Anew: Book One: Awakened (26 page)

Once I’m passed the sensation of
being suspended in mid-air, I begin to notice that the penthouse is warm and
welcoming, filled with an eclectic mix of furnishings at once masculine and
appealing.

The few interior walls add
texture and dimension as well as providing space for works of art. One wall,
made entirely of brick, frames a large fireplace facing a comfortable seating
area.

Nearby is a dining area with a
table that is a plank of gnarled and polished redwood set on a wrought iron
base. It looks as though it can seat more than a dozen.

Opposite that is a kitchen
filled with stainless steel appliances that match the exposed duct work and
compliment the dark wood cabinetry. A slanted skylight runs the width of the
space above what I recognize as a smaller version of the hydroponic garden I
saw at the palazzo.

I haven’t felt any real urge to
experiment with cooking but the thought that I could pick fresh vegetables,
herbs, and more and make use of them to prepare a meal for Ian is suddenly
appealing, unlikely as that is to happen under the present circumstances.

A study is set apart from the
rest of the living space. There is also a combination gym and dojo, a wine
'closet' that I suspect is bigger than many people’s apartments, several guest
suites, and more. I can barely take it all in but I do notice that the entire
floor is surrounded by a spacious terrace reached through pivoting glass doors
similar to those in the spa at the palazzo.

The most eye-catching feature of
the main floor is the glass staircase that appears to float in mid-air,
doubling back on itself at a landing before disappearing above to the second
level.

“What’s up there?” I ask.

He hesitates before indicating
that I should precede him up the stairs to what I quickly realize is a more
private area. It’s about half the size of the floor below, which it overlooks.
Beyond an open living space, glass panels enclose what must be the master
bedroom dominated by a huge four poster bed made of gleaming ebony.

The sense of spaciousness
carries through to a private roof garden that though outdoors seems an integral
part of the bedroom itself, separated only by more of the glass panels. Beds of
small raked stones hold large ceramic pots planted with bonsai trees that have
been cultivated into beautiful, evocative shapes.

A nearby fountain bubbles up
softly, overflowing along a bamboo pipe into a rough stone urn before spilling
down its glistening sides. I can just make out the sound of a Japanese lute
playing softly in the background. The overall effect is remarkably serene. We
could be miles away from the city, in a world entirely our own.

“How do you ever bear to leave
here?” I ask sincerely. “The palazzo is lovely but this--” I really can’t find
the words to describe my reaction to his aerie hidden away in the sky.

“I enjoy both,” he says. “But
I’ve never appreciated this place more than I do right now.” He hesitates, his
eyes dark as he studies me. “I’m very glad you’re here, Amelia,” he says
softly. “Nothing matters more than knowing you’re safe.”

A look of pain flashes across
his face but is gone as quickly as it comes. Abruptly, he transforms, his
expression once again unreadable.

“Please make yourself at
home," he says. "If you get hungry, there’s food in the kitchen or
just use the link to connect with the concierge desk. They can send up anything
you need.”

Pinnacle House has a full
service concierge. Well, of course it does.

I pin on a smile, determined not
to let him see how much his remoteness hurts me.

“Thank you, but it will be
awhile before I’m over the scotch bombs, chocolate marshmallow zonkers, and all
the rest.”

Ian frowns. “I’m going to have a
talk with Hayden.”

“He’s your friend,” I say
softly. “And he’s been worried about you. So have I.”

He frowns, clearly rejecting the
idea that there could be any reason for our concern. Quickly, he goes on. “Just
be aware that all security protocols are in place so--”

“If I try to leave, I’ll be
zapped?”

Frustration with how closed off
and obdurate he is being sharpens my tone. I’m not entirely serious but Ian’s
fortress is likely to have defenses I would rather not confront.

His eyes darken. “Do you want to
leave?”

I counter with a question of my
own. “Is that an option? I didn’t think you were giving me a choice.”

He stiffens but to his credit he
doesn’t deny what is self-evidently true. “I’m not. Pinnacle House is the
safest place by far for you to be. You’ll stay here until the threat from the
HPF has been eliminated.”

His eyes are once again hooded
and unreadable. Only his labored breathing and the heat I feel rising from his
body reassure me that I am not alone in feeling the dark pull of whatever this
is that exists between us.

With a hard look at me, he says,
“If you try to leave before then, you will be stopped, you will be brought back
and this time, I damn well will collar you and do anything else I need to in
order to keep you safe regardless of how you feel about it.”

I’m still gaping at him, stunned by this blunt declaration,
when he turns and without a backward glance walks away.

Amelia

I
an’s
threat followed so swiftly by his departure leaves me shaken and bereft. For
long moments, I remain where I am near the glass staircase. It’s so quiet in the
apartment that I can hear droplets of water falling in the terrace garden and
the murmur of wind wrapping around the building.

Gradually, it dawns on me that I
am more alone than I have been since I fled from the palazzo. The combination
of stress and solitude threatens to let loose the terrifying memories that I
first confronted then.

Rather than wait for that to
happen, I decide to take Ian at his word and make myself at home.

That starts with a shower in the
master bathroom. I could use one of the guest suites but the need to feel
closer to him even in such a small way is irresistible. My candy binge has left
me sticky but I’m also hoping that the hot water will unclench muscles that
have been tense for days, ever since the polo game.

The bathroom is set apart from
the master bedroom by a wall of bottle glass tiles that provides a sense of
privacy. But that impression vanishes when I realize that the rest of the large
space has a completely unfettered view out over the city. While I don’t have a
problem with the occasional high-flying hawk getting a peek at me, I draw the
line at aircraft, binoculars, telescopes, and the ever-present drones.

I’m entertaining the possibility
that Ian may have some exhibitionist tendencies that escaped my notice when I take
a closer look at the outer wall and realize that it isn’t as clear as it
appears at first glance. Tiny particles are scattered throughout it. I don’t
know for certain what they’re for but I do have a suspicion.

Pressing my nose against the
glass and tilting my head, I manage to peer at the expanse of the outer wall to
the right of the bathroom. I should be looking into the open living space but
instead I can’t see a thing. From the outside, the glass is a shimmering silver
that is completely opaque.

Reassured that I won’t be on
display after all, I waste no time stripping off my clothes and getting into
the shower. Water begins to spray from the dozen or more nozzles and--

Ohmygod!
Ian has to be
out of his mind! Who sets a shower to deliver run-off from a glacier?

I leap out and stand naked,
frozen, and dripping while I fumble at the control panel and reset the
temperature. Steam is filling the bathroom before I feel safe enough to get
back in.

The hot soothing water does just
what I’d hoped. By the time I get out again, I’m thoroughly non-sticky and more
relaxed than I have been in days.

Not even the HPF and its violent
craziness or Ian’s strange withdrawal can diminish my improved mood. I’m
wrapped in a towel and fluffing my hair dry when I realize that I don’t have
any fresh clothes.

I can put what I was wearing
back on but Ian did say to make myself at home.

Behind a sliding Japanese-style
wall screen on the far side of the master bedroom, I find an expansive walk-in
closet. In addition to a supply of the black jeans and T-shirts I know that Ian
favors, it holds an array of custom suits, shirts, ties, handmade shoes, evening
clothes, elegant cufflinks, expensive watches, and everything else that an
alpha male/defense tech mogul would be expected to wear.

Best yet, the closet has a
seductive smell--cedar paneling and polished leather mingling with the aromas
of wool, cotton, and linen. I could linger there happily but I’m starting to
feel a little chilly in just a towel.

I pluck a robe from its hangar
and put it on. It wouldn’t reach Ian’s knees but it droops much lower on me. I
have to wrap it around myself before tying the belt. It reminds me of the robe
in the spa. I can feel myself blushing from head to toe.

Still refusing to entertain any
of my myriad fears, I make my way back downstairs to the main floor and explore
the kitchen. It’s not lavishly stocked but there’s an array of healthy snacks
and a selection of beverages including various beers and wines.

I’m considering offsetting the
sugar overdose with salty chips when a nearby link chimes.

“My dear child!” My grandmother
looks close to tears when I answer. Her lovely face, beautiful in a way that
time can never touch, is tight with dread. “Teddy just told me the terrible
news. Are you all right?”

I’ve been grateful from the
beginning for Adele’s whole-hearted acceptance of a new grand-daughter into her
life, one she could never have expected to encounter. She and Edward had given
me an incredibly precious gift--a sense of family. But now the stark evidence
of how much she truly cares for me makes me more aware than ever of how
fortunate I am.

I’m suddenly perilously close to
tears myself. Quickly, I assure her, “I’m fine, really. I couldn’t be safer.”
Not physically at least, or so I have more or less convinced myself.

She touches a lace-edged hankie
to her nose and nods. “It’s probably for the best that you’re with Ian.
Pinnacle House is said to be a fortress.”

That’s putting it mildly but I
don’t want to alarm my grandmother by going into too much detail about what
I’ve seen just in the short time I’ve been there. She’s far too intelligent not
to question why there are so many armed men who look better suited to a
military installation than to a corporate headquarters in the city of the world’s
elite.

“Anyone foolish enough to try to
get in here without permission would regret it very quickly.” I refuse to
ponder the fact that the same is true for anyone trying to get out.

“I’m so glad to hear that,”
Adele says. “Hopefully, you won’t have to be there too long. Those dreadful HPF
people should have been dealt with months ago. At least now the authorities
will have no choice but to act.”

“Why now?” I ask. “And why not
before?”

“Didn’t Ian tell you? The
Institute was in San Francisco on the grounds of the old Presidio military
base. That area has become quite exclusive. I’m sure you can imagine what a
shock it is to the residents to have such an attack occur practically under
their noses.”

Of course Ian didn’t tell me.
Why should he when clearly his assumption is that I am going to be where he
wants me to be and do what he wants me to do regardless of any doubts,
questions, or ideas of my own that I may possess?

Infuriating man.

“They must be outraged.” I can
only imagine how the pampered elite of Manhattan would react to such an
incursion into their own privileged world. They’d be screaming for blood.

“But why didn’t the authorities
do anything sooner?” I ask. “From what I found on the link, the HPF have
carried out numerous attacks. They killed almost a dozen people before today
and injured many more.”

“Politics, my dear,” Adele says
with disgust. “Public opinion has moved so sharply against the existence of
clones and replicas that taking any action to defend them is seen as too
risky.”

She pauses for a moment. “Teddy
thinks someone is stirring things up. He says all the signs are there--stories
planted, incidents staged, opinion makers bought and paid for. The problem is
no one knows who’s behind it.”

This is food for thought. I
haven’t considered the possibility that public opinion is being manipulated.

“Couldn’t the HPF itself be
responsible?” I ask.

“Certainly, but nothing happens
without money. The question is where is that coming from?”

I see her point. For the HPF to
carry out the attacks that it has, and to also mount an effective effort to
shape public opinion, it would have to be very well funded. I wonder who hates
the idea of clones and replicas enough to provide that level of support.

“At any rate,” Adele goes on,
“you’re safe and that’s what matters. As much as I would love to visit, I don’t
want to risk drawing attention to your whereabouts. However, I can send over
clothes and anything else you’d like.”

My grandmother has a somewhat
different idea than I do about what I need. Before long, I give up trying to
persuade her and decide to just wait and see what she considers necessary for a
stay at a 21
^st
century fortress ruled over by a presumptuous, all-too
seductive man who, however much I may try to resist him, keeps drawing me as
the proverbial moth to the flame.

“We’re letting it be known that
you are indisposed,” Adele says. “Nothing terribly serious, of course, but
enough to explain your absence from social events. However, we must be
realistic. If this goes on very long, people will notice.”

The last thing I want is anyone
asking prying questions. “How much time do you think we have?” I ask.

“The Crystal Ball is in ten
days,” she says promptly, indicating that she has been giving this some
thought. “Everyone will be there. Your absence would draw attention and invite
speculation about Cousin Amelia that we definitely do not want.”

I’m pondering that after we say
‘goodbye’ and at the same time feeling very much at loose ends in the huge,
otherwise empty space when the door chime announces Hodgkin’s arrival.

As though it’s the most natural
thing in the world to find me in Ian’s apartment wrapped in his robe, the tall,
dour-faced steward says, “Good afternoon, Miss Amelia. My apologies for not
being here to welcome you. I’ve only just arrived from the palazzo. I took the
liberty of bringing a few items from your dressing room that I thought you
might find useful.”

I smile gratefully. Whatever
Adele is sending, I trust Hodgkin to have chosen well. He doesn’t disappoint. A
short while later, I’m dressed in a fawn twill skirt, a soft beige chambray
shirt tucked in to a wide brown leather belt, and coordinated strappy sandals
with mercifully low heels.
I pull my hair back
in a high pony tail and glance in the mirror. I look far more together than I
feel.

Returning to the main floor, I’m
surprised to find a tall, statuesque woman with cocoa brown skin and gleaming
black hair waiting for me. Her hazel eyes hold the hard sheen of flint as she
stares down her nose at me.

With a bare minimum of civility,
she says, “Good afternoon, Miss McClellan. I’m Gabriella Darque. I work for Mr.
Slade. He asked me to show you around.”

She’s clearly less than thrilled
that I’ve been delegated to her. I’m not too happy about it myself.

“Thank you, but that isn’t
necessary. I can wait until Ian is free.”

She goes on as though I haven’t
spoken. “Mr. Slade wants you to be familiar with the facilities that are
available for your use. Please come with me.”

I can refuse, in which case I
will look more than a little childish. Or I can be a good little girl and do as
I’m told. Neither option has any appeal so I choose the one that will at least
satisfy my curiosity.

“By all means, Miss Darque. What
Mr. Slade wants, Mr. Slade gets.”

She frowns but doesn’t say
anything more until we’re in the elevator when she hands me a thin, highly
polished metal wristband similar to one I notice she is wearing. Now that I
think of it, so was Hodge.

“Put this on,” she says. “It’s
coded to your identification and will give you access to the areas of the
building that you’re cleared to enter.”

“What would those be?” I ask.
The band looks like a bracelet. I quickly confirm that I can remove it as
easily as it snaps on.

“The penthouse, recreational
areas, fitness centers, pools, and so on. Medical, if that’s ever necessary.
The mall--”

“There’s a mall here?”

Gabriella Darque appears
surprised at my ignorance. “More than twenty thousand people work at Pinnacle
House, Miss McClellan. Most also live here along with their families.
Residential levels are interspersed with recreational and entertainment areas,
food courts, shopping pavilions, nature centers, hydroponic gardens, and so on.
Separate nodes contain operational areas, training facilities, armories, and
research and development labs.”

We step off the elevator and
straight into a horde of children who tear past whooping and hollering. As I
stare after them open-mouthed, she says drily, “School just let out.”

We’re in one of the recreational
areas, built around an atrium that rises several hundred feet to a virtual sky.
Full spectrum light streams from it, brightly illuminating the space. A soft
breeze riffles the leaves of trees and bushes scattered throughout. Nearby is a
large free-form playground complete with climbing walls and trampolines built
in to the floor.

Couples and families stroll by.
No one is dressed in the drab, monochromatic style of workers in the city. To
the contrary, bright colors abound. The only exceptions are those wearing the
black uniforms I’ve seen before and even they are obviously relaxed and off
duty.

I struggle to understand what
I’m seeing and what it means. Pinnacle House is far more than the headquarters
of a defense technology company. It’s a vibrant, thriving community that
rejects the class divisions so prevalent in the city as a whole. And that makes
me wonder. Why did Ian choose to put his people directly in the midst of an
enclave designed to serve the privileged few?