“We’ll be right back,” the male newscaster said, and they cut to the station’s background screen and theme song.
I drew my legs up to sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed and changed the channel back to the first news station. The newscaster was speaking rapidly in a low, intense voice. “—spreading throughout the greater Toronto area,” he said. “The Canadian Armed Forces have set up a cordon to catch the terrorists responsible. Residents of Toronto and the surrounding areas, including Niagara Falls, are urged to stay indoors. More on this as it develops.”
That station, too, went to commercial. I muted the TV and took a deep, calming breath. None of this was going the way it should. The Wardens had left in plenty of time to stop the attack, or at least minimize the damage. If this attack was worse—
My phone rang, and I let out a little shriek. I scrabbled it toward me and said, “Judy, did Mike—”
“He left. Are you watching the news? It’s awful.”
“I don’t understand why it’s so bad.”
“Me neither.” Judy blew out her breath; it made a whistling sound in my ear. “They wouldn’t report it if the invaders made themselves known, would they?”
“Why would the invaders do that?”
“I don’t know. It just seems like the next logical step for them, if they’re going for full-on destruction.”
I scratched my nose, which was a mistake because the bandaging made it itch more. “They still have to consume our magic. They wouldn’t want to do anything that would interfere with that.”
“Maybe. If they kill all the Wardens—”
“Hang on. The news is back on.” I lowered the phone to my lap and turned up the volume.
“—live from Toronto. Isabella?”
“We’ve been told the event started in Mississauga, west of Toronto,” Isabella said. She was a youthful Latina with her hair pulled back starkly from her face, and she looked as grim as the blonde newscaster had. “The Army has cordoned off the area and begun the evacuation of Toronto to the north and northeast. Prevailing winds are blowing south, and residents of cities on the lake are urged to remain indoors.”
“Is this being classed as a terrorist attack similar to what happened in Natchitoches?
“Jackson, the authorities have not made an official statement, but the spread of the disease is what we saw in Natchitoches and in other cities around the world. According to my source, who asked to remain anonymous, the effects of the bioweapon are identical: muscle spasms, followed by heart attack or stroke or both. I think the same unknown terrorist group is responsible here.”
“Thank you, Isabella. As yet, no organization has claimed responsibility—”
I shut the TV off. I didn’t need to listen to their ignorant speculation. “Judy?”
“Still here.”
“When did Mike leave? It seems impossible that they were too late to stop the attack.”
“He’s been gone almost an hour. Long before they started reporting. I’m worried.”
“Me too.” I took a bite from my second cookie. “But I don’t want to call or text Malcolm and distract him.”
Judy didn’t reply.
“Judy? You still there?”
“Helena,” Judy said in a faint voice. “What channel are you watching? Never mind. Turn to channel eight.”
Mystified, I turned on the TV and changed the channel. It was the middle of prime time, but instead of a sitcom, the evening news anchor was speaking. “—live broadcast,” he said. “What can you tell us?”
A hissing, bumping noise came over the speaker, the sound of someone fumbling a microphone, and beyond that, a rising and falling hum I couldn’t identify. “I’m not sure yet,” a male voice said. “We’ve passed the cordon and no one in authority has seen us yet. The streets are a mess of cars trying to move northeast and people fleeing on foot.”
“Are you in danger?” the newscaster asked.
“I don’t think so. The previous attacks were all limited in scope, and despite what the Army’s said about evacuating, I don’t think the bioweapon’s range will reach this far. We’re going to continue south—wait.”
The channel went silent. Finally, the newscaster said, “What’s wrong? Keith, what’s wrong?”
Keith’s heavy breathing came over the microphone. “I thought I saw something, but it’s just the lighting here. We’re moving on.”
“For those of you just joining us, you’re listening to Keith Scarren, reporting live from Mississauga, the site of the latest terrorist attack,” the newscaster said. “In just a moment, we’ll go to Rebecca Hayes for commentary on the tactics used by the terrorists and what we can expect to see as this attack progresses. Keith, any news?”
“We’ve moved out of the main streets so we can go more quickly, stay away from the evacuees,” Keith said. “I don’t think—what’s that?”
“Keith?”
“I don’t understand what I’m seeing,” Keith said. “The shadows are moving away from the lights, and—run, run!”
The newscaster half-rose from his seat. “Keith? Keith!”
A horrible, anguished scream filled my bedroom. I’d heard that sort of scream before. Memories I’d suppressed, memories of seeing a woman writhe in agony as dozens of unbound familiars drained her of her magic, rose up in awful clarity before me. I clutched a pillow to my chest and closed my eyes, incapable of shutting off the sound.
After a few seconds, it cut off as sharply as if I’d found the remote. I opened my eyes. The newscaster looked as horrified as I felt. “We’ve…lost contact with our correspondent,” he said faintly. “We’ll try to…to reconnect with him, but now let’s go to Rebecca Hayes.”
The scene shifted to a plump, attractive woman whose mouth hung open in astonishment. “I,” she began, then fell silent, clearly at a loss for words.
When she didn’t continue right away, I told Judy, “That reporter saw the invaders.”
“Yes, and was killed by them,” Judy said. “Where the hell are our fighters?”
“I wish I knew,” I said. I’d never been so afraid for Malcolm in my life.
23
There wasn’t anything else to say. Judy and I ended our call; neither of us said it was so we could be free for a call telling us that Malcolm and Mike were okay, but I knew that’s what she was thinking. I watched the news channel’s “expert” talk a lot of nonsense about the nonexistent terrorists and what their bioweapon was capable of. They never did regain contact with Keith, though I hadn’t expected them to. Poor, stupid, dead Keith, who’d gone foolishly into danger and paid for it with his life.
Eventually I startled awake, realized I’d dozed off, and sat up in bed. I didn’t want to sleep until I heard from Malcolm, but my body didn’t feel the same. I thought about waking Claude to tell him about the attack—all right, I selfishly wanted company—but decided, since there was nothing he could do about it, it was better to let him sleep.