by Alex Gordon
She doesn’t breathe. Lauren listened for any sound of gasping or struggle, but Fernanda simply pressed against the wall, then rose to her feet. If she doesn’t breathe she’s already dead and you can’t kill what’s already dead. Her thoughts ran together in a single stream and she knew that the creatures’ venom had started to slow her, poison her, kill her.
Fernanda started toward her again. Then she stopped.
Lauren heard the sound of footsteps coming down the staircase. Knew who it was before she turned to look and even if she couldn’t have guessed, the expression of triumph on Fernanda’s face would have told her.
Still, she turned, and she looked.
Nyssa stared down at her, eyes widening as she took in the blood and other damage. “I told you that you should’ve let me do this.”
“Darling.” Fernanda held out her hand. “You’ve come to me.”
Nyssa’s hand tightened on the railing. “I really don’t want to.”
“Of course you do.” Fernanda laughed, a sound not quite human. “You always used to say that. The first word you ever said was ‘no.’”
“Nyssa?” Lauren tried to stand, staggered, gripped one of the stairs, and worked upright. “This place isn’t what it looks like. It’s a warren. It’s a pit. It’s dirt and cold and damp. It’s not a place for you. You’ll die here.”
Nyssa descended the last step. “I’m broken. You know I am. I told you. If I stay in this world, I’ll always be like this. Over in her world, I’m not. Over there, it’s quiet and I can think, and if I can think, I can fight. Can’t you understand that?”
“Of course I can.” Lauren tried to nod, but stopped when the stars flashed before her eyes. “But you can learn to cope here, too. I could teach you.”
“Darling?” Fernanda’s voice bit. “Why are you talking to her? You should be talking to me.”
“Shut up!” Nyssa’s voice sounded muffled, deadened by the dirt that surrounded them. “I’m talking to my friend and you can just shut up.” She turned back to Lauren. “No, you wouldn’t be able to teach me anything because you came here knowing you weren’t coming back.” She touched Lauren’s hand. “It’s the one thing I can do to help. I’ve never been able to help anyone ever. But I can do this one thing that no one else can. All the awfulness my family did, I can make right.” Her eyes brimmed. “Please.”
“I don’t know what you’ll find over there.” Lauren’s voice cracked.
“It has to be better than what I’ve got here.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Can you let me be the judge of that?”
“This isn’t a trial run. You go with her and you will become something else and you may not like what that is.”
“I’ve been that person my whole life.” Nyssa looked at Lauren with eyes infinitely old, infinitely kind. “Let me go.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to the thing that had been her mother. “You brought me here when I was little and you gave me to them. I don’t want to go to your world, but I don’t have a choice, do I? You broke me for this one.”
“You belong with me, not with the men who would destroy us both.” For the first time, Fernanda seemed shaken, subdued. Human. “I talked with your grandfather so much. He told me about this place. About what happened here. Your father knew, and he didn’t care. I knew, and I cared. I did what was best for you, darling.”
“Sure you did.” The fear, the shakiness, fell away from Nyssa like a shed skin. She looked back again at Lauren. “Tell Dad I’m sorry. Tell him I know he tried.” She took one step toward her mother, then another, as the creatures crowded around her and stroked her and thrummed. “You don’t want me here because you love me—”
“Yes, I do, darling, so much—”
“—but because you hate him. There’s a difference.” Nyssa gestured toward Lauren. “Do you remember how she stopped you?”
“She never stopped me, Nyssa.”
“She took all the pain in a block of wood and put it on you, pain you didn’t even have anything to do with.” Nyssa held up her hand. “What about the hurt you did make? What about everything that’s happened to me? Every overdose. Every nightmare. Every second of the never-ending hell inside my head. What would happen if I gave it all back to you?”
Fernanda took a step back. “Darling—”
Nyssa sprang forward. She stood taller than Fernanda and possessed the strength of the living, the drive and desperation and anger. She pushed the thing that had been her mother back, pummeled her with her fists, down the corridor until they fell into the spreading dark. The creatures leapt about, back and forth, unsure whether to attack because this female was of mother and therefore was mother. Mother attacking mother.
Lauren felt it all through the floor, the walls. The air rippled, eddies forming and fading, as the lights flared, then flashed off. Pitch dark now, but for the thin light through the hole in the ceiling. A doorway no longer, but a hole carved from dirt and strung with roots and the remains of dead things.
She looked down the corridor, squinted into the dark. Detected movement of some sort, along the floor, the walls and ceiling. Rippling, buzzing, getting closer.
You better run, Lauren. Nyssa’s voice, rattling through her brain. Now.
Lauren felt the ground beneath her feet shudder as a scream rent the thick, stinking air. The cry of an animal in pain as limbs shattered and tore away. The cry of a woman who finally got what she asked for, and realized too late what that meant.
The air boiled.
Lauren struggled up the rusted, filthy staircase. Dragged herself out of the hole, then shambled through the building and out into the night on legs gone stiff and numb. She could hear them from behind, the creatures that still lived, felt their confusion and their rage and their fear.
No mother. Need mother.
Find mother.
Lauren stumbled and fell. She looked back and saw the flames lick and tumble out of the building, burning creatures spewing forth like sparks, smoke billowing. She tried to get up, but this time her legs refused to obey. The numbness had moved past her waist. She fought to pull air into her lungs and lost the battle.
She lay her head in the cool grass. Closed her eyes. Waited for the fire.
Mistress?
Lauren stirred as the voice filled her head.
Can you hear me? Please say you can hear me.
She tried to move her jaw to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. So she thought them instead. I can hear you. As soon as they formed and faded, she felt herself floating, drifting, twisting through the air, as though she were a kite being reeled in. Did it work? The ward?
Of course it did. A sensation of injury, surprise. I am quite good, you know.
Lauren knew when she passed through the ward, like a rake of static over her face, her arms. Flexed her toes as the numbness subsided and feeling returned to her legs, the pained tingling of awakening nerves.
A favor, Mistress? If someone should ask about me, tell them you didn’t see me here. A beat of silence. Better yet, tell them you never saw me at all. Then came a blare of sound—shouts and cries, the pound of running feet.
Rocks poked Lauren though her shirt. She opened her eyes, raised her head, squinted into the gloom, and saw Jenny run off the trail and pelt down the slope toward her.
“We need to get out of here.” Jenny grabbed a fistful of Lauren’s shirt and dragged her to her feet as behind them, buildings exploded and flames raced toward them.
They met others along the way—Stef, and Peter and other members of the Council—and ran toward the vehicles. Then Peter slid to a stop.
“Stef?” He whirled around. “Where—?” He cried “No” and sprinted back down the trail.
Lauren looked over her shoulder to find Stef collapsed and Peter kneeling at her side. She shook out of Jenny’s grip, left her swearing, and hobbled back up the trail
“Leave me.” Stef worked into a sitting position. “I can slow the fire down.”
“No.” Peter tried to pull her to her feet. “I’ll carry you. I’ll carry you.”
“You’ll carry a corpse. To what purpose? Let me do what I can here, now.” Stef pressed a hand over her heart, then touched his face. Raised her voice as the fire roared ever closer. “We all pay for our sins in the end.” Her gaze moved to Lauren. “I’m sorry.” She pulled away from Peter and turned to face the flames just as they licked out and caught her, held her and consumed her. Then they flashed and faded and shuddered back, black smoke billowing, as though they had been doused by a deluge.
Lauren pulled Peter along, and together they barreled down the trail and into the waiting Jeep. Before they could settle into the seats, Jenny hit the gas and sped down the trail as behind them evergreens exploded, the force sending fireballs shooting through the air like bombs.
Lauren held on to the seat with both hands as the Jeep bumped and jostled and exhaustion struck like a punch in the gut. She slumped forward, heard Jenny shout. Felt arms wrap around from behind.
Then came Peter’s voice in her ear, telling her to hang on. It started strong, but then faded to a whisper and finally to nothing as the darkness claimed her.
LAUREN OPENED HER eyes, then squinched them shut as light stabbed, drew tears, made her sneeze. She waited a few moments, then tried again.
She still sat in the front passenger seat of the Jeep. Jenny and Peter had buckled her in, covered her with a striped beach towel in lieu of a blanket, and left a bottle of water and a candy bar on her lap along with a note.
Decided to let you sleep—we’re inside the diner. Jen.
Noise gradually seeped in. Voices. The roar of engines and the whap-whap of helicopters. Lauren uncapped the water and took a long swig, then looked around. Parking lot. Truck stop. Pickups and fire engines. Network news vans.
And, in the distance, a burning mountain, smoke boiling upward like the belch from a volcano.
She undid her seat belt and slid out of the Jeep, then held on and waited for her legs to adjust. The right one still felt numb. Hand-size patches of dried blood stained her pants, her shirt was torn, and she smelled as though she had been dragged through a pile of burning garbage.
She looked toward the diner and saw someone wave at her through the window. Jen, holding up a cup of coffee and motioning for her to join them.
Lauren pointed to her shirt, then held her nose. Rummaged for the candy bar, unwrapped it, and dispatched it with a few bites. Tried not to think about the past night, or how it had ended.
As she continued to watch the organized uproar, a white stretch limousine drifted into the adjacent space. The windows of the passenger section had been tinted black, making it impossible to see whether anyone sat inside.
Then one of the rear windows lowered.
“Excuse us.” A young man stuck his head out. “We are looking for someone. We fear that he was on the mountain.” His voice lilted, the accents on the wrong syllables. Whatever his first language had been, it wasn’t English. “Eugene Kas—” He frowned, blinked. “Kaster.” A broad smile revealed perfect white teeth. “Have you seen him?”
Lauren looked past the man to the person who sat next to him. A woman. An intimidating blonde, tall and expensively dressed in a black business suit.
“Excuse us.” The young man waved in Lauren’s face. “Have you seen him? Was he on the mountain?”
Lauren smiled. “I haven’t seen him.” Not for several hours, anyway.
“But he was on the mountain?”
“He may have been. There were so many people there. A conference at the Carmody compound.” Lauren shrugged. “I’m sorry.” She bent as low as she could, and looked past the man to the blonde. “Do you have a photograph? I’m not even sure if I know who he is.”
The woman stared back, jewel-green eyes as unblinking as a snake’s. She placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and he settled back in his seat. The window whispered closed and the limousine drove off.
Lauren watched it turn back onto the road and vanish around a bend. Heads up, Gene. She wondered where he was now, and if he would be able to run far enough, hide well enough.
Then she looked around the parking lot, in search of the last person in the world she ever wanted to see.
She found Carmody seated on the tailgate of a battered pickup, his pack and a half-empty water bottle by his side. She waited for him to look at her, then realized that he never would. “It finally hit me, why you never called in the Council before to shut Jericho down. You wanted the knowledge that was trapped there. But you couldn’t tap into it as long as Fernanda was up there waiting for you, and you couldn’t shut her down without breaking the connection and losing it all. What were you going to do with it? Sell it to the feds? Personal use?”
Carmody took a bandanna from his pocket, and wiped sweat and grime from his face. “My daughter’s up there now, burning, isn’t she?”
Lauren hesitated. However much she disliked this man, she didn’t want to break the news to him. “She wanted me to tell you that she’s sorry. She knows you tried, but—”
“It was supposed to be you.” Carmody’s voice shook. “She’s supposed to be alive now, not you. You are supposed to be up there.” He jerked his chin toward the flaming mountain. “That was the plan.”
Lauren shivered despite the heat.
“I read the Gideon report. You were ready to die, to save people you barely knew. Strangers. You would’ve died, if Connie Petersbury hadn’t saved you. You take the bullets—that’s your nature.” Carmody flexed his hand, made a fist. “You were supposed to take hers.”
Lauren racked her brain for a response, but what do you say to someone who just informed you that they planned your death? She turned, and started back to the Jeep.
“This doesn’t end here.”
Lauren looked back over her shoulder in time to see Carmody slide off the tailgate and disappear into the crowd.
CHAPTER 29
The fire burned for three days, destroying Jericho, the Carmody compound, laying waste to the mountain. Experts couldn’t determine why the flames didn’t spread despite the dry conditions and the prevailing winds. Luck, they said.
Magic.
CHAPTER 30
Portland, Oregon Three Weeks Later
Lauren paused on the sidewalk in front of the midcentury building and leaned against a lamppost to catch her breath. She had spent a week in the hospital after the fire. Peter snuck in poultices made according to Stef’s recipe while the doctors consulted botanists and entomologists and tried to figure out what in hell had caused her injuries. When she felt strong enough, she signed herself out, leaving them none the wiser. Some truths you just had to keep to yourself.
She took the stone stairs one slow step at a time, hampered by a residual limp that waxed and waned with her energy levels. The building was a four-story space that had served as a start-up incubator during the dot-com boom and still bore a stylized atom etched in the glass over the entry door.
“We should get rid of it, I guess.” Peter met Lauren in the lobby, which was lined with glass-walled meeting rooms and centered with a polished maple reception desk. “But I like the incongruity.” He led her into the first of the building’s two small elevators, which bore old-fashioned dial floor indicators. “Stef did, too.”
“You mean, science versus what we do?” Lauren felt a jolt of irritation. “I’d like to think there’s a link in there somewhere.”
“When you find it, let some of my former colleagues know.” Peter hit the button for the basement floor, and offered the weak smile of a man who had received a few too many wizard hats for Christmas.
“Are you going to be able to keep this place without Carmody’s assistance?” Lauren held on to the handrail as the car jostled downward.
“I think so.” Peter leaned against the polished metal wall. “We’re looking into alternate income streams.”
“Such as?”
“You would be surprised at w
ho’s been contacting us since word got out that we’re no longer affiliated with Andrew. That man has more enemies than he realizes.”
The car rattled to a stop, and they stepped out into a narrow, door-lined corridor made bright by two parallel tracks of fluorescent bulbs. The chalky green walls reminded Lauren of the Jericho site, and she fought the feeling that if she turned around, she would see one of the forest children standing there, watching her. She forced herself to look back over her shoulder, confirmed that nothing was there, wondered if the time would ever come when she would stop looking. “You really keep your office down here?”
“I like it.” Peter pulled out a set of keys from his pocket. “It’s quiet, and lack of windows means fewer distractions.” He stopped in front of an unmarked steel door, unlocked it, then stood still with his hand on the knob. “I decided that I could do with a little less scenery for a while.” He stared down at the floor for a moment, then opened the door.
Lauren followed him inside what proved to be a large, well-furnished space complete with a small library and a separate meeting room equipped for videoconferencing.
“I tried to schedule for a little later in the day, but she was insistent. I guess time and horses wait for no Mistress of Gideon.” Peter led Lauren into the room, then went about setting things up.
“Can you give me a hint what you’re thinking?” Lauren rolled a chair in front of the video screen, then grabbed a cup of coffee from the carafe on the side table.
“No, I’m going to be mean and keep things close to my vest for a bit longer.” Peter booted up the system, then punched in a phone number.
Lauren sat in her chair, coffee in hand, and watched the screen change from white to blue standby.
Then the display lightened, and a familiar face flickered into view.
“Well, look at that.” Virginia sat at the desk in her tiny office, her gray cap of waves and light blue shirt bright against the wood-paneled wall, the plank shelves. “I can see you like I’m looking through a window.” She fiddled with a sheet of paper. “Brittany set this thing up, wrote out the directions telling me which keys to press and which to leave be. Glad somebody here understands this stuff.” She studied the sheet for a moment, then set it aside.