by Ben Farthing
Nuo Che cleared her throat. "It does sound like you."
"We shouldn't assume the worst," said Fiametta Vine.
"I'm not assuming. I'm asking for an explanation."
"There are benters who can imitate voices," said the CEO.
"No one knew they were being filmed," said Everard. "Why would they be imitating your voice right then?"
"To set me up!" Bowman turned off the TV. "Loretta could have done it."
He pointed to where she'd been, by the bar. Everyone looked at the empty barstools.
So much for a distraction. Everard had accidentally made the whole room look for her.
"Where'd she go?" asked Bowman. "Where's Whitten?"
"I see what this is." The CEO folded his hands in front of him. "Loretta has her lackey set up a ploy to distract us while she interrogates our CTO."
Everard shrugged. "You pretty much nailed it. Except the video is real. And everyone knows that Loretta is investigating the booms. So if she wants information on your Chief Technical Officer, that means her investigation led to you."
"She's got a vendetta against me," said Bowman.
"She's been known to be wrong before," said the CEO.
"Not often," said Fitzwilliam. His guests agreed.
"What are you accusing me of?" asked the CEO.
"No one's accusing you of anything," said Fiametta Vine. "But an explanation might ease our worries."
"Turn the game on!"
Everyone turned to see whose drunken call had interrupted the drama. The CTO slouched in the chair Everard had vacated. His tie was loose and he grinned stupidly. "Let's watch the game. I was almost drafted by the Ravens. You all know that, right?"
"Take care of him," the CEO ordered Bowman, who hurried to the CTO and yanked him to his feet.
"Loretta!" cried Fitzwilliam. "Welcome back."
Loretta leaned on the bar, drinking from a cocktail glass. "If I'd known you'd miss me so much, I'd never have left."
Bowman threw the CTO's arm around his neck and headed down the carpeted ramps.
The CEO surveyed the guests, fury exposed in his tightened jawline. "Fitzwilliam, for failure to provide security for your guests, consider your funding cut in half."
The Ailuromancer laughed. "A fair trade for tonight's entertainment."
"And the rest of you, the last thing this city needs is faction heads questioning Inc's leadership. Don't forget who funds your galas, your research, your medical supplies."
Fiametta Vine winced.
"If anyone has concerns about our commitment to eradicating crime in the Periphery, come discuss it at 12 Corcoran."
"Twelve and a half Corcoran, now," said Everard.
The CEO left.
Everard retrieved his phone. "Thanks for your help," he said cheerfully to the bartender, who'd gone pale.
"I can't think of any way we could improve upon that," said Fitzwilliam, "so why don't we call it a night after we've said our goodbyes?"
The guests gathered their belongings, had a final drink, and prepared to leave. Nuo Che and two others got Everard's contact information and asked for the video.
He felt proud of himself. Inc had tried to intimidate him and he'd struck back by almost toppling their skyscraper, and now exposing that they were working with Undone Duncan. Loretta had told him not to kick a wasp nest, but if you kept stomping just right, you'd crush all the wasps.
Brian came over to Everard. "You're insane, but that was awesome."
Loretta joined them. "We should leave. Keep your head down."
"What? Why?"
"Did you forget the part about the Ailuromancer inviting you here so he could kill you?"
A strong hand closed around Everard's shoulder. Claws bit into his skin. "Stay awhile," purred Fitzwilliam. "I insist."
Chapter Thirty-Two
Some of the guests lingered to watch the confrontation. The Ailuromancer kept his grip on Everard's shoulder.
Everard ignored the pain from the claws. "I'm afraid I've got somewhere to be." If these people saw him afraid of the Ailuromancer, it wouldn't matter that he'd just put Inc in their place. He'd still be weak enough for them to attack. He'd always be dependent on Bill Bill keeping him safe.
Loretta moved Fitzwilliam's hand. "The Burgesses hired me to keep him safe."
Fantastic. Now everyone saw him still needing protection.
"You misunderstand me. I want him to stay so I can help you."
"We're leaving," said Loretta.
"What did you find out from the CTO?" asked Fitzwilliam. "He told you about the converter, didn't he? Maybe the location of the other machines. But that's all he knows."
"How do you know about this?"
"I have eyes everywhere."
"Inside."
"Most of my family spend their waking hours staring out windows." Fitzwilliam tried to guide Everard to a couch. He didn't budge. "Not to mention, Shadow and Bethlehem tell me what their eyes see."
"You're right," said Loretta. "The CTO told me about the converter. So I don't need anything else."
"What's a converter?" asked Everard.
"Exactly what it sounds like," said Fitzwilliam. "It converts one sort of energy to another. This one draws energy from the atmosphere itself. It's usually used to harness the power of a storm, or maybe a massive protest march. This one's much bigger than any before, isn't it, Loretta?"
Loretta didn't answer.
"The CTO only knew where the energy is going. To the machines placed around the city. But where is it coming from, I wonder?"
"It doesn't matter." Loretta didn't sound so sure. "All I have to do is destroy the converter."
"It always pays to have a backup plan."
"He's got a point," said Everard.
"I thought you were just sticking around to get revenge on Inc," said Loretta.
"I can still have opinions about your noble quest." Plus, the guests still watching might interpret his silence as fear.
"Listen to the rebellist. Maybe knowing the source of energy will help dismantle the converter."
"It's not hard to break something," said Loretta.
"So if I stay and have a drink with you," Everard said loudly, "you tell us what's powering the booms?"
"Precisely."
"I'll do it." Everard watched the Ailuromancer, trying to gauge what made him so dangerous.
"You will not," said Loretta.
"Yeah, not a good idea," said Brian. "Meowmix here invited his rat counterpart over here a few years ago. He toyed with her for three hours before killing her."
"It's sometimes my nature," said Fitzwilliam.
Everard both needed to show those watching that he wasn't to be messed with, and to figure out his bent. Listening to Loretta obviously didn't work. "I said I'm staying."
"If I tell you what I know, then Loretta doesn't get to come charging back in here after you."
"I'll stay until I finish my drink, and then I'll call it a night."
Fitzwilliam considered. "You'll only leave under your own power? That sounds fun."
Everard offered a handshake. When Brian listed the "heavy hitters," he'd included the CEO, Loretta, Fiametta Vine, Undone Duncan—plus Mr. President and Bill Bill. Everard was a rebellist, too. Whatever made the Ailuromancer as tough as he was, Everard was just as big and bad. But only if he fully cast off authority. "Brian, Loretta, go out to the car. I'll only be a few minutes."
Fitzwilliam chuckled.
If Loretta was trying to communicate with her facial expression, the only message Everard was getting was that she was exhausted. "Whatever you want," she said.
"What, seriously?" asked Brian.
"He wants to stay, let him stay," said Loretta.
"How delightful!" The Ailuromancer clapped his hands.
"Tell us what you know, and we'll leave," said Loretta.
"How do I know you won't try to take him after I tell you what I know?" asked the Ailuromancer.
"You don
't," said Loretta. "Maybe I'll take him anyways and call it your debt paid."
"Do you really want to try that?" asked the Ailuromancer. "Do you think you could? In my own home?"
"I'm leaving here on my own," said Everard. "If Loretta tries anything, I'll fight with you against her. I'm doing this."
"I accept your offer," said the Ailuromancer, quickly, as if afraid Everard would back out. "The power sources are flying to this city as we speak. The more sensitive benters have been dreaming about them for days now."
"We didn't agree on you spouting riddles," said Loretta. "Be direct."
"Direct is boring. At least let me tell you the series of coincidences that led to my obtaining this knowledge." Fitzwilliam circled the couches, gesturing with his cocktail glass. "A kind fellow who lives over in Cleveland Park decided he wanted a Cornish Rex, while his wife wanted a Devon Rex. They made the best kind of compromise and chose both. There are six Cornish Rex breeders in the D.C. metro area, and three Devon Rex breeders. None of them had kittens available, and this kind fellow and his wife are not the patient type."
"Neither are we," said Loretta.
"They are the polite type," spat Fitzwilliam. "As I was saying, they had to find their new family members outside the city. They selected a Cornish Rex breeder in Barnagat Township, New Jersey, and Devon Rex breeder in Welsch, West Virginia. After a weekend of driving, they brought two new inside cats into my city. I have access to new minds every day, but these were brought in from outside the metro area, and I always enjoy sharing their exploration of a world of new and curious smells, sights, and sounds."
"And things to kill," said Brian.
"That's more the purview of Shadow and Bethlehem," said Fitzwilliam. As his pacing brought him past Everard, he caressed a retracted claw across the back of Everard's neck. "Unless it strikes my fancy, of course."
"Get on with your story," said Loretta.
"Neither of my new cats had the usual curiosity. Instead, both their minds were the frazzled tatters of newly orphaned ferals hiding from an owl. Sometimes I forget how much protection I extend to the cats of D.C., but this was beyond natural fear. I probed their memories to see why they felt so terrified. The towns they came from were the hunting grounds of terrible creatures. They'd been thrilled to leave, but on their drives to our city, they sensed their predators had already started the journey. The kind fellow arrived first - these predators are taking their time - but the cats saw where their predators were heading."
"What kind of predators are we talking?" asked Everard.
"Based on where they're coming from," said Loretta, "the Jersey Devil and the Mothman."
"And Inc's just going to hook them up and use their energy?" asked Brian. "How would they capture them?"
"You can't capture them," laughed Fitzwilliam. "Something is drawing them here. They're each hearing the other. Two apex predators with an unspoken truce to leave the city as a no-mans-land between their hunting grounds, each sensing the other breaking that truce. They'll battle, and Undone Duncan's machine will use the energy of their battle."
"That's why the machine's both pushing and pulling," said Everard.
Loretta covered her mouth. "That fight could destroy half the city."
"It makes you wonder if their plans are truly worth it, doesn't it?" said Fitzwilliam.
"You know more about Inc's plans?" asked Everard.
"I believe I've answered your original questions and fulfilled my part of our deal. Unless you have something else to offer me in exchange for further questions, it's time your friends be on their way."
The color had left Loretta's face. "Come on, Brian. We'll make a few phone calls while we wait."
Everard swallowed. He wasn't getting in over his head, because this was his decision. He was actively avoiding letting her be his authority. As soon as she left, he felt confident he'd be able to deny anything just like Bill Bill could.
The Ailuromancer raised his voice. "I'm afraid the party is truly over. Please make your way to the exit."
Brian gave Everard a worried smile and a thumbs-up before following Loretta and the remaining guests down the ramp and back through the courtyard.
The Ailuromancer wandered over behind a couch that faced Everard. The cats joined him by hopping up on the back of the couch, rubbing their shoulders against his tuxedo jacket and their cheeks against his knuckles. "I thought they'd never leave."
"What do you want from me?" asked Everard.
The cats jumped down from the couch. With little more than a flick of his wrist, the Ailuromancer hurled the couch at Everard.
No. The mental mist was thinner. Everard's will smashed through.
The couch's trajectory twisted, and it crashed into the carpeted wall behind him.
The Ailuromancer adjusted his shirt cuffs. "Let's play."
Everard sprinted around the third floor walkway, Fitzwilliam chasing after him. The Ailuromancer shifted effortlessly between running on the floor, and digging his claws into the wall to pull himself along.
Everard denied his pursuer's balance. The mist stayed thin, but his will couldn't find its way out.
The Ailuromancer kept coming.
Everard cursed. No one had authority over him. Why hadn't that worked?
Fitzwilliam caught up in a great leap and tackled Everard from behind. Clawed toes dug into Everard's back as he hit the floor, rugburn ripped into his palms. He gasped at the sting.
The Ailuromancer landed on his feet. "What happened to your machismo?"
"Fuck off." Everard grabbed the flintlock from his waistband.
Before he could even aim, Fitzwilliam was on top of him, armed reared back to strike, claws extended.
No. His will pushed out of the weight.
The Ailuromancer struck Everard's arm. The flintlock flew off the ledge, and his arm exploded in pain, but the blow had landed with retracted claws. Fitzwilliam hissed, exposing fangs. "You don't deny me!" His claws flexed back out. "Don't ever touch my body with your freakish tricks."
Everard scrambled backwards as Fitzwilliam attacked. Again, his blows landed with claws retracted. His chest heaved as he stood over Everard. "The last person who insulted me I let live for several weeks. Not you."
An open palm hit Everard's ribs, and he thought he felt something crack. Claws or no, he couldn't win a fight against that level of strength, especially with his bent flickering on and off like a strobe light. "How did I insult you?"
"Impersonating me!"
Everard rolled away from a kick, jumped to his feet, and sprinted down the walkway, toward the ramp. He tried again to trip Fitzwilliam. Nothing. "I didn't mean to!"
Fitzwilliam hissed, spittle flying out from his mouth. Everard dropped and the tuxedoed man flew overhead. He thought for sure Fitzwilliam would stumble, but again he landed on his feet, and now he blocked the closest ramp. Everard ran the other direction.
"I've spent decades crafting my reputation! I don't do a thing in the public eye without planning how I'll be perceived. And you ruined it!"
"I told people I wasn't you!"
"Who said anything about people?"
Everard glanced back. The Ailuromancer leapt from wall to floor and back, moving quickly but only slowly gaining on Everard. The next closest ramp was a hundred feet away. He'd never get there, but maybe he could make his own. He thought of the walkway in front of him, its sturdiness. He tried to deny it, but only felt a mild shake under his feet. The weight thickened around his mind.
Fitzwilliam was closing the distance, but apparently he enjoyed arguing enough to let it distract him.
"Come on, I'm on your side." Everard rounded the corner. If the whole walkway was too much, maybe he could just target the bolts.
The Ailuromancer scoffed. "Nothing could be further from the truth."
"Then why'd you save me last night?" He didn't know the exact location of the bolts holding up the walkway, but he thought of the general area, and denied that they were strong enou
gh to hold up the beams. Precise lances of his will parted the mist.
With an echoing crack, the far end of the walkway fell to the level below, creating a makeshift ramp. "That'll work," Everard said, running down it. Thick bubbles appeared in the carpet, fallout from Everard's bent.
"I wanted to kill you myself. Everyone has to know the punishment for insulting me."
Everard pulled his trick again to end up on the second floor walkway—this time black flowers sprouted when he denied the bolts—and then sprinted down an actual ramp. The flintlock had landed beside a leather couch. Everard dashed towards it. His fingers closed around the handle as Fitzwilliam landed inches in front of him.
"I swear," said Everard. "I'm on your side."
He fired a burst of sound into the Ailuromancer's gut. It launched the man spinning through the air, but he turned the wild spin into a graceful whirl, and landed on his feet. He inspected the hole the blast had made in his clothes. "This was my favorite shirt."
Everard fired again. The blast took Fitzwilliam in the chin. His neck snapped back and he fell toward the floor. In one moment, his head was about to smash into the floor. In the next, he'd landed on his feet, rubbing his jaw.
"How are you doing that?" demanded Everard.
"I may not be able to tweak reality in all the variety of ways that Loretta can, or with the fantastic exuberance of the CEO, or even with the raw power of your stubborn little bent," Fitzwilliam said, adjusting his lapels, "but what I do, I do consistently and effortlessly, like any cat should. No matter how hard you hit me, or how dead a lesser man would be-"
"You always land on your feet," Everard finished.
"You don't sound impressed."
"Oh no, I am." Everard shot him once more, for good measure. It knocked him back, but again he glided to his feet. "It's just frustrating. The first time I attempted something on my own, I end up facing some impossibly big demon thing. And now when I try it again, it turns out I challenged an immortal Thundercat."
"I'm not immortal. Someday I'll die of old age."
"Or you'll start pissing the carpet and the vet will have to put you down."
Fitzwilliam tried to respond and hiss at the same time. He really didn't like being insulted. But Everard was stuck on something his dumb joke had reminded him. "What will your allies think if you kill me?"
