Part 25 (1/2)

Breisi looked up, her face scrubbed with red streaks. ”Resting, I imagine.” Dawn sprang into motion, das.h.i.+ng for Breisi's dungeon door. She heard Kiko behind her, chasing her down.

”It's locked,” Breisi said lifelessly. ”Kiko, just let her go. Let her try to find him.”

Heat covered Dawn's sight, anger turning her vision into bleeding colors that melded together in unstable waves. She had no control over where she was going now-something deep and wounded had taken her over, forcing her to mercilessly shake the iron handle on Breisi's door. Unsuccessful, she pushed away from it, went to another door, then another. All locked.

Hardly fazed, she barged up the stairs, down the hall to The Voice's office.

”Come out!” she yelled at the threshold. ”Or do you know how much I want to kill you right now?”

The words rippled down the hall, through the house, against the ceilings, bouncing off the walls and banging back at her. From the two portraits that were still populated, the ladies watched Dawn, their eyes following her as she entered the office.

As her head closed in on itself, she thought she heard a soft”Shhhh”in her ear.

She brushed the sound away, stalked near his desk, circled, then stood in front of the TV.

”You come out and talk to me, G.o.dd.a.m.n you. Get out here!”

”Hush...”The request brushed over Dawn's arms, silk over flesh. She smelled jasmine.

The tinkle of a chandelier-the one that had drawn her into the boudoir the other night-called to her. A lullaby of gentle crystal.

”Stop playing me,” she said.

”Everything will be alright.”Now it sounded like a mult.i.tude of souls woven together, whispers in a vortex.”Hu-uu-sh...”

Although she wanted to keep her rage in the open, Dawn could feel it receding into a tiny, destructive ball of packed hatred, small enough to fit into one of those boxes she supposedly had in her soul. As the soft voices tried to soothe her, to douse that ball with cool words, Dawn fought to keep her enflamed emotions on the surface, like living armor.

But she couldn't. She was too weak, successful only in pus.h.i.+ng the quelled wrath to the center of her stomach, where it glowed, revolved. Waited to explode full-force again.

Out of nowhere, gentle, invisible fingers began drifting over her arms, pulling her out of the office, stroking her hair, her neck.

”Shhh,”the voices said again.

Dis...o...b..bulated, Dawn struggled against going anywhere, but it was as if she was moving at the command of another force, being led out of the door and into the hall.

With one look back at the office, she saw that the painting of the Elizabethan woman was empty.

How...?

”Shhh...”

She was brought to a dusky room at the far end. Candles flickered inside long, gem-cut tubes of gla.s.s, the light casting wicked shapes on the beige walls. A writing desk stood open, a pen resting over stationery marked with large, elegant writing. Next to it, a bookcase opened away from the wall at an angle, like a door left ajar; it allowed a slat of darkness, a steady stream of crisp wind that made the candle flames dance. In the opposite corner hung a mirror, sheer black material shrouding everything but a peek of reflection. The invisible hands-more than one pair-continued to explore her shoulders, her neck, her back, their touch like a twilight breeze.”No.” Dawn shoved at the air around her, angry that the sensations were making her skin tingle.

She thought she heard a faint giggle.

”Leave us,” said a dredged voice from the dark slat near the bookcase.

It sounded real, unfiltered by a speaker, immediate.

The maddening laughter stopped at the command. A flow of jasmine perfume whooshed past Dawn and out the door. It shut, shaking the walls to a slight vibration.

Dawn took a step toward the slat. ”Is that you, a.s.shole?”

”Stay back, Dawn.”

She stopped, fought her way forward, but she couldn't seem to advance any more.

Yelling, she finally gave up, reduced to a panting wreck. Her buried ire grew, burning through the serenity that the invisible hands had tried so hard to cover her with.

”I won't blindly obey directions,” she said. ”Not anymore,boss. Not since I found out what you set Frank up for.” She faced the darkness, hoping he was right there, feeling every lash of her disappointment. ”How could you do this to him?”

”Dawn...”

And it started again. She could feel his presence, the calming entry, The Voice, slipping into her body through the pores of her skin. Part of her welcomed it, craved it because it would make her forget that much easier. But another part of her battled him out with all the force she could muster.

”Stop,” she whispered.

Her resistance built, heaved against him, stronger, stronger...

”Dawn, I need you to listen-”

With a last-ditch explosion, she cried out, clawed at him with her hands, swiping through cold air.

She heard a grunt, felt him pull back.

”Don't touch me. Don't...”

Her body finally seized up, tears wrenching out of her in a violent squeeze of terror, helplessness, sorrow. She sank to her knees at the force of them.

I've lost it, she told herself. d.a.m.nit. I've lost,period.

She could feel The Voice hovering near, in his dark opening by the bookcase. She wanted to rip into him, tear him open, make him feel as vulnerable as she did right now.

”Not only did you lie to me,” she said through clenched teeth, ”you lied to Frank. Kiko said...”

”I already know what Kiko said.” He sounded beaten. ”I wish you had allowed him to explain further.”

”Explain? Can't I hear even a syllable of truth fromyou?” Stop crying, you wuss.

And Dawn did, though she was so worked up that she couldn't even moderate her breathing. Her lungs stung with the unnatural efforts of holding back, holding together.

”I've never lied to you,” he said. ”There's been some omission, but no lies.”

”Same thing.”

”No.” A long pause cut the room in two, putting them on opposite sides of a chasm. ”It's not the same. I want to keep you safe, but there's so much more at stake. Matters that are worth the sin of omission. Matters that will have an effect on this world much longer than the span of your lifetime.”

”So it's all for the greater good, huh?” Bitter. G.o.d, so bitter. ”You're such a hero, Voice.”

The nickname struck an odd chord, like a grandfather clock whose chimes had warped and accidentally announced a secure hour at midnight.