Relentless (17 page)

‘‘I’m
fine
,’’ Hannah said forcefully, still watching Morgan with concern. She returned to her chair. ‘‘Never better.’’

Grant watched them both with concern and curiosity, then settled on Morgan.

‘‘I get headaches,’’ she told him quietly.

‘‘She gets
migraines
,’’ Hannah corrected her, loudly.

Morgan’s lips curled into a frown. ‘‘Migraines, then.’’ She shot a look at Hannah, who held her gaze without flinching. Eventually she looked back to Grant.

‘‘You are overwhelmed,’’ she consoled. ‘‘This is a great deal of information to absorb.’’

‘‘None of it seems to bother
you
,’’ he said abruptly.

‘‘That’s because I’ve been doing this longer than you. Longer than anyone, in point of fact.’’

He blinked. ‘‘You mean—’’

Morgan nodded. ‘‘To the best of my knowledge, I was the first to undergo the Shift. It was over fourteen years ago that I found someone new in that mirror at the London Library. And I have never encountered another who predates me. I was the very first to have
this
.’’ She held up her ring hand again.

Fourteen years!
There were people in this world who had lived for almost fifteen years with what had just happened to him only weeks ago. It was mind-boggling.

His eyes fell upon her ring.

‘‘Tell me about the rings.’’ he said, sitting up straight in his chair now. ‘‘Why won’t they come off?’’

She glanced around the room and then leaned in closer to him. ‘‘They
do
come off,’’ she whispered. ‘‘But only after the wearer dies.’’

Grant thought of the contract killer, Konrad, who had wanted his ring.
He knew. He either had to kill me or cut off my finger altogether. Both of which he tried . . .

‘‘Do the rings trigger the . . . the Shift?’’ he asked.

‘‘The two
do
always seem to coincide. But all I can tell you with certainty is that, despite their appearance, the rings are
not
made of gold, nor any other precious metal that I can identify. It appears they’re comprised of some kind of alloy that’s stronger—its molecules packed together more densely—than any metal that exists in nature. They’re
so
strong, in fact, that I haven’t even been able to chip off any residue for study.’’

‘‘Are you a scientist?’’ Grant asked.

Morgan offered a bemused smile. ‘‘Hardly. I was born a lover of books and shall die one. I’d rather be spending my time with Dickens and Steinbeck, but in the years after the Shift, I spent much of my time searching the world and researching our civilization’s entire wellspring of knowledge to find out all I could about these rings. Unfortunately, I’ve learned precious little with regard to their origin. But as for what they are . . .’’ she paused in thought, ‘‘I need to
show
you what I’ve learned, rather than try to explain it. But before we get to that, though, I would ask you to fill in some gaps for me. Tell me how all this began for
you
.’’

He launched into his story, beginning with the morning he spotted himself, Collin, walking down the sidewalk, and ending with his daring escape from the Inveo plant with Hannah, only hours before.

Morgan watched him with a soft gaze throughout the entire story. She was patient and allowed him to tell it in his own time. When he finished, she looked away for a few minutes.

Finally she looked at him again. ‘‘May I see your ring, please?’’

He held out his hand.

She adjusted her bifocals until they rested on the very tip of her nose. Gently turning his hand to the side, her eyes narrowed as she studied the ring.

While she was looking at his ring, he glanced at hers. It was just like Hannah’s—nearly identical to his own, only slightly smaller and with no markings on the sides.

Morgan let go of him and sat back in her chair, her eyes focusing on him even more intently than before.

‘‘There can be no doubt; you
are
the Bringer. Does anyone else know of what’s happened to you, besides your sister?’’ He caught a trace of urgency in her voice.

He thought for a moment. ‘‘There’s this weird girl who keeps following me around.’’

One eyebrow went up. ‘‘A girl?’’

‘‘She won’t tell me who she is. She just keeps popping up and telling me—well, I guess you could call it advice. She’s . . . younger than me. Not much I can say about her appearance. Nothing sticks out. Well, except that she’s always barefoot.’’

Morgan’s spine straightened as she sat up in her chair. ‘‘Barefoot?’’ She stared at him over the rims of her bifocals once again. ‘‘This girl— she had long brown hair? No makeup or jewelry?’’

‘‘Sounds right,’’ Grant nodded. ‘‘You know her?’’

‘‘We have never met,’’ Morgan shook her head, gazing off in thought. ‘‘I thought she was something of an urban myth. Someone fitting that description has been spotted a few times in the past, watching those like us, scrutinizing our movements. But the glimpses of her have been so fleeting I ascribed the whole affair to group imagination.’’ She focused on Grant again. ‘‘She actually
spoke
to you?’’

He nodded.

‘‘What did she talk about?’’

‘‘Odd things . . . I don’t know . . . The conversations are always so short. But it seemed like, in some way . . . I think she’s trying to help me.’’

‘‘Hmm,’’ Morgan replied. She leaned back in her chair, lost in thought again.

‘‘You mentioned wanting to show me something . . .’’ Grant prompted her.

Her attention snapped back to him. ‘‘Ah, yes, quite so.’’ Her expression changed and she formed her words slowly and carefully. ‘‘I hesitate to say this, Grant, because I realize full well how it will sound to you. But please trust that I would not ask anything of you if it were not of the greatest importance. In this case, I do not see any alternative.’’

Grant leaned back in his seat, wary. ‘‘All right.’’

‘‘In order to show you what I want to show you,’’ she began, ‘‘I need a favor. A very important item was due to be delivered to me, but it was intercepted before I received it. And I need it back. I want
you
to retrieve it for me.’’

Dread flooded Grant’s heart. ‘‘What?’’

‘‘Morgan, he’s no thief!’’ Hannah said, rising precariously from her chair. ‘‘If there’s somethin’ you need,
I’ll
go get it for you.’’

‘‘Dear, you can’t even
walk
,’’ was Morgan’s reply. ‘‘We haven’t time to wait for your recovery.’’

Morgan spoke to Grant with utmost sincerity. ‘‘I promise you, Grant, this won’t involve committing any sort of crime. In point of fact, you’ll be
resolving
a crime. The object I’m asking you to retrieve belongs to me. I merely need you to it get back.’’

‘‘What do you know of the Bringer?’’ the Thresher demanded.

The short, scrawny man he held off of the floor by the lapels of his jacket seemed to balk at this question.

But there was no one around to save him. The bar’s remaining patrons were unconscious, resting peacefully on the floor. Apparently this crowd lived for a good brawl, but the Thresher had overpowered the entire room in under two minutes, before rounding on the man he had come here for.

The drunken man dangling in the air drooled beer down his shirt, his eyes over-wide and his expressions exaggerated.

In a flash, the Thresher’s sword was out and upheld, ready to strike, as he held the man with one hand.

‘‘I won’t ask a second time,’’ his brogue accent intoned, menacingly.

The drunken man stared all-too-obviously at the gold ring upon his own finger. ‘‘I heard the phrase before, but that’s all, man, I swear,’’ he slurred.

Why must they always resist?
the Thresher thought, bored.

‘‘I couldn’t help noticing,’’ he observed gently, ‘‘that during our entire conversation, you haven’t been able to take your eyes off of that golden bauble on your right hand. Which means that to get your
full
attention, I will have to eliminate the offending hand from your field of vision.’’

The Thresher prepared to swing, but the drunken man shouted, ‘‘Wait, wait!’’

But the Thresher refused to return his arm to its former position; he held the sword up in striking position, waiting for the other man to continue.

‘‘This guy I know . . .’’ the drunken man slurred, ‘‘he runs with this crowd that squats in some kind of super-secret location. I dunno where they are, man, but he told me they’ve all been talking about this ‘Bringer’, and how he’s . . . ‘on his way’ or something.’’

When the man stopped speaking, the Thresher prompted, ‘‘Continue.’’

‘‘I don’t know no more than that, man! Honest!’’

The Thresher studied the drunken man, discerning the truth from his features. ‘‘If you’ve lied to me—’’

‘‘I’m not that stupid!’’ the other man bellowed. ‘‘You got a
rep
, man! Nobody’s gonna disrespect
you
, you’re the Thresh—’’ He broke off suddenly, realizing he’d said more than he’d meant to.

The Thresher brought the sword to rest against the drunken man’s throat, and lowered the man far enough that his mouth was right next to the man’s ear.

‘‘
How
,’’ he breathed hot air, ‘‘do you know
that name
?’’

‘‘I-I-I uh, I heard it—’’ the man blustered.

The Thresher dropped the man to the floor. ‘‘From
whom?
’’ he asked, raising the blade and preparing to strike. Fire had suddenly come to his listless eyes.

But he never got the opportunity to find out more. Something struck the back of his head forcefully, and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

20

In the end, Grant hadn’t agreed or disagreed. Morning approached and since the job had to be completed under night’s cloak everybody decided to discuss again after some rest. Grant and Julie accepted rooms for the evening and soon said farewell. After their departure, Morgan ventured deeper into the asylum, winding her way into a distant back corner to the only occupied room in the wing.

Approaching the door carefully, she knocked on it.

‘‘
Sí
?’’ a tired, low-pitched Latin voice called out from behind the door.

Morgan entered.

Sitting on the bed was a bronze-skinned woman with a wrinkled face and a serious expression. She was knitting.

They called her Marta, though Morgan had no idea what her original name might have been. She was the oldest of all the Loci at seventy-nine years of age—the oldest Morgan had ever met who had experienced the Shift.

Marta preferred solitude, so she lived alone in this abandoned section of the facility and rarely left her room. Morgan thought back to their first meeting, only a few years ago, when she had asked Marta to come live here. Having nowhere else to go, the old woman had agreed, on one condition: she had no desire to be around others. The Shift had been so traumatic for her at her age that she simply wanted to be left alone.

But occasionally, she would tolerate visits from Morgan, at those times when she had important information.

Marta did not look up as Morgan walked in.

‘‘This man you have brought here. He will learn the truth very soon,’’
the old woman said without greeting or preamble. She spoke in Spanish, as she knew not a single word of English and didn’t care to. But Morgan understood her.

Morgan took a seat at a small desk opposite the bed, turning the chair to face Marta.

‘‘What truth is that?’’ Morgan asked.

‘‘His truth. Who and what he is,’’
Marta said matter-of-factly.
‘‘When
that happens, he may become . . . unpredictable.’’

‘‘He’s
already
unpredictable. Are you saying I should take some kind of precautions?’’ asked Morgan.

‘‘He will become what he will become. Your actions will change nothing,’’
Marta answered evenly.

‘‘And is he becoming what I believe he is?’’

Marta stopped knitting and looked up into Morgan’s eyes for the first time. She studied Morgan for a long moment before speaking.
‘‘This man is part of something greater than all of us. Vast and powerful,
it reaches back through the fabric of history to the very beginning of
time. Those like him have been with us since it all began, in one form or
another.’’

Morgan frowned. ‘‘I need more, dear. If you want me to be on guard, I’m going to need more from you than vague notions about who he’s turning into . . .’’

‘‘
No
,’’ Marta said flatly. ‘‘
He has
always
been
who
he is now. But
what
he is becoming is . . . something else. And it is unavoidable
.’’

‘‘I don’t understand,’’ said Morgan.

Marta sighed.
‘‘There are some storms that even
you
cannot quell.’’

The two women stared at each other for a moment, Morgan wondering, as always, if Marta’s intuition could be false. But she’d certainly been proven right many times in the past.

‘‘And if I were you,’’
Marta suddenly said,
‘‘I would discourage him
from keeping company with that burglar woman.’’

Hannah
.

‘‘Why?’’

‘‘A friendship forged between them will not end well.’’

By evening, Grant was gone and Julie paced the Common Room. Hannah had recovered enough to drive Grant to his destination, so here Julie was, all alone in this loony bin with these weird people who just stood around and stared at her.

‘‘I don’t like this,’’ Julie finally said, to no one in particular.

‘‘Then we share something in common, dear,’’ Morgan replied from her chair at the fireplace, her eyes glued to the latest hardback to grab her attention. ‘‘But I promise you, I would not have asked this of him if it weren’t absolutely vital.’’

‘‘You keep saying that,’’ Julie retorted. ‘‘Feeling guilty?’’

‘‘Quite so,’’ Morgan answered, without hesitation, looking up from her book for the first time.

Julie frowned, regretful. She shivered, her hand shaking from nerves as she took the seat opposite Morgan in front of the fire.

‘‘You seem nervous,’’ Morgan said, eying Julie with a studious expression.