“This is a lovely room,” Madeleine said, startling me out of my reverie. “You have made this place your own.”
“Thanks.” I couldn’t resist. “Is it weird, being back here?”
“Yes. Though it has been remodeled enough that the similarities are less.” Madeleine looked out the back wall of floor to ceiling glass windows to where the setting sun cast long, golden rays over the lawn. “But the yard is the same. I remember Malcolm and Ewan chasing one another, around and around until they fell down dizzy. And Alastair, running after them.”
I had never heard her say her husband’s name before. She hadn’t sounded sad, or regretful, but her voice hadn’t sounded dead either. Wistful, maybe? “I really regret never meeting him,” I said quietly, letting my words reach out to her like an offering to a wounded animal that might turn and bite.
“He was the best of men,” Madeleine said. “Malcolm, he looks so like his father. I hated him for years for that.”
That stunned me into silence. Not that she would admit to hating her own son, but that for a moment, I saw the world through Madeleine’s eyes. How must it have been, to lose the man you loved above all others, and to be reminded of him every day by someone who could never take his place? I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound fatuous. So I said nothing, and waited for Madeleine to speak again. Finally, she said, “You think I am evil, I know.”
“I don’t think that.” Much.
Madeleine chuckled. “Mais oui, you will not say because you are not hard. You do not speak the hard truths. It is not a bad thing, but it is not the way I am. I admit I do not like you because I wish better things for Malcolm.”
And just like that, any sympathy I had for her evaporated. “Okay, now I’m thinking it,” I said angrily.
To my surprise, Madeleine laughed. “I speak wrong. I mean to say, I did not like you when you came into Malcolm’s life. I thought Malcolm rejected Andria and chose you simply to spite me. But it is not true. I see that he loves you, and that you love him. And I cannot make him live his life to suit me. That is how I lose him, and in losing him, I lose his father all over again.”
She’d stunned me again. As I groped for words, Malcolm came into the living room, dressed in his fatigues and fully armed. “Mother,” he said. “What did you two find to talk about?”
“Things,” Madeleine said before I could respond. “This room, which is lovely. Are you ready? The wardstone is where I remember it?”
“In the shed in the backyard,” Malcolm said. He drew me into his arms and kissed me. “I love you,” he murmured. “I’ll be back soon.”
“I love you,” I said, laying my head briefly on his shoulder. This never got any easier. “Take care.”
“I always do.” He released me and nodded to his mother.
“We will return,” Madeleine said. “Bonne nuit, Helena.”
I followed them to the sliding door that let out on the patio, then watched from the living room as they crossed to the little shed that looked like it ought to hold a lawnmower, but actually contained a stone warded weakly enough to be used for ward-stepping. As the shed door closed, I slid the patio door shut and walked like a sleepwalker through the house until I reached my bedroom. I sat on my bed, buried my face in my hands, and prayed silently for their safety, for the safety of all the Wardens. Maybe I should talk to a priest, or a minister, someone who could explain how to pray properly, but I didn’t feel drawn toward any of the religious faiths I knew about and didn’t know if I wanted my formless beliefs shaped in any particular way. So I prayed the way that felt right to me and hoped God didn’t mind.
When I finished, I looked around the room and thought about what I could do to keep from going crazy with waiting. I didn’t think I could focus on studying my augury, and I felt too restless to read. My eye fell on my phone, and I flicked through the contacts. I could call Viv and Judy, but the last time we’d all waited here together for news of a battle, it had ended with four people on my doorstep telling me my husband was dead. I was just superstitious enough not to want that to happen again.
My finger hesitated over a name, then pressed Call. After a few rings, Harry Keller picked up. “Helena? Did Malcolm go to Kalgoorlie?”
“He did, just a few minutes ago. I don’t suppose Harriet is in contact with the fighters there?”
“She’s not. She went to the Gunther Node to help analyze the Pattern. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’m just looking for something to do.”
“I hear Abernathy’s will be closed for a few days. That leaves you at loose ends, eh?”
“It was relaxing today. I’m sure I’ll get bored before long.”
Harry laughed. “You have the strongest work ethic of anyone I know, and I include Lucia in that category. Read a book. You handle them all day long, you ought to dip into one now and again.”
I thought of Old Tin Sorrows and how much I was enjoying that. Maybe, if I could focus on that, it would calm me down. “You’re right. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks.”
I read a chapter or two, then set the book aside and stretched. Maybe a movie would keep my attention better. I hadn’t seen Twelve Angry Men in a while. I trotted down the stairs and turned on the television.
“—assures us there’s no need to fear, but I ask you, what kind of virus kills a single town and then stops?” a strident female voice said. I looked up from the DVD cabinet at the TV to see a woman I vaguely recognized as some kind of news commentator addressing an unseen person to her right.
Just then, the camera switched to that person, a blond man in suit and tie who looked like a Ken doll, down to the shellacked hair. “There have been no more ‘attacks,’ as you irresponsibly call them, since the Barga incident,” he said, as hotly as she had spoken. “The government acted quickly and decisively to contain the outbreaks. And if they were attacks, there’s no pattern to them! A town in Georgia and a town in Tuscany that have nothing in common—”
“Both were about the same size. Both were relatively isolated. Exactly what you’d expect for a trial run of a new bioweapon. And several terrorist organizations have claimed responsibility. Let’s be honest, Bruce, this is the face of terrorism in the 21st century.”
“If it is, you’re doing their job for them, Marie. People are already afraid, and your fearmongering in the absence of evidence is just going to cause more panic!”
I shook myself out of my stupor and found the remote, changing the input from the satellite box to the DVD player. That had been stupid. If Bruce was so worried about causing panic, why was he giving airtime to Marie? Or maybe I was wrong, and he was the guest on Marie’s show. I didn’t watch the news often.
I’d been so caught up in my own troubles, I had no idea what the world thought of the destruction at Berryton and Barga. It seemed so obviously an attack I couldn’t understand why the Bruces of the world didn’t see it that way. Was there widespread panic? I almost turned the TV back to the news, but realized in time that there was nothing I could do if there were, and I had enough fears without burdening myself with make-believe ones.
I put in the Twelve Angry Men DVD and went to make myself a bowl of popcorn. My school had done Twelve Angry Women my junior year, our drama department being disproportionately female, and I’d been on stage crew as usual, but I’d also understudied Juror #4, so I felt a kinship with E.G. Marshall, who’d played the role in the film. I loved the way the plot shifted over the course of the story, with each juror having his (or her, I guess) attitude and beliefs tested.
I settled in with my popcorn and Diet Coke, determined not to sleep until Malcolm returned, or called, or texted—anything to confirm that he was well and the counterattack had been successful. I lay back with my feet propped on a pillow and felt all my muscles relax. I couldn’t imagine life without great films.
The buzz of a text startled me awake. I shot upright, spilling the remainder of the popcorn, and blinked at the TV screen. Only two
jurors hadn’t changed their votes. I snatched up my phone, and my heart thumped painfully when I saw Malcolm’s name. He couldn’t text if he was injured. ALL WELL. INVADERS TURNED BACK NO PROBLEM. HOME SOON.
I checked the display for the time. Just after ten. That had been fast. FAST WORK, I texted back.
WILL TELL YOU EVERYTHING WHEN I RETURN. I LOVE YOU.
His assurance warmed my heart. He was alive. He was coming home. LOVE YOU TOO.
I gathered up the spilled popcorn while the movie played out to its satisfying conclusion. Though now that I was older, I kind of wanted the movie to end with Henry Fonda being secretly paid off by the defense for having successfully convinced the jury to find the murderer not guilty. As it was, the final scene on the street outside the courthouse felt weak. But I was too cheerful to care.
When the movie was over, I put the DVD away and went upstairs to change into pajamas. I was just considering reading more of my augury when I heard the back door open and close. I flew down the stairs and into Malcolm’s arms, burying my face in his shoulder and breathing him in. He smelled of sweat and gunpowder, but his fatigues were surprisingly cool.
“It’s the middle of winter in Australia,” he told me when I mentioned it. “Mid-sixties and very comfortable. I think I need a shower.” There was dirt in his hair and on his face, and altogether he looked filthy.
I followed him into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub while he undressed. “It was a perfect operation, and I’ve seen very few of those,” he told me. “So many things can go wrong—bad timing, or the enemy knows you’re coming, or weapons malfunction—but everything went just as planned.”
“So what did the attack look like? How are the invaders draining whole towns?”
“Our guess was right that the attacks are led by the intelligent invaders. They go in first, in disguise—all of them are skilled at illusions—and open thousands of rifts, cracks the smaller ones can get in through. That part, we don’t understand, or at any rate don’t understand how that’s possible. But it was irrelevant. We used the Pattern to predict where the intelligent invaders would appear and destroyed them before they could let many of their stupider, smaller cousins into the city.”
I shuddered. “How many were there? Of the intelligent ones, I mean.”
“That’s the frightening part. Only three.” He turned on the water and stepped into the shower stall. “Three intelligent ones to wreak so much destruction. Lucia hasn’t said how many came through in Montana. She might not know yet.”
“I guess it’s positive news. All the Wardens have to do is destroy all the intelligent ones, and their threat is ended.”
“If we can find them. Until a year and a half ago, everyone believed the intelligent invaders were mythical, or at least long gone. The one you met in Abernathy’s was the first one anyone had encountered in centuries. Assuming they’ve been here all along without us knowing, they’ve had all those centuries to learn how to stay hidden. We can kill the ones we find, but we’ve no guarantee that we’ve found all of them.”
“I like my take on it better.”
Malcolm laughed. “You do have a delightfully positive outlook on life.”
I picked up his filthy clothes, which smelled worse when they were bundled up. “I’ll put these in the wash, and then I’ll be right back.”
When I returned, Malcolm was toweling dry his hair and the bathroom smelled of the fresh scent of his soap. “I never appreciate being clean so much as when I’m just back from a mission,” he said.
“Mmm. I appreciate you being clean all the time,” I said, running a hand over his back, which was damp from condensation.
He laughed. “Let’s go to bed. I still have to go to work in the morning.”
I turned down the covers while he got into boxers and a T-shirt, then snuggled up in his arms and closed my eyes in pure contentment. “You know, I think Madeleine is mellowing toward me?” I said. “She was almost polite tonight. Well, polite for her, which means she said a couple of nasty things under cover of being straightforward and speaking truth.”
“You don’t have to put up with that, love.”
“I know. This was…different. I wonder if it wasn’t being in her old house that did it. She said something about watching you and Ewan play with your father on the lawn, and she sounded almost human.”
“I wish she could be like she was when my father was alive. She was still a hard person to get close to, but he made her into her best self.” Malcolm sighed. “What makes you think she’s mellowing?”
“She admitted she thought you’d chosen me purely to spite her. And that she could see we love each other. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part, but it felt like maybe she’s finally coming to terms with the idea of us.”
Malcolm’s arms tightened on me. “I suppose it’s possible. I’m not holding my breath.”
“Me neither.” But it surprised me to realize, deep inside, I hoped it was true.
8
The next day was Friday. I spent the morning chatting with Ingrid, our occasional household help, and the afternoon cleaning the pantry. I liked reorganizing things; it was soothing and the end result cheered me up. I’d probably get tired of housework if it was all I did, but now and again it was a welcome break from my job.
That evening, Malcolm and I went to the Kellers’ for dinner. Their home was in a west side neighborhood in the hills, overgrown with trees and filled with ‘50s era homes that had once been ultramodern and were still attractive in an old-fashioned way. Squarish and blocky and vertical, the Kellers’ home wasn’t the sort of place I could see myself living, but it suited them and their unique personalities.
We followed the curving driveway that circled the house, giving visitors a tour of Harry Keller’s magnificent rosebushes. In the heart of summer, they were radiant with color, deep reds and pale peaches, blush pink like the cheeks of a girl in love and dark purple-red close enough to black as to make no difference. Those last were the pride of Harry’s heart. He’d spent years cross-breeding roses to get that extraordinary color, and if I hadn’t known him so well, I might have suspected magic was involved.
The garden gnome by the Kellers’ front porch winked at us saucily as we mounted the steps. It was a lone piece of tackiness in the otherwise elegant landscaping, but when I’d asked Harriet about it, she’d just laughed and said it was a private joke between her and Harry and wouldn’t elaborate. I guessed it was something more than just where they hid their spare key—well, that was true, the spare key was on top of the door frame. But it always made me wonder.
Harry let us in. “Glad to see you,” he said. “Dinner’s almost ready. Come sit with me. Harriet says I’m just in the way in the kitchen.”
“Because you are, dear,” Harriet called out. “I hope everyone likes fried chicken.”
I loved Harriet’s fried chicken, served with baked potatoes drenched in butter and sour cream and baked beans whose recipe I had yet to master. The smells emanating from the kitchen made my stomach growl.
Harry chuckled. “We love having guests who appreciate Harriet’s cooking so much,” he said. “And I’m glad that thing at Kalgoorlie went off without a hitch. Hate to think of you still there, Malcolm.”
“If I were still there, it would be a disaster the likes of which the Wardens have never seen,” Malcolm said, the smile falling away from his lips. “I can’t imagine even our glass magi being able to maintain illusions for so long. And there would certainly be civilian casualties.”
“The custodian at the Morgan Node, Rafe Wheelwright, is an old friend of ours,” Harry said. “He said the fighting never came close.”
“It was almost anticlimactic,” Malcolm agreed. “We knew almost exactly where the intelligent invaders would come through, thanks to the Pattern, and took them out before they could fully implement their plan. So we never did have to fight waves of the small ones.”
“Now, both of you know there’s no talking shop over
dinner,” Harriet said. She’d removed her apron and held it balled up in front of her. “Let’s eat, and talk of pleasanter things. I haven’t seen Judy in weeks, Helena, is she doing well?”
I stuffed myself full of good food to the point that I almost didn’t have room for Harriet’s rich cheesecake topped with raspberry compote. Almost. I was full, not stupid. Then I rolled myself into the living room, accepted a cup of coffee in the tiny cups Harriet had brought back from Belgium in her fighting days, and settled into a corner of the sofa next to Malcolm.
“But the invaders will change their tactics now they know what we can do,” Harry said, exactly as if the conversation hadn’t been interrupted by food. “We can’t count on it being that easy again.”
“No, but that’s typical of warfare,” Malcolm said. “In an ordinary war, we would go on the attack, but since we have no way of reaching the invaders’ reality, we can only try to guess their next strategy and thwart it before they can enact it.”
“Why can’t we reach them?” I asked. “Is it just that humans can’t survive there?”
“That, and we’re in the same position the intelligent invaders are when it comes to finding a place big enough to slip through,” Harriet said. “They can use nodes, but that would be deadly to us. And no one’s ever discovered what we can use. If that ever happened, I’m sure some clever Warden would come up with a way to protect a human in the invaders’ reality.”
“But even if we could get through and survive, what could we do that would be useful?” Harry said. “It’s tempting to think of planting a bomb, or a flamethrower, but we don’t know enough about their reality to know what would do us the most good.”
“It would serve them right if we could send through a thermonuclear device,” I muttered.
Malcolm laughed. “That is tempting.”
“Well, with the Pattern recalibrated, we should have no trouble tracking the incursion again,” Harriet said. “The report on Berryton confirms what we saw in Barga and Kalgoorlie. The Pattern just wasn’t set up to account for the intelligent invaders.”
The Book of Destiny Page 8