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Could she therefore have a life with Jean-Pierre?
He met her gaze and frowned slightly. What is it, chérie? he sent.
Movement on the platform shifted her gaze in the direction of the Militia Warriors who still stood battle-ready and waiting.
“Incoming,” one of the men shouted.
Fiona drew in a sharp breath.
The next moment a cage appeared, a supersized dog kennel with an enormous gold metallic bow on the top.
In the cage was … Rith, bound and trussed.
She understood. A gift from Casimir.
The lead warrior moved toward the kennel. He turned back to Seriffe. “There’s a letter here.”
“Give it to me.”
The warrior plucked it from the top of the kennel and handed it to the colonel. Seriffe glanced back at her. “It’s addressed to you, Fiona.”
She left Jean-Pierre and went straight to her son-in-law. She withdrew the elegant card that bore Casimir’s name in raised black script on the front. She turned the card over.
May you enjoy your newfound powers. As for Rith, decapitation then cremation on separate pyres. Best wishes, C.
She handed the note to Seriffe. A moment later, he muttered, “Jesus H. Christ.”
Her gaze fell to Rith, who lay on his side, his hands bound, his ankles bound, and his knees drawn up tight.
Rith, her enemy. The one she had been seeking all this time. Casimir had simply offered him up.
Why?
She knew the question needed answering, but right now all she could do was stare at the man who had kept her prisoner for over a hundred years, who had month after month seen that she was drained for her dying blood then brought back to life.
Rage suddenly boiled through her, rising from so deep within her body that she didn’t need to be told that her aura was on fire. She could feel the heat all over her skin, and a golden glow now enveloped the room.
The Militia Warriors all started talking at once, commenting on her aura. The alarms shrieked once more, evidence no doubt of the sudden surge of power she emitted.
Seriffe was on the com talking to Bev, and within seconds the alarms stopped.
She moved close to the cage. “Rith Do’onwa,” she called out in a strong voice, “you will answer today for the women you murdered in the Burma facility where you held me captive. What do you have to say to me?”
“That I murdered no one,” he responded. “The women were weak and chose death. They died when they lost the will to live.”
Splitting f**king hairs.
She put her hands on the cage. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. She thought maybe she would pick it up and throw it against the wall.
Instead she dropped to her knees, put her hands in her lap, then held his gaze. Again, in a strong voice, she said, “I am Fiona Gaines, the first woman taken into your captivity and used by both you and Greaves to harvest the first vials of enslaved dying blood.
“I am Fiona Gaines taken from Boston, torn from my husband of eleven years and from my two children, Carolyn and Peter.
“The second woman to come to your Burma facility, but this time to die, was named Mary Sisk. She was from Virginia. She had six children, six who grew up without their mother or ever knowing what happened to her.
“The third was an elegant African American woman you took from Mississippi. She had just given birth and left behind an infant daughter. She died heartbroken, craving the feel of her baby in her arms.
“The fourth woman to live and die under your hand came from Barbados. Victoria. She was just seventeen, newly married. She died soon after. Most of the women in the early years couldn’t take the hand-blasts to the chests. Your hand-blasts, remember?”
And on she spoke, detailing the lives of those she held in her heart and in her mind, a living memorial to the dead in Burma.
* * *
Jean-Pierre had remained near the back wall, perhaps twenty feet from Fiona. He used his warrior phone to call Carla at Central Command.
“Carla here. How can I help?”
“We have a situation at Militia Warrior HQ.” He explained what had happened then added, “Please advise Endelle and Thorne. We’re not sure what to do with the prisoner but I feel certain Endelle will want to be involved in this. If she desires to come, please have her fold to my position.”
“You got it.”
He didn’t try to explain that Fiona had begun a recitation that could take a very long time. He certainly did not feel it would be right to disrupt her, but he also needed Endelle to witness what was happening.
Endelle folded to the doorway barely a minute later. He caught her gaze just as she opened her mouth, no doubt to say something inappropriate.
He shook his head and gestured to Fiona.
She drew close to Jean-Pierre and in a surprisingly quiet voice, her brows drawn into a knot, she asked, “What the f**k is going on here? And is that Rith in a dog cage?”
Jean-Pierre connected with her telepathically and told her the story from the moment he had left the practice room to find Fiona being abducted by a version of himself.
Endelle stared at Fiona and the bright golden glow of her aura. But what the f**k is she doing? I’m hearing names and events but what does this mean? I don’t understand. What the hell is she doing?
She is speaking his conscience for him, since he does not have one.
So, she’s reciting the names of the women who died.
All during her captivity, she cared for them. She was a mother to each of them. She loved them and tried to help them live. Now she carries them with her.
Jean-Pierre expected Endelle to roll her eyes and fold out of there, or worse start yelling at Fiona. Instead, in her truly unpredictable manner, she kicked off her stilettos and moved forward to sink to her knees beside Fiona. She put an arm around the younger woman and supported her. She even bowed her head as if in prayer.
Fiona didn’t waver. She merely continued speaking the names of the women, where they were from, and if they left children behind or if their babies died in utero after the first drain of dying blood.
He didn’t know exactly when his cheeks grew wet but so they did. And he didn’t weep just for those Fiona spoke of but for all who had died since he had served as a Warrior of the Blood.
The Militia Warriors, one by one, sank to their knees as well. But Jean-Pierre remained standing and folded his sword into his hand while the rest honored those who had died. If the enemy chose at this moment to attack, he would be ready, goddammit. He would be ready.
When his phone buzzed, Carla patched Thorne through and he gave him the details in a quiet voice. He told him of Marguerite’s role and of the cage and Casimir’s most suspicious gift.
