20

I felt something cold press against my side. “Put that down,” Hallstrom said.

Malcolm’s eyes were hard, terrifying. He bent, slowly, and laid his gun on the ground, his left hand brushing the floor as if he were making a bow to a king. “Let her go.”

“Ms. Davies and I already agree that I’m not stupid,” Hallstrom said, shoving his gun deeper into my side. “Kick it away. Gently.”

Malcolm gave the gun a shove with his foot, sending it skittering away and scattering loose nails as it went. “Release her, and I’ll let you live.” Vines crept in through the empty doorway, twitching like dogs scenting prey. One found Malcolm’s leg and wrapped around it. He ignored the thing.

Hallstrom smiled. “How generous of you. Since she’s the only thing keeping me alive, I don’t think I’ll take that offer. No, we’ll walk out of here, and you’ll stay. I’ll release Ms. Davies when I’m safely away. Then I’ll leave Portland and never return. How does that sound?”

“You’re going to trial for murder, Benedetto or Hallstrom or whatever your real name is,” Malcolm said. More vines undulated toward him, creeping around his ankles. “I can’t afford to let you walk.”

“See? You were lying when you said you’d let me live. How can I trust you?”

Malcolm smiled, a sinister, mirthless expression. “I said I’d let you live. Hurt her, and we’ll find out how creative I can be in causing you pain.”

“That’s so sweet.” Hallstrom swiftly raised the gun from my side to my right temple. I stayed as still as I could. “So you’ve found out the truth.”

“I know you came here intending to harvest magic from as many people as possible. I know you and Amber Guittard were instructed to set Nicollien against Ambrosite. What I don’t know is who gave you those orders.”

“What makes you think it wasn’t Guittard?”

Malcolm smiled, but his eyes were still cold and hard. “She confessed her role in the plot to me before I killed her. And you may not be stupid, but you’re not a criminal mastermind. You were far too easy to trace. Even Miss Davies, with no experience, was able to do it.”

The gun’s muzzle was removed from my head briefly. “I was skilled enough to stay ahead of Lucia Pontarelli’s investigators. Skilled enough to set all this in motion.” Hallstrom pressed the gun to my head again. “Skilled enough to stay hidden all this time.”

“Not enough to keep the police—the non-magical police—from finding you. I’m surprised your bosses trusted you enough to send you. What did you do with all the sanguinis sapiens you harvested—spill it?”

“It’s safe where you won’t find it.” Hallstrom’s tic was making the gun jerk back and forth across the side of my head. The cold metal grew warmer with every jerk. I pictured his finger closing on the trigger and wanted to throw up.

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Malcolm said. “You’ve failed, Hallstrom.”

“I did everything I was sent to do,” Hallstrom said. The gun pressed harder into my temple. I wanted to scream at Malcolm to stop, but I was terrified that Hallstrom would remember I was there and pull the trigger.

Malcolm pressed on relentlessly. “You did it badly. Whoever your bosses are, they’ve got to be disappointed in you. You weren’t supposed to let anyone find you. I hate to think of the kind of punishment they’ll unleash on you for your failure.”

“Shut up!” Hallstrom shrieked, pointing the gun at Malcolm. “I will be rewarded—”

A flash of silver darted from Malcolm’s left hand. The gun went off. A streak of fire creased my left shoulder near my neck, making me scream and collapse against Hallstrom’s arm. Hallstrom spasmed, then fell, landing atop me and weighing me down. I smacked my forehead against the concrete and black stars spangled my vision. I smelled something bitter and coppery, like tainted blood, and closed my eyes against the pain.

The weight across my body rolled away. “Helena, lie still,” Malcolm said. I waited for him to lift me, hold me close, but instead I heard cloth tearing. I opened my eyes and saw only gray, stinking concrete and, farther away, Malcolm kneeling over Hallstrom’s body. He was pressing down on Hallstrom’s chest with a bloody wad of cloth. Tattered vines still clung to his ankles. “Come on, stay alive,” he muttered. “Where the hell are they?”

“Malcolm,” I whispered, but he didn’t hear me. I rolled onto my side and nearly screamed again at the pain in my shoulder. My legs refused to support me. I reached up with my right hand and felt my shoulder gingerly, sending more pain shooting through me. My hand came away bloody. The flash of silver. The gun. Someone had shot me, but it couldn’t have been Hallstrom, not at that angle.

Malcolm. I closed my eyes and tried not to cry. Malcolm had shot me to get at Hallstrom.

I heard footsteps approaching, lots of footsteps, running fast. I opened my eyes just as the first black-garbed figure burst through the door, her gun pointed at Malcolm. I croaked a warning.

Malcolm didn’t take his eyes from Hallstrom. “You must save this man’s life,” he said.

“Hands in the air!” the woman shouted. “Hands up or I shoot, Campbell!”

Malcolm didn’t move. More black-clad commandos poured through the doorway, all of them carrying guns. “Malcolm, don’t let them shoot you,” I said, my voice audible now.

“If he dies, it makes no difference,” Malcolm said.

Someone cocked their pistol, an ominous sound that rose above the noises of people moving around to get a better aim on Malcolm. “Don’t!” I shouted, though it came out as barely above speaking volume. “That’s the serial killer! He has to go to trial!”

“Ms. Davies!” the first woman said. “What are you doing here?”

“Just save his life,” I begged. “Malcolm, please don’t let them kill you.”

Malcolm finally looked over his shoulder at me. Slowly, he raised both hands in the air. Three commandos tackled him, and he didn’t resist. A short, chubby figure came forward from the middle of the pack and knelt beside Hallstrom’s body. “He’s almost gone,” she said. “Everyone back up.”

They’d barely moved when Hallstrom screamed, arching his back as if trying to get away from the worst pain imaginable. I’d been healed once from a severe beating and the healing had hurt worse than the beating. Despite myself, I felt sorry for Hallstrom, having to endure that.

It went on for what felt like forever, and then the short woman sat back on her heels, panting as if she’d run a marathon. She held up a twisted, bloody piece of metal. It looked like three nails twisted together to come to a wicked silver point. “Your work, Campbell?”

“I had to improvise,” Malcolm said, sounding unusually calm for someone whose face was being ground into the concrete by three men.

“Malcolm Campbell, you’re under arrest for the murder of Amber Guittard and the attempted murder of this man,” the first woman said.

“No!” I shouted, and managed to roll one-armed to a sitting position, wincing at the pain. “He’s the serial killer! Malcolm had to shoot him to save my life!”

“We’ll take that into consideration, Ms. Davies,” the woman said. “For now, we have to get out of here before someone calls the cops.”

Someone helped me stand, and I discovered I could walk. The pain was fading to a dull ache that only spiked when I moved my arm the wrong way. Malcolm’s captors hauled him to his feet, and he didn’t fight them. I didn’t think much of their chances if he decided to. Two others got Hallstrom, unconscious again, in a fireman’s carry, and we all trooped out of the garage and half walked, half ran to the street.

Two vans were parked there, the kind Lucia’s people used, and I felt a weight lifted from me. Of course these weren’t Nicolliens, because they would just have shot Malcolm. I felt dizzy, and my head ached from hitting the concrete.

“Helena,” Judy said.

I opened eyes I hadn’t realized I’d closed and saw her trotting along beside me and my support. “Are you all right? You’re bleeding!”

“I’m still alive,” I said, and winced as the man supporting me jogged my left elbow. “Where are we going?”

“Back to the Gunther Node as fast as possible. The Nicolliens are on the prowl,” he said. “You’ll need to tell Lucia what happened.”

“I’ll take your car,” Judy said. “Give me your keys. I’ll meet you there.”

I awkwardly fished my keys out of my pocket as I tried to keep moving. Judy snatched them and ran off down the street toward where we’d parked before I could ask her anything. She must have gotten through to Lucia, but she couldn’t have known Malcolm was near, so why did Lucia’s people know to expect him?

I climbed into the back of the van and scooted down to make room for Hallstrom and the men carrying him. A few other commandos climbed in after him, and the door shut. “Where’s Malcolm?” I said.

“In the other van. We won’t let him near you, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried! He’s not dangerous.”

“He shot you, Ms. Davies. I think that’s good evidence that he is.”

“I already told you, he had to shoot me to stop Hallstrom.” I prodded my shoulder again, and pain spiked through it, nearly sending me unconscious. The wound felt deep, like it had torn muscle all the way to the bone, and it was still bleeding. Just as I thought that, someone pressed a thick pad of bandage to the wound and guided my hand to hold it. I hissed in pain.

“Sorry,” the woman said, and though it was dark inside the windowless van I recognized the first woman who’d come through the door. “I always knew Campbell was ruthless, but I didn’t know he’d shoot an innocent to get at his man.” She sounded admiring. I felt sick again. He’d looked so terrifying, like someone ready to commit murder, and he hadn’t had one word of reassurance for me. He had to save Hallstrom’s life so he could testify. It doesn’t mean anything. But he’d looked nothing like the man I loved, and a tiny part of me wondered if I’d ever really known him.

The van rumbled across a rough road, jostling all of us. I heard Hallstrom groan and stir beside my feet. “You should keep him unconscious, if you can,” I said. “He’ll try to escape.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got him under control,” the woman said.

Hallstrom lunged for her, getting his hands around her throat to throttle her.

I screamed and scooted backward, out of the way of Lucia’s people. It was chaos, people trying to rescue their leader, others trying to subdue Hallstrom. Hallstrom’s thrashing feet kicked me in the stomach, and I retched and gagged and made myself as small a target as I could. The van screeched to a halt, rattling us all like dice. Hallstrom let go of his victim and dove for the back door. I threw myself atop him and wrapped my arms around his legs, pinning them. He kicked and thrashed, but I held on tight, bringing my legs up to wrap around his, squeezing my eyes tight shut as if that would give me strength.

“You can let go, Ms. Davies, we’ve got him,” said a man’s voice.

“That’s what you said before,” I said through clenched teeth.

“This time it’s true. Sorry we didn’t take your warning seriously. This really is the serial killer?”

“Yes.” I released Hallstrom and sat back, rubbing the feeling into my wrists where I’d gripped them hard to keep from letting go. “He’s a wood magus.”

“Where we’re going, he’ll get no benefit from that,” the woman said, her voice raspy. “You ever been to the Gunther Node?”

“No.”

The van started up again. I heard someone up front talking into a two-way radio that replied amid bursts of static. “It’s hard to describe,” the woman said. “Better you see for yourself.”

I nodded and retrieved the bloody pad I’d had pressed against my shoulder. Where was their bone magus? I felt a little annoyed that no one had offered to heal my wound. Then again, maybe Lucia would take me more seriously if I were drenched in blood. I felt light-headed and hoped I wouldn’t pass out.

I watched our progress as best I could from the rear of the van, where I could only see glimpses of what was passing through the windshield. I had no idea where we were going, except the road was still rough and there weren’t many lights. Occasionally a white corrugated iron warehouse or barn would flash past, but mostly the road was empty. I watched Hallstrom, wary of him erupting into violence again, but he lay on the floor, bound hand and foot with zip ties, his bright eyes glaring at everyone in turn but lingering longest on me. To think I’d once laughed at how awkward and ridiculous he seemed. He would have killed me if Malcolm hadn’t arrived. Some self-rescuing princess I’d turned out to be.

The van turned off the road onto an even rougher surface that nearly knocked me off my seat once or twice. Hallstrom’s head bounced off the floor of the van, but I couldn’t find it in me to feel sorry for him anymore. Then the road was smooth, perfectly free of jolts, and the van came to a halt. The woman opened the door and hopped out. Two of Lucia’s people maneuvered Hallstrom’s gangly body out of the van, and someone gave me a hand down.

We were inside an airplane hangar, though I only called it that because I’d seen them on TV. There were no planes inside, nothing but empty concrete and the two vans. Malcolm was being guided out of the second van. His hands were secured behind him with zip ties—of course metal handcuffs would be to a steel magus like Malcolm just one more weapon. He looked perfectly composed, but he looked once at me and the emptiness in his eyes chilled me. His guards led him away, and the woman put her hand on my elbow and guided me along after them. Behind us, four of Lucia’s people picked up Hallstrom and carried him, thrashing again, in our wake. I heard the ratchet of a gun being cocked, and Hallstrom went still.

The crunch of tires and a spray of gravel brought us all to a halt. Judy leaped from my car and ran toward us. “Don’t you dare go without me,” she said.

“You’re not authorized,” said the woman.

“You wouldn’t have found them without me. And Lucia will want to speak with me.” Judy drew herself up to her full 5’1” height and gave the woman an imperious stare. The woman threw up her hands and waved Judy forward.

“I’m probably going to regret this,” she murmured to me.

We headed toward a white circle painted on the floor. As I drew nearer, I saw it wasn’t a perfect circle, but was interrupted in places by squiggly lines and curves like giant thorns. It reminded me of a girl’s flower circlet, the kind they used to wear dancing around maypoles. I stepped over the white lines, careful not to touch them, though the woman didn’t give me any warnings about them and I was sure I saw at least one of Lucia’s people scuff the paint with her boot sole. It just felt wrong to do that.

Once we were all inside, the woman pulled an access card on a lanyard around her neck from inside her shirt and knelt at the center of the circle. What I’d thought was a smear was actually a slit she dropped the card into and out of rapidly, like running a credit card. Nothing happened for a moment. The woman continued to kneel. Eventually the concrete rippled, like a pool with water dripping into it, and went glass-bright. “Eleven,” the woman said, and between one blink and the next we were elsewhere.

The new place was brightly lit with long fluorescent bulbs hanging from the walls and the ceiling, which was at least three stories up. It was more like a cavern than a room, though one of poured concrete, walls, ceiling, and floor. I could see now why the woman had been sure Hallstrom’s being a wood magus wouldn’t benefit him here. Even though the faint smell of gardenias hung in the air, I couldn’t imagine anything growing in this place.

Seven vast openings outlined in bright colors and a dozen smaller doors pierced the walls of the room. Men and women crossed the vast cavern, some of them pushing carts, others carrying papers or strange equipment I didn’t recognize. They noticed us immediately, slowing to look at Malcolm and Hallstrom. Malcolm strode on as if he weren’t bound, his head held high. The woman indicated that Judy and I should follow Malcolm and his guards through one of the smaller doors.

We entered a concrete tunnel, again lit by fluorescent tubes, this one empty of people and narrow enough we could only walk two abreast. I ended up right behind Malcolm and kept my gaze focused on the back of his head. Lucia would see reason and release Malcolm. She’d put Hallstrom before a tribunal and the truth would all come out. And Malcolm would stop looking at me like I was an inconvenience.

The tunnel snaked through the…was it under a mountain? It felt like it was deep underground. It curved back and forth for some time before opening on a long, straight hallway lined with metal doors, silver with a dull matte finish. I wondered where the actual Gunther Node was, the part that was a source of magic. This all looked more like an industrial complex than a magical nexus.

The woman pushed past Malcolm and his guards and went to the third door on the right, where she knocked, making a hollow metallic boom. A moment later, the door swung open. “Inside,” Lucia said.

The room looked like a bomb shelter, or something out of a Fallout computer game I’d watched my ex-boyfriend Chet play. Lucia’s desk looked like mine in Abernathy’s, black melamine and chrome with spidery legs. A metal bookshelf crammed with papers and a couple of funny-looking purple rocks stood nearby. Plastic milk crates stacked against the back wall were also full of papers. With all of us inside, it was almost too full to move, particularly with Hallstrom still being carried.

“Who’s that?” Lucia asked, jabbing a finger at Hallstrom. He glared at her.

“Ms. Davies and Campbell claim he’s the serial killer,” said the woman.

“That long streak of nothing?” Lucia’s blue eyes came to rest on me.

“I told you we knew where he was,” Judy said.

“I believed you when you said the killer had captured Davies,” Lucia said. “I just can’t believe that’s him. But I’ve seen criminals come in all shapes, so maybe it’s not so strange.”

“And Malcolm Campbell came with us voluntarily,” the woman said. “He shot Ms. Davies and the suspect and admitted to it in front of all of us.”

Lucia’s eyebrows raised. “He shot Davies?”

“I was standing in the way,” I said, successfully keeping my mouth from trembling at the memory.

“Ruthless,” Lucia said to Malcolm.

“I made a decision,” Malcolm said. His voice was stony, expressionless.

“Did you.” Lucia came around her desk to look at Hallstrom. “Got anything to say for yourself?” Hallstrom remained silent. “Davies, what makes you think he’s the killer?”

“He more or less confessed it to me and Malcolm,” I said. “I don’t know if that’s enough evidence for you to hold him.”

“It’s enough. Lock him up, and we’ll interrogate him later,” Lucia told the woman.

“What about Malcolm?” I said.

“What about him?”

The room swam in my vision, and I leaned on Judy to keep from falling. “Hallstrom admitted Ms. Guittard was his accomplice. That means Malcolm acted in good faith, or something, when he killed her.”

“Campbell will stand trial and the evidence will acquit or condemn him. Are you going to give me any trouble?” Lucia said, eyeing Malcolm’s tall, well-muscled form.

Malcolm stared her down. “Now that you have the killer in custody, I see no reason to hide. If you can assure me of safety from Nicollien reprisal.”

“Cut him loose,” Lucia said. “Protective custody for you, as a material witness. Davies, are you still bleeding?” She prodded my shoulder, making me hiss. Malcolm closed his eyes briefly. “Somebody heal her, then return her and Rasmussen to their homes.”

“But I—”

“You’ve done plenty, Davies.” Lucia looked unexpectedly compassionate. “Go home and rest. You’ll need it after the healing.”

I looked at Malcolm again. He wasn’t looking at me. I blinked back tears and said, “Thank you.”

“I ought to thank the two of you, right after I give you both a couple of good dings round the ear for going into danger like that. Now, out of my office. Campbell, you and I need to talk privately.”

The woman guided me out of Lucia’s office and down the hall a few more doors. “Sue, how about you do the healing in here,” she said. The short, plump woman pulled a chair away from the wall in what looked like a conference room and told me to sit.

“Is this your first healing?” she said.

“No.”

“Then you know what to expect. Just grit your teeth and it will be over soon.”

I felt Judy slip her hand into mine, but before I could ready myself excruciating pain swept over my shoulder and arm, so painful it burned with an icy cold. I gasped and crushed Judy’s hand in mine. Tears leaked from my eyes, and I cried, grateful for the excuse. Malcolm would never look at me the same way again. Either I was an impediment, or I was a reminder of how he’d had to shoot an innocent to get his man, and either way our relationship had changed forever.

As abruptly as it had started, the pain stopped, replaced by a dull, deep muscle ache that hurt, but bearably. I wiped tears from my eyes and thanked Sue, who nodded. “You should go home and have a hot bath. It will ease the lingering pains.”

Judy and I walked alone through the serpentine passage back to the cavern. “How do we get out of here?” I asked. I still felt shaky, and my blood-soaked and torn shirt stuck to my shoulder uncomfortably.

“We find a tech to operate the gate.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Once or twice, for Father to use the node. And when I was arrested last April.”

“Where are we?”

Judy shrugged. “I don’t know. Somewhere underground in the Portland area, though I’ve heard rumors it’s actually in Camas, across the river.”

I felt bone-weary and heartsore. “I guess I don’t much care. I just want to go home.”

“Did Campbell really shoot you?”

“He made a…like a dart or something out of some nails. And I was standing in front of Hallstrom and was just tall enough to block his shot at Hallstrom’s heart.” Saying it aloud made me feel better. Of course Malcolm had shot me. It made sense. “It was only a little cut.”

“It was not. It tore most of your muscle away!”

“Well, it’s healed now. Can we go home?”

Judy gave me a funny look. “All right.” Then she grabbed my arm, making me stop. “Look!”

Crossing the cavern ahead of us was Jeremiah Washburn, his T-shirt rumpled as if he’d been sleeping in it. He caught sight of us and veered around to greet us. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’ve been interrogated too,” he said with a smile.

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “If I hadn’t mentioned your name—”

“No worries. Lucia likely would have hauled me in anyway.” Washburn shrugged. “I think she was growing desperate.”

“Even so. It wasn’t fair.”

He shrugged again. “Fairness is a weapon wielded by the underdog, for good or ill, and I choose not to be a victim. I’m going to pick up my familiar from holding and then I’m going home to watch Cowboy Bebop.”

I had no idea what that was, so I said, “I’ve heard Lucia won’t allow familiars near her.”

“And with good reason. They’re dangerous tools, and they go crazy around you custodians.” He nodded to Judy politely and said, “Be seeing you both.”

I watched him walk away and said, “He’s unusual.”

“He’s weird, but I like him,” Judy said. “Let’s find a tech.”

I didn’t know how she could tell who the techs were. They all looked the same to me, dressed in black jumpsuits or fatigues. But she found someone who led us to a smaller circle that had the same thorny look, and within seconds we were back in the airplane hangar, several yards from my car. The vans were gone. It was quiet enough to hear crickets chirruping outside, but all I could smell was concrete and the blood drying on my shirt.

I insisted on driving, though my shoulder hurt enough I soon wished I hadn’t. But I needed the focus driving provided, needed something to keep my thoughts from circling back around to being a captive, to the deadly expression in Malcolm’s eyes, to the pain of being shot by someone I loved.

I dropped Judy at her house, thanking her for her offer to stay the night with me. “You shouldn’t be alone after that,” she said.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.” It meant a lot that Judy, never a particularly caring or compassionate person, was worried about me, but I wanted to be alone for a while.

“All right,” Judy said skeptically, but walked to her front door and let herself in.

I drove home slowly, observing every traffic law. What I didn’t need was having to explain my gory self to a cop who might insist I go to a hospital. What a waste of time that would be. But no one pulled me over, and I made it home with no trouble other than an increasing ache in my formerly wounded shoulder.

Safely inside, I locked my door and stripped off my clothes in the hallway because going into my bedroom was too much work, and besides, there was no one to see. My pants hit the floor with a thud, and I remembered my phone. I’d turned it off before searching Hallstrom’s place, visions of an untimely call dancing in my head, and now I turned it back on and set it on the shelf above the sink. I turned on the taps and watched the tub fill up with steaming water.

My phone buzzed as it came back to life, and I retrieved it. Two texts. The first was from Viv, asking where I was. The second was from my sister. ETHAN THRILLED AM NAMING BABY HELLIE HA HA HA.

I smiled. That was cheering news, almost enough to dislodge the stone in my heart. Cynthia was going to be…well, I couldn’t say she was going to be a great mother, because I had no idea whether my sister would be able to cope with a baby. For all I knew, she’d let the nanny raise her. But I was certain Cynthia would do her best, and her best was generally amazing.

I put the phone back on the shelf, well away from the water, and slid into the tub. Tendrils of pink curled through the water. I scrubbed my bloody shoulder and side and the water turned even pinker. I should have washed first so I didn’t have to soak in my own blood, but I was too tired to get out and drain the tub. I piled my hair on my head and found a few strands caked with dried blood, so I sank under the water until nothing but the tip of my nose showed. I let myself float, closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of weightlessness. When I couldn’t hold my breath any longer, I rose up out of the water, making it rush and spill over the edge, soaking the bath rug. I wiped water from my eyes and squeezed it out of my hair. Then I hugged my knees and rested my chin on them. And I cried.

I wasn’t sure why I was crying, or rather, which of all the cry-worthy incidents of the evening prompted me to sit in pink bathwater and bawl until my eyes hurt. I’d been nearly killed by a serial killer. I’d been shot by someone I loved who I thought loved me. I’d seen him arrested and condemned to stand trial. I’d had to endure healing, which in some ways was worse than the original wound. Any of those things could justify my crying jag. Maybe it was all of them.

I cried until the water was lukewarm, then I drained and refilled the tub. I soaped up and washed myself and my hair and rinsed until I felt clean. I was so tired I didn’t even know if I could sleep, which was a ridiculous thought, but one I latched onto as justification for watching a movie instead of going to bed.

I put in The Magnificent Seven—hadn’t I just talked about that with someone? Not Malcolm, though now I knew where I’d seen that hard, angry look before: Yul Brynner looked the same every time he talked to Horst Buchholz, the young would-be gunslinger. It was a look that said he’d hurt the boy if that would save him. I understood that look so much better now.

I fell asleep just as the Magnificent Seven were defending the village the first time and woke to the sound of the end title. I staggered to my bed without turning on the light and fell deeply asleep, where I dreamed of being engulfed by Hallstrom’s arborvitae, swallowed up and trapped in a tiny basement that was filling up with water. No matter what I did, it wouldn’t let me drown.