by T. K. Toppin
In the dim light, Simon saw John staring at him. The glow from the computer projection gave John a ghostly appearance of white and blue.
John’s shoulder slumped a little. His friend was tired. “My thoughts precisely. I loathe to say it, but I sometimes wish he worked for us.”
“My, my. You have gotten dumb these past few months. He did, remember?” Simon stated matter-of-factly.
John clicked his tongue. “You know what I mean. I’d prefer to have him in our corner, on our side, not wondering if and when he’ll turn on us. It’s like putting all your jewels in a thief’s hands for safekeeping.”
“You forget he loves Josie. He won’t betray her—not again, that is. It’s you who has to gain his trust. But now that you two are a package deal, he won’t betray you. Kill you, maybe, if given the chance.” Simon smothered his laugh, but it still made his shoulders shake. “Everybody wants to kill a Lancaster.”
John ignored him. “Do you know who Sunil is?”
“Hmm? Sunil? Oh, yeah, sweet little boy.” Simon frowned and scratched his head, eyeing his friend. He really has lost his marbles. “He’s in my daughter’s class. Why?”
“No reason. Just…checking.” Mumbling almost to himself, John waved a hand, but couldn’t hide a smile creeping into his face.
Simon shook his head wearily. “John, my old friend. Why do you doubt her? What is the matter with you?”
“I know. She would never lie like that.” John grinned widely. “See you in the morning, Simon.” He hustled out of Simon’s house, his steps light and hurried as if thinking of amorous adventures that lay ahead.
“It’s like the old boy’s in heat or something,” Simon muttered.
Chapter 35
Pulling out another outfit, I looked at it sourly, tossed it over my shoulder and dug inside the closet again. I didn’t like most of the styles this century had to offer. The clothes were either the wrong color and fit or the wrong material. Some were too frilly or bawdy for my taste, while some were too short or robe-like. And some just looked like uniforms a space cadet would wear. Should I wear a frock, or stick to my usual trousers and tee?
Fuck it.
I’d been to Aline’s house before, many times. But I thought to at least make an effort to look half decent. After all, it was a proper family gathering and I’d been considered important enough to be even asked to join them.
In the end, I found a simple cream-colored skirt that ended just above my knees, and a halter top in a shade of lilac with little flecks of white, blue, and yellow. I wore this over the body-shield, and ignored wearing a bra altogether. To finish the ensemble, I pulled on a loose white cardigan with a hoodie, and stuck my feet into some comfortable beige slippers.
Trudi had given me a selection of cosmetics and a bottle of fragrance over Christmas, an event I’d forgotten about completely. Not many people celebrated it anymore, but like most traditions, it lingered. John gave me a small, yellow marble-like sphere made of citrine quartz, a reminder of the day I found the yellow ball and what followed. I kept this in my pocket all the time.
I glanced at the range of cosmetics. Some looked straightforward enough; others like surgical instruments and rather scary. Eventually, I picked up something I hoped was a lip-gloss and lightly brushed it on. The clear liquid morphed into a dusky rose hue. Wow, that was pretty cool. I fluffed powder on my face, squirted on scent, and left the room smelling like a citrus mist.
Aline’s house was on the other side of John’s. Each residence looked similar to the others, except for the differing furnishings and tastes of the inhabitants. Aline’s had a feminine and homey touch, neat and clean, with warm wood accents and furnishings and very organized. She lived with her partner Rand, a tall, elegant man with a gleaming shaved head covered in an elaborate tattoo running from the base of his neck to the crown of his head. He had an exotic Ethiopian-Grecian appearance, with deliciously smooth, dark skin that seemed to glow like melted chocolate dusted with gold. He was beautiful, graceful, god-like, and definitely drool-worthy. It was his skilled efficiency at housekeeping that kept their home in working order while he cared for their two children, August, seven, and Amelia, three. Rand was a professor of anthropology, specializing in the Techno-Generation of the early twenty-first century. Call it a strange quirk in coincidence, but Rand and I had much to talk about.
Armed with a container filled with sugar snap cookies Trudi had made, I arrived at their home. Rand greeted me at the door and I presented the cookies to him. He graciously thanked me, kissed my cheek, and ushered me into their comfortable living room.
I was late, but only by a little bit. The three Lancaster siblings were already engrossed in conversation. John flicked his attention to me while Aline disagreed loudly about something. Rand rolled his eyes and offered me a glass of wine, which I took greedily and sipped. Whether it was from being amid all three Lancasters, my first family dinner, or just nerves, I was agitated and edgy.
“But what is the point?” Aline sat on the arm of a chair. She waved a wooden mixing spoon threateningly at John. “I don’t want you going there getting yourself into more trouble. I don’t care how safe it is.”
“Aline.” Adam sat between them in a single chair. “John is well aware of the risks. You know that. It’s something that needs to be done.”
“Send someone else, then,” Aline said crossly. “What am I to tell Mother if you end up dead?”
“I can’t. How will that look?” Riled, John got up to pace. He gravitated next to where I stood with a hip propped on the back of the couch, and brushed my arm with a hand as he passed. “Mother will understand. She always does,” he muttered as an afterthought, and spared me an affectionate look.
“It’ll look like you’ve got some sense of self-preservation, at least.” Aline stood. “Who cares what they think? Are you forgetting how important you are?”
“Aline.” John pressed his lips together, the line between his brows deep.
I didn’t dare interrupt. I had a vague idea of what they were discussing. In a week’s time, John was going ahead with the opening ceremony of the Three Sisters Amphitheatre. It was three months overdue, and after detailed checks and investigations, had been deemed safe. As John said, The Path wouldn’t dare show their hand so blatantly now that they knew something was up. And, given that their main structural engineer was on the run…the jig was up too.
I had to agree with Aline, but I didn’t argue with John. This was what he did, who he was, and I knew enough to not interfere. But he did know I wasn’t pleased about it.
Adam cleared his throat. “Aline, John has a point. Think about it. Certain plots and incidents have occurred and are linked. They have been exposed. They have dispersed to regroup, it would seem. Now is the time to move forward and show them we are unafraid. If they act now, so openly and so recklessly, not only will it show up all their weakness, and let us hope there are many, but it wouldn’t be very smart. What are their objectives? Every good extremist movement has a reason, a cause, an aim. Have they even stated what it is? Do we even know who they are? They are not ready. If they were, we would’ve heard from them by now. I am certain of that.”
John glanced across at his brother with a grateful look.
Aline snorted. “And what if they just do it? After all, it is such a landmark location. Very poetic you should be assassinated on the very spot our aunts died. Chaos, pandemonium, what have you. You’ll still be dead, and where would that leave the rest of us? With that oversized bore of a vice-president you have?”
“Sarah Tretyakov is a very sound and stable person,” John replied thinly. Head bowed as usual, he glowered at the floor. “There is no need for insults. I have complete faith she will lead with efficiency and fairness. And, might I add, I don’t have any plans of dying just yet.”
Marching across the room to the kitchen, Aline cast an evil eye at John, then stirred a pot roughly. “Good,” she muttered. “Mother sends her love to you, Adam. She’
s in Chile, doing whatever she does.”
Griet, their mother, had been Baird’s First Level body-assistant before they married. However, she became dogged with speculation after numerous attempts on Baird’s life. To protect her, and in the hopes of revealing the true killers, Baird had publicly exiled her from the Citadel. This didn’t stop them from remaining married or continuing their affections toward one another, which they had done in secret. After Baird died, John had revoked her exile, but Griet had chosen to not return. The Citadel held too many memories for her. Instead, she took to exploring the world. She was sixty-eight, and the last time I asked John about her, she’d been trekking through caves in Mexico.
The mood lightened then, with stories of family matters, kids getting sick in shuttles, funny moments they all remembered, and business hassles. The usual, everyday things people talked about. By the time dinner, a mouth-watering vegetable ragout with baked river trout in a cream sauce and wild rice, was served, everyone was relaxed and enjoying each other’s company.
With all three siblings together, I noted more similarities between them. Aside from the dark hair and eyes and other physical characteristics, there were their mannerisms. The flick of a hand, the raise of a brow, which they were so fond of doing, and that damned clamping of the mouth. Their differences were distinct as well. Aline was assertive, motivated, and animated. John was subdued, calculating, and very reserved unless provoked, while Adam was a combination of both—a fluid balance of animated calculation and subdued assertiveness. He spoke with the most grace out of the three, with a hint of humor, as if he alone knew of some private joke.
I hardly spoke, only adding comments now and then. Instead, I enjoyed watching and listening. Rand did the same. Sometimes he spoke quietly with me while helping Aline fuss with the plates and checking on the children, who were supposedly in bed sleeping, though intermittent titters of laughter filtered out from within the house. And I gradually grew buoyantly fuzzy, the wine doing its job nicely.
We sat on the terrace around a small, intimate round table set alight with scented candles and small arrangements made of evergreen plants and twigs. The winter night gray and cold around us, the glass-covered terrace gave everything a warm and cozy, cocoon-like atmosphere, and the scent of pine needles from the candles added to the effect. A wave of sleepiness draped over me, and my eyelids struggled to remain open. With some annoyance, like a distant dog barking or the sudden toot of a car horn, I heard an odd tapping noise that brought me out of my daze. A two-beat tap, sharp and metallic.
The wine worked its way into me, and the food sat heavily in my stomach. I tried to concentrate; everyone around me continued to talk and ignore me, even Rand, who had turned his attention to John and was discussing some new teaching method they should consider for home-schooled children. Once in a while, John would glance at me, smiling, and try to include me in the conversation. What I really wanted to do was lie down. I was full, tipsy, and bored. I couldn’t even muster the energy to be engaging, but I smiled back through the fog in my brain.
Tap-tap.
I shook my head discreetly and sought the offending noise. It came from Adam’s left hand, which rested palm down on the glass table. He and Aline were talking intensely about the women in his life. Aline sounded scornful, Adam irritated.
Tap-tap.
He did it again. I watched mesmerized as his fingers drummed impatiently, finishing off with his ring tapping twice on the table.
I’d seen that before. Where? A shot of anxiety coursed through me—I felt sick. The sharp, astringent scent from the pine needles was suffocating. Nauseating. My mouth watered, so I swallowed.
He drummed his fingers again.
My mind woke with a jolt. I stared in horror. Index finger—tap. Little finger—tap. Ring finger—tap-tap. And that ring—the ornate silver ring with the black gemstone!
No!
My hand went to my mouth reflexively. I inhaled sharply and held my breath as the contents of my stomach churned its way up, acidic and bitter. I was vaguely aware of John, who watched me intently. He was already half out of his chair, extending his hand to me. A look of concern creased his face and he said something, but I couldn’t hear a word; my eyes were riveted to Adam’s hand.
I sprang out of the chair so quickly it fell backward with a resounding crash. Blind, I ran inside, groping, pawing my way for the bathroom. I heard John calling after me. Barreling through the powder room door, I crashed to my knees and heaved my dinner into the toilet bowl. I barely registered John; he said something incoherent while patting my back, holding me lest I fall completely into the toilet. I retched again, coughing and gasping, and retched some more. Drenched in cold sweat, I couldn’t stop shaking. Everything around me swirled in a dizzying kaleidoscope of sounds, colors, and images, all meshing and melting together. I tasted bile, squeezed my eyes shut and moaned.
My world went dark.
Chapter 36
“The scans are clear. She’s fine, John.” Aline fussed over Josie, speaking low so as not to disturb her.
As Aline sat beside her patient, Josie’s eyes fluttered open. John peered down. His heart hadn’t stopping racing with concern since she rushed out of the terrace earlier. Seeing her clammy face and pasty pallor hadn’t helped, but now that her eyes were open, the tightening in his chest eased somewhat. She’d been pale and withdrawn throughout the latter part of dinner. Perhaps she was coming down with something.
“Josie?” he said, “are you all right? Aline thinks you’ve had a little too much wine.” He wasn’t too convinced about that. There was something else going on.
“Leave her be,” Aline fretted behind him. “Have you ever not puked a lung out and just wanted to be left alone? It might also be the cream sauce. I know it’s a bit rich, and tends to curdle with wine,” she added almost to herself. “You know how fantastic my cooking is. Everyone points it out time and time again.”
John ignored his sister. Her food was notoriously bad, yet she insisted on cooking for family gatherings. However, the dinner this evening hadn’t been too horrible. In fact, it was excellent compared to her other attempts. Rand must have had a heavy hand in it.
“I’m…fine, now,” Josie managed a hoarse squeak.
John heard the rawness in her tone, imagined how her throat must burn. His own tightened in sympathy. Josie swallowed and tried to sit up. They were in a spare bedroom in Aline’s apartment, small, but nicely furnished with comforting sky-blue walls.
John brushed his hand over Josie’s forehead. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Stay still. Don’t try to get up just yet.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted and scrubbed a hand over her face, irritably pushing his away. “Can we just go?”
He noted that she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “In a minute.” John moved his hand to her shoulder, urging her back down. She sighed and gave in. A deep line creased between her brows, but she closed them as if grateful.
“Tell me what’s wrong?” John asked gently, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Aline had gone. “You’ve drunk more than that before and not gotten sick. And I know you’re not pregnant—I check myself regularly to make sure it’s still functioning. And it is.”
“It’s nothing.” Josie made to get up again. “It’s like Aline said—the cream sauce. I felt it…curdling in my stomach.”
Why is she lying?
John ground his teeth. She didn’t lie, couldn’t—at least, not convincingly. Yet here she was, bold as ever, lying to his face. Maybe it was something she needed to tell him in private. Something had set her off. Was it the thought of him leaving next week? Was it that she worried something might happen to him? But why would she lie about it?
“Can we just go? Please?” Josie pleaded, almost whining. Her legs swung off the bed. She stood, unsteady, and pressed a hand to her stomach. “I’m okay—really. I just want my bed.”
Once they returned to Josie’s home, John stayed with her after she’d washed up an
d got ready for bed. He hoped she’d talk about what had happened, what had bothered her. He lay in bed with her and tried very hard not to fuss. Instead, he spoke to her about general things that had happened during the course of the day, but he could tell she barely heard a word.
She fell asleep, fitfully, tossing and turning, mumbling and moaning. John watched her for a while, unsure whether to leave or not. He wanted to stay and comfort her, but he couldn’t bear to hear her moaning. It sounded too much like that night in the bamboo woods. Something was troubling her, enough that it sickened her and tormented her dreams.
He pressed a hand to her forehead; clammy again, but his touch stilled her for a while. She snuffled and muttered, wriggling closer to him and burrowing her face to his neck. Before long, she was back to twitching and muttering. He held her close to him, stroking her hair, speaking softly until the early hours of the morning, when blissful sleep finally won over and she slept quietly, curled into him.
Then, he slept.
Chapter 37
My mind was back in England, in the basement office that day when I interrupted Lorcan and had a hissy fit with him. Michael Ho had been there, and the impatient man with the tapping fingers lurking in the shadows.
I’d barely taken notice then, too upset with Lorcan to see anything else. But I played it back, again and again in my head. It just couldn’t be him. Adam. It just couldn’t be! Why would Adam be there in the first place?
But then…
How many people could have that exact way of drumming their fingers? It was so unusual. And the ring! I was certain it was the same. Granted, it had been dark, and I’d only seen a glimpse, but the shape and size were roughly similar.