I let out a deep breath. “I’m so relieved.”
“Lucia’s right, you’re incredibly lucky.” Rick gripped my shoulder briefly, the gesture of a man much older than he appeared to be. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
My smile fell away. “Did she really save us all by breaking the fulcrum?”
“It was fueling the anchors, and the anchors were out of control. Their field would have engulfed the store and everyone in it.” Rick looked grim. “She saved us.”
I wished that made me feel better.
Neither Malcolm nor I spoke much on the ride home. I was preoccupied with going over everything that had happened and trying to convince myself I couldn’t have done any more than I had. My mind kept coming back to Wallach’s auguries. The oracle had warned him repeatedly, he’d ignored the warnings, and that was all on his head, but it had warned me too, and I felt that was on my head.
“Blaming yourself?” Malcolm said.
I startled. “How did you know?”
“You hum when you’re thinking of things you wish you’d done differently. A low note, just for a few seconds.”
I’d never noticed that. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t owe me an apology. Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“I just wish I’d pushed Mr. Wallach harder about the oracle’s warnings. I’m sure he could have figured out a way to fix the problem with the anchors if he hadn’t been so impatient.”
“I agree. But it was his decision to make, Helena. All you could do was warn. You couldn’t force him to be more patient.”
“So I need to stop feeling like I failed?”
“That feeling doesn’t change the past, does it?”
I sighed. “No. I guess it’s part of how I hate feeling helpless.
Malcolm touched my hand lightly. “That’s one of the things I love about you. Though I could do without you almost getting killed.”
“I know.” I leaned my head against the window. “I wish this war were over. I wish I didn’t feel so much like it might end in victory for the invaders.”
“We haven’t given up yet,” Malcolm said.
Claude had already gone to bed when we arrived home. Well, he was still on Switzerland time. I trudged up the stairs and started to undress. I’d worn a pullover shirt and a skirt with an elastic waistband, things I could get into and out of without help, but I felt so unexpectedly weary I struggled anyway.
Malcolm helped me extricate myself from my shirt and unfastened my bra for me. “I wish I weren’t so tired,” I said, touching his cheek.
He put his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “Soon enough, love,” he said, and kissed me lightly, a touch that gradually deepened into something more. It warmed me all over. I kissed him back and felt his hand move down my back to settle on my waist. Maybe I wasn’t all that tired.
Malcolm’s phone rang.
I cursed. Malcolm chuckled and released me. “Hold that thought,” he said, picking up his phone. His face went still as he read the display. “Yes?” he said. The stillness gave way to an intent look. “When? All right. Tell her I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked when he hung up.
“That was Tinsley,” Malcolm said. He stripped off his shirt and went to the dresser, where he took his fatigues out of a drawer. “The Pattern has predicted another attack. If we go now, we’ll beat the invaders to it.”
I saw my opportunity for an intimate interlude slip away. “Where?”
“The Danvers Node near Toronto. Juliet’s ward-stepping here in ten minutes to take me to the Gunther Node.” He fastened his pants and sat on the bed to put on his boots. “I’m really sorry about this.”
“You know I understand.” I found the T-shirt I was using for a nightshirt and pulled it over my head. “Tell the team I wish you all luck. And come back to me.”
He smiled, a little ruefully. “I wish I could make that promise.”
I went downstairs with him and into our backyard. Juliet Dawes emerged from the wardstone shed as we approached. Juliet was a stone magus and a good friend, but she didn’t do more than give me a little wave. “You ready?” she asked Malcolm.
Malcolm nodded. He kissed me, said “I hope to return soon,” and entered the shed with Juliet. I watched the shed door close on them, realized my fist was clenched tight, and turned to go back into the house.
The clock on the microwave read 7:46. We’d gone straight from Abernathy’s to the Gunther Node to see Viv and hadn’t eaten. Malcolm would be starving when he got back. I looked at my bandaged hand with a scowl. “You’re not helping,” I told it. Cooking one-handed was not an experiment I wanted to try.
I dug around in the fridge until I found a container of leftover cannelloni, one of my favorite foods to make. While it was heating, I ran upstairs and changed my skirt for my pajama pants and felt a little better. When I returned downstairs, I got out a tray and put the cannelloni and a can of Diet Coke on it. I added a hunk of Italian garlic bread and a couple of snickerdoodles and, balancing the tray carefully, returned to my bedroom. Eating in bed was one of my favorite indulgences when Malcolm was on the hunt.
But it didn’t relax me. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Malcolm and his team could be facing in Toronto. The Pattern might have predicted this attack, but the Wardens were still fighting a defensive war so long as they couldn’t take the fight to the invaders in their space. I popped the can open, using my left arm to hold it close against my chest, and took a long drink. I was not going to sleep until Malcolm was safely home.
I finished my meal and set the tray on Malcolm’s side of the bed. Nibbling a cookie, I looked at the TV screen and fought a war with myself. Watching the news would only make me miserable because I was in no position to help. On the other hand, I didn’t think I could bear not knowing. I finally gave up and found the remote. The attack might not have started yet. Maybe the world still rolled on in blissful ignorance of what was about to happen in Toronto.
I turned on the television and flicked through channels until I found one of the all-news networks. The newscaster, a slim African-American man, didn’t have the manic edge to his voice that would indicate a terrorist attack. He was talking about some summit meeting between world leaders. I moved on. The next news channel showed a man and a woman, both blond and eerily similar to one another in face and build, talking about something the President had done that was either great for the economy or a financial disaster, I couldn’t tell which. I was about to change the channel again when the female newscaster got the strangest look on her face, an expression of confusion blended with horror. “I’ve just been told another terrorist attack,” she began, then went silent, listening to an unseen speaker.
“Emily?” her co-host said.
Emily blinked and shook her head slightly. “Toronto is under attack,” she said, her voice clear and as calm as if she were reporting sports scores, though her eyes were wide and her pupils dilated. “The terrorist bioweapon has been deployed west of the city. Casualties are already being reported. It’s spreading faster than in other cities.” Now her voice shook. “There is still no evidence of how the weapon was deployed. No terrorist organization has yet claimed responsibility. The Canadian Armed Forces have mobilized—”
Again, she went silent. Her co-host looked like he wanted to shake the information out of her; he was leaning forward, and his hands gripped the edge of the desk. “That’s all we know,” she finally said. She turned to look at her co-host with the bleakest expression I’d ever seen anyone wear. “We will have live reporting from the scene when…when someone…”
“We’ll be right back,” the male newscaster said, and they cut to the station’s background screen and theme song.
I drew my legs up to sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed and changed the channel back to the first news station. The newscaster was speaking rapidly in a low, intense voice. “—spreading throughout the greater Toronto
area,” he said. “The Canadian Armed Forces have set up a cordon to catch the terrorists responsible. Residents of Toronto and the surrounding areas, including Niagara Falls, are urged to stay indoors. More on this as it develops.”
That station, too, went to commercial. I muted the TV and took a deep, calming breath. None of this was going the way it should. The Wardens had left in plenty of time to stop the attack, or at least minimize the damage. If this attack was worse—
My phone rang, and I let out a little shriek. I scrabbled it toward me and said, “Judy, did Mike—”
“He left. Are you watching the news? It’s awful.”
“I don’t understand why it’s so bad.”
“Me neither.” Judy blew out her breath; it made a whistling sound in my ear. “They wouldn’t report it if the invaders made themselves known, would they?”
“Why would the invaders do that?”
“I don’t know. It just seems like the next logical step for them, if they’re going for full-on destruction.”
I scratched my nose, which was a mistake because the bandaging made it itch more. “They still have to consume our magic. They wouldn’t want to do anything that would interfere with that.”
“Maybe. If they kill all the Wardens—”
“Hang on. The news is back on.” I lowered the phone to my lap and turned up the volume.
“—live from Toronto. Isabella?”
“We’ve been told the event started in Mississauga, west of Toronto,” Isabella said. She was a youthful Latina with her hair pulled back starkly from her face, and she looked as grim as the blonde newscaster had. “The Army has cordoned off the area and begun the evacuation of Toronto to the north and northeast. Prevailing winds are blowing south, and residents of cities on the lake are urged to remain indoors.”
“Is this being classed as a terrorist attack similar to what happened in Natchitoches?
“Jackson, the authorities have not made an official statement, but the spread of the disease is what we saw in Natchitoches and in other cities around the world. According to my source, who asked to remain anonymous, the effects of the bioweapon are identical: muscle spasms, followed by heart attack or stroke or both. I think the same unknown terrorist group is responsible here.”
“Thank you, Isabella. As yet, no organization has claimed responsibility—”
I shut the TV off. I didn’t need to listen to their ignorant speculation. “Judy?”
“Still here.”
“When did Mike leave? It seems impossible that they were too late to stop the attack.”
“He’s been gone almost an hour. Long before they started reporting. I’m worried.”
“Me too.” I took a bite from my second cookie. “But I don’t want to call or text Malcolm and distract him.”
Judy didn’t reply.
“Judy? You still there?”
“Helena,” Judy said in a faint voice. “What channel are you watching? Never mind. Turn to channel eight.”
Mystified, I turned on the TV and changed the channel. It was the middle of prime time, but instead of a sitcom, the evening news anchor was speaking. “—live broadcast,” he said. “What can you tell us?”
A hissing, bumping noise came over the speaker, the sound of someone fumbling a microphone, and beyond that, a rising and falling hum I couldn’t identify. “I’m not sure yet,” a male voice said. “We’ve passed the cordon and no one in authority has seen us yet. The streets are a mess of cars trying to move northeast and people fleeing on foot.”
“Are you in danger?” the newscaster asked.
“I don’t think so. The previous attacks were all limited in scope, and despite what the Army’s said about evacuating, I don’t think the bioweapon’s range will reach this far. We’re going to continue south—wait.”
The channel went silent. Finally, the newscaster said, “What’s wrong? Keith, what’s wrong?”
Keith’s heavy breathing came over the microphone. “I thought I saw something, but it’s just the lighting here. We’re moving on.”
“For those of you just joining us, you’re listening to Keith Scarren, reporting live from Mississauga, the site of the latest terrorist attack,” the newscaster said. “In just a moment, we’ll go to Rebecca Hayes for commentary on the tactics used by the terrorists and what we can expect to see as this attack progresses. Keith, any news?”
“We’ve moved out of the main streets so we can go more quickly, stay away from the evacuees,” Keith said. “I don’t think—what’s that?”
“Keith?”
“I don’t understand what I’m seeing,” Keith said. “The shadows are moving away from the lights, and—run, run!”
The newscaster half-rose from his seat. “Keith? Keith!”
A horrible, anguished scream filled my bedroom. I’d heard that sort of scream before. Memories I’d suppressed, memories of seeing a woman writhe in agony as dozens of unbound familiars drained her of her magic, rose up in awful clarity before me. I clutched a pillow to my chest and closed my eyes, incapable of shutting off the sound.
After a few seconds, it cut off as sharply as if I’d found the remote. I opened my eyes. The newscaster looked as horrified as I felt. “We’ve…lost contact with our correspondent,” he said faintly. “We’ll try to…to reconnect with him, but now let’s go to Rebecca Hayes.”
The scene shifted to a plump, attractive woman whose mouth hung open in astonishment. “I,” she began, then fell silent, clearly at a loss for words.
When she didn’t continue right away, I told Judy, “That reporter saw the invaders.”
“Yes, and was killed by them,” Judy said. “Where the hell are our fighters?”
“I wish I knew,” I said. I’d never been so afraid for Malcolm in my life.
23
There wasn’t anything else to say. Judy and I ended our call; neither of us said it was so we could be free for a call telling us that Malcolm and Mike were okay, but I knew that’s what she was thinking. I watched the news channel’s “expert” talk a lot of nonsense about the nonexistent terrorists and what their bioweapon was capable of. They never did regain contact with Keith, though I hadn’t expected them to. Poor, stupid, dead Keith, who’d gone foolishly into danger and paid for it with his life.
Eventually I startled awake, realized I’d dozed off, and sat up in bed. I didn’t want to sleep until I heard from Malcolm, but my body didn’t feel the same. I thought about waking Claude to tell him about the attack—all right, I selfishly wanted company—but decided, since there was nothing he could do about it, it was better to let him sleep.
I rearranged the pillows, curled up, and fell asleep thinking of shadows detaching themselves from the bases of lampposts and swarming a crowd of people who screamed and fled.
My phone woke me out of a fitful sleep. I snatched it up, and my heart turned over in my chest when I saw Malcolm’s name. SAFE AND WELL LONG STORY HOME SOON.
I clutched the phone to my chest and breathed out a prayer of thanks. After typing out a reply, I lay back on the pillows and closed my eyes. Malcolm’s text and my long nap had cleared my head and left me wide awake. Malcolm would know what had happened in Toronto, why it had taken so long and why the invaders had been free to attack that reporter. I had no idea what the world would make of the man’s final words, but it couldn’t be anything good.
It seemed only minutes before I heard the back door open and close. I flew down the stairs and into Malcolm’s arms, holding him tightly enough he let out a gasp. “It’s fine,” he told me. “We stopped the attack. Not soon enough, but it didn’t wipe out Toronto.”
“What happened? I was watching the news, and they kept reporting on how the bioweapon was spreading, and the Wardens didn’t seem to even be there.”
“Come upstairs. I need to get out of these clothes.” He smelled terrible, like stale sweat and blood and the bitter tang of gunpowder residue. I followed him into our bathroom and leaned against the door frame a
s he undressed, too tense even to appreciate the sight.
“The initial attack in Mississauga was a feint,” he said as he turned on the shower. “There were so many invaders, we didn’t at first realize that the ones we were fighting hadn’t attacked any humans. Everywhere we went, the invaders stopped their attack as soon as we showed up. It took us time to recognize where the real attacks were happening and shut them down. By then, the destruction had spread as far as Toronto’s city limits, and the place was a disaster—enormous traffic jams, the Canadian Army all over the place, people fleeing on foot.”
He was quiet then, lathering up and tilting his head back to rinse his hair. I said, “Did you hear about the reporter who was killed on live TV? How he saw the invaders?”
“I did,” Malcolm said grimly. “I think the world has heard it by now. Thankfully, the speculation about his death is all entirely wrong. Though I don’t know how anyone would figure out from that recording that he was killed by invaders from another reality.”
“That’s what I hoped. That they’d think…I don’t know. Maybe that the bioweapon makes people delusional before they die.”
“I heard someone suggest that very thing.” Malcolm stepped out of the shower and toweled off. “But it might not matter. If the invaders continue to display such cunning tactics—”
“The Wardens aren’t giving up, are they?”
“No. But I imagine Lucia is formulating a possible plan in which she approaches the mundane governments of the world to tell them the truth and enlist their help.”
That struck me to the heart with fear. “That sounds desperate.”
“Desperate times, Helena. And I can’t say I disagree with the idea. Humans are dying, and if they don’t know the truth, they can’t defend themselves. As it’s clear we Wardens are doing such a damn poor job of defending them.”
I put my arms around him. “Don’t say that. You’re doing your best.”
“I am. But the factionalism is still rotting us at the core. I saw more cooperation tonight, but not enough.” He sighed and put his arms around me. “I’m exhausted. Let’s sleep, and hope tomorrow looks brighter. It certainly can’t be bleaker than tonight.”
The Book of Destiny Page 25