Page 85 of All Saints Day
For now, Louise lies curled with her head in my lap while I sit upright in our modestly sized camping tent—Caz lies with one arm draped over her waist, his body nested against her back as the two of them snore lightly; the scent of poppy and iris wafting up off of them like a sigh.
After the confrontation with Martin, she’d cried until her eyes ran dry, then Caz had come in and curved himself around her like a pale sliver of moon—his sweet smoky scent helping to soothe them both into slumber.
Outside the tent I could just hear the low murmuring of Quentin and Dennis’ voices—deep in the throes of architecting and reviewing our daring rescue plan, but I have done more than enough of my share of scheming and preparing this night; for now, all I want is to rest my bones alongside my pack and sleep with pleasant dreams or none at all.
Everything else will have to wait until the morning.
Parting ways with Martin Penny helped ease the tension in the group considerably, but the likelihood of failure in our wildly ambitious endeavors is not helping the atmosphere.
There is a grim determination that has carried us through the first few legs of travel, amassing guns, and materials for me to make explosives. A nervous energy bubbles up from our early sessions reviewing interior maps and floor plans of the Alaskan facility where Frank is being held.
The momentum sputters as we draw closer and closer to the border in northern Washington, and our transfer to yet another goddamn boat.
If I never traverse another body of water in a floating can again—it will be too soon. It wouldn’t be so bad, except every moment I’m on one with Caz—who can barely manage to paddle like a dog—it’s always at the front of my mind; elevating my blood pressure and ruining my peace.
But we have bigger problems at hand.
I’ve been eagerly awaiting an update from Dr. Perla after Martin Penny contacted her upon his return to DC… I have only received one cryptic message from her since she and I parted ways at Saint Joseph’s.
[“It’s her. She’s the key—as soon as it’s safe, we must meet again. Together we will find the way forward;andiamo!”]
I had tried seeking clarification and gotten nothing, and it was toodangerous to reach out to Martin directly to see if they had connected.
While Dr. Perla’s attitude had seemed positive, none of us liked the heavy silence that expanded in place of the confirmation that Martin and Azura had made their very necessary connections ahead of our little rescue mission.
Still, the show must go on—so we travel by the dark, icy waters of night, for a port somewhere in the Cook inlet, before we find ourselves on ground transport bound for the Windmill’s facility near the eerily named ‘Red Devil’ town and abandoned gold mines.
Chapter 32
Dennis
Just before we’re all about to turn in ahead of our big mission tomorrow, Louise gathers us around her beside the small space heater we’re running off a solar battery in the back of the box truck we hopped on, off the boat on the Kenai Peninsula.
She’s wrapped in a tattered blanket, her hair plaited back from her face, her cheeks still pale and wan beneath the small smears of rosy pinkness from the cold
“I know it might seem in poor taste, but…” She pulls both of her hands from inside the blankets, hands balled into fists around something, holding whatever it is tight.
All of us peer at her in curiosity as she unfurls her clenched fingers to reveal a handful of wooden chess pieces.
“Ever since I saw those memories of Frank’s, I haven’t stopped thinking about them,” she murmurs, a pained smile tugging at the corner of her lip where the sliver from Frank’s bonding bite is still healing, her eyes welling with tears. “I wanted all of us to have a token—something for… well, I don’t know if I’d call it luck… but something for us to carry into battle tomorrow.”
I take stock of the contents of her palm; A King and a Pawn hewn from beautifully lacquered yellow poplar, a Knight carved from mossy green soapstone, a Rook made from highly polished ebony, a Queen made of snowy white marble—that I instantly recognized as one of the pieces from the horrible torture chamberat the country estate; and last but not least—a Bishop, carefully wood-worked from a beautiful piece of deep red mahogany, buffed to a mirror shine.
Before I realize it, I’m reaching out to pinch the red wooden bishop from Louise’s outstretched palm.
“Where did you get all of these?” Caz breathes, bewildered.
“The Queen came from the green room at the Country Estate,” I cut in, my eagerness to show my mettle getting the best of me again. Louise rewards me with a warm, knowing smile.
“Good eye.” She nods before continuing, “I took these—” she fingers the gleaming yellow poplar King and Pawn. “From the fancy antique store, Quentin stopped to buy those old school night vision goggles,” Louise explains, Quentin and Cazimer lifting the King and Pawn pieces from her hand respectively—just as Frank had assigned the roles to them in the memory we had seen down the mating bond. “That one came from the hippie stoner store in the mall when we stopped to get some clothes that weren’t soaked in blood on our way from the Country Estate to the meetup with Martin.” She nods as Seb lifts the green soapstone horsehead gingerly from the offerings.
She and I lock eyes as I close my fingers into a fist around my piece—only the white marble Queen and ebony Rook left in her hands.
“I took that one from the set at the log cabin the morning after we bonded,” Louise blinks away her tears.
I nod, then use my free hand to close her fist around the two remaining pieces before I pull her against me and wrap my arms tight around her.
“You can give Frank his when we see him. We’re gonna make it,” I assure Louise, myself, the rest of my pack—even if I don’t know if I believe it.
