I spilled myself out of the network and into the middle of a walk-in freezer. The ping of nearby connections told me I was behind the cafeteria, in the kitchen. Which made sense: this was not a part of the company which has ever held much of a draw for me. I do not eat. I do not drink. I live on light. The easiest way to hide something from my eyes is to stick it in the refrigerator.
A small black chest sat at the back of the freezer, out of place among the larger shelves, all of which were plain gunmetal gray. I blinked and was standing in front of it, the echo of my disappearance hanging in the air. I wasn’t used to appearing and reappearing in such an enclosed space; I hadn’t been prepared for how loud it was.
Ears ringing, I opened the chest, and beheld the blood.
It was contained in small, sealed bags, each one labeled with the name of the person who had donated it, and the date of the donation. I dug into the pile, pushing bricks of red ice aside until I found the bag I wanted, the bag I needed.
JANUARY O’LEARY—4/6/10.
The bag was cold enough to freeze my fingers, but I clutched it tightly, hands shaking, unwilling to let go. This had come from my mother, from her body, before Gordan had killed her, before we’d burned the shell she’d left behind. If there was any hope of getting her back, it was in this bag.
A thought, and I was wearing a coat, long and thick, with insulated pockets. I slipped the bag into one of them. There was a latch on the inside of the freezer door. I twisted it, and the door opened, and I ran.
SEVEN
Back in my room—small and bright and decorated for a child much younger than I had allowed myself to be since my mother died—I placed the bag of blood on the nearest counter and flung myself into the dance of data all around me. Devoid of the need to remain physical, I could manipulate everything in my virtual world, unrestrained by the limits of the interface.
It only took a second to find the archival security footage. I called up the date and time I needed, and replayed it once, twice, a dozen times before I was sure it contained the elements I was looking for. Then, and only then, did I reach into the intercom and trigger a connection to a specific employee.
There was a pause. Then Elliot said cautiously, “Yes, April?”
“I need you to get some things for me.”
The pause was longer this time, laced with confusion. I have few needs. I need power; I need disk space; I occasionally need new movies or video games, but I have a company credit card, and I understand how Amazon works. Things I can’t obtain for myself are rare.
“What?” he asked finally.
“I need sea salt, juniper berries, a mandrake root, several raven feathers, six unmatched candles that have been previously lit, and—”
“Dried flowers,” he finished. “April, what are you intending to do?”
“Do you ask out of curiosity or out of the inaccurate and misguided belief that you can somehow influence my actions?”
“Both,” he said. “Neither. Where are you?”
“I am in the network.”
“Can you come here, please?”
When I was my mother’s heir—when becoming a Countess was unthinkable, because she was never going to die—I served as the County intercom system. I had been taught to come when called, the better to collect and relay messages. I didn’t think. Instinct took over, and I was no longer in the wires, but standing in front of Elliot’s desk, a scowl on my face.
“I was occupied,” I said.
He took a deep breath, standing to put us on a more even level, and asked, “Why are you trying to summon the night-haunts?”
I blinked. “What brings you to this conclusion?”
“Don’t play with me,” he said. “I’m the one who got the flowers for Toby when she did the same ritual. It nearly killed her, and she used her own blood to power the circle. You can’t do that.”
“I can do something similar,” I said.
“You haven’t told me why.”
“If I do, you must swear you will not tell Li Qin.” I looked down my nose at him, trying to summon every ounce of nobility I had inherited, however impossibly, from the woman I was trying to restore. “Swear upon your fealty that until I grant permission, you will not reveal my secrets.”
Elliot blinked, clearly taken aback. I think he sometimes forgets that I sat at my mother’s knee for days that seemed without end, until they ended without fanfare. I may not be my mother, but I learned from her. I learned more than anyone understood.
“I swear,” he said.
“Gordan lied,” I said.
Elliot went very still. Finally, after a pause so long that I began to fear he would lose consciousness, he said, “Explain.”
“She told October my mother could not be saved because her data had not been backed up to the server,” I said. I cocked my head. “Perhaps she did not intend to lie. The buffer of the upload device was configured to store a limited amount of data, and it contained both my mother and Terrie when she spoke to October. Had she been able to upload Quentin, as she intended, some or all of their data would have been overwritten. I would prefer to think of her as a liar. Anything else would be sloppy.” Gordan, for all her failings, had never been sloppy. She had been cruel, angry, and misguided, but she had been admirably tidy in her obsessions.
“April . . .”
“I had not considered whether she had been entirely truthful prior to today,” I said. “I found the upload device. I checked the storage area. Mother’s information is still present, as is Terrie’s.”
Elliot sat down.
“Alex has kept the body he historically shared with Terrie in working order. The absence of Mother’s body is, however, an issue,” I said. “Without a place to put her, she is no better than an echo in a cavern. I believe that, by negotiating with the night-haunts, I might be able to resolve this conundrum.”
Elliot began to laugh.
I frowned, cocking my head to the side once more. “Why are you laughing? This is a perfectly viable agenda.”
“You’re telling me Jan . . . you’re trying to say that we could bring Jan back from the dead?” He shook his head. “The others always seemed a little far-fetched, but hell. What isn’t far-fetched around here? Oberon’s eyes, April, you can’t summon the night-haunts and ask them to build you a body. You’d need something for them to build from.”
“I have it,” I said calmly. “The company blood drive. Mother donated. I have her blood. If the night-haunts are as powerful as they are said to be, they should be able to synthesize a functional body from what I have to offer.”
“I . . . April, this is madness.” Elliot raked his hands through his hair, giving me a plaintive look. “You can’t just ask the night-haunts to make a new Jan. It won’t work.”
“Nothing works if it’s not tried,” I said. “I want the things I’ve asked of you. I intend to make the attempt.”
“They’re not going to do this for free. What will you—” Elliot went still.
I waited. He had been my mother’s seneschal and close companion for more than a century. If anyone knew how she thought, it was him. While I could not truly claim my thoughts mirrored hers, she was the one who had taught me to look past the logical solution to find the illogical, ideal one.
“You can’t,” he said.
“I intend to,” I said.