скачать книгу бесплатно
When we'd first met, Glimmer was Mr. Techno Nerd, with a secret underground lair full of shiny kit that would make Big Brother jealous. But a few months back, Razorfire torched the place and nearly killed him, and most of Glimmer's stuff was destroyed. He'd begged, borrowed and nicked mismatched bits of gear and had started rewriting his black-art search algorithms, but—a bit like retconning your memories of a time when you did bad things and liked it—the rebuild took time.
"Slowly," Glimmer admitted. "It's a big job. But Harriet's helping."
Just me, or a knot of frustration in that?
I snorted, glad to have something to tease Glimmer about. Harriet was Ebenezer's twin, smart but haughty, her life a teenage melodrama of galactic proportions. "Helping, is she? Or just pouting at you and playing with her hair?"
He tossed crumbs at me. "Whatever, wise-ass. She's good with code."
"Doesn't mean she hasn't got a crush on you."
"She does not."
"Does so."
"Does not… Fine, have it your way. She's a kid. I can take it." He shrugged, and ate his eggs, but I wasn't fooled.
For such a chick magnet, Glimmer is cute and awkward with girls. All I knew was that he used to be married—with a kid, no less—but his wife believed Razorfire's bullshit and broke Glimmer's gallant heart. He wasn't in a hooking-up mood. Maybe he never would be. But I'd bet he was too much a gentleman to embarrass Harriet by saying anything.
Well, I'd never had that problem. Time to have a word with Little Miss Lolita-zilla, before she mistook his refusal to engage for encouragement and started sexting him, or tagging him on naked selfies, or whatever hormone-crazed teens did these days.
I decided to have mercy on Glimmer, for now. "So, what about Huey and Duey at the museum? Seen them before?"
"Nope." Glimmer swallowed his cola. He hadn't shaved, and his olive-tinted throat was dark with stubble. As I'd frequently observed: it was a good look. He passed me the half-empty can. "You?"
I gulped, relishing the sweet fizz. "Never. I, uh, did a bit of digging myself," I added casually, making sure I met his gaze. "They go by Sophron—that's with a P-H—and Flash."
Sickly, I waited for him to call me out, ask me where the hell I'd found that out when he couldn't. I'd have to tell him everything, and I'd cringe and blush and then at last it'd be out there, and no longer this wretched silence between us, the kind where you talk all the time but don't ever speak what needs to be spoken…
"Okay," Glimmer said mildly. "I'll see what I can find."
Damn. Thank fucking God. But damn. I swallowed, warm. I still didn't get why Vincent had told me their names. Even supposing he wasn't making it all up to amuse himself… what if I was leading us all into his trap? "Did you see 'em teleport?"
"Yeah. Nice. Why can't I do that? No more waiting at traffic lights, no more splashing through rat-infested sewers…"
I snickered. "Missing the point, Sherlock. They both teleported, at the same time. Didn't you see? Slam, blam, no more emo teenagers. Beam me up, Scotty."
"Two people with the same augment? Not possible."
"That's what I thought."
He considered. "Maybe one of them teleported and took the other along for the ride."
"I don't see how. They were on opposite sides of the room. That's one hell of a forcebend."
"Or, they didn't teleport at all. Maybe they just obfuscated and made it look like they teleported to confuse everyone." Glimmer knew his subject. An illusionist himself, he could pull the best mindfuck tricks ever. It still gave me the creeps when he did that watch-me thing, even when I knew he was on my side.
But I'd felt the breeze last night in the museum. I'd heard air whooshing to fill the vacuum. They'd moved, and fast. "Or maybe we're looking at something new…"
A commotion across the room jerked me to my feet. My thighs hit the table. Plates clattered, and the cola can spilled, along with Jeremiah's half-finished coffee.
Jem thrashed like a grounded trout on the floor, eyes bulging. Drool frothed on his chin, and he shimmered in and out of view, like he'd lost control of his lightbend. The air around him rippled and stung, a malignant haze of augment gone wild.
"Jem, talk to me." Frantic, Uncle Mike dropped to his knees at Jem's side. Jeez. I grimaced in sympathy. His kid was having a fit, choking for air, and what could he do? Not a damn thing.
It's the irony we live with every day. I never met an augment who could heal the sick or feed the hungry or bring on world peace. All the special powers in the world can't hide the fact that when it comes to the crunch all we can do is destroy.
People fidgeted, wondering what to do. Peg darted forwards with a blanket, and Mike eased it beneath Jem's head so the kid wouldn't hurt himself. He cradled Jem's half-invisible face, stroking the pale hair as it shimmered alarmingly, now-you-see-me-now-you-don't. "It's okay, son. Take it easy."
"What the hell's wrong with him?" I muttered, aside. "Thought he had the flu."
Glimmer bit his lip. Ebenezer wore an odd expression, like he wanted to feel something but didn't know what. Times like this, I envied him his cluelessness.
Gradually, Jem's convulsions subsided and he fell limp, his breath shallow and fast. Sweat slicked his cheeks. His eyeballs had rolled back, sick pearls shot with crimson. One was leaking blood.
This wasn't any flu I'd ever seen.
"Someone give me a hand." Mike started to lift the boy. Glimmer jumped in and they carried Jem upstairs.
They must have passed Adonis on the way up, because my brother emerged from the stairwell glancing over his shoulder. He looked faded, somehow, his vibrancy rinsed thin. Another sleepless night? He'd looked like that a lot lately. Somehow, I didn't think it was Peg keeping him awake.
"That's not good," Ad said unnecessarily. "Anyone see Jem take anything?"
Everyone shook their heads.
"He was eating breakfast and he disappeared and then he fell," I rattled off. "Could be that God-awful cold he's got. Or he's finally popped a sanity valve."
Ebenezer opened his mouth and shut it again.
Adonis fired him the ice-blue stare of doom he'd inherited from Dad. That part, at least, hadn't faded. "What?"
Eb just grinned his mad-leprechaun grin, because he was socially challenged and had no idea how to show remorse. "We smoked a pipe last night. But I had some too. It can't have been bad stuff."
"Jesus." Adonis yanked his hair at the back of his head, frustrated. "One, you're an idiot. Two, don't ever do that shit in my place again. Three, where did you get it and who gave it to you?"
"No one," insisted Eb. "Some guy. It was just a score—"
"Nothing is 'just a score' anymore." Adonis dragged up a chair and sat. Quietly, Peg brought him coffee and a smile. He had the grace to smile back and whisper thanks. "Don't you get it, Eb?" he added wearily. "Anything could be a trap. Everything. It's all just…" He took a long swallow of his coffee—I'd bet on triple-shot latte, three sugars, just how he liked it—and waved a long-suffering hand. "You know what? Fuck it. I don't care. Just buy your sugar candy from Wal-Mart next time, okay? Get a receipt."
Eb flipped him a bug-eyed salute. I swallowed a guffaw.
"Goes for you, too," Ad muttered, too softly for anyone else to hear.
I blanched, guilty. He knew I didn't do drugs, beyond alcohol and caffeine and the occasional sugar binge.
What does he mean? He doesn't know. He can't possibly. None of them can… but the ghost of that forbidden fire-mint scent sprang from its grave, crawling along my skin to make me shiver, and I couldn't help but enjoy it.
Vincent was my drug. And I was a hopeless addict. Hi, I'm Verity, and I crave being BAD… Like any prohibited substance, the more it was forbidden, the harder I wanted it, and the more intense my delight when I tasted it at last.
I cracked my neck, resigned. No point crying over what's done. I can't change who I used to be. The important thing was what I did now.
I could resist. Go cold turkey, sweat it out, face the heat. Or, I could die. Simple as that.
Simple, my friends, is not the same thing as easy.
I shoved hands in gritty pockets. "Well, I'm for the shower—"
"Thank Christ for that," whispered Eb. "You stink like a frontier whorehouse. Who the fuck are you: Calamity Jane?"
I flipped Eb and his slippery grin the finger. "And then let's talk, Ad. We have a situation. Glimmer, you want to fill him in?"
Glimmer shrugged. "Sure. Breakfast in my room, boss?"
I snickered. He always called Adonis boss. Partly to annoy him. Partly because he meant it. The two of them had reached a workable truce in the months since I'd dragged Glimmer into our family problems. Glimmer thought Adonis was a talented but corruptible asshole; Ad thought Glimmer a useful if frustratingly honorable idealist. Ad respected Glimmer's opinion; Glimmer respected Ad's authority. Working relationship: go.
Adonis drained his latte. "Thought you'd never ask. When are you going to stop calling me 'boss'?"
"How about the day you aren't giving the orders?" Glimmer arched dark brows. "But don't think it's because I fall for your bullshit charm. I know you only want me for my data."
"Likewise," said Ad. "Those smoky bedroom eyes cut no ice with me, boyfriend. If you drop crumbs in the bed? We are so over."
I grinned—they were so cute together—and stomped upstairs to grab shampoo and a towel.
The bathroom, an ugly stainless-steel jail of a place. We'd put up some stalls for privacy, but to me it still stank of ice baths and suffocation and bad memories. I showered with my eyes squeezed shut.
But it did feel great. Hot soapy water sloshed the stains from my body, rinsed my gritty hair, washed away the smells of despair and disgust and shameful deeds in the dark.
If only it were that easy.
Afterwards, I wiped the fogged mirror and dragged a comb through my knots. The roughened scar tissue curling over my cheekbone was reddened, angry. The other eye wore a dark raccoon ring. I looked like I could use a good feed and about a hundred hours of sleep. Situation normal.
Back in my room, I re-dressed in my costume coat—somehow it had escaped the worst of last night's excesses—and fresh jeans, plus my lace-up boots. My only clean t-shirt sported a photo of a gigantic green cactus that wore a scribbled sign reading FREE HUGS. I felt better already. My headache was in retreat to a distant battlefield, if not entirely vanquished. Another of Glimmer's caffeine colas and I'd be set. I pocketed my mask and grabbed a banana from my stash (stinky, black and withered, but hey: potassium is potassium) on the way out.
And crashed into cousin Harriet.
Just when I was starting to feel good.
~ 6 ~ (#u63e7c8ce-943b-5dfe-abee-c0561b1a1f92)
"Watch where you're going, can't you?" Harriet bounced moussed locks over one shoulder. She wore an ass-hugging skirt, a stretchy top and bra that made her boobs defy gravity, and enough make-up to blind a badger.
The opposite of me when I was her age. I'd been the angry tough girl in jeans and Doc Martens, and I'd spent most of my time sporting black eyes, getting kicked out of class for swearing, and beating up on a succession of Adonis's snotty queen-bee girlfriends. Yeah, them was the days.
I glanced at Glimmer's cell. Door closed. I sidled closer to Harriet, surreptitious. Heh. I should mysteriously flick my coat open and whisper behind my hand: Psst! Wanna buy a 'W'? "Listen, can we have a word?"
Harriet looked at me like I'd suggested we get married. "Right. Because we have so much to talk about."
I endured my usual itch to punch Harriet in the face. Skinny, bad-tempered, always ready to fling me an unnecessary put-down, she reminded me of my dead sister, Equity, whom I'd also wanted to deck on a regular basis. Aside from the tragic fashion sense, that is. My sister and I both inherited our late mother's coloring, and Equity had too closely resembled me to ever be beautiful, but at least she'd known how not to look like a cut-rate hooker.
To be fair, Harriet wasn't awash in role models. She'd had no mother since she was a toddler, and like most fathers—fathers who weren't mine, that is—Uncle Mike was a total pushover when it came to his baby girl.
I sighed. "It's about Glimmer."
Harriet scowled, harpy-like. "That's none of your business."
"Is too. He's my friend, and he's not interested in you." I winced. Wow, that came out all gentle and caring. "Look, I don't mean that you're—"
"You know nothing about me, Verity. Where do you get off telling me what to do?" Harriet stared me down, furious, but she kept her voice low. She knew what happened if she got a bit too loud. Warping metal, shattering glass, people screeching and bleeding from the earholes. Not a pretty picture.
"It's not about you, okay?" I whispered fiercely. I couldn't voice-whip glass; I just didn't want Glimmer to hear. "There's a time and a place, that's all. He's trying to work and the way you flirt with him all the time makes him uncomfortable. One, he's too old for you—"
"I'm seventeen, Mom." She widened sardonic eyes at me. "I can do what I want."
My mom was dead, too. I sympathized. That didn't mean Harriet could give me lip. "And two," I persisted, "he's got stuff in his past that means he's not interested in hooking up." With a horny, smart-mouthed infant like you, I added silently. Zingg! Take that.
"Yeah? Like what?" A defiant chin-tilt.
I could've invented something. His last girlfriend was a serial killer, or dude, he's gay, can't you tell? or even just sorry, buthe asked me not to tell anyone. But my indignation on his behalf was as gratifying as it was maddening, and my temper flashed like a flintlock. "That's none of yours. Just let him be."
"Right. Just because you're too pig ugly for him."
My powermuscle flexed with rage, and I had to bite my tongue. What the fuck did you say, you vicious little brat? But the scar on my face stung. I knew how I looked. Everyone knew. Didn't mean we had to trade insults about it.
I gritted my teeth, a salty tang of blood. "Come again?"
"I knew it. You're jealous. And you're, like, old. It's so pathetic." Harriet laughed, and it sliced a shrill edge on my nerves like a paper cut.
Oh, honey. Was that a threat? "That's bullshit," I said tightly.
"Everyone knows you want him for yourself. Too bad he likes me better. So sad. I win." She pouted, and raised her chin, triumphant. She didn't even know she was doing it. Just one of those teenage-girl things.
But it flared my belligerence afresh, a hot breeze over coals. Keep it down, Verity, don't do something you'll regret…
I clenched a fist behind my back and stepped closer, trapping her in my shadow. I was taller, and I made sure she knew it. I hulked. I menaced. I loomed. "Grow the fuck up, Harriet."
She edged backwards. "You're not my mother, Verity. I don't have to do what you—"
"Shut your trap for once, and listen. Real life isn't a TV bitch drama, okay? Guys aren't prizes you can play for. And real people? They don't have these little contests where they lie and cheat and screw each other over for kicks." Not strictly true in the augmented world, I guess, but my point stood. "So back the fuck off from him, or I'll make you."
"Whatever." She fixed a sneer on her face, but her chin trembled.
She was afraid of me. I liked that.
And I grinned, so she'd know. "Think before you mess with me, girlfriend," I murmured, silk over thorns. "I went bonkers for a while, remember? Madder than a cut snake. Utterly off my rocker. Maybe I still am. If I hear you've been bothering him again… well, who knows what I might do?"
Harriet's jaw tightened, mutinous. "Bitch," she muttered—back to boring insults, were we? I had more respect for “goatfucker”—and flounced away.
I popped my neck, satisfied. Hmm. Perhaps I'd handled that poorly?
