“Okay,” he said, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “I won’t keep you long; we could both use some rest. Well, I could. I think you’ve rested enough for three people. But I wanted to confirm that you’re good for a meeting tomorrow right after lunch?”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll be coherent. Are you sure it’s a good idea to bring me? Maybe I should just rest in the hotel so I can be ready later that night.”
Alvin scratched at his goatee. “The agenda kind of demands that you be there,” he said. “It’s the only way I could justify bringing you to London.”
“What is the agenda exactly?”
“I set it all up with Dame Belinda on the phone; you just have to show up. Then later that night, after everyone but Fred’s gone, we go back to get the Vessel.”
“How do we get in?”
Alvin gave me a strange look. “Millie, this is the part you and Claybriar arranged.”
Christ. He was right. What the hell was wrong with me?
Chill rivulets of panic began to trickle their way through the cracks in my bravado. I caulked them up quickly.
“Right,” I said. “Sorry, jet lag. I’ll get as much rest as I can before then. I should let you get some shut-eye yourself, so you can lie your face off to Dame Belinda tomorrow.”
For a moment he looked like he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. He gave me a smile, instead, but it had a pained edge. “Good night, Millie,” he said.
I smiled back, a little uneasy, then rose and ambled toward the adjoining door. It felt as though gravity worked differently on this side of the pond. I opened his door and then stopped.
“Shit,” I said.
“What is it?”
I pressed my hand against the flat wood of the door I’d let close behind me. “There’s no knob on this side. And I . . . left my key in there.”
“I got a spare from the front desk earlier,” he said. “I’ll just dash out in the hall and open it for you.”
“Thank God,” I said, following him out.
When he slid the key into the door and pushed it open, it stopped with a thunk after a couple of inches.
“Millie.”
“Alvin.”
“You put the chain on.”
“Did I?”
“I’m looking at it.”
“Well,” I said. “I don’t want to go down to the front desk in shorts, and my pants are all in my room. Can you change and go down for me?”
“To what end, Millie? So they can give me another key that won’t work? Just what exactly do you expect them to do?”
We stared at each other in the hall for an excruciatingly long time, because neither of us had any idea.
“Hey, Millie,” he said finally.
“Yes, boss?”
“It’s possible I’ve put a bit too much confidence in your planning skills.”
13
Alvin was joking, mostly, but the words still hit like a punch to the gut. Everyone had been playing along so nicely with my master-planner routine up to now. I didn’t need Alvin implying at this stage of the game that the proverbial emperor had no clothes.
“Well,” said Alvin, still examining the small opening in my hotel room door, “we’re not getting in this way without a blowtorch. Let’s see what the other door looks like.”
I followed him back into his room, head throbbing. “I wish Tjuan were here,” I said.
“Me too,” said Alvin, “because it would mean he wasn’t afraid to leave that motel room. But what did you mean?” Alvin peered at the adjoining-room door, then ran his hands along it, looking thoughtful.
“I just mean he’d be able to figure out how to get in.”
Alvin turned and gave me an incredulous look. “He’s a screenwriter, Millie.”
“That’s not what I—oh Jesus. I just meant he knows how to solve problems. He has this way of seeing through the bullshit, being practical.”
Alvin went to his wallet on the desk, pulled out a credit card, and tried to poke it through the crack in the door. “Too stiff,” he said.
“Not a thing I’m used to hearing a guy say.”
He gave me another incredulous look, then shook his head and turned back to his work.
“It won’t bend enough to get where it needs to go,” he said. “A piece of paper, maybe?” He moved to the bedside table, ripped off a piece of the hotel stationery, and applied that to the problem. “Damn it. This is too flimsy to push the latch down.” He folded it a couple of times, but still no good.
I looked around the room, spotted the DO NOT DISTURB card hanging unused on the back of Alvin’s door. I handed it to him.
“Oh, this just might work,” he said, and slipped it into the crack in the door, carefully manipulating it to the right angle. Then he grinned and gave the door a little push. “Voilà!” It eased open.
“Ah, thank you,” I exhaled, stepping through.
“My first breaking and entering,” he said with a grin. “Look what a bad influence you are.”
“Or maybe it means we’re a good team.”
He smiled, but once again I thought I saw something a little strange in it. I was too tired to sort out what I’d said wrong, and he was already wishing me good night, so I let him close the door.
• • •
Even through fey glasses the central headquarters of the Arcadia Project was unimpressive for a place that was supposedly the hub of all human inspiration. From our hotel it had been a five-minute straight shot east on the Central line to Tottenham Court Road, then a few blocks’ walk to a narrow building in Soho jammed between a hostel and a currency exchange.
The ground floor was painted a steely blue, and what Brits would have called the first through third “storeys” were shit-colored brick with three cut-up, double-hung windows squeezed in to face the street on each floor. Security wasn’t tight enough to suggest that the place held anything unusual; those with access to arcane security rarely relied too heavily on the mundane sort. The keep-away ward was visible through my fey glasses; at least I assumed that’s what it was: a slightly nauseating weblike mesh of greenish-purple spellwork around the door.
It occurred to me that Elliott could see what I couldn’t: the dead spirit inside the spellwork. Caveat was spared for now; she’d stayed behind at the hotel so as not to be spotted. There was no way to bring her along unless she was bound into a construct spell, and rumor had it that Dame Belinda had fey lenses implanted. I was ready to believe anything about Dame Belinda at this point.
The place looked like it was built not long after the Great Fire in the seventeenth century. It didn’t have an elevator, so I got to drag the remnants of my left leg all the way up the two narrow flights of stairs that hugged the left side of the building to get to the room where Belinda intended to meet us. The rail was laced with spellwork—most likely a second go-elsewhere ward for mundane visitors—so I couldn’t even lean on it. By the time we got to the room, my head was pounding and I was dizzy again. I pretended to clean my fey glasses before putting them in my pocket, to disguise the moment I needed for the hallway to stop spinning.
The decor in the meeting room was mostly black and white, with sleek accents of silver and gray. A silent, broad-shouldered man stood just inside the door, wearing a suit and an extravagant moustache. Dame Belinda Barker did not rise from her chair when we entered; she sat at the far end of a long table that made me think, in my dazed and dreadful state, of a coffin. She should have had one foot in there by now—she’d passed her ninetieth birthday—but her gunmetal eyes burned with purpose and intelligence. Her white hair was flawlessly curled, her blue suit tailored to her withered frame.
“Mr. Lamb,” she said to Alvin, with just the slightest emphasis on the “Mr.”
“Dame Belinda,” said Alvin, light and airy, as he took a seat. Caryl and I followed his lead.
“I did not expect that you would bring them to the meeting,” said Belinda.
“I wanted you to
see,” Alvin said, “that I was sincere. Depending on how things go, their presence might simplify things.”
I glanced at Caryl, feeling a twinge of unease. She was storing her emotions, so I couldn’t tell if I was being paranoid.
“Would you like me to send for a cup of tea?” Dame Belinda asked Alvin, as though he were the only person in the room. “Coffee?”
“Belinda, I’m here,” said Alvin wearily. “I’ve flown ten hours; I’m on your turf; I’ve done what you asked. So let’s skip the tea and small talk. Can you make Tjuan’s problem disappear, or can’t you?”
She leaned back, her expression gently disapproving, then waved a hand in acquiescence. “If we can come to the arrangement we discussed,” she said, “I can ensure that the right ‘man’ is brought to justice for the crime.”
“I’ve met your terms,” he said, “unless there’s more to them than you implied.”
“The two of you agree?” Belinda asked, indicating Caryl and me with a gracious open-palmed gesture.
Caryl just looked back at her blankly.
“Uh . . . ,” I said. “Did we miss the part with your terms?”
Dame Belinda looked to Alvin with weary resignation. “You’ve brought them here without telling them?”
“You and I both know they’d never have come.”
I opened my mouth, closed it again. Alvin had told me to trust him, so I was going to do that, even though my hands had gone cold.
Dame Belinda turned back to me, the corners of her mouth lifting in something very like a smile. “Millicent Roper,” she said. “You have caused me more trouble than the next five people put together, but only because you are every bit as clever and stubborn as I was at your age.”
“The last time you flattered me like this,” I said, my throat dry, “it didn’t end well.”
“My dear girl,” said Dame Belinda, “do not look so frightened. I do not intend to harm you; I intend to train you. I intend to place you firmly in the line of succession here.”
I stared at her in shock, then looked to Alvin. He wouldn’t meet my eye.
“I . . .” I looked back at her. Stay calm, Millie. Did you forget part of the plan? Roll with it. “I don’t want to work for you,” I said.
“I know you do not want to, Miss Roper. But I know that you want your partner to be safe, and your cooperation is a necessary component of that outcome. For what it’s worth, I think you would find the work here challenging and satisfying.”
Why the hell hadn’t Alvin prepared me for this? I knew my mind couldn’t be that wobbly. Was I supposed to agree? What was I supposed to say?
Bluff. Stop panicking. Act how you would normally act; that’s what Alvin must have planned for.
“Supposing I agree,” I said carefully. “What exactly is this office planning to do about finalizing the Third Accord? The sidhe? The spirits, and all of that?”
“Interesting,” Dame Belinda said. She looked to Alvin. “Did you not tell her any of it?”
“Does it matter?” said Alvin. “They’re here.”
“And Miss Vallo?” said Dame Belinda. “Is she equally in the dark?”
“Mr. Lamb,” said Caryl calmly to Alvin. “Is there something you have failed to mention to us?”
Caryl was confused too? This was not good.
He’d gotten us one-way tickets.
Dame Belinda let out a long-suffering sigh. “I cannot approve of the way this was handled, Mr. Lamb. You told me you had already discussed this with them.”
The way he danced around discussions of spirit slavery. Those strange smiles of his when I talked about teamwork.
“Alvin,” I said between clenched teeth. “Did you seriously fucking surrender? For real? I need you to tell me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.”
He still wouldn’t look at me.
“My apologies, Miss Roper,” said Belinda. “Mr. Lamb assured me that the two of you were sacrificing yourselves to save Mr. Miller voluntarily.”
“You actually believed I was willing to work for you?” I was shaking all over now. “What about Caryl? Your last loose end. What exactly did Alvin say she was willing to sacrifice?”
“I am not a monster, Miss Roper. Calm yourself. Miss Vallo will be installed as a liaison at the Unseelie Court, as originally planned.”
I looked at Caryl, whose gaze was fixed on Alvin. Her voice was low, calm, cold as dry ice as she said, “You disappoint me, Mr. Lamb.”
I’d have given anything for an Elliott right now. “Alvin, did you seriously agree to exile Caryl?”
Finally, he met my eyes. The misery in them made my stomach drop to my boots. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I lied. I had to get you here, so you could see for yourself that this doesn’t have to be war. We can work within the system, make changes a little at a time.”
“Alvin, are you fucking—” I lost my breath, lost words, like I’d been gut-punched.
Alvin raked a hand through his hair, his guilt tempered by frustration. “Your partner’s about to go to jail for a decade,” he said, “and you were talking about escalating. Enough, Millie. This has to end. There are worse things than being trained for leadership, trust me. And King Winterglass will take good care of Caryl; she’ll be fine.”
“Assuming Miss Roper integrates herself peacefully into our operations,” Dame Belinda qualified.
“And if she doesn’t?” said Caryl.
“Then we shall administer the usual consequences to both of you. In Miss Roper’s case, release and memory alteration. For Arcadian citizens, the punishment is death.”
“Ah,” said Caryl, bitterness palpable even through Elliott’s spell. “And conveniently, I shall be an Arcadian citizen.”
“Wait—”Alvin started, but I barely heard him.
“Are you kidding me?” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “I do whatever you say, forever, or you kill Caryl?”
“It does sound harsh,” said Dame Belinda. “But given that you have already endangered two worlds with your disobedience, this is as merciful an offer as you’re likely to get from me.”
I looked to Alvin. He was staring at Dame Belinda with an expression of dawning horror.
“That was not the deal,” he said slowly. “You said nothing about executing Miss Vallo.”
“And I shall say nothing about it again, provided Miss Roper uses her many talents in service to the Arcadia Project, rather than against it.”
Alvin clenched his fists. “How is it that you keep entirely missing the point?” he said. “I am trying so fucking hard to give you the benefit of the doubt here, and it’s like you don’t want me to. Caryl Vallo is an American citizen, and yes, she’s screwed up a few times, but all of that is a direct result of a crime that you committed against her! You do not get to harm her again. That was not the deal. Exile her if you’re too ashamed to face her, but you will not harm a hair on her head, ever again. Those are my terms.”
“Demand whatever you wish,” said Belinda. “Demand a pony and a beachfront home if you like, with the same result. You have lost my trust, Mr. Lamb, and if I were you, I would be scrambling to earn it back.”
Alvin rose from his chair so fast it toppled over backward, making everyone but Caryl jump, and making the big guy at the door step forward threateningly. “Caryl’s life is not negotiable,” he said.
“You deeply misunderstand the situation,” said Belinda, “if you believe you are in a position to decide that.”
Alvin took a deep, slow breath. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer. “You have until tomorrow to accept my terms, as I gave them,” he said. “You think we’re helpless, but we’re not. You can throw every one of us in jail, but you still can’t touch the rebellion going on in Arcadia. So I’d suggest you think very carefully about making an enemy of half the US, unless you want to find out exactly what Claybriar and Shiverlash can do Arcadia-side once I tell them there’s no further hope of reconciling with the sidhe.”
; “I will consider your words carefully,” said Dame Belinda, rising as though the meeting had been amiably adjourned. “And I suggest you return the favor. Take some time to think very carefully about what I have offered you, before you decide to walk away from it for good.”
Alvin just stood there, staring her down.
“Daniel,” she said brightly. “See them out.”
The extravagantly moustached London agent escorted us out of the building with surprising gentleness, given what had just occurred. I was silent as we walked back to the Tottenham Court station; neither Alvin nor Caryl seemed inclined to break that silence. It wasn’t until we walked into the lobby of our hotel that Alvin finally spoke.
“Did you notice anything that might be a problem tonight?” he asked.
I turned to him in astonishment.
“Oh,” he said softly, eyes going wide. “Oh, Millie, sweetheart.”
“Did you just fucking sweetheart me?” I said, starting to shake with rage.
“Millie, when you didn’t say anything on the train, I thought you’d realized that was how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to get upset, like I hadn’t realized the hostage part, and walk out.”
The room spun. I drew in several ragged breaths. “You . . . you couldn’t have told us you were going to do that?”
He looked away awkwardly. “I told Caryl,” he said. “It didn’t matter if her acting was any good. But I needed to freak you out for real. Belinda’s too clever; if she suspected that you were in on something with me, we’d have had no chance.”
I went boneless with relief, and then, before I could stop myself, I punched Alvin in the shoulder, hard. Not a love punch.
“Christ, Roper!” His eyes flashed, but then he sighed. “I suppose that’s the least I deserve,” he said. He stood a moment, searching my face. “You okay?” He put out a hand, tentatively.
I wanted to punch him again. Instead I gave him my hand for a moment, then let go.
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