Marked

by Alex Hughes

  That didn’t help at all.

  So I called Swartz, and he was actually awake and willing to come to the phone. He calmed me down and gave me homework. Swartz was useful like that.

  • • •

  A woman in a tight blue dress stood at the bottom of the police department steps, a dark coat set over one arm. Her breath fogged in the light of the streetlight behind her.

  My thoughts trailed off as the woman turned.

  It was Cherabino, her hair down and set in some kind of new curl. It stretched halfway down her back and framed her face to perfection; a new cut perhaps. I hadn’t seen it down in months. The dress was modestly cut, but it clung to all the right places; it was a little too tight across her significant breasts, which I appreciated.

  I drew my attention back to her face, which had subtle makeup on, the most makeup I’d seen her wear outside a funeral. I pulled my brain out of my shorts and said, “You look beautiful.” I added a pulse of sincerity through the Link so she would see sincerity, admiration, and a pleasant surprise. “You didn’t have to dress up,” I said.

  She smiled, and was suddenly Cherabino again through all the layers of beauty. “I don’t get to wear a dress very often anymore. Don’t worry. I still have a gun.”

  “Where?” I asked before I could censor myself. The dress was tight.

  “Don’t ask,” she said, but she was smiling.

  “Shall we?” I asked, gesturing in as gentlemanly a way as possible toward the square.

  “Sure, why not,” she said. “Here, help me with my coat.”

  I took the coat and folded it out. She put one arm in, and I helped her find the other, bending over slightly to her level. We were close; my breath warmed the back of her neck.

  She shivered and pulled the coat around her carefully, turning around.

  I waited for the rebuke, but none came. She was soft, and beautiful under the streetlight. The moment seemed to stretch forever.

  Cherabino glanced back up at the well-lit glass windows of the police station; a siren sounded, likely someone coming in with a suspect. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  So we did.

  • • •

  I vowed to myself that at no time during this miracle of an evening would I talk about the police department or my recent firing. Knowing myself—and knowing her—I had done what Swartz nagged me to do, and planned ahead. Taken most of the afternoon, but there it was. I had a list of not-work topics carefully handwritten in my pocket in case I got stuck.

  Who knew if the evening would ever happen again?

  We walked along Church Street, the flyer dealership to the right closing down for the night, the small local-owned nightclub to the left already forming a line in front. The high notes of Irish electric fiddle spilled out through the door as someone entered. An old homeless man had found an out-of-the-way corner near the heater vent at the side of the club; Cherabino noted him but let him be.

  “How is your sister doing?” I asked, first on my list of topics. “With Jacob and the new teacher?”

  She looked up and smiled. “Jacob’s doing very well, like I said. My sister is at her wits’ end with his stunts, but to be honest she’s thrilled he has the energy.”

  “A good teacher can make all the difference,” I said, out of rote, and then caught myself. It had been a long time since I was a professor. Some shred of pride in it still remained, obviously; maybe there was a reason I connected so well with Swartz.

  “I just wanted to say thank you again,” Cherabino said quietly. “I would have had no idea how to handle the situation. I’d do anything for Nicole, especially with Jacob. It’s been a hard road for him, and he’s . . . he’s a special kid. I’d do anything for him as well.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. Our conversation was constrained, of course; probably no one in the crowd was Guild or had Guild interests, but we couldn’t take the chance. Until Jacob was old enough to join the Irish Telepath Corps in his own right, the Guild discovering him would be a disaster. It was unlikely he’d survive the harsh world of the Guild.

  But I’d let the conversation lag too long. Now she was thinking about my firing, and her conversation with Bransen, which hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. I told myself I wasn’t supposed to be snooping in her thoughts, and put some distance and a wall between us.

  I searched for a topic, any topic. Finally: “Jacob has brothers and sisters, right?”

  “That’s right?”

  “How are they handling all the extra attention for him?” I asked.

  “Oh, the usual kid stuff.” Cherabino moved into a funny story about a failed water balloon fight in the backyard, and the awkwardness was put aside, at least for now.

  We passed the Decatur MARTA subway station and several small luxury-goods shops: a handmade woodcraft shop, a jewelry store, even a toy depot and a paperback bookstore, along with a small specialty deli on the corner. The conversation went pretty well, my list coming in handy.

  Then we found the restaurant, and the maitre d’ seated us, doing that fancy thing where he pulled out the chair for Cherabino and settled the napkin on her lap. I could feel her tension at a stranger getting that close without warning, but she held on and I held on to her earlier laughter.

  Then the waiter was filling water glasses and the moment was very quiet, and very romantic. A real flower graced the table. A candle burned, a spot of light in a dim room. And soft music echoed throughout the small space; we were away from the window, as Cherabino had requested, all the way back in a corner with her facing the room. I felt comfortable enough that I’d feel a mind approach before it got close not to mind facing away.

  “This is a pretty place,” Cherabino said quietly, and looked anywhere but at me. It wasn’t about the firing, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

  The menus arrived, and I looked through them, more for something to do than out of any real hunger. I paged through a few times, and realized absently that after ten years away, I could still puzzle out the French terms. My French was borrowed, not properly learned, from Kara. Her mother’s side was European, based out of Brussels and Sweden but living all over Europe, and multilingual all. I had a couple of languages in my head that way, but French and German weren’t at all common in the cases we worked; more Spanish and Japanese than anything.

  The waiter came, and Cherabino ordered a few items in badly accented French; that made me close the menu and stare. I knew for a fact that she did not speak anything but halting Spanish; apparently she had access to my skills through the Link. I ordered in English, worrying the whole time. Had I done something? I’d promised her that the Link would be temporary. Was I breaking my promise?

  Meanwhile, another waiter showed up with a wine bottle, and I wasn’t fast enough to stop him from pouring. Red wine, the thick stuff, the stuff that smelled like great meals and great people, the stuff I associated so strongly with Guild training staff dinners, senior folks only. Alcohol and telepathy didn’t mix well unless everyone involved had great control; otherwise thoughts spread and rippled like a game of telephone, impossible to turn off. I wasn’t allowed to have alcohol now either, but for an entirely different reason. A reason that had everything to do with Swartz and nothing to do with staff dinners.

  A spark of startlement came over the Link and Cherabino, wineglass in hand, set it down. “I didn’t think, I’m sorry.” She waved for the waiter. “Take these away and bring us tea, okay?”

  The waiter did, but then the manager arrived in a snooty suit. “There is something wrong with the wine, madam?”

  “We’ll pay for it,” I said. “Just don’t bring us any more.”

  Cherabino smiled too brightly. “My new meds interact with the alcohol. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  Relief washed over me. I didn’t have to be the one at fault.

  When the manager le
ft, Cherabino leaned forward. “Look, I’m sorry. I forget.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, but the shiny had worn off the evening. I was reminded again of everything I wasn’t anymore. Everything I wouldn’t be again.

  We sat in silence for a long moment, me trying to pull it together. I shifted, and the paper list in my pocket crunched. I should pull that out and come up with something else to talk about. I’d prepared.

  “You know what, this was a terrible idea,” Cherabino said.

  Panic hit me. “What are you—?”

  The food came, and she said, “Put it in a box, okay? We’re going to take it with us. And bring the check.”

  “It’s my fault—I picked the place,” I said, too quickly. “I’ll pay.”

  The evening was over before I’d even gotten a chance to kiss her! Crap, I was acting like a fifteen-year-old. I sat on my disappointment and my panic, sat hard and put it in a box to be dealt with later. I could be gracious. I had known this was a bad idea, Swartz or no Swartz. “Let me take you back to the station,” I said carefully. I would handle this. I would. “You don’t have to drive me home. I’ll get the bus. It will be fine.”

  She leaned forward again and said very quietly, “Don’t be an idiot. We’re going to have a picnic at the deli, and you’re going to walk me back and kiss me. Like a proper first date.” She looked very small for a second. “That is, if you still want to.”

  “Oh,” I said eloquently. “Yes, yes, of course.” The boxes arrived and the details of the check were taken care of—by me, the one spot of pride in the evening. Getting fired at least had one perk.

  Walking out, though, Cherabino pulled her hair up in a clip. A sense of relief crashed over me like a tidal wave as we left the restaurant.

  The deli, on the other hand, was run-down and the owner was cranky until we bought something from him too. This made me feel much better.

  “I’ll take potato chips,” I said.

  “And two teas,” Cherabino said, amused.

  The owner came back, grumbling, and overcharged us for disposable paper-stock forks. His demeanor settled me down, though. Made things go back to clear, to real. And when he cozied up behind the counter with a crossword, we were alone in the place. Potato chips went surprisingly well with escargot.

  We ate, and I went back to my list. I got Cherabino to laugh, the forthright belly laugh I loved about her, the one that hit my brain like fizzy flecks of gold. I sat there and enjoyed it. Perhaps inevitably, as we were most of the way through the food, a uniformed officer poked his head in the door. “Oh, good, I found you,” he said. “The last homicide detective on duty is throwing up from food poisoning. Captain wants to know if Cherabino can come in and take care of a murder on Mimosa Drive.”

  “Do they need me?” I asked.

  “No,” the officer said. “Seems like a straightforward shooting. Witnesses got a clear look at the guy. But it needs processing.”

  Cherabino glanced at me.

  “Go on,” I said, doing my best to hide my disappointment. There wasn’t any way I could go too, not now.

  She looked back over at the officer and just stood up, no hug, no anything. I could feel her mind settle back into hard-shelled Cop Mode.

  “See you,” she said, a generic sound. Nothing about doing this again.

  I forced a smile. It had been inevitable, after all. “See you.”

  I threw out the rest of the food as soon as she left, and went to find the bus stop. At least I’d get to tell Swartz he was wrong. This new leaf of his after his heart issues was clearly making him soft.

  I had an impulse to go down to Fulton County to score a few hits of my drug, even got so far as to check the bus routes at the closest stop, but I knew I wouldn’t go. Nothing had changed, after all, and if Swartz had pushed me, well, I’d let him. Nothing had changed, I told myself again. This was a crappy reason to fall off the wagon after nearly four years clean.

  Didn’t mean I was happy, though.

  • • •

  The next morning I was staring at my microwave, churning away to cook my last frozen-biscuit breakfast, feeling sorry for myself, when it hit. A sudden premonition crawled up my spine. Someone was about to charge the front door.

  Before I could react, a loud bang from the apartment door four feet away. I stood up, took two steps. I was going to have to move if all these damn people could—

  My adrenaline spiked. Three guards in Guild uniforms were in my living room.

  “I negotiated for time—” I started.

  Turner was at the back. “You need to be at the Guild. Now.”

  Then I was on the floor, looking at their shoes again. You can’t do this, I thought. I work for the police. You can’t just push me around like—

  You don’t work for the police anymore, Turner said. And you’re overdue to check in with Rex.

  And then the world went black.

  CHAPTER 15

  I woke up in the empty interrogation room where I’d talked to Meyers’s ex-wife and the woman who’d brought in the original madness report. I didn’t see a camera, but I was certain one was there.

  I blinked, hard. My head hurt, a pounding pain that settled in my teeth, and my vision wouldn’t quite focus. “Damn it, I would have come here voluntarily,” I told the air. “There was no need to knock me out.”

  I shook my head, trying to clear my vision, but it only made the headache worse. I poked around in my head, to assess the damage. Near as I could tell, no one had done anything but knock me out, which was both comforting and yet not boding well for the future.

  “You know, I’m getting tired of being pushed around. Whoever’s watching me might as well come in.”

  So I waited. And waited.

  After a while, I stood up and tried the door. Locked. I shook it. Not a flimsy lock, and by the looks of it something complicated. Even assuming I could find something in here to work as a lock pick, I wasn’t sure I could manage this particular setup. Plus there was the camera I was sure was there, and the Guild didn’t know I could pick locks yet. All in all, not worth it now.

  I sat back down, grumbling. I’d wait a little while.

  After what felt like seven years, there was a knock on the door.

  “That’s awfully polite,” I said. I’d been rethinking the lock concept again, so this was a welcome distraction.

  “Can I come in?” Kara’s voice came through.

  You sent the guards? I sent to her, along with a sense of shock and mounting betrayal.

  A scraping sound, and then she opened the door. “No. No, nothing like that,” she said out loud. Stone was behind her.

  Kara came in. I looked at her. She looked at me. There were deep, deep circles under her eyes, which were puffy like she’d been crying. Her hair was dull, pulled back in a messy ponytail I hadn’t seen on her since exams. Finally she gestured for Stone to leave the room and close the door.

  “Rex sent the guards. He’s getting nervous, or so Turner said. She’s giving me fifteen minutes, so I have to talk fast,” she said.

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” I asked her. “You’re playing your family’s game. You always have been.”

  She flinched like I’d hit her. Then set her jaw. “Listen or don’t listen, but like I said, we don’t have much time. We found a device in the assistant’s room, the one who killed himself. Stone found it. It’s a mind manipulator, similar to the one you found connected to Tamika weeks ago. Someone was influencing them both.”

  I blinked. She’d gotten my attention. “What are you talking about?”

  “As near as we can tell, it’s been used on both Meyers and his assistant. This is a device I was told would never, never be developed for use, even if there was another war. I was assured her plans were burned—and our family expert tells me this version is worse.�
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  “Is this a trap?” I asked her point-blank, and looked back up at the ceiling where I assumed the camera was. “You knock me out, you come back in here and start spouting conspiracy theories? You’re trying to get me on tape as conspiring against the Guild so you can lock me up, is that what this is?”

  Kara’s Mindspace presence wavered again. I ignored the hurt feeling coming off her. She’d been hurt far too much while manipulating me. She could probably manufacture the feeling by now.

  “Stone has disabled any listening devices,” Kara said. “You don’t understand. These devices are a problem. Someone manipulated Uncle Meyers and Spirale into committing suicide and blamed it on madness. Someone started all of this hell on purpose!” She breathed hard. “The device matches the hole behind the painting you found in Uncle Meyers’s apartment. We shut down the scene fast enough to keep them from removing the device from Spirale’s place, apparently.”

  She barreled on: “The killer used Guild official resources. Official ones. There are tracked parts, official parts with official serial numbers in this device. We’ve looked it up. There’s enough parts out of the inventory for three devices. At least. Requisitioned by an official lab. Who knows what else they’re building, what damage they’ll cause? And someone official approved this crap!” She set her shoulders, took a minute to get back under control.

  “You and your family will destroy the Guild,” I said, chilled.

  “I didn’t say that,” she said, quickly, but she didn’t look at the camera. She truly didn’t believe she was being recorded. And that fast—that fast—my whole attitude changed.

  “I don’t have a lot of time, Adam. I’ll do whatever it takes to shut this down. The Council and Guild First and all the Tech in the world aren’t going to stop me. And Hawk will back me up. I will do whatever I have to do—whatever I have to do to protect my family and what is right.” She was breathing hard now, and angry too.