CHAPTER 48
THREE DANANNS FROM the
tactical team raced through the air, carrying Laura, Sinclair, and
Whiting. The wind whipping past their ears removed any possibility
of audible conversation. Below them, the landscape whirred by in a
smear of darkened foliage and intermittent streetlights. Laura
didn’t want to risk time getting Whiting to a healer by driving,
and she wanted to be back in D.C. as soon as possible.
She had already done a sending to Genda Boone about
their discovery, which set in motion security protocols across the
city. Laura monitored the InterSec alert channels, a constant
stream of sendings updating security in real time. Even with the
Danann’s shield barrier protecting her from wind shear, alerts
slammed back at her as agencies scrambled to respond.
The district is in lockdown.
The Washington Monument has been taken over by unknown sources,
she sent to Sinclair and Whiting.
Sinclair’s sending came in with a snide tone.
I wonder who they could be?
What a brilliant idea. Whoever
thought of it is wasted on this, Whiting sent.
Excuse me? Laura
sent.
The Monument is perfectly
shaped and granite. Remember your fundamental ward skills, he
sent.
Laura stared in disbelief at Whiting across the
open patch of sky. Danu’s blood, are you
kidding me?
Not at all. It’s brilliant,
he sent.
The Danann carrying Sinclair was somewhere behind.
I don’t get it, Sinclair sent.
They’re going to turn the
damned Monument into a giant ward stone to absorb essence,
Laura sent.
Is that possible? he
asked.
Theoretically. With the right
configurations and ability sourcing, sent Whiting.
How big a field will it
generate? Laura asked.
Impossible to tell without
knowing all the variables. A mile? Two? Simply amazing, Whiting
sent.
Well within range of the Guildhouse, she thought.
And practically every major government facility. A smudge of light
appeared on the horizon, the top of the Monument visible from
thirty miles away, the tallest point in the city. As she spotted
it, it took on the sharpness of its more recognizable shape. Laura
estimated their arrival in fifteen or twenty minutes.
Genda sent a brief mention of shots fired at the
Guildhouse and that an evacuation was under way. Laura sorted
through the InterSec sendings, creating a picture of the defense
forces being set up. Every conceivable branch of law enforcement
had been rolled out—Marine units lining the Mall, various police
agencies locking down and guarding government buildings, and
private security firms rolling out their hardware.
The Coast Guard had units surging up the Potomac.
Civilian government staff—including the president and
legislators—were being whisked to secure facilities.
As they neared the outskirts of the city, streaks
of light marked the paths of F-16 fighter jets. Blackhawk
helicopters hung like dark clouds ready to release a storm. A
sudden shimmer in the distance rippled on the horizon, the lights
and buildings of downtown blurring out. A confused chatter broke
the calm tone of the emergency sendings, then everything went
silent.
Laura tried sending to Genda but received no
response. She tried tapping any of her regular
communication-sending channels to no result. She did a broadcast
sending open to anyone who could hear, only to receive the same
back from bewildered fey, all of whom were not in the city
center.
I lost contact. I think the
essence dampening has been activated, she sent. They would have
to fly blind the rest of the way in. She hoped all the human forces
had been given her heading coordinates before sendings were
jammed.
Laura’s stomach clenched as a fighter jet soared
past them and raced toward the city. In its wake, the three Dananns
fought against air turbulence, spreading farther apart. As they
regained control, a sudden drop in altitude brought them
dangerously close to the rooftops.
Take us in low. You’re going to
lose your flying abilities when we get closer, she sent.
In unison, the Dananns descended, skimming over the
trees of the outer neighborhoods. They passed through an abrupt
break in the surrounding air, a space devoid of essence. The
Dananns struggled to maintain altitude without essence to use as
lift. Banking sharply, they coasted on air currents until they were
out of the empty-essence zone, skirting over George Washington
University and tacking north of the White House. Laura directed
them to set down in Mount Vernon Square, which was outside the
dampening field.
The Dananns brought them down onto a clear sidewalk
space. Around them, abandoned cars clogged the streets. National
Guard troops marched through, moving vehicles and setting up a line
of defense to the south in the direction of the Mall. Civilians
milled about, most running north and east, while others stood in
confusion or fascination. Tanks rumbled into positions throughout
the square as emergency vehicles swept south.
Laura held Whiting by the arm while she searched
for Sinclair. She spotted him leaning over between two cars. “Jono,
what the hell are you doing?” she shouted.
He hurried to them, pale and sweating. “Sorry. I’m
not so good with heights.”
Surprised, she tried not to smile at the
unexpectedness of it. “We need to get down to the
Guildhouse.”
“No problem,” Sinclair said. He stepped into the
street as a truck carrying National Guardsmen barreled toward him.
The truck screeched to a halt as he held up a hand. Guns appeared
out the windows and back of the truck. “Whoa! We’re friend-lies.
We’ve got intel for command up the street.”
“Nice way to almost get shot,” Laura said, as she
and Whiting joined him in the street. She held up her InterSec
badge. “We need to get up there ASAP.”
The driver of the truck wasted no time arguing.
Sinclair helped Whiting into the back while Laura jumped onto the
running board. “If I wasn’t going in the same direction, you guys
would be roadkill,” the driver shouted.
Laura snorted in derision. “If that’s what you need
to think, go ahead. Get moving.”
Once past Franklin Park, the street emptied of
civilians. Military personnel drove or marched south, the transport
truck weaving through the various contingents. If there was one
thing Washington, D.C., had down, it was emergency procedures. As
they neared the Guildhouse, the sound of gunfire carried through
the engine roar of army vehicles.
Anxiety gripped Laura as the ambient essence around
her began to fade. She had never seen such a thing. The bright
colors of essence paled the closer they approached the Guildhouse.
It was worse than at the med lab. There, it had been one room,
something she had experienced from time to time. Out on the street,
though, the effect was enormous and widespread.
The dampening field bore down like a layer of heat
and humidity. She felt light-headed, as if she had stepped into a
different reality and didn’t have any ability. She hadn’t realized
how she had taken for granted the existence of essence, how it
energized her. She wondered if that was what it felt like to be
human.
Visual chaos confronted them as they reached the
back of the Guildhouse. Danann security agents patrolled the
surrounding roofs, their black uniforms shadows against the night
sky. Brownie guards gathered on the sidewalk—some of them armed
with automatic weapons—preventing anyone from approaching within a
block. Armored vehicles from the U.S. government blocked the way to
the front of the building. Scattered among the security and
vehicles, fey of all kinds clustered, coordinating an evacuation.
That many of them were dressed in formal attire from the reception
added a surreal element.
In a lemon yellow evening gown, Genda Boone stood
out like a beacon among the dark security uniforms. She had her
cell phone pressed against her ear as they approached. “Yes,
Damine, and make sure my upgrade to business class is all set. Last
time there was a snafu . . . Of course not, dear. No one in their
right mind would think it was your fault. Oh, and can you call
Dmitri for me? I’ve been standing in this wind for over an hour and
will need a touch-up tomorrow. Thanks. I have to go. Mariel’s here,
looking all business.”
She closed her cell, grabbed Whiting by the hands,
and air-kissed his cheek. “Ian, darling, I’m so glad you’re all
right even if you ruined my dinner party.” Still holding his hand,
she stepped off the curb. “Let’s go, everyone.”
At the corner, she waved at a tall elven woman
huddled with a large group near evacuation buses. “Alfra, call me
tomorrow. I want to hear all about your bus ride.” She snickered as
they crossed the sidewalk. “I’m sorry. I’m usually not that catty,
but that woman has the biggest ego you can imagine. I’d be
surprised if she’s ever ridden a bus in her life.”
Dubious, Sinclair looked at Laura as they
quick-stepped after Genda. “She’s in charge?”
Genda called over her shoulder, “Yes, she is. And
who might you be?”
Laura’s warning look checked his response. “Um . .
. Bill,” Sinclair said.
Genda led them around to the front. “A good omen.
Everyone knows I like big bills.” She chuckled at her own joke as
they all ducked at the sound of gunfire.
Armed military personnel ran past them toward the
Mall. She stopped next to a Stryker, one of the army’s armored
assault vehicles. “Now, let me bring you up to speed. We’re staging
a diversion on the other side of the Mall to draw off their forces,
but it probably won’t work very well. They’re intent on the
Guildhouse and have already taken over the front of the Hoover
Building. That’s what all the gunfire is, if you were
wondering.”
She slipped her arm around Whiting. “I’m sorry,
Ian. I tried to get Rhys to release Terryn, but he refuses.” She
waved her free hand. “I swear, the man sees conspiracies
everywhere. Anyway, I’ll try to get him to change his mind, but
you’ll have to go in without him. Everything’s nearly in
place.”
“Genda, you need to slow down. What is the mission
plan?” Laura asked.
Genda turned to Whiting. “You haven’t told
her?”
Whiting looked both embarrassed and baffled. “I
thought we were talking theoretically.”
Genda patted his arm as if to soothe him. “Ian and
I were discussing the situation on your way in. They’re using a
ring formation around the Monument with the majority of their
forces in the outer ring. Their plan appears to be to disable our
fey forces, which, frankly, they’ve done, so we’re turning the
tables and using mainly human forces and a ground attack to get you
to the Monument. Ian thinks he can deactivate the leanansidhe pod once you secure it.”
Sinclair stared at Laura. “Once we secure
it.”
“I can’t go in without Terryn macCullen. Cress will
not be in her right mind. I need someone she trusts,” Whiting
said.
Genda patted him on the chest. “Oh, Ian, you were
her doctor or something, weren’t you? Of course she’ll trust
you.”
He shook his head. “That’s a huge risk, Genda. We
haven’t spoken in years.”
“I’ll go,” Laura said. Everyone stared at her. She
shrugged. “I’m her friend.”
“You’re not going in there without me,” Sinclair
said. Genda turned to him with a frown. Sinclair shrugged. “I’m her
friend.”
Genda sighed with deep exasperation. “Really, I do
not understand how Terryn ran his department with all this . . .
this . . . friendship, but we need to get this done. Fine, friends,
whatever is necessary. Ian thinks the leanansidhe is on the main level of the Washington
Monument—don’t you, dear?—so we’re going to provide air cover while
you storm the plaza. This DeWinter fellow is either at the top or
the bottom of the Monument or in the Blackhawk.”
“Blackhawk?” Laura interrupted.
Tapping her hand off the side of her forehead,
Genda shook head. “Yes, sorry. So many details have cropped up.
They have a Blackhawk in the air. It’s armed with two hellfire
missiles, but I don’t think we need to worry about it.”
“Are you serious?” Sinclair asked,
dumbfounded.
She nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes, very. They’ve had
a clear shot of the White House and the Capitol, but haven’t fired.
The humans are quite nervous about the whole situation, but,
really, it’s obvious they’ve been moving in on the Guildhouse for
the last thirty minutes. Our analysis is that they’re waiting to
get their ground force closer before attacking and picking off
anyone who tries to escape. They only have two missiles, after all.
I don’t think they’ll waste them on an unidentified truck.”
Amazed, Sinclair looked at Laura. “Only two
missiles?”
She smoothed her hair back. “You’ll be much too
busy to worry about them.”
Genda gestured to one of her bodyguards, who then
banged on the back of the armored truck. The rear door of the
Stryker opened to reveal a half dozen military personnel in combat
uniform. “They’re all Special Forces. I’m told they’re very good.”
She glanced down at her phone. “Oh, the F-16s are turning. With any
luck, they’ll take out the Blackhawk on their first pass. You’d
best get going. Let these boys do their jobs.”
They startled at a barrage of gunfire from the park
across the street. A line of Legacy fighters was pushing toward
them. Bullets whistled through the air, ricocheting off the front
of the Guildhouse. Genda peered around the side of the Stryker.
“Oh, damn, we’ve cut it too close. Keep your cell phone on so I can
update you as necessary.” She backpedaled away from the truck.
“Good luck! By the way, cute boots, Mariel. You’ll have to tell me
where you got them when you get back. Okay, boys, time to get
inside.”
Her bodyguards fired back up the street as Genda
trotted behind them back around the corner. Laura jumped into the
Stryker as Sinclair helped Whiting in behind her. The truck pulled
out as Sinclair closed the door and moved to the front of the
vehicle. He sat and looked at Laura. “Is that woman crazy?”
Laura smirked. “A little, but very efficient. Do
you think you can deactivate the pod, Mr. Whiting?”
He shifted on his cramped perch. “That’s the one
thing I’m sure of. I built in a shutdown.”
“Convenient,” said Sinclair.
Puzzled, Whiting cocked his head. “No, it isn’t.
I’m a scientist. The pod is too experimental not to have a built-in
fail-safe. That would be a foolish risk.”
Sinclair grinned. “As opposed to, say, getting hit
with a hellfire missile.”
“What do you need me to do, Professor?” Laura
asked.
“I’ll need you to talk to her, persuade her that
everything is all right. She’s going to be very afraid. Once she’s
calm, I’ll put her into a sleep trance, and this will be over,” he
said.
Laura leaned forward. “I’m not going into a fire
zone unarmed. I’d like a weapon, please.”
“Make that two,” said Sinclair.
A soldier handed two rifles down the line. “We were
told you were cleared for these.”
Sinclair whistled as he took one. The rifle weighed
almost eight pounds, with an infrared scope mounted on the top
rail. “An Mk-16? Can I keep it?”
“No,” Laura said. She pocketed an extra magazine of
ammunition. She didn’t like guns. Guns were meant to produce blood
at a minimum, death as a matter of course. She almost never carried
one, but under the circumstances, she knew it would be foolish not
to. Without being able to tap essence, she was limited to her
body’s own reserves, and once that was gone, it was gone.
An explosion rocked the truck. Tense silence swept
through the back of the truck as everyone became quiet. Two
soldiers returned fire through the top port. The longer they drove,
the more the Stryker rang with the bullet impacts. Nothing pierced
the armoring, but that didn’t lower anyone’s anxiety. They bounced
as the Stryker jumped a curb, then skidded on a soft surface. They
had arrived on the Mall.
Another explosion jolted the truck, and it lurched
to a stop. The six soldiers around them readied to disembark. The
vehicle commander ordered a smoke grenade launched. Someone hit the
rear door, and the soldiers jumped out with their weapons primed.
Laura slid to the rear, the air filled with gunfire and smoke. They
were a lot closer than she had imagined they’d be, barely fifty
yards away. She craned her neck out, but the smoke limited her
field of vision. Somewhere above, she heard the rotor-blade whir of
the Blackhawk.
Soldiers lay on the ground nearby, firing at the
main entrance to the Monument. Theirs wasn’t the only team. She
hadn’t expected that, but now she realized taking the Monument with
six men wasn’t a likely scenario. People ran back and forth through
the smoke. Screams reached her ears as the sound of gunfire
dissipated.
“We’re inside. Still meeting resistance,” the
vehicle commander called out.
“Why aren’t we out there?” Sinclair asked.
Laura kept her eyes on the entrance. “We’re here to
protect Whiting and get Cress. It’s not a war-game exercise.”
Sinclair squeezed in next to her to see out. “Yeah,
except I’m trained for this.”
She glanced at him, impatient. “Good. You can mop
up anything these guys miss. Now, pay attention.”
“We’ve got a go. Make it fast,” the commander
shouted.
Laura popped the door. She and Sinclair hit the
ground together and helped Whiting. Aircraft filled the sky,
fighter jets and helicopters circling in the distance. A wall of
helicopters hung in front of the White House. A staccato burst of
gunfire flared across the Ellipse in front of the mansion.
Above, the smoke curled away to reveal the deep
black underbelly of a Blackhawk. The helicopter veered to one side
and turned. Another smoke grenade launched from the Stryker. “Get
moving! We have incoming,” the vehicle commander shouted.
They scrambled down the sidewalk, dodging among
debris and bodies. A sense of nothingness shimmered over them, a
wave in the air with no essence, but they stumbled on. The Monument
burned with neon purple light, Cress’s body signature permeating
the white stone surface. Near the peak, a rainbow slurry of essence
revolved as the giant obelisk sucked it in.
A soldier appeared at the main entrance and waved
them in. “We’ve found no one that matches the description of Adam
DeWinter,” he said.
Laura surveyed the lobby; chipped masonry and dead
bodies were scattered about the floor. “DeWinter’s not here.
There’s no way out. He isn’t the suicidal type.”
“Ma’am, I believe what you are looking for is back
here,” said the soldier. He led them across the damaged space to
the elevators. In a narrow alcove to one side, two long rods of
white crystal stretched from one wall to the other. Resting on top,
a dark gray lozenge-shaped tube of quartz burned with a deep violet
essence.
“Ah, now I see what they wanted those rods for,”
Whiting said.
They spread out in a loose arc at the foot of the
pod. “What do they do?” Sinclair asked.
Whiting grimaced as he ran his hand over one.
“They’re conduits, tapping into the granite of the structure. It’s
how Cress is accessing the essence in the Monument stones.”
“Can we disconnect them?” Laura asked.
He leaned over the head of the pod. “They’re not
important now. Getting Cress out of here is.”
Outside the main doors, an explosion lit the night
sky, followed by the roar of tearing metal. Another explosion
erupted, a blinding orange light flashing into the lobby. Laura’s
cell phone chirped. She found a text message from Genda signed with
a smiley face. “They took out the Blackhawk.”
Whiting stepped over one of the support rods and
leaned over the pod. The air throbbed against Laura’s face. Blood
pounded in her ears. Until it was missing, she had never noticed
how much ambient essence kept her energized. “Why isn’t the pod
draining our body signatures?”
Whiting crouched to examine the underside of the
pod. “The system is designed to facilitate and amplify Cress’s
abilities. It absorbs local essence but needs to be in direct
contact with body signatures to absorb those.”
“So we’re safe as long as we don’t touch that
thing?” Sinclair asked.
Whiting hummed to himself. “Yes. Unfortunately, we
need to touch it to stop it.” He tapped at a strip of red stone
embedded on the top of the pod and grimaced. “This is the control
ward. It’s not responding. Too much interference from the selenite
in the pod itself, I think.”
Laura stepped over one of the support rods. “What
are you saying? You can’t stop it?”
Without touching it, Whiting pointed to the red
stone. “This ward stone is suppressing Cress’s consciousness. It
allows DeWinter to direct her abilities and control his fighters. I
keyed a deactivation response to my body signature, but the
selenite is draining it off before it can penetrate.”
Sinclair lifted his rifle and brought the butt down
hard on the red stone. A piece chipped off. He hit it again. A
crack formed. He hit it again. And again, until the impact broke
the ward crosswise. Whiting grunted in approval. “That works,
too.”
Whiting pulled out the stone fragments. “The locks
should release now. Pull up on the clamps on your side
there.”
He stooped and yanked at two large stone levers
while Laura and Sinclair opened the others. “Now what?” Laura
asked.
“The lid’s heavy,” Whiting said. “I used essence to
lower it into place, but now that it’s activated, it will drain us
the moment we touch the pod. We need to lever it open as quickly as
possible.”
“You guys are the brains of the operation. I’ll do
it,” said Sinclair. Bracing one foot against the wall, he dug his
fingers into the channeled seam that encircled the pod. With a
shout, he heaved upward, throwing himself against the opposite
wall. The lid pivoted, missing Laura and Whiting by inches. Pale,
Sinclair slid to the floor.
Laura rushed to his side, and he smiled up at her.
“And before you ask, no, that wasn’t an ability. I’m just freaking
strong.”
Laura didn’t answer as she scanned his body
signature. His medallion interfered, but as far as she could
determine, his contact had been brief enough to cause only a minor
dip in his essence levels.
She straightened and froze as she saw inside the
pod. Cress lay on her back, unconscious, her body twisted in pain.
In the short time she had been missing, every bit of fat had been
leeched away beneath her skin. Her head was tilted back, cheekbones
prominent, mouth agape as if she were crying out. Her whiteless
eyes, though, bulged in their sockets and burned with a dark
light.
“Dear Danu . . .” Laura whispered. On impulse, she
touched Cress’s cheek. Thick violet tendrils of light slithered out
of the leanansidhe’s skin and wrapped
around Laura’s hand, sucking at her body essence. With a startled
cry, Laura yanked her hand back, rubbing the skin.
The Monument trembled around them, cracks snaking
up the walls.
“I don’t think this place is taking the stress,”
said Sinclair.
Whiting peered into the pod. “She’s trapped in a
fugue state. Until she regains consciousness, the pod will keep
draining essence into the Monument.”
“Will it help if we pull her out?” asked
Laura.
Whiting scratched at the side of his head. “It
should. The warding on the Monument will be disrupted, but I don’t
know if that will be enough. We’re actually inside a stone ward
now. Cress might not need to be in the pod anymore for the draining
to continue. “
Laura clutched Sinclair’s arm as another tremor
rocked the building. “Well, let’s drag her out of here.”
Whiting shook his head. “We won’t make the front
door with her. Cress herself will keep draining essence until she
awakens and stops.”
Laura narrowed her eyes in thought. “Then we’ll
relay her out. Whiting, you get her as far as you can into the
lobby. Jono will take her from there, and if he can’t make it out
the door, I’ll finish the final leg.”
“He’s not fey,” Whiting said. “He won’t last more
than a few moments against her.”
Laura made sly eye contact with Sinclair. “He’s
full of surprises.”
Another tremor sent masonry falling from the
ceiling. “I don’t think we have a choice, folks,” said Sinclair.
“Let’s do this and get out of here.”
Whiting activated his body shield and reached into
the pod. He pulled Cress by her arms and over the lip of the pod.
His shield dimmed as he struggled with her, then faded
entirely.
“Faster, Whiting,” Laura said.
She watched his body signature fade next. With a
last burst of energy, Whiting wrapped his arm around Cress’s waist
and collapsed, using his weight to take her to the floor. Sinclair
darted in and dragged him away from Cress. “He’s not dead, but he
didn’t last long. I don’t think this is going to work.”
Laura crouched beside Cress. “He was already
drained once tonight, Jono. I think we’ll last longer. Hand her off
to me before she knocks you out.”
She met his eyes. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he said.
With a deep breath, he hauled Cress off the floor
and onto his shoulder. The contact staggered him backward as deep
purple tendrils lashed into his body signature. He recovered his
balance and charged for the door. His body essence wavered halfway
across the lobby. Thicker ropes of essence slithered out of Cress
and tangled into his body essence. He fought against the intrusion,
forcing himself forward.
Wake up, Cress, Laura sent.
The sending shredded in her mind.
Sinclair stumbled, his legs weak beneath him. He
wasn’t going to make the doors. He pushed forward, his strength
slipping away like a receding tide. He pressed on, determined to
cover more distance, struggling to within a few feet of the
entrance.
“Take her!” he gasped.
He slipped to his knees as he draped the weight of
Cress’s body over Laura’s shoulder. With more essence pouring into
Cress from the Monument, purple tendrils of light wound around
Laura’s body shield as she pressed through the door. Dazed and
nauseated, she staggered across the pavement outside. The landscape
spun as she fell forward. Cress rolled away from her. Someone
helped Laura stand, but she couldn’t stay upright.
“I need earth beneath me.”
She was dragged out into the hot night air and
eased to the ground.