“Good,” I tell him, glad to get that part over with. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”
23EXPENDABLE
The last one out of the building, I look for Aaron among those gathered on the lawn, necks craning up, mouths agog as they watch for billows of smoke. Unfortunately, I still don’t see him, and Aaron’s hard to miss, what with that chiseled jawline and those bright colors he wears. I pull my phone out and check my messages, but there’s nothing new. Standing among the other oglers, I try his number. It rings and rings, before going to voicemail. My stomach seizes with worry, so I try Brennan instead, choosing to call rather than text. But, like Aaron, there’s no answer.
I bite my lip, my office victory short-lived. I’m too worried about my friends to care that I bested Cal and Jessica in one blow.
With a smidgen of effort, I draw the flames back into that raging part of myself, a conflagration at my center that I’m only just beginning to take measure of. It’s like sucking an extra thick milkshake through a straw,ifit were made of magma and trying to get away from you. But the fire’s burned long enough to disintegrate those pesky documents, melt Jessica’s laptop, and get me out of work. I don’t need it anymore.
Of course, it’s only a reprieve. Jessica will get a new laptop or watch the video on another device. I can’t erase what Calvin has already seen, papers he can print again, everything stored in the cloud somewhere I can’t touch. But maybe Calvin will stand byhis word and keep this from haunting me. I don’t care about the job. First-tier convict of the copy dungeon be damned. I always deserved more but was too afraid to let myself have it. It’s become the refrain of my life. But I don’t need the police involved in this, my past splattered across everyone’s psyche. I don’t need to be indicted for something Imostlydidn’t do. What I need is a clean exit. Something short of razing the whole place to the ground. That didn’t work so well for me before.
With a sigh, I text Levi.Change of plans. Mission Light Reading engaged. Brush up on your Aramaic. We have homework tonight.
With that, I head for the parking garage and get in my car, start toward Pioneer Square and the club I’ve become all too familiar with. We agreed last night that I should steal Rudzitin’s journal from Arla, let Levi translate what he can while we try to determine how to undo the showman’s complicated summoning spell. Then, once we have a proper plan, I’ll sneak back into Medusa’s basement, use the word Levi taught me to reveal the key, and get inside the Fathom’s chamber, where I can free her in a way that hopefully won’t bring the building down on top of us.
What we hadn’t anticipated was startingtoday. But I’m worried about Aaron and Brennan, and I figure I only have so much time left to pull the trigger before Arla ropes us all into her damned-if-you-do-and-damned-if-you-don’t ritual.
I make my way through the empty club and board the elevator. But instead of riding it to the top, I stop at the third floor where Brennan and the rest keep their apartments. I’m not sure what to expect, but what I find is a dull, dark hallway with ugly gray carpet and three composite doors (Twig and Rock must be roomies—no surprise there). A far cry from the resplendent taste of the club below or Arla’s penthouse above.
I recall Brennan saying he lived sandwiched between Twig and Rock on one side and Cadence on the other. So, I try the middle door, but it’s locked.
Knocking, I call through it to him on the other side, if he’s even there. “Brennan! Brennan, it’s Jude. Open up. Is Aaron with you?I haven’t seen him. Hello? Look, I just want to know you’re both okay. Arla didn’t send me, I promise.”
I step back and wait, staring at the door as if I could see through it to the other side, but it doesn’t budge. Instead, the door to my right opens, and Twig’s lithe body slips halfway through it, a black bedsheet wrapped around and tucked under her arms.
“What do you want?” she asks, groggy eyes parting reluctantly like she hasn’t seen the sun in days.
“Have you seen Brennan?”
“He’s gone,” she says flatly, but doesn’t elaborate.
I draw a worried breath. “Gone where?”
She shrugs. “How should I know?”
“You don’t think that’s weird? I tried calling him and he’s not answering. You all live here, play here… Hell, maybe you work here. Do you work at all?”
She ignores me.
“He should be here, so where is he?”
“What I think is weird,” Twig says slowly, “is that the last time anyone saw him he was going to meet you.”
My eyes narrow. “You’re not implying…”
She smiles, the beam of a child, but behind it there is venom. “I’m not implying anything. Just stating the facts.”
“Well, that was two days ago. Has anyone tried looking for him or calling the police?”
That elicits a short burst of laughter. “The police? What are the police gonna do?”
My patience with her emo Holly Golightly impression is wearing thin. “I don’t know, Triyama, maybe their job.”
Her face falls, no longer lit with irony. “Don’t call me that.”
“I’m going to talk to Arla about this,” I tell her, but she simply shrugs a shoulder.
“Sure. Talk to Arla. Talk all you want,kitten. Talk, talk, talk… But talking never brought anyone back,” she says evilly.
