Close Enough to Touch Page 5

  "Come north twelve feet, then veer a soft east four feet," Greg said through the comm. "I think they made the first box easy just to try and make me cocky."

  "You can be pretty reckless."

  "But not cocky. There is a difference."

  "If you say so. Following directions now." Leland worked steadily, careful to go at a good pace but not so fast he burned himself out too quickly. In his pocket, he could feel his phone buzz, the muffled chime the one he'd assigned to Byron. He ignored it. "Nearly to you."

  "Is your phone blowing up by chance?"

  "No, just—" Leland stopped as the recently stopped ringing started right back up again. "I think it might be. Withdraw."

  "Copy that."

  Leland stopped moving dirt and quickly backed out of the tunnel, pulling his phone out as soon as he was clear—he was up to four missed calls from Byron. Fuck. He hit the button to call him back, and it picked up before the first ring had finished.

  "Get back here now!" Byron said, a strain in his voice that sent ice running through Leland. He was afraid and in pain. "The Dogs found us, we're hurt, we need your help."

  "On our way," Leland said, and hung up. Next to him, Greg was pale and grim. "Let's go."

  Greg didn't reply, simply raced for their car. He reached it first and threw himself into the driver's seat. Leland leapt over the car, assisted by his powers, and slung into the passenger seat. Greg sped off before they'd gotten their seatbelts in place, driving with the same deft skill he displayed when he was working.

  The race back into the city and all the way across town normally took a good thirty minutes. Usually it was a relaxing drive where Leland was able to transition in and out of work mode, enjoy music and the comfort that came with being on his own.

  This time, despite the ten minutes that Greg managed to shave off the trip, it seemed to take hours, and it took every last bit of control Leland possessed not to lose his mind. This was why he'd stayed alone for so long.

  He'd been helpless against joining up with Ariadne and her children, and then just as helpless about accepting Greg's friendship. Now he was going to lose Byron, Dixie, the others he was just getting to know. The place he'd tentatively begun to think of as home.

  When they finally reached it, they couldn't get closer than two blocks out. Greg pushed out of the car, but Leland grabbed him and pulled him back in. "Here," he said, thrusting a small packet into his hand. "Put these on, because I have a feeling we'll need them. You focus on getting everyone out that you possibly can. I'll deal with the threats."

  "Okay," Greg said, and ripped open the packet, shoving the earplugs it contained into place.

  Ever since he'd lost his family to the Prince, Leland had made a practice of carrying at least two sets of earplugs at all times. On his really bad days, he'd carried as many as five. Today, it was three. He shoved a second set into his own ears, and the world went silent, only the loudest, sharpest sounds managing to break through.

  They ran down the block, Leland shoving people out of the way before they were hurt by the mad dashing.

  When they finally, finally reached the apartment building, it was to find it a pile of rubble, as though demolished in on itself like a building the city had declared unfit for habitation. Where was everyone?

  But that question was answered in the next breath, as he saw them lined up in front of the building, kneeling with hands behind their backs, heads bowed—and the Prince looming over them, singing an enchantment that was probably going to end in them all killing themselves. Or each other.

  Red hate and white hot fury filled Leland, and he poured it into his powers. With a scream he swung an arm out, like he was lobbing something—and the Prince went flying, slamming into a nearby police car.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Greg dart past, but his attention was centered on the Prince.

  He felt a rush of wind, heat, and turned just in time to lift a nearby car to take the hit of an oncoming fireball the size of his head. He hurtled the car forward, forcing the source of the fireball to drop for cover.

  Vesuvius, so named because when he erupted, nothing remained but ashes.

  But Vesuvius had never faced a pissed-off 12-level telekinetic still riding uppers. Leland sent police scattering with a thought, then returned his attention to Vesuvius, piling on cars and a few S.W.A.T. vans for good measure. It'd take him a few minutes to burn his way out of that without blowing himself sky high.

  Satisfied with that, Leland turned his full attention back to the Prince, who'd picked himself up and was making a futile effort at wiping away the blood pouring from his nose. He said something, eyes full of loathing, but the only words Leland could make out were little bitch.

  He swept his left arm out sharply, and the Prince bellowed as he went crashing to the ground.

  Movement caught the edge of his vision, and Leland turned, thrusting both arms forward, sending the cops that'd been about to shoot him tumbling about like struck bowling pins.

  Blood dripped onto his lips, but Leland licked it away and kept going, ignoring the aching throb in his head, the trembling of his limbs. He fumbled for his uppers and popped another one, chewing the bitter pill and swallowing it down, heart pounding fit to burst in his chest. He pulled his arms in close, hands fisted against his chest, then threw them out, fingers spreading wide, sending everything around him flying out in a wide radius all around him.

  The screech of metal and roar of fire managed to get through the earplugs, and Leland turned in time to see Vesuvius stumbling from the wreckage of the vehicles Leland had stacked around him. He threw out a hand, curled his fist as though grabbing something, and yanked the bastard in close. Grabbing the front of his fancy G.O.D. shirt, Leland threw a fist into his face, then tossed him into the barely-regathered pile of police, sending them all toppling again.

  He could just barely read the words "Stop, Villain" on the Prince's lips as he came forward, glowing brightly as he tried in vain to make Leland stop.

  "I'm not a villain," Leland bellowed, knocking him off his feet again, then yanking him into the air to dangle upside down. "I'm an Anti-Hero." He threw Prince into the others, then with a last scream of effort dragged every vehicle and bit of rubble he could grab hold of and buried them all in it.

  Then he passed out.

  *~*~*

  He woke up to the familiar chime and beep of medical equipment. The room was unfamiliar but bore some resemblance to the setup Byron had had back in the apartment complex. He started to sit up, then thought better of it as his everything protested.

  "Don't move," said a familiar-but-not voice, and Leland turned his head the barest bit to see a beautiful Chinese woman rising from a chair and going over to the medical equipment.

  "Oberon?"

  "Of course," Oberon replied with a faint smile. "Sorry I'm not your true love, but he's a bit incapacitated himself right now."

  Fear spiked through Leland, sending his heart rate monitor soaring.

  "Hey, hey, hey," Oberon said, resting a hand on his arm—then jerking it away like she was horrified with herself for offering comfort. "Our Lord and Master is fine; he's just sulking downstairs with a broken leg. Well, right now he's dead asleep from pain pills, but when he's awake he just sulks and broods like some lord exhausted by the weight of all his wealth. Anyway, we're more concerned about you. That crazy show of yours tore your body up good."

  Leland swallowed the sudden knot in his throat, dread and cold resignation filling him. "How long?"

  "Huh?"

  "How long do I have?"

  "Oh, my god, Greg wasn't kidding: You're incredibly morbid and awful. Don't be so calmly accepting your impending demise. Which, sorry to disappoint, but you're going to live."

  Tears filled Leland's vision and spilled down his cheek, breaths hitching as he tried not to cry.

  "Ugh, where are the people who are good at this mushy crap?" Oberon asked with a sigh. "You're fine—ish, at least. You were in really bad
shape when we got you up here. There was internal bleeding and everything. But Byron got you stabilized, with our help, and then he, Karl, and Dixie have been doing Things to get you back on track."

  "Can you help me sit up?"

  "There's a button for that." Oberon picked up a remote lying on a nearby table and pressed a button.

  Leland slowly rose, until he was sitting up and able to see the whole room. It definitely seemed like a prototype of the room at the apartment complex. Anguish swept through him as memories of the rubble remains surged to the fore, and he hastily turned away from thinking about it. "Where are we?"

  "A safehouse, one with no connection to us whatsoever, so we should be safe for at least a little while."

  "Did anyone… not make it?"

  Oberon shook her head. "Thanks to you, we all survived. Byron, the twins, Countdown, and Trick are all injured, though. They're healing up as fast as they can, but our plan to rescue Ariadne is completely fucked. Byron's trying to come up with a new one, but with half the available team down, it's not looking good." She pulled up a chair and sat down. "Let's not forget you're on the injured list, though weirdly enough you're doing better than most."

  "Oh?"

  "Like I said, you had internal bleeding and everything. There was something about your brain being swollen or stressed or something along those lines. But Dixie, Karl, and Byron have been combining the full force of their respective brilliance and have threaded some sort of nano-system through you. They weren't happy to do it without your permission, but it was save your life or watch you die, so…"

  "I don't mind. What does that mean, threaded some sort of nano-system?"

  "I don't speak nerd but—"

  "But you do," Leland said. "I don't know why you pretend to be lazy, vain, and disinterested in everything and everyone around you, but you're none of those things. You're at least as smart as Byron and the others, even if you don't like it all as much as they do."

  Oberon opened her mouth, closed it, then huffed and said, "I am definitely vain, don't bother to defend my honor on that point. While I understand a great deal of what they blather on about, I'm not on their level. My skills lie elsewhere. So I speak a small amount of nerd, I suppose.

  "Anyway, we're not talking about me; we're discussing you. The simplest way I can explain what they did is this: they found a way to thread nanomachines throughout your body that will act as essentially crumple zones for your powers. So it will take a great deal longer for you to make one of your dramatic collapses. They also gave you a version of the nanos that Dixie has to mitigate and manage pain."

  "I see," Leland said, not really certain what else to say. It had never occurred to him something like that could be done. If he hadn't almost died, would anyone else have thought of it? That didn't really matter, though. The point was they had thought of it, and made his powers just a little bit more bearable when he needed them most. "I'm just glad everyone is alive and will be okay."

  "I doubt any of us will ever be okay, but we're functional, which is really all anyone can ask." Oberon swept her long hair from her shoulders. "Would you like some food?"

  Leland started to refuse, then realized that he was, in fact, starving. "I would love food. And to know more about where we are and what the hell we're doing next."

  "I'll see what I can do," Oberon replied, and swept out on a wave of long hair and clicking heels.

  Leland settled back in his bed, eyes closing, all his energy abruptly spent. That didn't keep his mind from turning, turning, though. It never had.

  How did having nanomachines in his body change him? Did it? Or were they just there, humming in the background, like an antivirus program on a computer that was relatively quiet and ignorable until it had to do its job.

  Opening his eyes again, he looked to where his right arm was itching and pulling, and finally noticed that part of his forearm had gauze taped over it, like someone had used at least ten needles to draw blood. But when he peeled everything away, it was to reveal bruises surrounding holes way too big for the needles they used for that. Was it where they'd inserted the nanomachines? He vaguely recalled Dixie having ports, or whatever, in the same location.

  Tears abruptly stung his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. Stupid. Why was he crying?

  "I'm sorry."

  Leland's head jerked up, and he stared with a rush of sharp, sudden relief, at Byron.

  He looked haggard, his eyes bruised-looking from exhaustion and stress, beautiful hair in a lank ponytail. Instead of his usual smart suits or even one of his polos, he wore a t-shirt and sweatpants, the left leg hiked up over a bright blue-green, shimmering cast. He was still so, so beautiful.

  "Are—" Leland broke off, cleared his stupid throat, then tried again. "Are you okay?"

  "Me?" Byron gave a wobbly laugh. "You nearly died, and you're asking if I'm okay? I'm fine. In another day or so, my leg will be good as new. You're the only one here that we're worried about. The news won't stop playing your fight with the Prince, and he—all of the G.O.D.—are baying for your blood. We barely managed to get out of the city, they had so much law enforcement looking for us."

  He hobbled across the room, sweat beading on his brow, and finally came to a halt with his hands resting on the railing of Leland's bed. "How are you feeling?"

  "Hungry. Tired." Leland licked his lips, then whispered, "Scared."

  A hand covered one of his, soft and warm and so very welcome. Byron's jewel-toned eyes were full of that gentle understanding he always seemed to emanate, like there wasn't a pain or trouble in the world that he wasn't capable of soothing. Given how long he'd been alive, maybe it was more or less true. "You're safe for now, though I know that's hard to believe enough to relax. This is a house off the grid, with no connection to me or the others. I bought it a hundred years ago under a name that died twenty-seven years ago, complete with private funeral and everything. It's buried in the mountains, hours from the city and not on any map."

  Leland nodded. "Oberon said everyone is okay, more or less."

  "Some scrapes and bruises, that's about it," Byron replied. "If you hadn't come… the Prince was on the verge of making us talk, reveal everything we know about each other and the others in our group. We were fighting it, but… you saved us and so many more."

  "I'm tired of them hurting us, treating us like we don't matter, like we're bugs on a windshield or something."

  Byron laughed, a smug, almost happy sound. "Well, they're not treating us like bugs anymore. We're all over the news because of you—and they love especially to play the clip where you said you're not a villain but an anti-hero. That's what they're calling us now, despite the G.O.D.'s efforts to keep people from using the term."

  The rattle of dishes drew their attention before Leland could reply, and he watched as Oberon approached the opposite side of his bed, arranged the table that went over it, and set the tray on it. "Alien Overlord, you have strict orders to keep your fine butt on the sofa downstairs. You lovebirds can be apart for another day or so while—"

  "Oh, be quiet, you troublemaking faerie," Byron cut in with a smile.

  Oberon rolled her eyes. "So have you better explained his modifications, or were you still cooing at each other."

  Byron heaved a sigh. "We were talking about the way Leland turned your little mocking name for us into our official name."

  "Oh, that." Oberon swept her hair off her shoulders. "Stealing all the glory for my idea. You're so rude."

  Leland smiled crookedly. "Sorry. Next time I throw the Prince into a car, I'll make sure he knows to give you credit."

  "I'll give you a list of people to throw around like that and we'll call it even."

  Byron heaved another sigh and gave them both an admonishing look. "Are you done?"

  "For now," Oberon murmured. "Tell him about his nanomachines; I think he's worried."

  Leland flushed.

  Byron squeezed his hand, then withdrew. "Eat while I talk. It honestly sounds more
dramatic than it is. We've just given you internal armor, rather than external. If you're worried about side-effects or anything, the worst you'll feel is a headache and some dizziness while they finish settling into place, no worse than getting a tiny bit sick after a vaccine. The ports in your arm—they aren't proper ports yet, more like emergency holes—"

  Leland flinched but motioned for Byron to keep going.

  "But I promise you're still you. I know that's what worries you the most; it's what worried me the most when I underwent the process to look human. Nanomachines did most of the work and maintain it. Even before that, I underwent modifications for space travel that included nanomachines that would repair the damage caused by space and full-out replace bone and such where repairs could not be made. I'm arguably more machine than human at this point, depending on how we want to define various things, but I'm still me, even if none of my blood relations would recognize me anymore. You're still you, just upgraded."

  "Just upgraded," Leland echoed. "I like that."

  Byron smiled, and once more Leland found their hands intertwined.

  "God, you're like one of those sappy movies that used to be so popular," Oberon said. "I'm leaving before the desire to be mushy and gross rubs off on me." She left, heels clacking rapidly, and closed the door quietly behind her.

  Leland huffed out a soft laugh. "Thank you—for saving me and understanding me so well. I swear it's like you know my feelings before I do."

  "Well, years of practice," Byron said softly. "Eat, and I'll explain what we did in more detail."

  Leland obeyed, slowly eating the soup and crackers and sipping at a glass of water, while Byron laid out all the emergency modifications they had done. Most of it amounted to them binding to his nervous system, where they'd dull, even absorb to a certain degree, any pain over a certain level. There were more in his brain to alleviate damage there, take some of the stress and pressure his powers caused.

  Just like Oberon had said: crumple zones and pain blockers.

  As he finished his meal, stomach unknotting from both the food and the explanations, he lay back while Byron cleared everything away.