The kissing also abruptly stopped, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that the ferociously passionate look on her face had simply become ferocious. He tried to speak, but the words were choked off as the wire bit into his flesh. With a strength born out of sheer terror, he pushed back against her and managed to momentarily escape the wire. Katrin surged toward him again with remarkable strength, but he dodged in a way that kept his neck from strangulation. He managed to wriggle away and grabbed the first weapon he could find: a ceramic vase filled with freesias. With no thoughts of chivalry, he swung it toward her and managed to clip the side of her head. It slowed her for a moment, and then, improbably, she came at him again and hardly seemed fazed at all.
Ironically, he found he was the one backed up against the counter. He swung the vase again, managing to keep a small distance between him and that wire while he frantically tried to figure out what to do. Offense wasn’t really his style, but staying on the defense didn’t seem like it would get him anywhere. He advanced forward as he wielded the vase, allowing him a little progress until she knocked it out of his hands. It fell to the ground and smashed into pieces. He kicked out at her and managed to hit her leg, but much like the vase, it only seemed to annoy her.
Those small delays allowed him a little movement, however, and he was able to reach the door. Unlocking it took long enough that she was able to grab his arm and jerk him backward. His other hand held on to the doorknob firmly, and for a moment, he felt like he’d be ripped in half. He pulled away and managed to open the door, shoving it into her as he did so. It threw her off, so that she missed when she tried to grab his shoulder. Shouting for help, he made it into the hall and had another split-second decision to make.
To his right was the way he’d come, and at the far end of the hall, he knew there had to be employees working. To his left, not very far at all, was a glass door leading outside. He didn’t know where it went, but surely it would go somewhere with people and safety. That was the way he chose.
But when he reached it, he found that it was locked. He couldn’t find any obvious way to open it, and the delay cost him. Katrin caught him by the shoulder this time and jerked him away from the door. Unexpected pain shot through him at her touch, like several blades scratching his flesh. Snarling, she lunged toward him with the wire, but it wasn’t an ideal weapon for a moving target. When he dodged again, she dropped the wire and pulled out a shiny black knife from somewhere in that tight dress.
“Shit.”
The long hall beyond her offered freedom, but he couldn’t figure out how to get past her. The best he could do was awkward hitting and dodging that slowed her a little but in no way seemed capable of stopping or even tiring her. She appeared to be evenly matched in strength with him, which was equally frustrating. At one point, they got tangled in each other and fell to the ground, rolling around in a way that was not at all like what he’d originally imagined when coming downstairs. Her hand raked down his back, causing more of that pain. If her nails were that bad, he couldn’t imagine what the dagger would do.
He finally kicked her off enough that he could crawl into a nearby storage closet. He shoved the door in her face and held it shut with his entire body while he groped for a light. When he found it, he could barely believe how the world had fucked him over today. The glass door he’d wanted to open had had a lock, and this one, which he needed to stay closed, had none. There was nothing he could do but try to hold it closed with his own weight. On the other side, Katrin turned the knob and pushed hard against the door, making it open a few centimeters before Justin was able to throw himself back against it. With one hand, he fumbled for his ego but couldn’t really get out a message while trying to hold the door.
Well, now what? asked Horatio.
Justin was about to say he was open to suggestions when he realized Horatio was talking to Magnus. In all the time he’d carried them in his head, the ravens had never conversed with just each other. It added to what was already a maddeningly surreal situation.
We have to do something, said Magnus.
What, claw her eyes out? Horatio sounded incredulous. We can’t directly intervene. We aren’t even technically supposed to be here until he’s sworn.
Well, it’ll never happen if he’s dead, will it? And we only need to assist, not intervene.
Katrin launched herself at the door and must have had a running start. It pushed open more than it had during her previous efforts, and it took Justin several seconds to fight against her and slam it shut again.
Okay, said Horatio reluctantly. What do you have in mind?
You stay here, was Magnus’s bizarre response.
And then, suddenly, Justin felt a searing pain and the sensation of having something ripped out of his skull.
CHAPTER 30
THE RAMBLINGS OF A MADMAN
Tessa might not have understood the big picture of what Justin and Mae were involved in, but she knew enough about genetics and the RUNA to realize the implications of what Mae’s mother had revealed. That kind of research was unheard of in Panama, and Tessa was honestly surprised that Mae had handled it as well as she had. But maybe that had been for the benefit of her mother, whom Tessa found even more terrifying than her own.
Regardless, Tessa had decided it was best for her to clear out in case Mae needed time to herself. Tessa didn’t mind going back out anyway. Once she’d adapted to the weirdness of being in a city where everyone looked alike, her natural curiosity took over. She was fascinated by a group of people who’d clung to their identity so fiercely, they’d been willing to risk the consequences of Mephistopheles and Cain. Even now, after years of progress, they still maintained their separation from the rest of the country while simultaneously being fiercely loyal.
Most people mistook her for an ordinary Gemman plebeian. There were a handful of others like her on the streets—seeing as their hotel was the only plebeian-friendly one—and most Nordics took them in stride. Mae had explained that farther outside the city, they’d find more prejudice. Here, no one paid much attention to Tessa as she wandered into shops that were still open. She even stopped in a café and bought a pastry stuffed with lingonberries. She’d never heard of lingonberries, but Nordics seemed to love them. Munching on it, she eventually made her way back to the park across from the hotel to listen to the band. A group of people chatting nearby described the music as “Norwegian fusion folk synth.” Tessa had no idea what that was but decided the whole scene would be worth filming for her class’s documentary—presuming she was ever allowed back to school.
She was so engrossed in her camera that she was taken completely by surprise when a hand clamped onto her arm. Gasping, she turned and found a young Nordic man standing next to her. He appeared to be only a little older than her, with bright blond hair and a wild look in his eyes. Tessa was too shocked to act right away and wondered if she’d found some plebeian-hating patrician.
“You’re with SCI,” he said.
That was unexpected. “I—what? No.”
“I saw you outside the police station,” he insisted. “I know you guys were here today to look at the Arnarsson crime scene.”
“Er, no. Those were my, um, friends. I’m only sixteen. I’m still in school.” She calmed down a little, telling herself she was out in public. He couldn’t do anything to her. Although, as she began processing what he said, it occurred to her that he may have been stalking them all day.
“You have to come with me,” he said, still holding on to her. “I’ve been trying forever to get SCI to come here! They never answer my requests. But you can’t put it off anymore.”
She gulped. “I told you, I’m not with SCI!”
He leaned close. “I know things. I know things that’ll help solve the Arnarsson case. She wasn’t the only murder.”
That got Tessa’s attention, though she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. Murder investigations were out of her league. In fact, she got the impression they were out of Justi
n’s league, but for whatever reason, that was what he’d gotten involved with.
“I can’t help you,” she said. “But I can get you the actual servitor that’s here. You can talk to him.”
The guy hesitated and then gave a slow nod. He released her, and she took out her ego to call Justin. He didn’t answer, and things were further complicated when Mae didn’t answer either. So much for “Call if you need anything.”
“I can have them get back to you,” Tessa said apologetically. “But right now—”
“No!” he exclaimed. “They’ll never get back to me. I know how bureaucracy is. And they don’t even think it’s a real murder.”
She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly worried she wasn’t dealing with someone who was completely sane. “Um, what is ‘it’ exactly?”
“My brother. They killed him. The same people who killed Clara Arnarsson. I can help SCI get to them.”
“Why don’t they think it’s a real murder?”
“Because there was no body. They just think he’s missing,” he explained. “But I’m telling you it was them! He was murdered by the servants of an evil goddess of death and war. Come talk to my dad—he’ll tell you.”
Tessa didn’t know what to do. His story seemed absurd—especially the evil goddess part—but if there was a chance he knew something about Justin’s case, it would be invaluable. Justin hadn’t directly said it, but she’d begun to pick up on signs of unease that made her think his continued stay in the RUNA might very well hinge on this case. She tried again to get the Nordic guy to wait, but he was obstinate.
“No. Now. Look, I’m not taking you into a dark alley or anything. My dad’s in a convalescent home not far from here. Totally public.”
“Why is he in a convalescent home?” she asked.
“Because they think he’s crazy.”
This wasn’t really reassuring her. But as she studied him, she began to feel sorry for him. His face was so earnest, his eyes so pleading…whatever was going on was real to him. He was cute too, and while that shouldn’t have affected anything, it did make her feel more kindly toward him.
“We’ll stay out in the open to get there?”
He held up his hand. “I promise. It’s a fifteen-minute walk from here, all busy streets.”
She hesitated only a few moments more before finally agreeing. The guy—who introduced himself as Darius—lit up and actually grabbed her hand to lead her from the park. He was true to his word. The walk was safe, the convalescent home nearby. Along the way, Darius apparently decided Tessa was his new best friend and launched into the story of his brother.
“Ilias was older than me,” he began. “Almost ten years. Our parents weren’t very fertile, and it took them a long time to have me. We didn’t grow up playing together with the age difference, but he always looked out for me and helped teach me things. He was great. Outgoing, good-looking. Everyone loved him.” Darius’s face fell for a moment, and then he rushed forward. “Last year, this guy kept showing up to see Ilias and our parents. I don’t know who he was or what he said, but everyone had a different reaction. Ilias always treated him like a joke. He was like that. Thought everything was funny. He talked about the guy like he was crazy. But our parents…they were different. They were upset every time he visited. Not upset—scared. After a while, they were just always on edge. You could see it all over them. And one day…my mom just cracked. She committed suicide. Cut her wrist in the bathtub.”
Tessa flinched. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.” Conversation faded after that.
The facility that Darius’s father lived at tried very hard to pretend to be something else. Its façade was nearly as grand as the Koskinen house, though better maintained, and even its name sounded more like what you’d find with a country manor: Rose Grove. A clock in the lobby said it was nearly eleven, making Tessa worry about whether his father was still up.
“He doesn’t sleep much,” Darius explained. He led her upstairs to a room on the third floor. A sign outside read OLAF SANDBERG.
Olaf had the look of someone who’d aged before his time. He sat at a table in his room, talking to himself as he slid around puzzle pieces on a screen. “Red line matches red…start with the corner, then find the others…can’t match blue with yellow….”
Darius took a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Dad,” he said gently. “I have someone who wants to talk to you.”
“That’s nice. Very nice.” Olaf’s eyes never left the screen.
“She wants to talk about Mom and Ilias.”
Olaf’s hands faltered on the screen, and pain crossed his face. “Over and done, over and done.”
On impulse, Tessa set up her camera on a nearby table. It wasn’t ideal, but she thought this might be worth recording for Justin. She then sat in an empty chair between the two men, more than a little unnerved by Olaf’s disposition. She was no interrogator, nor did she even really know why she was here. She let Darius take the lead and witnessed a remarkable change in him. The frantic desperation was gone, replaced by a calmness and heartbreaking affection for his father.
“Dad, she wants to know about the goddess you’re always telling me about. The one you made the deal with.”
“Over and done,” repeated Olaf, his voice shaking.
“Did she kill Mom?”
“No.” The old man’s head shot up, and he doled out glares to each of them. “No one took her. She gave herself up. Do you understand? No one took her. She was strong.”
Tessa wasn’t sure about that if she’d killed herself. Darius’s resigned expression said he’d heard all of this many times and was simply trying to draw out his dad’s story for Tessa’s benefit.
“She gave herself up for Ilias,” said Darius, seeking confirmation.
“She wanted a life. It should’ve been enough.”
Tessa hadn’t wanted to get involved, but again, her mind was trying to understand. “Your wife wanted a life?”
“No! Of course not.” Olaf paused to slide some more puzzle pieces around. “She did. The dark one.”
“The goddess?” asked Tessa.
“She wanted a life. That man said it had to be Ilias’s, that that was her payment. But why should it matter?” He looked back up again, desperation in his eyes. “Why should it matter? Isn’t any life enough? We repaid her.”
Tessa felt as though she too were sliding pieces of a puzzle around, trying to make sense of this scattered information. “What did you repay her for?”
“For Ilias.”
“Because she gave him to you,” said Darius, prompting him.
Olaf dropped his hand and spread it flat on the screen. “But he was never ours. They got a fortune. They got that poor plebeian boy’s life to make Ilias. But it wasn’t enough. They wanted Ilias to serve, but he wouldn’t, so they took him back.” He took a deep breath. “I should’ve joined Siiri. Maybe we owed another life. One for the plebeian boy, one for Ilias. If we’d both given ourselves to her, she might have let Ilias go free.”
There was more here than Tessa could understand. Suddenly, a memory tickled her brain: Justin, brainstorming with her in his study. A bunch of plebeians die the same year some perfect patricians are conceived. Is that a coincidence?
“What was Ilias’s score?” she asked.
“He was a nine,” said Darius.
“Cost a fortune,” lamented Olaf. “And it was so much more than money. Much more. They wanted him to serve her.”
Tessa tried to think like a servitor. “You mean to join her cult?”
“Ilias laughed that man away. Should he have? I don’t know.” Olaf stared off into space. “Maybe he took the high road. She didn’t deserve him. She’s evil and twisted. We said we’d let them teach him, but we didn’t. We shouldn’t have promised him to her, but we didn’t know what would happen. We didn’t realize what would happen to that boy.”
The nouns were hard to follow. “The plebeian boy?” Tessa asked, trying to clarify.
/> “He was innocent, but we didn’t care. What was a plebeian to us? But now I see the blood on my hands.” He turned his hands over and studied them. “We both did. But Siiri set herself free. It just wasn’t enough to save Ilias.”
Tessa began stringing together his narrative, patching it with all the things she’d heard Justin and Mae tossing around. “So…this goddess and her people…you made a deal to conceive Ilias through illicit genetic manipulation—”
“No. Magical manipulation,” said Olaf. “She needs no lab.”
“Um, okay. So, then they took money for it and a plebeian sacrifice….” Tessa paused at that, overcome by how awful it was. “And they also wanted you to raise him in her service. But you didn’t, so they came back and…took him.”
Tessa felt sympathetic enough toward the old man and his son that she couldn’t say the word “kill.” She also decided not to say anything more about Siiri Sandberg. Somehow, Siiri had known this cult was after Ilias and had killed herself in the hopes that she could pay the price for her son. Apparently, this goddess’s followers had required premium genes.
“What was her name?” asked Tessa. “This goddess?”
“Death and darkness and war,” murmured Olaf.
Darius shook his head. “I’ve never heard him say a name in all the times he’s told the story. He either doesn’t know or won’t say.”
“What about the man who kept visiting?” asked Tessa. “Was he the one saying they’d take Ilias back?”
Olaf’s eyes grew moist. “He warned us. He tried to persuade Ilias to join them when he was older, but he wouldn’t. He was a good boy.”
“Did the guy who threatened Ilias have a name? Do you know anything about him?”
Darius answered when his father wouldn’t. “No name, but he was one of us. Blond. Not much Cain.” He frowned. “No, there wasn’t any Cain. He was like Ilias.”
When it became obvious Olaf would say no more, Darius made motions to leave. He gently helped his father get into bed, and the old man fell asleep almost instantly.
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