The Dark Divide (57 page)

‘What’s the point of that?’ she asked, tying the belt around the
yukata.
‘If you’re going to do something as dramatic as kill yourself in public to restore the honour of the family, why would you wear something so bulky, so hard to stab through? You can’t even show your face if you’re wearing one of those
kabuto
helmets.’

‘Maybe he wants to cover his face,’ Rónán suggested as he paced. ‘I would. If I had to kill myself for such a stupid reason, I’d be crying like a little girl.’

‘It’s not a stupid reason.’

‘Of course it is.’

Trása shook her head and sat on the edge of Rónán’s futon and looked up at him. ‘This world is bound by honour and the rules define the people who live here. It’s the only thing they know, and it makes perfectly good sense to them. It’s not what you or I would do, but it’s the right thing for these people. That doesn’t make it stupid. Just different.’

He stopped pacing and turned to stare at her. ‘Wow … when did you turn into the voice of reason and tolerance?’

She smiled, inordinately pleased by the compliment. ‘I’ve been a rift runner for long enough to know when it doesn’t pay to judge other people’s values by comparing them to your own.’

Rónán looked at her for a moment longer, as if seeing her in an entirely different light. Then he smiled. ‘Okay, Obi Wan,
you’re so wise … how do we convince Namito that killing himself to restore the honour of the Ikushima is a dumb thing to do? Not to mention hypocritical, I have to say.’

‘Why is it hypocritical?’ she asked, intrigued to watch Rónán act more and more like Darragh with each passing day. She wasn’t sure if it was the
Comhroinn
, or just Rónán’s true nature coming to the fore, now his artificial world of movie premieres and private schools was taken from him. Whatever it was, she approved of the change. He still sounded like Rónán, but it was like having Darragh around without all the baggage that came with being one of the Undivided. The miracle of him being alive after
Lughnasadh
was something she chose not to question.

Rónán, and unquestionably, Darragh — wherever he was — had done the unthinkable. They had survived the power transfer and seemed none the worse for the experience. There would come a time when they would have to deal with the how and why of that, but they had to get out of here first, find Darragh and then find a way home.

‘This is the bloke who offered me his little sister to get a child of the
Youkai
,’ Rónán reminded her, scowling at the memory. ‘I find it a bit rich now he’s all about the honour of the family. Where was his honour a couple of weeks ago when he was pimping out Kazusa? When he let Aoi promise to kill herself if I tried to leave the compound? Instead of ritually disembowelling himself, Namito ought to hide his head in shame.’

She smiled suddenly. ‘You know … I just had a thought.’

‘Lie down,’ Rónán suggested, sitting on the edge of the futon beside her. ‘It might go away.’

Trása smiled even wider. ‘You’re right about Namito hiding his head in shame. In fact, once he’s wearing his full samurai getup, it’d be hard to tell who was inside it.’

‘I have a bad feeling I know where you’re going with this, Trása.’

‘Then you can see the logic in it.’

‘That’s a bit of a stretch, but I’m listening.’

She crossed her legs, sitting a little straighter on the bed. ‘The Empresses expect Namito to fall on his sword when Lady Delphine gets here. They want to show the
Matrarchaí
how clever they are — how they can make grown men kill themselves rather than displease them …’

‘Tell me again,’ Rónán cut in, ‘why we think these girls are worth saving from the
Matrarchaí
?’

‘Because they’re little girls. And if you save them from the
Matrarchaí
, their mother will give us the tools to open a rift and be gone from here.’ If appealing to his nobility didn’t work, she figured appealing to his self-interest would do just as well.

Rónán sighed with resignation. ‘How are you going to get Namito out of the way?’ he asked. ‘I get putting on his armour and pretending that I’m him. I get that his troops will all be there and follow his lead, if they believe he’s ordering them to attack the Tanabe and whoever else has come through the rift. And I agree that every single one of them would happily wage war on the Tanabe, and that we can probably rid ourselves of Lady Delphine and all the disasters that come with her. I think I may even have enough of Darragh’s memories to fight off a magical attack by the
Matrarchaí
. Maybe even fight back. But how do we get Namito out of the way?
Without
killing him? I mean, that’s the whole idea, isn’t it? Saving him from himself?’

Trása smiled, feeling very smug. ‘You leave that to me and my lesser
Youkai
cousins in this realm.’

Ren smiled at her. ‘You and a bunch of ninja-
Leipreachán
are gonna take down a fully-trained samurai, huh?’

‘Have you ever seen a piranha?’

‘What?’ he asked. ‘You mean, like the fish?’

Trása nodded. ‘Ever seen them feeding?’

‘Sure … we have wild schools of piranhas all over inner-city Dublin.’

She punched his arm. ‘You know what I mean.’

He nodded and smiled at her. ‘Yeah … I get it. Small but lots of them. Are you sure the lesser
Youkai
of this reality will help, though? I mean, you’re not one of them, strictly speaking.’

‘I am more welcome in this reality’s version of
Tír Na nÓg
, Rónán, than I am in my own realm. Don’t worry about me. When you need them, the
Youkai
will be there for you.’

‘At your command?’ Rónán asked.

She nodded. ‘At my command.’

CHAPTER 58

‘I’m sorry, but Ms Doherty will be in meetings all afternoon,’ said the very pretty and unhelpful young receptionist at the offices of the ORM Agency. Her name was Summer, according to the engraved name tag she wore. She informed Pete and Logan, ‘If you leave your book and your contact details, she’ll get back to you tomorrow.’ She smiled and added, ‘Identical twin models are rare. I’m sure she’ll be interested.’

The offices were sleek and stylish, the company logo engraved in a large mirrored sign behind the reception desk. Through the glass walls of the empty conference room behind the lobby, Pete could make out the spectacular Chicago skyline. From up here on the ninetieth floor of the Sears Tower, the view was unbelievable. Inside the office, however, the lobby was identical to his mother’s Dublin office, and the one in Paris, where an equally perky and persistent receptionist guarded the hallowed ground inside the ORM Agency from the unfashionable rabble trying to get in. Presumably, the recently destroyed office in the World Trade Center had been identical to this, too.

Pete smiled wanly at Summer’s comment. Jetlagged and exhausted as he was from spending the last twenty-four hours in either airports or planes, he could still see the amusing side of this perky young woman having no idea who he and Logan were.

‘If you tell her Pete and Logan are here, I’m sure she’ll manage to drag herself away from her important business for a few precious moments.’

‘I really can’t disturb her,’ Summer insisted.

‘Is Tiffany Davis here?’ Logan asked.

‘I’m sorry, but I really can’t tell you anything. If you —’

‘Why don’t you call your boss and tell Ms Doherty her sons are here,’ Pete suggested, putting his hand on Logan’s shoulder to calm him down. He was fretting at the time they had taken to get to Chicago, particularly as they’d had no luck getting through to Delphine on the phone, despite the number of messages they’d both left her in the past day.

Summer’s eyes widened. ‘Her sons? Oh … you’re the ones who left all the messages!’

‘That’s right,’ Pete said. ‘So why don’t you pick up the phone and tell Mum we’re here. We’ll wait in her office.’

Pete didn’t give Summer a chance to object. Working on the assumption that if everything in the lobby was identical, he knew where Delphine’s office would be, Pete marched Logan past the desk, down the hall to the left and through the polished oak doors at the end of the corridor, before the receptionist could object or call security. He figured it was the fastest way to make sure he got Delphine on the phone.

Opening the door to Delphine’s office, Pete was half expecting to find their mother sitting at her desk, leafing through some hopeful model’s book, while her dreams of fame and fortune were crushed because she insisted on eating three times a day. But the office was empty, the desk bare, the modern, black steel and glass furniture giving the whole place a soulless atmosphere Pete had never liked — not in this office or any other.

‘Do you suppose they’re not in the building,’ Logan asked as he walked over to the window to take in the view, ‘because they’re already at a doctor’s office somewhere?’ The sun was just
starting to set in the distance. Pete couldn’t help thinking the view would be amazing up here at night. Hopefully, they weren’t going to be here that long.

‘The receptionist said she was tied up in a meeting.’

‘So what?’ Logan said, taking a seat on the windowsill. ‘She’s paid to lie.’

‘Hey, I’m here for you, Logan. Don’t take your anger out on me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Logan said, turning to glance at the skyline again. Pete flopped into the leather armchair opposite the black, glass-topped desk and closed his eyes, wondering how long it would be before they could find a hotel to check into, and get some real sleep, not the fitful, broken sleep he’d been catching in snatches for the past day and night as they travelled halfway around the world.

‘Why aren’t we rich?’

Pete opened his eyes and stared at his twin. ‘
What
?’

‘Why aren’t we rich?’

‘Er … because we don’t buy lottery tickets?’

‘That’s not what I mean,’ he said, frowning. ‘Look around you, Pete. This is our mother’s office. Actually, it’s only
one
of her many international offices. She has them all over the world. What must she be making with this damned modelling agency if she keeps offices like this? Can you imagine the rent on a suite here?’

‘Can’t say I’ve ever given it much thought, Logan.’

Logan rose to his feet and looked around. ‘I mean … we never wanted for anything, but we didn’t grow up with the sort of money this place reeks of. Suburban middle class, I always thought we were when we were kids.’

‘Nothing wrong with being suburban middle class,’ Pete felt compelled to point out, although Logan did have a point. ‘Maybe she doesn’t make that much. Maybe it all gets sucked
into overheads for hideously expensive office suites like this. What are you doing?’

Logan had started opening the drawers of Delphine’s desk so he could go search through the contents. ‘Looking.’

‘Looking for what?’

‘I don’t know … something … anything.’

‘You can’t just start rifling through Mum’s office, Logan.’

‘Not a cop, little brother. Don’t need a warrant.’

‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

Logan looked up and tossed something at Pete. ‘Here. Make yourself useful and find what these fit.’

Pete caught the small key ring by reflex. He glanced at the keys and figured they belonged to a filing cabinet. There was only one in the office, a polished, low cabinet against the back wall. The sort of cabinet where the files were stored horizontally, rather than in drawers like a traditional filing cabinet. With a muttered curse, he crossed the office and squatted down in front of the cabinet. He tried the key and it turned without resistance.

He stood up and turned to Logan. ‘There. Happy now?’

‘Check the files.’

‘For
what
, for chrissakes? Jesus, Logan, get a grip. What in God’s name do you think you’re going to find in Mum’s filing cabinets, other than the vital statistics of a whole lot of very tall, very skinny girls?’ He grinned suddenly, and turned to the files. ‘And probably their phone numbers, too, now I come to think of it.’

He grabbed a file at random and opened it, expecting to see a photo attached to the file of some willowy blonde or brunette, posing for the camera, looking fierce, and — more importantly — expensive, which he intended to wave at Logan to prove to his brother that he was losing the plot. But the file contained a baby photo, a chart that looked like a family tree, and a typed sheet
detailing the child’s name, address, date of birth and various other vital statistics.

He pulled out another file at random. It was almost identical — a baby photo, a family tree and a list of details about where the child was living. Pete pulled out two more files. They were the same, except one of them had a photo of identical twin girls.

‘Logan, check this out.’

His brother slammed the desk drawer through which he had been rifling shut, and crossed the office to Pete, who handed him the files. As Logan glanced through them, Pete pulled out even more files. All of them contained baby photos, a few had pictures of older children, and a number of them were twins. The files were colour-coded with stickers along the bottom edge of the files, much the same way medical records were coded. The dates of birth belonging to the children varied greatly. Some were in the last year, others dated back to the 1940s.

‘What the fuck is this stuff?’ Logan asked, shaking his head. ‘Are they all like this?’

Pete nodded. Every single file in the cabinet was the same. ‘What’s with all the family trees?’

‘Maybe she likes genealogy.’

‘Maybe … but some of these kids must be old age pensioners by now.’

It was intriguing, Pete thought, and decidedly odd, but there was nothing particularly sinister about it. It was just … bizarre. He turned and picked up another handful of files, and discovered more of the same. The last one on the pile, however, sent a shiver down his spine.

‘Logan.’

‘What?’

‘I think you need to see this one.’

His brother looked over Pete’s shoulder as Pete opened the file to reveal a photo of two chubby-cheeked, dark-haired boys,
smiling at the camera. The photo was disturbingly familiar — it was the same photo their grandmother had of them, taken as babies, which sat proudly on her mantle. Pete scanned the vital statistics sheet, which told him nothing they didn’t already know about themselves, and then flicked open the genealogy chart. Sure enough, their names, Logan and Peter, were given as the names of the two boys pictured, but they were spelled Logán and Peadar. Their family tree was nothing like they believed it to be, however. Their mother, according to this chart, was a woman named Lyonella, their father someone named Fionnbharr.