Chapter 49
Never Gets Old
Like everything else, the armory here was a lot bigger. Liv looked longingly at the racks of guns, pretty much of every shape and size, and her palms were damp. “I still don’t see why we don’t go armed.”
“Earthly weapons are just distractions.” Daniel’s usual cheerfulness was muted, his floppy hair combed back and slicked down.
He was all business, and instead of his usual superhero T-shirt and jeans, he was in unrelieved black.
The effect was startling, making him look a lot older.
“We don’t fight with physical force, that’s for Sons. It’s why this marriage works.”
Oh, it’s a marriage now? Outside, crimson sunset throbbed on the western horizon, a dark line of cloud in the north creeping closer by increments.
Everyone said more snow was on the way, but so far the sky was clear and the nights deep-frozen.
“I’d feel a lot better if I had a gun,” Liv muttered. “A knife. A spork. Something.”
“You don’t need it.” Daniel rolled his shoulders under a hip-length leather jacket very much like the Sons wore, and glanced around the armory’s beehive activity.
Heavily muscled, quiet-stepping men signing out enough weaponry to start an insurrection, drawing ammunition, making short cryptic comments to each other and their counterparts behind the long, mirror-polished counter running the length of the room—everyone knew exactly what to do here except her. “Listen, Liv…”
“Hm?” Wear something that makes you feel pretty, Daniel had said, but Liv was damn sure a dress wasn’t going to cut it for monster-fighting in subzero temperatures.
She’d decided on practicality instead—the boots Erik got her, jeans, black long-sleeve thermal shirt, black merino sweater, a black woolen peacoat with gloves, a knit hat stuffed deep in the pockets.
“You’re going to overheat in that. They’ll keep you warm.”
I’m sure they’d like to. She shrugged, trying not to think about Erik in the dark, warm and soothing as the nightmares vibrated inside her skull. “You can always take layers off, you know.”
“I guess.” He glanced at the far end of the armory as if expecting another arrival. “Anyway, we have to talk.”
Oh, for God’s sake. “Now?”
“Now’s a good time.” His hand made a small movement, like he wanted to brush her arm, then dropped back to his side.
Lirai didn’t like to be touched, they said, and Liv could understand; the hideous overwhelming noise of a city full of strangers thinking at high volume was absent inside these walls, but she could well imagine physical contact with a normal person producing something like an internal feedback squeal. “You’re still unsealed.”
Liv contented herself with a neutral noise. Halfway down the room Erik conferred with Robert, their heads together as Dakshi made various weapons disappear into his harness, the Younger’s coat tossed over the counter—ready to be pressed into service as soon as its wearer was fully loaded.
“I’m told the Elder you came in with is resistant to the idea. You’ve got to let go of… well, of the thought that it’s something shameful.” Daniel took a step, leaning confidentially close. Everything in his expression shouted serious business. “It’s self-defense, and—”
“Do I get to weigh in on your love life if you get to talk about mine? Is that how it works?” Liv restrained the urge to fold her arms, sink her weight in one hip, and pin the guy with her mother’s patented Do Not Push It, Young Man stare.
She wished Mika was here to help her deal with this asshole, but then again… she didn’t.
Thinking about any of her friends running across some of these monsters—the fungal-scarred spiders, the pale skeletal four-armed houndmasters, the tentacled horrors—made her stomach turn over hard, sent sour heat crawling up her esophagus.
“It’s not love, Liv. It’s not even really sex, even if it replicates the mechanics. It’s just something that has to be handled, like going to the dentist or paying car insurance.” Daniel sighed. “Erik’s not doing you any favors by putting it off.”
So you say. Liv’s hands tingled. The urge to throw a punch was well-nigh irresistible; she’d never been a violent person, but dear God, she was beginning to see the attraction.
Lou would have already been brawling at this point, Jada would have already verbally flayed someone, and what Mika would do didn’t bear thinking about.
“If I fucked him, would you leave me alone?”
“Liv.” Now it was Daniel’s patented patient tone, the one he took while Sara only got quieter and more withdrawn. “I understand. I held out against it for a long time, but then I lost two Sons to the whispers. I never want to lose another, and I don’t want to see you lose one either.”
Her irritation snuffed out, leaving only cold ashes. “What does that mean, lost them to the whispers?”
“It’s not pretty.” Daniel looked past her shoulder, probably at ebon-skinned River with his cornrow braids and rare, beautiful smile. “Both of them chose to… well, they did it to themselves, rather than hurt me like he wanted.”
For a moment Daniel looked almost haunted, the color draining from coppery cheeks, hazel eyes widening.
Liv wanted to touch his shoulder now—just a soft brush, to let him know someone was listening—but if she didn’t want to be handled, she couldn’t inflict it on someone else. “I’m sorry.” That put a different shine on things altogether.
Would Erik do that? Something to himself, rather than hurt her? Was that what the whispers wanted?
Funny, they talked about the Mad God all the time, but nobody mentioned Jesus. Her grandmother would have some thoughts about that; Gramma Poe had been Baptist through and through. Mom marrying a Catholic had been a Big Deal.
Not that it mattered in the end, with Dad dead in a car crash and Mom…
Unless the fellow came in through the chimney, the detective told Gramma, while young Liv huddled on the staircase, watching solemnly despite all attempts to insulate her from the news while a victim’s advocate tried to interest her in a stuffed toy.
There was no insulation—or distraction—from finding your mother torn to pieces in the living room. Ever.
“Me too.” For a moment a shadow of deep age lingered in Daniel’s eyes. “It isn’t fair and it isn’t right, but it’s what we have. And we make people safer every night.” He stepped back, ran a critical eye down her outfit. “Are you sure that’s what you’re wearing? Sara always wears heels.”
“I don’t fight in heels.” As if she’d ever fought at all, beyond a few playground tussles in elementary school. Use your words, everyone said. Girls weren’t supposed to punch, kick, scream.
“They won’t let your feet touch the ground much anyway.
” Daniel was clearly not in the mood for further emotional sharing.
He rolled his shoulders again, stretched one side of his neck, then the other.
“Sara’s dealing with a new batch of trainees; it’s good to have another lirai here so we can keep the city swept too. ”
“Trainees?” It was nice to have a chance at answers, even if she suspected her questions were amateur-silly. You had to start somewhere.
“Sons aren’t born.” Daniel brightened, glancing over her shoulder. “They’re made.”
“My lord.” It was River, armed to the teeth and observing a careful distance from Liv. “We’re almost ready. My lady.” A single nod in her direction.
“Thank you, River.” Daniel took a single step sideways, examining Liv’s face. “Just remember, it’s instinctive. You know what to do. Trust your Sons.”
Except the ones who might want to hurt me, right? Liv nodded. Daniel looked like he might say more, but simply gave a tight smile—probably meant to be encouraging—and was whisked away on a stream of heavily armed men.
Liv found she was hugging herself, staring at the end of the armory where barred windows glowered, baleful crimson eyes.
The sun had almost set.
* * *
An iced-over city at night, twinkling freeze-jewels clinging to concrete, glass, road, and window. Unfortunately, Daniel was right—she was too warm. Each Son was a living heater, invisible force passing through her in steampipe-lines, and he was right about something else, too.
They barely let her boots touch the ground.
She started out liking it. In fact, for the first hour or so the night was flat-out amazing, a superhero dream of flying between jewel-frosted spires, her hair barely stirred by cold, questing air.
The Sons moved with the eerie flowing speed of travel in flying dreams; Erik carried her for a while, then Dakshi while others spread out in looping patterns, leaping from rooftops, streaking through alleys, running and jumping with graceful, incredible, unnatural authority.
She was the middle of a moving flower, its petals dark streaks of Sons tearing through reality with their hard, invisible personal shells, and the strange thing wasn’t how fast they were going, the sudden changes in direction, or the deep undeniable warmth.
No, the strangeness was how natural it felt.
The nightmares always lingered, but her pleasanter dreams tiptoed back into memory too as the Sons poured through downtown, a tide of unseen motion.
Nobody looked up to see them on rooftops, silhouetted against the swiftly clouding sky; nobody peered into the dark throats of alleys, and even when they streaked alongside cars with bright diamond headlights, Liv felt invisible.
Best of all was spiraling up a tall granite-sided building, alternately squeezing her eyes shut against vertigo and staring in disbelief until Dakshi set her gently down on a shuttered observation deck, carefully tucked away from a security camera’s glassy eye.
She wouldn’t have even noticed the camera if he hadn’t pointed it out with a quick smile before turning to gaze at the glimmering city.
A moment later Erik hopped blithely over the railing and skidded to a stop next to her.
“My God,” Liv whispered.