Page 154 of The Pansy Paradox
“The plan was broken from the start.”
Pansy’s words startled them both. Her voice was dreamy, tinged with that precursor to the Sight. Max expression lost some of its spite, and he turned a tender gaze toward his daughter. Henry dug through his pockets and then passed her a handkerchief. The dots of red that stained the linen looked stark in the gray around them.
“You’re right, sweetheart. Two agendas, one disastrous outcome. I can’t give you the specifics. Your mother couldn’t tell me, and there’s only so much we can monitor from our side. In fact, it took me months to figure out who, exactly, had betrayed your mother. But she had planned a ritual to heal, to extend what was happening in King’s End to the state, the country, the world, even. She had big plans, your mother. Unfortunately, Botten had big plans as well.”
“Your side? Monitoring?” The notion of it pinged in Henry’s mind. Of course the Enclave knew other dimensions existed. After all, their ancestors had originated somewhere other than this earth. But did these dimensions have such advanced technology that they could observe others?
“I’ll get to that, trust me.”
Trust Max Monroe? No. Absolutely not. Henry felt certain that Max would avoid elaborating if not pushed, but he pursed his lips and nodded.
“Your mother planned to heal. Botten planned to subvert her ritual, reverse it, and use that power to open the gateway. From there, I imagine he thought he could use the force of that, the resources of an open gateway, to consolidate his own power.”
“Who does that?” Pansy’s scowl deepened. “I don’t understand who…” She paused as if unable to articulate the necessary hunger, the soul-twisting desire for such a thing.
“Who has that sort of ambition?” Henry sighed. “I don’t understand it, either.”
You’re a liar, Henry Darnelle. You understand it perfectly. Didn’t his father always caution against unbridled anything, be it lust, greed, or ambition? And yet, didn’t the Enclave encourage that sort of thing, to a point?
“A gateway always demands a sacrifice,” Henry added. “I’m guessing that was the role Botten had planned for my father.”
Max gave him a grin that was, in a word, feral. “Like I said. Clever. I don’t know what Rose did. I’m guessing here, too. She could never say what happened, and she can’t, even now. But she did manage a countermove. Instead of a killing blow, your father was literally struck dumb.” Max nodded at Henry before turning to Pansy. “I imagine Botten launched a counter curse, since no one in King’s End can speak of that day or tell you anything about Reginald Botten.”
“‘I can’t say his name.’ That’s what Adele kept insisting,” Pansy said. “The two of us thought it sounded like a curse, the kind from a fairy tale. And now you’re saying there are such things?”
Max inclined his head toward Henry.
Henry steeled himself, swallowed back the revulsion. Curses ate away at something deep inside him. Their aftertaste was bitter and sharp, like nettles against his tongue. When possible, he avoided them altogether. “In the normal course of things, the Enclave uses curses to help calm the local population, help them forget. Failing that, render them unable to speak about certain events.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she said.
“It’s classified. It’s also something only a principal field agent can perform. In fact, it’s a requirement for the rank. Not every agent can deploy a curse.” Henry paused for a moment, considering that, wondering briefly if Pansy had inherited the skill from Rose Little. “And curses always involve blood.”
Pansy turned toward him, eyes astonished. “Then you…?”
Henry pursed his lips and nodded. Yes. He had.
“Oh.” Pansy was silent for a moment. “Remember how Adele tried with the photographs? It was almost like it was painful.”
No doubt it was.
“Ah, yes. The photographs.” Max rubbed his hands together. “They don’t seem like much, but that circumstantial evidence would’ve been enough to launch an investigation, along with ruining several marriages and careers. That’s how they’ve kept Botten in check all these years.”
Pansy frowned. “Then, why didn’t they?” She turned toward Henry, imploring, beseeching. “Why not give someone on the High Council the photographs and be done with it? Wouldn’t it be enough? Wouldn’t that have been the right thing to do?”
“Oh, sweetheart, the Enclave doesn’t work like that.” Max was shaking his head, and then his eyes met Henry’s. Oh, yes, the two of them not only understood each other, but the Enclave as well.
“It was a scorched earth tactic,” Henry said. “I suppose the Enclave would have gotten around to investigating King’s End and come to the conclusion that Botten had done something irrevocable. In the meantime, it would’ve been chaos. The lives of multiple agents, many of them good people, on the whole, would’ve been ruined. It would’ve disrupted everything. Think of what happens to the world if no one’s around to tame those level five hot spots.” He pitched his voice softer. “Or what King’s End might be like without you, or your mother, always on guard.”
Pansy didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded.
“Yes. That’s it exactly.” Max swung toward Henry and, for the first time, the man’s expression was devoid of malice. “Your father was clever, too. He did everything he could to help Rose, and I believe he paid for it with an early death.”
Words failed Henry, but he swallowed hard, kept his gaze locked on Max, and managed a nod.
“Your mother was able to close the gateway, but it was always a makeshift solution because?—”
“The ritual isn’t complete,” Henry finished, “and the gateway is still expecting a sacrifice.” The enormity of that blew through him. He felt paper-thin and helpless. When Max didn’t utter a single sarcastic comment, Henry knew he was right and that the world was balanced on the edge of an abyss.
