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“Kincaid has humored me by keeping her here, but after a raid like this there’s no way he’ll keep harboring her.”
“Why does Kincaid care?” I ask. “He can’t supply the precious energy to keep the cell electrocuted anymore? He needs it to put on his sordid plays and watch his films? Even if you drop her off hours from here, sooner or later someone will kill her.
“Why won’t you save her?” I demand. “Alter her back—fix her.”
“You can’t patch in someone else’s soul,” Dante says, his fingers circling his temples. He leans against the disarmed bars that once held my mother captive.
“The Guild has the remains of her strand. They have the remains of all the Remnants’ strands. If we could get to them—”
“There isn’t time for that,” Dante interrupts me. “Whatever happens to her out there can’t be worse than what Kincaid will do to her.”
I touch one of the bars. It’s not dangerous now that the electricity is off. I need something tangible to hold on to. “What if she kills someone else? What then?”
“I can live with that,” he says.
“I can’t.”
“It’s not up to you. You think what the Guild did was bad, but…”
“But?” I press. “What will Kincaid do, make her into a doll to play with?”
“I wish it was something as nice as that,” he says.
“You brought us here. You told us Kincaid was our best option—”
“I told you Kincaid was your only option,” he corrects me. “You made a choice, and it brought you here.”
“You brought me here.” I step forward, wagging a finger at him.
“I had no other choice.”
“Really? Or was it simply to satisfy your curiosity?” I ask.
“Partially,” he admits. “But, Ad, things are happening. Kincaid is coming back. They have information.”
“Good.”
“I don’t think it is.” Dante hesitates. He stops and lifts my mother onto his shoulder. She hangs limp over him, like a rag doll on a child’s shoulder.
“And why are you telling me this now?” I demand.
“Because Cormac is after you, Adelice, and we don’t have time. We can’t stay here much longer.”
“But what about Jost?” I protest.
“We’ll wait for him, if he comes back with the others.”
“If?” I repeat in a hollow voice.
“When,” Dante says, moving past me toward the corridor. “I can’t explain now. You two need to see to that wound.”
“But I don’t—”
“You can do it.” Dante stops me. “Erik can help you. Tell no one, not even Jost, what you saw tonight.”
He doesn’t bother to wait for our promises.
THIRTY-THREE
