“What?! Where are they?” He had sensed they were close, but hadn’t realized how close.
“Well . . . uh . . . we’ve been questioning them,” she stammered. “They do seem suspicious . . .”
Dillon stormed toward the door. “Where are they?”
“We only wanted to protect you.”
“Just tell me where they are!”
“The Assembly Room.”
And since Dillon had no idea where that might be, he had her lead the way, ignoring the mournful moans escaping from deeper in the castle.
The Assembly Room was a great hall festooned with gold statues and exquisite tapestries. Flames filled an immense fireplace, large enough to be the mouth of a cavern, and the moment he entered, the flames wavered, and the two figures standing before him seemed to sway, as if suddenly blasted by the power of Dillon’s presence. He recognized them right away, in spite of how different they looked from when he had last seen them: Winston so much taller; Tory’s skin so clean.
He approached them cautiously, as if the creak of every floorboard could be the trigger of a mine.
Winston spoke up first. “I was going to ask how you managed to take over Hearst Castle, but, hell, you’re Dillon Cole,” he said with a sneer. “You can get away with anything.”
Dillon offered him the slightest grin. “Almost anything.”
He was met with an uncomfortable silence. They were waiting for an explanation. Why had he called out to them? What were they doing here? Dillon didn’t know where to begin.
“I know this is going to sound strange,” Dillon finally said, “but you can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you.”
They didn’t answer to that; the feeling was clearly not mutual.
“That’s all right,” said Dillon. “After what I’ve put you through, I’m surprised you came looking for me at all.” Then a third guest who Dillon had not noticed before, stepped forward from the dim shadows of the corner. This wasn’t one of the shards. It was a stranger with dark eyes, high cheekbones, and black hair that ran smoothly from his head and down his spine. “Do I know you?”
“You will,” said the dark-eyed stranger.
“Okoya hooked up with us in New Mexico,” said Tory.
He reached out and shook Dillon’s hand, keeping those dark eyes locked on his. The stranger’s grip was firm, but the skin supple. Dillon felt the bite of fingernails that were a fraction of an inch too long against the back of his hand. “I’ve become a big admirer of yours,” said Okoya.
“I have too many of those.” Dillon turned to the Jessups who guarded the door. “I’d like to be left alone with my friends,” Dillon told them, but the couple was reluctant to go.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” said Mrs. Jessup.
“We don’t know these people,” said her husband.
“They’re not respectful of you.”
“They’re not in awe of you.”
“What if they mean to hurt you?”
“We could never allow that.”
“Just shut up and go,” Dillon told them.
“We’ll be right outside,” Mr. Jessup said. “If there’s anything that you need—anything at all . . .” Then the couple left, swinging the huge wooden doors shut.
“Some group of happy campers you got here,” said Tory.
Dillon chuckled ruefully. “Happy Campers. Yeah, that’s exactly what they are.”
“So if everyone’s so thrilled to be here,” asked Winston, “where’s all that moaning coming from? And don’t tell me it’s just the wind.”
Dillon thought about how he might answer that question. He could try to explain it in a calm, rational way, and sort of ease them into it . . . but decided it was best to let them see it with their own eyes. Then maybe they’d understand how badly Dillon needed their help.
“I’ll take you there,” Dillon said. Winston and Tory didn’t seem too keen on the idea, but they went along. Unfortunately Okoya thought this was an open invitation. Dillon had to step into Okoya’s path to stop his momentum.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t come.”
There was a flash of ice in Okoya’s gaze that was quickly replaced by an apologetic smile. “Of course not,” Okoya said. “Actually, I was hoping to explore the castle.”
Dillon nodded, relieved. “If anyone tries to stop you, tell them you have my personal permission.”
“Your name strikes fear into their hearts,” said Okoya with a grin. “I like that about you.”
Dillon laughed, thinking it was a joke. But when he thought about it later, he wasn’t so sure.
10. Death’s Doorstep
The Gothic Study was a step beyond nightmare. The dark arches of its vaulted ceiling gave one the uneasy sense of being trapped in the hull of a capsized ship. The walls were lined with aging, dust-coated volumes, and the entire room had become an ad hoc repository of misery: the diseased; the dying; the ones hopelessly broken by life. The floor was filled with almost thirty desperate souls suffering in pain and anguish.
Winston and Tory turned their eyes away, but Dillon did not. He had surrendered his disgust long ago.
“Every day, my ‘Happy Campers’ bring me people to fix,” he told them. “There’s more and more each day.”
There was a man before them with multiple leg fractures, who appeared to have been hijacked right from the scene of an accident. “I suppose I’ve made some converts of the local paramedics, and emergency-room doctors. They’ve started to secretly divert patients my way.”
The wounded man looked up at them in weak terror, not even knowing why he was there.
“There’s some people I can help, and others I can’t,” Dillon said. “Because there are some things I just can’t do . . . . That’s why I need you.”
Winston shook his head. “I . . . I can’t do things like that—I can’t.”
“You can, and you know it,” said Dillon. “I’m sure you helped a lot of people back home.”
“By accident,” snapped Winston. “Never on purpose!”
“Somehow,” said Dillon, “I thought you would have grown wiser. Wisdom does come along with your gift, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe I’m wise enough to know not to screw with things I don’t understand.”
Tory’s eyes drifted to a man across the room whose hacking, liquid cough spoke of tuberculosis.
Like Winston, she had never actively sought to cure the ills of the world around her—as if she had no right to willfully use her power. But faced with the misery before her, it seemed selfish and cruel to stand there and do nothing. And maybe it would make her feel better about herself. Cleaner.
She made her way across the room to the coughing man, and began gently massaging his fiery throat and inflamed chest. “Am I doing this right?” she called back to Dillon, but Dillon had no answer, because he had no idea. In less than a minute, however, the man was breathing easier, as the disease drained from his lungs.
Dillon led the reluctant Winston across the room. “They keep bringing me people with lost limbs . . . but I have to send them away,” Dillon told him. “I can fix broken bones, but I can’t fix something that’s not even there.”
They stopped before a man with bandages on his knees, and nothing but air where the rest of his legs should have been. His dressings had already been removed.
“A human being is not a tree!” Winston shouted.
“You don’t just regenerate a new limb out of thin air. It’s against the laws of nature.”
Dillon took a step closer. “So break the law.”
Winston shuddered out a sickened breath, then knelt down to the legless man, realizing, as Tory had, that his own conscience left him no choice. “Dillon, have I ever told you how much I hate you?”