Red and Black

by Nancy O'Toole Meservier

  “I—”

  “Right now you need to focus on getting yourself safe. Anything beyond that is second—”

  My voice cut off as Dawn’s arm shot out and hit the stop button on the elevator. The old machine came to a jolting halt. She looked up at me again, and for the first time since our fight above that tram, I saw determination. I wasn’t looking at the shy, sweet Dawn on her way to and from the comic store. I was looking at Red and Black.

  “I’m not leaving them,” she said.

  “What? The hostages?”

  “We need to go back.”

  “There’s no way I can get all five of them out of there.”

  “You got me, didn’t you?”

  “Listen. What’s important is getting you to safety.”

  “Why?”

  For a few seconds, the word just hung in the air, waiting to be answered.

  “That’s not…not important,” I began. “It’s…”

  “Did you figure out why Callie wants me?”

  “Callie?”

  “Callie. Calypso. Her real name is Calliope Saunders.”

  Callie? Well, Amity called her that, but I thought it was a nickname. How the hell did Dawn learn her real name?

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Is Calypso a white woman with blond, curly hair? Around thirty years old?”

  “Yes. How did you know that? She doesn’t leave—”

  “I found a video in Arthur Hamilton’s office, from ten years ago. Apparently, he and the four other people you’re holding hostage up there promised to give Callie powers, transferring them from an Empowered man in a coma.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. I mean, for one thing Hamilton clearly has no idea—”

  “I was told that you have someone here that can erase memories. Her name is Amity.”

  I blinked. Then I shook my head before speaking.

  “She can do a hell of a lot more than just erase them.”

  “The video cut off before the actual act, but given that Callie didn’t emerge as Bailey City’s first Actual, or an Actual anywhere, I assumed that something must have gone wrong during the Transference.”

  I let out a low whistle.

  “I wonder if that explains why she’s the way she is.”

  “How so?”

  “Distracted all the time, constantly out in her own little world. I just wrote her off as being strange.”

  “She wasn’t like that in the old video.”

  “Damn.” I shook my head. “And to answer your question from before, no. I don’t know what she wants with you. She had no interest in you at first, except with keeping you out of the way, but after we clashed a couple of times, things changed.”

  “You didn’t notice anything that would have triggered that interest?”

  “No.”

  Although…something tugged at the back of my mind. I bet if I could just stop and think for a minute or two, I could piece it together.

  Only now, I didn’t have the time.

  “Knowing this helps, but it doesn’t change the fact that I need to get you out of here.”

  “Not without—”

  “No. I’m sorry, but it’s a hell of a lot smarter to get you out and have you call for help. I can’t do this on my own.”

  “You’re not alone. You have Detective Bronson and—”

  “You? I’m sorry, but what can you do right now? You’re completely powerless here.”

  With those words, her strength seemed to vanish. The hardness left her gaze, and her shoulders started to droop. It was weird. Almost like reminding her that she was powerless made her so.

  “Unless you’re holding out on me?” I asked.

  “Ah…no,” Dawn said. “I understand now. You’re right.”

  Her finger left the button on the wall and we began to descend once again.

  Well, that was interesting. I never thought that in convincing a girl to run for her life, I’d end up feeling like I just kicked a puppy. Just another thing to feel guilty about.

  “The front doors will be straight ahead of you,” I said. “All you’ll need to do is cross the lobby and you’ll be safe. Stay to the right. The floor to the left is weak in some areas.”

  Dawn nodded.

  “Faultline,” she said. “Why are you doing this?”

  Before I could answer the doors swung open with a ding.

  And on the other side stood a good fifteen of Calypso’s drones, with Marty Tong at the lead.

  Shit.

  They had to be at least twenty feet away, but I could still see Marty’s grip tighten across the tire iron he held in both hands once he saw the two of us together.

  “You know,” he said, looking at his hands, “when the Mistress told me to keep an eye on you after the benefit, I was pretty shocked. Why would we need to keep an eye on you? The benefit was your plan, after all.”

  It was very hard not to check Dawn’s reaction in that moment, but I had more important things in front of me. It wasn’t just Marty. Every single one of the drones was armed.

  “I should have known,” Marty continued. “If the Mistress suspected that something was up, then something was up. And you were acting weird.”

  Marty let out a sigh. And I wish I could say that it was over the top or sarcastic, but it wasn’t. The weight in his shoulders felt genuine, and when he looked up, I saw actual pain in his eyes.

  “And then I saw where you were going. And then I knew. I knew that you were going to betray us. Noel told me you two were dating.” Marty spit out the last word as if it were a curse. “But I thought no, it doesn’t matter, he wouldn’t turn on the Mistress after everything she’s done.”

  “Dating?” Dawn whispered, her eyebrows drawn together.

  Shit, Marty!

  “I’m not stupid, you know,” he continued. “Even though you all seem to think that. I know I’m different now, up here.” He brought his spare hand up and tapped the side of his head. “I know the Mistress changed me. Just how I know she didn’t change you. But you still stuck by her. You were in her inner circle, bro.” He shook his head. “Always so loyal, without being changed? I thought it meant you were more…that you were better than me.”

  “Marty—” I began.

  “Shut it!” Marty’s once-calm voice sharpened into a shout. “You’re not better than me. You’re not better than any of us! You’ve turned your back on the Mistress, on this family, and for that, you’re gonna pay.”

  And with those last words he reached out and pointed the tire iron toward me, like a general leading an army into battle.

  I pressed the B2 button before slipping out the door. As the doors swung shut, I heard Dawn let out a cry of protest.

  And then the drones all charged at once.

  I’m more than just a pretty strong guy. I have plenty of muscle on me, and I know how to use it. Know how to make each blow land just how it needs to. My first boxing coach saw the potential for skill when I was just an angry thirteen-year-old, and I’d only gotten better over time.

  “You’re no joke,” he would say after I had delivered a particularly punishing blow. “You’re no joke.”

  But against fifteen guys?

  I didn’t make it five steps before the first one got to me. I hit him low, right in the stomach, and he went down, hard. Then, another came rushing in at my three o’clock. I pivoted out of the way just in time.

  I ducked. I dodged. I let the armor take the blows I knew it would be more trouble to miss than take. I focused on taking down each guy one at a time, hitting them fast and hard, moving forward slowly. If Dawn couldn’t make it out through the garage, maybe I could clear her a path here. Maybe I could—

  Smack!

  In came Marty with that tire iron, the little fucker hitting me in the one exposed area, across my jaw. I went down like a pile of bricks, my head swimming from the pain.

  It took me a second to pull myself together. Then I reached up to my jaw, making sure I coul
d still move it, that it wasn’t broken. Everything felt in one piece, at least.

  Bang!

  I didn’t see the strike coming, but I felt it, a blow across the skull delivered with enough force to send my already damaged helmet flying. It clanged against the tile floor.

  Goddamn it! How the hell had I been outsmarted by fucking Marty Tong? I felt my temper rise. Flashing lights formed at the edge of my vision. These guys wanted to mess with me? I wasn’t just some two-bit boxer in armor; I was Faultline. Push me, I could bring this entire fucking building down. And I could see how, too, the lines already forming around my feet. I could see the places I needed to hit, the places where the floor was the weakest, the places where the walls would begin to crumble and the ceiling would follow.

  The drones must have sensed my thoughts because they started backing up. A circle formed around me. Even Marty looked apprehensive.

  And then I felt it. A hand, small and feminine, brush against my cheek. Dawn? Had she made it out of the elevator?

  I turned and froze, seeing not Dawn, but Calypso standing behind me. Her eyes met mine and began to glow. I felt every muscle in my body lock into place as if frozen.

  “I’m sorry, Alex,” she said.

  I shook my head.

  “But you said I was immune,” I said through my clenched jaw.

  “I lied.”

  And then I felt my legs give out from under me and the world go dark.

  The last thing I heard before I blacked out was the sound of an elevator ding.

  22

  Dawn

  Dating?

  It took the entire elevator ride down for the concept to really sink in. Why would I be dating Faultline? He worked for Calypso! Not my type at all. I liked nice guys. Open, friendly guys who made me laugh and smile. Guys like Alex.

  Alex?

  I shook my head left and right, feeling like I had fallen off a speeding train again. Alex…he couldn’t be Faultline. The concept was ridiculous! I thought back on his easy smile and comforting manner, on the ways he had really listened to me when I mentioned I was having problems with Sunshine. Could there be anything further from the curt, angry individual who knocked me off a building?

  But physically…

  Alex, well…call me shallow, but I was still caught off guard at how crazy good-looking the guy was. He was built like superheroes were in the movies, and it was impossible not to pick up on that every time I saw him.

  And Faultline cut the exact same silhouette.

  Sure, add in the body armor, the gruff demeanor and, yes, even the stupid voice, and that silhouette left a very different impression than Alex did, but that didn’t change the fact that they were physically identical. And both Alex and Faultline had been at Antigoni’s at the same time. Was that the reason why he was away from the table when I came back from talking with Dana?

  No way. I shook my head again. No freaking way. Alex couldn’t be Faultline.

  But what if he was?

  A ding filled the air as the elevator doors swung open into the subbasement, revealing a long, concrete hallway that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a high school. About halfway down the hallway stood a whole bunch of people, many in the black waiters’ uniforms I recognized from the benefit, hooting and hollering like they were at one of those really intimidating frat parties at Bailey U. But at the sound of the elevator’s approach, many of them stopped and looked in my direction.

  And one of them was Noel White.

  For a second, he just stood there, mouth open, eyes wide.

  Oh yeah, he was the one who shot me, right?

  “Stop her!” he yelled.

  Eek!

  “Not good, not good.” My voice was high and panicky as I reached for the button to close to the door. I jammed at it several times, and the dual doors swung shut in front of my face.

  And then a different kind of ding sounded from inside the elevator. I looked up. I was being called back to the ground floor. Did that mean Faultline had been able to defeat all of those drones? Or was I merely walking (rolling?) into a trap?

  I’m ashamed to admit that my biggest reason for letting those doors open had more to do with solving the mystery than anything else. Could Alex really be Faultline?

  Before I had time to think further, the doors swung open. Not Alex, not Faultline, but Marty stood on the other side, a bloody tire iron in hand.

  And a little ways down the hall lay Faultline on the floor. His helmet had been torn from his head. I watched as his head lolled in my direction and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

  “Alex?” I whispered.

  “Come on,” Marty said, his voice a growl.

  He reached for me, and in a second of panic, I found myself squeezing my eyes shut and reaching for the power inside of me. Desperate to transform, to become Red and Black. To figure out a way to fix this all.

  Only to hit a now-familiar wall.

  Marty yanked me out of the wheelchair. My legs, as I had suspected before, were strong enough to walk, but the pain in my side flared up so fiercely that I cried out.

  “The Mistress wants you,” Marty said, ignoring my protests.

  Mistress?

  My head jerked up to see what I had missed before, my attention so focused on Alex. Had it not been for him, I know there was no way in hell I could have missed her.

  Because there was no denying it. The person who stood in front of me was Calypso. The Mistress. Calliope “Callie” Saunders.

  Decked out from head to toe in green, her hair a mass of golden curls, she was just as lovely as she had been in that video from ten years ago, but she wasn’t smiling anymore. If anything, she looked confused. I watched as she raised one of her delicate hands to her forehead and frowned.

  “Mistress,” Marty said, pulling me forward. “I got the girl. I—”

  “What the hell is going on here, Callie?” an unfamiliar voice barked out.

  I looked forward to see a woman enter through a swinging door, probably one that led to a stairwell. She was dressed like my mom did on her book tours, very businesslike, with gray dress pants and a blue silk shirt. Her dark hair was cut into an asymmetrical bob that I knew Sunshine would covet, and it swung as she moved. She walked into the hallway, and the drones around her drew back slightly.

  “I have everything under control,” Callie said, lowering her hand from her forehead.

  The woman took one look at Callie, then at Alex on the floor, and then Marty and myself, and I saw her jaw set.

  “Dammit,” she cursed.

  “Please,” Calypso said. “Take the girl.”

  The dark-haired woman nodded and reached for my arm. I hissed as the movement jostled my injury. The two of us looked down at my side. Spots of blood could be found on my sweats.

  “Come with me, girl,” the dark-haired woman said, then turned me back toward the elevator. Weakened as I was, I had no choice but to obey.

  In television shows, it seems like the bad guys always spent their time in derelict warehouses. But from what I saw of this room, abandoned hotels were the way to go.

  Not that I could really concentrate on that.

  She pushed me into what was probably meant to be a standard room with a double bed. It was missing the amenities that one would expect from a hotel (a television, dresser, or table and chairs), but my hostess had clearly done the best she could. The bed had been made and a garment rack stood in the corner with several items on hangers, covered in plastic as if straight from the dry cleaners. A small brown mini-fridge stood in the corner, giving the place an almost college dorm–like feel.

  The windows were boarded up, leaving the room looking all dark and creepy. The woman combated this by hitting a trio of desk lamps, which cast our surroundings in shadowy yellowish light. Yeah, not much better.

  “First things first,” the dark-haired woman said in a faux cheerful voice.

  Then she did something very strange. She reached out and touched my bare arm. B
efore I could question it, she had drawn back, a small smile spreading over her face.

  “Well, well,” she said. “Isn’t that an interesting development.”

  I blinked as she walked over to the nightstand, where the final desk lamp lay. She clicked it on.

  What had she just done?

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Come on now,” she said with a grin. “You can put it together. You have all of the pieces, after all.”

  I frowned, thinking back on the way Calypso’s drones had drawn back from her. I had seen that fear before.

  “Are you Amity?” I asked.

  “Correct!” Amity said, sitting down on the bed.

  “So then…” I looked to my arm. “Did you just…”

  “Oh, no rewriting needed,” she said. “Just wanted to take a quick glimpse into your memories. Figure out the true face behind the mask. Who would have thought it would be someone so little and delicate?” She let out a snort. “Well, I guess that makes it more surprising. Faultline certainly didn’t see it coming.”

  “Alex! Is he—”

  “A mindless slave to Calypso’s will? Why, of course!” She paused, frowning.

  “Which…you don’t approve of,” I said with a slow blink.

  Amity scowled.

  “Don’t push your luck, girl,” she said, then her voice brightened again. “Isn’t that what you keep on telling yourself? You’re not a detective, after all. What was that? Rule number seven?” She shook her head. “So sorry. The initial sweep just more or less dumps all the information in my head. It can take a few minutes to sort through. Not that you were wrong, of course, about not being a detective. Look at how poorly you read our dear Ally. In all your memories of him, he’s this shining prince.” She snorted. “And all this time he was on the other side.”

  “He was going to get me out,” I said quickly.

  “Yes,” Amity said with a frown. “What a disappointment. Shouldn’t be that surprised, of course. Men are so predictable. And you do fit that fragile damsel in distress stereotype so well.”

  Ugh! What was with this woman? Every one of her words seemed to get under my skin, cutting right to the core. “You’re not a detective after all.” “Look how poorly you read our dear Ally.” “Damsel in distress.” I could feel myself deflate, my shoulders droop, my body weighted down with every single word. It was as if she hadn’t just looked into my past, but into each one of my thoughts and self-doubts. And now she was doubling down on all of them.