“Don’t be a goddamn idiot.” Pearl tried sitting up straight, like she would give me a stern talking-to. But her hands buckled beneath her, and I had to catch her myself. “Come on, none of that.”
She gave me a weak shake and I let her go—but not before she was propped up again properly.
Plans and orders filtered through the bullet holes with the midday sun, the words too far away to give me any sort of actionable intelligence.
“This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be,” I said.
“You sound like you’re fourteen.” Pearl’s eyes drifted shut. “You can see it, the same as I can.”
I’d been ignoring the wisps, pretending the proverbial writing on the wall was wrong. Truth be told, I didn’t need to hear the police’s plans or where Jameson needed to go. There was a path out of here, weak points in the perimeter that would disappear shortly.
But they would allow me to slip out from this stifling suburban hellhole intact.
Alone.
“They were wrong about the job,” I said.
“Christ, intuition can’t tell you everything,” Pearl grunted, lips pale. “Sometimes you gotta use your brain.”
“You wanted the payday.”
“And look where that got me.” Pearl wrinkled her nose, annoyed by her own blindness. We all have blind spots: where someone—normally smart, or careful, or whatever character trait defines you as a human being—suddenly throws everything to the wind.
Pearl, ever the skeptic. Here it was: that one little exception.
That one little exception that always jammed a shiv in your throat.
“I taught you to survive,” Pearl said, an order behind the words.
Here was mine.
The little exception.
The part where your life changed forever.
I said, “Wait here.” And when I got to the door, I added, “And don’t fucking die on me.”
“Hey—”
But I slammed the flimsy plywood shut, making sure I couldn’t hear the response. Looking at the blood and grime streaking my forearms, ammo almost spent from a day of fighting off a siege, I didn’t need my intuition to tell me that it was the wrong move.
I went to the window by the door, peering out at the growing throng of men. SWAT. Jameson’s mercenaries.
And I knew what I had to do.
I aimed down the shotgun’s sights.
And I pulled the trigger.
21
Day 10, 6:53 AM
Cold water whipped against my skin like a stiff breeze in a storm. Shuddering awake, droplets streaming from my face, I found myself in a dirty room. My rebreather was gone, but somehow, I wasn’t choking on my own radiation-induced vomit.
The garish wallpaper, installed by a housewife with more money than taste, peeled at the edges, the gold-and-blue pattern having mostly turned a faded shade of nuclear gray.
Another bucket of water hit me in the face, and I popped to my feet, arms out in a defensive stance.
“Just like she taught you.”
I whirled around, finding the sorceress in the white lab coat standing next to a glowing workstation. Her fingers clutched an iron bucket, its lip rimmed in copper-tone rust. Short brown punkish hair crested atop her head.
“What’d you say to me?”
“Your training.” The woman nodded toward the computer, where a real bombshell worked away at the keys. I mean, the whole nine: figure to die for, legs like she’d just walked out of a Raymond Chandler novel. You didn’t see girls like this working in a lab, unless they were made there. “I know you, Realmfarer.”
“You don’t know shit.” But I wasn’t so sure. For one, the strangeness of not being cuffed made me suspicious. And my jailer—if she could even be called that—didn’t seem worried in the slightest about me inflicting harm.
“Here.” She reached behind the rat’s nest of wires and pulled out my shotgun. With a quick flick of the wrist, she tossed it across the room.
It almost smacked me in the face because I was so surprised.
I racked the slide, finding it unloaded.
“Well.” She set down the bucket and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I suppose this is Aaron’s idea of a practical joke.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“I can see that.” The scientist sorceress took a step forward and I raised the gun toward her chest. “It’s hard to shoot someone with an unloaded weapon.”
“It makes a damn fine club, too.”
“But I think you want answers instead, Realmfarer.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
“I know you’re still looking for Jameson Denton.”
I bit my tongue at the mere mention of the name. Without turning my head, I tried to get a better bearing on the situation. Relatively large room—used to be an entertaining area. Second floor. The window was smashed out, courtesy of the bats.
The blonde bombshell was crunching numbers on a computer that looked too powerful even for the Pentagon. It took up the rest of the wall beside the window. I wondered what kind of power quota the government granted this area to keep that thing running.
The scene was strange, given the decrepit surroundings. But in my two weeks—or one day, depending on who was keeping score—out of lockup, strange seemed to be the new normal.
“Why’d you say Aaron was playing a joke?” I finally asked, hating myself for being curious.
“You should just let the bitch leave,” the workstation model said.
“Diane gets a little jealous.” The scientist gave the model a passionate kiss and then turned her gaze back toward me. “I guess she thinks you’re hot.”
“I didn’t come to interrupt your little love triangle.”
This got a reaction from the scientist—a healthy snort. “Aaron? Eww.”
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear I came all this way to confirm that.”
“Oh, he already knows.”
“I was told you were in hiding.”
“I’m not in the Fallout Zone for my health.”
A nagging voice whispered in my ear, urging me to return to Roark. Things had to be feeling pointless here if that was the case. I wasn’t much for reuniting strays or mending relations between petty criminals—or whatever this scientist sorceress was.
Still, Aaron Daniels had that book on time magic. Maybe it was bullshit. But I had to know for sure.
“Silvia,” Diane said, fingers stopping their frantic work. “Look at this.”
“Guess it wasn’t a joke after all,” Silvia said, giving me a broad smile. “I guess Aaron is paying his debt.” She shrugged, the long sleeves billowing out. “Only because it’s in his own self-interest.”
I brandished the shotgun out like a club, realizing that it was all a con. The cuffs, the gun. They were never going to let me leave.
They just didn’t want me making a mess while I stayed.
“Why am I here?” I asked, eyes darting between my two captors.
Silvia removed her hands from her deep pockets and smiled. “Oh, that’s easy.”
Her gaze didn’t waver from mine.
“He’s hoping you’re the cure.”
A spasm racked my body, and I fell to the floor as she snapped her fingers.
But that was just a prelude.
Because when they got me back on the table, that was when the real fun began.
22
Day 11
No hard feelings.
It’s hard to feel that way when you get dissected alive in the name of science.
The strangest thing about it was Silvia’s aura—like my sacrifice was necessary, or somehow she was doing good. This was becoming a theme: creatures doing bad things for what they believed were benevolent ends.
I wondered if that was the same aura creatures felt radiating from me when I came into a room, looking to finish a job. That sense of absolute purpose right before I blew them away.
I gritted my tee
th, feeling the phantom scalpel gliding across my sternum as I stood before Aaron’s worn wooden door, shotgun ready. I knew the wards would render the gun useless inside, but out here, everything was fair game.
Whispered words from the scientific duo stuck in my mind. Not because my insides had been exposed to the air, blood spilling from me.
But because of the earnestness.
It’s another piece of the puzzle. Don’t get discouraged.
I’m not discouraged, baby. But we’re running out of time before MagiTekk…
I had passed out before the big reveal.
And then the day had replayed, familiar and infuriating. What better way to spend it than on revenge?
I tossed a rock at the second-floor window, standing about ten yards away, waiting for Aaron to appear.
Instead, I heard a gun cock behind me.
“Little dangerous for you to be walking around here with something like that. Could hurt someone.”
“Same could be said to you.” I whipped around, but the bullet flashed before I could pull.
Just another day at the office.
23
Day 24
I should’ve known better.
Vengeance was a temporary salve under normal circumstances.
In a time loop, it offered little comfort at all. Poor Roark had probably been drained alive by feral vampires a half dozen times now. But I take exception to people cutting me open when I’m still alive. So, once again, he’d headed on his vengeful warpath and I’d headed down mine.
Of course, I had somewhat nobler aspirations, too: snag The Arcana of Temporal Manipulation and figure a goddamn way out of this mess.
That was proving difficult.
As it turned out, Aaron’s little slum kingdom was more of a fortress than the muddy streets might have suggested. Sure, everything was open to all. But an outsider didn’t come through without the man in charge knowing. Given the state of disrepair, Aaron wasn’t doing badly for himself. There just weren’t a lot of crumbs to eat in the Mud Belt, even for the big dog.
All the larger slices of the pie were reserved for bigger players, in the camps and cities.
MagiTekk, mainly, if I had to make a bet.
But I didn’t know. The power structure was above my pay grade.
I loaded the diamond-studded shells inside the chamber, watching Aaron’s two-story residence from a nearby house. Blood trickled past my boots, dripping through the wide-gapped floorboards.
The king might’ve had good security. But enough times through this goddamn loop and you find the holes in the wall. Jam a knife in, and pop.
Pretty soon you have a bigger hole.
Eventually, you’re climbing through, no one the wiser.
I finished loading the shotgun and cleaned off the stock. There was a little chip in the wood from where I’d brained this son of a bitch. Worst came to worst, it’d be gone tomorrow.
Or I’d be in the wind.
I rubbed Galleron’s inscription, left alone with my thoughts as I stared into the slumlord’s courtyard. If this was what walking in the light with the mortals was gonna be like, then I needed a change of scenery.
The sun rose, hours ticking by with almost the same slowness as in Stevens’s dark room. Once upon a time, patience had been a calling card of mine. But somewhere in those years behind bars, filled with thoughts of slitting Jameson’s throat, I’d become undisciplined.
Impulsive.
Finding self-control as ephemeral as the wisps that guided my life. I’d only noticed the true depths of the problem upon my release. Poor decisions. Errors in judgment. A sloppy haste to rebalance a ledger with figures impossible to reconcile.
Instead of reflecting on vengeance, I shoved the thoughts away.
The mission.
The gun’s sights.
There was no space for second-guessing or nostalgia.
I was going to get The Arcana of Temporal Manipulation. Figure out how to end this time loop. And redecorate some high-rise’s windows with the necromancer’s brains.
End scene, cue sunset.
That’s how things went down, right? Call it destiny.
Unfortunately, this world was a godless place filled with quiet desperation.
The dawn sun gave way to morning, then noon. Shadows played across the mud, whispering secrets, looking strangely pleasant. It had that exotic allure of a rural village on cable television—downtrodden, but charming in its foreign, rustic flair.
Yeah, you know what I’m talking about.
All those places you swear you want to visit, but wouldn’t survive two days in.
Because gremlins lurked in those shadows.
Probably literal ones in this case.
The worn canvas curtains waved in the slight breeze, brushing over the shotgun’s barrel. I was covered enough that anyone coming to visit Aaron—and there were quite a few locals making deliveries—didn’t notice me.
Then again, they probably thought no one was stupid enough to attack this place.
And they’d be right, under normal circumstances—but I had the benefit of the time loop. Get enough free shots, find enough cracks, and even an old mouse without many tricks can squirm their way into a fortress unseen.
It was strange to keep thinking of myself as a mouse. Would the old Ruby have done that? The one Pearl had taught? That person might as well have been dead. Spend enough time behind a fence, and your thoughts become strange.
The same went for stakeouts, where nothing happened.
I brought my eye up to the crosshairs as another delivery arrived. An ambling man, mortal based on his aura, sloshed through the mud and knocked on the door. I tried to read the wisps, but either they weren’t cooperating or it was just too damn far to get a good reading.
I moved my boot, feeling the tacky blood stick.
Aaron’s door opened, but this time the witch answered.
“Not bad,” I said. Guess the fact that Silvia and Diane thought he was gross wasn’t hurting his game. But it was strange seeing her open the door—or at all. I’d been through permutations of this infiltration exercise over five times now, and I’d never seen her face.
The witch stepped out of the house, eyes looking about the muddy courtyard shiftily.
“What are you up to, Nicolette?” I said, watching the scene unfold. Not what I expected, or had my little fingers crossed so tightly for, but at this point I’d take any action.
The witch tore through the brown paper wrapping the package and gave the contents a cursory glance. It wasn’t long enough for me to see what was inside. Then the lanky man took out a wad of paper currency and stuffed it in her hand before ambling off.
A light came on in the second floor of Aaron’s palatial estate. Nicolette’s shoulders tensed, and she headed around the back, leaving the front door open.
Well, if that wasn’t an open invitation, I didn’t know what was.
I double-checked the shotgun, even though it would be useless with the wards in effect, then headed out of the house. Somehow, even though the structures were practically open-air, it felt cooler outside.
I kept to the edge of the courtyard, searching the windows for movement. It could’ve been paranoia—or fact—but it felt like I was being watched. That was experience talking. The last few times, I’d gotten popped from nowhere. Before my intuition had even picked up the trail.
Note to aspiring up-and-comers in the crime game: Aaron Daniels wasn’t an easy target.
The open door beckoned me closer. Knowing The Arcana of Temporal Manipulation was just a few steps inside made the invitation tempting. But when I took a step forward, making a move toward the muddy stone walkway, the wisps burst across the courtyard, coalescing in an angry shade of red around the open frame.
Death lay within.
I’d already ignored the tea leaves a few times—to the detriment of my health.
Instead, acutely aware of the network watching my back, I kept to the outskirts
and decided to follow the witch. Aaron claimed she understood time magic. Maybe I could get the answers from her. Worst came to worst, if she proved noncooperative, I could storm the fucking ghetto Bastille and dismiss Aaron Daniels.
The footpaths between the metal shacks quickly narrowed outside of the courtyard, the landscape once again consumed by an endless labyrinth of crumbling wall-to-wall one-story structures. My eyes swiveled about the shambles, scanning for threats.
But no one wanted to bother a woman with a gun. Unless she made the error of attacking the man in charge.
I followed the faint trail of wisps through the shantytown, much as I had the first time I’d arrived at Aaron’s door. This time, they led me deep into the heart of the Mud Belt. Wherever Nicolette was headed, it was somewhere Aaron’s network would have a hard time spying.
The houses degraded in quality—if that was even possible—many of them lacking roofs or doors. They resembled barns or sheds meant for livestock more than anything a humanlike creature could survive in. Haunted, sunken eyes stared out from the dreary midday shadows. Muted growls came from the derelict buildings as I strode past.
Idle threats. If malnutrition didn’t get them, disease would be eager to finish the job. Rolling through with a shotgun almost seemed unsporting.
I knifed hard to the left, suddenly emerging onto a roadway. No warning, no signs. Just, suddenly, I was beside what seemed like a massive chasm—but was really a space no more than seven feet across. Enough to place two or three stalls, or comfortably house ten dying creatures.
“Who’s the bitch?” a voice said, and I turned just in time to catch the glint of a pistol rising in the afternoon. Suits—of the type I’d seen in the downtown district—and a fancy car indicated they weren’t from around these parts.
I slipped back onto the pathway, near a caved-in stall housing a vampire with the blood shakes. He barely even blinked as the street erupted in gunfire, rounds slicing through the thin sheeting like cardboard.
Realizing I had no escape horizontally—I was basically in what amounted to an alley—I decided to go vertical. Shotgun clanging off the metal, I pushed myself onto a roof a couple yards away. The bullets continued to slice through the shantytown, but none of them were close to me.
Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection Page 11
