The Sleepless Stars
Page 27
I tumbled into the water, taking her with me, just as I heard another gunshot from the dock.
As the water swallowed us, I heard Ryder call my name. I was still disoriented from the blow to the head, but Francesca wasn’t—she was clawing at me, trying to get her arm around my neck.
I couldn’t tell if she was trying to drown me or save me, but instincts took over, and I fought back. The pain crashing through my arm was overwhelming, leaving me reeling with nausea. It was broken, useless.
We kept falling down, down into the dark depths. The water here was much deeper than on the other side of the island where the grotto was. I had no idea how far down it went, but the lights above had vanished, leaving us in complete darkness.
Francesca’s hands slid down my body—she had sunk farther down, was now clutching at my waist, tumbling me backward, off-balance.
I kicked free of her, but before I could decide which way was the surface, she bobbed up far enough to grab at my ankle. It was impossible with one arm for me to stroke hard enough to break her grip. I felt myself sliding down, stars bursting overhead—I wasn’t sure if they were fireworks or the lightning strikes of dying brain cells coloring my vision.
Desperate, I bent over, my arm screaming in pain at the movement, and slid my fingers between my ankle and Francesca’s hand. Her face turned up, her eyes not filled with panic or even fear. Instead, they met mine with imploring desperation.
When I heard her voice inside my head, I realized: She was dying. Was her last wish to see me dead as well?
No, she called to me as we tumbled together in the void that accompanied death. You must live. You’re their only hope. You must save our family. Save them all.
Bubbles streamed from her mouth as her lips went slack. Still, her eyes stared at me, refusing to yield.
Her hope and yearning filled me as her memories rushed in with a shuddering force. With it came her hatred of her brother, of her father, and the other Lazarettos who had used her and her people, my people, the afflicted.
Her hate didn’t burn. Rather, it was something insidious, oily as it clung and slithered and seeped into vulnerable crevices. I wanted no part of her life or the memories that had turned her into the monster she’d become. But, as with the others whose lives filled my mind, I had no choice.
Please, she begged as the darkness swept through her. Save them. Then destroy the rest.
The blackness tore at her, shredding her voice. She screamed in fury but finally surrendered to the void.
I tried to hold on to her, had some random hope of saving us both, but her body was too heavy, dragging me down with it. Finally, I released her to the depths, her gaze unseeing, filled with a lifeless stare, until the dark water consumed her body.
My chest was on fire, my mind black with the desperate need to breathe, my energy spent. I kicked halfheartedly up toward the stars blazing across the blackness above me. Thought of Ryder and kicked harder, trying to use my good arm. But it was no use. Gold, silver, blazing red rippled across the world over me, out of reach.
I felt a strange peace as my body sank.
Finally, after so many days of silence, music wove its magic, cloaking me in silken threads of joy. My father. Singing. For me and only me. A true memory. My memory. Not stolen or ripped from a dying mind.
Dance, Angela, he coaxed me. Feel the music. Dance.
I kicked my feet in time with his tune. It was one he’d created special just for me—a duet for the fiddle and concertina. He called it “The Wanderer’s Jig.” Suddenly, the pain left my body as I remembered the chords, felt my fingers press against my bow, my knees bouncing, toes tapping, entire body swaying alongside my father. I smelled his beer and sweat, that earthy masculine scent that meant home and safe haven.
And I danced. As I moved, Ryder’s pendant broke free of my wet suit, floating before my eyes, its tree of life glowing in the darkness as if it had come alive.
Light shattered the blackness around me, a roaring thunder filling my ears, threatening to drown out our music. The stars were so close I could almost touch them, yet so far away. Too far.
My questing hand forgave the stars and settled on Ryder’s pendant, clasping it with my last remaining strength.
A black streak rippled through the water, and a man’s hands grabbed me by my waist as if to twirl me, join in on our jig. I turned and smiled. It was Ryder, of course.
Why did he look so frightened?
We crashed into the cold night air, the sky a spectacle of color, the crack and boom of the fireworks echoing across the water. I leaned back in Ryder’s arms, let him do the work as I fought to simply breathe and he pulled us both to shore.
“Thank you, Papa,” I whispered to the stars. I closed my eyes, Ryder’s warmth thawing me, and felt certain that my father heard.
Chapter 53
THANKS TO DEVON’S boat and cash, they made a clean getaway.
Rossi didn’t have her passport yet, but neither of them could face going back to Devon’s flat to pack his things, so after a visit to the hospital, where they’d gotten her arm X-rayed—two bones, clean break—and a cast, Ryder booked them into a hotel on the Grand Canal. He was probably out of a job, so should have been watching his budget, but after what they’d just been through, he figured they deserved a treat. Still, he wasn’t prepared for the opulence—he counted five different types of marble in the lobby alone, which was large enough to host a cotillion and had gold-leaf patterns swirling across the ceiling that appeared handcrafted.
Their room was equally stunning, including a terrace that faced the water. With the French doors open, a light breeze stirring the gauze curtains, their view from the bed was of a gorgeous domed basilica.
While Rossi contacted Louise, he called Flynn, broke the news about Devon’s death.
“He was ready,” she said in her usual heartless fashion. “After he left, I found his will. He named you the executor and COO of Kingston Enterprises. Rossi gets half, Esme the other half, and he named me her guardian.”
Ryder shook his head in a silent chuckle. Flynn wasn’t even old enough to vote. “He made the right choice. You’ll do right by Esme.”
She made a choking noise. Emotion? From Flynn? “Thanks.” She hung up.
“Sure you don’t need a doctor?” he asked Rossi after she’d finally finished talking with Louise, instructing her on her ideas for a new fatal insomnia cure she’d devised from the information she’d taken from Francesca’s mind. “We can go back to the hospital.”
She smiled wanly at him, her dark eyes so sunken they made her face appear bruised. “I am a doctor. No, I just need some rest.”
“Is Louise sending her treatment? Because it will take you a while to actually make the cure, right?”
“She’s sending it along with my passport. I can wait.”
He disagreed but had learned the hard way not to argue.
“If it works on the kids, it will work on you, too, right?” Damn, he’d been trying not to ask, hated forcing her to answer, but he was tired of hidden truths. From here on out, it would be the two of them, together, facing whatever. To do that, he had to know everything.
“Yes, but it’s not a cure—my brain has more areas of vacuolization than the children suffered. Even the cure can’t fix the damage already done. It will just stop the disease from progressing.” Vacuoles. Those freaky empty areas that made her MRI look like slices of Swiss cheese.
“So you’ll still—”
“Have access to memories? Yes.” She reached for his hand with her good one, taking care not to jostle her arm in the cast propped on a stack of pillows. She leaned back against him on the bed as the sunrise filled the sky with ribbons of ruby etched against the indigo night.
“And I’ll still have fugues. But now I’m in control.” She raised her hand to the Pashtun pendant he’d given her. “Maybe we can use Devon’s legacy to do some good with the Kingston money. Like hunt down the rest of my family. There are more of them
out there. Who knows what they’re plotting?”
“More prion diseases?” He fought a shudder.
She thought for a moment, her face going vacant, and he knew she was searching Francesca’s memories. “No. Not prions. But they’ve been stealing secrets and treasures and fortunes for so long... It’s not going to be easy.”
“I’m up for it. If you are.”
She yawned and patted his arm, snuggling up against him. “How about if we start with home? Clearing out the corruption and making it a safe place for Esme to grow up?”
“Now you’re talking my language. There’s so much waste—we could turn the Tower into a model of community cooperation, like Devon envisioned. And if we can clean up the mayor’s office and city council, then the police and DA will be easy. Maybe we could—”
Her head nodded against his shoulder. “Ryder,” she murmured, “would you do me one favor?”
“Sure, anything.”
“Shut up so I can get some sleep.”
Laughter rippled through him as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. She was asleep within seconds.
“We saved the world, you and I,” he whispered as he lay there, wide awake, staring out the window at the stars surrendering to the light. “But for us, the best is yet to come.” He kissed the top of her head. “Sweet dreams, Rossi.”
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DEVIL SMOKE
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