“The real question,” Weissman’s calm, assured voice came from where Breandan had been standing only a moment earlier, “is when is he?” He looked down at us, running his tongue around in his mouth as he leered down at us, totally unworried.
Breandan groaned in pain as he sat up, and I followed after he lifted his weight off me. “Is this a riddle of some sort?”
“If so, I expect you’d fail, Irish,” Weissman said, examining his fingernails as if there was something trifling beneath them. “I warned you I was the one holding the power in the room.”
“And here I was trying to figure out why you were so damned arrogant.” I propped myself up and didn’t bother pointing the gun at him. “You can control the flow of time.”
Weissman smiled. “You really are a clever one. Most people don’t get that until it’s far too late.” His smile grew into a grin. “Of course, if it weren’t for the special instructions I have regarding you, it’d be too late for you by now. As it is, I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill your friend now—”
“Wait,” I said, and Weissman cocked his head at me in curiosity. “If you have control of the flow of time—and I presume you can, what? Speed it up?” He nodded. “Slow it down?” He nodded again. “Make it stop?”
He smiled. “If necessary.”
“Then why the need for all these gun thugs?” I asked, slowly getting back to my feet. “Why the kill teams, why send the metas up to Ireland to wipe out those cloisters?” I watched his reaction for this, but he didn’t bat an eye, didn’t reveal a thing. “You could do it yourself, every bit of it.”
He gave me a grudging nod. “I could, technically.”
“You could, but …?” I waited a moment. “But it bores you? It’s beneath you?”
He laughed. “Probably. But no. You’re fishing. All right, fine. Here’s a nugget that won’t get you anywhere.” His eyes turned serious, but the laugh lines remained at his eyes even as a little worry crept in at the corners. “Because there’s another meta out there with this power, this ability I have. If I stop time, it stops for both of us. Same if he were to do it. Now, he doesn’t—or does it exceedingly rarely, anyway. Call it a gentleman’s agreement between the last two of us left—we don’t inflict this slow-stop stuff on each other.”
I thought about that one for a beat. “Aren’t you about to wipe out every meta on the planet?”
“Close,” Weissman said, this time with less smile, less assurance. “But not all.”
“So your friend with the same power as yours,” I said lightly, “he doesn’t take kindly to you messing with his world?”
Weissman’s irritation flared. “That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant.” I gave him an infuriating smile. “That was the subtext, outside of your puffery, that this other guy, with your power, he scares the shit out of you. Enough that you won’t push the boundaries because you’re afraid of him.”
Weissman gave me a humorless smile, started to say something harsh but waited until he’d calmed for a second. “Like I said, you’re smart.”
“And you’re scared.” I licked my lips. “How do you think this friend of yours will take it when you end up wiping out most of the metas on the planet?”
“Oh, he doesn’t care about that,” Weissman said, and the genuine, mean and nasty smile returned. “He’s far too preoccupied with his own navel gazing.”
I smiled back, and this time I saw a flash of annoyance from him. “So this guy … you’re scared of him? And he’s not Sovereign?”
Weissman rolled his eyes. “You’re a little too clever for you own good.”
I wondered how fast he could move; if he could stop time in a blink. “Why, thank you, Mr. Weissman. I don’t suppose you’d kindly tell me where this meta is? This one you fear, this one that you’re not going to mess with, even as you exterminate every other on the planet?”
Weissman laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about him. If the day comes that he works his way toward being a threat, Sovereign will take care of him. No, I’d be worrying about your little friend here.” Weissman gestured toward Breandan, who stood with his back to me, eyes on Weissman.
“Why would I worry about him?” I asked. “You already said you’re going to kill him. I can’t hit you, I can’t hurt you. Ergo, he’s screwed.” I shrugged at Breandan, who looked back at me with a sort of muted horror. “Sorry. I can’t stop time, or slow him down, and he basically has the ability to teleport anywhere in the room, or show up behind us, or just leave until we’re gone. He could sit here and watch us until we’ve left, then follow us back to where we’re staying and kill us there.” I looked at Weissman. “Except you can’t. Because if you stall time for too long, he’ll get pissed at you, whoever he is.” I smiled. “So … how long can you stop time before he gets mad? Or does it have a cumulatively annoying effect?”