Chapter 7 #2
"Earlier today," the me on screen said, her voice steady, hitting all the right notes, "I was the target of a coordinated assassination attempt by an international terrorist organization.
Their goal was to kill me and replace me with a body double as part of a broader conspiracy to destabilize our government. "
"What the fuck?" I whispered, the words barely making it past my lips.
The camera cut to a photo of Rickon—his human face. The image looked like security footage, slightly grainy but unmistakably him. My stomach twisted.
"This man," fake-me continued, gesturing toward the photo, "aided the terrorist cell in their attack.
In the ensuing gunfight, two brave Secret Service agents—Chase Wilkie and Marcus Rivers—gave their lives protecting me.
The terrorists and their accomplices escaped, but we are working with local and federal law enforcement to bring them to justice. "
The screen split, showing both the press conference and the photo of Rickon alongside what I realized, with dawning horror, was a photo of me. An older photo, probably from some campaign event, but altered. In it, I wore a gray pantsuit, but instead of a purse, there was a gun in my hand.
"These individuals are armed and extremely dangerous," the imposter said, her—my—voice hardening. "If you see them, do not approach. Contact authorities immediately."
Rickon leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied the screen.
"That's Declan," he said quietly, his voice tight.
I heard rage simmering beneath the surface.
"I recognize the cadence of his voice. The way he pauses between certain words.
A cuddwisg can alter appearance perfectly, but the auditory modifications are limited. "
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped steel bands around my ribs and was slowly tightening them. That bastard was standing in the White House, wearing my face, speaking with my authority. How many people had he already fooled? How deep did this go?
"Ellie." Rickon's hand found mine under the table, warm and solid, his fingers lacing through mine. "Ellie, look at me."
I dragged my eyes from the screen to his face, forcing myself to focus on his features instead of the imposter wearing mine.
"We're going to fix this," he said, his voice steady and certain, like it was already done.
Before I could respond, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
The waitress, Deb, was staring at us, her eyes darting between our faces and the television screen.
Her mouth had fallen open slightly while her hand reached for the phone mounted on the wall behind the counter, the cord coiled and yellowed with age.
"Rickon," I hissed, my heart suddenly racing again.
He'd already seen her. "Move. Now."
We bolted from the booth, Rickon throwing cash on the table as we rushed for the door. Behind us, I heard the waitress shouting, heard other diners reacting, chairs scraping, voices rising. The bell above the door jangled angrily as we burst into the alley.
"Hold on to me," Rickon commanded. I barely had time to wrap my arms around him, my fingers gripping his shoulders, before we launched into the air.
The ground fell away beneath us, the diner shrinking to toy-sized, the people pouring out of the door reduced to ants. Wind screamed past my ears, tearing at my clothes, my hair whipping around my face in a stinging lash. Even wrapped in his jacket, I shivered, my entire body convulsing with it.
My teeth started chattering almost immediately, clicking together so hard I worried I might crack them. I pressed closer to Rickon, trying to steal his warmth, but it wasn't enough. The wind cut through the fabric like it wasn't even there, as if I stood naked in a blizzard.
"We need to figure out somewhere to hide," Rickon said, his voice raised to carry over the wind screaming past us. "We need to get you warm. You're going to go into hypothermia if we don't."
"Can't exactly raid my closet now," I managed through chattering teeth, each word an effort. "And shopping seems like a bad idea."
"I can adjust my cuddwisg," he said. "Make myself look different so I won't be recognized. We can get you some warmer clothing."
"Maybe some hair color to change my appearance?" Even as I said it, my chest tightened with something that felt uncomfortably like loss.
"I don't like that idea," Rickon said suddenly, and I realized he'd been quiet long enough that I'd taken his silence for agreement. His voice was firm, protective. "Your hair is beautiful."
Despite everything—despite being wanted for terrorism, despite being frozen half to death, despite the fact that Hewes was wearing my face and had just declared me a national threat—I felt warmth bloom in my chest. It spread outward from somewhere near my heart, defying the wind and cold.
"That's sweet," I said, "but we need to be practical."
"We'll figure something else out," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument. His voice sent another wave of warmth through me, one that had nothing to do with temperature.
I was about to argue when something caught my eye. A massive building complex sprawling across several acres lay below us, the parking lot deserted at the late hour. The structure was enormous, with a false facade that gave it the appearance of a rustic lodge. I recognized it immediately.
"There," I said, pointing with a trembling hand. "I used to go there with my husband." The memory felt like it belonged to someone else, some other Ellie who'd lived a normal life. "Land there."
"What is this place?" Rickon asked as we landed beside the back entrance, his wings folding against his back with an audible snap.
"It's a Bass Pro Shops," I said, already moving toward the building on legs that felt unsteady.
"A shop for bass?" Rickon's brow furrowed as he followed, confusion evident on his face. "Like the fish?"
I laughed, the sound startling me with its normalcy.
"No, I mean, yes, they sell fishing equipment, but it's not just that.
It's like...." I gestured at the massive structure, trying to convey its absurd scale.
"It's a huge outdoor store. Camping gear, hunting supplies, clothing. Everything we need."
His expression shifted to understanding, his eyes lighting with recognition. "You wish to break in and take what we need from here."
The words hung between us, ugly and true. I'd never stolen anything in my life, not even a pack of gum as a teenager. But then again, I'd never been framed for terrorism before either.
"I don't like it," I admitted, my voice tight with discomfort. "But we're desperate. We'll be quick. The alarm will go off the second we break in, but we should have enough time to grab at least a change of clothes and maybe some supplies before...."
Rickon smirked and pulled something from his pants pocket that looked like a small silver ink pen.
He pointed it at the back door, and a thin yellow beam shot out with a barely audible hum.
The dimly glowing lights visible through the windows flickered once, then died completely, plunging the interior into darkness.
"What did you just do?"
"Disrupter," he said casually, already moving toward the door. "Surveillance and alarms won't be a bother now." He pressed his hand against the lock, and I heard a soft click, metal sliding against metal, tumblers falling into place. The door swung open as if it had never been locked at all.
"How did you...?"
"Coming?" He held the door open, that infuriating smirk still playing at his lips, his chocolate brown eyes gleaming with something that might have been amusement. Or maybe something warmer.