“Bogey only a hundred yards out,” J.J. announced. “Two more close behind it, and, uh…like twelve—no, fifteen—more after that.”
“Like walking in the park,” Scott said, and his forehead was showing a little sweat now. “Splash one.”
“Literally,” J.J. said. “One down. No, two—three.”
“Damn, waterboy,” Augustus breathed.
“If you wanted to throw some rocks up at the ones following, he probably wouldn’t object,” I said, sweating a little myself.
“If I could see them, I would,” Augustus said. “Or feel them.”
“I think I have this,” Scott said, straining.
“Four and five down,” J.J. said. “Six and seven closing…”
Something blew up a little ways off, and I felt it.
“Sorry,” Scott breathed.
I felt something else, too—sudden, supersonic, cutting through the air toward us from behind.
“Uh oh,” I said.
“Something else on radar,” J.J. said. “Unidentified…small…faster than the missiles…”
“It’s Rose,” I breathed, as the engines outside thrummed to life.
“She’s closing on us, man,” J.J. said, looking up at me, wild-eyed. “What are we going to d—”
“Scott…” I said, “lay off on the missiles.”
“Done,” Scott said, collapsing on the seat behind him. Kat came over to him, putting a hand on his head, but his pallor didn’t really improve. “That…was not the easiest thing ever. The welds on those things—”
I concentrated on those drifts behind me, on that supersonic object cutting through the air toward me.
There was a break of fury in my mind, like blood ran in front of my eyes.
I reached out with my mind, with my powers, and seized every single one of the remaining missiles in a furious wind—
And sent them right into a perfect convergence on the Scottish woman following us.
The Gulfstream issued a rough shudder as the explosion’s shockwave ran through the plane.
“Got her!” J.J. shouted. “She’s losing altitude…”
“I know,” I said. “I can feel her.”
Rose ceased her supersonic flight, dropping back, falling to earth. I pushed her along, slamming her into the ground as we rushed forward, away from her, away from the ground as Chase turned the flaps and added power to the engines and we left the ground behind.
I fell into the nearest chair and put my head back against the soft seat. I was pretty sure I hadn’t killed Rose, not if she was the premiere badass she seemed to be.
But maybe, just maybe, I’d given Sienna a break.
I consoled myself with that thought as I pushed the plane with a hard tailwind back across the Atlantic…and wondered if I’d ever see my sister again.
39.
Rose
Alistair McKinney was Rose’s date for the evening. They walked along the summery streets of Edinburgh, trees green even in the evening dark, her giving him coy looks, him giving her hungrier ones. His hair was silvery, but he was eager and bordering on lecherous. The air had that brisk scent to it, and the lights were shining out from the flats in the buildings all around them as they went, his arm hooked in hers, his suit jacket’s rough cloth rubbing at her elbow like this whole evening had chafed at her mind.
She’d felt a bit strange about this at first, but that had been easily soothed. Because honestly, it felt so damned good when she touched a person, it practically made her ravenous for more.
This is fine, Granddad said. He’s just a man, and not a very good one at that.
Aye, Tamhas said, he’s a right bastard. I’ve known him for a long time, and this one—this one’s going to set you up for life if you can just get hold of his bank accounts. It’ll make things easier.
Just keep an even look, Hamilton said. He’d been advising her on being natural in moments like this, when she was deceiving. He’d had her practicing faces in the mirror. Doing exercises. Finding the emotions on command.
“Ahh, you’re such a pretty thing,” Alistair said, stroking his fingers through her hair as they walked.
Give him a little bit of hope, Hamilton whispered.
Rose did, flashing him a ghost of a smile. He went for her hand to hold and she brushed him, escaping while still keeping him on the line.
They were walking through the New Town, a lovely place that Rose had already developed a little affinity for here in Edinburgh. It was grand, she thought, filled with history and mystery, and a sort of magic that she might have felt more acutely with other company.
Like Graham, who had spent these last months…silent.
That’s it, Hamilton said, breaking into her thoughts. Now get him inside.
“My flat’s just up here,” Alistair said. They passed the rows of lovely older buildings, beautifully maintained and surely of finest quality within.
And in spite of their surroundings, part of Rose, deep inside, below the hammering heart, wanted to throw up.
Alistair hopped ahead, legs lively as he went up the steps to unlock the door to the flat. He took them two at a time, that short riser from the sidewalk up to the older apartment building. It had grand arches and recessed windows, a lovely and elegant old building. He held the door for her, and in spite of the summer warmth…
Rose felt…cold.
Go on, Granddad said, and Rose tottered up the steps in her heels, feeling very much out of place. All her life she’d have dreamed of looking as lovely as this, to be dressed to the nines this way, to be here in Edinburgh, and yet now here she was, her last pounds put into the dress, the heels, the hair…
And she was about to use it all to ensnare and kill a man to live.
It had a cold comfort, trying to figure out how to make it outside the village these last months. The voices in her head were loud, all the time. Maddening, even when she was trying to sleep. She’d wake out of a sound dream—always a nightmare, always the same one, people howling at her, clawing at her, ripping at her clothes—in the tiny flat she’d rented, gasping in the night, afraid everyone could hear her the world over.
Afraid that somebody would be coming. That Weissman, or Raymond, maybe. Maybe both.
“Let me show you inside,” Alistair said with a wink as he held the beautiful, glassy front door open for her. She stared; he was waiting.
She wanted to walk away. To stride off down the street with nary a word, and leave Mr. McKinney to his posh flat, to his fancy life. She didn’t want to touch him, and she didn’t to take his thoughts or his bank account information or anything else, really.
This wasn’t what she wanted at all.
Get in there, you stupid, worthless cow, her mam said.
Mechanically, Rose walked up the steps, and into the flat.
They’d had this conversation before when the money started to run out. She’d tried a job, but sometimes the voices would act up and she’d shout out in the middle of work. It came on like a fit in the middle of the store. Headaches so bad they’d drop to her knees, arguments between them so harsh that she’d cringe away from a customer.
She’d been sacked a few times before she’d realized that no one wanted to work with a crazy person.
And she had become a crazy person. Voices in her head completed the circle.
“You want a cuppa?” Alistair asked once she was inside. The apartment was indeed posh, grand staircase leading upstairs, the entire building his. She was living in a one-room flat, and he had a whole building. She looked around, feeling that intense desire to run again, like she didn’t belong here among these riches, these hardwoods, these leather-lined books and fancy people. She stared at Alistair and felt nothing but sick at his leer, one-sided as it was.
Answer him, you stupid cow. Her mam’s voice rang out in her head again, sharp and harsh. Had it ever been any other way? Rose had a hard time imagining it now.
“No, I’m…fine,” Rose said.
Alistair ea
sed up to her, and she felt strangely like a shark was circling her. “Would ye like to go…upstairs?” So full of meaning.
Her own mind, faint and buried somewhere, said no, but the other voices said yes, and that was what came out of her mouth. She followed him up that grand staircase into the darkness waiting above.
He guided her up, a hand on her arm, light and gentle. And yet still it felt horrifying, like she was walking, wide awake, into a nightmare. Just a little farther, Tamhas soothed.
This is nothing, Granddad said. You’ve read enough books to know—girls your age have been doing unpleasant things to secure their prospects for all of time. This is one of those, but so much easier. You don’t have to marry the old bastard, or even spend that much time with him. You can take him any time now.
Just touch him a little, Hamilton urged. The charade is over. Put your hands on him, pretend to be really interested, to keep him from screaming, and then…just take what we need, and break his neck.
Rose gulped. Alistair led her into a darkened doorway and clicked on the light. She blinked back from the intensity of it, then her eyes adjusted it. It was a bedroom, furnished in grand style. A four-poster was the centerpiece of the room, turned down like a maid had just left.
That’s a good lass, Granddad said. You can just follow his lead. He’ll take care of it himself soon enough, if you give him enough time. All you’ll need to do is hold on.
Rose wandered into the bedroom after Alistair, who was unbuttoning his shirt. When it came off, she saw that paunch that extended slightly over his belt, the gnarly trail of hairs that pathed down his belly. His chest was flat, sloping down to his gut. He shed the shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and a vague hint of revulsion ran through Rose even though he was ten feet away.
“Now you take yours off,” he said, quiet, voice dripping with suggestion.
Just go over to him, and give him a kiss, Hamilton said. Touch him. Something. Keep him on the hook, lass.
Rose wobbled over to him, following the command. When she got close, he did it for her, brushing his lips against hers. His breath was fowl, garlicky, and strong, and she nearly gagged but managed to hold it in at the last.
Keep it together, her mam’s voice said. Don’t raise an alarm now, not when you’re so close.
He pawed at her, and she took it for a moment before pulling away. He grinned, looking her over. “You’re nervous, aren’t you? It’s all right.”
She nodded without saying anything, feeling ashen.
“Is this your first time?” he asked, coyly.
She brushed her fingers against her lips, wishing she could wipe away the feeling of what she’d just done. She just nodded, that sick feeling rising in her belly, along with the bile.
“It’s all right,” he said, “it’s not my first time. I can show you the way. We’ll take it nice and easy. Hm?” He awaited her approval, and as he did so, touched her arm.
It was all she could do not to recoil in terror. He had already turned away, busying himself.
Touch him now, and it’ll all be over soon, Granddad said. If you let this drag on…ye just might regret it.
Aye, you’re going to have to go along with what he wants in order to avoid alarm if you don’t seize this moment, Tamhas said. Get on with it.
Alistair turned on the TV, then dropped the remote to the bedside table with a clatter. “A little background noise,” he said with that same smile, and unbuttoned his pants. They slid to the floor and he shrugged out of them, then came back at her again.
I could tell you what to do here, you worthless shite, Miriam Shell said, her own disgust boiling over, but you’d just cock it up.
Finish him, Graham said quietly. There’s no need for all this show, Rose. Just…be done with it if you mean to do it. You don’t need to let him keep backing you into a corner. You’ll have to play along if you don’t, and I know you don’t want that—
Rose turned away from Alistair, freezing in place. Something about what Graham had said, about Miriam’s goads…they got to her. She kicked the straps off her heels, then slipped the dress straps from her shoulders, her head rushing as she did so. That sick feeling in her stomach was replaced by a breathless hunger, a twisted anger let loose, driving her on. That she could feel it when Graham’s own heart dropped—not that he had one anymore, but the feeling was still present—was all the sweeter.
She turned back to Alistair, down to her bra and knickers. He looked her up and down, his eye wandering. “Shall we get into bed, then?” she asked, trying to live up her voice. It still sounded dull to her.
He bought it nonetheless, and lifted the covers, as if opening a door for her. She slid in and moved over to halfway across the bed, pulse racing. The TV was going quietly in the background, a rerun of some show playing like muzak in a shop.
Alistair slipped out of his own briefs and slid into the bed, letting out a hearty sigh as he let the covers drop after him. She’d seen, because he’d shown off, briefly, before sliding in, as though the mere sight was something that would fascinate her. It had the opposite effect; she was vaguely repulsed, though she kept a lid on it.
“Now then,” he said, staring at the space of inches between them. She was on her side, facing him, and he was opposite, facing her. “What shall we do?”
Rose swallowed hard.
Go on, Granddad said.
Get it over with, Tamhas said.
Ye’ve got him now, Hamilton said.
Finish this, worthless girl, her mam said.
And somewhere, in the back of her head, a quiet whisper from Graham: You don’t have to do this.
Rose leaned forward and kissed him, closing her eyes and pressing her lips to his. He ran his hands over her, fumbling at her bra, drawing her close, pulling her like he was a big strong bear and she was a weak little thing. He touched her, put his hands on her, and she did the same.
He released her bra and she shrugged out of it, heart beating, but somehow it didn’t matter. She was beyond fear now, into spite, into fury, and she didn’t even care about the man who had his hands on her body in ways no one ever had. He was an empty vessel to her, a dagger to stab at the ones she very nearly hated.
She kissed him again, and again, and started to feel the burn on her lips, on her fingers, in the places where he touched her. He gasped, clearly feeling it too, and she pushed up and straddled him, putting her bare palms on his hairy, flat chest.
She could feel the burning now, and Alistair McKinney’s mouth was wide. It was a smile, of sorts, though crossed with pain, too, as it started to take over. “Hush now,” she said, and he did, as his eyes rolled up and the feeling started to take over.
Something broke in on Rose as she started to let it loose, to let that—that demon feeling take her over. She was atop him, rubbing against him through her panties, and her skin was afire. She didn’t care that she didn’t like him; in fact felt it all the richer. She was alive with pleasure, and that it was this man—this disgusting, old, sloughing-skin man—it was all the better. She hated him, though she barely knew him, hated what he represented, the desire to use her like others had used her. He would have come to hate her after he’d come anyway, probably thrown a few pounds at her to get her to leave once his animal needs had been sated.
It was like all these arseholes in her head. They hated her for what she was until they needed her, and now—now they just hated her again, and all the more because they were trapped inside.
Rose, what are you— her granddad said.
The news broke through her fog of pleasure, and she turned her head.
“The American president announced the existence of a race of humans with superpowers—”
What?
She refocused her attention on the television and away from Alistair McKinney, who was gasping.
“…an employee named Sienna Nealon managed the agency response to the crisis…”
That name.
She knew that name.
; Weissman had said it that night—that, that horrible night when—
“…Harmon has declared her a hero, responsible for saving the world from a dire threat…”
She barely felt her fingers on Alistair McKinney’s chest, but he was choking now, being ripped out of himself. The little numbers she needed, vis a vis his banking information, came tearing out along with the rest of him, and she knew it was there. He was twitching under her, but she didn’t care; she pushed down on him, the last bits of his mind ripping free of his body now. She couldn’t have pulled a hand off now if she wanted to; her entire self was on fire with pure, uncontained joy—none of that fear that had torn at her when she’d been in the throes of it at the village that night.
This was the beauty of what she had, and she wanted to use it, wanted to do this every time she could.
Rose stood almost as soon as she knew it was over, leaving the corpse of Alistair McKinney behind. The news was still talking, but she didn’t care.
Sienna Nealon.
That name.
Sienna Nealon was the reason she didn’t have a bloody home anymore.
Sienna Nealon was the reason she didn’t have a life anymore.
Sienna Nealon was the reason she couldn’t even think her own thoughts, alone, anymore.
Rose stared at the dark-haired girl, the camera following her as she walked to a car. Then they cut to the US President, Harmon, talking about metahumans, outing them there on international television.
I can’t bloody believe it, Granddad said. A secret that’s lasted countless human generations and he just…throws it out there.
Rose was standing near naked, and for some reason…she no longer felt self-conscious at her skinny body, thin thighs, almost no chest and knock knees. What did that bloody matter, anyway? Any man who touched her was going to get a dose of what Alistair McKinney got, and it’d be all to her joy and none to his.
The world is about to change, Tamhas said. And this girl, this…Sienna Nealon…she’s going to be right at the forefront of it.
“To hell with her,” Rose whispered.
You could be right at the forefront too, Hamilton said. Look at what they’re doing to her: making her out like one of those comic book heroes people are so damned fond of. You could—
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