The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [269]
“That's not true,” Travis said, his gray eyes intent upon her. “You did matter. You all did. If you hadn't held Gravenfist Keep, the forces of the Pale King would have had time to overrun Eldh. They would have killed thousands upon thousands of people. The Dominions would have been laid waste.” He gripped her hand. “Without you, Grace, there wouldn't have been a world for me to save, a world for me to choose.”
Tarus grinned at her. “It looks like we did good after all, Your Majesty.”
Grace lifted a hand, touching the bandage on her right shoulder. “Durge did good,” she said firmly.
Together they stepped into the passage, leaving night to rule over the world. For a time.
61.
It was after midnight.
Deirdre Falling Hawk sat at the dinette table in her South Kensington flat, gazing at the screen of her computer. She had spent the last three hours performing search after search in the Seekers' databases using her Echelon 7 clearance, but she had turned up nothing more relating to the Thomas Atwater case. She lifted a glass to her lips, but it was empty, and so was the nearby bottle of scotch.
Deirdre set down the glass, then leaned back from the table and rubbed her aching neck. An image shone in the center of the screen: the keystone taken from the location that had housed the tavern Thomas Atwater had been forbidden by the Seekers to return to. The same location that centuries later would house Surrender Dorothy, along with Glinda and its other half-fairy patrons. But what did it mean? Who was Atwater really? And what was the true purpose of the keystone?
Maybe it didn't matter now. She pushed aside the computer and picked up the copy of today's London Times, which lay on the table. Anders had brought it to the office that day, and she had stolen it before heading home. DURATEK INVESTIGATION CONTINUES, the headline read, NEW ATROCITIES UNCOVERED. Another headline caught Deirdre's eye, in smaller type near the bottom of the page: MORE DURATEK EXECUTIVES FOUND DEAD. The first sentences of the article described the mystery around the deaths. It seemed, when they were found, all of the executives had been missing their hearts.
A sharp smile cut across Deirdre's lips. “I hope you're seeing this Hadrian, wherever you are.”
She wondered where in the world he was just then. If he was even still in this world. Would she ever see him again? She didn't know, but she hoped so. Just as she hoped one day she would see Travis Wilder and Grace Beckett again. She gripped the yellowed bear claw that hung around her neck. That was the funny thing about hope. It kept you going, even when the odds seemed impossible.
Her computer let out a chime, and her gaze snapped back to the screen. The picture of the keystone was gone, and crimson words pulsed in its place.
> Open your door.
Deirdre leaped up, moved to the door, and jerked it open. The hallway outside her flat was empty. On the doormat lay a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. She looked both ways, then picked up the parcel, closed the door, and sat at the table. Fingers trembling, she unwrapped the package.
It was a sleek wireless phone. She hesitated, then opened it up and held it to her ear.
“I'm glad to see you're taking a break,” a man's voice said. “Are you enjoying the newspaper?”
She sucked in a breath and stood, looking out the window. The street below was dark and empty, but he was out there somewhere, watching her.
“What do you want?” she said, snatching the curtains shut.
Soft laughter emanated from the phone. “Don't worry, Miss Falling Hawk. This is merely a social call. I wish only to see how you are faring after your trip to the United States. Tell me, did you enjoy today's headline?”
She glanced again at the newspaper. “Our plan worked,” she said, amazement lowering her voice. “It's over.”
“You're wrong about that, Miss Falling Hawk. A great darkness has been averted, yet other shadows remain. Duratek is finished.