by A. L. Knorr
As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“Seems like most of the issues stem from me, or at least my presence.” Sark eyed the cube.
Lowe glared at Dillon but said nothing.
“If Kezsarak is who is working these changes, then it makes sense that I am the trigger.” Sark looked at Lowe. “Of everyone here, he had the most contentious relationship with me.”
Jackie shook her head as she crossed her arms.
“Not to poke holes in your clever theory, but you seem to forget that it was Ibby who beat him back into that box. It doesn’t get much more contentious than that.”
Sark looked flatly at Jackie, and the look snatched the sneer from her face.
“Then she brought him here to rest and try to heal him,” he remarked matter of factly. “That is how you treat a worthy opponent, an equal. An ancient being like the gallu could appreciate that. My goal had been to enslave him and to use his power for Winterthür. That is something he wouldn’t quickly forget ... or forgive.”
Sark turned back to Lowe, his expression grim, yet somehow conciliatory.
“You already have reason to hate me, but the reason you’re losing control is probably because of my relationship to Kezsarak.”
It made a kind of sense, but what that meant for us for the plan, I wasn’t sure. Call me mistrustful, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Sark was going to use this new-found understanding to his advantage. An opportunist like Sark wouldn’t let a chance like this go to waste.
“Do you have a helpful suggestion to go with this hypothesis?” I asked warily.
“Not much besides me giving the cube and the Professor here a wide berth whenever I’m in the Station,” he said shrugging after a deferential nod to Lowe. “I am not a demonologist, and I am a rather poor counselor, so I’m not sure what else you are looking for.”
I fought to hide my surprise at his answer, genuinely shocked that he didn’t seem to be trying to leverage the encounter or his theory for anything. For the very first time, I considered that Sark wanted to cooperate with us. I knew he had to, but his overlooking Jackie’s cheap-shot at the hostel, combined with this situation, made me think that maybe we could make this alliance work.
“What I want to know,” Jackie began in a voice that made it clear she didn’t hold such a gracious view, “is what you were doing with the cube in the first place?”
My gaze cut back to Sark at the reminder, and I felt a surge of guilt as I realized I’d been duped again. Of course, Sark hadn’t pressed his luck with the encounter and was striking an earnest, repentant tone. He was hoping we’d forget that it was his suspicious behaviour that had set Lowe off in the first place.
“I was just remembering,” Sark said meeting Jackie’s accusing stare, “that night and everything that happened afterward.”
“I remember that night, too,” I fumed. “I remember how you were stupid enough to think you could control Kezsarak and how it got people killed. I remember how I had to clean up your mess, and it nearly killed me and Jackie.”
I was surprised to see no defiance or outrage in Sark’s look.
“I was arrogant and wasteful,” he agreed, his voice cold and calm. “I didn’t do my research or consider the consequences of my actions.”
“Is that supposed to be an apology?” Jackie asked incredulously.
“No,” Sark said with a shake of his head. “Just an observation of what happened and what I learned. I guess I thought touching the cube would help make it more real, imprint it in my memory. I have spent a year of my life living like a scared animal because of the mistakes I made that night.”
Jackie slouched back into her chair, one arm thrown up momentarily in disgusted exasperation.
“Oh, good,” she huffed. “So long as it’s not an apology for betraying me and nearly getting us killed.”
Sark’s expression changed, his gaze lowered, his cheeks flushed. Twice he looked like he was trying to work up the courage to say something, but each time he snatched a look at Jackie and then lowered his gaze again. Sitting there, head bowed, his stylish exterior restored, but obviously not his confidence, I felt bad for Sark again. I still didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but watching him wrestle with his shame and guilt was remarkably humanizing.
“Ibby,” Uncle Iry said, turning towards me though his eyes lingered on Sark a little longer. “Did you get the necklace? No problems?”
I nodded, drawing the faux-artifact from under my shirt. I took it off and held it out to Sark for inspection. Sark shook off his malaise at the sight of the rose gold glittering in my hand.
“How’d you get it out without setting off security?” he asked as he took the necklace.
“I figured it out,” I said as he bent over the necklace, studying it closely.
“Impressive,” Sark responded as he finished his inspection. “We had a soft invite when I made it known we had this, but I’ll need to send some pictures to secure us a spot for tonight. So, I need to go back to the land of the living as soon as possible.”
He looked between Jackie and me.
“Fine,” Jackie groused. “Ibby still needs to try on what we bought, and I’m hungry to boot.”
Sark turned towards me a bit of his devil may care smile creeping across his face. “Don’t worry; you are going to look stunning. I guarantee it.”
Chapter Thirteen
The person looking back from the mirror was the epitome of the knockout sexy spy. The curve-hugging black dress with peekaboo front and hip-high slit was risqúe, but damn, I looked good.
I’d commandeered one of the station restrooms for a quick sponge bath, trying not to think about Lowe’s loos. I’d glammed up with make-up, then fought to get my hair into order. It had all come together.
Then my bravado faded. I was about to go on a covert operation with a partner of dubious allegiance, to deceive and steal from a man who worked with the Group of Winterthür. The thought made my chest tight.
There were two raps on the restroom door, and I heard Uncle Iry’s muffled voice.
“Ibby? Um … are you decent enough to talk to?”
I looked at my bared cleavage and stuck out a leg through the open side of the dress.
“Doubtful,” I muttered. “Yes, come on in.”
In the mirror, I watched my uncle step into the ladies’ room, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. I turned towards him with a flutter of lashes.
“How do I look?”
Uncle Iry gaped, but he didn’t say anything. After what felt like forever, I lost my nerve and looked away, embarrassed. He probably thought I looked like some kind of streetwalker or bar crawling tramp.
“I know; it’s too much.” My arms folded over my chest. I felt more naked than when I was bathing.
“Ibukin, ya binti,” he said softly and stepped forward to rest his hands on my shoulders. “You look lovely, just like your mother.”
Tears glistened in his eyes.
“If only they could have seen,” he breathed heavily, his voice thick, “what an incredible woman you’ve become. Fearless, intelligent, strong, and beautiful.”
I sniffed, willing my eyes not to surrender to tears for fear of what it might do to the make-up.
“You – oh, excuse me.” I turned to face the mirror and compose myself. “You said you needed to talk?”
He took a step back and crossed his arms. “I am not sure about this plan.”
I had to fight a growl of irritation. Why had everybody decided that they had a problem with the plan after it was too bloody late to matter?
“You are going to this Pierre Gwafa’s home, outside the city, where he will no doubt have security, to steal information you only think he has. Then you hope to escape in a newly purchased car driven by Jackie, who hasn’t driven in years. This is the plan?”
I shook my head, and Iry frowned.
“It is not?”
“You are forgetting your part,” I said. “
Halfway through our escape, you are going to have things in place for quick cosmetic changes to the vehicle. That way, if they contact the police about the car, we’ll be more likely to avoid their attention. See, everyone has a part to play.”
Uncle Iry’s frown deepened. “Ibukin,” he said in that same stern way that my father had mastered just to infuriate me. “I am being serious. You need to consider what is at stake here. The information you are looking for, what is on the ledger Sark spoke of, may not be there, and even if it is, you may not be able to escape with it. If this man Gwafa truly works for the likes of the Winterthür, you can be certain he will keep many dangerous men around him. Facing them alone will be …” he paused, “perilous.”
I sighed and turned back to meet Uncle Iry’s gaze with an undaunted stare.
“If I can tangle with an ancient evil like Kezsarak, then a few meathead muppets shouldn’t be much trouble. Besides, I won’t be alone: Sark is going with me.”
He looked more dubious at this response and shook his head slowly. I turned back to the mirror, adjusting a few hairs that weren’t out of place. I tried to ignore Iry’s disapproving scowl, but my eyes kept drifting over towards him, and each time I felt an angry twitch. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
Slapping the comb down on the sink, I whirled to face him, words bubbling up to eject in a caustic spray.
“What do you want me to do? No one else had a better plan, and we needed to act now. Every day, hell every hour we don’t act is one more chance for Winterthür to offer up another innocent. Hiding is not an option.”
Uncle Iry’s expression was one of stone. “I am not telling you to do nothing. I’m telling you that I don’t like this plan, but if you need to do it, please, be careful. Careful of your enemies, careful of your ally, and most important careful of yourself.”
That should have been the end of it, but my blood was up, and all the anxieties, fears, and frustrations of the past few days came bubbling to the surface.
“Be careful?” I snarled. “Oh, I’m brave, strong, and all that nonsense two seconds ago, but now you want to tell me to be careful? We are past careful, Uncle, and heading straight for desperate. We need to get to Ninurta and take him out, and this gets us one step closer to that goal, end of story.”
Uncle Iry gave his head one forceful shake, and though he didn’t raise his voice, he spoke with a firmness that shocked me.
“My brother’s daughter is no assassin,” he rumbled. “Stopping Winterthür from hurting others, yes, keeping Ninurta from rising, yes, but if you allow yourself to think like Sark, you will make a poor guardian to those who need you most.”
I wanted to scream in his face, to tell him that maybe being a guardian and an assassin were one and the same – that he was being naively thick-headed. I didn’t need or want his concern, only his support. My whole body trembled as I turned away from him, internally railing at the fact that he couldn’t see what was at stake.
I gripped the sides of the sink until my fingers ached, breathing hard. Then I looked up into the mirror and was brought up short.
My face was still the beautiful mask that I’d painted on, my features locked into a cold, hard expression, but staring back at me from the spectral glass were a pair of eyes hauntingly akin to those I’d seen when Jackie nearly beat Sark to death on the floor of our flat. I’d thought they were the eyes of uncontrollable vengeance, but now staring into them and feeling the empty darkness behind my anger, I knew better.
These were the eyes of fear.
I was afraid. Afraid of how I’d failed already, afraid of what was happening right now, and afraid of what would happen tonight. I wanted to feel that, with all this insanity and pain, I could do something, that I wasn’t powerless. I knew every reason why Sark’s plan was risky, foolish, and probably futile, but at least it was doing something, and that was what I wanted more than anything right now. I wanted to do something.
“I need to finish getting ready, a’am,” I said softly, looking at his reflection in the mirror. I reached out and called my bangles over to me. They didn’t quite go with my outfit as is, but I could work on that.
“I get your coat,” he said. “I love you, ya habibti. Always.”
---
“Should they not be here?” Iry asked out the side of his mouth as he rocked back and forth on the sidewalk, looking as suspicious as hell. “When did they say they were coming?”
I shrugged without looking up, knowing I was behaving like a sulky teenager but not really caring. I was trying to get my head on straight, and he’d already done enough damage as far as I was concerned.
“I hope we won’t be late,” Iry muttered looking up and down the street before running a hand over his face to scratch his scalp. “We need to budget time to drop me off so I can get ready–”
He cut off mid-sentence as something buzzed in his coat pocket.
I looked up sharply at what sounded like a phone vibrating, but Uncle Iry didn’t have a phone. “What’s that?”
Uncle Iry pawed around in his coat, finally drawing out the buzzing phone, Daria’s phone.
“Why do you have that?” I asked, my throat so tight the words came out raspy.
Uncle Iry shifted from foot to foot, the phone still buzzing in his hand. He looked sheepishly at me, an embarrassed smile curling the corners of his mouth.
“I picked it up as we left the flat because I thought you just forgot it,” he explained. “We were in such a hurry and yelling about Real McDonald.”
“McCoy, and fine, but why do you have it now?” My gaze darted rapidly between the insistent phone and my uncle.
“I have no phone, and I thought if I were separated from the group or something happened, having one would help.”
It made a kind of sense, but as the phone continued to buzz, the sinking feeling in my stomach kept me from admitting the idea wasn’t half bad, except for the fact that Daria could probably use the phone to track us. We still didn’t know her goals, so the closer to the chest we played things, the better.
“Are you going to answer it?” Iry asked, holding the phone out to me. “I imagine it is that Daria woman.”
It most certainly was, but for a moment, I thought it wouldn’t be worth letting her into my headspace. Did I really need one more thing to stress over this evening?
But last time her warning had saved us from being ambushed in our flat, and I decided I’d be a fool not to take the call.
Shaking my head furiously I drew a deep breath in through my nose. After I’d let it out slowly through my artfully lip-sticked mouth, I took the phone and pressed the talk button.
“Dary,” I said, adopting the airy tone she’d used previously. “How lovely to hear from you again.”
“Finally decided to take my call I see,” came Daria’s throaty voice, devoid of false cheer. “Or were you underground this whole time?”
Her voice sounded tired, her words dragging just a hint, and there was an edge of irritation. I shifted my stance on the street, going for a nonchalance that I hoped transferred into my voice. I felt Iry’s eyes on me.
“Oh, I’d rather not talk about us, darling, it’s so dull. I’m more interested in what you’ve been up to? It seems so much has changed since we had to move.”
“Ibby, I …” she began, and there was a silence broken by a shivering breath. I waited, but when she still said nothing, I couldn’t fight a twinge of concern.
“Daria?” I asked, the mocking flippancy gone. “Daria, are you there?”
There was another breath, just as shaky as the last.
“I’m here,” she answered, the words dropping like lead weights. “I know you’ve every reason to suspect me, but I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. I felt it was important to … to …”
“To explain?” I offered, acid creeping into my tone. “Explain why you turned everything on its head? To explain why you couldn’t have a conversation about your plans to fight Winterthür instead of
siccing them on us? Or to explain why you gave Sark the key to a doomsday weapon and sent him scampering back to the bad guys?”
Another silent stretch greeted my little rant, but this time I waited her out.
“No,” she said slowly, as though the single syllable weighed a ton. “I’m not going to explain, Ibby. I can’t for several reasons, and I won’t for a few more.”
“Then why call?” I demanded.
“Because I wanted to … assure you,” she said, the word spoken as though foreign to her tongue. “I want to promise you that everything I’ve done, everything I’m going to do, it’s all for a purpose. I just wanted you to know that.”
My fingers trembled as I clenched the phone. “That’s it? That’s the great reveal.”
She sighed, a regret-laden sound. “Yes. That’s it. I have a very good reason for why I’m doing all this. Maybe the best reason.”
I laughed – an ugly, cutting sound that tore its way out of me. “I’m so glad to hear that. Any chance you’re going to let me in on what that reason is?”
“No, I can–”
“You can’t because that would be an explanation,” I cut in, venom hot on my tongue. “Yes, that would be helpful, and it would be a shame if you were helpful, wouldn’t it?”
“I know this is hard for you to understand,” she pressed with forced patience. “I know I’m not giving you what you want, but please believe me that I am doing what I think is best. Even after all these years and all the shadow games I’ve played, it hurts my heart that things had to work out this way. I just want you to know that it will be worth it.”
Anger closed my throat so all I could manage was a bitter snort.
“Some things are more important than friendship, Ibby, even more important than love. Maybe you won’t understand that until you’ve lived as long as I have.”
“Well, I’ll have to survive the mess you’ve made first, won’t I?”