“You know how dangerous that is?” I ask in a quiet voice. “You’ve made your point.”
“No, I have not,” he screams, moving back toward me and getting in my face. “Because you still don’t respect me. You don’t fear me.”
“That’s what this is about?” I ask. “You want me to fear you? Well, you’ve got what you wanted. Seeing you playing with that loom with no regard for its power or the consequences of your actions frightens me, Cormac. And if you were sane, it would frighten you, too.”
He’s not the Cormac who picked me up on my retrieval night. That Cormac did what he thought was right for the greater good, even if his perception of what was best was warped. He’s incapable of logic or consideration. He can’t see anything but shades of gray.
And that makes him a danger to everyone.
Before I can react, a piece of the weave appears on the loom. In comparison to the protocol sirens blaring through the room, the blinking red proximity alert seems weak and inconsequential. But that doesn’t mean it’s not more dangerous.
“I’ve pulled the weave of this room onto the loom,” he says with a smile.
And there it is. We’re laid out in front of him and all it would take to destroy us is one careful sweep, if he has the talent for it. Could he have had that spliced into him or is he too arrogant to see he lacks it?
Without precision, he’ll just take out the entire room. That would end the threat of Cormac, but it wouldn’t solve our bigger problem. Arras is full of men too old and too set in their ways to change course. Another corrupt leader will simply rise in Cormac’s place—and another and another. Perhaps it won’t be any different on Earth if we evacuate, but at least we won’t face the possibility of a singularity that could wipe humankind from existence.
Cormac picks up the PTD Jax gave me and presses the com button.
“You guys okay?” Jax’s voice crackles over the speaker, and my heart sinks.
“It’s a trap!” I yell, but it’s too late. Cormac already knows where he is—now he wants to play with his prey.
“Adelice and I were visiting,” Cormac says into the PTD. “You’ve been a busy bee.”
“It’s too late,” Jax says. “I’ve locked the evacuation protocol and reopened communication channels between sectors. They know what you’ve done.”
“Do you think they’ll take the word of a rebel?” Cormac asks, practically screaming into the PTD.
“They won’t have to,” he says. “Loricel sent the communiqué.”
Cormac curses into the PTD and drops it onto the floor. “Screen,” he barks.
A wall screen bursts to life over us.
“I want you to see this,” he seethes. “I don’t know who your friend is. He must be quite bright to have breached our entire system.”
“He is,” I say, “and he’s a better man than you.”
“How touching,” Cormac says. He barks a coordinate to the screen and the security stream for that section of the guild offices projects above us. Jax is moving quickly, checking over his shoulder. I want to yell at him, but I know it doesn’t matter. He can’t hear me, and even if he could it wouldn’t matter anyway. Cormac knows where he is. Cormac has a loom.
Cormac can weave, which means Cormac can rip.
My stomach turns over and shoots bile into my throat, but I swallow it down as Cormac returns to the loom and hesitates for a moment, staring at the brilliant tapestry laid before him.
“What’s he looking at?” Dante asks. “It’s a tangled mess.”
I’m somewhat surprised Dante can’t see it clearly for himself, but the minute differences between a Spinster and a Tailor have always surprised me. “It’s here,” I say, “he has this building on the loom.”
Dante’s eyes fly to the screen and he struggles against the rope binding him to the chair. Jax is his best friend and he can do nothing to warn him.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say to Cormac. “Everyone in Arras is evacuating. Come with us. Start over on Earth.”
He ignores me, turning a gear to zoom in on the image.
“Go home,” I add softly.
“I have no home,” Cormac says, turning his attention from the loom for a moment and buying Jax a few more precious seconds. “You’ve destroyed it.”
“Arras was never a home,” I say. “It was a lie. It’s time to let it go. What’s the pass code for Protocol Three?”
“So that’s why you’ve come,” he says with a laugh. “So that Cormac Patton can betray Arras.”
“No, I came to give you a chance at redemption,” I say. “If Arras isn’t unraveled, both worlds will be erased from existence. You have the power to stop it. You can be the hero.”
“It’s too late for redemption, and I don’t have anyone to redeem myself to,” he says, and then he turns back to the loom and, with the confidence of a well-practiced Spinster, plucks a single thread. It pulls out slowly and over us Jax is frozen in place, disappearing limb by limb, slowly being wiped from existence.
“Stop!” Dante yells, but it’s too late.
I don’t know how to feel. One moment Jax was there, racing through a corridor, about to escape. And then he was gone.
That’s the evil of this system. It’s insidious how easy it is to remove someone without their feeling a thing. Even watching it happen is unreal, as though Jax could pop back on the screen. But I know enough about this world to know that’s not going to happen. The proof that Jax is gone rests in Cormac’s hands.
“There was a time when this strand would be sent off for alterations,” Cormac says.
“To make Remnants,” I say. “Giving up your war on Earth?”
“Oh, no. We’ve developed much more effective ways to rid ourselves of the vermin on Earth.”
My words are strangled. “Which means?”
“I’m sure you saw them in the Eastern Sector.”
The moths. The citizens of the Eastern Sector rotting before our eyes, their strands being eaten slowly. “You didn’t need to sever the sector,” I accuse. “You wanted to test your bugs.”
“And they worked as beautifully as we imagined they would.”
“But then…” My words are lost to my thoughts.
“We were watching you the whole time?” he asks. “Of course.”
“You severed the sector though,” Dante says.
“Exactly. I severed it. I didn’t destroy it. The sector still exists.”
Dante and I exchange a look and I know we’re both feeling the same thing. How stupid could we have been? This means he knows everything we’ve planned. He knew about Loricel and Albert. He knew about …
“How much did you see?” I ask. My voice is strangled.
“I saw everything,” he says with emphasis. “So much for purity standards, eh?”
My chest constricts knowing that my time with Erik was on display for Cormac. It makes me feel hot and sick and angry at the same time.
“You son of a—”
“Be a lady,” he says.
“Oh, I am well past being a lady.” I spit the words at him.
A blur knocks past me, causing the world around me to spin. Before I can determine what happened, Cormac crashes to the ground. My eyes flash to the empty chair next to me and I see that the rope has been torn in two. The whole time we’ve been here Dante was slowly altering the rope with his fingers. It hadn’t even occurred to me to try because I’d been distracted by my conversation with Cormac. That explains why Dante had been silent most of the time.
The room splits and light bursts across the space as Cormac and Dante tear at each other.
I tug at my own bindings, feeling their composition and pulling them apart. There’s no point in trying to do it quietly. Dante clearly claimed the element of surprise.
By the time I stand up it’s hard to tell what to do. Dante and Cormac are rolling on the ground and by now each of them is bleeding from superficial tears. Neither has managed to get a strong enough grip to i
ncapacitate the other. But I’m pretty sure trying to grab either of them will end poorly. Each second there’s more blood, and I know that most of it is Dante’s, because he has to work extra hard against Cormac’s reinforced suit.
I head to the loom and trail my fingers along it, adjusting its scope to try to find this room on it. It’s the only hope I have of helping Dante. If I can find the room, I can rip Cormac’s thread. The loom shifts and pulls up one room after another, but I can’t find this one.
I turn back to the pair grappling on the floor and consider lunging at Cormac just as Dante manages to pin him to the ground. I rush toward them, hoping I can help. Dante must not unwind Cormac—we need him to say the pass code before we can fully initiate Protocol Three. But Dante reaches for Cormac’s chest anyway.
“Don’t!” I cry. Dante’s eyes flash to mine and it’s only then that I realize what I’ve done.
I’ve distracted Dante.
It’s only a split second, but that’s all Cormac needs. I charge forward to stop him, but it’s too late. Cormac’s hand sinks into Dante’s chest and I fall to the ground facing the golden strand clutched firmly in Cormac’s hand.
“Please.” It’s the only thing I can say in this moment.
“Because you asked nicely,” Cormac says, “I’ll give you a second to close your eyes.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I remind him. “You have a choice.”
“Yes, I do.” And with a wrench, he rends the time strand clean from Dante’s body.
My eyes meet Dante’s and he smiles. “Close your eyes, baby. I’m glad I met you.”
I squeeze them shut and try to drown out the horrible scraping noise of unwinding time, the unnatural dissonance of stolen years leaving my father’s body too soon. We never had enough time.
“Open your eyes,” Cormac orders me. I shake my head, my eyelids pressed down to hold back tears I don’t want Cormac to see.
“I’ve seen you cry before,” he reminds me.
I open them and let the angry tears roll out. They are tears of accusation and hatred, but I’m not entirely sure they’re meant for Cormac.
I can’t escape knowing that this is my fault, but that’s not a new feeling and I’ve learned one thing.
It doesn’t matter.
Mistakes ebb and flow like the ocean and if you linger in them, the tide will wash you out to drown.
TWENTY-SIX
CORMAC IS COVERED IN DUST AND HE brushes it off as though it’s nothing, dropping the time strand on the floor at his feet. I reach forward and pick it up, cradling it in my palm.
“Keep it,” he says.
I drop the strand and swipe at Cormac, but he sidesteps me and I crash to the ground.
“I want you to think about what you’re doing,” he says.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I say, scrambling to my feet and preparing to launch myself at him again.
“You need me,” Cormac says, “and you couldn’t defeat me if you tried. Are you willing to let innocent people die because you were impatient?”
I push my arms down to my sides and stare at him. My tears haven’t abated, and I don’t care.
“Are you going to give me the pass code?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Absolutely not.”
“You know,” I say in a low voice.
“Know what?” Cormac asks. I lean across his desk and press my hands hard against the smooth wood, waiting for my moment to strike as he pours a drink.
“That both worlds are in danger. What I don’t know is how you think Arras will survive without Earth. Albert calculates—”
“Have you ever considered that those are the ravings of a decrepit man?”
“Look who’s calling someone else decrepit,” I mutter.
Cormac ignores me, but he sets down his glass with unusual force. “What would you do? Repopulate Earth? That is madness. Only one can survive—Earth or Arras. Which would you choose, Adelice? A world where everyone has what they need or a dying planet full of criminals and deviants?”
“The people of Arras don’t have everything they need,” I say.
“And what are they lacking?” His lips smack on the final word.
“Freedom.” I hold my gaze steady with his. He knows this and he can’t deny it’s something Arras doesn’t have and will never have under the control of the Guild.
“That’s a want, my dear,” Cormac says without missing a beat. “No one needs freedom.”
I guess we’ll have to disagree on that.
“We could kill each other,” Cormac says. “Right here and now and then what would come of Arras? Of Earth?”
“I’m not sure what happens if we both live through this,” I say softly. I don’t know if either of us deserves to walk out of here. And yet if we don’t, what becomes of everyone else? The singularity Albert predicted could be another form of control, misinformation spread by Cormac to distract us from his plans and lure me here. But did Albert believe it? Because I’m certain he wouldn’t lie to Loricel and me.
“It’s not too late. We can still join together,” he suggests.
“You just killed my father,” I remind him. “Our relationship is built on body bag after body bag, Cormac. I can’t think of anything worse than joining with you. Plus, you already admitted you’ve wanted to kill me this whole time.”
“There is that.” Nothing flickers in his cold black eyes. He’s not amused. He’s not calculating. His eyes are the color of the dark of night when the world lies in wait.
He’s plotting.
“Then neither of us walks out of here?”
As though he’s giving me a choice.
There are no choices with Cormac, only carefully laid traps. This is something I know too well.
“Arras won’t survive, but if we initiate Protocol Three then we can still save the people,” I argue with him. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve always acted out of concern for the citizens, even if your methods were a bit warped for my taste.” I’m putting this mildly, hoping to lure him in with honeyed promises and sweet words.
He laughs at me, clearly seeing through my act. “Don’t try to placate me, Adelice. I’ve spent my career twisting words to get what I want. There will be no compromise on Protocol Three.”
I look to my useless digifile. There’s no one to call. Every channel leads to dead air.
“I see you’re still trying to set things right. You can stop,” Cormac says. “You’ve played your part remarkably well, Adelice.”
I don’t feel the ball of burning rage that usually builds in my chest when Cormac mocks me. No clever retorts float to mind. In their wake is something much more chilling: a dreadful emptiness that yawns inside me and makes me feel like giving up. How can you save the world from men like Cormac? There are too many to ever defeat them all.
Too many of them to even make it a possibility.
Cormac watches me with interest and a smile plays at his lips.
“What now?” I ask him.
“I find your reaction rather dull,” he says. “I expected a fight. I find it tasteless to unwind someone who’s sitting around doing nothing. If you aren’t a threat, then what’s the point?”
“If what you’re telling me is true, then I’ve never been a threat to you.”
“Touché, and yet…” Cormac pauses, tilting his head slightly. The companels in the room prompt us once more for the pass code but now the evacuation sirens feel like background noise. I hear the prompt, but it doesn’t matter. “Hannox, initiate the troops in the Eastern Sector.”
My eyes fly up to Cormac’s and now there’s a glimmer of amusement in them. He’s made his puppet dance.
“Would you like to watch?” he asks.
“Is this necessary?” I ask him, reaching for any argument that might stop him. “The bugs will spread to Earth more quickly if you let the citizens go to the surface.”
“Who sounds desperate now?” He barks a security cleara
nce code at the screen and it begins to stream the Eastern Sector. There’s a crowd of people gathered outside the Ministry offices. The camera’s stream sits far off the ground but I spot Jost and Erik directing the group.
“Stop this. I’m asking you to stop.”
“I can’t!” He knocks his glass from his desk, sending its contents flying across the room. “As long as the poison is in the system, it continues to spread.”
I set my chin defiantly and stare at him. “Then you’ll have to kill me, too.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he says.
Cormac hasn’t noticed the small changes I’ve made to my posture. He hasn’t noticed that I’m not sitting but rather squatting over my chair and that my arms are locked and ready, so when I fly across the room, my feet pounding out the few steps that lie between Cormac and me, he doesn’t have time to react.
I bound up the desk before he can move away and with one perfect, precise swipe, I’m holding his time strand in my left hand. It’s golden and new, much too young for someone as old as Cormac. I knit it through my fingers, raising it up to my face so that Cormac and I are both staring at it hovering there between us. My fingers are red with blood, and it oozes onto Cormac’s lifeline.
“Always lead with your left,” I whisper. “All Crewelers know that.”
“I guess this means that you win,” Cormac says. His voice is breathless. Expectant.
“I never thought of this as a game,” I say as I twist the delicate strand. I only have to pull it, but is it too late?
“Are you waiting for something?” he asks.
“You’ve always struggled under the illusion that one simply does or doesn’t do something,” I say, “but that’s taught me to think about my actions.”
“I suppose you expect me to beg for mercy.”
“I would never expect that.” And in truth I don’t. Cormac is too proud to beg, but there’s something else in his eyes now. It could be mistaken for dread, but it looks more like finality.
“The world tells us there is a black and a white. We’re told people fall into those two categories, Adelice. Good and evil. Light and dark. But that’s the real lie they sell us. Everyone exists in the gray. We’re only capable of living within that shaded perception of truth,” he says.