by Joss Ware
He had to get Dantès. If Remy was still in Envy, Dantès would find her.
Remy paced the room. It was a well-appointed, comfortable space; she should be able to relax, calm herself and think clearly. But her stomach was in knots, tightening and loosening in turn.
I shouldn’t be here.
But Vaughn had convinced her it was the best, the only, option, for now. Until they figured out what to do.
Forty-eight hours. It had been ten o’clock last night when the helicopter appeared and it was eight o’clock now. That meant the timeline was down to thirty-eight hours. Hardly more than a day and a half.
She swallowed, pacing faster. I could just turn myself over to them. They wouldn’t do anything to me if I hide the crystal. They’d need me to get it back. To tell them where it was.
Of course, there was always torture. She shuddered. She didn’t think she’d do well with torture.
Maybe there was a way she could bargain her way out of the situation. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for them to have the crystal. After all, she’d had it for twenty years and it didn’t seem to do anything.
But she knew in her heart that wasn’t the case. They wanted and needed the stone for something important enough to be searching for it for half a century. One woman—or even a whole city—standing between the crystal and the Strangers wouldn’t matter to them.
But she had some time to think. And maybe Vaughn would have a solution.
No one knew she was here, in his private suite—and Remy wished she weren’t. She should be down on the ground, in the remains of the party, helping to clean up. Helping . . . whoever needed help. Whoever might be buried in the rubble.
Her throat closed up. She wasn’t going to think about Wyatt.
Instead, she made herself focus on inane things, like her surroundings. Not only was the mayor’s suite much larger than the room she was staying in, but it had a small kitchen area, a living room, two bathrooms and a bedroom, plus the office. Spacious. Clean and bright. High off the ground. Very unlike any living area she’d known.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she stalked past it. Good grief. What a mess! Dirty face, soot-streaked and exhausted. Eyes bloodshot and puffy. Hair falling in a terrible tangled mass. Her white dress was more gray and brown than white and sported a bloodstain on one side, not to mention dirt along the hem, thanks to Ian.
She couldn’t hold back the twitch of a humorless smile. He was probably still nursing the clout she’d given him on the head with an empty beer bottle. Served him right for trying to manhandle her off somewhere . . . wherever.
Even now she wasn’t certain whether it had been good fortune that she’d encountered Vaughn shortly after, still in the midst of the chaos. But he seemed to have been looking for her, and he seemed to know what to do right away. “Hide yourself,” he muttered, pulling her away from the craziness. “Keep safe until we figure out what to do.”
Remy looked at herself again. A shower wouldn’t be a bad idea. She had nothing better to do, and who knew how long it would be before Vaughn returned?
But time was ticking . . .
It was beneath the rhythmic pounding of the water that she let herself go. The warm cascade—nearly as hot as Flo’s—was like a catalyst for the release of her emotions. She let the tears come, her sobs deep and harsh. Confusion. Stress. Fear. Loneliness.
Grief.
Wyatt.
How could she feel such a sense of loss for a man she hardly knew? That she wasn’t even sure she liked? The image of the roof caving in over him replayed in her mind over and over . . . and there was no happy ending.
No one could survive that. She knew it.
What she didn’t know was why it affected her so deeply.
Maybe it was because he was the only one who knew about the crystal, who understood what she’d been through. She’d lost the only person she could talk to.
Or because of the stoic, matter-of-fact way he’d said, That’s what I do. I risk my ass. For people. And the way he’d always just seemed to turn up when she needed something, whether she wanted him to or not.
And now the world was less such a man. An arrogant, angry man with a good heart. A man battling himself and everyone around him. Her eyes stung.
The memory of him sitting in the semi-truck trailer, staring down at the children’s books . . . the empty, dark pits of his eyes, filled with hell and grief. Are you at peace now, Wyatt? Are you with them?
The tears came with a ferocity she hadn’t expected.
Remy didn’t know how long she was in the shower, sobbing, soaking, trying to numb herself from the horror of her reality: that the Strangers had found her, that she was a hostage for an entire city, that the one man she trusted and cared about was dead . . . but it wasn’t until someone knocked on the bathroom door that she became aware of her surroundings once more.
“Yes?” she called, grabbing a towel and turning off the water, which had gone cool. Her fingers were so wrinkled she wondered if they’d ever smooth out again.
“Remy, are you all right?” It was Vaughn. He didn’t open the door; he didn’t even try—and he could have, for she’d not thought to lock it. He just called through the barrier.
“I’m fine. Be out in a minute.” She rushed. Maybe he had some news. Or a solution.
Maybe she shouldn’t rush, because the news might not be what she wanted to hear.
He had large, soft, fluffy towels. A little threadbare in places—they must be old—but still, more luxurious than she’d ever experienced. She wrapped one around her hair and used the other to dry herself, considered wearing it out into the living room. There was no way she was going to put that filthy dress and those underthings back on. They lay in a pile on the floor just outside the bathroom door. The crystal was still attached to its silver chain, hidden by the folds of cloth. As soon as Vaughn left again, she would retrieve the gem.
When she saw the large robe hanging on the back of the door, she got herself into that and padded out of the bathroom, hair still dripping.
“I thought you might want some clean clothes,” Vaughn said as she appeared. His rugged face appeared drawn and exhausted and his eyes were sober and worried. Dirt and soot streaked his face, and she saw that his clothing was hardly in any better condition than hers had been. He gestured to a pile on the table.
“Thanks,” she said. Numbly, she walked over and picked them up, wadding the bulk of soft yellow cotton in her hands. “What’s going on down there?” she asked, wanting to know and yet not wanting to know.
“Mostly cleanup.” He avoided her eyes, turning to the small counter in the kitchen. She heard the soft clink of glass on glass, then the sound of liquid splashing. “Everyone is talking about Remington Truth.”
Her throat tightened. “Vaughn, I’m not going to stay here and let the Strangers come back and—”
He turned, holding a short glass of amber liquid. His expression was cool and determined. “We’ll figure it out. You can’t leave here. Not yet. If anyone finds out you’re here—that you’re Remington Truth . . .” He shook his head firmly. “Remy, I don’t know what the sentiment is. They don’t even know who—or what—Remington Truth is. People are still shocked and frightened over what happened last night. They’d never seen a helicopter before, and this threat from the Strangers . . . well, it has everyone in an uproar. They’ve never been so overt before. I have to let everyone calm down first, clean up, take care of any injured or casualties, and then we’ll figure it out.”
Casualties. She pushed the ugly thought away. “What about Dantès?” she asked. “Is he all right? Can he come up here with me?”
Vaughn shook his head. “It’s not a good idea. He might bark or something. No one can know you’re here. He’s fine, by the way. He’s with Rod Macedon’s boy for now.”
She opened her mouth to argue when someone knocked on the door. Remy looked at Vaughn, who rose. “Yes?” he called.
“Vaughn, are you
in there? It’s Marley.”
Remy might have found the mayor’s reaction amusing if the circumstances were different. He went rigid, then his eyes shot from her to the door to the bed and back again. Guilt and chagrin were written all over him and she could almost hear his mental curse.
“I’ll just go in here,” she said, giving him an easy out as she ducked into the back bedroom. But even though she was out of sight, Remy left the door cracked so she could hear.
Vaughn let Marley in. “What are you doing here?” he asked. Remy shook her head. He didn’t sound very welcoming, which was precisely the opposite of what she’d seen in his eyes. Men. She shook her head.
“I just came to see . . . to see if you were all right.” Marley’s voice was softer, but it carried back to the bedroom.
“There’s a lot going on,” Vaughn said. His tones were cool. “I have a lot to deal with, Marley. Everyone’s very upset. The clock is ticking. So what do you want?”
“You left pretty quickly after they uncovered Wyatt.”
The stab of pain was so sharp, Remy had to hold back a gasp. She closed her eyes, leaning against the wall as tears gathered again. No. Not now. Think about it later.
It took a moment for her to collect herself, and by then Marley had moved farther into the suite. Now Remy could see her through the crack of the door.
This was the first good look she’d had of the woman. Even disheveled from working all night, Marley exuded an air of elegance. She was, as Flo might have said, “put together.” Very beautiful, with shiny dark hair streaked attractively with blond, falling in perfect waves around her face and shoulders. Long red fingernails, except for the first one on her left hand.
As Marley turned, Remy saw something that made her turn cold. A faint bluish glow coming from beneath her clothing . . . just below the collarbone. Exactly where the Strangers wore their crystals. As she watched, the glow seemed to grow brighter, shining through the clinging dark blue blouse.
She couldn’t breathe for a moment. Marley was a Stranger? What did this mean? Vaughn must know she was one. Oh God . . . was he going to turn her over to Marley? Or had Marley somehow come here, looking for her? Did she know?
We will send our conduits.
Her heart pounded and her palms went damp. She looked around for something to use as a weapon as she strained to hear their conversation, which remained stilted and short.
“. . . have a lot of decisions to make,” Vaughn was saying. He sounded almost pompous. “But the most important one is taking care of the people of Envy. My people. You of anyone should know that.” Then something changed, and he moved suddenly, blocking Remy’s view. “What is it?” His voice was urgent. “Marley?”
She couldn’t hear anymore. There was a flurry of movement and Marley made a noise that sounded like pain or surprise. She couldn’t see anything but Vaughn’s solid figure, but she heard something that sounded like “crystal.”
Her breath caught and ice shot into her belly. Oh no. The crystal—her crystal—was still on the floor, caught up in the pile of clothing she’d left right outside the bathroom door. Was it recognizing Marley? Was that why the blue crystal embedded in her body had started to glow brighter? Would the other woman see the orange glow from beneath the clothing? Would she know it was there?
Did she dare go out to try and retrieve it—
“Who’s back there?” Marley’s voice rang out sharply. Remy froze as Marley’s face appeared from behind Vaughn. She was looking toward the bedroom.
Remy automatically ducked away from the opening. The last thing she needed was for a Stranger to see her.
“You don’t want to go back there,” Vaughn said. He moved to block her, cutting off Remy’s view again.
“Oh. I see.” Marley’s voice was like ice. “I didn’t realize I was interrupting.” Whatever had been bothering her was obviously no longer a problem. “Ah,” she said, her tones brittle now. “And here are her clothes. I most definitely see.”
Vaughn said something else, but Remy couldn’t hear anything other than the tone: brief and hard.
Then she heard the opening and closing of a door. Not a slam, but a very deliberate click.
Followed by a soft, heartfelt curse.
Confused and shaken, Remy realized one thing: she didn’t want Vaughn to know she’d witnessed any of that. She had a lot of thinking to do. Who was her enemy? Who could she trust? It was better to play ignorant until she figured it out.
She lay down on the bed, curled up and facing away from the door, and forced herself to lay still and even out her breathing. Easier said than done with her heart pounding like it was. But it must have worked, for when Vaughn pushed the door open a few minutes later and said her name in a low voice, her lack of response seemed to assure him she was asleep.
Remy heard the door close behind him and opened her eyes.
What the hell did all of that mean? And what was she going to do now?
She looked at the clock. Less than thirty-seven hours.
“My first loyalty is to the people of Envy,” Vaughn Rogan said. His eyes were steely and determined as they swept the room. “I know some of you might not agree with me, but that’s where I stand. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe.”
“Of course the first priority is to keep Envy safe,” Jade said mildly. “You don’t need to convince us of that.”
“We’ve got thirty-five hours,” Simon said. “What do we have to work with?”
They were gathered in the mayor’s ground-floor office, the people in the inner circle—or, as Fence had jokingly termed the group, the bad-ass guys. And their bad-ass women. Jade and Elliott, Quent and Zoë, Sage, Simon, Fence, Ana, and Wyatt. The air in the room was as brittle as ice.
“What’s the general sentiment of the people?” Sage asked. “What’s everyone hearing out there?”
“The most common reaction I’ve experienced is confusion mixed with fear. People have never heard of Remington Truth. They don’t know who or what it is so they don’t know how to react or what to do. Remember, it was only because of Jade and the fact that she was imprisoned by Prescott that we realized Truth was a person’s name,” Elliott said. “So they don’t know what to do or how to do it, and they’re scared.”
“So there doesn’t seem to be a big push to find Remington Truth and turn her over to the Strangers?” Ana asked. “They’re not tearing the city apart, looking for Truth?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Elliott said. “At least, not yet. From what I heard, there’s a lot of talk among them. It’s only a matter of time until someone lets it slip, or someone figures out who or what Truth is. After all, we have a whole group of survivors here right now. It’s an unusual name, and someone might remember that Remington Truth was the director of the American NSA back when the Change happened and put two and two together.”
“We know Ian Marck is here, and there must be someone else who already knows about Remy—otherwise, how would the Strangers even know she existed, let alone that she was here?” Sage added.
“That brings me to my main concern,” Wyatt drawled. Keeping his voice slow and low was the only way he could keep from shouting. “Where the hell is she? Has anyone seen Remy since last night?”
Grim-faced, each of them shook their heads.
“So it could be a fucking moot point,” Wyatt pressed, his voice dangerously calm. “If we don’t find her, someone else can. Or already has done so. So why the hell are we sitting here talking about it?”
“She’s not with Ian Marck,” Simon said. “Or if she is, he hasn’t interacted with her since last night. I have Brad Talley keeping an eye on him just in case.”
Wyatt managed to control a sneer. Instead, he gritted his teeth and tried to keep from charging out of his seat and taking matters into his own hands. Thirty-five hours. Less than a day and a half.
The only reason he was here was because he’d hoped that with the group gathered, he’d have an efficient way to learn
whether someone had heard anything from Remy. In about two minutes he was getting the hell out of here to do some reconnaissance on his own. With or without the others.
“The other worrisome thing,” Quent said, “is that the Strangers made their threat and instituted a deadline . . . but they gave no way for us to communicate back with them—yet. Their so-called conduits haven’t arrived, or haven’t made themselves known. If we were going to turn Remington Truth over to them—presuming we intended to—we have no way of knowing how or where to do so. Which implies to me,” he continued, speaking louder as Wyatt opened his mouth, “that they have some way of monitoring the city.”
“What the fuck do they want her for anyway?” Zoë asked. “Seems like an assload of work to be looking for her for fifty damned years. Must be something important.”
Wyatt glanced at Ana. He hadn’t told anyone about Remy’s crystal, and as far as he knew, no one else was aware of it besides himself, Remy, and Ian Marck.
Ana didn’t seem to notice Wyatt’s attention, but, as he hoped, she spoke up. “I heard things, living in Atlantis. Bits and pieces. The original Remington Truth disappeared during the Change. And at the same time, something called the Mother crystal also went missing.” She shrugged. “It’s logical to assume the original Remington Truth had something to do with it, but no one knows for sure or how.”
“What exactly is the Mother crystal?” asked Sage. “Maybe if we knew that, we might . . . I don’t know . . . have a better bargaining chip when dealing with the Strangers? Is it related to the Jarrid crystal—the one Quent and Zoë stole from Liam Hegelson?”
“All of the crystals are related,” Ana said. “At least, the living ones are. There are energy crystals, which are different from living crystals. But the way I understand it, all the living crystals are connected somehow. And some of the connections are stronger than others, and between different types.”
“Marley would probably know something,” Quent said, suddenly looking around. “Where is she, anyway? She should be here.”
Vaughn shifted in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t tell her about the meeting. I wasn’t certain she should be included. She is, after all, crystalled.”