She broke the embrace and searched his face one more time. “Please, Jono. I need to do this, or nothing else will ever matter.”
“I . . .” he began.
Laura touched his lips. “No more. Just be here. I’m going to need that.”
He let her slip out of his arms. She ran toward Cress and slammed into a shield barrier unlike any she had ever encountered. Cress stalked around the wrecked van. She swiped clawed fingers through the air. The rear doors ruptured and fell aside. Ropes of jagged violet essence slithered out of her hands and into the dark interior of the van. With a clenching of her first, the essence ropes tightened and whiplashed out, dangling a body in the air.
DeWinter.
She pounded against the barrier. “Stop, Cress!”
DeWinter struggled as Cress reeled him in. When he reached her hands, she made a sound like a roar, wiry tendrils of intense lavender shooting from her mouth. They burrowed into DeWinter’s face. He screamed.
“Don’t do this, Cress!” Laura shouted. She attacked the shield barrier with an intense bolt of yellow essence. The barrier rippled as it absorbed the energy, but it held.
“Cress! Listen to me. It’s Laura. You know me, Cress. Trust me, Cress, like I trusted you.”
Nothing. Cress shook DeWinter, untempered anger and hatred twisting her face.
“I trusted you to let you in, Cress! Let me in now!” Laura remembered the terror of that moment weeks earlier as she lay almost dead, her mind lost, the overwhelming fear as her body essence came under what she thought was an attack. And Cress’s voice in her mind, urging her to listen, to let her in. And she let her in. She had stopped fighting and let Cress in.
Laura paused. She had let Cress in. She hadn’t fought her. Not fighting was what made it work, allowed Cress to reach her and heal her.
DeWinter kicked the air. Blood vessels spiderwebbed across his skin, pulsing with the rhythm of Cress’s essence. She was toying with him, torturing him. His cries cycled higher until the sound was a strangled gurgle. His body convulsed violently, then went limp.
Laura dropped her body shield and touched the essence barrier. Cress’s essence tendrils plunged into her. Gasping, Laura fought the urge to resist, to reject the violation. She forced herself forward as the tendrils wound their way into her essence. It felt wrong. Repulsive. A violation.
Cress. It’s Laura, Cress. You know me. Her words flew off, spinning away into the tangled indigo web of Cress’s body signature. As Cress pulled her in, Laura didn’t resist but moved closer on her own. Her vision spotted with flashes of black and red as nausea welled up within her.
You know me, Cress. Laura. You know me.
The tendrils paused in their wavering, trembling as if deciding their next move. Laura reached out and took Cress by the shoulders and . . .
. . . plunged into a maelstrom, mind-tossed, far-flung, essence-spun . . .
. . . falling, falling, falling, through a purple maze of light across a black pit . . .
. . . burning bright, searing thoughts, tearing . . .
then . . .
. . . wrong it’s wrong I know it’s wrong is it wrong what he wants I know what he wants what I wanted once he is wrong I was wrong it was long ago I am not that what once was but he wants it he calls himself he calls himself dewinter a name of ice and loneliness he knows what he wants he wants to end it all he wants them to leave him alone leave them all alone his name is dewinter I want them to leave me alone I want him to leave me alone I am not what once I was he is wrong I am not that what I was I won’t be that he wants that he makes me want he is wrong it is wrong I will stop this I will stop him I have stopped him I will stop him he is gone . . .
Laura pulled back, not fighting but relaxing, letting Cress’s mind slip past hers. Cress, it’s Laura. It’s Laura, Cress. You must let me in. You must listen.
. . . laura yes the beautiful light the light so sweet so rich I yearn I yearn I yearn but I won’t I am not what I was I am not that I do not need that I touched her she let me in so rich so sweet but I will not I did not . . .
Yes, Cress. Laura. Listen to my voice. You must hear my voice.
. . . I remember I remember I remember she is scared how scared she is she is right I cannot say she is not right but she is scared but she will try she trusts she will listen she will give me hope . . .
Yes, Cress. I listened. I believed. It’s me. It’s Laura. Hear me now, Cress.
. . . they are wrong they hate I feel their hate they fear I feel their fear I am their fear they make me fear I fear . . .
They’re gone, Cress. You stopped it. You’re safe.
. . . he’s here I feel him he’s here he hates he fears he will hurt us all he is lost . . .
No, Cress. He’s gone. DeWinter is gone. You’re safe.
. . . no no no he’s here I will find him I will show them I will show Terryn he is here . . .
Terryn is safe, Cress.
. . . not safe not safe not safe . . .
Cress . . .
A cascade of images whirled through Laura—events, places, people—a chaotic rush too fast to sort out. Dizziness overwhelmed her as the images poured forth. Terryn flashed into view, then away. Darkness filled her mind, then Terryn again and even Whiting for a moment. The horizon over the ocean. The Washington skyline. Terryn. Then darkness. Terryn. Then herself. Terryn. Then Laura. Then Cress. Then Laura.
Terryn. I want Terryn. I need Terryn. Lies. They lie. They all lie. The Brinen and the Aran and the Draigen. He’s here. He was there. Now he is here. I will stop him. I will save Terryn. Lies. They all lie.
I am here, Cress.
The sound was a shock to her. She heard his voice. Terryn’s voice. He was safe. He was here.
I am here, Cress. Focus on my voice.
I am here, Terryn. I am here.
Let go, Laura. Let Cress hear me.
We are here, Terryn. You are safe.
Laura, hear my voice. You have done well. Now let go.
. . . Terryn my love my life my hope . . .
A spark glistened, a glimpse of essence deep within the violet haze. A bright pinpoint of warm yellow light. Her light. Her essence. Laura shuddered as she remembered.
Cress’s voice pierced through the fog of her mind, and Laura spun away.
Gods! What have I done? Cress screamed across her mind.
Laura latched onto the yellow mote of essence, wrapped her mind around it, and remembered. She remembered who she was. She stumbled as Cress released her. The visible world asserted itself, a jumble of destroyed vehicles and ravaged buildings.
“Laura,” someone said.
She stared at the man. Tall. Anxious. His features familiar. She searched her memory, knew him somehow, knew he would be there. His face wavered for a moment, then resolved into someone she recognized. “Jono.”
She slumped against Sinclair. A smile broke across his face. His arms came out and around her. Warm. Safe. Terryn knelt in front of them, cradling Cress’s still body. Cress was quiet and calm, feeding off his essence.
Orrin ap Rhys strode through the rubble, his wings flared open and burning bright white with essence. He stared down at Cress, then up at Laura. “Good work, Tate.”
Rhys leaned down, his hand out in a gesture of aid.
Sinclair shoved Laura aside. “He’s going to fire.”
Sinclair flung himself forward, his shoulder hitting Rhys in the chest. The bolt of essence released, and Sinclair went airborne. Hands charged with essence again, Rhys swung back toward Cress.
“No!” Laura screamed.
Essence burst out of her, a shock wave of red amber. Fire coursed through her veins as she threw everything she had at him. As if time slowed, she saw the wave arc out of her chest, saw the shock on Rhys’s face, saw the wave roll over him, saw him throw his arms up, saw the wave crash against his body shield, saw him tumble away.
Then she saw nothing.
CHAPTER 50
LAURA CAME OUT of the
bedroom of Sinclair’s apartment already dressed in her InterSec uniform. She hadn’t activated the Mariel persona yet, preferring to be Laura Blackstone when she woke Sinclair. Wearing the white T-shirt and sweatpants from the previous night, he slept in the living room and hadn’t moved since she had slipped into the bathroom. She picked up the remote and muted the television. Startled by the silence, he woke and sat up. His short hair was pressed flat on one side. “Someone means business,” he said.
She perched on the edge of an armchair. “It’s not going to be pretty. How are you feeling?”
He rubbed the back of his head. “Bruised. Headache. Sore back.”
She twitched her lips. “You didn’t have to sleep on the couch.”
He slid into a half-seated position. “You were exhausted. I thought you would be more comfortable alone in the bed.”
After she had passed out from unleashing essence on Guildmaster Orrin ap Rhys, she had come to in Sinclair’s arms on the Mall, his worried face hovering over hers as he stroked her hair. He had carried her away from the chaotic scene. She had wanted to go back, but he wouldn’t let her. Too weak to resist, he led her through a haze of smoke until they were beyond the barricaded emergency zone. They had found an abandoned car with the keys in the ignition and gone to his place.
“Thank you,” she said.
He smiled. “Anytime.”
She stood. “I have no idea what’s going to happen. I’ll call you later.”
Easing up from the couch, he followed her. He leaned against the edge of the open door as she lingered in the hall. “What?” he said.
She shook her head. “Just thanks. Again.”
The InterSec car and driver she had called for waited out front and drove her across a city in crisis. Emergency restrictions limited access to downtown, and the government had reduced all staffing to essential personnel only. Her all-level-security InterSec badge got her anywhere she wanted to go. She had never driven so easily through the normally traffic-choked streets of D.C.
In the bright morning light, the damage to the Guildhouse and surrounding building surprised her. It had looked much worse at night, with all the smoke, the soldiers, and the fires. Parts of the façade had fallen away, and bullet holes riddled the walls of the first two levels. Plate-glass windows gaped with jagged edges. Yet the building appeared more forlorn than destroyed.
At the main entrance, Danann security agents stopped her. “Agent Mariel Tate, your credentials are not valid to enter the Guildhouse per order of the Guildmaster.”
She chuckled, which seemed to confuse the agents. The banning didn’t surprise her. Without a word, she walked away and around the building. As she turned the corner at the rear of the Guildhouse, she deactivated the Mariel glamour and blurred her uniform to look like a blouse and dress pants. She entered the rear door and held up her Guild badge. The Danann agents stepped aside for Laura Blackstone.
As she cut through the first-floor function rooms to reach the main elevators, she reactivated the Mariel persona. The remains of Draigen’s reception littered the lobby. Chairs were overturned or pushed to the walls, and debris was scattered in every corner. In the center of the room, tall, beautiful—incongruous—an enormous vase of white flowers remained untouched amid the mess. Cleanup crews loaded broken fixtures into crates or threw out destroyed furniture.
Once through the main-door checkpoint, no one stopped her. Brownie security guards operated the elevators and rode up with the passengers. When the next available elevator arrived, Laura sent the operator notice that no one else was to ride with her. She wanted her destination as little seen as possible.
Since waking, she had gone over the sequence of events until a pattern emerged, a pathetic pattern of twisted motives that had spiraled out of control. She saw it all, tying the threads together, surmising the obvious gaps. It was over, but it was a waste, and she wasn’t going to keep silent.
The macCullen residential floor bristled with Inverni security. The scene gave Laura a certain sense of irony, which she hoped would vanish in few minutes. At the conference suite, the brownie Davvi worked at a spare, organized desk. “Good morning, Agent Tate.”
She smiled. “Good morning, Davvi. I hope you can help me.”
“Yes, miss?”
“I need a copy of the security-shift change orders at Master macCullen’s residence from the day Cress was kidnapped. Would you have that?” she asked.
“Yes, miss,” he said.
Anticipation prickled up her spine. She had worked with Saffin long enough to know that brownies tried to follow their usual procedures even when they had to make exceptions to them. She waited, but he didn’t move. Although she was in no mood for Davvi’s literalness, his responses forced her to be more aware of her own language. “Davvi, please give me a copy.”
He opened a file drawer behind him. Without needing to search, he retrieved a sheet of paper and dropped it on a compact photocopier behind the desk. He held out the copy to Laura. When she took the end of it, he didn’t let go. Curious, Laura met his gaze. “Is there something wrong, Davvi?”
He pinched his lips, then blinked several times. “I am conflicted, Agent Tate. Master macCullen instructed me to respond to you as I would him. I may have erred with respect to this document and am uncertain of my duty.”
He released the photocopy. Laura glanced over the sheet, confirming her suspicion. “What is the error?”
Davvi clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head. “The Lord Guardian expressed fear of a security breach and asked that a copy of the order not be made. I understood his concern, but I had the utmost faith in my abilities to secure the document. Despite his instruction, I made the copy.”
“That’s an odd request for Terryn to make.”
“You mistake me, miss. The Master is not a Lord Guardian,” Davvi said.
She couldn’t prevent a small smile. “Yes, I’d forgotten. Which Lord Guardian asked you not to make the copy?”
“Lord Aran, miss,” he said.
His explanation satisfied her. It made her case all the stronger. “Thank you, Davvi.”
He sighed. “I fear I may have been responsible for the schedule error at the Master’s residence that resulted in the kidnapping of his concubine. I will accept whatever disciplinary measure the Master demands.”
Laura gaped. “What?”
“I may be responsible . . .”
Laughing, she held up her hand. “I’m sorry, Davvi. I wasn’t asking you to repeat. I was reacting to what you said. The last thing I expected today was to hear Cress referred to as a concubine.”
Davvi tilted his head. “Is it incorrect? I have researched but am at loss for a more accurate term that respects the Master’s life decision.”
“I’d run it by Terryn,” she said. She glanced at the door. “Are they all in there?”
“Yes, miss.”
She tugged at her jacket, inhaled deeply, and opened the door. The macCullens sat at a round table covered with paperwork. As one, they looked toward the door, Draigen with a neutral pleasant expression while Aran and Brinen were distracted. She suspected they had been arguing. Terryn, however, smiled.
“Lady Regent, I apologize for the intrusion,” Laura said.
“No apologies needed after what you accomplished, Agent Tate. I was hoping we could meet you before I leave. I want to extend my deepest thanks. I believe we all owe you our lives,” Draigen said.
Is Cress okay? she sent to Terryn.
I have her in seclusion. Whiting is hopeful for her recovery, he replied.
Laura bowed her head in acknowledgment. “I am not sure you will thank me when I leave here, Lady Regent. I’ll get right to the point. Last night happened because of the people in this room. You are to blame. All of you.”
The statement had the reaction she expected. The macCullens stared at her, suspicious and calculating, except Terryn, who cocked his head as he waited for her to continue. She knew that look, a patient waitin
g for facts and explanation. He wasn’t going to like it.
She started with Draigen. “Lady Regent, your life was not in danger until last night. Legacy did target you as part of its broader plan to assassinate high-profile fey, but you were never their sole target.”
“What in hell are you talking about?” Aran asked.
From her jacket, she produced a folder and data drives. “The assassination attempt was a well-planned and -executed ruse. This documentation shows that funds were transferred into offshore accounts to Sean Carr and Uma macGrath prior to the shooting incident. The funds were traceable to a shadow account in Wales originally set up as a secret fund in case the Seelie Court moved against the Inverni.”
“I knew nothing of this account,” Draigen said.
Laura was surprised that she was telling the truth, but her ignorance didn’t matter on the point. “Your father set it up or, should I say, had it set up. Our sources indicate only two people had access to that account. Your father was one. Brinen macCullen is the other.”
Brinen glowered at her. “I have no idea what you are talking about, and I don’t like what you are implying.”
Laura ignored him and slid one of the data drives to the center of the table. “MacGrath was paid significantly more than Carr, which confused me since Carr was more criminally exposed as the shooter and had the greater risk. Autopsy results demonstrate conclusively that macGrath killed Carr, presumably to silence him, and thus received a bonus. On the day of the assassination attempt, video surveillance shows that Brinen reacted to the shots prior to the actual firing at Draigen. The only explanation is that he knew the shot was coming. Uma macGrath is clearly visible in the surveillance then, reacting to Brinen’s injury.”
“I will not hear . . .” Brinen began.
Draigen glanced up at him. “Let her finish, brother. I shall be the judge of her words.”
Laura sensed the emotion roiling off him but refused to be intimidated into activating her body shield. “I examined macGrath’s body. The residue of essence signatures on her indicated she had not been in proximity to anyone from the time of the shooting until her death. All except one person: Brinen macCullen.”
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