Reckoning (The Watchers Book 5)

by Veronica Wolff

  A bark of a laugh escaped Carden. “That sop?” Then he was instantly serious. A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Not for long. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, but I knew. There’d been a time when Carden’s words would’ve upset me, or confused me, or worried me for his safety. But now they only shored up this wall I was rapidly constructing around my heart. It was always going to be some battle or other with these guys.

  “So Fournier is dead, huh? And the Spaniard finally found the spine to make his move.” Carden stared out the window, contemplating. “Fournier, dead. Dagursson, dead. All we need to do is dispatch Sonja, and once more we shall claim Eyja næturinnar for our own.”

  Ronan only nodded.

  In a move I was sure had been cultivated to annoy, Carden reached over and jostled his shoulder. “You seem tense, pup. What’s your concern?”

  Without looking at me, Ronan twitched his head ever so slightly toward me. “It’s not safe for her.”

  Fresh outrage erupted like lava in my belly. I was so not about to be discussed in the third person.

  I craned my body forward to the very edge of the bench seat. “So that’s why you came? To stop me? Because you think I’m weak? Or are you just scared I might hurt your sister?”

  Ronan’s face was like granite, but those haunted green eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and locked with mine for the space of two heartbeats.

  He looked back to the road and said flatly and simply, “There’s a cloak on the floor. Put it on. Cover yourself with the blanket. When we reach the tunnel, you must hide as best you can. I don’t want you with the others. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Now it’s too dangerous?” An exasperated breath puffed from my mouth in a cloud of steam. “Fine. Whatever. You boys clearly know what you’re doing.”

  I settled myself under layers of fabric, muttering curses with every bump and jostle of my body against the hard bench. I focused on the sound of the truck’s shifting gears.

  We slowed. There was a jarring thud-thud-thud-thud as the wheels clattered rapid-fire over what sounded like metal bars set in the tarmac.

  Sound began to echo differently. Electric light sliced into the truck, strongly enough to glow amber through the layers of fabric covering me. Ronan sped up again.

  We were in the tunnel.

  After a few minutes, there was an explosive burst of air outside the truck and I was shrouded once more in blackness.

  Out of the tunnel again.

  We gradually slowed to a stop. Ronan unrolled his window, and a deliciously fresh breeze rushed into the cab, carrying the loud caws of sea birds. There were shouts, too, and I strained to make sense of voices calling out in German, English, some Nordic languages, too.

  A male voice was suddenly right there, loud and speaking to Ronan at the window: who was he, what was in the truck, who sent him, what was his affiliation?

  Carden began to speak, but a thickly accented voice stopped him. “Not you. We want to hear what this human has to say for himself.”

  As Ronan delivered his answers—delivery…offering for the Rising…for Jacob…I serve Freya.

  It was probably the first time he’d publicly claimed to side with her instead of Sonja, and while I might’ve been pissed at him, I had to give him props for courage.

  But the sentry wasn’t so impressed. He peppered Ronan with more questions, and as the Tracer replied, he pitched his voice in a subtle extension of his persuasive powers.

  But it didn’t work. The male voice grew tense.

  I was taking only shallow sips of air now, petrified that this guard who stood a mere foot away from my head might detect me.

  They sounded increasingly strained as the interrogation went on. Yes, Ronan knew Sonja. As did Carden. No, Ronan was simply a courier. Yes, he’d spent time on Eyja næturinnar. Yes, just a courier.

  “A dumb courier who knows nothing,” Carden interrupted.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” a female voice cut in.

  I sucked in a breath and held it, nails cutting into my palms. Because I recognized that voice.

  “This is no mere courier. Brother dear, how lovely you could join us.”

  It was Charlotte.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Lottie,” Ronan said.

  Not Charlotte. Not crazed-vampire-shrew. But his old nickname for her. Lottie.

  How terribly sweet.

  The feeling of being double-crossed, of being lied to, betrayed, and stabbed in the back by the one person I’d thought I could trust bloomed anew, turning my stomach, making me feel like I might puke in the back of this stupid truck.

  “Did I hear you say you bring gifts from Freya?” she purred. “How very curious. That could only mean you’ve switched sides. I didn’t know you had it in you. I mean, who’d have guessed that a pair of brass balls came with the pretty face?”

  From the sounds in the front seat, it seemed like he flinched from her. “Oi, girl, hands off.”

  Charlotte giggled.

  My cheeks were damp, and I hated myself for the tears I realized were falling. Because it was a regular family reunion up front, what with Ronan clowning around with his sister…whom he almost certainly knew wanted me dead. Just as Lilac had wanted me dead. Lilac, whom he’d rescued from Eyja næturinnar.

  It was becoming completely clear just how little I actually knew Ronan. His voice was light, speaking with his sister, and the sound of it made me feel like the loneliest person in the world.

  “And look who you brought,” Charlotte chirped. “Carden McCloud. Please tell me this is my gift.” She tittered some more. “So Carden, you’ve sided with Freya, too? It’s not like you to be so bold with your alliances.”

  A guard called out, his voice shifting as he spoke to someone behind him. “It’s McCloud.”

  What had I thought? That we’d sneak in, I’d save my mom, and sneak back out? Stupid. They’d all warned me how dangerous this mission was. I’d been stupid and stubborn not to listen. Because apparently Carden was the only thing standing between me and Charlotte, and things weren’t exactly looking great for him.

  Ronan was all business as he said, “Just let us pass, Lottie.” I heard another rustle as he shifted, probably checking his watch, because he added, “It’s getting late. Jacob needs what’s in this truck as soon as possible. So if I were you, I’d expedite this, aye?”

  “It’d be no good for anyone if these goods were to spoil.” Carden sounded like he’d casually leaned across the cab to say it.

  Spoiled goods. That’s what we were to these vampires. Goods, then spoiled goods. The concept was so repellent, I shrank into myself even more. Would that I could shrink into nothing and just disappear.

  The sentry, further away now, said, “Jacob is occupied and doesn’t give two shites about your goods.”

  “It’s true.” Charlotte sighed, sounding bored. “Jacob is busy interrogating Sonja. She’s being asked to…explain herself. In fact, it’s very lucky for you two that you’ve decided to question your loyalties. It’s not a good time to be allied with her. Everyone who does seems to end up dead. Jacob thinks she’s lost control of her little kingdom.”

  Banging on the passenger door startled me, and I almost gave myself away by flinching.

  “Och, lad, cool your jets.” Carden’s usually easy confidence sounded strained. “The Rising is a joyful time. The cargo is never checked. What’s this then?”

  “You been under a rock?” another voice asked. “The coup on Sonja’s territory means heightened security for us.”

  “Which raises a very interesting question,” Charlotte said. “I wonder if we can trust you, Carden. Your timing does seem very convenient.”

  “He’s with me,” Ronan said tightly.

  “Yes, well. You’ve shown bad judgment before.”

  “Time for you to get out, McCloud,” the sentry said.

  But Carden only laughed. “You wish to unload the c
argo here?” He’d laced the words with playful disbelief.

  Oh, Carden. I’d been so annoyed with him, with his overbearing ways, but now he was my Carden. He was doing all he could to protect me, but what was this forced nonchalance costing him?

  “I’d get out if I were you,” Charlotte said lightly.

  “Now, McCloud.”

  Carden whispered under his breath, an anxious shite that made sweat break out in cold pinpricks up my spine. But when he opened the door, he was all calm and casual. “How might I be of service, lad?”

  Another voice burst in now, ragged and accented, accompanied by a hand slamming the hood. “Take him.”

  There was a shout. Carden cursed.

  Then a male voice in a close snarl, “I’ll know where your true allegiance lies if I have to torture you for the next five hundred years.”

  At least I thought that was what he said. I could barely make out the words through the sound of my heartbeat thundering in my ears. Dread was pumping through my veins, making my insides feel thick and slushy, chilling me to my core.

  There was a scuffle.

  “I can do it,” Carden snarled inexplicably, and I was desperate to see what was happening.

  Was Carden pulled from his seat or did he get out himself? Either way, I felt his sudden absence like a cold, black hole. I no longer even had our bond to strengthen me. Without him, I wouldn’t survive. There were just too many of them. What had I been thinking trying to sneak in here?

  My hand was resting on my boot. The misericordia. I could use it. I could kill everyone in my path if it came to it. It’d be suicide, but at least I’d be bringing as many of these monsters down with me as I could.

  “Now the only thing missing is that little pet you share.” Charlotte sniffed and sniffed again, then said with exaggerated wonder, “Or is she missing?”

  I was a sitting duck back here. Why wasn’t Ronan speaking up? He could’ve created some diversion. Was he going to just let this happen to me?

  The reality of my situation hit like a massive, bitter-cold wave, smacking me. Rolling over me.

  Everyone had told me all along just how valuable my blood was, and I’d refused to listen. Even Charlotte had warned me, dared me. But she’d have known. She’d have been waiting for me. Now I’d be dragged into these festivities, drained dry. My heart served up on a platter. And that would be that.

  Game over.

  “Did you bring me a present, brother?” Charlotte sniffed again, more deeply. Something poked my leg. “Ooh! What have we here?”

  I was dragged out by my foot, unceremoniously pulled from the back and hauled out the passenger-side door. I’d tucked my chin at the last moment, but I landed awkwardly, on my side, and my skull hit the tarmac hard.

  “Careful not to kill her,” was all Ronan had to say about it. “Her blood is too valuable.”

  Careful not to kill her. That was it. Not a peep more.

  I heard him get out of the car, and I was letting the tears flow now. It wasn’t even the knowledge that I was headed to my certain death—I’d been expecting that since I’d landed on the Isle of Night.

  I cried for the loss of Ronan. Who I’d thought he was. Who I’d thought I was to him.

  I was lonelier than alone. I was utterly bereft. I had nobody.

  There was my mother, I supposed. Though she was surely beyond my reach now. And anyway, who knew who she’d be? Who knew if she ever even spared me a thought?

  All I knew, all I had, was this very moment, and at this very moment, nobody cared.

  Even Carden—he might’ve stayed and thrown himself between me and the guards, but I knew with certainty, he’d be measuring his options until the bitter end. Weighing my life against the greater cause. He’d said it himself: these girls are a small loss in a single battle, when what we fight is a war.

  And what was I? Just another girl, after all, in a series of girls over centuries.

  Well, screw that. If I was going to go down, I’d go down swinging.

  I wiped my eyes and felt blood and tears smearing across my face. I rolled to my feet, then popped up.

  Ronan was instantly by my side. For a second, my heart swelled to think he’d changed his mind. That this surreal and horrific abandonment was just some terrible misunderstanding.

  We were a team again.

  But when I bent to pull the misericordia from my boot, he swept his hand out and grabbed my arm, jerking me so hard my head whipped sideways. His fingertips were bruising, curling to the bone.

  “No,” he growled, and then a surge of power hit me. I’d experienced his abilities before, but not like this. He blasted me with his power, and I couldn’t move. For a few seconds, I couldn’t even breathe.

  It surged through me—his will, his persuasion—but this time, I felt something more. A cacophony of intense emotion roiled from his hands and shot through me in bolts of excruciating pain. Light exploded in my head.

  It was too much. This was a violation.

  It was unbearable. Was this a flash of the true Ronan? It was fury. All chaos and white noise.

  I stumbled back a step and had to wipe my eyes to see. My mouth was suddenly full of too much saliva, and convulsively, I swallowed and swallowed again. I refused to gag like a sick child in front of these monsters. “Don’t…do that…again.”

  But he did grab me again, and I glared at him. Power was pulsing from him, shivering over my skin, and I shook it off. Shook him off. “I said, stop it.”

  “Lovers’ quarrel?” Charlotte had appeared at my shoulder.

  “He’s not my lover,” I snapped.

  “Is he not?”

  I turned to him. I raked him up and down with my gaze. In my heart, I said my final goodbye.

  I thought I knew him, but I’d been so, so wrong. He’d never been my friend; he’d always only been in service to the vampires. From the first moment I set eyes on him—this had been one long betrayal.

  Steadily, coldly, I said, “I could never love someone like him.”

  “Truly?” Charlotte stepped closer and peered from him to me and back again. She tilted her head, studying him with a little tsk-tsk. “Poor little Ronan. Nobody ever did love you back.”

  What did she mean? I stared at him, willing him to look at me, but he’d turned away and refused to meet my eyes.

  Charlotte turned to the guards, and in a brisk voice said, “Take my brother. I’ve decided he can’t be trusted.” She snapped her fingers at me. “And bring her in with the offering. She’ll round out Jacob’s feast nicely.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I was the first girl they dragged inside. It took two guards, and if I hadn’t been trailed by a dozen others dragging nearly as many Acari behind me, I could’ve gotten free. These guys were strong, but they weren’t Vampire—more like a Synod version of Tracers. That I was denied the opportunity to bring them down frustrated me beyond endurance. Instead, I had to satisfy myself with dragging my feet as I busted out every curse I could think of, in four different languages.

  But that was me being stupid and childish again—a road I’d been walking for almost two decades and probably what had gotten me into this situation in the first place. It was time to grow up, I chided myself. Reborn, remember?

  Being reckless wouldn’t get me out of this mess. Being smart would. Smart and strong.

  I still had fight in me—I was far from done. And, ironically, it’d been vampires who’d trained me for just this situation.

  I focused on my breath, forcing my heartbeat to slow. As we walked, I turned my attention to the factory itself. It was a warren of pipes and hallways in a palette of white and black and gray. The only pops of color to be found were on the occasional warning signs scattered throughout, with admonitions in Norwegian to Beware and Keep Out.

  There were workers around, too. Not many, but they were a grim lot—all human, decked out in crisp coveralls and hardhats.

  So, it was a working factory. Which meant those pipes had
natural gas running through them. I made a mental note, just in case I needed to blow this place off the map.

  Which I’d never do, I realized—not with all these human workers inside. I’d been changed by the vampires, but not that much. I refused to become a monster myself. It was an attitude that could very well kill me, but the reborn part of me—that lone, hard kernel of Annelise I shielded like a sputtering candle flame—thought that was okay.

  For a while, I managed to keep track of where we were going, constructing a mental map in my head. But the longer we traversed the labyrinth of colorless hallways, the more I lost my bearings.

  By the time we reached the freight elevator, I was completely turned around.

  I hesitated upon seeing it. It was one of those old-fashioned lifts with scrollwork and smoked mirror paneling, and I knew by now how old-fashioned things generally lead to old-fashioned bloodsuckers.

  But the guards shoved me in, stabbed the door-close button, and we went down. And down. There was a little click and flash of light with each floor we passed, and I counted up as we descended. When we finally got off, we were five stories underground. I pushed from my mind the thought that this meant we were as many stories beneath the sea.

  I was taken to a dimly lit dining room, and it was a jarring departure from the antiseptic brightness of the factory. Here, there was neither a human face nor hardhat in sight.

  Instead, rich, velvety brocades draped every surface. Candelabras were scattered about the room, resting atop thickly carved side tables. Arrangements looking like they’d been pulled straight out of a Baroque painting had been placed around the room, featuring dozens of dark roses, their scent hanging heavy in the air, plus bowls of fruit, decanters, a few skulls.

  Nice.

  Did I just say that out loud? Crap. I think I said it out loud, because about half a dozen pairs of cold, dead eyes slowly turned to me.

  Vampires—of the old and craggy Dagursson variety—were lounging in upholstered chairs around a table on which a massive feast was spread. The Synod of Seven, I presumed. And, I noted with some interest, they were all men. Female vampires were more powerful than their male counterparts, so why the testosterone fest?