The Void (Witching Savannah Book 3) (21 page)

TWENTY-SEVEN

Instantly recognizable, but still somehow different, less androgynous. That was it. His features had taken on a more masculine edge. A question shot its way up through my subconscious. “You are an anchor. How can you be here?” How could he be so far away from the point on earth where he was duty-bound to remain in order to anchor the line?

“Bilocation. I have been blessed with the ability to be in two places at once. My other half—or you might even call her my ‘better half’—remains home.”

His other half. Fridtjof was not the androgyne I had believed him to be. He, they, were some kind of symbiotic creature, male and female bound together, but as my eyes now testified, capable of division when necessary. I recovered quickly from the shock of seeing him here and in the flesh. He was going to have to try a lot harder than this to throw me after the turns my life had taken. I found myself more irritated than alarmed by his presence. Seriously, he could have at least called. “Okay, that takes care of the how.” I patted Emmet’s forearm until he clued in and let me go free. “Now let’s move on to the why.”

“I would assume that much is obvious. I’m here to partake of your world famous Liar’s Tour.” The blankness on his face gave way to a self-satisfied smile.

“Here’s the condensed version: It’s been lovely to see you.”

Emmet chuckled behind me.

“Now, if it isn’t clear to you that I am in no mood for your smartass responses, please let me assure you I am not.” I felt a bead of sweat form on my forehead, and I wiped it away with my hand. “So tell me what you want, or keep on driving.”

“Of course,” he said, and the smoked glass of the window began to rise. For a moment, I honestly thought maybe he really would lift tail and run, but in the next moment the driver’s door opened and a normal enough guy in a cheap dark suit hopped out. He reached for the handle of Fridtjof’s door and swung it open, then stepped back. Fridtjof leaned out of the opening. “Please do get in.”

I didn’t take the shortest of moments to consider the invitation. My head was shaking before I could even register I had answered. “Uh-uh. No way.” My voice finally caught up with the rest of me.

“Come along. You may bring your ‘bodyguard’ if you like.”

“I said no. I meant no.”

It was impossible to discern Fridtjof’s emotions by examining his face. He could have been joyous, enraged, or maybe even just bored. His features appeared incapable of demonstrating anything other than smugness and contempt. I found myself casting an eye at the driver, trying to use his expressions as a barometer of Fridtjof’s thoughts, until I realized I didn’t care what Fridtjof was feeling. There was no way I was going anywhere near him, let alone with him. I turned and began to head home.

“I’ve been sent as delegate by your fellow anchors,” he called out after me.

Okay, now we were “fellows.” I stopped and turned back. “Then talk. Why did they send you?” Emmet insinuated himself between us, readying himself for, well, for just about anything, I guessed.

“We have agreed the unpleasantness between us is at least partially our fault.”

“Partially?” My voice squeaked into a higher than normal register. “You tried to destroy my hometown.”

“That is not entirely true. It was your mother—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Stuff a sock in it.” I’d already heard this from Beige. No need to sit through White’s version of the same excuse. “What else you got?”

For a moment he seemed a bit thrown by the colloquialism. His head tilted and a line formed between his brows. His silence lasted just long enough for me to consider leaving him sitting there. He recovered just in time. “We have been withholding many truths from you. Truths about the line and its creation. Truths about the damage you and your family have caused to it.” He gave his accusation sufficient time to register fully. “You may have saved your city from the hurricane’s destruction, but that salvation came at a cost. Your activities have weakened the line.”

His words had no sooner escaped his snowy lips than I felt an awareness burst all around me. “No. It isn’t weaker. If anything, it’s stronger than ever, just less in your control.”

“Miss Taylor—”

“Mrs. Tierney,” Emmet corrected him, earning himself more points than I had time to calculate.

“All right then, Mrs. Tierney, I had hoped you would accompany me willingly and that I wouldn’t have to resort to threatening you . . .”

“You had better choose your next few words with extreme care,” I said, reflexively pulling my hand back and feeling a ball of blue fire dance on my fingertips.

Fridtjof startled and slid back a bit, but he forced himself to recover. “You are leaving us with no choice. That you are such a slave to your passions you would even consider harming another anchor is proof enough.”

I let the ball of fire dissolve. “Fine, spit it out.”

“I hoped, we hoped, this could be a dispassionate meeting of the minds. That you would join me of your own accord and learn the error of the way in which you have been conducting yourself. However, I must warn you that if you refuse to accompany me, the other anchors are at the ready, prepared to perform a binding on you.”

Emmet took a step toward the car. I used my magic to grab hold of him and stop him. I knew that otherwise Fridtjof might find himself split into three parts rather than two. “If I do agree to go with you?”

“Well, that would indeed be seen as a sign of good faith.” I felt his sense of control return to him. His certainty hovered around him like a cloying cloud. “Come. There is something I must show you.”

I turned to Emmet and he to me. “I have to go . . .”

“Not a chance will I leave you to go with this . . . chalky bas
tard . . . alone.” He approache
d the car. “Slide it, frosty.” He looked back over his shoulder, trying to appear confident and pleased with himself. He failed to cover up the concern in his dark eyes. Emmet had to duck to slide himself into the car, but soon I stood there alone, the expectant driver fixing me with a stare. A quick and silent prayer to anything out there that might be looking out for me, and I joined Emmet. The driver shut the door behind me.

The sound of the car door closing coincided with, if not triggered, a blinding incandescence, and rather than riding along the streets of Savannah, I found myself traveling in a way I’d never experienced before. I felt that my body sat completely still, and the world moved around me. Emmet’s hand caught mine, his steely grip letting me know that no matter what, he had no intention of letting go. Images alternated with blackouts; each strobe of light revealed a new location, until an eruption of darkness washed the scene away.

The pace of the images relented as open fields spread out below us. The pictures grew finer in detail, alerting me that we were descending even though my senses swore to me I had remained stationary. Coming into focus was an area boxed in on three sides by a squared-off U made of trees. In the enclosure’s center stood an unidentifiable structure. A grain silo? A water tower? No, neither. It cast too odd of a shadow to be either. The image gained in depth, and within the wink of an eye, we touched ground near a collection of enormous upright granite slabs. The edges of the colossal blocks remained rough, but their faces had been polished and inscribed in both modern and long-dead languages.

“The Guidestones,” I said to myself. I’d never been here before, but I’d of course heard of them. Many called them “the American Stonehenge”; many others called them the work of the devil. As I registered the distance we had traveled, I fell into a panic. I was an anchor of the line. I knew I was to remain physically near the point where the line had selected me as such, but I had no idea how much leeway existed. Had I been brought here in an attempt to break my connection?

Fridtjof seemed to anticipate my anxious reaction. “Don’t worry. You are still within the physical boundary you must maintain. At its limits, yes, but still within.”

Emmet’s hand remained tightly latched to mine. “Why the subterfuge of the automobile? Why not tell us you intended to transport us using magic?”

“I had to threaten your pretty friend to get her into an ordinary auto. Do you think I would have stood a chance getting her to come along through a less mundane form of transport?” He was right on that point. “The little teleportation trick you do,” he said addressing me, “you’ve just experienced what it is like once you’ve mastered it.” His pale face turned at an angle. “Or perhaps you believed this was a gift particular to you?” The question was an obvious jibe, intended to make me feel insecure in my own powers. It hit home. “No, this skill of yours is shared by all anchors. Its intended use is to make sure we can always return to our respective points of anchorage regardless of how far from home we might find ourselves.”

“See,” Emmet said to me. “I told you there was no need to click your heels.” We looked at each other and burst out laughing. Fridtjof was less than pleased with our act of lèse-majesté, realizing Emmet had completely undermined his attempt to intimidate.

I focused on his face as sour and white as spoiled milk. “Why did you bring us here?”

“We wanted you to see this monument. To realize how close to your seat of
power the enemies of the line have staked their claim.” He motioned to the monument like it were a game show prize. “The men who commissioned these stones were enemies to the line.” He took a few steps closer, leaving his back exposed to Emmet and me. He had evidently decided we were not a threat to his well-being. So far, he was right. So far. He turned back almost as if he had picked up on my thought. “Those who funded this monument dreamed of a ‘New World Order’ in which these suggestions would stand as absolute law, but there is nothing new in the hierarchy they would wish to impose on the earth. These ‘guidelines’ are based on the
memory of the commandments that were handed down to us by the old ones. The old ones are the closest thing to God this world has ever witnessed.” He craned his neck to take the stone in. “Of course, what you see here has been corrupted, sanitized, but judge for yourself. I believe you can get the gist.”

I read the first guideline. “ ‘Maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with nature.’ This isn’t sanitized. It’s a call for a global genocide.”

“The enemies of the line, they would consider this a wise culling, not a genocide.”

“Oh, I’m sure the seven billion surplus people will take great comfort in that.”

“Indeed. Number two is golden too. ‘Guide reproduction wisely,” he read in a stentorian voice, “improving fitness and diversity.’ ” Fridtjof barked out an abrasive laugh. “Diversity indeed. Diversity within an incredibly limited spectrum. This is nothing more than the perennial call for the building of a ‘master race.’ ”

“Eugenics is a crime against humanity.” I took a few steps back. I wanted to go home. I wanted to get away from this odd man. I wanted to get away before he stated the obvious.

“You, Mercy, are the product of eugenics.”

Well, too late to get away. He’d hit me in a very sore spot. “Yes, thank you very much. I am well aware of that.”

“I too am a product of eugenics.” His head tilted, and he seemed to be taking my full inventory. “Does that surprise you?” To my senses he appeared a freak, rather than the end product of a misguided breeding experiment aimed at achieving even the most twisted sense of perfection. “I am the idealized aim of these laws. My blood is so pure I have been left unable to breed with anyone other than my other half. Once I breed, I give birth and die.” He turned back to the stones. “So perhaps you should stop feeling so sorry for yourself.” He looked back over his shoulder at me, with an actual and bona fide smile on his ashen lips. “We know you have entertained Gudrun.” He began walking away, circling the stone posts. He seemed to be giving me time to consider the implications of my having been caught fraternizing with the enemy. He finished the circuit then stopped directly before me. “We only want you to be cognizant of who she is”—his shoulders fell—“the degree of duplicity of which she is capable.” He straightened up. “If she has managed to charm you, remember you are not the only anchor to have fallen for her lies. Ayako”—I heard regret in his voice as he said her name—“worked with her and your cousin Teague. Gudrun had convinced them both that they were acting in the line’s best interest.”

“No, she made no pretense of wanting to preserve the line.” The emotion he betrayed when speaking of Ayako humanized Fridtjof to me. Had Ayako faced a binding, contrary to what Gudrun had claimed? Without considering the wisdom of doing so, I lowered my defenses. This man, person, I corrected myself, lost a friend. I could empathize with him over that loss. “She asked me to join with her to bring down the line.”

Fridtjof nodded, lowering his jaw and fixing me with his blank gaze. “Yes, go on.”

“The spell she cast to free herself. She said she could have used anyone’s body to fix it, but she used Emily’s.”

The corners of Fridtjof’s mouth pulled down, and his head jerked. “This spell you speak of, please explain.”