But for now, she stewed. She fought the desire to tug at her hair, wanting to rip it out at the roots. What if he's succumbed to the ring's influence? What if he's done something terrible? He could be out there all alone right now, thinking who knows what, doing who knows what....
Her fears grew with each moment that passed, but yesterday had probably seen the worst of it. That was the day the news had showed nonstop coverage of an unprecedented late season snowfall in northern Europe. The snow was so dense, and so much of it was falling so fast, that the affected areas were buried under meters of it in just hours. And that was just the beginning. The snow was still falling; parts of Norway, Finland, Sweden, and even the eastern coast of Iceland were close to entering a new ice age from the amount of winter weather they were experiencing.
The timing of this latest disaster-while Grant was missing-was not lost on Julie.
She glanced around the room. Nora and Fletcher sat nearby, watching the news alongside her. Hector hunched at the kitchen table, pretending to read a newspaper. In reality, he was watching Daniel and Lisa, who had spent every waking minute of their time in London doing their best to avoid one another.
Daniel had just hobbled into the kitchen without his cane, not realizing that Lisa was already there, fixing herself a sandwich.
He froze as she looked up and their eyes met.
Moments passed in silence. It was Lisa who found her voice first.
"Would you like one?" she said, indicating her freshly made tomatoon-whole-wheat.
"Yeah, okay," Daniel replied. She set about her task as he leaned over to the half-sized refrigerator beneath the cabinet by the sink and retrieved a metal pitcher containing fruit punch. She waited for him to finish and then withdrew the half of a tomato still inside the fridge.
Daniel didn't see her action as he was pouring his glass. With the juice still in his hand, he turned and slammed into her as she was still bent over. The red juice drenched her hair, soaked her clothes, and drizzled onto the floor. The pitcher clanged loudly as it floundered on the floor and finally settled.
"Oh!" Daniel cried. "I'm sorry-" his words drifted off as Lisa stood to her full height and he saw her face, her hair, her clothes ... all soaked in red.
His complexion blanched. Horrified, he merely began shaking his head, as if to will none of this to be happening.
"All my fault ..." His lips formed the words but no sound came out.
Lisa was perturbed by the bright red liquid soaking her hair and clothing, but she set that aside because she knew she was the only person in the room who realized what Daniel was seeing all over her.
And it wasn't juice.
"Daniel ..." she said softly, trying to take his hand.
But he pulled away from her. The action was too fast, and he lost his balance and wound up on his rear end on the floor, the pool of juice seeping into his socks and pants. He was shaking all over and looked as though he might throw up.
"C'mon, it's okay," she said as everyone in the apartment looked on. "Let me help you up-"
"NO!" he howled. Appalled at everything around him, he clumsily returned to his feet and stumbled off toward the bathroom. Lisa, dripping red juice everywhere, chased after him.
He slammed the door in her face and locked it. She began pounding on it.
"Do you even CARE about my feelings?!" she shouted. After repeated attempts to get him to open the door, he still made no response.
"FINE!" she yelled at the door, livid, her face red-and not from the juice. "Hide from your problems and maybe they WILL go away!!"
Julie stood and made for the door. "That's it, I have to get out of here," she mumbled.
Lisa spun on her heel. "Where are you going? It's not safe to go out alone. I'll go with you," she offered.
"No," Julie replied emphatically. "You two are going to stay here and work out whatever's going on between you. I need a break from the drama."
Hector rose from his perch on the sofa and nodded an unspoken message to Julie, who nodded back to him. He would go with her.
They left, and Hector carefully and quietly pulled the door closed behind them.
Hector found that he had to walk faster than normal-which was already more rapidly than most people casually walked-to keep up with Julie. He always felt uncomfortable around Julie; he wanted so desperately to heal her from her illness, but no matter how hard he tried, nothing worked. It left him with feelings of repressed guilt every time he was alone with her, which thankfully didn't happen often.
Julie exhibited no desire to talk as they swerved through the anxious-looking Londoners trapped inside the barrier. Hector usually enjoyed hearing others talk since he never did it himself, but he was willing to settle for mutual silence now.
Nerves were frayed, and everything seemed to be falling apart.
If only Alex were here; she could soothe all of them by willing their emotions to calm.
They had barely made it two blocks when a wail and cry from a nearby pub stopped them cold. Men poured out into the streets, many looking shocked, some even crying.
When the crowd thinned, Hector and Julie squeezed inside, where a handful of patrons remained staring at a television mounted over the bar, their afternoon pints forgotten for the moment. The bartender, a beefy, balding lug in dark clothing, didn't even look their way.
"God save the Queen. . ." Julie heard him mutter to himself.
Julie caught sight of a scrolling banner at the bottom of the locally broadcast BBC channel, the only one still on the air inside the cordoned zone.
"PRIME MINISTER FOUND DEAD," read the enormous red headline.
Hector looked over her shoulder as Julie shook her head in disbelief.
The newscaster reported the few facts that they knew about this breaking story. The prime minister had been found at his desk, in his office, simply staring down at his desktop, eyes open. Reportedly, no one knew anything was wrong until he didn't answer a question from a female member of the opposing Parliamentary Party, who burst into his office. The woman called for help when he didn't respond to her, and he was found to have no vital signs.
"It was as if everything was normal one minute, and the next his heart had simply stopped beating," the anchor said, and Julie heard nothing more.
"No, Grant ..." she whispered. "You couldn't have ... I know you couldn't."
Grant didn't bother knocking on the door at the top of the stairs. He was in the apartment building that contained the attic he'd seen in his mind's eye.
The door opened before him and he walked through. He found the quartet of British Ringwearers still seated around the table in their kitchen, which was the very room the door opened into.
"I say!" The older man stood from the table in protest. "Don't you people know how to knock?"
"I don't have time for formalities," Grant said urgently. "I don't know how you're keeping this barrier in place around the city, but you're going to bring it down. Right now."
The woman in the hat faced him from her seat at the table, only today it was a yellow hat so bright it might have been colored by a highlighter. "Just like that?" she said, leaning back in her seat, dripping incredulity. "Simply because you say so? I'm afraid you have a mistaken idea of how things work here, darling. As well as how to present yourself in public," she added, taking in the dried blood stains all over him.
"For a group that's all about protecting your homeland, you should pay better attention to the local news," Grant replied.
At a glance from the hat woman, the spike-haired girl leaned back in her seat and turned on a small black radio on the nearby countertop.
A woman's voice was proclaiming the news about the Prime Minister with great urgency from a local news report-a station somewhere inside the barrier.
"It's true," Grant said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You did this?" the old man asked, his fists clenched.
"I stopped his heart beating with a casual thought," Grant replied, hi
s voice rising. "And I could do the same to each of you, simultaneously, right this instant, so don't bother trying anything. If you don't bring the barrier down, and I mean right now ... I'll do it myself. I'll kill all four of you right here."
The woman in the hat and the older gentleman exchanged deadly serious looks. Finally, she nodded regretfully. The man took his seat once more and all four of them closed their eyes. They seemed to be meditating or concentrating, Grant couldn't quite tell.
Their silence stretched on for several minutes, and Grant began to feel uncomfortable. He kept his defenses up and close at hand should they try to attack him somehow.
Finally they all opened their eyes at the same moment.
"The barrier is done," said the woman in the hat. "But I assure you our business with you is not."
"If you're lying to me-"
"We're not," the old man cut him off. "We are honorable. And we will honor your actions in the manner most fitting. You have declared war on the sovereign nation of Great Britain with an illegal assassination. We will see you brought to justice, one way or another."
Grant turned to leave. He didn't have time for this. "Fine, whatever."
"It's done. The Prime Minister is dead. The barrier is gone," Grant barked at the librarian where she sat in her desk chair, unconcerned that he was making a scene in one of London's most revered establishments. "Now give me back my friends."
"Oh but you assign me far too much credit," the librarian replied smoothly. "I offered to return your memories, nothing more."
Grant seethed. "Then do so."
"Very well," she said, rising from her chair. "Follow me."
But she didn't move to exit the room via the door behind him. Instead, she opened her desk drawer and input a series of numbers into a calculator inside it. The narrow wall behind her swiveled on a pivot point in its center. She walked through one side and Grant followed.
On a whim, he glanced down at her right hand, just to be sure.
No ring there.
A metal grating floor behind the hidden door led them down spiral stairs. Their heels clicked on the steps, and they continued to wind their way down, much farther than Grant had expected. He estimated they were at least three or four stories below ground when they finally came to the staircase landing.
They were in a small room, about twenty feet by twenty. It looked like some sort of waiting room; bright wallpaper met a well-lit ceiling on top and stained wooden wainscoting on the bottom. A lush blue carpet gave Grant's feet a slight bounce as he moved. The stairs were in one corner; cushy chairs and end tables lined the remainder of the room except for an oak paneled door to his immediate right.
"What is this?" he asked aloud.
"Please, have a seat anywhere. I'll be right back with the antidote," she said, exiting through the side door and closing it behind her. He heard the lock on the door click into place.
Grant felt ridiculous as he complied with her order to sit. Antidote? He should be breaking down that door and following her, he thought. But then he might never know what happened to Alex and Morgan ...
A few minutes later, the door unlocked and she reentered the small waiting room carrying a syringe.
"Roll up your sleeve," she said.
"So you did it with a chemical agent," he replied, folding back his left sleeve.
"That's right."
It was so strange to look into this woman's cold face and know that it was the face that had once been worn by his friend and mentor Morgan. Deep down inside, this was Morgan's true self as she knew herself to be.
"Hold still," she said, pressing the needle roughly into his arm. "It should only take a moment to take effect."
"What is it?" he asked. When she didn't answer, he asked another question. "How were you able to selectively erase specific memories? I would have thought that was impossible."
She smirked. "Your standards of science consider many things impossible," she said as she slid the clear fluid into his veins.
The Secretum had different scientific standards? What was that supposed to mean?
As soon as she'd drawn the needle out, Grant's vision began to blur. A haze settled over his view of the room, and it was growing darker by the moment.
"Do you think me stupid?" she said, her calm exterior vanishing, replaced by a look of murderous revenge. "The Secretum of Six knows everything there is to know about everything. And we know when we are being lied to!"
Grant shook his head, trying to get his bearings, but he felt nauseous. Was it from whatever she'd put in his system?
He extended a hand in the librarian's direction and shoved her against the far wall with his mind ...
Only nothing happened. The librarian still stood before him, syringe triumphantly in hand. She marched forward and smacked him.
"You only fulfilled half of the deal!" she shouted. "The prime minister's death was a hoax! Though enlisting the help of the local media to create your ruse was quite clever. I'd love to know how you pulled it off so quickly."
"I thought you knew everything about everything?" he slurred. His arm was still outstretched, his will still trying to push against her body, against the syringe, against anything. But nothing was happening.
"So you finally figured out that your powers aren't working?" she inquired with a mischievous smile. "They don't work anywhere inside this building. Not now, not this morning, and not two days ago. You already discovered this fact once, which is why I had to wipe your memory the first time."
How was it possible? Keeping his powers from working inside the Library? And more importantly, why? What was so important about this place?
Grant eyed the empty syringe, felt his blood pumping through his system harder than before, yet still his eyes glazed over and unconsciousness threatened to take him.
His muscles were failing, he could no longer keep his eyes open, sleep beckoned to him ...
The librarian shook her head in disgust. "How did one so pathetic as you ever become the Bringer?"
"Sure wasn't my-" he began to respond, but then he was out.
Furious and outraged, Lisa packed her bag in the downstairs bedroom.
If Daniel wanted his problems to go away, that's just what she'd do. If she only served to remind him of his sins, she'd remove herself from his sight. If he was never willing to face up to what he did and accept her into his life ...
She sighed, flopping onto the single bed beside her luggage. There were no more tears left in her. She couldn't keep hoping after Daniel forever, could she? Did he even know the extent of her feelings?
Did he care?
Indignant once more, she stood and continued her packing.
But the tug at her heart refused to go away. What if he was too far gone to know how much he needed someone else's help? What if he was thinking of hurting himself?!
She rolled her eyes, leaving the bedroom. The door to the bathroom had been closed since he'd locked himself inside.
"Daniel! I want you to come out of there! It's been long enough now. We need to talk about this."
She heard no response or even movement from inside the bathroom.
Searching the living room, she found a hairpin and picked the lock on the bathroom door. Fearing the worst, she swung the door open.
The bathroom was empty. No Daniel.
Opposite the door was a small window that was just big enough for a person to squeeze through....
He's gone!
Before she could even think of her next move, something splintered nearby-a sound that could only have come from the front door being smashed in.
Julie and Hector were on their way back to the safe house when Hector stopped walking. He raised his arm and turned it in a circle, pointing in a complete three hundred and sixty degrees, encompassing the entire horizon, where the sun was already leaving the sky and stars were becoming visible. She wasn't sure what he was getting at, but then she noticed something.
That warm, fuzzy feeling of safe
ty that came from being inside the barrier ... was gone.
She considered leaving London and found it to be an appealing idea.
Was that what Hector was trying to tell her?
"You think it's gone?" Julie asked.
Hector nodded eagerly.
"Grant ..." she said quietly. "He found a way."
Hector shrugged but seemed to agree with this assessment.
Julie's phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Ju--!-found us! We've-made!"
"Hello? What?"
It sounded like Lisa's voice, but the sound kept cutting in and out, so she couldn't be sure.
"Can--hear-? We-Grant!"
Click. The connection was cut off.
"Something's going on," Julie told Hector. "We've got to find Grant, now."
Fletcher saw it with his own eyes but didn't believe it.
Armed men were approaching the safe house. He watched them on his laptop via one of the external cameras he'd planted out front. They were already at the front door.
His fingers danced over the keyboard as he activated a few final protocols he'd personally installed at the house, then he snapped the laptop shut, grabbed Nora by the hand from her perch on the couch, and dragged her to the stairs. Taking them two at a time, he arrived on the second floor just as he heard the front door crash in downstairs.
Fletcher glanced at his watch as he put a finger over his lips to signal silence to Nora and pushed her in the direction of the next flight of stairs. He looked quickly about for Daniel and Lisa, but they must've been in the downstairs bedroom. Too late to go back, he followed Nora to the third floor.
Shouting, crashing, and running could be heard from downstairs.
Fletcher checked his wristwatch.
Sixty seconds ...
Lisa hid in the first-floor bedroom inside a small closet that was barely big enough to hold her.
She caught her breath in her throat and froze, listening to the footfalls just outside. It sounded as if the flat was being ransacked from top to bottom. There was no way they wouldn't find her here, she knew.
Fearless (Dominion Trilogy #2) Page 22