Broken(51)

    “As if you would know the difference.”

    There is a threat growing, Gavrikov said. I put aside my worries for it to pursue rumors of Klementina, but it does exist. It is out there.

    “Century,” I breathed, and felt every last one of them agree with me. “Sovereign.”

    They will destroy the world of metahumans, to the last, Bjorn said, and then enslave humanity, with Sovereign at their head. I could feel his fear, tingling inside me, so powerful it almost made me quiver. He is the most powerful meta on the planet.

    “Why do you need me?” I felt the faux leather of the steering wheel against my forehead. “Why me? Why did all this have to happen … for me?”

    There was a moment’s quiet. I do not know, Bjorn said. But I know someone who does. And so do you.

    I felt a steely calm settle over me, and I sat back up, lifting my head off the wheel. I looked at that empty space in the parking lot in front of me, one more time. It was covered over completely with snow now, streaming heavily from overhead. I wondered if there was a stain underneath, something, anything to show what had happened there. It felt like there should be a reminder, so that others could mark the passage of my failures. The snow kept on, though, covering the place where more people had died for me while I failed to act, kept going and going, burying it like my sins, until I finally put the car back into gear and started driving—as if I could leave all those sins behind me.





23.





    It was dark, and there was an aura of cologne in the room. It didn’t quite gag me, but it was close, and I tried to decide whether it was because I hated cologne in general or this cologne in particular. I leaned toward the latter but didn’t much care either way. My fingers ran across the smooth leather arms of the chair I sat in, waiting. I wasn’t in much danger of falling asleep, but by the same token I wasn’t exactly well-rested, especially lately. The dark living room sprawled out in front of me, and I had a clear line of sight to the front door.

    I heard the key hit the lock and turn it, along with muffled talking, soft murmuring through the wood. When it opened, the front porch light cast a thin shaft of illumination into the room, almost to the foot of my chair. There was the silhouette of a man and a woman, entwined, his lips on hers. She broke away for a moment, and started to say something, but he went back in for another kiss and she acquiesced, staying locked with him like that for a few seconds until I saw her go limp in his arms. He let her hang like that while he shut the door. “Thank God,” I heard him mutter to her, “I thought you’d never shut up.”

    “You are such a charmer, James,” I said, and I saw him freeze in the entry. He flipped the light and I stared at him, gun in hand. “It amazes me that women continue to fall for your palaver.”

    James Fries stood there, his best attempt at a brave, almost cocky smile on his face. “You did, once upon a time, as I recall.”

    “I was young and stupid,” I said.

    “It was like three months ago.”

    “Very good,” I said sarcastically, “keep insulting the woman who has a gun pointed at you and hasn’t hesitated to shoot you in the past. The sad thing is,” I said with a nasty smile, “you won’t even be the first person I’ve killed this week. And believe it or not, I liked all the others more than I like you. By a lot.”

    There was a pause as he seemed to take stock of the situation, surveying his surroundings as if it were the first time he had seen his own home. “What do you want?” I saw his Adam’s apple bulge as he swallowed. I could almost hear the comical GULP as he did it.

    The woman at his feet stirred, her eyes blinking. She had dark hair and bright eyes, ones that were barely visible as she slit them shut. “What … happened?”

    “You slipped,” I said, “and went home with a real dickhead.” I lowered the gun to the side of the chair, where she couldn’t see it.

    She blinked at me, then frowned. “Who are you?” She looked up at Fries, then back at me. “Wait … are you married?”

    I felt the burst of revulsion but ignored it. “Get out of here,” I told her coldly.

    She dragged herself upright, swaying as she did so. She gave Fries a scornful, pissed off look. “Asshole,” she pronounced. She turned to me. “I’m sorry. He didn’t tell me he was married.”