by Nora Roberts
“Mommy! Boo-hoo! Tonia’s making the puppy fly again.”
On a huff, Hannah rolled her eyes. “I was six.”
“Seven.”
“Whatever. And you weren’t supposed to fly the puppy.”
“He liked it.”
“So you say. Anyway.” Hannah exaggerated the word as she gestured with her glass. “As an NM, I can tell you I’ve observed that magick’s fun, and powerful, and important. But it’s also a heavy responsibility. I’m happy not to carry it. The two of you were born to carry it. I think—no, I absolutely know—I was born to be a doctor. I think about my birth mother sometimes. You must think of Max sometimes, Fallon.”
“Yes. I thought of him tonight.”
“Like Duncan and Tonia, and their father. Maybe tonight especially. When I think of her, I feel sure she was meant to survive long enough to bring me into the world. It had to be terrible for her, for all of them, but she survived until I could live. And Mom was there, right there, Rachel and Jonah, all right there, and I believe that was meant, too.”
Tonia reached over to squeeze her hand. “We were meant.”
“Yeah, we were. They’d never have left a helpless baby behind, but they did more. Mom did so much more. She made me hers, and not only kept me alive, but loved me. She gave me a life, and I was meant to use it to save others. We’re all here for that.”
Hannah picked up the bottle, poured another round for all. “And tonight? We—stealthily—kicked ass.”
“She talks a lot when she’s drinking,” Tonia pointed out.
“I’ve noticed that.”
“I really do. But, crap, did you see all that stuff? In the office, in the—what is it—Residence? Who the fucking fuck are they, living like princes while people, so many people, still struggle to feed their children?”
“And Mouthy Hannah throws the F word around, liberally.”
“Well, fuck them!”
“Oh, we will,” Fallon assured her, enjoying Mouthy Hannah.
“Good. Do you think there’s any pizza? We could have some pizza and talk about men.”
“Like how Justin makes non-flying puppy eyes at you.”
Hannah gave her sister a cool stare. “He’s still a boy. I said men. Not like Garrett, who still makes those puppy eyes at you, but more like Roland, who I clearly saw you making out with a few nights ago.”
“Forget Roland. He’s a sloppy kisser. I just don’t go for the sloppy kisser. We could talk about all the guys who make the puppy eyes at Fallon.”
“Me?” The grin that had started while listening to the sisters turned into shock. “What?”
“I could name half a dozen who’d slurp you up like Fred’s rainbow ice cream.”
“That’s ridiculous, and I don’t have time for that anyway.” But now she wondered. “We’ve got pizza.” She rose, grabbed the bottle to go with it. “We’ll go up and eat—we earned it.”
She paused at the base of the stairs. “Maybe you should make me a list of those guys.”
Tonia laughed, slung an arm around Fallon’s shoulders. “It’ll be a long one.”
BATTLE AND BLOOD
The brazen throat of war.
—John Milton
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fallon had expected to take some heat from her parents over her mission to D.C. She hadn’t expected to feel that heat scorch over her from all directions.
“You could’ve gotten caught, or worse. We wouldn’t have known where you were, or what happened.”
“I didn’t,” Fallon pointed out to her mother. “I took precautions.”
“One precaution,” Simon tossed back, “was not telling us.”
She’d hoped to appeal to him as a soldier, but he was, currently, all Dad. “It needed to be done. I was prepared. I was careful.”
“So careful you ended up pulling Tonia and Hannah in with you.”
Maybe her mother had her there, but—“They walked in on it. I adjusted. The intel we’ll gain from this is invaluable.”
“So are you. Not just to me and your father. To everyone.”
How was it, she wondered, her parents could wipe away years, training, freaking destiny, and make her feel like an eight-year-old in dire need of a lecture?
“I did what I knew had to be done, to take D.C. and minimize our casualties. I’m going to do other things that worry and upset you. You need to trust me.”
“Two-way street, Fallon. You did what you felt you had to do, but you didn’t trust us.” Simon kept his gaze steady on his daughter, laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder. A united front. “We don’t deserve that.”
That was bad enough, but she had to suffer through the same reaction from nearly every New Hope Original, from Fred’s sad eyes, to Arlys’s cool insult, Katie’s—okay, justified—anger at having her two daughters involved without her knowledge.
Even, crushingly, from Chuck.
“You know a sure way to demoralize and damage an opposing force? Any video game proves it—and, well, history. You take out the head, the leader. You risked that, kid.”
“Jesus, not you, too. My parents are down on me, I’m still raw from a Will lecture. I figured you, at least, would be on my side.”
“Everybody’s on your side. You oughta remember that next time.” He looked at her, the geek with purple-streaked white-blond hair and a tiny, pointed beard, and made her realize not just parents could make you feel eight and stupid.
And flipped her last button.
“You know, I’ve had enough of this crap.” She threw out her hands where the spurt of temper had light snapping from her fingertips. “I didn’t bring on the Doom, I didn’t ask to be the freaking Savior of the world or spend my life fighting, but that’s the goddamn reality. That’s the freaking, fucking world. So when I pull off a high-risk, high-reward operation, I don’t appreciate being treated like a kid who missed curfew because I didn’t clear it with every-damn-body first. I am the leader, and it’s my head.”
She kicked a chair because it was there. It levitated a foot off the ground, trembled there, fell with a thump.
“And that’s just the way it fucking is.”
Chuck said nothing until he’d sucked down some of the mango juice and ginger ale he’d grown fond of. “Feel better?”
“Not one damn bit.”
“Too bad. Here’s what I don’t appreciate. Being put in the position of having to think and act like a tight-assed adult.”
He shot out his index finger with its WTF tattoo.
“Then don’t!”
“Uh-uh. I’m there now, and since I am, I’m going to say you can either do a little mea culpa-ing to smooth this out, or you can keep riding that high horse until your nose bleeds from the altitude. You got stuck with leading, well, sucks for you, but a leader who doesn’t respect who they lead doesn’t get much respect back.”
“Damn it.” She wanted to kick the chair again, but she already felt like an idiot. “I do respect them—you—all of them, and especially the Originals. Beyond words. I wasn’t sure I could do it until I was sure, then I needed to act, not take a meeting. And—” She thought of her father’s words. “Two-way street.”
Maybe she would kick the chair again.
“You’re not wrong.”
“So when I— What?”
“You’re not wrong,” Chuck repeated and sucked up more fizzy juice. “We’re not wrong. Give a little, get a little. Plus, I’ve about used up my adult quota for the week. I want to get to this.”
He swiveled to his workstation, rubbed his hands together. And Eddie came in.
“Here’s more,” Fallon grumbled.
“We just wrapped up the spanking.” Chuck winced. “I didn’t mean that in a creepy uncle way.”
“Then I’ll just say ditto. Plus. Dude.” He gave Fallon a light head slap before he turned to Chuck. “Have you picked anything up?”
“I’m about to commence getting started on working on trying to do just that.”
“Before you do, Fred’s been working on something.” He held up a sealed jar filled with dark liquid. “She wanted you to try it out.”
“Okeydoke. What’ve we got?”
“You tell me.” When Eddie unsealed the jar, it let out a hiss, bubbles rose up. When he poured some into a cup, the air above it sparkled.
Chuck took it, sniffed. “It couldn’t be.” Looked at Eddie with what Fallon read as desperate hope. “Couldn’t be. Could it?”
He took a small, testing sip. Closed his eyes—and whimpered a little before he took another, deeper sip. “It’s a miracle. A genuine miracle.”
Popping up, he danced, shoulders bouncing, hips rocking.
“What the hell is it?”
“Taste the miracle!”
Curious, Fallon took the cup, sipped. “Oh, oh, it’s good.” Strong, sweet, unlike anything she’d tasted. It gave her a little head rush. “What is it?”
“Fred’s version of Coca-Cola,” Eddie told her with a grin. “She’s been working on it since we got the Tropics up and going. Your mom helped some, and I’ve been taste testing. I think we got it.”
“It’s better, even better than Coke Classic. Oh, it’s been so long. Come back to Papa.” He took the cup, drank again. Danced again. “Even better. It’s LFC. Little Fred’s Cola.”
“I like it.”
Chuck eyed the jar. “Can I keep it?”
“All yours, dude.”
“I feel tears coming on. Lemme tell ya, armed with LFC, I’m going to rock this job here.” He drained the cup. “Whoa, better take it slow.” He sat again, rubbed his hands again.
Began to work controls.
“These codes you wrote? How accurate?” he asked Fallon.
“As close as I could manage. It’s not my strongest suit, but I know they’re close.”
“Let’s start with the Oval Office. I mean, go for gold if you’re going.”
She waited while he keyed in codes, fiddled, did things she’d never understand. Through the speakers came nothing but a steady electronic buzz.
“Think I see the problem. Another sec.”
He adjusted the code, twice, and the buzz turned into a kind of rumbling.
“Magick-type bugs. This one’s a what again?”
“Leaf.”
“Huh. Organic eavesdroppers. Kick my ass and call me Sally. Give it a little boost there, champ. Just a little. Gonna interface the magicks, get me?”
“Maybe.”
She nudged. The rumbling became a blast.
“Back off—a lot. Just, like, a touch.”
“Okay.”
From blast to a squawk then to a murmur.
“Got it. I got it. You can ease it off. Here we go.”
I’ve had it with this bullshit, Carter.
Mr. President—Commander—if I could—
I said I’ve had it. We’re expending too many resources for too little. I want results and get excuses and demands for more resources.
Sir, if you cut our resources, pull more personnel off the MUNA project, it’s the same as shutting us down. We’re already cut to the bone.
That’s the idea, Carter.
Sir, what we’ve learned and can learn, the progress we’ve made and will make, it’s essential to controlling the Uncanny threat. Our research—
Hasn’t produced tangible results in twenty damn years. The so-called leaders who sat at this desk wasted years on their debates, negotiating, compromising with scientists like you. Weaklings, all of them. Soft-bellied weaklings. I gave you a chance, Carter, against my better judgment.
If you could see your way—
I’m sitting in this chair because I act! Hargrove’s voice boomed out. I’m done wasting time, done coddling those freaks of nature. Our resources and personnel are better utilized to eradicate the threat once and for all. Containment, research, experimentation? For what? So the freaks can continue to breed, to attack our cities, our people?
Without our work, without science, we’ll never understand the phenomenon.
Fuck your bullshit science, and fuck the phenomenon. It’s time to end them.
Commander Hargrove, sir, we have over two hundred specimens in our facilities here alone, and we believe we’re close to creating a serum that will essentially sterilize the Uncanny, prevent them from breeding.
You said that six fucking months ago.
We’re closer. A few more months.
You’ve got two. If you don’t come through, Carter, I’m not just cutting back your resources, I’m shutting you down, and neutralizing your specimens along with every one of them in other facilities. Every goddamn one.
Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.
Science, my ass. Debra!
A squeak of a voice responded. Yes, Commander Hargrove.
Contact that idiot Pruitt, and tell him I’d better have a progress report on negotiations with White and the PWs by the end of the day. And if he keeps pussyfooting around, he should remember what happened to the idiot he replaced. I’m going out to look at the training grounds, give the troops a little pep talk. Send my security in. Now!
Now Fallon heard movement, doors opening. Yes, locks releasing. The sound of gunfire, shouted orders before the doors shut, locked again. And silence.
“Jesus Christ.” Chuck blew out a long breath. “How the hell did they put him in charge?”
“Fear,” Fallon said. “Fear of us, fear of another plague, fear of power.”
“Maybe so, maybe, but most people aren’t like that, like him.” Eddie rubbed his hands over his face because it felt numb. “Not like him and White, not most. He’s talking about sterilizing people. He’s talking genocide.”
“We’re not people to him. We’re freaks.”
“My kids,” Eddie said. “And a lot of other people’s kids. They won’t stand for it.”
“They have to know about it first, and they will.” Lectures be damned, Fallon thought. She’d gotten what they needed. “He gave that Carter, that torturer two months. What he doesn’t know is that’s all he has.”
She turned to Eddie. “He’s never going to touch your kids.”
“You’re damn right he’s not.”
“Keep monitoring, Chuck, all the devices. He’s looking to pull the PWs in. We’ll want to know how that goes for him. We know they’ve got over two hundred magickals contained in or around the White House. They’ll have more at other locations.”
She stared straight ahead. “Two months, and I swear by all I am, we will tear them down.”
December brought the first snows and preparation for Yule, Christmas, the New Year. And the battle to come. New Hope hung their wreaths, burned their logs, decorated their trees, created and bartered for gifts. And trained relentlessly.
On the bright afternoon of Christmas Eve, Fallon met with Arlys after her weekly broadcast.
“It was good,” Fallon told her. “Hopeful and strong.”
“If you can’t be hopeful at Christmas, when? Chuck, can I have the room?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ve got some Christmas shopping to finish up. Hargrove’s taking a holiday,” he added. “He’s hosting fancy parties for key players in his freaking dictatorship. There’s not much going on anyway, but we’re monitoring.”
“Let him eat, drink, and be merry,” Fallon said. “His time’s nearly up.”
When Chuck went out, Arlys rose to wander the basement. “Chuck’s played recordings of any important bits I missed. You already know Hargrove feels he’s close to a deal with White.”
“He won’t finalize it before we strike, and it won’t help him.”
“He also plans for White, after the deal’s struck, to be assassinated. He’ll claim it was one of us, and provide the appropriate patsy for execution.”
“It won’t happen.”
Arlys continued to wander, picked up one of the action figures, set it down again. “The government lied during the Doom, and right after. But I believe, I have to believe, it lied in a misguide
d, even arrogant attempt to control panic. This is nothing like that. Hargrove’s a psychopath, and as obsessed as Jeremiah White.”
She gestured to the monitor, and now Fallon read both misery and conflict on her face.
“I understand why I can’t broadcast anything we’ve learned through the bugs, but it brings me back, Fallon. It takes me back to sitting at the anchor desk in New York and knowing I lied to anyone listening.”
“You’re not lying now, and when we take D.C., you can broadcast all of it.”
“I understand the reasons. I even agree with them. My Theo, my boy, is going to war.”
Arlys pressed a hand to her lips, waved Fallon off when Fallon stepped toward her.
“I’m terrified. I know Will, I know he’ll look after Theo as best he can, but my son, my heart, is going into battle, and I’m terrified. Rachel’s oldest, too.”
“I know. I just spoke with her. I was coming to talk to you even before you asked me to come. I don’t have a son or daughter, but I do know what it’s like for you. I see it in my mother, and I know it’s the hardest thing there is.”
“I believe in you. I believed in you before you were born, when I saw you through Lana. I believe in you.” She let out a breath. “I know why Theo’s going. I know why I can’t broadcast the horrors Hargrove perpetuates, the horrors he plans. But I can broadcast what we do about it. I want you to embed me when we attack D.C.”
“You can broadcast from here,” Fallon began.
“By relay, when someone’s able to tell me something, anything. Not good enough,” Arlys said, with steel in her voice. “I go, and I tell people, show when I can, as it happens. I show them when you go down to the containment center, what Hargrove and his bastardized government have done. I show them you, Fallon. I show them The One. For most people, seeing’s believing. You need this, and I’ve earned it.”
“Have you talked to Will about this?” At Arlys’s cool stare, Fallon rolled her eyes. “Not because he’s a man. Because he’s your mate, and a commander.”
“Okay. Yes, we talked. He didn’t have an argument that overcame mine. You don’t, either.”