It was supposed to be a democratic gesture. Suddenly it felt more like a popularity contest.
Tekla finally stirred, her whisper full of grief. “That was different.”
“He knew better,” Warren added, like that made a difference. “He’s known from birth.”
Because unlike me, he’d been born and raised in a troop of superheroes, taught not to question his duty or his troop leader. He’d kept secrets from Warren too, but…
“Maybe he just made a mistake.”
It sounded hollow even to me. A mistake was something done once, not over again and again. He’d been meeting with Regan repeatedly, if not regularly. It was inexcusable, but I still wanted to find out why.
“Some mistakes are irreparable.”
I shook my head, staring at my troop leader. He sounded like a religious fanatic. One of the fundamentalists intent on spreading the Word to new places and people, and once the natives heard it, they had better heed it or burn. A year ago today I had been one of those natives.
So it wasn’t my fault, I thought, crossing to pick up Hunter’s whip, if things were getting a little hot in this kitchen.
From the corner of my eye I saw Tekla making her way to me, using the voice she reserved for her most troublesome pupils. “Archer, Warren is-”
She was going to tell me Warren was right. She was going to tell me to drop the conduit, fall into ranks, and do as I was told. But that was before I turned the whip on her.
“Get back, bitch.”
Vanessa gasped. “Joanna!”
Now the troop came to life, and that pissed me off even more. They’d stir for Tekla, but not for Hunter? Was this how easily a valued member of the troop could be thrust on the outside? How much easier, then, would they do the same to me? The bad pupil, I thought, feeling Tekla’s considering gaze. The wild native, I decided, catching Warren’s.
My anger began simmering. I might not have had Tekla’s control or Warren’s ruthlessness, Shen may have taken my ability to heal, and I’d had to give over my ability to construct walls from thin air to Boyd on my last escape from Midheaven…but I still had my temper.
My father’s temper.
“One step toward me, one wall set up to box me in…” I looked pointedly at Tekla. “…one move to stop me, and I’ll let it go. My eyes will burn so red they’ll serve as a beacon for the Tulpa. He’ll dive-bomb your new hidey-hole. He’ll flatten us all.”
“Think about what you’re doing, Joanna.” Tekla’s gaze was ice cold in comparison to my heated one.
Gregor, then, a man who’d never been anything but kind to me. “Don’t betray us too.”
“I’m not. But we’re stronger with him.” I turned back to Warren. “You know it.”
Warren’s jaw clenched and he swallowed hard, but he remained unmoved. I shook my head and started to back up, just as Regan had minutes earlier.
Vanessa, perhaps closer to me than anyone there, tried, her voice imploring. “Joanna, please-”
“No, let her go.” Warren crossed his arms and leaned against a stainless steel rack. I wasn’t fooled. The last thing he felt with his beloved Kairos walking out the door was in control. His tight smile kept me from feeling remotely bad about it. “But we won’t help. We won’t risk ourselves by going after him.”
“Some friends,” I spat, looking at each of them in turn. Felix was cross-legged on the floor, almost in a ball, and his fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. Good. I hoped his inaction sliced like a knife. Riddick had his eyes closed, head back, like he was thinking of pounding it through concrete-I hoped that hurt too-and though Micah had returned to his position up against the wall, he and Gregor were shooting uncertain glances at each other behind Warren’s back. I shook my head. Hunter hurt me too, but outrage on his behalf momentarily helped keep that at bay. If there was one thing I knew, it was how to prioritize.
But so did Warren. He tried again. “He betrayed you.”
Because Hunter had taken me to his bed, in his arms, while meeting with Regan. Knowing how I felt about her, I thought. Knowing she’d do anything to get to me. But it was the magnitude of those offenses that made me want to know why. “Well, I’m not going to lower myself by doing the same.”
I felt something close to hatred then; not for Hunter, but for Warren. Because he could just wash his hands of Hunter, even after he’d dutifully served this troop for so many years. Hunter was still that same person, and he was out there, still alive…though not destined to stay that way for long. I sneered at Warren. I scoffed at them all.
“Stay safe, heroes.” I looked pointedly at each of them, and found that none of them were willing to meet my eye. “Enjoy the fucking cake.”
Doubts crept in once I was out on the apocalyptic streets with the strange hovering sky and eerie silence, with the Shadows lurking and my troop in hiding. I even had the urge to turn around a couple of times, but images of Hunter kept flashing through my mind: the whip that I was holding licking air as he battled the Shadows, his eyes going soft as caramel as he moved inside of me. Betrayed me? Okay, yes. He’d done that. But betray the rest of the troop? His family? It just didn’t hold.
I wasn’t far behind. Though she had a head start, Regan was weighted down with injury, Hunter, and the need for stealth. I had only the third issue to worry over, and that was nothing new. So I followed the scent of blood-both old and new; tainted and fresh, fouled and that of the recently ruined hope-and thought, Oh, Hunter. What have you done?
Grieve later, I told myself, and headed into the core of the city.
I wasn’t surprised when the trail led to the nearest pipeline entrance. I hadn’t been in this one before, but it didn’t matter. All roads led home. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where Regan was headed. She was going to the entrance to Midheaven. It was symbolic, since he’d apparently engaged her in order use her soul energy for access. It was mean and meant especially for me.
I picked up my pace inside the tunnel’s depths. I could now move unseen, and I counted on Hunter to make enough noise so I was also unheard. The first tunnel emptied into a ninety-degree turn, but I stopped keeping track after that. The turns and whorls it took were impossible, part of a magic system rather than any clever planning on the city’s part. After the first few, which I navigated by touch, the air became stifling, and the blood I’d smelled earlier intensified.
Just as I was wondering how much farther this particular rabbit hole went, I heard Regan’s voice. It was closer than I expected, and I froze.
“They won’t come after you,” I heard her say, and a sharp thwack! told me she had just slapped his face. What was it with these Shadow women and face slapping? Did they take classes in it or something?
“I know.” His flat, annoyed response told me it wasn’t the first time he’d been hit. It was probably how she’d brought him back around. It was hard to carry someone heavier than yourself while trudging through a damp tunnel.
“Great, so be a good boy and leap onto that ledge. I’ll tear off a huge chunk of flesh if I try throwing you, and it takes forever for that shit to grow back.”
Eww. A part of Regan’s personal hygiene routine that I really didn’t need to know about.
“Nah,” Hunter replied, and I could practically see the shoulder shrug that went with it. “Go ahead and kill me here.”
“No. I want your kill spot to shine forever just outside Midheaven’s entrance.” By killing Hunter at the entrance to Midheaven, anyone who tried to access that world in the future would scent the olfactory chalk outline that was his kill spot, basically paranormal graffiti that said, Regan was here.