Katya released her hold on the driver’s sleeve, and he adjusted his grip on the wheel with an expression of annoyance.
“You couldn’t kill me in any case,” Emily said triumphantly. “It simply can’t be done, no matter how many needles you apport into my brain.”
“That’s probably what Gaul Thule thought, too,” Katya said, her voice barely audible. “Don’t test me, Emily. I will find a way.”
“If things go as badly as John seems to think they will, then you may not have to. Don’t look so down, Katya, dear,” Emily said, turning her attention back to her phone. “There’s every chance that none of us will survive.”
Traffic was bad, and it became worse the closer they drew to the towering hotels of the Strip. It took most of an hour to reach their destination. When the car finally came to a halt, Alex hurried out impatiently onto the sidewalk, startled by the heat of the morning.
Emily led the motley group through the hotel lobby with the self-assurance of a regular guest, heading past the main desk to the reserved lobby beyond, ignoring the security guard who hurried over to shoo her away. Emily marched up to the reception desk and gave the man behind the counter a dazzling smile.
“My name is Emily Muir. Would you please let Anastasia Martynova know that we are here?”
The clerk nodded and picked up the phone.
They did not have to wait long. A private elevator behind the hotel lobby opened, spilling a pair of black wolves wearing collars, a handful of servants, and a young woman in a veil and a fancy black dress into the hotel lobby.
“Of all the people I’ve ever underestimated, Miss Muir, you absolutely take the cake,” Anastasia said, striding purposefully across the lobby, flanked by a severe man in a black suit and a demure woman in a black dress. “You do not lack for boldness, or initiative, do you?”
“Ana!” Katya cried out, pushing to the front of their group, her expression anguished. “Oh my God! Ana, I…”
“Not here,” Anastasia snapped. “We are not exclusively among friends.”
Katya stiffened, her face reddening as she gave Anastasia a quick nod. Alex watched with obvious concern.
“Aw. Are we still not friends?” Emily grinned. “After everything I’ve done for you, too.”
Anastasia stopped in front of them, giving the group an appraising look.
“Ms. Aoki! I’m pleased to see you,” Anastasia said, raising a plucked eyebrow. “I had heard that you were dead.”
“I’m told that I was, but if so, I never noticed it,” Mitsuru said. “I feel fine.”
“A little forgetfulness can be a blessing,” Emily explained blithely. “Isn’t that right, Alex?”
“I see that your talent for survival has not yet failed you, Mr. Warner,” Anastasia said. “I am glad.”
“I heard about your dad,” Alex said bashfully. “I’m sorry, Anastasia.”
“Then you must have also heard that I am now the Mistress of the Black Sun, and to be addressed accordingly,” Anastasia said, with a slight smile. “Your condolences, however, are appreciated.”
“Ana…Lady Martynova, please,” Katya said, approaching hesitantly. “I really need to talk to you.”
“I am also most eager for us to speak,” Anastasia said. “First, however, I must know why all of you are here.”
“I just did you quite the favor, so I thought that you might want to do me a tiny one in return,” Emily said, smiling. “Also, I think you have to marry Katya.”
Anastasia turned her puzzled look on Katya.
“It’s a long story,” Katya said. “Involving you-know-who.”
Anastasia gestured and a cloud of servants and hotel employees descended like the locusts on Egypt.
Red-jacketed bell boys and smiling hospitality managers in suits ushered them to the elevators in thoughtfully separated groups, the entire process taking place so rapidly that Alex found himself voicing his late objections to a nervous elevator operator. He shut up and focused on the view, feeling a weird glee when the counter indicated that they had stopped at the very top floor.
A trio of women in black dresses were waiting when the doors opened, taking some of the group one way down the hall, and some in another direction. Alex was hustled off with Katya, Emily giving him a mirthful grin as he was forced away. He and Katya were escorted to a room at the end of the hall, the interior so spacious that it took Alex a moment to realize that it was a suite and not a lobby.
He took in the sunken floor and handmade furniture, the curved window looking out onto the Strip below, and the full kitchen and stocked bar, and was about to say something appreciative, when he noticed that Anastasia and Katya were still standing just inside the door, Anastasia clutching Katya’s upper arms.
“Oh, Katya, I’m so sorry,” Anastasia said tearfully, sliding down to her knees. “I’ve lost him. I tried to keep Timor close, and now I’ve lost him forever.”
“Everyone out,” the woman who had accompanied Anastasia said, gesturing to the guards and servants. “Now.”
The tall man in the somber suit opened the door and ushered them from the room. Alex tried to follow and was rebuffed by the woman in the black dress.
“You stay,” the woman said, giving him a severe look. “The Mistress’s orders.”
Alex wanted to object and argue, but now Katya was also on her knees, her head buried in Anastasia’s shoulder.
“It’s not your fault, Ana,” Katya said, between sobs. “Timor was proud to have the responsibility. He wanted to protect you.”
“I promised that I would keep him safe!” Anastasia wailed. “I was distracted by the dance, by all of my affairs, and I lost him. I should never have promoted Renton, I should have never put Timor at risk! I’ve cost you your brother, Katya. Can you ever forgive me?”
Katya wrapped her arms around Anastasia’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry about Josef,” Katya said. “I know you loved him. This isn’t…this wasn’t…”
They clutched each other as they wept, bent by the weight of their shared grief.
“I really shouldn’t be here,” Alex murmured. “This isn’t…”
“It’s not your fault. Timor would have wanted to be there with you. I wish I had been there, Ana. I wish I had died,” Katya said, her voice breaking down. “Right there beside him.”
“Please don’t say that,” Anastasia said, drying her eyes. “Never say that again. Never even think it. I still need you. Our work is not done.”
“Yes, it is, Ana. It is,” Katya said. “I took a chunk out of his brain. I killed him.”
“Do you mean…?”
“I killed him,” Katya repeated, dull eyed with exhaustion. “I killed Gaul Thule.”
Anastasia laughed, and to Alex’s ears, the laughter was extraordinarily bitter.
“What a fool Emily has made of me! I sent soldiers and Lords to do an assassin’s work,” Anastasia said. “Tell me what happened.”
The woman in the black dress helped them to a nearby table and brought water and tea while Katya told the story of Gaul Thule’s assassination. Alex listened from an ambiguous distance and felt deeply uncomfortable. No attempt was made to seat him or offer him a drink, so he hovered and felt superfluous.
“You allowed Emily to program you?”
“What other choice did I have?”
“I can think of a number of less dangerous options,” Anastasia said. “Did she decide on the manner of his death?”
“What?” Alex scratched his head. “Why does that matter?”
“It is a peculiar deviation from Katya’s standard methods of assassination,” Anastasia said. “Typically, she uses needles, but Emily programmed her to remove tissue from Lord Thule’s brain instead. I think we can safely assume Emily had her reasons for choosing this method. Are you certain that he was dead?”
“No. We lost the body,” Katya admitted. “Someone took it, or he walked away with part of his brain missing.”
“I see.” Anastasia
frowned. “Tell me the rest, please.”
Katya finished her story, and then glared at Anastasia.
“Did you really offer to marry one of those stuck-up jerks?” Katya sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell them to kill the Thule Cartel for you? You’re their boss! You don’t have to offer prizes.”
“Marriage is something that would have been expected of me eventually,” Anastasia explained. “I felt that I needed to be absolutely certain.”
“I guess you are, now,” Katya said. “It’s done.”
“My father’s honor demands more,” Anastasia said. “The murderers who took his life must also die, so that Josef Martynova might be buried atop their severed heads. It is a pity the body of Gaul Thule disappeared.”
“When do we go back to Central?” Alex asked. “I’m worried about Eerie.”
The two women turned to stare at him. Alex squirmed self-consciously under their gazes.
“What?” he demanded. “I’ve been standing here for like ten minutes!”
“Are you no longer an Auditor?” Anastasia looked amused. “You should be asking Ms. Gallow what your next move might be, I would think.”
“Yeah,” Katya said glumly. “About that.”
“Yes, Katya,” Anastasia said. “Let’s talk about that.”
***
Alistair kept the girl moving, an arm around her waist and one of her arms thrown across his shoulders. She was probably capable of walking, but he was in a hurry, so only the tips of Gabriela Thule’s toes scraped the sidewalk on the approach to the building.
Central had been a mess of checkpoints and strongholds as recently as yesterday, but the conflict had degenerated as both sides lost arms and manpower. The fighting was now spread across the city, sporadic running conflicts that were meant as displays more than anything, as the Thule and North factions settled into occupied neighborhoods and compounds. Most of the city was in Thule hands, but the North Cartel still held the approach to the city and several blocks at the heart of Central, including most of the former Administrative buildings.
He moved between two of those now, a darkened concrete ziggurat to his right, and an eight-story office tower to his left. The first had contained the day-to-day apparatus of the Administration, and was now looted and partially burnt, while the one on the right had housed the executive offices, and was held by the North Cartel, who had reinforced the building and established sniper nests on the roof.
He slipped past the main building, moving quickly through the areas covered by the halogen security lights, occasionally turning the snipers’ heads when stealth was impossible.
There was a low concrete bunker behind the building, where one might have expected a utility building or a parking lot. It looked a little like a subway entrance, with broad stairs and even an escalator, currently motionless.
The security gate was down, and there were two guards stationed beside the gate.
Alistair set Gabriela down gently in a planter, resting her back against a white flowering tree that had already started to litter her body with petals as he arranged her limp limbs. She was still in the telepathic trance he had put her in, to prevent her going into shock over the gunshot, but he could tell she was starting to wake back up. It wouldn’t be much longer, he thought, leaving her behind and slinking off in the direction of the bunker.
He was grateful that someone had been smart enough to put a vest on the Thule girl. The ballistic armor had saved her life, stopping the bullet short of the skin, though the impact was still enough to bruise her chest and knock her for a loop.
The approach was too broad and well-lit for conventional stealth, but the guards’ psychic defenses were hastily constructed, hardly a match for his protocol.
Alistair approached the guards whistling with his hands in his pockets.
They ignored him, one leaning against the gate with his arms folded, the other sitting on the stairs with his back to Alistair, stifling a yawn.
He drew his knife as he left the stairs and let them see him at the last possible moment, when he was already close enough to reach out and touch them.
He had no intentions of being sporting. It was simply more effective.
The shock laid their minds bare to him, and he went to work on two levels.
He kicked the sitting guard in the head, like he was attempting a penalty kick, and then let the movement carry him forward, grabbing the second guard by his face and driving his head into the gate. Alistair drove the knife into his stomach before he could reach for his gun, smashing his head a second time for good measure.
He gauged the other man’s recovery carefully.
Alistair waited until the guard had nearly recovered his wits and footing from the kick, and then he spun around, pulling the knife from one guard’s stomach, and putting it in the eye of the other.
Alistair turned to collect the girl, and found her not too far behind him, looking bashful and a little unsteady. She was coated in equal parts mud and gore, moving slowly and with a pronounced limp, but seemed remarkably composed.
“I remember you,” Gabriela said, looking him over. “You work for my uncle. You’re Mr. Alistair.”
“I used to work for your uncle,” Alistair said, wondering why he felt a moment of regret. “Now, I’m freelance.”
“You’re here for me, aren’t you?” The Thule girl did not look at all worried. “Did my uncle send you?”
“I haven’t spoken to Gaul since I, uh, resigned. Do you mind if I escort you, anyway?”
The girl surprised him by simply nodding.
“That’s fine,” she said. “What happens next?”
“I’m going to take you back home, but I need an apport station,” Alistair said, turning his attention to the gate. “We are going to borrow this one.”
Gabriela leaned against the wall while Alistair opened a pair of locks with downloaded telekinesis. She was pale beneath the grime, he noticed, and had a slight tremor, despite her confident words and presentation.
Alistair pushed the gate open, wondering exactly how long she could remain on her feet.
They started down the stairs. Gabriela stumbled on the second flight, forcing Alistair to scoop her up and carry her down the rest of the way, something he was just barely strong enough to do.
He set her down at the bottom of the stairs, and she basically collapsed, sprawling on the floor of the lobby.
As Alistair figured out the best way to support her and keep at least one hand free, he sent out a wave of telepathic probes, putting together a composite picture of the building with the combined perceptions of the people inside of it.
It was not a big space. One floor, two crossed hallways with a pair of doors apiece, and one large room at the end of the hallway opposite the stairs, which had to be the platform.
There were two people waiting for him in the hallway.
Not guards. Legitimate Operators, with the kind of implanted shielding that would take most telepaths hours to pry apart.
The platform room was even more heavily shielded than the individual Operators. His probes failed and fizzled in the vicinity.
Experience told him that he was expected.
He carried the Thule girl as far as the hallway, and then set her carefully down in a corner, between a vending machine and a trashcan.
She did not say anything, but she opened her eyes briefly. Her breathing was shallow but regular. Alistair decided it would have to do.
“I’m going to clear the way,” Alistair said. “Give me a shout if anyone comes this way, okay?”
She surprised him again with a short nod. He had not been entirely sure that she was conscious.
Alistair started down the hallway.
His progress was halted immediately by a security gate, transparent Kevlar sandwiched between solid plates of stainless steel, with a digital lock and a retinal scanner, and all the fail-safes.
Alistair stopped, and just looked at the gate for a long time
, a strange expression on his face.
Then he simply walked through the gate, as if it were not there.
Which, of course, was exactly the case.
“Not bad work. A very realistic illusion,” Alistair said. “You almost had me there.”
He was assailed by visions of pits that dropped into stygian depths, walls of flame, traps and gates and barriers.
Alistair kept on walking.
“It’s no use,” he said. “I’ve noticed already. Do you really think a few hallucinations will be enough to turn me back?”
A battering ram of telekinetic force smashed into Alistair, knocking him from his feet and sending him tumbling down the hallway like a leaf caught in a breeze. Only a hastily downloaded barrier protocol prevented him from being turned to pulp against one of the walls. As it was, his movements were constrained by what felt like broken ribs.
“A distraction,” Alistair said, blinking once, and then opening his eyes again. “Got it.”
Kevin Morales-North stood in the middle of the hallway, his arms folded across his broad chest.
Collette Higgins, who he knew only from files, stood just behind him, at the head of a group of about ten masked and armored gunmen. Only a couple appeared to be Operators, according to tactical analysis and overlay, but it was a crowd nonetheless.
Alistair drew his gun, but left it hanging casually by his side.
“You sure you want to do this?” He gave them an amiable smile. “I just want to borrow your apport station for a minute. We don’t have to fight.”
“I don’t understand why you are here, or why you are with Gabriela Thule,” Kevin said. “Are the Thule Cartel and the Anathema aligned? Are you kidnapping her? What is this?”
“Figure it out for yourself, kid,” Alistair said, raising his gun and moving forward.
The illusions kicked in again immediately, obscuring his targets and turning his vision into a fantastic kaleidoscope of fractured images and dislocated impressions, but Alistair was ready for that.
The White Flame Meditation – which was either a telepathic protocol disguised as a meditative practice, or an incredibly effective application of the placebo effect, depending on who you asked – was one of the first lessons that every telepath was taught.
The Church of Sleep (Central Series Book 5) Page 40