Slowly, Sera nodded. “But it is not just that. There are so many other choices I face! Things that have nothing to do with the Commissar. Matters in which what I want may have terrible consequences, but all that I know is what I want!”
The former detective’s mouth lifted in a faint smile. “Like?”
“There must be a reason why John does not remember. I want him to remember, but what I want may be…” She shook her head.
“Impossible?” Ramona asked. “Or maybe it’s just that it might take a little longer and it’s hard to trust an uncertain length of time?”
“No. There must be a reason. Which implies bringing back his memory could have terrible consequences.” Sera was so tense now that the feathers of her wings trembled. “How can I make a choice when I cannot know this?”
“You trust yourself.” The words came in a half-whisper, as Ramona glanced down at the small space between them on the bench and the wings draped down over the edge. “There could be terrible consequences or wonderful consequences, but you trust yourself. Go with your gut, that’s the not-so-technical term for it. And really,” she offered with a wistful smile, “it does work.”
The look that Sera gave her practically dripped with skepticism and doubt. “For you, perhaps.”
She shrugged. “For lots of people. Rumor has it that Bella and Bull didn’t have a clue about each other, but one of them had to say something. Unless she read his mind, and that’s not how she works. Somebody had to go with a gut decision, and there was a good, even great payoff. I’d say that it only happens in those goofy romance novels, except I’d be lying.”
Sera shook her head. “I feel like—the one who walks a thin wire over a precipice. Around me all I see are the consequences of failure. How is that good?”
“You’re surrounded by the consequences of whose failures?” Ramona scowled in the darkness, bothered that a creature this celestial in appearance could be so utterly pessimistic. “Yours? Mine? John’s? Having Free Will might invite an opportunity for failure, but it doesn’t guarantee it.”
“The only potential for failure that I can affect—now—is my own. But the consequences are…terrifying. I cannot see any joy in this.”
“You mean that you can’t trust yourself that there could be joy in the consequences?”
Sera nodded, slowly. “All I can imagine is the pain of failure.”
Ramona let out a long breath and shook her head. If the woman—angel, or whatever she thought of herself to be now—had never been able to make a choice and enjoy the outcome, then it was no wonder that the mere thought of choice paralyzed her. “You should spend some time with Bella. Part of her therapy for other metas includes this emotion-piggybacking. I hear it’s done wonders for some of them. Sort of a vicarious walkthrough.”
“Bella…has too much to handle now. I will not add my burden to hers. It would not be right.” The tone of Sera’s voice brooked no argument.
“No… no, I guess it wouldn’t.” Ramona stood and walked to the edge of the building. A broken beer bottle lay on the ground, bits of glass catching the faint light. She pressed her hands against the brick ledge and glanced back at Sera. “This might not be any of my business, but did you ever kiss him? Not one of those chaste little forehead deals, but a real curl-your-toes kiss?”
“Rather more than that.” The Seraphym lifted an eyebrow. “Not that it is your business.”
“So you didn’t like it? Or you thought it was safe because you knew it would be, before it happened?”
“It was…love is always Permitted.” Sera shut her mouth in a way that suggested that was all Ramona would get out of her.
It was enough for the detective to latch onto with a triumphant pointing of her finger in Sera’s direction. “Always Permitted, whether or not you know the outcome. That’s so screamingly close to trust, they might as well be cousins! And when you get that once, because of a choice that you made, you hold on to it. You remember that little bit of joy, even when the moment’s passed.” Ramona’s mouth lifted in a smile, her eyes bright. “Even after weeks, months, or years, it’s still there.”
Sera hesitantly touched Ramona’s arm for a moment, as if she was going to say something. But she never got the chance. Ramona found herself catapulted into memory.
* * *
They had come to try and find the Mountain, and the pair of them peered into the cavernous dark in search of the lone meta. Mercurye stood on the stone ledge and waited while she rummaged for her lighter. She held it out in front of her. “This will have to do.”
“Just look for the giant made of stone. You can’t miss him.”
Mercurye flashed her that handsome smile that had made all of the girls at her table fall over themselves, and Ramona felt her heart leap into her throat. She found herself grinning back, closing the distance between them, and rising up on her toes until there were only inches between them. What would the proverbial damsel in distress say to the ridiculously good-looking heroic sort in this kind of situation? “Thanks for the ride, handsome.” And before she could lose her nerve, she kissed him.
For a split second, Ramona questioned if it had been the right choice or if she had just made a terrible fool of herself. Was it too forward? Desperate? Unwanted? In that instant, Mercurye’s arms wrapped around her and he returned the kiss with a fervor that made her knees grow weak and told her that the choice had been very much the right one. The horrors of the past hours, the utter destruction she had witnessed on the ECHO campus, and the excruciating pain that resonated in her entire body, they all ebbed as joy and passion flooded her entire body and provided an unexpected but much-needed respite. Time slowed around them and she allowed herself to enjoy that moment where for a brief time, everything felt so undeniably right.
When the kiss broke, Ramona took a deep breath and steadied herself. The guy even kissed like a movie star. “Wow,” she managed. Her cheeks burned, and she noticed that Mercurye’s face had a similar blush. “Okay, get going.”
* * *
Ramona surfaced from the memory, not quite gulping for air but certainly surprised at the plunge. She choked and coughed, her cheeks flushed hotly from the thought of Mercurye’s mouth crushed against hers like a scene out of a windswept romance novel. “Well,” she managed after a minute. “I guess that’s easier than just trying to explain things. But like I said, it’s still there.”
Sera shook her head. “I am unsure how this would apply to my situation.” Then she looked off into the distance. “I think it is irrelevant to me, though very important to you. I must determine why things are as they are, and act from there. What I want is of no importance.”
“But that’s part of—” Ramona stopped herself as the explanation between Sera’s why and want hit her like a sucker punch. Of course Rick was how-many-worlds away, but when she did manage to speak with him, Ramona knew that he hadn’t changed. She couldn’t say the same for Sera when it came to John; understanding John’s change and the circumstances surrounding it superseded the angel’s desires. The freedom to want was so new, she could tuck it away for a little longer, but it didn’t keep her from being miserable. “Oh.”
“If I am to remain myself, it is duty and responsibility that must drive me,” Sera continued, sadly. “There is no room in those things for wanting. Perhaps not even for Free Will. I am only here as an Instrument. If I forget that…” She did not add what the consequence would be.
“What if…” Ramona dragged her toe over the gravel, nudging rocks into a small pile as she considered her words. “What if there’s a responsibility to love? What if somewhere down the line, you’re supposed to be a, um, an instrument for that? Don’t you have to leave that open, somehow?”
“I…don’t know.” Again, the uncertainty seemed to shake Sera. “I cannot help but feel that…what I want goes counter to duty.” She paused in thought. “Or…perhaps my responsibility to love must come without being loved in return.” She nodded, as if that had answered a q
uestion for her.
“Perhaps.” Unrequited love wasn’t a new concept for Ramona; the way that Sera had explained it made it seem noble. The way that the woman nodded after the statement made Ramona think that she had made at least one decision on how to approach the situation. Anything to reduce the uncertainty, she thought. “You said love is always permitted, so that makes sense. The duty and responsibility would be permitted, even if it’s not returned.”
Sera let out her breath, slowly, as if she had been holding it in all this time. “Yes. That answers the question. And also…this. John Murdock is no longer the same man. I must think of him always as someone else. Perhaps that will…help.”
“It could.” The former detective tilted her head and studied the angel next to her. “He changed more than you or I did. We’re still the sums of our respective experiences, whereas he doesn’t have that luxury… or burden,” she added after a moment’s consideration.
“I should be happy he is without that burden.” Sera tried to smile but the effort fell flat. “Now…” Suddenly her face changed. Clearly she had had an epiphany. “Now he can become the man he would have been, had he not endured the last few terrible years. A different man. An unburdened man. I think, now, I understand.”
Ramona smiled in the darkness. “Really? Understand what, exactly?”
“Why,” Sera said, simply. “And as I thought, what I want, and my own wishes are irrelevant. I am still here as an Instrument. He is as he is because this is the answer. And as for me, my answer is, as it ever was, duty. In that, I am unchanged, and still myself.”
It made perfect sense, out on the rooftop of the CCCP HQ. In spite of the addition or subtraction of abilities, the change of appearance, or the loss of a name, the person remained the same. Sera’s loss of her powers had not lessened her role; the more Ramona considered the woman’s simple declaration, the more she realized that her gaining abilities didn’t change her role, either. She extended a finger and scratched at the exposed bit of metal that covered a healing scrape on her arm. Beneath the surface, she was still Ramona Ferrari.
“Yeah. Yeah, same here.” Ramona pushed herself up from the bench and turned to face Sera. “Same, but different, I mean.”
“So.” Finally Sera actually met her gaze, solidly. “It seems we have answers. At last. And having answers gives us both direction. Also, at last.”
“It does,” Ramona agreed. “I can’t promise that I won’t question those answers half a dozen times between now and next week, but that’s the human thing to do. Are you going to…” She frowned, trying to figure out how to phrase things properly. “Are you staying out here or coming inside?”
“I will remain here,” Sera said. “If a call comes I—” And just like that, as if the alarm system had been waiting for the opening, the familiar three tones of the CCCP/Overwatch alert sounded over the earpiece Sera was wearing tucked into the collar of her tunic. “It seems,” she said, wryly, “I am needed.”
She put the earpiece on, ran a half dozen steps, and flung herself onto the wind. A few wingbeats, and she was out of sight. Ramona watched the woman soar on fire-red wings into the night sky, until Sera was a pinprick of light against the darkness. The voices chattered in her earpiece as the detective stood and crossed the rooftop. Meta or not, she would still be Ramona Ferrari, and she wouldn’t sit idle. Even, she mused, if that means doing paperwork.
CHAPTER SIX
Penny: Tarnished
Mercedes Lackey and Dennis Lee
It was a cold morning when Penny heard the Devil again. He had been away for a long stretch this time, but he always returned, eventually. Some had taken to counting the days, but she didn’t see the point of it. What did it matter, really? There was no pattern to it, no reason behind his visits as far as they could see. He came, he tortured, he left, and during the times between his captives wondered which was worse—their turn in the chair or the terror of never knowing who was next, or when.
His roar was unmistakable. Mornings would often sound with whimpers as her cellmates woke, with the dying moans of the ghosts as they fled the sunlight, and with the muffled sobs from children from other cells nearby. Today was different. In the distance, a door slammed open, heavy boots pounded on the floor, the door slammed shut, and a great bellow woke the captive children from their slumber. He had returned, he was furious, and they all knew what that meant. Scores of them would bleed today.
On most days, while the others would wake in anguish to another day in hell, Penny would simply sigh in relief and lay her exhausted head down to sleep away the day. She didn’t know why the Devil had only taken her away once, and never again. She didn’t know why he hadn’t simply killed her, if she was not useful to him. Maybe he kept her to use to manipulate her big brother. He had taken Pike often at first, but not so much of late. His interest seemed to have drifted to children in other cells. There was always that terrifying moment when the door to their cell flew open. Would it be the Dark Man, dressed in black from head to toe, who would wordlessly stomp in and replace their food and sometimes bring more bedding? Or would it be the Devil himself, huge and faceless save for an enormous grinning mouth exploding with jagged teeth, come to drag one of them away? It seemed like so long ago that he had visited their cell. The shrill cries of terror from neighboring rooms on the odd morning suggested he had new, more interesting, prey. But one could never tell. The last hiatus had left them feeling complacent, verging on an estranged sense of safety, when the door had flown open one morning and he had strode in, marched over to one girl’s cot and had hauled her away, screaming. And she had never come back.
And on mornings like this, when he announced his presence with a blood-curdling roar, he would not take one, but many.
They began to scream, all of them, and it was at moments like this that Penny was struck by just how many of them there were. Not just the handful of children in this room, but others in nearby cells, unseen. The echo of his boots stomping down the hall grew louder, as did the screaming, until finally he kicked open a door.
Their door.
He appeared then, monstrous and misshapen as always, and as he strode in the children retreated from him. He didn’t look at them, as he usually did. He didn’t scan the room and select one or more of them seemingly at random and drag them screaming from the room. Instead, he marched to the far wall, the children scattering in his wake. Draped over his shoulder, was a body.
Whoever it was, she was no child. She was clearly a woman, with wet and dirty blond hair that clung to her face. She was dressed in scrubs, as they all were, and her exposed arms and feet revealed many cuts, bruises and electrical burns that betrayed many long sessions with their captor. With a snarl, the Devil flung her against the wall, propped her into a sitting position and locked her wrists in shackles. She fell forward and snapped to a stop, her arms stretched behind her, her face inches from the ground.
“I won’t be needing her for a while,” the Devil rasped, turning back to the door. “But clean her up, and keep her alive. Force the food down her throat if you have to. She will need her strength if I am to continue my work.” He looked about the room and snarled, causing the children to shrink away from him. “You are sure there is nowhere else?”
The Dark Man appeared at the door, and nodded. “The solitary cells still require… cleansing. I am lacking servants, so this will have to do for now. Perhaps if you had not butchered the last of my minions…”
The Devil chuckled, a horrible sound, and waved off the Dark Man’s concerns. “Be patient, my old friend. The universe shall provide. It always does.”
He turned back to the woman. “So be it, this will suffice for now.” He turned and left without another word or a glance at any of them. The door slammed shut, and Penny heard them march away, their footsteps fading away until a final slam of a distant door.
The children exhaled in relief, and rose, shaking, from their points of retreat. There followed a chorus of whispers and tentative
questions, which fell silent as one of the children began to approach the shackled woman. His name was Joey, and though he wasn’t the oldest or strongest of them, the other children turned to him often for leadership. He had a quiet, yet sunny disposition about him, one that couldn’t be touched even in a horrible place like this. He carried himself and spoke with a slight smile that suggested that everything would turn out fine. Joey, as far as Penny could see, wasn’t plagued with ghosts.
“Ma’am?” Joey said, and took a small step forward. “Ma’am? Are you alright?”
The woman didn’t answer, and simply swung in place, her chest rising and falling in time with her ragged breathing.
“Lady?” Joey said, inching forward. “Lady, you got a name?” He reached forward, and placed a hand on her arm.
The woman lunged for him, screaming, and Joey fell back on his hands with a cry as her chains snapped tight, holding her in place. Her matted hair fell away and for a moment they all saw her crazed eyes and bared teeth.
Joey scurried away from her, but waved off the concerns of others who came to his aid.
“S’alright, don’t worry,” he panted. “She just startled me is all.”
“Keep away from her,” another girl, Rachel, said. “She’s batshit psycho.”
“Can you blame her?” Pike said. “Looks like he worked her over harder than all of us combined.”
“Lady?” Joey said, trying again. “Lady? You need water? A blanket?” They had both. One thing the Devil didn’t deprive them of was food, water, and basic comforts. “You got a name?”
But now she curled up in a fetal ball, huddling close to the wall. When Joey inched nearer, all she did was curl up more. “Lacey moan trankwill,” she mumbled. “Lacey…”
“Lacey?” Joey prompted. “Is that your name?” He gestured to them to bring him a blanket, but only Penny dared.
Collision: Book Four in the Secret World Chronicle - eARC Page 9
