Rogue Oracle (28 page)

“Don’t leave me,” the Chimera whispered again.

Tara sat down beside him in the mud. She put her gloved hand in his, mindful not to let his skin touch her. The killing wrath had drained away, and she was filled with sadness at seeing him, this broken creature, returned to the roots of his demise.

The Chimera’s fingers spasmed, loosened. She could no longer detect the shiver of breath in his shoulder. Tara remained there, waiting, until she was certain the last breath had been drained out of him.

She stumbled to her feet and headed for the door. Her vision was fuzzy and yellow in spots, but she was determined to put one foot before the other, coughing into her elbow. She had to get out of here. Back to fresh air and sunlight.

She minced her way down the steps, through the control room, out the rend in the side of the Sarcophagus. She stumbled forward on the pavement, hoping that Irina and her men would be coming soon. Rain rinsed over her suit, and she distractedly wondered if it would rinse away some of the radioactive particles.

She collapsed in the soft moss, looking straight ahead to a monument built at the edge of the administration building, depicting firefighters and liquidators trying to contain the disaster with fire hoses and shovels.

Heroes,
she thought, grimly, before she blacked out.

Chapter Twenty-one

T
ARA EXPECTED
to awaken in a hospital.

Not on the bed in Irina’s house.

She lay, nearly undressed, on the bed, sunshine streaming in from the window. Her skin felt tight and achy, red as if she’d spent all day at the beach. Her mouth was dry, and Irina pressed a cup to her mouth.

“Drink.”

Tara gulped down cool milk that soothed the fire in her throat. Irina sat on the edge of the bed, rolling a chicken egg over her body. She rolled it evenly over her arm, turning it slowly until the shell grew warm.

“What are you doing?” Tara whispered.

“Treating your radiation sickness.”

She then removed the egg, cracked it open in a bowl on the floor at her feet. Noisome black fluid oozed out of the egg, flowing into the pool of oily blackness in the bowl.

Tara blinked her dry eyes. She was too exhausted to argue. “How long have I been asleep?”

“More than a day. The guards helped me bring you back here, and you haven’t moved.”

“Where’s Harry?”

“He’s here.” She offered no additional information.

“I want to see him.”

Irina offered Tara her hands to help her sit up. Tara took mincing steps to follow Irina to her bedroom, where Harry lay on her bed. He sported the same sunburn as Tara, but the coverlet had been pulled up to his neck. The mark of a handprint on his face, as if he’d been slapped, was fading. One of Irina’s cats kept vigil at the foot of the bed.

“Harry.” Tara reached for his warm forehead. He didn’t respond. His breathing was regular and even. Tara saw that he had an IV bag full of saline attached to his arm. She turned to face Irina. “What’s wrong with him? Why isn’t he in a hospital?”

Irina shook her head. “I brought more guards with me, where we found you and Harry. They found the other man dead in the Sarcophagus. I think they decided that he was too contaminated, left him there.

“They summoned a doctor. The doctor said that he had no idea what was wrong with him. They wanted to take you two to Kiev for tests.” Irina suppressed a shudder. “I would not let them. I remember what happened to the firemen when they took them to Minsk. Poked and prodded them, put in plastic bubbles. But they were unable to do anything for those men. Better you be here.”

Tara pressed her hand to his forehead, stifled a sob. “The Chimera. I think he stole Harry’s mind.”

“You can heal him.”

Tara turned around at the familiar voice. In the doorway, the Pythia stood. She was dressed in a peasant shirt and dark slacks, and she held a bowl of eggs in her hands, hair pulled away from her face with a scarf. Dark circles shadowed her eyes.

And Cassie was with her. Tara’s heart skipped a beat. Cassie, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, elbowed past the Pythia and flung herself in Tara’s arms.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tara said, fury rising in her scraped throat.

Cassie pushed Tara’s hair away from her face. “The Steves took me out on their boat, and I was looking up at the stars. I knew there was something wrong. I could feel it.” She shook her head. “I called the only one I knew who could help you.”

“You called the Pythia?” Tara was too exhausted to argue.

“The Steves wouldn’t let me go alone,” Cassie explained.

Irina muttered, “They eat like horses.”

The Cowboy and the Kahuna poked their heads in the bedroom. “We promised not to let her out of our sight, and I meant it,” the Cowboy said.

“Whoa, you’re not decent.” The Kahuna put up his hand and backed away.

Tara glared at the Pythia. “You told them about Delphi’s Daughters?”

The Pythia set the eggs down on a dresser. “For men, they’re surprisingly useful.”

“She just wanted us to carry the luggage.”

The Cowboy rubbed his chin. “We’ve seen stranger shit. Like chupacabras.”

Tara was too exhausted to argue. She turned her attention back to Harry. “How do I heal him?”

The Pythia shooed the Steves and Cassie from the room, shut the door. “Do you still have the cards I gave you?”

“Yes. They’re …” Tara struggled with the right words. “… odd.”

The Pythia sat at Harry’s feet. “Have you had dreams, visions?”

“Yes. What’s that got to do with anything?”

The Pythia sighed. “The Chimera drew away some of Harry’s memory, but didn’t complete the job. He threw Harry into a coma, in the physical world. Metaphysically, though … this means that Harry’s spirit is disconnected, trying to find its way back. The cards are a tool to open yourself to the unseen, to the world of spirits and archetypes that moves under everyday reality.”

“You’re saying I can find Harry and bring him back?”

“Maybe. If he’s not gone, already.”

Tara’s hands balled into fists. She wouldn’t allow Harry to be alone again. “Bring me my cards.”

T
ARA SLIPPED UNDER THE COVERS BESIDE
H
ARRY
. A
NTICIPATING
the cold of the trance, she’d wrapped herself in two layers of her own clothes. She’d exiled all the others from the room, had drawn the Knight of Pentacles, the Four of Swords, and Strength from her deck. She placed the cards under her pillow. She put her chin on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, feeling it rise and fall, the hollowness behind it.

“Come back to me, Harry,” she whispered, blinking tears into the pillow.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to dream.

Gradually, the sounds of the chickens and the cats and the voices in the kitchen below faded away. Tara felt herself moving through hot blackness, falling into the dream. When she opened her eyes, she was standing at the edge of the black forest. She’d lost something here, she remembered. She had to find it.

She cast around. There was no sign of the man carrying the poisonous rods into the world. She knew that he was inside the forest, dead. But he had taken Harry, and she needed to find him.

She looked down at the lion at her hip. “Show me,” she pleaded with him.

The lion led her around the edge of the forest to a clearing. Instead of the black tower at the center, Tara saw a lead-lined sarcophagus, riveted with rusting bolts. On top of it lay the crude figure of a knight in effigy hastily hewn in metal, holding a sword over his chest. Tara walked up to it, pressed her hands to the dark lead. It felt warm, as if there was something inside.

“Harry, are you in there?”

Nothing answered her.

She pushed at the lid of the sarcophagus with all her strength. It was welded shut. The lion put his paws up on the lid and pushed, too, growling with the effort. Tara clawed at it until the muscles in her arms shook and her fingernails separated and bled. She continued to push.

She was Strength. She’d open the jaws of this sarcophagus, no matter what. She felt the ancient power of the archetype sinking into her. It was older than time, old as this land. Its power would outlast the half-lives of the radioactive isotopes, timeless and eternal as the sun.

The metal gave a rusty sigh, and the welds split, allowing the lid to slide to the ground with a crash. Sunlight streamed in, shining on the armor of the knight asleep inside.

Tara leaned into the casket, pressed her bloody hand to Harry’s face. She lifted his visor, allowing the sun to brush his closed eyes. She kissed him, willing him to awaken and return to her with all the strength she’d summoned.

T
ARA AWOKE IN DARKNESS
. T
HE SUN HAD SET, AND SHE LAY IN
bed with Harry, a cat curled up at their feet. Her body felt cold as a corpse’s. She could feel the chill of the trance cooling her radiation burns. Her skin, where it touched Harry’s, condensed like dew.

She lifted her head, scarcely daring to hope. Harry’s breath was deep and even. She brushed her lips over his, exhaling a mist of condensation, like a ghost.

His lips parted and his eyes flickered open.

“Harry.” Tara pressed her cold hand to his sunburned face. “Do you know who I am?”

Harry reached up to grasp her hand. He kissed her knuckle. “You’re loved. And you’re freezing.”

Tears dripped down Tara’s nose. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Nah.” Harry stretched, rubbed the side of his face. “I had one fucked-up dream though. Dreamed I was locked in a box.”

Tara pressed her ear to his chest, smiling. “I think I had the same one.”

“What happened?” Harry pushed Tara’s hair behind her ear. “Did you catch him? Last thing I remember was getting slapped around by the Chimera, and …” Tara felt goosebumps rise on his skin, and she didn’t think it was only her touch that caused them. “… I could feel his fingers in my head. It was like … like a violation. I know I’m not explaining it well. But did you catch him?”

“He’s dead. He died in the reactor room.”

“Of the radiation?”

“No.” Tara blew out her breath. “I killed him.”

Harry stroked her hair. “You all right?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Irina is treating my radiation poisoning with eggs.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think that sounds like a good idea. When we get back stateside, we’ll get you checked out.”

“We’ve got bigger problems.”

Harry paused. “Bigger problems than being crispy onions? I can’t imagine.”

“The Pythia is here. With Cassie.”

Harry froze.

“And the Steves.”

Harry sat up in bed. “Somebody’s gonna get their ass kicked.” His gaze was dark, and he reached for his clothes.

Tara put a hand on his chest. “You can ream the Steves out all you want. But leave Cassie and the Pythia to me.”

Grudgingly, he agreed. Dressing quickly, he followed Tara down the stairs to the living area. Irina, Cassie, the Pythia, and the Steves were playing cards on the floor. It looked like they were betting with eggs, judging from the pot in the middle.

“Harry!” Cassie launched herself at Harry, buried her face in his chest. Harry hugged her tightly, looked over her head to glower murderously at the Steves.

“I thought I told you guys to keep her safe,” he growled. “Not bring her into a radiation zone with—”

The Cowboy stood up. “When that girl has it in her mind that she’s going somewhere, there’s nothing stopping her. We’re just along for the ride.”

“I can’t trust you guys to do jack shit,” Harry snarled.

“Take it outside, boys,” Irina snapped. “No fighting in the house.”

Harry disentangled himself from Cassie and stalked outside, startling a chicken. The Cowboy grabbed a bottle of vodka and followed with the Kahuna in tow.

That left the women. Tara stood with her arms folded. “I guess I should thank you for helping Harry.”

The Pythia put her cards down. “I will go.”

Tara looked up at Irina, standing beside her painted eggs and the picture of Pavel. She’d made so many sacrifices. Tara felt inadequate in her understanding of duty, in her selfishness. She didn’t feel like the hero that Irina was.

“No. We need to talk. About Cassie.”

Cassie shrank back against the stairs. “Look, I, um—”

“Agreed,” said the Pythia, tucking her feet beneath her. “I pushed you too hard, and for that, I’m sorry. But you need to decide whether you want to become Pythia, and soon.”

“Why?” Tara demanded suspiciously.

The Pythia lifted her chin. “I have lung cancer.”

Tara’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Are you—” Her mind churned. She wanted to ask:
Are you seeking treatment? How far along are you? Is it terminal? Why the hell are you telling us now?

The Pythia waved her off. “I tell you only because my time here is limited. Cassie will need to decide whether or not she wants to become Pythia. If she does, she will need to take over my role, soon. If she doesn’t, I’ll need to find another.” She gazed at the women fiercely. “I will not allow our line to die out.”

Cassie sat down heavily on the steps. “Wow.”

“If you choose to become Pythia, you will need to commit fully to the mission,” the Pythia said.

“And what is that?” Cassie asked. “There’s all this nebulous talk about the balance of power, but I don’t know what that really means.”

“The Pythia serves peace, at all costs, even in ugly ways.” The Pythia glanced at Irina. “I never told you this, but you weren’t intended to stop the disaster here, at Chernobyl.”

Irina’s eyes widened, and she blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You never failed. Chernobyl was allowed to happen. It was a factor in the fall of the Soviet Union. Ultimately, that prevented all-out nuclear war.”

Irina covered her mouth with her hand and stared up at the picture of her dead husband. Tears leaked from her eyes and a sob caught in her throat.

The Pythia gazed at Cassie. “Are you willing to make those kinds of decisions, to sacrifice the few for the many?”