Absynthe, page 40
—and then disappeared.
“Grace?” Liam stood and peered into the gloom around him. “Colette? Please come back.”
But she didn’t. She’d left for good, leaving Liam feeling more empty than he’d ever felt before.
Sensing another presence in the room, he turned and found Alastair standing near the back door. The candles were burned down low, but the way his blue eyes stared at Grace’s empty chair, then at Liam, was pitying. He’d seen their exchange. He understood what Grace wanted Liam to do.
“Alastair—” Liam began, but he never had a chance to finish.
The doors to the kitchen swiveled opened, and Stasa and Bailey walked in. Behind them came Morgan. He was wrapped in a blanket and shivering terribly. They’d hardly entered the room when all three of them stopped. They stared at the candles, stared at the awkward way in which Liam and Alastair were regarding one another.
“What’s going on?” Stasa asked.
“Liam saw Grace,” Alastair said matter-of-factly.
Stasa’s gaze shifted to Liam. “Is that true?”
Liam shut his eyes. He didn’t want to tell them—he was terrified for Colette—but he couldn’t hide the truth from them. “Yes, it’s true.” He told them about Grace’s arrival, about their dance, how fatalistic she’d seemed, and the revelations about who Grace really was.
“That’s it?” Stasa said when he was done. “She shared all that and just left?”
“No,” Liam said. He couldn’t bring himself to voice Colette’s final wish.
Alastair’s blue eyes blinked as he waited for more, then his head tilted in what was, for him, an expression of regret. Focusing on Stasa and Bailey, he said, “Before she left, Grace asked Liam to kill her. She said if we waited, we risked Echo’s consciousness spreading to the scourges, but that if we act now, we can stop it before it’s too late.” Alastair paused. “She’s sacrificing herself to prevent Echo from enslaving us all.”
Stasa looked confused, then angry. “Were you going to tell us?” he asked Liam.
“I—” In truth, Liam wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t had time to work things through. He couldn’t bear the thought that Colette needed to die.
“Well,” Stasa pressed, “were you?”
Morgan, still shivering, pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter, Stasa. Tell him what we found.”
Stasa looked like he wanted to argue, but the longer he stared at Morgan, the more his anger faded, replaced by a look of regret. “On the Nest,” he said while turning toward Liam, “you’ll recall I’d begun studying how the scourge and thrall strains acted on one another through experiments using Dakota and Alan. It was what led to the unfortunate incident with Jonathan.”
Liam didn’t know where this was headed, but he was certain he wasn’t going to like it. “Go on.”
“Well, with Morgan’s help, I found something we can exploit. De Pere—Echo—has, metaphorically speaking, been acting like a communications hub, a nexus at the center of the scourges. I’ve managed to combine the scourge and psi strains in a novel manner, allowing someone else to act as the nexus of that hub, at least for a time.”
Liam’s gaze shifted from Stasa to Morgan and back. “You mean to do that to Morgan.”
Neither of them replied—they just stared, Morgan looking uncomfortable, Stasa looking vaguely guilty—and suddenly Liam understood. The reason Morgan was shivering so badly wasn’t because he was in pain; it was because he was concentrating.
“You’ve already given it to him, haven’t you?” Liam asked Stasa.
“Yes,” replied Morgan, “he has.”
Liam’s heart sank just thinking about what Morgan was going through, though it did explain the mystery of Grace’s sudden disappearance. Her shocked look, followed by her vanishing, was surely the moment Morgan supplanted Echo as the center of the hub.
“In all honesty, I didn’t mean for the serum to work,” Stasa said. “I thought what I was giving Morgan was merely a test to gauge its effectiveness, and that it would lead to other, better formulations. It ended up working spectacularly well. The only trouble is, it won’t last long.”
“Can’t you just give him more?” Liam asked.
“I don’t think it would help,” Morgan said. His shaking became so strong Liam thought he was going to collapse from it, but thankfully he recovered several seconds later. “The scourges are already starting to adjust,” he went on. “When they do, the serum itself won’t matter anymore.”
“I’m guessing we have three, maybe four hours,” Stasa said. “During that time, Colette will be isolated. Echo will be isolated.”
“Are you saying you can control them?” Liam asked. “The scourges? The thralls?”
Morgan shook his head. “It’s difficult enough holding them off. It’s like they know I’m wrong, that I’m not Echo.” He swallowed. “They’re hungry. They’re angry, though I don’t think they really understand why. They’re biding their time until Echo takes control again.”
Liam felt like he’d just been punched in the gut. The only thing he could think about was how Echo had ripped Nick Crawford’s mind to shreds. “They’re going kill you,” he said with certainty. “Either that or you’ll become one of them.”
“It was going to happen anyway.” Morgan looked as sad as Liam had ever seen him. The whites of his eyes were red. His irises, once hazel, were now a very dark brown, almost black. “I don’t want to live like this, Liam. I’d rather die, knowing I did something to help.”
He wanted to deny Morgan. He wanted to scream at them all that this was too much. “Couldn’t we take you away from the city?” He looked to Bailey, to Stasa. “We’re not ready to go against Echo so openly.”
It was Bailey who replied, “Yesterday, I might have agreed with you, but there’s more. I’ve just spoken to our contacts in the St. Lawrence Pact. They knew De Pere was close to unleashing something, but they didn’t realize how close.”
The cold that washed over Liam felt like he’d just stepped through an illusion. “And now they do.”
Bailey nodded gravely. “Their spies told them all they needed to know. They’ve declared war. Two dozen bombers are inbound from an airfield near Montreal. They’re planning a preemptive strike on Novo Solis before De Pere can deliver his national address at the Pinnacle.”
Liam’s first thought was to try to reason with the SLP, but what were the chances it would work? What was happening now was precisely what they’d feared when they’d declared war on the U.S. over a decade ago. They no doubt felt that bombing Novo Solis was the only choice left to them.
“If they’re coming from Montreal,” he said numbly, “they’ll reach the capital in less than three hours.”
Bailey nodded.
Liam turned to Morgan, speechless. He’d just learned that they needed to sacrifice Colette. Now Morgan would likely die as well—either when Echo regained its abilities and tore his mind to shreds or when the scourge took him, death of another sort.
Morgan shrugged. “We play the hand that’s dealt us, Liam.”
“Yes, but what a shit hand.”
Morgan actually laughed. “You’re not wrong, but this has to be done. You know it does.” When Liam started to object, Morgan talked over him. “You’re not the only one willing to die for your country, Liam.”
It took Liam several long moments to accept those words. Then he pulled Morgan in for a hug and held him close. He didn’t want to let him go.
“It’s all right, Liam.” Morgan held him at arm’s length and looked him up and down, just like he had after seeing Liam in his new suit before they left for Club Artemis. “I’m not dead yet.”
The words were bleak, but the humor in Morgan’s eyes reminded Liam of the old Morgan, and he burst into nervous laughter. Morgan laughed right along with him.
“It’s time, old chum,” Morgan said.
“It’s time,” Liam said with a nod. “Let’s do this together.”
Forty-Nine
Liam, strapped into a war-era hopper stolen years ago by the Uprising from a military surplus depot, stood beside a cascading fountain in a long, green park. The morning was cool, a thin fog drifting over the lawn. Being strapped into a hopper he might have worn ten years ago felt rather peculiar. His memories of the war were a catalog of horrors, but he felt unusually comfortable in the tall, lumbering exoskeleton, and that in turn was lending him confidence, a thing that had been in very short supply since his devastating conversation with Grace.
Ahead of Liam stood a bronze statue of Joan of Arc on her horse, sword raised. Beyond it, blocks away, he could see the base of the Pinnacle and its tall, golden spire towering above the trees. In front of the gleaming building, dozens of soldiers stood along its expansive plaza, ready to meet any threat. Limousines unloaded Novo Solis’s upper crust—politicians, the ultra-rich, their staff—all dressed impeccably for the coming address from President De Pere. The festive mood as they gathered in groups and headed inside made it clear they had no idea they were about to become victims. That Echo had chosen to begin its new reign using those most faithful to De Pere felt more than a little ironic. Then again, maybe Echo considered it an honor to be taken first. Who could tell with an alien intelligence like that?
A small red light on Liam’s bulky wristband suddenly flashed. He pressed a button to deactivate it, then dropped down to a copse of trees farther along the cascading fountain. Within the copse, Bailey and five Uprising soldiers waited in hopper suits of their own. Like Liam, the others were effectively invisible, masked by the illusion Liam had cast.
“Second team’s ready,” he said to the others.
Liam was still uncomfortable with Bailey’s inclusion in the strike team—she was a communications expert, and a hell of a markswoman, not a soldier—but when Liam had balked, Bailey had insisted.
“I’ve spent my hours in that suit, Liam Mulcahey,” she’d snapped, “same as you when you got certified. Now see here”—she stepped closer with a look that dared him to deny her—“I lost my brother to Echo’s plans. I nearly lost my husband. If you think you’re leaving me behind, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Seeing the fire in her eyes, Liam had relented. She deserved a chance to help set things right. In fact, her passion had given him hope. It left him with the feeling that they might actually pull this thing off.
Two hours had passed since their brief argument, which happened shortly after Bailey informed them that SLP bombers were inbound from Montreal. Every minute that passed made it more difficult for Morgan to hold the scourges at bay. They had an hour left, tops, to reach Colette and . . . Liam couldn’t bring himself to think about what came next.
“Everyone knows their assignments?” Liam asked.
“Yes, sir,” came the chorus.
“Then let’s head out.”
The plan was for Liam, Bailey, and their squad of hoppers to cause a diversion so that, when the security in the Pinnacle rushed toward them, the second team, which included Stasa, Alastair, Morgan, and their assigned detail of Uprising soldiers, could rush to the room below the spire, where the scourges and Colette herself were likely being kept.
Liam loped along the green lawn beside the cascading fountain, then leapt over a statue of Dante to reach 15th Street. He heard the other hoppers thumping along behind him. As the rubber cleats of his hopper’s legs struck the asphalt, he dropped the illusion hiding him and the others.
Foot traffic along the street wasn’t busy, but those who were out walking stopped in their tracks. They pointed and shouted. Some clustered in fear or sprinted away. Soon enough, the Pinnacle would be alerted, which was part of the point of being seen. The louder the alarm that was raised, the more the presidential security detail would focus on the south side of the building, which would allow Stasa’s team to head in from the north.
Ahead, Liam saw the first signs of the security perimeter, an intersection with a barricade that blocked all traffic to the street beyond. The guard detail, Marines wearing white gloves and dress blues, had rifles at the ready and would have been ordered to use them if needed. The Marines shouted. Lifted their rifles to their shoulders. Liam immediately leapt high and took to the roofs of the two- and three-story buildings on his right. Bailey and the others followed in high arcs as an order was bellowed along the street below. The crack of rifle fire broke above the siren that began to wail. It was followed by more sirens as Liam, Bailey, and the others approached the roof of a blocky white embassy building.
“Get ready!” Liam called over one shoulder.
Their final leap was going to be difficult, but it was doable. As he hit the embassy’s green-tiled roof, he shunted all available power to the hopper’s legs. He gave an almighty grunt while leaping high into the air. As he arced toward the terrace built over the Pinnacle’s southeastern wing, he pulled himself into a ball to make himself a smaller target.
The politicians and their aides along the front plaza ran helter-skelter, either into the Pinnacle or back to their waiting limousines. More security personnel held guns at the ready. Those nearest to Liam opened fire. Bullets whizzed through the crisp morning air. One struck Liam’s exoskeleton leg. Another whined as it ricocheted off the armor along his shoulder.
Liam dared one glance behind and saw the others bounding through the air. Then he was flying down fast toward the terrace’s sandstone tiles.
He stretched out the hopper’s legs, preparing for the landing.
He struck hard.
Or thought he did.
One moment, the Pinnacle’s paved roof and majestic spire lay before him. The next, he was plummeting down a well of sorts. All around him were brick walls with broken windows that stared like lidless eyes. Below lay a courtyard with a few benches, a rusty swing, an even rustier slide.
He came down at an awkward angle and struck one courtyard wall hard. He rebounded off it as best he could but scraped the bricks badly along his right side, losing his rifle in the process. It was all he could do to twist his body and right himself. He managed it, but still came down lopsided and fell to the ground.
He lay there, his breathing tight, as pain flared along his back and side. His elbow had struck the concrete so hard he was worried he’d broken a bone. He probed the area tenderly. Thankfully, he hadn’t broken anything, but his relief was short-lived. The building around him was growing, the walls reaching toward the sky. It felt as if he were falling down the well, never to return, never to see the light of day save the pinpoint of light high, high above.
He’d never been terribly susceptible to vertigo, but just then it was so strong he feared he would vomit from it. He knew it was an illusion, but it was as seamless a one as he’d ever seen.
“I overheard your little talk with Grace.”
It was Kohler’s voice, disembodied, the man himself hidden by the vision he’d crafted. Its sudden arrival made everything clear. Kohler had known about Liam’s approach. He’d probably started casting the illusion while Liam was en route to the Pinnacle. Or maybe Liam had it all wrong. Maybe he was still standing beside the cascading fountain. Or hell, maybe Kohler had been casting illusions from the moment Liam left the ballroom.
Liam pulled at the clasps along his arms, legs, and chest, freeing himself from the prone exoskeleton. He scrambled for his rifle even as he felt for the edges of Kohler’s illusion.
“I saw her begging you to end Colette’s life,” Kohler went on.
Liam felt the butt of his rifle, tried to snatch it up, but realized a moment later his hands had grasped at nothing, nothing at all. And the rub of it was, he wasn’t sure if he’d actually found the rifle and Kohler had masked it or if the illusion had been finding the rifle in the first place.
He’d never find it, he realized, not if Kohler didn’t want him to—he was three steps ahead of Liam, prepared for anything.
“If you heard my conversation,” Liam said as he came to a stand, “then you know how important it is that I reach the spire.”
“I know precisely how important it is, Mulcahey.”
“Then why did you bring me here?”
“To share, just like Grace did.” Kohler’s voice flitted from place to place. “You know, I debated letting you go ahead with this. Watching the world burn.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because I’m such a fucking softy, that’s why.” Long moments passed before Kohler spoke again. “You know, in a twisted way, you’re the cause of all this.”
Liam’s head jerked back. “I didn’t cause anything.”
“You understand more about Echo now. You know Colette is central to its consciousness. You probably realize you acted like a lifeline for her. Your influence helped her resist Echo’s desire to add another. Me. Do you know why, Liam? Any guesses what Colette was so afraid of?”
The answer was hardly a mystery. “She was afraid of what would happen when your mind was added to the mix.”
“Bingo. Echo wanted my knack for casting illusions, but there was something more, something it considered vital to its plans.”
“And what was that?”
The crunch of gravel broke across the courtyard—a small imperfection in the illusion—mere moments before pain burst across the right side of Liam’s face. “Ruthlessness, Liam. The willingness to do whatever it takes.”
Liam stumbled and fell. He scrambled to his feet, fists raised, fearing another attack, an attack that never came.
“Echo needed the sort of brutal realism,” Kohler went on, “that neither you nor Colette had.”
Liam pressed one hand to his cheek, felt the pain and heat coming from the welt. “If that’s true, then why are you saying I caused all this?”
