“It’s our job.”
“Mr. Rykor, is it? I think maybe your time could be of better use.”
“When you’ve lived eight hundred years, time is irrelevant. Besides I was doing what I wanted to do.”
“Who is the Electi? Why is he in here? This room?”
“Safety. There are several rooms in this house that are safer than others.”
“Why?”
“You’d never understand.”
Kilon steps from the room with a hand reached out to say they are ready.
I take one last glance out over the rolling white meadow. The prance of a herd of deer creating their own singular path of footprints should feel more interesting, yet not with what’s ahead of me. Arek places a hand on my arm. “Let’s go. Everything will be fine.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Middle school dances or parties that you aren’t really invited to, but you show up anyway, are no comparison to the instant discomfort of this situation. The room off the back of the house is surprisingly spacious. There are black walls, one brick wall, and cognac brown leather couches and chairs. Women and men who resemble secret service are everywhere within the large den. Everyone has weapons in their belts, thick vests, and wires hanging from earpieces.
There is one voice that is more familiar than any of the others, which, of course, makes no sense, but for whatever reason I am drawn to the deep rigidity of it. When I follow the sound, a man who stands just under six feet tall, his hair salt and pepper, is on the phone near the back. His voice sounds as though it has been through war, deep and raspy, as he paces back and forth.
Only when Kilon taps his shoulder does he turn to the entrance where he then drops his phone on the table beside him without even saying good-bye. Everyone inquisitively watches what might transpire so by default I look to Arek. He squeezes my handcuffed arm.
It isn’t difficult to see that he is important. The entourage surrounds him, but it is also his presence. His handsome and rugged smile fills the dark grandpa-in-his-den style room and even though many of the others tower over his short and stocky frame, he seems seven feet tall. There is no other way to describe his massive and consuming confidence, but that it is obvious he has lived many lives and been the David to many Goliaths.
“So, is he like seven thousand years old or something?” I whisper.
Arek grins, “Not quite. Just don’t say that to his face.”
“Never.”
He seems to have a more familial response than I expect. Perhaps I had pictured Edward Longshanks with a foul disposition, but this isn’t royalty from history books. He can’t say “off with her head” and get away with it. Or maybe he can? I suppose I didn’t know.
He watches me just like everyone else. It is so quiet we can hear the snowflakes hitting the windows. He is dressed as any casual businessman with black suit pants and a button-up white collared shirt, which is untucked and unbuttoned at the top as if he is off duty. It makes me wonder—did these people go off duty? Everyone in the room makes sure to get out of his way as he walks to me. The closer he comes the harder my heart pounds. Arek’s eyes never leave his.
Finally, he breaks the silence, “Hello.”
The word is so simple that it doesn’t feel right to say it back to him. Yet I do, “Hello.”
“Do you know who I am?” he asks.
Again, the questions circle in my head. Does he want me to?
“No. You’re someone that people fear though.”
“I wouldn’t say fear,” he grins as he looks around to get everyone’s perspective. His entourage seem to disagree, and he looks at me with surprise. “Okay, maybe you’re right.”
He looks at Arek with a raised eyebrow, to which Arek responds, “She doesn’t remember anything, and I’ve told her only a small portion.”
Sadness creeps into his eyes making him drop the smile, but only for a moment. His reaction surprises me. “No, that’s good.” His words contradict everything that can be read on his face. “That’s good,” he repeats. “I’m Briston.”
I nod, “Willow.”
Just then a gangly man with a hollow face comes forward. As Briston looks me over kindly, this man does just the opposite. His eyebrow is high, and he stands with his chest pronounced. Something about him is also familiar.
“How can we know for sure?” the man asks.
Within seconds of hearing his voice, an indistinct front line is drawn between this man and Arek, with a cascading tension hitting everyone like wild shrapnel. Arek’s chest rises and his jaw tightens but the war is obviously to be camouflaged like gentlemen.
“She doesn’t remember a thing,” Arek states. “Like I said, she only knows what little I have told her.”
“Arek would know, Leigh,” Briston says to the man beside him.
What does he mean by that?
“I just don’t see how she can go through so much and not remember anything. Did Navin get a hold of her?”
“Never without us there,” Arek states.
“But he did have her,” Leigh pushes.
“Please, Briston,” Arek begins. “It’s best if we take her. It will not take long for Navin and his men to figure out where we are. She must hide.”
Leigh attacks, “Out of the question. I have to arrest her immediately.”
“What?” I ask quickly. My heart races and I pull on the cuffs.
