No threatening thoughts.
Kinnard checked them in, ushered them into one of the elevators. A bellboy lugging their duffel bags stepped in last. The doors slid shut.
“You'll need elevator keys to get to the fortieth floor flat,” Kinnard said and slid his card through a slot that read Penthouse Access. The elevator rose with enough acceleration to shove Billy's throat into his gut.
He glanced at Darcy and saw that she'd kept her glasses on.
Double doors led to their flat. They spread open with a chirp, revealing an expansive glass room overlooking the city. Billy stood next to Darcy at the threshold, stunned by the view.
“Wow.” Darcy took a step into the apartment. “This is where we're staying?”
“All yours.” Kinnard stepped past them and paid the bellboy. “Thank you.”
The bellboy nodded and left.
Billy entered the flat and looked at the white sofas, the ten-foot square Persian rug, the liquor decanter on the built-in bar by the door, the wall screen now showing ocean waves breaking.
But it was the outer wall that arrested his attention. Glass from floor to ceiling, side to side, forty feet of it. Beyond, Washington, D.C., in all of its glory.
“No kidding.Wow.”
“The glass will stop anything short of a nuclear blast,” Kinnard said. “Nice view, but our primary objective is to keep you safe.” He handed them data cards.
“These will get you in and out. You need to go anywhere, you call the security desk and they contact me. A secure car will take you. Unfortunately, your access to the city will be limited due to safety concerns. The flat will have to do for now.”
Darcy gazed about the room. “This place is incredible.”
“Not bad,” Kinnard agreed. He walked to the wall and hit a switch. Lights illuminated a kitchen that had been hidden by a dark wall until now. “Virtual wall,” Kinnard said. “Lot of the upscale homes use them now. You'll find the refrigerator fully stocked with food and drinks. Call for anything you want. Anything.”
Darcy ran her hands along the back of one of two white sofas facing a hand-carved, resin-coated coffee table inlaid with rivers of brass or gold. The large purple orchids in the vase were fresh, perfectly arranged except for one petal that was broken and browning along the break.
“Is this real?” Darcy asked, eyes on the sofa.
“No. That would be illegal, wouldn't it? Imitation lynx, bleached. Costs more than the real thing, but it's nice.”
Billy walked past the couch, running his hand on the silken fabric.
Nice
was an understatement. Everything about the flat was extravagant. This was the kind of place that visiting heads of state paid dearly for.
He stood before the glass, where Darcy joined him, overlooking Washington. The Potomac River's gray-green waters were spanned by a bridge directly below them.Across the river, a wide swath of green parks, memorials, and pools ran a few miles or so, ending in the large domed Capitol. Stunning.
“I assume you know what you're looking at,” Kinnard said.
Neither answered. Billy knew some, but not all.
Kinnard pointed with two fingers and dictated, working from the Potomac east. “Below us is West Potomac Park. Not actually part of the National Mall, but connected to it. Directly ahead and across the river is the Lincoln Memorial, and moving on to the reflecting pool, the Ulysses S. Grant Memorial, the Washington Monument, and the National Mall, all ending at the Capitol. In all, it's about three hundred acres of memorials, statues, and other reliquaries of American history.”
He indicated a building to their left, which Billy recognized as the White House, and started clicking off buildings in rapid order. “Draw a line from the Jefferson directly northwest along Pennsylvania Avenue and you end up at the White House. Within ten minutes you can walk from the State Department to the Supreme Court. It's all here, Department of the Treasury, the World Bank, the IMF . . . all of it.”
“That's it?” Darcy asked. “Somehow I was expecting it to be larger than life.”
Kinnard chuckled.“No. Place hasn't been modified much since Congress restricted expansion in 2003.” He turned from the window. “Bedrooms are on either side. I trust you'll find them satisfactory. I have more work to do. I'll pick you up at six. Get some rest.”
They watched him close the door behind himself. For a long moment Billy stood still, unsure how they should proceed.
Twenty-four hours ago he'd been in the courtroom, facing a bitter end to his life. Now here he stood, forty floors above Washington, next to the girl he'd played God with when they were thirteen. It was all too fast. Too easy.
He walked to the bedroom on the right, peeked into a large room with a huge four-poster bed covered in white linens, and pulled his head back out.
“I don't like it,” he said, turning.
Darcy was looking in the other bedroom. She closed the door. “Mine looks nice enough.”
“Not the bed. The whole thing. It's way too fast.”He crossed to the glass wall and paced in front of it. “Too easy.”
“Maybe.” She walked into the kitchen and began to inspect the appliances. “Do you have a theory to suggest?”
“Come on, Darcy. A few hours ago you were reluctant to leave your house. Don't tell me you're swallowing all of this like a good little baby.”
She faced him, jaw firm. “Don't call me that.”
Baby. Wanna trip, baby?
A shiver passed through his shoulders. “You remember writing in the books?”
“No.” But her curiosity of the appliance had stalled. “And if I did, I wouldn't want to talk about it.”
“We have to!” he said. “The fact is, we're here because of the monastery. Because we both embraced Black's ways. We wrote evil into this world andâ”
“Evil existed long before we wrote!” she snapped. “Don't you saddle me with that.”
“I'm not. But you have to admit that we're here because of those books we found in the monastery. The Books of History.”
“I'm not willing to accept that!” She crossed her arms and walked to the window. “Please, don't do this. You of all people, Billy, should understand.”
He nodded. Sat on the arm of the couch. “I know you're hurt, God only knows how much you're hurt. And I know that it was my fault. I practically forced you into the dungeons . . .”
“Please, Billy . . .”
“You have no idea how destroyed I felt when it was all over. I've gone to any lengths to stay clear of anyone even loosely tied to Project Showdown.”
“Billy.” A tear ran past her dark lenses. “Please.”
“Fine.” He stood and half lifted his right hand, turning away. The notion that they could continue pretending that none of it happened felt both ridiculous and obscene.
“Fine, we can pretend,” he said, facing her again. “None of that really happened. I wasn't responsible for Marsuvees Black or the showdown he forced on Paradise. No one died, no damage done, and Black vanished forever. None of the books, not even a single page from the books, survived when they buried the monastery.”
Emotion boiled to the surface, enough to make Billy's throat feel swollen.
“You weren't scarred for life, were you? No, life's been a rose garden. I haven't been looking over my shoulder for the last thirteen years, wondering what might come out of the night to cut me down. I haven't washed out my life with bourbon and poker.”
“Stop it!”
But he'd smothered the words for too many years to hold them back now. “Black hasn't spawned any more monsters like himself. You didn't spend the night taped up by a man who sealed you into your own house. He didn't cut off my fingertip. I can't read minds and you can't speak into them! It's all a farce!”
“Okay!” she screamed. “Just stop it!”
She stood trembling in her jeans, on the verge of breaking. Her arms were white and frail, a homebody who rarely saw the sun, if ever. She'd lived in her bubble of protection, peering out at a world she hated. Retreating into those vampire novels of hers for comfort.
But she was strong, and she refused to turn away.
“Just because it happened doesn't mean you have to swim in it.”
“I've run from it my whole life. Forgive the observation, but it seems to have caught
us
. I really don't think running's in the cards anymore.”
She didn't have an answer to that.
Billy crossed to the window beside her and stared out at the city that hadn't changed in thirty years.
“I'm sorry. I'm afraid too, but I don't think I can run anymore, I just don't. We have these abilities because we defied the rules, found the ancient books, and wrote in them. We can't change that.”
She had one elbow propped against her arm now, with her face in her hand. On one hand her reaction was understandable, on the other she was suffering far more than he had. Why? Six hours earlier she'd begged him never to leave her, and thinking about the words now, she knew he wouldn't dare.
“Why are you so afraid of the past?” he asked.
“Because,” she said, “it's not the past. I feel like it's here, inside of me, waiting to raise its ugly head.” She swallowed hard. “You ever feel like that? I think I have a snake inside.”
Made sense.
“Then I need you to believe something,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Look at me.”
She lifted her face and looked at him through the dark glasses.
“I need you to believe that I'm not that snake. Can you do that?”
Darcy just looked at him.
“We're together again, Darcy; you and I.We're not in a dungeon, but for all we know it could be worse. Something tells me we're going to need each other. That means we have to trust each other.”
She wiped her nose and nodded.
“Can you trust me?”
“Should I?”
“Yes,” Billy said.
“How?”
“Take off your glasses,” he said.
A soft smile played across her mouth. “Is that fair?”
“It's quid pro quo. When your eyes are covered, your own power isn't effective. Glasses blind us both, so to speak.”
“You mean my words don't sweep you away?”
He grinned.“Not now. Remove your glasses and speak to me; it might be different.”
“But then you'll be able to read my mind.”
“Does that frighten you?”
She hesitated, then reached up and removed her glasses. Her light brown irises sparkled like crystals around a perfect black sphere. Billy felt himself pulled in the abyss beyond, where her thoughts echoed for him to hear.
I'm afraid, Billy. Please don't look at me like that. I'm afraid of what you
will find.
I don't care what anyone thinks of me, but I care what you think about
me, Billy
.
“Can you . . . hear me?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“They say the human mind can only store a handful of events or thoughts in the immediate, shortterm memory. Are you going deeper?”
“I don't know. No, I'm just getting what you're thinking on the surface. Say something to me.”
They were staring into each other's eyes like partners circling in an intimate dance.
“I am saying something.”
“No. Tell me to do something. Persuade me. Don't you want to know how this gift of yours works? It might have some perks.”
“Okay,” she said. “Hop on one foot.”
Billy felt nothing that compelled him to do so.
“I don't feel anything. Try something else.”
“Stand on your head. Jump out the window.”
“Isn't that a bit dangerous?”
“Clearly I don't have the authority to make you do anything of the sort.”
“No, but if you did . . .”
“Then I would have seen you attempting to jump and stopped you with as much authority. So you can read minds and I can do nothing, is that it?”
“No, I felt your pull on my mind this morning. Try something else. Maybe something I'm predisposed to do. Or may want to do without realizing it.”
She stared at him, thinking. A fire lit her eyes. “Could be a bit dangerous, don't you think?”
“Why is that? We're just tryingâ”
“Kiss me, Billy. Please shut up and kiss me.”
The urge to step up to Darcy and gently kiss her lips pulled at him like an undertow. His fingers began to tremble. He couldn't kiss her, of course. That would be absurd, having just reconnected after so many years estranged from one another, never mind that they'd kissed before, in the dungeon.
“Kiss me, Billy,” Darcy whispered.
Billy stepped in and kissed her lightly on the lips, pulled by her words. The moment his lips touched hers, his desire swelled until he could hardly resist her lure. And then he couldn't resist it at all.
He put his arms around her waist, pulled her against him, and kissed her deeply.
She returned the affection. His heart was pounding in his ears, flooding him with such a strong desire to love her, to protect her, to hold her that he thought he might do something rash.
Time seemed to stall.
He pulled back, disoriented.
“Well,” she said, wearing a coy smile. “Was that me? Or was that you?”
“I . . . You. Both, maybe both. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that.”
“I think you did.”
“Maybe you should put your glasses back on,” he said, turning away.
“I don't know how much of that I can handle.”
He felt himself blushing. He'd tipped his hand, hadn't he? Was that really how her voice worked? Persuading others to do what was really inside of them to do rather than something against their will?
It was all a bit dizzying.
“I like you too, Billy,” Darcy said. “Just so you know.”
He didn't know what to say. So he kept his mouth shut and walked back to the couch.