“Predictable,” sniffed the girl in the minidress. “Predictable and pathetic.” She looked at him out of a movie-star face and wrinkled her nose. “Why on earth would we surrender to you? You disgust us.”
“And I have a special message for that bitch who’s peering out through your eyes,” said the male who had spoken before. All the Chimerae heard Marie’s sharp breath. “What is coming will smash any possibility of an alliance between you and the Checquy. You have brought this upon yourselves.” He held up his hand tauntingly, and all the Chimerae tensed, but his hand was empty. “You can do nothing against us.” His black skin rippled and became shiny porcelain white.
He snapped his fingers, and all the Chimerae died.
31
“Thank you so much for inviting us,” said Odette. “I’ve had a wonderful time here.” It was almost the truth. The long weekend at Hill Hall really would have been terrifically relaxing had it not been for two things.
The first was the formal dinners they’d all been obliged to attend each night. These had taken place in a beautiful room with soft light and lovely paintings. The food had been delicious, the conversation had been polite and uncontroversial, everyone had been extremely pleasant, and the horror of it all had nearly driven Clements to self-harm. Making polite chitchat amongst the elite was such obvious agony for the Pawn that Odette had actually felt sorry for her.
The second thing that unrelaxed the weekend was the phone call Ernst had received from Marie sometime in the wee hours of Saturday morning. Odette hadn’t dared ask what he’d been told, but it sent him into a cold rage that lasted the rest of the weekend. He’d been withdrawn, sitting silently at meals and spending the rest of the time in his room or the library talking on his mobile phone. Odette and Marcel had apologized discreetly, and Marcel had explained to their hosts that they’d received bad news from home.
“Have we received bad news from home?” Odette had asked when they were alone in the gardens. Marcel explained what had happened to the Chimerae.
“And so Marie had to activate their discretion functions,” said Marcel. “Otherwise, the Checquy would have found sixteen armed corpses in Hyde Park and two outside a nearby house, all unmistakably of Broederschap origin. With the discretion protocols, all their DNA unzipped itself, and they liquefied.”
“So instead of eighteen corpses in a public park and on the footpath, there will be eighteen sets of uniforms and weaponry, all heavily stained with miscellaneous organic fluids,” said Odette. “How do we explain that?”
“We don’t have to.” Marcel shrugged. “I expect the Checquy will hear about it, but they’ve no reason to link it to us.”
“So what happens now?”
“We don’t know,” said Marcel. “We aren’t sure how they were able to deal with the Chimerae so easily. This is one of the reasons that Ernst is so perturbed. We appear to have run out of options, and the Antagonists seemed to be very confident that their next move would turn the Checquy against us. We cannot flee, we cannot fight, and telling the truth has become increasingly dangerous, since we have been actively lying about a serious threat that has already killed several British civilians. If you think of anything, do let us know.”
“You seem very calm,” said Odette accusingly.
“I’m very good at not panicking,” Marcel said. “But if it makes you feel any better, I am extremely worried about this.”
For the rest of the weekend, Odette had fretted and brooded and come up with exactly nothing. Neither, apparently, had any of the other Grafters. And now, after an early supper on Sunday evening, the guests were getting ready to be driven back to London.
“We look forward to seeing you here again soon, Miss Leliefeld,” said Pawn Dunkeld. “It’s been a pleasure having you all visit.” He shook her hand, and she climbed into the back of the car. She sighed. The limo contained her, Clements, Rook Thomas, and Mrs. Woodhouse. Theirs was the last car to depart, and they’d been held up by the Rook’s having some final words with Pawn Dunkeld and then making everyone wait while she took a long confidential call from London.
As they moved out of the gates of Hill Hall, Odette looked at her traveling companions. Rook Thomas had her eyes closed, Mrs. Woodhouse was doing something with a tablet computer, and Clements was messing about with her phone. Apparently, there would be no conversation for a while. Shrugging, Odette turned to the window. It was dark outside the car, far darker than she would have expected. The road to Hill Hall was old — someone had told her it dated back to Roman times — and it seemed to have sunk over the centuries. High banks of earth rose on either side, with trees joining above them. It was like driving through a tunnel.
“Rook Thomas, according to Dr. Leliefeld’s schedule, it’s time for you to have some cranberry juice,” said Mrs. Woodhouse. She held out a bottle, and the Rook accepted it.
“Thank you, Ingrid,” said the Rook. “There’s nothing like having one’s every beverage sched — what the hell?” The car had veered violently for a moment, almost swerving into one of the banks flanking the road. The modesty panel slid down.
“Sorry, Rook Thomas,” said the driver. “I think something flew into my eye.”
“It’s fine,” said Thomas sourly. She’d spilled the juice down the front of her suit. She took off her seat belt and was in the process of taking off her jacket when the car swerved again. “All right, look, just stop the car,” she said in irritation. “If there’s an insect, we’ll let it out.”
The driver didn’t reply. Instead, an agonized scream filled the car. Everyone’s gaze flew to the front, where, to universal horror, they saw that the driver was clawing frantically at his own face.
Which meant that he had taken both hands off the steering wheel.
“Rook Thomas, seat belt,” said Mrs. Woodhouse flatly. The Rook struggled to get her arms out of her jacket as the car began to careen back and forth, slamming against the banks. “Quickly.”
“What is wrong with him?” asked Odette.
“No idea,” said Rook Thomas tightly.
“He’s got blood on his hands,” exclaimed Clements, craning her neck to peer into the front seat. “I think he’s tearing out his own eyes!”
“Rook Thomas, can’t you take control of him or something?” asked Odette, clutching at her seat belt. Before the Rook could answer, the car bounced off a bank, and Rook Thomas banged her head against the door of the car. She clutched at her head, her eyes squeezed shut. The car veered off across the road and scraped against the embankment on the other side.
There was a long, bubbling howl from the driver and then two wet bursting sounds, like someone dropping two waxed-paper bags full of water onto the floor. He slumped against the window, and Odette saw, to her astonishment, that a torrent of acrid yellow smoke was flowing out of his face. Unthinking, she gasped, and the cloud seemed to reach out and crawl down her throat.
It was as if molasses had been poured into her brain. Her thoughts grew thick and heavy, and it felt like weights had been attached to her eyelids and wrists. She could feel the car bucking beneath her, but it all seemed very distant and unimportant. The other women were coughing and gasping, but they were somehow still concerned with who was driving the car. Odette managed to muster up enough focus to admire their determination.
“Take his foot off the damn accelerator!” Clements choked out just as the car jerked, swerved, and ran straight into a bank.
*