No Peace for the Damned

it was enough. A wave of calm passed over me. With a thud, Jon collapsed to the floor.
    Heather scrambled to his side. Theo lowered his gun but Shane held his position. Thirteen glared at me. Whatever. He was already pissed anyway. I threw back the rest of my drink, then poured another.
    Theo walked over to Jon and pulled him back to standing. Shane finally lowered his gun. All three turned to face me. Jon coughed a couple of times then found his voice.
    “O—OK,” he managed. He cleared his throat, rubbed his neck. “Y—you have control. We would all be dead on our feet if you didn’t. I get that now.” He coughed some more. “Just don’t go off on your own like that again. Believe it or not, not
all
of us want to see you killed.”
    We stared at each other for a moment longer. Then he turned and stumbled his way into the great room, Heather tucked into his side.
    Theo didn’t move. He just looked at me, eyes dark and wary. It had been reflex to protect Jon. But now…an image of him shooting me played in his mind. Him pulling the trigger, the bullet sinking deep in my chest. I recoiled in my seat, my chest tight with a sudden ache. God, even the thought of being shot by him was painful. But wait—that wasn’t
my
pain. I looked at Theo again. His eyes grew wide. His hand moved over his chest. My breath caught.
    Thirteen ran his hands over his face. “Come on,” he said. “I know we’re all on edge, but we need to decide how to move forward.” Theo looked at me a moment longer then followed after Thirteen.
    I sighed. The red I had seen when my rage boiled over at Jon—it was darker than the reddish hue I’d seen at Uncle Max’s office. But in both cases I had felt things I hadn’t felt since leaving the estate. Absolute fear, incredible rage—and the dark shade of red had matched perfectly with what I was seeing in my dreams every night.
    God, I was so sick of not knowing what was happening inside my own head.
    Finally, I rose to join the others. And, this time, I took the whole damn bottle of whiskey with me.

We waited until Friday afternoon. Tempers ran high—people wanted to move faster. But Friday was the only day Uncle Max had no scheduled appointments. He would be in his office all day. It was our best chance.
    The van pulled up to the curb at a cross street in front of the capitol. Thirteen had been called to assist in another team’s emergency, so Jon drove, Theo in shotgun. Jon threw the car into park, jerking the surveillance equipment piled around me. A line of yellow buses idled across the street. People filled the sidewalk. The buzz of weekend anticipation vibrated through the city.
    “You have your panic button?” Theo asked without turning around. I stared at the back of his seat.
    “Yeah, I have it.”
Think of me. Just once, before I go in there, please think of me
.
    Another moment passed in silence.
    “We’ll be in the garage on Michigan Avenue until rendezvous time,” Jon said, also not turning around. “Once you’re out of the building, head over to Washington and we’ll pick you up on the corner of West and Washington.”
    Nausea rolled over me but I stamped it down. OK, I could do this. Just stand outside Uncle Max’s office, scan his thoughts, and leave. No big deal. He’d sense a supernatural presence again, but it could be any person with powers trying to sneak up on him. He still thought I was dead. Besides, knowing that he would sense my energy gave me motivation to get what I needed and get the hell out of there. Then I could go back to my nice little farmhouse and scrub out my brain for the next few hours.
    I looked at Theo again then turned away. With a deep breath, I stretched out my power until I disappeared. Both guys still had their eyes firmly fixed on the windshield. Watching me vanish into thin air was just a little
too
supernatural for even the toughest of tough guys.
    Jon jumped in his seat when I slid the van door open. I got out on the sidewalk and looked back into the van. Neither could see me now, but it didn’t matter. Theo stared right at me, looked me right in the eyes.
    I turned away and closed the door. I dodged cars until I stood in front of the building. My legs were lead as I climbed the white cement steps. Every breath brought another wave of nausea.
    I kept to the walls. Last time I was here I’d been too freaked out to look around. The building was beautiful—the domed entry, the statuary and portraits of Americana. I