by Tricia Owens
Elliott only stared at me dumbly. “But what is it?”
“Something we should discuss in private,” replied a new, but familiar voice.
Tower entered the shop and looked around as he approached us. He was dressed in an overcoat and looked as though he’d stopped by after a pleasant evening out. When he reached us, he studied the open cooler and the wet T-shirts on the ground.
“Very clever, Arrow. Very clever.” He shook his head in apparent wonder. “You changed my gas to liquid. How did you know to do that? Even I didn’t consider that as a means of stopping it.”
“You told me during my interview that your greatest enemy is condensation.” I glared at him. “But that’s not true, is it? Your greatest enemy was this thing. What is it?”
“As I said, we’ll discuss this in private.” He smiled genially at Elliott. “Capable of walking, Elliott? I have a car parked at the street. The others are waiting inside for us.”
“What about Rogette?” I asked.
“I’ve ensured that she won’t remember a thing.” Tower’s expression held a hint of deviousness. “We, however, now know exactly what kind of threat she poses. It gives us an advantage. But I’ve said enough. We’re off. There’s much to discuss, not to mention there’s the matter of a bounty.”
Chapter 17
We gathered in the ballroom, which was a beautiful and dramatic space lined in emerald silk and filled with gold cloth covered tables. However, all the crystal and silk in the world couldn’t distract me from the band stand. The raised, circular stage visually shifted back and forth continuously, much to the dismay of some of the other Specials.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Drishna complained as she pressed both hands to her cheeks.
“Let your eyes go out of focus,” I told her and Elliott. “It helps.”
“He’ll be here soon,” Tower said as he stood beside our table like a chaperone. The night manager, Nova, was a still, pale presence against one wall. “It will be easier then.”
True to his word, The Architect appeared at the front of the stage, illuminated by its numerous lights. Unlike the shifting background, he remained a static figure, giving us a visual respite from all the movement happening behind him.
“It’s him,” Drishna gasped, echoing Calia’s earlier awe.
Calia was cooler this time, regarding The Architect warily. Or maybe she was just upset that she hadn’t earned the bounty. When Elliott, Tower, and I had climbed into the extended limousine waiting at the curb, she’d given me the dirtiest of dirty looks. Taurus, seated beside her, had only shaken his head as if weary of her antics.
“I thought he was an urban legend,” I heard Taurus murmur, as if to himself. When I glanced at the bearded man, I found him studying The Architect intently, as if searching for the lie to a magician’s trick.
“I’m real,” The Architect said, even though he couldn’t have heard Taurus. The distance was too great. Unless the hotel itself served as The Architect’s ears, which was a discomfiting thought. “I’m real and so is this war. The sooner you accept that, the better.”
“What happened with the leaper?” I demanded before anything else could be said.
“It was an experiment that went awry,” Tower answered. He inclined his head at the man on stage as if in apology. “Completely my fault.”
“What is it?” I repeated impatiently.
“It’s a demon.” The Architect stared at me. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Elliott let out a soft gasp of horror. The Architect was right. I wasn’t shocked. I’d felt the demon leaper in my head. At some point I’d made the connection between what I’d felt and what I’d seen in Wolfgang’s black market photo of the alleged ice demon crouched atop the floating car. They weren’t the same creatures, but I’d recognized the similarities.
“You turned it into a gas, intending to use it as a weapon,” I said, so the others would be aware of how much Tower was willing to do to achieve his ends.
He nodded with reluctance. “I should have left well enough alone, but I thought I could control it. I failed spectacularly.”
“People were killed,” I pointed out.
He looked to The Architect, who was as still as a statue. With evident discomfort, Tower said, “They were targets. They were our enemies. But when the demon attacked those teenagers rather than the parent who was the real problem, I realized I had lost control over it.”
“You were trying to save money,” Calia accused. “You tried to use this thing to do your dirty work so you wouldn’t have to pay any of us a bounty.”
Tower’s expression darkened. “The moment your skills are no longer needed you will know it, Calia.”
The threat was vague, but it was effective. I sensed tension from the other Specials.
I didn’t care about whether Tower wanted to outsource his work to demons. I had questions. “Did it kill Morrison?”
“When he attempted to stop it, yes. Foolish of him. I told him not to. It turned out the only one clever enough to defeat it was you, Arrow.”
“I don’t need a compliment, I need the truth. Why target the coven? Because they’re enhanced?”
Tower appeared momentarily surprised. “How did you—never mind. In answer to your question, yes. This particular coven is in collusion with the oligarchy, which therefore pits them against our interests. A wholesale elimination of the coven would bring down the wrath of other covens and invite scrutiny from the government, so we are being…selective in picking them off.”
“How is the coven in collusion? What does that even mean?” Drishna asked.
The answer came from the dark, unmoving figure on the stage. “The witches struck a deal with the military: in exchange for an enhancement which grants them invisibility, the coven agreed to destroy the last of my father’s legacy.”
Legacy. I knew what—or more accurately who—that meant.
“So we’re playing your bodyguards,” Calia said aloud, airing what we were all thinking.
“You’re defending and assisting the only power that is willing to stand up to the government and expose its lies.” The Architect’s reply had been icy. Even after having nearly been frozen to death, I fought down a shiver.
“Tell me this,” I said as my heart began to beat faster. “Did the government lie about the melting? About the ice demons?”
The Architect stared us down. “I want you all to understand and accept this truth: everything you were told about the Drowning War is a lie. The demons that killed so many were created for the military and were paid for by the military. The melting of the polar ice caps happened because of trickery, not by intention. My father was betrayed and painted as a traitor to his own kind. Everything that happened during the war, all the innocents who were killed—all of that can be blamed on the present oligarchy. The demon you stopped tonight was just one of many demons that my father created at their behest.”
“It was in storage,” Tower murmured abashedly. “I should have left well enough alone.”
My brain cells felt as though they were tingling. I wanted to jump up and shout in triumph that I had been right about everything, that I had correctly surmised that what had been done to my grandmother was a nefarious act intended to protect something even worse. But what genuine joy was there to be found in the confirmation that we had all been played for suckers and that no one had called out the government for what they’d done?
I held The Architect’s gaze. “Is your father—is Dr. Febrero—still alive?”
“We don’t know.” I heard Drishna gasp at the answer. “But we’re working under the assumption that he is. Regardless, I’m not backing down.”
“Still alive,” Drishna murmured. She gripped her hair and shook her head in disbelief. “How is that possible? How is any of this possible? Why doesn’t anyone else know?”
“Because people would rather be grateful that the war is over than question how it began,” I said, fighting to
hold back my bitterness. I’d learned that when people believed your motivations were personal, they were less inclined to believe you even if you spoke the truth.
I eyed The Architect and Tower. “So the Specials. We’re all here because we have no choice. You made that happen. I think you’ve set each of us up, blackmailed us, or made us indebted to you. I bet you set me up for Morrison’s murder. You destroyed any chance I have of getting a real job so I’d have no choice but to come to you.”
“Sometimes being too perceptive can be dangerous,” The Architect said quietly.
It was my turn to tense. But that didn’t shut me up.
“Why us?” I demanded.
“And why now?” Calia pitched in. She now lounged in her chair, one stiletto heel kicked up against the back of Elliott’s chair as though learning of our true opposition bored her. She loudly snapped her gum. “We’ve been doing these jobs for a couple of years now. What’s changed?”
I had a feeling I knew, so I was glad when The Architect avoided the question and any mention of me.
“You will continue to fulfill client requests,” The Architect told her. “You will also begin taking on missions against the oligarchy to expose their actions during the Drowning War. I have a plan which will be enacted in stages. I don’t suggest you waste time trying to figure it out. You won’t.”
“Cocky,” Taurus said with a snort.
“Determined,” The Architect corrected him. “If that comes across as cocky, so be it. You should be glad that I have full confidence that this will work.”
“And if we don’t?” Drishna asked. “What if I don’t want to be involved in anything targeting the government? I’m in enough trouble with them as it is.” She looked around the table at the rest of us. “Tell me I’m not the only one.”
“You’re the only spineless wimp, yeah.” Calia waggled her fingers at the TP specialist. “Toodle-oo, Drishna. You’re not wanted here. I’ll gladly take your money.”
Drishna glared at her. “You’re nothing but a greedy bitch. I won’t leave just so you can’t get the money, how’s that?”
“Whatever. You’ll be killed soon, anyway.” Calia gave her a wink as if to suggest that she’d ensure that Drishna wound up dead.
“Save it for the missions,” The Architect snapped. “They’re the only things that matter.”
“And if you’d like to end your employment with us, you’re free to leave at any time,” Tower added magnanimously, but the other Specials and I gave each other looks that revealed how little we trusted that to be true. Whether we’d be able to leave without consequences was doubtful. And even if we did, we wouldn’t be able to build any sort of a life. The Sinistera was our only protection.
“Your bounty has been added to your account, Arrow, with my advance already deducted,” Tower informed me. “Speak to Sheridan about withdrawing it as cash or transferring it into other accounts.”
It struck me then who was missing. “Where is she?”
“She wasn’t in the lobby earlier, either,” Elliott whispered to me.
“Sheridan is handling business,” Tower informed us. “She’ll rejoin the hotel shortly. For now, you’re free to go.”
“What if we need to contact you?” Taurus asked The Architect as we all stood from the table.
The dark figure turned his back on us. “I’ll find you when I need you. Otherwise, go through Mr. Tower.”
He began to shift, appearing at the back of the stage, then near the left side wing, then at the edge of the stage again. As usual, the ledger was in his hand. After another few seconds, he disappeared. The shifting motion I associated with him ceased to be.
“That was crazy,” Drishna declared. “He just disappeared. And what he said? I’ve—I’ve gotta go think about this.” She hurried out. Nova silently exited, also.
“Something tells me you’re going to need a new room service cook,” Calia told Tower with a smirk. “This time, find someone who can fry decent chicken fingers.” She glanced at me. “You beat me this time, sweetie, but it won’t happen again. Ever. Ta-ta, children.”
She sauntered out of the ballroom, her red braid swaying in time with her hips, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if once she left the room, she hunted down Drishna and attacked her.
Taurus, the big KE specialist, confronted Tower before the older man could leave. “All I want to know is that I’ll continue to receive jobs. I need the bounties. I don’t care about what the government is or isn’t hiding. It’s about the money for me. I need it.”
His urgency intrigued me. What had Taurus done that had landed him in the clutches of the Sinistera? Why did he sound as desperate for money as I was?
“You’ll have ample opportunity for earning income,” Tower assured him. “Whether or not you win the bounties is another matter.”
“I’ll win them,” Taurus said in his low voice and walked away, leaving Elliot and me alone with Tower who smiled at us both.
“You did very well on your first assignment,” the hotel manager told me. “And Elliott, this job revealed unexpected depths to your power. I will keep that in mind for the future.”
Elliott colored but looked pleased. “I could use more work. If it fits my skills, that is. I don’t want to do what Calia does.”
“Of course. I always do my best to match the appropriate Special with a job. Saves everyone a lot of time and injury.” I suspected he meant that literally.
He seemed chipper, as though he’d washed his hands of everything his demon had done and expected us to do the same. But I would always remember Snelling’s death, as well as the innocent people who had been framed as proxy killers before I’d become involved.
“You should go take a hot shower.” I squeezed Elliott’s arm. “I’ll stop by your room in half an hour?”
He let out a long breath. “Yeah, okay. I could use one. I’m still cold way deep down inside.” He shivered.
“Go, then. I’ll see you in a bit.”
I gave him a little push, which he didn’t resist. With a last, uncertain look at me and Tower, he hurried out of the ballroom, leaving me with the hotel manager.
Tower’s smile was indulgent. “Something you wished to speak to me about in private, Arrow?”
“My money is waiting for me?”
“As we speak.”
I struggled not to show my relief. While Tower probably knew everything about me, there was no point revealing just how terribly desperate I was for money.
“Anything else, Arrow?”
“Yeah, there is. I’d like to speak to The Architect.”
Tower cocked his head, as if curious. His gaze wandered away from me for a few seconds before he straightened up. “I’ll see what I can do. I have somewhere to be. I will speak with you later.”
Before I could say anything, he walked around me and headed briskly for the door. When it closed behind him, the ballroom settled around me like muffling cotton. I felt like I was in the heart of the Sinistera, as deep as I could be.
The room began to shift. I wasn’t prepared for it, so nausea immediately tried to rise in me. I shut my eyes to gain a break from the jarring motion. When I opened them again, The Architect stood before me, unmoving.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The ballroom juddered, and suddenly he and I stood in my living room as it had been fifteen years ago. The wardens of the war—the early incarnation of the Closure Committee—were absent from my home. But I could smell the cigarette smoke they always left behind after their meetings. It was war time without the war mongers.
The Architect stood beside me, staring at me. Something in his look made me reckless. I reached up and gently slid his glasses from his face. His green eyes widened and he raised his hands to stop me, but they stopped in midair, frozen in uncertainty.
“I just want to know who you are,” I told him. He lowered his hands, so I went on, encouraged. “You were here. Back then. When I was a child.”
He looked e
ven younger without the glasses. He was my age, I realized, but his attitude and animosity had made him seem colder and older. He wasn’t classically handsome, but I found his features collectively interesting. I wanted to touch his face, but I didn’t.
“I listened to them discuss the seeds they wanted to plant,” he told me. “I didn’t know at that time what sort of poison they would grow into, but I could tell that it was bad. Bad for people like your family. Bad for you, a child. I felt…concern for you.”
“I was six.”
He nodded, his look deepening, and it was then that I understood.
“You’ve been waiting all this time for me to grow up.” Why? What do you think I can do? What if you’re wrong?
He took his glasses back from me. When he covered his eyes with them again, the distance between us grew and my sense that I might know him dwindled.
“My name is Nathaniel,” he told me. “No one knows this besides Mr. Tower.”
I wanted to repeat his name, but irrationally, I feared he would take it back from me if I did.
“I need you to fight with me.” Grief and fury twisted his features before they settled again. He looked away from me as if gathering himself, but I continued to sense fear from him. Fear of the unknown. Of his own inadequacies. Fear of failure.
“I’ll fight with you for my family’s sake,” I told him.
His eyes slid back to me. “Not for my sake?”
The question caught me off guard. “I don’t know you.”
When he smirked, warmth bloomed unexpectedly in my body. “You will.”
The living room shuddered and shifted. I staggered within the fracturing, stumbling all the way back into the ballroom of the Sinistera. I looked around. I was alone in the immense room. Nathaniel—The Architect—had become part of the hotel once again.
Epilogue
Sheridan looked up from the bed as the door banged open.