“Sorbacov called his three favorite little snitches into his den the minute the alarm was sounded. His other friends were right outside in the big room just above the stairwell and hall where all of you were trying to get Savage and Reaper down the stairs. His friends at first were just talking, looking into his den while he grilled the kids, and then they got restless and began to pace around. They had their whips on them, still bloody from what they’d done to Savage. They were laughing about it and hoping Sorbacov would send one of his snitches to them to pass the time with.”
Player wiped at the sweat. He glanced at the picture hanging on the wall. The frame around the drawing had changed. The etchings appeared much more prominent than they had before, more tubular, like an actual scroll. It wasn’t rolling, but he could see the distinct curves that hadn’t been there before. It was odd. He loosened his hold on Zyah and stood up, walking over to the drawing to get closer to the frame to keep his eyes on it while he explained to the others about his alternate reality.
“It took so long for all of you to get downstairs. Czar was trying to wait for me. I could see Sorbacov was getting enraged that the kids weren’t giving him answers. He grew colder, like he gets. He pulled out that watch, that stupid pocket watch, and he came to the top of the stairs. I was already so damned shaky. My head hurt so bad. I could barely stand the pain. I could see the White Rabbit and knew it was going to be bad if you didn’t get down there. Czar slipped through and I tried to hurry, but two of his friends grabbed one of the kids and I turned back.”
He didn’t want to admit the rest, not in front of Zyah. Not in front of the others. He didn’t even like thinking about it. He shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on the frame. It seemed to be fading slowly back to just the etchings of scrolls and constellations.
“The scene morphed from holding the wall and door to scenes from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. The doors were too small. The floors dropped away, and then knives rained from the ceiling. The fireplaces in Sorbacov’s den and the big room suddenly had the irons glowing red hot, multiplying and attacking everyone in the room. The doorways became guillotines, and anyone trying to go through them was caught. I don’t know what was in my head. Every book I read, every torture they’d put Reaper and Savage through, ran together and became real. All I know is it was a bloodbath. Four of Sorbacov’s friends died along with two of the snitches. One of his friends was covered in burns.”
He didn’t look at Zyah. He couldn’t. He didn’t turn and look at the others. He forced himself to continue.
“I barely escaped through the door before it collapsed. Sorbacov came down almost right away to the basement. I was terrified I might have to try to throw up another illusion, and I knew it would collapse too fast. I was responsible for killing those people. I didn’t mind Sorbacov’s friends, they deserved it, but the kids . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “They were innocent, just trying to survive, the way we were.”
“You saved our lives,” Savage said. “That day, Player, we all would have died.”
“That’s true,” Czar agreed. “When Sorbacov came down, he was so certain it was us, until he saw what bad shape we were all in. He was positive none of us could have done anything to hurt anyone. He left without a word.”
Player stared at the frame of the picture, trying to focus on it. The guilt of those deaths would never go away. Sorbacov had never spoken of the strange happenings that had occurred that night. No one had. Fortunately, Mechanic had disrupted the cameras so nothing had been caught on film. The mystery of the deaths had never been solved.
“Hell, Player, we were all lucky you were able to do what you did. You know it was a matter of time before he killed those kids,” Ink said. “I’m sorry they died, but they were already dead the moment they started being his pets. None of those kids lasted very long. He was particularly cruel to them once he lulled them into a false sense of security.”
That didn’t make him any less responsible, no matter how true it was. He indicated the drawing, desperate to get to another topic. “Can any of you see the way the frame has changed? But it’s already fading back to the original look.”
Czar nodded. “I noticed it immediately. I was looking for something like that when you said the eyes staring at you had appeared in the middle of the drawing with total darkness around them. But actually, you drew something entirely different around the eyes than Zyah. She had total darkness. You didn’t. You saw much more detail than she did. I think, Zyah, you were in shock that something like that could appear in your grandfather’s drawing.”
“I was.” She gave a little shiver. “The eyes seemed really malevolent. And they looked around the room. I had the feeling he was trying to identify markers, ways to find us.”
Czar raised his gaze from the frame to Player. “You must have a theory, Player. Do you want to share?”
Player glanced at Zyah and then sighed. He held out his hand to her, his heart pounding. He’d revealed a dark secret of his past, and now he was about to kick her in the teeth again. He waited. She put her hand in his without hesitation because she was Zyah. He should have known.
“I do. It sounds crazy, but then all of us have psychic abilities. The Drakes do. Czar, every one of your brothers do. The women living on your farm do. I believe that Zyah’s grandfather did as well and so did her father. I think they came up with a way to create a portal. When they opened the portal, they could deliver a bomb precisely where they wanted it to go, close the portal and no one would be the wiser. Imagine handing the president a bomb and then closing the portal. The bomb would go off and no one would have a clue how it happened. You could target anyone in the world.”
There was absolute silence. Czar moved first, studying the drawing again through the monocle and then the frame. “Your father was an astronomer, Zyah?”
“It’s not possible,” Zyah denied in a whisper, pulling her hand away from Player’s. She rubbed her palm on her thigh as if removing his touch. “They wouldn’t do this. And if Mama Anat knew, she would have destroyed it. It isn’t possible.”
“Even if it is possible that she knew, she might not destroy the drawing because it came from her husband,” Maestro said. “Who is this man and how would he know, after all these years, about it? Why would he have waited this long to find the drawing if he did know? It isn’t like Anat would have been that difficult to find. She didn’t come to the United States under a different name.”
“All good questions and ones I think we need Anat to answer,” Czar said. “I’m going to ask Destroyer to see if Anat would be willing to travel here or if she would prefer us to go there. I’m reluctant to have this drawing anywhere near your home, Zyah.”
“I feel the same,” Player said.
Zyah shook her head. “I don’t like any of this. Do you honestly believe that my father built some portal so a bomb could be sent to an enemy? How would they know his exact location? There are too many variables, not to mention it’s all too sci-fi.”
“You connect with me through the earth, Zyah. Ships found their way guided by stars. Are you telling me that you really think it would be impossible for your father to find a location he needed using the stars?”