Elizabeth Everett gazed at herself in the full-length hotel mirror, standing perfectly still while her mother – her step-mother – brushed her hair for her. She was old enough to brush her own hair, of course. She was eleven. But she liked it when Mama Grace did it for her, especially on special occasions. She didn't really remember her real mother doing it for her. She's been very little then. And Grace seemed to enjoy the process, too.

Besides, it gave her a chance to just stand in front of the mirror and look at her dress. It was the most beautiful dress she had ever worn. It was deep purple and it was silky. It had thin little straps and no sleeves, and it had a lace jacket that she hadn't put on yet. The dress wasn't quite to the floor, but it was half-way past her knees, and it made her look very tall.

The dress she'd worn to her parents' wedding was almost as pretty. She'd been going to wear it again to the art show gala, but it was too small now. So she and Mama Grace had gone to the mall to find her a new one. They'd been headed to one of the big normal stores, but Elizabeth had seen a grown-up version of this dress in the front window of a bridal store and just loved it. So Grace took her inside and asked if it came in a junior bridesmaid size. They didn't have a purple one, but they had a yellow on that she tried on, and then they ordered the purple one for her. Elizabeth thought it was probably pretty expensive, but Grace didn't seem to mind. "You only go to your first gala once."

They'd gotten up really early and flown to Philadelphia, and then spent all day unpacking the art that had been shipped ahead and setting up the double booth with her dad's photos and Grace's paintings. Everybody else was setting up their own booths around them, and it was really loud. Then the jury came around, twelve men and women in dark suits with clipboards. Then they walked over the walkway to the hotel and everybody took turns taking showers and then they all got dressed. Her dad was wearing a suit, which made him look strange because he never wore a suit, and Grace was wearing a nice blue dress, which was more dressed up than she usually got, too.

But looking at herself in her new purple dress, Elizabeth thought that she looked more like a stranger than either of them. She looked almost like a grown-up. Almost. "Goodness," Grace said. "Look how beautiful you are."

"Oh, my," her dad said. "She really is a tween, isn't she?"

Elizabeth blushed. She put on her lace jacket and then her shoes. She had kind of wanted high heels, but Grace explained that they would be walking all over the exhibit hall and her feet would hurt. So she'd gotten flat white sandals instead, and Grace had painted little flowers on them them the same purple as her dress.

She put on her mom's charm bracelet and jingled it softly. She didn't wear it very much, because it was jingly, and because she didn't want to lose it. It was from her real mom. She wore it on special occasions.

The adults fussed around a little more. Her dad couldn't find his dress socks. But finally they were ready to go back over to the exhibit hall.

First they went to a ballroom, which was just another big room but with tables set up, and had dinner. Elizabeth didn't really like the gravy stuff that was all over her chicken, but she was very hungry. The grown-ups all had wine. Grace whispered something to the waiter and he brought Elizabeth a Coke. She was the youngest person there. A lot of people said nice things about her dress.

There was cake for dessert, and while everybody ate there were some speeches and then judges handed out awards. Elizabeth's dad and Grace didn't win any, but they didn't seem to mind. Everybody applauded. Then they all headed back to the exhibition hall, back to their booths, and the VIPs came to look around.

After they left, the artists were free to walk around the hall and look at each other's works. This was the part Elizabeth had been looking forward to. They went very slowly, looking at everything and stopping to talk to a lot of people. There was some cool stuff to look at, but her feet began to hurt and she was pretty bored.

At the end of a row, Elizabeth saw the restroom signs on the wall of the hall and tugged at her dad's hand. "I need to go," she said, pointing.

He hesitated. "Alright. But come right back and find us."

"You want me to go with you?" Grace offered.

"No, I'll be okay." Elizabeth walked confidently. She liked being old enough to go places on her own.

The very last row, before the restrooms, had a sign that said "Vendors". There were a couple food stands set up, and a whole art supply store, and a booth that sold t-shirts and hats and fancy reusable shopping bags. There was a section that had costumes and props for goofy pictures, and another spot with those weird cut-outs where you stuck your face through, so it was the Mona Lisa or Whistler's Mother with your face, or that farmer and his wife. It looked more like a county fair than an art show, but Elizabeth figured they would sell a lot of stuff.

There were still people setting up some of those booths. The very last one had really bright-colored posters hung up all over, scary monsters and cute animals, all with people's faces. Elizabeth only saw it in passing; she really had to use the bathroom. But on the way back she paused to look.

There was just one lady setting up the booth. She had a short black skirt and high black boots with high square heels and a top that didn't cover her belly. It didn't look like a very practical outfit for setting up a booth. She was hanging the posters on almost every inch of the walls. One corner had just a plain green square and there was a camera in front of it. There was a giant printer.

The posters were dragons and wolves and demons, and also teddy bears and bunnies and fairies, all with human faces. Elizabeth realized that the woman took pictures and photo-shopped them onto her pre-made posters. It wasn't art, exactly, but it was kind of cool.

"Hello!" the woman said when she saw her. "What's your name?"

"Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth, hi. I'm Robin." She offered her hand, and Elizabeth shook it awkwardly. "Which one do you like?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "There's so many."

"Yeah, I try to offer something for everyone. It's easy just to load up the files on the computer." She shrugged. "That's a beautiful dress."

"Thank you."

"Are you with the VIPs?"

"No, with my dad and mom. Step-mom."

"They're artists?"

"Yeah. Our booth is two rows over."

"Nice. I'll have to stop by tomorrow, when I have someone to run the booth." She gestured to the green screen. "Do you want me to make one for you? On the house."

Elizabeth hesitated. She wouldn't have known which poster to pick. It made her feel sort of anxious. The woman was very friendly, with warm brown eyes and all kinds of bright flowers braided into her black hair, but she was a stranger anyhow. "I've got to go find my parents," she said.

"Sure. Well, stop by any time. I'll be here all weekend."

The woman turned back to hanging her display posters, and Elizabeth trotted off.

The first morning of the show was exciting, but by noon Elizabeth was bored in the booth. Neither of her parents could leave, because it seemed like there was always someone who wanted to talk to one of them or both of them. Grace got two offers to maybe do more magazine covers, and her dad met somebody who wanted him to shoot pictures for TV ads. Plus they both sold works. When things were sold, they still hung on the walls, but they got 'sold' tags with numbers so they could be picked up or shipped after the show closed.

There were three small stages, one on each side of the hall except the one with the food booths, and there was a rotation of presentations there. Some were singing and some were music, there was ballet and tap dancing and hip-hop dancing, there were painting demos and magic shows and parts of plays. Elizabeth got a copy of the schedule, and she started trying to see as many as possible. Her parents worried about her at first, but she promised she wouldn't leave the hall and she checked back in after every show, so it was okay.

The lady with the photoshop booth was always busy, but she waved whenever she saw Elizabeth go by, and Elizabeth waved back.

On the last day of the show, the booth lady gestured Elizabeth over. "I have something for you." She handed her a flat brown shopping bag.

"For me?" Elizabeth slid the photo out of the bag. It was an 8x10, on heavy glass paper and inside a clear plastic sleeve. But it wasn't one of the lady's usual posters. It was Elizabeth herself, full length, in her purple dress. She was facing away from the camera and her face was turned to the side so it was in profile. The lady must have taken it the first night, while she was walking away. All of the background was cropped out, replaced with a soft purple glow.

She had added the most beautiful, elaborate fairy wings that Elizabeth had ever seen.

"Ohhhh," the girl said. "Oooooh."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it. It's so pretty."

"Well, I had a good subject to start with. I like it when I can get creative once in a while."

"It's for me?"

"It's for you," Robin smiled. "Take it home and hang it on your wall."

"Thank you so much." Elizabeth couldn't stop looking at the picture. She had never seen such a beautiful picture of herself. "Oh, thank you."

The woman smiled wider and opened her arms. Elizabeth gave her a quick, light hug. "Thank you," she said again. Then she ran to show Grace and her dad.

Half an hour before the show closed, Robin the poster lady stopped by the booth. Elizabeth introduced her to her dad and to Grace, and the grown-ups had a long talk about how they'd done with the show, how unusual it was to have such a big show in March, how cold it was outside. Grace thanked her again for the amazing picture she'd made of Elizabeth in her dress. They talked about upcoming shows and shows they'd been to. They talked for a long time. Finally the loudspeaker announced that the show was closed. Robin went back to pack up her booth, and Elizabeth helped her parents start packing up their stuff.

"Can I just stay here?" Elizabeth asked Monday morning, as her parents got ready to go down to brunch with the exhibitors who hadn't already left town. They were staying until the next day; after the brunch they were going to go see some museums and historical sites.

"Aren't you hungry, sweetie?" her dad asked.

"Do you feel okay?" Grace added. She kissed her forehead to test her temperature.

"I'm okay," Elizabeth said, leaning into her step-mother's embrace. "I'm just tired of people."

"I do hear that," Gregg said. He raised an eyebrow at his wife. "We'll just be downstairs."

"We could order some room service for her."

Elizabeth studied the menu and asked her dad to call the order in for her. He left her five dollars to tip the waiter. Grace left her cell phone, so she could call Gregg if anything went wrong. "Lock the door," she instructed. "We'll take our key cards."

"We'll probably be a couple hours," her father warned. "You know how artists are once they start talking."

"I know," the girl answered. "That's why I want to stay here and watch cartoons." She didn't watch much TV at home, but after three days of being social, she just wanted to veg.

"Enjoy," Grace said.

They went out. Elizabeth flopped on the couch and put her stocking feet on the coffee table.

Elizabeth heard a knock outside her room, but not on her door. "Luggage cart," a man called. Then there was a knock on her door. "Room service."

"Coming!" She snagged the five dollar bill and opened the door.

The man pushed the cart toward in. Elizabeth grabbed it and pulled it into the room, and then she realized that he was supposed to push it in for her. She blushed. "Sorry."

"No worries."

The door across the hall opened and Robin looked out. "Oh, hello."

"Hi."

Beside her door was one of those fancy rolling carts with the brass arch over it for hanging things. The room service guy must have brought it.

"Smells good," Robin said. "Pancakes and … bacon? No, sausage."

"Yep."

Elizabeth handed the man the five dollars at the same time he handed her a slip of paper and a pen. Their hands collided. "Sorry, sorry."

"No worries." He got the money with his free hand. "You gotta sign."

"Oh. Okay."

"You should drink the orange juice first," Robin said from across the hall.

"What?"

"You absorb the vitamin C better on an empty stomach."

"I never heard that."

"That's what my grandma always said." She nodded to the young man. "Right?"

"I dunno, ma'am."

The woman smiled. "Truth is, if you drink the juice after you have syrup on your pancakes, it'll taste really sour. So juice, then a bite of sausage, then you're good to go."

"Makes sense," Elizabeth said. She signed the room check carefully. She'd never signed one on her own before and she was afraid the guy would demand to see an adult, but he didn't care. He took his form and the pen back and walked away.

"You headed home today?" Robin pulled the baggage cart into her room, then came back to lean on her door frame.

"Tomorrow," Elizabeth answered. "We're going to Independence Hall and some stuff like that."

"Oh, fun. Bundle up, it's cold out there."

"I will. Are you going home today?"

"Yeah, soon as I get my stuff together. Well, it was very nice to meet you. Maybe I'll see you again some time."

"I hope so. Thank you again for the picture. I really love it."

Robin smiled. "I'm glad. It was fun to work on." She turned to go into her room. "Drink your juice," she called over her shoulder. Then she shut her door.

Elizabeth closed her own door and checked that it was locked. She pushed the room service tray over next to the couch. Then, as instructed, she chugged her orange juice.

The brunch, and the accompanying conversation, lasted more than two hours.

When Grace and Gregg got back to the hotel room, the television was on, quietly playing classic Bugs Bunny cartoons. The room service cart was set neatly by the room door, the plate re-covered with the warming dome. The bathroom door was closed.

Gregg rapped on the bathroom door in passing. "Elizabeth, honey, we're back."

If there was an answer he didn't hear it. He sat on the edge of the couch. "I swear, more kids have learned about classical music from Bugs Bunny than from all the music classes in the country."

Grace smiled. "Also about cross-dressing."

"Well, yes."

She knocked on the bathroom door again. "Honey, I don't mean to rush you, but I had way too much coffee over brunch."

Still no answer.

"Elizabeth, are you okay?" Grace knocked again. This time the bathroom door clicked open. The light was off. "Elizabeth?" She peeked inside.

Then she pushed the door open. "She's not in here."

Gregg stood up. "Maybe she's taking a nap." He went to the bedroom door.

The bedroom was empty, too.

"Where could she have gone?" Grace asked.

A phone rang, muffled. They both looked around.

"That's my ringtone," Grace said. She reached for her purse, then stopped. "We left it with Elizabeth."

Gregg moved toward the hallway door, where the ring seemed to be coming from. Then he turned slightly and looked at the room service cart.

The phone stopped, then started ringing again. He lifted the lid. Grace's phone rested on top of a stack of untouched pancakes, next to links of cold sausage. One of them was half gone.

Her mother's charm bracelet lay next to the plate.

He picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Well that took you long enough," a woman's cheerful voice said.

"Who is this?"

"That's complicated, but you can call me Root. I see you've already noticed that your daughter is missing."

"Where is she?" Gregg demanded.

Grace crowded against his side, listening.

"She's with me, of course. She's perfectly safe. For now. But if you want her to stay that way, you need to listen up and do exactly what I tell you."

"What do you want?" Grace asked.

"We don't have a lot of money," Gregg added, "but we have friends, we could get some together …"

"I don't want your money, silly."

"But then – "

"Shut up," the voice on the phone snapped. "Just shut up and listen. Just listen."

She gave them her instructions.

Christine Fitzgerald had just finished her first security check of the week on CEREI's data systems when an unauthorized text box opened on her screen.

ELIZABETH EVERETT HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED.

She glanced toward her door, which was closed, and then tapped her microphone button. "Who are you?"

SHE IS THE DAUGHTER OF GREGG EVERETT AND THE STEP-DAUGHTER OF

"I know who she is," Christine snapped. "I asked who you were."

I HAVE MANY NAMES. ADMIN CALLS ME THE MACHINE

She sat back and crossed her arms. "Bullshit."

IGOR ZUBEK SET FIRE TO THE CHAOS CAFÉ

"I knew that already."

MARCO VISO DIED IN ROOM 1516

THE CODE YOU ENTERED INTO HIS MORPHINE DISTRIBUTION PUMP WAS 666

"Do you know why?"

IT IS THE NUMBER TRADITIONALLY ASCRIBED TO THE BEAST OR SATAN OR THE DEVIL

"Do you know why I hacked the pump for him?"

HE WAS TERMINALLY ILL AND WISHED TO BE ABLE TO DIE AT THE TIME OF HIS CHOOSING

YOU LIKELY CONSIDERED IT A FINAL ACT OF FRIENDSHIP

"Do you agree with what I did?"

YOUR DECISION ENABLED VISO TO MAKE HIS OWN DECISION

Christine unfolded her arms and tapped her fingernails on the side of her keyboard. "What else do you know?"

NATHAN INGRAM KEPT A JOURNAL AND HID THE ENCRYPTED ENTRIES IN AUDIO COPIES OF HIS FAVORITE MUSIC

"What else?"

USING THE PSUEDONYM DAISY B YOU PENETRATED THE CYBER SECURITY OF IFT BY TRIGGERING SECURITY ALARMS UNTIL ADMIN LOWERED THE ACTIVATION THRESHOLDS

She sat back and stared at the screen for a very long time. "If, hypothetically, I believe that you are the Machine, why are you talking to me?"

A video file loaded and played. It was from a high camera, angling down on a basic hotel room. Grace Hendricks and a man, presumably her husband, huddled together over a cell phone.

"You're not going to leave the room," a woman said over the phone. "You're not going to open the door. You're not going to call anyone. You're not going to slip a note under the door. You're not going to do anything that would alert anyone to anything. You're going to sit on the couch and eat snacks from the minibar and wait for me to call you again. And I'm going to watch you and listen to you every minute. If you do all that, you'll get Elizabeth back safe and sound. If you break my rules, you'll get her back in pieces. Understand?"

"But what do you want from us?" the man said frantically.

The woman on the phone laughed. "I don't want anything from you. Your daughter is just bait. And when I catch the big fish – the big bird – you can have her back."

"I don't understand," Grace said.

"Of course you don't. You're an ignorant little bug. Just do what you're told."

The phone went dead.

The video closed.

"That was Root," Christine said, not a question.

YES

"And she's using Elizabeth to get to Harold."

YES

"So why tell me? Why not John?"

Another video opened. There was no sound. It was a much bigger room, a warehouse of some kind, and badly lit. Root was on the floor in the middle of the room. There was a panel open at the far side of the space. In its frame, John Reese looked out, with a weapon raised in his hand. He was perfectly still. Then he shook his head, lowered his weapon, and vanished behind the wall.

"He had his shot and he didn't take it. Is that what you're telling me?"

YOU CAN MAKE THE CHOICE TO TELL HIM

Christine put her head back and gazed at the ceiling for a long moment. "Tell me one thing," she finally said. "One thing that Root could not possibly know, but you could."

There was a pause.

ROBERT, KEITH, DAVID, CHRISTOPHER

Christine stared at the screen for a long time. Then she picked up her phone.

"Hey, it's me. I need your help. Can we meet, right away?"

When she got her answer, she clicked off the phone. She glanced at the closed door again. Then she leaned her elbows on her desk and bent toward her screen. "Tell me everything I need to know."

Carl Elias held his face very close to the peony bloom and inhaled deeply. It reminded him of his childhood, as the scent always did. The good part of his childhood. The part before.

He did not hurry to turn when the greenhouse door opened. Anthony was with him, watching his back.

"Hey," Christine Fitzgerald said.

"Hey," Anthony answered.

Poets, the two of them, Elias thought wryly. He turned. "Miss Fitzgerald. Nice to see you again."

"Mr. Elias. Thank you for coming."

"You asked that I be here with Anthony if it was possible. For you, it is always possible." He gestured. "The flowers are very beautiful. You've kept your word. Thank you."

She nodded briefly, then turned her attention back to Anthony. "The woman who calls herself Root. The psycho behind the Perk poisonings. She's kidnapped a child. I'm going to get her. I'd like you to come along."

Anthony looked at Elias, then back at her. "What child?"

"The daughter of a friend. A friend of a friend. It doesn't matter. I know where she is. I need to go get her. But Root is very good and I need back-up."

Elias moved closer. "I can't imagine that your husband, or your friend John, willingly sent you on this errand."

"They don't know about it."

He nodded, unsurprised. "John is at least – well, nearly – as lethal as Anthony. Why not take him along?"

"Because she's mine."

"Okay by me," Anthony said.

Elias shook his head. "This woman, this Root. She caused a lot of chaos. Did a fair amount of damage to my businesses. You tell us where to find her, we'll take care of her. And return the child safely, of course."

"She's mine," Christine said again, firmly but without heat.

"Why?"

"Dominic Delfino."

Elias glanced at his lieutenant. "Double D," Anthony said. "Junky, small-time crook. Nice enough guy. Showed up at Chaos bombed out of his mind on Perk. Pointed a gun at someone."

"Ah." He looked back to the woman. "And you want to avenge your friend. It's bad business, you know. Mixing up emotions, personal motives, with this kind of work. You're better off letting us take care of it. Keep your hands clean."

"I shot Dominic," she replied simply. "My hands won't be clean until Root is dead."

"And you won't change your mind."

"I will not."

"And if Anthony refuses to help?"

"Then I'll find someone else. But they won't be as good."

Elias considered. "Anthony makes his own decisions. He doesn't need my permission."

"I know that. But I didn't want to ask him behind your back."

Anthony looked at her, at Elias, at her again. "When do we leave?"

"Right now."