Turncoat by Megan Derr (the false prince series txt) 📕

speed limit but only barely. "I don't know what happened yet, but someone—probably a couple of someones at least—beat the ever living shit out of him. I've got him roughly treated and medicated. I'll do a better job once we're safe."

"You should have told me to get back on my own, instead of leaving him, damn it," Dixie snapped. "What if something goes wrong while you're out here in traffic?"

Byron glanced sideways at him. "He's stabilized and too heavily drugged to do himself harm. I wouldn't have come if I didn't absolutely believe he'd be fine. Chill. I wish I had a better medic to hand, but he will be okay."

"You couldn't call in Oberon?"

"No, Oberon's busy in England right now, and by this point, quite possibly France. Supposed to be back soon, and I can interfere if it really comes down to it…"

"Leave it," Dixie said. "You've got enough knowledge on your own to take care of Whisker. We can always strengthen one of his IDs and take him to a hospital. Why the hell didn't he phase out of there?"

Byron shook his head. "They probably jumped him, hurt him badly fast, and once he's too severely injured, he can't do his little phase trick."

"I hadn't realized he had that much kick to him." It wasn't unusual for some powers to sort of shut down when the body was in bad shape. Many posed that was how Scones was able to take down all the powerful supers he had: he wore them down to the point they were more or less normal, then killed them.

But that usually only applied to high level powers, six-levels and up. He hadn't thought Greg was more than a four, which was the high end of the average for most abilities. Only G.O.D. types were at the unusually high end of the power spectrum.

"He's never gotten formal testing, but my informal testing? Puts him at a 6-level. Barely, mind you, but enough to count. It never matters because his thieving hardly taxes the ability. But I'm pretty sure he could phase a protection field if he really wanted. I already know he can go through lasers, electric fields, all that fun stuff. I've been curious to see if he can go through, say, ten feet of concrete, but we've never gotten around to testing it."

Dixie grimaced. "You couldn't pay me to find out if I could phase through ten inches of concrete. Just thinking about how wrong that could go makes my skin crawl." He shuddered. "So who was the other guy, the one that called you? You didn't leave him alone with Whisker, did you?"

"He wasn't there," Byron said quietly, but didn't say anything more as he pulled into the parking garage. Once the car was parked, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, face pulled into a pensive frown. "Greg was alone when I got there, but I think the guy was hovering nearby somewhere. Pretty sure the news got it right about it being Minder. That would fit his MO and everything else I was theorizing about him being Whisker's mysterious friend…"

"What's got you so troubled?"

Byron shrugged, gave him a crooked smile. "I don't like mysteries, or people jumpier than me."

Dixie grunted and climbed out of the car.

"Cops are fucking pissed with you," Byron said idly as he trailed after Dixie to the elevators.

"They don't want me fucking with their systems, they should step up their security," Dixie said as he leaned against the back of the elevator, pulling off his hat and glasses, smirking. "Ain't my problem their baby systems are no match for me."

Byron shared his smirk, but it faded as they stepped into his apartment and he immediately headed upstairs to tend Greg.

Dixie wanted to follow, but he had other matters to attend first. Going into the living room, he activated the main screen with a thought. He could do everything mentally, but sometimes even the sound of his own voice was better than none, and he liked using verbal commands where he could. "Activate security level three. Sweep police scanners for: Dixie Mountebank, Byron Valentine, Gregory Raines, aliases Turncoat, Fortune, and Whisker."

The screen chimed and flashed, and a few seconds later pulled up reports on Whisker and the name Henry Porter. "Who is Henry Porter?" But even as he asked, Greg's picture came up on a newsfeed, along with a crummy but still usable picture taken of him by a security camera hidden in the house he'd tried to break into.

"Alias for Gregory Raines," the computer replied.

"Track Alias – Henry Porter. Notify when alias is safe for deletion." The computer chimed verification of the order, and Dixie went to the storeroom to change back into his civvies.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he hauled upstairs, where Byron was still looking after Whisker in the far back corner of the room. Dixie winced as he drew close and got a good look. "Poor bastard." Byron didn't reply, but the tight set of his mouth was answer enough. "What's the damage?"

"Other than the obvious?" Byron asked. "Couple of broken ribs, sprained wrist, enough bruising to cover an entire football team, fractured ankle, and several cuts, four of which needed stitches. He's not going anywhere for at least a few weeks, though we'll probably have to tie him down to ensure it. He stays still about as well as you."

Dixie didn't reply, too distracted by Greg's battered face, the swollen eyes, two cuts on one cheek, another on his forehead. His nose had definitely been broken, and both lips had split pretty badly. It looked like someone had kicked him in the face after throwing a rather nasty punch. "Any clue as to what the hell happened?"

"Not yet," Byron replied, "but now he's as good as he's going to get, I can start piecing it all together. Stay here and watch him, though? He should be fine, but I worry anyway. I'll ping you when I have