She nodded. “I remember thinking Stella Engle would scare the crap out of the Manti. One of the sources quoted in that article said the Manti view psychological disorders as gifts.”
She didn’t recall attaching the note, but she did recall making the connection. Apparently it had started her and her father down the same path.
“I used the name Ophelia, assuming the Manti wouldn’t be able to tie it back to Sanctuary,” he continued. “Her nickname doesn’t appear anywhere in the Archive. It probably sounds crazy, but I thought she deserved some credit.”
She laughed. “My meter of ‘crazy’ is apparently in need of some serious recalibration.” But really it was just like her dad—the archivist side of her dad, anyway. “How did Micah find you?”
He shook his head. “I got cocky. I’d stolen this naked little handheld from the lab, and I used it to watch their network. One day I noticed him watching me. We danced around for a while, but pretty soon figured out we were more or less on the same side.”
“So you formed an alliance with Rebelión Sagrada?”
“It’s more than Zee and I dreamed was possible,” he replied, growing more animated. “We expected this to be the work of many years. Generations, even. But we’ve walked in at the beginning of a fight. A fight that could completely change things for us.”
He reached for her hand. “Part of me wishes more than anything you were safe at home. You had no idea just how safe you were there, with your mother, myself, all of Sanctuary, and even the Manti looking after you. But I’m so glad to have you back. You have no idea how I’ve missed you.”
He reached up to dry his eyes. She crawled forward on her knees and wrapped her arms around him.
“You know I love you more than anything, honey,” he murmured into her hair, “but it’s more than that. We made such a good team. Everyone here is complacent, just like in Sanctuary. There’s no real leadership, and even without that no conflict arises, because everyone knows DAB-lab will troop in and put it down. I have no one to discuss things with.”
She squeezed him closer, noticing how slender he’d grown, and burrowed into his chest.
“I always wondered how they could have assigned you to the Manti stacks,” he continued. “That work is so important, and you were barely more than a child.”
She drew back a little to look at him. She couldn’t believe this had never occurred to her. Why would they? It made no sense.
“I confess it was the job I wanted.” He smiled. “Instead they shoved me off onto the most obscure topics. I assumed it was because they wanted me to spend more time teaching. Or maybe it was your mom’s way of getting back at me. It all made sense once I learned the truth about Sanctuary.”
She frowned. It still didn’t make sense to her.
“They didn’t want anyone studying the Manti,” he explained, “but that wouldn’t look right. So they gave it to a child, assuming you’d stick to the mechanical work of your job and not probe too deeply. They underestimated you completely. Zee may have given you some survival tools, but your most effective weapon is all your own.” He tapped her forehead with his finger. “I wouldn’t have had a hope of success if I hadn’t been following your work. The Manti seem so unpredictable—conflicted and half crazy. You helped me understand them.”
She’d always known he was proud of her, but he’d never praised her so openly before. He’d always pushed her. Encouraged her to think harder. Dig deeper. Put the puzzles together one piece at a time. She’d had no idea he paid such close attention to her work over the years.
He pulled her close again, holding her a moment before continuing, “It’s your turn, honey. You’re here now, and I intend to keep you safe. I need you to tell me everything that’s happened.”
It felt so good to confide in someone that she didn’t hold anything back. She made a wreck of him with the constant peril and close calls, but she had learned in her work that details were important. Someone a long time ago had said the devil was in them, and it was a principle she lived by at the Archive. Details could completely change perceptions and outcomes, and the lack of them led to mistakes and misunderstandings.
As soon as she’d finished he said, “I know this man, Beck. He’s here.”
She untangled herself from his embrace and sat up. Of course Beck would be here, as well as the rest of them. She’d all but forgotten. “You’ve met him?”
He nodded, frowning. “He’s a hothead. Managed to rile people up in the short time he’s been here. But he’s the type of man we’ll need if it comes to war.”
Was that where all this was headed? Negotiation between humans and Manti was certainly out of the question. And the Alhambra had threatened the temple with aggression. She still believed that had been more about her, but it had escalated tensions nonetheless.
“I want to hear more about this prince,” said her father, his tone weighed down with concern.
“Okay.” It was a reasonable inquiry, and yet somehow it made her feel like she was about twelve.
“You remember when I taught you to play chess?” he asked.
“Of course.” She smiled, recalling how many times she’d slapped the keyboard and ended their games.
“You remember the queen? That’s you right now, honey.”
She laughed, feeling the heat flash along her cheekbones. “If anything I’m a pawn. Everyone has a use for me, and they don’t care if I get taken out in the process.”
“Wrong. I care. And Paxton cares. That much is obvious. The only question is which side you’re going to choose.”
She lifted her eyes to his face. “You’re seriously asking me that? That’s the one thing I’m sure about—I’m on your side. I just haven’t quite figured out what that means.”
“I’ll give you a piece of advice, Harker.”
The new voice pulled their gazes to the front of the house, where they found Beck standing in the doorway.
“Don’t believe anything that comes out of that little wench’s mouth.”
* * *
“What now?” Carrick asked Pax, staring at the fence that surrounded Al Campo. “No more key.”
They’d left the dead disciple inside the cavern. No way they could continue carrying him over open ground. Pax had contemplated the grisly possibility of removing only the bit of skin they needed. But hard to do it without damaging the ID, and it would have taken time.
“You’re sure this is where she is?” he asked the priest.
Pax had lost her scent at the mouth of the cave, picking it up again only briefly inside the canal tunnel.
Carrick nodded. “It ends at the fence. And not just her. Many have passed through here today.”
It was genius. Without Carrick he’d never have been able to follow them. Eventually he’d have thought to search the tunnels, but no one in Granada would think of looking for them here.
But how had so many Manti infiltrated the camp without causing panic or conflict? And how in hell had they avoided the flies? The whole thing would have required considerable planning, and the implications were alarming. There had to be an agreement of some kind—an alliance between the humans and Rebelión, at the very least. It was his duty to expose them and put a stop to it.
But he couldn’t do it with Asha inside. Even if he found a way to protect her during the raid, if any hint of her involvement in this reached his father, she’d be out of his hands.
Iris’s words came back to him. You have to let her go.
“I can’t. Not yet.”
“What was that?”
Pax glanced at the priest, realizing the conversation with his sister had moved outside his own head. He eased back the hood of the borrowed cloak and studied the fence.
“There’s an electric field,” he said. “They must have found a way to turn it off.”
“So we climb the fence.”
“Yes.”
“What if it’s not off?”
Pax bent, raking his fingers over the grou
nd until they caught a stone. He tossed it at the fence. There was a pop and blue sizzle as the stone ejected backward. He caught a whiff of ozone.
“Hmm,” murmured the priest, with characteristic composure. Pax was beginning to suspect it was the closest the man came to making a joke.
Sighing, he bent and picked up another stone, aiming a meter to the right of the first toss.
This time the stone hit the fence with a thunk.
He glanced at Carrick. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The malice in Beck’s tone took Asha so much by surprise it froze any sort of reply.
“What’s this about?” demanded her father, rising to his feet.
“She’s the reason we’re here,” growled Beck, moving into the room.
Her father stepped between them, saying, “I don’t know how that could be. She was a prisoner, just like you.”
Beck scoffed. “You agreed to help us take over those ships.” Other figures appeared in the doorway behind him—Finn and Alice, two of the others from Connemara. All of them eyed her angrily.
She slowed her breathing and chose her words carefully. “I agreed I would try. But I knew Banshee wouldn’t betray them, and I couldn’t think of another way.”
“You had no problem taking control of that ship when you wanted to save your friends.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to explain. The ship—”
“Quiet!” he snapped. “Those two who were with you are the son and daughter of the Manti leader. You deceived me to protect them.”
That was a fact, and there was no point in denying it. She racked her brain trying to think of a way to defuse this. “Listen, I can see how it must look to you, but I—”
“Are you going to explain why you weren’t dragged here by the bugmen with the rest of us? Branded, like the rest of us?” He held up his wrist, freshly stamped with a spiral mark like the one on Pax’s wrist. The skin around it was inflamed. “Because that one I would like to hear.”
She shook her head, not seeing a way out. Though she knew she was innocent of these accusations—that she had done the best she could for Beck’s people, and had never wanted any of them to be hurt or imprisoned—from his point of view there was reason to be angry.
“This interview’s over,” her father said firmly. “Come back when you calm down, and we’ll talk through this. There’s a misunderstanding here. My daughter came here with our allies, and I—”
“More bugmen,” Beck grunted. “I know all about your new friends, Harker. I don’t know how you convinced the others to go along with this, but I promise you we’re not going to stay here and wait for—”
“Are you in charge here?” She regretted this challenge the moment she let it slip. But the tension was escalating, and she knew her father would get the worst of it in a fight with this man. She’d hoped to draw his attention back to her—and she succeeded.
She moved to stand beside her father. “Leave and come back later,” she said.
Beck’s fist flew and she flinched backward, but the blow wasn’t meant for her. There was a sickening thud as it connected with her father’s head, and he dropped in a heap.
Yelping with alarm she sank beside him, but before she could determine how badly he was injured, Beck yanked her up by the arm. Pain shot through her shoulder, and she struck out with her knee, aiming for his groin but catching him in the thigh.
He gave a grunt of pain, calling, “Get in here and help me.”
He grabbed for her again, but she danced to the other side of the fire pit, snatching up a skillet that had rested on the floor.
“Go on!” ordered Beck.
Finn and Alice started around the fire pit, and she swung the skillet in an arc. Finn shouted as it connected with some part of his body. She swung again without pausing to assess the damage.
Alice ducked the swipe and dove at Asha, wrapping around her legs. In trying to wrench free, Asha lost her balance and came down hard on her backside. Before she could catch her breath Alice landed on top of her, straddling her midsection, while Finn kicked the skillet from her hands.
“Turn her over,” ordered Beck.
She shouted and kicked, but between the three of them they wrestled her onto her stomach, and Beck took Alice’s place straddling her hips.
“Hold still and you won’t get a hurt you won’t recover from,” he muttered. “Can’t say the same for the rest of us.”
She tried working her arms underneath her, and Beck snapped, “Hold her!”
Alice and Finn grabbed hold of her arms and legs.
“What are you doing?” she panted, belly going cold with fear.
“What I should have done the first time I saw you. You’re a lying little wench and you crossed your own kind.”
He raised her tunic, exposing her lower back.
“He’ll kill you for this,” she choked out in desperation. More likely Pax would accuse her of betrayal as well. Who had she been true to in all of this? Even her father might now be dead because of her decisions.
Beck laughed, and a shudder ran through her. “The truth comes out when it’s convenient. No, love, your bugman won’t kill me. Because when I’m finished here you’re going to show me the way out.”
“Hypocrite!” she spat.
“Oh, I’ll be back. Now you’re going to stop fighting me. If you even tense a muscle before I give you permission, Finnie here is going to break your arm. Right, Finnie?”
“Yes, sir, that’s right.”
She felt a sudden jab against the tender skin above her backside and cried out in pain.
* * *
Her screaming dragged Pax through the maze of walkways so fast no one but the wolf would have been able to keep up. The smell of her blood and her fear whipped through him like a cyclone, lashing him with a burning, blinding rage.
The man outside the door might as well have been made of paper. He didn’t manage even a shouted warning before Pax cut him down, oblivious to the spray of blood and everything but the sounds of suffering within.
The scene registered in a fraction of a second: Known enemy, angry and alert to his presence. His mate alive but near senseless with pain. His enemy’s blade smeared with her blood. A symbol cut into the flesh between her hips.
The priest was right on his heels and drew up beside him. “Christ, what have you done to her?” he shouted at Beck.
Carrick and Beck exchanged a few short, sharp words, but Pax’s intention was narrowing to a very fine point. He neither heard them nor cared what they were discussing.
He lunged for his enemy with his blade.
Beck anticipated him and darted to one side, but Pax too had been ready, and he flung the knife. Beck gave a shout of pain as it lodged in his arm. Pax followed the knife, colliding with the man and yanking the blade free, and they splayed together onto the floor.
Peripherally he was aware of others trying to jump into the fray, but even together they were no match for the priest.
“Carrick!” Beck shouted. “Remember who you are!”
“You had no cause for torture,” Carrick fired back, hauling the others out of the building. “I’ll not interfere.”
Beck rose to his knees, swinging his knife as Pax lunged at him again. Pax ducked the blow and yanked him down by the arm. Beck’s knife skittered away, but he rolled free, shouting as his back came to rest over the warming pit. It wasn’t true fire, but was hot enough to burn at that distance. He bounded up, but Pax was ready, throwing a punch that felled him.
Beck rolled to his back with a groan, and Pax bent over him, throwing down his knife and grabbing Beck’s head between his hands.
“Don’t,” Carrick shouted from outside. “You’ll regret it.”
Beck squirmed in his grasp, but strong as he was, he was still human. Pax wrenched his head to one side. “I won’t.”
He released Beck with less regret than he’d feel for an animal killed for the table, and his eyes sought Asha.
<
br /> * * *
She sat up, hugging her arms around her chest. She felt a cold, creeping nausea.
Pax knelt before her, and the sensation of his hands on her brought a sense of relief. She cared nothing for the fact he’d just killed her attacker with his bare hands. She cared nothing for the fact he’d once again demonstrated he was as much animal as human. So had Beck, and he had no excuse in his genetics. He had been torturing her, and Pax had stopped it.
“My father,” she forced between trembling lips.
“Your father?”
She could hear the surprise in his voice, but she had yet to meet his eyes. Her rescuer, the only one she had betrayed.
She glanced at her father’s limp form, and Pax followed her gaze. He crawled over and pressed his fingers to her father’s neck.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes. I think he’s just unconscious.”
Pax returned to her side. “Let me look at your back.”
She let him turn her and lift her tunic. She heard the breath hiss between his teeth.
She closed her eyes. “What is it?”
He hesitated, and she could hear the priest arguing with the others outside.
“A Manti ID spiral,” Pax said finally. “Like the one on my wrist.”
Beck had carved his accusation onto her body. Any man she was with would ask her about the scar. Any children she bore. She’d have to tell the story. It was part of her for life.
But she was alive, and so was her father.
“He thought you’d joined with us to escape his fate,” Pax speculated. “To avoid Al Campo.”
Finally she met his gaze. Those eyes were easier to look at in the low light. Less vividly green. Less penetrating.
Yet she trembled.
“Yes.”
As she sat breathing through the pain, trying to float free from it enough so she could think clearly, she realized the danger of the situation. Despite Micah’s clever planning, Pax had somehow managed to follow her. He must know everything now. What would it mean for her father? For Micah, and for Rebelión Sagrada?
“What happens now?” she asked him.
* * *
The Ophelia Prophecy Page 19