Veiled (30 page)

“I told you those things on the roof looked like bunkers,” I said absently. Most of my attention was on counting the sources of fire. There were only three that I could see, but that was enough to make it a bad idea to stick your head up.

“You didn't tell us they had machine guns!”

“You didn't give me a chance to check.”

“Fuck it.” Slate lifted himself up to squint out over the rise at the estate. “Let's just—”

“Get down,” I said calmly.

Slate might have been obnoxious, but he wasn't stupid. He ducked instantly. A bullet whipped overhead with an angry whizzing sound.

“Slate!” Trask called from twenty feet away. The big man was pressed up behind a tree. “Flanking team's bogged down. Trap field.”

Slate swore.

“Landis is circling,” I said, still not lifting my head. “Once he gets to the top of the hill, he can melt those bunkers right off the rooftop.”

“That'll take too long.” I felt the futures shift as Slate came to a decision. “Trask, put up a fog cloud, then get Caldera and the front team. We're going in.”

I didn't hear Trask's answer, but I felt the signature of water magic. A moment later the air grew cool, strands of mist forming out of the night, spreading and thickening to become a fog. Within seconds everything more than a few feet away had disappeared into the cloud. It was the same spell my condensers used, but much more powerful: the cloud was already more than fifty feet wide and it wasn't slowing down.

I felt a hand on my arm and glanced up to see Slate. His eyes glittered. “Let's move, seer boy,” he said. “You're with me.”

Briefly it occurred to me that if Slate wanted to take a shot at me, now would be the perfect time to do it.
Oh well, I've already had two Keepers try to backstab me this evening. Lightning doesn't strike three times in the same place, right?
I took a deep breath, then stood up and ran for the building.

It caught Slate off guard—I think he'd been expecting to have to drag me. I left him behind, outdistancing him in the mist, and suddenly I was running alone. The mist cloud blocked sight and muffled sound, and for a brief moment it didn't seem as though I was in a battle at all. The sounds of gunfire were faint and distant, and there was no one close enough to threaten me. It was almost peaceful.

Then somewhere above, the machine gunners shifted fire, and in a scattering of the futures ahead of me I saw myself torn apart.
Okay, not so peaceful.
I slowed to a jog, twisting sideways, sensing the bullets snap past. Behind me I heard someone lose their breath in a gasp, followed by a thud. And then all of a sudden the walls of the White Rose estate were looming up, flower beds under my feet. I'd made it through the gauntlet of fire, and I was too close for the gunners on the
roof to reach me. There was a blackened hole in the outer wall where one of Landis's fireballs had struck; I could still feel heat radiating from the stone. I went through . . .

. . . and came out of the mist into a plain wooden corridor, face to face with two men in shirts and jeans. Both were carrying guns but they weren't aiming them at me, and before they could react I pointed at them. “What are you doing? Why aren't you with Vihaela?”

Confusion is the ally of the prepared. The two men paused, looking at each other. I didn't give them time to react. “Order is to pull back to the upper floor. Move!”

“But they told us—” one of the men began.

Slate came out of the mist behind me, black energy hovering at his hands. I dived for cover. The men hesitated—first mistake—and levelled their guns at Slate—second mistake. They didn't get the chance for a third. Black lightning cracked and I heard the
thump
of bodies hitting the floor.

I got to my feet and glanced at what was left of the two men. Slate hadn't used nonlethal spells this time. “Which way?” Slate demanded.

“Working on it.” My future selves were moving through the mansion, running and dodging and dying.

Caldera and Trask came through behind us, trailed a moment later by two more Council security men. No more followed; the rest of the team had been lost to fog or gunfire. They spread out, securing the corridor. Caldera covered one side, while Trask set up on the corner to the right.

I kept flicking through the futures ahead. With the interference from Slate and the fighting, it was slow going. Right side was going to run us into trouble. Left seemed clearer. Upstairs was clearer still. Now where was Haken . . . ?

“Well?” Slate said.

“Shh,” I said absently. I'd just caught a trace of Cerulean.
So he's still here.
No Vihaela, though. Maybe if I looked for her first . . .

Gunfire sounded to the right, followed by a scream. I heard the rushing sound of a water blast and the firing cut off abruptly. “Get on with it!” Slate snarled.

“You rush a diviner, you get crappy divinations,” I said without opening my eyes. Left route wasn't working out. There was a small oasis of calm on the first floor and I split my perceptions, pushing myself to track multiple paths at once. Was that it?

Another burst of gunfire came from the right, and Slate and Trask's response fragmented my path-walk.
There.
I'd only had a glimpse but I was sure it was him. “Found him,” I said. “First floor. This way.” I walked across the corridor and pulled open a door: it led into a small staircase, winding upwards.

Slate didn't hesitate. “Caldera, Trask!” he shouted. “Moving out!” Then he hurried after me.

The sounds of fighting died away as we jogged up the stairs. The battle was still going on outside, and there were a lot of enemies all around us, but Trask's fog spell had spread enough confusion that most of the White Rose defenders hadn't yet figured out that they had intruders. From above I could still hear the staccato beat of the machine guns, but as we reached the first floor there was a tremor and a thud, and one of the guns stopped firing. Probably Landis's work. I hoped Luna was staying with him and hadn't done anything crazy.

The first floor of the White Rose estate was more comfortably furnished, and I had a brief impression of rugs on the floor and mirrors on the walls. The path I'd planned out splintered into combat around the next corner, and I changed plans on the fly. There was a door two steps away, with a bolt on the outside. “In here,” I said quietly over my shoulder to the others, pulled the door open, shut it behind them once they were in, then held a finger to my lips when Caldera tried to talk. She, Slate, and Trask were the only ones still with me; we'd lost the security men somewhere along the way. We stayed quiet, and a moment later, I heard footsteps go running past outside.

The room we'd entered was a bedroom, decorated in pink and white. A muted yellow light cast a soft glow, illuminating a hanging mobile. Stuffed animals were piled on an armchair, and a small table held a reading lamp and a
notebook with loopy writing on the cover that read
My Diary
. The bed was frilly and fluffy, with more stuffed animals propped up against the headboard, and a small girl was sitting up in it. She was dressed in a white nightie and couldn't have been more than nine years old. “Are you my daddy?” she asked me.

I stared at her. Her eyes were blue, without any sign of fright, or worry . . . or anything. I looked into the futures and felt a chill. The girl's futures were solid lines, reacting to our input without any initiative or variation. Just like a construct.

“I've been good,” the girl said.

I felt my skin crawl. I turned and headed for the other side of the room, where a connecting door was half hidden by a wardrobe.

“Jesus,” Slate said. He was staring at the girl.

“Are you my daddy?” the girl asked.

“Guys,” I said, not looking at the bed. “Come on.”

Slate was staring at the girl, but Trask and Caldera followed me. “Door's locked,” I said. A muffled shout sounded from somewhere off to the left, followed by gunfire. “Keep it quiet.”

Trask nodded, and I stepped out of the way. The big man put a hand to the door handle: there was a blue glow and the handle, the locking mechanism, and a six-inch circle of door puffed into dust. Trask pushed it open.
“Slate,”
I said over my shoulder. Slate tore his gaze away from the girl and followed. The girl watched us go with dead eyes.

The next room was panelled in stone, with a medieval theme. A fire burned in a fireplace, and oil lanterns were mounted on the walls. At the centre was what looked like an old-fashioned version of a medical examination bench. A side table held a tray of gleaming metal implements that could have been dentists' tools, if you didn't look too closely. I was glad Luna wasn't here to ask questions. None of us spoke; we moved through and out.

Another door, another corridor. Someone almost ran over us as he came around a corner. He wasn't dressed like one of the White Rose soldiers, but in a business suit: one of
their clients, maybe. Slate stunned him with an enervation spell and we kept moving . . .

And then all of a sudden we were there. We'd come to what was obviously a cell block, metal doors with sliding windows on the outside. “He's—” I began.

“He's in there!” Slate said. Death mages can sense living creatures: it's not as precise as lifesight, but Slate obviously knew what to look for. “Get the door!”

Trask turned the lock and most of the door to dust. Inside was a plain cell, a toilet, a bunk . . . and Haken, lying unmoving on the bed. Slate took a step forward.

“Wait.” Caldera caught him, jerking him to a stop. “Verus, any traps?”

I concentrated. “Can't see.”

Slate shoved Caldera off with an effort and strode into the room. Nothing triggered and he bent over Haken for a second, then looked back at us. “He's okay.”

“I don't like that look on your face,” Caldera said. “What's wrong?”

“This is too easy,” I said. “There weren't even any wards . . .”

“Who cares?” Slate said.

Something clicked. “It's a decoy.”

“Looks like Haken to me,” Caldera said.

“No. I mean, yes, it's him, but that's not what I meant. We weren't—”

“Verus?” Slate said. “Shut up. You've done your job.”

“Wait,” Caldera said. “We weren't what?”

Slate gave Caldera a look. “Really?”

“I've learnt that if you bring a diviner along, it's a good idea to listen to him,” Caldera said. “Especially this one. We weren't what?”

“Vihaela isn't working for White Rose anymore,” I said. “She's bailing.”

“How?”

I spread out my senses, looking for Vihaela. Too much interference—I needed more to go on. I thought about how all this had started. The data focus and what was on it . . .

Information. The real power behind White Rose. I
snapped my fingers. “She'll be at the archives. Wherever they keep their records. She's going to take them and run.”

“Why?” Slate said.

“Because that's what she's after. Look, think about it. What would she want with Haken? She wasn't trying to silence him, she
wants
the Keepers here. Everything she's done has made things worse for White Rose, not better.”

“You don't know that,” Slate said.

I looked up at the ceiling in frustration.
He's not going to listen, is he?
I turned to Caldera.

Caldera looked back at me for a second, then glanced at Slate. “We
are
still under orders to bring her in.”

“You're really buying this?” Slate said.

Caldera shrugged. “I'm just saying.”

Slate hesitated, and I felt the futures fork and then shift. “Fine,” he said. “Trask, get Haken out. We'll take Vihaela.”

“You sure?” Trask said.

“Don't have time to wait.” Slate turned to me. “Find Vihaela. And make it fast.”

We split, Trask carrying Haken back the way we came while Slate, Caldera, and I headed deeper. With only three of us left, there was less interference to my senses. The machine-gun fire from the roof had stopped, and instead I could hear shots echoing from the ground floor; the fight was still going on, and it sounded as though the Council had brought in reinforcements. Shouts and hollow
thuds
echoed from below, and I could smell smoke. The fighting was getting closer, which seemed like a good indication that White Rose was losing. I didn't know where Vihaela was, but I'd managed to get a good enough sense of the building that I could guess where the more secure facilities were housed, and I picked us a route that would avoid as many people as possible. Running footsteps sounded from all around, but in the chaos we were able to make our way across the building without being spotted.

I reached a corner and stopped, using my divination to peer around the edge. The room beyond had a circular door in the far end that looked like a vault, made of metal and
massively thick. The lock had been melted by some kind of intense heat, and the door was swung half open. Bodies lay scattered across the floor. A chair had been knocked over, but apart from that there were no signs of battle, and no bullet holes in the walls. The walls in this section were thicker, blocking out the sounds of the fighting behind, and all of a sudden the corridor was eerily quiet.

Caldera frowned at the bodies. “Any of our guys make it this far?”

“No.” Slate came around the corner and saw what Caldera was looking at. “Blue on blue?”

“I don't think this was an accident,” I said. I nodded at the vault door. “Get ready. Vihaela's coming out.”

“I don't see her.”

“Trust me.”

Slate and Caldera looked at each other, then walked forward, stepping over the bodies to take up positions flanking the door. The anteroom had two corridors leading off it, one to Caldera's right, the other where we'd come from. I stayed close to the corner.