Mark Del Franco - Face Off

. . . laura yes the beautiful light the light so sweet so rich I yearn I yearn I yearn but I won’t I am not what I was I am not that I do not need that I touched her she let me in so rich so sweet but I will not I did not . . .

Yes, Cress. Laura. Listen to my voice. You must hear my voice.

. . . I remember I remember I remember she is scared how scared she is she is right I cannot say she is not right but she is scared but she will try she trusts she will listen she will give me hope . . .

Yes, Cress. I listened. I believed. It’s me. It’s Laura. Hear me now, Cress.

. . . they are wrong they hate I feel their hate they fear I feel their fear I am their fear they make me fear I fear . . .

They’re gone, Cress. You stopped it. You’re safe.

. . . he’s here I feel him he’s here he hates he fears he will hurt us all he is lost . . .

No, Cress. He’s gone. DeWinter is gone. You’re safe.

. . . no no no he’s here I will find him I will show them I will show Terryn he is here . . .

Terryn is safe, Cress.

. . . not safe not safe not safe . . .

Cress . . .

A cascade of images whirled through Laura—events, places, people—a chaotic rush too fast to sort out. Dizziness overwhelmed her as the images poured forth. Terryn flashed into view, then away. Darkness filled her mind, then Terryn again and even Whiting for a moment. The horizon over the ocean. The Washington skyline. Terryn. Then darkness. Terryn. Then herself. Terryn. Then Laura. Then Cress. Then Laura.

Terryn. I want Terryn. I need Terryn. Lies. They lie. They all lie. The Brinen and the Aran and the Draigen. He’s here. He was there. Now he is here. I will stop him. I will save Terryn. Lies. They all lie.

I am here, Cress.

The sound was a shock to her. She heard his voice. Terryn’s voice. He was safe. He was here.

I am here, Cress. Focus on my voice.

I am here, Terryn. I am here.

Let go, Laura. Let Cress hear me.

We are here, Terryn. You are safe.

Laura, hear my voice. You have done well. Now let go.

. . . Terryn my love my life my hope . . .

A spark glistened, a glimpse of essence deep within the violet haze. A bright pinpoint of warm yellow light. Her light. Her essence. Laura shuddered as she remembered.

Cress’s voice pierced through the fog of her mind, and Laura spun away.

Gods! What have I done? Cress screamed across her mind.

Laura latched onto the yellow mote of essence, wrapped her mind around it, and remembered. She remembered who she was. She stumbled as Cress released her. The visible world asserted itself, a jumble of destroyed vehicles and ravaged buildings.

“Laura,” someone said.

She stared at the man. Tall. Anxious. His features familiar. She searched her memory, knew him somehow, knew he would be there. His face wavered for a moment, then resolved into someone she recognized. “Jono.”

She slumped against Sinclair. A smile broke across his face. His arms came out and around her. Warm. Safe. Terryn knelt in front of them, cradling Cress’s still body. Cress was quiet and calm, feeding off his essence.

Orrin ap Rhys strode through the rubble, his wings flared open and burning bright white with essence. He stared down at Cress, then up at Laura. “Good work, Tate.”

Rhys leaned down, his hand out in a gesture of aid.

Sinclair shoved Laura aside. “He’s going to fire.”

Sinclair flung himself forward, his shoulder hitting Rhys in the chest. The bolt of essence released, and Sinclair went airborne. Hands charged with essence again, Rhys swung back toward Cress.

“No!” Laura screamed.

Essence burst out of her, a shock wave of red amber. Fire coursed through her veins as she threw everything she had at him. As if time slowed, she saw the wave arc out of her chest, saw the shock on Rhys’s face, saw the wave roll over him, saw him throw his arms up, saw the wave crash against his body shield, saw him tumble away.

Then she saw nothing.

LAURA CAME OUTof the bedroom of Sinclair’s apartment already dressed in her InterSec uniform. She hadn’t activated the Mariel persona yet, preferring to be Laura Blackstone when she woke Sinclair. Wearing the white T-shirt and sweatpants from the previous night, he slept in the living room and hadn’t moved since she had slipped into the bathroom. She picked up the remote and muted the television. Startled by the silence, he woke and sat up. His short hair was pressed flat on one side. “Someone means business,” he said.

She perched on the edge of an armchair. “It’s not going to be pretty. How are you feeling?”

He rubbed the back of his head. “Bruised. Headache. Sore back.”

She twitched her lips. “You didn’t have to sleep on the couch.”

He slid into a half-seated position. “You were exhausted. I thought you would be more comfortable alone in the bed.”

After she had passed out from unleashing essence on Guildmaster Orrin ap Rhys, she had come to in Sinclair’s arms on the Mall, his worried face hovering over hers as he stroked her hair. He had carried her away from the chaotic scene. She had wanted to go back, but he wouldn’t let her. Too weak to resist, he led her through a haze of smoke until they were beyond the barricaded emergency zone. They had found an abandoned car with the keys in the ignition and gone to his place.

“Thank you,” she said.

He smiled. “Anytime.”

She stood. “I have no idea what’s going to happen. I’ll call you later.”

Easing up from the couch, he followed her. He leaned against the edge of the open door as she lingered in the hall. “What?” he said.

She shook her head. “Just thanks. Again.”

The InterSec car and driver she had called for waited out front and drove her across a city in crisis. Emergency restrictions limited access to downtown, and the government had reduced all staffing to essential personnel only. Her all-level-security InterSec badge got her anywhere she wanted to go. She had never driven so easily through the normally traffic-choked streets of D.C.

In the bright morning light, the damage to the Guildhouse and surrounding building surprised her. It had looked much worse at night, with all the smoke, the soldiers, and the fires. Parts of the façade had fallen away, and bullet holes riddled the walls of the first two levels. Plate-glass windows gaped with jagged edges. Yet the building appeared more forlorn than destroyed.

At the main entrance, Danann security agents stopped her. “Agent Mariel Tate, your credentials are not valid to enter the Guildhouse per order of the Guildmaster.”

She chuckled, which seemed to confuse the agents. The banning didn’t surprise her. Without a word, she walked away and around the building. As she turned the corner at the rear of the Guildhouse, she deactivated the Mariel glamour and blurred her uniform to look like a blouse and dress pants. She entered the rear door and held up her Guild badge. The Danann agents stepped aside for Laura Blackstone.

As she cut through the first-floor function rooms to reach the main elevators, she reactivated the Mariel persona. The remains of Draigen’s reception littered the lobby. Chairs were overturned or pushed to the walls, and debris was scattered in every corner. In the center of the room, tall, beautiful—incongruous—an enormous vase of white flowers remained untouched amid the mess. Cleanup crews loaded broken fixtures into crates or threw out destroyed furniture.

Once through the main-door checkpoint, no one stopped her. Brownie security guards operated the elevators and rode up with the passengers. When the next available elevator arrived, Laura sent the operator notice that no one else was to ride with her. She wanted her destination as little seen as possible.