Breaker (Ondine Quartet Book 4) (21 page)

Fear refused to be suppressed.
 

By the time I cleaned up and met the others at a secluded conference room in the Governing House, worry had gnawed a hole through my insides.

Aubrey had set-up the room in preparation for the sting. A bank of monitors hung on the wall, their screens glowing with shots from various angles of a building on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

Night had already settled over the city, street lamps washing the darkened sidewalks and streets with a lurid glow. The central screen carried a direct feed from Fujio’s body camera.
 

Julian sat beside Aubrey at the table in front of the monitors. Neither acknowledged my arrival. Her prosthetic hand tapped out a nervous rhythm on her thigh.

Jeeves paced behind them, repeatedly lifting and straightening his tie. Tristan stood at a long conference table, eyes alert and focused, hands resting on the back of a chair.
 

The thought that he may not be in Haverleau for much longer felt like a pile of marble slabs pressing against my chest.

Ancelin was stubborn and difficult, but he’d helped Rhian and my father. That wasn’t something I took lightly.

I’d have to figure out how to deal with him soon. Patience was not the king’s strength.

I picked up the small microphone attached to the console.

“This is Governor Irisavie. Fujio, are you there?”

“Affirmative.” His steady voice came through the speakers. “We’re ready, Governor.”

Ian had refused to wear a communications device, insisting that any nix worth his salt would immediately check.
 

While the meeting date and time had been set up in advance, Scabbard hadn’t provided the location until twenty minutes ago.
 

He’d texted Ian the address with instructions to come alone.

Rivelleu’s gardinels and chevaliers had immediately set up a perimeter and gathered preliminary intel on the location, but we hadn’t been able to get any devices inside the building.

Once Ian walked in, we’d be cut off.

I wrestled back the fear. “Send him in.”

“Copy.”
 

A few seconds later, a familiar lanky figure appeared on a screen. Ian cut across the street, his black coat flapping around him.

Aubrey stilled.

He strode toward the building, opened the door, and stepped in.

“Do we have visual on the target?”

“Negative.” Mild frustration colored Fujio’s voice. He liked this as much as me.
 

Ian had located the Scabbard by tracking his online activities, but none of us had any clue who he was. No photo, no evidence of his real life identity.

Only an odd nickname and online persona.

The sense of foreboding increased. Not knowing what Scabbard looked like bothered me.

A minute passed. Another.

The four-story building sagged between two modern high-rises, its shabby exterior grayed to an indecipherable color. With the exception of the top floor, all the windows were dark.
 

Julian shifted. Aubrey barely breathed.

My mind cycled for the ten thousandth time through every possibility. We had every exit covered. There was no way Ian could leave, forced or not, without us knowing. Neither could Scabbard.

The problem was we had no eyes inside the building.

We could ensure no one got out. But we couldn’t control what happened within those walls.

Seven minutes passed.

A thought emerged from the recesses of my mind.

There’d been no clue at Fontesceau. No puzzle or riddle taunting me.

It didn’t make sense. The Shadow’s ego wouldn’t have allowed that kind of opportunity to slip by.
 

My skin turned cold.

Unless he’d given it and I’d missed it.

I carefully revisited details from that night. The Shadow had faced me with a white rook in his hand.
 

I’d assumed the chess piece was Oliver Moreaux, a reference to another elimination off the board.

But what if it wasn’t?

“Ten minutes since entry,” Fujio said.

I closed my eyes, calling up the memory of Fontesceau’s shores.

It’s him.

Ray hadn’t been terrified of the Shadow. He’d been terrified of the Aquidae restraining Oliver.

Instinct tugged at my stomach.

Something was missing from the picture.

I zoomed in on the memory of the anonymous Aquidae, starting from the bottom and working my way up.

He’d worn dark blue jeans that appeared almost black in the moonlight. Tall and thin. A slender, soft frame as if he spent a great deal of time indoors.
 

A black, button down shirt, frayed along the neckline and cuffs. Under the moonlight, his neck was pale and smooth and…

My eyes snapped open.

No Origin mark on his neck.

He wasn’t an Aquidae.

Scabbard.

A snapshot of my mother’s stern face as she faced me across the chessboard loomed in my mind’s eye.

“What does the Rook do?”

“There are two of them like chariots in the back corners,” I chirped. “They’re fast and quick but they have to wait until the other pieces settle before they can move.”

“More than that, Kendra. The rook is valuable and can play an important role in the endgame. By castling,” she shifted the black King and Rook on her side of the board, “the rook takes a more active position and protects the King by moving it into a safer position.”

Bits and pieces of memories swirled, snapping together to reveal a larger picture.

Ian’s eyes bright with hope and future as he sat across from me.

He’s known as the Aquidae weapons holder and goes by the name of Scabbard.

It’s my time to go, Kendra.
 

S to S. Black to white. Rook to rook.

His nix versus mine.

The rook hadn’t been Oliver.

It’d been the clue to the next target.

The Shadow’s words bubbled up in my throat like acid.
 

You will deliver me everything I need.

I grabbed the mike. “Fujio. Get in there! Now!”

“Go, go, go!” His voice crackled over the speaker, followed by the sound of pounding feet.
 

My heart hammered against my ribs.

On the screen, Fujio and his team stormed into the building and tore up a narrow, dimly lit flight of stairs to the fourth floor. A gardinel smashed open the door.

Aubrey let out a choked sob.

A loft with blank white walls and a bank of windows peering out onto Tenth Avenue awaited us. The city’s brilliant streetlight spilled across the bare floor in a garish neon glow.
 

Ian was gone.

TWELVE

All the windows were secured shut. Gardinels had spotted no movement on the fire escape or exterior ledges.

Time slowed. Everyone froze.
 

“Where is he?” Hysteria edged Aubrey’s voice higher. “
Where is he?
”

Fujio did a slow sweep through the space and with each step, tension tightened, crowding the air until breathing became painful.

His camera feed indicated nothing out of the ordinary.

It was as if no one had ever been there.

“Urian.” Tristan’s quiet tone cut through the shocked panic. “Has anyone exited?”

“Negative. Every door is secure, Your Highness.”

“Search the rest of the building,” Julian ordered.

Crushing pressure squeezed my chest, constricting my heart until every pulse boomed in my ears like thunder.
 

How? How did the Shadow know I would send Ian?

Chevaliers split into groups and searched each floor. Fujio and his team raced down to the building’s basement and pushed open a rusted steel door. It swung into darkness.

The camera switched to night vision mode.
 
Shadowy green images glowed on the screen, lurid against the pale neutral decor of our conference room.

Exposed electrical wires ran along horizontal ceiling beams. Smashed boxes filled with old newspapers were piled beside a group of cylindrical trash cans.
 

Several sets of small eyes glinted behind them. A scuttling sound, frenzied like trapped insects battering against walls, rushed through the air. The eyes moved, the rats fleeing our intrusion.
 

Fujio proceeded forward with caution, breathing loud and harsh through his comm piece. He paused beside the furnace tucked in the east corner.

The huge metal container wasn’t flush against the wall.

I leaned in. “What is it?”

“Something.” Inhale. Exhale. “Parry, help me with this.”

A hulking gardinel angled the furnace forward, revealing a gaping hole in the wall leading into a pitch-black tunnel.

About four feet high, the edges of the opening were rough as if the plaster and wood had been ripped away, rather than neatly removed. Large enough for an adult to duck through but small enough to remain hidden behind the furnace.

Fujio stepped through and coughed. “I think it leads to the sewer system.”
 

My body turned cold. Scabbard had dragged Ian into that darkness.

Julian rose from his chair. “How did you not know about this?”

“With all due respect, Head Chevalier, we did the best we could —”

“Then why the hell didn’t you have accurate intel?”

“Because we only had twenty minutes to prepare,” Fujio snapped back. “This city is like a goddamned maze, built on top of itself over and over again—”

“I don’t want to hear excuses, Chevalier Viel. I want to hear why Scabbard knew we were coming.”

“This is not an excuse. The leak for the mission must’ve come from your end—“

“That’s enough.” Tristan joined Julian at the console. “We need to see where the tunnel leads.”

“This is still a chevalier mission, Your Highness, and —“

I left them to their bickering.

Fujio was right.
 

There was someone here who knew about Scabbard and wouldn’t hesitate to part with that info for the right price.

The world blurred, shifting and running together like melting wax as I crossed the courtyard.
 

The storm threatening Haverleau for the past few days had begun. Icy, driving rain plastered my hair to my head, snaked down my spine, and soaked my clothes.

This wasn’t about the Shadow.

This wasn’t about a team of highly trained chevaliers and gardinels failing the one person they were supposed to protect.

This was about Ian, who didn’t have a hurtful bone in his entire body.

Who took care of injured animals and sat with me when no one else would.
 

Ian whom Aubrey loved.

Shocked silence greeted me in the Justice Department lobby.

I strode past solemn chevaliers and gardinels, past judgmental eyes and gossipy mouths.

Two flights of stairs to reach the lower level.
 

Randolph, the chevalier manning the desk, hastily stood. A television blared in front of him.
 

“Ken—I mean…what —“

I reached over the desk and grabbed his set of keys.

Stupefied, he stared at me. “Governor?”

I continued to the last cell at the end of the corridor.

He lay on his bed, skinny legs hanging off the edge, face slack with boredom.

He jerked up. “What are you doing here?”

I opened the cell door, wrenched him off the bed, and twisted his arm hard behind his back.
 

His wrist popped.

Gilroy’s scream was muffled, nothing more than a high, thin buzz, a mosquito against my ear.
 

“Tell me.” My voice was calm and light. Almost musical.

I yanked him to my chest and placed my blade against his throat. A thin bead of blood appeared on his skin.

“Tell me where he took him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about —“

I twisted his arm harder. From a distance, I heard a dim cry of pain.

“Tell me where Scabbard took Ian.”

Gilroy sputtered nonsensical words, his body trembling beneath my grip.

I pressed harder, detachedly observing the blood dripping down his neck, crimson beads bright against the muted gray of the world.

Gilroy was responsible for what happened to Marcella and Haverleau’s children. And he was responsible for what happened to Ian. It was as certain as the sunrise.

“Please. I don’t know anything.”

I wouldn’t let him die just yet. There was a lot you could do to someone before the final kill.

A warm hand touched my shoulder.

“Governor,” Tristan said calmly near my ear. “I need you to let him go.”

My grip tightened, almost, but not quite, dislocating Gilroy’s shoulder. A few more blood drops stained his neck.

“Kendra.” He spoke so softly only I heard him.
 

It was that gentleness.
 

More powerful than any roar, more compelling than threats or demands, it pulled me away from dark edges and bottomless abysses because it said he understood.

The world snapped back into focus.

I pushed back the helpless rage that blazed through me the moment I saw the empty loft and locked it behind a door forged of discipline and control.

My heart rate and breathing steadied.

I let go.

Gilroy scooted away and crouched by the far wall, broken wrist lying limply in his lap. His other hand touched the blood on his throat.
 

“She’s crazy!”

Tristan silently moved back to the door. Outside the cell, Randolph leaned against the wall and watched with grave eyes.
 

This was still my interrogation.

I smiled. Gilroy’s complexion turned ashen.

“How did you tell Scabbard about Ian?”
 

That was the only possible explanation for how the Shadow had known. I would bet anything Ian’s fortuitous online encounter with the other nix hadn’t been a coincidence.

“I didn’t!” Sweat glistened on Gilroy’s upper lip and forehead, giving his skin a greasy sheen. “How could I tell him what we talked about when I’m locked up here? I don’t even know who he is!”