The Gender Plan Read online

  “Can we not have this argument? If we let her wake up, then she’ll be back to being armed again,” retorted Ms. Dale. I opened my mouth to interject, and Ms. Dale shook her head, her entire stance adamant. “I don’t care what you say, Viggo, there’s no reason strong enough to convince me to let this snake of a woman live. She’s toxic, and she has a way of worming her way in. Even her mouth is a weapon. You both know it.”

  I looked down at Violet, who was wearing a faraway look, her silver eyes staring at Desmond. “Violet?”

  The haunted shadows fled across her face as she jerked back and looked at me. “Tim’s here,” she said blankly. “Over by the driveway from the basement. Owen, too.”

  I’d thought she was paying attention to the discussion, but now I realized her voice was hollow and flat, and I cupped her cheeks between my hands, peering into her eyes, my excitement at the thought of seeing her brother alive—and my current rage at Desmond—eclipsed by worry.

  “Violet?” I asked, concern softening my voice.

  Eyelids fluttering, she gazed back up at me, and then seemed to do a double take. “Viggo?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Of course,” she murmured after a moment. “I’m just… I’m really tired. Desmond is too dangerous.”

  “She’s the key to everything,” I said. “We can use her.”

  A hard edge appeared in Violet’s eyes then, even in her distracted state, and she shook her head. “We don’t need her,” she said fiercely. “Let’s just... get it over with. She’s too dangerous.”

  “Good,” said Ms. Dale. “My pleasure.” Her face held no sign of guilt or humor, devoid of anything that could allow me to question her sincerity.

  I sucked in a slow breath, then nodded stiffly. She cocked her gun, the cold click of the metal seeming loud in the night.

  But before Ms. Dale fired, another voice spoke up.

  “I wouldn’t do that… if I were you.”

  Her voice was weary and tight with pain, but it still managed to convey that sense of silky, easy superiority that instantly put my nerves on edge. I cursed under my breath. Desmond was conscious again. How long had she been listening? We would never know the answer to that one.

  Ms. Dale hesitated, keeping her gun pointed, and she gritted her teeth as though controlling her trigger finger. “You have ten seconds to convince me not to blow your brains out.”

  “So angry, Melissa,” Desmond murmured. I saw now that her eyes were open and glittering in the light from the mansion fire. “I always knew that would bring you down in the end.”

  “Nine,” Ms. Dale said without missing a beat.

  “The boys,” Desmond said quickly. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to the boys.”

  “Killing you is the best thing I could do for the boys,” Ms. Dale replied, but now there was the barest bit of hesitance in her voice, and Desmond, lying helpless and weaponless on the grass, knew it.

  “Seven days,” Desmond said dreamily, ignoring the jab.

  I sensed what she was doing—lying to save her skin—but now I had to know what she was talking about, too.

  “Seven days ‘til what?” I growled.

  “Viggo, dear, don’t try to play the bad cop. Even Melissa here can do it better than you, and she’s a sorry excuse for a—”

  Desmond’s laconic drawl cut off sharply as Ms. Dale fired her gun, the explosion deafening. I was shocked for a moment—until I saw there was no blood or bullet hole. Desmond had simply flinched, jerking her head to the side as though she’d been stung. The shot had hit the ground close to her face. Expert control on Ms. Dale’s part.

  “I am this close to killing you,” Ms. Dale spat. “Answer the question.”

  Desmond’s voice was just a little higher when she replied, “If I’m gone longer than seven days, my people will order all of the boys under ten into the river and let them drown. The boys younger than fourteen on the next day, and so on and so forth. Elena and I discussed it, in the eventuality that you people got a hold of me like you did King Maxen. The older boys are much easier to work with, so she may keep them alive, at least for a while longer…”

  “You’re lying,” Ms. Dale snarled, not losing her focus on Desmond as Violet and I stared. My stomach twisted into knots. She’d sprung her trap, and now we were flailing in it.

  Desmond’s lips twitched up. “Shoot me and find out,” she crooned.

  “Fine,” Ms. Dale said, and before I could voice the shock of alarm that coursed through me, she’d spun her gun around in her hand, stepped forward, and knocked Desmond on the head with the butt of it. The older woman’s neck snapped backward, and she slumped.

  “We’ve heard enough out of you,” Ms. Dale snapped, then pulled back, huffing, and looked at me and Violet.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” she said, bitterness oozing from her words.

  “We can’t take the risk?”

  “Yes. And, as much as I hate to say this, I agree. Until we can find some way to verify that all the boys are safe from the Matrians… even the possibility of this being true…” Ms. Dale’s voice became sharper. “She’s got our hands tied. Viggo, you get your wish. We have to take her with us.”

  “I’m starting to reconsider that wish,” I growled.

  Ms. Dale shrugged. I’d rarely seen her this visibly angry, her posture rigid and her teeth clenched. “Too bad.”

  Violet shifted in my arms and put her face against my chest. “Viggo?”

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s get out of here, please. Desmond was on the handheld earlier—calling reinforcements. We need to go.”

  “Of course, baby,” I said, everything falling away except my need to get her back to safety as quickly as possible.

  That seemed to be all Violet needed to hear in order to let go completely. She sagged in my arms then, and I gently took hold of her knees and pulled her up to my chest, supporting her weight with both my arms. Ms. Dale studied us for a moment, her eyes reflecting her concern. “Is she all right?” she asked, taking a step closer without letting her weapon lose its bead on Desmond.

  Violet’s eyes were closed now, her breathing deep and even. I looked up at Ms. Dale and shook my head, baffled. “She just… fell asleep.”

  Ms. Dale frowned and took a step closer, using one hand to peel back Violet’s eyes. Violet murmured something, her left hand coming up to bat Ms. Dale’s hand away before nestling in closer to me. “She’s exhausted. Whatever happened in there must’ve been a very draining experience for her physically.”

  I clutched her tighter. “It was definitely mental as well. Her eyes were all right, though?” I murmured, remembering how Violet had seemed… well, sort of all right after the palace, but had slowly started to slip away as we watched, her mind becoming more and more fractured as blood had pressed into her brain.

  Ms. Dale responded with her eyes back on Desmond. “Her pupils were responsive, and she woke up when I began to probe her. It’s physical, for sure. Probably overexerted herself. We’ll have Dr. Tierney take a look when we get back, but I think she’s fine.”

  The breath I had been holding came out in a slow huff, and I nodded. “Great. Let’s get out of here—one of us will have to take Owen’s vehicle, and we’ll have to load up the guys.”

  Tsking under her breath, Ms. Dale whirled and stalked away, back toward the car. She came to a halt right in front of the driver-side door, seemingly torn. After a moment, she whirled back and moved up to me. “Desmond better go in your car,” she warned. “Because if I take her in Owen’s, she won’t get back to base alive.”

  Turning, I took a look at the other two cars in the drive. One I recognized as Ashabee’s, but the other clearly belonged to Desmond. “How long do you think we have?”

  Ms. Dale checked her watch, frowning. “Before this place is crawling? Hard to say. Why?”

  “I’m just wondering if you think Desmond put a bug in Owen’s car, just in case. Or if…” I pause
d. “If she’s had a tracker installed in her body.”

  “She would. Ugh, all these complications.” Ms. Dale curled her lips in distaste as she considered the thought. “Best not to risk it, of course… We’ll have Thomas meet us somewhere and let him do a sweep. We can use both his device and the one that Dr. Arlan uses.”

  “All right. Can you make sure Tim and Owen are okay? I gotta get Violet loaded, and make sure our newest prisoner is tied up.”

  Ms. Dale’s mouth flattened into a line of disapproval, but she nodded. “I might need your help with Owen. And Tim, actually. They’re a bit too big for me to handle.”

  I opened my mouth to say that Violet had done it while injured, but I didn’t really want to argue with Ms. Dale in her current state of mind. Besides, it would be easy for me to move them—no need to make the older woman force herself into uncomfortable physical labor. “I gotcha. Just drive the car over there and watch them, and I’ll be with you in a minute.” Ms. Dale nodded and jogged off. Owen would’ve left the keys in the car—he usually insisted upon it as a security measure, in case one person on a mission died and the other needed to get away.

  My gut churned when I thought of Owen. I wasn’t even sure what to say to him at this point. Half of me wanted to hit him hard enough to knock some sense into him. Another part of me softly but painfully reminded me that he had just lost his brother… and it was still my fault. At least partly.

  I sat Violet gently in the passenger seat of our car, then came back and got to work on Desmond, using some leftover zip ties I kept in my bag on her wrists, binding them in front of her so I could keep an eye on them. Then I went to work on her feet. As far as I could improvise, I used all the tricks I’d learned as a warden backward, making sure that Desmond wouldn’t be able to escape from her bonds the way I would usually try to escape them. It didn’t make this feel any safer, any less like we were making a horrible mistake, but at this point, we had little choice.

  Finally, when she was as secure as I could make her, I picked her up, a part of me surprised at how light she felt for a creature filled with so much evil. As I worked, I heard Ms. Dale start up Owen’s car and drive carefully around toward the secret entrance.

  I thought about putting Desmond in the trunk—I didn’t want her waking up on the drive and causing havoc—but resigned myself to keeping her in the backseat so I could keep an eye on her. Once I had her loaded up, I drove the car around, parking it next to where Ms. Dale had parked hers, so I could see inside.

  Ms. Dale was on the handheld, the blue light cutting a bright contrast against the flickering red flames. “We need a location and a timeframe, plus any suggested driving routes, Thomas. We’re worried their vehicle may have a trace on it.”

  “Affirmative—we’re just wrapping things up here. The emergency staff decided to go back to the city, by the way. Something about the people needing them after what we did.”

  “It was their choice,” she said. “Just send us a message. Being this close to yet another fire tonight is creeping me out.”

  “Understood. Expect something in under a minute.”

  Ms. Dale clicked off the handheld and placed it on the hood, running a hand through her hair. Her ever-present braid had slipped out, and I could see the strands of silver in her hair shining a bright iridescent red as they reflected the fire. “Owen’s got a head injury, but it might be superficial. Tim… Tim’s not so good. I don’t see a sign of a head injury, but his pupils are sluggish. I’m not sure why.”

  I stared at where Tim rested on the ground, noting the dark bruising all over his body, disappearing under his clothes. “Me neither. I’ll grab him and then help you with Owen.”

  “Owen first. I want to jostle Tim as little as possible.” The handheld chirped, and Ms. Dale turned and tapped a few buttons on it. “Thomas came through—we’ll meet him forty-five minutes from here. I have a route. Let’s move.”

  There was no arguing with that tone, even if I wanted to. And I didn’t.

  9

  Violet

  I jerked awake, the acrid smell of smoke thick in my nostrils, expecting to see the warden’s shocked face bathed in a halo of flames. The sudden movement caused a wave of pain to ripple through my muscles, stretched taut and stiff against my bones. I gasped and flopped back against the pillows, staring up at the canvas tent overhead.

  It took me a minute to remember that we had moved out of the farmhouse—the small room Viggo and I had been staying in was now reserved for the sick or wounded, and now, since I was able to stand up and get around freely, and my arm, ribs, and skull were healing with no complications, I would just have to visit every so often. Besides, it was kind of hard to lead an army of refugees camping in tents when they saw us come out of our comfortable bedroom every morning. Viggo had insisted we move to be on the same level of comfort that they were, and I had gladly agreed.

  It wasn’t even uncomfortable. Thanks to Viggo’s knowledge, our little nest on the ground was cushioned enough to support all my stiff limbs, and warm and cozy in spite of the mucky conditions outside. We were right next to Cad, Margot, and their two children, too. It was nice, all things considered.

  I breathed through the stiffness and bruises, shaking off the lingering tremors of the nightmare. Instead, I turned my mind toward the familiar sounds of the camp, the birds singing in spite of the lateness of the season, and the feel of the sun overhead, trying desperately to warm up the cold earth below. It helped chase away the anxiety that had haunted my dream, and gave me a little time to stretch out my legs and arms.

  Lifting up my shirt, I groaned when I saw, even from the weird angle of looking down at my own body, the two purple splotches that marred my chest and collarbone. I was more grateful than ever that I had found that vest—Desmond would have ended my life.

  It was a sobering thought, and one I didn’t intend to dwell on. I was alive, safe with the people I loved—and we’d found Tim. I should be cheerful and relieved. But we’d been forced to take Desmond back to our base on the off chance that she had really arranged for the boys to be killed if she went missing. And we now had less than seven days to figure out what to do with her… The notion poisoned my joy and sent anxiety churning through me.

  I’d hated the idea of shooting my enemy while she was down, unarmed. But in this case, it would have been the safest thing we could do. I didn’t want to live in this constant fear of Desmond anymore.

  Too late for that now. Desmond was dangerous—I was keenly, intimately aware of that—but we had to make the best of it. I knew we would have to go to great lengths to keep our camp safe from her, including keeping her from seeing any of the Liberators who were now working with us—that was a secret we needed to keep badly.

  I tried to be optimistic. Maybe, just maybe, we could get something out of her. Anything, even something small, would be helpful. When that didn’t really work, I simply pushed the nerves aside, knowing I couldn’t really change them until the situation was better.

  Besides, I had more important things to do. Like see my brother.

  Oh, and deal with Owen.

  I sank farther into my pillows, and considered the real possibility of staying in bed. With everything that had happened last night, the emotional high of discovering my brother, right in the middle of the emotional blow of Owen selling me out to Desmond, was a strange mixture of relief and a gut check to the stomach. Both left me breathless, nervous, and uncertain.

  It took me a moment to realize that I was nervous to see Tim. Was he mad at me for not finding him sooner? Did he blame me for not trying harder to find him? I prayed he didn’t view this as I did: another failure to protect him.

  And with Owen, I wasn’t even sure what to expect. I knew Viggo and the others would want to know what happened with everything. Knowing the rest of our crew, they probably suspected this situation was an accident, or bad timing. But Owen and I both knew the truth. I hoped he didn’t expect me to lie for him—I didn’t think our relat
ionship could take another hit on that level.

  I shook my head and threw back my covers, the cool air making my skin prickle. Last night had been one of the most difficult nights I had ever faced—worse, in some ways, than when I’d squared off with Tabitha at the palace—and I had survived. I was not going to sit back on my laurels, today of all days, when so much was happening. Tim wasn’t going to blame me, and so help me, I was going to find a way of handling Owen.

  I got dressed slowly, taking my time so as to not aggravate my injuries. A quick check of my watch marked the time as a few minutes before ten. Viggo had probably opted to let me sleep, something for which, today, I was extremely grateful.

  Slipping on my socks, I padded slowly toward the flap over the entrance, pulling it back some and sitting down right at the edge. My boots were right outside on the ground, under the edge of the rain fly—another of Viggo’s tricks for keeping the tent as clean as possible. I quickly slipped them on and began to tug awkwardly on the laces, hating that I still only had full use of one hand.

  I looked up as Margot stepped around the tent, a basket of clothes on her hip. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, and then a smile broke out on her face, her white teeth practically glistening under the winter sun.

  “Violet!” she exclaimed brightly. “Viggo told me to keep an eye out for you. He made you a plate of food, but didn’t want to wake you up this morning. I’ll go get it.”

  I smirked as she set down the basket and disappeared into her tent, reappearing after a moment with a battered tin plate covered with a clean cloth. “Here you go, dear,” she said affectionately, pushing the plate into my hand. “You eat this, and I’ll help you with your boots.”

  “Margot, you really don’t have to—”

  Her brown eyes twinkled as she knelt down at my feet, her fingers already attacking my laces. “Of course I do,” she chided. “You’re family, and you’re injured. There’s no shame in needing a little bit of help, y’know.”