“Don’t change the subject!” Jani struggled to keep her voice level. “Who ordered Palia’s death? I realize that neither the Service nor the government are above arranging the occasional convenient demise, but was Palia powerful enough to merit their attention? Or did you hire yourself out to L’araignée, help them rid themselves of an officer who had gotten out of line? Or was it a more private killing? An angry husband? A gambling debt?”
“You would have hated him if you’d met him.” Lucien smiled with a distinct lack of humor. “His behavior definitely ran counter to your personal code of ethics.”
“Which ethics are those, the ones you helped research for my white paper?” Jani watched Lucien’s face, alert for any flicker or shadow, any sign that she’d struck what passed for his nerve. “You were the busy boy, weren’t you? Between contract killings for whoever paid your freight and digging the dirt on me, it’s a wonder you had time to file your official Intelligence Updates.”
Lucien slowly raised his hand. “I’d like to bring up two points, if I could?” He extended his thumb. “One—you’re not dead. I’m fifteen for fifteen, and you’re not dead.”
Jani shook her head. “First time for—”
“Two.” Lucien extended his index finger, then pointed the mock weapon at her. “After you read that white paper, and I assume you did or Niall isn’t half the ferret I think he is, did you stop to ponder the two interesting items that seemed to have been left out? The copying of the deed. The murder of that Family agent.” He cocked his thumb back and forth, as though he activated a charge-through. “Of course, you had your reasons at the time. But they’re the sorts of reasons that make sense to someone like me or Niall, not to people like Steve, or Angevin, or your good friends at Registry.”
Jani felt her anger freeze into something more controllable, less human. “Are you threatening me?”
“No, I’d never threaten you. I know you too well.” Lucien sighed. “A lot better, apparently, than you know me. I covered for you. I kept the really damning crap from getting into that white paper. No matter how much you try to deny it, you need me. I have always done you more good than harm. In every way.” He took a step toward her, but stopped when she backed away. “You’re unarmed. You’re stupid to go out there.”
“What good would you be? The ComPol turned your shooter over to your CO.”
“You think that’s the only one I’ve got! After all this, you think that’s the only—” Lucien laughed, harder than Jani had ever seen him. He walked to the wall so he could brace against it as his shoulders shook, clasping his arms across his stomach and groaning as his wound complained. The pain calmed him—he wiped a hand over his face and looked at her, the animal ache dulling his eyes. “Do you really think that’s the only one I’ve got?”
“No.” Jani turned back to the mirror and focused on the periphery of her face. The part of her that she couldn’t control worried after Lucien’s pain and tried to think of a way to salve it, wondered why the implanted analgesic pump didn’t do a better job. Yet again, she damned her weakness. “I don’t need your help. Go to sleep. Go away. Go to hell.” She pushed the comb through her hair and fought to keep from looking at herself too closely. So intent was she on avoiding her own gaze that she didn’t sense Lucien’s approach until she saw him in the mirror behind her.
He reached around her and picked up the two halves of the marker, one in each hand. “See these?” He held up one half to within a handspan of her nose. “This is you.” Then he held up the other. “And this is me.” He pressed the two halves together, broken edge to broken edge, until the plastic round looked whole again. “And this is us. Or it could be, only you won’t admit it.”
Jani bumped his stomach with the point of her elbow. The marker halves flew apart as he gasped and backpedaled; she barely kept from cringing, knowing his surprise and his pain. “Take that thing and get out.”
“Why?” Lucien straightened slowly, his breathing irregular, the sweat beading on his forehead. “What are you afraid of? Is it that you need me? Or is it that you love me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jani resumed raking the comb through her hair. “I know what love is—you could never make that cut.”
“Oh, I forgot. You love John.” Lucien closed in again, this time grabbing her wrists so she couldn’t elbow him. “Your creator.” He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed his chin against the side of her neck. “Or maybe fellow freak is a better term these days.”
Jani grew still. No, it was more than that. It was as though her blood ceased flowing and her heart stopped, as though her very cells suspended their function. She watched Lucien in the mirror as he nuzzled her neck, a neck that had lengthened over the past months. My mother called me mutant…
“I mean, compared to you, even he looks normal.” Lucien rested his chin atop Jani’s achy shoulder and regarded their reflection. “At least that’s what I overheard at Neoclona. They talk about you constantly—you’re their favorite pastime. It’s the eyes that clinch it, according to the general opinion. Not that I have any basis for comparison. You’ve tied yourself in knots hiding them from me.” He pressed close to her ear. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” He laughed as she struggled to break his grip. “Boy, they must be some sight. Creature from the GateWay. It Came from the Lost Colony. What did your parents say when they first saw you? ’Who are you and what did you do to our daughter?’ Or did they just scream and run like hell?”
Jani stilled again, and watched Lucien’s eyes in the mirror. His human eyes, which some would call beautiful, that obscured a hollow of a heart and a dried husk of a soul. We are two halves of the same whole, aren’t we? Both monsters, only you hide it so well. She shook his hands from her wrists. Still captured by his arms, she turned to look him in the face. His smile brightened as their eyes met, like a bully who knew he’d hit his target.
Jani raised her hands to her eyes, slipped her thumbnails beneath the edges of the films, flicked out and down. The hydropolymer membranes came away with audible pops—they hung intact from her fingers, the green irises glittering, the white sclera milky and human and clean. She flipped them atop the dresser to desiccate.
Lucien’s eyes widened. His smile faded. His mouth opened, but the words wouldn’t emerge, even though his jaw worked, even though he tried to speak. His arms fell away. He stepped back, mouth agape.
“What’s the matter, bully boy? Cat got your tongue?” Jani laughed in spite of her shame. Lucien stunned speechless was a sight to behold. An event to treasure, no matter the circumstances. No matter…If she told herself that long enough, maybe she’d believe it.
Then Lucien reached out. A tentative move, as though he feared rebuff. He brushed his fingers down her cheek, along the curve of her jaw. Then he gripped her by the shoulders and spun her so that she faced the mirror. “Look.” When Jani tried to twist away, he flung one arm around her shoulders to hold her fast, then seized her jaw so she couldn’t move her head. “I said look, damn it!”
Jani tried to look at the ceiling, the wall, the carved wood frame of the mirror. But Lucien held her so firmly that all she could move were her eyes—her head ached from the strain of trying not to look straight ahead. She surrendered, finally, and did as he demanded, bracing herself for his sly insults as she stared into the overlarge irises, the glass-green sclera.
“See.” Lucien relaxed his grip on her jaw, until it became a caress. “They’re beautiful. Like veined jade.” He released her jaw and ran his hand over her breasts, down her stomach. “Gorgeous.” He gripped her hip and pulled her closer, pressing himself against her.
Jani felt her nerves flare and her stomach tighten as Lucien’s erection ground against her. She looked again at his reflection, and saw the same parted lips and focused dreaminess that he had displayed during Dathim Naré’s visit. “Now who’s the freak?” She heard the deepening catch in her voice, and hated herself just a little more.
“You’re what we’re all goi
ng to be someday, according to Nema. I’m just getting a head start.” Lucien gripped her waist and turned her slowly, pressing against her as he did so their bodies never broke contact. It seemed to take forever. A single second. By the time she faced him, Jani’s breathing had gone as raspy as his.
“This is ridiculous.” She tried to squirm away, but her legs wouldn’t listen. “You’re in no condition.”
“Never felt better.” Lucien smiled lazily and reached for the top fastener of Jani’s coverall.
“No!” She thrust her arms up and out, breaking his hold and driving him back. “You want to fuck the bizarre so damned bad, go cruise South Wabash and leave me the hell alone!”
Lucien blinked in unfocused confusion before shaking his head. “You’re not bizarre. You’re a beautiful woman.”
“Damn you for a liar!” Jani’s voice caught again. Anormal…mutant. Her throat ached and her warped eyes stung and passion had nothing whatsoever to do with it. “I’m not—a woman anymore.”
Lucien hesitated. “I know.” He held out his hand. “Please?” When she didn’t answer, he stepped closer and reached once more for the neck of her coverall. He opened one fastener, the next, slid the coverall off her shoulders, then knelt in front of her.
Jani leaned against the dresser and closed her eyes.
“No!” Lucien grabbed the front of her pullover and yanked, forcing her to look down. “Watch every move I make.” He undid the rest of the fasteners, then pulled the coverall down. Off one leg, then the other. Tossed it aside. “Look at me.” He peeled Jani’s pullover over her head and flung it atop the coverall. Then he slid her bandbra and underwear down her body, leaving a line of kisses in their wake.
Jani braced her hands on the edge of the dresser as her knees sagged and her body ached and warmed. A human ache. Blessedly human warmth.
“The idomeni don’t get as wrapped up in this as we do, do they?” Lucien’s eyes shone.
“No.” Jani reached down and pushed her hand through his hair. “They think we overcomplicate it.”
“I guess they don’t know everything.” Lucien massaged her inner thighs, then looked up to make sure she still watched. “It’s like gold. Warm gold.” He kissed the softest, warmest place, then stood up and undressed. He pulled his shirt over his head, pausing when he saw Jani stare at his burn. “It doesn’t hurt as long as I’m careful.”
“It looks like hell.” She stepped close and placed both her hands over the shiny pink expanse of flesh, then ran a finger over the whispery-thin grid lines of the grafting support. “And I know it hurts—you wince every time you move too fast. You can’t—”
“Yes, I can.” He pushed down his trousers, kicked off his trainers and socks and stood before her, naked and beautiful, but changed. Uncertain, faltering, as if he expected her to turn him down, even now.
Jani pressed close and kissed him, savoring his human taste, his human hands caressing her breasts and moving down her body. The sweet human agony that radiated from between her legs and the human moan that rose in her throat. She held him as he maneuvered her backward and braced her against the dresser. “This isn’t going to work,” she whispered into his hair. She felt his hands slip inside her and then she felt him inside her, slowly at first and then faster and faster, matched his every rhythm, and realized it worked just fine. She wrapped her legs around him to steady herself. Moved her hands over his back and chest, avoiding the burn. Heard him call to her and answered back. Watched his every response as he watched hers. Accepted him to her strange home and felt him embrace—embrace—what she didn’t want and beg for—what she hated—and ask—and ask—
“Look at me.”
—and ask—
“Look at me.”
—until his human eyes finally closed and his back arched and his body stiffened and he cried out as he had on the floor of the garage after she fell and the shot took him instead.
Lucien sagged against her, his breathing slowing, his hands easing their bruising grip, his head cradled against her neck. Jani held him because she had no choice, because her body had frozen and she didn’t know what else to do. “Let me go.”
“No, not yet—”
“Let me go.”
“No, not yet. Why—?”
But she had pushed him away and gathered up her clothes and fled to the bathroom before he made her answer the question.
Jani showered quickly. Dressed slowly. Refilmed her eyes carefully. If she could have drilled a hole in the wall so she could leave without having to walk through her bedroom, she would have. But she couldn’t, so she gathered her frayed wits and faced what needed to be faced.
She found Lucien dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, socks in hand. He seemed to know her thoughts—he barely looked up when she walked in the room.
Jani leaned against the armoire; the carved scrollwork of the doors dug into her back. “As soon as people heard about the shooting, they assumed you had something to do with it.”
“Yes, they did, didn’t they?” He shrugged. “Lucky you fell when you did.” He draped one sock across his knee, then worked his fingers through the other. “Lucky I was there.”
“What are you telling me, that you shoved me out of the way?” Jani pushed off the armoire and paced. “You expect me to believe that you took my shot on purpose? You?”
Lucien didn’t answer. He didn’t look at her, but kept his human eyes fixed on his bundled sock.
Jani waited for him to argue, to try to charm her with a smile, to lie. When he didn’t, she knew that he realized that it would do no good. That told her all she needed to know. “I want you to leave,” she heard herself say, her voice hollow and distant. “Now. I’ll have your gear sent to Sheridan tomorrow.”
“This—” Lucien stopped. The cast of his face had turned tentative, as it had been such a short time before. As though he walked unfamiliar ground, and hated the sensation. “This arrangement of ours, as Nema calls it—it’s not what I had in mind, either. I mean, it’s just been one damned thing after another with you ever since we met!” He raised his thumb to his mouth and nipped at the nail. “What aggravates me the most is that you never stop to think about where you could go in this city if you could keep your mouth shut for five minutes at a stretch! You’ll beat your head against the wall when there’s a perfectly good door just around the corner.” He yanked the sock straight, then bundled it again.
“I do not—love you. I have never—loved anybody. I can’t, and I wouldn’t want to if I could.” Lucien’s fingers slowed, stopped. “But according to all the testing I’ve had over the years, I am capable of remembering…what it may have been like once. If I try. Like when you catch a whiff of something, a flower, or something baking, and the memories come back.” His uncertain expression combined with stray shadow to soften his face so he looked as he did in his teenaged portrait. “I’ve always been loyal to you. Always.”
Jani watched the light play over Lucien’s hair as once more, Val’s words came back to her. He’s always shown me the face he knows I want to see. That’s all he is—shadow and reflection. That’s all he’s ever been. Why can’t I accept it? “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“I beg to differ,” Lucien replied. “When loyalty is your profession, you learn what it means and you do not dare forget.”
“Don’t you? I’d think after the first half-dozen deals, the lines would start to blur.” Jani slumped against the armoire. She knew she sounded petulant, childish, but she didn’t care. She knew he had betrayed her and tried to hate him. Knew she couldn’t and that she probably never would, and hated herself instead. “Service. Exterior. L’araignée. The occasional freelance.” She heard her voice scale upward, and struggled to bring it under control. “What term best describes you? Double agent? Triple agent? Dodecahedral agent?”
“You always knew what I was. What I am. Are you saying you only realized it now—who are you kidding?” Lucien pulled on the bundled sock, then the oth
er. “If anyone ever compiled a white paper on me, I daresay it would hold your attention. I have a talent for deceit, and I’ve made it pay. But I also have a talent for picking the winning horse, and I’ve made that pay, too.” He pushed his feet into his trainers and adjusted the fasteners. “Along the way I’ve had many masters, and I’ve served them all very well.” He stood slowly, one hand resting over the shooter burn. “But I served you best.” He walked to the door without looking at her, his step silent, the only sound that of the panel opening, then closing.
Jani waited before walking out to the main room. She didn’t want to see Lucien leave, in case the sight of him compelled her to change her mind and ask him to stay. She concentrated instead on what she’d tell Val when he asked the whereabouts of his patient, and on how she’d remove the outpatient gear from the spare bedroom. She thought of everything but Lucien. Everything but…
…and found that that ploy didn’t work for long either.
She found Steve and Angevin sprawled on the couch. “Right ho, Jan!” Steve said as he stuck a celebratory ’stick in his mouth.
Before he could ignite it, Jani pulled him to his feet and dragged him after her to the door. “We’ll be right back,” she called to Angevin, who stared after them in bewilderment.
“Where we goin’?” Steve tried to squirm out of her grip as they hustled toward the lift.
Jani pushed him into the car and thumped her fist against the pad until the doors closed. “I want you to help me with something.”
Hodge called to them as they crossed the lobby. Jani offered a quick wave, but kept moving. Out the door. Across the street to the garage.
“Jan?” Steve sounded edgy now. “What we doin’?”
“A demonstration, to ease both our troubled minds.” Jani pushed Steve ahead of her down the entry ramp, then pulled him to a stop when they reached the place where Lucien had fallen. “Stand behind me.”
“’K.”
“Closer.”
Law of Survival Page 34