Covey grins even more, “Then what better place to keep her than the Cellar?”
The guards push me through the crowd. It’s hard to hear anything through the chaos.
“Are you irrelevant?” Arek yells at the crowd. “Is everything Remy did for you irrelevant? She fought for your freedom . . .”
The crowd starts to erupt, angry and fierce, making the guards work harder.
“Commander Rykor, stand down!” Covey yells.
They quickly pull their weapons and grab Arek and the others. It is obvious the guards are torn. Many love Arek but are bound.
Nearly five guards push me through the crowd, away from Arek, toward the entrance of this strange underground arena.
“Arek?” I call out, not knowing what to do, as my head still feels like it is underwater from Gyre’s digging.
The men tie my hands behind my back and lead me through the doors, saying nothing. We pass those who cry out for my freedom and those who cry for my imprisonment, but I can see in Covey and Hawking’s eyes that my release is not an option.
Suddenly someone breaks through the crowd, running straight toward me. The guards try to stop him, but he is faster and smarter. He slides on the ground beneath their arms, taking out my feet so that I crash to the floor. Then another man punctures the line, then another, then another, until the Prophet’s guards are outnumbered. The yells through the hall are deafening, as I feel the pressure of several people ripping, hitting, and pulling at me.
I am in darkness. I can hear Briston, then Kilon and Arek yelling—desperate for someone to handle the situation. Finally, several bodies pile over me, breaking me from the attack. Arek, Kilon, and Briston have thrown themselves through the crowd and lie there.
“Is this what you want, sirs?” Briston yells. The room quiets down as he cries out. “If she is Remona wouldn’t she have been able to help herself?”
The opposing sides of the crowd begin to chant. Hearing the chaos, the other Prophets, Mannon and Jenner, return and are now standing in the doorway. They watch the scene with bitterness, then turn to Covey and Hawking with Prophet Zelner just beside them.
“Arek, take her to the conference room,” Leigh calls out.
It takes Kilon and Arek several minutes to push their way through the crowd, and we enter a smaller room with a large table and chairs; several Japanese paintings line the walls. Soon the Prophets arrive, looking quite a bit older up close. Mannon and Jenner smile at me. Jenner is a woman with soft African features. Her skin is deep brown with freckles speckled along her nose and breathtaking eyes that expose clear intuition. She appears to be in her sixties, however that means so little in the Velieri world. Mannon is a kind looking man with pink cheeks and a round nose. He looks just a bit like Santa Claus, which is dynamically different from the cautious almost cold stares of Covey and Hawking. Zelner is the only Prophet that I am completely unable to read. He seems the youngest, with a straight face and silver rimmed glasses.
“That was a mess,” Arek bitterly reprimands his father.
It is obvious that Arek’s liberty infuriates Leigh, but before he can speak, Mannon takes center stage. “I refuse to allow this woman to enter the walls of the Cellar. She is not Remona, no matter the illusion that you are under, Covey.” Mannon’s belly moves in and out as he takes deep breaths due to his size.
Briston steps forward, “Send her with us. One week, sirs, and we will be better prepared. She will be better prepared. One week isn’t too long. And meanwhile, we have your word that your investigation into the whereabouts of Navin and Japha will continue.”
“Wherever she is, they won’t be far behind.” Kilon can’t help himself as he speaks under his breath.
“We’ve not asked you, Mr. Pierne,” Covey says to Kilon.
This only infuriates Kilon, so he continues. “They came for her. Are we supposed to believe they weren’t a part of the original attack?” Kilon’s confidence takes over the room. “The attack that left her for dead. If we hadn’t been watching her, we all know this would have ended very differently.”
“You’re this close, Pierne,” Hawking warns with long fingers. “You know what it means to question us. You are on dangerous ground.” Her eyes glare directly into his.
Kilon grins at Arek, “That’s a place I’ve never been before.” Arek can’t help but smirk.
“We take a vote,” Jenner says, her eyes stealing the attention. Everyone nods. “One week under Arek and Kilon’s care. What say you?”
Mannon declares, “Aye.”
“Aye,” Jenner says.
Covey begins again with a shake of his head. “There is only one answer and that is the Cellar. When the people hear—”
“Zelner?” Jenner interrupts Covey.
Zelner takes what feels like an hour. “One week. We can’t send her now.”
Jenner doesn’t need Covey and Hawking’s approval. “There you have it. Three have agreed. But one week and Briston . . .” She waits for his eyes to fall on her. “Only one week. She is still a criminal.” She turns to Arek and Leigh. “Leigh, it is your job to put out the fires this creates. Talk to the Reds and the CTA. I don’t envy you in this day and age.”
Leigh grunts.
Before long, Kilon, Sassi, Arek, and Briston lead me swiftly through descending tunnels and into a waiting car that I have never seen. The others—Beckah, Peter, and Geo—keep watch.
Briston looks at us. “I’ve got to go. Someone has to do something about Navin and Japha. If the government won’t, I will.”
He hugs me then hurries away.
Only minutes later, Arek sighs as we pull out of the Velieri headquarters in Tokyo. “Well, we bought time.”
Nearly in unison everyone’s shoulders droop, and diaphragms expand even though the atmosphere outside is a night life challenging only the best of casinos in the world. I stare at Arek’s profile for just a moment, the words he shared within those walls reveal more than I want to accept. I may share a face with Remy, but that is all.
Sassi peers into the rearview mirror, her eyes expressing immediate concern. Her foot on the pedal tells a story as she zips around two cars so Arek and Kilon quickly glance out the window. Arek pulls out guns because of what he sees. Carefully keeping my nose below the back seat, I peek out. Three cars swerve in and out of traffic, the first kissing our bumper just slightly before Sassi bolts.
“There’s never time,” Sassi says calmly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
My fingernails clutch the tan leather of the interior as the car fishtails from the main street, where lights never cease, to a side street that just may provide amorphous shadows when needed. Late night—all levels of drunkenness—partiers scurry in panic to get out of the way of Sassi’s strategic driving, then find safety in corners just as four more cars squeal by. They leave fragmented streaks on the pavement.
