Chains of Ice (38 page)

“Especially with Irving in extremis—”

Appalled, John glanced at the bed where Irving still clung to life.

What had he been thinking? To lust after a woman while they were in such circumstances?

He’d been thinking he hadn’t had sex in two and a half years, and now the woman he loved was within reach and healthy. He was thinking he was horny.

Irving would understand.

Irving would approve.

Genny caught his hand and tugged at it. “John, are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” Which wasn’t strictly true. He couldn’t tear his attention away from her, but he wasn’t really
listening
.

She said, “We need to get out the bones and put them together.
Now
. The purse is getting heavy in my pocket.”

He glanced up.

Jacqueline was beckoning them.

Just figures.

Dina called hoarsely, “Irving wants you all over here.”

So somehow, she was listening to Irving’s thoughts.

Genny stood, walked to the bed, and John trailed her, wishing their reunion could be some other place, some other time.
Irving, my friend . . . did you know this conclusion would come to us so soon after your sacrifice?

No, of course he didn’t. He had offered himself in an act of blind faith. He had had no guarantee it would work.

The Chosen Ones pulled into a tight circle around the bed.

Dina indicated the bones should be placed on the rolling bedside table.

John supposed some people would find this scene odd or even disrespectful: thirteen individuals of different ages, genders, and races around a dying man’s hospital bed, opening ancient leather sacks tied with strings of yellow, red, and blue and pouring petrified bones into three small piles. But most people didn’t know Irving. No one here doubted this was what he wanted; no one here would disregard his wishes.

“This is right.” Jacqueline counted. “Twenty-seven bones. Exactly right. The prophecy is right here. Now all I need is . . .” She placed her hand over one pile, then the other, then stepped back, shaking her head in frustration.

“The bones need to be assembled,” Genny said, “into the shape of the hand.”

Every eye turned her way—some with interest, some with incredulity.

John put his hand on her shoulder. “She has a feel for these artifacts.”

“She feels it in her bones?” Charisma grinned.

A ripple of edgy amusement swept the room.

Charisma covered her mouth with her hand and looked apologetically at Dina. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Dina gestured wearily, and in that heavy voice they all recognized from the words she had put in their heads, said, “He would laugh, too. That was why I loved him. Because he made me laugh. And why I hated him. Because he made a fool of me.”

“You deserved it,” Martha said fiercely.

“Shut up, Martha,” Dina answered just as fiercely.

The Chosen Ones looked from one to the other, uncertain how to respond to the sharp, unexpected hostility.

Genny stepped into the breach. “I haven’t met everyone here. I know Martha, but you’re . . . Dina?”

Dina dipped her head, a single nod.

“I’m Genny.” She reached out.

Dina reluctantly gave her her hand.

Genny shook it. “I had heard your name, but I hadn’t realized you were sisters.”

All sound ceased. All motion stopped.

Genny didn’t know what she’d said. She glanced at John.

He stood frozen, only his pale blue eyes in motion, touching first Martha, then Dina, then Martha again.

“I’m sorry.” Somehow, Genny had put her foot in it. “You’re not sisters?”

Charisma stirred, rattled her stone bracelets, said, “Of course they are. We simply hadn’t realized it before.”

Martha said, “We’re sisters by blood only.”

Dina lifted her chin. “We had the same parents, but that was an accident of fate.”

As if she was quoting some great tome, Rosamund asked, “In the end, what matters except blood and kin?”

Genny thought Rosamund was right.

Hadn’t Genny allowed her father to go about his merry way without bothering to set him straight about what a monster of a father he had turned out to be? Possibly she’d kept her mouth shut because he wouldn’t understand. But possibly she’d said nothing because . . . he was her father. And if she’d been adamant enough, if she’d held the mirror to his face and insisted he see the truth . . . what good would it have done? He would still be a thief—immoral and weak. Not a better man, but one who saw himself for what he was and despised himself.

She might get satisfaction from such a revelation, but what would be accomplished?

Nothing. Everyone was allowed their self-delusions. She would allow her father his.

Family. Friends. In the end, that was all that mattered.

Charisma heard every word as if Genny spoke inside her mind. She said softly, so softly, “It’s time.”

John heard her, of course. “Time for what?”

Charisma was staring at the stones in her bracelets. Gradually, she lifted her head and looked at John. “It’s time. Take my hand.”

Genny wanted to back away. What did Charisma mean? Why did she look so determined, so intense?

John seemed to understand. He clasped her proffered hand, then Genny’s. Aleksandr took Genny’s other hand. All around the room, hands were clasped, held tightly.

This was some kind of ritual, Genny realized. Something involving the Chosen Ones and their mates . . .

Until Martha stopped them. “
She
is one of the Others.” She pointed at Dina. “She cannot be part of this.”

“I don’t belong here.” Dina lifted her chin.

The energy in the room paused, faded—

One of the machines beeped an alarm.

Still sunken, still broken, still unconscious, Irving reached out and grabbed Dina’s hand.

Caleb laughed, briefly, harshly. “He’s not dead yet.”

Dina’s eyes filled with tender tears.

Martha turned her gaze away as if the sight of Irving holding Dina burned her.

But Charisma grabbed McKenna’s hand, and McKenna took Martha’s hand, and it continued until the connection was complete.

Reaction was immediate. Heat, light, electricity flashed around the circle, uniting Genny with everyone in the room. She felt Irving’s pain, Dina’s uncertainty, Martha’s resentment. For that one instant, she could hear the stones like Charisma, see the future like Jacqueline, search the library with knowledge and instinct like Rosamund. All the talents, the passions, the laughter and tears were hers.

Then . . . she was once again Genny, but no longer alone. A part of them was in her. A part of her was in them.

“What was
that
?” Dina snatched her hands away and held them in fists against her stomach.

“That’s how we know that we’re supposed to be together,” Isabelle told her.

“Not me. That’s wrong.” Dina looked around wildly, then muttered, “I need a cigarette,” and pushed her way toward the door.

“No!” The voice came from the bed.

Dina froze.

Isabelle and Martha gasped.

John stared.

Irving’s eyes were open, alert, commanding. “No,” he said again. “Come back.” His eyes closed.

The door slapped against the wall. Makayla stood there like an avenging goddess.

Aleksandr pushed the rolling table covered with hand bones behind him.

“What is going on in here?” Makayla pushed her way to Irving’s side. “What did you do to him?”

“What’s wrong?” Isabelle managed to look both innocent and in command.

Makayla checked the monitors, counted Irving’s pulse, listened to his lungs. “It’s like he had a defibrillator to his chest. He’s stabilized. Doing better. All of a sudden.” She whipped around, glared at them menacingly.

Charisma pumped her arm.

Genny smiled. “What good news!”

“That’s miraculous.” Samuel leaned toward Makayla.

She glared at him as if she knew his gift was mind control. “Don’t you try anything on me.” Pointing her finger around at the group, she said, “I’ll be keeping an eye on all of you.” With a final glare, she left, muttering, “I’ll get the doctor in here as soon as I can.”

Dina stood by the door, twisted her hands together.

Martha gestured toward the bed. “Are you going to come back? Or are you going to run away again?”

Dina’s whole demeanor caught fire. “I didn’t run away last time. After I gave him what he wanted, he tossed me out like garbage.” She pointed to her mutilated nose. “Don’t tell me
I
betrayed
him
.”

“Then leave,” Martha said. “Just leave.”

“Irving came out of his coma to call you back.” Isabelle sounded cool and sensible. “Of course, he’s not
healed
. I hate to think that he would die without you.”

Dina looked around helplessly. Pulled her cigarettes out of her pocket, looked at them, then put them back and trudged to Irving’s side.

Displaying a tact that seemed almost miraculous for such a young man, Aleksandr said, “Let me put the bones together.”

He had the knack for puzzles. He studied the three stacks of bones. Then, one by one, he placed them on the table, starting with the wrist and slowly re-creating the thumb and fingers all the way to the end joints.

The Chosen Ones crowded around to watch.

On the bed, Irving breathed in, then out, each rise of his chest a labor.

At last Aleksandr stepped back.

The group drew a single indrawn breath.

Dark marks were etched on four of the bones—the bones that formed the palm. When placed together, they formed a clearly recognizable outline . . .

Jacqueline held her hand out, palm up.

Genny stared first at the black lines that marked Jacqueline as a seer, then at the bones on the table. “The eye.”

“It’s the same,” Isabelle said.

“Like the bad twin when the world was young.” Aleksandr stepped back. “That is creepy.”

“Do you think this is the bad twin’s hand?” Rosamund bent down to study the bones from the side, then stood on her tiptoes, adjusted her glasses, and examined them again.

“Duh.” Charisma rolled her eyes.

Earnestly, Rosamund said, “For a hand to have survived since some undefined past ‘when the world was young’—and for it to be the hand of the evil twin—and then to have it be divided into three packages that miraculously reunite here and now . . . that would be unlikely.” Her mouth twitched in a half smile. “It would also be helpful.”

Another silence fell as they contemplated the hand.

“Man, I hope they waited until she was dead before they removed it,” Samuel said.

“The bones show no signs of chopping or sawing. So, yes. I believe someone probably removed the bones from her skeleton.” Caleb sounded like he knew his way around human mutilations. “Jacqueline, can you see anything with this?”

Genny looked around the room. An elderly man lay dying on the bed, apparently still commanding the twelve people who watched spellbound as Jacqueline placed her hand over the bones in the exact imitation of the shape and position. Nothing happened; no fireworks or frothing at the mouth. Instead, Jacqueline said, “She died a natural death, very quiet and serene, secure in the knowledge that she would live again.”

Caleb took her shoulders in his hands. “Jacqueline, are you there?”