Lair of Dreams

“How?”


Marlowe stirred two cubes of sugar into his own coffee. “You don’t get to be top dog without knowing how to get the information you need. That was reckless of Will. And to think he dragged his niece into it, as well. This foolish obsession of his is going to get people hurt.” Marlowe’s expression went somber. “So is this Diviner business.”

Jericho wished he could tell Marlowe about what they had done, how they had stopped a maniacal demon from manifesting in New York City. What they had done wasn’t reckless; it was desperate. They had saved lives, and the public would never know.

“Believe me, Evie can’t be dragged into anything she doesn’t want to do,” Jericho said.

“The Sweetheart Seer. She is quite something,” Marlowe mused. “Isn’t she engaged to that Sam Lloyd character? Well, she could certainly do better. A good man like you, perhaps.”

Jericho looked down at his shoes, and it was all the confirmation Marlowe needed.

Marlowe was still watching him closely.

“What is it?” Jericho asked, annoyed.

“And have you had any strong feelings of aggression or agitation?” Marlowe asked.

Strong feelings of aggression and agitation pretty much sum up being eighteen, Jericho thought. “When I was shot, but otherwise, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Good. Very good.” Marlowe gulped down his coffee and put the cup and saucer aside. “I’m glad you brought up the subject, Jericho. You know, I’ve been thinking—what if you were to come out to California and work with us at Marlowe Industries?”

“What could I offer you that you don’t already have?”

“You’re my crowning achievement.” Marlowe leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. That face the press lionized was no less impressive up close. “If we could study you, find out why you’ve survived against the odds, well, think of the good that could be done for America, for mankind. And for you, Jericho.” The great man looked Jericho in the eyes. His gaze was powerful. Inescapable. Jericho could feel the idealism pushing out from Marlowe like rays of sun on the first day of spring. “I’d like to make you the star of the Future of America Exhibition.”

Jericho’s brow furrowed. “Me? Why?”

“It’s time people knew. Jericho, you are the future of America. You are the next evolution of our species. A vision of all our hopes and dreams: Stronger. Faster. Smarter. Heroic. Tell me: When was the last time you were sick?”

“I… I can’t recall.”

Marlowe leaned back against his chair, smiling. “There you are! How fast did you recover from the gunshot wound?”

“A week, give or take.”

“A week! A week and you were good as new—better than new!” Jake Marlowe laughed. “Remarkable. Jericho Jones. A true native son. Our golden boy.”

It was true that Jericho had survived against all the odds. But the way Marlowe talked about it made him seem like a product rather than a human being. Wasn’t it some alchemical, mysterious connection between science, Marlowe’s genius, and whatever it was that made Jericho unique that had resulted in this advancement? Marlowe had made the parts and invented the serum. But he couldn’t claim credit for it all. He couldn’t claim credit for who Jericho was.

Choices. That’s what made a man. Wasn’t it?

Marlowe strolled over to the model and busied himself with perfecting the alignment of the buildings. “In the laboratory, we could study you. Study your blood. Run you through a conditioning program and a battery of tests.”

“And what would I get out of it?”

Marlowe frowned at a Winged Victory statue that was seemingly out of place. He picked it up and the angel hovered over the model fairgrounds as its creator searched for a spot to place it. “We’ll fine-tune to make sure that you don’t ever suffer the same fate as the others in the Daedalus program. You won’t end up like your friend Sergeant Lester.”

“Leonard. Sergeant Leonard.”

“Right,” Marlowe said. “Of course. Sergeant Leonard.”

“But so far, I’ve done fine with just the serum.”

“Indeed. You’ve done just fine. But what if you could do more than fine, Jericho? What if you had the chance to be extraordinary? Exceptional. The sort of extraordinary, exceptional man Miss O’Neill couldn’t resist.” Marlowe’s eyes gleamed. “I assumed when you mentioned her there was a reason.”

Jericho didn’t answer.

“When you stand on the stage at the exhibition and demonstrate how superior you are, there won’t be a girl in this world you can’t have. That’s the law of the animal kingdom: The stronger beast wins out,” Marlowe said, placing the Victory statue in the center of the model.

Jericho glowered. “I’m not a beast.”

“Now, now, don’t get sore. I mean it as a compliment.”