Chameleon Moon

by RoAnna Sylver

  Good night. Dream sweet. In the morning, I’ll be here.

  Not cold. Parole’s fire has never kept him warm. Regan can never hold onto heat; when his heart hammers with too-familiar terror, when he’s hurt in any of several ways, chill seeps down into his bones like ice water and stays there. But he’s warm now. He’s curled up in something soft, a beanbag chair, a blanket, blue, knitted by hand, carefully created just for him. The voice that sings is soft when it speaks to him in words too, like the blanket and chair; like the fur his hand touches when he reaches out. But no cat purrs here, no typing. Instead he can hear the turning of a page in a book, and the sound is just as much a promise. Regan’s life had turned a page as well. In his old life, he hadn’t even lived for today. Living meant struggling through pain. Fear. Never knowing which crack would give way under his feet. Now he knew he was home, because not only did he know would tomorrow come, he wanted to see it. You couldn’t fake that kind of love.

  Not gone.

  Regan panted for breath, struggled to suck in desperate oxygen. He felt like he’d just been dropped a million miles, slammed back into his body, into this room, he was drenched in cold sweat; he hadn’t really even known he could sweat with his scales, even in Parole’s heat, but now he was, and—he felt his head, his face, his chest to make sure he was all really him, all really there.

  “Hey. Hi. Hello!” Hans waved a hand in front of his face. His wide, toothy smile floated in the dark like a sideways crescent moon as he stretched out horizontally like he was lying on his stomach in midair, feet kicked up behind him and his chin in his hands.

  Regan looked up, shocked to somehow find himself close to tears. “Told you… never do that again!”

  “Sorry.” The ghost boy had never sounded sorry in a single one of their conversations, and he didn’t start now. “But you said no possessing. Not no sharing.”

  “Who were—what was that?”

  “What did it feel like?”

  No sound came out of Regan’s open mouth; all he could do was suck in deep breaths and shake his head.

  “Well, it was a good thing,” Hans sighed, rotating until he was face-up, hands behind his head and hair spreading out like he was floating on his back in a swimming pool. “Some of your memories. Nice, right? You belonged there, didn’t you? It felt good, didn’t it?” Hans gave his characteristic, wide smile, but it seemed strained.

  Regan looked at the floor as he slowly regained control over his panicked breathing. “Why would you show me that? Those people—I knew them, didn’t I? I knew… they were…”

  “Just giving you a taste of what you had. And what you can have again!” He shook his head at Regan, smile almost pitying. “So maybe now you’ll think twice before you go all, ‘I don’t care where I came from, I don’t care about my old life, I have a new life now! I don’t need you!’ Maybe you do care. You just don’t… remember.”

  “Still not right,” Regan said, but his voice came out in a weak near-whine, and he almost didn’t recognize it, the way he barely recognized the rest of himself tonight. “Not if I hurt people now, trying to get back what I had. Not if I let you turn me into someone I’m not. Not if…” he caught his breath, made the next words come out stronger. “Not if I can be better than I was.”

  “Yeah… but you were loved, remember?” Hans shrugged. “All those good feelings, all those warm, fuzzy thoughts. So you must’ve done something right. You sure do belong somewhere. Somebody sure wanted you around. I bet they’d love to have you back… of course, you’d better make sure you have their back this time. If you know what I mean?”

  Regan’s eyes flicked to Rose’s bed, then back up to the floating, grinning face that had haunted his every moment since he’d found himself outside the Emerald Bar. Maybe he’d lost himself then too. “You’re… evil. You’re actually evil. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “How would you know that without me, though? But seriously… I’m not evil, I’m not even your enemy—I’m your best friend right now. And you can do whatever the hell you want, Regan, for real, you can be whoever you want. I really don’t care. But not until after we’re done. We still have a job to do.”

  ❈

  “It’s gonna be okay, sweetie. I’m right here.”

  “Thanks. Just. I can’t… we almost…” Evelyn sniffed, swiping a forearm across her face to stop the tears that flowed down her cheeks. “Oh, God…”

  “I know. I know, honey. I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there to hug you!” The warm girl’s voice came out of the radio on the table next to where Evelyn sat on the floor, like her very own private broadcast. She wasn’t speaking into a phone or speaker of any kind, but the voice on the other end could clearly hear her.

  “Yeah. I could really use a hug. I thought Rose was dead. I was so scared.”

  “I know, that sounds so awful! But it’s over now, she’s safe, you’re safe. You held it together for everyone, you did so good. You don’t have to be the strong one right now.”

  “Okay. Okay, yeah.” Evelyn took a deep breath, forcing herself back under control. “But… that’s not why I called you.”

  “I know.”

  “Eye in the Sky thinks Regan killed someone.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is anybody we know dead?”

  There was a long silence on the other line. When the girl spoke again, her voice was lifeless and slow. “Garrett was found in his room a couple nights ago. I’m sorry, Evelyn.”

  “No. No, God!” Evelyn clenched her teeth. She couldn’t fall apart—if she started to cry again, she’d never stop. “How?”

  “I don’t know. Eye in the Sky locked it up real fast. The Bar’s not on lockdown anymore, you should be able to get in, but. They got to him first.”

  “God…” Evelyn sniffed again, and now she wiped her face. She took another deep breath, shut her eyes, and made herself talk. “Did everyone get out in time? Anybody get caught in the crossfire?”

  “Well, the Bar cleared out. Everyone except for Garrett.”

  “I told him to get out of there…” Evelyn’s voice was high, tight, close to tears again. She took another deep breath. “Okay. Well, I gotta get back there. Somebody must have seen something.”

  “You sure about going back there, sweetie? I wouldn’t want to.”

  “I have to know.”

  “Okay. Then I’d ask Jenny. She’s probably still there.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s the first step.” Evelyn cleared her throat and swallowed. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you safe?”

  “You mean in the house?”

  “I mean in every sense of the word. Physically, emotionally. Are you safe?”

  “I… I’m alive. We’re all still alive.”

  “Okay. Well, please hang in there. And I’m here for you, I promise. Any time you need me. I’m gonna help you through this as much as I can.”

  “You have a whole city of people to talk through every day. You’re everybody’s Radio Angel.” Evelyn gave a little laugh she didn’t entirely feel. “Don’t make me a special project.”

  “You are special, though. You’re my friend. It’s what I’m here for, but especially for you.”

  “Okay. Well, I should go. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “Yeah, me too. So much has happened on my end too, I don’t even know where to start. Oh, well here’s a little bit of good news! We found Cai!” The relief was clear in the girl’s voice.

  “Hey, that’s great.”

  “Yeah, I bet Rose’ll be happy to hear that too! Give her a hug for me. And Danae, and Jack, and my new friend Regan who I haven’t met yet!”

  “I will.” Evelyn thought about Rose in the hospital bed, and didn’t say a word. They all had enough to worry about. “Talk to you later, Kari.”

  She sighed and drew her knees up to her chest. Shoulders slumping, Evelyn buried her face in her knees and shut her eyes. Without her friend’s voice filling the air,
the room was silent and still. But then, not ten seconds later, there was a knock at the door.

  “Ev? You in there?” Regan’s voice, muffled.

  “Yeah,” she croaked, throat sore from crying. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yeah! Come in.”

  “Hey,” Regan opened the door slowly, then stopped, seeing her on the floor. She caught a flash of exhaustion—understandable, really—and something else in his face before it shifted to curiosity and concern. Couldn’t say what that something else had been, but he looked shaken up. They all were. She certainly was. “Oh. You okay? Is this a bad time? I can leave you alone, I’ll talk to you later.”

  “No. Stay, please.” Evelyn shook her head and patted the floor next to her. “I’d, uh. I’d rather not be alone. If that’s okay. I was just talking with a friend about… about who SkEye framed you for murdering.”

  “So, any luck?” Regan stepped over to the space she’d offered, squatting down awkwardly beside her.

  “Yeah.” Evelyn said quietly, still staring at the floor.

  “So…” Regan prodded when she didn’t respond. “Who is it?”

  Evelyn hesitated, took a deep breath. “The owner of the Emerald Bar was found dead. Garrett Cole. The last time I saw him was right before I met you. I knew he was acting strange that night, hiding in his room. He knew someone was after him—he told me to go right home. I told him to go home too, but he wouldn’t. I don’t know if he was trying to hide something from me, or protect me from whoever… got him. Maybe both.”

  Regan was only half-listening. He’d tuned out at the name Garrett Cole. He knew that name, and two puzzle pieces snapped together in his exhausted brain with a satisfied click, and he suddenly knew one thing. Garrett was supposed to be dead, it was good he was dead. And it frightened Regan, the satisfaction, the way he knew it was true…

  Then he knew a second fact. The reason Garrett was supposed to be dead was because Regan was supposed to kill him.

  “I’m sorry,” Regan said haltingly, feeling unfamiliar with his tongue. He couldn’t begin to say those words enough.

  Evelyn shrugged, still wouldn’t look at him. “It’s okay. I’m just kind of—it hasn’t sunk in yet, you know? That he’s really gone.” She took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling, head hanging a little lower. “Garrett helped me when I really needed it, years ago. He’s… where I got my gift.”

  “He gave you Chrysedrine?”

  “Lots of people made their own after the formula got leaked, hoping to cash in.”

  “Bet they cashed in a lot.”

  “Yeah, well he didn’t even charge me for it. Even though I wasn’t sick.” She smiled, soft and slow, but at something far away from this time and place. “And I took it. And Garrett gave me a home, and a stage where I could be myself. I could make walls crumble and fall at the sound of my voice, cast a spell over an audience… I was free.”

  “It didn’t hurt you?”

  “No. He actually knew what he was doing, and I was one of the very few lucky ones. I got exactly what I wanted. And now I’m clean. Garrett helped me survive the withdrawal. Held my hand all the way through.” Now she did look at Regan, eyes steady. “I know what you’re thinking. This city is full of monsters, but Garrett Cole wasn’t one of them.”

  “Okay. I believe you.” Regan chewed the inside of his cheek for a minute, like he was trying to figure out how to word something he wanted desperately to ask. “You said you weren’t sick. Then why did you…?”

  “That’s really not a question we ask here.”

  “Ah, okay. Sorry. Yeah, that was really rude of me, I won’t—”

  “I wasn’t sick. And I’ve never needed fixing,” she said, tone level and cool, looking directly into his eyes. “I wanted power. The power to protect the people I love, and just maybe, the power to free us all. The whole game changed here, Regan. It was time to level the playing field.”

  “So you took the drug knowing you could have died—or worse?”

  “I could have died. Or I could have gotten a voice that could bring down a mountain. My voice has always been my weapon. Now it’s just more literal.”

  “It could have killed you. Or you could have ended up like…” he hesitated, staring at his hands. “With something else.”

  “It was a calculated risk. Like I said, I was lucky, I got exactly what I wanted. But I wouldn’t have minded scales either. Not everybody got a pretty power, though,” she said, more softly. “I’m well aware of how privileged I am on that front. It’s easy to be confident and badass when it works out for you.”

  “Do you ever regret it?”

  “Not one heartbeat.” Regan shivered at the controlled force of her voice. It could so easily have been a hurricane that swept him away, but all she did with it now was tell the truth. “I have the power to survive and protect the ones I love. That means everything.”

  For a second, all Regan could do was stare. “How do you do it?” he asked at last. “How do you keep going through all of this? Being so brave and confident and not just…collapsing.” He thought about caving in like the city on the flaming Styx, crashing and burning.

  “Knowing you don’t have much time kind of forces you to make decisions fast. You gotta be who you want to be while you have time. That’s what shoved me into taking the drug. That’s what made me say ‘fuck it, I’m going to love myself while I can.’”

  “So… power of love? Or is it knowing we’re all going to die tomorrow, so it’s more like, who cares?”

  She looked at him for a moment, then broke into a laugh. “God, I know how it sounds. We’re in as about a literal of a Hell you can get on Earth. Stuff like trust and faith might not seem like they apply.”

  “But that’s what it is?” He shook his head. “Can’t be that simple. Nothing in this place is.”

  “There are good people around me.” She shrugged, as if it was that simple indeed. “I love them, and I want to keep them out of the fire for as long as I can. So I can either cry and scream and self-destruct and live in fear, or I can live in that love and do as much good as I can. So I sing at the Emerald Bar, and that makes people feel better for just a little bit. Even if that’s all I can do, I have to try.”

  “And be a superheroine everywhere else.” Regan smiled. “And save the day.”

  “I try. It’s like…” Evelyn thought for a second. “You know that saying? ‘Evil triumphs when good people see, and do nothing?’ Something like that? Well I can’t do nothing. Or say nothing. I just can’t.”

  “Yeah…” Regan’s smile faded as he swallowed hard.

  “Hey. You okay?” Evelyn looked at him carefully. “Feeling anxious?”

  “It’s not… I mean, I have something to…” Regan cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again as if he’d changed his mind. After a moment, however, he did speak. “So. Now we figure out who killed Garrett, and why.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And why they made it look like we did it.”

  “I can think of lots of reasons, but…” Evelyn’s eyes narrowed a little, and she gave Regan a long, searching look. “Before we go any further, I just have to ask you, straight-up. Did you kill Garrett Cole, Regan?”

  Regan shook his head, but had to smile. “I really don’t remember, but if I did—you actually believe I’d tell you? You’re giving me the benefit of the doubt. Like I’m a good person, or something. Why?”

  “Because what people call you doesn’t make you who you are.” Evelyn shrugged. “Other people don’t tell you who you are, you decide who you are.”

  “You got no reason to trust me.”

  “You helped us save Finn tonight, and you got Rose out of that war zone.”

  Regan looked away. “So? A good deed doesn’t make you a good person.”

  “And a bad deed doesn’t make you a bad one. And who says you have to be perfect to deserve a family?” She smiled. “We’re all in this together now.
Good or bad, we help each other out of the fire. If we’re gonna make it out of this alive, we have to take care of our own.”

  Regan thought of Rose and the bullet and felt a cold weight of guilt in his stomach.

  Evelyn slowly got to her feet. “Now I need to go to bed. Kicking ass and taking names takes more out of you than you’d think.”

  “Oh. Good night,” Regan said, but didn’t stand up. All of a sudden he felt so drained, and wasn’t sure his legs would support him.

  “You should try to get some rest too.We all had a hell of a day, and tomorrow’s going to be another one.”

  “Yeah. Uh, do you have plans?”

  “Garrett’s dead,” she said, voice flat. “And if you didn’t kill him, that means somebody else did. Think my job here’s pretty clear.” When she looked at him, he couldn’t even think of looking away. “And I need you to help me do it.”

  “It’s okay to go sleep, you know,” Rose said softly, untangling a snarl in Danae’s bushy red hair and leaving a flower behind her ear. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

  “I know.” Danae had to smile a little. “I didn’t, but now I do.” She rubbed her temples; her head throbbed from lack of sleep and worry. Her other hand unconsciously tucked the sheets around Rose, the rounded flesh where her legs ended at the upper thigh. The metal prostheses stood up against the wall, and Rose lay back on a mountain of pillows, free of blood, safe and clean.