Chapter 23
EXPENDABLE
The last one out of the building, I look for Aaron among those gathered on the lawn, necks craning up, mouths agog as they watch for billows of smoke.
Unfortunately, I still don’t see him, and Aaron’s hard to miss, what with that chiseled jawline and those bright colors he wears.
I pull my phone out and check my messages, but there’s nothing new.
Standing among the other oglers, I try his number.
It rings and rings, before going to voicemail.
My stomach seizes with worry, so I try Brennan instead, choosing to call rather than text. But, like Aaron, there’s no answer.
I bite my lip, my office victory short-lived. I’m too worried about my friends to care that I bested Cal and Jessica in one blow.
With a smidgen of effort, I draw the flames back into that raging part of myself, a conflagration at my center that I’m only just beginning to take measure of.
It’s like sucking an extra thick milkshake through a straw, if it were made of magma and trying to get away from you.
But the fire’s burned long enough to disintegrate those pesky documents, melt Jessica’s laptop, and get me out of work. I don’t need it anymore.
Of course, it’s only a reprieve. Jessica will get a new laptop or watch the video on another device.
I can’t erase what Calvin has already seen, papers he can print again, everything stored in the cloud somewhere I can’t touch.
But maybe Calvin will stand by his word and keep this from haunting me.
I don’t care about the job. First-tier convict of the copy dungeon be damned.
I always deserved more but was too afraid to let myself have it.
It’s become the refrain of my life. But I don’t need the police involved in this, my past splattered across everyone’s psyche.
I don’t need to be indicted for something I mostly didn’t do.
What I need is a clean exit. Something short of razing the whole place to the ground. That didn’t work so well for me before.
With a sigh, I text Levi. Change of plans. Mission Light Reading engaged. Brush up on your Aramaic. We have homework tonight.
With that, I head for the parking garage and get in my car, start toward Pioneer Square and the club I’ve become all too familiar with.
We agreed last night that I should steal Rudzitin’s journal from Arla, let Levi translate what he can while we try to determine how to undo the showman’s complicated summoning spell.
Then, once we have a proper plan, I’ll sneak back into Medusa’s basement, use the word Levi taught me to reveal the key, and get inside the Fathom’s chamber, where I can free her in a way that hopefully won’t bring the building down on top of us.
What we hadn’t anticipated was starting today. But I’m worried about Aaron and Brennan, and I figure I only have so much time left to pull the trigger before Arla ropes us all into her damned-if-you-do-and-damned-if-you-don’t ritual.
I make my way through the empty club and board the elevator.
But instead of riding it to the top, I stop at the third floor where Brennan and the rest keep their apartments.
I’m not sure what to expect, but what I find is a dull, dark hallway with ugly gray carpet and three composite doors (Twig and Rock must be roomies—no surprise there).
A far cry from the resplendent taste of the club below or Arla’s penthouse above.
I recall Brennan saying he lived sandwiched between Twig and Rock on one side and Cadence on the other. So, I try the middle door, but it’s locked.
Knocking, I call through it to him on the other side, if he’s even there. “Brennan! Brennan, it’s Jude. Open up. Is Aaron with you? I haven’t seen him. Hello? Look, I just want to know you’re both okay. Arla didn’t send me, I promise.”
I step back and wait, staring at the door as if I could see through it to the other side, but it doesn’t budge. Instead, the door to my right opens, and Twig’s lithe body slips halfway through it, a black bedsheet wrapped around and tucked under her arms.
“What do you want?” she asks, groggy eyes parting reluctantly like she hasn’t seen the sun in days.
“Have you seen Brennan?”
“He’s gone,” she says flatly, but doesn’t elaborate.
I draw a worried breath. “Gone where?”
She shrugs. “How should I know?”
“You don’t think that’s weird? I tried calling him and he’s not answering. You all live here, play here … Hell, maybe you work here. Do you work at all?”
She ignores me.
“He should be here, so where is he?”
“What I think is weird,” Twig says slowly, “is that the last time anyone saw him he was going to meet you.”
My eyes narrow. “You’re not implying…”
She smiles, the beam of a child, but behind it there is venom. “I’m not implying anything. Just stating the facts.”
“Well, that was two days ago. Has anyone tried looking for him or calling the police?”
That elicits a short burst of laughter. “The police? What are the police gonna do?”
My patience with her emo Holly Golightly impression is wearing thin. “I don’t know, Triyama, maybe their job.”
Her face falls, no longer lit with irony. “Don’t call me that.”
“I’m going to talk to Arla about this,” I tell her, but she simply shrugs a shoulder.
“Sure. Talk to Arla. Talk all you want, kitten. Talk, talk, talk … But talking never brought anyone back,” she says evilly.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I practically growl.
She slips back inside without another word and closes the door. I hear the lock slide into place.
Frustrated, I spin toward the elevator and see Cadence’s door open a sliver, but it quickly closes. I approach and knock, “Cadence! Cadence, it’s me, Jude.” But it doesn’t open again.
“Look,” I say after a moment, realizing she’s not going to answer, “if you can hear me, you should leave. Get somewhere safe. There are things happening that I’m not sure any of us fully understand.
You seem like a nice person. Brennan thought so, but he’s not here anymore.
I don’t know where he is or if he’s coming back.
But that means it’s just you and Tim Burton’s version of the Bobbsey Twins down the hall.
I know it’s been … different for you here.
Hard, even. So maybe go stay with family or take a road trip for a while. ”
I pause, waiting to see if she says anything. For a second, I think maybe I hear breathing, see a shadow pass beneath the door. But it’s too brief to tell. Finally, I swallow down my disappointment and say, “I’m going upstairs. I’ll see you on the other side.”
Back in the elevator, I press the button for Arla’s floor.
As the doors close, I wonder if I’ll see Brennan again.
Maybe his departure is a good thing. Maybe he got tired of all the bullshit, got away, and is lying low, starting over.
Maybe this means Arla can’t carry out her ritual to trap the Fathom.
But somehow, none of it feels that easy.
Upstairs, I approach her redwood door and beat my hand between the swirls of glass.
When she answers, she looks tired and more than a little annoyed.
It’s not a look I’m used to seeing on her.
Her black hair needs combing and her eyes are webbed in pink.
The flowing black tunic and ripped jeans she’s wearing are more hapless-bohemian chic than her usual sleek style, and the shoulder of one sleeve is torn, a crescent of fair skin peeking through.
To anyone on the street, she’d look fine.
But those of us who know her know that Arla never looks less than exquisite.
“What do you want?” She sounds just like Twig. It must be going around.
I follow her inside, not bothering to close the door, and glance around.
Both bedroom doors are closed, but the loft seems too quiet, too empty.
My eyes catch on Brennan’s signet pinkie ring on her ottoman, the dragon design unmistakable.
I’d know it anywhere; it’s haunted my memory since I first saw it. I quickly look away. “Is Brennan here?”
Arla pauses mid-stride. “Brennan? And here I thought you’d come to see me. I’m hurt, kitten.”
“I, uh, haven’t been able to find him since we last talked. And my friend didn’t show up to work this morning. I thought maybe they came back here, spent the night at the club.” That ring glints from the ottoman in my periphery as apprehension crawls up my legs and spine, urging caution.
“I’m afraid I haven’t seen him since your visit yesterday,” she says, uncorking a half-full bottle of red wine on the table and pouring some into an exaggerated glass with a slender stem.
“So, you saw him yesterday, then? He’s okay? Was he alone?” My eyes follow her, but I stay where I am near the kitchen bar.
“Alone? Yes. Okay? Not so much. He showed up here ranting about secrets and favorites. Demanding I give him Rudzitin’s journal, claiming I was hiding something. He was quite worked up over it. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, kitten?”
I didn’t know if the others knew about the journal, but I guess I do now. Arla must have shared that much with them. But they certainly don’t know about the poster or the articles Levi showed me. I don’t know if even Arla knows about those.
“You had a confrontation?” I press her, believing she knows more than she’s saying, looking for some clue as to where he might be.
“Confrontation’s such a strong word,” she says taking a sip of wine. “But when I wouldn’t give in to his petty demands, he decided to leave.”
“Leave? As in, leave your apartment? Leave the building?”
“Leave us, Jude. Leave the group, the Fathom, all of it.” She shrugs.
I cock a brow. “You’re saying he moved out?”
“In so many words,” she replies.
“Overnight?” Unsuccessfully, I try to curb the suspicion in my tone.
“It’s not like I followed him. Seemed like he needed his space, you know?” She stares into her wineglass as if all my answers are swimming there.
“And you’re fine with that?” I ask.