Redlisted (25 page)

I nod.

“The story
of Julian and Mirabel Radcliffe,” he says, and he takes a deep
breath.

“It was the
year seventeen sixty-nine.

“Mnemosyne
was holding Julian prisoner in her enclave, deep in some Old World
forest. This wasn’t really abnormal—the two were
constantly at odds. But one night, after a particularly heated
argument, she threatened to remove his heart, eat it, and leave his
entrails for the buzzards. He knew she was not joking or
exaggerating. She’s not known for her sense of humor.

“But a
telepath named Lucien, Julian’s mentor, overheard Mnemosyne’s
threats, and he decided to go against her. Lucien was Julian’s
brother, so to speak, and they’d known each other for decades.
Mnemosyne had put him in charge of Julian’s education—back
then she never bothered to do anything like that for herself.

“Lucien
pulled Julian aside and told him a way to escape from the enclave and
from there to a particular port in London. He drew him a rough map
and quickly dictated traveling instructions. We only need to hear
things once, you see. Children of Mnemosyne never forget anything.

“Julian
escaped with nothing. Just like we’re doing now, he had to move
from shelter to shelter, hiding during daylight hours and traveling
only at night. He eventually managed to make it to London, where he
found the port Lucien spoke of.

“He hid on a
cargo ship headed for New York City. He couldn’t risk feeding
en route without revealing himself to the crew, so by the time he
arrived in the New World, he had a short-term memory span of about
two to three minutes. That’s what happens to our family when we
don’t eat.”

Acute
anterograde amnesia,
I think, remembering Julian’s words.

Adam nods.
“Exactly.

“At that
time New York had already been claimed by the Wardens. They
controlled most of the port cities in the New World, and they combed
them regularly for revenants from other houses. They didn’t
want anyone else setting up settlements.”

Weren’t
there any revenants in the Americas before the Europeans invaded?

“No, none.
From what I understand, and I don’t know much about the topic,
revenants first occurred in ancient Mesopotamia.”

Sorry. Go on.

“Where was
I? –That’s right. The Wardens in New York found Julian
wandering the streets, totally disoriented. They captured him,
figured out who he was, and decided to use him as a hostage, or as
leverage against Mnemosyne however they could.

“The
revenant that captured him was named Desmond Schuster. The leader of
the Wardens in New York.”

The same
Desmond we’re meeting in New York?

“Yes. The
same.

“Desmond
sent a letter to Mnemosyne demanding that she return the bodies of
twelve of his lieutenants in exchange for Julian. But, of course,
Mnemosyne wanted Julian dead, not alive. She sent back a reply
telling the Wardens she’d left their lieutenants for the sun,
and that Desmond should feel free to do the same with Julian.

“Desmond
very nearly followed Mnemosyne’s suggestion, but Julian managed
to convince him not to. He swore that he had no loyalty to her. He
offered to join the Wardens’ fight, to do whatever was
necessary to defeat her. So the Wardens took him on, and for years he
was their student and servant.

“Somehow,
during that time, the Wardens taught Julian how to shield himself
from supernatural powers. This was an anomaly; it’s usually
impossible for members of one House to learn the manifestations of
another. I can’t learn how to put someone in a state of sensory
deprivation like Aya can, for example, and she couldn’t learn
to be a telepath.

“But there’s
something... odd about Julian.” Adam stares at the ceiling and
doesn’t continue.

What
happened to him next?
I ask.

“Oh. Sorry.
Julian stayed with the Wardens for over ninety years. Our House,
Mnemosyne included, assumed he was long dead. She was very powerful
back then, but not so powerful as to see things whole continents
away.

“Meanwhile
the Wardens were gaining ground in the war against the Mnemonics. For
the first time ever, Mnemosyne consented to a series of diplomatic
meetings with the Wardens to discuss what would happen to the
Americas. The Wardens decided to have Julian attend these meetings
incognito to see if he could provide any insight into the
proceedings.

“The envoy
that Mnemosyne sent to New York was none other than Lucien—Julian’s
brother, the telepath that helped him escape to the New World—and
perhaps the only person who’d ever shown Julian a shred of
compassion since his death at the age of twenty-five.”

What about the
Wardens? Weren’t they kind to him?

He shakes his
head. “What they did for him was based entirely on tactics.
They expected it to pay off in time. It had nothing to do with
charity or kindness.”

He pauses for a
moment, looking thoughtful and sad.

“Of course I
never knew Lucien. But I can tell you that it’s much more
difficult to ignore the suffering of others when you can feel it for
yourself—when you can feel it happening in your own head. I’m
sure Lucien just couldn’t take Julian’s pain any longer,
and that’s why he helped him escape.

“But since
he isn’t a telepath, Julian didn’t have my perspective on
the issue. And he’d spent nearly a century contemplating
Lucien’s sacrifice on his behalf. In the end he could only
interpret it as an act of love. Perhaps only fraternal love, but
something of deep meaning nonetheless.

Adam pauses again.

“While
Julian has never actually told me as much, at least not in a direct
way, I’m sure he was in love with Lucien, or at least with the
version of Lucien he had in his head. And when he saw him again...”
Adam shakes his head.

This doesn’t
end well, does it?

“No.”

Does it bother
you? You seem sad...

“I feel bad
for Julian. We don’t always get along, but... I know how it
feels to be alone. And to want someone who doesn’t want you.
And to lose someone you love.

“But I’m
getting ahead of myself. In any case, Julian met with Lucien three
times at these formal meetings in disguise. Three meetings on the
fourth of July on three consecutive years. At the third he decided he
couldn’t take it anymore. He followed Lucien back to the
apartment where he was spending his days and revealed his true
identity.

“Lucien was
shocked. At first, he didn’t believe Julian—he couldn’t
read his thoughts—but once Julian provided proof of his
identity, Lucien seemed amazed that he had survived. Grateful. He
asked Julian to return the next night, saying that he had something
he needed him to do. A favor. Something in return for what he’d
done for him.

“When Julian
returned to the apartment, Lucien wasn’t alone. He was with a
young woman—a mortal human woman—an actress named
Mirabel.”

Oh God.

“Apparently
Lucien met her during his first visit to New York and had fallen
head-over-heels in love with her. During his second visit, he’d
told her what he was—a revenant—and asked her to join
him, to spend eternity with him under the stars or whatever. And she
said yes. Who knows if she knew the risks involved? Who knows if he
even mentioned them?

“But when
Lucien returned to Mnemosyne to ask for permission to initiate
Mirabel, Mnemosyne forbade it. And when Mnemosyne declares something
forbidden, she makes it utterly impossible. He was completely unable
to disobey her orders once they were given.

“So he asked
Julian to do it for him. To give her the blood. It didn’t
matter to Lucien whether Mirabel ended up his own daughter or
Julian’s, just as long as her youth wouldn’t wither
away.”

So Julian’s
been stuck with her for over a hundred years now? That’s
fucking tragic!

“Oh, it gets
worse.”

What?

“Julian did
as Lucien asked. Initiated Mirabel. Then Lucien had to return to
Europe and report back to Mnemosyne. When she found out what he’d
done—both for Julian and for Mirabel—she killed him.”

Are you
serious?

“Yes.”

That’s
horrible! Why the hell did you tell me this story?

“You said
you didn’t care what kind of story I told you,” he says
flatly.

I stand up.
Whatever. I’m going to try to get some more sleep, I guess.

Again that tiny
flicker of a smile. I leave the room before I can start thinking
about it.

I lie back down on
the cot and stare at the ceiling.

Who the hell is
Adam, anyway? On the surface he seems so normal. Boring, almost. Too
calm. Too analytical. This is, of course, if you overlook the whole
being undead thing. I just can’t reconcile his past with the
man in the next room. The doctor part makes sense, but... drunk
driving? Manslaughter? Promiscuous sex? Haruko said he was a freak.
Said he was probably trying to get in my pants. Not in those words,
sure, but still. She’d probably know. She’s known him for
twenty years. Apparently in the biblical sense, even.

I guess some
freaks wear business suits and get to work on time.

I’m not
being fair. He’s been nothing but kind to me, really. And
patient. And he hasn’t hit on me or made me feel uncomfortable.
And he shot a man just because I asked him to. In the heart. Without
flinching.

I shiver. Now
we’re back into freak territory. Although I’m just as
culpable as him in this case, and I’m not sure I regret what we
did.

I squeeze my eyes
shut and try to think of nothing.

It’s not
easy to fall asleep. At first I’m not sure if I’m
sleeping at all, my dreams are so scattered and strange.

I’m back at
work, at the Spira Communications headquarters in Atlanta. It’s
night. I’m at remedial training, being forced to watch the
video of Mirabel. Her face keeps going in and out of focus; the
tracking on the tape goes awry; the video screen flickers and the
room goes dark.

Then it’s
not her face any longer, not our face, but the face of a strange,
terrible woman with white-blond hair and translucent skin. Her eyes
are closed; she appears to be asleep, perhaps dreaming. The camera
pans out to reveal that her head is floating in midair, disembodied.
Without moving her lips, she begins to speak, but all I hear is
static and screeching. I cover my ears with my hands, shut my eyes—

The head is gone.
I’m in a clearing in the woods. No, it’s a pit of some
kind. I’m standing between two pools of water. In front of me
is a perfectly square hole in the ground, its edges clean and
precise. Inside the hole is a steep stairwell that leads into the
earth.

Walking up the
stairs, slowly, sedately, is the same terrible woman from the video,
but now her head is attached to a body. She is naked, so thin as to
be painful to look at, and her pale skin is painted light blue by the
moonlight. She extends a hand, opens her fist, and a tiny golden disc
on a thin chain appears, dangling from her middle finger.

She doesn’t
bother to speak. She doesn’t need to. Her demands play silently
in my mind’s ear. When I try to understand them, I can’t,
but I know I will when the time is right.

I look down into
the pool to my left. It’s shallow, and the water is clear
enough for me to see straight down to the earth and stone at the
bottom. The pool to my right is dark and deep, and as soon as I look
into it I find myself drowning in it, gasping for air, flailing and
sinking like a stone.

But it’s
fine. I don’t need to breathe any more. I’m going to be
fine. I close my eyes, relax, and float up to the surface of the
water like a dead body.

Now I’m in
the holding tank down in Basement Level Three, and it’s not
water, or at least it’s not all water. A good portion of it is
blood, and there’s something else in it too, something with a
sickly-sweet odor that turns my stomach. I’m having a hard time
keeping my eyes open. I wish they’d stop making me sleep. Sleep
brings such strange dreams.