Элизабет Мун - Into the Fire

“It wouldn’t be too hard to add more security to the kitchen area,” Rafe said when supper was over. They had eaten in the main house’s dining room this time, and the three survivors had taken the dishes back to the kitchen, leaving the four to talk alone. “Then we wouldn’t have to keep someone in the kitchen all day and evening.”

“Father always said they left the kitchen out because of the shape of the house,” Stella said.

“I understand that,” Rafe said. “But the kitchen addition is a simple one. We can’t do ship-hull level, but I’m sure Teague and I could contrive something to block the kind of scans they’re using, so there’d be no problem having any number of us anywhere in the house save those upper-level rooms.”

“How long?” Stella asked. “And how much material do you need?”

“I’m fairly sure Vatta Transport supply will have what we need, and enough of it.”

“Give me a list,” Stella said. “I’ll check on that tomorrow. Would we still need to turn off the house security to go from the main house to the kitchen?”

“Not once I deal with the door between them,” Teague said. “It would be unlocking just that door, as when we open the front door. The French doors to the back garden are a bigger problem, but if we want to use the garden we can always go around by the gate, right?”

“It’s going to be a nightmare when the twins come,” Stella said. “They’re used to running in and out all the time.”

“How long is that?”

“A couple of tendays, unless Mother decides it’s safer on Corleigh and puts the twins in school there. And they shouldn’t see—our other guests. If Grace thinks it’s dangerous, I’ll tell her.”

“We can worry about that later,” Rafe said. “For now, the kitchen—”

“Go on,” Stella said with a wave of her hands. “It’s too complicated for me—trouble at work, trouble at home—” She leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes.

Ky looked at Stella. She wanted to ask about the summons and the Vatta legal department, but clearly this wasn’t the time.

“You need to talk to Aunt Grace,” Stella said, sitting up again. “She should be able to help you with these—our military guests. It’s not that I’m not sympathetic, but they can’t stay here indefinitely.”

Ky could think of nothing polite to say, but finally managed, “I’ll call her tomorrow morning.”

Grace Vatta knew her house on Dunkle Street would be empty when she arrived home that evening. Mac was out gathering data; Teague had left to help out at Helen’s house. Although she’d finally gotten used to the sounds of houseguests moving around, and found both Teague and Rafe to be pleasant, cooperative guests, she looked forward to a quiet evening alone.

She felt the chill even with her coat on when she stepped out of the car and said goodbye to her driver. At least it wasn’t raining. Her security detail wasn’t close as usual when she glanced around. There’d been a traffic issue four blocks back. She waved her driver on. They would be here in minutes, she was sure, annoyed if she stood outside waiting for them. She would go straight inside, locking up at once; they would ping her skullphone to check on her.

She took the paper she’d found stuck in the door—some kind of advertising, she supposed, though the neighborhood was posted for no flyers—and stuffed it into her capacious bag. The door’s lock mechanisms responded appropriately to her touch and swung open.

She stopped abruptly. The door was supposed to produce a specific sequence of tones when opened, and it hadn’t. Instead, a faint hissing came from low to her right; an acrid smell stung her nose. She stepped back, pulling the door closed, fingers automatically finding the panic button on the inside, under the safety bar. That would alert security, though she hadn’t taken the time to code in the problem. Already she felt dizzy. She slapped the external door controls to LOCK, grabbed for the rail to her left, and stumbled down the steps to the walk, wondering what it was this time.

Across the street, past the row of trees between sidewalk and curb, Ser Dallony was just going up his own steps. Grace took a breath that burned all the way down her throat, tried to call out, but her voice failed, a weak croak. He didn’t look around. Her driver was long gone by now; he’d waited only to see that she’d unlocked the door. She still saw no sign of her security escort’s second car. Back down the next block, across Missamy Street, a woman in a scarlet coat walked a white dog. Grace glanced back at her door. Was any of the stuff—whatever it was—seeping out? Was it heavier than air, or lighter? She couldn’t see any vapor, but it was getting darker fast, as often on autumn evenings. She felt shaky, her mouth dry. She should move away from the house. No, she should stay there to warn Mac when he arrived. She should call Mac on her skullphone now, and not wait outside—

“Excuse me,” said a pleasant voice. “Are you all right? You look tired or ill.”

Grace looked up. A woman in a scarlet coat, a white dog. They had been down there and now they stood before her. Had she blacked out for a moment? The dog sat down, tongue lolling. Grace tried to speak again. Her voice came out weak, scratchy. “I… something… happened. Who are you?”

“Alice Vance,” the woman said promptly. She had a pleasant face, carefully made up. She looked to be in her forties, a few gray strands in her medium-brown hair. “I live about a block and a half—well, almost two blocks—that way.” She pointed ahead, the way she’d been walking. “You’re Rector Vatta, aren’t you? I’ve seen you on the newsvids; I knew you lived somewhere around here. Is this your house? Do you need help up the steps?”

“No,” Grace said. She did not know Alice Vance, but her implant informed her that a family named Vance lived in that block. Husband Jaime. Wife Alice. Children Pedar, Chloris, and Vinnie. Grace tried to swallow; her throat was dry. “Do you have… water with you?” Her voice sounded weak, shaky.

“Yes,” Sera Vance said. “I take it for Polly here. And a collapsible bowl, but you won’t need that. Was your water cut off?”

Grace shook her head. It wasn’t entirely safe to drink anything a stranger gave her but she needed water badly. Alice handed her a smudged bottle with a screw-on lid.

“The water’s clean,” Sera Vance said. “I’m sorry about the outside; I just refill it every day because it’s for the dog, really.”

Grace touched her tongue to the water. Her implant approved and she let a little trickle down her throat. It burned, then soothed. Another swallow that didn’t burn at all. “Thank you,” she said, screwing on the cap and handing it back. Her voice was still weak, but closer to normal. “There was some kind of bad smell in the house. I didn’t think the pest control crew was coming today, but that must be it.”

“You should call your doctor,” Sera Vance said, her expression now worried. “If you like, I could call for you.”

From the corner of her eye, Grace was aware of a vehicle moving very slowly from the corner toward them. Where was her security detail? “No thank you,” Grace said to Sera Vance. “I’m sure I’ll be fine now. I just needed to wash out my mouth.” She had no intention of going to a doctor or clinic if she could help it; she had avoided doctors successfully for years.

“Then would you like to come along to our house and clear your head?” Sera Vance asked. “It’s too cold to stand outside this evening. I’ll walk with you, in case you feel ill or need more water—I’m sure that’s better than trying to go back inside.”