Crucible Zero (19 page)

“I'm going to step in now,” she said.

“Okay.”

She pulled back the curtain, took a quick second to note where I was sitting and everything that I'd laid out on the bench next to me, except for my boots, which were still on the floor next to my stocking feet.

“Are you carrying any other weapons on your body?” she asked as she stepped into the small space with me.

“No.”

“Please stand and face me.”

I did so.

She closed the distance. “I am going to feel down your arms, legs, stomach, and under your breasts.”

“All right. I'm bandaged across my rib cage.”

“Understood.”

She quickly and efficiently patted me down, including running the backs of her fingers beneath my breasts.

“Turn, please.”

I turned. She patted me down from that angle, running her hands over my pockets.

“Step to your left.”

I stepped.

“I'll be looking in your duffel now.”

“Okay.”

It all seemed so formal and odd. When I had known House Brown, they were more like a big, mismatched family. Odd collections of farms and cooperatives working together to help each other stay beneath the notice of the other, more powerful Houses.

This House Earth had rules in place, and armed guards the other House Brown would have never dreamed of.

She rifled through my belongings rather quickly, and didn't seem particularly surprised at any of it.

“All right, you can put your boots back on, and your jacket.”

I did so as she remained right where she was, watching me.

She opened the curtain so I could see into the rest of the room. Quinten and Neds had their shirts on. But both Foster and Abraham had stripped down to their breeches, which were now beltless.

Abraham had on a sort of smile that said there was a good helping of anger simmering right beneath it.

The guards also looked a little more tense, judging by their body language.

“You are free to go, Quinten Case, Neds Harris, Evelyn Case,” one of the guards said.

“What about Abraham and Foster?” I asked.

“They will remain here, under guard.”

I looked at Quinten. This was his chance to say something before I jumped in and explained that that was not going to stand with me.

“That's not what I agreed to,” Quinten said.

Several of the guards shifted their aim to him, and I could see the wave of tension that rolled through them.

I didn't blame them. Galvanized were damn hard to kill.

Even with bullets.

Even with a lot of bullets.

And Quinten wanted not just one, but two to walk the streets of this town.

Well, three, really.

The door opened, and a man's voice called out. “Quinten Case. What sort of trouble are you bringing to my doorstep this time?”

I knew that voice. I'd know him anywhere.

“Profitable trouble, Welton,” Quinten said. “As always.”

The guards moved aside to allow Welton to step forward.

He
was
alive.

And, yes, I was grinning.

Welton Yellow. I'd known him as the head of House Yellow, Technology. An all-around meddler and ultimate friend to the galvanized and my family.

He looked so healthy here. His brown hair hung over his eyebrows, under which could be seen his wickedly clever eyes. He was as pale as ever, but not sickly, with shadows collecting under his languid eyes. But instead of the yellow T-shirts I was used to him wearing, or the odd, bulky gear he'd had on in the other timeway, he wore a loose brown henley and a pair of ripped-up jeans that pooled into the tops of his work boots.

I'd never seen Welton in workman's clothes before. They suited his casually lazy persona.

And now here he was, lean, intense, ruling—though not the same House he had ruled before—and looking every bit the clever slacker while he was doing it.

“Quinten Case,” he said again, even though his gaze flicked over Neds and me, then took some time to consider Abraham and Foster.

Did it linger a moment longer on Foster, his eyes taking in the massive scarring and mismatched bits of the big galvanized? Was there a slight shift in Welton's breathing? Did his eyes dilate?

Did he actually recognize Foster, who had been his best friend since he was a child in the past only I should remember?

Quinten was a genius. But so was Welton. Just as smart, and maybe even more conniving. If there was a way to remember a time that no one but I remembered, I thought maybe Welton would have discovered it, even though he was no longer a part of House Technology.

“Custodian Welton,” Quinten said. “I was just explaining to your guards that my companions will be staying with me, and that I will vouch for their behavior within these walls.”

“I believe introductions are in order. Who are your companions?” Welton pulled off leather gloves and then folded them in his hands once before tucking them into his belt. He had weighed us each in turn and now seemed as interested in us as if we were dirt on the bottom of his shoes.

“My sister, Evelyn Case,” Quinten said, motioning my way. “Our farmhand, Neds Harris, and the galvanized, Foster and Abraham.”

Welton shook his head and made a
tsk
ing sound through his teeth. “You know the rules, Quinten. No galvanized in the gates.”

“Not even my sister?” Quinten asked quietly.

Welton's eyebrows hitched up higher into his hair, and he turned to look at me.

For a second, everyone in the room turned to look at me.

I was just as surprised as the rest of them that Quinten had just outed me as galvanized. So much for keeping the family secret secret.

“Evelyn, wasn't it?” Welton asked, as if we'd just met at some sort of tea social instead of under the careful observation of more than a dozen armed guards. He strolled my way. “It is
very
good to make your acquaintance.”

Quinten's shoulders tightened, but he didn't look back at me. I knew he was worried whether I was going to play by the rules, if I was going to agree to go by Evelyn's name.

If I was going to let Welton and all these guards know I was galvanized.

And while I hated lying about being someone I was not, the presence of guns was enough to convince me to hold to my name preference for when my brother wouldn't get shot for my stubbornness.

“It is,” I said, stepping up so close to the guards, I could smell their shaving cream and sweat.

Welton offered his hand.

I took it. His finger slipped down along the inside of my wrist and rubbed just once over the threads there.

We shook.

The guards twitched a bit, and I was kind of hoping Welton would tell them to relax, since, one, they wouldn't be able to kill me before I killed Welton now that I was in contact with him, and, two, I wasn't the one who would come out of this injured if things went bad.

“Hey, it's good to see you,” I said.

He pursed his lips. “That's a cheeky greeting.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Very pleased to meet you, custodian, sir.”

The smile he couldn't seem to keep out of his eyes quirked his lips. “You are terrible at this.”

“I know. Um . . . this is probably what you want to see.” I lifted up my hand and pushed my undershirt sleeve back so he could see the stitches around my wrist and elbow.

“And?” he asked.

Right. Everyone was stitched to some degree in this world. So he needed to see other, permanent stitches. I pulled my hair away from the side of my face, revealing the stitches that ran down my neck.

“And?” he asked.

“Sorry, but that's where the peep show ends. Trust me. I'm stitched. Pretty much everywhere, and pretty much permanently.”

“You're his sister?”

I tipped my chin up. “Yes, I most certainly am.”

“So
very
interesting. Aren't you an interesting thing?”

“If I say yes, instead of kicking you in the nuts for calling me a thing, will you let me into your compound?”

The smile spread out into a smug grin, then faded. “Quinten,” he said, looking at my brother over my shoulder, “you have been keeping secrets from me. Shame. But now that I've met her, perhaps I understand why. You and Evelyn may enter.”

“Not without Neds, and Foster and Abraham,” Quinten said.

Welton angled his head and stared at Quinten for a long moment. “If any of this visit of yours goes wrong, you, personally, will be the one who pays.”

“I'm good for it. You know that,” Quinten said.

Welton waited a moment. Maybe just for the dramatic flair; maybe weighing if we, and whatever history Quinten had with him, was worth the possible trouble and danger we were bringing into this compound by dragging two galvanized mercenaries along behind us.

Three galvanized, if you counted me, and we'd made sure that Welton knew just exactly what I was.

“Stand down, gentlemen and lady,” Welton said, his demeanor slipping forward a gear into something that might almost be commanding. “These fine people and their companions are now our guests.”

The guards didn't seem to relax much.

Welton reached over and touched my arm. “You have
so
much to tell me, Evelyn Case. I want to know everything about you. But first, I'm afraid your brother and I have a little catching up to do.”

“She'll come with us,” Quinten said, sitting on the bench and carefully slotting his feet into his boots.

“Oh?” Welton glanced over at him. “I see. Please escort Mr. Harris and Abraham and Foster to a room for the night. Don't worry,” he said, and cut off what I'd been about to say. “You and Quinten will be rooming right next to them this evening. Abraham, Foster”—he nodded at each—“and Neds Harris. Please get dressed and follow my guards. We will return your weapons to you when you leave the compound.”

Abraham angled his simmering gaze down on Welton. “What guarantee do I have?”

“My word. That's all you'll get.”

Welton held eye contact, then took my hand again.

His fingers were warm and long and callused, which made me smile, because the old Welton I'd known hadn't done a hard day's work in his life.

“Now, let's the two of us talk while we walk.”

“Um, sure,” I hedged. “Can I take my duffel?”

“No, no. That stays here.”

“It has my change of clothes in it.”

“You do understand you are my guest here, and I am at the beck and call of your comfort. A lovely new outfit for the lovely young lady, perhaps?”

“She's not interested in you, Welton,” Quinten said, picking up his case and duffel, then striding forward. “She only dates men.”

Welton burst out laughing. It was a deep, sort of goofy chuckle that make me smile. He dropped my hand—dropped the act of flirting with me—and turned to Quinten. He draped his arm over Quinten's shoulder. Quinten winced a little at the contact, but Welton didn't seem to notice.

“Spreading rumors again, I see,” Welton said as they walked out of the building, and the rest of us followed. They headed toward the wall that surrounded the town.

“Just trying to even the score,” Quinten said.

“Oh, come, now. You're not still pouting over that little miscommunication last year?”

“It wasn't a miscommunication. You were bored and decided to take it out on me.”

“Well, yes, that too,” Welton agreed.

I glanced behind me. Neds had lingered, allowing Foster and Abraham to step out before him. The guards threw sideline looks but walked on either side of Foster and Abraham.

Neds caught my glance, and Left Ned nodded just slightly, encouraging me to keep up with Welton and Quinten.

And since Welton seemed to be the man in charge of this place, I decided it probably was safest for all of us if I did just that.

He knows. Slater knows I've reached you. Good. I hope he comes for me.

—W.Y.

“F
inally,” Welton said, shutting the huge, polished wooden door behind us. “Sit. Get comfortable. Talk.”

We had taken a cab to Welton's office. Despite Welton's insistence otherwise, guards had accompanied us every step of the way through the streets of the town, and finally to the doorstep of his office building and the threshold of his office.

Right now, four guards stood outside the door, and if Welton hadn't threatened to demote them, all of them would be in the room with us.

The office was very nice. Redwood furniture padded by expensive woven-tapestry and leather upholstery, heavy velvet curtains on the three tall windows, red-and-gold wallpaper styled in tasteful patterns.

His desk was a more modern affair, minimal compared to the rest of the setting, with black wrought iron cast and twisted into a geometric design. The wrought iron work was also reflected in the shelves, which contained books, statues, framed artwork, and a couple of potted plants.

Quinten settled down in a large leather chair, so I took the couch.

“Water? Wine?” Welton asked.

“Both,” Quinten said.

Welton lifted an eyebrow toward me.

“Water, please.”

He moved over to a wet bar on one side of the room, poured a small glass of wine, and filled two larger glasses with water.

“Gloria told me about the bomb threat,” Welton said. “What more can you tell me?”

“Nothing good,” Quinten sighed.

Welton turned with a tray of glasses and gave me the water and the water and wine to Quinten.

He took a small glass of wine for himself, leaned against the edge of his desk, and held it up in a toast. “To living to see another sunrise.” He sipped the wine, and so did Quinten. “Talk to me, Case.”

I drank the water, grateful for how clean and cool it was.

“Someone found out I was digging in House records,” Quinten said. “I don't know who, but the only ones who knew everything I was doing were you and Gloria.”

“Gloria wouldn't betray you. Or us,” Welton said.

“I know.” Quinten leveled an accusatory stare at him.

Welton shook his head. “There is no reason for me to betray you. I wouldn't do so. Not over this. Not over ending this damn plague for good. You know how many people I've lost. Friends. Family.”

“I need you to swear on your dead mother's grave that you didn't double-cross me for whatever the hell plan or scheme you have in the works, with whatever the hell House or non-House you want something from.”

Welton set his wineglass down and held up one hand, pinkie and thumb tucked together in his palm. “I swear to you, on my oath, on my dead mother's grave, on our friendship. I did not tell anyone or lead anyone to the knowledge or information you were looking for or to you. Is that clear?”

Quinten studied him for a minute. “Jesus, Welton. If it's not you and not Gloria, then we have a leak in the line.”

He nodded. “It's worrisome. How did you receive the information that someone knew you were looking through records?”

“Three mercenaries knocked on my kitchen door.”

“They got past the dragons?”

“Lizards. And yes. Two of them are Abraham and Foster.”

“Interesting. Let's get back to that. Who was the third?”

“Sallyo.”

He raised eyebrows. “Impressive. The job must have been paying well for her to take it. Did you convince her to tell you who she was working for?”

“House Fire. We know that much. And then we know this.” He reached into his duffel and pulled out the letter from Slater.

I was surprised he was going to share it. That single action raised Welton right back into my Very Trustworthy category.

“Slater?” Welton asked.

“Do you know him?”

“Of him. Just recently he's made a move to put himself in top position in House Fire. Seems a few of the other sub-heads of Houses have suddenly contracted the One-five plague and died, leaving him conveniently in the position to seize the reins of power. Strange that the first confirmed cases of the plague, each strain of it over the years, has come out of House Fire. I've wondered just how much of that is a coincidence and how much might be by design.”

“You think someone in House Water is infecting House Fire people with the plagues?” Quentin asked.

“Quite the opposite,” Welton said. “If I were a head of a minor House who also happened to be galvanized and immune to the plague, well, let's say I wouldn't dismiss the usefulness of a well-placed ‘natural' death or two.”

“You think Slater's behind the plague?” Quinten asked.

“He might be. Or not. I really don't know,” Welton said. “He has declared martial law.”

“What?” Quinten said. “Why? How?”

“He has closed House Fire and accused House Water of bombing House Earth Compound Seven last night.”

All the air went out of Quinten, and he buried his head in his hands. “He didn't wait ten days. He was never planning to wait ten days.”

“No. But your warning helped save hundreds,” Welton said gently. “We were able to get the word out. They were preparing for attack.”

“How many died?” Quinten asked.

“Twenty-one. Twice that many are hospitalized.”

Quinten pulled his hands away from his face. “What kind of bomb?”

Welton's mouth set in a grim line. He twisted and picked up his wineglass again, and drained it down.

“It was a suicide bomber. A man walked into a crowded square and . . .” He flared his fingertips out, mimicking the explosion. “We have monitors for aerial attacks. We have teams who sweep the streets for remote devices. But one of our own turning House and taking us out, along with himself?” He shook his head. “We were not prepared for that, I'm afraid,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

“Jesus,” Quinten said. “Jesus.”

They both sat there in silence. I waited for one of them to get mad, to start making a plan of how we were going to take out Slater, but the very idea of him committing such unmitigated evil seemed to have shocked them both into silence.

But not me.

“He will set off a bomb a day, at the very minimum,” I said. “You understand this is just the first, right?”

They both looked over at me, as if the couch had suddenly developed the ability to speak.

“Slater's goal is to rule all the Houses. He's worked his way up in House Fire, killed the people who stood in his way. If he thought House Fire was strong enough, he'd declare war on House Water, kill everyone who stood in his way, and take over ruling all the resources at their disposal. And along the way he'd take out House Earth. I'm assuming he wants Earth on his side to take down Water.”

“But why?” Welton asked.

“For power,” I said very clearly. “So he can
own
what he wants. And he wants everything. People, land, resources. Immortality.”

Welton's eyes narrowed. “How do you know so much about him, Evelyn?”

“Stop,” Quinten said. “It isn't that way. She's not working for him.”

“You're her brother,” he said. “You'd never expect your sister to be the one to betray you. But she does suddenly seem to have a very good idea of Slater's character—don't you think? Almost as if she's been around him.”

“I have been around him before,” I said. “This isn't the first time I've seen him do these kinds of things. He is galvanized, Welton. And so am I. We have history.”

I let that hang in the air for a moment.

Welton stared at me, finally blinked. He shifted his stance a bit, and turned back to Quinten. “You told me your sister was a shut-in.”

“A what?” I said.

“There were reasons why I told you that. There were reasons why I never let you meet her,” he said.

“Obviously,” Welton said. “And how, Quinten Case, do you explain your relation to a stitch?”

He inhaled, exhaled. “When Matilda—my flesh-and-blood sister Matilda—was very young, she got sick. She was going to die. Years before, Dad had received a very odd donation: a young girl who was in a coma.”

“Donation?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Do you know who donated me? Her?” I corrected.

“Dad said the only name he gave was Sanders.”

Sanders. That was Foster's last name. Had he been the one who made sure I was given to my family? Had he been the one to find a way to give Evelyn living parents and a family who loved her? If so, I owed him . . . everything. I didn't want to bring it up in front of Welton. But I wanted to ask Foster later.

“We Cases had made a name in stitchery,” Quinten continued. “Dad was the best—you know that.”

“Until you came along,” Welton added. “What did your father do with the young girl in a coma?”

“He didn't have the heart to use her for parts. And it was clear someone else had already done some rudimentary stitching on her. She appeared to be only eight years old. But Dad said during the years that he looked after her, she didn't age, nor did her body degrade. He thought that very, very odd.

“It turns out she was much older than eight. Well, her sleeping body was much older.”

“How much older?” Welton asked.

“Three hundred years.”

They let the silence settle between them.

“Galvanized,” Welton said.

Quinten nodded.

“And then what happened?”

“When Matilda got sick, I thought . . . I thought I could transfer her thoughts, personality, and mind into the body of the sleeping girl. A sister in a coma is better than a dead sister, right?”

“Quinten . . .” Welton said quietly.

“I was young. Stupid. In a panic. Grieving. I was desperate. So I performed the procedure, transferred Matilda's personality. Except I had never tested it before. It was all wild speculation.” He paused.

“Matilda passed away not long afterward. And then the girl woke. I thought I'd saved her. Saved my sister.”

I spoke up because it didn't look like he was going to continue. “She woke up and she wasn't Matilda,” I said. “She was Evelyn, the original girl who was born three hundred years ago. The original girl who fell into a coma.”

Welton closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh, Quinten,” he said.

“It was a shock,” he said. “For everyone. Dad and Mom decided to raise her as if she were theirs, except she was stitched, immortal, a galvanized. There was no safe place in this world for her, except our farm. So we went to some . . . extremes to make sure she remained safe.”

“But if she was in a coma, then woke and remained in hiding, how does she know Slater?” Welton asked.

“Because I'm not Evelyn any longer,” I said. “I'm Matilda. And you're not going to believe this, but the same experiment from 1910 that killed all those people and made just a few people galvanized also fractured time. I've lived a life, an entire alternate life, where I was the one who woke up in Evelyn's body as Matilda. And in that life, Slater was very much alive, and very much the same vicious, power-mongering bastard that he is today.

“I know him, because in
my
life, in
my
world, he's already killed my family and all the other people I love.”

Yep. Now he was paying very close attention to me. Probably trying to decide whether I was lying or not. Or if he should lock me away in a little padded room.

“She's telling the truth,” Quinten said. “Or at least the only plausible thing that makes sense.”

“How does
that
make sense?”

“It involves time travel,” Quinten said.

“Bullshit,” Welton countered.

“The Wings of Mercury experiment,” I said. “It broke a piece of time, killed a bunch of people, and made the galvanized immortal. But then that piece of time winged back like a boomerang and
snick
ed into place, which would have killed even more people—billions. So Quinten and you came up with the formula for how someone could travel back in time to change the Wings of Mercury experiment. And, well, I was the one who went back.”

He pressed his fingers to his mouth and stared at me. “You really believe what you're saying.”

“I wish I had the luxury not to,” I said. “What we need to focus on right now is how to stop Slater from bombing any more people.”

“All the compounds have increased their security,” Welton said. “Other than you two surrendering—which I doubt will stop him, since he's already proven that he is more than willing to go back on his word—or killing the man, I don't know how to stop the bombs.”

“So we kill the man,” I said.

Welton considered me. “You do understand that he's the head of a House, don't you?”

“Yes. And that he's galvanized.”

“Which was my second point. Difficult to kill an immortal creature.”

“We're not immortal,” I said. “We just don't die easy. The only way to end him, the only way to make sure no one else is hurt, is to shoot him in the brain. Repeatedly. Which means we either get some sniper rifles and a piece of real estate inside House Fire, or we do this up close and personal.”

“We?” Welton asked. “Are you a trained assassin, Ms. Case?”

“No, I'm just pissed off. But if we need a trained assassin, there happen to be two we brought along with us.”

“The galvanized.”

I nodded.

“You're going to trust. . . .” He rubbed his palm over his face, pulling fingers back through his hair. “Okay, so let's assume I believe you are a strange combination of human and galvanized who just happens to also be a time traveler. And let's say I believe that you know Slater is out to destroy House Earth because he is a megalomaniacal dictator who has waited three hundred years to take over the world. Fine. Got that. Fine.