“Where is Mason?” said Laia. “Even an angel can’t stand in the rain.”
Sadie snorted. “I told you, kid. He’s no angel.”
“I saw him fall from the sky. The air burned.”
“Maybe it did.” Sadie shrugged, glaring back at the rain. “I wasn’t there.”
“He saved me,” insisted Laia. “From my master. He saved you, too.”
Sadie turned, her eyes hard. “What?”
“The angel saved you from the man who hates you for how well you play.” Laia wondered how they could not see things so obvious. “With hair black like yours but made dead and flat from the poisons he takes.”
Sadie and Haraway both looked at her before Sadie said, “I don’t remember anything about that.”
“About what?” Mason stood at the rain’s edge. Laia could see that his face was gray, his eyes too wide. He held a bag.
Sadie spun, taking a step back. “Jesus, Floyd, don’t sneak up like that.”
Mason whispered, “It’s the only way I can stay hidden from the dead.”
Haraway stood, walking to Mason. She took the bag from him and set it aside before looking into his eyes. “Oh. Oh.”
“What?” Sadie looked torn between wanting to hit Mason and being concerned. Laia understood. The demon was their common enemy.
“He needs treatment,” said Haraway. “For the rain.”
“I can do that,” offered Laia. “If you can get my collar off.”
“Shit.” Sadie ignored Laia. “He’s the only one who knows anything about this place. We’re fucked without him.”
“I know,” said Haraway. “He’s taken us off the grid.”
“I can do it,” said Laia. “Help me take the collar off.”
Mason looked between Sadie and Haraway, his teeth chattering. Laia moved toward the bag Mason brought, trying to understand the fastening. It was a row of tiny teeth, the metal ends interlinked like miniature fingers.
“There’s nowhere off the grid,” said Sadie. “If there was, I’d have bought real estate there.”
“Well, it’s here,” snapped Haraway. “I can’t get a signal. Can you?”
Sadie tapped the back of her neck. “No link. I don’t put that shit in my head.” She pulled out a small rectangle, thinner than the parchment they used to record tithes. “Phone’s got nothing.”
Laia managed to get the bag open. She saw a big metal pair of scissors, the handles long, the cutting ends short and thick. She took it from the bag, setting the blades to her collar. Laia tried to work the handles, but they were too long, and she almost couldn’t hold them. I must. I must do this!
“Well, you’ll just have to trust me,” said Haraway.
“Not likely.” Sadie tossed a glance at Mason. “He doesn’t look good, though.”
Laia wedged one handle against the ground, heaving on the other. The big scissors cut the collar with a solid snick, teeth snapping shut next to her skin. The broken collar fell with a clatter, giving her a farewell kiss as it nicked her jaw. Blood welled but Laia ignored it as she felt the hand at her throat relax, the world’s colors coming back. She stood, walking toward Mason.
Haraway spared her a glance, then turned back to Sadie. “We need him.”
“We?” said Sadie. “Or you? I’m used to getting along just fine without—”
“What, like how well you were doing with your boyfriend back there?” Haraway snorted. “Please.”
Sadie shrugged, reaching into a pocket in her black jacket. She pulled out a crumpled pack, silver edges peeking through her fingers and lit a … cigarette.
Laia ignored them, taking Mason’s hands in hers. The angel flinched, trying to pull away before squinting at her. “You’re … her. I … remember you.”
“Come inside,” said Laia. “Come out of the rain. It’s burning you.”
“I’m scared,” he said. “They keep coming.”
“Who keeps coming?” Laia drew him inside, the water trickling down the white armor he wore, the fingers she held hard and cold. Gloves. The word held itself in her head.
“All of them,” said Mason. “All the people I’ve killed. I drowned them in my head, and they won’t stay dead.”
The other two women fell silent. Laia pulled Mason close to the fire. He followed, docile like a small child, kneeling before her. She leaned next to him, whispering into his ear. “Close your eyes. There’s no one here.”
Mason looked to the gap in the wall before shutting his eyes, hands still in hers. Laia knew the terrors the demon could bring. The angel has courage. She reached out with her gift, going below the white suit, the flesh beneath, and seeing the blood beating in his veins. Her mind touched the flow of a million tiny living things and saw the demon riding along with them. Laia saw the metal within him, how his arms and legs were no longer his. She ignored the beating heart of fire in his chest, powerful enough to blind her if she stared at it.
She closed her own eyes, breathing out as she pushed. The demon was surprised, struggling, and Mason gave a small cry.
“Shhh. I’ve almost got it.” Laia held a million pieces of the demon in her mind, then slammed down on it. She laughed with the joy of her gift as she pushed the demon out through his skin into the air.
Mason coughed, shuddering, his eyes snapping open. He leaped to his feet, hand coming up in a fist above Laia.
Sadie’s hand was on his wrist. “No. Look.”
Mason followed her gaze. A silhouette of mist faded away, the shape of his crouching form, as a small breeze from outside picked it apart and drove it away.
“What…” He pulled his wrist free, coughing, then hurried to the break in the wall. Mason threw up into the street.
Sadie took another pull on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“How’s that?” said the man with perfect clothes. Zacharies’ collar lay on the table between them, cuts made by a small device more precise than the finest saw. Zacharies felt those cuts added form and structure to the rude work of the collar, like even destruction in this world was beautifully done.
The collar sat beside a plate of bagels. Zacharies did his level best to work his way through them. He rubbed the marks on his throat. He would carry scars. “It is…”
“Better?”
“Amazing,” said Zacharies. He could hear the world again. “Thank you, my friend.”
The man smiled. Zacharies had never seen someone with such perfectly-straight, brilliant-white teeth. “It’s nothing. You must be worried about your sister.”
“Yes,” said Zacharies. “How do we get her back?”
“It’s tricky.” The man looked around at other people bustling from table to table. How he ignored the heavenly scent of the food, Zacharies didn’t know. “My … colleague? The guy from Apsel Federate.”
“The angel?” Zacharies spoke around a mouthful of food. “I should have believed Laia. I was such a fool.”
“Angel?” A hint of the man’s perfect teeth glinted, then he relaxed into a laugh. “I get it.”
“Something is funny?” The words felt clumsy in Zacharies’ mouth. The man explained the metal seed they’d planted in his skull was letting him speak with their words. They still felt alien, like he wasn’t meant to know the tongue of the angels.
“A little. There’s nothing heavenly about him.”
“But I saw—”
“Armor. You saw urban assault armor. Or riot gear, maybe. I don’t know, it’s Federate tech, and there’s a fine line there anyway. A bit out of spec, but it got the job done.”
Armor. Where Zacharies came from armor didn’t grant people the power of gods. “I know what I saw.”
“Yeah, okay. An angel, then.”
Zacharies spread his hands. “My sister’s younger than me. Idealistic.” He tried the word on for size, finding it a good fit. “Laia’s a … believer. And what she believes always comes true.”
“Really?” The man straightened his shirt. The movement looked so casual, but if Zacharies had a shirt that fine he’d be very careful about touching it. The stitching was too fine to be seen. “Always?”
“Yes.” Zacharies watched the people moving around in chaotic symphony. “Not always clearly, but she sees.”
“What do you mean?” asked the man.
Zacharies considered him, wondering if the word friend would fit. It also felt right. “Look here.” Zacharies lifted a bagel from the plate. He’d eaten six of them, his mouth bursting with the wonderful saltiness. Zacharies bit into his seventh. “This food is exquisite.”
“It’s just a bagel. Not a very good one. The cafe on this level’s barely average. Apparently, engineers don’t care.”
A man in a white coat approached their table, reaching for their spare chair. “This seat taken?”
“Fuck off.” Zacharies’ friend adjusted his tie. The man in the white coat paled, walking away.
“It’s things like that. They make me confused.” This place is full of such contradictions. Could we not have spared the chair and shared these wondrous bagels?
“He was an asshole,” offered the man. “Works in Weapons Applications.”
Weapons. Applications. “How do you not know how to apply a weapon?”
“Exactly.” The man made a fist, pointing with his index finger, bringing his thumb down. “You just point and shoot.”
“That’s his job?” Zacharies wiped his fingers on his new shirt. The cloth was so fine it felt like a sin. He stared at the empty plate. His belly was more than full. Zacharies was in the city of angels. I didn’t believe. I should have believed.
The angels surrounded themselves with ordinary people and made them perfect.
“You want some more?”
“We should ask around.” Zacharies looked around. Surely one of these others needed food. “Others may be hungry.”
The man laughed again. “They might be, at that. But they can get their own damn bagels.”
“They don’t need to eat?”
“They need to eat all right. If you decide to stay with us … no one ever goes hungry at Metatech.”
Zacharies looked down at the collar, fingering the sheared metal. “My sister?”
“She’ll be welcome. We’re a family-first company.”
“What will it cost?” Here, the word carried a same-but-different feel. Cost meant the whip, the iron, the fist. Zacharies felt it true here too, in less obvious ways. But if he could get Laia here, he would pay. For her.
“Ah. That’s the thing.” The man picked up a piece of Zacharies’ collar. “You said this was holding you back.”
“Yes. Removing it was like taking a hand from around my throat.”
“Gotcha.” The man leaned forward. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It’s like…” Zacharies turned toward a window. It took up an entire wall, a portal out to the demon-filled rain lashing the glass. The pane was crystal clear, showing him all of the demon’s fury. “It’s like always being under a cloud. Then walking out into a clear day.”
“Sure.” A slouch, a sigh. “Still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay.” Zacharies drummed his fingers on the table. “Who is the Master here?”
“Master?”
“Yes.” Zacharies nodded. “Who holds your leash?”
“That’s a funny question,” said the man. “Or a funny way of asking it.”
“You have a master, surely.”
“I’ve got a boss, Zacharies. I’m no one’s servant.”
“You keep servants? Not slaves?” Zacharies looked at the plate again. “I think I would like another bagel.”
“Not something else? You’ve eaten a lot of bagels, man.”
“I can have other things?” Zacharies hadn’t dared ask.
“Sure.” The man glanced away, eyes growing distant for a second. “There. I’ve got something on the way.”
“How?” Zacharies hadn’t seen him make a gesture and had seen no servant.
The man tapped the side of his head. “The link, kid. You’ll work it out.”
Zacharies frowned, lifting his broken collar. The crude metal was dirty and black. “Who tells you when you may use your gift?”
“Gift? I’m not sure I’d call shooting fools in the head a gift, but whatever.”
“No.” Zacharies shook his head. “Your inner gift.”
The man frowned before glancing at the empty plate. “You’re not allergic to wheat? Not having a chemical imbalance?”
“I don’t think so,” said Zacharies. “I don’t think I’ve eaten this much before.”
“Me neither,” said the man. “Seven bagels is some impressive shit. Zach?”
“Yes?”
“We don’t have magic inner powers and weird monkey friends in the sky. I get missions. I fix problems.” He sighed. “You said you could show me your gift.”
“Yes. Once you removed the collar.”
“Right.” The man stared at the collar. “It’s removed.”
“I need permission. From a Master.” Using the gift without permission brought agony. Zacharies glanced down, shying away from the remembered whip.
“Was this Master the asshole who came through with you?”
“Yes.”
A grin. “He’s not going to be anyone’s master for long. Reed have a reputation.”
The night closed about him, the pain in his mind extreme, as Laia whimpered in the darkness near the Master. If he could just get free…
Zacharies shook off the memory. “A reputation? Will they hurt him?”
“Absolutely. Probably a great deal.”
“Good.” Zacharies spat the word out.
A woman wearing green arrived at their table carrying two plates. “Who wants the steak?”
The man nodded at Zacharies. “He does.”
“Okay.” She put a plate in front of the man. “Yours must be the omelet.”
“No. They’re both for him.”
“I see.” She winked at Zacharies. “Growing boy.” A twirl of green, and she was off.
Zacharies’ eyes were drawn to his plate. The smell of the meat made his mouth water and his stomach yearn, despite being over-full. This is Heaven, without question.
He made to grab the food, but the man’s hand on his wrist stopped him. “Not like that. Fuck’s sake, Zach. Were you raised in a barn?”
“I … Yes.”
A blank stare, then a nod. “Okay, fair enough. The knife and fork.”
Fork. “I don’t know that word.”
“Knife?”
“Fork.”
“It’s that thing beside you that’s not the knife.” The man picked up the knife and fork, showing Zacharies how to hold them. Zacharies took the implements from him, his grip clumsy. He managed to more mash than cut a piece of steak before getting it into his mouth.
“This is very good.” Zacharies wanted to talk, but he wanted to eat as well, so he spoke with his mouth full.
“It’s okay. Like I said, this place is just a bit shit.”
Zacharies chewed. How do I decide what to do without a master? “If there is no Master…” He trailed off.
“Kid? Here, we do what we want.”
Zacharies frowned. “Anything?”
“Not anything. The police need paying if we go too far.”
“Police?”
“Assholes,” said the man.
Zacharies considered that. “There are a lot of assholes here.”
“More than you know. Let’s see it.”
“See it?”
The man reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small rectangular box. He pulled a stick from it, putting one end in his mouth, then lit it with another box that made flame. The man inhaled, then blew smoke toward the ceiling.
Zacharies watched, forgetting to chew. The man noticed him staring. He offered the rectangular box to Zach
aries. “Smoke?”
Zacharies ignored him, pointing at the smaller box. “That makes fire?”
“Yeah. You’ve not seen a lighter before?”
“Laia usually does that,” said Zacharies.
“Your sister has a lighter?”
“No, she is…” It was hard to find the right words. This language of angels was so strange. Zacharies moved some steak around his plate. “Her gift is smaller and bigger than mine.”
“What?”
Zacharies sighed, putting down the knife. It really was very good steak. He reached out a little way. His gift walked the air between them, standing invisible on the table. He felt the plates, the vile evil of the collar, and the table.
His mind touched the small rectangle held in the man’s hand, and he tugged. The man’s eyes widened as the lighter slipped from his fingers, spinning silver in the air as it slipped across the table to Zacharies’ hand.
The man goggled. “What the fuck.”
Zacharies voice was small. “I’m sorry. My gift is tiny.”
“Tiny.” The man drew on his cigarette, hands shaky. “You call this a gift?”
“Yes.”
“How many people on your world can do this?”
“A few. The Masters watch babies, selecting some.”
“Some?”
“Yes.” Zacharies looked down. He didn’t feel like eating steak anymore.
The man watched him in silence for a moment. “Fair enough, kid. Assholes.”
“Yes,” agreed Zacharies. “I think my world is full of assholes too.”
The man laughed. “No shit? Assholes on two worlds. Who’d have thought.”
Zacharies smiled again, timid as the dawn. “Who’d have thought.” He held the lighter out.
“Keep it.” Zacharies’ friend pushed his chair back, crossing his legs. “Your sister has a bigger gift?”
“Bigger and smaller.” Zacharies waggled his hand in the air, so-so. “She is stronger but works on smaller things.”
“Smaller?”
“It’s hard to describe.” Zacharies held up the lighter. “She can make fire.”
“Hmm. We’ll look into that when we find out where she is. How much can you do?”
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