Then she saw nothing.
CHAPTER 50
LAURA CAME OUT of the bedroom of Sinclair’s apartment already dressed in her InterSec uniform. She hadn’t activated the Mariel persona yet, preferring to be Laura Blackstone when she woke Sinclair. Wearing the white T-shirt and sweatpants from the previous night, he slept in the living room and hadn’t moved since she had slipped into the bathroom. She picked up the remote and muted the television. Startled by the silence, he woke and sat up. His short hair was pressed flat on one side. “Someone means business,” he said.
She perched on the edge of an armchair. “It’s not going to be pretty. How are you feeling?”
He rubbed the back of his head. “Bruised. Headache. Sore back.”
She twitched her lips. “You didn’t have to sleep on the couch.”
He slid into a half-seated position. “You were exhausted. I thought you would be more comfortable alone in the bed.”
After she had passed out from unleashing essence on Guildmaster Orrin ap Rhys, she had come to in Sinclair’s arms on the Mall, his worried face hovering over hers as he stroked her hair. He had carried her away from the chaotic scene. She had wanted to go back, but he wouldn’t let her. Too weak to resist, he led her through a haze of smoke until they were beyond the barricaded emergency zone. They had found an abandoned car with the keys in the ignition and gone to his place.
“Thank you,” she said.
He smiled. “Anytime.”
She stood. “I have no idea what’s going to happen. I’ll call you later.”
Easing up from the couch, he followed her. He leaned against the edge of the open door as she lingered in the hall. “What?” he said.
She shook her head. “Just thanks. Again.”
The InterSec car and driver she had called for waited out front and drove her across a city in crisis. Emergency restrictions limited access to downtown, and the government had reduced all staffing to essential personnel only. Her all-level-security InterSec badge got her anywhere she wanted to go. She had never driven so easily through the normally traffic-choked streets of D.C.
In the bright morning light, the damage to the Guildhouse and surrounding building surprised her. It had looked much worse at night, with all the smoke, the soldiers, and the fires. Parts of the façade had fallen away, and bullet holes riddled the walls of the first two levels. Plate-glass windows gaped with jagged edges. Yet the building appeared more forlorn than destroyed.
At the main entrance, Danann security agents stopped her. “Agent Mariel Tate, your credentials are not valid to enter the Guildhouse per order of the Guildmaster.”
She chuckled, which seemed to confuse the agents. The banning didn’t surprise her. Without a word, she walked away and around the building. As she turned the corner at the rear of the Guildhouse, she deactivated the Mariel glamour and blurred her uniform to look like a blouse and dress pants. She entered the rear door and held up her Guild badge. The Danann agents stepped aside for Laura Blackstone.
As she cut through the first-floor function rooms to reach the main elevators, she reactivated the Mariel persona. The remains of Draigen’s reception littered the lobby. Chairs were overturned or pushed to the walls, and debris was scattered in every corner. In the center of the room, tall, beautiful—incongruous—an enormous vase of white flowers remained untouched amid the mess. Cleanup crews loaded broken fixtures into crates or threw out destroyed furniture.
Once through the main-door checkpoint, no one stopped her. Brownie security guards operated the elevators and rode up with the passengers. When the next available elevator arrived, Laura sent the operator notice that no one else was to ride with her. She wanted her destination as little seen as possible.
Since waking, she had gone over the sequence of events until a pattern emerged, a pathetic pattern of twisted motives that had spiraled out of control. She saw it all, tying the threads together, surmising the obvious gaps. It was over, but it was a waste, and she wasn’t going to keep silent.
The macCullen residential floor bristled with Inverni security. The scene gave Laura a certain sense of irony, which she hoped would vanish in few minutes. At the conference suite, the brownie Davvi worked at a spare, organized desk. “Good morning, Agent Tate.”
She smiled. “Good morning, Davvi. I hope you can help me.”
“Yes, miss?”
“I need a copy of the security-shift change orders at Master macCullen’s residence from the day Cress was kidnapped. Would you have that?” she asked.
“Yes, miss,” he said.
Anticipation prickled up her spine. She had worked with Saffin long enough to know that brownies tried to follow their usual procedures even when they had to make exceptions to them. She waited, but he didn’t move. Although she was in no mood for Davvi’s literalness, his responses forced her to be more aware of her own language. “Davvi, please give me a copy.”
He opened a file drawer behind him. Without needing to search, he retrieved a sheet of paper and dropped it on a compact photocopier behind the desk. He held out the copy to Laura. When she took the end of it, he didn’t let go. Curious, Laura met his gaze. “Is there something wrong, Davvi?”
He pinched his lips, then blinked several times. “I am conflicted, Agent Tate. Master macCullen instructed me to respond to you as I would him. I may have erred with respect to this document and am uncertain of my duty.”
He released the photocopy. Laura glanced over the sheet, confirming her suspicion. “What is the error?”
Davvi clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head. “The Lord Guardian expressed fear of a security breach and asked that a copy of the order not be made. I understood his concern, but I had the utmost faith in my abilities to secure the document. Despite his instruction, I made the copy.”
“That’s an odd request for Terryn to make.”
“You mistake me, miss. The Master is not a Lord Guardian,” Davvi said.
She couldn’t prevent a small smile. “Yes, I’d forgotten. Which Lord Guardian asked you not to make the copy?”
“Lord Aran, miss,” he said.
His explanation satisfied her. It made her case all the stronger. “Thank you, Davvi.”
He sighed. “I fear I may have been responsible for the schedule error at the Master’s residence that resulted in the kidnapping of his concubine. I will accept whatever disciplinary measure the Master demands.”
Laura gaped. “What?”
“I may be responsible . . .”
Laughing, she held up her hand. “I’m sorry, Davvi. I wasn’t asking you to repeat. I was reacting to what you said. The last thing I expected today was to hear Cress referred to as a concubine.”
Davvi tilted his head. “Is it incorrect? I have researched but am at loss for a more accurate term that respects the Master’s life decision.”
“I’d run it by Terryn,” she said. She glanced at the door. “Are they all in there?”
“Yes, miss.”
She tugged at her jacket, inhaled deeply, and opened the door. The macCullens sat at a round table covered with paperwork. As one, they looked toward the door, Draigen with a neutral pleasant expression while Aran and Brinen were distracted. She suspected they had been arguing. Terryn, however, smiled.
“Lady Regent, I apologize for the intrusion,” Laura said.
“No apologies needed after what you accomplished, Agent Tate. I was hoping we could meet you before I leave. I want to extend my deepest thanks. I believe we all owe you our lives,” Draigen said.
Is Cress okay? she sent to Terryn.
I have her in seclusion. Whiting is hopeful for her recovery, he replied.
Laura bowed her head in acknowledgment. “I am not sure you will thank me when I leave here, Lady Regent. I’ll get right to the point. Last night happened because of the people in this room. You are to blame. All of you.”