Excerpt from “Good Intentions”
I walked in and saw the message light on the phone was on. “Shit,” I muttered. Claire had called and I wasn’t here and she’ll ask and she’ll know, she’ll just know I had been to The Bar. Then she’ll yell and I’ll yell and … shit. So I went into the bathroom and splashed my face, contemplating brushing my teeth when I heard the door open. I hadn’t cared in a long time about my personal safety—I was easily tough enough to take on most normal things: knives, shotgun blasts, small caliber bombs, and more, but what I couldn’t take was dealing with the authorities. It’s happened before. While on vacation, some guy at a mall swipes a woman’s purse and all I do is step in front of him, the guy bounces off me a few feet, and goes down like a sack of potatoes. One of the cops called to the scene bucking for detective asks the right questions based on what eye-witnesses tells him and figures me for a super. Suddenly, I need to watch what I’m doing. How did I know I wouldn’t have seriously hurt the perp? Have I registered with local authorities? It was easier when I wore the damn mask.
I dabbed my face with a towel and started toward the door. “Look, I've only got $25 bucks and had a shitty day, so don't—” But no one was there, though the door was slightly open. Must have been the win—
“Hello, Tungsten.” Behind me, a voice like gravel. The smell of leather and gun oil filled my nostrils. He hadn't changed in the time I've been away, but then, ice ages creep by faster than this guy would change. He still wore the mask covering the whole of his head (with the upswept “horns”, like black fire) and the cloak that clung to him as if something alive. And he still got off on his entrances.
“Darklaw. Still trying to frighten people with that bit,” I said.
“Still have your acerbic wit.” A gloved hand emerged from within the folds of his cloak. I shook it, though squeezing a little harder than I usually do, not that he would have let on that he felt any discomfort. “I . . . heard about your father. If there's anything I can do . . . .”
I shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the towel. “You're not big on the chatting, Darklaw. What's up?”
“You always were to the point.”
“No, but you were, so I played along.”
His head tilted ever so slightly, regarding me.
“There's an abductee being guarded by some meta muscle. I can get to her, but it would be easier to have someone run interference.”
“That's where I come in.”
“Correct. I could have asked one of the active's, but since I knew you were in town . . . .”
“How long?”
“Pardon?”
“How long? That you knew I was in town.”
Again, with the slightly tilted head. “The same night you arrived.”
Figured. Darklaw had his fingers on the pulse of this town. If he didn't know something that was going down, he knew who knew.
My eyes skittered away from the blinking light on the phone.
“Maybe you should have asked one of the others,” I said. I got up to put the towel away. “What about Metalhead?”
“Jesse, Miss Scarlet is the abductee.”