The Deception Dance (33 page)

“The demon nest...” he points to a red ring on the map
even farther down and away from the water, “is Copenhagen City
Hall.” The map switches its focus, providing photos of the city
hall instead. “Our only...”

The doors swish open, stopping Stephen mid-sentence. But what I
imagine halts Stephen’s explanation is not the entrance of his
three brothers; no, what stops him is most likely the same thing that
impedes my breathing for a few long seconds, it is the panic on all
of their faces.

Tobias usually nasally voice is shrill, “Thirty seconds ago, we
lost contact with Holmens Kirke. None of the runners had arrived.”

A cold silence settles on us like an evening mist.

Even though I know the question makes me sound uneducated, I have to
know, “What does that mean, ‘lost contact’?”

Tobias pinches his lips together, “It is not...”

“We don’t really know what it means,” Stephan cuts
in as he returns to the table. “We’ve not recovered
anyone we’ve lost contact with. But we hypothesize that
soul-bound break through our barriers, and then desecrate the site to
allow the demons in.”

All three of the incomers have slumped postures and downcast gazes,
but when they take a seat they all three sit across the table from
me. Their glares say, ‘
we might be miserable, but we’re
not going to forget to hate-on and judge you, Raven.
’ Well,
that’s just fine. I feel stronger every minute.

“So what’s plan ‘B’?” I direct my
question at Stephen.

“All the eggs, remember...” Stephen mutters as he slumps
back in his chair.

It just seems like such a bad joke, Stephen telling me one minute,
‘this one plan is our only hope’ then the next finding
out the plan failed.

I rest my elbows on the table, but pull back when the space lights
up. Instead, I rock back into my swivel chair. “So...” I
mumble, “We need to get the message to Andras, by the end of
tomorrow, that I’m alive. We have boats, planes, helicopters,
soldiers; what’s the hold-up? Why don’t we just fly in?
We could land on, or next to, City Hall...”

“We can only fly during the day, and in the daylight hours
there is a soul-bound on every street corner waiting for a chance to
please their demons hoping to win back their soul. They will
overwhelm and kill anyone they think opposes the demons, it’s
happened many, many times in the past month. ” Albert replies
to the table in a monotone.

I ask, “Demons can only come out at night?”

Tobias and Albert make groaning sounds.

Tobias scoffs, “I thought you taught her something.”

Stephen replies, “There’s a great deal to learn.”
To me, “Demons only come out after nightfall, unless they
puppeteer a body.”

I prompt, “Well, boats then...”

“This is just imbecilic,” Tobias shoots at me, “You
want to send more soldiers to their deaths in the Oresund? I just
told you that none of the runners made it to land.”

I want to snap at him that: no
,
he didn’t
. He
didn’t tell me anything about them being in the water. But, I
just lick my lips, they feel sand-paper rough; then say, “Is
there anywhere you could land your helicopter on hallowed ground?
Maybe in the areas around the church, like...” I lean over to
Stephen’s screen and scan it, “At that church,” I
press on the green dot of ‘St. Alban’s Anglican church’.

As the map readjusts its focus, Nicholas speaks up, “No.”

My chest feels a sort-of zingy sensation as I stare over at him.

Is he actually, finally, talking to me? He lifts his gaze, but not to
me, he glares at Stephen. “If we land a plane or helicopter at
St. Alban’s we’re only going to be drawing a target on
it. If St. Alban’s falls, the entrance to Kastellet will be
open and the thousands of survivors vulnerable. We need to preserve
the only safe place for people in Copenhagen to run.”

Stephen shifts forward, the exasperated look on his face makes me
think this is not the first time they’ve had this argument.
“Will it really matter when Andras opens the gates of Hell in
the City Center?”

Nicholas slams down his palm, lighting the table in front of him, and
leans toward Stephen. “Not only would we have to navigate three
kilometers of demon and soul-bound infested streets, we still would
have to infiltrate the nest and find the Marquis somewhere within.
Are you willing to risk thousands of lives on the extremely-slight
chance that we could even get within a kilometer of the nest?”

“Are you willing not to?” Stephen touches his scar,
“Getting to Andras is the only way to save those people’s
lives. If we give up now, let all of the seals be broken, how many
survivors do you think there will be?”

“Human casualties...”

“...will happen either way. If we don’t use the church,
if we don’t try to get the message to Andras, we’ll be
buying a thousand people a day or two and condemning the entire world
to Hell.” Stephen’s almost standing as he finishes this,
but as the words leave his mouth he seems to deflate and settle back
into his chair. He sighs, “We could go in with troops...”

“After our losses, we barely have the man-power to protect the
base and Kastellet,” Albert states unenthusiastically,
glowering into his lap.

“I’m going,” I say as clearly as I can, to keep my
voice steady.

Albert peers up, for the first time meeting my gaze. He looks as if
he’s going to say something.

“Not a chance!” Nicholas shouts while standing up, his
swivel chair falls back.

“Out of the question!” Tobias backs him up in a high
tone. “The suggestion is ludicrous. Don’t you understand
what will happen if you die?”

I raise my hands and lean forward. Isn’t it obvious? I’m
their only
chance
. “Demons can’t...”

“Stephen!” Nicholas shouts jabbing a finger toward
Stephen. “I will not allow you to risk her life in this!”

“No,” Stephen’s voice is soft, “No, I was
not...” He turns to me, “Raven, I have to agree with my
brothers on this. You’re our only hope; if you die, that’s
the end. You need to be protected and safe, here.”

Acidic words burn my lips and linger on my tongue but I swallow them
down. I peer into my lap, the lap of the blue girlie dress I’m
still wearing. No wonder they won’t take me seriously, I look
as if I’m about to receive guests for tea and crumpets. “Don’t
you see?” I say quietly, “Demons can’t hurt me. I’m
your best chance of getting through the demon nest.
I’m
the only irrefutable proof that I’m alive.”

“If we’re going to do this,” Nicholas presses his
knuckles into the table, “It’s going to be you and me,
Stephen, that’s it. She...” he points to me, “...stays
here, guarded. The only way I’ll agree is: if we take a small
helicopter and fly low, lights off, at twilight. We can spend the
night in the camp. At first light, we will take one of our vans.”

“And me,” Albert growls only turning his head slightly to
look at Nicholas from a sideward angle.

“Albert,” Nicholas says, grasping Albert’s
shoulder, “You’re too emotionally-involved. Your presence
would jeopardize the mission.”

“I’m not giving you a choice. I’m older, higher
rank, and I’m going!”

“Actually, no, you’re not going.” Stephen counters,
“Nicholas is right, your actions lately have not been rational.
The mission is too important for personal...”

“Personal
what
?” Albert looks positively fearsome;
he’s out of his chair looming over Stephen like Thor about to
swing his deathblow.

No part of Stephen’s face even twitches, “Personal
anything
, Albert.” He takes his time standing and to my
surprise Albert moves out of his way. “I’m second to
Tobias, and you can’t come.”

Albert glares at his brothers one at a time, completely ignoring me,
and then marches out of the room.

Nicholas calls after, “I will do everything I can for...”

Albert is gone. The doors slide shut.

Day Fifty-Six
(continued)

As the sun sets it casts long lines of shadow on the ceiling; they
shift as I move my head back-and forth, back-and forth. It’s
funny, lying here in my room is the first chance I’ve had to be
by myself since I was...
reanimated
. I guess I feel, oddly,
peaceful.

I can hear Albert pacing outside my open window, and I know Tobias is
sitting just on the other side of my door with several soldiers, more
like prison guards than protectors, but I feel utterly alone.

Stephen and Nicholas must have left already, flying low over a
treacherous strait to a more-than-likely disastrous end. Nicholas
didn’t say goodbye, he didn’t even meet my gaze. I’ll
probably never see him again.

After dying and being brought back to life, one would think I would
have something essentially different about me. I haven’t really
had a chance to evaluate myself for change. It didn’t feel like
death, more like that one time I nodded off in class and when I
opened my eyes, the classroom was empty. But death must have
transformed me in some... deep, spiritual way. I close my eyes and
concentrate on my internal self, delve into my person. I have to stop
myself humming an ‘ohmm’ sound and making myself laugh. I
gather my internal focus on a spot in the middle of my chest and
listen for anything... any new insight...

Nothing speaks up. No new wisdom or miraculous power jumps out at me.
I can’t read minds or even guess what time it is. I could just
check my watch, but I’m not going to bother.

You’d think being dead for a month would’ve given me all
the sleep I needed, but I’m exhausted. I drift; telling myself
that I’m safe here. I’m under lock and key, waiting for
others to save the world.

My eyes snap open as something is stuffed into my mouth, some
material. I flail, and try to spit it out but tape stretches over my
mouth painfully. I kick, wildly, knowing this might be my only and
best chance to fight.

Whoever has me is strong; they barely notice my struggle as they flip
me over, tie up my hands, then my feet. An arm wraps under my torso
and I’m lifted up.

I head butt the person right as they raise me, but he or she doesn’t
even pause. The kidnapper throws me over his shoulder (I’m
assuming male because of its girth) and moves toward the open window.

Where is Albert? Where are his men? A van is parked outside my
window, back door open, and no one is in sight. I don’t know
much about these types of situations, but I can recognize that this
is my last chance; if I get into that van hog-tied, I’m not
getting out. I thrash and kick, managing to elbow the man in the ear.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t readjust his hold as I rock
forward. He hefts me off his shoulder and slides me into a cleared
space in the back of the van. But I stop fighting because I see his
face; and when he shuts the door I just stare at the spot where
Albert’s face had been a moment earlier until I feel the van
move.

What is Albert doing? Why would he do this? That traitor!

The van continues to bump slowly along until it stops completely.

“Hello, Albert,” another man’s voice says so
clearly he must be standing at the open window, “Leaving
tonight?”

“As soon as you get out of my way,” Albert growls.

I scream but the sound gets tangled in the material stuffed in my
mouth.

“Right away, sir.”

A second later we’re moving, fast. My head vibrates against the
floor until I strain to maneuver myself into a sitting position.

Since I changed into my sleep clothes (track-shorts and a tank-top)
earlier, I no longer have sleeves, and even though my bare shoulder
is not abrasive I rub it against the corner of the tape covering my
mouth.

I barely separate the corner of the tape from my mouth when the van
screeches to a halt, skidding and spinning its rear. I flop over,
banging my head on something metal. I see white for a blink, then
feel the sharp pain.

Albert throws open the back door. I glare at him (for lack of
anything more menacing that I can do) and kick as he reaches for me.
I land a two-footed kick on his wrist and he pulls back.

He whispers, “Stop, Raven. We linger here, we’re dead.”

Confused, I don’t fight when he grabs and
hefts me over his shoulder, carrying me only to chuck me into the
back of some kind of speed boat. I don’t get much of a view but
I can tell this is the first boat parked among many, on a long dock.

I raise my head to see Albert run back toward the van but he spins
when someone yells from the dock. With one foot on the boat, Albert
unties ropes from around three dock posts, throws the ropes on the
boat, and steps over me. I keep my gaze glued to the large
dock-houses whose angular white roofs reflect the dim-moonlight as
several figures emerge from behind them.

One of the figures spots us, cries out, and starts sprinting.

The engine purrs. Albert hops over me again but I can’t see
what he’s doing because his feet are in the way. I rock myself
into a sitting position.

In the few seconds that my view was obstructed, the sprinting person,
a middle-aged man, closes the distance. He has a blue, metal gnome
statue in his hands; he’s grasping the gnome by its blue hat
and swinging it up like a bat.

I’m tied up, gagged and about to be bludgeoned to death by a
lawn ornament.
Jeez,
that’s depressing.

The man is breathing hard, he scrunches up his
normal-fatherly-looking face. “I don’t have a choice. I
am so sorry...”

Albert kicks the man in the chest.

The man and his gnome are actually airborne for an instant before
they each smack the boat across from us and slide into the water.

Albert does not hesitate; he ignores the four people who are closing
in and hops over me to the steering wheel. We move slowly for a
second, perhaps a second too long, a young woman runs on the walkway
alongside the boat. She jumps, arms outstretched like a flying
squirrel... and she smacks into the side of the boat.