“I understand,” Schema said.
“Good. Now follow me.”
She got out of the car, then opened the vehicle’s door so Schema could get out. As he stepped out onto the cement floor, he suddenly froze, unable to breathe. For nearly a minute he grasped at his throat; then he fell to his knees, then to his side, unable to even make a sound, his panicked, questioning eyes locked on Cassy’s. When he was just about to pass out, Cassy released him. Schema loudly gasped for breath, coughing and wheezing. After a moment he got back onto his hands and knees, then looked up at her. “Why did you do that?”
“In case you were feeling bold, I wanted you to know just how easy it is for me to kill you. I don’t even need to be with you. I can smell your electrical makeup, which means I not only can feel you a mile away, I can reach you a mile away. This time I paralyzed your lungs. If you disappear from my sight, even for a minute, I will stop your heart. Those are my orders, and make no mistake, I will do as I’ve been ordered. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She smiled at the driver, who stood at attention next to the car. “He called me ‘ma’am.’ ”
* * *
Cassy and Schema, followed by the three guards, walked briskly into the mansion. They entered into a foyer, climbed a circular staircase, and then walked down a long, dark corridor with polished parquet floors. Surveillance cameras watched them from every corner. The hallway was adorned on both sides with dozens of antlers from deer, elk, and moose.
For most visitors allowed this far into the house, the guards’ guns would have been drawn, but since Cassy was with them, there was no need. Her power was instantaneous and much more potent than all of them combined. In a fight, she had never lost. Never.
Near the end of the hallway was a single solid mahogany door with an armed guard standing in front of it.
“Hiya, Cal,” Cassy said as she approached. “How’s your day?”
“Same old, same old,” he replied. “He’s been waiting for you.”
“I hope he’s been patient.”
“Yeah, right,” Cal said with a half smile. He opened the door, then stepped aside for them to enter.
“This way, please,” Cassy said to Schema. She led him into a large, classically decorated reception area. The walls were wood-paneled, and where there weren’t bookshelves, the walls were covered with beautiful still-life oil paintings. The floor was also wood, though mostly concealed beneath an aged Persian rug. The ceiling was coffered and had two brass chandeliers hanging down, lighting the room in a gold-yellow hue.
Sitting at a burled walnut desk in the center of the room was a fortysomething woman with bright red hair, wearing cat-eye glasses. She looked up at them as they entered.
“Howdy, Samantha,” Cassy said.
“Welcome back, my dear,” Samantha said in a formal British accent. “I see you brought us a guest.”
“As commanded,” she said.
“And how was your day?”
Cassy adopted a British accent. “I suppose I’m a bit knackered.”
Samantha laughed. “You’re so cheeky.”
“Better cheeky than dodgy,” Cassy said.
Samantha smiled. “He knows you’re here. Please take a seat, he’ll be right with you.”
“Thank you,” Cassy said. She led Schema to a leather couch, and they both sat down. Schema just looked around in anxious wonder. He might as well have had the hood on, as there was nothing to do as he waited. There were no magazines, no music playing.
The chime of a longcase clock sounded off in the corner of the room. He glanced again at the guards but quickly turned away since they just looked like they wanted to kill him.
After a moment, Schema asked the secretary, “Are you British?”
Samantha looked at him as if he’d just muttered some obscenity. Two of the guards stood, stepping before him.
“You will not speak,” one of them said fiercely.
Schema quickly lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Very sorry. I’ll keep quiet.”
Cassy relaxed back in her seat. About five minutes later there was a soft buzz from Samantha’s phone. “He’s ready for you,” she said.
“Great,” Cassy said, standing. “C’mon,” she said to Schema. “We don’t keep him waiting.”
She crossed the room past Samantha’s desk and opened the office door. She stepped inside ahead of Schema. The office looked and smelled old, with the musty scent of antique leather books and wooden bookshelves, the intricate woodwork interspersed with technology. On the back wall there were five monitors playing the world news. The voice was turned away from Cassy and Schema, watching one of the channels.
“Please sit,” he said.
Cassy and Schema each sat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. Then the voice turned around and looked at them. Schema audibly gasped when he saw the voice’s face.
“Giacomo Schema,” the voice said. “It’s good to see you again. Not a pleasure, mind you, but good. We have much work to do.”
Schema stared, speechless. When he could speak, he said, “Impossible. This is impossible. How could it be you?”
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RICHARD PAUL EVANS is the #1 bestselling author of the Michael Vey series, The Christmas Box, and the Walk series, as well as more than twenty other books. All his novels have appeared on the New York Times bestseller list, and there are more than seventeen million copies in print. His books have been translated into more than twenty-four languages and several have been international bestsellers. He is the winner of the American Mothers Book Award and two first-place Storytelling World Awards for his children’s books.
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ALSO BY RICHARD PAUL EVANS
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Text copyright © 2015 by Richard Paul Evans
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The text of this book was set in Berling LT Std.
Library of Congress Control Number 2015947032
ISBN 978-1-4814-4410-1 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-4412-5 (eBook)
Richard Paul Evans, Storm of Lightning
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