Waging War (8 page)

Mr. Shaw continued quietly. “There were
enough injuries still repairing themselves that we could have tried
the virus on him.”

I looked sharply at him, my stomach suddenly
full of razorblades.

He shook his head. “We didn’t, though Ringo
said Archer wants the cure.”

Some of those razorblades flew out of my
eyes at Ringo. His look back said he’d fight me if he had to, but
he was too tired and worried to get up and start it.

I turned back to Mr. Shaw. “You’ve seen him
at his weakest. Can you honestly tell me you’re sure he’d survive
something that turns off the only thing that has kept him alive
through all those injuries? What if you turn it off and he has to
survive every one of those injuries again? You know there’s no way
a normal human would live through that.”

He looked at me for what felt like several
lifetimes before he finally spoke again. “You’re right. I have no
idea the severity or scope of the injuries from which he would have
to heal if we turned off the super-charged telomerase.”

I waited for something more, some defense of
his work, but although he opened his mouth to say something else,
nothing came out. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

I went over to Archer’s side and Ringo got
up from his seat. He didn’t look at me when he told Mr. Shaw to
call him if Archer needed more blood. It hurt me that Ringo left
without meeting my eyes, but it hurt me more that he would have
been okay playing roulette with Archer’s life. I looked up at Mr.
Shaw. “You don’t have to call him for blood. I can give whatever
Archer needs.”

He shook his head. “No, actually, you
can’t.”

I stared at him. “I did before— in
France.”

“He can ingest your blood because it breaks
down differently in his digestive tract, but he can’t be transfused
with it, which is what he needs. Despite the mutation, he’s still a
Seer, and your Clocker and Shifter blood doesn’t mix.”

“Are you sure? Because Wilder got Clocking
skills from my mom’s blood.”

Mr. Shaw’s voice turned hard. “Do you really
want to find that out now? In his condition?”

“I don’t know, it seems like you were
thinking about injecting him with an untested viral cure
in his
condition
.” I should have bitten back the words, but I was too
tired, and the last of the fear-induced adrenaline had left me
shaky.

But Mr. Shaw didn’t see the bags under my
eyes, or my trembling hands. He only heard the bitter words, and
his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Saira, when I got Archer here he
was unconscious and couldn’t drink. Ringo was the one person in
this house I could safely ask for enough transfused blood to keep
him alive. Ringo jumped at the chance to help his friend, and you
just treated him like he held a knife to Archer’s throat. You
accuse us of playing fast and loose with Archer’s life, and yet
somehow your love and care is worth more than any of ours? Grow up,
Saira, you’re not the only one with something to lose.”

Mr. Shaw ignored my shocked expression and
left the keep.

“Well, that was interesting.”

I spun back to face Archer, who slowly
cracked his eyelids.

“I pissed him off,” I said as exhaustion
coursed through me. I shouldn’t have had any tears left to cry
after the marathon session in the car, but apparently my eyeballs
didn’t get the memo. I sat, dully, and resisted touching him
because he still looked so hurt. “And Ringo, and probably Connor by
now too. The only person who isn’t mad at me at the moment is –
inexplicably – Millicent.”

“He sounded more worried than angry. Much
like a parent whose child just ran in front of a car.”

I choked back a sob at his feeble attempt at
a joke, and Archer cracked a tiny smile. The sight of it made my
heart do backflips in my chest and I wiped my eyes messily. “How do
you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a truck.”

A fresh wave of slightly hysterical teary
laughter hit for a second. “You did. Well, a van, actually. What
were you thinking?” I smoothed the hair away from his forehead, and
bits of dried blood flaked off with it.

“That I couldn’t lose you.”

“I would have Clocked out eventually.”

“Your wrists were zip-tied behind you.
There’s no Clocking from the bottom of the Thames without
hands.”

He coughed, and then winced at the pain. I
held my hand on his shoulder as if I could transfer healing through
the bandage on his chest to the wound beneath. He looked around,
and his voice was hoarse when he spoke again. “I feel like I’m
somebody’s offering to the Gods.”

My bark of choked laughter made him smile
again. “I’m sure it made sense at the time.”

He looked at me through serious eyes. “I’m
sorry.”

“For what? Almost dying? I’m not sure I’m
ready to forgive that yet.” I was only joking a little bit.

“He took you, and there was nothing I could
do to stop it.”

I stared at him. “That’s not on you!”

“I wasn’t there.” A weird anguish trembled
in his voice.

“It was daytime. You couldn’t be.”

“Exactly.” The word was dull and
dead-sounding, and I wanted to shake some life into it.

“Archer, we’ve had this conversation before.
I don’t do stupid stuff during the day when you can’t be there.
This wasn’t dangerous. I was with Mom and Jeeves and we were going
to fricking tea!”

My voice broke and Archer looked instantly
worried. “What did Walters do to them? Shaw called Cleary, and the
minute I woke up he sent me to find you.”

“The ring.” I said. “He used the Monger ring
on them. It was like they were both in a trance, and they did
whatever he told them to do.”

“He didn’t use it on you?”

I shook my head. “I think he tried to, but
it didn’t work on me. I don’t know why. He said something that made
me wonder, so I asked him if it was just me or any mixed-blood and
he got so angry—” Archer struggled to sit up. “Wait, what are you
doing? You can’t get up yet.” I tried to push him back down to his
makeshift bed, but he swung his legs over the side and sat, panting
slightly, on the edge of the table.

“Help me to the sofa.” His breath came
harder, but it wasn’t wet or bubbly-sounding, so short of pushing
him back, I had no choice. I got my shoulder under his arm and
helped him to the Victorian-style settee. He sat heavily, then
arranged himself so there was room for me.

“Tell me everything.”

So I did. He held my hand and looked into my
eyes, and I shared every detail with him. And somehow the sharing
of it took some of the weight away, like he was there to carry an
end anytime it got too heavy for me to carry alone.

By the time I had finished the telling, I
was curled next to Archer and the last thing I remembered was him
stroking my hair and saying he loved me. I thought I heard the door
open and Archer’s voice rumble in his chest, but I was so deeply
asleep it felt like dreams.

I snapped awake just before dawn, which I
knew only because Archer told me he had to sleep.

“Are you better?” I asked.

“I will be when I see you tonight.”

“Thank you.”

I could feel him smile as he drifted off to
sleep, and I carefully uncurled myself from his side and locked the
door to the keep behind me.

Breaking the Spell

I found Ringo in the library, up on a
ladder, looking through old World War II books.

“He’s sleeping,” I said when I came in. I
handed him up a cup of coffee with lots of fresh cream and sugar,
and he took a satisfied sip.

“Peace offerin’ or bribe?” He came down the
ladder and sat on the edge of the table.

“Peace.”

He nodded once. “Accepted.”

“Thank you for giving him blood.” I searched
his face. He looked tired and pale, but otherwise unscathed from
his donation.

He shrugged. “Ye do what needs doin’.”

“Archer’s right. We have to find Tom,” I
said.

Ringo’s eyebrows arched up in surprise.
“What changed yer mind?”

“Seth Walters wants him. He’s willing to
trade kidnapped mixed-bloods for him.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Ye wouldn’t be
tradin’ Tom back to that monster.”

“Clearly not. But what’s so important about
him that Slick would make that kind of deal? It seemed like he
thought he could take over control of the Council if he had Tom
with him, like they’d be afraid of Tom’s power. And how does Slick
know he’s still alive anyway?”

Ringo looked thoughtful for a long moment as
he sipped his coffee. “‘E’s got the mixed-bloods for sure,
then?”

I ran down the same conversation I’d had
with Archer the night before, and Ringo looked a little sick when I
described the crumpled remains of the Aston Martin and the
condition of Archer’s body when he collapsed in the back of the
van.

“It’s good that Walters is on the run at the
moment, but ‘e should be banned from Council. And if it really was
yer mixed blood that kept ye safe from that ring and its power to
compel, then rescuin’ those other mixed-bloods and bringin’ them
out of the woodwork is the key to leashin’ the Mongers.”

I stared at him. “That’s it! That’s why he’s
been taking mixed-bloods! They can’t be controlled with the ring.
This is huge, Ringo, because it means there’s a way to stop the
Mongers.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise and he
regarded me for a long moment. “It’s an interestin’ theory, but the
only thing ye know for sure is that the ring didn’t work on
ye.”

“But it makes sense, doesn’t it? The Mongers
want power and control. They get power when they can control the
Families, but if mixed-bloods are unaffected by the ring, they
can’t be controlled.”

He didn’t look convinced. “What’s to stop
Walters from just killin’ all ‘is prisoners, if they are still
prisoners? I mean that many mixed-bloods on the open market, and
‘e’ll ‘ave problems tellin’ anyone what to do.”

“That would be mass murder.”

Ringo scoffed and tossed his head at the
World War II book on the table. “I’ve been readin’ yer ‘istory.
Ye’ve ‘eard of the frog in the water theory of war, right?”

“Throw a frog in a pot of boiling water and
he jumps right out?” I said.

Ringo finished. “But put ‘im in cold water
and turn up the ‘eat slowly, ‘e’ll stay in that pot until ‘e
dies.”

“I know that’s what Hitler did, but what
does that have to do with the Mongers?”

“Ye ever ‘eard of a little thing called the
Mixed-Blood Moratorium? Or ‘ow about the Death Edict for Vampires –
technically, they’re mixed too since ye ‘ave to be a Descendent to
be infected.” He looked me straight in the eyes. “The ‘eat’s been
being turned up for ‘undreds of years. Killin’ a whole slew o’
mixed-bloods would just be bringin’ the water to boil.”

It was after dinner when we all finally met
in the library. I had slept for a couple more hours, then spent a
few hours working with my mom according to Liz’s instructions.
Speak slowly. Tell her what really happened. Don’t get frustrated
when she goes blank or doesn’t remember.

I had been in medieval France when they
brought my mom out of the Monger ring daze the first time, when she
and Millicent had been hit with Slick’s words in the Council
meeting, and I had no idea it was so hard. Liz said that this time
seemed worse, so the effects might be cumulative, and I couldn’t
imagine what it would feel like to have my will pre-empted like
that. I thought we’d made some headway though, because her eyes
cleared at one point and she suddenly realized it was me sitting in
front of her.

“Saira! You’re safe!”

“Yeah, Mom – I’m here,” I said, grabbing her
hand.

Then she lapsed back into her dreamy state.
“Of course you’re safe. He said you would be.”

I left her room soon after that and
Millicent took my place. She squeezed my hand briefly as she went
into the bedroom, and I was ridiculously grateful for that
touch.

Connor was already in the library, looking
hollow-eyed and a little lost when I arrived.

“How’s Jeeves?” I asked.

His eyes focused slowly, but he finally
answered. “Did you know his first name is Mason? That’s what my mum
calls him when she sits in front of him, holds his hands, and tells
him things that are true.”

“What kind of things?” Liz had only just
moved her family into Jeeves’ flat above the garage during the
summer, so it wasn’t like she’d known him for very long.

“That she watches him work on the cars and
she likes how strong his hands are. She notices all the nice things
he does for us, but her favorites are the fresh flowers that
magically appear in the kitchen window every week. And she loves
that he’s teaching me things – things a boy should learn from his
fa—” Connor’s voice broke and he cleared it wetly. “His
father.”

I caught his gaze in mine. “How do you feel
about that?”