Busted Flush by George R. R. Martin
“You liked Drummer Boy, too.”
“Wait a minute. Do you think I only hooked up with you because you suddenly got powers? It couldn’t possibly be because you were the nicest guy on the set? Because I had such a good time just hanging out with you?” Not to mention John hadn’t fucked almost every other girl on the set like DB had. Those days on American Hero seemed like such a long time ago now. “You were the only one who saw me, not Curveball the ace or the hot chick.”
He still wouldn’t look at her. “You said you were coming here to talk to me.”
He had to know what she wanted to talk to him about. Couldn’t put it off any longer.
“I can’t do this anymore. It’s changed from when we started. I feel like someone else’s tool. And I don’t like it. So I’m going to take some time off.”
“Leaving. With DB,” he said. Like a dog worrying a bone.
“Just leaving,” she said.
He smirked. Like he didn’t believe her. With sudden clarity, she realized the Committee wasn’t the only thing she couldn’t stay with anymore. She had thought—hoped—she could leave one and not the other. But maybe that was wishful thinking.
She didn’t want to have to say this to him. Not like this. But pity was a trap she didn’t want to fall into. Feeling sorry for him would make them both unhappy. More unhappy, rather.
“You don’t trust me, do you?” And he didn’t say anything. She wanted him to deny it. To grip her hand, however weakly, and reassure her. Plead with her. But he didn’t say anything. “You’re always going to be worried that I’m going to leave you for him. Or the next flashy ace that comes along.”
“DB was right. Maybe I was trying to keep you two apart. Because I was right, too. That if you two were together, you’d end up with him—”
Enough of this. Enough of being batted back and forth between them like a tennis ball. They all needed a time-out.
“I don’t think you even see me anymore,” she said. “I think I’m just . . . just this thing to you. Some kind of validation.”
“Kate—”
“So I’m going to take some time off.”
“Wait a minute—”
“I’m sorry, John.” She kissed him. Lingered. Met his gaze for a moment, and didn’t like the misery she saw there. But staying wouldn’t change it. They’d hash this argument out again, and again—and sooner or later, she’d walk out just the same.
She left the room. Her steps came faster as she traveled down the hallway, looking for the front door. When she reached it, she left the hospital at a run and kept going.
Double Helix
MY HEART WAKETH
Melinda M. Snodgrass
THE WIND IS MERELY swirling now, the rain pattering on the leaves of the bushes and bouncing on the cobblestones. Drake’s eyes are half closed and he’s nodding. A golden glow surrounds his body, extending for about a foot. Fortune never looked this peaceful when Sekhmet lived inside him. I wonder what she’s saying to the boy. Drake’s a frighteningly powerful ace now. Ra the way Ra was meant to be. He’s going to have to be trained and taught until he’s of an age to actually use these powers. I hope Sekhmet guides him well.
Across the square Hoodoo Mama, assisted by the dead, works with Ana to construct a tent to cover Bubbles. The flagstones have cracked and sunk into the wet Louisiana soil because of the weight of her body. I find the mound of flesh disturbing and disgusting, and yet I owe my life to that quaking mass. I can’t tell if she’s trying to move or it’s just the skin reacting to the strike of the raindrops.
Billy Ray is standing with his hands clenched at his sides, jaw working. The Midnight Angel is at his side. She looks quite amazing in her rain-drenched leathers. We’re all sopping wet from the hurricane. Ray is staring daggers at Bubbles while the Angel whispers frantically in his ear. I saunter over just as Ray gives an emphatic shake of the head and starts walking toward Bubbles.
Lohengrin has been standing near the women working around Bubbles with his sword drawn. He moves to intercept Ray. I fall into step with the head of SCARE.
“Little hard to arrest that,” I offer. “I’m not sure there’s a crane that could lift her.”
“I should arrest you all. Every goddamn one of you.” His misshapen face turns toward me. “Oh, not you of course.” Bitterness laces the words. “You’ll wave your British passport and your diplomatic immunity and go waltzing out of here. But I know you’re involved in all this somehow. I just can’t prove it.”
“You will not touch Bubbles,” Lohengrin says. His voice is a Germanic rumble. “She saved all our lives. Yours, too. You should be grateful. She is a great heroine.”
It’s absolutely true, and I still want to belt him. He’s such a naive, sanctimonious prig.
Ray’s chest puffs out. Lohengrin makes himself even taller. The smell of bravado and testosterone fills the air. I step in before there’s a macho-off.
“If you’re smart you won’t arrest any of them. The press has been showing round-the-clock pictures of the Committee saving a historic American city. You’ll look bad. And it won’t be general knowledge, but we all know that a million people could have died today.” I nod toward Bubbles. “Lohengrin is always a little too operatic, and this is totally a cliché, but she did save the day at great cost to herself.”
“You should report to the AG. Let her make the call,” says the Angel with a fine sense of when to pass the buck upstairs.
Ray nods and they walk away together. His arm goes around the Angel’s waist. I suddenly miss Niobe horribly. I need to get home and tell her about Drake. That he’s safe.
Bugsy joins Lohengrin and me. He’s wearing pants, his shirt is unbuttoned, and he’s carrying his shoes. “Hey, we did it.”
“Yes. We won . . . this time.”
“This time. That implies there’ll be a next time.”
“Bet on it. Weathers is a man who holds a grudge.”
Bugsy looks alarmed “Who do I talk to about this? John’s in the hospital. We’ve got nobody in charge.”
“You better figure out who that person should be,” I say.
Looking like a dejected basset hound, Bugsy starts buttoning his shirt. “Are you going to stay and help us?” Lohengrin asks.
It’s an interesting question. I’ve spent a year trying to blunt their effectiveness, but what ultimately blew them apart wasn’t my petty manipulations, but fundamental questions of fairness and governance.
I have quite comprehensively burned the bridge to the Silver Helix. Siraj wants to kill me. Weathers wants to kill me. I’m going to need the Committee to handle Weathers. Which means I have to patch them back together, and expand their abilities. I glance over at the tent which now covers Bubbles’s inert body. Hoodoo Mama kneels at Bubbles’s head, gently stroking her hair.
“Yes, yes, I believe I shall.”
“Wunderbar, we should start talking to the others right now.”
“Actually, I’ve got someplace better to be. I’m going home.”
I make the transition to Lilith. Lohengrin looks like he’s swallowed all the mud, detritus, and insects in Jackson Square. It would probably have been kinder to make the change in private, but why cut the puppy’s tail, or dick, off by inches?
“Oh, dude, you’ve been sleeping with her. Except she’s not a her. She’s a him. Actually she’s two hims. That’s kind of gay,” Bugsy says.
Lohengrin’s face is suffused with blood. He looks like he’s about to cry. “You betrayed me.”
“Welcome to romance,” I say, and make the jump Between.
“‘. . . come away—’ ” There’s a knock on the door. Niobe breaks off reading and rears up out of the crook of my arm. Alarm tightens the soft line of her jaw. The single reading lamp next to the chair forms a pool of light on the worn carpet. My shadow flits across the wall dancing to the rhythm of the crackling flames. I draw the Glock and let it rest against my leg.
It’s Flint. The rain is hissing on the pavement a
“I need you back.”
I shake my head.
“What happened to you?”
“It’s interesting how the death of one good man can put everything in perspective,” I say.
His disgust is evident as he says, “So this is about losing Daddy.”
“No, actually, it’s about not wanting to be part of an organization that would make a twelve-year-old into a mass murderer.”
“It was the cleanest solution.”
“Not for Drake.”
“What do you want?”
“To be left in peace. Oh, and your resignation.” The fire in his eyes seems to burn brighter. “I have every action I’ve ever taken on behalf of the Silver Helix and Britain detailed. It will be released to the papers and to a particular blogger if anything happens to me or mine.”
“All right.” My surprise at the capitulation must have shown. “You can try to deny what you are, but nothing has changed. At heart you are still a killer, Noel.”
Oddly the attempt to play head games doesn’t faze me. I chuckle and begin to close the door. “Good night, Captain. Stay dry.”
I return to Niobe and snuggle in close against her. “Now, where were we?”
She picks up the book and resumes reading. “ ‘For lo, the winter is past, and the rain is over and gone.’ ”
THE
WRITERS AND CREATORS
OF THE WILD CARD
CONSORTIUM
George R. R. Martin
Lohengrin, Hoodoo Mama, Holy Roller
Melinda M. Snodgrass
Double Helix, Lilith, Bahir
John Jos. Miller
Carnifex, the Midnight Angel, Simoon
Victor Milán
The Radical, Our Lady of Pain
Stephen Leigh
Puppetman, the Nur al-Allah, the Oddity
S. L. Farrell
Drummer Boy, Gardener
Walton (Bud) Simons
Little Fat Boy, Demise, Mr. Nobody
Caroline Spector
The Amazing Bubbles, Ink, Tiffani
Ian Tregillis
Genetrix, Rustbelt, Sharky
Carrie Vaughn
Curveball, Earth Witch, Tinker
Lewis Shiner
Fortunato, the Astronomer, Veronica
Walter Jon Williams
The Racist, Moon, Justice
Roger Zelazny
The Sleeper
Leanne C. Harper
Bagabond, the Hero Twins
Edward Bryant
Sewerjack, Wyungare
Chris Claremont
Molly Bolt, the Jumpers, Cody Havero
Michael Cassutt
Stuntman, Cash Mitchell
Kevin Andrew Murphy
Cameo, Will-o’-Wisp
Pat Cadigan
Water Lily
Gail Gerstner Miller
John Fortune, the Living Gods, Peregrine
William F. Wu
Lazy Dragon, Chop-Chop, Jade Blossom
Laura J. Mixon
The Candle, Lamia, Clara van Rennsaeler
Sage Walker
Diver, Zoe Harris
Arthur Byron Cover
Quasiman, Leo Barnett
Steve Perrin
Brave Hawk, Digger Downs, Mistral
Royce Wideman
Toad Man, the Lama, Crypt Kicker
Bob Wayne
The Card Sharks
Howard Waldrop
Jetboy
Daniel Abraham
Jonathan Hive, Spasm, Father Henry Obst
Parris McBride
Elephant Girl
Christopher Rowe
Hardhat
George R. R. Martin, Busted Flush
(Series: Wild Cards # 19)