Heather closed her eyes and the waves of the tank behind her burned away like paper on fire. Skylar was left standing in the same spot, but Heather looked much younger. Magus was there and looked the same.
“I’m through with being held back,” he said. “Too much time is wasted on unnecessary processes.”
“These steps are hardly unnecessary!” an angry woman’s voice replied. Skylar knew it was Magda. “We have to slow down and find the source of the energy fueling these capabilities. Do you know?”
He didn’t reply to her question.
“Our technology is ballooning out of control, to a point where we don’t know what the consciousness is that animates it. This is dangerous. We must consider how this affects future generations.”
Magus was done listening to reason. He spun in a circle and cast a ray of red light toward Magda. She had little time to react; she managed to lift her hand to deflect it, but only partway. She was gone.
Magus recited a command as the light over the land glowed red. “Seven times seven generations will not know their sleeping power. The world will be managed by those worthy of the Akash. Men sworn to uphold the knowledge of Lucifer will hold the key.”
The scene faded, and Heather was left standing there. The mermaids gave her one last look and swam away.
“I’ve shown you too much, I’m sure, but”—she looked skyward—“something’s changing, everything’s changing and I just …”
She ran off. Skylar let her go.
She was now alone—completely alone. A faint echo of voices tried to return in her head, but she commanded them away. It seemed to work. She thought for a moment about trying to find Kyle. It wasn’t even strange to see him here. She’d given up on strange years ago. But he could wait. She knew the nursery was here, she felt it. Now she would have to find it.
She left the water enclosure and went back down the hall toward the lab. With each step past each door, she experienced a replay of her short time there like a bad movie. All that she’d said to Heather; Magus leaving; waking up in that bed attached to those needles—it all came at her at once. She braced herself, holding the wall for support. A couple of deep breaths in, and she regained her bearings.
The more she walked, the more doors she encountered, and the more her memories overtook her mind. Her pace quickened until one door charged her memory and she stopped short. The familiar door on the fourth floor stared back at her. She had found it. The nursery of souls.
Mica looked out the window of the French door of the Oval Office onto the patio in front of her. There were guards at every station, keeping her in. For so long she had been on the other side, with them keeping her out.
A knock on the door brought her back to the room. “Madam President, Cyril Magus to see you,” Wren Riddle said. Wren had landed on her White House feet yet again, this time as personal secretary to the president.
“Not now, Wren, I’m busy,” Mica said, staring out the glass.
Seventy-five-year-old Magus pushed his way through the door, past Wren, who did her best to stop him. He was freakishly strong for his age.
“That can’t be true,” he said before slamming the door in Wren’s face.
“You should be careful, Cyril, your crazy is leaking all over the place,” Mica said, staring him in the eye. She walked to the desk chair and sat down gingerly. She’d rather assert her authority than stay attached to her animosity toward the chair. “I’m not planning to run things the same way as Devlin did. I have an alternative point of view.”
“The country has collapsed, Mica,” he said. “You’re too late to fix it.”
“What you see as collapsed, I see as an opportunity. Your phantom reign is over. From where I sit, we have an enormous opportunity to create the New Atlantis America was meant to be.”
He laughed. “You don’t belong in that chair. I will enjoy watching the country blame you for its problems.”
She smirked. “I won’t be your scapegoat. You had Devlin for that. Leave it to Milicent to unknowingly put a wrench in your plan.”
Her expression shifted only for a fraction of a second, but that was long enough for Cyril to catch it.
“You didn’t tip your hand. I knew it was her,” he said. “He was heavily monitored for health and there was no way a stroke got him. You were never supposed to become president.”
“Yet here we are,” Mica said. “I have no interest in being the last casualty of this divine comedy. I am going to govern this country and try to right the wrongs to the best of my ability. And you won’t be in my pocket, or invited to dinner or to anything involving a tuxedo, so find a new hobby, Cyril.”
He started to speak, but seemed to reconsider and closed his mouth. He opened the door to leave.
Wren stood in the doorway. “Madam President, Milicent Grayer is on the line,” she said, staring at Magus as he walked out.
“Of course she is,” Mica said. She picked up the office phone. “Milicent, is your witch radar going off?”
“I beg your pardon?” Milicent said on the other line. “You called me.”
Mica glared at Wren and put her hand over the receiver. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Wren nodded and shut the door behind her back.
“Milicent, how are you holding up?” Mica asked.
“Holding up?”
“You know—you’re a grieving widow. Your dead husband?”
“Oh right, well, I’ve been in Italy with family,” Milicent said. “I’m touring the cities right now.”
“Magus was just here,” Mica said. “He sends his best.”
“He’s gloating and flaunting, two things I like to do,” Milicent said. “He has Skylar.”
“Who is this Skylar?” Mica asked. “You’re the second person today calling about Skylar! Somehow her father got my phone number. He’s insane, talking about love and cancer. I’ve had to block his calls.”
“Skylar is our last hope,” Milicent said.
“I have a few hopes left,” Mica said. “And so do you. You’ve never seemed to be the type to put a last hope in someone else.”
“I tried to be the chosen one and it got me nowhere but the White House, which was beyond dreadful. I guess it’s your turn to restore the feminine.”
Mica grimaced. “I’ve never believed in the return of the Divine Feminine. My goddess never left. She just had a different way of existing among the patriarchy. Slithering between the cracks like smoke, never able to be caught.”
“I know your goal is to revive the red blood by denying the blue blood,” Milicent said. “Hold on …”
Mica heard her murmuring to someone else, clearly distracted. “Milicent, don’t keep me on the line here, I’m the president now—very important things to do.”
“About that, how’s piecing the country back together going? Should I return?” Milicent chuckled.
“You know I could use your help. Your expertise getting things back in place around here would be valuable. It’s a mountain to climb. This country is captivated by shiny objects.”
“The only way I’d come back to DC is if I were vice president, and this country can’t handle two women at the helm.” Milicent snorted. “You need a man.”