Redux (The Variant Series, #3)

One

The In- Between

Past, Present, and Future

Declan grit his teeth, certain he wouldn’t survive.

An instant became an eternity in the second that Alex’s slender wrist slipped from his grasp. He cursed his ineffective hands, his inability to hold on to the only thing that mattered in this empty, oppressive place.

The pain was unspeakable.

An overwhelming pressure wrenched his muscles and tore at his limbs, threatening to rend him apart. Deep inside his chest a cry of anguish remained trapped and formless.

It may have been ten seconds since his grip faltered—or ten days, he couldn’t

be

sure

.

Time held no

meaning

here

.

There was only the pain and the fear and the cold knowledge that he’d

lost

her

.

Declan had been set adrift in the in-between, in the world between worlds, and he had no clue how to return without Alex there to

guide

him

.

Always before when Declan teleported, his time in the in-between was fleeting. A split-second visit to a place beyond imagination. A place where he’d never remained long enough to know actually existed.

He knew

it

now

.

This was where they traveled when they jumped. This was where they ended up, if only for a heartbeat. The relentless pressure they felt in that brief moment between disappearing and materializing somewhere else

was

this

.

It

was

hell

.

Declan surrendered to the pressure, waiting for an end, and thought

of

Alex

.

Had she made it through? Had she survived? Or was she lost here, like

he

was

?

Had his impulsive decision to grab hold of her damned them both to endless pain and darkness?

God

forgive

him

.

He’d only wanted to

protect

her

.

Declan thought of everyone he’d left behind. Of his brothers and sister. Of all the friends and family he’d once loved and

then

lost

.

And then he thought of

his

past

.

Of the rolling green fields of his former homeland. Of the Adirondack Mountains where he’d grown up. Of his old high school. Of the late nights and early mornings spent at the Corner Pocket. Of the dock on

the

lake

.

What he wouldn’t give to see those places again.

A flash of red. The pain ended.

And

Declan

fell

.

Two

Blue Ridge Mountains, Virginia

Autumn, Five

Years

Ago

Dr. Edward Li was not where he was supposed

to

be

.

At this point in his career, he was supposed to be working for a major pharmaceutical company. He was supposed to be developing cures for humanity’s greatest threats of the viral persuasion, on the fast track to becoming a department head in his company’s genetic research division. He was supposed to be pulling six figures a year and driving

a

Benz

.

He was supposed to be making a name for himself and changing the world in the process, not working as a glorified assistant for some halfwit Italian fresh out of grad school who called him Eddie.

Dr. Antony D’alessandro had been hired at the same time. They’d been up for the same position, but Tony had been the one to land it. Not on account of his immeasurable skill and experience, but because of his immeasurable worth to the Agency

higher

-

ups

.

Because, unlike Edward, Tony was a tried and true Top-Five Variant. 

And that qualification counted for everything in the eyes of the Agency’s new head of the Department for Scientific Research and Field Applications, Dr. Dana Carter.

Top Five was a nickname given to any Variant born possessing one of the five abilities most coveted by the Agency—teleportation, shapeshifting, telekinesis, telepathy, and elemental control.

Tony was parked squarely in the elemental camp. As a fire-wielder, he possessed an impressive amount of both strength and control.

And while Edward himself was, technically, a shapeshifter, to call him such would probably rank as an insult to Mimics everywhere. Even the weakest of their kind could usually maintain a shift for hours at a stretch.

Edward struggled to hold any semblance for more than a few minutes before his own features began to seep through.

Hardly an impressive feat in the eyes of his current employers. He was so lacking in his abilities, most of his Agency co-workers treated him as though he were just

another

norm

.

To them, he was practically invisible.

"Eddie, for the love of God. Find your feet. Tony barked, his breath foggy in the morning air. If we’re late this morning, it’s both our asses. Now get the bag out of the trunk."

Swallowing a sigh, Edward climbed out of the driver’s side of his aging Toyota Camry and circled to the rear of the vehicle.

They had parked in a cool and dry clearing, an immediate contrast to the car’s muggy warmth. As Edward popped the trunk, an icy wind crept under the collar of his North Face jacket,

chilling

him

.

Shouldering the bag, he followed Tony toward a trail head at the outskirts of the clearing, where frigid forest shadows replaced the pale

autumn

sun

.

Edward worked to ignore the foreboding building in his gut as they made their way deeper into the woods. As the foliage thickened and their path grew steeper, he nearly succumbed to an inexplicable urge to turn around and run back down the trail.

Why would Dr. Carter have ordered them all the way

out

here

?

The Agency decommissioned the Green Woods facility years before he’d even signed on. It was a relic.

An empty relic, or so he’d always assumed.

Gentlemen, said a cold female voice. "

You’re

late

."

The winding path they’d been following had come to an

abrupt

end

.

Edward’s gaze traveled skyward as he examined the steep cliff face of a mountain towering high above. It was as though the massive hill had been sliced straight down the middle, leaving behind a sheared wall of dark gray stone.

A metal access door was set into its base, rusted to a burnt orange at its edges. It was, for all appearances, nothing more than the aging entrance to an abandoned mine shaft.

Standing in front of that door, however, was the most terrifying woman Edward had ever met—their new department head, Dr. Dana Carter.

I trust you brought what you’ll need for the procedure, Dr. D’Alessandro. Carter frowned at Tony, ignored Edward entirely, and turned toward the metal door without waiting for a reply.

Reaching out to her right, she brushed aside the overgrowth sprawling up the side of the cliff face, revealing a hidden keypad.

She entered a combination in a blur of movement and the lock on the door released with a resounding click.

Tony pulled the door open, struggling slightly against the unexpected weight of the metal, and the Assistant Director disappeared into the darkness beyond.

Another series of top-of-the-line security scans and a second metal door—this one in pristine condition and far more massive than the exterior entrance—stood

before

them

.

Edward’s brow furrowed in confusion.

That retinal scanner was new. It was the same model they’d recently installed back at the labs to guard the entrance to the experiments taking place on level three.

High-end safeguards for a defunct facility?

He gave a mental shrug. That was the government

for

you

.

Edward had never been one for idioms. Raining cats and dogs, seeing the light, hotter than the surface of the sun. Such statements usually inspired little more than an internal sigh and a suppressed

eye

roll

.

To him, so much unnecessary exaggeration served little purpose. He would rather people state things as they were, without the colorful—and often nonsensical—comparisons.

But that morning, as the light on the retinal scanner flashed green and they slipped into the shadows of the derelict facility, Edward had only one thought.

Silent as

a

tomb

.

As they walked, lights came on one by one, illuminating an ever-lengthening expanse.

The Agency’s first bullpen. The headquarters for its original team, now left to gather dust below thousands of tons of rock, forgotten to everyone except the few Agents once stationed there that were still alive to

remember

it

.

It was amazing to consider just how far the Agency had come in little more than a decade. From this single, backwater facility staffed by less than twenty people, the Agency expanded to six black sites in the US alone and thousands of employees worldwide.

And it was growing still.

The Agency began as the pet project of a Variant Congressman from Massachusetts, a joint CIA and British Intelligence program that culled the best and brightest Variants from all walks of life. Those names included former MI6 Assistant Director Jonathan Grayson and a then unknown 18-year-old whiz-kid named Samuel Masterson. Now the Agency was an international organization with more power at its disposal than many first-world militaries.

The norms didn’t even know they existed.

Though how long they could keep up that charade was anyone’s guess.

Variants had been hiding in plain sight for millennia, but in this world of ubiquitous smart phone cameras and viral videos, keeping their kind a secret from the general public was growing increasingly difficult.

The Agency spent every waking moment tracking and removing such posts on the Internet—or altering them ever so slightly to ensure they’d be outed as fakes. The work already occupied a giant section within the organization. They seemed to be the only department unaffected by the tightening of purse strings during this current economic downturn.

The Variant Protection Agency—known to most simply as the Agency—was a shadow organization like none other.

But even the most powerful forces had to start somewhere.

For the Agency, that humble beginning was Green Woods.

Desks were scattered throughout the room. Glass partitions separated each office allowing for an easy line of sight anywhere in the bullpen.

Everything had been left as

it

was

.

The personal effects on the desks remained in place. Most of the men and women who put the items there in an attempt lighten the sterile mood were no longer alive to

reclaim

them

.

Edward tried to shake loose his feeling of unease as he followed Tony and Dr. Carter toward an elevator positioned on the far side of

the

room

.

This place was a tomb. A monument to the numerous lives lost to the whims of a madman with a God complex.

Edward knew well the fate of the Agency’s original team. The story was legend within the ranks of the organization. A tale told both to terrify and to bolster the commitment of new recruits.

"This is what happens without a proper authority in place to govern

our

kind

."

"This is what we’re training you to prevent."

"This is why we exist."

Edward swallowed a sigh as his interior monologue took on a

bitter

edge

.

This is how we justify stripping you of your rights to privacy so that we can track your every move, is more

like

it

.

As he stepped into the confines of the lift, he felt his pulse quicken.

He hated elevators.

It wasn’t the small space, necessarily, that bothered him. It was the sensation of being trapped that he couldn’t abide.

The doors slid shut and Edward readjusted the bag on his shoulder, sucking in a breath and holding it as they began to descend.

He tried valiantly not to squirm.

After a slightly alarming jostle of the cabin when the elevator settled into place, what felt like an eternity passed before a muffled ding sounded and the metal doors opened.

Edward blew out his breath as they exited into the corridor.

Damned elevators.

He came up short, the uneasiness doubling in intensity when he caught sight of what awaited them at the end of this particular hallway.

A disconcerting stream of possibilities drifted through his mind, each an attempt to explain away what he was currently

staring

at

.

A giant blast door had been set into the wall at the end of the passageway.

If the exterior entry protocols seemed excessive before, they

didn’t

now

.

You don’t put a 25-ton blast door in the basement of a hidden government facility unless you have something of significant threat you plan to keep hidden

behind

it

.

The question now was, what? What was waiting for them beyond that massive twelve-foot by twelve-foot slab of steel and concrete?

Beside him, Tony was showing his first outward signs of trepidation. His puffed up demeanor withered around the edges as he hung a step or two behind Edward.

For her part, Carter was moving through the facility with the sort of assurance that suggested she’d been here before.

And on more than one occasion.

As she activated another retinal scanner, the blast door began to open, causing a rush of stale air to escape from the cavernous expanse beyond.

A wall of cryogenic chambers stood on the far side of the room, surrounded by monitoring equipment, computers, and a gurney.

A gurney that had recently been made up with fresh white linens. Suddenly, he knew what they were doing there.

As they approached, he inspected the wall of chambers. Only one of them was occupied.

He stumbled, then steadied himself on a nearby table.

That’s not possible, he heard

himself

say

.

Dr. Carter appeared to be smiling. There was an unsettling coldness to the pale blue of her eyes. I assure you, Doctor, she said. "

It

is

."

As Edward moved closer to the chamber to get a better look at the occupant, his cohort remained frozen in place just inside the blast door, apparently unwilling to close the gap between himself and the wall of machines.

But he’s… he’s…, Tony stammered. "

He’s

dead

!"

Obviously not, Edward said, inspecting the body that hung, frozen and unmoving, inside the glass chamber. Scientific curiosity had won out over his fear. At least, not entirely. He narrowed his eyes. "Is that a bullet wound in his forehead?"

Dr. Carter stood beside him, punching commands into the computer interface attached to the cryo-unit. "I would suggest, doctors, that you glove up and ready your instruments. This reanimation sequence will be complete in less than 45 seconds. Once the chamber opens, you will transfer him to the gurney, strap him down, and then collect no less than twelve, ten-milliliter vials of blood. I must stress that it is imperative you do not make any unprotected physical contact with the subject. Only your gloves may touch his bare skin. Is that understood?"

Edward nodded and crossed to the gurney and the bare metal table beside it. He unzipped the field kit and removed the necessary instruments.

Tony, meanwhile, was still staring dumbfounded and paralyzed on the other side of

the

room

.

"Is that understood, Dr. D’Alessandro?" Carter repeated.

Tony snapped himself out of his daze and joined Edward at the gurney. Edward handed him a pair of blue latex gloves.

This

was

it

.

The chamber door released and they stepped forward to remove

the

body

.

In any other circumstance, the struggle that followed might have been comical.

With its muscular frame and six feet in height, the man’s body proved almost impossible to maneuver. When he was released from the chamber’s restraints, Tony and Edward quickly found themselves struggling to corral what must have been 180 pounds of dead weight.

He’d been wearing a tuxedo the night he was

put

down

.

Put down, thought Edward. As though he were simply some rabid dog, rather than a vicious, determined, and exceedingly resourceful murderer.

The man’s dinner jacket was missing. Likely, someone had removed it when he’d been placed in the machine. The sleeves of his white shirt had also been rolled up to accommodate the sensors attached to his pale white forearms.

All these years everyone assumed he was dead. That he was lying in a grave somewhere, six feet safely under and no longer a threat to anyone.

Edward never would have guessed that the Agency had been keeping him in stasis.

Then again, he supposed it made sense. Because how, exactly, do you go about killing a man whose cellular makeup guarantees he will recover from nearly any injury?

Maybe he should have suspected the truth.

Tony dropped the man’s feet unceremoniously onto the gurney as Edward nudged his shoulders toward the center of the stretcher. Now that he was safely in place, Tony took a healthy step backward and sent Edward a meaningful—and expectant—glare.

"Well?" Tony’s look said. "Get on

with

it

."

Edward blew out a disgusted breath.

Slowly, carefully, he rolled up the starched white sleeve. The ice crystals flaking the shirt were starting to melt in the open air. He eyed the gaping hole in the man’s forehead warily. Edward was safe so long as the man stayed dead for a while longer, but should that bullet wound begin

to

heal

…

He quickened

his

pace

.

Edward was in the process of tying the rubber tourniquet above the man’s elbow when suddenly… thump.

The sound of something dropping heavily against the cushioned pad of the stretcher mingled with Tony’s panicked, "

Shit

!

Shit

!"

Tony shuffled backward and bumped into a computer console, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on the man’s

right

arm

.

I believe now would be a good time to employ the use of the gurney’s restraints, Doctor, Carter said. Neither she nor Tony made a move to

assist

him

.

Edward, who had also stepped back, began with the closest straps he could reach—the ones at the man’s ankles.

In the years to come what happened next replayed in Edward’s mind over and over. His decision to start with the ankle restraints proved to be the worst choice Dr. Edward Li

ever

made

.

A blur of movement caught

his

eye

.

Making a split-second decision based more on professional instinct than on self-preservation, Edward lunged to restrain the man’s left arm, which had begun trembling violently and now threatened to lift itself from the table.

Just as Edward managed to still the man’s lurching left arm, the fingers of the right hand began to twitch.

And that’s when it happened.

As Edward moved to grasp the other arm, the very tip of the man’s thumb brushed the exposed skin at Edward’s wrist, a fraction of an inch beyond the boundary of his glove.

The transfer itself took less than a second.

From their safer distances, neither Carter nor Tony even realized that anything had happened. Edward’s pupils dilated rapidly, then snapped back to their normal size. He gasped slightly before his heartbeat resumed its steady rhythm. It was over in an instant.

The restraints were then put in place even though the body had once again grown utterly still, and the blood was drawn without further complications.

Afterward, the body was returned to its icy prison and the three Agency scientists left the bunker, allowing the facility to resume gathering dust in the

stale

air

.

When they reached the pasture where Edward had left his aging Corolla, he stepped out from the shadows of the forest and into the blinding sunlight of that late fall morning… and Samuel Masterson greedily drank in his surroundings from behind a new set

of

eyes

.

Even with his host screaming and pleading inside their now shared thoughts, it was a truly beautiful

day

out

.

And finally—finally—he

was

free

.

Three

The

Bering

Sea

,

150 Miles off the Coast of Alaska

Autumn, Two

Years

Ago

Nathaniel Palladino dropped his fork onto the table and groaned. His stomach was churning almost as violently as the frigid waters of the

Bering

Sea

.

For the last twelve days, Nate had been confined to the Misty Rose, a Variant-crewed commercial vessel fishing for Alaskan king crab during the October crab season. The season was no longer a four or five day scramble to make quota, but rather a three to four week stretch meant to discourage accelerated and dangerous fishing tactics.

It would be another two weeks before Nate laid eyes and set foot on land again.

Right now, however, he was trying very hard not to think

about

that

.

Below decks, the cramped, perpetually damp galley of the Misty Rose reeked of gutted herring and stale sweat.

The stench, combined with the lurching of the ship and the sight of deckhand Magnus Pike’s Anchovy Delight, could turn even the strongest stomach.

You’re looking a bit peaked there, Greenhorn. Pike clapped Nate hard on the shoulder as he slid into the opposite booth, his plate piled high with a mound of brownish gray loaf, studded

with

red

.

He smiled as he settled into his seat, amused by Nate’s obvious distress. The food on his plate was swaying and sliding across the dish in unison with the ship’s motion.

Next to Pike, Aiden O’Connell grinned into his

coffee

mug

.

Greenhorn was Nathaniel’s official job title, even though he was a deckhand, the same as Aiden and Pike. The stigma of being a novice meant an utter lack of trust or respect from the rest of the ship’s crew. If Nathaniel wanted their regard, he’d have to earn it. Turning the same gray as the loaf on his plate wasn’t doing him any favors.

Pike shoveled a giant forkful into his mouth and Nate looked away, blowing out a slow breath. He was determined to prove himself worthy of one of the most dangerous jobs in the world. He was all too well aware that three years ago a greenhorn who didn’t take the job seriously never made it back to port. Nate had only won the job because his adopted cousin, Aiden, vouched

for

him

.

As a water-wielder, Aiden was perfectly at home on the open seas and had paid his dues on the Misty Rose the year before. Working on a fishing vessel came as naturally to him as breathing.

But for Nathaniel? Not

so

much

.

And this wasn’t the sort of job you wanted to

screw

up

.

The hours were long, the conditions a nightmare, and the risk of being swept overboard were ridiculously high. If you let the exhaustion or the icy temperatures get to you—if you screwed up on deck—you could end up killing yourself or another member of

the

crew

.

Until the other men on deck knew they could trust you, a greenhorn was nothing but a walking liability.

Aware that Pike was still watching him closely, Nate stabbed his fork into the unappetizing heap on his plate and took a bite—and then immediately wished he hadn’t.

He tried not to groan.

Aiden snickered.

Pike’s smile faded as he surveyed the table top. Where the hell is my coffee?

Realizing he’d left his mug sitting on the counter beside the stove, Pike extracted himself from the booth and went to

retrieve

it

.

Remind me not to listen the next time you offer me job advice, Aiden, said Nate, keeping his

voice

low

.

Aiden laughed. "Hey, now. I promised you adventure and a boatload of cash, cuz. I never said it would

be

easy

."

Screw easy, said Nate. He leaned his head back against the wood-paneled wall and tried to think of something, anything, besides his dinner. I’d settle for tough as shit, so long as it meant the world was steady again.

You’d think after spending nearly two full weeks at sea, he’d be used to it by now, Pike mumbled as he reclaimed his seat. "Might want to rethink your chosen

profession

,

son

."

Nate could feel the bite of food he’d taken working its way back up and he

swallowed

hard

.

You know what I could go for right now? Aiden scooped up a giant forkful of gray loaf. "Clam chowder. Thick, creamy, filled with those slimy hunks

of

clam

."

Nate’s stomach roiled.

Oh! Better yet. Pike sniffed. "How about some sashimi? Last time I was in Japan, there was this great little hole in the wall place that served up a dish they called ‘Odori ebi’—literally means ‘dancing shrimp.’ Perfect name for it, since they basically just dunk these baby shrimp in sake and serve ’em up while they’re still alive and wrigglin’. Anyway, those shrimp were some chewy little bastards. And their legs get stuck in your teeth. But tasty. Mmm-

mmm

,

good

."

Nathaniel was half-way through an enthusiastic litany of curses when the ship rolled violently to port and everyone scrambled to grab hold of their plates.

In the midst of the clamor, the galley door blew open to reveal one of their fellow crewman accompanied by an icy rush of ocean air that had followed him down the corridor. A lanky, ruddy-faced man paused to brace himself on the doorframe, water from his bright orange rain gear puddling at

his

feet

.

Something in the galley crashed to the floor and Pike—who had kitchen duty—topped Nathaniel’s curses with an expletive so original it elicited a laugh from the entire table.

And you kiss your mum with that mouth? asked the newcomer, a Welshman named Timothy Ryan, as he walked through the narrow passageway and approached the booth. He rapped his knuckles twice on the tabletop, then reached for a handhold as the ship listed back to starboard. Aiden, Nate… Cap’n Ellis wants you both on deck. The pots are all comin’ up sideways in these bloody winds.

Aiden grumbled, but Nathaniel was secretly relieved.

Pike’s talk of sashimi and the suffocating smell of the galley were a short ways from pushing him over the edge. Fresh air would be a welcome alternative—for the few minutes before his face and hands went numb from

the

cold

.

Oh, Pike’s Delight! Tim’s voice sang with fake enthusiasm as he surveyed the contents of their dinner. "I was hopin’ to die from dysentery

this

trip

!"

"I’ll save you a plate, Timmy. I’ve got some put aside special, just for you. Pike smirked as Nate got to his feet. Leaving already, Greenhorn? Want me to get you a doggy bag for

the

road

?"

Wordlessly flipping off Pike, Nate followed Aiden and Tim out of the galley, then shuffled his aching limbs back into his rain gear before heading out

on

deck

.

When Aiden opened the door, a frigid blast of air and salty ocean spray washed over them. Nathaniel grimaced, but followed the others out into the raging winds and gray afternoon light.

Old Man Mallard pushed off from where he stood leaning against the stacked pots and hustled toward the port side of the ship, meeting them halfway.

Reinforcements. Mallard’s voice was gruff, but filled with thinly veiled amusement. "Thank God. Whatever would I do