True North

Chapter Three

I haven't been back to my former school, Grayguard Academy, since everything happened. Haven't seen or spoken to anyone from the school in weeks. Still, I find myself crossing paths with that old life more times than I care to.

I'm making a difference, I remind myself as I stare into the beefy jowls of Colonel Deakins. I've known the colonel since I was a baby. His son, Robbie, is—was—one of my oldest friends. Had everything not gone as it did, I believe that my father might have eventually agreed to let Robbie court Margot, though perhaps not marry.

We're in the living room that the colonel is fond of telling people is an exact replica of the house in Africa his ancestors owned. An antlered deer stares moodily down at me from its perch on the wall, resting beside a stuffed and mounted zebra that tosses its decapitated head in perpetual dismay. It reminds me so much of Mohawk that I wonder why it doesn't buck loose and go on a rampage. Here and there are long-limbed wooden figurines that look smooth as silk. Two Zulu spears cross over a shield on the far wall, just next to a tartan plaid and an oil painting of a bald, rotund man with a monocle in Victorian British fatigues. How much did it cost the Deakinses to remodel their history? Even the air smells like a British colonial house: dead animal and cigar smoke and that strange, crepe-like smell of age and the stench of unholy power.

I reckon my mother would know.

Colonel Deakins has gone all out for our visit; he's donned his black and scarlet military uniform for the occasion, the bright gold braid woven tightly around his inflated shoulders. Robbie let it slip one day that the padding is extra thick. The colonel had a bout of the Plague when we kids were still in Primary. It chewed through his shoulder and a good part of his chest before the Splicing took hold.

Beside him, perched on a gilt and zebra-hide colonial chair, is Robbie's mother. Margot and I haven't met her more than once or twice. They say the colonel likes to leave her at home as often as he can.

"Can I get you something else, dear?" she asks in a friendly enough voice. Fiona Deakins's eyes are large and blue and faraway. Her skin sits like parchment across her bones, dotted here and there with early liver spots. They say she's been ill, though they didn't say what of. Now that I'm seeing her again—and despite the bulk of her gold and cream receiving dress—I can tell it was more than bad manners that had Colonel Deakins leaving her at home.

"Thank you, Mrs. Deakins, no." I smile and indicate the half-drunk cup of lemonade perched in my lap. "Mr. Storm should be returning in just a moment."

I'm dangled in front of them, my good manners and better breeding on display like a rare animal in a zoo, with nothing but my bodyguard behind me. Granted, I can feel the sizzling heat of Jared's eyes as he mercilessly sweeps the room crowded with hunting trophies.

It's all part of the plan, of course. And the Deakinses fall headfirst into the trap.

"Your man seems a right-trained Personal." The colonel takes the bait, nodding at Jared as though my True Born defender is both deaf and blind.

He may be as smart as cardboard when it comes to people, but the colonel can read training. Robbie's dad spent a lifetime in the military before settling down with a wife and an important position in Dominion's defense cabinet. Though until now I have always wondered why they bothered to spend money on armies when the real enemy is within us, ticking away our lives with all the power of a doomsday clock.

My smile widens as I indicate with a finger the man behind me. "Oh, Jared? I almost forgot he was there; he's so quiet," I confess in appallingly high tones. I add a giggle for good measure, just in case they aren't getting the message. "I don't know much about mercs," I prevaricate. "Our father kept us away from them as much as possible." I throw in a stern look, showing them in no uncertain terms this is the best way, the only way, to raise proper young Dominion ladies. "But these True Borns do seem rather frightening." I shiver delicately before placing the crystal cup on a side table and grasping my elbows as if the cold has seeped into my bones.