I wished that made me feel better.
Neither Malcolm nor I spoke much on the ride home. I was preoccupied with going over everything that had happened and trying to convince myself I couldn’t have done any more than I had. My mind kept coming back to Wallach’s auguries. The oracle had warned him repeatedly, he’d ignored the warnings, and that was all on his head, but it had warned me too, and I felt that was on my head.
“Blaming yourself?” Malcolm said.
I startled. “How did you know?”
“You hum when you’re thinking of things you wish you’d done differently. A low note, just for a few seconds.”
I’d never noticed that. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t owe me an apology. Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“I just wish I’d pushed Mr. Wallach harder about the oracle’s warnings. I’m sure he could have figured out a way to fix the problem with the anchors if he hadn’t been so impatient.”
“I agree. But it was his decision to make, Helena. All you could do was warn. You couldn’t force him to be more patient.”
“So I need to stop feeling like I failed?”
“That feeling doesn’t change the past, does it?”
I sighed. “No. I guess it’s part of how I hate feeling helpless.
Malcolm touched my hand lightly. “That’s one of the things I love about you. Though I could do without you almost getting killed.”
“I know.” I leaned my head against the window. “I wish this war were over. I wish I didn’t feel so much like it might end in victory for the invaders.”
“We haven’t given up yet,” Malcolm said.
Claude had already gone to bed when we arrived home. Well, he was still on Switzerland time. I trudged up the stairs and started to undress. I’d worn a pullover shirt and a skirt with an elastic waistband, things I could get into and out of without help, but I felt so unexpectedly weary I struggled anyway.
Malcolm helped me extricate myself from my shirt and unfastened my bra for me. “I wish I weren’t so tired,” I said, touching his cheek.
He put his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “Soon enough, love,” he said, and kissed me lightly, a touch that gradually deepened into something more. It warmed me all over. I kissed him back and felt his hand move down my back to settle on my waist. Maybe I wasn’t all that tired.
Malcolm’s phone rang.
I cursed. Malcolm chuckled and released me. “Hold that thought,” he said, picking up his phone. His face went still as he read the display. “Yes?” he said. The stillness gave way to an intent look. “When? All right. Tell her I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked when he hung up.
“That was Tinsley,” Malcolm said. He stripped off his shirt and went to the dresser, where he took his fatigues out of a drawer. “The Pattern has predicted another attack. If we go now, we’ll beat the invaders to it.”
I saw my opportunity for an intimate interlude slip away. “Where?”
“The Danvers Node near Toronto. Juliet’s ward-stepping here in ten minutes to take me to the Gunther Node.” He fastened his pants and sat on the bed to put on his boots. “I’m really sorry about this.”
“You know I understand.” I found the T-shirt I was using for a nightshirt and pulled it over my head. “Tell the team I wish you all luck. And come back to me.”
He smiled, a little ruefully. “I wish I could make that promise.”
I went downstairs with him and into our backyard. Juliet Dawes emerged from the wardstone shed as we approached. Juliet was a stone magus and a good friend, but she didn’t do more than give me a little wave. “You ready?” she asked Malcolm.
Malcolm nodded. He kissed me, said “I hope to return soon,” and entered the shed with Juliet. I watched the shed door close on them, realized my fist was clenched tight, and turned to go back into the house.
The clock on the microwave read 7:46. We’d gone straight from Abernathy’s to the Gunther Node to see Viv and hadn’t eaten. Malcolm would be starving when he got back. I looked at my bandaged hand with a scowl. “You’re not helping,” I told it. Cooking one-handed was not an experiment I wanted to try.
I dug around in the fridge until I found a container of leftover cannelloni, one of my favorite foods to make. While it was heating, I ran upstairs and changed my skirt for my pajama pants and felt a little better. When I returned downstairs, I got out a tray and put the cannelloni and a can of Diet Coke on it. I added a hunk of Italian garlic bread and a couple of snickerdoodles and, balancing the tray carefully, returned to my bedroom. Eating in bed was one of my favorite indulgences when Malcolm was on the hunt.
But it didn’t relax me. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Malcolm and his team could be facing in Toronto. The Pattern might have predicted this attack, but the Wardens were still fighting a defensive war so long as they couldn’t take the fight to the invaders in their space. I popped the can open, using my left arm to hold it close against my chest, and took a long drink. I was not going to sleep until Malcolm was safely home.
I finished my meal and set the tray on Malcolm’s side of the bed. Nibbling a cookie, I looked at the TV screen and fought a war with myself. Watching the news would only make me miserable because I was in no position to help. On the other hand, I didn’t think I could bear not knowing. I finally gave up and found the remote. The attack might not have started yet. Maybe the world still rolled on in blissful ignorance of what was about to happen in Toronto.
I turned on the television and flicked through channels until I found one of the all-news networks. The newscaster, a slim African-American man, didn’t have the manic edge to his voice that would indicate a terrorist attack. He was talking about some summit meeting between world leaders. I moved on. The next news channel showed a man and a woman, both blond and eerily similar to one another in face and build, talking about something the President had done that was either great for the economy or a financial disaster, I couldn’t tell which. I was about to change the channel again when the female newscaster got the strangest look on her face, an expression of confusion blended with horror. “I’ve just been told another terrorist attack,” she began, then went silent, listening to an unseen speaker.
“Emily?” her co-host said.
Emily blinked and shook her head slightly. “Toronto is under attack,” she said, her voice clear and as calm as if she were reporting sports scores, though her eyes were wide and her pupils dilated. “The terrorist bioweapon has been deployed west of the city. Casualties are already being reported. It’s spreading faster than in other cities.” Now her voice shook. “There is still no evidence of how the weapon was deployed. No terrorist organization has yet claimed responsibility. The Canadian Armed Forces have mobilized—”
Again, she went silent. Her co-host looked like he wanted to shake the information out of her; he was leaning forward, and his hands gripped the edge of the desk. “That’s all we know,” she finally said. She turned to look at her co-host with the bleakest expression I’d ever seen anyone wear. “We will have live reporting from the scene when…when someone…”