“Convenient,” said Sinclair.
Puzzled, Whiting cocked his head. “No, it isn’t. I’m a scientist. The pod is too experimental not to have a built-in fail-safe. That would be a foolish risk.”
Sinclair grinned. “As opposed to, say, getting hit with a hellfire missile.”
“What do you need me to do, Professor?” Laura asked.
“I’ll need you to talk to her, persuade her that everything is all right. She’s going to be very afraid. Once she’s calm, I’ll put her into a sleep trance, and this will be over,” he said.
Laura leaned forward. “I’m not going into a fire zone unarmed. I’d like a weapon, please.”
“Make that two,” said Sinclair.
A soldier handed two rifles down the line. “We were told you were cleared for these.”
Sinclair whistled as he took one. The rifle weighed almost eight pounds, with an infrared scope mounted on the top rail. “An Mk-16? Can I keep it?”
“No,” Laura said. She pocketed an extra magazine of ammunition. She didn’t like guns. Guns were meant to produce blood at a minimum, death as a matter of course. She almost never carried one, but under the circumstances, she knew it would be foolish not to. Without being able to tap essence, she was limited to her body’s own reserves, and once that was gone, it was gone.
An explosion rocked the truck. Tense silence swept through the back of the truck as everyone became quiet. Two soldiers returned fire through the top port. The longer they drove, the more the Stryker rang with the bullet impacts. Nothing pierced the armoring, but that didn’t lower anyone’s anxiety. They bounced as the Stryker jumped a curb, then skidded on a soft surface. They had arrived on the Mall.
Another explosion jolted the truck, and it lurched to a stop. The six soldiers around them readied to disembark. The vehicle commander ordered a smoke grenade launched. Someone hit the rear door, and the soldiers jumped out with their weapons primed. Laura slid to the rear, the air filled with gunfire and smoke. They were a lot closer than she had imagined they’d be, barely fifty yards away. She craned her neck out, but the smoke limited her field of vision. Somewhere above, she heard the rotor-blade whir of the Blackhawk.
Soldiers lay on the ground nearby, firing at the main entrance to the Monument. Theirs wasn’t the only team. She hadn’t expected that, but now she realized taking the Monument with six men wasn’t a likely scenario. People ran back and forth through the smoke. Screams reached her ears as the sound of gunfire dissipated.
“We’re inside. Still meeting resistance,” the vehicle commander called out.
“Why aren’t we out there?” Sinclair asked.
Laura kept her eyes on the entrance. “We’re here to protect Whiting and get Cress. It’s not a war-game exercise.”
Sinclair squeezed in next to her to see out. “Yeah, except I’m trained for this.”
She glanced at him, impatient. “Good. You can mop up anything these guys miss. Now, pay attention.”
“We’ve got a go. Make it fast,” the commander shouted.
Laura popped the door. She and Sinclair hit the ground together and helped Whiting. Aircraft filled the sky, fighter jets and helicopters circling in the distance. A wall of helicopters hung in front of the White House. A staccato burst of gunfire flared across the Ellipse in front of the mansion.
Above, the smoke curled away to reveal the deep black underbelly of a Blackhawk. The helicopter veered to one side and turned. Another smoke grenade launched from the Stryker. “Get moving! We have incoming,” the vehicle commander shouted.
They scrambled down the sidewalk, dodging among debris and bodies. A sense of nothingness shimmered over them, a wave in the air with no essence, but they stumbled on. The Monument burned with neon purple light, Cress’s body signature permeating the white stone surface. Near the peak, a rainbow slurry of essence revolved as the giant obelisk sucked it in.
A soldier appeared at the main entrance and waved them in. “We’ve found no one that matches the description of Adam DeWinter,” he said.
Laura surveyed the lobby; chipped masonry and dead bodies were scattered about the floor. “DeWinter’s not here. There’s no way out. He isn’t the suicidal type.”
“Ma’am, I believe what you are looking for is back here,” said the soldier. He led them across the damaged space to the elevators. In a narrow alcove to one side, two long rods of white crystal stretched from one wall to the other. Resting on top, a dark gray lozenge-shaped tube of quartz burned with a deep violet essence.
“Ah, now I see what they wanted those rods for,” Whiting said.
They spread out in a loose arc at the foot of the pod. “What do they do?” Sinclair asked.
Whiting grimaced as he ran his hand over one. “They’re conduits, tapping into the granite of the structure. It’s how Cress is accessing the essence in the Monument stones.”
“Can we disconnect them?” Laura asked.
He leaned over the head of the pod. “They’re not important now. Getting Cress out of here is.”
Outside the main doors, an explosion lit the night sky, followed by the roar of tearing metal. Another explosion erupted, a blinding orange light flashing into the lobby. Laura’s cell phone chirped. She found a text message from Genda signed with a smiley face. “They took out the Blackhawk.”
Whiting stepped over one of the support rods and leaned over the pod. The air throbbed against Laura’s face. Blood pounded in her ears. Until it was missing, she had never noticed how much ambient essence kept her energized. “Why isn’t the pod draining our body signatures?”
Whiting crouched to examine the underside of the pod. “The system is designed to facilitate and amplify Cress’s abilities. It absorbs local essence but needs to be in direct contact with body signatures to absorb those.”
“So we’re safe as long as we don’t touch that thing?” Sinclair asked.
Whiting hummed to himself. “Yes. Unfortunately, we need to touch it to stop it.” He tapped at a strip of red stone embedded on the top of the pod and grimaced. “This is the control ward. It’s not responding. Too much interference from the selenite in the pod itself, I think.”
Laura stepped over one of the support rods. “What are you saying? You can’t stop it?”
Without touching it, Whiting pointed to the red stone. “This ward stone is suppressing Cress’s consciousness. It allows DeWinter to direct her abilities and control his fighters. I keyed a deactivation response to my body signature, but the selenite is draining it off before it can penetrate.”
Sinclair lifted his rifle and brought the butt down hard on the red stone. A piece chipped off. He hit it again. A crack formed. He hit it again. And again, until the impact broke the ward crosswise. Whiting grunted in approval. “That works, too.”
Whiting pulled out the stone fragments. “The locks should release now. Pull up on the clamps on your side there.”
He stooped and yanked at two large stone levers while Laura and Sinclair opened the others. “Now what?” Laura asked.
“The lid’s heavy,” Whiting said. “I used essence to lower it into place, but now that it’s activated, it will drain us the moment we touch the pod. We need to lever it open as quickly as possible.”
“You guys are the brains of the operation. I’ll do it,” said Sinclair. Bracing one foot against the wall, he dug his fingers into the channeled seam that encircled the pod. With a shout, he heaved upward, throwing himself against the opposite wall. The lid pivoted, missing Laura and Whiting by inches. Pale, Sinclair slid to the floor.
Laura rushed to his side, and he smiled up at her. “And before you ask, no, that wasn’t an ability. I’m just freaking strong.”
Laura didn’t answer as she scanned his body signature. His medallion interfered, but as far as she could determine, his contact had been brief enough to cause only a minor dip in his essence levels.
She straightened and froze as she saw inside the pod. Cress lay on her back, unconscious, her
body twisted in pain. In the short time she had been missing, every bit of fat had been leeched away beneath her skin. Her head was tilted back, cheekbones prominent, mouth agape as if she were crying out. Her whiteless eyes, though, bulged in their sockets and burned with a dark light.
“Dear Danu . . .” Laura whispered. On impulse, she touched Cress’s cheek. Thick violet tendrils of light slithered out of the leanansidhe’s skin and wrapped around Laura’s hand, sucking at her body essence. With a startled cry, Laura yanked her hand back, rubbing the skin.
The Monument trembled around them, cracks snaking up the walls.
“I don’t think this place is taking the stress,” said Sinclair.
Whiting peered into the pod. “She’s trapped in a fugue state. Until she regains consciousness, the pod will keep draining essence into the Monument.”
“Will it help if we pull her out?” asked Laura.
Whiting scratched at the side of his head. “It should. The warding on the Monument will be disrupted, but I don’t know if that will be enough. We’re actually inside a stone ward now. Cress might not need to be in the pod anymore for the draining to continue. “
Laura clutched Sinclair’s arm as another tremor rocked the building. “Well, let’s drag her out of here.”
Whiting shook his head. “We won’t make the front door with her. Cress herself will keep draining essence until she awakens and stops.”
Laura narrowed her eyes in thought. “Then we’ll relay her out. Whiting, you get her as far as you can into the lobby. Jono will take her from there, and if he can’t make it out the door, I’ll finish the final leg.”
“He’s not fey,” Whiting said. “He won’t last more than a few moments against her.”
Laura made sly eye contact with Sinclair. “He’s full of surprises.”
Another tremor sent masonry falling from the ceiling. “I don’t think we have a choice, folks,” said Sinclair. “Let’s do this and get out of here.”
Whiting activated his body shield and reached into the pod. He pulled Cress by her arms and over the lip of the pod. His shield dimmed as he struggled with her, then faded entirely.
“Faster, Whiting,” Laura said.
She watched his body signature fade next. With a last burst of energy, Whiting wrapped his arm around Cress’s waist and collapsed, using his weight to take her to the floor. Sinclair darted in and dragged him away from Cress. “He’s not dead, but he didn’t last long. I don’t think this is going to work.”
Laura crouched beside Cress. “He was already drained once tonight, Jono. I think we’ll last longer. Hand her off to me before she knocks you out.”
She met his eyes. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he said.
With a deep breath, he hauled Cress off the floor and onto his shoulder. The contact staggered him backward as deep purple tendrils lashed into his body signature. He recovered his balance and charged for the door. His body essence wavered halfway across the lobby. Thicker ropes of essence slithered out of Cress and tangled into his body essence. He fought against the intrusion, forcing himself forward.
Wake up, Cress, Laura sent. The sending shredded in her mind.
Sinclair stumbled, his legs weak beneath him. He wasn’t going to make the doors. He pushed forward, his strength slipping away like a receding tide. He pressed on, determined to cover more distance, struggling to within a few feet of the entrance.
“Take her!” he gasped.
He slipped to his knees as he draped the weight of Cress’s body over Laura’s shoulder. With more essence pouring into Cress from the Monument, purple tendrils of light wound around Laura’s body shield as she pressed through the door. Dazed and nauseated, she staggered across the pavement outside. The landscape spun as she fell forward. Cress rolled away from her. Someone helped Laura stand, but she couldn’t stay upright.
“I need earth beneath me.”
She was dragged out into the hot night air and eased to the ground.
CHAPTER 49
EYES CLOSED, LAURA became aware of darkness first, her sensing ability not registering anything. The dead earth pressed against her back, its inherent essence a bare trickle. The staccato sounds of gunfire reached her next, a distant echo that sounded more harmless than it was. With the shriek of jet engines overhead, she forced her eyes open.
An army officer stood guard over her. Above, essence whirled like a corona around the man’s head as it flowed over the top of the Monument. Laura eased into a sitting position. With a short chant, she tapped into the essence in the air. The tenuous connection flared, and she drew strength from the flow, drinking it in like she was parched. As a druid, she needed to touch something to tap its essence, but so much of it gathered in the air around the Monument that she was able to recharge herself.
The Monument glowed with a sickly indigo light. The faint sheen of the dampening field warped and twisted off the peak in a spiraled dome. Without Cress connected to it anymore, the field was collapsing in on itself, its own stolen essence feeding the dampening.
In the strong wind, smoke and the stench of burning wafted across the Mall. Whiting lay not far off, alive but unmoving. Dizzy, Laura let the soldier help her to her feet. The hulk of a Blackhawk helicopter smoldered on the ground on the other side of the Stryker.
“Where is she? Where’s Cress?” she asked.
He pointed beyond the burning vehicles. “She went that way.”
“She did? She’s walking?”
He nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”
She wandered through the haze, soldiers running in the same direction, toward the White House. A pall of smoke rolled across the grass, obscuring her view. The wind shifted, and the smoke billowed up. Sinclair stood in the street beyond the Blackhawk. His body signature registered normal, no fluctuations or reductions. He stood, mesmerized by a thick column of violet essence spiraling into the air.
“Jono?”
He turned, his face stressed with concentration. As if waking, relief swept over him. In long strides, he reached Laura and wrapped her in a hard embrace. “Are you okay?”
He smelled of smoke and gunpowder and sweat. The fear that vibrated off him—fear for her—almost made her cry. The last time someone had worried about her like that was too long ago to think about. Controlling her emotions, she nodded into the crook of his shoulder. As her head finally cleared, she broke the embrace. “Where is she?”
He gestured toward the column of essence moving across the Ellipse. “That’s her. She woke up and knocked me on my ass.”
Cress? Laura sent. Static filtered through her mind, but no words.
National Guard unit trucks raced toward them. Soldiers jumped out, moving toward the essence column. Gunfire sounded in the distance ahead, oddly muffled.
Laura rushed across the street. “They’re firing on her.”
Soldiers ringed the edges of the essence column, shooting into it. The shots sparked in bursts of orange that vanished, snuffed like spent candle flames. Laura ran past the soldiers, plunging into the hazy purple essence. Cress’s body signature burned into sight, an incandescent shape moving away from Laura.
Sinclair ran in after her. “Are you crazy? We’re going to get shot.”
“The bullets aren’t penetrating, Jono,” she said. “She’s deflecting them with the excess essence.”
“Where the hell is she going?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Cress spread her arms, as if reaching out for the Monument. The air roared as wind raged around them. The marble facing on the column cascaded down the sides of the Monument, exposing the granite underlayment. The indigo essence contained within the stone burned in a black halo. It spiraled into the air, coiling above Cress like a funnel. With a snake-like strike, it plunged into her chest. A sound came out of her, the screech of metal and fire.
Laura gasped as essence surged into the vacuum left behind. Cress’s body flamed violet in the haze. With sharp gestures, sh
e flung cars out her of her path, tossing them aside like toys. She approached a long black van and stretched her arm forward. A gout of black essence burst from her palm and slammed into the van. It flipped on its side and spun in a cyclone of sparks.
A wing of Danann fairies swarmed the air with renewed strength. Bolts of searing white essence rained down as they soared and dove around Cress. With little effort, she absorbed the strikes, then knocked the Dananns back.
“I have to help her,” Laura said.
Sinclair grabbed her arm. “Do what? Destroy everything in her path? She’s out of control, Laura. You can’t stop this.”
She yanked herself away. “Look around you, Jono. They are going to kill her. DeWinter did this, not her. I can’t let them kill her.”
Sinclair slipped his hand into hers. “She’s fighting everyone who’s trying to stop her, Laura. There’s no fighting this.”
She fought back tears as she followed Cress toward the van. “She saved my life, Jono.”
He tugged at her hand. “She’s broken, Laura. She doesn’t know what’s she’s doing.”
She shook her head. “I have to try. I’m the only one here she can trust.”
“She’ll kill you,” he said.
Something moved within her, a deep moment of recognition. The look of fear in his eyes, the way his voice cracked. He wasn’t playing games, wasn’t trying to break down her defenses for the challenge of it. He cared. Jono Sinclair cared. And in that same moment, she knew that whatever it was he saw in her, it wasn’t someone who would walk away. It wasn’t someone who would give up because she was afraid of dying.
If she let Cress die, whatever chance she had with Sinclair would be gone, no matter what he thought right then. Because she wouldn’t be true to herself. And if she couldn’t be true to herself, she couldn’t be true to anyone. On a level that Sinclair didn’t realize yet, that was what he was attracted to. Who she was, no matter the consequences. And that was who she was.
She kissed him, a kiss of passion and thanks and realization. He held her, his essence glowing, breaking open before her, letting down his guard and showing her the man behind the jokes and frustration and anger. She saw him then, a man in fear. And in love.
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