“She’s an anarchist. She had a choice—go to prison and see her family deported or come here as a volunteer and contribute something meaningful to the future of the country. I’d say that’s a pretty fair trade. More than fair, in fact.”
“Her family’s been deported anyway.”
Marlowe looked surprised but recovered. “I had nothing to do with that.”
Jericho felt as if he had been thrown into the deprivation tank, all his edges blurring again. “What happened to her?” he demanded.
“Anna? She’s perfectly safe.”
“Let me see her.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. By order of the United States government. She is still a criminal.”
Some terrible realization was fighting to take shape in Jericho’s enhanced mind. “You need them,” he said as the thought occurred. “You need them to keep that door open, don’t you? Because they’re connected to that world!”
Marlowe’s expression told the truth of it.
“Now, Jericho, don’t be hasty—”
“I’ll find her, then.” Jericho pushed away from the table.
Marlowe leaped to his feet, following. “Jericho! Where are you going? Jericho! Come back here!”
Jericho stormed toward the library, only to see the men in suits coming toward him with a syringe. “Now, Mr. Jones. You don’t wanna do this.”
“Don’t hurt him!” Marlowe shouted. “I need him.”
The men darted forward, and Jericho took off at a clip for the forest.
You can’t catch me, he thought. I am faster and stronger and bulletproof. You made me that way, you bastard. He’d never run so fast in his life. The trees flew by like painted splotches. When he’d reached the charred clearing, he stopped. Had they followed? They would. He should go now. Run for the train station. No. They’d be watching the train stations. Anna Provenza was still trapped somewhere inside Marlowe’s estate. Jericho had to go back for her. The two of them could leave together. But how would he find her? The estate was enormous and he had no idea where they’d kept her. And the minute Jericho stepped foot inside the mansion, those Shadow Men would have him down in the lab for more of Marlowe’s experiments.
From where he stood, Jericho could see the castle-like roofline of Hopeful Harbor. Such a pretentious architectural detail, and so like Marlowe, fancying himself a king, a ruler. But wait—the roof. The roof! Jericho could get in that way. He was pretty sure he had the strength to climb up the tower and get onto the roof. It was high time Jericho found out what Marlowe was keeping in that locked solarium anyway. Maybe it was Anna.
He ran back, creeping from tree to tree. He wished he had Sam’s ability to go invisible. The Shadow Men walked toward the servants’ entrance.
“He’ll be back. He can’t go far,” one of them said.
And Jericho held his breath until they were inside.
Then he darted for the back of the estate.
As he’d predicted, climbing up the side of the tower was no trouble for him now, thanks to his incredible strength. He landed on the roof with the softness of a cat and crept the few feet toward the solarium, which ran nearly the length of the roof. Drapes had been drawn across its massive windows, making it impossible to see in. Jericho would have to go in blind. He tried the door. It was unlocked. Of course—who would lock a door on the roof? Carefully, he parted the drape and peered in, relieved when he saw that no one was there. Silently, he slipped inside.
It appeared to be another laboratory, but unlike the one in the basement, this one seemed to be dedicated solely to the strange golden machine taking up the center of the room. Metal legs secured the contraption to the floor, and its huge, rounded belly hummed with a fierce energy. A pair of tall poles flanked either side. Staticky threads of blue lightning shot back and forth between those poles. Two chairs, heavy with restraints, had been placed next to each pole. Wired metal helmets rested in the seats. An antenna was connected to the machine’s top with a crank to allow it to be raised to the sky, and when Jericho looked up, he saw a movable panel in the roof. On one side of the machine was a sort of teletype contraption rigged to a roll of paper, as if it were waiting for a long telegram. There was a hinged door in the center. Etched into the door was a symbol Jericho knew well.
“The Eye,” he murmured, touching it briefly. He was woozy with a rush of thought: This was what Evie was looking for! It wasn’t a place or a person; it was a machine. It had to be the machine Marlowe had spoken of, the one he hoped could reach into another dimension. Directly below the Eye symbol was a mysterious, pulsing blue orb. Jericho stepped closer to get a better look and slipped. He swiped his fingers across the bottom of his shoe, and they came back wet and red.
Blood.
The solarium’s floor rumbled—the elevator on its way up. Quickly, Jericho wiped the bottom of his shoe clean on his sleeve. He looked around frantically for a place to hide and darted behind a folding dressing screen. The elevator door opened. A Shadow Man, tall and lean, dragged a frightened, exhausted Anna Provenza forward. The other, stockier Shadow Man escorted an older woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She wore thick shackles on her wrists and ankles, and she didn’t seem frightened so much as resigned and aloof, as if her mind were miles away.
“I am sorry, child,” the older woman said, and Jericho recognized her voice immediately as the one that had calmed him in the deprivation tank. One look at her face and he knew: This was Miriam Lubovitch Lloyd, Sam’s missing mother. The moment he thought of her name, Miriam stopped cold.
“What’s the matter now, Miriam?” the stocky Shadow Man said, irritated.
“Nothing,” she said, and let herself be led forward. But her energy was like a current Jericho could feel between them. She turned her head slightly in the direction of the dressing screen, and then Jericho heard her voice inside his head. Do not move. Stay and see. This is truth. I am sorry.
As the men in suits strapped Miriam into one chair and Anna into another, Marlowe arrived, looking very annoyed as he whipped off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Did you find him?” he asked the Shadow Men.
“No. But we will,” the tall Shadow Man said. “I’ve alerted all agents. They’ll watch the train stations and the roads. He won’t get far.”
Marlowe pointed his finger very close to the man’s nose. “You’d better find him before the exhibition.”
The Shadow Man didn’t flinch. “You don’t tell us what to do, Mr. Marlowe. We outrank you.”
A scowling Marlowe left the Shadow Man behind and came to Miriam’s side. “Hello, Miriam,” he said.
She spat in his face. He wiped the offense away with his pocket square.
“We have to charge the machine, Miriam. You’re the only one we’ve found who can balance the energy from the Diviners and the other side and keep the breach open. You know that.”
“You don’t know what you do. What you awaken.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard that all before.” He patted the machine’s golden belly. “This beauty has brought forth some of my greatest innovations. It’s a miracle.”