Neon Redemption: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Words of Power Book 2)

by VK Fox

  “Which I can pick for myself, when I’m ready.”

  “And Mr. Dahl gains a friend—”

  “Of which he already has many.”

  “Who will encourage him to stretch his horizons.”

  Everest rubbed his face with both hands. What was happening? Who had he affronted up the ladder to get this dumped on him? “I want to see the order.”

  “Of course.” Judy produced a signed and stamped piece of printer paper. Everest read it while fiddling with the perforated edge.

  “Two hours? Every day?” Everest’s throat was going dry.

  “Every weekday.”

  Everest ground his teeth and inspected the officiating signature: M. Browning. Not a familiar name.

  “The activities are your choice, with the stipulation they should not be work-related: no training, no strategizing, no research, no discussion of fieldwork. You’ll need to log your time and give a weekly summary to your therapists.” She consulted the file again briefly, clicking her tongue, “Yours noted a fear of leaving your home currently, so we’ll arrange for Mr. Dahl to meet you there.”

  Everest tried again, “This is not typical procedure for either of our categories of leave. There is no reason to mandate how either of us spends our free time.”

  Judy smiled and shrugged, “Above my pay grade, but I think it’ll be nice!”

  Out in the chilly November sunshine, Everest pulled a small clamshell case of injectables from his coat and took a dose of his current anxiety prescription. His hands were shaking and his chest constricting with anxiety that was usually well controlled with exercise and lifestyle but had flared in the last few weeks. Everest’s general practitioner had mentioned all aspects of his life would be wretched and unbearable right now. She’d used medical terms, but that was what she’d meant.

  Everest studied the syringe in his hand through watering eyes. Why hadn’t any addicts appeared on his doorstep? A few years back when Adam had been hospitalized for emergency knee reconstruction, people with shaking hands and pinpoint pupils had begun arriving on day four, asking if he was dealing while Adam was indisposed. The first few times they were easily sent off, but his second sight had told him things were turning dangerous, and he’d started sleeping in his office until Mordred had deigned to let him know the issue had been resolved. Now, in three weeks, no one approached him. Maybe Adam wasn’t dealing anymore. Everest needed to make himself go through Adam’s things. He just couldn’t, yet.

  Dinner wasn’t until five, and Everest wasn’t allowed in his office where he might do some good, so instead he stopped to visit his first love. The library at Sana Baba’s U.S. Headquarters was one of the most beautiful in the world. Towering built-in shelves housed books of every size, age, and binding under a vaulted ceiling painted in bright blues and yellows. Spiral staircases wandered to lofty balconies, the handrails polished by thousands of fingers caressing them. The smell of ink and paper and knowledge permeated the air and furniture.

  In the center of the library an open-sided mobile platform allowed access to the vault. The acrylic- and steel-reinforced box was suspended from the ceiling by a dozen support cables and housed twenty books on individual pedestals under clear protective covers. The linked books rested beneath security cameras in their impregnable, jewel box enclosure. Everest spared them a glance as he passed, trying to remember which ones were fake.

  Locating his favorite chair of worn leather—the one he had always come to since his earliest memories—Everest passed a wonderful, restorative half hour curled up with the first thing he grabbed from the New Books table. He almost managed to put the whole nasty social architecture order from his mind. At the conclusion of a particularly good chapter he glanced up to tell Adam what he was guessing would come next, and the world came apart all over again.

  By the time Everest got to the officer’s dinner, even basic focus was challenging. Forcing himself to focus on the questions of the officer managing his teams was an exercise of sheer grit. Soon he could go home and finally sleep.

  With Dahl and Sendak unexpectedly off duty, he only had two teams in the field right now. London and Palahniuk were closing out a mission and due home in a few weeks. Angelou and Card were outbound to their mission destination, and Everest was careful to examine their strategy as much as he could with his future sight as well as give detailed advice based on his work with them over the last three years. They were a pleasantly sensible, strategic duo who generally handled things with tact and effectiveness. Their current path seemed to follow the same trend.

  Leaving his car in the lot, he took a cab home, as he was in no shape to drive. He fell asleep in the back seat and woke with a start to the driver’s gruff prompting. A few twenties and a chilly scramble with the keypad on the front door, Everest entered his single-story, five-room home to see the bedroom light on. He opened his second eye, and as the all-white lens began to glow with magic, a surge of pathetic gratitude for his ex swelled in his chest. Someone was trying to be there for him in the best way they knew how. Stepping over a pile of clothing on the floor, he slid under the covers next to familiar warmth.

  “You aren’t seeing anyone right now?” Everest didn’t want to talk, but he also didn’t want to step on any toes.

  “Nothing exclusive.” The reply was low and silky. “Come here, boy. I’m sure it’s been a fucking horrible few weeks. Let me help you forget it.”

  The next morning was so much better even under the weight of crippling guilt. Everest slept more deeply than he had managed for a month and woke rested and calm. His bed was empty, another small blessing. Maybe he should send flowers. Then again, when he was eighteen and they were dating, such symbols of affection generally went in the garbage without a second glance. The best way to show his thanks might be not to mention it.

  Someone was knocking on the front door. Everest rubbed his eyes and checked his watch. 10:30 am. Something was supposed to happen today. He sat on the edge of the bed, shame seeping into his blood. Adam was in the ground three weeks and he’d slept with someone else. What would he say if he knew? What did it say about him, that he’d needed sex so badly he couldn’t even wait a month? Saying no hadn’t even crossed his mind. What was wrong with him? Everest was breathing hard and fumbled through the table drawer for his prescription. A knock sounded from the front door again. He took his injection and, because he was going to have to speak with someone in his own home, also lit a joint. Pulling on a snug t-shirt and jeans, he made for the door.

  August Dahl stood in the doorway, dressed in his personal uniform: black long-sleeved shirt and cargo pants, and he was making it look good. Short blond hair, stormy eyes, and a smirk he wore everywhere—like a laugh could be had in any situation, no matter how inappropriate. His expression slipped slightly as he gave Everest the once over. Everest was a mess. His waist-length hair was loose and disheveled. He hadn’t brushed his teeth or showered. Did he still have lipstick on his neck? Everest gripped the joint in his fingers and prayed to everyone he could think of that he did not. Their social appointment was off to a fantastic start.

  “Come in.” Everest’s voice sounded hazy even to his own ears. Dahl squinted slightly and strolled into the house. Blessedly, he didn’t speak. He kicked his boots up on the chaise longue, cranked his Walkman, and closed his eyes. The arrangement was perfect.

  “King me.” The game was checkers, and the order was delivered with a hint of satisfaction. Somewhere, Adam was smiling. In refusing to play any game with more than five rules, he’d forced Everest to play a lot of checkers. Dahl bit his nails and gave the board a molten glare. Maybe he would flip it and stomp out.

  The first two weeks of their social arrangement had gone smoothly. They hadn’t spoken or interacted while Dahl spent two hours a day napping or listening to his Walkman at Everest’s house. Judy at Social Architecture remained unconvinced about the quality of their time, however, and threats were made about things like a facilitating on-site coordinator. Why was So
cial Architecture pushing this? Whose file was getting them so flustered—Dahl’s or his? They came together to avoid supervision, agreeing a board game would allow them to technically interact without talking to each other much. Dahl arrived the next morning with checkers. Everest was relieved it wasn’t Candyland.

  Then Everest soundly stomped Dahl in five consecutive games and the whole situation got real. Both men were taking minutes instead of seconds, calculating their turns and planning out traps, contingencies, and reaction strategies.

  “So, do you have a significant other?” Distracting banter during his opponent’s turn was the cornerstone of psychological board game warfare. He tried to imagine the kind of person Dahl would date and was guessing a young goth.

  “Yes.” Dahl didn’t take his eyes off the board, “Do you?”

  Everest opened his mouth for a passive-aggressive response before the question hit him and the words died in his throat. The love of his life had died two months ago. He’d been going to bed with his ex once a week for a month. How could he even put that into words?

  Dahl glanced up and the smirk left his face, “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I know you loved Adam.” He swallowed and examined Everest’s expression. His eyes were strikingly empathetic, as if he was experiencing emotions in tandem.

  “I did. Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For changing when you knew you’d said something troubling.”

  Dahl nodded and took his turn.

  Chapter Three

  Jane threw the security lock and pulled the curtains before getting Olive situated in bed. Shaking her awake for answers about her friends was the most reasonable course of action, but Jane cast it aside after only a couple attempts. In the depths of sleep, Olive was gorgeous even after being roughed up, drugged, painted, and rendered unconscious. Jane removed her crushed velvet Doc Martens and covered her with a blanket. After inspecting her handiwork, she rolled Olive on her side in case she vomited while unconscious. Hopefully she wouldn’t, but she’d probably look good doing that, too.

  After a five-minute shower scrubbing off pixie glitter and paint, Jane pulled out another sundress, this one grey crepe with fishnet mixed in. She scrunched a few waves into her chin-length hair. Dahl would likely make her cut it again the next time they got together. If he was okay. Jane chewed her lip against worry rising like bile. He had to be okay. Sana Baba monitored their agents so closely, someone would notice if something was wrong, wouldn’t they? Olive would remember when she woke.

  A soft knock came from the room door. Jane prayed Owen London wasn’t getting ready to pick the lock. Or worse, the invisible girl waiting for Jane to unwittingly open up. Tiptoeing to the peephole, she peered through and went weak at the knees.

  In the hallway a thirty-year-old man was fidgeting with visible nerves. For half a second Jane glimpsed ethereal antlers, black velvet and star white, disappearing into the ceiling. His dark bronze skin was flushed and his brow wrinkled. Short curling hair framed a face with close-set brown eyes that were drilling a hole in the door like he was wishing for x-ray vision. A white t-shirt reading “Free Hugs” in bubblegum pink letters was painted on a torso wide enough to have its own zip code. At seven feet tall he was stooping, trying to peer back through the peephole, while he raised a massive hand to rap the door again.

  Jane flung it open and Ian’s arms were around her, gentle and strong, holding her like she was the center of the world. Resting his lips against her hair, he kissed the top of her head a dozen plus times. Jane laid her cheek against him, reaching around as much torso as she could, smelling sandalwood and spices. Minutes ticked by as they stood in the doorway, silent and perfectly happy.

  “I missed you.” His voice resonated through her, “I missed you every day.”

  Jane nodded but couldn’t talk past the lump in her throat. Ian, still holding her with one arm, reached back, locked the door, and flipped off the light. Jane didn’t know how to say how much she missed him, how she had longed for this moment, or how much he meant to her. But she did know how to kiss him like the sun was never going to rise. Ian’s breath was picking up, and he lifted her with complete ease while she clung to him with her legs. An intoxicating tremor coursed through him, like he was barely able to hold himself back.

  The tenuous control was like Everclear on fire, and she kissed his cheek, his neck, his jaw, finally able to speak a few words even if they came with tears. “I missed you, too. Don’t leave me again. Please stay.” Jane was lightheaded, and the edges of her vision fuzzed as he carried her over to the edge of the bed, sitting so she was straddling his lap. One of his hands slid from her knee to her thigh and under her skirt, resting against her hip.

  He pulled back a tiny amount, “Jane,” his voice was husky, “What happened sweet girl? You’re so much thinner…”

  “I don’t know.” Jane didn’t want to talk about it. Her body wasn’t in peak physical condition right now. So what? It would get better, no need for a lengthy discussion. “I lost some weight, it’s okay. I’m fine.” She kissed him again, because it was harder to talk about awkward things when your mouth was full, and rocked her hips. The tremble escalated to shaking and he was groaning with her motion, his thumb stroking under the edge of her panties. Jane was willing to bet he was ready to lose his virgin status, and a tiny stab of guilt pricked her. Was it right for her to take that? They hadn’t talked about it, they’d just let things happen. Was that the way he wanted it?

  Ian started to lean back on the bed when he froze and hopped to his feet, taking Jane with him. He shook his head slightly, staring at the bed, and then at Jane.

  “Are you sharing a room with someone?” His voice was surprised.

  Jane let out an annoyed groan, “I’m sorry, yes, I forgot.”

  “Anyone of note?” Ian’s voice was careful with worried edges.

  Jane grinned ear to ear and kissed him again, “Friend of yours, actually. Olive Baum. But she’s currently on a sedative and, like, four fingers of tequila, so it’ll keep. Let’s deal with it later. Right now there’s a lot of open floor.”

  Ian cast a sideways glance at the bed before sinking to the ground, gently laying her back on the carpet. Jane was almost out of conscious decision mode, and soon her body would do things while her mind was along for the ride. Guilt prickled again. She paused, her hands on his belt buckle,

  “Do you want to make love to me?”

  “So much.” The tremble was in his voice now.

  “Am I the right person for—you know, your first?”

  “Jane, I want you to be my always.”

  Jane paused again and tried to breathe. What did that mean? She didn’t know anything about his beliefs. Fuck, she didn’t know anything about her beliefs. Was she in love with Ian? They hadn’t said so. Was she? In the back of her mind a stubborn, nagging feeling was growing, and it dawned on her that holding the other end of her magical link across the multiverse was at least one woman who had died a horrible death rather than compromise her virginal purity. How was that going to affect things?

  Ian was leaning over her, searching with his eyes, “Talk to me, sweetness. Your thoughts are written on your face.”

  Jane refocused, “I was thinking about a lot of things all of a sudden.”

  Ian chuckled, “It’s ok if this isn’t the right time.” He kissed her softly, lingering, “but it’s also ok if it is.”

  Jane sighed, “I realized there’s so much we haven’t talked about.”

  Ian nodded slowly, “Do you want to talk here?”

  Jane pulled the extra blanket off the end of the bed, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

  Ian lay down, putting an arm around her. This was her favorite place in the world. His heart was still pounding, and his body was warm and solid. The silence continued uninterrupted for a few minutes.

  Ian kissed her forehead, “You know a lot of times I sleep on the floor at hotels if I can’t get a room with a king-sized bed.
I can sleep with my feet hanging off, but if I have to worry about rolling out it’s not worth it.”

  “Huh. What’s your bed like at home?”

  “It’s sized for me. I had to have a lot of furniture in the house custom-made. I have regular-sized things for guests too, and what Dahl uses. He says it always made him feel tiny, but it’s practical to have two sets.”

  “Is he doing ok?” Jane didn’t want to dive into the whole Olive thing for a few more minutes, but she needed to hear it.

  Ian paused, “He’s having a hard time, but it’ll get better. I just need to keep loving him.”

  Jane fiddled with a stray thread on Ian’s t-shirt, ramping up for the subject change.

  “So I don’t know what you believe about love and family and whatever. We didn’t get a chance to talk about it before.”

  His laughter was beautiful, “Unsurprisingly, I’ve been thinking about that a lot over the last six months.”

  Jane reminded herself of the weird time difference. She had missed him for about thirty days. He had missed her for six times as long. “Go on.”

  “Well, it’s a pretty broad topic, but I am strongly in favor.”

  “In favor of what?”

  “Love and family.”

  Jane let out a huff, “You’re dodging the question.”

  “What question?”

  The thread on his shirt was unraveling a seam on the hem. It couldn’t be helped. “Ok, what did you mean when you said...” Why was it hard to say it? Ian had just said it. Jane forced herself halfway, “The thing about always.”

  “I want to always be with you. You are the right person for me.”

  “What?”

  “I want us to be a family.”

  Simple, straightforward, and one hundred percent surreal—Ian all the way.

  “And we’ve known each other how long in actual time together? Days?”

  Ian shrugged, the motion moving both of them slightly, “Life is precious and short. I spend mine living my dreams, not trying to decide if I’m ready. The concept of dating and taking years to commit is a modern one, and not a notion I’m particularly attached to. I believe we could love each other in a profound and joyful way. I’m going to work to make it happen.”