Night Resurrected (42 page)

“The Mother crystal won’t hurt me,”

Ana said. “I’m not immortal. My crystals

only help me breathe underwater; they

aren’t my source of life. Can we see it?”

Her eyes gleamed with interest.

Remy felt a little tremor of unease,

for Ana seemed voraciously, almost

greedily, interested in the crystal. But

Wyatt curled his fingers around her hand

and gave a little squeeze as their eyes

met. A leap of heat sizzled along her

arm. This was the first time he’d touched

her since that awkward moment in Cat’s

room . . . which still had her upset and

confused.

He’d been genuinely happy and

relieved to see her then. The emotionless

facade slipped from his face, clearly

showing his feelings when he moved

across the room to embrace her. His

strong, solid arms curved around her, so

welcome and secure. But then the

warmth was gone. Just as so many times

before—the same pattern.

It was as if he could only allow

himself a brief moment of joy or release,

then he had to tuck anything good or

happy away. Bury it deep inside and

cover it up with guilt and anger.

She shook her head, wondering if

there was ever a chance for happiness or

joy to take root and make its way out of

the darkness to grow permanently.

And

how

trite,

these

mental

metaphors of hers.

“All right, Remy?” Wyatt was

looking at her.

She realized with a start he’d been

waiting for her permission to show them

the crystal.
Well that’s new.
He was

asking for her opinion? She nodded, and

he disappeared into the next room.

This gave her the opportunity to lean

toward Elliott and whisper, “I thought

. . . didn’t Wyatt get caught in the fire?

He doesn’t look burned. But I saw him

go in there.”

He looked at her, his expression one

of sympathy and compassion. But before

he could respond, Jade interjected, “You

mean he didn’t tell you what happened?”

“No.”

Jade rolled her eyes and made a

tsking
sound. “Men.”

“I think he might have a few other

things on his mind,” Elliott replied

dryly. “Like the fact that we’re basically

under a death watch.”

“Which is exactly why he should be

telling her things.
Everything
,” Jade

added loudly and pointedly enough for

Wyatt to hear as he walked back in.

“Our days might be numbered.” She

glared at him.

Wyatt didn’t seem to notice; or if he

did, he ignored Jade. Upon reflection,

Remy figured it was probably the latter

—he was very good at ignoring things.

Without a word, he unrolled a dark

piece of clothlike substance and set the

small orange crystal on the table where

everyone could see it.

Remy realized she was holding her

breath, waiting to see if something

happened: another sizzle or pop or a

flare-up or a flash of light . . . but the

crystal merely sat there, glowing softly,

as if a small orange flame burned deep

inside.

“So this is what they’ve been looking

for,” Quent said. “All these years.”

“Don’t fucking touch it,” Zoë

snapped, yanking away his outstretched

hand.

He looked at her, and Wyatt saw him

roll his eyes before returning his hand to

his lap. “Remy’s had it in her possession

for years, haven’t you? And it hasn’t

caused her any harm.”

Zoë snorted. “Maybe not, but you

have this other damned thing, genius.

That sucking vortex that drags you into a

black

hole

whenever

you

touch

something new? Remember that sweet

little gift?”

He looked at her and his expression

changed from one of annoyance to

affection. “And look who I have to

always pull me out of the—what did you

call it?—sucking vortex, Zoë, luv.”

S h e
hmphed
and folded her arms

over her chest as Remy wondered what

Zoë was referring to.

“It’s much smaller than I imagined,”

Ana said, her voice still filled with

wonder. “When I heard the legends and

the stories about the powerful Mother

crystal, I assumed it had to be bigger—

like the Jarrid crystal. So much power in

such a small stone.”

“What’s the Jarrid crystal?” asked

Remy.

“We have a piece of it here,” Quent

told her. “Zoë and I stole it from the

Strangers’

stronghold

of

Mecca.

According to Ana, and to what I learned

while we were there, it’s the conduit the

original Cult of Atlantis members used

to communicate with the Atlanteans.”

Remy raised her brows. “Cult of

Atlantis?”

A loud
ahem
from behind jolted their

attention to the flat screen. “Maybe if

you all moved, we could see this stone

too?” Lou Waxnicki said. “Hold it up to

the camera, someone, so we can get a

look.”

Sage hesitated a fraction of a

moment, then picked up the crystal and

brought it toward the small black object

mounted on one of the monitors.

“The Cult of Atlantis,” Simon

explained as she did that, “was an elite

group of ungodly wealthy and powerful

people who lived before the Change.

They each paid a very large sum of

money to be part of the secret group—

Quent’s father was one of the founding

members—and eventually they were the

people who caused the Change. We

suspect that your grandfather was one of

them. I don’t know if you were aware

that he was the director of the United

States National Security Administration

during that time, which made him very

powerful and very well-connected. As

well, he would have had access to

confidential and dangerous data that

could have contributed to creating the

destructive events.”

Remy shook her head, her throat tight

and dry. “I don’t remember ever hearing

him mention the Cult of Atlantis, or even

Atlantis. But I did know about the NSA.”

“Yes, it was your grandfather’s old

identification card from the NSA that

eventually led us to find you,” Sage put

in.

“But why would a group of people

cause
the Change? What was the

benefit? How could they live with

themselves after being part of such

destruction?” Something plunged in her

stomach,

sharp

and

low.

“My

grandfather . . . you said he was one of

them. He was one of the ones who

planned and caused the Change.” An

ugly nausea bubbled inside her. She’d

always suspected he’d done something

awful . . . but this was inconceivable.

“That’s why he lived such a life of

remorse afterward. And why he didn’t

want to die.”

Wyatt nodded, his face grave. “It’s

likely. Or else he had the knowledge of

what was going to happen, but wasn’t

able to stop it. Or didn’t try. We’ll never

know.”

“But we might,” Quent said, eyeing

the crystal Sage had returned to the

table. “I—”

“
No
fucking
way
are you touching

that thing,” Zoë exclaimed. “I’ll smash

the damned thing myself before I let you

place one pinky nail on it.” Her dark,

almond-shaped eyes snapped with

ferocity . . . and fear.

“You can’t destroy it,” Ana said. “I

mean, it’s possible . . . but it’s the

Mother crystal, the source of life for the

Atlanteans and the Strangers. If it’s

destroyed, they’ll all die.”

There was a shocked, taut silence.

Then Wyatt said, “Are you certain? If the

crystal is destroyed, they all die? Do you

mean we have here the power to destroy

all of the Strangers and the Atlanteans—

at one time?” His voice was low and

careful, filled with tension.

“Lacey told me the same thing,”

Remy said. “If the crystal dies, everyone

dies.”

They stared at the small orange

crystal.

Chapter 20

T
wenty-four hours

They’d left the crystal safely in the

computer room with Sage, George,

David, and Cat—and Dantès—while

everyone else scattered to see to other

business and get any updates on the

situation in the city at large. Meanwhile,

the Waxnickis were working remotely to

see if they could hack into the Strangers’

communications system, which was just

as secure as their own and, fortunately,

less complicated. If they could learn

what the Strangers had planned for

retaliation, it would be easier to

circumvent if necessary.

Wyatt was taking Remy to find

something to eat when they ran into

Simon, Elliott, and Jade.

“They’ve blocked the gates. The

evacuees can’t get through.” Simon’s

features were tight and his eyes weary.

“How?” Elliott asked, sliding a

comforting arm around Jade as he

exchanged glances with Wyatt.

“Four Humvees. Sitting out there

about a thousand feet beyond the gates.

Chavalas
opened fire on a family—with

children
—as they came out, carrying

their belongings.”

“They fired at children?” Rage

punched through him and Wyatt curled

his fingers tightly. “Tell me no one was

hurt.”

“Thank God, no,” Simon replied.

“But the threat is clear, and so they’ve

stopped the stream of people leaving.

Now people have to stay. And now the

situation is even worse.” He passed a

hand over his face and glanced at Elliott.

“Tell him.”

“Someone

has

revealed

that

Remington Truth is a woman, and given

a basic description of her. That means

the likes of Susan Proudy and her gang

are getting even more riled up. Louder,

more violent.”

“Who would have done that?” Wyatt

said, feeling Remy tense next to him.

“Ian Marck.”
That rage bubbled up

sharply again.

“Ian wouldn’t do that.”

Why the hell was Remy always

defending the bastard?

“Marck’s still in custody,” Simon

said with a thin smile. “Vaughn’s got

him under house arrest. He hasn’t had

communication with anyone.”

“How the hell did they find out, then?

Besides us, the only other person who

knew was Lacey and her—”

He stopped and looked down at

Remy just as she said, “Goldwyn. Her

partner.”

“Had to be him.”

“And he knows what I look like,” she

said, furtively glancing around, even

though it was dark out here. “He could

draw a good picture, or tell someone

how.” She edged closer to Wyatt, and he

resisted the urge to slip an arm around

her.

Instead, he scanned the area. They

were standing outside in front of a worn-

out New York–New York. The area was

lit by streetlamps, but it was still

shadowy from the night. A smattering of

people were moving about, talking in

groups or rushing from place to place.

Inside, more people were in the pub or

the common areas. An albino wouldn’t

be hard to find even in the dim light. He

could take care of him in about thirty

seconds . . .

His gaze panned back and clashed

with Simon’s. The very same deathly

look was in his dark eyes, but he gave

Wyatt a subtle shake of the head.
Not the

way, brother.

Fuck that,
Wyatt flashed back.

“It’s too late,” Elliott spoke up. He

may or may not have read the unspoken

dialogue

between

his

friends.

“Goldwyn’s probably safely out there

with his friends in the Humvees. Waiting

for the countdown, twenty-four hours

from now.”

“Vaughn wants to meet in his office

at midnight,” Simon said. “Go over all