Night Resurrected (35 page)

ice. “I didn’t realize I was interrupting.”

Whatever had been bothering her was

obviously no longer a problem. “Ah,”

she said, her tones brittle now. “And

here are her clothes. I most
definitely

see.”

Vaughn said something else, but

Remy couldn’t hear anything other than

the tone: brief and hard.

Then she heard the opening and

closing of a door. Not a slam, but a very

deliberate
click.

Followed by a soft, heartfelt curse.

Confused and shaken, Remy realized

one thing: she didn’t want Vaughn to

know she’d witnessed any of that. She

had a lot of thinking to do. Who was her

enemy? Who could she trust? It was

better to play ignorant until she figured it

out.

She lay down on the bed, curled up

and facing away from the door, and

forced herself to lay still and even out

her breathing. Easier said than done with

her heart pounding like it was. But it

must have worked, for when Vaughn

pushed the door open a few minutes later

and said her name in a low voice, her

lack of response seemed to assure him

she was asleep.

Remy heard the door close behind

him and opened her eyes.

What the hell did all of that mean?

And what was she going to do now?

She looked at the clock.
Less than

thirty-seven hours.

“M
y first loyalty is to the people of

Envy,” Vaughn Rogan said. His eyes

were steely and determined as they

swept the room. “I know some of you

might not agree with me, but that’s

where I stand. I’ll do whatever it takes

to keep them safe.”

“Of course the first priority is to keep

Envy safe,” Jade said mildly. “You

don’t need to convince us of that.”

“We’ve got thirty-five hours,” Simon

said. “What do we have to work with?”

They were gathered in the mayor’s

ground-floor office, the people in the

inner circle—or, as Fence had jokingly

termed the group, the bad-ass guys. And

their bad-ass women. Jade and Elliott,

Quent and Zoë, Sage, Simon, Fence,

Ana, and Wyatt. The air in the room was

as brittle as ice.

“What’s the general sentiment of the

people?” Sage asked. “What’s everyone

hearing out there?”

“The most common reaction I’ve

experienced is confusion mixed with

fear. People have never heard of

Remington Truth. They don’t know who

or what it is so they don’t know how to

react or what to do. Remember, it was

only because of Jade and the fact that she

was imprisoned by Prescott that we

realized Truth was a person’s name,”

Elliott said. “So they don’t know what to

do or how to do it, and they’re scared.”

“So there doesn’t seem to be a big

push to find Remington Truth and turn

her over to the Strangers?” Ana asked.

“They’re not tearing the city apart,

looking for Truth?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Elliott said.

“At least, not yet. From what I heard,

there’s a lot of talk among them. It’s only

a matter of time until someone lets it

slip, or someone figures out who or what

Truth is. After all, we have a whole

group of survivors here right now. It’s

an unusual name, and someone might

remember that Remington Truth was the

director of the American NSA back

when the Change happened and put two

and two together.”

“We know Ian Marck is here, and

there must be someone else who already

knows about Remy—otherwise, how

would the Strangers even know she

existed, let alone that she was here?”

Sage added.

“That brings me to my main

concern,” Wyatt drawled. Keeping his

voice slow and low was the only way he

could keep from shouting. “Where the

hell is she? Has anyone seen Remy since

last night?”

Grim-faced, each of them shook their

heads.

“So it could be a fucking moot

point,” Wyatt pressed, his voice

dangerously calm. “If we don’t find her,

someone else can. Or already has done

so. So why the
hell
are we sitting here

talking about it
?”

“She’s not with Ian Marck,” Simon

said. “Or if she is, he hasn’t interacted

with her since last night. I have Brad

Talley keeping an eye on him just in

case.”

Wyatt managed to control a sneer.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and tried to

keep from charging out of his seat and

taking matters into his own hands.

Thirty-five hours. Less than a day and

a half.

The only reason he was here was

because he’d hoped that with the group

gathered, he’d have an efficient way to

learn whether someone had heard

anything from Remy. In about two

minutes he was getting the hell out of

here to do some reconnaissance on his

own. With or without the others.

“The other worrisome thing,” Quent

said, “is that the Strangers made their

threat and instituted a deadline . . . but

they gave no way for us to communicate

back with them—yet. Their so-called

conduits haven’t arrived, or haven’t

made themselves known. If we were

going to turn Remington Truth over to

them—presuming we intended to—we

have no way of knowing how or where

to do so. Which implies to me,” he

continued, speaking louder as Wyatt

opened his mouth, “that they have some

way of monitoring the city.”

“What the fuck do they want her for

anyway?” Zoë asked. “Seems like an

assload of work to be looking for her for

fifty damned years. Must be something

important.”

Wyatt glanced at Ana. He hadn’t told

anyone about Remy’s crystal, and as far

as he knew, no one else was aware of it

besides himself, Remy, and Ian Marck.

Ana didn’t seem to notice Wyatt’s

attention, but, as he hoped, she spoke up.

“I heard things, living in Atlantis. Bits

and pieces. The original Remington

Truth disappeared during the Change.

And at the same time, something called

the Mother crystal also went missing.”

She shrugged. “It’s logical to assume the

original Remington Truth had something

to do with it, but no one knows for sure

or how.”

“What exactly is the Mother crystal?”

asked Sage. “Maybe if we knew that, we

might . . . I don’t know . . . have a better

bargaining chip when dealing with the

Strangers? Is it related to the Jarrid

crystal—the one Quent and Zoë stole

from Liam Hegelson?”

“All of the crystals are related,” Ana

said. “At least, the living ones are.

There are energy crystals, which are

different from living crystals. But the

way I understand it, all the living

crystals are connected somehow. And

some of the connections are stronger

than others, and between different

types.”

“Marley would probably know

something,”

Quent

said,

suddenly

looking around. “Where is she, anyway?

She should be here.”

Vaughn shifted in his seat and ran a

hand through his hair. “I didn’t tell her

about the meeting. I wasn’t certain she

should be included. She is, after all,

crystalled.”

“Against her bloody
will,
” Quent

reminded him flatly. “If you recall. I

don’t

think

she’s

particularly

sympathetic to the Strangers.”

Vaughn nodded, his jaw visibly tight.

Wyatt found himself feeling unwillingly

sympathetic at the misery in the other

man’s face. Something was definitely up

there. “I do recall. I didn’t want to make

an assumption that everyone here would

be in agreement that she should be

trusted. And included, however. After

all,” he looked at Wyatt, “Remy’s safety

is at stake. As well as that of the entire

city. We have to find a way to get out of

this situation with both intact. And the

clock is ticking.”

A prickle went down Wyatt’s spine

and he went cold.
Vaughn knows.
He

knows where Remy is.

But what did that mean?
My first

loyalty is to the people of Envy
.

Wyatt heard that loud and clear. The

question was whether the mayor’s

priority included offering up one life to

protect and save many if it came down to

that.

There was a knock on the door and

the room went silent. The place wasn’t a

secret location, like the underground

computer lab built by Sage and the

Waxnicki brothers, but this was a

private sanctum in Vaughn’s public

office. Not many people knew it existed,

let alone how to find the entrance.

Vaughn himself rose and went to the

door, easing it open a crack. He spoke

quietly to the person on the other side,

then opened it fully. “Please join us,” he

said. “I expect you’ll have something to

add to the conversation.”

The mayor stepped away from the

door, casting a warning glance around

the room. His expression indicated

prudence in the topic of conversation.

“Hi, Dad,” Ana said when her father

walked in accompanied by another man.

“Does everyone know my father,

George? He’s the one who grows

Elliott’s penicillin,” she added with a

smile. “And keeps Flo’s showers

running superhot.”

“And this is David Callaghan,”

George said, gesturing to his companion

as he introduced him to the room at

large. “He’s just showed me a most

curious . . .”

Wyatt’s head was filled with a loud

buzzing sound. He started to get up but

his knees wouldn’t hold his weight. His

chest tightened so he couldn’t breathe,

and he felt Quent reach over and close

his fingers over his arm.

Then the man named David noticed

him. Their eyes met and the newcomer’s

face went slack with shock and then

turned white as a sheet.

He gripped the nearest chair and

stared at Wyatt. “Dad?” he whispered.

“No, no,” he added, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. That’s . . .” But even as his

voice trailed off, he couldn’t seem to

look away. “You look . . . just like . . .”

“Your father.” Wyatt found his voice

and a blaze of joy surged through him.

“Wyatt Callaghan. Married to Catherine,

father of Abby and David. Resident of

Lockwood, Colorado. Fire chief and

burgermaker extraordinaire.” Now he

managed to stand. “David, it’s me. Your

dad.”

Chapter 17

“D
avid. I am your father,
” said a very

deep, breathy, bass voice.

Of course, that was Fence, bringing

levity to the situation as usual. Wyatt

barely heard him, however, for the

roaring, rushing sound that filled his ears

obscured everything but his son, David,

saying again, “Dad? But . . . how is this

possible?” His expression was a

combination of joy, disbelief, and

confusion.

Wyatt wanted to explain, but he found

he didn’t want to waste his energy doing

such a mundane thing while he could be

drinking in the sight of his son.

Examining every detail of the man he’d

become. Noticing the gray in his thick,

dark hair, the wrinkles radiating from the

corners of his eyes. The smooth, slight

sag to his skin. Whiskers. No more

freckles. And he was much taller than

he’d been fifty-some years ago.

And so he was grateful for Sage, in

her calm, organized way, who explained

to David how his father came to be

sitting here, fifty-one years later and

unchanged. Mostly.

When Sage finished, Wyatt said, “I

have so many questions for you . . . but

first, I have to know—” His throat

closed up then, suddenly, and it burned

when he tried to swallow. Tears stung

his eyes and he blinked furiously.