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.”