Of course, as soon as we got Alondra back to the Residence, she started panicking about everything. First she bawled like a baby about getting her blood drawn. Then I realized I’d underestimated how much bigger around she was than Tjuan; we couldn’t get the top of the suit zipped when we tried it on.
“Alondra,” I said, standing in front of her and holding her by the shoulders as Song continued gently trying to bring the two edges of the neoprene together in back. “Breathe. We have a seamstress at Residence One. She can—”
“This is my fault!” she snarled. “I’m a fucking pig.” I’d never seen rage from her before; apparently it was all kept in-house. She was shaking, her pretty face blotched red. “You should just start hacking pieces off of me to make it fit.”
“Snap out of it,” I barked, straightening like a drill instructor, grabbing my own wrist at the small of my back to keep from throttling her. “If I’m not allowed to have a breakdown right now, neither are you. Take a fucking breath, Serrano.”
I must have sounded very commanding, because she actually inhaled deeply, then exhaled.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry!”
“And don’t fucking apologize. Did you go to DBT or didn’t you?” I glanced irritably over her shoulder. “Song, quit it. It’s not going to fit. Tjuan is built like Gumby. We need to get Abigail on this.”
“I’ll make some calls,” said Song.
“I’m delaying everything,” moaned Alondra as Song began easing the sleeves back off, starting at the shoulders. Trying to pry Alondra away from self-pity was like trying to pry Monty off his cushioned window seat.
“No, you’re not,” I said. “The bottleneck here is getting that facade; that’s going to take days. We’re just trying the suit on so we can get to work on adjustments while we wait.”
“I can’t believe I’m already disappointing you.”
“To be frank, Serrano, you are behaving pretty much exactly as I expected.”
It landed like I’d slapped her.
“Song, comfort her,” I said, and headed for the stairs. Caryl had gone to Arcadia looking for Elliott, to warn him about Shiverlash, and she was due back any time now. I couldn’t quite bring myself to climb that spiral staircase, but I listened for a moment in the part of the hallway that I knew was next to the invisible door. Not a sound from above.
I went into my room, but left the door open behind me in case Caryl needed comforting when she got back. She hadn’t spoken to Elliott since his devastating rebuke nearly two days ago, so I wasn’t sure it would go well.
I took a seat at my desk and pulled out the sketches I’d been making. They weren’t recognizable as anything, weren’t labeled, not just because I was afraid they’d fall into the wrong hands, but because I wasn’t trying to make storyboards here, just putting my mental process into some more tangible form. The visual artist’s version of thinking out loud.
I traced back over the arrows I’d drawn, jotted down some numbers meant to represent approximate time frames. The asterisk meant Elliott; the dollar sign was Claybriar; the White Rose prison was a big triangle for some reason. No one had to understand but me. I was rehearsing it the only way I could, pencil moving over the paper as I visualized who would be where, and when, and how things could go wrong. Every time I thought of a new way we could screw up, I started again, adjusted the plan.
I don’t know exactly how long I sat there doing that, but it was dark outside when my phone rang. A generic ring; no one I was expecting. I glanced at the caller ID.
London, England.
The Clash merrily thumped its way into my subconscious in time with my accelerating heart.
I probably should have let the call go to voice mail, but some self-destructive impulse made me answer it.
“Good evening,” said Dame Belinda, although it wasn’t evening there. So thoughtful, that mental math. What a considerate lady.
“If it isn’t my number one fan,” I said.
“I trust you’re well? Recovered from your travels?”
I had no idea if she knew Tjuan and I had been arrested yesterday. If not, I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. “What can you possibly want at this hour?” I said.
“Ah, is that how we’re to behave? Very well, then. I am calling to inform you that your clever little plan has been betrayed.”
Shit. Shit. All the shit in the world.
I lost the feeling in my hands; I tried to work out who could possibly have leaked. Shock? Winterglass? Dawnrowan? Tracy? Shiverlash? Too many moving pieces.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I said in my best fake British accent. I flattered myself that the ensuing hiccup in the conversation meant I’d affronted her terribly.
“Mr. Winstanley remembered,” she said then. “The man Miss Vallo violated. Did you know that was his name?”
“I did,” I said, leaning my head on my desk. I took deep, slow breaths. Bad, but not as bad as I’d feared.
“Once I realized that you and Miss Vallo had been upstairs that night, I of course had my people do a thorough search. How strange, when I had to send someone to check for the Medial Vessel three times. Very clever.”
“That’s me,” I said weakly. “Clever.”
“We take good care of our Gates, Miss Roper,” Dame Belinda continued into my silence. “The time it will take for that artifact’s absence to be a handicap is much longer than it will take for us to thoroughly destroy your resistance. You are inconveniencing us at best.”
“And yet you’re calling me at what, four in the morning? Are you always up before the cock’s crow to let people in Los Angeles know how little they matter?”
My blood started to flow again; I could feel it throbbing in my fingertips. She still had no idea. If she even knew we were meeting with Dawnrowan, she’d have taunted me with it by now.
“I am calling you because I realize I must be missing something in your grand scheme. I know you are intelligent enough to realize that my patience is wearing thin, and that what I have done to your partner I can do to any number of others in your organization.”
“Can you, though?” I said. “Have you checked on your pet wraiths lately?”
A silence.
“Yeah, you might want to look into that,” I said. “That one that was guarding the empty box? That’s your last wraith, and now that I know I don’t need it in London anymore, I’m going to take it away too. So just how exactly are you going to pilot this army of facades you’re planning to ruin our lives with?”
Another brief silence.
“So it’s true, then,” she said. “The manticore has somehow returned.”
“Would you be shocked to hear that the Medial Vessel was involved in his recovery?”
“Ah,” she said. I could hear the pieces sliding into place in her mind. “I would not be shocked to hear that, no. It raises many questions, but it answers others to my satisfaction.”
“Are we finished here then?”
“No, because you are still in possession of stolen property, and I would like it returned.”
“Or?”
“Miss Roper, I still have the entirety of the Arcadia Project at my disposal. Do not force me to become creative.”
“Or, maybe you shouldn’t force us to tell the rest of the world we have the Vessel. What will they think, when they find out they have to play nice with Los Angeles if they want their Gates repaired? Maybe if you want to keep your control over all those other hundred and ninety-seven countries, you should leave ours the fuck alone for a bit.”
“This is a stalemate, not a victory,” said Dame Belinda. “And keep in mind that the more you narrow my civilized options, the less you will like the options I am forced to pursue.”
I ended the call. As much as I hated to let her have the last word, it was important to let her keep that smugness, to let her think she had all the time in the world to crush us under her heel.
• • •
Despite what I’d said to Alondra, it actually took nearly a week for Abigail to finish the alterations to the suits and to have them delivered back to the Residence. I spent the entire third day after the Unseelie Queen’s ultimatum biting my nails and popping Tums like candy, but we didn’t hear so much as a peep from Her Majesty, and Elliott was still safely bound up in spellwork. Shiverlash’s silence was somehow more unsettling than having her show up in a towering rage, but we were not in a position to investigate and potentially poke a sleeping dragon.
By the time we got the suits Monday afternoon, the day after Valentine’s Day, Shock’s facade was ready.
He’d done his best, but the facade’s skin was a shade and a half lighter than Alondra’s, and Alondra was noticeably plumper. The facade’s hair was a little shorter too, and Alondra refused to cut hers to match. We found a way they could both wear it up that disguised the difference in length, dressed them both identically, and hoped we’d be assisted by the fact that they would never be seen standing next to each other.
Elliott—who was now on polite speaking terms with Caryl and keeping himself constantly spellbound to avoid a summons by Shiverlash—had gotten pretty good at piloting a human body. He still took some time to study Alondra’s movements and mannerisms once Shock had helped him into his new ride. Back and forth the two gals walked in the upstairs hall; Alondra giggled at the way he mirrored her.
“Have you been to Arcadia before?” I asked her as I watched.
“Once,” she said, fingertips gingerly touching her freshly dressed hair. “A few years ago, when we thought we might have found my Echo.”
“I’m guessing it wasn’t?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged and gave me a sad half smile. Yet another reminder that all this time I’d spent resenting her voice and her face and her superior trauma, I’d been ignoring all of the reasons she had to envy me.
This particular reason, Claybriar, wasn’t long in joining us once all the rest of the pieces were in place Monday afternoon. I finished suiting up, shouldered a lightweight backpack with a collapsible toilet (thanks, Tjuan), travel first aid and sewing kits, emergency food, prosthetic supplies, et cetera, and the whole team headed through the Gate into Arcadia.