I swallowed, ashamed. Truth was? Seeing him like this broke my heart. He hadn't asked for what had happened to us, any more than the rest of our family had. None of it was his fault.
No. No, it was mine.
"She cooked a nice dinner," I allowed grudgingly. He didn't need to know I hadn't eaten any. "And hell, she seems to like Oreos and Bruce Lee movies. I guess there's hope for her."
He rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "She tries, okay? Give her a chance. It's not her fault she's—"
"Adonis? Everything okay?" A sleepy female voice drifted from the half-closed door.
Adonis sighed, resting his head on the doorframe.
I choked. She was in his damn room. He'd lied.
My face burned. Ugly, poison words crawled up my throat. Before I could spit them out, I clamped my teeth and marched away. He didn't call after me. I heard his door click shut. I kept walking, though I itched all over, an army of rabid ants nipping furiously beneath my skin.
I stormed past more rooms: Jeremiah, Ebenezer, Harriet, Peggy, the rest of the stray augments we'd adopted like some stupid special-needs homeless shelter since we holed up here. Jem was coughing, a horrid throat-savaging beast that no doubt we'd all catch before the week was out. I could hear Uncle Mike snoring. Mike, Dad's kid brother, who'd been as civil to me as was humanly possible, considering I got Dad killed.
They don't forgive you, hissed one of the incarnations of me that rattled around in my skull. Since the asylum, I'm like a range of Barbie dolls in there. This one was Nasty Verity, like the ghost of my dead sister Equity with a double shot of spite. They'll never forgive you. They're just humoring you, until they think of a way to get rid of you quietly, with no fuss. One day, you'll have a tragic accident…
Viciously, I kicked at the dead leaves littering the floor. Shut your face, Nasty. If Adonis was pissed at me for disobeying him? Fine. That was his right. I didn't care. I didn't even care that my precious big brother was sticking his dick in the world's most boring woman and apparently liked it enough to let her sleep in his bed, for fuck's sake.
I cared that he trusted her more than he trusted me.
He'd known Peg a few lousy weeks, and I was the one he lied to.
Fuck.
A silent scream hollowed my chest, and my mindmuscle burned. I felt like tearing down the broken ceiling to crush us all. The fact that I'd earned his mistrust a dozen times over only made it hurt more.
I reached the door to my room—dark, cold, empty—and hesitated, restless. My muscles watered with exhaustion, my eyes smarted with grit. I needed to crash. But my thoughts howled in wild circles, my power pacing like a caged beast in my belly. My senses had graduated from tingling through prickling to a malicious stinging cloud that wouldn't be silent. Sleep seemed about as likely as a lightning strike.
And I still had business tonight. The memory of those teenage hooligans—y'know, the ones with identical, improbable powers who'd whipped my ass?—wouldn't leave me alone. Who were they working for? What was the artifact they'd taken, and why did they want it?
More to the point: had Razorfire really deployed them against his own guy? And why?
Sure, maybe I was paranoid. Seeing archvillain conspiracies lurking under every rock, every breath of wind and rustle of leaves part of an elaborate plot against me.
Wouldn't be the first time it'd turned out to be true.
I crept to the cell next to mine and pushed on the unlocked door. "You awake?" I whispered.
Dim green glow filtered from a computer screen, throwing the tiny cell into shadows. A cursor blinked solemnly from a window brimming with wingdings code. Schematics and circuit diagrams were stuck to the whitewashed walls with tape and gum. The crumpled bed had disappeared under a heap of silicon hardware, cables, parts of phones; more of the same cluttered the desk, next to coffee mugs and empty cola cans and two unwashed dinner plates.
Glimmer lay asleep at his desk, green light rinsing his face. Head pillowed on one arm, dark hair with an albino splash in front tumbling onto the keyboard. His warm vanilla-spice scent drifted, both comfort and accusation. I inhaled more deeply, like I did sometimes when he wasn't watching. Oyy. Even working nineteen hours a day in a grubby cell deep in the ruins of a sadist's hellhole, he managed to smell like this. If Glimmer were a villain—if he'd even a breath of badness in him, which he didn't—you'd flee from that scent alone.
He looked exhausted, dark stubble stark against his too-pale face. Time was, he'd worn his mask twenty-four-seven around me. No longer. He'd nothing to hide, except that he was young and talented and didn't deserve the shitty deal Razorfire had hurled his way.
I bit my lip. Once upon a time, Glimmer had been my friend. God, I longed to talk the way we used to. Trade insults, give him crap about his hair product. Say, dude, you'll never believe what happened to me tonight and have him scoff at me, charm me with his grin and his wise-ass wit. I wanted to be dazzled by his white-knight geekboy brilliance, and hunt criminals together safe in the knowledge that he'd never betray me, never give up. Hell, the jealous part of me wanted to smack his pretty face for being so much better at it all than I.
Compelled, I drifted my palm over his cheek, just a twitch from touching. His breath warmed my hand, and my pulse quickened, shame and loneliness and some deeper compulsion I didn't understand mingling like inks in my blood. I could wake him. Stroke that velvety hair from his eyes, take heart from his sweet, crooked smile…
But if I touched him, he might look at me.
Instead, I stuffed my hand into my inside pocket and yanked out the DVD of security footage I'd taken from Turnip Man at the museum. Unearthed a pad of yellow sticky notes from the mess on the desk, and stuck one onto the plastic case.
Check out 12:57 am. Who the fuck are these clowns?
xox
V.
P.S. Your lasagna is better.
Quietly, I set the DVD by his keyboard, where he'd see it when he woke. Like he didn't already have enough work to do.
Glimmer's lashes fluttered, and he murmured, immersed in some unwelcome dream. My throat ached. My rude thoughts about him earlier in the night seemed petty and stupid. All his bad opinions of me? They were justified. He was strong, steadfast, a proper hero. Whereas I was unreliable, weak, indecisive, confused about the simplest decisions.
Maybe part of me resented him for making me feel inferior. And okay, maybe another, secret, blushing-girly part would've liked it if he were a bit more jealous about the whole drunk-and-laid thing. He was smart, cute, had a heart of unblemished gold. Any woman would want him.
But mostly, I just wanted my friend back.
I could wake him right now. Tell him how sorry I am for being such a screw-up. Beg him to help me get through this, to be there for me, the way he'd always been since the moment we met…
Bzzz-bzzz.
My phone, vibrating on silent. Shit. It wouldn't give up.
Swiftly, I backed off, and shielded the screen's light with my curled hand. That message I'd ignored a few hours ago, after I'd escaped from the museum guards…
My nerves crackled, ice and fire. The bright letters telescoped, and all else, including time, slipped away.
Confused, firebird?
Let's talk. You know the place.
R.
My throat swelled, throttling me.
Memory swamped me, nightmares of pleasure and passion and utter conviction,