Seeker (Riders #2)(5)

       
         
       
        

My attention is pulled to that very key, which sits between Cordero's computer and her glasses. It's heavier than an ordinary key, like something ancient. Daryn wore it around her neck for weeks. The guys and I had thought it was so important. A sacred key, to open heavenly gates. But we'd been wearing the real key all along without realizing it-divided and disguised as wrist cuffs. Four cuffs that were misused. That opened a splinter realm, under Daryn's control, when she was coerced by one of the Kindred. "I instantly recognized the key as the decoy when Anna gave it to me and-"

"I think I've got something!" Ben, one of the MI Trio, barrels into the office with a sheet of paper crammed in his hand. He drops it on the desk. For a second we all look at it, this paper-spider; then Ben dives back in. "Shoot, sorry," he says, palming it flat. "That's from a gas station sixty-five miles north of here. Oh, hey, Gideon," he says, finally noticing me.

Cordero picks up the rumpled page to get a better look. I've stopped breathing mid-exhale. Totally stopped. I also seem to have spontaneously developed X-ray vision, because through the fibers of the paper I can make out the faded image of the girl.

The disappointment is gutting.

I let out my breath. "That's not her."

Cordero frowns and flips the paper around. "You're sure?"

"Yes." The girl in the photo has long blond hair and she's about the right age, seventeenish. Other than that, she looks nothing like Daryn.

"It's a grainy image," Ben says. "I can sharpen it up."

"Then it'll be a sharper picture of not her."

Cordero cuts a look my way. I know she wants me to be more encouraging. Everyone's working nonstop. We have cots set up outside and most of us sleep here rather than trek back to the motel. "Keep working, Ben," she says, handing the paper back to him.

"You're doing great, man," I add, to be more encouraging. "But try to do better. Faster, too."

"Definitely. You got it," Ben says, super earnestly. Then he jogs back to his desk. Literally jogs.

I can't keep the smile off my face. "See that? That's an A-plus effort, Cordero. Everyone should work that hard."

She shakes her head. "You take such advantage."

I laugh. "What'd I do?"

"Never mind. It's my fault. I should never have allowed them to see you as War."

"Nah. They loved it." Aside from Daryn, who's not here, and some extremely high-up government people, the people in this warehouse are the only ones who know what we are. Who we are? Whatever. 

Until last night, though, the techs only knew in theory, so we did the full kit reveal for them here in the warehouse, calling up weapons, armor, and horses. It was Cordero's idea. She thought it would motivate the team, and did it ever. We made an impression, Marcus especially. When you get a look at Death, you feel something. I only wish we'd recorded their reactions.

Cordero and I pick up where we left off. This must be the tenth time I've answered these questions, but we're working on my frustration and it's also her investigative process. I know she thinks she'll stumble on a clue.

Marcus and Jode stroll in as we're going through it. Jode takes the chair next to mine, his watch flashing as he drops his hand on the arm. As Conquest, he's an incarnation of the white rider. Even in street clothes the hints are there if you know what you're looking for. Under the fluorescent lights, Jode's blond hair has just a little too much shine. Same with his watch, his fingernails. He's got some flash. Jode-James Oliver Drummond Ellis by birth-is English, smart as a well-bred and highly educated Englishman, and one hundred percent lethal. None of us would be here if not for ole Drummy. The world might not even be the same. When we fought the Kindred, Jode fired an endless supply of arrows from the back of his white stallion, keeping us from getting overrun by demons. There were a lot of heroes that day but Jode was center podium.

Marcus leans against the wall behind Cordero, gravitating to the back as usual. He trains his glass-colored eyes on me. Quiet, steady eyes. Death stare. Before I got to know him I saw that look as completely hostile. Total turnaround now. Marcus and I are connected like Anna and me-like words aren't necessary. He had it rough growing up in foster homes around Chicago. He doesn't say much about it, but it was hard-core survival. Every day. I lost Dad last year, and nothing will ever replace him, but I got Marcus right around the same time. A brother. It was meant to happen, I think. Mom and Anna needed him, too.