by Heskett, Jim
Serena approached a black Mercedes Benz parked on the street, squinting into the tinted windows. As Isabel observed, hidden behind her car’s trunk on the other side of the road, she wondered why Serena focused on that particular vehicle. Had Ember driven this car here?
Was she actually inside one of those houses? Serena seemed to think so.
In this current section of the street, six houses in one chunk formed a row. Serena hurried down to the east end of the row and disappeared around the back of the house. In that costume, Isabel had a hard time tracking her movements, so quick and low to the ground.
Isabel palmed the stun gun to hide it inside her coat sleeve, and she raced across the street. Maybe a little too fast, as she almost slipped on the wet pavement. But, she ended up on the opposite sidewalk as she spied Serena through a faraway gap in the houses. She was moving between the last and next-to-last houses on this mini-block.
Isabel had to make a choice. If she could head off Serena before she arrived at the target house, maybe she could disable her long enough for the police to arrive. But, Isabel didn’t know which house to choose. Looked like Serena didn’t yet know, either.
So, Isabel settled on the house to the left of the middle of the row. A large compost bin on the side would give her a way to reach the roof, so she rushed over to it and hoisted herself up. A trio of small costumed children and their father eyed her as she did so, but Isabel didn’t worry about them. Only about what the assassin would see.
Isabel climbed up onto the roof and then padded over, keeping herself as low as possible. Light feet to avoid scraping the shingles. She spotted Serena skulking along the exterior of a chain-link fence behind the next house over.
Serena paused there, hunkered down, for two full minutes. Not moving, completely silent, looking around. Waiting for something. What was she waiting for?
Isabel checked the street. No police yet. A couple more minutes slipped by, no one but the costumed kids making any noise.
Her mouth felt dry and her heart boomed in her chest. She took the stun gun in one hand and thumbed the button to turn off the safety. The thing was like a flashlight with two metal prongs sticking out of the business end.
She’d been jabbed with this same model as a training exercise back in her academy days, and it was not a pleasant experience for flesh to meet the shocky bits.
Isabel crept over toward the back of the house, using a brick chimney as cover. Isabel gripped her weapon.
As Serena reached the back of the fence, she turned, headed for the fronts of the houses. Quiet, slow, deliberate and careful.
Five seconds later, she passed directly underneath Isabel.
With a deep breath, she raised the stun gun, pressed the trigger to make the end sparkle, and jumped off the roof.
She led with the stun gun, her eyes firmly on Serena’s neck. They were at the edge of the slim alley between the two houses, almost on the front lawn.
The assassin spun and gazed upward at the last second. Isabel thrust out the stun gun, jabbing it into Serena’s chest. The leather costume was thick, but Isabel gave it an extra burst of strength as she pushed. The stun gun lit up, crackling and sending blue light up into both of their faces.
They toppled to the ground, but Isabel held firm. One hand on the stun gun, the other with a solid grip on the target’s shoulder, holding her down. Serena tried to wriggle free as her eyes rolled back in her head, but Isabel pushed, finger on the button. She kept the stun gun pressed there for three full seconds, long enough to make Serena’s eyes close and her body convulse.
Then, Isabel withdrew the stun gun and jumped back to her feet. Her target stirred beneath her. She looked up to see three police cars appearing on the street, blue and red lights flashing. On a night like this, the cops had probably already been out patrolling in force, shortening their response time to this location.
Isabel reached into Serena's coat and palmed her firearm; then she inserted it into Serena's paralyzed hand. Then Isabel gave Serena a slap to wake her, and she sprinted toward the rear of the house and ducked behind it. After a beat, she peeked around the edge.
Gun in hand, Serena stood, wobbling. Floodlights from one police car shined on her as cops spilled out of the other two cars, hiding behind the vehicle doors. Guns pointed. They shouted at Serena to drop her weapon.
Serena stood for a moment, swerving on her feet. Would she draw down on these uniformed cops?
The cops barked at her again and Serena complied, putting her hands in the air.
From her hiding spot, Isabel stifled a laugh, but she didn’t think anyone heard it over the sound of the police megaphone.
It had worked.
Chapter Forty-One
EMBER
Ember held her hands in the air as the Oracle's guards trained their weapons on her. All six of these brawny men had their fingers on the triggers of their weapons—some with AR-15 assault rifles, a couple holding SMGs. The lights were dim in here, so Ember didn't recognize the models. But she could clearly see fingers on triggers, which was not a good sign. If anyone in here sneezed, Ember wouldn't get a chance to reach for a tissue.
The Oracle sat on the couch, legs crossed, a finger painted with black nail polish tugging on her lower lip. “Yes,” she said, “we do have bolt cutters.”
Ember kept her arms high, but she did push them forward a couple of inches to highlight the cuffs. "Do you think you could…?"
“Why should I give them to you? Why should I even let you live, after you have wasted my time by showing up for your appointment four days late? I know you know who I am because you wouldn't be here otherwise. But maybe you don't appreciate the gravity of upsetting the Oracle."
Ember pursed her lips. The whole situation was ridiculous. The woman standing before her had been shrouded in mystery, but now, she appeared to be a WASPy suburban housewife with an inferiority complex. Still, with all these guns, Ember thought better than to drop something snarky into the conversation.
“Look,” Ember said, “I’m sorry I’m late. I already told you, it was beyond my control. I’m in this black spot trial by combat thing, and there are multiple people coming to kill me. One of them happened to snatch me, and I couldn’t get away until this morning.”
The Oracle nodded. “I know about your black spot. Who did you kill?”
“Veronica Acevedo, this week. Technically, I didn’t even kill her, actually. Some stocky guy with a limp shot her. I didn’t get a chance to ask his name.”
“Her bodyguard? An outsider?”
Ember opened her mouth to reply, but she heard the chirp of police sirens. Even though the nearby windows were covered with curtains, she could still see blue and red lights reflected.
“Don’t worry about that,” the Oracle said. “Whatever they’re here for, they’re not here for you. Or for me. Besides, no one gets in this house without my approval.”
“Right,” Ember said, focusing again on the omnipotent woman on the couch.
“You’re from Boulder Branch? How is Charlie?”
Charlie, the older assassin she’d almost chosen as a mentor. “Charlie died in a parking garage in Boulder about three weeks ago. A trio of assholes from Five Points did him in.”
The Oracle lowered her head. “That's too bad. He was an old friend.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how does your oracle-ness work? I mean, you’re a legend in the Club. Most people don’t believe you even exist. I wasn’t positive you existed until you opened that door for me.”
The Oracle spread her hands out as if surveying her kingdom. "I exist."
"Does the Club government pay you from our dues? Are you on a retainer, or do you get paid just to consult and settle disputes, and then you bill the Review Board? How does that all work?"
The Oracle picked up a glass of something brown from the nearby end table and sipped, ice cubes clinking as they floated. “I do mind you asking. Tell me the question that brought you here, and then I’ll dec
ide if I’m going to answer it.”
“Okay, then here goes: I found some documents in the Parker archive that said the last black spot almost caused a civil war in the Club in 1971. The info about it is all patched together and spotty. Do you have anything else you can tell me about it?”
The Oracle tugged on her lip for a few more seconds, then she cleared her throat. “Yes, I do have additional info about the black spot given out in 1971. What the archives won’t show is that black spots were outlawed after that. It was never entered into any record, but there was a decision made by the Review Board in that era.”
Outlawed? Ember felt a tugging in the pit of her stomach. “Why wasn’t there a record made?”
“They wanted to pretend it never happened. I would guess you had trouble finding the documents at the archives?”
"I did, yeah. It was either misfiled or someone wanted to make it impossible to find."
The Oracle nodded. “There you go. It’s an ugly mark on the DAC’s history.”
“So, why would David Wellner assign it to me, knowing this?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have much knowledge of the daily operations at the Club now. Maybe he has an ulterior motive. Or, it’s just as likely that he had no actual idea the practice was outlawed. He had access to the same records that you do. So, unless the Historian taught him otherwise…”
“And our Club Historian is new on the job,” Ember said, musing to herself.
“There you go.”
Ember chewed on her lower lip and considered this. Maybe it was all an innocent mistake. Or, maybe Wellner was somehow in league with Five Points, aiding them in their cause to begin a new civil war. But why would he do that? He was already in charge, so he had no reason to threaten that by giving them more power.
Or, could it really be as simple as him receiving bad information about the past?
“Is there anything else?” the Oracle asked.
“No, I don’t think so. Thank you.”
“Good, good. I have decided… not to execute you for being late.”
Immediately, all six members of her entourage lowered their guns. The Oracle sipped her drink as the red and blue lights from outside continued to bounce off the windows.
Ember blew out a sigh of relief, then she held out her arms. “I appreciate that. Now, about those bolt cutters?”
Chapter Forty-Two
WELLNER
Wellner paced back and forth through the anteroom adjacent to his office. Hands behind his back, head down, muttering half-words and grunts. Naomi sat at her desk, Kunjal on the couch. They were both looking worried, which was probably a reflection of the expression on Wellner’s face.
“I’m sorry to keep you both so late.”
“It is no trouble,” Kunjal said.
Naomi sat up straight, fingers twirling a chunk of her hair. “We only want to help, David. There’s a lot to unpack here. I can’t imagine the war going on inside your head.”
“I had no idea the black spot caused so much chaos last time. How could I have known? There’s nothing in the archives about it. Nothing about the Branch war it caused, nothing about the deaths involved, nothing hardly at all about 1971.”
Wellner looked at his Historian Kunjal for confirmation, and the young man nodded. “That is correct, sir. Information about black spot trial by combat is very limited. I apologize I did not have all the information you needed.”
“It’s not your fault, Kunjal. You’re still finding your process. Almost sixty years of history is a lot to get up to speed on. I can’t expect you to know things if you can’t reference the damn source material.”
The young Historian nodded, his thick eyebrows furrowed over his eyes. “Thank you for saying so, sir.”
“So, what do I do? Do I cancel it because it might ease some of this unrest, freeing Ember from the last two weeks of her obligation, or do I keep it and hope the consistency helps to maintain order?”
He eyed Kunjal first, who could only offer a shrug as a reply. “Let me think for a moment, sir.”
“This is probably one of those situations where there isn’t a clear path,” Naomi said. “So, I think you should do what your heart tells you.”
Wellner pressed his lips together. His heart wasn’t of much help at the moment. “If you were in my place, what would you do?”
“I would leave the trial by combat in place,” she said. “I think it makes you seem weak if you counteract a disciplinary ruling you’ve supported for a month already. Changing your mind doesn’t project confidence.”
He stopped pacing and studied his secretary. That had been a surprisingly astute and helpful suggestion. She smiled up at him, that wry look she gave him with one half of her mouth. So pretty. Even in the midst of all this chaos, he could still revel in the animal magnetism he felt toward her.
“Thank you.” Then, he turned to Kunjal. “You had time to think it over now?“
“There’s no bylaw I know of that says you can’t give out a black spot,” Kunjal said. “Just because it caused problems before, there’s nothing in the archives to suggest they outlawed the practice. Not anything I have seen, anyway. As such, I think it’s entirely at your discretion, sir. Naomi is correct. Changing the ruling could lead to more problems than keeping it, but I am not certain of that fact.”
Wellner thought about Ember Clarke, wondering if she died, how he would feel about it. Would he feel like a monster? Ember had beaten Xavier Montrose, Lydia Beauchamp, Quinn Voeller, and now Veronica Acevedo. Four formidable opponents. But, she still had two weeks left to go, and one of the two Branches remaining to come after her would be Five Points. That would, by far, be the most difficult test. Five Points was the closest thing the Club had to sanctioned anarchy. Full of the most sadistic assassins the DAC had ever seen.
Would Wellner feel guilty about Ember dying, knowing he could have stopped it? She had, after all, saved his life not too long ago.
But, as he considered this new information about the 1971 black spot causing a Branch war, he realized it didn’t change things. He could have canceled this current black spot at any time. He could have suspended Ember’s sentence or changed it to an immediate execution.
Whatever happened in the past had no bearing on the now. Canceling the black spot would indeed be a sign of weakness, and his enemies would pounce on weakness. One enemy in particular, who likely had a hand in concealing this information about 1971 to make Wellner look bad.
“Thank you, Kunjal. Go home for the day.”
The young man stood. “I am always at your service, sir. Have a good evening.”
As he vanished into the hall, Wellner eyed Naomi. “Do you mind staying a moment?”
“Not at all, David. What’s on your mind?”
Once the door had closed, he sat on the couch where Kunjal had been so he could meet Naomi’s eyes. His hands were shaking, adrenaline making him feel lightheaded.
He thought about Naomi taking a sudden absence the other day. He’d had Security officials look into it. As he’d suspected, it had been a harmless trip to help a family member.
“Whatever came before this, I know who is responsible for our present situation. I know why the Branches are at odds with each other, why it’s getting worse, and I don’t think it’s because of the black spot.”
“Sir?”
“Jules. It’s Jules Dunard. She’s at the heart of all this, and it’s time I did something about it. I’m going to give you an order, and it’s unlike anything I’ve asked you to do or oversee before. This is the sort of thing you can never, ever discuss with another person.”
Naomi leaned forward, hands clasped. She appeared to be listening with her full attention, eyes wide open, eyebrows raised. “Whatever you want me to do, sir, I stand with you.”
“I appreciate that. I appreciate all you’ve done for me. It’s time we close the loop and get control back. That means Jules has to die.”
Chapter Forty-Three
EM
BER
She knocked on the Valleys motel room door, butterflies rumbling around in her stomach for too many different reasons to count. Her wrists and neck felt strange, after wearing those magnet cuffs all week long and now having nothing there. She felt ragged, tired, sore, and dirty. She had not showered yet; the only thing resembling good hygiene she’d been able to provide herself was wipe-downs with hand towels from Veronica’s refreshment station.
Veronica was still dead on the floor in her fancy sitting room. As was her brother and the man who had come to kill her. The killer might have something to do with Zach, but Ember didn’t know if she wanted to trouble him with that information. He would probably be upset already. Ember was seconds away from finding out exactly how upset.
When the door opened, her heart leaped up into her throat. There he was, Zach Bennett, in jeans and a thick cotton shirt.
Ember wanted to attack him and rip his clothes off. Also, she wanted to unload everything about her terrible week. She wanted to open her heart and allow him all the way in. Also, she wanted to run and hide and not have to face him.
“Hey,” he said, his face blank and unreadable.
She didn’t know what to do, so she went with her first instinct and jumped forward to wrap her arms around him, kissing his face and neck all over. So much so, she accidentally knocked him back, and they tumbled into the dresser together.
He kissed her back, briefly, then pushed her away. “Where have you been?”
"It's such a long story; I don't even know where to start. Plus, I don't think you would believe me."
He held up her hands, examining the bruises on her wrists. “Where did you get these marks? This looks serious.”
“Zach, there are things about me I can’t share right now. If I told you how I got those marks, that starts us down a path I’m not sure we’re prepared to walk.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling. But you need to give me something. All week long, I’ve been waiting here like a neutered dog.”
