Myra tried to follow Kady as the Kinetic broke into a run. But, stepping away from the tree that held her upright, Myra’s ankle crumpled at last. Sticks and rocks bit into her hands as she fell. Her various hurts twinged again, causing stars to dance in her vision.
Kady’s mournful wail echoed eerily through the wood, and for a moment, Myra was grateful she was unable to be present at whatever her friend had discovered. Her heart, practiced in grief from the events of the day, prepared itself for its next loss.
She glanced up to see Kady return, Aidan on her arm. He limped, and blood darkened his face so that he was near indistinguishable from the surrounding. But he was alive. She could feel it through her gift. Myra choked on her joy and scrambled forward, dragging her useless foot and not caring one bit.
“Moira.” The sound of Aidan marring her name with scratched throat was heaven itself. Myra responded with a noise that had no direct translation. The heart of it was love, gratefulness, and exultation.
Kady brought them together then left to go see to Laurel once more. None of their petty jealousies and romances and attachments mattered. Equally, they mattered all the more, if only for the honesty of it all.
Aidan and Myra embraced, each burying themselves in the familiar warmth of the other, drowning out the noise of their pain with simplistic, unthinking joy. A moment later, more familiar voices colored their newfound peace. Ben, Stephen, Robert, and Julius had caught them up.
Myra allowed herself to be extricated from Aidan. She looked to Kady and could tell, even without using her Empathy, that something wasn’t right. Something in the way the Kinetic stood, a tightness and a fear. A helplessness as she stood looking into the back of the abandoned carriage.
But Laurie is alive. I felt her; could use her gift. Myra repeated the mantra in her head like a prayer. James was dead. Addair was dead. Mr. Black was dead. Laurel could not be. Could not be.
Laurel lay within the dark coach. She did not move nor did she rouse at their attempts to wake her.
Silence fell over the group.
“My gift can still feel her,” Myra whispered reassurance. “She’s in there. I can tell.”
“We know, dear,” Kady said. “And yet—”
“She’s in the Ways, Laurie is. There’ll be— There’ll be no telling her what happened to James.” Stephen broke down, not to be consoled by anyone, including Myra. His sobs echoed amongst the trees. Myra imagined that the leaves themselves might be shaken to the ground by the force of his grief. Each turned away, trying to find solace in one another’s presence, escape from Stephen’s agony. All save for Robert, solid dependable Robert, who embraced his friend and let their tears mingle. Only Myra’s own pain and utter exhaustion kept her from falling fully into either Robert or Stephen’s emotional turmoil, so strong was the pull of the ord’s heartache.
At some point, someone—Myra wasn’t certain who—decided that the team appropriate their enemy’s decoy coach in order to better facilitate their return to the relative safety of London. Stephen, inconsolable and immovable, waited amongst the injured, leaving Robert and Kady the task of riding for the other carriage.
To Myra it felt as though the earth’s rotation had taken a dizzy turn. Nothing made sense. James. Magic. Professor Silas Addair. Broadmoor seemed but a bad dream. Her injuries, a horrible illusion. She watched, listless, as Robert and Kady returned, and Laurel was gently moved into the larger carriage. The Ways-walker looked like a corpse awaiting burial. It was all too horrible.
Safe within the other conveyance, Myra leaned back against the seat, surprised at the comfort it afforded. She hadn’t expected to be comfortable. Ever again.
She woke from a dreamless sleep to find London growing around them. Julius sat at her side, his face taut with worry. Robert dozed on the opposite bench.
Noticing Myra’s eyes open, Julius jumped and quickly pasted a reassuring smile onto his squashed face. The idiot. Myra loved him for it, absently wondering how many people she could love in one day. But that was all right, the world needed more love just then.
“She’ll be all right. Almost there, Myra.”
Myra blinked wordlessly. He did not press her for more, growing into the space she left him. It felt good to hear him simply talk. “I’ll likely be able to recreate Addai— The elixir,” he swiftly corrected himself.
Julius patted his breast pocket, taking pains not to move too quickly. It reminded Myra: he had his own hurts with which to deal. “Part of his plans for me made me privy to quite a lot of information. Apparently Silas did not anticipate losing this fight.”
And just like that, Myra wanted to know more. All of it, in fact. But Julius Griggs said no more about his time spent in Broadmoor under the care of Doctor Silas Addair. And that, in itself, was telling. She turned to the window to spare Julius her mistimed empathy and counted the street corners until they returned home.
It was Stephen who brought Myra out of the carriage and in through the doors of Grafford House. Struggling to avoid jostling her various injuries—all rather terrible, now that she could see herself more clearly—he managed to give her a small, tight squeeze akin to a hug as he deposited her in one of the library chairs. A thank you? An apology? Myra couldn’t understand him at all.
Through eyes growing dim with exhaustion and pain, Myra watched as Aidan was brought in under similar care—Benjamin ferrying his one-time rival with a gentleness that brought new tears to her eyes. Laurel she did not see again. She assumed she was being cared for under more urgent ministrations.
The last thing Myra witnessed before sleep took her was a hushed argument amongst Robert, Benjamin, and Stephen. In the end, it was decided that Julius and Robert would brief DMI’s director on the day’s events. Griggs’ report of his ordeal would serve as warning enough for Brackenbury to see to the security of his own house in the wake of Black’s treachery. Aidan’s services would, of course, be offered in sorting friendly from traitor.
That’s nice of them. Myra yawned her approval, noting distantly the splitting headache that the gesture gave her. Then all was black.
Myra woke to the jangling of the Grafford House front bell. With a start, she realized that, while no longer in the armchair that Stephen had left her, she was still in the library, though the hour was far later. Morning sunlight streamed in through the library windows. Myra’s wounds had been bound and set. Benjamin was by her side though his head was lowered in sleep.
As were both Aidan and Kady, the former awake and looking at Ben and his protective stance over Myra with stern, unreadable eyes. Myra looked away, uncomfortable and unable to deal with Aidan’s mercurial temperament just then. In looking about the room, she saw that Stephen was nowhere to be seen. To her knowledge, Julius and Robert had not checked back in. But then she could well have slept through any comings and goings if she slept through the tending of her injuries.
The bell at the door continued to clang, setting already-frayed nerves to tingling and waking both Kady and Benjamin. A small commotion in the front hall signaled that someone had gone at last to answer the summons.
Looking harried, Julius and Robert entered the library, a very nervous looking Director Brackenbury on their heels. The DMI director’s eyes alighted on Benjamin, and he quailed.
“I didn’t know,” Henry Brackenbury worked quickly, and simply, to establish his innocence in the whole affair. Though, that he did not know of the undermining of his own department was black enough mark. From his corner, Aidan watched the director’s apologies with unsympathetic eyes. But he did not move to call the man a liar. Which was enough to confirm that Brackenbury was truly terribly sorry for everything that had happened.
As well as grateful beyond measure for the rash and loyal actions for they who his department had tossed aside.
Impassive, Robert and Benjamin absorbed the director’s apologies and expressions of sympathy over James’ death. Her own heart numb to the words, Myra wondered if she would ever feel again. Perhaps she had found a cure for her Empathy.
At length, Benjamin rose to speak with Julius in hushed tones while Robert took Brackenbury over to the fireplace for their own tête-à-tête. Myra tried, unsuccessfully, to eavesdrop on both conversations and ended up, instead, with a mess of both which she could not understand. Coming to some sort of conclusion at last, Julius nodded at Benjamin’s hushed request and moved towards the door.
Catching Myra’s eye, Benjamin inclined his head to beg leave. The polite formality of the gesture, contrasted with the wrecked appearance of the library after the battle that had been waged there but yesterday somehow sparked a strange humor in Myra, and she found herself choking back a manic giggle.
Aidan gave Myra a quizzical look as he strode past on his way to taking up his usual post, lounging by the mantle to eavesdrop on Brackenbury’s rather useless apologies. Her head awhirl, still full of the horrors of the past day, Myra only half-heartedly used her Empathy to snatch at the words between the three men who stood by the hearth. Her heart was equally full. Or, rather, empty. She would sort it all later.
Weak demands were raised. Robert protesting, “Addair’s men . . . not all are accounted for . . .”
Brackenbury bricked up, growing bureaucratic in an instant. “Apology and thankfulness on our behalf does not necessarily mean direct reinstatement or even involvement. If what you have told me is true—and we’ll have to investigate this ourselves, you know—then the threat from Professor Silas Addair is over. The conflict involving wizards is through. Agent Griggs will, of course, come back immediately as is prudent . . . we have to be careful with such things, after all. Appearances, you know. Too many moves at once would make too much noise.
“That said, your service to the country is not something we are inclined to overlook,” he continued. “Past acts, James’ heroic sacrifice, are to be fully considered.”
Myra was grateful that Stephen was not present for Brackenbury’s restated sympathies. She watched as the starch went out of MI2’s director, rendering him as ordinary, as human, as any other. She knew the tear in her eye was present in every other person in the room and just as authentic. But Stephen’s grief over the loss of James—none of them could handle his grief just yet.
Brackenbury recovered himself. Aidan and Robert accepted the obligatory gentlemanly handshake. The former moved to escort him out.
Julius returned a moment later, Stephen and Benjamin in tow.
“Laurel?” Myra’s heart had somehow relocated to her throat. She managed to squeeze the name past and rather wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to know. Not yet.
Stephen shook his head. “Gone.”
Myra nodded, mouth suddenly dry, heart moving southward, past where it belonged and dropping down towards the bottom of her stomach. She rasped, “How?”
“The appropriate question would be to ask ‘where?’ ” They all turned at the sound of Griggs’ voice. He faced their assembled shock with raised eyebrows. “What, you think I don’t pay attention at all to what goes on here?”
“And the baby?” Robert’s rumbling rejoinder came rolling through the group, a wrecking ball that scattered them again.
“That’d be more your area than mine, unfortunately. I don’t know enough about the OtherLands to know if it is possible for Laurel to have brought the wee one safely over with her.” Julius looked to Benjamin. “It would, at this stage, likely be something that your gift could determine.”
“So the baby is dead.” Benjamin sat heavily, horrified that Julius would even ask such of him.
Griggs shook his head. “Indeterminate. Condition is the same as the mother, for all that I can tell. But . . . heartbeat or not, I cannot tell where the soul resides.”
“He’s suggesting you look for James, Ben, for then we might find Laurel and call her back,” Aidan joined in.
“I know what he's asking,” Ben snapped. But the heart was out of it.
Robert roused himself at last, and it was glorious. Zeus himself stood in their midst, all lightning, smoke, and fire. He fairly bristled with power as he shouted—quite possibly the first time Myra had heard such. She hadn’t known he had it in him. “Laurel went to look for James. And that is that. Woman wants to go wandering off like that, it’s not on us to go after her. Not our responsibility. Not in my house. Irresponsible. Idiotic. Like that James, running off half-cocked with no real plan . . . And with the future of wizardry in her care. Idiotic.” Lapsing into repetition, he stopped and blinked, staggering slightly under the shock of having realized his outburst. “I, er . . . Well, like I said. That’s that. And we’re not about to waste anyone else going off on some fool’s errand. She wants to be dead like him, let her.”
He turned on his heel and stormed out, as though thoroughly disgusted with the lot of them. The ringing of the front bell—what now?—gave his escape purpose. Myra assumed he needed such at this time. They all did.
“She’s stable. For the moment,” Julius ventured into the heavy silence. “I . . . I can keep her such for a while, so long as her condition does not deteriorate. And the baby, too.” He added the last with a darting look to Aidan and Stephen, daring them to come up against his plan to stall, to give them all time to think and recover.
Myra believed it the best course at present. They all needed time. And Julius was giving it to them. Freely, and without question. She could kiss that man. Though she, obviously, would never.
“Well, then. Welcome to the team, such as it is.” Stephen offered his hand, an olive branch. Myra wondered if such a pact held. Was he the leader in James’ absence—correction, now that James was gone?
Robert returned, eyebrows frowning his fury though his face was blank with resignation. All eyes turned to him, ready for the apology that was sure to come from M.I.’s gentle giant. He held a letter in his hand, seeming to question its contents.
“From Victoria?” Benjamin peeked at the remains of the royal seal clinging to the bottom edge of the crisp paper.
Robert nodded wordlessly and fell heavily into Stephen’s newly vacated chair. He tossed the letter onto the tea table so that they might read it for themselves.
“Well. It’s official at long last. We’re fired.”
“And by fired you mean . . . ?”
“We can’t stay here, no,” Robert rumbled and closed his eyes. “We’re enemies of the state now. Perils of the job.”