"What about in the flesh? How many of you are still here? On Earth?"
"The patron," the man said again. He looked up at the black-haired man, a nearly blissful smile on his face. "The patron knows...”
"What the hell is wrong with him?" I said, frowning.
The black-haired man looked at me, as if remembering I was there. He released the man's hair in the same instant, but his face remained in a scowl.
"He's drugged," he said, his voice angry. "It'll probably kill him, whatever it is. It's the practice for willing martyrs. They drug them so the death isn't prolonged... so he'd be mostly, if not completely dead before the fire killed him... or at least in a lot less pain...”
"What is he talking about?" I said. "What does that patron crap mean?"
"I don't know," the man muttered. "But I intend to find out."
I watched him stare down at the bound man, his eyes slightly out of focus. It went on for a number of minutes. Longer, frankly, than my frayed nerves could handle at that point.
"What are you doing?" I said.
"Reading him," the man said.
I stared at him, then down at the man tied to the log. It took another span of seconds before his words made sense to me. But I hadn't heard him wrong.
"You're a seer?" I said incredulously. "A fucking seer?"
The black-haired man turned, giving me a hard look.
"Yes. Now will you shut up? Even your thoughts are loud... and he's dying, doped to the gills and there's some kind of block in his light. I need to concentrate...”
Falling silent, I nodded.
I just stood there as he leaned over the man again. I couldn't stop staring at him. I realized now, why I hadn't heard him talking to that woman... they'd probably been talking from mind to mind, as seers. That explained how he knew that seer sign language, too. I found myself looking at his neck, and the complete lack of a collar around it. As far as I knew, all privately-owned seers had to be collared in public places. New York had been the first city to pass that law, if I remembered right, and the penalties had to be stiff, given that it was supported by the World Court. Which meant this guy either worked for the Feds or SCARB, or he was totally off the grid. If the latter was true, he would be officially classified as a terrorist, no matter what his reasons for being in the States.
I couldn't help but put that together with why he'd cut the collar off that woman. I thought he'd just done it so she could get home to her owner, who would have the legal collar for her, along with ownership papers and whatever else. But maybe he'd just set her free. Maybe she'd go from here to the docks, hop a ship for the mother country.
I couldn't exactly get worked up with outrage over that, though. If she got away, more power to her. I'd never liked the seer codes, but after today, I hated them.
The black-haired man's eyes clicked back into focus. Shaking his head, he frowned, staring down at symbol-guy in frustration.
"I can't get through," he muttered.
"Why not?"
"I told you why." He gestured towards the man, his voice sharp. "He's dying. And someone's been messing with his light. There are a number of blocks on it, and it feels like they were put there by more than one seer...” He gave me another hard look. “...I can't even get at his impressions of what happened tonight. Most of his aleimi is behind a shield. I don't want to mess with it too much or whoever's holding the other end will be able to ID me."
I didn't understand most of that, either, but all I did was nod.
But the man was staring at me again, his eyes holding that sharper wariness.
"I did feel one thing," he said, blunt.
"Oh? And what's that?"
"He's afraid of you," he said.
"Afraid of me?" I let out a kind of strangled laugh. "Why?"
"I was about to ask you that."
I exhaled in frustration. "I have no idea! They thought I was some kind of seer, so who knows what their damage is... ?"
Realizing again that I was saying this to an actual seer, I trailed, looking up at him. It occurred to me in the same instant that I'd kissed him earlier that night.
I'd made out with a seer. Some part of me couldn't quite believe that.
When I saw his eyes narrow on me, I cleared my throat.
"How is it you're walking around... like that?" I said, feeling my cheeks warm. I motioned towards his neck. "Isn't that normally illegal?" I folded my arms where I leaned against the log. “...I know you're not a cop. Even the LAPD can't afford their own seers, so I doubt the NYPD can. Are you SCARB? Or do you work for someone else? Some company?"
His frown deepened in my general direction.
Before I could think of anything more to say, he caught hold of my waist again, pulling my weight off the log and supporting it against him. The motion was rote, done almost perfunctorily, but that time I noticed the contact.
"Come on," he said gruffly. "We're done here."
Even as he said it, he was already steering me towards the arches, in the same general direction that female seer had walked out earlier. I considered arguing. Then, after a quick glance around the clearing, I realized I just wanted to get the hell out of there.
Anyway, seer or no, he'd saved my life. I wasn't exactly in the mood to argue with him.
NINE
I WASN’T REALLY listening when he told the cab driver where to go. I didn't really think about our destination at all until we pulled up to a curb and Jon's cop started to get out, pulling me with him.
I'd been thinking more about what time it was, which was around 2:30 a.m. according to the cabbie's dashboard clock. I'd also been thinking about how the hell I was going to explain this to Jon without him having a full-blown coronary, especially given how I must look. Knowing Jon, he was already calling hospitals and police stations, anyway, if he wasn't out roaming the streets with my photo. I wanted to call him and reassure him I was alive at least, but I couldn't find my phone on my person anywhere, so I had to assume they'd taken it after they knocked me out... which made sense, of course. It would be stupid to leave someone you were trying to murder with a phone, even if they were tied up.
The black-haired guy claimed he didn't even have a headset, which might have been weird if it was anyone else. As it was, I didn't argue.
Anyway, we were heading downtown, which was all I really cared about.
So when the cab stopped and he tugged on my arm to follow him, I didn't resist. Not until we were standing outside of a hotel, that is. A hotel that most definitely wasn't my hotel. In fact, rather than the fleabag place where we were staying, I was now standing outside probably the nicest hotel I'd ever seen in New York. I read the gilded name on the front, and recognized it as a newer place, but already famous due to its high-priced rooms and unbelievable view of the park.
He started to pull me towards the entrance, where two unform-wearing men were already approaching us to open the doors, before I realized what he intended.
"Hey!" I came to a stop, pulling out of his grasp. "What is this? I need to go back. My brother is probably about to burst a blood vessel... if he hasn't already."
I glanced at the four-story lobby I could glimpse through the glass windows.
“...I don't know who you think I am," I added. "But I can't afford a room here, anyway. What is this place? Like eight hundred dollars a night?"
The black-haired man stopped on the curb, right before where it dipped in to form a small driveway for pick up and drop-off for valet parking. Putting his hands on his hips, he stared down at me, as if trying to decide what to do with me. He looked borderline flustered, though. Studying his eyes, I realized he was still worried about something. Or maybe he was just amped up from shooting all those people, I don't know.
I also noticed again that his eyes were the strangest color, in that they had almost no color at all. His irises were nearly clear, although it was easy to miss until you were staring right into them. Other than that, though, he looked human. As human as me.
I was still studying his face when he shifted his body so that his back was to the door of the hotel. It occurred to me that he'd done it to block the view the doormen had of the two of us. I stiffened, not sure I liked that very much.
Stepping closer to me, he lowered his voice.
"I'll take you back to your hotel," he murmured. "I promise I will, Allie. I just need to talk to you first... it's important."
"Here?" I said, looking up the side of the building again.
He frowned. "I thought you'd prefer here... at least to where we just left." Seeing me hesitate, he took another half-step back. "I have no ill intentions. I want to talk... then I'll bring you back to your people... I promise." As if reading my mind, he added, “...You're already late. Another hour won't make much difference. I can help you come up with a story if you want. If you don't want to tell them what happened, that is."
"You just want to talk?" I said warily.
"Talk," he confirmed. He made an odd gesture with one hand, that made me think of 'scout's honor' when I was a kid. "I won't hurt you, Allie."
I frowned a little when he said my name. But I guess it didn't surprise me really, not after everything else. At any rate, I had a few questions for him, too.
"All right," I said.
Waving a hand towards the doors, I began to walk under my own power, although I moved stiffer than I could remember having done before, even when I sprained my ankle skateboarding. My arms hurt especially, and still felt a few inches longer than they should be.
“...Lead on," I muttered, following him through the glass doors.
HE WAS STAYING on the sixtieth floor, which probably shouldn't have surprised me, either. It was definitely the highest I'd ever been up in a hotel building... or really any building, at least that I could think of offhand. I wasn't even sure they had hotels in San Francisco with that many floors, but this one seemed full, even as high as we were. We rode to the top with another couple, and there were people in the corridor when we left the elevator.
He took me into a room that was bigger than my shared flat in San Francisco, and that had a view that took my breath away, even though I'm not one of those people who normally gets all weak-kneed about things that only the über-rich can afford.
The room even had a fireplace. Someone must have known we were coming up, because it was already lit. I wondered if the upper floors had their own concierge, or if they just lit all of them at the same time every night.
After looking around at a real-wood desk, along with a full living room set of sofa, end tables and chairs, as well as the discreet kitchen with a marble counter covered in a massive fruit basket and what looked like several bottles of red wine, I ended up in front of the long window to the balcony. I tried to relax, to just flow with all of this as I looked down at the city lights, focusing longest on the dark swath of park through the middle. As I stood there, I realized I was exhausted, nearly swaying on my feet. I knew it was late, but figured it must be the come-down from adrenaline and the drugs and whatever else, too.
Either way, I could tell my brain wasn't working all that well.
I mostly just wanted to curl up on that sofa and sleep. Weirdly, I kind of wanted to do it with this guy, not with Jaden... but maybe that wasn't all that weird, really. He'd just saved my life. Maybe I was having a delayed reaction to that, too.
I was still standing there when he walked up to my side, handing me a glass. I don't know what I expected, but found myself grateful it was water when I brought it to my lips.
Downing the whole thing in one go, I handed it back to him, silently asking for another. I watched him walk back to the kitchen to refill the glass, extracting a full-sized bottle of mineral water out of a minibar the size of a regular kitchen refrigerator.
He poured another glass for himself while I watched.
After walking back and handing the first glass to me, he downed his own, then scrubbed his fingers through his hair. I found myself still watching him for some reason, almost unable to tear my eyes away. If he really was a seer, he was the first one I'd ever spent any time with... or talked to at all really, other than running into that woman on the street.
Looking at him now, I found myself believing he was a seer, too.
After making a meandering circuit of the room, he sat on the couch, facing the glassed-in fireplace. He paused only to take off his jacket and fold it over the back of a chair before he lowered his weight with a sigh. He looked and sounded as tired as I felt.
I found myself focusing on the gun harness he still wore around his shoulders, visible now that his jacket was gone.
"I need to talk to you," he repeated simply.
He didn't pat the couch next to him, but the implication was clear. He wanted me to join him.
I didn't hesitate very long.
Walking around the back of the couch, I sat on the other end... thankfully, I admit, because my back was still killing me, and that couch was more comfortable than anything I'd had in any one of my apartments. Wincing as I shifted to get even more comfortable, I folded one leg so I could face him easier, and leaned back into the cushion with a sigh of my own, still clutching my water glass.
Then I waited.
I watched him look down at the gun harness, as if remembering it was there. After a slight hesitation, he undid the velcro straps and took it off almost like a vest, hanging it on the back of the same chair along with his jacket.
For a moment we only sat there, staring at the fire.
I thought his silence was some kind of power play at first, but when he frowned, his eyes focused inward still, I wondered if maybe he was reading my mind.
"A little," he said, turning.
"A little?" I said. "As in, you're reading my mind a little?"
"Yes."
I tried to smile, but it was more nerves than anything, and I wasn't sure how to really respond to what he'd said. He didn't smile back. His eyes remained serious, studying the flames behind the fake log and the metal grate.
"Look," I said. "Don't think I'm not grateful about tonight, because I am. I'm really grateful, so I'm sorry I didn't say that before." I paused, waiting for him to look over.
He didn't. Taking another breath, I plunged on.
“...But I've never really talked to a seer before," I said. "And, no offense, but you really don't seem all that great with people. So I'll just come out and say it. If you really do want to talk to me, I need words. Just ask me, whatever it is. I'm going to tell you whatever you want to know. I don't have any reason not to... and I owe you, like I said."
I paused, then remembered something else.
“...A name would help, too."
His frown deepened. I thought he was going to lapse back into silence again, but after giving me a faintly puzzled look, he shrugged, making another of those vague gestures with his hand. He was wearing a ring, I noticed, on his smallest finger. It glinted silver, but didn't seem to have any markings.
"Simon," he said finally, exhaling.
"Simon?" I let out a short laugh, unable to help it. "That's the name you're giving me?"
He gave me a sharp look. "Yes."
I folded my arms, my voice openly skeptical. "You don't look like a Simon."
He gave another of those shrugs, swiveling his gaze towards me.
"Deal with it," he said. He smiled wanly, but it didn't touch his eyes.
"Okay." I leaned deeper into the couch cushions, folding my arms. "So, I guess I should also tell you that I'm really exhausted... Simon. What do you want to talk about that can't wait for a shower, some aspirin, a few hours of sleep and about a gallon of coffee? Or do you figure I'm going to skip town before you can corner me again?"
His smile faded. I saw the tenseness there again, just before he gestured again vaguely with the same hand.
"All right," he said. "I have a problem."
"Really," I said. "Worse than being tied to a log and nearly burned to death?"
"Different,
" he said, giving me another sideways look.
When he didn't say anything more, I sighed again, pointedly that time. "Care to elaborate on how this problem relates to me? I'm seriously about to drop."
The man calling himself Simon folded his arms, facing me. His eyes were serious now. I noticed his accent was a bit stronger again, too.
"This was a big mistake for me," he said. "The whole thing." As if seeing the puzzlement in my eyes, he added, by way of clarification, “...An accident, Allie. One I'd prefer my handlers didn't know about. At least not in full."
"My not burning to death was your 'mistake'?" I repeated slowly. "Which part?"
"All of it."
"And this was somehow your fault? Not the fault of the whackos who did it?"
He smiled faintly. "I'm fairly sure they intended to tie you to that log."
When I frowned, opening my mouth to speak, he waved away my words, his smile fading once more.
“...I meant that it was a mistake I didn't realize how dangerous they were," he said. "It was a mistake that I failed to recognize their intent sooner... or the extent of their resources. It was an even bigger mistake that I didn't see you leave the club, and that I let them get their hands on you." He gave me an apologetic look. “...And it was a mistake that I let you ID me, Allie."
Seemingly oblivious to my stare, he blew out his cheeks a little, making that soft clicking noise again as his eyes returned to the fire.
“...I did tell them about the last part," he added.
"Who?" I said. "You told who about what last part?"
"I told them you'd seen me," he said, combing his fingers through his hair with a sigh, as if I hadn't spoken. “...I requested permission to make the ID permanent, to begin your training. But, Allie...” He looked back at me, his eyes serious. “...My request was denied."
"Denied," I repeated.
"Yes."
I stared at him. For a moment, I couldn't think of anything to say. It didn't help that a few hours earlier, I'd been drunk, then forcibly drugged... then jacked up on adrenaline as I waited for my imminent death by fire. I guess it was all starting to catch up with me. So I folded my arms, tried replaying all of his words again, only this time inside my head.
Allie's War Early Years Page 9