Embrace the Night
International Kindle Edition (limited availability)
© 2010 Joss Ware
This title is published in print and ebook formats as Embrace the Night Eternal in North America by HarperCollins.
All other rights reserved.
To sign up for new book alerts from Colleen Gleason, news, and a monthly drawing for a USD50 e-giftcard, click here.
PROLOGUE
Sedona, Arizona
June 2010
Simon Japp was damned tired of running.
The cold, heavy weight of a Beretta’s nose smashing against his forehead would be a relief. Or the barrel could be shoved into his mouth, damn the straight white teeth with which he’d been blessed, and the trigger pulled. Or firm, capable hands positioned around his skull, and the nasty, lethal twist. Quick.
Then the bliss of ignorance. Of escape.
Because, really, Death was the only way to escape Mancusi.
The desert air was dry and cleaved into his raw lungs. Blinding sunlight burned gritty eyes and tightened his skin. But green clumps of brush and trees softened the arid landscape, and brilliant flowers sprang from their depths. Above and around him, the iconic red rocks rose like stacked sandstone plates, all shades of flame, copper and orange. Breathtaking from a distance, daunting from up close. No one could deny the beauty of this place.
He’d come here to Sedona, to hide. To try, anyway.
Florita, of the perky ass and multiple wrist bangles, had rambled on about how beautiful it was in Sedona, rattling on about things like energy vortexes and crystals and shit like that. And then Rita got a little too friendly with her bodyguard, and Mancusi kicked her the hell out.
Simon had run here for no other reason than it was away from Mancusi, but he couldn’t deny that he felt different here. He really did. Maybe it was just the fact that he was away from it all, even if it didn’t last very long.
Nothing could erase what he’d done. Who he was.
Oh, God. He wanted to put it away, to crawl out of his skin. Out of this person.
Usually so sure-footed, so sleek and feline in his movements, he stumbled. Grabbed with a shaking hand at a branch. A shadowy crevice yawned before him. Here, in the middle of nowhere, along shallow, rocky hills, small mountains, the opening of a cave.
Simon cast a glance over his shoulder. He hadn’t seen Mancusi’s bolillos for the last hour of wavering, stumbling flight, but that didn’t mean they weren’t hot on his heels.
Of course they were.
Of course they had found him, only a breath after he’d left East Los. Probably even before.
For his pursuers belonged to Mancusi. El Mero Mero.
As did he.
Dammit. Goddammit.
Inside, the narrow cave was cool—cooler than the air outside, anyway—and dark. Simon dragged out the crushed water bottle he’d bought at the last party store and drank. The liquid instantly rebelled in his belly, and he coughed it up. It splashed over the dirt-packed floor and onto his dusty boots, just as clear as it had been going down.
Pushing back the long strands of hair clinging to his face, he swore, and then prayed as he sagged against the wall, weak, shuddering, shaking, puking up nothing.
He hadn’t done that for a long fucking time.
Prayed.
Did God care if he swore when he prayed?
Please. Aliviáname. Dammit, please.
He sagged to the ground, face into the dirt, unable to control the withdrawal shakes, the dry heaves, the incessant, paralyzing nausea. Simon inhaled sand and dust, the floor gritty beneath his cheek, dry and rough beneath his fingernails.
He closed his eyes and waited.
They’d find him here. And at last, in a spray of blood and minced bone and flesh, he’d find release.
Suddenly, the earth moved beneath him. Furious. Pained.
Deep.
Then again, harder and more violently, trembling, splitting…. The rumbling grew louder and the ground cracked before him. Stones rained down from above, pummeling his shoulders and back.
With one last silent plea, Simon sunk into oblivion.
ONE
City of Envy
Fifty years After
“So you do come up from out of your lair.”
Sage Corrigan started, jolted from her contemplation of the sunset, and barely resisted the reflex to clap a hand to her leaping heart. She turned from the view of a roaring ball of red-orange, bisected by the horizon, and saw the man…Simon was his name…standing there behind her.
A generous distance gapped between them, as if he took care not to get too close and spook her. As if she were a skittish cat.
Maybe that’s what he thought. And maybe he wouldn’t be too far off about that.
“Just because the only times you’ve seen me have been below doesn’t mean that I never come outside,” Sage replied, the words tripping sharply from her tongue. “I know I have pale skin, but I’m not some sort of vampire. Or…or…ghoul.”
And, okay, she did spend a lot of time in the secret computer room two floors below ground level. Maybe too much time. But she was tired of being teased about it. Even Theo Waxnicki, her closest friend, had made a few comments recently about her propensity to stay below, alone, working hard in secrecy.
That had ticked her off because Theo and his brother knew exactly why she spent so much time there. She was helping them in their secret war against the Strangers.
“Sorry. Bad joke,” Simon replied. The inflection of his voice sounded different than anything she’d ever heard before—a slip of an accent, and a harsh, staccato rhythm, as if words were precious to him and therefore must be measured carefully.
“How did you find me up here, anyway?” she asked, gesturing to the rooftop area around them. The yellow glow of the setting sun muted the sharpness and color of the space, and below was the City of Envy, already shadowed from the close, tall buildings.
Sage knew she sounded defensive, but it was hard to keep her voice measured when her heart was trammeling along at warp speed. She didn’t know this man very well, and she had no idea what to say to him. Most of her conversations were about facts—things she found while doing her research. Easy things to talk about.
“Accidentally. I didn’t follow you.” He took a step back, as if to leave, his boots grinding quietly on the dingy rooftop.
Sage looked at him, suddenly feeling guilty. It wasn’t his fault she couldn’t carry on a conversation. “You don’t have to go. It’s not my view.”
He paused. “You want to be alone. I understand.”
“No. Wait. Really.” Sage knew she sounded just as clipped as he did. She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t mind.”
In fact, now that she was over her initial startle, she burned with curiosity. She’d been curious about Simon Japp and his four friends since they had arrived in Envy only a few weeks ago.
Sage was twenty-eight, born twenty-three years after what everyone called the Change—the deep-seated earthquakes, raging fires and devastating weather that had destroyed 21st century civilization and nearly all of the human race. For the last half a century, the Survivors and their children and grandchildren had worked to rebuild some semblance of civilization. The result was this small pocket of a city—the largest settlement of humans—in what had once been the Western United States.
Although they looked as if they were in their mid-thirties, Simon and his male friends had actually lived in that world fifty years ago.
And somehow, they’d been preserved, intact, for decades in a place called Sedona. They’d emerged unscathed and unchanged from a cave, half a century after the earth, and life as they’d known it, had been annihilated.
Simon was looking at her as if he wasn’t sure whether to believe her implied invitation to stay—sort of sidewise, while half his attention appeared to be focused out over the city.
She was struck, as she had been every time she’d seen him, by how simply beautiful his face was. Lean and chiseled, with perfect angles at chin and jaw, cheeks and nose, his was the most handsome face she’d ever seen. He had dark, exotic eyes with slender, well-formed brows arching over them, and a mouth that looked as if it had been carved lovingly by some heavenly sculptor.
And yet, despite the startling beauty of his face, Simon had an aura of reservation about him. Reservation and…something else. Something she couldn’t quite define.
It was in his eyes. Something haunting…something dark.
As always, his walnut-colored hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. She’d never seen it loose, so she wasn’t sure how long it was, but it looked as if it would just brush his shoulders. He wore a crimson t-shirt that hugged his muscular upper arms and loose, comfortable pants with many pockets.
Curiosity gave her the words. “Had you been here…before?” She gestured to the city below, her hand spanning what had once been known as the Las Vegas Strip. She’d seen pictures of it, had heard about it from Lou and Theo Waxnicki, who had also been alive during the Change.
Now what was left of the city was known as New Vegas, or N.V.
Envy.
He stepped forward, coming nearer to the edge of the building, but not any closer to her. “Yes. Many times.”
Silence descended and she followed his gaze, looking out over the landscape of buildings demolished by the furious earthquakes, of steel beams and jagged walls now sprouting trees, bushes, and grass. And beyond, the ocean, glittering fire, bronze and orange as the sun touched it. She knew that fifty years ago, the ocean had been nowhere near Las Vegas, and that more than half the cluster of tightly packed hotels and resorts had crumbled beneath the onslaught of the Change.
“What was it like?”
At first, she thought he might decline to answer. But then, he stepped way, way closer to the edge of the rooftop than she ever would, and drew in a deep breath.
“Vegas never stopped moving, or breathing. It was wall-to-wall people, lights, activity, sound. The sole purpose of the city was pleasure. Hedonism. Food, sex, money, entertainment.” He looked at her, the words rolling out bitterly. “Superficial. Tawdry. Garish…yet, beautiful and exciting.”
Sage had seen pictures, of course, but those were images, frozen in a moment. The way he spoke, with his short, sharp sentences, painted a more fluid image, albeit a tainted one.
“But now,” he was saying, almost to himself, “all of that’s gone. The hype. The desperation hidden beneath the lights and sounds. It’s not a place for hedonism anymore. It’s been reborn. There’s greenery. And new life. And….” He seemed to catch himself, and she saw the way his jaw shifted when he closed his mouth as if to cut off the words.
“It must be horribly weird for you to see it now. After.”
His reply was a derisive sound, as if to say, Yeah, duh, of course it is.
She gritted her teeth, mentally kicking herself for the inane comment. And she wanted to ask more, but a sound behind drew her attention. She turned. “Theo!” A rush of relief swept her, and became even stronger when she noted that he seemed to be walking on two legs and fully intact. “You’re back.”
He’d been gone on one of his missions for four days, working to extend the secret computer network he and his twin brother Lou were building. This particular task had been to install several network access points for what was going to be a communications and information system—a new, covert Internet—for those who joined them in the struggle against the Strangers. The NAPs were strategically located, hidden in the overgrowth of old structures or high in trees, and powered by solar energy. Neither the Strangers nor the zombie-like night monsters known as gangas would suspect their existence.
They hoped.
“I’m back, and in one piece. Of course.” He smiled as he came toward her, smooth and easy. His tattoo of a writhing, red dragon curled down from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt to wrap around his wrist. Whenever he flexed his substantial muscles, Scarlett shimmied and curled along with them. “I knew I’d find you up here if you weren’t in the computer room.”
“Did you get them set up?” Sage asked. “All ten of them?”
His glance strayed behind her, obviously to Simon, who’d also turned from his contemplation of the view, and then back to Sage. It was still light enough to see the question in Theo’s eyes, and something else that he quickly hooded. He stepped closer to her.
“Yes, all of them, in a fifty mile arc. As soon as you and Lou are ready, you can test their status.” He paused for a moment, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “I brought a bribe,” he said, producing a small satchel he’d had slung behind his back, “in case you wanted to start right away.”
When he produced three books from the depths of the bag, she snatched them up, then flung her arms around his neck in a big hug. Books! Unmildewed, unmoldered, unnibbled books.
“You know I don’t need a bribe to work on the computers,” she said, looking at them behind his shoulder, “but I’ll take them anyway.”
“I know that,” he said. And his arms tightened around her just as she would have pulled away. “I’m glad I found something for you.” Then she eased back, and she felt his arm loosen almost reluctantly.
“Thank you, Theo,” she said, already flipping through them. He always seemed to pick novels she’d like…and never once had he brought back something she’d already read. And it wasn’t as if there were many to choose from in the homes, stores, libraries…whatever…that he might encounter during his travels.
It was rather miraculous, really.
She glanced up from an Elizabeth Peters novel about a mummy case and found Theo looking down at her. There was an expression in his eyes that she’d never noticed before, and it made her feel hot and cold at the same time.
She glanced away, feeling a slow heat explode over her face, glad for the lowering sun and lengthening shadows to hide it…and noticed that Simon had gone.
Now why would the fact that she and Theo were alone suddenly make her heart start pounding? She wasn’t afraid of him of course, but the way he was looking at her made her wonder how she did feel about him.
They’d known each other for more than sixteen years, ever since she’d come to live in Envy as a shy, withdrawn girl of twelve. Witnessing the murder of her mother tended to do that to a girl, no matter how confident she might have been before. Not that Sage had been. Confident.
Which was why her palms sprung dampness as she felt the weight of his gaze on her. Something was changing. And change always seemed to bring…unrest. Discomfort. Upheaval.
Theo’d always been older than Sage, but because of what had happened to him during the Change—of which he was one of the Survivors—he’d stopped aging for a long time.
He looked as if he was thirty, but he had been alive for eighty years. Only in the last few years had his hair begun to start growing again, his beard and nails. And the few gray hairs he’d bragged about indicated that his body had begun to age at a normal rate.
“Sage,” he said.
She looked up and his head bent…and the next thing she knew, his mouth descended and it brushed over hers. His hands had moved to the tops of her shoulders, and before she could quite assimilate the fact that Theo had kissed her, he did it again. Longer this time, the gentle fitting of lip to lip, barely touching, really…as if he, too, were afraid she was skittish as a cat.
When he lifted his face to look down at her, Sage couldn’t read his expression, or what was in his eyes.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he said softly. Then he set her away from him, stepping back as if to give her space. As if he could tell she needed it, needed to contemplate and examine what had just happened.
Because that was what Sage did. She analyzed, dissected, weighed.
And she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about this…strange, crazy, unexpected event. She smiled up at Theo, not offended or put off by the fact that he’d kissed her. No woman in her right mind would be, really, once she thought about it.
But she wasn’t certain how she felt about it.
He was handsome and strong, brilliant…and unique. Very special. And the kiss had been very tender. Warming. Unexpected. It had been a long time since she’d been kissed. She’d forgotten how nice it could be.
“It was nice,” she told him, resting her hand gently against his chest where a strong heart pounded beneath her fingers.
“Nice,” he said, and she could tell, even in the dusk of twilight, that he was smiling. “That’s good.”
She looked at him for a moment, feeling a little confused, and a little odd. She’d never really thought about him as more than a friend. What should she do now?
But Theo answered that question for her. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” she said. “I told Lou I’d meet him for dinner.”
“All right, then I can give both of you the update while we eat,” Theo said, seeming to be in a particularly expansive mood. “And then you can get to work on testing out the network.”
That was good. Work was something Sage understood very well.
~*~
“Finding Remington Truth isn’t going to be easy,” Lou Waxnicki was saying. He took a big sip of his wine and set the glass down carelessly enough to slop over its edges as Simon chose a seat next to him.
Since they were in one of Envy’s communal restaurants, Lou kept his voice low and his head bent toward the others. The casino resort hotel rooms Envyites lived in didn’t have kitchens, so most people took their meals in one of the three eateries and everyone took their turn with KP duty.
Although he was Theo’s twin, Lou’s appearance was nothing like that of his youthful-looking brother. The older man wore his silvery white hair in a ponytail at the back of his head. He also wore a pair of dark-framed, rectangular glasses that had been at the height of trend in 2010 and sported a neatly trimmed gray goatee.
“No bloody shite,” replied Quent Fielding, with a bit of British in his voice. He was one of the men with whom Simon had emerged from the caves a little more than six months ago. Simon knew he’d lived some of his youth in England before moving to Boston. “It’s going to be damned impossible.”
“But we’re going to try,” Simon said, his attention drawn to the splash of cabernet on the table. It looked like a pool of shiny, dark blood. Soon it would roll to the edge and drip off. Drip, drip, drip.
Simon yanked his attention away, focusing on the conversation, ignoring the flash of memories. He couldn’t do anything about his nightmares, but now, in the day, yes…it was easier to remind himself that the past was past—completely, miraculously erased. And that he would never allow himself to return to it.
“If the Strangers are so intent on finding Truth that they’ve been sending their gangas searching for him for years, he must be important,” he said calmly, using a cloth napkin to wipe up the splash of wine.
Paper towels? Non-existent in this post-manufacturing society.
Lou nodded, oblivious to the mess he’d made and the ugly memories he’d churned up in Simon. “And if it’s important to the Strangers, it’s even more important to us. If we can find the man first….”
Simon knew the name Remington Truth. Most Americans who’d been alive in the early 2000s would, for Truth had been the head of National Security for the second Bush administration. Because of 9/11 and other terrorist attacks, you’d have to live under a rock not to know the name…and even though some of those years had been a dark blur to Simon, he hadn’t been completely submerged in his misery.
Although there were times he wished he had been.
“But are we certain it’s the Remington Truth we’re looking for?” Simon asked. “And not some other symbol or object? After all, the gangas have been looking for him for fifty years. As dumb as they are, they should have found him by now.”
“Since I’m pretty certain he was a member of the Cult of Atlantis, and we’re damned sure that they were the ones who caused the Change, I think it’s a good assumption it’s the actual Remington Truth,” Quent replied, his voice flat. “He and my wanked-off father, and a whole bloody cult of rich and powerful people who decided to annihilate the damned world. Even their own countrymen. And their goddam families.”
Loathing burned in Quent’s blue eyes, and Simon couldn’t blame him. When Quent had seen a picture of the Stranger leaders and recognized his father, Quentin Parris Brummell Fielding, Jr., as one of them, the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place. In the photo, Fielding had looked exactly the same as he had fifty years earlier.
The man had not aged, and he had somehow become one of the immortal Strangers, who wore glowing crystals in their skin. Quent’s recognition of his father had been the confirmation of what the Waxnicki brothers had suspected for half a century: the Change had been not only man-made, but premeditated.
That was why they were intent on destroying the Strangers.
If Simon had been unconvinced as to the Strangers’ threat to humans and chalked it up to Lou Waxnicki’s paranoia (as was the case with most Envyites), that hesitation had been put to rest two weeks ago, when he and his friends had helped to free a group of teenagers from the Strangers. They’d been abducted and would have been sold into slavery.
Slavery. Beholden to, owned and abused by another.
Sometimes life could be worse than death.
“Building our network and identifying trusted contacts will help,” Lou said, taking another drink. “When Theo gets back, we should have a fifty-mile circumference of network points in place.”
“He’s back,” Simon told him. “I just saw him awhile ago.”
Lou looked surprised, and Simon could understand why. One would think that his brother and partner would be the first person he would see on his return…at least, if one didn’t know he was in love with Sage and would, of course, seek her out first.
“Speak of the devil,” Lou said, looking toward the door.
But Simon, who never sat without a view of all entrances and exits, and with his back protected by the wall, had already seen Sage and Theo walk in.
He hoped it didn’t show in his face, the way his chest squeezed when he saw her, but Holy Mother of God, she was beautiful.
Simon, who had run with and met, and even slept with, a variety of gorgeous women in LA—the stock of starlet wanna-bes, who would do anything to get ahead—could hardly breathe when he looked at Sage Corrigan.
Part of it was that what he saw was what God had given her. There was no plastic surgery, no makeup, no hair dye and highlights, no orthodontics in this world. So he knew that the impossible color of her long, curling hair—the color of a shiny new penny with a rosy tinge—was natural. And the unusual blue eyes, pale and yet vivid, weren’t helped by tinted contacts. Ivory skin, fair and luminous as if she glowed from inside.
She wore her hair loosely tied back, with little tendrils curling around her face, and a casual off-white dress that fell in a single line from shoulder nearly to the floor. Sage carried the books Theo had given her, and as they walked across the room toward them, Simon noticed the way the other patrons turned, watching her.
Not men staring at her with lust or appreciation in their eyes, or women with envy or even admiration. Not curiously or with interest.
No. The room took on a sort of tension. Unease. Dislike.
Revulsion.
The sort of thing that would happen when Mancusi entered a place like Nobu or Sunset Tower. Though the other patrons and staff knew who and what he was, they dared not express their opinion of him…but the expression in the eyes, the physical distancing, the little hush of silence...told it all.
Sage noticed it too. Simon could see by the way she moved a bit closer to Theo, almost behind him. He didn’t recognize fear or anger in her face. Yet, she kept her eyes focused straight ahead, toward Lou, resignation in her demeanor.
Simon’s eyes narrowed, and he straightened, primed and ready for anything. His hand slid automatically to the shoulder holster under his jacket before he realized not only did he not wear a jacket, but he had long given up the holster and its weapon.
And the life it represented.
When Sage reached the table, which was tucked into a dim corner, she sat with her back to the room. Theo settled next to her. And Simon continued to observe the other diners, waiting to see what…if anything…would transpire.
Hell, if this was what happened when she ventured into public, no wonder she remained cloistered in that computer lab.
Simon’s attention remained split between the conversation between Theo and Lou and the rest of the room, a simple habit for him to fall back into. After a moment, that odd tension eased a bit, likely because Sage was now out of sight of the others. Still, he continued to scan the room.
“I’ve already begun my search on Remington Truth,” Sage announced, glancing at Quent. “Once you’d mentioned that he was a close friend of your father, and a member of the Cult of Atlantis, I dug deeper. And since the Strangers are looking for him too, I’ve been focusing on that.” She shrugged and spread her hands. “There’s a lot of data, and I’m not sure what to look for.”
Simon remained silent. Not because he didn’t have anything to contribute to the conversation—as a matter of fact, he did—but because he preferred to remain unnoticed, nonparticipatory, under the radar, so to speak. That was part of the reason Mancusi had called him a shadow. Silent, smooth…deadly.
He’d share his information after pursuing it himself, if there was anything worthwhile to share.
“But doesn’t it seem odd that they’ve been looking for fifty years and haven’t found him?” Sage asked, voicing Simon’s own question from earlier. “And if he was a Stranger, wouldn’t he be with them anyway?”
“How do we know they’ve been looking for him for that long?” asked Quent.
Lou adjusted his glasses and set down his wine glass, which was empty. “Because the gangas came on the scene about seven or eight months after the Change. From the first time we saw and heard them, we thought they were saying ‘Ruth,’ over and over again.”
“But when Jade was captured by Preston, she figured it out and realized they were saying ‘Remington Truth’,” Sage added unnecessarily. Simon had noticed she liked to spout information whenever the chance arose. “She mentioned that he seemed almost afraid when she asked him about Truth.”
Jade was a friend of Sage’s, and a member of the Resistance. When the teenagers had been abducted, she’d also been imprisoned by Preston—a Stranger who’d once enslaved her after murdering her husband.
“I made her write it down for me, exactly what he told her,” Lou said, pulling a worn little notebook from his shirt pocket. “My memory’s not as good as it used to be.” He flipped through a few dog-eared pages, then read, “The only one who knows about everything is Remington Truth. And until we find him, Fielding has no power over me or anyone else.”
“That’s basically what he said,” Theo agreed, resting his elbow on the table in a display of his muscular, dragon-tatted arm. “Sounds like they’re desperate to find him…maybe to put him out of commission or at least under their control.”
“Well, if he’s alive, he should look the same as he did before the Change,” Sage said. “That’s assuming if he were a member of the Cult of Atlantis that he has the same immortality as the rest of them, and that he wears a crystal.”
“Did you find a picture of him?” Simon asked. He knew she did her research through a sort of cobbled-together Internet that the Waxnicki brothers had been building for the last half-century.
The way they’d explained it, they’d been able to take cached information from any hard drives they were able to find from undamaged personal computers, as well as the big backup caches from local or national hosting and search engine companies like Google, Yahoo!, Comcast, and so on, to recreate a static picture of the Web. That meant that any link might lead to a website with missing pages or images, leaving them with lots of holes. But the more information they gathered, the more holes were plugged. Simon had found Internet research less than a barrel of laughs on its own, but in this case, the process must be ridiculously tedious.
Sage nodded. “I did find several pictures of him that were recent—or at least, recent in relation to the Change—so we know what he looks like. I have some printouts here,” she said, half rising to dig into the pocket of her long, loose dress.
As she leaned forward, the vee-necked bodice gapped a little, offering a teasing peek of glowing, freckle-dusted skin and an enticing curve.
Simon dragged his eyes from her and focused them on the edge of the table. She probably figured the dress, which had some sort of curly feminine stuff along the edges and hem so it wasn’t completely sack-like, enveloped her enough that no one would notice her curves. She would be wrong.
He’d walked onto the roof and found her standing there, the blazing ball that was the sun lighting a fiery nimbus around her amazing hair, making the ends burn and shimmer, settling a brilliant red glow over her figure, and, yeah, through the light, pale-colored material of her dress. He’d seen more than he should have…but less than he wanted to.
Simon would have walked away, leaving her to her solitude if she hadn’t started talking to him. Since they’d exchanged maybe five words including introductions since their first meeting, he found himself intrigued that she meant to press the conversation. She showed no sign of apprehension or nervousness at his presence.
But then again, Sage Corrigan didn’t know anything about him. How bloody his hands were, and how black his conscience was, how irredeemable and unholy he’d been.
Now, she tossed a thick fold of paper onto the table and settled back into her chair, the teasing bodice sliding into place.
“I made several copies,” she said as Theo unfolded the papers and passed them out. “I suppose showing them to people might help us locate the man, if he still exists. There aren’t many places he could be. But I—”
“Unless he’s holed up somewhere alone,” Theo said. “Which is where I’d fucking be if I knew all the Strangers and their gangas were after me.”
“Looks like a bloody wanker to me,” said Quent, who’d barely glanced at the picture. Bitterness flattened his aristocratic features.
“He was born in 1957,” Sage said as she shoved one of the papers across to Simon. “Grew up in Boston, went to Boston College for mathematics and joined the CIA. Stationed in Russia for a time, then Turkey, then came back to…where was it? Not Quantico. The other place. Anyway—”
“I’m sure you have it all written down, organized chronologically,” Theo interrupted. “If I know you.”
Simon glanced at him, surprised at the faintly dismissive tone in his voice. Not really dismissive, but…he couldn’t put his finger on it. And when Theo reached over and squeezed Sage’s delicate wrist, smiling at her as if she were a puppy who’d just done a new trick, it was all Simon could do not to shake his head.
Right, vato. Treat her like a child.
Sage settled back in her chair, smiling sweetly. The reserved curve of her lips had the effect of elongating her face a bit, making it look almost feline. “You’re right. I can give it to you without rambling on about it. But at least you know what he looks like.”
Well, at least Dragon Boy hadn’t ruffled her feathers.
But he’d sure been annoyed when he came upon Simon and Sage on the roof together earlier. Simon had met Theo’s immediate questioning—then warning—gaze with a blunt one of his own: Message received, but don’t fuck with me.
The old Simon, the one from East Los who always carried and was tied to Mancusi, would have raised both his hackles and the blade he carried in his boot, and drawn a little blood on that overkill dragon tattoo to prove his point.
Whether he gave a shit about the woman or not.
But this Simon, the mellow one, the one who’d had the miracle of rebirth, had merely snorted to himself and walked away.
Now, Simon reapplied himself to the crinkled paper in front of him and took a good look at Remington Truth. The face in the photo was familiar, but Simon had never had reason to study the man. He looked about mid-fifty, with startling, dark blue eyes and silvery hair. His features were unremarkable except for the piercing gaze that displayed marked intelligence, and a strong, determined chin. From the picture, he appeared rather stocky but not unhealthily so.
“That’s why the gangas take only blondes, and kill everyone else,” Simon mused, half to himself. “They’re looking for a man with silver hair.”
“But they’ve been known to take light-headed women too,” Quent said, smoothing his blond hair. He’d taken to wearing a bandanna whenever he might be out of Envy’s protective walls at night.
“Yeah, but they’re dumb as stumps,” Theo said with a quick smile, “so they probably can’t tell a woman from a man anyway. They just know they’re looking for someone with hair that’s not dark.”
Simon realized that Sage had stood, and was now bending to give Lou a quick hug. “See you all later,” she said with a smile as she straightened. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Have fun,” said Theo, his eyes lingering on her for a moment. “I’ll stop by later to see how things are going.” As Sage walked away, he returned to his companions, glancing at Simon as if to check whether he was watching his woman.
He wasn’t.
He was watching the other patrons.
A few of them stared, giving snide looks as she passed by, and Simon recognized the same tautness as before…subtle, again, but noticeable if one were looking for it. Lou and Theo didn’t seem to be aware of the unpleasant attention that Sage attracted, or if they were, they’d become used to it and dismissed it.
Sage, head high and appearing to ignore the looks, passed through the restaurant without any incident, but Simon felt uneasy nevertheless. He glanced at Theo again, who was in a light-hearted argument with his brother about who was more godlike—Donald Knuth or someone called the Woz.
“I’m going to head up,” he said, standing abruptly, still eyeing the room.
“You’re not eating?” Quent asked.
Simon shrugged. He’d noticed Sage hadn’t eaten either and wondered why no one had commented. Either they didn’t notice or didn’t care, or she was so independent or that much of a recluse that she was left to her own devices. He wasn’t certain if either instance would be considered flattering. “Not hungry. See you later.”
“Well, I’m going to eat,” said Lou, waving over one of the waitresses as Simon left. “Tonight’s meatloaf night.”
As Simon passed through the restaurant, he continued to scan the tables, noting with relief that none of them had emptied or changed since Sage’s exit. That was good.
The restaurant had once been part of a cluster of eateries and shops in the lobby of New York-New York Casino and Resort that were made to look like street blocks in the Big Apple. The area had been maintained as well as possible—which was to say, very well—since the Change, and Simon found that much of the basic setup was intact. A little shabby, not so obviously NYC-ish. The high ceiling that had covered the lobby area now had some skylights in it (likely holes that hadn’t been able to be fixed and now protected by screens or pieces of glass). Some living trees and bushes grew as well, and someone had even taken the time to plant a random cluster of flowers.
He left the restaurant and walked along in the path that Sage likely would have taken if she were going back to the secret computer lab. He listened carefully, passing one of the ballrooms that had been turned into a movie theater. Tonight’s feature was Pirates of the Caribbean, causing Simon to roll his eyes because, living in LA and frequenting places like Chateau Marmot and Nobu, he’d been mistaken more than once for the star of that film.
He hadn’t seen the resemblance except for the long dark hair, but what the hell.
At least he hadn’t been mistaken for that lip-glossed pretty boy bolillo Orlando Bloom who couldn’t even grow a full beard.
Simon strolled along the way, moving beyond what had been the tourist area toward the administrative wing of the casino.
He turned down a hall that led to the depths of the old hotel, brushing past a warped wooden park bench flanked by two bushes, and would have continued on his way if he hadn’t seen it out of the corner of his eye.
Open, pages bent, its soft cover crumpled at the corner, just beneath the shadow of the bench: a book.
Vegas!
I’m staring out the window, looking down on the Strip. It’s two in the morning and it’s still incredible. The lights, the sounds, the people, all the activity—it’s nonstop. They say that New York is the city that never sleeps, but I think it’s truer for Vegas. And it’s all contained in a much smaller area. Pleasure within walking distance. I love Vegas!!!!
Drew and I had our first dinner as a married couple (the reception yesterday didn’t count—but it was great seeing all of you there!) at a great Italian place, and then lost $20 each playing slots. Tomorrow, we’ll sleep in, have breakfast in bed, and then hit the Strip. Two more days of bliss!
But for now…Drew’s giving me that look. Better close up the laptop and join him. This is, after all, the honeymoon suite. *wink *
— from Adventures in Juliedom, the blog of Julie Davis Beecher
TWO
It happened so quickly that Sage didn’t have the chance to cry out.
Strong hands shoved her hard, whipping her against a wall. Her temple and shoulder slammed into it, and the books slipped from her fingers as she struggled to recover from the sudden assault. But by then, he’d yanked her around so quickly that she couldn’t keep her balance, and his fingers closed over her mouth, pinching into her cheeks. Her head and shoulder throbbed but she tried to shake off the shock and fear, twisting beneath his grip, as the man dragged her into a dimly lit area.
“This way, little Cor-Whore,” he said, his voice low and steady.
A room. The door closed quietly behind them as he shoved her down hard. She crashed into a table, its edge banging into the back of her hips, and she cried out at the pain as much as to raise alarm. In the dim light, she could see little detail of her attacker, other than that he was a man of average size and height.
Fear threatened to clog her mind, paralyzing her, but Sage forced herself to push it away. To concentrate and pull from the dregs of her memory the moves Theo had taught her.
Use your legs. They’re the strongest part of your body.
She collapsed on the floor, tumbling half-under the table, her dress wrapping around her, but oh, thank God, she felt a wobbly metal leg.
“Now, let’s take care of some business,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Come on, now. Don’t be shy.”
As the man lunged toward her, Sage surged up from beneath the back of the table as she lifted it. The table tumbled forward and she scuttled back as it crashed onto his feet or arm or something—she didn’t know and didn’t care.
He grunted with rage and came after her again, but Sage knew she couldn’t get past him to the door, so she’d remained on the floor with her legs half-bent as Theo had taught her, gasping for breath, trying to will the pain away. As he lunged, she slammed her feet forward with all of her might, catching him in the gut and sending him off-balance.
Scrambling to her feet, head and shoulder aching, hardly able to move from the pain in her lower back, she stumbled toward the faint outline of the door. But a hand lashed out and grabbed at her ankle, and with a hard yank, he dropped her to the tile, palm-flat, knee-hard.
Sage shrieked with rage and pain and tried to crawl away as he dragged her back toward him, her dress bunching and catching up around her hips. His fingers curled tightly into her right ankle and then his other hand pulled on her bare leg, and then as she came close enough, he backhanded her across the face.
Even in the dimness, she saw stars and a streak of light, then felt the wave of pain and grasping, clawing fingers tugging at her dress. “Now, that’s more like it,” he said as she struggled to breathe, to regain her focus, not to think about where his hands had moved….
She thought she was imagining it when the light seemed to grow brighter, but that galvanized her into hope. Sage twisted one hand away and, as he was tearing at her dress, buttons flying, she slammed her palm up and into his nose. Aim for the septum.
Something crunched beneath her hand, he cried out, and then suddenly, he was gone. Lifted, like a puppet…and then his silhouette was flying through the air. Sage heard the crash as he landed on some furniture, and then the unmistakable sounds of fists thudding into flesh and bone, and even over the man’s groans and the slams and slaps, she discerned a nauseating crackling sound.
Sage pulled to her feet, knees weak and fingers trembling, just in time to see her attacker slammed down onto a table—ouch, no, it was the edge of the overturned table onto which he was shoved, bent backward over, by a powerful hand at his throat.
She recognized Simon with a little jolt of surprise, and then the surprise was replaced by awe. Unruffled, unmoved, he held the man’s life in the palm of his hand, in the little vee of his thumb and forefinger jammed up against the attacker’s neck. One twitch, one twist and she knew it would be all over.
“Wait,” she said, pleased that her voice came out steady, if a bit husky from the dryness that barely allowed her to swallow. “Uh—Simon?”
He turned to look at her, casual in his movements, unquestionably certain of his control of the situation—as if she’d simply hailed him while walking into the room, not as if he’d just finished beating the bunk out of the guy. He wasn’t even breathing heavily and his dark hair was still pulled back neatly in its low-riding tail.
Unlike hers, which straggled in her eyes.
Simon nodded, and Sage took that as invitation to approach. He didn’t talk much, but in this case, speech wasn’t necessary.
She walked closer, steadying herself, feeling the rush of adrenaline still burning through her. Her fingers were shaking, and she would probably puke as soon as she was alone, but she refused to cower in front of this man who’d tried to violate her. She might be a curdled mess inside, but she wasn’t about to show it.
“Someone you know?” he asked.
The door hung open, allowing plenty of light into the room for her to see details. Even through the shiny dark blood that dripped from the attacker’s face, and the eye that was beginning to swell shut, she knew she’d never met him before. “No.”
Then she looked at Simon, who’d not moved a muscle, except perhaps to tighten his fingers warningly over the man’s throat—for he’d stopped struggling and simply rasped heavily. She noticed that Simon’s tee was stained with what had to be blood, and that there was a streak along the shoulder of the unbuttoned shirt he wore over it, but there wasn’t a cut or bruise on his face, nor was the tee even untucked from his many-pocketed pants. The light from the door poured in behind him, casting his beautiful, carved features half in shadow.
“Could you just…step aside a bit?” she asked.
Sage could have sworn she saw the white flash of a smile, but if she did, it was gone just as quickly. He moved to the side, still holding her assailant. She walked up to her attacker and, without hesitation, jammed her knee into his groin.
“Don’t ever come near me again,” she said as he squealed and choked beneath Simon’s hand. An elegant hand, wide and dark with slender fingers that looked as if they couldn’t be strong enough to hold a man a bay. He wore a strap around his tanned wrist, flat and smooth.
“You heard the lady,” Simon added, then as nonchalantly as if he’d shaken the man’s hand, he released him and turned to Sage. “What do you want me to do with him?”
“What do you mean?” Despite the casualness of his demeanor, now that they were facing each other, she could see the danger in his eyes. Cold and merciless. Was he asking if she wanted him to kill him? Or what? She felt a little tremor deep inside her belly and bit her lip. Ow. It was sore and puffy from when the guy’d hit her.
Simon shrugged, a subtle movement as if he were as spare with his gestures as he was with his words. “The cops? Jail?”
Sage glanced at the sorry excuse for a man, who looked as if he were about to expire on the spot. He wasn’t going anywhere for a while. And she really didn’t want to draw attention to herself.
As if reading her mind, Simon looked back down at the puddle of skin, bones, and sticky blood. There might have been a heartbeat in there, too, somewhere, and maybe a few working organs. But no brain to speak of.
“If I see you near her again—or hear about any other incident, I’ll break both of your legs. Into four pieces each.” He said it as if he were ordering a dish of ice cream. With caramel sauce. “And then I’ll sic her on you to finish the job.”
Sage felt the man shiver next to her leg and felt a grain of pity for him. Only a grain. Then it was gone. “Leave him here,” she said, answering his original question. “He won’t bother me again.”
Simon gave a nod. He didn’t say anything, but she felt his eyes score over her as if to ensure that she was all right. As he did that, Sage realized that the bodice of her dress hung open, torn to her waist, barely clinging to her shoulders.
“Here,” he said, slipping off the shirt he wore over his tee.
She took it. The fabric was warm and well worn, and she slipped her arms through the sleeves, unable to ignore the scent that came with it. Nothing that she could identify, but it was subtle and masculine, and she liked it. She buttoned it and rolled up the sleeves even more than they’d already been rolled.
“You broke his nose,” Simon commented, directing her toward the door.
“Did I?” Sage was more than willing to leave, as she felt the adrenaline beginning to subside. Her knees buckled as she took a step, but she caught herself before Simon noticed, and she swallowed back the nausea that threatened to bubble up from her suddenly churning stomach. She was glad he hadn’t made any move to comfort her, to put his arms around her or to otherwise croon over her, pet her—do all the things people did when something awful happened.
She wasn’t a child, needing to be held and petted, have her tears brushed away. She could handle this. The worst that had happened, thank God, was a few bruises and a torn dress. Jade hated that sundress anyway, so she’d be glad it was ruined. Even Flo wouldn’t be able to fix it.
And besides, if Simon was going to touch her, she didn’t want it to be because he felt pity for her.
Whoa.
She almost stopped walking, the thought had been so…unexpected. So non-sequitur. So…odd.
Her belly tingling, Sage resisted the strong urge to look up at him. “Thank you,” she said, realizing suddenly that she’d been remiss in expressing her gratitude. She might have broken the guy’s nose and fought back, but he’d been gaining the upper hand. If Simon hadn’t arrived….
He shrugged again as he closed the door behind them. “Here,” he said, and handed her one of the books.
“Oh, thank you,” she said, taking it and clasping it to her chest. “I was afraid it had gotten lost or destroyed.”
“Here’s the other.” He bent and retrieved it from under a low-growing bush.
“How did you find me? How did you know?”
“The book.”
She shook her head. “I mean, you were eating—or going to eat. Why did you leave? And how did you know to come…this way?”
Now he looked uncomfortable, then all expression was wiped from his face. “I had a feeling.” He shrugged again.
A feeling. Sage narrowed her eyes as if that would help her read his mind. It didn’t. But then, before she could speak, she heard her name and turned to see Theo approaching.
He took one look at her, and even from the distance she could see his expression turn shocked, then black with anger. She must look terrible if he could tell something was wrong that far away. Sage automatically brushed her hair back, refastening most of it in its band, and adjusted Simon’s shirt over her torso.
“What happened?” Theo fairly ran up to them, glancing at her, and then turning to Simon. He bristled with ferocity. “What the hell happened?”
It took Sage a moment to realize that Theo wasn’t accusing Simon—which had been her first thought after seeing his expression—and that not only was he asking Simon to explain what had happened to her, but he wasn’t even acknowledging her, let alone asking how she felt.
But then Theo, her dear friend who’d kissed her earlier tonight (a consequence which still surprised her), curled an arm around her shoulders and tugged her up against his side. Hard and tight. Still not looking at her…but now she felt the rage and trembling beneath his skin.