“I didn’t think so,” I said, “but I acknowledged it was a possibility.”
“I see. And when you got there, you were ambushed?” He stared at the paper. “Do you think perhaps when he realized where you were going that he summoned some additional Omega security?”
I froze. I hadn’t considered that. “No. I mean, it’s possible I guess.”
“Possible.” He had a semi-smile now. “Is it also possible that because you warned him, he was able to rally additional Omega forces in the forms of helicopters and sweep teams – the very ones that ambushed you after your escape, and caused the death of the subject Andromeda?”
I felt overly warm now. “Possibly, yes. But in my judgment—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, not sounding remotely sorry and on something of a roll, “but you’d been drinking twice in the previous two nights, all while active on a mission.” He looked up at me. “Would you consider that to be good judgment or bad?”
I wanted to grind my teeth but felt I lacked the muscle control. Instead my mouth hung slightly open, and I felt a surge of emotion. “Not so good.”
“And taking an Omega operative back to your hotel room,” he said, now riveted, focused in on me, “was that good judgment or—”
“Bad,” I said, not looking back at him. “Obviously.”
“So you really weren’t exhibiting the greatest judgment, were you?” His smile went slightly toothy, baring them like a predator, and I noticed a slight yellowing on them, probably from coffee.
I was caught in his stare, and I looked behind me again, to the cold glare of the mirror, the overhead fluorescent shining off it, my face visible looking over my shoulder. I looked stricken, that’s the only way to describe it, and Mormont knew it. I saw him, watching me in the mirror, and I didn’t bother turning back to answer him. “No,” I said, only just above a whisper.
“So,” he went on, back to the pad of paper that I wished I could burn, “your mother left you in the state in which your colleagues later found you?”
“Yes,” I said, a deep, galling pain stirring inside. “She did.”
“And what state was that?” His voice was slick, like oil, his words almost fluid in his delivery, as though they were simply sliding out of him.
“Beaten. Bloodied. Wrecked.” I stared back at him with all the faux defiance I had left. “Between James Fries and my aunt, I was pretty much an immovable mess.”
“I see,” he said with a clicking of his tongue. “And two of these people – actually three, if we count your mother, who didn’t hurt you but did leave you in said condition – were ones…you trusted in some way.” He stared at the paper. “Your aunt wasn’t an Omega operative? Just another random psychotic succubus?” he asked, as though it were expected. “You are aware that the incubus and succubus are the most shunned of all metas – the ‘old world’ attitude toward incubi and succubi?” He smiled. “They’re not well-regarded among metas. Something about being able to drain souls with a touch tends to alienate you from others; makes you untrustworthy.” He was grim in his delivery, and I caught the subtext: he’d just finished drawing the line between the behavior of Fries, my aunt and my mother, and now he was connecting it neatly back to me.
“It’s not exactly my favorite thing about myself,” I mumbled.
He gave it a moment’s rest, as though declaring silent victory for making me turn on myself. His eyes never left me. “Your mother went by the name Brittany Eccleston outside of your home. Do you know why that was?”
“I assume she was hiding from the people she used to work for,” I said.
“You mean the U.S. Government, who might be curious about why she survived their metahuman policing agency’s destruction?” He wore a small smile. “Did she give you any indication what she was at the Omega facility for?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “She just kicked Charlie’s ass, activated the control panel that set loose Andromeda and then left.” I held my arms up in total exhaustion and uncertainty. “I don’t know.”
“Hm,” he said with a nod. “A few things we can rule out, I think. First, she wasn’t there for you.” He delivered this line with a cold precision and a hint of a smile. “She left Gillette, Wyoming and committed a string of robberies on the way, and it was only by following her trail that you even found the Omega facility. So…it wasn’t because you were there.”
“Right,” I said, my voice lower than a whisper. I felt a burning at my eyes, and I hated Michael Mormont right then, more than anyone ever.
“Tell me.” He looked up from his pad again. “Where do you think she would go? Now that she’s kidnapped your colleague?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t know where to look for her before and nothing has changed. If she’s not at our house?” I shrugged. “I don’t even know what she was doing in Wyoming.”
“We’ve already looked over your house and have agents in place to make certain that if she returns there, we’ll know about it.” His answer was brusque, businesslike and…almost remorseless, like he was attacking me with it. “Andromeda,” he said. “What she told you; repeat it for me. As close to word for word as you can, please.”
“She said there was a traitor in the Directorate.” I wasn’t even able to look at him. “That was it.”
“That was all?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Nothing else?”
“Some other stuff about…looking to her in the dark.” I shook my head, so desperately ready to be done. “I don’t know. I didn’t understand what she was saying. It made no sense.”
“It made no sense?” He looked at me, impassive. “Or it made no sense to you?”
“To me, I guess. To Scott, either. He was there when she said it.” I tried to take the sting out of his words by tossing Scott in the mix, but the truth was that I felt numb, and fully to blame for things I hadn’t even considered. The good news, if there was any, was that I wasn’t responsible for the horrific numbers of Directorate agents that had died thanks to Omega. The bad news was that I was probably responsible for Andromeda’s death. Everything I touch turns to death.
He stood, abandoning the pad, and circled around his chair. I thought about standing myself, but I felt a compelling lack of energy. “What do you think of her death?” I blinked at him, uncomprehending. “She’d just saved your life from James Fries, helped you escape the Omega compound, had promised to give you information that would give the Directorate a complete picture of Omega’s operations.” His hands clutched the back of his chair, and I saw his knuckles become more pronounced as he held on tighter to the scuffed wood. “What do you think of that, now that she’s dead?”
“Obviously I’m disappointed,” I said, not quite sure what he was looking for.
“Disappointed,” he said with a nod. “Yes, I can imagine. You, who admitted you’ve been recruited by an Omega operative, whose mother kidnapped one of her teammates. Leaving aside any petty jealousies you might have had for Katrina—” his eyes sparkled as he said it – “all these coincidences seem…a little much, wouldn’t you say?”
I stared back at him in raw disbelief. “My aunt’s a psycho. My mother’s a rogue. And I’ve got bad taste in men, apparently. You throwing in the idea that I’m a traitor to the Directorate into the mix?”
He slid his hand along the back of the wood chair. “Only a fool wouldn’t suspect you at this point.”
I should have brushed it off. If all the things that had happened the last few days hadn’t happened, I probably would have. I’m Teflon. Nothing sticks to me; not emotions, not…nothing. I’m tough. My reputation at the Directorate is unsentimental, brutal, hard-working, unfeeling. I blinked back the emotion again. “Did Ariadne tell you to ask me this?” I blinked again. “Does she suspect me?”