by Sara Beaman
Now I wish I were dead.
Damage Control
I force myself to stop crying. Feeling my way around in the darkness, I climb onto an upholstered bench seat and dry my face. Eventually the van door slides open. Julian stands outside with Haruko in his arms. I don’t want to look at him, but it’s hard to ignore him without looking like a petulant child.
“Will you help me get her into the car, please?” he asks.
I grab Haruko’s shoulders and help Julian load her onto the bench seat.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Sure,” I say.
I climb back into the bench seat in front of the cargo area. Julian sits on the floor of the van, leaving the door open. We sit together for a few minutes in awkward silence. I can still hear the driver’s heart beating, but I try to ignore it.
“Is your driver going to be all right?” I ask.
“I stopped the bleeding,” Julian says. “He should be fine.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know why I did that.”
“Didn’t Adam teach you to control yourself?”
“What do you mean?”
“He initiated you, didn’t he?”
What should I tell him? Would it be easier to lie? No—as soon as Haruko wakes up, the jig will be up.
“No,” I say. “He didn’t.”
Julian’s eyes widen with dread. “Then… Mirabel did?”
“No. Look, I was still alive when I carried Mnemosyne’s head down to the crypt.” I look away. “And now I’m not, so you fill in the blanks.”
For a long moment he is quiet.
“Possibly the worst outcome,” he eventually says.
“I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” he says.
Jennifer appears, framed by the open door to the van. She looks at Julian, then at me. “Is everything all right?”
“No. Katherine attacked Matthew,” Julian says.
“Oh God. Is he okay?” she asks.
“I managed to stop the bleeding, but he could probably use some medical attention,” Julian says.
“All right,” Jennifer says, running a hand through her hair. “Let’s, uh, let’s get him to a hospital then. There’s one in Poughkeepsie, I think…”
Julian nods.
“I’ll go talk to him,” she says, and slides the door shut. The van goes dark again.
“You must excuse me if I seem distrustful of you,” Julian says quietly.
“I get it,” I say. “I’ll try not to make myself your problem, all right?”
“That’s all I can ask.”
“Julian?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for, uh, for pulling me back.”
“It’s nothing.”
I close my eyes, sigh, and without intending to I fall asleep.
***
I find myself in a glass-walled elevator in the SpiraCom building, heading down towards the atrium. Reflexively, I turn away from the glass to hide my face. Standing right behind me is Richard Stone, Mnemosyne’s long-haired lieutenant. I give a start.
“Hello Katherine,” he says.
“Mr. Stone,” I say.
“Just Richard is fine. You’d rather I call you Kate, wouldn’t you?”
“Sure. Kate. Either way, really.”
He smiles and brushes a strand of hair away from his face, displaying a huge, red-stoned ring on the middle finger of his left hand. “So you worked here?”
“That was what happened before Mirabel took away my face and voice and memories and kept me in a holding cell in the basement, yes.”
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know. Mother hasn’t told me much about you.”
“Whatever. It’s fine.”
I turn away, pretending to look out into the indoor clearing of trees, landscaping and water fixtures, but really I’m looking at Richard's reflection in the glass. Who is this guy? What is his deal? He looks like a male model, but not necessarily in a good way. His grey business suit looks more than a little absurd with his flowing, chestnut-brown hair.
He meets my eyes in the glass and smirks. “Thanks for the sartorial commentary.”
God damn it. Another telepath.
“That’s right. I’ve heard you have some experience dealing with us.”
“Yeah. I do. I know Adam, remember?”
“How could I forget?”
“So I’m dreaming, right?” I ask. “We’re not really here. This is the--”
“The Oneiroxis, yes.”
“Good,” I say with a sigh. I don’t even want to think of what would happen if I came back here in real life.
The elevator dings; the doors open. We step out into the atrium. Aside from the two of us, it’s completely empty. Every sound we make echoes off the four-story-high ceiling.
“So how long did you work here?” Richard asks.
“Why does it matter?”
“I’m curious,” Richard says. “We must have crossed paths, since you recognize my face.”
“I started working here in two thousand four,” I tell him. “So, like, three, three and a half years.”
“It’s twenty ten,” he says.
“Yeah, well, they started me in the Program in late two thousand seven. I’m not sure I consider that employment.”
He nods. “I see your point. So what did you do here?”
“I was a research analyst,” I say. “Whatever that means.”
Richard sits down on a bench beside a water installation made to look like a stony creek. I don’t particularly want to sit down next to him, so I remain standing.
“Why’d they put you in the Program?” he asks.
“I pissed Mirabel off, I guess.” I shrug. “What about you? What did you do here?”
“I was Mirabel’s executive secretary,” he says.
“You were…?” I frown. “How did that work? I mean, you’re a revenant, right?”
“Yes, obviously. She employs several revenants.”
“But she trusted you? Knowing you were a Mnemonic?”
“I made her believe I was a Thalian. They’re generally perceived as being harmless.”
It’s hard for me to believe Mirabel would fall for something like that, but I don’t say anything.
“Believe me. It’s easy to deceive people who believe they’re immune to deception,” he says. “But anyway. You heard what happened. My mission here was terminated.”
“Are you angry?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “It was the most reasonable course of action. Now that Mirabel knows that Mnemosyne is awake…“
“What about losing your other position? You know, the one Mnemosyne gave to Adam?” I ask. “Are you angry about that?”
He shrugs and gives me a tight smile.
“What was your position, anyway?”
“Second.”
“Second what?”
“In command. Now I’m third.”
“So Adam’s second now? Second only to Mnemosyne?”
“Yes.”
It seems a little odd to me that she’d give him that kind of power.
“Doesn’t it?”
I ignore him. “So what’s my number?”
“I don’t know. Whatever last is.”
“Really? I’m below Julian?”
He laughs. “Mnemosyne kicked Julian out of the House a long time ago. You might have heard how he, you know, tried to kill her?”
“Right.” I frown. “So do I, you know… do I have to take your orders?”
“Well yes. I’m your tutor.”
“Do I have to take Adam’s orders too?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
“Why? Are you concerned about that?”
“I mean, no, not really…”
“So yes, you are. Why?”
Without wanting to, I think of Adam smiling that knowing smile at me, knowing I want him without wanting to. I think of his hand on the small of my back, my lips agai
nst his, my tongue in his mouth—
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Richard rolls his eyes. “Not another one.”
“Another what?”
“Woman. What is it about him?”
“It’s not like that,” I say, but of course Richard knows I’m lying.
“Whatever. I’m not here to give you relationship advice,” he says. “I’m here to teach you to use your strains properly.”
“Right,” I say, wondering what he might teach me first. “Good. Let’s get started.”
“Now I’m not going to show you anything flashy,” he says. “Not yet. First you’ve got to learn how not to get yourself killed, seeing as you have no training and no practical experience.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I say, “but I do have a little experience, actually.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ve used Compulsion before.”
“You have?”
“I was Mirabel’s dhampyr.”
“Really?” He frowns. “Wait. I thought you said you couldn’t speak.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Then how’d you use Compulsion?”
“I did it by imagining speaking, I guess.”
He frowns, looking perplexed.
“What?” I ask.
“Look, I can tell you’re being truthful, but that shouldn’t be possible. Not for a dhampyr. It’s not even possible for most revenants, not without years, even decades of instruction and practice.”
I shrug.
He stands up. “All right. If you’ve done this before, show me what you can do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Force me to do something.”
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
I try to think of something harmless. “Sit down.”
He remains standing. He doesn’t even flinch.
“Sit down,” I tell him again, trying harder to command the same kind of energy I did with the driver, with the deer, with Gabriel.
“You’re going to need to try harder,” he says.
I grit my teeth. “Sit down!” I shout, straining for that power however I can.
He doesn’t react.
“It’s not working,” I say, embarrassed.
“Try it again,” Richard says. “Picture me doing what you want.”
In my mind’s eye, I focus on the image of him sitting back down on the bench. I command him silently this time: Sit down.
He takes a sudden step backwards. The look on his face tells me I’ve thrown him a little.
“Tricky,” he says.
“It still didn’t work. What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “You’re just helping me prove my first point.”
“Which is?”
He smiles. “For you, commanding me would be just about impossible.”
“Why’d you ask me to do it, then?”
“It was a learning opportunity. I like to teach by example.”
“Okay. Would you mind explaining to me why it didn’t work?” I ask, trying to keep from sounding annoyed.
“Sure,” he says. “First, let me ask: who did you try it on before?”
“A deer,” I say, sheepish. “A revenant, back when… And just now a guy.”
“A human?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, all right. Animals are the easiest to control,” he explains. “Humans are a little harder, but they’re always easier than revenants. This revenant—do you know what House he was from?”
“The House of Coventina.”
Richard makes a pssh sound. “I said animals were the easiest to control.”
“What do you mean?”
“There, uh, there was no way he could have seen it coming.”
“So that’s what I need to watch out for? Revenants who can sense I’m about to use my powers?”
“Basically. Aside from the Wardens, the hardest revenants to command are other Mnemonics. Especially Compulsives and Telepaths, and I’m both.”
“You could have just told me that,” I insist.
“You’re right. I could have.” He smiles. “All right. Let’s try something else. Give me another command.”
“But it won’t work.”
“Do it, please. Without whining.”
I shrug. Without conviction, I say, “Get down on the floor.”
He snorts. “That was pathetic. Try harder. Do it silently if you have to.”
I glare at him. Get down on the goddamn floor.
He wobbles, but quickly widens his stance and holds his ground. Then he catches my eye. My own knees go weak, bend, and hit the marble floor hard. My muscles go limp and I fall over on my side.
“Ow! Jesus Christ!”
“Lesson number two,” he says. “A skilled compulsive can turn a command against you.”
“I get it,” I say. “No ordering revenants around. Can we be done now?”
“That’s your take away?” He shakes his head. “Katherine, if you don’t ever order revenants around, you’ll be pretty useless to the House, not to mention to yourself. No. You need to learn how to do to someone what I just did to you.”
I roll onto my back and look up at the indoor canopy. “Either way. Lesson learned.”
“We aren’t done,” he says. “Get up.”
I scramble to my feet as quickly as I can.
“Sorry. I forgot. You like having things explained to you,” he says with a smirk. “So now the idea is that you try to fight me. When I give you a command, ignore it.”
“How?”
“Don’t listen to what I’m saying. Drown me out. If you think I’m giving you a command, focus on something else. A song, or a poem—something verbal. Now walk over to the elevator.”
I put one foot in front of the other in a mindless powerwalk.
“Kate, listen to me,” he says. “Stop listening to me. Come back over here.”
I swivel around and make a beeline back to the bench. “Goddamn it…”
“You’re not even trying!”
“I am, though!”
“No, you’re really not. I’m even giving you long breaks between commands to regroup, but you’re not taking advantage. Wade into that water fixture over there.”
I climb over the low railing and put my feet, shoes and all, into the fake creek. I slip on a stone and nearly fall face-forward into the water. Fuck. I need to stop listening. Think of music, he said. I run through the first few notes of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star—
“Sit down,” Richard commands me.
I obey, plopping down into water that comes up to my navel. I try to focus on the notes in my head, not his voice, but he’s not saying anything—
“Now get up.”
I push myself out of the water. My sodden jeans cling to my legs. I try to give Richard a silent command: Shut up, jackass.
He laughs. “Nice try.”
“I can’t do this.”
“That’s too bad,” he says.
Something tells me he’s about to issue another command. I shove my hands against my ears and start singing at the top of my lungs. I see his lips move, but I can’t hear the words. It’s working. I shut my eyes just in case. I keep singing for at least a full minute, my throat growing hoarse.
“Kate!” he shouts over the noise and shakes my shoulders. “Kate, wake up!”
I stop singing and open my eyes.
***
It’s not Richard shaking me, it’s Jennifer.
“You were screaming,” she says.
“I was?”
She nods. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I blink, shake my head. “I just had a weird dream, is all.”
Jennifer frowns, looking concerned. Julian looks at me over her shoulder, eyes narrow, lips pursed. We’re still in the van, but it’s not moving anymore.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“We’re in the parking deck of a hospital, waiting for Matthew,” Julian sa
ys. “He’s in the emergency room.”
“God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did,” I say, feeling awful all over again.
“Kate, it’s fine,” Jennifer says. “He’ll be fine. Don’t blame yourself. It was rough for all of us at first.”
Julian gives me a cold stare and doesn’t offer any sympathy.
Jennifer flips open a netbook and places it on my lap. She has a video from a twenty-four-hour news channel pulled up in a web browser. “Here. Take a look at this. I think you might be interested.”
I hit Play.
A female reporter stands on a country road in front of a copse of maple trees. “I’m reporting to you from upstate New York, where, thanks to an anonymous tip off, the FBI have just located several of the bodies that went missing from the DC area just days ago. It’s too soon to tell how they got here or whether or not this is the work of a domestic terrorist cell, as many news analysts have speculated.
“So far about twenty of the missing cadavers have been recovered,” she continues, “and—now this is the strange part—some seem to have suffered additional gunshot wounds long after having been pronounced dead back in DC. More details as they develop.”
The video stops.
“An anonymous tip off?” I ask. “Was that you?”
“No,” she says. “It’s interesting to note, though, that this channel is a SpiraCom subsidiary. Maybe this is their attempt at damage control.”
Something about that theory seems implausible to me—something I can’t put my finger on. “Maybe.”
“I think this is Mnemosyne’s work,” Julian says. “Normally, in a situation like this, Mirabel would much rather pretend nothing ever happened.”
“Either way, it’s interesting,” Jennifer says.
“How much do you two know about what happened?” I ask, wondering if Julian knows that Adam and Haruko betrayed him like they did.
“I know what Adam told me,” Jennifer says. “They needed to get the head out of Mirabel’s hands, and they needed Haruko’s help to get past SpiraCom security.”
I nod.
“But the only way Haruko would agree to it is if they took the head to Desmond,” she continues.
I can’t tell whether or not Jennifer believes what she’s saying, but, from the look of frustration on his face, it seems that Julian does. Well, if that’s what they think, fine. It’s easier than the truth.
