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I turn from the huge screen of the television on which Trae had projected the video to the man beside me. Stunned, I try to process what I just saw. If I had any questions about the sanity of the man with whom I’ve aligned myself, they’re wiped out. Antoine Girard is insane. Gone mad with his obsession, his single purpose of over twenty-five years.
He will dismember Councilor Augustus. I have no doubt of that. But will he do more? Will he kill him?
“Champagne!” Girard calls out and someone pops a cork. Glasses are poured and Girard hands me one.
I take it absently, watch him drink his. From beyond him and through the tall floor to ceiling windows that bracket the front door, I watch a procession of black vans with tinted windows make their way to the guest house. There are so many that they make me think of marching ants.
Girard turns and watches too, sipping his champagne.
“Who are they?” I ask as the vans come to a stop, blocking the road leading to the house. The doors of the first few open, two men climbing out of the front, and four from the back of each van.
“My soldiers,” Girard says, that manic pitch to his voice gone, this one grave and serious.
I notice the coda tattooed on the neck of one of the men when he enters.
“That video.” I ask, turning to him. “Did you play it for all of The Society to see? Is that what Trae sent out earlier?”
He nods, smiling proudly as he swallows the last of his champagne. “An email blast, isn’t that what you called it, Trae?” He looks at me. “I don’t bother much about technology.”
“Yes, sir,” Trae answers.
“Every member of the Society, here and across the world, will see it, I am sure. What is the count up to?” he asks Trae who checks the laptop.
“18,042 and counting.”
“In the span of a few minutes. News like this travels fast. I do wonder how many will tune in for the live show.” He turns back to me. “I should have sold tickets. Oh well, too late now.” He looks to the man who poured the champagne and as I take them all in, I realize I’m the only woman here. “Get me something stronger,” Girard demands.
One of the soldiers from the first van to unload walks up to him.
“Sir, everyone is accounted for.”
“Well done, Clyde. Ines?”
Clyde checks something on his phone and I glance at the screen to see a dot moving along a map. “Three minutes away, sir.”
“Excellent.”
“Won’t the Councilor’s men be coming for you?” I ask Girard.
He looks down at me like he’s confused. “You are a naïve little thing, aren’t you? Clyde, explain to my young friend where the Councilor’s men are, will you?”
“Those who remained loyal have been detained. We attempted not to cause too much harm, but it was impossible. The deserters have been,” he clears his throat. “Dealt with.”
“Cowards,” Girard says with distaste and takes the whiskey from the man offering it to him.
“Those who came to our side are being branded with the coda now. After taking their pledge, of course.”
“Branded?” I ask, shocked, unable to help myself.
“Tattoos take time. Besides, this way I’ll recognize them. I wouldn’t want to make the mistake of trusting one of them, of course. Those who change sides so quickly, well, they’ll do it again. Mercenaries. Now, now. Don’t make that face, Blue. They were all given a choice.”
“What choice, defect or die?”
He chuckles, wraps his hand around the nape of my neck like Zeke often does except that he squeezes a little too tightly before letting go. “In all honesty, and if I am anything it is honest, I suppose so.”
“My father was at the house,” I say.
“I know. Two birds one stone. What a gift. He, too, stole from me.” He tilts his head to the side. “And worse still is what he stole from your sister. From you. He will be punished, Blue, have no doubt.”
