Lisa heard footsteps approaching and watched in horror as the closet's door handle turned ...
Loud popping and crackling sounds came from somewhere outside the apartment. The door handle was turned loose and she let out a sigh of relief.
What was going on out there?
She shrieked as the closet door suddenly flew open.
"Hands over your head!" a policeman ordered, pointing a gun in her face.
On the roof, Fletcher shut and sealed the attic door behind him.
"What is going on?" Nora demanded.
"Just follow me," he whispered in reply.
He moved toward the far end of the adjoining apartments on this street. They shared rooftops, so it was a simple matter of walking the length of one apartment, stepping over a two-foot brick barrier, and continuing on to the next apartment rooftop.
As Nora kept moving, Fletcher carefully peered over the front edge of the apartment. Across the street, the cheap fireworks he'd planted there days ago had ignited just as he'd meant for them to, creating a juvenile but effective diversion.
At the far end of the adjoining apartments, they found a series of ladders and balconies that would lead them down to street level. From there, it was a matter of avoiding detection by the police, who had cars all along the street out front. But with darkness on their side, Fletcher was confident they could pull it off.
The only question remaining was where to go.
Lisa interlaced her fingers on top of her head, as instructed.
"Got one in here!" the patrolman yelled while the racket outside continued. The young man motioned for her to leave the closet, and she did so nervously. She'd never been arrested before. And she was in a foreign country ...
What would they do to her?
The policeman marched her out of the bedroom, and she noticed that the living room was trashed but empty. She heard noises upstairs, and the popping and banging sounds still came from outside. She thought she heard voices out there.
There was a sharp clang behind her, and she turned around just as the policeman landed on the floor, out cold.
Daniel stood there with the metal juice pitcher in his hand-the same one he'd spilled on her earlier. There was a small dent in it where he'd banged it against the policeman's head.
"Come on!" he whispered and led her out the back entrance.
As they were running, Lisa said to him, voice low, "I thought you left!"
"I did," he replied, hobbling hard against his cane. "Needed to get some air."
"Then why did you come back?" she challenged him.
Daniel stopped short, and she followed suit. He studied her for a long moment, and for a brief second, a deep vulnerability passed over his face. In that moment, she witnessed the deep scars that had become his soul.
But the moment passed, and he looked away from her eyes once more.
"Fresh air's overrated," he replied.
Grant felt something sticking his arm. Again.
He was dizzy and queasy.
But he was awake, and he was still seated in the same chair in the waiting room at the bottom of the spiral staircase. Whatever was happening, the librarian hadn't erased his memory again.
He opened his eyes to see a boy in his late teens with an oval face and a permanently down-turned expression holding a finger to his lips. On his middle finger on that same hand rested one of the Rings of Dominion.
He's the fifth ... the fifth Ringwearer I sensed in London ...
The boy looked to the door while pocketing a syringe. "She'll be back any second," he whispered urgently. "Shake it off and get up, man!"
"Who are-"
"No time, no time!" the boy whispered, a crazed expression on his face. "Get up, will you! I gave you something to counteract what she used to knock you out, but if you're still here when she gets back ... If I'm here with you when she comes in... !"
Grant allowed the young man to pull him to his feet from the waiting room chair he still sat in, and slowly his equilibrium began to return. The boy tried to pull him toward the spiral staircase, but Grant grabbed him by the arm and yanked up his shirtsleeve.
No tattoo.
"You're not one of them," he said.
"Of course not!" the boy said. "Come on, you have to go-"
"I'm not going anywhere," Grant replied, suddenly angry. "I want to know what this place is, and why my powers don't work here! And why you're wearing a ring!"
"Lower your voice!" the boy replied, resigning himself to Grant's stubbornness. "We've met already, but you don't remember-"
"You have no idea how sick I am of hearing that," Grant cut in.
"My name is Trevor," the boy explained, still whispering. "And yes, I'm a Ringwearer. Your powers don't work here because I'm here. Because of this," he indicated his ring, "my mind sends out disruptive brain waves that dampen the powers of other Ringwearers. The nausea and headaches you've been experiencing are a side effect. I can't control it; I can't turn it off. It just happens to anyone twenty or thirty feet away from me."
"But what is all this-?"
"This place is somewhere you shouldn't be. Ever. Please, you have to leave before she comes back and finds out what I've done."
"NO! You tell me what is going on here!" Grant whispered as loud as he dared. Enough was enough, and he had no more patience for these Secretum games. "Who are these people, really? What is this about?"
Trevor grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "Oh, what are you, barking mad? How can you not see it? No human was ever meant to wield the power you possess. It's a blasphemy! A blight, a perversion on the soul of Creation."
Grant wrested himself free of the boy's grasp, chills inching up his spine. "What are you saying?"
Trevor, this boy he didn't even know, who seemed to know everything about him, was the picture of frustration. "Don't you understand? No matter how much good you do, it will never be enough. Every action you take is a violation of the natural order of things. Continue to use this power, and everything will fall into ruin."
Grant looked at this boy Trevor anew. Maybe he wasn't quite as young as Grant first assumed.
Trevor glanced again at the wooden door, the same door the librarian had gone through earlier to retrieve the sedative she used on Grant.
"What's in there?" Grant asked.
"Something that shouldn't exist. Something I wish I didn't know about," Trevor replied anxiously. "Something dreadful."
Grant arched an eyebrow and approached the door. It was locked. He turned-
Trevor was gone, his footsteps echoing up the stairs.
Grant mentally kicked the wooden door in. It exploded into thousands of splinters.
He was pleased to see his powers were back; perhaps Trevor hadn't run away in fear but strategy?
On the other side of the bashed-in door was a very short hallway, shorter in length than the waiting room. At the hallway's end was a single wooden door matching the one he'd just forced open but with one difference.
A six-inch version of the symbol of the Secretum of Six had been carved into the door sloppily. Maybe with nothing more than a pocket knife.
He wasted no time and destroyed this door as well. The librarian was nowhere in his immediate field of vision.
What he saw instead was the last thing he expected.
Grant walked forward until he was in the center of a roughly rectangular room about ten times the size of the waiting room. There was no decor here, nothing particularly special about its appearance. The walls were bare cement, as were the ceiling and floor. Fluorescent light fixtures were attached to the ceiling. A handful of folding chairs could be seen in what few open spaces there were along the walls.
The room was full of shelves. Row after row of them, filled not with books, but three-ring binders. The bookcases down here were even more cramped than the ones upstairs in the library, with less than two feet of access space between them.
It was eerily silent, and it struck him then that h
e truly was underground. There was not even the hum of electric air conditioning. It was more like an old bomb shelter, or a tomb.
Grant approached the nearest bookcase and grabbed the first binder he could get his hands on. A man's name-was that Italian?he didn't recognize was printed on the spine and front cover of the binder. Inside were hundreds of pages comprising nothing less than a complete summary of this man's life.
He quickly rifled through the pages, all of which were stuffed inside clear plastic page protectors with three-ring holes built into them. The book began with a birth certificate. Subsequent pages included many other official documents, such as a marriage certificate, driver's license, and medical records.
Between those, in chronological order, were dozens of neatly typed pages summarizing any and all significant events or turning points in this man's life. His first date with his future wife was detailed on one page. Another recorded the circumstances surrounding a promotion at his job. Every report included a date.
Grant flipped to the back of the book. The last page was a death certificate.
Grant shook the cobwebs out of his head, certain that he'd read the page wrong. He looked at it again to be sure.
The death certificate was dated one week in the future.
"You're cleverer than I thought," said the librarian. She stood behind him, at least eight feet away, pointing a small pistol at him. "I'm afraid you've forced my final hand. I've triggered a mechanism that will reduce this room to ashes in a few moments. Don't worry, this room is entirely self-contained within its cement walls, fully protected and reinforced. The Library above won't even know anything's happened. But I strongly suggest you leave now."
Grant's heart skipped a beat when he smelled smoke already.
"Who are you?" he cried. "What is all this?"
"This is the real Library," she replied. "One of only three in the world. All identical. So few things in this world are certain; it's always a good idea to have backups, you know."
Grant's mind spun. "And all of these files ..." His eyes traced the room and saw what must have been thousands of them lining the dusty shelves from floor to ceiling. "Each one represents a real person?"
"Yes," the librarian replied. "The files catalog their entire lives from beginning to end. And these are only currently living individuals. You should see the archives for the long dead."
"But ... but this man's life hasn't ended yet!"
The smell of smoke was growing stronger by the second, and Grant saw the first visual sign of it near the ceiling above.
"The files are written in their entirety before the lives contained within them have even begun," she revealed.
"How comprehensive are these files?"
"Comprehensive enough."
"But that's-"
"Impossible? Yes, it is. As impossible as a man who can lift objects with his mind."
"Who are these people?" he demanded. "What does the Secretum want with them?"
"More important than what we want is what we believe. The people represented here are tools. Building blocks. Nothing compared to you. You are the reason for everything we do, and everything we've ever done."
"But why?" He coughed. The smoke smell was rising, as was the temperature in the room. There was a fire somewhere-perhaps inside the walls? He needed to find a way out of this place, but the librarian showed no sign of concern for herself, and he still had so many questions....
There was one he was sure he already knew the answer to, but he didn't want to ask.
"Is there a file in this room about me?"
"Of course. The most important file of all. You are the Bringer."
No no no... !! They're doing it again ... They can't manipulate me anymore! They can't!
"And the others?" he shouted over the rising flames. "The others like me?"
"Yes, I imagine they have records here as well, somewhere in all this."
"Show me!" he screamed, trembling in rage and anguish.
"You aren't meant to see that information," she replied. She was visibly feeling the effects of the heat and the flames, but she made no move to save herself. "Not yet. You must go now, while you can. Your file does not end here, Grant. Your destiny awaits elsewhere."
He snapped and lunged.
"I don't have a destiny!!" he thundered.
The gun went off, but Grant already had her on the ground, and the gun was pointed upward, over his left shoulder. A chip of cement fell from the ceiling.
He forced the gun out of her hand and placed it next to her temple.
"How can the Secretum know everything about my life before it happens?!" he shouted. "How can they know everything about all of these people? It's insane!"
"GRANT!!" screamed a voice somewhere in the distance, beyond the smoke. "Grant, is that you?!"
Alex.
Alex is alive!
The librarian used his distraction to grab the pistol with her own hand. Before Grant could stop her, she'd placed her trigger finger on top of his and pressed down.
Grant recoiled violently, landing backward on his hands.
She'd blown her own brains out with the gun still in his hand.
Sweating now from the growing heat, Grant caught sight of flames which seemed to have erupted from within the bookcases.
He jumped to his feet, closing his eyes both to block out the gruesome sight of the dead woman at his feet and to ward off the billowing smoke in this small, confined space.
"Alex!" he shouted.
"I'm in here!" came the reply from somewhere to his right. He followed the sound and found a small cupboard in a far corner of the room. It was just big enough for a small person to curl up in. A padlock held closed a latch that hung over the edge.
"Please get me out of this!" Alex pleaded.
Grant didn't hesitate. The padlock flew apart and the entire door to the cupboard exploded outward. Inside, Alex screamed and when Grant could finally glimpse inside, he saw her curled in an uncomfortable fetal position. Her dark locks were matted to her head, and she squinted hard against the room's light.
He helped her to wobbly feet.
"You all right? What'd they do to you?" Grant babbled, fear washing over him at her appearance.
"Been locked inside that thing since yesterday. .
"What about Morgan? Do you know where she is?" Grant asked frantically.
Alex shook her head. "She's not here, they took her.... I-I think she was dying. She was shot, and you gave her CPR, but I don't think she responded ... It all happened so fast!"
That's where the blood came from, all over my clothes and hands ...
It was Morgan's blood.
Grant's heart was pained at the thought of losing Morgan, but the smoke was so thick in the room that they could barely see anymore.
"We have to go!" Alex shouted.
"Can you walk?"
"I don't know," she replied helplessly. She was so weak, she looked as if she might pass out.
He scooped her up and ran.
They were at the top of the spiral staircase when he heard the sound of footfalls below them on the stairs.
Where did they even come from? he wondered. He hadn't noticed any other exits.
A handle at the top of the stairs swiveled open to reveal the rear wall of the librarian's office, and Grant never stopped moving. Out of the office, through the Library, he ignored the stares of the dozen or so patrons between him and the exit. Still he heard the footfalls approaching from behind.
They dashed out of the Library's main exit and down the outer steps. Less than fifteen feet behind, he heard the door slam open again and more steps down.
He chanced a look behind as he ran through St. James's Square. Three men in black jumpsuits bearing no insignia. They each had scabbards with swords attached to their hips. Though they were of different heights and builds, and none were bald, they looked for all the world the way Payton had the day they'd met.
The cover of darkness was their only
ally, though bright street lamps illuminated much of the small park. He noted with alarm that his powers were out again.... At the far edge of the park he saw Trevor, the kid who gave off the nullifying brainwaves, standing there watching.
Something sailed through the air dangerously close to his right ear, and with a twang a small throwing knife stuck into a tree twenty feet ahead in his path. The action brought him up short. He turned.
The three men faced him down, encircling him. Holding their swords in attack position, their stances looked remarkably similar to Payton's familiar fighting pose.
"Bringer," one of them began, "we have no quarrel with you. But the empath is a liability. Step aside and allow us to deal with her."
Grant dropped Alex to her feet but positioned himself in front of her. "You even think about touching her and I'll break your neck."
The one who'd thrown the knife tilted his head. "You have no powers. You think this is by accident? Your powers have been negated so we may perform our duty. This is how the Secretum works. The nature of the game is never made clear until the game is already won."
"Then you should consider playing something else," growled a voice out of the darkness.
Grant spun ... that voice ...
"Fellows," Payton approached, his sword extended and his stance ready for a fight. His weapon, with its elaborate engravings and extra-long handle, made theirs look like children's plastic toys. "I'm glad you're here. You have no idea how long I've been itching for a real fight."
The three men blocking Grant's path clearly recognized Payton; they were speechless, their eyes wide with recognition.
"You're late," Grant remarked.
"Came once the blasted barrier was down."
"You realize our powers don't work here, right?" Grant warned him.
"Why, do I look worried?" Payton shot back without looking in his direction.
"Thresher," one of the attackers acknowledged with a bowed head. "We do not wish to harm you, but our orders were exact. Secretum business must not falter at your hands again."
Payton smirked. "Oh, I think it must."
Payton placed himself between Grant and Alex, and the three swordsmen. He stood perfectly still, waiting for his opponents to make the first move.
Fearless (Dominion Trilogy #2) Page 23