Romani Armada (22 page)

Deonne sat very still for what felt like a very long time. “Constantine’s Curse?” she asked softly.

He realized that he had opened the gate, now. Every question about the future she asked him would be leading her further astray from her own future. What changes had he already made?

She was going to tell Santiago to go to hell, instead of falling in love with him. She wouldn’t write the letter that was lying on the desk, the polymerized folds making the ends stand up like accusatory exclamation marks.

How would that change things?

Had he changed it enough so that she would not be a victim of the attack?

“Why are you so silent?” Deonne asked. “It’s not like you to just sit there, like this.”

Justin sighed. “Every answer I give you that deals with the future is changing that future,” he explained.

She drew in a slow breath, considering it. “Haven’t you already done that by giving me the letter?”

“Yes, but perhaps the change is minimal. Livable.” He stood up, unable to stay still, and turned to face her where she sat primly on the bed. “The more I tell you, the less likely it’ll be that the changes are minor.”

She stood up, too. “Then you need to leave. Now. It will minimize any shifts.”

He moved to the window and looked out over the placid view. The apartments each had a view – so said the discreet notice board at the front of the complex. Deonne’s view was of the river and willows on the other side of the bank, leaning down to dip fronds into the water. There was an ancient-looking bridge spanning the river just upstream a small way, its angles and curves and dragon statues proclaiming this was China more than anything else Justin had noticed in his agitated state as he’d walked here.

Liping was a bedroom village, built purely to entice harried executives into buying apartments and houses, to take advantage of the serenity and beauty of the place, after hours.

The first g-train circuit ever built connected northern Asia to Europe in a ten hour loop. Once the world focused on secondary manufacturing instead of primary exports like energy, China had been no longer able to compete with the flood of cheap consumer items everyone else had learned to produce to keep their economies viable. So China had exploited the one commodity no one else could replicate: Its history and its rural areas, which had resisted modernization with passive stubbornness. Now that archaic quality became an asset.

There were villages and towns like Liping all over western China, huddled close by the two primary stops the g-trains made in the provinces.

Why would anyone want to destroy this place?
he wondered.

“Destroy it? You mean—it was a deliberate attack?” Deonne asked, behind him.

He had spoken aloud. Justin winced and turned around. Deonne had surprise written all over her face…and growing fear.

“Damn,” he said.

She shook her head. “You can’t stop now. You’ve said too much. Tell me the rest. Do I…die? Is that why you jumped back?”

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “There’s very little detail. The archival nets weren’t put in place until about twenty years from now, so all we have to go on is hearsay and implication from the few sources that covered this time. The bombing was such a small matter compared to world arena events. Barely anyone noticed.”

Deonne grimaced. “That’s good for the ego,” she said dryly. Then she gave him a small smile and touched the letter on the desk. “This made you research the village and you found out about the bombing. You jumped back here to stop it, didn’t you?”

Justin felt the distinct sensation of having been caught. He fought to ignore the feeling. “I don’t want you dead. I can’t stand you being back here out of my reach as it is.”

She moved closer a slow step at a time. “Careful, Kelly. That came very close to a confession.”

Suddenly, he was tired of it all. Weary of all the games and circling and wariness. “Fuck it,” he growled, reaching for her and pulling her up against him. Hard. “You know what? I bloody well love you and I don’t care anymore if you like it or not.”

Deonne grew still against him, all but her eyes, which studied him carefully. “You’re not just saying that because of the letter, are you?”

“The only thing the letter did was make me not care about telling you. I’ve loved you a good long time and if I had my way, I’d take you back home with me and guard the fortress I’d put you in myself. Just so I could keep you close.”

Her soft gasp was reward enough. She wasn’t pushing him away. She wasn’t screaming in horror. She looked up at him with those incredible blue eyes and smiled softly. “I would have lost the bet, if I’d put money on it.”

Justin felt laughter rising up inside and he let it out, in a low chuckle. “That you’d have to excavate that out of me with a knife?”

“That I’d be the first to say it.”

She brought her lips up against his, so they were brushing against him like the softest caress. With her in his arms, Deonne’s scent washed over him like a spicy wave of warm air. His body tightened in response.

“I love you, Justin Edward Kelly. You drive me crazy and I don’t know how we’re going to work this out, but I love you all the same.”

Her body was pliant against him, her breasts firm mounds against his chest. Her allure, and the need to have her had not diminished by a millimeter since the day he had met her.

Justin groaned and kissed her. “I’m not going back until I’m done with you,” he muttered and reached for the fastening on her dress as he drew her to the bed.

Chapter Sixteen

Liping Village, East Yunnan Province, China, 2054 A.D.:
Deonne’s naked body lying against his was hot in contrast to his skin temperature. Justin kept her tucked up against him, wildly reluctant to let this moment of deep contentment end despite his satiated need.

Deonne kept her arms around him and every now and again, she would touch her mouth to him, caressing his shoulders, neck and lips.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself. “Deonne, you should know—”

But she covered his mouth with her fingers and shook her head slightly. “No, I don’t have to know,” she told him. “I was wrong to demand you let me in, in Sweden. I didn’t understand how your personal history is so closed off and contained.”

“Mine?”

“All of you. Vampires.”

He picked up a lock of her hair and let it slide through his fingers. It was so incredibly soft and fine, he found it difficult to stop stroking it once he’d started. “Who told you that?”

“I think I was starting to realize how significant the past is to you, but Mariana really put it into focus for me.”

He grinned. “I thought you hated her.”

“I hate her clothes sense and the waste of her potential – that awe shucks manner of hers drives me crazy.” Deonne frowned. “The worst of it is that she’s got a mind like a light drive. I
know
she’s smarter than me and I think she could give Christian a run for his money.”

It was a compliment. Christian was one of the most intelligent people Justin had ever met. Ryan had been pleased when Christian had joined the agency, bringing with him a breadth of experience and expertise that outmatched nearly everyone already there.

“I don’t hate her,” Deonne finished. “But I do mind the way she makes me feel foolish every day or so.” She gave Justin a rueful grin. “It makes me feel like a teenager again and that just reminds me of how long it has been since I
was
a teenager. That’s a reminder I don’t like.”

Laughter rippled through him, but Justin kept it contained. “I see,” he said judiciously. “You hooked up with me because I’m at least older than you.”

She kissed him. “I hooked up with you because I had a temporary mental aberration and it turned out to be a pretty good idea, after all.” Her mouth lingered by his, so Justin took the offered second kiss, letting go of all his thoughts, worries and hopes and instead just enjoying the moment. Enjoying Deonne.

Then he reluctantly lifted her and placed her back on the mattress. “It’s time to go,” he told her. “Brenden will impale me or something like it, so I should probably get it over with.”

“Just remember that I love you,” Deonne told him as he began to dress.

The assurance
did
make him feel better. Coming here had been the right thing to do.

Now he just had to find out how much he had fucked up history.

* * * * *

Universal Warden Headquarters, San Francisco, 2264 A.D.:
The average lay person didn’t know the Wardens had a dress uniform…or a uniform at all. During active assignments, Wardens were required to choose clothing that would let them stay in the background and not draw the eye. That could be anything from a white tie and tails to bathing trunks—if the warden could figure out where to stash his weapons unobtrusively.

Most wardens defaulted to black, form-fitting garments made of flexible armor plastic, which suited most occasions.

A Warden in full dress uniform was impressive. The trousers, shirt and jacket were all the signature black of the organization. The trousers had narrow double stripes of black satin down the side of each leg, and the stripe was repeated on the sleeve of the jacket.

The shirt, which was a stylized design that resembled the classic dress shirt of centuries before, was closed at the neck with a pin made of extruded gold, worked into the symbol of the wardens—an elongated shield with a sword lying over the top of it.

Even a small group of wardens in dress uniform was a startling sight. A large assembly of them could drop jaws and widen eyes. So Keiren’s surprise was upgraded to shock when he reported to Douglas’ office at the requested time and stepped through the opening door to find five wardens standing at attention, in full dress uniform.

Waiting for him.

One of them was Douglas, who did not meet Keiren’s eyes. He kept his head rigidly facing forward, his chin up.

Kieren stopped just inside the door. He took in the silent, still men ranged behind Douglas’ desk. “I see that my fate has been decided and executed already,” Kieren told them. “Thank you for letting me speak in my own defense.”

The man on the far left was John. He was the base commander and Kieren had only ever spoken to him once, the day he joined the wardens’ junior cohort. It had been his fifteenth birthday only two days before.

John was the one who spoke, now. Like Douglas, he didn’t look directly at Kieren. “The events of the last two days have been reviewed by your peers. Your actions have been judged and are considered to be those of a liar and a coward.”

Cowardice – the worst crime a warden could commit. Keiren’s gut cramped painfully, and he could feel heat rushing up from his toes.
Adrenaline
, his well-trained mind whispered.
Action burns it off.

But there would be no action here.

“Accordingly,” John continued, “You have been declared unworthy of a place among wardens. You will be escorted from the base immediately and your personal possessions delivered to any address you provide.”

Kieren swallowed. His mouth was full of spit.
Nausea
, he analyzed.

He realized he was using the tools of discipline and self-control that the wardens had drilled into him as a prop, a shield to duck behind so he wouldn’t have to directly deal with what was happening here.

A summary judgment by the senior wardens was irreversible. There was no avenue for appeal. His life as a warden had ended the minute he stepped into the room.

Kieren breathed steadily through his nose, damping the rising panic. “I expect my financial situation to be unaffected.”

For the first time, one of them showed a reaction. Douglas’ eyes widened in surprise. But that was all.

“You will be more than adequately compensated for what contributions you have made,” John said, his voice the same even, unaffected monotone. “You will have no cause for complaint.”

They were buying his silence, Kieren realized. If he attempted to protest or dispute his severance from the wardens, the money would disappear. Not just the bonus they were implying, but everything.

There were not too many ways to survive without cash or credit in this day and age, and all of them were illegal and led to even quicker justice at the hands of the social system, which applied a “no tolerance” policy for petty crime across the globe. A first offence was awarded the stiffest sentence possible, to discourage further offences. There were rarely second offences, for the death penalty was available for second offenders.

Kieren nodded. “Then who has the courage to walk me off this base?” he demanded.

They all did. He was placed between them and Douglas led the pack, which proceeded silently through the building and into the quadrangle. Wardens going about their business stopped to watch Keiren’s downfall, their stony gazes tracking his progress across the compound to the front gates.

At the gates, the procession halted and the gate slid open.

It took all his courage, screwed up into a tight wad and squeezed hard, for Kieren to step through the gate alone. Once he was through, the gate rattled closed with a finality that brought sweat to his temples.

He turned and walked slowly down the sidewalk to the next corner, the peaceful San Francisco suburb humming around him, filling his mind.

When he turned the corner, he jogged to the nearest tree, bent over with his shoulder against it for balance, and vomited until he thought he would pass out.

* * * * *

The Agency Home Base – 2264 A.D.:
Brenden’s fingers gripped the back of Justin’s neck and he wondered if Brenden would shake him, like a dog with prey. But the Spartan turned, instead, and drove him face-first into the wall of the cave.

Justin heard and felt his ribs go, but the worst pain was his nose, which was crushed against the rock. He was blinded by it for a moment.

Brenden gripped his shoulder, his fingers digging in and straining his clavicle. “Do you know what you have done?” he bellowed.