The Veil (33 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said into my hair. “I’m
so, so
sorry. I didn’t mean that, Addy.”

“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean what I said either. I’m just so scared.”

Luc stepped back to hold me at arm’s length. His eyes looked every bit as intense as they had the night before, when he promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.

“We’ll get him back,” he told me. “We will. I swear we will.”

“I believe you,” I told him. I wanted to—I really did.

“And you can’t blame yourself for this,” he continued. “I didn’t mean what I said. No matter how you slice it, this is all Damon Mallory’s fault. I don’t want you blaming anyone but him, okay?”

“Okay,” I lied. I could tell by his face he knew he hadn’t convinced me, so I didn’t feel too bad about not being entirely truthful.

Luc kissed me quickly. “I’m so glad it’s not you we’re chasing right now,” he said, so quietly I could barely hear him.

——

“Where are they now?” I asked Gran after Luc and I rejoined her and Mr. Stratton on the other side of the roof. I shivered in the cold wind; now that I no longer had my fury to keep me warm, I couldn’t help but notice it was
freezing
up here.

“They flew northwest,” Gran replied, looking puzzled. “My boys are following them by car. They’re stuck in traffic, but it’s okay—Mallory and Tighe haven’t moved in quite a while. They seem to be staying put.”

“Staying put? Where?” Luc asked.

“The Palace of Fine Arts,” Gran answered with a slight frown.

“What are they doing there?” I asked somewhat unnecessarily, considering that had to be what we were all thinking at the moment.

“They’re waiting to negotiate,” Mr. Stratton said, sounding sure of himself.

“What’s there to negotiate?” I asked.

As if in answer, the elevator door that led to the roof opened with that hideously cheerful chiming sound. One of the gray-suited guards stepped out and walked toward us.

Mr. Stratton met him before he got more than ten paces from the door. The guard slipped a piece of paper into his hand and disappeared back into the elevator. Luc’s father turned back to us, unfolding the paper as he did; he read it out loud as soon as he was back within earshot.

It’s time to talk trades. We will wait exactly where we met Ms. Prescott and young Mr. Stratton last night until 1:05 p.m. If Ms. Prescott does not present herself to us before that time, the boy will die. If we sense anyone else coming to meet us, he will die.

D.M.

I looked down at my watch; it was 12:59 p.m. We had only six minutes.

“Too quick,” Gran breathed, putting the cell phone to her ear again. “Damon doesn’t know about my boys—he probably won’t even be able to sense them coming, given that they’re already in the vicinity, but this is too quick. I thought we’d have more time. My boys are still at least ten minutes away.”

“I can get there in less than a minute,” Luc said, squinting over the edge of the roof. The Palace of Fine Arts’s rotunda was just barely visible to the northwest, peeking out of a clump of trees just before the Golden Gate Bridge. “It’s a straight shot from here.”

Mr. Stratton shook his head. “They’ll sense you. Nate will be dead as soon as you get within half a mile of that place.”

“They won’t be able to sense me,” I pointed out. “If
I
go—”

“Out of the question,” Luc interrupted immediately.

“Actually,” Mr. Stratton put in, one eyebrow raised, “that might be the last thing Mallory expects. They didn’t send us this message thinking we would actually allow Addy to show up—they are trying to lure us into a fight. If we stop a Council-ordered execution—”

“Council-ordered my left foot,” Gran interrupted gruffly. “You said the Council ordered them to leave the city, to go to a discrete place. Mallory is flaunting his disobedience. He brought Nate to a public park, of all places! Who does he think he is?”

“Damon Mallory can’t sense me,” I spoke up again. “If I go, it’ll throw them off. It might give Gran’s boys a chance to get close without Damon noticing.”

“It might,” Mr. Stratton agreed.

I stared at him, momentarily stunned he had agreed with me until Luc stepped between us.

“I
said,
‘out of the question,’ ” Luc barked, glaring first at his father, then at me. “Addy, if you think for one second I’m going to allow you to trade yourself for Nate—”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” I told him, not altogether sure that was true. “It’s a diversion. It’s the only chance Nate has!”

“How would you even get there? You’d have to fly—” Luc cut himself off, shaking his head and making an angry sound. “What am I saying? It doesn’t matter. Your going is not an option.”

“Think it through, Lucas,” Mr. Stratton advised. “I think Addy is right. You know how Damon Mallory is—he won’t kill her outright, he’ll want to talk things to death first. That’s what we were counting on when we thought we might have to come to
her
rescue today. If Addy can keep him talking until Gran’s soldiers show up—”

“In nine minutes now,” Gran threw in.

“—then they can take care of things for the one minute it will take you, me, and Edith to get there,” Mr. Stratton finished.

Luc looked torn, and rather like he wanted to punch something. “What if he just kills her? Or what if he takes off with her and brings her some place else?”

“He won’t just kill her,” his father answered patiently. “Not right away. And he’s using the Palace of Fine Arts for a reason. He’s trying to make a statement. He wants a public place. If he kills her anywhere, he’ll kill her there.”

Luc was still shaking his head; I put a hand on his arm to make him look at me.

“It’s not your decision,” I told him gently. “It’s mine, and I
have
to go. You know I do.”

“Please don’t,” he said, brushing one hand against my cheek. “For me, Addy. Don’t do this.”

“I have to,” I repeated. “Luc, it’s Nate. He’s my family as much as Gran is. I would never be able to forgive myself if he . . .” I was unable to say it.

“It’s one minute after one o’clock,” Gran pointed out. “Nate has four minutes, kids.”

Luc looked over at her. “
You
can’t possibly want Addy to do this.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I raised her to make her own decisions. For what it’s worth, she
is
Rosabel Stirling’s granddaughter. She can handle herself.”

“I’m
your
granddaughter,” I corrected her. “
That’s
why I can handle myself.”

She smiled over at me, as proud as I’d ever seen her.

Which was odd, considering I was pretty sure, whether Gran realized it or not, she had just voted to send me to my death.

Luc exhaled sharply. “I could stop you from going,” he told me thoughtfully, jaw clenched, clearly considering that possibility.

“Please don’t,” I echoed his words from less than a minute ago. “I love you, Luc, but I’m going.”

He closed his eyes. “I know. I love you too.”

——

Thirty seconds later, I was almost wishing Luc had managed to talk me out of it.

“If you start to fall,” he warned me as I inched toward the edge of the roof, “I’m coming after you. I don’t care if Damon Mallory can sense me or not—I’m coming.”

“Fair enough,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to keep my stomach in place. I glanced down over the edge to the street below; it was a long way down, and I was going to have to fly much higher than that if I wanted to remain in the cover of the clouds. The bravado I’d acquired after my jump from the Golden Gate seemed to be fading. My knees shook at the thought of taking a similar jump from the top of the hotel.

You can do this
, a falsely optimistic voice inside my head cheered.
For Nate, you can do this.

I jumped off of a bridge because Luc had asked me to. Now, I could jump off of a building because Nate needed me to.

Luc turned me around by the shoulders until I faced him, my back to the edge of the roof. “This is extremely important, Addy. Don’t let Damon Mallory touch you. Don’t even let him get close to you if you can help it, but no matter what else happens,
don’t let him touch you
.”

“Why?” Why was he so concerned about Damon Mallory in particular? Why not Oran Tighe?

“Nate has two minutes now,” Gran interrupted us. “My boys will be there in six minutes, Addy.”

“Just keep Damon busy and away from you until then,” Luc instructed. “Okay?”

I nodded. I hugged Gran, shook Mr. Stratton’s hand, and kissed Luc. He grabbed me as I tried to pull away, refusing to let the kiss end.

“Lucas, we’re running out of time,” Mr. Stratton said irritably.

Luc let go of me and helped me up to the edge of the roof.

I took a deep breath and tried not to think about the six lanes of the Golden Gate Bridge that had come rushing up at me the last time I tried this. Instead, I fixed my mind on my target.

Nate.

I hesitated for only a moment.

I’m not Guinevere anymore
, I thought to myself.
I’m Lancelot.

I stepped off of the edge. When I opened my eyes, I was already well away from the hotel, flying far above the streets of San Francisco with my arms spread like a hawk’s, speeding toward the tiny rotunda in the distance.

——

I was too terrified to truly appreciate my first, real flying experience. It was actually very similar to the first part of my jump from the Golden Gate Bridge (the part before I started plummeting toward the ground). The wind screamed through my hair, and I could feel the air beneath me, lifting me up and keeping me hidden inside the low, foggy clouds that had gathered over the city. But the exhilaration I’d felt during my bridge jump was replaced by fear—not of falling to my death, but a much deeper fear that I wouldn’t make it to Nate in time.

I kept my head pointed in the direction I wanted to go, hoping it would act as a rudder and keep me on course. As I tried to keep from thinking about how high up I was, my mind wandered to the kiss I had just shared with Luc on the roof. If those few seconds
were our last together—and at that moment, I was almost positive that they were—it was too bad we hadn’t had more privacy. There were so many things I had to say to him, things I hadn’t wanted Gran or Mr. Stratton to hear.

Then again, I was going to be dead in a few minutes; what’s a little embarrassment compared to that? I should have just said what I wanted and not worried about what they thought.

As my thoughts wandered I found myself dipping down, closer and closer to the tops of the buildings that stood between me and my destination. I ripped my thoughts away from Luc and placed them firmly on Nate. Refocused, I soared upward again, but as soon as I was safely tucked inside the clouds, I spotted the Palace of Fine Arts just below me.

I tried to bring myself down gradually and slow to a landable speed. But it soon became obvious I hadn’t started my decent soon enough. I was going to overshoot the rotunda. Rather than do that—Nate’s time had to be running dangerously low by now—I let myself fall when I was directly over the spot I was aiming for.

I tumbled out of the sky, crash landing right on target and twisting around at the last second so as not to impale myself on the giant pole sticking up right in front of the rotunda entrance. At the base of the pole was a pile of wood and small, dry sticks.

The stake.

Normally, something as out of place as an execution stake in the middle of San Francisco would have captured my full attention, but not right then. As I climbed painfully to my feet, Damon Mallory came forward to meet me. And one look at his face was all it took for me to realize how wrong Mr. Stratton had been when he said the Others had not really been expecting me to show up.

Damon Mallory did not look the least bit surprised to see me.

——

D
AMON
M
ALLORY
’
S FRIGID BLUE EYES
looked away from me to examine the pocket watch in his graceful right hand. “Twenty-two seconds to spare,” he remarked, clicking down one of the buttons on the top of the watch. “Well done.” He turned to look behind him; next to the stake, not tied to it but very close, was Nate. He was still bound up in the strange, Annorasi-silver rope, his eyes frantic.

“Fear not, Mr. Whitting,” Mr. Mallory said pleasantly. “It seems your dearest friend has decided to trade herself for you.”

Nate began shouting furiously, but it all came out as muffled groans. A bit of the Annorasi rope was now tied securely over his mouth.

Standing beside Nate, Oran Tighe patted his prisoner companionably on the shoulder. “We’ll catch you next time, mate,” he promised. It was the first time I’d ever heard him speak; his voice was high and squeaky, like a small girl’s. If it hadn’t been for the long, silver knife in his hand, which came perilously close to Nate’s exposed neck with each of Oran’s erratic movements, I might have laughed at him.

Behind Nate and Oran were four of the Council’s gray-suited guards; the one closest to the stake held a burning torch. The wind was whipping the healthy flame and it seemed to want to jump toward the pile of kindling at the base of the stake.

Not yet
, I thought to myself.

I hoped, once this was all over, that someone on my side would think to tell the Council their trusted guards were working for the Others.

“It’s that simple?” I asked suspiciously as Nate continued to fight uselessly against the magic bonds holding him. I wondered if they’d told him anything, or if he still had no idea what was going on.

“Of course.” Damon Mallory seemed surprised by my question. “What did you think we were going to do—kill him anyway? There’s only room on that stake for one, and it was never him we were after. I only brought him into this as a bit of insurance, in case things didn’t go our way in front of the Council today.”

“In case Mr. Stratton mopped the floor with you,” I threw at him, shocked at my own gall. “Which he did, by the way.”