Relapse (Breakers Book 7)

by Edward W. Robertson

  Lady Winslowe's throat worked. She sighed and sat back. "Take her to isolation."

  The man in the army jacket opened the door. Raina exited into the hall. The soldier guided her down to the ground floor, then to a second staircase into an unfinished concrete basement. He flipped on an overhead light. It buzzed gratingly. He pointed her into a tight room with a cot, a toilet, and a bucket of water.

  "The bed works," he said. "The toilet doesn't."

  He shut the door, sealing her in darkness. She tried the light switch, but it did nothing. She walked across the cell, getting a feel for its size, then moved to the middle and ran through the fighting forms Carl had taught her, then the techniques she had created herself. After she had soothed herself in this way, she slept.

  The door creaked open and harsh light poured inside. Raina jerked upright and spun from the cot. A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway.

  The figure put a finger to her lips. "Shh. Did I wake you?"

  "Who are you?" Raina said.

  The woman struck a match, briefly illuminating her features. Straight black bangs and thick black-rimmed glasses framed her thirty-year-old face. She smiled, her lips pink and full. She lit a lantern, shook out the match, and closed the door.

  "My name," she said, "is Cinder. How are you doing?"

  "Jailed."

  "You are a regicide." The lantern burned steadily, producing a hollow-sounding hiss. "You made quite an impression on ol' Winslowe."

  "I thought she wanted to kill me."

  "That's what I mean. She's discussing it right now."

  "And?" Raina said.

  Cinder raised her plucked eyebrows. "Unless you're looking for a way out of your mortgage, that's bad news for you, I'd say. Maybe you deserve it, but we haven't heard the full story yet. What's Winslowe's hurry? Do her ladyparts ache for vengeance that badly? Or is she trying to cover something up?"

  Raina sat on the cot. "How did you come to hear of all this?"

  "Oh, I had someone on the scene."

  "The soldier in the army jacket. Are you a commander of the military?"

  The woman laughed. "Not yet. What happened on Catalina?"

  "As I told Lady Winslowe, I will be happy to tell everything. Once, in public, where many people can hear it firsthand."

  "Why is that so important?"

  "Because if the truth is taken by a single person, they can distort it. Reshape it and misrepresent it to others. Even if those others hear the truth later, they won't be receptive to it, because that space in them will already have been filled."

  "That makes a certain amount of sense." Cinder moved a step forward. "But here's the bigger question: why are you here in the first place?"

  "To shield my people from wrath they don't deserve. Why are you in this room with me? For the truth? Or to find something to discredit Winslowe with?"

  The woman grinned, lantern light flashing from the lenses of her glasses. "You might have heard our succession is up in the air. While the Lady Winslowe considers herself the natural heir, I consider her a poor choice."

  Raina smiled sharply. "And would you be a better one?"

  She batted her lashes. "That's not up to me to decide. All I can do is make it an interesting process."

  "Why is Winslowe inadequate?"

  "She fancies herself an aristocrat. Not in a fun, mocking way like Dashing, either. More like she believes her blood is literally blue and that the best use of the knights is in questing to find her the largest diamonds for her tiara. So yeah—if you've got something to make her look as dumb as she is, I'd really like to know about it."

  "I didn't come here to sway the succession," Raina said. "But if Winslowe doesn't want to let me speak, it suggests she's more interested in rushing toward her coronation than in finding out what happened to the man she wishes to replace."

  "Could be." Cinder tipped her head to the side in a shrug. "See you tomorrow. Assuming they don't assassinate you in your sleep."

  She left, taking the lantern with her. In the darkness, Raina grinned. She had found her second dog.

  Hours later, the door reopened. The two soldiers who had guarded the queen stepped inside, rifles slung over their chests.

  "Let's go," one said.

  Raina moved from the cot. "Where are we going to?"

  "I said go."

  She stepped outside. As they marched her upstairs, she envisioned how she would attack them: grabbing one man's gun, using its strap to choke and control him, putting him between her and his partner. After shooting the partner, she could either continue to strangle the first man, or take the knife from his belt and cut his throat.

  They took her through the kitchen to the back patio. There, some twenty people in fine dress were seated in two semi-circular rows of chairs. Lady Winslowe sat front and center, shielded from the sun by a wide-brimmed black hat. Raina was brought opposite the spectators, who rose to face her.

  Cinder stepped from the front row and turned to face the others. Winslowe glared nakedly.

  "I think you all know why we're here," Cinder said. "We deserve justice. But before we can decide what's just, we need to know the truth—no matter how unpleasant it or its source might be."

  She returned to her chair. Every eye fixed on Raina.

  "It may seem strange that I am standing here," Raina said. "It will soon become clear why I had no choice but to come to your lands. You, however, had the choice to deny me the chance to speak. Despite the pain it might cause, you didn't. It is my sincere hope that you will find yourself rewarded for that decision."

  She launched into the story. How the meeting had been arranged while she was away. That she had been wary, yet also intrigued by the potential for an alliance against her mortal enemy, and received Dashing in good faith. That she had found him to be a good talker with a strong spirit.

  As she described the pivotal events—the introduction of Billy, her discovery of the poison, the frantic battle in the great hall—the observers' eyes went as cold as the underside of a stone. Raina told them how all sense and order left her mind. How, as she had collapsed, she'd thought she was dead.

  "I was unconscious for a week," she said. "Lost in a coma. But when I emerged from the fog, my mind was clear. First, it was clear that the poisoning was not King Dashing's idea, but Anson's. I don't know what lies or promises he told Dashing, but there was no reason for Better San Diego to attack my people. The only one to benefit from such a move was Anson. Without his touch, none of this would have happened."

  She had memorized the narrative Mia had provided for her, but she paused, as if gathering her thoughts. "Second, I knew that although an attempt had been made on my life—that I acted in self-defense—that this would do nothing to assuage your people's pain. It could lead to war. War could mean the ruin of us both. Therefore, the only way to protect my people was to leave them, thus separating them from the stain of Dashing's death. To step down, and to come here. Not to seek mercy, but to strike a deal: that you would leave my people in peace. And in return, I would give you the truth.

  "And the truth is that we have both been deceived. I am angry like a storm. I want to kill Anson. But the only thing I want more is to keep my people safe. I thank you all for listening."

  She lowered her head.

  They did not speak right away. She could feel the mood the way she could feel a riptide tearing her away from shore. Yet it didn't matter. Though she and Mia had altered some details of her decision-making process to strengthen the narrative, its core was strong because it was true: cast aside by her people, she might still be able to shield them by giving up her life here.

  Lady Winslowe stood, her expression as hard as a tombstone. "Perhaps every word the Lady Raina has spoken is true. Perhaps what transpired on Catalina on the so-called 'Night of Almonds' is nothing more than dumb tragedy. One where we are both victims of a common crook: Anson, who would use us to destroy each other, then scoop our riches from the ashes."

  She turned to
look at Raina. "That is tragic. But acknowledgement of that tragedy cannot distract us from one simple truth: she killed our king. And she must be punished."

  She lifted her hand and flicked it toward the two guards who had delivered Raina to this court in the grass. They leveled their rifles.

  Raina closed her eyes.

  17

  The alien stood across from him within the deep shadows of the valley and the trees. Its eyes blazed, tentacles splayed to increase its size. It held a laser in one tentacle. A claw had an awkward grip on a long human knife.

  Lowell went very still. Very early in their relationship with the aliens, Anson had worked out a few key signs to defuse situations exactly like this one. Lowell forked the pinky and index fingers of his left hand and pointed them toward the ground. This vaguely resembled an A, and stood for Anson, or more generally the People of the Stars.

  Problem was, Lowell had no idea if all of the aliens were trained in this language.

  The alien extended a claw. It swiveled to align both points of the claw toward the ground. Acknowledgement. It pointed a tentacle at him and made a flipping gesture—Who are you?

  Signing the answer to that was beyond Lowell's knowledge. He repeated the gesture for the People of the Stars, then pointed to his chest. The alien stared so intently he wanted to laugh—their eyes were so big and angry he couldn't help thinking of that Warner Bros. cartoon. Marvin the Martian under his Roman legionary helmet.

  The alien holstered its laser and produced a notebook-sized tablet from the pouches of its bandolier. Holding the tablet horizontal, it gestured above it, then held it up for Lowell to read: "WHO ARE YOU"

  It flicked a tentacle over the screen, erasing it, and passed it to Lowell. Using his finger for a stylus, he wrote, "Lowell. I work directly for Anson."

  The being snatched up the tablet. "WHY ARE YOU HERE"

  "Business for Anson," he wrote. "Why are you here?"

  "BUSINESS FOR ME AND MINE"

  "Doing what? Are you working for Anson?"

  It spun a claw and wrote, "ME AND MINE"

  "Funny," Lowell inscribed back. "You're here for the same reason I am: you're hunting Raina."

  The alien swung its head back six inches. Its expression remained fixed in cartoon outrage. A claw drove toward Lowell's face, the long knife glinting in its grip.

  He ducked and bowled forward. There were no good strategies to this fight—the enemy was stronger, better armed, with surprise on its side—so all he could do was come at it as hard as he could and hope one of his first swings took it down. It shuffled its pointed feet, withdrawing its body. Limbs snapped forward. A claw pinched his elbow, raking through his skin.

  A tentacle poked at his face. He slapped it away. As soon as his arm was engaged, another tentacle whipped forward—and rather than ending in a tapered, soft tip, this one was as hard and solid as a flail. He tightened his body and turned into it before it could finish its lash. The flail clubbed into his ribs.

  Reeling from the pain, he grabbed its nearest tentacle and yanked toward him. It might have been an alien, but it reacted like all people and animals did: it resisted.

  Now that he had a lever, he threw all his weight against it. A two-legged person would have stumbled forward and quite possibly fallen. With so many more points of balance, the alien stutter-stepped, then dug in. It swayed toward him, though. Enough for him to grab at the awkward claw hanging on to the knife.

  He twisted this, then bent it toward the alien. It lost its grip at once. The flail-like tentacle struck him in the other side of his ribs, but it wasn't a clean blow. Lowell bulled forward, slashing through a warding tentacle, and drove the blade into the creature's long, sac-like body. The skin was leathery and tough and the thrust didn't want to penetrate. He pushed on, letting the knife's point find its way. As soon as it began to cut below the surface, he leaned in with everything he had.

  The alien curled on him like a burning spider, beating at him with claws and limbs. He tucked his chin to his chest and made a defensive triangle with his left elbow, stabbing and slashing with his right hand. Thick yellow fluid spilled from the wounds, more like jelly than blood. It smelled like shelled clams. The alien staggered. A loop of yellowy nodules slipped from the largest wound. Lowell grabbed it, twisted it around his wrist, and pulled. The alien sank on top of him, drenching him. The loop came loose in his hand. He flung it aside and punched back into the cut, groping for more.

  The thing was still twitching. He sawed through the tough plates on its neck and cut off its head. Unsure if its tablet was broadcasting, he propped it on a rock and stomped it.

  He was cut. Bruised. Covered in goop. At least the thing hadn't screamed. Besides the shuffling of the leaves, it hadn't made any noise at all. He couldn't say that was the most disturbing thing about the encounter, but it was unnerving.

  Exhaustion rippled over him. He fell back, squeezed his eyes shut, clamped his hand to his ribs. He willed his eyes open. Raina's people were just over the hill. She could be anywhere.

  He pushed himself to his feet and assessed the situation. One alien, in two parts, that had attacked him when he'd mentioned being after Raina. It couldn't possibly be protecting her, could it? It had to be his first idea, that the alien was tracking her down. So it had attacked him because it didn't want him to know that.

  Incredibly, though, he couldn't be sure of even that much. He was so angry he wanted to laugh. He wasn't a screwdriver or a gun, to be picked up and set back down as Anson needed. Enough was enough.

  He took hold of a handful of tentacles and dragged the headless body to a ditch running down the middle of the draw. He dropped the head beside it and kicked some dirt and leaves over the remains. As he walked back to his horse, keeping distance between himself and the Catalinan camp, he used half his water to rinse off the worst of the gunk.

  He was in San Pedro the next day. There, he stopped at Wendy's stall in front of the Ralph's. She had a pack of Wrigley's for him. Spearmint.

  "Anson's looking for you," she said once they'd finished dickering.

  "I'm sure he is." Lowell glanced north. "Suppose I'd better hustle back to the Heart."

  She shook her head, her black bun wagging side to side. "He's right over there. In the dentist's office."

  She pointed to the strip mall across the street. Lowell thanked her and crossed the pavement. It was almost November, but the day was sunny and warm. A few of the Sworn stood in the shade beneath the eaves of the strip mall. They nodded to him as he walked inside the office.

  Like most buildings, it smelled dusty, disused. Past the reception room, a man barked something from behind a closed door. Anson. This was followed by heavy, fleshy thumps. It sounded like rough trade or an average beating. Either way, Lowell had no interest. He walked out, sat in the shade, and got out a stick of gum. Anson emerged a few minutes later.

  Lowell stood and jerked his head toward the office interior. "What are you doing?"

  "Your job." Anson shook out his hand, squeezing it in and out of a fist. His knuckles were bleeding and red. "What idiot decided to make skulls out of bone? Where have you been?"

  "Running Raina down," Lowell said. "I thought that was priority number one."

  "I can't help noticing she's not here."

  Behind them, one of the Sworn coughed. Lowell said, "Let's talk."

  Anson sucked the blood from his knuckles and spat it on the asphalt. He walked into the pet food outlet next door. The chew toys and poop bags were still on the shelves, but all the food had been taken long ago. Lowell wondered if it had been consumed by dogs or people.

  "Glad you're back," Anson said, vaulting onto the counter and seating himself. "Got a new mission for you. Sending you back to Catalina. They're in possession of an object I need. Looks like this." He withdrew a sheet of paper from his pocket. It bore an illustration of a wand-like object.

  "And?"

  "And I would like you to retrieve it, Geoff."

  "No."
>
  The blond man cocked his head. "What do you mean, no? This is vitally important."

  "For what?"

  "Is knowing the answer to that going to help you get the rod?"

  "I don't know," Lowell said. "And that's the problem. I'm in the woods outside San Clemente. I'm coming right up on the girl. And you know what happens? I get jumped. Not by her or her people—by an alien."

  Anson smiled tightly, eyebrows crowding together. "Are you fucking with me?"

  Lowell pulled up his shirt to reveal the angry red-purple bruise where the alien had struck him. "Knifed it to death. Dumped it in the woods. It knew I was working for you, its ostensible ally. It only came after me when I figured out it was hunting Raina. Why would that make it attack me?"

  "Because, right now, they're a little… jumpy."

  "I quit."

  "You what? Hey, don't go all drama queen on me. I'm not keeping secrets for fun. This is about the safety of our people."

  "Isn't that my entire job? I'm not quitting out of spite. I'm quitting because, after running into that thing in the woods, it's pretty fucking clear I don't have the information to do what I'm tasked with."

  Anson picked up a stapler from the counter and clicked it, spitting staples onto the smudgy glass. "The reason they're jumpy is that they're trying to leave."

  Lowell's eyebrows shot up. "They're abandoning Los Angeles?"

  "Not just L.A. The battle's over. They've finally admitted that. They're trying to leave Earth."

  "You're not serious." By instinct, he glanced outside, as if he might catch a glimpse of the ship broken in Santa Monica Bay. But the window looked south, and only had a view of the car-strewn parking lot and the El Pollo Loco across the street. "Their vessel's in a thousand pieces. It would be easier to build a new one than to nail that thing back together."

  "When they invaded, they left themselves a way out. A life raft. It's parked in orbit around—well, I think they meant Jupiter, but it wasn't entirely clear. And it didn't matter. Point is, they have a ship."