Chapter 17
The trip back to Lausanne passed uneventfully for Abigail. She kept expecting to see Colton, Anong, and Jack coming after her, but during her two days on the road and flying in, she never came across them.
Maybe they had given up. Or, more likely, they had gotten called back to help protect the Council with Frieda’s upcoming trial. It seemed insane to imagine so many Council members gathered together in one place; a risk she felt was completely out of hand.
She’d heard nothing more about the upcoming trial since leaving Mitchell behind, and the closer she got to turning herself in, the more nervous she became. It meant her death because no way would Aram forgive her for everything that had happened.
Abigail could make no other decision, though. Dangerous and out of control, everything he had said about her, as well as all of the other people who had hated her throughout her lifetime, had proven true. She was a monster and couldn’t be trusted.
She didn’t even trust herself.
Abigail drove to the small airport inside the city where Dominick kept his helicopter. Spinner, an apt yet preposterous name. Though an old monstrosity that barely stayed up in the air, he loved it like a father loves his child.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t be here. Abigail stood a fairly good chance of finding him somewhere out in the air yard, probably gabbing with a mechanic or working on his baby. It would be easier to leave the sword with him if she found him, and she didn’t want just to leave it and hope no one else stumbled across the old weapon.
On the other hand, she didn’t necessarily want to talk to Dominick. Though the sword would be safe with him, if he talked to her, she felt afraid that he would try to talk her out of her decision. Right now, she just didn’t want to deal with that.
However, she couldn’t take the sword with her. The Council would confiscate the weapon and lock it up somewhere. Arthur’s legacy didn’t deserve to be forgotten like that. Better to leave the sword with Dominick so that at least one good thing would survive this mess.
She found his ugly little helicopter resting on a pad on the eastern side of the yard. The cockpit door hung open, and music spilled out.
Jazz. Of course. He usually played Coltrane or listened to Marvin Gaye. The music meant he must be here, and no way could Abigail slip the sword in without him noticing. She would have to face him.
Just outside the launch pad, she hesitated, attempting to muster up the courage to approach. With a deep and steadying breath, she edged toward the cockpit.
Dominick leaned back in his seat, one leg stuck out and holding the door of his cockpit open. A best of Coltrane record played, and he hummed to himself, glancing down at his watch every couple of minutes and frowning.
He had expected Haatim to call him by now to come pick him up from his mother’s hotel room. Dominick had spent the last two hours checking over the engine on his little bird, and then occupied himself by cleaning out old wrappers and trash.
He could do only so much cleaning, however, and he grew more worried about Haatim. He doubted anything serious had happened with his mother, or the man would have called.
Maybe dealing with whatever his mother had called about had him too occupied. Worrisome, all the same. Dominick hadn’t called yet to enquire, but he would if no word came in the next couple of minutes.
“Hey, Dominick.”
The voice came from behind him, inside the back of the chopper. He let out a little yelp and nearly fell out of the cockpit, completely caught off-guard.
He steadied himself on the doorframe and glanced over his shoulder to see Abigail sitting there. She wore a bemused expression.
“Dammit, Abi,” he said, composing himself. “Don’t do that.”
“Your door was open.”
“To let in air. Not ninjas. How are you always so quiet?”
She shrugged.
He glanced down. A long blade rested across her knees. He recognized it instantly.
“Arthur’s sword. You found it?”
Abigail nodded and held it up to him. Gingerly, he took the hilt and held up the weapon, sliding out the blade partway. It looked beautiful and pristine.
“Frieda told me where to find it.”
“I haven’t seen this thing in years. Not since …”
He glanced back at Abigail, who frowned but didn’t say anything. He handed the blade back to her.
“What are you doing here?” Dominick asked, wanting to change the subject. “I thought you were hiding like Frieda told you to do.”
“I came back to turn myself in,” she said. “And I’m leaving the sword with you.”
“What?” he asked, shocked. He spun in the seat to face her more completely. “What are you talking about?”
“They’re going to execute Frieda instead of me,” she said. “I won’t allow it.”
“They won’t execute Frieda,” Dominick said, shaking his head. “There’s no way. She’s too important, and Haatim said his father already took that possibility off the table.”
“It isn’t worth the risk,” Abigail said. “I won’t let her get punished because of me.”
“Frieda made her choice. Do you think it will help anything if you don’t honor the decision she made?”
“I don’t care,” Abigail said, looking down at the sword in her lap. “She can’t be at risk because of me. Not after …” The words died in her throat.
Dominick hesitated, and then said, “After what?”
She looked up at him. “I’m a monster,” she said. “They were right about me. All of them. They should have killed me when Arthur pulled me out of that cult.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” she said, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “They should have murdered me instead of letting Arthur protect me. If it wasn’t for me, he might … he would be alive. He would never have been put in that prison or killed those people.”
“Don’t say that, Abi,” Dominick said softly. “You helped put him in the prison, but it was all the years of battling evil that corrupted him. He just couldn’t handle it anymore and snapped.”
“No,” Abigail said, wiping away a tear. “Fighting evil didn’t corrupt Arthur. I did.”
A cool breeze whipped through the cockpit and ruffled Dominick’s hair. A long moment passed while he tried to digest what Abigail had said. “What do you mean? You did what?”
“I can’t get into it right now,” she said. “All you need to know is that Arthur gave up everything for me. More than I ever imagined. Frieda too. She’s all I have left, and I can’t let her die because of me. Not for me.”
“I can’t let you turn yourself in,” Dominick said. “We can figure this out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out,” she said. “My mind is made up, and if you try to stop me, then I will consider you an enemy.”
The finality in her voice came out undercut with something that made the hairs on Dominick’s neck stand on end. Just a touch of a boiling rage laced her tone, most of which she held back.
Dominick hesitated, trying to decide his best course of action. If he did try to stop her physically, he had no doubt that she would make good on her threat. Could he handle Abigail in a fight? However, if she intended on killing him, then he would have no choice but to try and kill her as well. No way could he beat her with kid gloves on.
If he let her go, then she would get locked up in a cell until after Frieda’s trial and the Council could decide what to do with her. At the very least, if Abigail did turn herself in, then they might find some way out of her execution once they freed Frieda and she became better able to help.
Better to live and fight another day.
The decision definitely not because she scared the crap out of him.
“Do you want me to fly you in?” he asked. “The weather is supposed to turn bad in a couple of hours, but I think I can get you there before it hits us.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I just wanted to bring Arthur’s sword to you and thank you for helping me all these years. You’ve been a true friend, even though I never deserved one.”
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t get so melodramatic on me. This isn’t the last time I’ll see you. I’ll head back to the Council in a while after I run some errands, so I’ll see you when I get there.”
“I’ll probably be dead already,” she said.
“Don’t say that,” he said. “Frieda will never let that happen.”
Abigail bowed her head and let out a long sigh. “I should go.”
“Chin up, Abi,” he said. “This isn’t goodbye. It’s just ‘see you later.’”
She looked up at him, a frown on her face. Then, carefully, she handed him the sword once more, and then climbed from the helicopter and onto the tarmac.
A few steps away, she glanced back at him. “Goodbye,” she said.
And then Abigail had gone.
Dominick watched her disappear around one of the old storage buildings.
“Dammit, Abi,” he mumbled, slipping his phone out. He needed to get back to the Council before anything happened to make sure that Abigail would be okay. He wouldn’t put it past Aram to try and execute her as soon as she arrived. “Always have to get the last word in, don’t you?”
He dialed Haatim’s number. They needed to get back to the Council building post haste to make sure that Abigail didn’t do anything stupid. The line rang straight through to his voicemail, though.
Dominick growled in frustration and climbed out of the cockpit, heading toward his car. He didn’t care how important Haatim’s conversation with his mother might be; this meant life or death. He would drag Haatim out of there if he had to.
