The Sign of Seven Trilogy (90 page)

“I can't leave you alone, I can't give you that. But if you want to go up and lie down, I'll stay outside the bedroom.” When she shook her head, everything about her seemed to tremble. “Goddamn it, god
damn
it, scream, cry, throw something, punch me.”

She shook her head again, drank the rest of the brandy. “It wasn't real, physically. But it felt real, physically, and every other way there is to feel. I'm not going to scream; I might never stop. I want Quinn, that's all. I want Quinn.”

When the front door slammed open, Gage thought Quinn must have run every step. She was still running when she reached the kitchen. “Cyb.”

Cybil made a sound, a mix of moan and whimper that sliced straight through Gage's belly. Even as she turned into Quinn's arms, Quinn led her away. “Come on, baby, let's go upstairs. I'll take you upstairs.”

Quinn sent Gage one long grieving look, then they were gone. Gage picked up the glass, smashed it in the sink. Changed nothing, he thought, looking down at the shards. Just a broken glass, and that changed nothing, fixed nothing, helped nothing.

Cal came in to find him standing at the sink, staring out at the sunny afternoon. “What happened? After Quinn got your call she told me to call Layla, get her here, and she ran out. Cybil, is she hurt?”

“Christ knows.” His throat burned, Gage realized. Burned as if he'd swallowed flame. “It raped her. The son of a fucking bitch, and I didn't stop it.”

Cal stepped up to him, laid a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

He began coldly, almost clinically, beginning with the blood on the walls. He didn't stop or acknowledge Fox when Fox came in, but he picked up the beer Fox opened and set in front of him.

“About a mile, mile and a half from your place it stopped. It all went away. Except for Cybil. I don't know if that kind of thing ever goes away.”

“You got her away,” Cal pointed out. “You got her back home.”

“Give me a medal and call me hero.”

“I know how you feel.” Fox met Gage's hot and bitter look quietly. “It's happened to Layla, so I know how you feel. Layla's upstairs now. That's going to help. And Cybil will get through it because that's the way they're made. We'll get through it because it's all we can do. We'll all get through it because we're going to make the bastard pay. That's what the fuck we're going to do.”

He held out a hand. After a moment, Gage gripped it, and Cal laid his over theirs. “We'll make the bastard pay,” Gage repeated. “That's what the fuck we're going to do. I swear an oath.”

“We swear an oath,” Cal and Fox agreed, then Cal blew out a breath and rose.

“I'll make her some tea. Tea's the thing she likes.”

“Put some whiskey in it,” Fox suggested.

They put it together, and after some discussion and debate, put a pony of whiskey on the side. Gage carried it up, then hesitated outside the closed bedroom door. Before he could knock, Layla opened it, jumped a little.

“Cal made this tea,” Gage began.

“Perfect. I was just coming down to do exactly that. Is that whiskey?”

“Yeah. Fox's contribution.”

“Good.” Layla took the tray. Then studied Gage with weary eyes. “She'll be all right, Gage. Thanks for bringing this up.” She closed the door and left him staring at the blank panel.

In the bathroom that linked the two bedrooms, Cybil lay in the tub. She'd had her jag, and that had left her exhausted. Oddly, the fatigue helped. Not as much as her friends, she thought, but some.

As did the hot water, and the fragrance and froth Layla had added to it. Quinn rose from the little stool beside the tub when Layla brought in the tea tray.

“That was really fast, like superpower fast.”

“Gage brought it up. Cal made it, so it's probably just fine. Honey, there's whiskey here. Do you want it in the tea?”

“Oh yeah. Thanks. God.” Shifting up, Cybil squeezed her burning eyes, breathed through the threatening flood of tears. “No, no, done with that.”

“Maybe not.” Layla doctored the tea. “I have a moment every now and again. It's okay. We're allowed.”

With a nod, Cybil accepted the tea. “It wasn't the pain, though, oh Jesus, nothing's ever hurt like that. It was feeling it in me, pounding and pushing, and not being able to stop it, or fight it. It was the boy. Why is that worse? That it made me see the boy while it—” She broke off, made herself drink the spiked tea.

“It's a kind of torture, isn't it? A kind of physical and psychological torture designed to break us down.” Quinn brushed a hand over Cybil's hair. “We won't be broken.”

“No, we won't.” She held out a hand, and in a gesture that mirrored the one made in the kitchen, Quinn took it, and Layla closed hers over theirs. “We won't break.”

She dressed, and took some comfort in grooming. She wouldn't break, Cybil vowed, nor would she look like a victim. When she stepped out of the bedroom she heard the murmur of voices from the office. Not yet, she thought. Not quite ready for that. She moved quietly past, and down the stairs. Maybe after another ocean or two of tea.

In the kitchen she took the kettle to the sink and saw Gage outside, alone. Her first inclination was to back away, to slink away into some dark corner and hide. And the urge both surprised and embarrassed her. In defense, she took the opposite tact, and went outside.

He turned, stared at her. In his eyes she saw the rage and the ruin.

“Absolutely nothing I can say would sound remotely right. I thought you might want me to take off, but I didn't want to leave until I was sure you . . . What?” he said in disgust. “I don't have a clue what.”

She considered for a moment. “You're not far wrong. I guess a part of me hoped you'd be gone so I didn't have to talk about this now.”

“You don't have to.”

“I don't like that part of me,” she continued. “So let's just get this done. It came at me, the attack that's a woman's nightmare. The big fear. It made me feel that violation, and the helplessness. That horror that drove Hester Deale mad.”

“I should've gone after it.”

“And left me? Would you,
could
you leave me when I was completely defenseless, completely terrorized? I couldn't stop it; that's not my fault. You got me away, and getting away made it stop. You defended me when I couldn't defend myself. Thank you.”

“I'm not looking for—”

“I know you're not,” she interrupted. “I probably wouldn't feel as grateful if you were. Gage, if either of us feel guilty about what happened, it wins a kind of victory. So let's don't.”

“Okay.”

But he would, for a while yet anyway, she realized. A man would.
This
man would. Maybe she could do something to soothe them both. “Would it complicate our straightforward and mature relationship if you just held on to me for a minute?”

He put his arms around her with the wary caution of a man handling thin and priceless crystal. But when she sighed, laid her head on his shoulder, it was he who broke. His hold tightened. “Christ, Cybil. Good Christ.”

“When we destroy it.” She spoke clearly now, steadily now. “If it comes in a form with a dick, I will personally castrate it.”

His grip tightened again, and he kissed her hair. Complicated, he realized, didn't begin to cover whatever was going on inside him. But right at that moment, he didn't give a damn.

 

TO AVOID HAVING EVERYONE TIPTOEING AROUND her, Cybil voted for work. The small second-floor office might've been cramped with six people inside, but she had to admit, it felt safe.

“Gage found what may be another pattern dealing with locations,” she began, “that springs off the one we talked about before. We can look at them as hot spots and safe zones. The bowling center. While that was the location of the first known infection and violence and has seen other incidents, it's never sustained any damage. No fires, no vandalism. Right?”

Cal nodded. “Not really. Some fights, but most of the trouble's been outside.”

“This house,” Cybil continued. “Incidents since we moved in, and there may have been some during previous Sevens, but no deaths here, no fires. The old library.” She paused to look at Fox. “I know you lost someone important to you there, but before Carly's death, there'd been no major incident there. And again, the building itself has never been attacked. There are several other locations, including Fox's family farm and Cal's family home that have proven to be safe zones. Fox, your office building's another. It can get in, but not physically. Only to create its illusions, so nothing it's been able to do in those places is real. Nor, more importantly, I think, have any of those locations been attacked by those infected during the Seven.”

“So the questions are why, and how do we use it.” Fox scanned the map. “The old library was Ann Hawkins's home, and my family farm was where she stayed and gave birth to her sons. If we go back to energy, it may be that enough of hers remains as a kind of shield.”

“There you go.” Quinn planted her hands on her hips. “So we dig and find out what connection the safe zones, or even those places that see less violence, have.”

“I can tell you that the land the center sits on was the site of the home Ann Hawkins's sister and her husband built.” Cal puffed out his cheeks. “I can check the books, and with my grandmother, but what I remember is it was originally a house, then converted to a market. It morphed and evolved over the years until my grandfather opened the original Bowl-a-Rama. But the land was always Hawkins's land.”

“I think that's going to be our why,” Layla commented. “But we need to remember that the old library was, well, breached, during the last Seven. It could happen to any of these locations this time.”

“There wasn't a Hawkins in the library over the last Seven.” Gage continued to study the map, the pattern. “Essie'd retired by then, hadn't she?”

“Yeah, she had. She still went in most every day, but . . . It wasn't hers anymore.” Cal stepped up to look more closely. “They'd already started building the new library, and approved plans to make the old one a community center. It belonged to the town then. Technically, it had for years, but . . .”

“But emotionally, essentially.” Cybil nodded. “It was Essie's. How long has your family owned this house, Cal?”

“I don't know. I'll find out.”

“I bought my building from your dad,” Fox reminded Cal. “Yeah, that's going to be the why. So how do we use it?”

“Sanctuaries,” Layla said.

“Prisons,” Gage corrected. “The question will be how do we hold a couple thousand infected people bent on murder and mayhem in a bowling alley, on a farm, and in a law office, to start.”

“We can't. I'm not talking about the legal crap,” Cal added.

“Hey, if anyone's going to talk about legal crap, it should be me.” Fox took a pull from his beer. “And I'm not going to deny trampling over civil liberties isn't a big issue with me during the Seven, but the logistics won't hold.”

“How many could we convince to camp out at your farm before they were infected?” Cybil met Fox's eyes as he turned to her. “And yes, I realize what an enormous risk this would be, but if a few hundred people could be talked into going there before the Seven, staying there through it—or until we kill this bastard—then others might be convinced to leave altogether for that period, or hole up in what we'll designate as safe zones, or as close to safe as we can define.”

“Some leave anyway,” Cal pointed out. “But the majority don't remember, don't get it, not until it's too late.”

“It's different this time,” Quinn added. “It's been showing itself, showing off. This is all or nothing for both sides. Even if only ten percent of the town moves out or holes up, it's a stand, isn't it?”

“Every step we take toward the positive counts,” Cybil agreed.

“But doesn't kill it.”

Cybil turned to Gage. “No, but it uses tactics to try to weaken us. We'll counter with those that may weaken it.” She gestured toward the board with the Tarot outline. “We all have our strengths, too. Knowing who and what we are is a positive step. We have a weapon in the bloodstone, another positive. We know more, are more, and have more to work with than the three of you did before.”

“If we're going to try moving anyone out who's willing, Fox needs to talk to his family. If you want to ditch the idea from the get,” Cal continued, “no arguments.”

“Yeah, I want to ditch it, but I'm stuck with the old free will, make your own choices song and dance I was raised on. They'll decide for themselves if they want to start a damn refugee camp. Which they will because that's how they're made. Damn.”

“I'll need to talk to mine, too.” Cal blew out a breath. “First, people in town tend to listen to my father, give what he says some weight. Second, we'll figure if their house or the center should be a secondary camp, or if they should stay out at the farm to help Fox's family. And we're going to need to push, and push hard on finding out how to use the stone. Having a weapon's no damn good if we don't know how to trigger it.”

“We've built on the past,” Quinn began, “and we have a handle on the now.”

“We need to look again.” Cybil nodded. “We've started on that, but—”

“We're not going there tonight.” Gage's statement came cold and firm. “No point in pushing on that,” he said before Cybil could argue. “It's nothing you mess with when you're already worn down. Go back to that positive energy crap you're hyping. I'd say you're running low on that tonight.”