Burning Bright

Harmsway looked longingly at the cargo door, just twenty meters away across the width of the warehouse. It was even open, the ship’s hatch gleaming in the loading lights, and he could feel that the last barrier was sealed only with a simple palm lock, the kind of thing he could open in his sleep… if he could only get there. His lips thinned, and he looked away.

“Avellar.” Lyall’s voice was suddenly sharp with fear, and Avellar swung to face her.

“I think—” Lyall began, then shook her head. “No, I’m sure. They’ve brought in a hunter.”

Harmsway swore, and Hazard looked back over his shoulder at him.

Africa said, as if he didn’t really want to know, “Hunter?”

“Another telepath,” Blue said. “One who specializes in sensing out his own kind.”

“How close?” Harmsway demanded, and Lyall shook her head again.

“I can’t tell. He—she—it’s shielded.”

Avellar’s lips tightened, and he looked at the two men who stood apart from the rest. Faro shifted his position slightly, almost in spite of himself, putting himself between Avellar and Belfortune. Belfortune did not seem to notice, but his free hand rose to the stained bandage on his left shoulder, pressed hard as though that would ease the pain. Avellar lifted a hand and looked instead at Africa. “How’s it coming, Galan?”

The technician shrugged, his hands never slowing on the balky connection. “We won’t know until I try to use it. I think I’ve got it.”

Avellar grimaced, looked back at Belfortune. “Bel.”

“Let him be,” Faro said. Belfortune passed his hand over his face, then reached for the gun he had laid beside him on the tiles. He still would not meet Avellar’s eyes.

“Bel,” Avellar said again. “We need you.”

“There’s nothing I can do.” Belfortune spoke flatly, without lifting his eyes from the floor. His useless left hand was tucked into the front of his jacket, held as if in a crude sling.

“Bullshit,” Harmsway said. “That’s fucking bullshit, and you know it. Just because you don’t like thinking you’re one of us, just because you and him”—his free hand swept out to indicate Lord Faro, who lifted an arrogant eyebrow in response—“have had the Baron’s favor, you don’t want to admit what you are. You could get us all killed, or you could save us. You’re a vampire, damn you, and right now that could save all our lives.”

Belfortune’s good hand closed convulsively over the gun, and he brought it up in a single smooth motion, leveling it at Harmsway. Harmsway stared back at him unmoving, handsome face set in his mask of habitual contempt. Avellar stirred, but said nothing after all.

“I’m not a vampire,” Belfortune said after a moment, and the gun’s muzzle wavered and fell. “Yes, I’m psi, I’ve never denied it—”

“Like hell,” Harmsway said.

Belfortune swept on as though he hadn’t spoken. “—but I’m only an interference maker. All I can do is fuck up somebody trying to use their psi. I can’t stop them. I can’t take their power away.”

“But you can.” Lyall’s voice was very soft, but they all heard her. “The tests were conclusive, I was there, I ran them. When you want to, you can stop all psi use cold.”

“And then what?” Belfortune asked. He smiled bitterly, without a trace of humor. “That’s the part no one ever asks about, do they, Mijja? Because what happens is they die. I take their power, and they die without it.”

“Bel.” Faro’s voice was gentle, as though there was no one else near them, and all the time in the world.

“You know what happens.” Belfortune’s voice scaled upward, toward hysteria. “You know how they die. Oh, God, the taste of it in my mind—”

Faro reached out to him, but Harmsway cut him off. “Jesus Christ. It’s a hunter. And if you don’t kill him, we’re dead.”

“Shut up, Desir,” Avellar said. He looked at Belfortune. “Bel—”

Belfortune shook his head. “I can’t, Avellar. Not won’t. I can’t do it.”

“Let it be,” Faro said, with unexpected authority. He and Avellar locked stares for a moment, and then Avellar turned away.

“Ready,” Africa said, and held out the laser. Hazard took it warily, slipped his pistol and its spare clip back onto his belt.

“What do we do now, Avellar?” he said.

“Without Belfortune—” Lyall began, and broke off with a gasp.

Avellar took a deep breath. “We have to get on board the ship. And if the Baron’s brought in a hunter, they’ll know where we are any minute now. We’ll have to fight.”

“What a wonderful plan,” Harmsway jeered. “And how typical of your planning. Damn you, Royal, why didn’t you leave me here?”

Avellar looked at him, face absolutely without emotion. “I told you once, I need you, need your talent. I can’t take the throne without your help.”

Africa looked up as though he’d been stung, and Hazard spoke quickly, cutting off anything the technician might have said. “But to fight, Royal?”

Jack Blue said, “He’s right, Avellar. The odds aren’t in our favor.”

Avellar looked at Belfortune. “You hear them, Belfortune. It’s your choice.”

“I can’t,” Belfortune said, his voice little louder than a whisper. “I can’t.”