Page 161 of Gates of Tartarus

Jonah, Deo, and Walker exchange some kind of odd, three-way look, but the moment is interrupted by the captain’s voice over the loudspeaker announcing ten minutes ‘til takeoff. We all sit at attention then, and Maddox looks around at us. “This is done now, unless it becomes a problem. Okay? It’s done. So let’s discuss our plans for England.”

Pulling out our dossiers, we compare notes and review what will comprise the events of the next few days. And if there’s a strange thum of energy in the cabin, everyone is smart enough to ignore it.

Aladdin’s Cave

Monday, 10 December – Maela

They’re here. They’ve landed in London, and everything’s set. At the benefit, Kailani and I will try to meet as many people as we can. And then, I’ll try to have visions of as many of the people Kailani pegs as members of Kronos as I can, gathering information that Babylon can use to help fit all of the pieces together. It’s Gaia’s biggest event, so there’s bound to be high-ranking members of the organization there. According to Kailani, there’s a whole layer between Elizabeth, on the one hand, and Magda and Tennireef, on the other, that we’ve only heard of by code name, and that by chance. So, I muse to Seef: the tattoos must indicate something other than rank – Magda has three and Tennireef only has two – unless there’s another Kronos symbol we haven’t yet discovered?

Seef and the guys aren’t very happy with the plan, nor, from what I gather, is the US team. It is, to put it mildly, full of holes. It’s not so much a plan as a sieve. But we’ve had no time to prepare. Kailani and I will be going to work for Gaia come the new year – based in the Seattle office. In cold, rainy Seattle, far, far away from cold, rainy London. Just thinking about leaving makes me break into a cold sweat, and I’m kicking myself for inventing that bit about my dad needing an operation. Maybe I can stage a miraculous recovery for him? Yes, I’ll have the support of Kailani and her team, but Emlyn, Jorge, and Kavi, and even Seef the Super Scrot won’t be there. The very thought makes me want to weep. And guaranteed that as soon as Kailani and I get to Gaia, we’ll be hooked up to machines faster than we can blink, like something out of a low-budget sci-fi film, our psychic organs harvested. Adding to the cluster-effedness of it all, Tennireef will probably get access to at least some of Babylon’s files by the end of the year, conveniently granted by the head of CDS, so we’re under the gun to find something and sharpish. How, though, is where it all starts to go a bit fuzzy. The US team’s known for some time now that Tennireef is crooked, but he hasn’t been arrested because “feelings” and “visions” aren’t useable evidence. And I can hardly say to a judge: “You see, your honor, I saw Elizabeth Cole speaking with an assassin about murdering one of their associates. Did she order the hit? Well, no, not in so many words… And can we show the surveillance tape? Ah, the thing is, I have telesthesia, and I saw the conversation from a distance, in my head. But it’s for real. Swear.”

We’ve spent the last few days hashing and rehashing plans. The guys have confined me to the house, and I’m officially going a little stir crazy. London is getting decked out for Christmas –the mooost wonDERful tiiime of the year– and I can’t even go soak up the sights. I try to point out that I’m hardly in any danger from Kronos now that Elizabeth thinks I’m going to come work for Gaia, but the guys ignore me. They’re all work, work, work. The one bright spot is that the benefit is going to be a masked ball, like something out of Casanova’s Venice, so I get to dress up. Emlyn suggests that I go as Little Bo Peep, the rotter.

I trip into the conservatory. “Joorge! Kaavi!”

Two distracted sets of eyes, one gold, one green, look up at me.

“Querida!” Jorge smiles at me, a little tiredly. His chocolate-brown hair is tousled, and his stubble’s grown a little thicker. We’ve all been nose to the grindstone, and it’s clear he hasn’t had a chance to shave. He looks deliciously shaggable, and, remembering Thanksgiving, I go a little pink.

“Hey, Maela girl. What’s up?” Kavi rubs the back of his neck and rolls his head to work out the kinks, strands of midnight hair falling untidily over his jaw. Looking at the play of his muscled shoulders, I lick my lips, suddenly tempted to suggest a group massage, but that wouldn’t be fair on Kavi. Our first time together should be just the two of us; I just have to decide when that will be.

They’ve spent the morning pouring over plans of the venue. In keeping with the occasion, Gaia’s biggest social and fundraising event of the year, Elizabeth’s hired the Livery Hall and Court Rooms of the Drapers’ Company in the City of London. It’s a hop, skip, and a jump from the Bank of England and just down the street from St. Paul’s and the Tower. I think it sounds a bit pedestrian myself – “livery” makes me think of a pallid, grey meat product – until I Google it and see the pictures. The headquarters of the Worshipful Company of Drapers dates back to the Middle Ages. Formerly the site of a priory turned palace, it was bought by the guild from Henry VIII, who’d seized it after lopping off Thomas Cromwell’s noodle. The palace burned down in the Great Fire of London and again in 1772 but was lavishly rebuilt and then renovated in the nineteenth century. I can’t believe I’m going to have the chance to poke my toes inside, and there’s no way I’m wearing my tired little black dress.

“So, the ball’s less than a week away, and I need to be presentable.”

“I’m sure you’ll look beautiful in whatever you wear,querida,” Jorge says gallantly. Then he looks down at the plans again, forehead creasing as he mulls over the exits or something equally tedious.

“That’s not the point, Jorge! Although, thank you. But I’m going to be hobnobbing with minor royalty and celebs, and I need to blend in.”

“And you need to, what, buy a new outfit to impress the great and the greedy?” Kavi manages to look skeptical and amused all at the same time, interlacing his fingers and extending his arms, palms turned outwards.

I stamp my foot. “That’s not the point,” I hiss. “I’m goingundercover. I need adisguise.” I enunciate the words slowly, as if I were speaking to a toddler.

Kavi looks at Jorge. “Any chance of her letting this drop?”

Jorge shakes his head resignedly. “No. I am afraid, but no.”

Kavi looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “Like a horse with a bit between her teeth. Alright,ladki. What did you have in mind?”

I lean forward. “I’ve found the perfect place,” I say excitedly. “Small World Fancy Dress. They haveeverything. Egyptian, Roman, Georgian, Roaring Twenties! And they have anamazingselection ofhandmadeVenetian masks.”

“OK. Can you order online?”

I stare at him, appalled. “Order… online?”

“Yes. That way, we wouldn’t have to go out.”

Jorge looks at Kavi. “You’re playing withfuego, my friend.” Jorge stretches, gold-flecked eyes glinting merrily, and he leans back in his chair as if to watch the show.

I stamp my foot again and plonk my hands on my hips for good measure. “No, I cannotorder online. I mean, I probably could, but that’s neither here nor there. I need toseeandtry onthe costumes before deciding. And don’t think I missed that opprobrious comparison to a horse, although, I like horses, so, joke’s on you. But I’m going out. With or without your say-so, you dictatorial Neanderthal!” I can feel myself going red in the face.

“Now you’ve done it,” Jorge reproaches Kavi, who merely flashes a grin. That serves to amp my temper up to white-hot levels. I’ve had three days of being confined to the house, of having my emails checked over my shoulder, of having to ask if it’s OK to make calls, of being smothered; and I’m already nervous enough as is without the men planning for the hundred-and-one ways things could go wrong.

“You!” I glare at Jorge, pointing an accusatory finger.

“Me! What have I done?”

“You’ve encouraged him, and you’re finding this terribly amusing, and you’re just… Gaaah!” I turn and flounce out of the room.

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