Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Her hands ached, but they were steady. Rowan dabbed at her lacerated knuckles, the cotton ball soaked with cold antiseptic, and hissed softly. “That stings.” Her eyes watered, and she set her jaw. A single tear from the stinging rolled down her cheek.
“Bet it does.” Catherine popped her bubblegum. She leaned against the bathroom door, electric light glowing off vinyl pants and skintight Ambrixes T-shirt. Her nose-rings glittered. “You’re serious? Del did that?”
“I did it, on the heavy bag. But he kind of pushed me into it.” Rowan sighed, tossed the bloody cotton ball into the wastebasket, and picked a fresh one, dipping it in the antiseptic. “I’ve never seen him like that before. He saw me sparring with Ellis and just kind of went…”
“Was that before you got your nose socked or after?”
“After. Ellis accidentally got me in the face.”
Cath and Zeke’s bathroom was cluttered with varieties of scented soap and lotions; towels hung everywhere, not to mention bits of hand-washing. It was messy, but comforting.
“Oh, God.” Catherine rolled her eyes. “Ellis popped you on the nose and Del saw it?”
“He might have.” Rowan dabbed a little harder. Another tear trickled down her cheek, eyes watering from the stinging. “My nose isn’t broken though, just bloody. Thanks for asking.”
“What did he do? Is Ellis in the infirmary? How many hits?” Catherine’s mohawk nodded cheerfully as she eyed the pile of cotton balls.
“He didn’t do anything to Ellis, he just sparred with me—ran me ragged. Then he set me to the heavy bag. I think I lost my temper.”
“So what happened? God, talking to you is like pulling teeth.” Cath rolled her eyes again dramatically, doing her best to look like a sarcastic teenager—and succeeding pretty well, since she was just barely over twenty and her tone was heavily weighted with irony.
“If you’d quit interrupting, I could tell you.” Rowan finished cleaning her knuckles. “There, that’s the best I can do for right now. Anyway, I kicked the heavy bag, shouted something not very nice, and left.”
“That’s it?” Cath’s jaw dropped. “That’s all? You didn’t throw anything? Zap him? Anything?”
“I kind of doubt ‘zapping’ Justin would be a good idea. I did shock him while we were sparring, though.” Rowan’s tone was dry and unamused. “I need some advice here, Cath, and I have to admit I’m not getting any.” You’re as bad as Hilary. She stopped, waiting for the burst of pain.
It arrived, but strangely muted.
“Personally I think you’re crazy for dating him anyway, but that’s just me.” Cath popped her gum afresh.
Rowan swept the bloody cotton balls together, tossed them into the trash. Bandaging would do no good. She’d heal quickly anyway; she always did.
“Why does everyone assume I’m dating him?
” She capped the antiseptic, hauled herself up off the toilet lid to put the bottle away in the mirrored cabinet.
The bathroom was also, of course, decorated with a lava lamp and a print of Frankenstein.
Half-empty bottles of nail polish in different shades scattered over the counter, and an ammo belt hung by the door.
“Maybe because you’re sleeping with him?” Cath said sweetly.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Rowan sighed. “When did everyone get so interested in my life?”
“You’re a very interesting girl, sweetie. Here’s a shirt.” Catherine held up a green-and-white lump of material. “Need some pants?”
“No, there’s not much blood on these, I’ll wear them. I’m starving.” Rowan examined her sports bra in the mirror—one or two spots, that was all. She took the shirt and held it up. “Good God. Where did you get a Lucky Care Bear T-shirt?”
“Oh, around and about. Let’s see how it looks.” Catherine’s eyes were sparkling under their heavy coat of eyeliner. “Yum. Makes your tits look cute and perky.”
“It’s too small,” Rowan complained, then had to grab at the counter as a wave of dizziness swept over her.
“You okay?” The younger woman’s voice sounded very far away. “Ro?”
“I’m fine,” Rowan said dreamily. “I promise. Just tired and hungry, that’s all.”
Catherine examined her, eyes narrowed and cherry-painted mouth pursed. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. And believe me, I should know.”
Rowan shrugged. Cath and Zeke’s suite had two rooms, a long brown velvet couch, and psychedelic posters on each wall.
No plants except for a cactus on Zeke’s bedside table.
Magazines and dirty clothes were scattered everywhere.
A stick of strawberry incense fumed in a holder on Catherine’s worktable.
For someone with such a precise, detail-oriented mind, she certainly is messy. Rowan caught herself smiling. It was full of life and the stamp of Cath’s personality. “I suppose I’m just a little surprised. I didn’t expect Justin to act that way.”
“What way? Like a jerk with a jealous streak?” Cath rested one hand on a cocked hip and regarded Rowan with a very adult and bitter half-smile.
“Jealous?” Rowan touched her nose delicately with her fingertips. It wasn’t swelling much. Cath had insisted on applying ice and ibuprofen. “I don’t think he’s ever—”
“Come on, Price, he doesn’t let you go anywhere alone. I’m surprised you can visit the bathroom by yourself. Del probably saw Ellis getting sweaty with you and went into he-man mode. It happens.”
“I’m sure it does.” Rowan pulled the hem of the T-shirt down and gave herself a final once-over in the full-length mirror Catherine had draped a black feather boa over. “I just don’t see him as the jealous type.”
“You’re dense.” Catherine padded over to the unmade king-size bed, dropped down, and began working her feet into her boots.
I look like I’ve been in a fight, Rowan leaned close to the mirror. She had a raccoon-mask of bruising around both eyes, and her nose was puffy. It had been a good hit, but the swelling was already beginning to go down. It smarted, though.
The only problem with healing rapidly was that most of the pain was compressed into a shorter time. Well, what do you know? I was in a fight. Me, the sissy girl who ran away from every schoolyard brawl. Imagine that.
“I probably am,” she murmured, touching her split lower lip with a fingertip. “Ellis got me a good one, but I won the fight.”
“I was talking about Del, Rowan.” Catherine couldn’t have sounded any more sarcastic if she’d tried, which was in and of itself a compliment. “You’re hopeless.”
“Catherine… how did you get into the Society?” It wasn’t the right time to ask, but Rowan was curious.
The younger girl paused, slim fingers tangled in a boot lace.
“Sigma snatched me from the playground at Sacred Heart,” she said finally, tonelessly, tossing her head slightly.
Like a ponytail, Rowan realized, and shuddered.
Sometimes Catherine seemed no more than a very scared child, for all her toughness.
“They nabbed me and put me in a holding tank. They ever tell you about Sig holding tanks? They’re padded and circular, with a drain in the middle so you can piss.
But the top is Plexiglass and always dark.
You can’t tell if you’re being observed or not.
The lights are fluorescent, and they never go off.
I was in there for about sixteen hours before the door was blown and Del and Henderson came in.
They got me out. On the way we passed the Sig who was coming to shoot me full of Zed.
He had forty hypodermics. Someone had broken his neck.
Probably Del.” She paused, yanked the bootlace tight, and tied it swiftly. “Guess why they wanted me.”
“Probably something to do with your telekinesis,” Rowan guessed.
“Yeah. I used to make pebbles and rocks rise up off the playground and smack the other kids. Wasn’t very nice.
And the nuns reported it to the priest, who reported it to Rome.
Somehow Sigma found out.” She shook her head, her mohawk—now tipped with crimson—shivering.
“Del was first in the door. I threw myself on him, and he put me in an armlock and said, ‘If you want to get out of here, come with me’. Super cool.”
Rowan let out a soft breath. Oh, honey.
Cath shivered; then she bounced from the bed, booted feet hitting the floor with a thud. “Grab a coat. I want to smoke a cig topside, okay?”
Rowan shook her head. “What an awful habit,” she said, but she found her camel coat hanging on the rack by the door. “What’s this doing here?”
“You left it that afternoon we played pinochle, remember? Hand me my scarf. I’m hungry too, so let’s hurry. Wonder what’s for dinner tonight?”
“Probably spaghetti.” Rowan handed over the long, striped Dr. Who scarf and shrugged into her coat, wincing as a few more bruises made themselves apparent. Justin hadn’t been kind.
Neither was I. She sighed. At least he’d been smart enough to leave her alone. She was a lot calmer now. Enough to feel a little guilty over the way she’d screamed at him.
Catherine chattered the entire way up to the surface, silver jewelry flashing and hoop earrings shivering. Rowan made the appropriate noises, her mood lightening. The girl meant well. For all her punk bravado she was a sensitive, intelligent young lady.
And she was trying to make Rowan feel better.
Hilary would have snorted and dragged Ro out for a night on the town, dancing, drinking, and overriding Rowan’s good-natured complaints. Thinking about Hil sent the usual pain through her chest; a pain that seemed to be getting… if not less sharp, then at least easier to bear.
She would have chided Rowan into calling Delgado, or she would have bought a carton of ice cream, raged against jealous men, and insisted Rowan tell her every detail.
Rowan shook her head, dislodging the thought. Catherine, busy talking about parallel processing and gigs of RAM, didn’t notice.
When they stepped out through steel-reinforced doors, dusk was creeping into the sky, between the buildings. Catherine flicked her lighter at the first possible instant, amber flame caressing the cigarette’s end. “God, I’ve been dying for this. You want one?”
It was late March but still chilly, the sky clear though the grass wet from morning sleet. Pockets of snow still held on in deeply shaded corners, eroded from rain and the ground slowly warming up. Venus glimmered in the sky.
Rowan could still hear her father’s voice telling her about the stars. “No thanks.” Her breath plumed in the air, as if she was smoking too.
“How about you? How did you get here?” Catherine’s eyes glinted. She hopped down the steps, then wrestled herself up to sit on the low stone wall next to the carved lion. The lion’s heavy paw rested on a stone urn frothing with ivy. “I only heard about half of the story from Del.”
Rowan shrugged. “I saw a light in an abandoned house and thought it was kids playing around for Halloween,” she said slowly. “Then I ran across Justin. When he said you were parapsychology investigators, I freaked out. I couldn’t have anyone suspecting what I was.”
“You blew out the instruments, you know. Without even trying. It was weird.” Catherine frowned, took another drag. “We weren’t sure if you were government or not. Del looked like he’d been hit with a two-by-four. I think he already had a case for you.”
“Well, the next time I saw him two Sigs were trying to kidnap me in a parking lot. He chased them off and got invited to dinner.” He probably ‘pushed’ Dad, Rowan realized, remembering her father’s odd insistence. “Then he came to dinner—and so did Sigma. They shot my father and my best friend.”
“God, I’m sorry.” Catherine looked aghast. “I didn’t hear that part. I just heard Del snatched you from a Sig team and dragged you halfway across the country before it was safe to bring you in.”
Rowan shrugged, crossing arms over her chest, hugging herself. Her left arm twinged—she had a bruise on that biceps. As gentle as he’d tried to be, Justin had still hurt her.
Maybe that’s a lesson.
“I hate those fucking Sigs.” Catherine blew out a long vapory jetstream. “Brew says they’re just guys doing their jobs, most of ‘em. I say, so were the Nazis.”
Rowan leaned against the lion, ignoring the chill seeping through her coat. Nausea rose briefly under her breastbone. She took a deep breath, the back of her neck prickling. “I agree.”
“You okay?” Catherine stubbed her cigarette on the lion’s paw and tossed the remainder into a coffee can set to the side. “You look kind of pale.”
“I’m always pale.” Rowan attempted a cheerful tone. “I think my blood sugar’s bottoming out. Let’s go eat.”
Catherine slid her arm through Rowan’s and grinned down at her. “Good idea, sistah. If it’s spaghetti, I want tons of garlic bread.”
“Meatballs,” Rowan agreed, good-naturedly. “Sounds great.”