Siege of Shadows

by Sarah Raughley

  “Yeah . . .” Then, catching myself, I added, “Um, yes, sir.” I was supposed to call him “sir,” right? There was something about him that made me feel like I had to add it.

  He didn’t greet Rhys. Looking at them both up close, it was clear that Prince shared most of his genes with his eldest son: the dark, dirty-blond hair, the square shape of his head. But the intensity in Rhys’s and Prince’s eyes was the same.

  “Hello, Director,” Rhys offered, only to be greeted with a curt nod.

  “Maia, you know the director of the North American Division.” Unlike Rhys, Brendan’s voice swelled with pride as he formally introduced his father. “And this is Senator Tracy Ryan.”

  On cue, Ryan gave the photographers the practiced grin of a politician, even if she couldn’t hide its insidiousness. “It’s good to meet one of you in person, Maia.”

  I looked at the hand she offered me. “Does seeing me in person make it easier or harder to dehumanize and belittle me?”

  “Maia,” Brendan warned through gritted teeth, flicking his head not-so-subtly at a reporter talking to a dignitary nearby.

  “Ryan has said some rather unfavorable things about the Sect,” started Prince, his Adam’s apple bulging in his throat. “But we welcome these opinions. The Sect has never been above critique or scrutiny. We are as accountable to the rest of the world and its citizens as any other agency, and we’ve always conducted ourselves as such.”

  He was great at hiding it, but I caught it anyway: the way his eyes scanned the reception hall as he spoke. He certainly made sure his voice was loud enough for others to hear.

  “So you told me.” Ryan swirled her wineglass. “Look, I’m not here to debate politics. Lord knows we can all use a break from that from time to time. I’m here in good faith as a public servant just like everyone else. I will say, though, that if you want to win the people over, you should try asking your girls to fix their attitudes a little.”

  I blinked, shaking my head because I wasn’t quite sure what I’d heard. “If you have something to say, I’m standing right here.”

  “You see?” Ryan said to Prince again, who, to my fury, sighed almost in apology. It was only then that she turned to address me. “I know it’s not your fault. That’s just the trouble with young women. Despite all that, you’ve managed to keep things together so far, and I commend you.” I glared at her as she sipped from her glass. She “commended” me as if I were a newly potty-trained child. “But can you blame good, honest people for being worried when you can’t even behave yourself at a simple fund-raiser?”

  “But where are the good, honest people?” I looked around. “Surely you don’t mean yourself?”

  “That’s enough.” Prince kept his voice low and menacing. “This isn’t the time to make a scene. And you should know your place.”

  My place. It was like a gut punch I’d seen coming, but I reeled from it anyway, from Ryan’s smug look of victory, from Brendan’s docility as he avoided my eyes.

  “Wow, this is really something, isn’t it, Maia?” Rhys glared at his father. “So what, Director? We’re surrounded by cameras, so you’re going to pretend you can stand to be around someone you once called the political equivalent of a monkey on a tricycle?”

  Ryan bristled. This was clearly the first time she’d heard this, but Rhys hadn’t finished.

  “The Sect has a bad image, so you’re just gonna spread it for assholes like this and let them talk to our people any damn way they want?”

  Brendan looked furious. “Watch your tone with the director,” he hissed.

  “No, he’s the one who should watch his tone.” His voice grew louder by the second, as if he couldn’t control it. His eyes were blazing as he stared down his father. “Berating her like she’s someone to discipline. Maia isn’t your kid.”

  “But you are.” Prince didn’t need to raise his voice to be menacing. He painted the opposite picture to that of his son: chillingly calm. It was a frightening control that came only with age, the dominance of a man who knew just the amount of pressure to apply and where to break someone he’d already broken before. “Do not test me again.”

  He didn’t. Rhys was boiling. But he didn’t. Maybe he couldn’t. His hands were trembling, and not just out of anger. He recoiled under the ominous weight of his father’s glare. It may have been for just a second, but I saw the flash of fear in Rhys’s eyes. It was in Brendan’s, too.

  As Prince and Ryan walked away from us, Rhys stayed rooted to the spot, staring at a target that had long since removed itself from his line of fire.

  “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” Brendan was not nearly as menacing as their father, but the judgment was there in spades. He kept his voice low to avoid drawing attention. “There are cameras around, Aidan, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You had to be a little brat anyway. I thought you’d learned better by now—hey, I’m talking to you,” he added because Rhys wasn’t even looking at him. Grabbing his little brother’s shoulder, Brendan pulled him around to face him. “You know as well as I do it’s stupid to test Father like that. You need to learn some respect.”

  Rhys shrugged him off. “You mean I need to learn obedience. That’s what Dad said before he shipped me off to Greenland.”

  “Guys, come on, not here.” I was scanning the room nervously because the last thing I wanted was for this spat to end up on national news. “Just relax, all right?”

  But neither boy was listening to me. The muscles tensed in Brendan’s neck. “There’s nothing wrong with obedience,” he said quietly. “We are part of the Sect. We come from a family of specially trained warriors. Obedience is just part of discipline.”

  “Dad’s fists sure did their best to brainwash you to believe that, didn’t they?”

  Brendan froze.

  “Oh, I forgot.” Rhys gave him a lopsided smile. “He was only ‘training’ us.”

  Brendan couldn’t respond. He was looking at me now, his face tense, his lips frozen in a part. He was terrified I’d understood what Rhys meant. And I had. I turned to Rhys, my throat tightening as I studied the fury in his eyes.

  “Stop it. This isn’t the time or place,” Brendan whispered.

  “You were jealous all these years because you thought he’d sent me to Fisk-Hoffman because I was . . . what? More worthy than you? No. He was pissed I didn’t break. At least, not as fast as you did.”

  Brendan flinched as if he’d been spit on, his shoulders drooping, his head shaking as he struggled to keep his trembling body under control.

  “But I . . . I did.” Rhys rubbed his forehead. “In the end . . . I guess I did break after all.”

  “Aidan—”

  “Forget it. I only came here because Mom asked me to.” Rhys turned his back to his older brother.

  “Rhys . . . Are you okay?” I asked. Without thinking, I pinched his sleeve around his elbow to pull him back, but the moment he looked at me, my heart jumped and I withdrew my hand. For another silent second, we were looking at each other, mouths agape with the words that seemed to come so much easier when we didn’t have to speak them to each other.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, giving my hand a gentle squeeze before slipping away.

  Brendan and I stood in awkward silence.

  “Um,” I started. “Brendan—”

  “Forget what you heard,” he said shortly, and then following his brother’s lead, he went off in the opposite direction.

  “Great,” I muttered.

  I could still feel the touch of Rhys’s hand against mine, which only made the ache in my chest that much more unbearable as I squeezed past dignitaries and ducked from the flashes of cameras. It was all too clear now why Rhys resented his father. When Dad was alive, the worst he ever did was ground me and June or take away our television privileges. I just couldn’t imagine it. The thought of Rhys being hurt, and at such a young age . . .

  A security guard watched me as I passed through the entr
ance of a corridor populated by yet more patrons. “Anderson, checkpoint four, all clear,” I heard him say behind me, his comm scratching in that familiar way. I kept my head down, hoping nobody would recognize me, and it almost worked—that is, until I nearly crashed into one of the servers. We didn’t connect, but in an attempt to avoid me, she slipped and fell back. The tray of food she’d been holding slid backward off her right palm and crashed against the white staircase behind her. Thankfully, we were both in a corner, away from any of the dignitaries and cameras.

  “Oh no, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Her cell phone, tiny and black, had clattered against the floor near the food, but it looked okay. I bent down to help her pick it up, but she plucked it off the ground herself.

  “Nah, nah. It’s all right.” Her American accent was somewhat bizarre. “Oh, and thank you for picking this up for me.” She waved her phone before slipping it into her pocket. “I’ve been waiting for a call.” She scratched the back of her neck.

  She was average height and very pretty, though her green eyes were almost too big for her small, heart-shaped face. Her nose was pointed to a tip, and her hair was such a rich, deep shade of red, it was almost crimson; she kept it at the top of her head in a carefully crafted bun tied together with black string. She straightened her black pants and white tuxedo shirt.

  “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

  I moved to take the platter from her, but she waved me away. “Nah, it’s fine.” As she slipped her left hand into her pocket, I caught the glint of something between her fingers before they disappeared inside. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie.”

  She grinned, scratching her neck again, just as my phone began ringing.

  Nodding reluctantly, I stood and answered it. “Yeah?” I zipped up my bag with my other hand as I stepped away from the server.

  “It’s Belle.”

  “And me!” Lake piped up after her, though her voice sounded farther away.

  “And me.” Chae Rin this time. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time—hey, put it on speaker.”

  “What’s up, you three? Where are you?”

  “The elevator,” Chae Rin said. “On our way to the hangar. We’ve been called on a quick mission in Scotland. The Sect are anticipating an attack—not a Saul mega-attack, mind you. More of a bite-size phantom rumble in the countryside. It’s just busywork.”

  There would be agents in the area for sure. There were always agents stationed in areas that might not have the benefit of powerful APDs. They’d probably be able to take care of it on their own, but then I supposed this was more about the Sect worrying about optics again.

  “More important, I think I remember where I saw that symbol,” said Belle.

  The symbol of the flame. Unconsciously, I looked around, waiting for the married couple to pass by me before I lowered my voice. “Where?”

  “The Castor Volumes. I read some sections of the first three volumes years ago when I started my training. I remember seeing it there.”

  “Which one?” I whispered.

  “That’s the problem. Whether it was the first or second book of the twelve, I can’t remember.”

  On the other end of the receiver, Lake sighed. “There’s always something, isn’t there?”

  The Castor Volumes. As one of the first Sect agents, Thomas Castor had written about his early travels as he and his crew tried to discover the secrets of the phantoms and gather together the first Effigies. Each volume was hundreds of pages long, so “first or second book” didn’t help narrow things down much.

  “Well, I guess we can check the library when we get back,” I said.

  “We already went. They’ve both been checked out. We don’t have time to track them down and get them back. You’re at Blackwell’s estate, are you not?” Belle asked. “He’s boasted about his vast collection before. In his study. Take a look while you’re there.”

  “But . . .” I looked around. There were security agents at nearly every entrance, waiting. “I mean, it’d look pretty suspicious if I went skulking around in his house, going through his stuff. There’s lot of security around too.”

  “So don’t get caught, stupid.” Chae Rin was blunt, but right.

  “Good luck,” Belle said before clicking off the phone.

  With a sigh, I shoved my phone back into my bag.

  I thought of Vasily still in the Hole. Blackwell’s former right-hand man. The Council’s representative had already disavowed himself of Vasily, and, according to Brendan, all investigations had so far supported his innocence. But I still couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t risk tipping him off. I also couldn’t just ask the security guards where the study was. Who could I ask?

  I wandered around, through the corridors, past a kitchen full of busy cooks and frantic catering staff running in and out, no time to talk. I asked some dignitaries, but they didn’t know either. I knew I was lost when I found myself in front of a set of glass doors leading outside.

  On the other side of the glass, a woman sat alone, gazing out into the starry night through the wooden bars of her gazebo. Did she live here? Maybe she was related to Blackwell. Wife? I didn’t see a ring on any of her fingers. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask for some directions, as long as I made up a lie to cover myself.

  I walked along the stone cobbled path leading to the center of the courtyard. It smelled like spring here—mint and jasmine and other fragrances I couldn’t identify—they peppered the air, seeping in through the skin, calming my nerves.

  “Hello?” I called, and when she looked at me, my breath caught in my throat. She was actually stunning. Her faded brown eyes had been watching the nearby fountain in quiet contemplation, but now they were trained on me. Her face was pale but for the blush of her cheeks. She was definitely older than me, but with the youthfulness of her face it was hard to pinpoint her age. The long, twisting hair draping down her slender back was dark as night.

  “Are you lost?” She had an American accent. Her voice was as delicate as she looked.

  Her voice. It felt so familiar. She looked almost frail, but regal, as much as the statue on the other side of the fountain—another white stone woman carrying a pearl in her hands to match the one in the reception hall. “Maia, are you lost?”

  I blinked. “You know me? Oh, yeah.” I winced with embarrassment. “ ’Course you do. Everyone does.”

  She laughed softly. An elegant and feminine sound. Her voice . . . I remembered its gentle strength. But from where?

  “Actually,” I said, trying to stay on track. “I’m here on duty. I was told by Director Prince that Blackwell needed something out of his study.”

  She tilted her head, curious. “Director Prince asked you to get that?”

  “It’s urgent,” I lied. “Do you by chance know where I can find it? Do you live here?”

  “I don’t live here.” Contemplatively, she rubbed the bare skin of her right middle finger. “But Blackwell’s personal study is in the basement. If you go back to the reception hall and turn to the left, you’ll find a set of stairs going down.”

  So I had to go all the way back. Great. But at least I was on the right track now.

  “Thank you,” I said, and turned to leave.

  “Maia . . .”

  I stopped. It’s true that being a celebrity gave people a false sense of intimacy. They talked to you as if they knew you, as if you went bowling together every Sunday. But the way this woman called my name so easily unsettled me in a different way. “What is it that Blackwell is looking for?” she asked. “From his study?”

  I cleared my throat to buy time while I thought. “Uh, that’s classified. It’s very important business.” I nodded sturdily as if it made the lie sound somehow more official.

  “Be careful.”

  “Oh, um. Yes.”

  Her eyes were deep, dark wells, the kind that hold too many secrets. Beautiful . . . but creepy. My muscles tensed and my feet were itching to take me in the opposite direction
, but there was something nagging at me.

  “By the way . . .” I leaned in and searched her face. “This is going to sound weird, but have we met?”

  It wasn’t just her voice. There was something about her face, its chiseled structure, about the way her deep brown eyes twinkled with mischief as she smiled. “Yes and no.”

  Not cryptic at all. “Okay . . . um . . .” I shook my head. This lady was clearly taking the whole mysterious-woman thing a little too seriously. As if she weren’t being creepy enough. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’ve done so well, Maia,” she said. “Go now. Do what you need to do.”

  17

  I RETRACED MY STEPS BACK to the reception hall and found the right set of plain pine stairs leading down into the basement, which looked as majestic and well decorated as the main floor. It was all hand-carved wood and oak, mahogany floors, golden rims, Persian rugs, and silver doorknobs. There weren’t as many people down here—a few drifting patrons, a couple of catering staff. Even asking one for directions, I wasn’t sure if I’d find the right room until I came to a set of double doors around a corner—guarded. A single security guard had been stationed next to the doors. I ducked out of his sight.

  “Crane, checkpoint twelve, all clear,” he said into his comm—that is, until he saw me rounding the corner.

  “What are you doing here?” He looked shocked to see me. Maybe a little excited. He was a young guy, and he didn’t quite have that stone-cold security glare down like some of his colleagues. But whatever excitement had flashed in his eyes passed quickly. He tilted his chin to the side as if he were about to speak into his communication device again.

  “Wait!” I said, putting up a hand to stop him. “Um, this is Blackwell’s study, right?”

  “It is.” He adjusted the wire around his neck leading up to his ear.

  Why guard the study? There wasn’t anyone around. I checked behind me to make sure. This particular corridor was empty. I hadn’t seen any other security guards except at major exits. The only reason Blackwell would keep someone here was to keep others out.