Absynthe, page 14
“Do you have a moment to talk about Morgan Aysana?”
Geraldine went still as a statue. “Morgan?”
“Yes. I’m a friend of his, and he’s gone missing.”
“I’d heard, but . . .” She turned, noticing Bailey and Clay. “I don’t know anything about it. I wasn’t there that night.”
“Yes, that’s what I’d like to talk to you about.” Sensing that Geraldine was about to cause a scene, Liam went on as calmly and earnestly as he could. “I’m only trying to find him, Geraldine. Morgan’s in terrible trouble.”
“I understand, but—”
“It’s more than the abduction,” Liam went on. “Morgan’s sick. He needs our help.”
Geraldine swallowed hard. “You’re Liam?”
“I am.”
“Morgan’s told me about you. A lot, actually.” She paused. “What do you mean he’s sick?”
Liam motioned up to the tram line, where a sleek train of brushed silver and crimson accents was whirring toward the station. “Join me on the train? We’ll find a booth with a bit of privacy.”
She sent a nervous glance at Bailey and Clay.
“Just you and me,” Liam said quickly. “One time around the Loop.”
Geraldine paused, then nodded. “One time.”
Liam waved to Bailey and Clay. “Wait for me,” he said, then walked with Geraldine up the stairs and into the waiting tram. They sat in two facing seats with a small table between them. It was far enough from other passengers that their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. As the train whirred into motion, Liam told his story, from the absynthe to the firefight to his escape with Morgan. He left out Grace—the last thing he needed was for a woman like Geraldine to become suspicious that he was in with the Uprising—but he told her the rest. Dr. Ramachandra, the coppers chasing them on the way to the Aysana estate, Morgan’s worsening symptoms and the battle outside the doctor’s office.
“What does any of this have to do with me?” she asked when he’d finished.
“In the message you left for Morgan, you said he should leave the speakeasy and head home straight away. Why?”
Geraldine broke her gaze from Liam’s. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”
Liam took a measured breath. “Do you care about Morgan?”
“Of course I do.” She looked guarded, as if she were trying to insulate herself from her own feelings. “Morgan’s swell.”
“Which is why you warned him away. You knew something was going to happen that night, and you didn’t want to see him get hurt.”
A long pause followed. The train stopped, a few passengers got off, a few more got on. Only when it had picked up speed again did Geraldine meet Liam’s gaze and speak in a low voice, “I didn’t know what was going to happen, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Of course not.”
“And my father wouldn’t have sanctioned killings.”
“No, that sort of thing would have been hidden from him.” Liam wasn’t at all sure that was true, but he needed Geraldine on his side.
Geraldine’s eyes went distant as she stared out the nearby window, where the grand entrance to White City Amusement Park was scrolling past. “I should’ve told him more, to get him away.”
“But why try to send him away in the first place? What did you hear?”
“My father and the President were speaking in his office. They were talking about the efforts to stop the bootleg trade. I heard the President mention Club Artemis right after.”
“That’s all you heard?”
“That’s all, I swear. My mother called me away moments later.”
Geraldine’s mannerisms had changed. Her lips were tight. She kept swallowing. Her hands were wringing her blue kidskin gloves, which she’d removed when they sat down. She’d been surprised earlier. Now she was scared. It felt as if she were building a wall, and the longer Liam waited, the higher and more unassailable it would become.
Further down the car, Liam caught sight of a little boy wearing his Sunday best: vest, knickerbockers, high socks with shiny black shoes. Geraldine followed his gaze and gave a small smile, then quickly let it fade, as if she feared that showing any form of tenderness would form cracks in the wall.
“When we were young,” Liam said, “Morgan and I used to go fishing at the ponds on the north side of his father’s estate. We found a bee hive, and like all wise young boys coming across a bee hive began lobbing rocks at it. The hive broke, and bees came pouring out. They swarmed us and we bolted, but I didn’t see the gopher hole. Down I went, breaking my ankle in the process. Most kids would have kept running, but not Morgan. When he saw me lying there inside that cloud of bees, he snatched up a stick and started roaring like a Viking. That stupid, idiot boy swept in, swinging that little stick of his as if it was going to do any good against a swarm of bees. Eventually he saw how useless it was. When he did, he knelt by my side, lifted me up, and carried me away. We were both stung badly.”
Liam glanced at the boy further up the aisle, who was giggling at the faces his father was making.
“I still don’t know how he found the strength,” Liam went on, “but like John Henry, he just kept on chugging while the bees stung both of us, over and over. Somehow Morgan got more stings than me. We counted them. I had forty-three, he had fifty-two. From then on, whenever we played games together, he would joke that he was going to beat me by nine.”
Geraldine was looking anywhere but at Liam. The boy, meanwhile, broke into peals of laughter, a result of his father’s tickling.
“Morgan’s hurting, Geraldine. He’s hurting badly, and I need to help him.”
Geraldine’s eyes were tearing. “He said he was going to get out.”
At first Liam thought she meant Morgan, but then it became clear she was talking about her father. “Get out of what?” he asked carefully.
She regarded him with reddened eyes. “My father’s had a hand in dark business for some time. Mother and I have tried to warn him away, urged him to stop dealing with the likes of Leland De Pere, but he doesn’t listen. Says he’s in too deep to back out. And now it’s come to this. Murder. Poisoning people in speakeasies. Taking them . . .”
Liam paused. Geraldine was the first person outside the Uprising who seemed to know anything was strange about Leland De Pere. “What do you know about the President?” he asked her.
Geraldine went stone-faced, as if she feared she’d already said too much.
“At least tell me about Morgan,” Liam pressed. “If you know where he is, you must tell me.”
Geraldine blinked her tears away, dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the back of one knuckle.
The train was nearing the flower market. It was already slowing, but she yanked on the bell line anyway. It clanged twice and she moved to stand in the aisle, her eyes focused on the approaching platform.
“Please,” Liam said. “Morgan’s in terrible danger. You know he is.”
She said nothing, not until the doors hissed open and they stepped onto the platform, where a few dozen were waiting to enter. She waited until the platform was empty, then spoke in a low voice. “My father spends an inordinate amount of time in meetings at the Kovacs Power and Light Building. I heard him say once that there’s a lab of some sort at the top, just below the sphere.”
Liam’s heart leapt. Keeping his voice as low as hers, he asked, “Do you know of a way in?”
“No, but there’s a banquet being hosted on Friday for the President’s departure. I’ll add an entry for you plus a date.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t imagine I should use your real name.”
Liam thought for a moment. “Use John and Viola Williams.”
Geraldine laughed. “Was there ever a more American name than ‘John Williams’?”
“No,” he said, “and that’s precisely the point. Thank you, Geraldine.”
Without another word, she took the stairs down and headed toward Bullock, who was wandering the rows of the market, umbrella in one hand, Geraldine’s purse in the other, casting his orange-eyed gaze this way and that. On spotting Geraldine, he shuddered, rumbled his way over to her, and covered her with the umbrella. What questions he might have for Geraldine, and the sort of answers she would give, Liam had no idea. Together, they made their way through the crowd and were soon lost around a corner.
Sixteen
Only when Bullock was out of sight did Alastair, who’d managed to slip Bullock after coming dangerously close to getting caught, return to the group. They left the flower market immediately after, piled into the Nash, and headed east, toward downtown.
“I thought we were going to the domes,” Liam said.
“Change of plans,” Bailey said. “Grace is back in town, and she wants to talk.”
Clay looked in the rearview. “We’re in trouble, Liam.”
“Trouble?” Alastair, normally so unflappable, sat up straighter and blinked several times. He seemed beside himself with worry. “Why?”
“Protocol,” Clay said. “Shit’s supposed to roll downhill, never up.”
Clay drove them downtown to the Drake Hotel, apparently a haven for the Uprising, at which point the four of them headed up the elevator to a suite on the uppermost floor. Grace met them there, and she seemed far from pleased. “Can I speak to the two of you alone?” she said to Bailey and Clay.
The three of them headed to an adjoining room, leaving Liam alone with Alastair. Alastair paced before the windows, beyond which were the gleaming buildings of downtown.
“It’ll be all right,” Liam told him.
Alastair glanced toward the door the others had gone through, now the source of a muted but clearly tense conversation. “I’m not so sure, Master Mulcahey. She’s liable to send me home.”
“She won’t.”
“You don’t know that.” His pacing quickened, his mechanical feet making zipping sounds over the carpet. “We need to find Master Morgan.”
“We will,” Liam said. “We’ve already made progress.”
But nothing Liam said seemed to calm him. Fortunately, the others returned a short while later. Bailey and Clay, both looking chagrined, left without saying a word.
“Alastair, could you go with them?” Grace asked. “I’d like to speak to Liam alone.”
Alastair blinked once, twice, then headed toward the door with a hydraulic whine. “Of course.” He paused on the threshold. “I’m very sorry for any distress I may have caused.” And then he was gone, closing the door behind him.
Grace, meanwhile, seemed more pensive than angry. “You told me you wanted to help save Morgan.”
“I do,” Liam said.
“Okay, but that means you’re part of a team, part of my team.” It was a simple statement, but a woman like Grace would know the effect those words would have on a military man like Liam, someone who had put his life in the hands of commanders and squad mates, both. “The only way we do this, the only way we save Morgan, is by doing it together. You should have waited until we’d all spoken, until we’d had a chance to digest it and make a solid plan. We could have found Geraldine in any number of ways that were safer.”
“It was safe.”
“You don’t know that. You’re only just entering a world you have little concept of.” She paused, becoming suddenly very intense. “Since forming the Uprising, I’ve gone to great pains with every step I’ve taken. Every step we’ve all taken. And for good reason. It’s a very dangerous game we’re playing. One wrong move and it’ll be lost. All of it.”
Part of Liam wanted to justify what he’d done, to tell Grace the risk had been worth it for Morgan’s sake, but standing there, seeing the hint of terror in Grace’s eyes, he realized how rashly he’d acted, how his choices had put everyone at risk.
“You’re right,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.”
Grace seemed to unwind a bit. “To be honest, I’m not surprised you pushed for it, nor that Clay gave in. I’m most surprised Bailey agreed. She’s taken a shine to you. And Clay looks up to you.”
Liam scoffed. “Clay?”
“Don’t act so surprised. You were close during the war. And for a time, you were his commander.”
“Max Kohler was our commander.”
“In the beginning, yes. You eventually took his place.”
“I did?” Liam could remember nothing of the sort.
“You did, though the circumstances around your promotion are unclear. The point is, Clay trusts you. Make sure you don’t abuse it.”
“Of course.” Liam felt his cheeks flush. He had betrayed Clay’s trust. And Bailey’s. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” She waved to the room where she’d spoken to the others. “Speaking of the war, I hear your memories are starting to fill in?”
“A few glimpses of it, yes.”
She nodded. “It’s likely due to the serum we gave you.”
Liam shook his head. “What serum?”
“The one we put in the absynthe at Club Artemis.”
It explained Bailey’s presence in the kitchen of the speakeasy—she was there to spike the absynthe. It might also explain why Charlie, Elle, and Violet had been acting so strangely.
“With your permission,” Grace went on, “I’m going to ask Stasa to make adjustments so it will work better with your genetic signature. It should strengthen the effects.”
“I must be moving up in the world for you to ask my permission.”
Grace cringed. “I’m sorry about that, Liam, truly, but it was necessary. We didn’t know enough about you then.”
“It was only a joke—a poor one, apparently, given your reaction. Yes, you have my permission.”
“Good, because I’ve a feeling there are important things locked inside your head. The sooner we get to them, the better. Now, to business. Since you’ve secured a way into the President’s farewell banquet, we need to prepare for it.”
She asked him to detail everything Geraldine had told him, which Liam did. “She seemed to know a fair bit about De Pere himself,” he said when it was done.
Grace shrugged. “There are a privileged few who do know some of De Pere’s darker secrets. Some hope to profit off the new world order De Pere is trying to put in place. Others remain silent in fear of the Cabal making experiments of them.”
As in the domes, Liam was starting to feel overwhelmed. “It all feels so big, Grace.”
“I know. But one step at a time. I have a meeting I need to take tonight, but Stasa arrives in the morning. We’ll make a solid plan. Then I’ll teach you some of the basics around illusions, at least enough to detect any you find at the dinner and tear them down.”
What followed was a blur of activity that consumed the rest of the afternoon. Grace eventually left the Drake to meet others from the Uprising. The following morning, as the sun rose over the lake and shone brightly across the city, Stasa arrived with a set of architectural prints for the Kovacs Power and Light building, a structure he’d helped design.
When Bailey and Clay had joined them, Stasa laid out the blue architectural prints on a glass-topped table and everyone gathered around. The topmost drawing was a side-view rendering. The building was simple but elegant, its most distinguishing feature the massive, stainless steel sphere at the top, which was activated at night. The sphere was, in essence, a Van de Graaff generator. It sent sparks of static electricity flying into the sky over Chicago, a statement of technological prowess.
“Gotta feel strange,” Clay said, “breaking into your own building.”
“A building I still own, by the way,” Stasa said in an indignant tone. “At least on paper . . . I don’t think it will feel strange, though. It will feel like sweet justice, the Cabal getting their just deserts after taking it from me.”
The Cabal had abducted Stasa from the very same building, apparently. They’d taken control of it since, using it as their main base of operations in Chicago.
“The two most likely places for them to have a lab are here . . .” Stasa tapped the top of the tower, a room just below the sphere. “And here,”—he tapped the lowest part of the drawing, the part below ground—“sub-basement four.”
“Geraldine specifically mentioned the top,” Liam said. “ ‘Just below the sphere,’ she said.”
“I understand,” replied Stasa, “but we can’t ignore the sub-basement, which is why we’re splitting into two teams. Grace will lead a strike team in the sub-basement while Liam and Bailey go to the top of the tower.” He pulled out a detailed, top-down layout of the eightieth floor. It showed a ballroom with an attached kitchen, a lounge, and a viewing platform that circumnavigated the building. “There’s no elevator to the eighty-first floor.” He pointed to the right side of the map. “It has a dedicated stairwell, accessible between the bar and the ballroom, near the lavatories—or at least it did. Construction on the uppermost floors was reported a month after my rescue by Clay. They may have moved the stairwell’s location, and either way, they’ll have illusions over it. Your mission,” he said to Liam, “is to find the stairwell and make your way to the topmost floor.”
“Easy peasy,” Clay said.
“No,” Stasa shot back, “it most assuredly will not be easy peasy.”
Clay slapped Liam on the back. “You’re underestimating our man here.”
“I hope that’s true”—Stasa smiled, not unpleasantly—“but let’s not take it for granted.”
“No offense to Bailey,” Liam said, “but wouldn’t it be better if Grace joined me at the reception?”
“No,” Grace said flatly. “If we’re going to succeed, the other team needs an illusionist as well.”
“Then send me with the second team and you go with Bailey. I’m not good enough yet, and Morgan’s too important.” Liam was no stranger to difficult situations, and didn’t mind being in one again. He only wanted Morgan to have the best chance at being rescued.
