Holidays are Hell

"— and he hates it." She looked up to meet Phaedre's disbelieving stare through the mirrored pane. "He does. It's one of the reasons he loved me."

Phaedre turned. "You weren't on guard because you'd already gained his confidence."

"And so when I say I changed my mind and ran away from the agents of Light, he'll believe I've been in hiding from you all these years, not him. He'll believe what he's always wanted to when he looks at me."

Phaedre leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms. "And what is that?"

"That I love him." She said, setting the corn idol aside. "That we're destined for one another."

"Zoe—"

"Trust me, Phaedre." She stood, brushed off her pants, and headed to the door Warren had exited through.

The movement was quicker than the human eye, so Zoe found herself sprawled facedown across the bed without knowing how she'd gotten there. Phaedre was straddling her, so close Zoe could scent the mint on her breath and the powder of her perfume; pleasant, were it not for the wand tip pointed at Zoe's throat.

"Warren said you stay," Phaedre murmured in her ear, meaning the bodily assault wasn't anything personal.

Zoe craned her neck to peer into Phaedre's face despite the risk of a fiery death. "And what the troop leader says, goes, right?"

Annoyance flickered behind Phaedre's jewel-green eyes. "I understand it might grate, Zoe, especially considering your former status, but maybe it's time you listened to someone other than yourself."

Zoe dropped her head and lay limp, knowing she'd get up only when—if—Phaedre allowed it. "You want to put your conduit away? It's a bit of overkill."

Phaedre shifted atop her, but that was for her comfort, not Zoe's. She inched the wand closer to Zoe's left eye, her favored point of insertion. "Bother you, does it? Make you nervous? Because the Tulpa doesn't have a conduit, you know. He is a conduit. A whole being through whom energy is conducted, amassed, multiplied. That's why he can affect the weather, move things with his mind, manipulate environments and—most importantly—read your intentions."

"I know all this," Zoe said, testily. She twisted again and this time Phaedre got up, letting her turn. "I'm the one who told the rest of you, remember?"

"So then you also know that he's been working on the time/space continuum, using special relativity to attempt to return to the past?"

Zoe pushed herself to her knees. It was evident from her silence that she hadn't known. So how had Phaedre? "The manuals?" Zoe guessed.

Phaedre inclined her head. "He's conducting experiments, gathering energy around him to return to the moment of his gravest betrayal. When you, Zoe, exposed his vulnerability."

"That's not possible," Zoe whispered, kneeling in the ratty bedspread, mind whirling. Was it?

Phaedre pursed her lips wryly as she rose and tucked her conduit back in her pocket. Zoe gave an inward sigh of relief.

"He thinks there's only a finite amount of energy available on this earth, in this valley in particular, and since he's bound to Las Vegas and can't derive energy from outside this city, he's working on creating more of it here, storing it. Hoarding it, if you will, for himself."

"And that's what he'd use it on?" Zoe asked, noting she looked as bewildered in the opposing dresser mirror as she felt. "Saving Wyatt?"

Phaedre laughed humorlessly and shook her head. "He's not going back to save his creator, Zoe. He's going back to kill you."

And even as Zoe's mind whirled with disbelief, she knew it could be done. Anything was possible, if the mind believed strongly enough… and the Tulpa possessed an iron mind. "He'd need a tremendous amount of energy," she murmured. So how was he getting it? What law of physics or powerful magic—or both—would enable him to contract time and alter the terrestrial setting?

Phaedre shrugged. "We haven't figured it out yet. All I know is if you show up on his doorstep, plain as day and clothed in mortal skin, you'll save him the trouble of having to find you in the recesses of time. And you'll die for nothing."

Not nothing, Zoe thought, standing. Because now she was more determined than ever to get her granddaughter back. Whatever the Tulpa was doing and however he was deriving power, she was sure it involved Ashlyn.

"I need to speak to Warren." Zoe started, then smiled grimly when Phaedre took a warning step forward. "He can hold me down himself if he's so inclined."

It was Phaedre's turn to smirk. "He just might," she said, but motioned to the door.

The manuals Phaedre had referred to recorded the battle between good and evil in the Nevada desert as it'd gone on for the past rnillennium. In the mortal world the manuals were called comic books, and were devoured by the young minds that lived the stories out in their imaginations, and in turn, gave energy to the agents and troops through their detailed daydreams and belief. The connection between reader and agent was very much a partnership, and without one the other would fail to thrive.