Danger trails Kaye like Hansel and Gretel following breadcrumbs. It was bad enough when it was just me. Now Checkmate is on the loose again, with the knowledge to burn the last scraps of my family to the ground.
I need a partner to come for C. He’ll have men, money, influence at his disposal. Someone who doesn’t have to get close to use their powers—someone explosive. There are a number ofpeople who fit that bill. People who won’t make such a fuss, who will follow any orders given with a wad of cash. So why am I hell bent on it being her?
Because she can’t be bought.
Because C wants her, and I’d rather we kill each other than let him have anything ever again.
Because if I can convince her, I can convince anyone.
And—while true—none of those are the real reason.
“Stop here.”
I dart a glance at the screen. The dot’s pulse emanates from within a tangle of back alley bars and clubs. I’ll have to find a less direct route if I want to maintain the element of surprise.
“Please do this for me.” I meet the older man’s gaze and try my best to express the swirl of emotions doomed to lay dormant inside. “George and Angela will kill me if something happens to you. If not for my safety, then for my sanity.”
Apprehension shivers down my shoulders as I watch the taillights disappear around a corner and out of sight.
A network of rails and rust connect the rooftops and fire escapes of this part of New Malcolm. A labyrinth of mom-and-pop style shops with apartments overtop, mostly empty now except for the odd squatter. Specialty grocery stores. Pharmacies. Independent bookstores. All gone in favor of the oldest shadow of all. Liquor. Gambling. Heroin.
Rose.
Raucous laughter from men and women too busy hiding from life to truly live it rings out in the night. And over that? The flap of pigeon wings. Squealing tires and booming base. And the sounds of a brawl carried on the wind.
One night in New Malcolm and she’s back to brawling in alleys.One night.
It doesn’t take long to track the source of the commotion. The streets are messy and littered with detritus. You never knowwho’s waiting to spring from a shadowed nook or corner, but the roofs are clear, if a little unstable.
I spy her group over the edge of a crumbling brick wall that smells faintly of piss. Kaye.
Checkmate.
She is resplendent, completely in her element. Hair wild and free as it never could be in her costume. It whips and tangles around her face as she lures her opponents into taking the wrong steps. Even without using her powers, Kaye is a force to be reckoned with. She’s beautiful.I turn away from the brawl, but nothing can remove the shape of her incinerated into my mind.
Logic says that this should be something I can admit, notice, and let go of as easily as stray thoughts in meditation. A rival is a rival. Even with the lure of alliance on the table, we are who we are. If she agrees to back me now, the future offers no guarantees. We still disagree on what’s best for New Malcolm.
Sometimes I wish this city would burn to the ground. Start with that cesspool—the Warehouse District—and let the blaze raze through every corrupt edifice. No more nooks or corners to crawl into and hide.
Maybe then I’d be free.
Maybe I could even learn to live again.
Maybe I’d strike the match myself.
A small, startled choke passes her lips. It pierces my thoughts, an arrow straight through my eardrums and into my core, and my head can’t whip back to her quickly enough.
She kneels on the ground, long strands of hair hiding her face from view. That bastard from the CCP auction smirks from some distance away with his back leaning on the brick, inspecting the talons he calls nails on his right hand.
Somehow, he made it past her line. The way he’s acting… it’s like he’s already won.
No.
That stupid, plant skulking motherfu?—
I don’t remember making the decision to drop over the wall and join the fight, but I suddenly find myself standing in front of Stanley, my vision a tunnel of red. I'll be all too happy to see that shit-eating grin wiped off his face.
A hand grips my shoulder from behind, jerking my torso around. That’s fine. I follow the trajectory, letting it work in my favor while I seek the contact that will allow my influence to seep inside.
