Page 54 of The Darkest Half

“Take Izabel to the elevator as planned,” I instruct him. “Wheel her into the van waiting on the basement level parking deck. Mozart will be waiting for her.”

“What about Niklas?”

“Is he on this floor?” I ask.

He nods. “At the end of the east hall, just past the elevator,” he says, pointing in the direction. “W-What are you going to d-do?”

“Take Izabel,” I tell him. “Get her out of here. Wait for me at the van; I’ll bring Niklas. And give Jones your mask and tell him to find me on this floor and to be quick about it.”

The other operatives in the building will either be dead, shot by me on the way in, or unconscious from the gas filtering through the HVAC. But the gas is limited and will run out at any moment, and its effects will wear off within ten minutes afterward, so Woodard is right about needing to hurry.

He wastes no more time and gives the gurney a forceful shove out the door, taking an unconscious, withered Izabel with him.

Hold on for me, love…

I pull four zip ties from my suit jacket and bind the wrists and ankles of Vonnegut and Lysandra behind their backs. One by one, I drag them out of the room, down the hallway to the elevator, and leave them to wait for help from Jones while I find my brother.

27

Izabel

When I wake, I don’t know where I am, how long I’ve been out, or even if I’m still alive. But when I see Victor sitting on a chair in partial shadow, the gray light from a cloudy, wet day bathing him from the nearby window, I think I must be dreaming at least.

I raise myself from the bed to sit upright.

“Nothing is waiting for you right now,” he says calmly and then gets up from the chair, “that requires you to move from that bed.”

“How long have I—”

The sweet warmth of his mouth I feel suddenly on my lips; the longing and relief pouring from him I can feel in the passionate movement of his tongue entangled with my own; the softness of his engulfing hands cradling my face.

I return his deep kiss with the same amount of passion, and for the first time in so long, I feel…at peace.

His lips pull away slowly, but I can still feel him there, his mouth mere inches from mine. I savor the moment behind the blackness of my eyelids, where somehow, I feel like only in my thoughts are such moments genuinely safe.

Finally, I look at him and am surprised by what I see. Because I’ve never seen it before. Not in Victor Faust.

“What is it?” he asks, detecting the wonder.

Lifting my hand between us, I place my fingertips lightly upon his cheek; his skin is stubbled and prickly; the look in his eyes changed, soft and affectionate rather than the severe and stoic man I’ve known all these years.

He places his hand on my wrist, a worried look on his features.

“If you are wondering whether or not I am the real Victor Faust—”

I touch my fingertips gently to his cheek and shake my head. “No,” I whisper. “I know who you are, Victor. I’ve just never seen you this way before.”

He leans inward and presses his lips to my forehead.

“What way, Izabel?”

I gaze into his eyes. “In love,” I say.

He looks surprised, and I do my best to explain.

“This moment, right here, right now, is the first time since I met you that I’ve ever…truly felt the love you have for me.”

His hand falls away slowly from my wrist; he tilts his head in curious contemplation. “But I never lied to you when I told you I loved you.”

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