She was hoping she could play on one of his archetypal weaknesses. Very few Fae who based their personalities on cunning masterminds could resist the urge to gloat. If she was really lucky, he might even go into detail about how very doomed she was . . .
To her surprise, he only laughed. It was a thin, hollow sound compared with the full-blooded chuckle of their previous encounters. ‘Kill you? My dear Miss Winters, you have no idea how much I enjoy hearing you say that. And such a brave attempt to learn my secrets, too. But I’m afraid . . .’ He coughed, and his whole body shook with it. ‘You’re too late.’
Irene froze. Anyone who knew her would have known she’d try the mysterious door. Was this all some further elaborate trap?
Then common sense kicked in. He’d been genuinely surprised to see her. He’d been afraid.
‘You’re wasting your time taunting me,’ she responded. ‘As you can see, I’m still alive. Your little plot didn’t work.’
As she’d hoped, the adjective stung. His hands trembled, clenching into fists. ‘You have no idea . . .’ he said, voice smooth again, the words both a promise and a threat. ‘As usual, Miss Winters, you have come into the story partway through, and you’ll be removed from the gameboard long before you can appreciate the grandeur of this particular plot. It’s already too late for you, as I said. Before, you’ve always had other people to save you. Not any longer.’
‘My friends and I keep each other alive. You didn’t plan on my accompanying Vale into the submarine base, did you?’
‘I admit I failed to make allowances for that – for whatever sentimentality caused you to accompany him rather than do your job. I thought better of you, Miss Winters.’
‘Stop playing games,’ Irene said flatly, suppressing a growing sense of dread. What if he was telling the truth, and it was ‘already too late’ for Kai and Vale as well? ‘Get to the point – or I’m leaving.’
Lord Guantes frowned at having his gloating so cruelly cut short. ‘Very well. It’s true that I want revenge on my enemies, but there are others who have something even worse in mind for you. I cooperated with them – but I have been betrayed. I have been used.’ A deep fury at this flared in his eyes. To a Fae of his archetype – mastermind and schemer – this was the ultimate violation. ‘Since you have conveniently walked past my threshold and into my home, I will give you the tools for vengeance. If—’
He broke off, seeming confused for a moment, and raised one gloved hand in protest. ‘So soon?’ he asked the air.
‘Lord Guantes,’ Irene said, pitching her voice to get his attention. ‘Why are you here? In this sordid place, with this old house falling to pieces around you? Who are these others you mention?’
His eyes focused on her again. Without answering, he thrust himself out of his chair towards her, tottering as he tried to stand upright.
Irene dodged. She’d been ready for any sort of attack – if this was an attack – but she hadn’t expected something so . . . ordinary. Or, to be honest, so uncoordinated. He moved like an old man – or someone who’d been injured but hadn’t realized it yet. This was all . . . wrong.
The Fae’s motion turned into a stagger, then a collapse. He sank to his knees, then to the dirty marble floor. His gloved fists clenched and his whole body convulsed, breath coming in great heaving gasps.
It could all be a pretence. But it didn’t feel like one. Lord Guantes enjoyed showing off his cunning. To him, watching his enemies scurry round trying to escape was the icing on the cake, the cream in the coffee, or the hand-rolled cigar and brandy that set the seal on a good evening. He wasn’t the sort of Fae who would be taken by surprise in a dirty old house and go on to reveal his weaknesses.
Unwillingly and extremely carefully, Irene approached. ‘Are you ill?’ she asked.
Lord Guantes rolled to one side, looking up at her. She had never thought that she’d see vulnerability in his eyes.
‘Under the cathedral . . . the dark archive . . .’ he gasped, the last of his breath hissing between his teeth as he fought to get the words out. For a moment he managed to focus. ‘Irene Winters, the man behind the Professor knows you, and he wants you . . .’
And then he stopped moving and his body went limp.
Irene hesitated, then reached out a hand to check the pulse in his neck. But as she touched him, his neck crumpled under her fingers. She snatched her hand back in revulsion. A bruise spread under his skin like ink, and as it grew, the flesh behind it collapsed into dust. She leaned back to avoid inhaling her erstwhile enemy. And she shivered. This was the second time she’d seen him die.
Shadows seemed to grow in the corners of the room, and the back of her neck prickled with the sensation of being watched. It felt as if she’d caught someone’s attention – and they weren’t amused.
Someone knocked on the door. ‘Sir? May I come in?’ It was a man’s voice, speaking Spanish.
Damn. Irene had lost her best source of information, she couldn’t fool Lord Guantes’ servant by imitating his voice with any hope of success, and she’d run out of time. Kai and Vale – and Catherine – needed her. The body in front of her was nothing but an empty suit of clothing and a scattering of dust. Desperately she checked the suit’s pockets, but there was nothing – no wallet, no conveniently revealing documents. Not even a note saying Meet me next week at a helpfully specified location.
Her eyes fell on Lord Guantes’ laptop. Even if it contained nothing of interest, someone might be able to track where it came from. She scooped it up, then turned and ran. As she hurried down the corridor, she could hear Lord Guantes’ remains being discovered – followed by yells for assistance.
Her sortie through the door hadn’t answered her questions; it had just given her a whole new set. For instance, who’d created that chaos-infused exit from Vale’s world? It didn’t match what she knew of Lord Guantes. He was a Machiavellian schemer, not an engineer – or whatever the appropriate term was for someone who could make a stable portal between alternate worlds. Fae could walk from world to world without doors, dragons flew in the space between them – but she’d only seen a permanent door between worlds once. And that had been in an ancient Fae prison, not a modern convenience. Who had that kind of capability, anyway? The man behind the Professor . . .
The way back loomed in front of her. Without breaking step, she ordered, ‘Door, open!’
Pain rammed itself into her temples like a blow to the head. Both the door before her and the one now far behind – to the room where Lord Guantes had died – flung themselves open. She ignored the sudden yells of pursuit, and the bullet that sang past her to hit the distant wall. She staggered through the exit, nearly collapsing. Someone caught her, and it took her a moment to recognize it was Vale.
The door slammed shut.
‘And you complain that I am reckless,’ Vale muttered. ‘Winters, whatever you’ve done, I hope it was worth it . . .’
Then the station’s alarm sounded again, and lights flashed red.
‘The self-destruct . . . maybe they reactivated it?’ Irene said with horror. ‘Let’s get out of here – then I’ll tell you what I found.’