The Catalyst

by Helena Coggan

  He looked at her.

  “So that’s what war does to you.”

  Quiet again.

  “Go to sleep now, Rose,” said Loren, wearily.

  She doubted then that she’d ever sleep again, but she got into the sleeping bag just the same, if only to try. The ground was hard and cold but strangely comforting. Her dreams caught up with her within a few minutes. As she slipped into darkness, her last thought was of Sylvia Argent, and the calm, peaceful way she had slept, and how it would feel to never wake up again.

  Things got a little better after that.

  She woke restless. She had no watch, but the dawn was lighting the little she could see of the archway, and the roar of the road was louder than it had been when she had fallen asleep. Loren, it seemed, had not slept. He had packed up everything except her sleeping bag, and had been waiting for her to wake. He had lit a fire against the wall with some of the pages of Firestarter and a cigarette lighter, and was now drinking some lukewarm coffee. Rose got up, poured herself some hot water from the pan, and settled beside him. For a while, they merely sat in silence.

  Rose said abruptly, “I think we should break Tabitha out today.”

  Loren did not move for a few seconds. Then he said, with no inflection at all, “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And exactly when and why did this idea enter your mind?”

  Rose sat up, pulling her legs in. “Well, I just think . . . if we were going to do it, we may as well do it now. They won’t be expecting it. And if we try . . . well, we’ve got nothing left to lose, do we?”

  He tilted his head in agreement. “That’s true.”

  “And anyway,” Rose said, gathering confidence, “I might be able to break in if I gave myself up, pretended that you’d released me — or better, that you were dead . . .”

  “Rose,” said Loren, “do you want me to point out all the flaws in this plan, or should I just let you ramble on for another few minutes?”

  She looked at him, then sat back, slightly deflated.

  “Go on.”

  Loren held his left hand up, counting them off. The white scar on the back of his hand caught Rose’s eye again, and this time she could make out a hard, circular nexus: the mark of a bullet, perhaps. “One, that’s suicidal. Two, they’ll work it out straightaway. Three, they won’t give you any leeway if they think you’re cooperating with me. Four”— his voice hardened —“it’ll just get Tabitha killed. Five —”

  Rose opened her hand and showed him what lay there, the tiny piece of metal her idea relied on. Loren raised an eyebrow. Rose told him the rest of the plan. He raised the other eyebrow, and fell silent. Rose let him consider it for a moment.

  “All right,” he said, “that just might work. When did you come up with this? In your sleep?”

  The honest answer was no, I’m just making this up as I go along, Loren, because right now if I sit still and have to think for more than about thirty seconds I will break down and probably never get up again.

  “Yep,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

  He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Rose could tell that he was thinking very hard, so she shut up.

  “Okay,” he said again. “So exactly how hard would it be to break Tabitha out?”

  “Extremely.”

  “And what would our chances of success be?”

  “Very, very low.”

  “And would they ever believe that you weren’t working with me again?”

  Rose swallowed. She said, “No.”

  He looked at her. “And remind me,” he said, heavily, “what exactly are our other options?”

  She let her silence answer that one.

  Loren looked up at her, and grinned. “All right,” he said. “So let’s get going, shall we?”

  Afterward, Department records show that Loren Sebastian Arkwood, convicted in absentia of first-degree murder, kidnapping, and resisting arrest, gave himself up outside the Department’s Westminster branch at 09:34 hours on the morning of June 10. The first anyone in the Department knew of it was when James — who had been standing at the camera banks through the night, desperately searching the city for any sign of Rose — took a break to stare out the windows and caught a flash of blond hair outside the doors.

  “What the hell?” he whispered. He did not dare to turn, lest it turn out to be a trick of the light or a mirage that would vanish if he looked away. “David!”

  David came to the window. Something had changed in him during the night. His boundless energy had been replaced by a kind of shell shock that limited him to sitting in a chair and muttering to himself. James had caught Rose’s name several times.

  He would find her. He would find her.

  “I have to admit,” said David, “I did not see this coming.”

  Arkwood was standing, straight-backed, staring into the reflective glass.

  David fumbled for the walkie-talkie, dropped it, and bent to pick it up again. James looked at him incredulously.

  David held the button down. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” he said.

  The voice came back, tinny. “Yep. We’re sending out a team to neutralize him. I’ll assume you want to take this one, David.”

  David did not bother to reply, but disconnected. He went to pick his coat off the back of a chair, but James was already storming past him, pulling on his coat, halfway to the door. It was only after he had clicked off the safety of his revolver — fumbling angrily with shaking hands — that he heard David’s voice.

  “James . . .”

  James turned back toward him. David seemed to have forgotten his bomber jacket, which he held on two fingers, as if he had been partway through the process of putting it on. His eyebrows were raised and he was looking at the pistol in James’s hands.

  “What exactly are you planning to do with that?”

  James looked down at it. His eyes wouldn’t focus properly.

  “We don’t kill key witnesses,” said David gently. “That’s the protocol. More, actually; that’s logical. But you’re thinking perfectly rationally, aren’t you, Private Andreas? You’re not letting emotion get in the way of a case. You wouldn’t do that.”

  James shook his head wordlessly, trying to put the safety back on again.

  David pulled on the bomber jacket, still looking at James. “You wouldn’t have any reason to get emotional. This is the Department, after all. Friends and valued colleagues get lost all the time.”

  He walked toward the door and stopped just in front of James. They looked at each other.

  “A friend,” David repeated softly, “and a valued colleague.”

  Despite everything, there was a glint in his eye and the hint of a smile in his quiet voice. James stared at him. He knew. God damn him to hell.

  “Umm . . .” he said, stupidly. “You . . .”

  “James,” David said tiredly, “I’m a professional detective. Please do not insult my competence.”

  James wasn’t quite sure what the appropriate facial expression was for this.

  “Umm . . .” he said again. He was sure he had been able to manage something more eloquent than this, once. “Umm . . . what?”

  David almost looked like he was going to roll his eyes. “Subtlety is not your forte, James. You never look anywhere else when she’s in the room, and good God, you never stop talking about her. I was thinking of keeping her out of here for the sake of office productivity. But don’t worry, I’m not the type of man who would shoot your head off for this. Not at the moment, anyway. I have better heads to shoot off.” He nodded out the window, to where Arkwood was currently being handcuffed and forced to his knees. “Now, do you want to help me, or not?”

  James, slightly stunned, gripped the handle of his gun and accompanied David down the stairs to the reception. David paid no attention to the dozen guards surrounding Arkwood, who backed away as soon as they saw him coming. David, ever the marksman, fired two s
hots either side of Arkwood’s ears. Arkwood flinched twice, but did not otherwise react.

  David flipped the gun on his thumb, caught it, and pressed it to Arkwood’s head.

  He said, very, very quietly, “Where is my daughter?”

  Arkwood grinned. The guards had been rough with him: James could see blood staining his teeth. He said, “I’ll take it to my grave.”

  David kicked him, hard, in the stomach. The sudden motion startled even James. Arkwood cried out, doubling up. David turned and walked away. “Take him to the experimental wards. I’ll deal with him there.”

  The guards pulled Arkwood to his feet and dragged him across the floor. David strode after them. James, however, hurried toward the lifts. He wanted no part in what went on in the experimental wards, no matter what Arkwood had done.

  But if Arkwood had done something to Rose —

  Rose, who had never even looked twice at James.

  Rose, completely out of his league, even if she was eighteen months younger than him.

  Rose, strong and brave and clever and beautiful in the way that mysterious people were when they smiled.

  No. David could handle this. James was not a torturer.

  Not even for Rose.

  He went back into the Department and got up the visual readings for cell E46, Arkwood’s old one, just in time to catch Arkwood being hauled onto the white slab. They attached the sensors to his heart and temples and strapped him down. David walked in after the guards. He was smiling as they retreated.

  James heard him say, “Hello, Loren. Long time, no see.”

  Arkwood said hoarsely, “I wouldn’t say that.”

  David did not pull his gun. He didn’t need to.

  “So, first things first,” he said casually. “Why did you give yourself up?”

  Arkwood grinned, and then he said something that came through the speakers too crackly for James to hear.

  David stiffened. His voice was quiet. “Where — is — my — daughter?”

  Arkwood glanced at the camera.

  “Do you really never learn from your mistakes, David?” he said softly.

  David looked at him, and then he went still.

  “What?” James whispered to the computer screen. “What is it? Where is she?”

  David said, “All right.”

  He stood up and said something into the walkie-talkie that James couldn’t hear. The reply was equally unintelligible. David did not take his eyes off Arkwood’s face.

  There was a minute’s silence, and then the soldiers brought Tabitha Arkwood into the cell. She looked very serene. She was maybe seven years old, dark-haired; the last few months had worn out of her the inclination to smile. She resembled her mother, but it was easy to see in her the fall of Arkwood’s hair, the curve of his chin, the steadiness of his eyes — but of course, hers were deep, deep black, so dark it was almost impossible to distinguish the iris from the pupil. With those eyes she could destroy the laws of magic: with those eyes she could bring the Parliament of Angels tumbling down. If the world found out that Demons had the potential to be just as powerful as Gifted, then society could come tumbling down around them.

  If the world knew about this girl.

  The Department had an unofficial motto, and it was one that James lived by now: some secrets are better kept.

  He settled back in his chair and watched David and the girl.

  “I know you don’t respond well to physical pain, Arkwood,” David said slowly, “after all, I trained you not to, didn’t I? But maybe this will change your mind. You have five minutes to tell the cameras where my daughter is and to say your good-byes. I’ll give you two some privacy.” The words were loaded with menace. “Five minutes, Arkwood.”

  They stared at each other for a moment, and then David walked away. The soldiers followed him.

  Arkwood breathed out with the close of the door, and relaxed. He let his head fall back onto the slab.

  “Dad . . .” Tabitha whispered.

  Arkwood said, “It’s all right, Tabitha. It’s okay.” He looked directly into the camera. “James, please, for this five minutes, the cameras aren’t working. Please.”

  James leaned in, stunned. How could Loren Arkwood know who was on the cameras? Arkwood had never met him. And why would he think —

  Unless . . .

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Arkwood’s face was in shadow, but his features were still visible. A soft illumination showed the hollows of his skin.

  But the lights of the cell weren’t doing that.

  The lights of the cell weren’t green.

  “Dad . . .” whispered Tabitha.

  “Tabitha. I need you to give me . . .” he struggled to check the palm of his hand. “Seventeen seconds, and then I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Tabitha looked frightened. “But you can’t do that, Dad. David told me, you need security clearance or something, they have us trapped here —”

  “That’s true,” Arkwood said. “And Loren Arkwood doesn’t have security clearance.” He grinned. “But I do.”

  James caught a glimpse of something rolling out of his sleeve; it was small and silver, and rang clearly when it hit the floor. Arkwood began to glow a deeper green, and the flesh of his face retreated into the light, dissipating, hazing, revealing another, deeper flesh beneath it.

  Tabitha shrieked, “Dad!”

  And, as quickly as it started, the glow vanished; and Rose Elmsworth sat up, slid her hands out of the cuffs that were too big for her, and pulled the sensors off her chest and throat. “Ah.” She shook herself. Her long hair slid out of its bun, down her back. “God, that was weird.”

  Tabitha backed away to the wall. Rose slid off the slab, stretching. James caught the glint of the dying green light from the ball that lay on the floor.

  The hologram projector. David had gone to Rose’s Induction with it.

  David had not come back with it.

  Had Rose stolen from her father?

  “It’s all right, Tabitha. It’s okay. Loren’s waiting outside to meet us. He’s missed you very much.”

  Tabitha’s eyes were wide.

  “Ah, right. I’m Rose. David’s daughter. I’m helping Loren.” She paused, and stared down at the girl. “Hang on. You knew his name. You knew my father’s name. How did you know that?”

  James stared at Rose on-screen. I’m helping Loren.

  What?

  What the hell had Arkwood done to her?

  Rose went to the wall and started pulling down tranquilizer darts — more usually used on captives — and loading them into her gun. “All right, kid, we need to move now. Dad gave us five minutes. I’d say we’ve got about three and a half left.”

  “Have you come to rescue me?” Tabitha asked in a small voice.

  Rose smiled. “Yes,” she said. “I have.”

  James leaned back slowly. Oh, Angels, he thought. She’s working with him. She’s working with Arkwood. How long has she been working with Arkwood?

  As if she could hear him, Rose raised her head to look at the camera again.

  “Okay, James,” she said. “Please, you have to trust me. I know I look like a traitor, but . . . we killed his sister, and we took the little girl, and . . . he threatened Dad. What could I do? He’s innocent, James. And the Department’s guilty on this one. Please, James. Trust me.”

  James sat back and watched her. So what were his choices? He couldn’t harm Rose, no matter what she’d done. No matter whom she’d betrayed. Even him.

  He loved her.

  Even if she barely even looked at him.

  “Thanks,” Rose said softly.

  Then she went to the keypad by the side of the door and pressed in her name and security clearance. It scanned her, and then opened the door. Rose bent down, took Tabitha’s hand, and ran out of James’s sight.

  James waited a minute, and then deleted the entire five-minute-long camera reel from the records.

  Stay safe
, Rose. Please.

  For me.

  Rose ran with Tabitha down the corridor of the cells. She couldn’t possibly be ignorant of their circumstances, but the little girl seemed happy. She had a smile like her uncle’s — at once serious and mischievous. Every few seconds, she looked up at Rose, as if to check that this was really happening.

  Rose, for her part, wanted to let go of her hand and run away without her; every lesson and instinct she had ever learned was shrieking at her to do it. The girl’s black eyes were Demonic — violent, evil, dangerous.

  No. No. This was Loren’s niece, almost his daughter — swallow your qualms, you idiot, who are you to talk of avoiding monsters?

  They had two minutes at most. Rose took random turns, hoping to get to the stairs. She knew where the lifts were, but lifts could be hijacked and stopped. Left, left, right, left, left — and there. Another door, another keypad. Rose pressed in the code and pushed the door open. This whole place was watched. Any second now someone would pick them up on the camera banks. Just thirty more seconds —

  Up the stairs: five flights. Tabitha was beginning to tire now. Three flights, and Rose saw the red light on a camera blink and turn to follow them round the corner. Four, and she could hear shouting from below. Five, and they burst through the doors into an empty lobby and Rose ran with Tabitha out of the automatic doors and Loren burst round a corner and a bullet whizzed past Rose’s ear. Rose caught the gun Loren threw to her, stolen from an unsuspecting guard. She ducked behind a pillar and started firing tranquilizer darts indiscriminately at the soldiers who burst up around the building. With a sinking heart, Rose realized they were surrounded.

  Tabitha started to cry. Loren knelt beside her, whispering, “Shhh, shhh, I’m here, sweetheart, it’ll be all right. Shhh, shhh . . . count of three, Rose . . . shhh, there, there, one . . . okay, calm now, two . . . all right — three!”