Anew: Book One: Awakened

by Litton, Josie

  It takes me a few moments to understand that we are still inside, looking out through walls of glass that stretch from floor to ceiling. They rise at least fifty feet to a clear domed ceiling. I can see a vast swathe of sky above the rivers to the east and west that flow around the island city. To the south I can even make out the immense statue of a woman holding a torch in her hand that guards the entrance to the harbor.

  Pinnacle House is rightly named. I feel as though I’ve come to the top of the world, leaving all the rest behind.

  The palazzo is beautiful and elegant, a fitting residence for a man of Ian’s accomplishments. But this is something more, a glimpse of the inner man free and unfettered, without barriers or restraints. It takes my breath away.

  “This is extraordinary,” I murmur.

  To my surprise, he looks relieved. “It doesn’t appeal to everyone. I’m glad you like it. I have a few minutes before I have to be in a meeting. Let me show you around.”

  His mood has lightened. I can’t help wondering if it is because I can appreciate a place that means a great deal to him? Or, having brought me here, is he now satisfied that he has me safe?

  Once I’m passed the sensation of being suspended in mid-air, I begin to notice that the penthouse is warm and welcoming, filled with an eclectic mix of furnishings at once masculine and appealing.

  The few interior walls add texture and dimension as well as providing space for works of art. One wall, made entirely of brick, frames a large fireplace facing a comfortable seating area.

  Nearby is a dining area with a table that is a plank of gnarled and polished redwood set on a wrought iron base. It looks as though it can seat more than a dozen.

  Opposite that is a kitchen filled with stainless steel appliances that match the exposed duct work and compliment the dark wood cabinetry. A slanted skylight runs the width of the space above what I recognize as a smaller version of the hydroponic garden I saw at the palazzo.

  I haven’t felt any real urge to experiment with cooking but the thought that I could pick fresh vegetables, herbs, and more and make use of them to prepare a meal for Ian is suddenly appealing, unlikely as that is to happen under the present circumstances.

  A study is set apart from the rest of the living space. There is also a combination gym and dojo, a wine 'closet' that I suspect is bigger than many people’s apartments, several guest suites, and more. I can barely take it all in but I do notice that the entire floor is surrounded by a spacious terrace reached through pivoting glass doors similar to those in the spa at the palazzo.

  The most eye-catching feature of the main floor is the glass staircase that appears to float in mid-air, doubling back on itself at a landing before disappearing above to the second level.

  “What’s up there?” I ask.

  He hesitates before indicating that I should precede him up the stairs to what I quickly realize is a more private area. It’s about half the size of the floor below, which it overlooks. Beyond an open living space, glass panels enclose what must be the master bedroom dominated by a huge four poster bed made of gleaming ebony.

  The sense of spaciousness carries through to a private roof garden that though outdoors seems an integral part of the bedroom itself, separated only by more of the glass panels. Beds of small raked stones hold large ceramic pots planted with bonsai trees that have been cultivated into beautiful, evocative shapes.

  A nearby fountain bubbles up softly, overflowing along a bamboo pipe into a rough stone urn before spilling down its glistening sides. I can just make out the sound of a Japanese lute playing softly in the background. The overall effect is remarkably serene. We could be miles away from the city, in a world entirely our own.

  “How do you ever bear to leave here?” I ask sincerely. “The palazzo is lovely but this--” I really can’t find the words to describe my reaction to his aerie hidden away in the sky.

  “I enjoy both,” he says. “But I’ve never appreciated this place more than I do right now.” He hesitates, his eyes dark as he studies me. “I’m very glad you’re here, Amelia,” he says softly. “Nothing matters more than knowing you’re safe.”

  A look of pain flashes across his face but is gone as quickly as it comes. Abruptly, he transforms, his expression once again unreadable.

  “Please make yourself at home," he says. "If you get hungry, there’s food in the kitchen or just use the link to connect with the concierge desk. They can send up anything you need.”

  Pinnacle House has a full service concierge. Well, of course it does.

  I pin on a smile, determined not to let him see how much his remoteness hurts me.

  “Thank you, but it will be awhile before I’m over the scotch bombs, chocolate marshmallow zonkers, and all the rest.”

  Ian frowns. “I’m going to have a talk with Hayden.”

  “He’s your friend,” I say softly. “And he’s been worried about you. So have I.”

  He frowns, clearly rejecting the idea that there could be any reason for our concern. Quickly, he goes on. “Just be aware that all security protocols are in place so--”

  “If I try to leave, I’ll be zapped?”

  Frustration with how closed off and obdurate he is being sharpens my tone. I’m not entirely serious but Ian’s fortress is likely to have defenses I would rather not confront.

  His eyes darken. “Do you want to leave?”

  I counter with a question of my own. “Is that an option? I didn’t think you were giving me a choice.”

  He stiffens but to his credit he doesn’t deny what is self-evidently true. “I’m not. Pinnacle House is the safest place by far for you to be. You’ll stay here until the threat from the HPF has been eliminated.”

  His eyes are once again hooded and unreadable. Only his labored breathing and the heat I feel rising from his body reassure me that I am not alone in feeling the dark pull of whatever this is that exists between us.

  With a hard look at me, he says, “If you try to leave before then, you will be stopped, you will be brought back and this time, I damn well will collar you and do anything else I need to in order to keep you safe regardless of how you feel about it.”

  I’m still gaping at him, stunned by this blunt declaration, when he turns and without a backward glance walks away.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Amelia

  Ian’s threat followed so swiftly by his departure leaves me shaken and bereft. For long moments, I remain where I am near the glass staircase. It’s so quiet in the apartment that I can hear droplets of water falling in the terrace garden and the murmur of wind wrapping around the building.

  Gradually, it dawns on me that I am more alone than I have been since I fled from the palazzo. The combination of stress and solitude threatens to let loose the terrifying memories that I first confronted then.

  Rather than wait for that to happen, I decide to take Ian at his word and make myself at home.

  That starts with a shower in the master bathroom. I could use one of the guest suites but the need to feel closer to him even in such a small way is irresistible. My candy binge has left me sticky but I’m also hoping that the hot water will unclench muscles that have been tense for days, ever since the polo game.

  The bathroom is set apart from the master bedroom by a wall of bottle glass tiles that provides a sense of privacy. But that impression vanishes when I realize that the rest of the large space has a completely unfettered view out over the city. While I don’t have a problem with the occasional high-flying hawk getting a peek at me, I draw the line at aircraft, binoculars, telescopes, and the ever-present drones.

  I’m entertaining the possibility that Ian may have some exhibitionist tendencies that escaped my notice when I take a closer look at the outer wall and realize that it isn’t as clear as it appears at first glance. Tiny particles are scattered throughout it. I don’t know for certain what they’re for but I do have a suspicion.

  Pressing my nose against the glass and tilting my head,
I manage to peer at the expanse of the outer wall to the right of the bathroom. I should be looking into the open living space but instead I can’t see a thing. From the outside, the glass is a shimmering silver that is completely opaque.

  Reassured that I won’t be on display after all, I waste no time stripping off my clothes and getting into the shower. Water begins to spray from the dozen or more nozzles and--

  Ohmygod! Ian has to be out of his mind! Who sets a shower to deliver run-off from a glacier?

  I leap out and stand naked, frozen, and dripping while I fumble at the control panel and reset the temperature. Steam is filling the bathroom before I feel safe enough to get back in.

  The hot soothing water does just what I’d hoped. By the time I get out again, I’m thoroughly non-sticky and more relaxed than I have been in days.

  Not even the HPF and its violent craziness or Ian’s strange withdrawal can diminish my improved mood. I’m wrapped in a towel and fluffing my hair dry when I realize that I don’t have any fresh clothes.

  I can put what I was wearing back on but Ian did say to make myself at home.

  Behind a sliding Japanese-style wall screen on the far side of the master bedroom, I find an expansive walk-in closet. In addition to a supply of the black jeans and T-shirts I know that Ian favors, it holds an array of custom suits, shirts, ties, handmade shoes, evening clothes, elegant cufflinks, expensive watches, and everything else that an alpha male/defense tech mogul would be expected to wear.

  Best yet, the closet has a seductive smell--cedar paneling and polished leather mingling with the aromas of wool, cotton, and linen. I could linger there happily but I’m starting to feel a little chilly in just a towel.

  I pluck a robe from its hangar and put it on. It wouldn’t reach Ian’s knees but it droops much lower on me. I have to wrap it around myself before tying the belt. It reminds me of the robe in the spa. I can feel myself blushing from head to toe.

  Still refusing to entertain any of my myriad fears, I make my way back downstairs to the main floor and explore the kitchen. It’s not lavishly stocked but there’s an array of healthy snacks and a selection of beverages including various beers and wines.

  I’m considering offsetting the sugar overdose with salty chips when a nearby link chimes.

  “My dear child!” My grandmother looks close to tears when I answer. Her lovely face, beautiful in a way that time can never touch, is tight with dread. “Teddy just told me the terrible news. Are you all right?”

  I’ve been grateful from the beginning for Adele’s whole-hearted acceptance of a new grand-daughter into her life, one she could never have expected to encounter. She and Edward had given me an incredibly precious gift--a sense of family. But now the stark evidence of how much she truly cares for me makes me more aware than ever of how fortunate I am.

  I’m suddenly perilously close to tears myself. Quickly, I assure her, “I’m fine, really. I couldn’t be safer.” Not physically at least, or so I have more or less convinced myself.

  She touches a lace-edged hankie to her nose and nods. “It’s probably for the best that you’re with Ian. Pinnacle House is said to be a fortress.”

  That’s putting it mildly but I don’t want to alarm my grandmother by going into too much detail about what I’ve seen just in the short time I’ve been there. She’s far too intelligent not to question why there are so many armed men who look better suited to a military installation than to a corporate headquarters in the city of the world’s elite.

  “Anyone foolish enough to try to get in here without permission would regret it very quickly.” I refuse to ponder the fact that the same is true for anyone trying to get out.

  “I’m so glad to hear that,” Adele says. “Hopefully, you won’t have to be there too long. Those dreadful HPF people should have been dealt with months ago. At least now the authorities will have no choice but to act.”

  “Why now?” I ask. “And why not before?”

  “Didn’t Ian tell you? The Institute was in San Francisco on the grounds of the old Presidio military base. That area has become quite exclusive. I’m sure you can imagine what a shock it is to the residents to have such an attack occur practically under their noses.”

  Of course Ian didn’t tell me. Why should he when clearly his assumption is that I am going to be where he wants me to be and do what he wants me to do regardless of any doubts, questions, or ideas of my own that I may possess?

  Infuriating man.

  “They must be outraged.” I can only imagine how the pampered elite of Manhattan would react to such an incursion into their own privileged world. They’d be screaming for blood.

  “But why didn’t the authorities do anything sooner?” I ask. “From what I found on the link, the HPF have carried out numerous attacks. They killed almost a dozen people before today and injured many more.”

  “Politics, my dear,” Adele says with disgust. “Public opinion has moved so sharply against the existence of clones and replicas that taking any action to defend them is seen as too risky.”

  She pauses for a moment. “Teddy thinks someone is stirring things up. He says all the signs are there--stories planted, incidents staged, opinion makers bought and paid for. The problem is no one knows who’s behind it.”

  This is food for thought. I haven’t considered the possibility that public opinion is being manipulated.

  “Couldn’t the HPF itself be responsible?” I ask.

  “Certainly, but nothing happens without money. The question is where is that coming from?”

  I see her point. For the HPF to carry out the attacks that it has, and to also mount an effective effort to shape public opinion, it would have to be very well funded. I wonder who hates the idea of clones and replicas enough to provide that level of support.

  “At any rate,” Adele goes on, “you’re safe and that’s what matters. As much as I would love to visit, I don’t want to risk drawing attention to your whereabouts. However, I can send over clothes and anything else you’d like.”

  My grandmother has a somewhat different idea than I do about what I need. Before long, I give up trying to persuade her and decide to just wait and see what she considers necessary for a stay at a 21st century fortress ruled over by a presumptuous, all-too seductive man who, however much I may try to resist him, keeps drawing me as the proverbial moth to the flame.

  “We’re letting it be known that you are indisposed,” Adele says. “Nothing terribly serious, of course, but enough to explain your absence from social events. However, we must be realistic. If this goes on very long, people will notice.”

  The last thing I want is anyone asking prying questions. “How much time do you think we have?” I ask.

  “The Crystal Ball is in ten days,” she says promptly, indicating that she has been giving this some thought. “Everyone will be there. Your absence would draw attention and invite speculation about Cousin Amelia that we definitely do not want.”

  I’m pondering that after we say ‘goodbye’ and at the same time feeling very much at loose ends in the huge, otherwise empty space when the door chime announces Hodgkin’s arrival.

  As though it’s the most natural thing in the world to find me in Ian’s apartment wrapped in his robe, the tall, dour-faced steward says, “Good afternoon, Miss Amelia. My apologies for not being here to welcome you. I’ve only just arrived from the palazzo. I took the liberty of bringing a few items from your dressing room that I thought you might find useful.”

  I smile gratefully. Whatever Adele is sending, I trust Hodgkin to have chosen well. He doesn’t disappoint. A short while later, I’m dressed in a fawn twill skirt, a soft beige chambray shirt tucked in to a wide brown leather belt, and coordinated strappy sandals with mercifully low heels. I pull my hair back in a high pony tail and glance in the mirror. I look far more together than I feel.

  Returning to the main floor, I’m surprised to find a tall, statuesque woman with cocoa brown skin and gleaming black hair waiting f
or me. Her hazel eyes hold the hard sheen of flint as she stares down her nose at me.

  With a bare minimum of civility, she says, “Good afternoon, Miss McClellan. I’m Gabriella Darque. I work for Mr. Slade. He asked me to show you around.”

  She’s clearly less than thrilled that I’ve been delegated to her. I’m not too happy about it myself.

  “Thank you, but that isn’t necessary. I can wait until Ian is free.”

  She goes on as though I haven’t spoken. “Mr. Slade wants you to be familiar with the facilities that are available for your use. Please come with me.”

  I can refuse, in which case I will look more than a little childish. Or I can be a good little girl and do as I’m told. Neither option has any appeal so I choose the one that will at least satisfy my curiosity.

  “By all means, Miss Darque. What Mr. Slade wants, Mr. Slade gets.”

  She frowns but doesn’t say anything more until we’re in the elevator when she hands me a thin, highly polished metal wristband similar to one I notice she is wearing. Now that I think of it, so was Hodge.

  “Put this on,” she says. “It’s coded to your identification and will give you access to the areas of the building that you’re cleared to enter.”

  “What would those be?” I ask. The band looks like a bracelet. I quickly confirm that I can remove it as easily as it snaps on.

  “The penthouse, recreational areas, fitness centers, pools, and so on. Medical, if that’s ever necessary. The mall--”

  “There’s a mall here?”

  Gabriella Darque appears surprised at my ignorance. “More than twenty thousand people work at Pinnacle House, Miss McClellan. Most also live here along with their families. Residential levels are interspersed with recreational and entertainment areas, food courts, shopping pavilions, nature centers, hydroponic gardens, and so on. Separate nodes contain operational areas, training facilities, armories, and research and development labs.”