“He told you?”
I stopped. Realized I hadn’t shared the time-slip thing with him.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He leaned back and somehow made it look even more intimidating than if he had leaned forward and grabbed my arm.
“It matters very much. You’ve had contact with him? When?”
I could lie. I didn’t see how that would help. “Just before we went over the cliff.”
“Explain.” It wasn’t a question. It was a command. His hazel eyes had gone dark and closed off. As if he’d decided Oscar was right to be suspicious of me.
“There’s something here in this time, some part of the Wings of Mercury machine, that is causing ripples in time. I’ve slipped into my original timeway and another, I think. I’ve seen Slater there.”
“Has he seen you?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know what is causing the ripples?”
I shook my head. “He thinks I have whatever it is. He thinks Quinten has it. He doesn’t. Welton told me I’d have to find it and break it if I wanted to kill Slater.”
“The custodian? What does he have to do with this?”
“Not the Welton from this time. Welton from my original time.”
“He knows how to kill Slater?”
“He knows Slater and I are tied together because of the Wings of Mercury time-travel event. He said I wouldn’t be able to kill him unless I first broke the item that is causing the time slips.”
“You believe him?”
“He’s a genius. He understood what little we knew about the Wings of Mercury experiment. Also, Slater shot me, but the bullet wound disappeared, so that part of his theory seems valid.”
“He shot you. When you saw him in the other timeway?”
“Yes.”
“I’m annoyed you didn’t think this was important to mention to me.”
“I haven’t had a chance. Not really.”
“You can’t kill Slater,” he began.
“I can after I break whatever is causing the time ripples.”
“We have no idea what that item might be, where it might be, or who might possess it,” he said. “What happens if I kill Slater?”
“He dies?”
“What happens to you?” he asked.
Oh. I hadn’t thought that through. We were tied together. If Slater died, did that mean I died? “I don’t know,” I said. “But we’re not going to let that stop us from killing him.”
Abraham didn’t say anything. His face was carefully closed down, though his eyes flickered with red: anger.
“We?” he said.
I shrugged.
“You said there were other timeways. What were they?” he asked.
“They don’t matter.”
“We don’t leave this room, we don’t leave this town, until I know.”
“They might have been dreams.”
He waited.
“You were in them,” I said quietly. “But you were happy. And you weren’t a mercenary.”
“And?” he asked when I could no longer hold his gaze and looked instead at my hands.
“And you loved me.”
“You think that was a dream?”
I glanced up at him. “Isn’t it?”
Abraham—this Abraham—was not the sort of man who settled down in a house with lace curtains. Was he?
“It doesn’t have to be.”
Wait. Had he just admitted to loving me?
“You told me you believe the galvanized are human,” he said. “Do you think that I’m incapable of emotions just because I lack sensation? Do you think I’m incapable of caring?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Do mercenaries fall in love?”
“Very rarely,” he said. “Which is why we fight so hard for it when we find it. And if you think we are not going to make damn sure you survive this fight with Slater, then you are very wrong about me. About us.”
“Us?” I said, stupidly.
“Yes. Us.” He watched my reaction: a shock of disbelief backed up by a big helping of hope.
I must not have kept it hidden very well, because he leaned back, the intensity in his eyes down to a simmer again, satisfied with himself.
“I guess,” I said, clearing my throat. “I guess I didn’t think. Didn’t think we could even be a . . . anything until after we took care of Slater. Saved the world. . . .” My words sort of gave out, which only made him smile wider.
“The world is always in need of saving,” he said. “Always. Can’t let that stop you from living. Or loving.”
I nodded. “I want that. I do. But first we need to find the piece of the Wings of Mercury experiment. Do you have any information on it?”
“Not personally. But I know some people we can ask.”
“Okay. Well, I’ve told you all I know about the time slips. Your turn.” I sat back and hooked the ankle of my boot over my knee. “Tell me what you know about House Fire.”
“House Fire is a walled city. Not as open as Coal and Ice, not as primitive as House Earth compounds. It is a very modern, technologically advanced city.”
“What kinds of defenses do they have?”
“Everything. Cameras, computers, guards, weapons, trip lines. We need Hollis to get us in. If we walk up any road, reach any gate, or tried to infiltrate through underground tunnels, including the sewer system, we would be stopped.”
“I’d be more comfortable about the whole thing if we could draw Slater out,” I said. “It’s stupid to walk into a lion’s den and fight there.”
“With night coming on, and by the time we get there . . . I don’t know how that’s possible.”
I stared at the ceiling for a moment, both to try to figure out our options and to look away from him. Sexy Abraham was a growing force in the room. I could almost feel the heat radiating off him, the hunger barely contained.
I wanted to kiss him until he begged for mercy.
“How about you turn me in?” I asked, trying not to picture him naked. “There’s a ransom on my head, right? And you’re a mercenary, a bounty hunter. We can walk right up to the front gate and let Slater know we want to see him.”
He thought it over for a moment or two, then leaned forward and rummaged through the backpack, resettling the contents that were already settled. There couldn’t be much in the backpack to look over, and he’d probably been through it several times.
He was stalling.
“You’d trust me to do that?” he asked.
Don’t make me doubt you, Abraham, I thought.
“You’ve proved that you’ll save my life. In more than one time.”
He angled a look my way. “Good to know.”
“What? That you came to my rescue in the past?”
“No. That you’ve always attracted trouble.”
“You like living in constant danger?”
“I like knowing life with you will never be boring.”
He was doing it again. Talking like we were going to make it through this. Like we were going to be together. I hoped he was right, but I wasn’t as sure. We had a very dangerous man to kill, and we still had no plan.
“Speaking of not boring, I don’t see a downside to you turning me in to Slater so I can get close enough to kill him.”
“You would be unarmed,” he said, back to business again. “No gun. No knife. No Shelley dust.”
“I know.”
“And completely dependent on him believing I’d do it.”
I paused. Searched his face. Was he trying to tell me something? “Wouldn’t you? Collect on the price on my head if . . . well, if things were different?”
“Maybe. But I would never get that close to Slater and not try to kill him. It’s an agreement he and I have
.”
“That you’ll kill him the next time you see him?”
“Pretty much. Yes.”
“Think you could sell him on your wanting the money?”
“I don’t know.”
There was a knock at the door. “That’s our call.” He stood and pulled on a long gray jacket, then shouldered the backpack. “Are you ready?”
“Since we’ve decided on exactly no plan? I’m just gold.” I shrugged the backpack over one shoulder and followed him to the door.
A kid about ten years old stood there. “Binek wants to see you,” he said.
Abraham dropped something into the kid’s hand. I thought it looked like a half stick of dynamite. “Thanks, Cart.”
The kid gave me a hard look, like he’d be willing to describe me to the local law if needed; then he took off down the street and around the corner at a jog.
Abraham shut and locked the door behind us, then started down the sidewalk. “Let’s go make us a plan,” he said.
18
Slater found me. He isn’t shy about torture. Libra unloaded House Technology’s artillery to get me back. I had no choice but to tell him what he wanted to know. But only half of it. Only half of the truth.
—W.Y.
The door to Oscar’s office was closed. Abraham had been standing in front of it for a good two minutes.
“Want me to knock for you?” I asked from where I stood, leaning against the wall in the silence of the hallway.
His shoulders tightened. Then he turned around. “If his door is closed, he is not to be disturbed. I’m sure he’ll see us soon. Let’s find the others.” He pushed past me, and I really didn’t have a lot of other choices but to follow.
We crossed to the lobby area, then up the stairs on the other side of the room.
“What others?” I asked.
The stairs ended one flight up. A set of doors were closed, but I could hear the sound of voices behind them. The “others,” I presumed.
Abraham straight-armed his way through the doors. The rich fragrance of food—warm bread and something sweet—reached out and wrapped around me.
“Abraham!” A woman’s voice called out.
I stepped into the room of delicious smells and killed the conversation flat.
The room was a cross between a lounge and a bar, with a kitchen off to one side, booze on the other, and between those two points, an unused pool table, some couches, chairs, and tables.
Scattered around the room were the galvanized. Oh. Those others.
All six of them. Two men and four women. Most of them glaring at me.
Dotty, or Dolores Second, as I’d known her, was a lovely woman who appeared to be in her late forties. Her ginger-and-brown locks swung about shoulder length, fringe across her green eyes. She wore a loose orange blouse under a vest that hid at least one gun, and tailored, wide-legged slacks. She seemed more curious than angered by the sight of me, though her gaze fixed on the patch on my jacket for a long moment before she shifted her gaze to Abraham.
I don’t know what she saw in his expression, but it seemed to impress her.
“My, my,” she said, settling back to stare at me again.
I glanced at each person in the room. Wila Fifth, along with Vance Fourth, sat on one of the couches. They’d been a part of House Blue in my time, but that was where their similarities ended. Wila was maybe in her thirties and dusky-skinned, her heavy black dreadlocks pulled back in a massive knot to make her rounded face and cheekbones even more prominent. She had a curvy figure even under the layers of shirts and slacks she wore. If she carried a weapon, I didn’t see it.
Vance was a short, trim, pale, red-haired troublemaker, with a rifle next to his knee. He and Wila seemed to take in the sight of me with curiosity.
But January Sixth didn’t. She rested in a wooden chair, the queen of ice and cool, her platinum hair cut spiky and short, her face stitched with such a precise hand, it only exaggerated her beauty as she glared at me.
So she still didn’t like me. Good to know.
Off to her left was long-limbed, too-tall Clara Third. Her red hair was cut in the same single swing that made her stark, melancholy features even more masculine. She wore clothes most resembling Vance’s—practical denim, long-sleeved shirt, and vest with enough pockets to hide an assortment of weapons.
The last galvanized in the room was Buck Eighth. He lounged near the pool table, wearing dark trousers and a couple of layers of shirts, all in black. He cut a striking, dangerous figure, his hair shaved down to his skull, making his intense gold-green eyes practically glow within his dark-toned skin, and giving his angular face a feral cast.
“So,” Dotty asked with just the hint of a Southern accent, “who do we have here, Bram, darlin’?”
“Everyone,” Abraham said, “this is Matilda Case, the tenth galvanized. Matilda, this is Dotty, Wila, January, Vance, and Buck. You know Foster.”
Foster sat on a stool in front of the bar, winding a pocket watch. He glanced up at me, frowned a moment when he saw the jacket, threw that same sort of look at Abraham that Dotty had given him. This time I noticed Abraham nod ever so slightly.
Foster slipped a look to me, and his smile was warm. Then went back to winding the watch.
“Tenth?” Vance asked. “Where have you been hiding for all these years, Matilda?”
I shrugged. “I grew up on a farm. And stayed there.”
“Isn’t that cute?” January said. “Three hundred years on the same farm? You don’t believe that crap, do you, Abraham?”
Okay, so January was the same bitter thing I remembered from my time. It was good to know some things never changed.
“I think she’s lying,” January said, as if I didn’t have ears.
“I don’t really care what you think about me, January,” I said. “You can just step back and relax. I won’t be here, and I won’t be in any of your business, for very long.”
“Good,” January said.
“No.” Dotty stood and walked over to me. “This isn’t at all how we should welcome one of our own. Matilda, I’m Dolores—please call me Dotty. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.” She held out her hand and I shook it.
“What?” She snatched her hand away. “I felt that.”
Right. I’d forgotten she didn’t know I could make her feel.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I have that effect on galvanized.”
She rubbed her palms together and studied me more closely. “Well, that’s a surprise,” she said. “Quite a big surprise. When did you happen across our Abraham here?”
“He found me, actually.”
Buck tsked and shook his head. “This is the girl? The little future girl you used to talk about?”
“Not a little girl anymore.” Abraham strode over to the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey.
“We can see that,” Vance murmured. “And we approve.”
Wila slapped his arm.
“This,” Abraham continued, “is apparently the future.” He gulped the shot, refilled the glass, and took that down too.
Wila raised one eyebrow, looking from Abraham to me. “Lot of drinking for a man who’s found the one thing he’s been looking for all his life. Foster, my delight, you simply must fill me in on everything that’s happened between these two.”
Foster shook his head and tucked the watch away into his pocket. He looked over at Wila. “Slater,” he said.
That one word stalled all the questions, all the dirty looks, all the conversation. And then everyone was looking at Foster before shifting that look to Abraham.
“Slater?” Vance said.
“Matilda and I intend to kill him.” Abraham refilled his glass. “I don’t suppose any of you would like to join us?”
Still the silence.
Abr
aham swallowed half of the shot. “Of course, I don’t need to tell any of you what I will do to you if you stand in our way of killing him.”
He waited, measuring their response. As far as I could tell, they gave off very little emotional cues.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve threatened us, Abraham,” Buck finally said, picking up a pool stick and testing the balance, like maybe he was getting ready for a fight. “Not sure you want to be doing it now.”
Abraham downed the rest of the whiskey and set the tumbler carefully on the bar. “Don’t stand in my way,” he said with a hard smile, “and we won’t have to find out. But if you want a part of this, the offer stands.”
“I’ll bite,” Dotty said. “How are you going to kill him? Just getting into House Fire will be hard enough. Getting to a newly minted head of a House won’t be a stroll through the daffodils.”
“I didn’t say I was going to tell you our plan. If you’re in, you’re in. If you’re out, clear a wide berth.”
“Is she a killer?” quiet Clara asked. It was almost more than she’d said to me all at once, in any time.
They all looked at me again.
“I know my way with weapons,” I said. “And, believe me—I have a need to see him dead.”
“But are you a killer?” Clara asked. The intensity behind the question gave it more weight. She wanted to know that one thing about me. Slater or no Slater.
“I’ve protected my family, fought ferals. But I haven’t killed a man, no.”
All eyes were on me again. The silence and judgment were deafening.
That seemed to mean something to all of them, just like it had meant something to Abraham.
I still didn’t know how my not being a murderer would make any difference in how the world perceived and treated galvanized.
“I will help you, Abraham,” Clara said solemnly.
“So will I,” Vance said. “But only because I’d like to see a world without that dick Slater in it.”
Buck nodded. “You know I’m a sucker for a cause. I’ll do what I can.”