Titan Song by Dan Stout (top 10 ebook reader .txt) 📕

“For helping me. For saving lives. For . . . Hells, I don’t know. For justice, I guess.”

Her lips curled into that smile I liked so much. “That’s what I’ve already done. What else are you angling to get?”

“I need to know what that thing is below the city. I need to know how it’s tied to me, and I need to know fast.”

“I don’t have answers.”

“But you at least know the right questions, and who to ask.” I placed myself between her and the window, blocking her view. “This isn’t something that can linger over my head. Whatever’s down there? It changes everything.”

Her gaze drifted over my shoulder, thoughtful. “Does it?”

I stared at her like she’d lost her mind. She ignored me and went on.

“Whatever you saw, whether it was the Titan or something else, it isn’t new. For all we know, it’s been there longer than any of us have been alive. The only difference is that now we’re aware of it.”

“No,” I said. “The difference is that it’s aware of us. And it can affect the world above. The buzzing rocks that drove people to murder? Dead bodies changing shape and trying to hunt down their killers? All just reflections of the magic and thirst for vengeance we witnessed in the tunnels.” I widened my stance and held out my hands, like a city attorney appealing to a jury, trying to persuade myself as much as her. “The bodies weren’t transformed by my connection to manna. They were echoing that thing below ground.”

She didn’t reply, and I stared through the window on the opposite wall, at the Mount and the city that huddled in its arms. I fought the urge to upend the desk. “How many damn secrets are hidden beneath this town?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if we’d stop burying them, they’d stop coming back to the surface.” She lolled her head. “Okay. You want to know what’s under the Mount and how you’re connected. Is that all you want?”

“Not even close. But I may have burned that bridge to ashes.”

She ignored that comment.

“I don’t know that I can help you,” she said. “I don’t have the influence you think I do. And since Paulus’s arrest, I have even less.”

“Paulus is a free woman,” I said. “She walked out of holding this morning.”

“Paulus is weakened and desperate, a diplomat under house arrest. There are questions about her involvement, and the process to replace her is already well underway. If she’s going to stay in power, she’s going to need to do something dramatic, that will be seen and respected both here and in the capital.”

“She’ll do whatever she has to.”

Gellica drew her arms in tighter. When she spoke, her voice was small. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” She shivered, the first sign I’d seen of her reacting to the cold. “She told me that I was the only one. Of all the takwin she tried to create, I was the only one who lived. But that photo you gave me, of the girl in the sinkhole. She was like me. Born and grown before I even existed.”

I faced her head on. “Are you willing to cross her?”

“What if there’s more survivors like me? What if I have sisters out there?” Gellica raised her dimpled chin toward the world beyond the rig. “I’ll do what I need to, as well.”

“Paulus didn’t cause the sinkhole, but we both know the old bodies down there are hers,” I said, arms crossed. “I want to see her pay for that. Can you accept that? You’ve always stood up for Paulus before this. Said she was trying to do the right thing.”

“She was. But so were Weylan, and Vandie. Hells, even Harlan Cedrow thought he was doing the right thing. You thought you were, when you stole this from the evidence room, right?” She smacked the cardboard box of audio tapes. “Everybody thinks they’re doing the right thing.”

“No,” I said. “Some people know what they’re doing is wrong. Even if they have to do it.”

“Okay, fine. Pretend I said most, if that makes you feel better. My point is that the whole world’s turning their attention to this town right now, and every one of them thinks they know what’s best for us.”

I chuckled. “We don’t even know what’s best for us.”

“Exactly.” She stared at her hands, fingers folded as if in prayer. I reached out and she gripped my hand, fingers entwined with my own.

“You know I tend to screw things up,” I said, surprised to feel my throat constrict.

“I noticed.” I was even more surprised to see the wetness in her eyes.

Without thought, I pulled her hand, and she stepped in to me. Her free hand snaked up my neck, tilting my head down to reach hers. We kissed, a silent moment of warmth and support. When we broke off, she didn’t step away.

“This can’t end well.” Her breath against my neck was as warm and full of life as the geo-vents. “People like us don’t get a happily ever after.”

“So let’s not worry about endings.”

We held one another silently, taking a moment to relish in the feeling of not being alone. Light from the ebbing sun bathed us from behind, throwing our silhouettes through the northern window, a pair of black blades on the ice. I told myself that her shadow was that of a normal human, and that it was only a trick of the setting spring sun that made it look like the great white cat who appeared shortly before dire catastrophe.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

WRITING THE CARTER ARCHIVES IS a joy, and I’m immensely indebted to everyone who helps make this dream come true. Writing the acknowledgments, however, is always a bit intimidating. I feel like I could go on indefinitely and still manage to leave someone out. So, given the limitations of ink and page, here are some of the many, many people who have my gratitude.

My mom was hugely influential in