A Sea of Purple Ink (25 page)

34

Reese reached into the tunnel and swung at the dangling wires. With a few quick slashes, the lines fell useless. Reese sheathed the blade beside the unused ammunition and crawled into the small space.
At least now we can’t get hit with a burn from behind. Our only danger is if someone up ahead tries to contact someone down here.
She wrestled her skirt out of the way.
But the service call should keep that from happening.
She reached behind her. “Lantern.”

Tyrone pressed the warm handle into her grasp. “Do you really think you’re going to fit through there?” he asked.

“I should.” Reese pulled the light past the mountain of skirt and wriggled deeper into the tunnel. “Stick close and keep quiet.”

The next several minutes gave Reese a new equivalent of long. Inch by inch, one hand full of lantern, the other scrabbling heavy folds of fabric out of the way, elbows banging into the walls and the rough wire plates. A sensation that, at any moment, she might stick fast.

They crawled for what seemed an eternity, through passage after passage.

Finally, Reese stopped.
We have to be close.
She set the lantern on the tunnel floor and wiped sweat from her forehead. Just beside her, a few wires diverted from the main route and snaked off into a narrow slit in the wall. Reese eyed it.
I bet that’s where the king’s messages go.
The thought gave her an excited thrill.
There’s got to be another service exit around here somewhere.

Gritting her teeth, she picked up the lantern and wriggled onward. Sure enough, in a few yards a square of metal plating appeared in the side of the tunnel. Reese gave it an experimental shove. It didn’t budge.

“Tyrone,” she whispered. “Can you get this open?” She crawled past it and craned to see over her shoulder.

In the flickering light, the merchant looked haggard and dusty. “Maybe,” he said. He crawled forward and tapped the metal with his fingertips. Then he poked at a corner. “There’s a lever down here…”

The metal peeled away and fell in a shimmering arc.

Reese grabbed at the sheet and missed.

Clang.
The metal landed on the marble floor of a well-lit hallway with a reverberating crash.

Not good. Not good.
“Go,” Reese hissed. “Get out, quick.”

Tyrone scrambled out through the hole into the hall.

Pulse pounding, Reese pushed herself backward, threading herself through the gap in reverse. Her feet hit the floor, and she ducked out of the way.
Down the hall.
“This way,” she whispered. She pulled her gun out and ran.

The hallway ended in another passage, this one with a rich purple carpet. To the left it ran on straight. To the right stood a heavy, dark wood door.

That’s got to be it.
Reese hurried to the lock and set the unneeded lantern on the floor. “Just one more lock.” She reached for a hairpin.

“Wait,” Tyrone said.

Reese pulled the pin and looked up.
What?

The merchant kissed her.

Reese felt as if the floor of the room were liquid. The pin trembled in her hand.

Tyrone pulled away. “There,” he said. “That’s just in case.” He stooped to pick up the lantern.

Thanks for that vote of confidence.
Reese struggled to find words, then gave up.
Forget this.
She whirled on the innocent latch and stabbed the pin deep into the lock workings. “If you see anyone coming, shoot,” she said.
At this point we can’t hide much longer anyway.

The lock gave way. Reese pushed the door open and stepped inside the king’s apartments.

Oil lamps flickered in regular recesses around the edges of the room. Deep purple carpet stretched across the expanse. Reese moved farther in. A desk made of heavy wood. A couple of upholstered couches.
Plenty of space to hide if it comes to a shootout.

Tyrone pulled the door shut. “I thought it would look more abandoned than this.”

Reese doubled back to the door and locked it. “Help me drag a sofa across the door.”

They crossed the room to the couches. Reese took up her position at the far end of the heavy furniture.

Tyrone pointed to the inner door. “Do you suppose anyone’s hiding in there?” he whispered.

“We’ll find out soon enough. Heave.” Reese braced her feet against the floor and pushed. At the opposite arm, Tyrone pulled. The sofa slid easily along the smooth carpet until they had it in position in front of the door.

“That’ll at least slow anyone down,” Reese said.
It is surprisingly clean in here. Someone must be trying to make it look like the king is still here.
She took the lantern from Tyrone.

Tyrone eyed her, a teasing smile on his face. “You look like you just lost a fight with a rat.”

Reese looked down. Tiny cuts and tears lined the once-rich fabric. Soot and ash from the lantern. Even a few scorch marks. A vague sense of sadness welled up inside her.
Although, I’ll be lucky if a dress is all I lose today.
Reese started for the other room.

On the far side of the door was a darkened sitting room. Large windows lined the outer wall, displaying a view of the capital at night. Tiny pinpoints of light flecked the town, partly obscured by the shifting mists.

We’re above the level of the mist here. I didn’t know that was possible.
Reese set the lantern down on the floor.
No sense showing lights that someone might see.
She crossed the room and began feeling for the window latch.

“Remind me of what happens next,” Tyrone whispered, coming up beside her.

Reese’s groping fingers found the lever bar. She forced it down until the window edge popped free. “Joplin gets in,” she said, pushing the great pane of glass forward. Cool night air blew in through the opening. Reese felt her hair lift gently in the breeze. “Then we find some loyal police who know who he is and will believe his story.” She stepped back from the window and folded her arms. “And if we’re lucky, he may remember for himself.”

Tyrone leaned forward and peered out of the window. “That’s a long drop,” he said. Then he leaned farther. “Although, it doesn’t look impossible to climb, in a pinch.” He turned and walked toward the other side of the room.

Reese breathed deep. The smell of the mists came up from the city below. She could see the white lights marking the Outer Circle wall. The glint of moonlight on the distant sea. And far away… Reese moved closer to the window. Faint lights shone on the far horizon. The mainland. Freedom.

Tyrone lifted the tiny lantern with a metallic clang and wandered deeper into the room. “I must say, for a king, he has a remarkable collection of books.”

Reese gripped the edge of the window with one hand and leaned forward, staring hard.
Is it a ship?
At that distance she couldn’t tell.

Tyrone gave a low whistle. “Vintage pistols,” he said. “Rather expensive wall decoration.”

A dark shape whisked between Reese and the lights below. She jumped back out of the way.

Joplin appeared in the open space and peeled off his dark mask. He crouched on the window ledge, panting for breath. “Everything clear?” he asked.

“Well, there are glass shards all over a service room,” Tyrone said. “And a rogue wine glass somewhere in the passages.” He pretended to stroke his chin in deep thought. “Oh, and we rearranged some of your furniture, but besides that, all seems quiet.”

Reese studied the king’s face. “Anyone see you on the way in?”

He eased inside the window, eyes alert, scanning the darkened room. “No…” he said. His voice trailed off and he stared at the room with the desk.

“Remembering something?” Reese’s anticipation built.
Come on. This will be so much easier if you remember.

The king took a few hesitating steps across the floor toward the door. His shoulders blotted out most of the light from the doorway and cast him into sharp silhouette.

Tyrone stood beside Reese, the lantern in his hand. “We’re on our way,” he whispered.

Reese nodded, but kept her attention on the king. She followed as he pushed the door open wider and stepped into the lamplit space.

Suddenly the king seemed to grow taller. One hand came up, pointing toward the desk. “I know that,” he said. His voice shook with anger. “I know this room.”

A metallic sound caught Reese’s ear. She glanced over her shoulder.

Tyrone grinned at her.

I don’t think that was him. It came from where we just were.
She motioned for the merchant to step away from the door and drew her gun. The door to the room of windows stood half closed, shielding whatever lay behind it in darkness. A prickle of unease ran through Reese.
Window blowing shut? Too close.

“He attacked me here,” Joplin said. “He…” His voice caught.

Reese trained her gun on the door and risked a glance at the king.

He stood, back stiff, staring at the desk.

He’s got it.

Then the king turned around. His gaze fell on Reese and his face sprang into surprised anger. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “These are my private apartments.” His eyes widened. “And with a gun! Soldiers!”

Reese’s blood felt like ice in her veins.
What happened?
She lowered the gun and took a step back, mind racing.

The king ran to his desk and dragged open a drawer.

“Reese?” Tyrone sounded on the verge of panic.

The inner door slammed open and, with a sickening tug, gravity shifted.

Reese fell through the door in a clean dive, both hands latched on her gun. She caught a momentary glimpse of a dark form clinging to the wall—now roof—of the room, then she crashed into the heavy wooden bookcases. Pain splintered through her body.
Not too serious. Get up. Get up!

She rolled to her back and jerked to a sitting position.
Is it the shifter who killed the police captain? We might be on the same side.

Tyrone landed beside her with a heavy thud.

The lantern shattered against the books. With a hiss, the flame leapt to stacks of old pages.

Tyrone yelled.

“What are you trying to do?” Reese yelled. The gravitational pressure on her built, trying to drag her forward.
This isn’t right. It’s too strong.
Reese jumped to overdrive and fired her gun.

The bullet ricocheted through the distortions and slammed into the wall a few inches from the dark figure’s arm. Plaster showered toward Reese, then froze in midair.

Reese tensed, waiting for the reverse shift. It came with blinding speed, but she was ready. Reese slid down the bookcase to the floor as gravity reverted to normal. Then the bookcases began groaning. Adrenaline shot through Reese.
He’s trying to crush us.

“Get out!” Tyrone yelled. “Crawl for the window.”

The room began to slope.

Reese fired twice more. She saw Tyrone scrambling toward the open window, then a bookcase fell in a shower of sparks. The fire blazed higher, filling the room with light. Reese jumped away from the flames and came up with her gun trained on the crouching figure.

Stryker’s cold eyes stared back at her.

Stryker. Gravity shifter and mastermind.
Reese pulled the trigger.

The ground ripped out from beneath her.

Reese plummeted toward Stryker, her dress wrapping around her legs. She tried to kick free and adjust her course, but it ended quicker than it had begun. The open door caught her in the face. Black spots erupted in front of her eyes, and the sound of the flames grew louder. She shook her head and rolled off the doorframe.
Find the gun. Find it now.

In the distance, as if through a thick fog, she heard Tyrone call her name. Reese pressed her hands against the wall and began forcing herself up. Her head ached and the crazed flames cast dizzying shadows. Dimly, she saw the gun lying a few inches away.

Reese lunged forward. Her hand closed over the barrel.

Then a hand closed over hers.

Reese jerked away from the mastermind, heart pounding, and felt his other hand close on her neck.

Every calculation screamed at her at once. With a convulsive movement, Reese yanked her hand free from Stryker’s grasp and sent her elbow smashing into his nose.

Stryker cried out in pain and his grip on her neck tightened.

Coldness seared through Reese’s mind. She pushed up desperately, trying to get high enough off the ground to roll free.

The mastermind’s full weight pressed against her back, forcing her toward the floor. Darkness crept around the edges of her vision.

Then he let go.

35

Reese felt his weight lessen and pushed herself into a roll. She scrambled to her feet and faced her attacker.

He stood there, her gun in one hand, silhouetted by the flames on the bookshelf.

All right. He’s got my gun. What do I do now?
Reese clenched and re-clenched her hands. The factors refused to compute.
Did I over-reach myself?
She took a half step sideways.

Stryker copied her action, eyes narrow.

The eerie silence of the room pressed in on Reese. Besides the crackle of the burning books, the room felt empty. Vacant. Reese glanced towards the window.
Something’s missing.

Stryker lunged forward, one hand out to grab her. Reese dodged and tensed, ready to retaliate, but no solution presented itself. Fear lanced through Reese’s stomach. Her chest tightened and bile rose in her mouth.

My calculations are gone.

The room seemed to spin.

He’s the writer.

Stryker’s face eased into a smile. “Your Highness,” he called, without taking his gaze off Reese. “I’ve captured the intruder. Do I have your permission to arrest her?” The firelight played faintly in the depths of his eyes.

The king appeared in the doorway, his face tight and angry. “Of course. But there were two of them.”

Stryker kept his gaze on Reese. “Yes, Your Highness. Presumably a shifter, given the amount of gravity changes we experienced. I will send some men after him.”

Liar.
Reese jumped forward and jabbed a fist toward the writer’s head.

Almost before her arm extended, Stryker leaned back. Reese’s hand pushed past his shoulder, and she stumbled forward. The writer’s grip tightened on her upper arm, spinning her around to stand with her back to him.

Reese felt the hard tip of the gun barrel digging into her ribs. Shock began to set in.
Am I that predictable now?
A violent trembling began in Reese’s shoulders.
What do I do?

The king’s gaze ran down along her front. “One of the rebels, I expect.” He drew himself up and looked across her shoulder. “I’ll want to have words with her later,” he said, then turned away and disappeared through the doorway.

He can’t really have forgotten. How could he have forgotten?
Reese drew in a deep breath to call after him.

Stryker’s grip crushed down on her arm. “Say one word and I’ll kill him,” he hissed. His breath blew across her neck.

Reese flinched at the touch.
Does he mean the king? Or Tyrone?
She dug through her mind, searching for any hint.
Where is Tyrone?

The pressure on her arm increased as Stryker pushed her to face the inner doorway. “Walk,” he said. “Don’t say anything.”

Reese’s breath caught in her chest. Her feet felt like lead weights, and her pulse thundered in her ears.
There’s nothing left to do.
Coldness washed over her. With a slow step, she began walking. Their footsteps sounded faint on the carpet. Footsteps that used to tell her much more than sound.

Stryker maneuvered her through the inner door into a narrow antechamber. Here, a few upholstered chairs were clustered around a small table, while behind them stood a security door, its metal frame obvious against the whitewashed wall.

The writer pushed her toward the chairs. “Sit there,” he said. He released his grip and moved to the security door.

Reese remained standing.
If I run, I might be able to make it to the window—

“I said sit,” Stryker said. “If you run, I will shoot you.”

Anger flared in Reese.
There’s something I should be thinking of. Something important.
She clenched both hands in the fabric of her skirt and lowered herself into a chair.
Would he really shoot?
She watched as the writer spun the lock on the door.
Remember that for later.
The combination slid through her thoughts and vanished. Reese’s head began to ache.

The door swung open and Stryker motioned toward the well-lit tunnel. “In there.”

Slowly, Reese rose to her feet. “Be careful,” she said, giving her voice all the confidence she didn’t feel. She stalked forward until she stood in the doorway, facing her enemy. Her hands trembled as she hid them in the tattered folds of her skirt.

The writer’s frown melted into a sarcastic smile. He raised the gun as if to hit her with the barrel.

Reese moved to block him.

Like a flash, his other hand whipped past her defenses and slapped across her face.

Reese clapped her hand to her cheek and jerked backwards. The doorjamb thudded into her back, knocking her off balance.

“Walk,” the writer ordered. “Or I will drag you.”

Reese’s resolve drained away.
He knows too much.
She swallowed hard and started down the passage.
Stay focused. There’s probably a reason he hasn’t killed me yet.
She listened, trying to pick up on any sign of what the man behind her was doing.
Whatever the reason, I’ll need to be ready.
The echo of the thought faded from her mind with no possibilities emerging. The crushing emptiness of it threatened to swallow her whole. A single thought emerged. Reese latched onto it.
Questions. The last time we met he wanted to ask questions.
A hollow feeling formed in the pit of her stomach.
How am I going to hide the answers?

Down hallway after hallway. Flights of stairs. Curling metal ramps.

A faint smell began tingling in Reese’s nose. It seemed familiar, but the source didn’t spring up in her mind. Then Stryker ushered her through another door, and she stepped into a long metal hallway.

Sea Level.

Stryker’s hand fell across her shoulder and propelled her forward down the hall. Two policemen snapped to attention as they approached.

Reese’s gaze moved past them to the narrow down-ladder farther along the passage. The room began to swim.
Not down there.

“Find Banner and bring him here,” Stryker ordered.

One of the policemen nodded, turned around, and marched past the dark hole in the floor. The second policeman ran his gaze along Reese, then smirked and started toward the ladder.

Stryker pushed forward.

Reese braced against the floor, heart pounding, back rigid, the taste of fear in her mouth.
Don’t show him how scared I am!
her subconscious screamed at her, a single voice in a sea of silence.
Too late.
She stumbled forward a few paces, biting her tongue to keep from crying.
He’ll know already.

The firm grip from behind propelled her step by step to the ladder, then downward.

Reese felt each rung beneath her feet as the metal pipes blurred in her vision.
Can I get away without telling him anything?
She reached the bottom and felt the other policeman grip her arms. She flinched at the touch.
And what happened to Tyrone?
The policeman turned her around and they moved forward into the lamplit room.

The faint light played along the table and cast a dim glow on dangling chains.

Reese closed her eyes, focusing in on the ominous silence in her head.
Just think. Maybe Tyrone escaped. Maybe he found the others… but I told them to hide. He’ll never find them.
The horrifying certainty rolled over her.
No one can reach me.
A tremor ran through her body.
I’m not going to make it out of here.

Metal clicked against metal. “Just hold her there for a moment,” Stryker said.

Reese’s eyes popped open. The rusting links of the chains hung only inches in front of her face. She could smell the decaying metal.

The writer stepped away from the table where he had just laid the gun and stood in front of her. He kept his eyes level with hers and gripped one of her wrists. “We’ll try it this way first,” he said. He pulled her arm forward and clamped the manacle down tight.

Reese bit her tongue as he moved to chain her other hand. Fear was rapidly turning to rage. She kicked out hard. Her foot slammed into the writer’s shin.

Stryker cursed and jumped back.

The policeman grabbed Reese bodily and dragged her backwards. Reese felt her feet leave the ground as the big man twisted her sideways.
He didn’t see the kick coming.

“Leave her,” Stryker said, holding up a hand while rubbing his injured leg. “You can go now.” His smooth mask had melted into the full weight of hatred.

The policeman lowered Reese to her feet and released her. “Yes, Captain,” he said.

Reese tugged at the chain on her right arm. The corroded metal edge dug into her wrist.

The policeman vanished through the doorway, and the heavy door swung closed behind him.

Stryker slowly rose to his feet. He closed his eyes for a moment, then stepped forward. “Don’t try that again,” he said.

Reese stared back at the man’s dark eyes. Something in them had changed.

With a quick motion, he seized her other wrist and locked it into the second manacle. Then he turned and strode to an iron wheel by the door. He loosened the top button on his uniform jacket and took hold of the wheel.

As the metal squealed and screamed, Reese felt the chains above her pulling tight, forcing her arms above her head. She pulled back as hard as she could. Pain shot through her shoulders and neck. Her muscles trembled for a long moment, then gave way. She stood there, wrists high overhead, cold fear mixing with hot anger. She watched as the writer pulled his jacket loose and moved to the table. Reese clenched her jaw.
Just try to make me talk.

Stryker turned around and walked to stand directly in front of her. His dark eyes seemed to flicker in the lamplight. “Why did you bring him back?” he asked.

Reese forced herself into an impassive expression. She didn’t want to look into those eyes, but she couldn’t pull away.

“You gave up a chance to kill him. To become the hero of your own rebellion.” The writer squared his shoulders. “Why?” He moved closer, as if to pull the answer from her.

Reese tensed.
What is he going to do? I have no idea what he’s going to do.
Every detail registered, but none made sense.

“I can only assume there was some agreement between you and he.” The writer’s presence seemed to fill the room. Reese could feel the weight of it, like years of slow determination.

“You didn’t really think he would honor any agreement you made… You couldn’t have…” Stryker’s eyes narrowed. “Where are the rest of your crew?”

A distant memory of her hurried instructions moved through Reese’s mind. “I don’t know,” she said. She let the reply hang in the air.
Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.

“Then where are they supposed to be?” Stryker asked, lingering on the words, a condescending tone in his voice.

A slow shudder ran through Reese. She kept her mouth closed tight.
He’s searching for something specific.
She groped for the answer.
What would he want to know?
The chains dug into her wrists, sending sharp aches into her numbing fingers as her frustration built.
I see why Tyrone hated it when I out-thought him.

Two hesitant knocks sounded on the door.

Is that help?
Reese’s heart leapt into her throat.
It can’t be. Could it?
She tried to shift her hands inside the chains, hope fighting with growing despair.

Stryker gave her a long, hard look, then strode to the door and pulled it open. “Come in,” he said.

Banner stepped inside, tall and thin, glass cuts still tracing along his forehead.

The floor seemed to fall away beneath Reese’s feet.
I have to get out of here.

Stryker closed the door.

I need a plan.

The two men approached, Banner’s face white and mask-like, Stryker’s eyes unwavering.

Something. Anything.
Reese felt the chains pull tighter as her knees threatened to give way. Even without her ability she could guess what was going to happen.

“Where are they supposed to be?” Stryker repeated. His voice held the cold certainty of water against rock. A full knowledge that he could wear her away, given time.

Reese felt herself beginning to shake. She clenched her jaws.
You killed Keller. You’ve killed hundreds of us. I will never help you.

Stryker’s face smoothed over into the calm, frightening mask Reese had seen many times before. He gave a short nod. “Banner,” he said. He motioned toward Reese and stepped back.

Reese’s breath caught in her throat.

The burner looked away.

Don’t do this.

Banner began circling to get behind her. Reese craned her neck, trying to meet the man’s gaze. “Why are you helping him?” she demanded. She pulled at the chains and felt the sharp edges dig in deeper. The burner was just outside of her line of vision.
What’s he doing?
Panic began rising. “He’s the writer! He’s a traitor to our kind.”

“One could say you were, too,” Stryker said. “You helped the king.”

Reese’s gaze whipped back to where the writer stood, leaning against the edge of the table. “Because he promised to help us.”

“He’s a liar.” Stryker’s face had hardened. “He’s never kept his word about anything.”

“Except the ban,” Reese spat.

A faint smile crossed the writer’s face. “True.” The smile melted away. “Even when it meant destroying my reader division.” His eyes turned dark. “He thought the police were enough.”

“You let someone inside,” Reese accused. “You let a shifter…” A burst of adrenaline jolted through her. She didn’t need her calculations to read the look on Stryker’s face. Words forced themselves out in a whisper. “You killed the chief of police.”

“I’m not proud of it,” Stryker said. “But it served its purpose.” The writer gazed at her through half-lowered eyelids. “The king needed a reminder—”

Reese felt a hand touch her back. She jerked away, but the pressure followed her. Pain burst through her chest. It seared up through her neck in a burning stream. Reese’s body convulsed and lights swam before her eyes. Her teeth bit down on her tongue, and the taste of blood flooded her mouth.