“These semantics bore me.” Gentleman considered his fingernails once again. “I’ve brought you here to forge a truce. Now will you agree to stay out of my way or not?”
Don’t provoke him, Andrey reminded himself, relaxing the fingers of his left hand. He scanned the room from the corner of an eye, looking for any hints of the thugs’ whereabouts. But he didn’t see anything.
“You claim to be honest with me, but you don’t show me any proof that my family is here, let alone unharmed.”
“Ah, so you’ve seen through my illusions, have you?” Gentleman made a clicking sound with his tongue as he glanced at the lifelike projections of Denis and Alena in the kitchen. “Perchance you are smarter than I assumed.”
“Tell me where they are.”
“If I don’t, will you attempt to kill me?” Gentleman’s eyes flicked back to Andrey’s face. For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, he sounded interested. As if they only now approached the climax of his personal play.
“I’m tempted. I know you’re concealing your true location, though.”
Gentleman tapped a finger on his silver half-mask. “Ah, so you have me all figured out. Rest assured, the sweet little boy would never survive my death.” The villain sniffled, dabbing the corner of his mask’s eyehole with a frilly white sleeve. “Isn’t that right, my loyal minions?”
Andrey heard two distinct male voices reply from a back room.
So there are at least three henchmen here, he deduced. The one who opened the door, and two back there.
The villain’s lips parted in a smile. “Besides, did you know my power classification matches the Sleepwalker’s?”
“I know what information you relayed to Athena. Which isn’t much, and not necessarily true.”
Gentleman slyly watched him. “I assume you’ve come to realize what causes surges by now, correct?”
He’s threatening me.
“You’re trying to make me believe that killing you would cause a surge,” Andrey said.
Gentleman clicked his tongue again. “A faster, more powerful Sleepwalker with Shanti’s range. Can you imagine the terror?”
Andrey clenched his fingers into tight, hard fists to keep the angry energy inside him from spilling out. “Tell me you won’t hurt them.”
“Fine, as soon as you agree to my little truce.” Gentleman offered a little flourish. “Your loved ones will live happily ever after, I promise. You only need to agree not to interfere with my projects.”
Andrey felt himself losing the battle. Until Gentleman revealed the real Alena and Denis to him, his hands were tied. And the villain knew it. “What kind of projects?” he grumbled.
“With all due respect, I see no reason to share the details with you. But in the spirit of our friendship, I promise to contact you ahead of time if your absence is required. So? Do we have a deal?”
“Maybe,” Andrey bluffed. He wasn’t out of options yet. With Calavera’s help, he could still move his brother’s family somewhere safe where Gentleman could never find them. Somewhere deep in Mexico, beyond the Conglomerate’s reach.
“I know what you are thinking, Andrey,” Gentleman said with a playful finger wiggle. “Your face is like an open book, pages flipping before my eyes. Your idea will not work. The little queen’s replacement has already transitioned. And, as it happens, the young man who inherited her powers is now one of mine.”
To Andrey, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. They murdered her so they could gain her powers for themselves.
Where would it end? Was it ever going to end at all, or was the world doomed to repeat a never-ending cycle of murders and new transitions?
“I also suggest you stop showing such an interest in the dancing Swiss girl.” Gentleman filled the silence with a merry lilt. “Since you created her, I understand your interest in her endeavors. But I doubt she wants your help or your sympathy. She truly is the Antithesis, and she’s about to prove it to the world.”
7.2 Beacon
Moscow, Russia
Tuesday, the 12th of June, 2012
11:29 a.m.
She truly is the Antithesis.
The villain’s words hung heavy in the air, snapping Andrey out of the daze the news of Sarah’s poached powers had left him in. His jaw worked silently before he spat out an answer. “You’re a murderer and a liar.”
“Ah. I have found a button and pushed it,” Gentleman dryly observed. “A button named Dancer. My sincere apologies.”
Andrey swallowed the words on his tongue. “You know where she is,” he accused, forcing himself back into his practiced calm.
“Perhaps I do. Unlike you Luvkovs, the Swiss girl is both safe and in good company.”
Andrey glanced over at the illusions of Alena and Denis by the fridge. Part of him still wanted to believe they were real, waiting for him to remove the villain from their home and bring their world back into order. Real or not, their anxious faces pushed his family to the front of his mind.
“Let’s make a deal and end this,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Fine. Let’s do. All you have to do is agree to stay out of my way when I request your willful inattention.”
“How exactly do you plan to contact me with these requests?” Andrey asked. “I’m a busy man, you said so yourself.”
“Indeed you are, my ill-tempered friend. But behold! I have a solution for your troubles.” Gentleman dug his hand into one of pants pockets to produce a cell phone made of white plastic with a gold rim around the edge. “I assumed you would approve of the colors.” He motioned to Andrey’s hero costume with a sardonic smile.
For the sake of playing along, Andrey reached for it. “Bugged and equipped with a tracer, no doubt.”
Gentleman’s smile withered. “That’s both crude and cliché. Besides, I have no need for tracers. Do you remember what I said about the little queen’s replacement?”
I remember every word. Andrey wordlessly plucked the cell phone from the villain’s slender, well-manicured hand.
“I realize it would be unreasonable for me to demand you carry it with you at all times, which is why it’s equipped with a voice message service,” Gentleman said with false conviviality. “Make sure to call back within an hour. Failing to do so would result in, ah, tragic consequences.”
Andrey slipped the phone into his costume pocket. “Fine. Is that all? Because I would appreciate it if you took your goons and left my brother’s home.”
Gentleman checked his wristwatch. “Ah! Look at the time. I do have to go, as it happens, but you and your loved ones will have to enjoy the company of my men for a little while longer.” The villain gently patted the reclaimed leather sofa where he sat. “I suggest you indulge in this wonderful piece of craftsmanship as you reflect on our conversation.”
He’s playing for time, Andrey realized. He wants to keep me here for a specific reason.
He wanted to confront the villain about it, but reconsidered. As a professional actor, Gentleman was more likely to mislead him than reveal anything of use. And right now, Andrey wanted him gone. Preferably to the far side of the moon.
Too bad I’m not Superman.
The moon was far beyond his reach, and his power didn’t allow him to take anyone along with him. As much as he hated to admit it, his best option was to do as he was told.
“I suggest you watch the news in an hour or so.” Gentleman rose soundlessly from his seat. A faint rustle came from behind the couch, almost, but not quite the position where Gentleman’s illusion had been sitting.
There you are.
Andrey squinted at the spot. He might have been able to pinpoint the correct location, even gotten a laser off before the villain’s minions had the chance to fire their guns, but he couldn’t jeopardize Alena and Denis as he and Gentleman both knew.
The villain’s illusion grinned at him, casually smoothing the frills of his shirt with one hand. “Now, I’m sorry to cut our mee
ting short, but I must go. So until we meet again, I’ll say farewell.”
Next time we meet it’ll be on my terms.
“Oh, and please remain seated until my men give the signal,” Gentleman added. “Unless you want something unpleasant to happen to the boy, that is.”
The villain’s illusion winked out of existence, leaving only the empty couch behind. The henchman in Spetsnaz armor appeared at the same time, no longer concealed by his master’s power. The thug leaned against the glass-front cabinet containing Alena’s beloved crystal figurines, and prepared to light a cigarette.
“What, your other buddies are too shy to come out and play?” Andrey asked, hoping to draw the other henchmen out of hiding and away from Denis and Alena.
The massive goon wordlessly stared at him.
“Alena?” Andrey called out. “Where are you?”
Muffled cries came from the other side of the door connecting the living room to Stepan’s small home office. The door was cracked open an inch, not far enough for Andrey to see anything on the other side.
“Shut up.” The henchman in the living room pulled the cigarette from his mouth. “No more talking.”
Andrey swallowed a sharp reply and closed his eyes to listen to the stillness of the apartment. It wasn’t the first time he wished for enhanced senses, and he suspected it wouldn’t be the last. As long as he didn’t know where Gentleman’s other thugs were, any attempt to free Alena and Denis would compromise their safety.
Fucking Gentleman. The villain had him in a corner. He’d have to wait it out.
The tick-tock of the grandfather clock filled the apartment as they waited. What it was they were waiting for, Andrey had no idea. For Gentleman’s ploy to be carried out, he guessed.
After a few minutes, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m going to kill you if you hurt a hair on their heads,” he told the guard in the living room.
The goon spat on the hardwood floor. “Relax. The bitch’s head doesn’t interest me. Her Russian cunt, on the other hand….” he trailed off with an ugly gap-toothed smirk.
An angry rush of energy surged in Andrey’s fingers, filling them with a prickling sensation that set his skin alight. The effort of holding it back took everything out of him. He pressed his fists into the white and gold spandex of his costume.
“What, you wanna zap me? Go ahead and try it, but the boy will pay for your mistake.” The henchman exhaled a puff of smoke in Andrey’s direction. “You can’t even protect your brother’s bird and you know it. That’s pretty sad for a hero, man. You’re nothing but another one of those attention whores in costumes.”
Don’t let him provoke you. A flash of clarity in a haze of boiling rage.
“How much longer do I have to sit here?” he demanded, refusing to lift his gaze and meet the other man’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to hold back much longer.
The thug spat again. “Until I fucking tell you to move.”
Andrey latched onto the first distraction that came to him.
Alena hates smoking. She’ll want to open the windows first thing.
He let images of Denis’s second birthday party unfold before his mind’s eye, a desperate attempt to keep the fury from overtaking him. The party had been in this room when he and Natalya had been married for over three years. She had picked out her bright red dress for the occasion, the one with short puffy sleeves to match the silk flower she tucked into her thick coil of shiny black hair.
Natalya wasn’t the kind of beauty who turned heads when she walked down the street. Andrey had fallen in love with her gentle face and the way it glowed when she was happy. She was overjoyed that day, recently married and full of hopes and dreams for their future. She was his angel.
I’m the phony who borrowed her wings.
Only a handful of people knew Radiant’s trademark wings were based off one of his wife’s designs. He discovered the sketch in the little notebook she kept by the bed to record her dreams before they faded from memory. Natalya wasn’t exactly superstitious, but she strongly believed in the predictive power of dreams.
Andrey stared at the simple gold ring on his finger, brushing it with a thumb. If only your dreams let me know you were going to be taken from me. Maybe I could have stopped it.
The squeaking of door hinges snapped him back to full awareness. The door to his brother’s office swung open, allowing a view of an empty chair and a narrow shelf stacked with tennis trophies. There wasn’t a trace of Alena or Denis in sight.
“Where are they?” he barked, jumping from his chair.
“In there,” an unfamiliar male voice replied from behind him.
Andrey whipped his neck around. Standing by the doorway leading to the vestibule was a second brute who looked as thuggish and menacing as the first.
“But don’t even try to go in there before we’re gone, or our buddy in there will give it to them.” The armored henchman traced a finger across his own neck, gesturing a slit throat.
He’s bluffing, Andrey thought. But he couldn’t take the chance.
“You better hope they’re not hurt,” he growled. “Believe me, I’ve got friends, too. And they can find you whenever I want.”
“From what I hear, you ain’t got no friends anymore but Gentleman,” the first thug said. “And I wouldn’t piss him off if I was you. Now start counting, and don’t fucking move until you get to thirty.”
“Count slow,” his comrade added.
The door to Stepan’s study opened as Andrey counted to ten, and all footsteps faded by the time he got to twenty-five. The apartment’s front door opened and closed. The last five seconds dragged on for what felt like minutes. Once he reached thirty, he pushed to his feet and bolted to the study door.
In the study he discovered Alena and Denis, crouching on the floor beneath the window, their mouths taped and hands bound with duct tape. They huddled against one another as Gentleman’s projection had shown them in the kitchen. Alena’s tear-stained face turned to Andrey as he approached, and Denis looked at him with pleading desperation in his eyes.
“Are you hurt?” Andrey asked, sharper than intended.
Alena’s words were muffled by the duct tape.
He crossed the room in three long steps before gently ripping the duct tape off her face. She winced. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Did they hurt you?”
When he had freed her wrists, she peeled the duct tape from Denis’s lips before answering. “No, they didn’t hurt us, but they talked about … about the things they would do if you didn’t come.” She pressed her eyes shut, her shoulders trembling.
Denis’s big brown eyes were shimmering with tears. “Why did you let them get away, Uncle Andrey?”
Andrey rubbed his forehead, searching for the right words. “Because the most important thing was to make sure nothing bad happened to you two.”
Alena’s choked sob was the only response.
Denis clung to his mother’s arm, burying his face against the spill of disheveled blonde hair falling over her shoulders. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m here,” his thin voice promised.
“Is my brother at work?” Andrey hoped Gentleman and his thugs hadn’t made Stepan’s office their next stop.
“Yes. Can you stay with us until he gets home?” Alena pleaded.
Part of Andrey wanted nothing more than to beam himself to his brother’s work office. He reached for the desktop phone on Stepan’s desk instead because he couldn’t abandon Alena and Denis. Not even for a few seconds.
“Andrey?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“I don’t ever want to be at the mercy of those people again,” she told him. “Or anyone like them. I’d rather be dead. Do you understand?”
He felt the anger seep out of him as he listened to her words. “Yes, I understand.” He dialed a number he memorized long ago, back when threats to his family were only nightmares. A receptionist answered after one ring, and inquired about how to direct his call.
“This is Andrey Luvkov, calling for my brother Stepan,” he said into the receiver. “It’s an emergency.”
***
Andrey made his way back to his Moscow apartment two hours later. Athena still hadn’t responded to his message asking her to let him help her, but at least Iris had reactivated herself. The AI downloaded the countless news broadcasts which had been recorded on Athena’s database while refusing to provide an explanation for the shutdown.
He hadn’t taken the time to listen to more than a handful of newscasts. Something big was on the horizon, but after the hour he spent by trying to calm and reassure his brother, he didn’t want to rely on a possibly compromised AI to explain the news for him. He had to see for himself why Gentleman was so intent on keeping information away from him about what was going on in the world.
Surprisingly, Stepan didn’t blame him for the villain attack, but blamed himself instead. Andrey knew only too well what kind of effect self-chastisement could have on a man. He had experienced plenty of it after his wife’s death and again after Shanti.
Back in his apartment Andrey activated the Athena-designed communications device to dial Calavera’s number. When no one answered, he left a message about accelerating the evacuation process for his family. With that done, he settled into his armchair in front of the TV, but didn’t reach for the remote. He stared at the white-and-gold cell phone Gentleman had forced him to accept, pondering the trouble it might cause him.
You caught me off guard today, but it won’t happen again.
After a few long seconds, he set the phone on the coffee table, hoping that he wouldn’t have to retrieve it anytime soon. Maybe the villain would never call, or maybe Andrey would get the opportunity to deal with Gentleman before he had a chance to make any more demands.
He slumped back in the old armchair, the look on Alena’s face circulating through his mind on an endless loop. I don’t ever want to be at the mercy of those people again, she told him. I’d rather be dead.
Superluminary (Powered Destinies Book 1) Page 68