Page 143 of Gates of Tartarus

Elizabeth watches me through careful eyes. “Was it here?” she taps her ear, “or here,” she says, tapping her head.

“Oh!” I say, voice startled. “No, I thought I heard someone moving around outside your door, like, listening in.” I shake my head slightly, “I can’t drop my shields here… There are too many people. I’m sorry. After the factory, I just…” I shudder to a stop, and a brief flash of satisfaction crosses Elizabeth’s face before concern replaces it.

“Ah. I’m so sorry, Kailani. I can’t tell you how much I regret that you had to go through that. It must have been atrocious for you. I wouldn’t have wished that for you, not ever.” Truth rings out from her words, and truth wraps her in emotion… emotion that is clean and clear, no longer blocked to me. From my position at the door, I can see Elizabeth clearly at the desk, and, just behind the screen where Fallon normally disappears, I can see her head, leaning gently against the wall, eyes closed, deep, even breaths indicating sleep.

Moving forward slowly, I force myself to walk normally and sit lightly on the edge of Elizabeth’s desk, facing her. I rub my forehead, brow creased, and she tilts her head at me, concern lacing her features. “Is everything alright?” she asks, and I nod slowly.

“I just have the start of a migraine,” I reply, voice pained. “I’ve been getting them pretty regularly for the past week. Things aren’t feeling great up here.”

She moves to pick up her office phone, mumbling, “We’ll have our staff doctor do some scans in-house. I’m worried about you, Kailani.” She’s being honest. She is truly worried. But also excited. Happy.

I smile, brow still furrowed. “I think I’m going to take a rain check on that, but maybe tomorrow? I wouldn’t mind a second opinion. I can show myself out, but would you mind setting it up for me? I’m caving on this one. My head hurts enough that I can’t think straight. I can’t drop my shields for aminuteor I pass out.” Grabbing the files from her desk, I frown a little. “I don’t even think I’ll go to the office today. Maybe just have someone grab these from me at home. But yes, I’ll come in tomorrow for a workup, if that’s okay?”

A flare of victory bursts out from her as she nods, already dialing as I leave. Five steps from her door the pained look fades from my face, and I duck into the breakroom that’s down the hall, fumbling frantically with my phone once I’ve locked the door behind me. “Shit,” I say under my breath. “Shit, shit, shit!” Scrolling through the numbers, I search, almost panicked, for the newest addition. One put there, fortuitously enough, by Elizabeth.

Pressing the strange combination of digits, I wait and hear a foreign ringing, different from the longer sound of American phones. Two shortbring-bringssound, followed by a pause, and a second set.Bring-bring. Bring-bring.

“Pick up, pickup,” I mutter.

A laughing voice answers the phone, clearly finishing a conversation. “...Drol!” she says, affection lacing her tone. “Hello?” Her tone is cautious, though still bubbling with amusement, and my harsh whisper cuts through it like a rusty blade.

“Maela?” I ask, almost silently.

“Yes? Who is this?” Her voice sharpens, a strange Anglo-American accent coloring her words. The sounds behind her still, like the entire room has paused.

“It’s Kailani.”

“What’s wrong?” she asks immediately, fear shadowing her voice, but clearly focused, and I thank the gods this girl, my strange mirror that I’ve never met, never spoken to, is already on my side.

“Drop in on Elizabeth right now,” I command shortly.

“But…” she protests, clearly confused.

“Now!” I bite out, barely breathing. “There’sno time!”

“Right. Right!” I hear her fumble with the phone and snap at someone, “Stop! I’ve got to… Kailani, I’m going now!”

A male voice, accent strange, not English, not quite, growls into the phone. “She’s going. Get somewhere safe if you’re not. I’ll call Maddox as soon as we know something.” And the call ends.

Into the Fire

Thursday, 6 December – Maela

This afternoon, Seef has me doing sets of ten stair-runs followed by a three-minute break. I thought I’d gotten out of doing drills today, since Seef had to go into MI6, but when he came back, he just announced that we’d do thembefore dinner. Uggh. I’m on my third set, puffing up the basement stairs, when my phone rings. Seef looks at me from the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t even think about it.”

I stick out my tongue at him and dart into the hallway.

“Driscoll!” he bellows and charges up after me. “You are meant to be training, not discussing the latest French fashions.”

Can I help it if my mother called during the movie last night? Normally, of course, talk of clothes bores me to tears, but the guys had voted for a thriller instead of a period drama, and I wanted to make them pay. I chattered animatedly about the importance of choosingla bonne couleurandles tissus, interrupting crucial moments of the plot. My mother sounded somewhat flabbergasted towards the end of our conversation; I don’t think I’ve ever shown such enthusiasm for her favorite subject before.

I grab the phone, trilling “drol!” before remembering that I’ve hit the answer button.

“Hello?” I say, hoping that whoever’s on the other end didn’t hear what I’ve just said. Seef still hasn’t explained it, but I know it’s rude.

A shadow of whisper: “Maela?”

“Yes? Who is this?” Only a handful of people have this number, and I don’t recognize the woman’s voice.

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