Mort deflects the last with the palm of his hand. He’s already tucked his phone away, although Ophelia imagines it’s burning a hole in his pocket. Ignoring a call from Professor Reginald Botten is another of those career-limiting moves.
“If you calm yourself, I’ll explain.”
Oh, it’s always a bad idea to condescend to the angry, especially the righteously angry, the way Jack is at this moment.
“She’s nowhere.” Jack jerks an arm toward the front door and the street beyond. “He’s nowhere. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call headquarters and request a competent response team.”
Gwyneth wrinkles her nose in distaste as if she’s not part of the problem but wisely keeps her mouth shut. Mort rubs his face, feigning amusement, but Ophelia can tell the blow landed.
“Here’s the short version.” Mort says these words as if he’s spitting nails. “Botten believes King’s End sits on top of a juncture, one that contains an actual gateway, one that Rose Little and Harry Darnelle damaged in an attempt to harness its power.”
The anger deflates from Jack’s chest, but he appears bemused and completely unconvinced by this proclamation.
“Now we’re here to clean up the mess, and we need both Pansy and Henry to do so.” Mort pauses, as if he’s deciding how much to reveal. “It’s a blood thing.”
Of course it is. If there’s anything the Enclave loves more than power, it’s spilling blood.
“Are we talking about the arcane?” Jack asks.
“We are. They performed a ritual here, and when it went awry, managed some sort of makeshift hold, one that’s threatening to disintegrate. You know as well as I do that things have never been quite right in King’s End. This is why. Botten believes he’s uncovered the correct text, but he needs direct descendants to reverse the incantation and heal the land.”
Jack’s brow furrows in thought. Of all the analysts Mort could have—and maybe should have—requested, Jack is absolutely the wrong one.
“Why not bring all this to light back?—”
“Thirty years ago, or thereabouts.”
The best sorts of lies are the ones that run parallel to the truth. For the first time, Ophelia unravels what Botten desires. She doesn’t need the Sight for this, although it’s offering her tiny peeks into the past. Yes, Rose Little crafted a stopgap measure, and when the construction company broke ground, they tore through the threads that held everything together. In the process, they tore through Rose.
But she did it to block the man whose quietly furious voicemail is now sitting on Mortimer’s phone.
She did it to save the world. After making a terrible mistake, yes. But Rose’s intentions? Ophelia can taste those still lingering in the air. Those were pure, as were the ones of the man who was like a second father to her.
“Enclave politics,” Mort adds. “Darnelle senior had the High Council all tied up. Nothing could move until…” He trails off and shrugs one shoulder.
Yes, nothing can happen until people start vanishing and dying. Typical Enclave.
“So, what you’re telling me,” Jack says, his voice incredulous, “is that Rose Little and Harry Darnelle were both megalomaniacs who wanted to rule the world.”
When you put it like that? Even Gwyneth blinks at this.
Jack is shaking his head as if he wants to shake out all the nonsense Mort’s been feeding him. “That doesn’t fit with the Rose Little I know … knew.”
“The Rose Little you knew was a broken woman. She should have paid for this, along with Harry Darnelle. But since they’re not here, it falls to Pansy and Henry. Trust me, we’re taking every precaution to protect them.”
Please. I know better.
Jack makes a show of peering under chairs and behind the couch in the office. “Funny how they’re not here, either.”
Mort rubs his eyes and swears, and now it’s just tedious. “Look, I’ll be honest.”
Oh, I doubt that. Ophelia snorts a laugh.
Jack startles, glances over his shoulder to where Ophelia is hovering. She catches the barest twist of his lips, the light in his eyes that’s there and gone.
“Before we can deploy the task force,” Mort continues, “we need to confirm the exact location of the epicenter. If anyone can pinpoint it, and quickly, it’s you.”
“Wait a minute. You’re telling me you don’t know where it is? That King’s End is sitting on top of a juncture, and at any minute, someone could stumble across the epicenter and vanish?”
