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“But you can get us there?”
“Yeah.”
“So we go there. Just you and me. And if we get in, we’ll have enough leverage to finish New America our way.”
“Cut the ILF out?”
“Maybe.”
Damn, is she something. More like everything, actually.
“We can take the truck,” I say.
She holds my gaze. “If we open that vault, we’re not just going after New America. I want the Deadmen gone, too.”
“The world will be a better place without them.”
Resolve blazes in her eyes. “I’m not the terrified victim Justin thinks I am. I can’t beat him alone, but if we can get into that vault, I’ll find a way. I’m done running from him.”
40
“Alice Glass is alive. When we catch her, I’ll make her wish she’d died with Donovan.” – Justin Lynch, leader of The Deadmen
Briar
After countless briefings and more than ten days of waiting for Lochlan to leave town, I’m finally going to see my sister today.
Marcus and I are headed to the meeting point with Corwin, an ILF handler whose field name is Oriole. He seems okay, but I don’t need a babysitter who thinks I require his permission for things.
Marta had someone make me a better dampener—a wide copper belt that clips around my waist. Now I don’t have to worry about it getting jostled out of place.
The wildfires are still raging, but changes in wind direction have reduced the amount of ash and smoke in Carson City substantially. Face coverings are still needed, and I’m eager to reach Mae while that’s still the case.
I can’t show my face in Carson City. And I’m not sitting in the ILF’s underground hub while someone else tries to help Mae. I’ve waited too long for this.
When Marta said there was underground infrastructure here, I had no idea it would be like this. We’re on a smaller version of a subway, our water-powered car running along a monorail track almost silently. The car has bench seating on both sides, and Marcus and I are on one side. Corwin is on the other side, reviewing a map of the area where we’re going.
Marcus knows I’m nervous. Since neither of us needs much sleep due to our aromium, our last few nights have been around twenty percent sex and eighty percent him listening while I voice every worry I have about things going wrong.
Mae is getting her hair done today, and apparently the owner of the salon is an ILF sympathizer. Corwin arranged for Mae and the owner, who is also Mae’s stylist, to be alone in the shampoo room when I slip in through a side door.
The stylist told Corwin Mae’s security guards have never come into the shampoo room with her. I won’t have much time to talk to her, but it’ll be enough.
“You okay?” Marcus asks me.
“As okay as I can be.”
“We’ll be in and out.”
He’s staying in the alley behind the salon with Corwin, because the fewer people we send into the salon, the less likely we’ll be discovered. I feel better knowing he’ll be close if anything goes wrong.
The preprogrammed car stops, and we follow Corwin out of it.
“Mask up,” he tells us.
I tuck my hair into a tight bun at the nape of my neck. We all put on our full face coverings and hoods—nothing but our eyes exposed, no identifying features showing.
Three flights of stairs lead us to ground level, where a door opens into a small room not much bigger than a closet.
