Constance (Constance #1)(86)

“You traitorous bitch,” the other Constance D’Arcy said.

“Takes one to know one,” Abigail replied without rancor. “One single step, and they will respond with lethal force. I’m sorry it has to end this way. You’ve left me no other choice.”

The other Constance D’Arcy laughed bitterly and pointed her gun at Abigail. “Call them off.”

“Please. We both know what a terrible shot you are. And even if you get lucky and kill me, they will tear you apart before I hit the ground. So put the gun down. Let’s at least end this like civilized people.”

“That’s my reward? Euthanasia?”

“It will be absolutely painless, you know that.”

“It’s not fair,” the other Constance D’Arcy cried.

Abigail softened. “I know this is difficult. But it was always going to be this way. It was why we made you. You know that.”

The other Constance D’Arcy cast about at the rDogs, looking for a way out.

Abigail said to Con, “My dear, why don’t you come stand by me. You are perfectly safe. My sentries won’t react to you.”

Con felt no kinship to her aunt, but she felt even less to the other Constance D’Arcy. They might look alike, but that was all they shared anymore. The pleasure the other Constance D’Arcy had taken in tormenting and murdering Fenton had horrified Con. She was happy to be away from her and took a step toward the cottage.

The other Constance D’Arcy lunged at her like a cornered snake. She wrapped an arm around Con’s neck, dragging her back. The rDogs flexed but didn’t attack. Con felt the gun pressed to her head.

“Call them off,” the other Constance D’Arcy warned. “I might not be able to hit you, but even I can’t miss from here.”

Abigail took a step down the stairs, a hand held out. “Don’t. She is the key to everything we’ve worked for. Are you insane?”

Con saw genuine fear on her face.

The rDogs crept closer.

“Call them off!” the other Constance D’Arcy yelled, driving the barrel of the gun into Con’s temple. “Remember that dirty work I was talking about? Well, this is it.”

“You know it doesn’t matter which one of us it is,” Abigail implored. She was on the verge of tears.

“Then prove it. Call them off. I swear I will kill her otherwise. All of our work will be lost forever.”

On the porch, Abigail swayed like a sapling in the breeze. Con could see her considering her options and finding none to her liking.

“Heel,” Abigail called out to the rDogs, which returned to a waiting crouch. “You win. Now point the gun somewhere else, please.”

“Not until you turn over complete access to me,” the other Constance D’Arcy said.

Abigail acquiesced and typed a command in the air on her LFD; the other Constance D’Arcy matched her typing on Con’s shoulder, back and forth.

When they were done, the other Constance D’Arcy called out, “Hunt.”

The rDogs rose and scattered silently into the woods.

“Satisfied?” Abigail asked.

“Throw your LFD into the grass.”

Abigail did as she was told, seething at having been outmaneuvered. The other Constance D’Arcy released her hold on Con, who stumbled away, happy to get some distance from both of them. The other Constance D’Arcy went up the steps, closing the distance between herself and Abigail, the gun never wavering.

Abigail said, “This is precisely why I had no choice but to lock you out. There’s been a divergence and not for the better. I know if you would just take a deep breath and think it through, you’ll agree that your recent actions testify to the truth of that.”

“To the contrary, my recent actions are precisely why it should be me.” Then she turned to Con. “Shall we head inside?”

“I’m good right here,” Con said.

“I thought you wanted answers.”

“All you’ve given me is more questions and a headache, not answers.”

“And they lie within.”

“How about don’t talk like a fortune cookie? You promised me answers—answer this. How can there be another one of me?”

“Is that what she told you?” Abigail said, raising a curious eyebrow. “That’s she’s Constance D’Arcy?”

“She didn’t have to tell me anything. Look at her,” Con said.

“Well, looks aren’t everything,” Abigail said.

“Who the hell is she, then?” Con said, an uneasy prickling on the back of her neck accompanying her question.

“She’s Abigail Stickling,” Abigail said.

Con looked at the other Constance D’Arcy again, her mind spinning wildly like reels in an old slot machine. “Then who are you?”

“We’re both Abigail Stickling.”





CHAPTER THIRTY


Con felt sick and as angry as she’d ever been in her life. The kind of violent, instantaneous reaction that high school chemistry teachers showed off the first week of class to wow their students. Only it was happening in her chest, and the longer she stared at the other Constance D’Arcy knowing who was actually inside, the angrier she became. Her vision became pixelated, and she sat down hard in the grass. It was her own family who had done this to her.