Into Darkness

9

As if the world itself hadn’t just ceased to turn. “Can’t say I really believe him, though.” Dieter turned his head and looked directly into her eyes. “People make up all kinds of things. Sometimes if they’re really good at it, everybody believes them. A really great liar might even convince the entire world his kuhscheibe is the truth.”

The ground had turned liquid beneath her feet. Lu was poised to run, a scream trapped in her throat. Every nerve in her body hummed with fear, and an odd, animal excitement.

Would it be a relief? To let the mask drop and finally give in to the beast she knew lurked inside her? With a tremor of sick enjoyment, she enjoyed a brief vision of Dieter in flames. Of the entire city in flames, and herself standing in the middle of it all, laughing.

Then Dieter leaned close and brushed his lips against her cheek. He whispered into her ear, “The Schottentor gate at the east side of the city, behind the waste treatment plant—you know the one?” She did. Old Vienna had been a fortress city, surrounded by medieval walls with bastions and gates that had been refortified and put into use to control access into and out of the city when New Vienna rose from the ashes after the Flash. But why would he mention it?

Dieter didn’t wait for her response. “If they figure it out, run. Get your father and go to the gate. Look for the white rabbit. There’s always someone on lookout; you can escape that way. Just stay alive. We’ll get you out. And whatever happens, don’t let them catch you.”

He straightened and said in a loud, furious voice, “What a little tease you are, jungfrau! You think your s**t doesn’t stink? Hell if I want a dirty little Third Former like you, anyway!”

Without another word or a glance in her direction, Dieter strode away, back straight, head high, rifle swinging from his shoulder. A pair of men passing by on the sidewalk smirked at her, then moved on.

And Lu was left alone with the shock of comprehension making her reel in disbelief. The world tilted left, slipping dangerously, and in the end it was only the gate of the Hospice that held her up, its iron bars gripped tightly in her fists.

From far, far away, Lumina heard the echo of angry shouting from behind the vast and icy wall she’d erected inside her head.

TWO

The hunter with the scarred face and penetrating dark eyes was perched high atop the street opposite the Hospice, on the crest of the sloped tiled roof of the Palais Hansen Kempinski, a former luxury hotel that now functioned as the IF’s media headquarters. Inside, the “news” was manufactured and distributed throughout the federation by a team of reporters on the company payroll, and through the soles of his feet he felt their scurried activity as scant vibrations, smelled their fear and fervor as comingled sour scents on the evening wind.

Some of them actually believed the propaganda they churned out. Most of them were simply too afraid to say they did not.

He watched the young woman leaning on the courtyard gate of the Hospice below with hawklike fixedness. Every sense hummed with the power of her. The elegant, electrical thrill of the energy she emanated was like nothing he’d ever felt. He’d hunted Aberrants for more than twenty of his thirty-six years, and not a single one of them had ever set his nerves alight like this one.

Looking at her, he felt stung. He felt slapped. He felt, for a moment, a jolt of terrifying elation, as if he’d flung himself from the roof and was free-falling through space toward his death.

This was the one he’d been seeking. He’d found her at last.

She pulled herself upright for the first time since her uniformed companion had walked away, and passed a trembling hand over her hair. Even from this distance he saw how hard it shook. He saw the effort it took for her to straighten her shoulders and lift her chin. He longed to see her face, but she had her back to him, and didn’t turn, even as she pushed through the gate and walked slowly up the cracked cement path to the Hospice entrance. She removed the glove from her right hand, placed her palm on the scanner beside the front door, then disappeared within the building as the door swung open and shut behind her. The chance to look at her face was lost.

No matter, he thought, rising from his crouch. He’d see her face soon enough. Besides, he already knew what she looked like. He knew everything there was to know about this imposter who called herself Lumina Bohn.

He’d made it his life’s mission to do so.

“You’re early.” Liesel straightened from the kitchen counter, her stout arms dusted in flour up to the elbow. Her expression was surprised, but pleased. The older woman liked her, even if most of the other Hospice workers didn’t; the two of them shared a love of silence the gossip-sharing others found off-putting at best, and suspicious at worst.

Round and red-cheeked, with strands of graying hair escaping from her haphazard bun, Liesel was the Hospice pastry cook. As she always did in the evening before first meal, she was preparing the dough for the apfelstrudel, the famous dessert the Hospice guests devoured in huge quantity. Dietary restrictions were nonexistent in this place, and the guests were allowed to eat and drink to their hearts’ content. Sweets and schnapps and fatty foods were served with every meal, and overindulging in all three was heartily encouraged, because no revolt was ever started by a bunch of fat drunkards with digestive trouble.