Malice in Wonderland (13 page)

"Let me guess ... the ingredients for
Maegon
are sitting in the vault of the ANC?" I asked as I tried to make sense of his comment.

Knight nodded.

"And
Maegon
ingredients are near impossible to find on the streets," I continued, shaking my head against the fact that someone in the ANC could have done this.

"Yes and no. You can find the ingredients, but it's incredibly difficult to do so; and, yes, there was a shipment sitting in the ANC vault which was never destroyed, owing to everything that happened within the last twenty-four hours," Knight finished.

"Not only that, but
Maegon
is very difficult to make; and as part of our potion training, only highly ranking ANC Regulators and officials have the knowledge," Christina added. "So it
would
seem someone in the ANC was involved for sure."

"Doesn't this seem way too convenient though?" I asked as I shook my head again, eyeing everyone in the room. "Whoever did this would be more than aware that we would be able to figure out it was a
Maegon
and then trace it back to the ANC. I really have a hard time believing that someone could be so stupid."

Knight raised his brows and shook his head. "Criminals don't necessarily have to be smart,
Dulce
."

I rolled my eyes and grumbled something under my breath because I was convinced there was more to this situation than what was so readily apparent on the surface.

NINE

After our impromptu meeting ended, Christina informed me that it wasn't safe for me to continue living on base. She was convinced that whoever tried to kill Knight and me was one of her people and also an ANC employee. Apparently, the idea that the
perp
was a Loyalist had been quickly abandoned because there was just too much evidence pointing to the fact that this must have been an inside job. As an inside job, it meant the would-be killer could be living in any of The Resistance compounds or, worse yet, he or she could even be part of Christina's Resistance Team. Either way, Christina considered me a walking target if I continued to proceed as if nothing happened. This was quite artfully demonstrated by Knight's and my near fatalities in the Denali. So I had to be relocated, but as to where I would soon be spending the majority of my time, I didn't have a clue but figured I'd find out shortly.

Christina ordered Knight to re-test the loyalty of all residents of the compounds, as well as her own team members. If paranoia were Christina's second cousin, it now became her sister and for good reason. All those loyal to The Resistance movement had to be subjected to rigorous lie-detectors, which involved incantations and spells from our resident witches. Once that task was completed, everyone would next be subjected to the application of the
Magreew
. The final gauntlet was a human polygraph.
In so doing
, Christina figured she had all her bases covered—magic by way of witchcraft,
sympath
, and no magic at all.

As expected, Christina insisted her team of officials undergo the tests first. It took two hours to assemble our team, the witches, the
Magreew
,
and the polygraph. We also had to determine
a proper
location to perform the tests. After a couple of hours, during which time we sat in the library in complete silence, I felt like I was playing the real-life version of Clue. Our wait in the library felt like an eternity, especially since no one said much to each other. We just eyed one another as if sizing each other up as we wondered if someone present in the room was responsible for the murder attempt on Knight and me. While my natural instinct was to point my finger at the
Drow
, given his obvious aversion to me from the start, I didn't imagine he was guilty. Why?
Because the reason for his distrust was solely due to my being Melchior O'Neil's daughter.
'Course, he also could have been a good actor ...

Moving my eyes f
rom the
Drow
to
Dia
, I shook my head
as I even considered her involvement. There was no way
Dia
could have plotted Knight's and my assassinations.
Of that, I was more than sure.
Excluding Knight, since I didn't imagine he wanted anything to do with a suicide
bombing, that
just left Christina and Erica. As the leader of The Resistance, I had to imagine Christina's loyalty was obvious. So that left Erica.

What did I know about her?
Nothing really.
She seemed to emphasize the
Drow's
anger when she first found out I was my father's daughter ... Yeah, but what could that mean? Maybe she was just playing the part of concerned Resistance team member to throw us off the fact that she was really working for my father?

I sighed at the realization of how completely useless this task was, not to mention how wrong it was. Rule number one in the ANC: Do not point accusatory fingers at people before knowing all of the facts. And furthermore, I couldn’t imagine the verdict being as simple as a big, red flashing sign above someone's head announcing his or her guilt. No. Whoever this person was, he or she had to be good. I mean, none of the
sympaths
(Trey included) picked up anything out of the ordinary. That was a sure sign that the
perp
had somehow manipulated the magical force field that allowed
sympaths
to pick up on feelings and visions of situations and events.

After another hour, each of us was shown into separate rooms where we underwent the prescribed tests of our loyalty. Even though it certainly occurred to me, I didn't point out the non sequitur of testing Knight and me for our loyalty—I mean
,
it wasn't like either of us planned to blow ourselves up. But, as Erica would say,
C'est
la vie
.

The room was small—maybe ten feet wide by twelve feet long and incredibly dark, owing to the fact that there weren't any windows. The only light was afforded by a yellowed, old light bulb, suspended from the ceiling by a wire. It looked like the setting for some hideous torture scene, or maybe, an interrogation, guerilla-style. Swallowing my own sense of foreboding, I forced myself to take a deep breath and banish my morose thoughts. Instead, I glanced around the room and noticed that there were two plastic chairs with a small school-style table between them. I took the chair closest to me and started to fidget, my knees bouncing with nervous anticipation of what was to come.

I was alone for probably another five minutes before a witch I didn't recognize entered the room. She looked like a Soccer Mom. Her hair was very short—that asexual, boyish haircut women often relegate themselves to once they hit forty. Apparently the big four-oh made women feel like they had to eviscerate all signs of being women. But back to the witch, she was tallish—five foot six or so, and maybe thirty pounds overweight. She wore dark jeans and
a pink, amorphous T-shirt that made her look even boxier. She carried what looked like a bowling ball bag, but when she plopped it on the table and zipped it open, it was not a bowling ball, but rather an enormous hunk of crystal. It was close to the size of my thigh. The bottom was milky white, which slowly yielded to long and lustrous clear crystals.

She didn't so much as offer me any form of greeting, not even a smile. She simply dropped the bag on the floor and, lifting the crystal, took a seat, while placing it on her lap. Then she closed her eyes and held her palms up towards the crystal as her lips moved. She was chanting something, but given her Soccer Mom appearance, to me it looked more like she was singing the lyrics to some Justin
Bieber
song. She opened her eyes and focused on me, but remained silent. Reaching for my hand, she folded it beneath her fleshy fingers, and resumed her incantation, which now sounded foreign—something like what I imagined Latin might sound like. Well, for all I knew it could have been pig Latin.

After finishing incantation number one, she opened one eye briefly, glanced at me and then immediately shut it again. She started chanting something else, her grip on my hand tightening. As she finished her
Bieberesque
humming, she opened one eye again, almost as if she were checking to make sure I was still there.
Apparently p
leased that I hadn't made like a bird and flown away, she performed a third charm on me, which was in English. It described a whole lot of mumbo-jumbo about nature and the goddess and the seasons. Before I could say "hocus pocus," she grabbed the index finger of my right hand and speared it with the tallest point on the crystal.

"Shit!" I yelled out in shock and pain as I withdrew my injured digit into the haven of my chest and glanced down to appraise the damage. My finger looked like the victim of a
hole
punch. "You could have at least warned me!" I lashed out with a frown. It still hurt like a son of a bitch and blood coursed down my finger, pooling into the palm of my hand. She handed me a tissue from her pocket and I quickly staunched the blood flow, but I didn't say thank you.

She sneered at me like I was overreacting (which I probably was), but said nothing. Instead, she returned her attention to the crystal on her lap. I watched the gold drops of my blood run down the rough edges of the crystal, where they dissolved into the base entirely, as if they'd never been.

"You passed," the Soccer Mom witch said simply.

"Great," I grumbled with a fleeting glance at my still bleeding finger. I shook my palm until a mound of fairy dust emerged. Then I sprinkled the dust over my wound and watched as the blood dried up and my skin began to sew itself back together. Eventually, the wound vanished into my skin.

The witch stood up and collected the gargantuan crystal into her bowling bag, saying,
"
Wait here for the
Magreew
."

With that, she simply waddled to the door and closed it behind her. I sighed as I thought about reuniting with the
Magreew
. While I couldn't say I was looking forward to it, at least it wouldn't make me bleed.

###

Forty minutes later, I'd successfully completed all three trials to test my loyalty to The Resistance. I'd braved the spells of the witch, suffered the slime of the
Magreew
,
and tolerated the unsophisticated polygraph machine,
and
I'd passed. To my surprise, at the conclusion of my polygraph test, I was told to remain in the dismal little room. Why? I didn't have a clue, but I didn't argue. Instead, I just stayed put. Yep, I was doing a damn good job of being a team player.

The next time the door opened, which was maybe ten minutes after the conclusion of my polygraph test, I was relieved to see Knight.

"Congratulations, it appears you weren't behind the plot to assassinate yourself," he said with a cocky smile.

"Ha
ha
, Mr. Comedian," I replied grumpily. "Thanks for making me wait ten minutes just to deliver that surprising news." I stood up and started for the door, having already decided I'd had enough.

"Not so fast, Speedy Gonzalez," he said, adding a chuckle.
"Unless you plan to walk yourself to your new hideaway."

I turned around slowly, shaking my head as I cocked a brow and let him know how
unamused
I was. "Let me guess, you're my chauffeur?"

With a nod, he smiled that devil's smile. Even in the relative darkness of the room, he was exquisite to behold. The shadows played with his features, darkening his already tan skin, the whites of his eyes in stark contrast. His handsome, albeit rakish, smile gave him the look of an absolute rogue. As much as I dared not admit it, in the entire course of my history with Knightley Vander, there was never a moment when I felt the longing to kiss him more. Somehow, though, I managed to subdue my more carnal, primitive urges in favor of appearing more civilized.

"We've got a smart one," the Loki said in a suggestive sort of way.

"Okay, so what now? Where are we going and how long will it take? Do I have time to get my things?" I asked, throwing my hands on my hips. I had to discourage myself from noticing how broad his shoulders were, and how his hair was the exact same shade as his black T-shirt. I definitely didn't want to draw my attention to the swells of his biceps, which his T-shirt did a terrible job of covering. Never mind his long legs and incredibly tight ass …

"To answer your montage of questions—yes, I'm your chauffeur. I can't tell you where we're going, but it will take about an hour or so to get there. Your things have already been packed for you."

"You can't tell me where we're going?"

He cocked his head to the side and studied me for a few seconds. "I could."

I sighed, long and deep. "So?"

"But then I'd have to kill you," he finished, smiling even more broadly.

"I keep wondering if one of these days you might actually grow up."

"Nah, growing up is for adults."

"Exactly."
I took a deep breath, wondering if I'd be able to get anything out of him. "So what
can
you tell me about where we're going?"

He shrugged. "I can only tell you I'm taking you somewhere Christina believes you'll be safe. I couldn't tell you where exactly because I actually don't even know, myself. But once we get to wherever it is we're going, you'll need to get some shut-eye."

I hadn't even thought about sleeping, but as soon as the thought crossed my mind, I realized I hadn't slept in ... a while. My body suddenly appeared to deflate with just the mention of sleep. It became clear that I was beyond exhausted. "Okay, then what?"