Has Anders ever told you why he can carry a gun when no other Seeker is allowed to?
Like uninvited guests, Sasha’s words from earlier that day slipped into her mind. Deirdre tried to ignore them. She didn’t know what Sasha was trying to do, but she wasn’t going to suspect Anders of wrongdoing. Not after he had saved her life– and the lives of others–multiple times. Not after she had vowed she was going to trust him.
But what if you’re being blind, Deirdre?
Was that her Wise Self speaking, the shaman in her who often saw things in a clearer light? Or was it her Shadow Self– her darker and more destructive side–that was speaking?
You’ve developed feelings for Anders–you can’t deny that you have. And what if that’s what he’s been counting on? The co fee, the flowers, the designer suits and expensive cologne– what if it’s all been part of a precise operation, one designed to charm you, and to distract you from things you would otherwise see. Great Spirit, no one can bethat cheerful all the time. It has to be an act.
No, she wouldn’t believe that. Anders was a good man. A true heart beat in that barrel chest of his, she was sure of it. Besides, if someone had wanted her to be seduced, surely they would have sent an agent more suave, more good‑looking than Anders to do the deed.
Or would they? Not if they were clever–not if they knew Deirdre well. She had fallen for a striking, mysterious man once–for Hadrian Farr–and she wouldn’t make that same mistake again. If Anders had been too slick or handsome, her guard would have gone up at once. Instead, Anders had infiltrated the barriers of her affections like a stealth jet, flying low and under the radar.
This is ridiculous, Deirdre.Now it was neither her Wise Self nor Shadow Self talking. It was just her plain old Angry and Afraid Self. Anders isn’t an airplane, he’s a person, and he hasn’t been keeping secrets from you. You know it.
Really? Or had her judgment been impaired by broad shoulders, a gravelly voice, and crinkly blue eyes? Because, much as she had done her best to ignore it these last three years, Sasha was right–there was one secret Anders kept from her. He still had never told her why he was allowed to carry a gun when no other Seeker had that privilege.
Not that she was entirely sorry that was the case. More than once he had used that gun to protect her and others. All the same, the fact that he did carry it nagged at her, now more than ever. He had told her his story–how he had worked security for the Seekers before becoming an agent, and how, since he had the proper training to use it, Nakamura was letting him keep the gun temporarily, until a final decision about it came down from the Philosophers.
But such a decision had never been made, at least not as far as Deirdre knew. So why did Anders carry a gun? Did he have special connections in the Seekers? That seemed absurd; Anders was still only a journeyman. However, the fact that a former security guard had been admitted to the organization at all was unusual. It could be there was more to Anders’s becoming a Seeker than was visible on the surface.
Deirdre sighed. Her head throbbed, and it was long past her bedtime. She could think about all of this tomorrow. She started to push herself up from the chair–then froze.
Something moved in the darkness outside the window.
She leaned forward, until her breath fogged on the glass panes. She had only glimpsed it for a second, but it had been a vaguely manlike shape, she was sure of it. Only it hadn’t been down below on the street. Instead, it had seemed to float in the night, directly outside the window.
There was a soft clickas the door of her flat closed shut. The glass of scotch tumbled to the floor. Heart pounding, Deirdre sprang out of the chair and whirled around.
There was no one there.
“Anders?” she called out. “Is that you?”
He had a key to her flat; he always took care of her house‑plants when she was away. But there was no answer. Not that she expected any. Whatever Sasha thought of him, Anders was a gentleman; he always knocked before entering. Besides, he had said he was going to stay at the Charterhouse that night to keep an eye on Beltan.
Earlier that evening, the two men had returned: wet, hungry, and more than a little grouchy from their mad hunt for a sorcerer. They had found no signs of the Scirathi in the city. Not that Deirdre had expected any different; it wasn’t as if sorcerers tended to hang out at the local coffee shop. Though maybe the blood bank would have been a more likely place to find them.
Despite their failure, Beltan’s resolve to find one of the Scirathi had not lessened, and Anders wanted to keep close to the blond man in case he decided to try continuing the search on his own. Deirdre had agreed; in his current frame of mind, it was best if Beltan wasn’t left alone.
And what about you, Deirdre? Are you alone right now?
She didn’t know what she had glimpsed in the window, but there was one thing she was certain of: Whatever it was, it hadn’t been outside her flat.
It was a reflection in the glass. A reflection from behind you. Someone was in here.
Whoever it had been was gone now. A thorough exploration of all the rooms of her flat–as well as the closets–confirmed her instincts. The intruder had fled. She headed back to the kitchen, thinking maybe she had better give another glass of scotch a try. Her hands shook as she tilted the bottle, and she slopped half the liquid onto the counter. She reached for the roll of paper towels.
A manila envelope lay on the countertop. She had not put it there.
Deirdre gulped down what scotch she had managed to get into the glass, then picked up the envelope. There was a lump inside it. She undid the string, opened the flap, and tilted the envelope. A small black cell phone slipped out. She drew in a deep breath, then picked up the phone and switched it on.
It rang.
She was so startled she nearly dropped it. She fumbled with the buttons, then held the phone to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, Deirdre.”
She had known it would be he. Once before he had made contact with her in this fashion. All the same, a thrill ran through her at the sound of his rich, accentless voice.
“Who was just in my flat?” she said. “You or one of your minions?”
Laughter emanated from the phone. “Minions? What a marvelous word. It makes me feel like a villain just to say it. I really must try to have more minions.”
“So it was you.” Fear rippled through her, and excitement. He had been here, in her flat–her Philosopher. She moved to the window and peered out into the darkness and the rain. “Where are you?”
“Close, Deirdre.” His words were a murmur in her ear. “I am always close now. The worlds draw near. And so does the end.”
“The end of what?”
“Why, of everything.”
Deirdre sank down into the chair. She had to be smart, she had to think of the most important questions and ask them first. He wouldn’t stay on the phone long; he never did.
“Where is the arch?”
Again he laughed. “That’s why I like you, Deirdre. You always get right to the point.”