Chapter 13

Thirteen

CALUM

Alpha bores me. Watching her prattle on with her weekend report makes me question why I don’t listen to Delta more. She does this thing when she’s so serious where she snorts a breath through her nose. Almost like a sneer, but not quite. Very irritating.

“And yet you’re still not any closer to figuring out what the sacrifice is.” Oops. I said it out loud. Oh well.

She stops mid-sentence as I interrupt her speech about what Strauss is doing and has the nerve to look shocked. “I told you; they said you would know.”

“And you just left it at that. Without delving into it any further.”

“It was surprising she even came out of the woods to see me at all, Cal.”

Letting my head drop back, I sigh. Everything. Everything is up to me. It’s always me. Cal to the rescue. No one else seems to lift a finger. They don’t have any vested interest in saving the world.

Maybe I should watch it burn with them.

“No worries,” I say, sitting up and snagging a cucumber sandwich from the tiered tray Monet placed in front of us on the glass topped coffee table. Alongside it is the antique blue and white Meissen porcelain pot, scenes of fair ladies in wide dresses dancing while holding cups and fans decorate the outside. “I’ll go myself.”

Alpha almost chokes on her bite. “You’ll what?”

Chewing slowly, I consider her response. She schools her face quickly from outrage to neutrality, but her genuine expression has already met my eyes. And she knows I read it. Thursday evening, I went to the spot she mentioned, the one Strauss’s men supposedly met with the representative from Herodius.

There was no one there.

If Alpha lied about meeting the woman in the cloak, it would most likely mean she’s putting me off. That there never was a meeting. Like she’s a mother patting me on the head patronizingly. Hmm. Maybe she lied due to her fear of Halcyon. All of those are possibilities.

“Yes, I’ll go. Tonight. I’ll see if the representative comes out to greet me.”

Alpha picks up another quarter cut sandwich, turning the bread over in her fingers repeatedly, both of us monitoring the action. “I heard you’re still training Jane,” she says without looking up. Her voice is flat, monotone. Soft because, despite causing it, she fears confrontation.

“Yes, it’s going well.”

“Is it?” Alpha snaps, her eyes darting daggers at me.

As I spread my arms across the back of the Louis-style velvet parlor sofa, I let my fingers wiggle in the grooves of the cut wood. “When you ride some dick for information, is it me you think of?”

She swallows, her piercing gaze turning glassy before she blinks back tears. Quietly, her voice escapes, “You know it is.”

Biting my lower lip, I let it roll out from underneath my teeth. “You think about that time in the hayloft when we were fourteen?”

Her chest rises as she inhales quickly. “Yes, Cal.”

I give her a smile, reminiscing about losing my virginity to her. “You taught me a lot. Already so experienced at your age.”

Those fat lips of hers turn down as she answers with some roughness behind her words, “That wasn’t my choice.”

“No, it wasn’t. And that’s what I’m trying to stop.” Rubbing my tongue over my teeth, I take my time considering what I want to say. Deciding it’s not even worth it, I stand.

There was a time when Daisy seemed to be everything I wanted. We were friends, enjoyed the same video games, music, and books. She laughed at my jokes and would sneak into my room at night. She let me touch her, then fuck her. Young Cal was in love.

Whenever I had a need, she was there. But the first time I saw her having sex with a fifty-year-old friend of my father’s, I was disgusted. She was sixteen. When I asked her about it, she denied it. So, I showed her the pictures, the videos, the texts that she used with not just him, but many men. So many men. Old, fat, skinny, young, in Gnarled Pine, to Appleton City and farther. Shame filled her face admitting that part of her job is to gain data, to kill, or to seduce for control and sometimes it’s easiest when the men had come, or she had gotten them to love her.

Just like me.

From then on, I used her the same as the others. If I had a need, she was there, so desperate to fill it. But after a few years, the whole thing just turned me off. Every time she mimicked my thoughts or feelings, I knew it was a manipulation. We were twenty-one the last time I let her have me. And maybe I could have slept with someone else over these last eight years, but what was the point?

“So, I’m just your project? Your cause?” She interrupts my thoughts, trying to keep me from leaving. So desperate for me. She could never stand it when I walked away or when I turned her down. Fear of abandonment runs deep in her veins. And I don’t blame her.

Scratching my chin, I determine that saving her feelings isn’t important to me any longer. “No. You’re nothing to me.” An audible gasp leaves her mouth as I stride toward the foyer. Not even caring to look over my shoulder, I tell her, “I’m replacing you with Delta. He’s a fucking prick, but he’s not bothersome. He’ll give you a new assignment.”

By the time I reach the front door, the shattering of my mother’s ancient tea set rings through the hall. How could I ever have feelings for someone who doesn’t tell the truth?

And everyone lies.

By the evening,my legs dangle from the stone wall as I sit on the west end along Strauss’s property. The FLAIR signal feeding to my phone will alert me to anyone in the area, but there’s no one for miles. It’s warm enough that I can ditch my hoodie, or maybe the shrooms have kicked in enough that I don’t feel temperature anymore.

My mind starts making patterns out of random stars when they hit. Just as I lie back to enjoy the show they put on for me, a red dot appears two miles west. Transfixed on its movement, I study the blip until it reaches the forest’s edge.

Through the gnarled pine, a figure emerges wearing a large cape covering the head and body. It flutters in the breeze, but is so full and thick, it reaches to the ground. Nearing me, I sit up straighter, deciding it is most definitely a woman’s form underneath due to the sway and curvature of the hips and chest. Ten feet in front of me, she stops abruptly. Squinting my eyes, I make out gleaming gold in the moonlight, forming a beak and feathers. It’s an owl, blinking its large eyes at me as if waiting for me to make the first move.

After at least three minutes, or maybe less, it’s impossible for me to tell, I finally ask, “What is your goal?”

The owl remains still. Sighing with frustration, I look around and take one step toward her, approaching slowly.

“No.” Holding up a cloaked arm, the figure stops me. In a strange robotic voice, it replies, “Unless you want to die now.”

Arching an eyebrow, I question the claim, but before I open my mouth, a red laser light flashes across my face. I’m in their sights, but how? I saw no one else’s blip on my phone. Cold suit?

The figure drops their arm, and I freeze with my hands raised, the red light disappearing when I take a step back. “What sacrifice do you require?”

“The panel will meet with you if you bring us something of ours,” the voice modulator rings out in the open air.

Annoyed with their game, I snap out, “Something of yours? I don’t have anything of yours.”

“You do.” Before I can ask any other question, my mouth still open with an unanswered one, the figure turns with a flash of red warning light dazzling my eyes, then stalks toward the tree line. Pulling out my phone, I study the FLAIR, but there’s no other movement on the screen other than the owl. She heads into the west for miles before I dare look away or move.

Wandering through the weeds back to my car, images of every object locked away in Von Dovish estate flip through my mind’s eye like a magazine, everything my father’s ancestors have collected. Ancient portraits of my predecessors line the walls. Locked within the cellar vault lie intricately crafted jewels and raw-cut gems, one-of-a-kind crafted rings, and ornate necklaces even my own mother was never allowed to touch. My private safe holds land deeds from centuries ago, the yellowed paper showing our family’s ownership of the entirety of West Side. Haunting every corner, there’s a sculpture, invaluable artworks, coats of arms… Even the giant blue sapphires held within the rustic gates guarding the entrance are priceless. Billionaire isn’t even a name that holds meaning for me. I have more money than the gods.

But if this society is as powerful as I believe them to be, why wouldn’t they just steal whatever is in my possession? If I held on to something of theirs, why not just take it back?

The answer dawns on me.

Maybe it’s because the sacrifice is not an object…