In the heart of the chamber amid water and fire, a dozen people in robes had gathered. A woman at the very center was performing movements and gestures that Yokane recognized from her training. As the woman moved, the others followed her exactly, and Yokane could feel immense pulses of energy rushing in torrents from their hands, through the air, through the walls, and away. The movements were slow but the intention behind them was pure fire, controlled ferocity and rage and conviction. Yokane felt a strange blend of horror and elation, a flood of anger and triumph rising within her, until the door to the chamber slammed open and a voice shouted in Galderkhaani, “Rensat! Gather everyone, quickly!”
It came from a short, elderly man with wildly curling white hair, hurrying as fast as he could across the chamber. The woman at the center never faltered in her movements but spoke simultaneously.
“What is wrong?” the woman asked.
“Out there”—he pointed in the direction from which he’d come—“there are rumors that the Source is active!”
The woman stiffened. “It must be stopped,” she said.
“We cannot access it!” the man said.
“Then we must find those who operate it and stop them!”
“You will kill them?”
“If necessary, as Enzo’s sister tried to do.”
The man stood there, uncertain how to proceed. Suddenly his nose crinkled.
“The air!” the woman said, insisting. “Smell the air!”
The man inhaled as if he were already dismissing the notion, but the result caused confusion. “Sulfur,” he replied. “It’s true—”
The ground-shattering sound of an explosion rocked through the room. It came from outside. The Priests lost their sequence in the movements. Rensat looked up in panic. Visible through the latticed ceiling was smoke, huge, throttling clouds of smoke. The man rushed to the stairs by the wall and lurched up them. He approached the nearest window and looked out, looked east.
“Oh gods,” he breathed. “The khaan…”
The woman beseeched everyone to join hands with another, as many others as they could, and recite the cazh.
“Come to me, Pao!” Rensat cried. “Quickly, while there is time for us!”
“Oh gods!” Pao screamed as he grasped her outstretched fingers.
Then there was fire and torrent and Yokane’s body fell sideways, sliding down the lamppost. She breathed heavily, losing the little energy she had gathered.
“Oh gods,” she murmured, repeating Pao’s last words.
She pushed herself from the streetlight and began to walk. Walking had helped before and it worked now. Soon her head was clear again and the vision of Galderkhaan held only the weight of a memory and the message that had demanded tonight’s action.
She had not wanted to open herself to Caitlin, but she knew she needed help immediately. She knew that working through the boy would force Caitlin’s hand.
Yokane continued to walk but she remained closed to the city and the past. She wanted to avoid Fifth Avenue and Washington Square, continuing over to the east side and down toward her closet-sized room.
She had told Caitlin to contact her—by phone—after her visit to the Group’s headquarters. When that was done, when Yokane had rested, she would know better what had to be done in the past to protect the future.
Mustering her strength, the woman continued to walk. The night had been more exhausting than she had anticipated, and after a few minutes more she decided she had walked enough. It was time to rest. She hadn’t seen many cabs pass by so she hurried for the subway and took the D train to the West Village.
The respite was what she needed—though the buzzing in her pocket as the train passed below the Group’s mansion was noticeable not just to herself but to those nearest her. Most of the passengers probably assumed it was her cell phone, but their annoyed looks put Yokane on guard: she couldn’t afford a confrontation, especially if there was a police officer on board. She wished it were a pet thyodularasi whose smooth flesh she could stroke and calm, and it would calm her… at least, that was the legend. She had only seen the animal’s bones, held in secret and treasured by the generations who had come before her. She left the subway at Lafayette Street—well below the Group’s mansion.
Between her worried thoughts; her increasingly sad, wistful reflections; and the stone buzzing in her pocket, Yokane had very little attention to spare for her surroundings. She walked through Little Italy, then continued east. She only half-turned when approaching footsteps seemed uncommonly close.
Three fingers jabbed into the angle of her jaw and neck and Yokane’s body dropped. Her last thought was of Caitlin and the Group’s headquarters, and the silent scream her body was no longer able to make—
Casey Skett caught her so quickly that to a young woman walking on the other side of the street, she seemed only to wobble. With one arm Casey lifted Yokane just enough so that her feet would not drag on the pavement and walked her to the open passenger door of his Department of Sanitation van. He checked and no pedestrians were looking to see what had happened. He lifted Yokane into the seat, taking care to make it look friendly and romantic in case anyone was gazing from a nearby window. With the female belted into the passenger seat, he shut the door and moved around to get behind the wheel. He drove into the Group’s underground parking spot, parked, unfastened Yokane, and dragged her into the back of the van. There, he pulled the object from her pocket but did not pause to inspect the still-vibrating artifact. He’d known since Arni died what this descendant of the bloody Priestly suicide cult had been carrying. He put the stone in his own pocket, removed a leash hanging from the wall of the van, and strangled Yokane with it until her feet stopped their spasms.
Then he drove straight to the animal hospital to utilize their incinerator.
He would decide later if and when he would tell Flora about any of it… including his ties to the people she sought.
The Technologists of Galderkhaan.
CHAPTER 20
There was a sharp chill in the air and an intermittent wind coming Washington Square Park. Fallen leaves crackled as they skidded along the dimly lit sidewalk and scratched the sides of parked cars.
Caitlin was oblivious to all of it. Standing on the front steps of the Group’s mansion, she was prepared to try the word “Galderkhaan” as her admittance password. Since it was around ten o’clock at night she couldn’t pretend to be a tourist or a neighborhood outreach representative from the Church of the Ascension across the street—though the name was apt enough.
But excuses weren’t needed. The young woman who opened the door wearing green sparkly eyeshadow seemed a bit surprised at the sight of her, then immediately asked Caitlin to come in without another word. Flora had hired Erika as an assistant for many reasons, but the fact that she verged on having an eidetic memory was especially helpful. Erika did not say aloud that she remembered the visitor from a video she’d seen of a gathering in Jacmel, Haiti.
She showed Caitlin into Flora’s office. It was filled with a mishmash of antique furniture that showed a preference for Art Deco and long brown-and-blue velvet drapes that covered the windows.
Erika found Flora coming up the stairs from the basement and warned her who had arrived.
“She’s here?” Flora exclaimed. It was all the Group leader said in response. The words had the weight of continental drift, an acknowledgment that large things were in motion.
Donning a smile, she entered her office.
“I am Flora Davies.”