Fatal Strike (32 page)

Silva made an impatient sound. “This is the boss’s house from years ago, when his wife and son lived here. That’s his son.”

“Otherwise known as, ‘the turnip,’ ” Anabel muttered.

“You know you’d die on the spot if he heard you say that, right?” Silva scolded. Anabel snorted, unimpressed.

Greaves’
son
? She was so surprised, she tripped, stumbled almost to her knees. A painful jerk got her moving forward again.

Greaves’ son. The one who had led her to Miles, who conducted her to her visions, who had helped her hide from Anabel. Why . . . ?

They dragged her into a large room that opened onto a terrace that overlooked the lake. The sky was starting to lighten. Greaves stood there, arms clasped behind his back. His shock of hair glowed.

Anabel and Silva escorted her to where Greaves stood, and stepped back. Lara’s eyes skittered around the room. A snarl of medical machines was behind Greaves, and in the midst of them, a skeletal figure barely made a bump under the blanket. It reminded her, horribly, of the cadavers in her visions, like bundles of dry twigs in their rotting clothing. He took up about that much space.

Greaves followed her gaze. “Yes, that’s my son, Geoff,” he said. “He’s been in a coma for seventeen years, but I still hope for a miracle. Would you like to sit down, have some breakfast? Coffee?”

She stared at him, panting, from behind her snarled tangle of hair. Gritting her teeth against the agonizing pulse of pain in her wrist. The image of the thin, desolate little boy in her visions was as clear in her head as the room she saw before her.

Greaves laughed, softly. “Oh, yes, I remember now. You disdain my offers of hospitality on principle. Anabel, unfasten her wrists.”

Anabel stepped forward with a black-bladed knife. Lara braced herself for the pain as the woman sawed the blade through the tape, which had stretched and twisted into a tight, agonizing plastic cable.

It made her faint. Blood pressure going wonky. Her freed hand was thickly swollen, red and hot. She could barely move her fingers.

“Your hand looks terrible,” Greaves said, his voice solicitous. “Anabel, I told you to deliver her unharmed. How did this happen?”

“That was Rockwell, sir, and I didn’t tell him to—”

“You have a bad habit of blaming others for your mistakes,” he chided. He turned back to Lara. “I apologize for their roughness.”

“Don’t bother to scold her,” she said. “You don’t take responsibility for your mistakes, either.”

His smile froze for a moment, and then started to twinkle again.

“Feisty,” he said, in an admiring tone. “Of course, you were before, too, but your romp with Miles Davenport seems to have put even more steel into your spine.”

Hearing Miles’ name in Greaves’ mouth gave her a sickening thrill of fear. She stiffened against it.

“Finally, I can explain myself properly, and no one needs to get hurt,” Greaves said. “It’s what I’ve been trying to communicate all along. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone.”

“Tell that to Davy McCloud,” she said.

“Ah, yes, that. That was a shame. But he survived, didn’t he? And his little girl is just fine. I would never hurt a child. It was all a bluff.”

“You don’t consider what you did to me hurting?” Lara said, cradling her throbbing hand.

Greaves crossed his arms, his foot tapping as he thought it through. “Not at all. Most would have been broken by what you went through, but not you. It tempered you. Just look at you. Flashing eyes. Chin up. Indomitable. You are breathtaking, Lara.”

Her throat tightened with revulsion. “Oh, fuck off. I’ve been through too much to tolerate being slimed by you.”

His eyes flickered. “Moderate your anger,” he said. “You’re in no position to use language like that with me.”

True. She resolved to keep her mouth shut. Then her gaze happened across the large, dark ceramic vase, displayed on a black marble stand against the wall, and she felt the same shock of recognition she’d had in the vault.
Hers.
The big, squat, circular vase was a moving vortex of clay, the multicolored swirling glazes misleading the eye as if it were spinning. She had to look away quickly, before she started tripping. Part of the way up the vase was a triangular crack, seemingly natural, just below eye level of an average person, to peer inside.

Into Persephone’s dungeon.

To think she’d cast that sculpture right before her own dungeon had swallowed her. Maybe she’d had a gift of prophecy even before psi-max. A small yellow light was placed above the sculpture, sending a single ray of what seemed like sunlight through a small hole, right down upon Persephone’s upturned face, but she was immobilized by the stalagtites and stalagmites from above and below, pinned among them, as if she were clamped in toothy, goblin jaws.

“Oh, your sculpture. Yes. I was wondering if you would notice. I have several pieces of yours in my vault.”

“I saw them,” she said.

“I bought those for the Emerging Artists exhibit, at the new Greaves Museum of Modern Art, right here in Blaine. It will be inaugurated in just a few weeks. Your work is brilliant, by the way. I bought
Persephone’s Pride
for the museum, but then I got attached to it myself. That bland, graceful façade, and inside, agony, tension, but also hope. The ray of light, the threads of hanging plant roots—it’s amazing.”

She stared, stonily. “You didn’t have me kidnapped and beaten and dragged here to fawn over my sculptures.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said.

A wave of faintness throbbed through her. Her heart beat deafeningly loud in her ears for a moment. She dragged in a sobbing breath, and thought of Miles to steady herself. “Tell me, then.”

Greaves steepled his hands in a businesslike way. “All right. I told you how I wanted to save the world, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she said faintly. “You said something about that.”

“I meant it quite literally. I’m conducting a very ambitious project. It started years ago, when I was on a mission that involved researchers who were studying a virus. One of the effects of exposure was a decrease in aggressive behavior, a balancing of seratonin levels, a general state of increased calm and well-being. Naturally, I was intrigued by the possibilities. I funded further private research myself.”

Ice gripped her belly as the images of the quiet, wind-whipped world full of skeletons played before her mind. “No,” she whispered.

Greaves went on. “What we found was that the initial infection caused symptoms of a mild, viral, upper-respiratory infection, and the toxins released from cell death in the lungs had a curious effect upon the brain. Cumulative, long term, very slow, and gentle. And what it brings? Peace. Real peace. We’ve been testing it for years, in various forms, and the results are startling. We can revolutionize the human race biologically. Turn ourselves into the perfect species.”

Lara realized she was shaking her head. She forced herself to stop. This was not a conversation. His tone was so chatty and light, and meanwhile, she was looking at the naked skull on the newspaper on the park bench, the rats scuttling out of the museum.

A message rolled across her inner screen. update? yr killing me

soon she replied.

“You’re releasing this virus today, aren’t you?” she said. “At the award ceremony?”

Greaves blinked a few times. “That was quite a leap,” he said. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, with your psi gift. Not exactly. Not at the ceremony. This is the last phase of testing, you see. We’re still not releasing the airborne version, but we’re releasing a waterborne strain into the town’s water supply. I’m cutting the ribbon on a project that gives tens of millions to this town, but the real gift we’re giving is this.”

He opened a gleaming, hard-sided metal briefcase, and took out a tall, stoppered vial of clear liquid from its bed of molded foam. “I chose Blaine because I was born here. I owe so much to the place. This way, we can observe the results right here before we release the airborne version simultaneously in the big population centers all over the world. That will happen a year from now. Tell me, Lara. Have you seen my plan implemented in your visions?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

He looked expectant. “And?”

She forced air out of her tight chest. “Not good,” she said. “Global apocalypse. Everyone dead.”

He looked irritated. “Oh, come on. That’s not possible, Lara. We’ve tested the toxin’s effects for decades. There is no downside.”

“Then something unforeseen is going to change,” she said.

Greaves sighed. “Here we run into the limitations of your gift. It is imprecise, impressionistic. You can’t see the big picture. You are focusing in on a statistical anomaly. Consider the effect upon war, crime, domestic violence, exploitation, cruelty of all kinds against all creatures. Even climate change, the environment. Everything. You will learn to see the big picture when you are working with me.”

“With you?”

“Of course.” He sounded as if he were conferring a great honor. “I need intelligent people, with your special abilities. We will vaccinate you, of course. All my people are vaccinated.”

She actually started to laugh, though it sounded more like sobbing. “I can’t work with you. I can’t help you. I’ve seen it, Greaves! That statue of you in the square, covered with carrion crows and birdshit! I’ve seen wild animals wandering in and out of the museum. Human bones scattered around the fountain in the square.”

Greaves drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. “Artistic temperaments,” he muttered. “Maybe you haven’t quite grasped the situation, Lara. If you are not on my team, you serve no purpose at all, and you will be composted. Both of you.”

He stared intently into her face, and chuckled at what he saw. “Yes, Lara. I know he’s out there, with the assault rifle that he took from Wilcox. I can sense him now. In fact, I thought he was you before you were picked up in Portland. I haven’t pinpointed your frequency yet, but I’m confident I will soon. And he thinks he’s so stealthy. I was careful not to get near any windows. Not that his bullets could get through my telekinetic shield, but it is so unpleasant, having your windows shattered. It ruins a nice, relaxing meal.”

miles he knows ur out there he can feel u now b careful

bummer thnx where r u

lakefront room stay away pls stay away

Miles offered no response to that, which was not a good sign. Goddamn stubborn heroic types. She swallowed down a desperate sob.

“Let him skulk,” Greaves went on. “We’ll deal with him later. I want to talk to you first.”

“There’s nothing left to say,” she said.

“Don’t go running to meet that moment,” Greaves warned.

“That will be an unlucky moment for you. But leave aside unpleasant things for now. Let’s talk about something more interesting. Your shield.”

That took her by surprise and left her floundering. “My what?”

“Don’t play dumb. Your psi shield. I have a very personal interest in the mechanism that generates your shield. It’s like an invisibility cloak that masks your profile altogether. My son’s shield is like that.”

She looked at the still figure on the cot, its tangle of wires and tubes. Greaves watched her, intently. “Seventeen years he’s hidden in there. And I’ve waited,” Greaves said. “You must open that shield, and let me in. I want to study it. To understand it.”

“So you can pry open his?”

His silence and his glittering eyes answered her.

Dread was filling her, but there was no way to stave off the inevitable. “I can’t help you,” she said. “I don’t know how I generate it.”

Greaves grabbed her chin and jerked her face around to meet his eyes. “You are lying.”

She shook her head, as much as his bruising grip would allow. “No,” she said. “I really don’t know how it’s generated. I have no clue at all.” Which was, in fact, literally true.

Seconds ticked by. His gaze did not waver. It felt as if he were reading her mind, though she knew his probe could not penetrate Miles’ barrier. “No,” Greaves said slowly. “You are still lying. I can’t read your mind, but I can read your face.”

She tried again to shake her head, but his eyes were widening, elated. “My God. It’s not your shield at all.” His voice sounded almost delighted. “It’s his! He’s the one generating it. It was his all along. He’s completely masking your profile!”

oh shit miles he knows about yr shield

im right outside Miles replied.

no! go! run!

“You’re communicating with him right now, aren’t you?” He waggled her head with his gripping hand, painfully. “You sneaky bitch. He’s swallowed you up, inside his own shield! That’s amazing. I had no idea it could be done. Bring him in, immediately.”

“Huh?” She stared, gaping stupidly.

“Bring him in!” he said, more sharply. “Call him, now! I want to know more about this shield!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking ab—”

Smack.
He whacked her on the side of the jaw. She reeled, seeing stars, but unseen hands gripped her, jerked her upright. “Do not waste my time,” he said. “I have a lot to accomplish today. Call him!”

She took a deep breath. Braced herself. “No,” she said.

Greaves crossed his arms over his chest, regarding her steadily for a few moments. “Anabel,” he said calmly. “Come here. Put your knife to her carotid artery and take her outside.”

“Yes, sir.”

Anabel’s arm clamped around her, and the knife bit cold against her throat. The clamps of Greaves’ telekinesis fastened around her body, locking her arms against her.

Anabel’s breath was hot and rapid against her neck as Lara stumbled awkwardly in front of her toward the door. She messaged frantically.

he’s coming after u run run run NOW

The door opened. Anabel shoved her out the door, onto the porch.