vivid green eyes and, all the time, red-red lips.

  But then, her gift was weird, too. She said she heard the earth song in stones, and so she wore jingling bracelets all the time. She’d convinced the other women to wear them, too, for protection, although she’d redesigned Isabelle’s so it didn’t jingle. Thank God. He could only imagine what Isabelle’s mother would say about that fashion faux pas.

  Rosamund was a fairly new addition to the team, and the mate of Aaron Eagle, their gifted cat burglar. She had calico cat-colored hair, all natural; big glasses that slipped down her nose, and appalling fashion sense. She was also an antiquities librarian. If there was a piece of information in a library that they needed, she could find it. Well, except for the damned prophecy that had so far escaped her search. But Samuel had seen her work, and he had faith she would somehow discover the truth.

  Jacqueline Vargha D’Angelo was their seer, a tall blonde with her own personal bodyguard whom she just happened to have as a husband. Caleb D’Angelo watched over her like a hawk—and made their expeditions out to save the world a lot safer.

  Caleb was the one who had called the meeting. He stood now, slowly, painfully. “I don’t need to tell you, we’ve got problems. Gary White has assumed his return means he’s in charge. And I admit—sorry, Isabelle—at first I thought it was a good idea to have an experienced Chosen leading our team.”

  She waved a forgiving hand. “I can study the past case histories all I want, but I can’t be prepared for everything. I looked at Gary’s credentials. I thought . . . well, I thought the same thing you did, Caleb. He was the one.”

  “I don’t know what the hell kept us from actually crowning the son-of-a-bitch king, but thank God we never made it official,” Aleksandr said.

  “Don’t swear,” Isabelle, Jacqueline, and Rosamund said in unison.

  Aleksandr thumped his forehead on the table.

  Charisma laughed. “You can’t win, Aleksandr.”

  He really couldn’t. Aleksandr Wilder was the youngest member of their team, a college student, big and gangly. He’d been brought in because he was one of the famous Wilder shape-shifters who had eighteen years ago broken their family’s thousand-year-old pact with the devil. Breaking a pact with the devil was no small accomplishment, but the kid . . . he had no gift. How could he? He’d been born into a loving family; gifts such as the Chosen Ones possessed weren’t given to infants who were welcomed and loved.

  Yet for all his lack of woo-woo, he had proved a valuable member of the team. He majored in mathematics and knew his way around a computer. He could find anything on the Internet, hack into any system, and beat the snot out of Samuel playing Dead Zone.

  Caleb didn’t allow this exchange to distract him from the subject at hand. “We can’t continue with this situation. Gary’s got a god complex a mile wide, and he’s almost gotten Jacqueline killed twice.” He looked them over. “And you guys with her.”

  “Yeah, thanks for noticing, Caleb.” But Samuel was actually joking this time.

  Caleb had been badly hurt on the last mission. The guy wasn’t Chosen. He didn’t have any supernatural healing abilities. And although Isabelle had done her best to help him, his battered face bore testament to the recent troubles.

  “Gary came out of that coma and came straight to us, right?” Caleb looked around the table. “We’re sure he’s not a ringer for the other side?”

  “He’s always been this way. Mission Impossible is just a movie to me, but to Gary, it’s a way of life.” Jacqueline would know. Until she was killed, Jacqueline’s foster mother, Zusane, had been the seer for the Gypsy Travel Agency. Jacqueline had known Gary for years before the last mission with his last team had gone sour. If she said he had always been a glory seeker, no one was likely to dispute it with her.

  “Every time I see him, I can almost hear the theme music playing.” Charisma did not seem amused.

  “These missions he brings to our attention—they’re not to protect or rescue the children. They’re flashy. They’re to rescue jewelry and artifacts. Don’t get me wrong. They’re good jewelry and artifacts”—Aaron knew his way around such things—“but right now, with the Others holding all the advantages, we can’t afford to lose those children!”

  “Let’s be blunt with him. Tell him we’re not going on these missions anymore.” Aleksandr had a young man’s tact.

  “And lose the information he picks up from his mind reading? Most of the time, the missions he suggests are valuable for us and each child we save.” Isabelle twirled the chilly glass of beer on the table. “I’m sorry. I should have done something sooner. I’ll talk to him and make it clear that I’m the elected leader of this group, and that we’re only going on missions I have thoroughly vetted.�
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  “The problem is—how can you thoroughly vet them when most of them need to be made quickly, before a child dies from exposure or is taken by the Others?” Samuel asked.

  Isabelle shot him a bitter glance. “I know what the problem is, Samuel.”

  Davidov spoke from behind the bar. “I have an idea. Why not bring in a new leader?”

  “That’s brilliant. Why didn’t we think of that?” Samuel could barely contain his impatience. “Who?”

  From the shadows in the far corner, a man’s deep, calm voice said, “I believe Davidov is talking about me.”

  Chapter 41

  Knife in his fingers, Caleb swiveled toward John and held it at the ready.

  Obviously, Caleb didn’t like being surprised.But Jacqueline knew John, remembered him from the past, and she laid her hand on Caleb’s arm, restraining him. “It’s all right. You know him. That’s John Powell, the lost Chosen.”

  Caleb nodded. “I remember.” He kept the knife in his hand.

  “John Powell, the crazy Chosen?” Samuel Faa was equally angry at being fooled, and he didn’t do restrained displeasure. That guy was open-ass pissed.

  “That’s me,” John said easily, and with his hands raised, walked from the shadows into the light around the table.

  “John.” Jacqueline rose and walked toward him to kiss his cheek. “It’s good to see you. Are you back in town to stay?” She was, like her mother, a lovely, gracious woman, good at defusing tense situations.

  Good thing, because this one was guaranteed to be tense. “Maybe. I heard there was an opening on your team.”

  Glances were exchanged.

  John waited.

  Davidov stepped out from around the bar and strolled over to stand beside John. “I asked John here. Irving asked John here. We knew Isabelle reluctantly accepted the job of leader. We know Gary isn’t the right man for the job. We thought John was a good choice to guide the team. A little background about John Powell . . .” And he talked about John’s military experience, his experience with the Chosen Ones team, and the disaster that sent John fleeing. He told them everything.

  John was grateful for that. He had told the truth to Genny. If he had to talk about it, he would talk to Genny.

  But that wasn’t possible, was it?

  The silence, when Davidov had finished, was profound and thoughtful.

  But the knife had disappeared up Caleb’s sleeve.

  John took that as a good sign.

  “If we take you on, what guarantee would we have that you wouldn’t abandon us in our hour of need?” Aaron asked.

  “Yeah, us poor babies have abandonment issues.” That guy Samuel never bothered to restrain his sarcasm.

  “I didn’t abandon my team in their hour of need,” John said. “We were in a situation beyond my control. I lost my team, all except one, and that one was Gary. I brought my leader home and left after I knew he was settled. If I am allowed the position of leader to your group, I promise to do everything in my power not to place us, any of us, in situations that are inherently unworkable. With only one team of Chosen alive, we owe it to the children as well as to ourselves to take care.”

  Jacqueline testified for him. “John had a good reputation for being sensible about the missions and calm in the face of danger. It was Gary White that created the situation that caused John’s failure. We’ve all witnessed near disasters under Gary’s leadership.” She looked around the table, pinning the Chosen with her gaze. “Davidov’s suggestion is sound. I vote for John Powell to take over the leadership position”—she turned to Isabelle—“if that is acceptable to Isabelle.”

  Isabelle inclined her head. “If you know John, Jacqueline, and believe in him, I would be relieved to relinquish the position.”

  Charisma nodded.

  “Any objections?” Caleb asked.

  John watched as Samuel, especially, struggled between his desire to thwart any of Davidov’s suggestions and granting Isabelle her wish. He shrugged halfheartedly.

  The other men yielded more easily, although Aleksandr examined John thoughtfully.

  The boy was young, but his family had taught him caution.

  “That’s decided, then.” Although Caleb’s glance at John promised they would have a talk later.

  That was fine with John. The guy looked like he’d been run through a meat grinder. He had his reasons for caution.

  John moved to the table and accepted a place between Charisma and Rosamund. Placing his hands flat on the table before him, he said, “Now I have a question. Five years ago, when I signed my contract with the Chosen Ones, I was working for the Gypsy Travel Agency. When I arrived in New York yesterday, I at once went to their headquarters.”

  Charisma sadly sighed and played with her bracelets.

  “There used to be a building there. Now there’s nothing there but faded crime-scene tape . . . and an immense hole in the ground. Perhaps you all could enlighten me?” He raised politely curious eyebrows, but at the same time . . . he was furious.

  Because what he wanted to say was—What the hell happened?

  “You mean your friend Davidov didn’t tell you?” Samuel snapped like a junkyard dog.

  John wanted to snap back. What the hell was going on here in New York City? “No. He didn’t.”

  Davidov brought another round of beers. “I figured it was up to the Chosen Ones to convince John to face the danger on your behalf.”

  John glared at the damned Viking. “You never tell anyone anything, Davidov. I swear, it’s your worst trait—and that’s saying something.”

  Across the table, Samuel relaxed.

  Ah. He didn’t like Davidov, either.

  Davidov didn’t care. “Ale?” he asked John.

  “Please.” John suspected he was going to need it.

  The Chosen Ones glanced at each other up and down the table.

  John was pleased to see the solid camaraderie between them, and at the same time, they shut him out. He would have to earn their trust, and that was as it should be.

  But for now, they exchanged looks until, somehow, they settled on who should tell their story.

  Charisma started. “Back at the beginning—it was about seven months ago—we were all called to the Gypsy Travel Agency building in SoHo to choose whether we would become one of the Chosen Ones. We signed our contracts, some willing, some less willing”—she shot a meaningful glance at Samuel, then at Jacqueline—“and we were called into the New York subway to meet with the seer for approval.”

  “Zusane, right?” John remembered the lady as a glamorous bombshell with a foreign accent and a way of making a man feel very, very special.

  “My mother,” Jacqueline said. “Or rather, my adopted mother.”

  Isabelle took up the tale. “She had been the seer for the Chosen Ones for years, and since she drew her strength from the earth, we had to go underground to meet her. Meanwhile, at the Gypsy Travel Agency, they prepared to celebrate the confirmation of a new team. You know what kind of party I’m talking about.”

  “I remember.” Former Chosen always celebrate new Chosen with a huge cocktail hour and dinner, giving awards and making speeches. It was like Hogwarts, but with huge egos everywhere.

  “A traitor slipped through security.” Isabelle looked like a fragile young woman, and John knew from the information Davidov had given him that she was an American aristocrat. Yet she recited the facts matter-of-factly, without emotion or alarm. “He set up an explosion in the Gypsy Travel Agency that went off when everyone was in the building.”

  “Almost everyone,” Aleksandr said. “We were safe.”

  “Zusane sensed the blast at once and went nuts. Caleb led us out of the subway. Irving Shea had been the CEO of the Agency . . .” Isabelle lifted her eyebrows, subtly inquiring as to whether he knew Irving.

  John nodded. Oh, he knew Irving. In Russia, he had received letters from Irving.

  “Of course, Irving was retired and had been for years. At the
time, he was ninety-one . . . ?” Isabelle looked around, seeking confirmation.

  She got nods all around.

  She continued. “He still went into his office at the Gypsy Travel Agency every morning.”

  “Because he wouldn’t let a little thing like retirement get in the way of his work.” Charisma smiled, obviously delighted by the old man’s feisty spirit.

  “That afternoon McKenna drove him home for his nap,” Isabelle said. “So he wasn’t there for the explosion, but he came after us. If we hadn’t had Irving, I don’t know what we would have done. His home is a mansion and protected. We all stayed there and we were safe.”

  Everybody smiled, happy with her recitation. Charisma twisted a strand of her platinum blond hair around a finger. “The problem was that Jacqueline, who had replaced Zusane as our seer, had never experienced a vision.”

  John looked at Jacqueline.

  She nodded ruefully. “And the person who had set the explosion at the Gypsy Travel Agency was one of the team. Our team.”

  John looked around the table.

  “That’s why there’s a vacancy.” Caleb flexed his fists. “Jacqueline figured out who the traitor was, and she and I took him out.”

  “What about the visions?” John would hate to think the team didn’t have a functioning seer.

  “I discovered my way to visions,” Jacqueline assured him.

  “She damned near got killed,” Caleb said grimly, sliding his arm around her shoulders.

  “Zusane was killed.” Samuel turned pale.

  “My God, you’re kidding.” When John remembered the vibrant woman, he couldn’t imagine that she was gone. “What happened?”

  Jacqueline looked down at her hands in her lap. “I failed her.”

  John realized he was treading on thin ice. “I’m sorry, Jacqueline, for your loss. I know you must miss your mother.”

  Jacqueline looked up, puckishly amused. “Oh, she visits every once in a while.”