The figure is gone.

  Maddy spins, trying to get her bearings in the darkened space. She pushes through another curtain. She’s backstage. A flash of blue disappears into an exit tunnel on the other side. Maddy is breathless now, not thinking—just running, dodging, jumping, until she’s in another passageway, lined in black, just like the entrance.

  She sees Deva just ahead. Shouts her name again. Why won’t she answer?

  Maddy makes one final lunge for her friend’s arm, spins her around—and staggers back in shock.

  The face is not Deva’s face. It’s green and hideous. And the body is no longer human. The creature lunges at Maddy, swiping at her with sharp claws. The jaws are open, showing blackened, blade-like teeth. Maddy ducks and turns, covering her head. A claw rips through her hair, slicing her scalp. She bends over, wincing in pain. She rocks backward, trying to clear her head. She needs to do something! Needs to fight back! The monster moves forward to strike again. Maddy shields her eyes with her arm.

  Suddenly she feels a powerful grip around her waist. She’s lifted off the ground and propelled through a fabric flap into the outside air. Maddy whips her elbows back, striking hard muscle. But the grip around her midsection only gets tighter.

  “Hey, hey, hey! Stop! It’s me!” A man’s voice in her ear. Maddy stops flailing. “I’m letting go now,” the voice says.

  Maddy feels the pressure ease around her torso. She twists free and spins around to see…

  Jericho?!

  CHAPTER 67

  MADDY BENDS FORWARD, hands on her knees. Her chest is heaving. Her head stings. She blinks the sweat from her eyes and looks up at her rescuer. She pants out the words, “You’ve been following me?”

  Jericho nods. “Shadow’s orders.”

  Maddy shakes her head, her breaths coming in quick gasps. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she mutters. After all this time, Lamont still won’t stop treating her like a baby.

  She hesitates for a second, then gets onto her toes and tries to rush past Jericho, back into the pavilion tunnel. He blocks her with one arm and holds her back.

  “Maddy, quit it! Whatever the hell was in there, it’s gone.”

  Maddy’s furious. She tries to wrestle free. “You don’t know that!”

  “Yeah, I do. It disappeared the second I grabbed you. Otherwise I would have whipped its ugly goddamn ass.”

  Maddy stops struggling. But Jericho still has a tight hold on her.

  “Let it go, Maddy,” says Jericho. “Let it go.”

  Maddy’s head drops. She relaxes her fists. She feels the anger and adrenaline slowly drain out of her. Then she realizes that she’s feeling something else. Something foreign and odd. Something she hasn’t felt in a long time.

  In this moment, she feels safe.

  Maddy looks up at the huge man looming over her. Strange. In her brain, she knows this isn’t the same Jericho Druke she grew up reading about, but somehow it feels that way. Exactly the same. Just like she always imagined. It feels like she’s known him forever. She’s starting to understand why Lamont trusts him so much.

  “Promise me you’ll stay still,” says Jericho.

  “Fine.”

  “Look. Maddy. I’m sorry about your friend. I truly am. But chasing some shape-shifter around the fair tonight won’t bring her back. Let’s head home, okay? Fight another day.”

  Maddy steps back and stares at him. “You do realize that I could turn invisible right now and leave you here in the dust?”

  “You should have thought of that before you left the house,” says Jericho. “Would have made you a lot harder to track.”

  “Okay, bodyguard,” says Maddy. “Let’s go.”

  They slip out of the cramped space behind the pavilion and find their way back onto the main concourse. The walkway is filled with concertgoers, still energized from the show. Suddenly, there’s a loud crack from overhead. Fireworks. Splashy and bright.

  “You’re welcome, by the way,” says Jericho.

  “For what?” says Maddy. “Stopping me when I was about to catch the killer?”

  “For stopping you when you were about to get torn to shreds.”

  “I think you’re just hoping for a gold star from Lamont.”

  “And I think you have some trust issues.”

  Maddy nods. Pretty perceptive. Just like the Jericho in the books. “You’re right,” she says. “I do.”

  CHAPTER 68

  MY HEAD IS swimming. I have no idea where I am. It takes me a few seconds to realize that I’m actually still alive. No pain. Just a significantly altered state. I turn my head to the side. I’m in bed with Margo. Her eyes are just starting to flutter. The whole world is moving in slow motion.

  “Lamont? What happened?” Her voice is a croaky whisper.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. It comes back to me in small pieces.

  The airport. The drone. The envelope.

  I lean over toward Margo. It feels like I’m talking through molasses. “Sedated. We were… sedated.”

  I try to push myself up, but there’s almost no resistance from the deep mattress.

  It’s like pressing against a giant cotton ball. I can see that we’re at one end of a palatial bedroom. The walls are stone. The floor is polished oak. A huge fireplace is set into one wall.

  Margo lifts the bedcovers and peeks underneath. Her voice sounds as numb and groggy as mine. “We’re still in our jumpsuits.”

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “Are you hurt?”

  “All in one piece,” she says slowly. “You?”

  I swing my legs over the side and stand up. The room spins. I grab the bedpost for support. I walk carefully across the room and lean against the window. We’re on a high floor. Out front, I can see a circular gravel drive and a massive fountain. I feel a click in my brain. My focus sharpens.

  I know that fountain. I’ve seen that fountain.

  “Where the hell are we?” asks Margo, struggling to sit up against the headboard.

  I turn back from the window. “We’re in the villa. The Destroyer’s villa.”

  “Christ,” says Margo, rubbing her head. “So much for catching him by surprise.”

  I try lifting one of the window sashes. No use. Welded shut. The glass is thick and ballistic. Unbreakable. I move to the door and wiggle the handle. Locked from the outside. I start pacing around the room, pressing on panels and baseboards, as if I’m about to find some secret exit. But I know it’s a waste of time. Nice room. Nice prison.

  There’s a knock on the door. The lock clicks.

  I tighten up, ready to take on whoever comes through, but my arms feel like noodles. I doubt I could even land a solid punch. I wait a few seconds. Nothing happens. I touch the door handle. It turns freely now.

  I open the door a crack. Nobody there. But resting on the carpet outside is a silver tray with two French presses and a basket of croissants. I pull the tray inside and set it on a bedside table.

  There’s a small card leaning against the basket. BIENVENUE A LA DOMAINE DE SOL, it says at the top. Elegant type, like fancy hotel stationery. Below is a handwritten note. Margo plucks the card off the tray and reads it.

  “Looks like we’re about to meet our host,” she says.

  She holds the note up to let me read it. La Chambre Jardin, 9 a.m.

  I take a stab at a translation. “The Garden Room?”

  Margo rips up the card and lets the pieces flutter onto the carpet. “Maybe the Destroyer of Worlds has a green thumb.”

  CHAPTER 69

  THE STAIRCASE IS a massive granite spiral with a wrought iron balustrade. When we reach the ground floor, I hear birds chirping. We walk through a massive reception hall, the size of a medieval throne room. Margo points straight ahead. “There.” At the far end, a set of French doors opens onto what looks like an atrium. La Chambre Jardin.

  On the way, I look around for guards, housekeepers, butlers. But the place looks totally empty. I have a sick feeling about this. We flew here to find the Destroyer. Instead, he found us. And now we’re meeting on his terms. Not good.

  The sunlight hits my face as we walk into the atrium. The walls and ceiling are all glass—thick panes connected by seams of brass. The room is filled with bright flowers and leafy plants in terra cotta planters. In the center of the room is a sitting area with a large wicker sofa and two high-backed wicker chairs. The air feels thick and cool. It smells like jasmine.

  I wipe the condensation off one of the glass panels with my sleeve and look outside. The setting is gorgeous—manicured lawns and long stone walls. At the top of a small knoll, I can see an ornamental railing surrounding a bunch of very old headstones.

  Margo steps up beside me and looks out. “Maybe he’s got a couple of plots picked out for us.”

  “Bonjour!” A woman’s voice. Then the click of heels on the tile floor. “I trust your medication has worn off.”

  Margo and I both turn as she approaches—a slender Eurasian woman in an elegant silk suit and stylish high heels. Very attractive. Stunning, actually.

  Why is she here? To prep us for our meeting? She seems way too refined to be a mere assistant. Maybe head of security or chief of staff. Maybe a pretty assassin.

  “Good sleep, I trust?” she asks. Cantonese accent, mixed with Maghrebi and a touch of French.

  “How did we get here?” I shoot right back.

  The woman smiles. “In total comfort, I assure you. Much better than sweltering on that miserable train for two hours.”

  She takes a step closer. I’m waiting for her to introduce herself, but she doesn’t. She just stands there, staring at me. Suddenly, I feel my chest tighten, like there’s a fist closing around my heart. My mind flashes to the video we watched with Diaz. That fleeting image of the figure in the desert. The dark robe. The tall, slim profile…

  I inch closer to Margo, ready to push her behind me. I gather my strength for whatever happens next.

  I realize in that moment that the Destroyer isn’t coming.

  She’s already here.

  CHAPTER 70

  “BLACK IS NOT my favorite color,” she says. “But it works in the desert.”

  I realize she knows what I’m thinking—the exact scene I’m picturing, the image I used to ID her. She bends to pluck an orchid from one of the pots. Sniffs it. Crushes it between her fingers.

  “Destroyer of Worlds. Yes. I know that’s what they call me.” Her smooth brow wrinkles. “It sounds so harsh in English.”

  I glance over at Margo. I can tell that she’s trying not to react. Or overreact. “If it’s you,” she says, “you’ve more than earned the title.”

  The Destroyer folds her long body into one of the wicker chairs and crosses her legs. She gestures toward the sofa. I sit down next to Margo, our hips touching, ready for anything. The Destroyer gets right to the point.

  “I know how you found me,” she says. “I know the names of the informants.”

  A shiver passes through me. I taste bile in my throat. What am I waiting for? I should blast this bitch through the wall before she can kill anybody else, including us. The world would instantly be a better place. I feel my fists clenching, my blood rising. I plant my feet solidly on the floor and center myself, ready to move. She’s just sitting there, brushing a wrinkle out of her suit.

  “Don’t embarrass yourself, Mr. Cranston. Your powers are considerably diminished at the moment. Aftereffects of the sedative.”

  She’s right. I can sense it. I’m trying, but I can’t muster the energy.

  “If you know what I’m thinking,” I ask, “why bother with a conversation?”

  “Conversations come in many forms, Mr. Cranston. For example, I can read your mind, but you can’t read mine.” She flicks her eyes toward Margo. “And you can’t control me, Ms. Lane. You can stop trying.”

  I lean forward. “So why are we here? Just so you can watch us die in person? Instead of sending your drones?”

  “Don’t be crude, Mr. Cranston. I’m a businesswoman.”

  “You’re a mass murderer,” says Margo, her jaw tight. “A genocidal maniac. A war criminal.”

  The Destroyer doesn’t flinch. “The world is the world, Ms. Lane. It’s collapsing without my help. Things have been building to this conflagration for centuries. All these petty jealousies over land and religion and resources. Ridiculous. I’m not the prime mover. I’m just a witness to the carnage. Like both of you.”

  “Then why do you need a world-ending weapon?” I ask.

  Silence. Then…

  “Touché, Mr. Cranston.” She gives me a disarming smile. “Everybody needs a little extra insurance.”

  She stands up and walks toward me. I get up to face her. She looks right into my eyes, as if she and I were the only two people in the room. I feel my chest clenching again. Is she trying to intimidate me? Hypnotize me? Break me?

  “Am I right, Mr. Cranston? Or is it Le Shadow?” She frowns. “So silly, these cartoon names. They diminish us.” She steps closer, invading my space. “Tell me something, Lamont. Be honest. Do you think you’re a match for me?”

  Her energy is overwhelming. Her fragrance goes right to my brain, like another kind of drug. It’s all I can do to hold my ground. Suddenly, Margo elbows her way between us, eyes flashing.

  “Lamont’s already met his match,” she says. “You’re looking at her.”

  Instantly, the Destroyer’s tone shifts. She reaches out and strokes Margo’s cheek. Just for a second. “Indeed,” she says. “True love. Lasting love.” Her smile widens and her tone turns gracious. “I have an idea. You’ve come all this way. I want you to enjoy a special dinner tonight, at the finest restaurant in France. Just the two of you. C’est moi qui offre.” My treat. Then she looks straight at me again as if Margo’s not even in the room. “We’ll do business later,” she says, “toi et moi.”

  She turns and walks toward the door. I feel sick and dizzy. Like I’ve been punched in the head. At the threshold, she turns and looks us up and down. First me. Then Margo.

  “Forty-two regular, and size two,” she says. “We’ll find you some actual clothes.”

  And then she’s gone. I’m foggy, but furious. I turn to Margo. “Business? What business? Does she think I’m here to make some kind of deal?”

  “Really?” asks Margo. “You don’t get it?”

  “Get what?”

  She shakes her head. “God! Men can be so thick.”

  “How? What am I missing?”

  “Lamont. The Destroyer of Worlds wants to go to bed with you.”

  My stomach flips. My head throbs. “What? That’s… sick!”

  Margo slides her arm through mine and squeezes. “Don’t worry. She’ll have to go through me first.”

  CHAPTER 71

  MADDY PACES BACK and forth in Burbank’s tiny comms room. “Are they okay? What the hell is happening over there?”

  Hawkeye leans over Burbank’s shoulder as they try to get a bead on Lamont and Margo’s location. Maddy can feel Jericho hovering behind her, like a 250-pound babysitter.

  “Give me some space,” she says. “I promised I wouldn’t disappear on you.”

  Maddy hasn’t given up on finding Deva’s killer—or Moe’s—but right now, she’s more concerned about Lamont and Margo. They’ve been out of contact for nearly twelve hours. According to Burbank, the plane touched down, but that’s about all he knows.

  Maddy watches as he taps his keyboard and tweaks his dials. But nothing seems to be working. Burbank looks harried and frustrated. “Look,” he says, “this system wasn’t designed for transatlantic transmission. I can barely get a reading from their sensors.”

  Maddy leans in close. “What kind of sensors?”

  “Biometric tags,” says Burbank. “Very primitive. Attached to their scalps, under their hair.” He points to two meters with wavering, red-tipped indicators. “All I can say for sure is that they both have pulses.”

  “What about Tapper?” asks Hawkeye. “Where’s my goddamn jet?”

  Burbank checks another device, taps his keypad. A set of coordinates appears on a screen. Burbank does a quick conversion. He glances at Hawkeye. “Do you know anybody in Lycksele, Sweden?”

  Hawkeye looks relieved. “Lycksele? Yeah. I do. Old army buddy of ours. Runs an airfield there. That’s where Tapper must be hiding out. Can you reach him?”

  Burbank shakes his head. “Nothing but static.”

  “I’m not worried about Tapper,” says Hawkeye. “If I know him, he’s huddled somewhere in a bunker, taking a nap.”

  “What’s this?” Jericho reaches around Maddy to pick up a video stick from the console.

  “Another video. Delivered last night,” says Hawkeye. “More of the same.”

  Maddy watches as Jericho plugs the stick into the console. The screen lights up. Hawkeye’s right. These scenes are starting to look way too familiar. Blackened buildings. Shallow graves. Bloated corpses. She reaches to turn off the monitor. “Enough of this crap. I’m sick of watching things we can’t do anything about.”

  Hawkeye grabs her hand before she can touch the switch. “Hey. Lamont and Margo are working on it. They’re doing something right now.”

  “Right,” says Burbank. “We just don’t know what it is.”

  “Hold on!” says Jericho. “What’s this?”

  He’s pointing at the screen. Right in the middle of the scenes of misery and mayhem, there’s a brief shot of a New York City street. No more than twenty frames.

  Easy to miss. Surveillance video of a heavy-duty vehicle, surrounded by bodyguards.

  Hawkeye rewinds and freezes the image. He pokes Burbank in the arm. “Did you see this?”

  Burbank looks up. Shakes his head. “Looks like an editing glitch.”

  “It’s not a glitch,” says Hawkeye.

  “Who’s this?” asks Jericho, tapping the image of a man emerging from the car.

  Burbank unfreezes the video and lets it inch forward, one frame at a time. Everybody in the cramped space leans in.

  “Holy shit,” says Hawkeye.