Lust (9 page)

As if on cue, the man from the bar stepped out into the cold yard and stood eyeing them. Then he motioned for Oliver to join him inside again. Gaia made a move to follow, but Oliver put a hand on her arm.

“Stay here,” he said. “Check around back and see if you can find the snowmobiles. I'm pretty sure they're going to be in that garage over there.”

A cracked concrete structure stood under a huddle of trees. Gaia nodded and waited until her uncle had
gone back inside the building to walk over and peer inside. Sure enough, two snowmobiles sat under tarps in the gloom.

“How old are those things?” Jake whispered.

“I don't know, did Edsel make a snowmobile?” Gaia answered. “At least they won't have a lot of fancy bells and whistles to figure out. Come on.”

She stepped into the gloom and found a can of gasoline, which she used to fill up the two tanks. She was getting impatient. Oliver needed to come out here, now. If they couldn't buy or bargain for these vehicles, they should just take them.

Jake stood outside, keeping watch.

“Gaia,” he said in a low voice.

“Yeah?”

“Can you get those started?”

“Yeah, I think so. Why?”

A shot rang out, and Gaia stopped asking questions. She revved up her engine, and Jake jumped on the other snowmobile; they shoved them forward, busting through the flimsy and ancient garage door, and shot out into the diamond-white snowy field.

Oliver was running toward them, his backpack flapping behind him like a cape; Gaia pulled up next to him, not even stopping as he hopped on behind her, and maneuvered away from the inn, where the bar guy and two friends were yelling and shaking firearms at them.

“Making friends?” she shouted, as she followed Oliver's pointing finger up a pathway in the woods.

“I paid them, but it wasn't quite enough,” he shouted back. “They wanted more. That's what we were negotiating.”

“This is their turf!” Gaia yelled back. “Aren't they going to come after us?”

“No! They're fine! That was a successful business transaction, if you can believe it. Otherwise, believe me, we'd be facedown in a snowdrift!”

Gaia laughed into the wind that whipped across her face, burning her cheeks with both sun and ice. “I don't think Jake knows that!”

Jake was ahead of them. He peered back once in a while to make sure they were still on his tail, but he was in no hurry to slow down. He looked slightly panicked. Gaia felt more alive than she'd felt in a long time.

“That was good,” she shot back over her shoulder, after revving the engine a few times and finding a comfortable rate of speed. “I wouldn't have known how to handle all that.”

“You pick things up as you go along,” Oliver told her. “Some things don't really change. I haven't been in this area in—oh, twenty years, twenty-five? But business is business wherever you go.”

“If you call that business,” Gaia laughed. “Imagine pulling that at Tower Records.”

“We'll try it when we get back.”

Gaia grinned into the wind as she steered her snowmobile up into the foothills of the mountains. Oliver really knew his stuff. She was really glad to be on this mission with him, strange as it was to be working with her old enemy—and her father's twin brother. She felt like after years of stagnating, she was learning a million things every second. And even though she was driving the snowmobile, she felt him steering their mission in the right direction. She had made the right decision for once. She was sure of it.

Seizure

TOM MOORE LAY ON THE ICY-COLD
concrete floor of his cell, meditating deeply. If he concentrated, he could force his body to stop shivering, even though every breath left a puff of vapor above his head. Going even deeper, he felt his consciousness recede until he was nothing but a point of light in a vast darkness. He was in a state of deep, deep trance. From the outside, it looked like he was passed out cold. The awkward position he had put himself in would signal to the guards that he wasn't just having a midday nap. They would have to come in and investigate. Soon, he hoped. Before he froze to death, unprotected and exposed.

Vaguely, from a million miles away, he sensed that yes, a guard was slowing outside his cell, peering in to see what was happening. He heard the guard's footsteps fade down the hall, then return with another set of feet. Now two pairs of eyes looked warily into the cell. For a long time. Studying him, seeing if he was faking.

He
was
faking. But they didn't know that.

He heard them whispering back and forth, trying to figure out who to tell and what to do. One of them, the fat one, said they should leave him alone until dinnertime. The other one was afraid he'd die and they would get in trouble for it. Back and forth, back and forth. Finally he willed himself to give a convulsive shudder. It set off a gagging noise in his throat; he hadn't planned it, but it worked wonders. Convinced he was having some sort of seizure, both pairs of boots thumped away down the hall, then returned with medical personnel, who loaded him onto a gurney and wheeled him down to the prison infirmary.

His eyes fluttered open of their own accord, and from his post deep inside his own trance, Tom saw the mountains looming up around him. The prison was in a sort of a basin, set deep inside the mountains. He wasn't even sure which range this was, and even if he had known, he didn't know how he'd survive out there long enough to get to civilization. But this wasn't the time to worry. He had to gather data.

There were probably caves in the mountains. He
could survive in a cave. If he could just overpower these two guards, get outside the compound somehow—but no. This was a fact-finding mission. He had to be patient—wasn't that what he had told Gaia? He had to stick to his plan. A hospital facility was always less guarded than the actual cells. He could catch someone off guard here as they puzzled over his strange comatose state.

“Mr. Moore,” a voice called out in accented English. “Mr. Moore. Thomas. Can you hear me?”

I hear you knocking, but you can't come in
, Tom thought, willing himself deeper into his trance. He was inside the hospital now; the mountains no longer cradled him. A doctor was the only person near him. If he had to, he could strike out now. He tried to perceive everything going on around him.

It was strange. The doctor didn't seem to be examining him. He had taken a few exploratory probing movements, checked his pupils, but now Tom seemed to be . . . alone? Or was someone standing next to his gurney, eyeing him?

He wanted to look around. This was frustrating. His concentration faltered as he strained to figure out what was going on. Was someone in the room with him? Had they called someone else in? Why was it so quiet? He thought he heard someone breathing. What was—?

He felt the gurney gripped tightly; it gave a sudden lurch, and he felt himself pitched toward the floor.
Instinctively, he sprang up and threw his arms out to break his fall, then rolled to protect himself, ending up in a crouched position, unharmed—but completely awake. Too late, he realized he'd been tricked. Tom Moore looked up to see a smirking doctor in a lab coat shaking his head at him.

“So clumsy,” the doctor said, kicking the gurney toward Tom with a violence that seemed out of place with his house-of-healing surroundings.

“Yeah, that gurney seems to be a little wobbly,” Tom growled.

“I mean you, Mr. Moore. Your attempt to fool me was quite clumsy. Amateurish, even. I might have expected that sort of foolishness from one of our normal prisoners—the murderers and petty criminals that make up most of our population. From you, it's quite disappointing.”

“Why are you keeping me here?” Tom asked. “What kind of criminal am I, according to you?”

“I'd tell you,” the doctor said, his smirk deepening until it was infuriatingly smug, “but then I'd have to kill you.”

Tom took the invitation and leapt across the room toward the doctor. The two guards went for him immediately. One held him down and the other punched him over and over until the doctor raised a hand to stop them.

“This is hardly what I expected,” the doctor said,
more to himself than to Tom. “Very unimpressive indeed. Hold him,” he told the guards, and they did, while he injected Tom with something that deadened all thought almost immediately.

“Take him back to his cell,” he said, yanking the spike out of Tom's arm with an agonizing twist of his wrist. “He is pathetic. Don't call me again on his behalf. He can die in there for all I care.”

In his last moments of consciousness, Tom realized with perfect clarity that he was not going to be able to get out of this place. That even if he did, he would be lost in the white wilderness beyond the walls of the prison. There were no caves he could live in, no path to take; there was nothing but the false bravado he'd used to temporarily deceive himself. But he had lost the strength for self-deception. This wasn't the toughest situation he had ever been in, but it was going to defeat him.

Why? Because it came at a time when he was already emotionally vulnerable. He was worried about Gaia, pining for Natasha, furious at Loki. His only hope now was to steel his mind, rid himself of emotion, and focus on retaining his sanity.

Steel his mind. The mind that was slipping into unconsciousness with terrifying speed.

Steel his—

The
apartment on East Seventy-second Street must be the most comfortable place on earth. Except for that terrible couch—the one that Natasha loves so much. That thing is the
least
comfortable place on earth, with its red velvet and mahogany details. But other than that, the apartment is perfect.

I love how Natasha has decorated it. The brick red of the living room is a bold choice, but a good one, and the curtains give it an elegant feel. Too many of those apartments get taken over by families that make them too casual, that don't take into account the grandeur of the good, old building. Natasha understands that. She created a space that acknowledges the beauty of the architecture but is still easy to live in. She can do that, bring together things that seem like they could never meet. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with her.

The girls' room could use some
work—you can see how different their personalities are. Tatiana's a good, kind girl, and her side of the room is as well ordered and tidy as her emotions. But Gaia—well, she's a bit more chaotic. If she'd just do her laundry once in a while. I don't know how she gets any sleep in that bed; it's like she can't get used to the fact that we have a stable environment now. Maybe Tatiana will rub off on her, just a little.

I thought that after Katia died, I'd never feel close to anyone again. The pain of losing her, of losing the warmth and safety of our little three-person society, nearly drove me insane. For months I couldn't even process the simple fact that she was gone. I'd wake up and reach for her. People kept telling me it would get easier, but it didn't. Not really. Once you see true evil you never feel right again. Sometimes you can't get what you want. Sometimes it's ripped from you. And then your heart doesn't just break—it shatters.

Then I met Natasha. She's
fascinating, warm, intelligent—she's the only woman after Katia who I've felt I could give my heart to. The thing that did it for me, though? The way she opened up to Gaia. I know how difficult my daughter can be. And yet Natasha tried and tried with her, just because she loved me. Or maybe because she saw the real girl under Gaia's shell. Either way, she earned my eternal respect.

For a few brief hours, I had a glimpse of how our lives could entwine together. I saw Natasha at my side, I saw Gaia relax and laugh and come as close to happiness as I've seen her since she was a child. I know—I
know
I could give her the stability that was taken away from her. If I could just protect her and be there for her, that would give her the space to feel like a normal kid, a normal teenager. Maybe she could be happier then. It wouldn't make up for all the years I was gone. But it would at least be something. I'd be her
father again. I just have to get back to her.

Which means getting out of here. This prison. These walls enclosed by mountains wrapped in snow.

Who put me here? Loki. There's no doubt in my mind that the choking fit that led to the blackness from which I awoke here was caused by one person. Not person—entity. Thing with no humanity.

Who ripped me from Natasha? Loki.

Who robbed me of my Gaia yet again? Loki.

And who am I going to make pay for all this pain, when I finally get free?

Loki.

Loki's behind this. But I have a family to get back to, and for them I'll keep my mind steady. But before I return to that comfortable red room, there's one man who's going to pay for his sins in blood so red, it would make the perfect complement to that uncomfortable couch.

Loki.

Hyper

AS THEY BUZZED UP THROUGH THE
mountains, the darkness moved in around them like a cloak. Oliver finally signaled that they should pull over and meet just under the crest of one of the peaks.

“How are you holding up?” he asked. “Are you tired, or can you keep going?”

“I'm pretty sharp,” Gaia said.

“Yeah, this air is keeping me awake,” Jake agreed. “Besides, we had so much sleep on the train.”

“Good. It'll take the rest of the night for us to travel down the inside of this mountain. Come with me.”

They trudged to the top and looked down. “See that ring of lights?” Oliver asked. They nodded. “That's the prison. That's where your father is, Gaia.”

Gaia felt a surge of excitement. If she'd been awake before, she was downright hyper now.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.