She went everywhere armed, not just at Winslow's insistence, but due to what the others told her as well. The solicitor, Grimes, came to talk to her about a week after the Frank Britain incident, and recommended she stay armed as well. He'd heard some talk from a union rep that Britain, even after losing his position, had decided to take her on as a personal issue, trying to discredit her or something. It didn't feel likely to her that the man would be happy with her getting a little bad press. Even Mrs. Vernor agreed on that score and had suggested quietly that they make the man disappear.
About once a month Heather or Kelvin would come by to check on her, never telling her what they wanted exactly for some reason. Heather would sneak off to talk to Winslow each time she came, and the training would become harder again, or at least more complicated. Really she was starting to adapt physically to the work load, but the mental part could be interesting.
No one heard anything from Bethany, who may as well have fallen off the face of the planet. They kept saying she was in training, but no one would say anything about that, not even what kind of training this might be. It grew frustrating, no one bothering to tell her anything.
Darren Westmorland contacted her by phone, telestator, a few times. He'd simply say a few words, a sentence at most, and hang up. Usually something helpful, but cryptic. Get the uniforms re-sized, or run more. Once he simply warned her not to go out in the lorrie. Later that day James lost a wheel in an accident. No one hurt, but he was stuck for nearly twenty hours while other transportation and repair was arranged.
Finally, when she'd almost given up hope of anything new happening, Winslow called her to the front drawing room. Standing there, wearing the now familiar deep blue uniform, was Bethany. She smiled when she saw Gwen, ran to her and gave her a hug. Before, Beth had felt thin and weak, but now new muscle wrapped her form, not more than what Gwen had built herself, but at least the equal of it. So whatever they'd had her doing it wasn't eating bon-bons and lounging.
“I'm so sorry I couldn't be here with you! The time window was incredibly narrow for training, at least according to the information that we had a few months ago. We're in though.” She hugged Gwen again.
She got a hug back, but Gwen followed it with a question.
“In where?”
“Eh? Oh, right! Well, we followed up on your idea, you see, had to lobby the king and his advisors for months, but we, the special service really, got put in charge of the Duke of Aubry's guard detail. We're in! We have to report to duty in seventy-two hours.”
She hugged Gwen again.
“We can keep him from doing whatever it is he's trying to and possibly catch Debussey. Or protect him if that's what's needed. We used it as a line, but it worked because it just possibly could be true. So really, we need to look out for that too, Debussey controlling his mind somehow, or maybe even just lying to use him somehow. Kelvin says there's about a twenty-three percent chance of something like that having happened.”
It took Bethany a few minutes, but she finally explained what had been going on, the political work that had been required, the bribes, threats, and subtle rumors they'd had to plant, the torturous training that Beth had been undergoing for months.
“Though you'll be getting part of that soon. We don't have a lot of time to get you up to speed. Heather says you can manage the physical parts alright, more than alright, so all we have to do is teach you how to run the armor. That's mainly what I've been doing, learning how to re-channel my energies. There's a difference between telepathic, intuitive, and kinetic energies obviously. So you need to learn that too.”
Quickly she outlined the training that she'd have over the next few days and weeks. Gwen nodded along as her friend pretty much announced that she needed to master a new kind of magic as fast as possible.
“We'll try to buy you time, but if anything comes up, you have to be able to armor up and take the field, you understand? Even if you can't fight in it, you have to be able to walk out and at least stand there. It's half of what makes the special service more effective than ordinary military personnel.”
Gwen knew she had a funny look on her face, since Beth tilted her head and grinned at her.
“You see, Gwen, it's like this... In order to get close to the duke, we all have to be special service. As a Westmorland, it meant more training for me, but I'm used to it. It's... not pleasant, but my mind won't break under the strain either. With you, we have to take a more direct training route, which won't be much fun either. Maybe as bad, depending on what Darrick has you doing. The only problem is that, outside of Westmorland training, it's nearly impossible to get kinetic armor unless you're already a member of the special service. So we have to train you on the fly, you see? There's no time for four years at the academy.”
The situation finally started to dawn on her, at least she thought so, taking a breath Gwen tried to clarify the issue.
“Let me get this straight, you, and I'd guess the Westmorlands as a group, are going to help me fake being a part of the special service, in order to allow me to get close to where Debussey might, just possibly, be?”
Beth smiled and shook her head.
“No. Not at all. That would be incredibly illegal as well as a violation of trust on all our parts. We're just going to help you get the training you need to have as fast as possible. All above board and everything. You see, Gwen, from now on, you are a member of the special service, by order of the king himself.”
Bethany wrapped her arms out and gave her another hug.
“Congratulations!”
Gwen nodded and took Beth's hand gently. It was good to have her friend back and at least this would be something different. Standing, she pulled her friend up and started walking from the room, chuckling. She was already packed after all. That was pretty much just a constant now. They could leave instantly if they had to.
After all, Erin Debussey may not have had her hand on the knife, but the plan to kill her, Katherine at least, had been hers. That being the case, Gwen decided that taking her down wouldn't hurt her feelings at all.
Not even a little bit.
Keep reading for an exciting preview of “Dead End: A Very Good Man”.
First in a new series from P.S. Power
Available now on Amazon Kindle!
Chapter One
Jake's stomach hurt again.
Not exactly a big mystery as to why. It wasn't real pain, just fear. Terror really. He knew the feeling pretty well now, that tightening low in the belly that turned to cramps about the time he had to go into a house. Every freaking time. Any house now too, even when he wasn't out with his crew hunting, like they were now.
So at least this time it was probably warranted.
Some people tried to claim that the fear was part of the zombie thing, a side effect of whatever took someone from alive to dead and turned them into an animated human shark, eating the living without end, looking for food if they weren't eating.
Those people were lying to themselves.
No, the fear was natural and part of anyone still sane enough to realize what was going on, and a few people that weren't. Jake knew that now. Admitted it fully. Lying to yourself just got you killed anymore, didn't it? He was afraid, and it had settled deep into his bones, making him want to run away from what lay past the door in front of him. That couldn't stop him though. Not if they were all going to survive.
Someone had to make the zombies go away, and if they didn't do it, who would?
Holding the spear he'd fashioned from an old rake handle, sharpened to a point, but not one too sharp – that made them fragile and the point could shatter – Jake stood in the open front doorway of the little white colored house. Waiting. In front of him he heard her screaming at the top of her lungs. That didn't help the fear at all, Molly doing her job the way she did. In fact, it freaked him out.
A lot.
Zombies came to human voices like lazy moths to flame and they positively ran toward screaming. Probably trying to get in on the free meal before the others ate it all. So when the cleaners hunted, they used a screamer. Someone, usually a woman since they screamed better than men, made some noise and got the undead going, headed toward their position, waiting for them in relative safety and comfort. Today they were starting on the front porch, but Molly had insisted on going inside. Alone.
Again.
Then, the girl was suicidal, so who could blame her?
Most people just stuck a gun in their mouths if they wanted out, but her people had been Catholic when it all started, so she didn't believe in just killing herself like a normal person. No, she just courted death instead, hoping that Jesus would call her home or whatever it was they believed.
Brilliant plan, except that she'd probably end up a zombie, which would mean he'd have to cut her freaking head off himself. Jake really hated having to behead people he knew like that. It was much harder than just shooting them in the first place.
Taking a head always felt so personal, so final. Even from zombies. Plus that feeling, the pull of the knife on his hand while he cut, or the gristly feeling of a machete on soft wet bone stayed with you. Like it lived in your hands and arms, all the time.
Well, at least they weren't sleeping together. Jake had asked if she wanted to, figuring that someone that slept around as much as the chubby brunette did might give him a shot.