‘Then you can see the logic in it.’
‘That’s a bit of a stretch, but I’m listening.’
She crossed her legs, sitting a little straighter on the bed. ‘The Empresses expect Namito to fall on his sword when Lady Delphine gets here. They want to show the Matrarchaí how clever they are — how they can make grown men kill themselves rather than displease them …’
‘Tell me again,’ Rónán cut in, ‘why we think these girls are worth saving from the Matrarchaí?’
‘Because they’re little girls. And if you save them from the Matrarchaí, their mother will give us the tools to open a rift and be gone from here.’ If appealing to his nobility didn’t work, she figured appealing to his self-interest would do just as well.
Rónán sighed with resignation. ‘How are you going to get Namito out of the way?’ he asked. ‘I get putting on his armour and pretending that I’m him. I get that his troops will all be there and follow his lead, if they believe he’s ordering them to attack the Tanabe and whoever else has come through the rift. And I agree that every single one of them would happily wage war on the Tanabe, and that we can probably rid ourselves of Lady Delphine and all the disasters that come with her. I think I may even have enough of Darragh’s memories to fight off a magical attack by the Matrarchaí. Maybe even fight back. But how do we get Namito out of the way? Without killing him? I mean, that’s the whole idea, isn’t it? Saving him from himself?’
Trása smiled, feeling very smug. ‘You leave that to me and my lesser Youkai cousins in this realm.’
Ren smiled at her. ‘You and a bunch of ninja-Leipreachán are gonna take down a fully-trained samurai, huh?’
‘Have you ever seen a piranha?’
‘What?’ he asked. ‘You mean, like the fish?’
Trása nodded. ‘Ever seen them feeding?’
‘Sure … we have wild schools of piranhas all over inner-city Dublin.’
She punched his arm. ‘You know what I mean.’
He nodded and smiled at her. ‘Yeah … I get it. Small but lots of them. Are you sure the lesser Youkai of this reality will help, though? I mean, you’re not one of them, strictly speaking.’
‘I am more welcome in this reality’s version of Tír Na nÓg, Rónán, than I am in my own realm. Don’t worry about me. When you need them, the Youkai will be there for you.’
‘At your command?’ Rónán asked.
She nodded. ‘At my command.’
CHAPTER 58
‘I’m sorry, but Ms Doherty will be in meetings all afternoon,’ said the very pretty and unhelpful young receptionist at the offices of the ORM Agency. Her name was Summer, according to the engraved name tag she wore. She informed Pete and Logan, ‘If you leave your book and your contact details, she’ll get back to you tomorrow.’ She smiled and added, ‘Identical twin models are rare. I’m sure she’ll be interested.’
The offices were sleek and stylish, the company logo engraved in a large mirrored sign behind the reception desk. Through the glass walls of the empty conference room behind the lobby, Pete could make out the spectacular Chicago skyline. From up here on the ninetieth floor of the Sears Tower, the view was unbelievable. Inside the office, however, the lobby was identical to his mother’s Dublin office, and the one in Paris, where an equally perky and persistent receptionist guarded the hallowed ground inside the ORM Agency from the unfashionable rabble trying to get in. Presumably, the recently destroyed office in the World Trade Center had been identical to this, too.
Pete smiled wanly at Summer’s comment. Jetlagged and exhausted as he was from spending the last twenty-four hours in either airports or planes, he could still see the amusing side of this perky young woman having no idea who he and Logan were.
‘If you tell her Pete and Logan are here, I’m sure she’ll manage to drag herself away from her important business for a few precious moments.’
‘I really can’t disturb her,’ Summer insisted.
‘Is Tiffany Davis here?’ Logan asked.
‘I’m sorry, but I really can’t tell you anything. If you —’
‘Why don’t you call your boss and tell Ms Doherty her sons are here,’ Pete suggested, putting his hand on Logan’s shoulder to calm him down. He was fretting at the time they had taken to get to Chicago, particularly as they’d had no luck getting through to Delphine on the phone, despite the number of messages they’d both left her in the past day.
Summer’s eyes widened. ‘Her sons? Oh … you’re the ones who left all the messages!’
‘That’s right,’ Pete said. ‘So why don’t you pick up the phone and tell Mum we’re here. We’ll wait in her office.’
Pete didn’t give Summer a chance to object. Working on the assumption that if everything in the lobby was identical, he knew where Delphine’s office would be, Pete marched Logan past the desk, down the hall to the left and through the polished oak doors at the end of the corridor, before the receptionist could object or call security. He figured it was the fastest way to make sure he got Delphine on the phone.
Opening the door to Delphine’s office, Pete was half expecting to find their mother sitting at her desk, leafing through some hopeful model’s book, while her dreams of fame and fortune were crushed because she insisted on eating three times a day. But the office was empty, the desk bare, the modern, black steel and glass furniture giving the whole place a soulless atmosphere Pete had never liked — not in this office or any other.
‘Do you suppose they’re not in the building,’ Logan asked as he walked over to the window to take in the view, ‘because they’re already at a doctor’s office somewhere?’ The sun was just starting to set in the distance. Pete couldn’t help thinking the view would be amazing up here at night. Hopefully, they weren’t going to be here that long.
‘The receptionist said she was tied up in a meeting.’
‘So what?’ Logan said, taking a seat on the windowsill. ‘She’s paid to lie.’
‘Hey, I’m here for you, Logan. Don’t take your anger out on me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Logan said, turning to glance at the skyline again. Pete flopped into the leather armchair opposite the black, glass-topped desk and closed his eyes, wondering how long it would be before they could find a hotel to check into, and get some real sleep, not the fitful, broken sleep he’d been catching in snatches for the past day and night as they travelled halfway around the world.
‘Why aren’t we rich?’
Pete opened his eyes and stared at his twin. ‘What?’
‘Why aren’t we rich?’
‘Er … because we don’t buy lottery tickets?’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ he said, frowning. ‘Look around you, Pete. This is our mother’s office. Actually, it’s only one of her many international offices. She has them all over the world. What must she be making with this damned modelling agency if she keeps offices like this? Can you imagine the rent on a suite here?’
‘Can’t say I’ve ever given it much thought, Logan.’
Logan rose to his feet and looked around. ‘I mean … we never wanted for anything, but we didn’t grow up with the sort of money this place reeks of. Suburban middle class, I always thought we were when we were kids.’
‘Nothing wrong with being suburban middle class,’ Pete felt compelled to point out, although Logan did have a point. ‘Maybe she doesn’t make that much. Maybe it all gets sucked into overheads for hideously expensive office suites like this. What are you doing?’
Logan had started opening the drawers of Delphine’s desk so he could go search through the contents. ‘Looking.’
‘Looking for what?’
‘I don’t know … something … anything.’
‘You can’t just start rifling through Mum’s office, Logan.’
‘Not a cop, little brother. Don’t need a warrant.’
‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’
Logan looked up and tossed something at Pete. ‘Here. Make yourself use
ful and find what these fit.’
Pete caught the small key ring by reflex. He glanced at the keys and figured they belonged to a filing cabinet. There was only one in the office, a polished, low cabinet against the back wall. The sort of cabinet where the files were stored horizontally, rather than in drawers like a traditional filing cabinet. With a muttered curse, he crossed the office and squatted down in front of the cabinet. He tried the key and it turned without resistance.
He stood up and turned to Logan. ‘There. Happy now?’
‘Check the files.’
‘For what, for chrissakes? Jesus, Logan, get a grip. What in God’s name do you think you’re going to find in Mum’s filing cabinets, other than the vital statistics of a whole lot of very tall, very skinny girls?’ He grinned suddenly, and turned to the files. ‘And probably their phone numbers, too, now I come to think of it.’
He grabbed a file at random and opened it, expecting to see a photo attached to the file of some willowy blonde or brunette, posing for the camera, looking fierce, and — more importantly — expensive, which he intended to wave at Logan to prove to his brother that he was losing the plot. But the file contained a baby photo, a chart that looked like a family tree, and a typed sheet detailing the child’s name, address, date of birth and various other vital statistics.
He pulled out another file at random. It was almost identical — a baby photo, a family tree and a list of details about where the child was living. Pete pulled out two more files. They were the same, except one of them had a photo of identical twin girls.
‘Logan, check this out.’
His brother slammed the desk drawer through which he had been rifling shut, and crossed the office to Pete, who handed him the files. As Logan glanced through them, Pete pulled out even more files. All of them contained baby photos, a few had pictures of older children, and a number of them were twins. The files were colour-coded with stickers along the bottom edge of the files, much the same way medical records were coded. The dates of birth belonging to the children varied greatly. Some were in the last year, others dated back to the 1940s.
‘What the fuck is this stuff?’ Logan asked, shaking his head. ‘Are they all like this?’
Pete nodded. Every single file in the cabinet was the same. ‘What’s with all the family trees?’
‘Maybe she likes genealogy.’
‘Maybe … but some of these kids must be old age pensioners by now.’
It was intriguing, Pete thought, and decidedly odd, but there was nothing particularly sinister about it. It was just … bizarre. He turned and picked up another handful of files, and discovered more of the same. The last one on the pile, however, sent a shiver down his spine.
‘Logan.’
‘What?’
‘I think you need to see this one.’
His brother looked over Pete’s shoulder as Pete opened the file to reveal a photo of two chubby-cheeked, dark-haired boys, smiling at the camera. The photo was disturbingly familiar — it was the same photo their grandmother had of them, taken as babies, which sat proudly on her mantle. Pete scanned the vital statistics sheet, which told him nothing they didn’t already know about themselves, and then flicked open the genealogy chart. Sure enough, their names, Logan and Peter, were given as the names of the two boys pictured, but they were spelled Logán and Peadar. Their family tree was nothing like they believed it to be, however. Their mother, according to this chart, was a woman named Lyonella, their father someone named Fionnbharr.
‘What the fuck is this?’ Logan asked, having no more luck than Pete at making sense of what he was reading.
‘Something you were never meant to see, ma cherie.’
They both spun around to find Delphine standing at the door of her office. She took in the files scattered on the floor with a glance, and then focussed her attention back on her sons.
If we are her sons. The thought flashed unbidden through Pete’s mind and Logan’s too, he knew without a shadow of a doubt.
Delphine stepped into the room. She was wearing a fabulous blue and gold kimono, of all things, with a wide red sash. She walked toward them, her steps shortened by her outfit, her hands in her pockets, her expression reassuring.
‘Is this us?’ Logan demanded holding the file out to her, and then, as if he suddenly remembered why they were here, he added, ‘Where is Tiffany?’
‘Upstairs,’ Delphine told him. ‘Safe and well.’
‘She’s pregnant,’ Logan blurted out. ‘The kid is mine.’
Delphine smiled at him. ‘I know.’
‘Did you help her get rid of it?’
‘Did I …? Oh, for pity’s sake, Logan. I would never do anything of the kind. I have been living for this moment. Tiffany has done us both proud.’
‘So we flew all this way for nothing?’ Pete asked, glancing at Logan. ‘That’s okay. It’s not like I had anything fucking better to do.’
‘Tsk, tsk,’ Delphine scolded. ‘Language, Peter.’
‘It wasn’t for nothing,’ Logan said, holding up the file with their photos in it. ‘Turns out it’s been very informative.’
‘I was hoping you would never find out about that,’ she said with a regretful sigh.
‘So … what?’ Logan asked, obviously struggling to come to grips with what she was telling them. ‘We’re adopted?’
She shrugged. ‘In a manner of speaking. Your birth mother … disappointed me. I was required to step in and take charge of your care.’ She smiled fondly at them and held her arms wide. ‘I did well, no? Look at you both. Clever. Successful … and now you have given me grandchildren. I could ask for nothing more.’
‘What happened to our real mother?’ Pete asked, a little numb. This was all happening too fast, the ground shifting beneath his feet too quickly for him to know how to react.
‘She … moved on.’
Pete didn’t like the way she was avoiding a straight answer. ‘What happened to her?’
Delphine stepped a little closer and put her hands in her pockets again. ‘She betrayed the cause.’
‘What the fuck does that mean?’ he demanded angrily.
‘That’s no way to speak to your mother, cherie,’ Delphine said as she withdrew her hands from her pockets. With a short sharp breath, she blew a cloud of blue powder into their faces. The world went black so quickly Pete didn’t even realise he was unconscious until he came to, some time later, lying on the floor of a dark, cavernous chamber beside Logan, tied hand and foot, just in time to watch Delphine opening a rift into another reality.
CHAPTER 59
Chishihero waited alone at the stone circle for the rift to open as the sun sank below the trees and the gathering darkness brought the chill of the coming night with it. Trása thought it odd she hadn’t brought reinforcements. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so strange. She probably didn’t want others seeing what was on the other side of the rift.
Or perhaps Kiba, the mastiff, was all the protection she thought she needed.
Trása sat down. Chishihero absently stroked the top her head. She still hadn’t noticed her dog was now a bitch. That was the one drawback of shapeshifting. One could assume any form one was inclined to take, but one could not alter their gender. Kiba was a male dog. With the help of a few of the lesser Youkai and a healthy handful of Brionglóid Gorm, the mastiff was sleeping peacefully in his kennel back at the Tanabe compound. The almost identical mastiff now sitting obediently at Chishihero’s side, was Trása in canine form.
She had not tried being a dog before. Marcroy favoured a wolf shape, and it had always felt slightly disrespectful to emulate the same species as her uncle. The mastiff form was different to anything Trása had tried before. It was powerful, strong. Trása liked the feeling, although it was hard not to think about food. She found herself having difficulty concentrating at times because it seemed dogs considered everything around them potentially edible. She constantly had to fight the urge to sniff everything in the vicinity to see if that wa
s the case.
Lightning crackled across the stones not long after Chishihero arrived, tying her horse and two spare saddled mounts to a tree far enough back from the circle so as not to spook them when the rift opened. She patted the top of Trása’s head and muttered something soothing to her pet as the rift rent the air inside the stones, lighting the night with a radiance almost too bright to look upon. Trása had to resist the urge to flinch from her touch, as the opening rift left a jagged afterimage across her sight.
A few moment later, when Chishihero judged the rift stable, she stepped forward to greet the visitors from another reality. There were two women Trása could see, both of them dressed in kimonos, as if they knew they were coming to a world living under Japanese Imperial rule, and wished to blend in.
Neither woman looked Japanese. The taller of the two was very pretty, with fair hair piled on her head and a slender frame that seemed too long and gangly for the traditional Japanese outfit she was wearing. This was, Trása guessed, the replacement for Wakiko, who was no longer toeing the party line, and about to lose her daughters because of it. The attractive woman beside her was older, shorter and obviously the one who had opened the rift, although what she had opened it with, Trása was too far back to see.
The women stepped through, but rather than close the rift behind her, Delphine — at least that’s who Trása assumed the older woman was — beckoned Chishihero forward.
‘You came alone as I requested?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Good, because I need your help, sister,’ the woman said.
Trása followed Chishihero to the edge of the stone circle as the Tanabe magician hurried forward, to see if she could recognise anything about the reality from which Delphine had emerged. But the world on the other side of the rift was, like this one, shrouded in darkness. It was impossible to make out anything other than a couple of prone shapes lying on the floor. The circle must be inside a building, she figured, because there was definitely a floor, rather than earth or stone beneath the bodies, and no hint of the world beyond the veil.
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