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“That’s good to know.” Phoebe groaned. “I still feel like I’m moving through molasses. I’m going down the hall to the restroom to wash up and then I’ll get some tea from Octavia. See you in a few.”
“I think I saw a slice of leftover salted-chocolate-and-caramel tart in the kitchen,” Talia said. “Chocolate is an excellent source of energy.”
“Good idea.”
Phoebe disappeared down the hall.
Talia crouched, unzipped her bag, reached inside, and touched the logbook with cautious fingers...
...and yelped when she got a small shock.
“Shit,” she whispered.
Setting her teeth against the hot-and-cold sparks that were crackling across her senses, she picked up the logbook and got to her feet. She took a few deep breaths and forced herself to focus. The sharp, unstable energy left behind by Pomona Finch was much stronger and more intense than it had been earlier. It was not the hollow echo of death.
The Night Gardener was alive, and she was nearby.
Logbook in hand, Talia started toward the front door.
“Octavia,” she called. “I’m going down to the dock. I’ve got to talk to Luke.”
Octavia appeared in the arched opening that connected the dining room to the lobby. Fear had transformed her face into a stiff mask. She was not alone. Pomona Finch was directly behind her.
The Night Gardener wore the protective trousers, jacket, gloves, and boots that she’d had on when she fled into the underground gardens. But the clothes were ripped in several places and there were bloodstains on the fabric. Her face looked as if it had been slashed in a couple of places. She had lost her cap. Wormlike vines were twisted in the limp strands of her hair.
Her eyes were wild with rage and, perhaps, insanity. The canister of potent herbicide was in her hands. The nozzle was aimed at Octavia.
“You have destroyed my life’s work,” Pomona rasped. “You are all going to pay.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Congratulations on survivingthe plants,” Talia said. She stopped in front of the fireplace, the logbook clutched in one hand behind her back. “I’m impressed.”
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Pomona said. She pushed Octavia forward into the lobby and followed, finger on the trigger of the canister. “You stupid woman—the work I was doing in that lab would have changed the world.”
“Is that right?” Talia said. “Could have fooled me. It sure looked like you were trying to create assassins. I’ve got news for you. The world doesn’t need any more killers.”
“Completing that project for the Institute was the price I had to pay for the opportunity to work in that incredible facility,” Pomona said. “I was so close to making countless new discoveries and now everything is in ruins.Because of you and that failed Subject A, Luke Rand.”
“I assume you used that high-octane weed killer to get through the gardens,” Talia said. “But how did you make it out of the underworld?”
“I have one of the keys,” Pomona said.
“How many keys are there?”
Pomona snorted. “Who knows? Nathan Gill said he found a couple in one of the old lab desks. There was another one in the conservatory and one in the lodge office. There are probably more. No one has been able to explore the entire lab facility. In some places the vegetation is impenetrable.”
“I see,” Talia said. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, your research has suffered a setback, but nothing more. Setbacks happen all the time in science, right?”
“What are you talking about?”
Talia brought her hand out from behind her back, revealing the logbook. “I have the notes from the original researcher. They are the foundation for your own recent work, aren’t they?”
Pomona stared at the logbook, distracted. “Give it to me.”
“I will if you put down the sprayer,” Talia said.
Phoebe appeared at the entrance of the hallway. Pomona, focused on Talia, did not see her.
