Page 144 of Victorious

“Awhile,” echoed Mitch. He straightened, rolling the tension from his shoulders. And then he punched Victor in the face.

Or would have. If Victor hadn’t stopped him. Hadn’t reached for the current animating Mitch’s body like a web of strings and pulled.

The man’s fist stopped, hovered, trembling, inches from Victor’s cheek. He wasn’t surprised by Mitch’s outburst, but they didn’t have time for it.

“You know,” said Victor, “you don’t seem very grateful.”

He could have turned the dial up, sent the pain rocketing back into the other man. Would have if it was anyone but Mitch. Instead, he waited for the fight to burn out of his cellmate’s face, for him to realize his mistake, before he dropped his hold.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Mitch, sounding more angry than relieved.

“You were supposed to call.” Victor frowned. “You didn’t.”

Mitch shook his head. “How did you even find me?”

The truth was, Victor hadn’t. Not directly. He’d tracked Dol’s chip to the motel, where he found a dead employee and two dead EON agents, along with the dog, who was unconscious but alive—a minor miracle, considering the number of darts sticking out of him. The absence of Mitch and Syd, neither of whom would leave the dog behind, and the fact agents’ bodies were still there, was a good sign the mission was still going on. He’d heard mention of the shuttered amusement park over the comm he’d lifted, loaded the dog and as many weapons as he could into the red pickup he assumed belonged to Mitch, and set off. This was the first transport he’d found. He’d parked the truck back in the tree line, out of sight, Dol’s limp body in the backseat. But he didn’t have the time or the energy to explain all of that, so he just asked, “What happened to the kid?”

Mitch rubbed his neck, looking pained in a way Victor couldn’t fix. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” he echoed darkly.

Just then, the EON agent he’d first encountered, the one he’d put down, rounded the van a second time, weapon raised. Their visor was up, their eyes flat and focused.

Victor flicked his attention toward the man. Along with his free hand. The agent stopped moving long enough for Victor to shoot them in the head. This time, there was no getting up.

“Huh,” he said, frowning at the body. He was sure he’d dropped them. That kind of nerve damage should have kept them down for hours, if not days. Before he could make sense of it, the comm device hooked on Victor’s belt, and the one on the dead agent’s chest, both crackled to life, static broken by a voice.

“… entering the park…”

Victor crossed to the dead body, and freed the second comm. There was something about the voice. It came through flat, and low, but beyond the static, it sounded familiar.

“… target … center … mansion.”

Those words shocked him back. Target. Sydney.

The transport van was parked beside a gate that had at some point been forced, and now sat warped, broken, ajar. Victor started toward it. When Mitch made to follow, he turned on him. “Stay here.”

“No,” snapped Mitch.

Mitch, who in the years they’d spent at Wrighton, had never raised his voice. Never so much as protested one of Victor’s plans. He’d obviously changed these last three years. And Victor didn’t like it.

“No?” he asked, stepping toward his old cellmate. “I don’t know who’s in there, or how many. What are you going to do? You can’t even walk right now without my help. And even if you could, the last time I checked, you may be big, but you’re an ordinary human. And you’re no good to me dead.”

Mitch glared at him. “Being ordinary doesn’t make me powerless. I can still help.”

Victor met the man’s gaze. “You had your chance to help,” he said bluntly. “And you failed. And now I’m here cleaning up the mess. You want to do something?” He pressed the comm and a night vision scope into Mitch’s chest, then pointed up, at a ride that loomed and coiled overhead. “Get up there. Be my eyes. And stay out of my way.”

Mitch glared at him through gritted teeth but said nothing as Victor turned and stepped through the broken gate into the park.

VNOW. THEN.

6 MONTHS BEFORE THE END

LOCKLAND UNIVERSITY

THEY had the lab to themselves, which was a good thing.

It would have been hard to explain what was happening, and why it was being done here, among the burners and beakers, instead of in a medical wing. Dani had apparently borrowed the equipment from a friend in the teaching hospital. Off the books, she assured him. But she preferred home turf, and Victor preferred not to go somewhere with doctors, and cameras, and security guards.