“Gratitude is difficult for you, isn’t it?” Jamie asked Nadine Griffin. The Wall Street maven was just standing there inside the room, the bad guy down behind her. It was never an easy swing over from Staten Island; she felt drained after that long pull, tethering herself to Freedom Tower and creating a gravity channel that tugged her along until she’d reached lower Manhattan and let it go above Wall Street. She’d reversed gravity on a couple channels, like creating invisible legs and “walked” her way to the scene of the crime, where the cops had set up their cordon and the crowds had gathered around to see Nadine Griffin, villain of the day, get her just desserts.
That idea of street justice—even on Wall Street—didn’t sit too well with Jamie.
“Thank you,” Nadine Griffin said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“You’re welcome,” Jamie said. Griffin was young, slender, attractive, wearing a skirt that was tasteful but showed off her legs enough that Jamie was feeling the envy. She put it aside, though, noticing the fund manager as she took a step forward and clomped awkwardly as her heel broke. “We should get you down to the police.”
Griffin had a sour look that reminded Jamie of Kyra just before she’d stormed out. “Oh boy. I can’t wait to get down to them, since they pretty much just left me for this maniac to kill.” She hobbled forward on that broken heel, looking expectantly at Jamie. “I suppose you want to carry me down like you’re rescuing me.”
“It’s safer than letting you make your way through the building, isn’t it?” Jamie asked. She expected this kind of crap attitude from her daughter, but from someone whose life she’d just saved? It was a bit much, but she held it in. “In case the police mistake you for—”
“Oh, they’d mistake me, I’m sure,” Griffin said, face like she’d taken a long drink of pickle brine. She walked over to Jamie and extended her arms. “How do you want to do this? Firema—err, person style? You going to carry me like a bride?”
“How about you just put a hand around my shoulder?” Jamie asked, keeping a polite veneer up to try and disguise the fact that she’d already had enough of this lady.
“Sure. Why not?” Griffin said, and did exactly that, threading a thin arm around her shoulder as Jamie snugged her own around Griffin’s waist, as though she were going to help her home after a long night of drinking. Griffin’s hair had a perfumed smell that Jamie suspected hers lacked; it probably smelled like sweat after the long pull from Staten Island.
Jamie pushed off the wall with a gravity channel, reversing it to shove them out the window and then shot another one down into a blank space in the street, setting it to gently push up at them so that they didn’t drop like a stone into the middle of Wall Street, instead descending as slowly as if they were on an elevator.
They landed softly on the street, the crowd of reporters and onlookers parting to give them a space to land. Jamie could hear jeers from the assorted masses, see fists shaking in the air toward them. An NYPD Lieutenant watched them warily, and a host of other police officers edged forward from where they’d been holding the line at the cordon, ready to rush into the situation in case it turned worse, Jamie supposed. She could hear the crowd:
“Shoulda let her die!”
“—wouldn’t have been much of a loss—”
“Yeah,” Nadine Griffin said sourly, “thanks a whole bunch for saving me.”
“It’s not my fault these people hate you,” Jamie said as a reporter rushed in and thrust a microphone in her face.
“Yeah, well … you suck anyway,” Nadine said.
Jamie felt her entire body freeze, a ringing in her ears as a hard flush ran through her cheeks. The whole of the argument she’d had with Kyra not a half hour earlier came flooding back to her as she stood there, the hot morning sun hitting her and adding to the heat in her face. “You know what?” she said, as something inside her snapped and she rounded on Nadine, “if you don’t like people treating you this way, maybe you shouldn’t have ripped off your customers, cheated by insider trading, and in general misled everyone into thinking you were something that you weren’t.” She watched Griffin do a flush of her own, but the woman stayed mute, the fury building behind her eyes. “You built yourself up as some sort of hero in the press, but you did it on a foundation of lies. People don’t like being lied to. They don’t like being stolen from. And they certainly don’t like it when someone expects them to continue playing the fool while she denies everything in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary.”
There was a silence around them, and Jamie looked to see the news cameras rolling and a hundred cell phones held aloft, their camera lenses sparkling as they captured her telling off the former Queen of Wall Street.
Jamie froze. Naturally, that’s the first time Gravity Gal speaks in front of a camera. Oh, well. Maybe it’ll disappear quickly? She knew it wouldn’t, though.
“What were you thinking, saving her?” came a voice out of the crowd and a few of the cameras parted to let Captain Frost push his way into the circle. He was a big guy, his muscular chest showing through his tight-fitting costume. Jamie made the mistake of looking down and found that it was form-fitting below the waist, as well. She fought to keep the look of distaste off her face. “You went against the will of the people!” Frost said, and a chorus of jeers followed from the crowd, like trained seals clapping along.
Jamie stood her ground, chin held high. “If your moral compass involves taking a survey in order to decide what’s right, you’re doing it wrong.” And with that, she set a gravity channel against the ground beneath her and then pushed hard, vaulting into the air a hundred feet. From there, she set another to push against one of the stone facades behind her and shot off toward the waterfront.
She was almost to Battery Park before she remembered that she was supposed to be meeting with her banker right now, securing credit for her company to keep the doors open and the employees paid.
“No one said this was going to be easy,” Jamie whispered to herself, trying to find reassurance as she launched out over the water toward Staten Island as she anchored on the Statue of Liberty’s hand in the distance and pulled herself toward it.
But no one ever said it was going to be this hard, either, a little voice followed. She ignored it.
9.
Sienna
“Looks like Gravity Gal saved the day,” J.J. said in my earpiece as I bumped along in the passenger seat of the van, on the way back to my new office in Eden Prairie, Minnesota. “She came in crashing in like—well, like you, actually.”
I didn’t say anything to that, but I might have blushed a little. “It’s good that she resolved it.”
“Why?” Reed said cynically from his place behind the wheel. “What’s the likelihood that they actually manage to convict Griffin on her crimes? And if they do, what are the odds she serves a serious sentence rather than getting a slap on the wrist?”
“I dunno,” I said, having already mostly lost interest now that my brother was ginning up an argument. “What are the odds you’ll stop being ill-tempered as you rail about the state of the justice system?”
“There are two justice systems,” he went on, proving my point, “one for the rich and connected, and one for the not.”
“As a guy who’s fast becoming rich thanks to your new salary,” I said, looking out the window at the green fields of rural Minnesota passing us by on the route from the training center, “you’d think you might moderate your tone if only to show some self-respect.”
“If the day comes I have to face the justice system, I won’t be trading on inside confidences and I won’t be trying to get out of what I deserve,” Reed said—a little snootily, I thought.
“Hmm,” I said. “I would. Again, I mean, since I already kinda did once.” I shot him a sweet smile. “Actually, I remember you got a presidential pardon, too …”
Reed just froze with that sour look on his face. “Thanks for proving my point.”
I sat in silence for a moment, then m
ore tentatively, asked, “You know, you’re not really the ‘vengeance is mine’ type … so why—”
“Hey guys,” J.J. said, breaking into my earpiece. “Ariadne’s here and needs to talk to you.”
“Put her o—”
“Is this thing on?” Ariadne asked, loud enough that all of us metas cringed. Reed jerked the wheel and the van wobbled in the lane until he got it under control again. “Hello?”
“You’re on, Ariadne,” I said, my eyes fluttering from the painful reality of her yelling in my ear. I was used to hearing her voice in my head by now. Like a mom; not like the actual creepy voices in my head. “What’s up?”
“We got a request from Lieutenant Allyn Welch of the NYPD,” Ariadne said, all business. “He wants you to come to New York.”
I frowned, staring out the windshield as dawn broke over the fields on either side of the country lane. “I thought this Nadine Griffin situation was resolved?”
“That one is,” Ariadne said. “But I guess there was an exchange between Captain Frost and Gravity Gal, and Frost … pitched a bit of a fit after she left. Welch says it’s probably nothing to worry about, but he figured better safe than sorry, so the NYPD is willing to throw some consulting dollars your way if you’ll come out for a few days and keep an eye on things. And …” here she took on a little bit of a wheedling tone, very mom-like, “you know … we could use the money …”
“Understood, finance department,” I said. “If the city of New York wants me to come visit and they’re willing to pay for it, I’m all over it. I’ve been looking for an excuse to see Hamilton anyway.”
“So you’re gonna burn your entire consulting fee on theater tickets?” Reed asked slyly.
“Yo, any chance they want anyone else to come, too?” Augustus piped up from the very back seat. “Because if anyone in this car should be seeing Hamilton, it’s me.”
“You’re going to Houston tomorrow with Reed, remember?” I kept my head pointed forward so he couldn’t see me grin. We’d set assignments a couple days earlier when Texas had made a request over a low-level meta who had been starting some problems for them.
“Aw, man,” Augustus said, sounding like a kid. “Still, you ought to take someone with you for backup, right?”
“Kat’s busy,” I said, “you’re busy, Reed’s busy—”
“Wait, what’s Kat doing?” Ariadne asked.
“She’s going back to LA to film the second season of Beyond Human,” I said, trying to keep the sneer out of my voice. “And also, there’s a report of a meta up in Fresno from six weeks back that she’s going to mine for television drama—I mean, investigate,” my sneer grew more pronounced, and I could see Reed eyeing me, “while she’s out there.”
“I’m hoping for something really explosive to happen,” Kat said, bouncing with a little glee behind me. “I need to kick things up a few notches from last season, and a battle with another meta could be just the thing we need to pull out a great season story arc.”
“Try not to get killed on national television,” I said. “You know, in the name of ratings. And if you get into big trouble, remember to call—”
“Veronika, yes, I know,” Kat said, and then she switched to a whine, “but she said that if I needed her help, it has to be without cameras, and that would just ruin—”
I rolled my eyes and ignored the rest of her complaint. Veronika Acheron was a meta I’d run across in Chicago, and one tough lady. She was based out of San Francisco and we’d actually hired her on a couple of jobs out west. She was professional and a total badass, but she, like me, didn’t want to be in the public eye. Probably because her job description also involved assassinating people, which, incidentally, was how we met. I suspect I’m the only target she ever failed to kill.
“You’ll probably be fine,” I said, cutting Kat off in the middle of a fine whine, “but if you get in trouble, don’t be stupid. Call Veronika.”
“So I can tell Lieutenant Welch you’re coming to New York?” Ariadne asked.
“Book me a flight,” I said.
“Excellent,” Ariadne said, as though something really important had just been accomplished. I could almost envision the green dollar signs springing up in her eyes like one of those old cartoon characters. Since she was the entirety of the finance department, they probably had. The four of us metas were being paid big bucks by our organization, but thus far, we were earning our keep. I had figured we’d mostly sit idle and only take a few big cases that came our way every now and again, when the Federal Government got outmatched. But so far, we were getting called in by the states on a regular basis when the feds passed on helping them—which seemed to be a lot of the time. It made me wonder what kind of lazy jagoff had taken over my old job and exactly how he was filling his days. “Uh, over and out,” Ariadne said, jarring me back into the present. “Or … er … out … err … goodbye?”
“Goodbye, Ariadne,” I said, trying to put a bullet in this conversation. I heard a rough crunching noise and then static that told me she’d probably pulled off the headset or set it down roughly or something.
“The gang’s splitting up again,” Augustus said, all false-teary from the back. “This is happening a lot lately.”
“Because we’re working a lot,” I said, a smile of slow satisfaction rolling across my face. I’d worried about this venture. I’d worried before this opportunity came up, too, about how I’d fit into the world. The answer so far had been: exceedingly well. It looked like I did have a place outside government service—and for a lot more money.
“Yeah,” Kat said, sounding drained. “I could really use a vacation. Fortunately, I’m scheduled for a getaway to St. Thomas on my show. We’ve got some great stuff set up to happen there, it’s really going to define the back half of the season …”
Kat chattered away happily behind me and I tuned her out, looking at the Minnesota sun rising over the fields of green. Reed must have noticed my look, because he said. “Everything okay?”
I was a little lost in my thoughts for a minute, but I turned to him and smiled, trying to displace that look of utter seriousness plastered across my brother’s face. “Everything’s working out, isn’t it? We’re booked up. We’re together, we’ve got … like, lives and stuff … it’s all … working out.” I paused, then shrugged slightly. “Plus, the State Fair starts in a few days.”
He looked at me suspiciously. “You’re acting a little weird. I don’t want to say the ‘h’ word, cuz I don’t want to jinx anything … but you seem … ‘h’ word.”
I frowned at him. “‘H’ word? What the hell is—like, harpy?”
“One letter and a world of meaning off. Happy, Sienna. You seem … happy.”
I started to say something, and then I stopped, looking off into the sunrise. “I don’t want to jinx it either, but …” I said, and felt a smile spread slow across my lips, “… I think I am.”
10.
Jamie
“You’re late,” Clarice McDaniel hissed, her face stretched with worry as Jamie hurried into the warehouse office space she’d rented when she’d started her company, Barton Designs. Five years later and they had taken over the whole rest of the building, yet things weren’t really any better for her. She still felt just as behind now as she had the entire time she’d run the business, their cashflow somehow always an elusive thing.
“I know, I know,” Jamie said, walking past Clarice as she fell into step next to Jamie. She said it with a note of apology; Clarice, as Jamie’s assistant, was perpetually stuck trying to cover for Jamie’s tardiness problem, but that was a tall order. She did it with grace and a smile, though Jamie had a sneaking suspicion that the fun of making excuses for her had probably gotten old months ago.
“The banker’s name is Mr. Penny,” Clarice said, walking very uptight and professional. Her cheekbones were high, her skin a dark chocolate shade, her eyes filled with constant worry. She was a damned good person to have in your corner, Jamie reflected.
“So get your laughs out before you go in.”
Jamie stopped. “Why would I laugh about—oh, Penny, and he’s a banker. Yuk yuk, got it.” She adjusted her blouse, brushing at the big dust spot down the left shoulder where she’d dropped it while stripping down to her costume. “Anything else?”
“What happened to you?” Clarice said, trying to help rub her shoulder clean but spreading the dust around instead. “You look like you fell under a float at the St. Patrick’s Day parade.”
“Kyra and I had a big blowup this morning,” Jamie said, brushing herself off where her pants had similarly picked up dirt from casting them aside in a hurry.
“Blowout,” Clarice corrected, and when Jamie looked at her questioningly, Clarice said, “because blowup makes it sound like it might have had something to do with a doll.”
Jamie peered at her in confusion. “What?”
“Never mind.” Clarice shook her head, back to business. “Mr. Penny, remember his name. And no—”
“Laughs, yeah, I got it,” Jamie said, and then opened the door to her office and breezed in. “Hello, Mr. Penny, I am so sorry for being late—”
Jamie stopped just inside the door, because the man waiting for her wasn’t entirely what she was expecting. She’d figured old, balding maybe, in a fancy suit.
So when a handsome young man wearing a shirt with the top button undone rose to greet her with a smile on his face, she wondered why Clarice hadn’t mentioned that little detail in her briefing about names and stifling laughter. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Barton,” Mr. Penny said, extending a hand that Jamie shook after only a moment’s delay.
“Thank you for waiting,” Jamie said, a little sheepishly, as she eased behind her desk. There was clutter everywhere, just like on her dining room table at home. She vaguely recalled the days before she opened the business as being perhaps slightly less cluttered, but it felt like there had always been stuff lingering in every space she could cram it in. “So … um …”
Masks (Out of the Box Book 9) Page 4
