Codename: Night Witch (44 page)

Gritting her teeth, pushing against what felt like the weight of ten men piled on top of her, Sigrid rose on her hands and knees. "That, Dr. Farrington," Sigrid said, "is plan B."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Voices

All around her, the grand palace of the marquis di Valparaíso continued to shake itself apart. Chunks of ceiling rained down on them. There seemed no end to the storm of chaos.

"Leave!" Emily commanded her husband. "Get out of here. Both of you!"

"No! I won't leave you. If you can manage her, then I'll stay."

"I
can
manage her. But I can't manage our
guests
downstairs. They can't be allowed to leave. Not yet."

"But without the treatments—"

"She won't kill me," Emily said, and Sigrid, despite her defiance, believed her. "We can finish what we came for, husband. But we must act now. Now go!"

With one last look back, Harry Jones left. Dr. Farrington remained where he was, frozen in place, too terrified to move.

A dozen new explosions sounded outside. These were even closer than the last, and they tore into the outer walls of the palace. Sigrid saw the flare of fires burning in the courtyard. It wouldn't be long before the entire place was burned to the ground.

"Your friends will kill everyone inside if they're not careful," Emily said. "They may do our work for us."

"They know what they're doing. They won't let either of us leave here alive."

"Then we must hurry."

Despite the chaos, the plaster and dust that continued to rain down on them, Emily Gillings-Jones rose to her feet. Calmly, she extended her hand to Sigrid.

"Come."

Sigrid stared at the offered hand and her mistress, who stood so calmly before her. She wanted nothing more than to take that hand—twist it and break it—but the warning pain was always there, tightening its grip on her, a constant reminder of her place. Emily was still her master, and Sigrid her servant.

Side by side, they walked to the door and out into the hall. Fires burned in the corridor, blackening the walls and licking their way up and across the ceiling as more explosions brought more mayhem.

Emily led her by the hand to the landing overlooking the main hall. Several small fires burned in corners, on tables, threatening to spread. Dust and smoke filled the air. The hundreds of guests shrieked their terror. They surged for the exits, pushing and trampling one another, only to find the exits barred and squads of soldiers—Independent soldiers, rebels—pushing them back.

"Not a pretty sight," Emily said. "They'd kill each other if it meant they could escape."

"They're afraid, mistress. They think they're going to die."

"They
are
going to die. Behold."

Following her mistress's gaze, Sigrid looked down to find a weapon in her hand. How it came to be there, she didn't know. But it was there, and it was real. Sigrid felt the power in it, and her heart raced. It seemed such a simple thing, to caress that trigger, to take another's life. Even more simple to take a hundred. But of course, she was the Night Witch.

"Am I to make an example of them, mistress?"

"An example? An interesting question. Who do you think is down there, Sigrid?"

Sigrid studied the crowd below, scanning each one in turn. They were pathetic, the worst examples of a corrupt Federation's excess and greed. No one would miss them. But that wasn't what her mistress meant, or why she wanted Sigrid to kill them.

"Life-traders," Sigrid said, and her mistress nodded. "You've brought the life-traders, mistress."

"Yes, Sigrid. They are the life-traders. One hundred and eighty-five of the most corrupt and vile individuals you can ever hope to meet. They are the beating heart of the corporatocracy. Together, they own the life debts of more than fourteen billion people. They own even you, Sigrid." With her hands gripped tightly on the railing, Emily Gillings-Jones stared into the cluster of plutocrats. "You will be their destroyer, Sigrid. You will be the force of change."

"By killing them, mistress? By murdering—"

"No, not by
murder
, Sigrid. By stopping this cycle of madness!" Turning, Emily grabbed her shoulders. Her fingers bit deep into her flesh. "Don't you understand? Can't you see what's at stake? In one stroke, you can wipe clean the life debts of billions of people. Kill them, Sigrid, kill the life-traders and the Federation collapses. Do this, and you will free not only every person alive today but entire generations to come! You
can
do this, Sigrid. You can, and you will."

Staring into the eyes of her mistress, Sigrid knew that Emily Gillings-Jones was insane. Sigrid had no love for these life-traders. They were slavers, trading and speculating on peoples' lives—even on the life debts of the unborn. But this, murdering them, gunning them down in cold blood? No matter what Emily might say or think, this was still to be a massacre. A massacre she was utterly convinced she was about to commit.

"You won't survive this," Sigrid said.

"No. I doubt either of us will. But if I can't give the world a hero, perhaps a martyr will do. It is time."

Slowly, with the weapon clutched firmly in her hand, Sigrid started down the stairs. The Independent soldiers allowed her to pass, and Sigrid waded into their midst; it was like walking through a sea of tall grass. The three hundred guests surged around her as they pushed back and forth against each other. To her surprise she found her targets already marked for her in her PCM. Her mistress, Emily, would show no mercy. Only the news broadcasters would be spared. But of course, someone had to live to tell the tale.

There was one target singled out and marked as a priority. Justice would start with this one. The crowd parted and Sigrid came to stand before the person she would kill first.

Unable to stop herself—or perhaps fearing what would happen if she did—she raised her weapon.

Her hand shook fiercely. If she hesitated, it was only for a moment. The pain wouldn't let her. It was relentless, whipping her like a beast of burden under the hands of its cruel master. The voices in her head were worse. No longer whispers, they shouted at her, spewing their reminders:
This was a fitting target, wasn't it?
This was justice. This woman had betrayed her, sold her away and abandoned her when she needed her the most.

"Lady Hitomi Kimura," Sigrid said, "I'm-I'm sorry."

Lady Hitomi rose and leaned heavily on her lacquered cane. Four faltering steps brought her face-to-face with Sigrid. But where there was fear and anguish in Sigrid's eyes, there was only calm and kindness in Hitomi's. Kindness and love.

"Don't apologize, Sigrid. I owe you my life, more times than I can count. If killing me will end this, then I would gladly see it done."

"Hitomi, you don't know what you're asking."

"I know exactly what I'm asking, Sigrid. Kill me and be free."

Holding the gun steady was impossible. Sigrid gripped it in both hands, yet it still wavered. Perspiration stung her eyes. The sweat on her hands made the handle of the recoilless slip.

But her mistress's orders were clear:
Do it! Kill her! Kill her and free yourself. Free yourself from the pain.

Sigrid shook her head fiercely. She wanted quiet. She wanted all the voices to be quiet. And she knew how to silence them. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

"Sigrid!"

This voice was real.

Sigrid blinked.

Suko shoved her way through the crowd, coming toward her.

"Suko, get out of the way!"

"Sigrid, don't."

Lady Hitomi raised a warning hand, trying to grab hold of her. Suko ignored her, shoving the last of the guests aside, standing right in front of her.

"Sigrid, this isn't you. You don't have to do this!"

But Suko was wrong. She did. She didn't have a choice. "Suko, I can't stop this. Please! Get out of here!"

"No. I won't. I told you, I won't leave you. Not ever. Not now."

"Suko, you don't understand—"

"I
understand
everything. I love you."

Sigrid was struggling—she was losing it. Her finger tightened on the trigger and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it. Suko knew this too—she had to! Yet she stepped closer, so close that the muzzle of Sigrid's recoilless was only a centimeter from her face.

"Let it go. If this is what it takes to end this, then do it. Do it, Sigrid! Shoot!"

Shoot! Kill me! End your pain!

"No!"
Sigrid screamed.

"Step aside, Ms. Tansho."

Sigrid didn't turn. She didn't dare move for fear of shooting her beloved. But behind her, marching toward her, she felt the unmistakable presence of her mistress. Emily Gillings-Jones swept through the crowd, coming to stand by Sigrid, with eight of the Independent soldiers at her side. All of their weapons were raised and pointed at Suko, Hitomi and any of the guests who attempted to move closer.

"You're delaying, Sigrid. You're disobeying. You know how I get when you disobey."

"But, mistress, I-I can't!"

"Do it!"

The pain hit her like a scythe carving into her, cutting her open, and Sigrid crumpled to her knees, crying out a throat-churning scream. Suko lunged for Emily—Hitomi reached out, grabbing for her.

"No, Suko! She'll kill her," Hitomi said, warding her off. "She'll destroy her. They're linked. You can't help her. She must finish this herself."

Emily Gillings-Jones smiled back at her. "Brave words, Hitomi—coming from the woman who abandoned her. You abandoned Sigrid, just as you abandoned me. Just as you abandoned all of us."

"I didn't abandon you, Emily. I tried to save you."

"Save me? Is that what you call it? You tried to have me terminated—all of us. All of us failures and incompatibles. Though I suppose I can't blame you. We must have been a terrible…inconvenience."

"My
board
ordered your termination. Not I. I made sure you were cared for. All of you. I made sure you lived."

"Lived? You call being hooked up to banks of machines for more than fifteen years living? You abandoned me, Hitomi. You left us all to rot."

"We can
talk
about this, Emily."

"No, Hitomi, we can't. The time for talk ended six years ago when
I woke up
. It's fitting, don't you think, that I was saved by
your
protégé. She saved me, and now she will finish you. She will end you, Lady Hitomi Kimura."

"Then she will have the courage to do what you could not. It's all right, Sigrid. This will all be over soon."

On her knees, doubled over, Sigrid stared at the recoilless on the ground before her. "Hitomi, please. You can't ask me to do this."

"It's
all right
. Whatever happens, it's all right. Sigrid, listen to me—look at me!"

Somehow, Sigrid managed it; shaking, trembling on her hands and knees, she stared up at her.

"You're not responsible for any of this.
You didn't do this.
I did. I failed you. Do you hear me?
I
failed you. You were my greatest success, Sigrid. You were my creation. You were my student and my protégé. But you are so much more than that. You were always more. You are my daughter, Sigrid. You are my daughter and you are loved."

While the hatred emanating from Emily was powerful, twisting and corrupting, a new presence emerged at its side, eroding that hatred, breaking it down and tearing it from her. Emily's hate was losing its hold. Sigrid could feel it slipping away. Something was pushing it aside, beating it down, rising to stand against it and break its hold over her.

Love.

It was there and it was real. Not forced upon her, but a force to be sure. And it was offered to her freely. It came without price or expectation. All she had to do was reach out and take it.

Slowly, Sigrid rose from her knees. Her hair had fallen in front of her face and she pushed it back. More than three hundred pairs of eyes stared at her, waiting for what would happen next. Sigrid saw none of them.

This time when she raised her weapon, her hand was steady and calm. This time, it was pointed at Emily Gillings-Jones.

"Sigrid? What are you doing? Kill her!"

Along with the order came renewed waves of pain, agony so raw it threatened to strip her mind bare. Sigrid brushed it all aside.

"You're finished," Sigrid said. "It's over. You've lost."

Emily's eyes widened in horror at the simple realization that her control over Sigrid was gone. "Sigrid, I order you—"

"Sigrid is her own woman," Hitomi said. "And she will make her own choices."

"I believe I just did," Sigrid said.

Screaming her fury, Emily Gillings-Jones lunged for her. Sigrid's finger tightened on the trigger, squeezing firmly. The 18 mm round caught Emily six millimeters above her right eye. Her momentum carried her into Sigrid's arms, but the life was already gone from her body.

The quiet that came over Sigrid made her shudder. It was like a train tilting off its rails and suddenly righting itself. The whispered voices were silent. The link was broken, and the bond between them faded as quickly as the life from Emily's eyes. Holding her in her arms, Emily looked to her exactly as she had in that flash of a memory from six years ago—except this time there were no machines to save her. Emily Gillings-Jones was dead. Sigrid Novak was free.

For a moment, nothing happened. The only sounds were the roar of flames licking up the walls. But then Sigrid heard it. It started as a low and mournful howl, turning quickly to a scream of rage.

Harry Jones stood on the landing above.

Perhaps it was a remnant of her link with Emily, but as she stared up at him, she understood. After all this time, she had a grasp of who this man was, and why he was driven to pursue her and do the things he did. It was all for her. It was all for Emily and his love for her.

And now she was gone. Nothing would matter for Harry Jones. His beloved wife was dead.