"Andrea..." The note of caution in the Professor's voice is clear.
"Sorry." I fold my hands on the table like the picture-perfect angel I'll never be.
Dr. Colibri takes a seat on the other side of the lab table. "Now that we have a moment, can you tell us what happened? Exactly?"
I nod. I tell her and the Professor the entire thing: the fight with Pestilence, burning the corruption out of my eyes, Death's move to capitalize on my weakness, War spiriting me away -- Dr. Colibri makes notes several times during that part, most probably about the time differential and my lack of abilities in the Dark King's domain -- and our return. The last part is hardest to say; my throat starts to close up, to clog with emotion, when I tell them that I promised War I'd come for him.
"I don't see how you're going to do that," the Professor says. He hands me a tissue and I dab at my eyes. "Once you win--"
"If she wins," Dr. Colibri says.
"When she wins," the Professor counters, shooting her a dark look, "the way to the dimension where the King and his demons exist will be closed. At least until the next time."
"But it may not be that long," I say.
"How do you mean?"
"It's been eleven years since the last time the King was here. Right now, this is an... an anomaly." I look up at the Professor, who's still standing beside me. "Someone's going to get powers in the next nine years. The law of averages says it's going to be sooner rather than later, right?" I pause and my brow wrinkles. "Unless you guys failed to tell me that it happened last year."
"It didn't," Dr. Colibri says. "If it had, I would be there now. Wherever the incursion happened," she clarifies, anticipating my next question. And the one after that: "no, we don't know exactly where. We just have... feelings." She seems a bit squirrely about that last word, but it's okay; I know what she means.
"Look, it's not something I'm going to worry about for the moment," I say after a few seconds. "Right now, all I want to do is stop the Dark King before he and his minions kill more people." My chest hurts just to say that -- last time I checked, the death toll at Lake Lanier was at sixty people and rising. The news called it a chemical leak, but I think that's more a function of the government covering up what actually happened. I don't see why, given that everyone knows about me and my fight with the King, but honestly I'm less worried about that than the task at hand. "So, any ideas? Any special talismans you've got lying around, Doctor?"
"Nothing like that," she says. "But I do have one thought."
"What's that?"
"I believe it's time to take the fight to the enemy."
A long pause.
"Excuse me?" That's the Professor. "Can you say that again?"
"No, wait, she's right," I say. "Think about it: when have we ever done that?" He looks to be checking his memories, but I don't give him time to finish. "I don't know about the people who came before me, but last time I had these powers, I never went on the offensive. I was always reacting, always showing up after the destruction already started."
"That's true," he says, "but how do you plan to get the King's attention? If he knows where you're going to be, he'll plan ahead."
"Let him." I feel a warmth spreading through my chest -- a confidence I never knew I had. I think it's because now I have someone to fight for. Not just humanity in general, but an actual person who's expecting me to come save him. Okay, not a person, an entity, but still, someone. "Let him plan whatever he wants to plan," I say, "because I'll be ready for him." The rest of the plan comes together in my head almost instantaneously. "I'm going to kick his ass somewhere everyone can see it, somewhere everyone can watch Alexandra and believe that she can save the world. And no matter how powerful I get, no matter how powerful the King gets to match me, I'm not going to let him win."
"And if you have to die to stop him?" Dr. Colibri says it just on the tail of my last words, as if she's been waiting to rain on my parade from the moment the first drum major showed up. "What then?"
"Then... then I die," I say, spreading my hands. "And in a few years, you take what I've learned and you use it to stop the Dark King once and for all." My voice gets soft, and I can taste the resolve in my words. "We have to end the Agreement."
"End... end the Agreement?" Dr. Colibri is just this side of sputtering. "It's been going on for five thousand years! We can't just... just... end it!"
"Yes we can," I shoot back, slapping my hands on the table and standing up. "We can't let this keep happening!"
"Andrea, don't you think that if we could have, we would have?" The Professor sighs. "We don't want to send teenagers up against monstrosities like the Dark King if we don't have to, but we've come at this from every angle -- several times -- from as far back as we have written records. There's just no way to do it."
"I'm going to find one," I say. "If I live--"
"You will," the Professor says. "I know you will."
"I believe I will," I tell him, "but there's always the chance I don't make it through the fight."
"I've told you not to think that way."
I give him a cockeyed-optimist smile. "I know. If I live--" He doesn't interrupt this time. "If I live through the fight, then I'm going to work on this and nothing else until I find a way to put an end to the Agreement. So, Doctor, you'd better hope the King and I kill each other, because otherwise, you're going to be stuck with me."
I can tell she doesn't like the grin I'm giving her, but I don't care. If everything works out the way I hope it does, I'll be needling her for a long time to come.
The next morning, the three of us get started on the plan. It's simple: flood the media with a message calling out the Dark King, offering him a chance to fight me, one-on-one, instead of drawing it out even further. The genesis of it became obvious to me when heard him berating War up on the dam: he's in a hurry to win this time. I honestly don't blame him; if I had to wait five thousand years or so to get another chance at paradise, I'd be impatient too.
Of course, the whole "flood the media" thing is a bit of a sticking point, but we have our ace in the hole on that. Neither the Professor nor Dr. Colibri has heard from Jake in person lately, although the tips have continued coming in. The Professor calls him, asks him to come, and judging from the surprised expression on the Professor's face, Jake doesn't argue.
When he gets in, though, he won't hug me -- or even let me touch him. I can tell he's surprised at how I look -- I'm down to about 135 pounds, the same weight I was in high school, but beyond the physical size I know from seeing myself in the mirror that I just look healthier. He's still the big, fluffy guy who was my friend all those years at work, except for something haunted in his eyes that he only lets out when no one's looking.
But I'm looking.
Later, after he's been briefed on the plan, I catch him on the way back from the restroom and pull him into a supply room. "Okay," I say, "talk."
"We have nothing to talk about," he says. He won't look at me; a jug of bleach on the shelf next to me seems to be holding his attention. "I'm going to help you with your plan."
"Damn it, Jake!" I reach for him, try to turn his face toward mine, but he resists. I could easily make him do it, but I don't want to force him. I'm not that kind of person. "Damn it," I repeat, more softly. "What happened?"
It takes almost a minute, but when he does turn to me, his eyes are misty with unshed tears. "After that night at your apartment -- that dinner," he says, and now he's letting his pain show, and there's a hell of a lot of it in the few words he's already spoken. "I went home and told Lisa I was with you. Not you," he clarifies, "but Alexandra."
"How'd she take it?"
"About how you'd expect."
I nod. I'd met Lisa a few times, mostly at work parties: she had the look of a woman who'd been pretty once but had since let herself go, and she always seemed to be scowling at any woman who tried to talk to Jake. I imagine he loves her, but I can't see why. Plus, the petty part of me adds, even when I was fat, I was still prettier t
han her. "So what's the problem?"
"She thinks I'm cheating on her."
"Oh." Well, that wasn't how I expected she'd take it. I'd expected him to tell me she was still extra-pissed, or that she was withholding sex or something equally petty. "But... but you wouldn't. She has to know--"
"Does she?" Jake blinks hard and looks away again. "What I think," he says, "is that she's reading too much into me coming home late or going in early, or the fact that I'm coming to bed late and always checking my e-mail. I don't let it interfere with my Lexie time, but every spare minute outside of that -- according to her, anyway -- I'm either having an online affair or making plans to be with my mistress."
"I am not your mistress!" I say sharply, but immediately regret my tone. The idea, admittedly, is one that I'd had more than once in the past, usually in the realm of personal fantasy, but not lately. I've just been too busy -- and now there's the whole War thing. "I'm not. I'll go talk to her, if you want -- as Alexandra -- and explain to her--"
"Don't," he says, cutting me off. "She doesn't know what I'm doing, and I'm not going to tell her."
"But if it's impacting your marriage--"
"It's not safe. Don't you think I've seen all the same movies as you?"
"Well, yes," I admit. We're both pretty damn geeky.
"Then you know what happens when non-supers are brought into the fold. I'm doing it because I care about you, Andi -- because you're one of my best friends. But if something happens to me, I don't want Lisa or Lexie anywhere near--" His throat closes up and he swallows hard before continuing. "Anywhere near this."
I know Jake. I know him very, very well. And I know that something's up. "What happened?" I ask, cupping his cheek. "What did she do?"
"She..." Now the tears fall, hot against my hand on his skin. He's only whispering now. "She left. Went to her mother's. With Lexie."
"Oh, damn, Jake, I'm sorry." I hug him tight, almost tight enough to hurt, but he doesn't seem to care. He hugs me right back and I feel his tears in my hair, his heart thumping in his chest. "I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen."
"I know," he says. "I... I know."
I let him have his moment, and when it's done and he's wiped his face with a paper towel, I offer again: "Let me talk to Lisa. Let me explain everything to her. I think, once she sees--"
"You can't."
"But why not?"
"She'll feel even more threatened by Alexandra than she would be by you, and you can't go as yourself because... because..."
"Because of how I look," I finish for him. "She'd see that your work-wife isn't overweight and shy anymore. And she'd think we're sleeping together. Which we're not."
"I know we're not," he says. "God, Andi, this is fucking unbelievable! She's been gone for less than a week and the whole thing's going to hell. And I... I miss my baby. I miss Lexie... so, so much..." He looks like he's about to cry again, but holds it together, taking several long, shuddering breaths. "Damn it," he whispers.
"It'll be over soon," I say -- not that that's going to help, because the damage has already been done. "I'm going to fight the Dark King, and then we can all go back to our normal lives, and you can convince Lisa that nothing's happening."
"Yeah," he says, but he doesn't sound convinced. "Look, I have to go. I'll meet you tomorrow at the office, okay, and we'll talk to Cynthia." That's the news director at the station. "We'll get this done, and then it'll all be over."
Jake walks out of the supply room. The door closes gently behind him.
I decide it's best to stay in here for a minute. To calm down.
To not find Lisa at her mother's house. To not throw Jake's wife through a window for the way she's treating him.
As much as she deserves it.
The meeting goes well, and for the next five days, the story spreads like wildfire. All the local stations are carrying it, and it's even grabbed a few minutes on Fox and CNN. Cynthia's assigned a photographer and reporter to me -- I've promised her that her station gets an exclusive on the first interview after the fight is over -- and I let them follow me around as I prepare. They get video of me training; they watch me dispatch a couple of minor incursions. I don't let them see where I live, and they definitely don't get anywhere near the Professor or Dr. Colibri. Still, it's kind of cool to be a real celebrity for a while. Plus, Paul is the reporter, and I've always liked him. The photographer is Bryan, who I didn't deal with very much in the past. Seems capable enough, though.
We also meet with the group that owns that Atlanta Braves -- initially I wanted to have the fight at Turner Field, which is already set up for dozens of camera angles even if the Braves don't play there anymore. But they turn us down, citing concerns that we'll destroy the place or set them up for liability lawsuits. I suppose they have a point there.
The Atlanta Motor Speedway, though, has no such qualms. They're probably used to property damage, what with the occasional crashes that plague NASCAR races. I talk to the owners and managers and we sign an agreement: I won't sue them if I'm seriously hurt, and they won't sue me for any damage done to the raceway proper. Plus, this late in the year there aren't any big races coming to the Speedway anyway, so they'll have plenty of time for repairs.
By Friday everything is set up. My message to the Dark King is very clear: the date, the location, the fact that I'm willing to fight him right there and then, to the finish.
Now all I have to do is wait.
I hate waiting.
Eight days after the battle at the dam -- the evening before my final fight -- I meet with the Professor and Dr. Colibri.
"Get some rest," she says. "We'll see you tomorrow. In the stands."
"You and as many other people as can show up."
"You're the one who wanted to make a spectacle of it," she says.
"I figured that if the venue could sell food and stuff, they'd be more willing to let me do it."
"I still don't agree with this idea."
"You wanted to take the fight to the Dark King."
She folds her arms. "Take the fight to him, yes. Fight him at a racetrack? Not so much."
Her tone makes me crack a smile. "It'll be fine. Just... be ready, okay?" I feel the smile fade, feel my face go sober. "In case I don't survive, be ready."
She nods, because there's nothing else she can do. I don't plan to lose -- I don't think I know how to lose -- but it's a very real possibility that I don't live through the fight. If that happens, things are going to get... well, 'disorganized' is the most polite term I have for it.
"Good night, Doctor."
"Good night."
But I don't go home. Not right away. I fly over the city, rather like Superman above Metropolis, taking what might be my last look at the place where I've lived all my life. I see the construction zone where I took out Famine; I see the skeleton of the building where I fought Chor'brap'guh; I even spend a minute or two hovering over my old high school. Half the students probably don't even remember the last time the Dark King came, and the other half probably don't care that he's here now, or that he's got a fairly good shot at killing me tomorrow morning.
I start to brood, but am pulled out of it by a tickle of acid in my throat and a tingle at the back of my neck. Something's nearby, something that needs me to take care of it.
Beats the hell out of brooding.
I've mastered the art of landing on my balcony and getting under the blanket before anyone sees me. I unlock the balcony door and step inside, reaching up to run my hand along Buffy's spine as she sleeps on top of the cat tree. She meows slightly -- my ears hear it as a sleepy groaning noise -- but doesn't respond otherwise.
Willow, though, is sitting on the coffee table, looking up at me, eyes twinkling in what little light comes through the door. "What's up?" I ask.
"He's back."
"He?" My heart jumps into my throat -- did the Dark King show up in my apartment while no one was looking? -- but then I calm down. If it was him, I'd feel it, and
I'd throw up everything I've eaten today.
Then I realize who Willow means. "Oh. Okay. Don't worry about him. He's... having a rough time of it at home."
"He smells unhappy."
"He is unhappy." I fold the blanket and put it on the shelf by the door before walking lightly over to the couch. Jake is asleep, feet on the table, head propped up by a small throw pillow. I run my fingertips over his forehead and he stirs a bit but doesn't otherwise move. Silently I crook my finger at Willow; she follows me into the bedroom and I close the door before turning on the light. "I feel awful," I tell her as I undress; she's leapt up onto the bed and is watching me. "It's my fault that his wife left him."
I don't know how 'wife' translates into cat, but Willow seems to get the point. "The last time he was here, he smelled the same. And I didn't smell any other adult humans on him. Just a child."
"Hmm." I pull out a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. "That's interesting."
"Interesting how?"
"Well, I haven't been in a ton of relationships, but if I lived with someone, wouldn't you smell that person on me?"
"You live with me. You smell like me and Buffy. More like me." She says it with a note of pride in her voice -- she knows she's more affectionate, and lately she's been lording it over her sister a bit. "I think you're right."
I'm in the bathroom now, the door half-open so Willow can hear me. Fortunately she was never one for following me in there, because the last thing I want right now is for my cat to watch me use the toilet. I wash up and brush my teeth, then start combing out my hair. "Do you think maybe he and his wife hadn't been sleeping together for longer than just a few weeks?"
"I don't know." Willow's voice is starting to get sleepy again; when I get out of the bathroom, pulling my hair into a loose ponytail, she's up on her pillow where she usually spends the night. "Come to bed."
I make a move toward her, but then stop and, without thinking much about it, shut off the light and open the door.
Willow, thankfully, doesn't say anything when I return, carrying Jake in my arms. She relocates to the chair by the window, watching me with placid eyes as I settle Jake in the bed. His wife may have left him -- hopefully temporarily -- but that doesn't mean he has to be alone.
After The Apocalypse Page 29
