The Living End (Daniel Faust #3)(55)

“That’s quite enough of that,” she said.

We rode in silence for a while.

Caitlin shifted in her seat, turning her gaze from the empty landscape.

“Has it been nine months yet?” she said.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been carrying a pregnant pause since we got in the car. I’m just wondering if you’re due to give birth to the question you obviously want to ask me.”

I smiled. “Am I that transparent?”

“To me, you are. What are you afraid to say?”

It wasn’t fear as much as awkwardness, and it wasn’t awkwardness as much as not being sure why I cared. But I did.

“That abandoned world Payton and his buddies found,” I said. “Is it really the Garden of Eden?”

She blinked at me. “Daniel? Just how old do you think I am?”

“I know you weren’t around then,” I said. “I just…”

“Is it the Garden itself that troubles you? Or is it the confirmation of what you already believed: that this ship of worlds is sailing through maelstrom and blackest night, with no captain at the wheel?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. I just drove. She reached across and rested her hand on my thigh.

“You know,” she said, “I do understand what it feels like. Our creator left us too, though I have faith that he had a good reason.”

“The worst-case scenario isn’t finding out that what I already believe is true. Most people would call that reassuring. What’s eating me is…the cavalry isn’t coming to the rescue, Cait. There’s no flight of angels—or anything else—waiting in the wings to pull us out of trouble if Lauren gets her way. We fight, and we win, or the world dies. That’s a hell of a lot of responsibility.”

She shook her head. I glanced over and realized she was smiling.

“What?”

“You humans. Always so eager to spite a gift. Daniel, do you have free will?”

“Of course.”

“Then you are responsible—for this world and everything in it. That weight was put on your shoulders the moment you were born. People complain that the world is filled with misery, but how many of them lift a finger to do anything about it? Or better yet, they point their fingers at us. ‘The devil made me do it.’ Oh, please. We take advantage and have our fun where we can, but believe me, all the great atrocities in history? You people did that.”

“This is an odd pep talk,” I said.

“Not a pep talk. It’s a dash of cold water I like to call reality. No. No one is coming to the rescue, and no one ever was. You should see that for what it is: a gift. What would your life be worth, if you didn’t have to fight for it? How happy would you really be in a universe with no struggle, where all the edges were rounded off and some cosmic power stood ready to swoop in and save you from your own mistakes? You are responsible. So put your chin up, your shoulders back, keep your head, and get ready for a brawl. Nothing else to be done for it.”

I chewed that over, driving in silence.

“Of course,” she added, “I’m a demoness, not a theologian. Take everything I say with a pillar of salt.”

“No. You’re right. This is our fight. This is our problem to solve. So we’ll solve it.”

Caitlin leaned back in her seat and stretched, purring out a yawn.

“Mm-hmm,” she said. “Responsibility is sexy.”

We couldn’t chase the sun fast enough, and nightfall beat us to the edge of Carson City. Down on Fifth Street, lights still burned behind half the windows of the Legislative Building, a block away from Roth’s personal office, but we were well past visiting hours.

“Well,” I said, “Roth’s in town somewhere. I don’t want to wait until morning to get this done. Any ideas?”

“Of course,” Caitlin said, looking almost offended that I asked. She took out her phone, snug in a slim white case, and cut her way through three layers of bureaucracy like a hot knife through butter.

“Oh hi!” she said, putting on a Valley Girl accent and spinning up her voice on every other word. “It’s Mandy, with Senator Zito’s office? Yeah, I’ve got those papers on Amendment 77873-B that Senator Roth needs for—no, no, he needs them tonight. Please? You’d be so helping us all out. Oh thank you, you’re such a sweetheart!”

She hung up the phone and shrugged, back to her normal voice. “He’s dining at Adele’s on North Carson. If we move fast, we might catch him.”

“That was scary,” I said.

She just winked.

If you look up “charming” in the dictionary, there’s probably a picture of Adele’s. The owners converted a Victorian house from the late 1800s into a restaurant and kept as much of the cozy charm as time and progress allowed. The air inside was rich and laden with mouthwatering aromas, but Caitlin and I were more interested in the guests. We spotted Alton Roth at a corner table, holding court with a couple of his State House cronies. Broad shoulders filled out his tailored suit, and his hooknose made me think of a well-fed raptor. His movements were big and expansive, equal parts charisma and muscle. Pixie was right. In his fifties or not, I could see him running marathons. And winning.

We finagled a seat a couple of tables away, and Caitlin took the chair facing Roth. She dipped into her handbag and took out her big dark glasses.