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“He was in the way.And he wasn’t like me—he wasn’t someone who matters.He wasn’t important.”
Dee spoke carefully.“Your prize for joining this mystery man was supernatural powers?”
“Not a prize, honey.My tools.”
The magically created food sat heavy in Dee’s stomach, and he tasted the bitterness of bile at the back of his throat.“Tools for what?”
“Changing the world.Right now we’re focused on growing our ranks—with the right kind of people, of course.People with lots of money, with political influence, or with special abilities.Like you.It’s not so much the size of our group that’s vital, but its strength.And right now we’resostrong… and getting more so every day.”
She stood, walked over, and settled so close to him on the couch that she was almost in his lap.She settled a hand on his thigh.Maybe she was trying to seduce him, but the only sexual high he was interested in nowadays was the thrill he felt whenever he created a charm.That sensation was more addictive than any drug he’d tried.
“We’re gonna reshape the world,” Ashley said.“Because it sucks, doesn’t it?And there’s not nearly enough resources to go around.So many billions of nobodies living here like parasites.If you don’t get rid of fleas, honey, they can eventually suck a body dry.”
Dee didn’t believe that most of humanity were parasites.He knew, on an intellectual level anyway, that he was no more worthy than any of them.But Ashley had a point about limited resources, and if something didn’t change soon, humans would face a mass extinction, along with countless other species that were blameless.Why not speed things along while the planet was still salvageable?
“What’s your group?”he asked.“SPECTRE?LexCorp?KAOS?Demons?”
Ashley laughed.“The first three are fictional.And as for demons, you’d think they have potential for us, but it’s like trying to organize cats.Impossible to get them to direct their energies where they’ll do the most good.”
“Demons arereal?”Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point.
“Yep.Demons, angels, and a zillion other things that most people assume exist only in fairy tales.But my group, we’re humans.Just ordinary oldHomo sapiens.We make our little pushes online, in boardrooms, in government offices.Sometimes we hardly need to lift a finger.We set those parasites against each other until there’s nothing left butus.The cream of the crop.”
He wanted time to think about what this meant, exactly, but Ashley hopped up and clapped her hands.“C’mon.I’m gonna show you something really cool.”
She set off down a hallway lined with gilded mirrors.Dee, gods help him, followed.
CHAPTER9
Time was a funny thing, Achilles thought.It was supposed to be linear—the past, the present, the future—and unless you were zooming through space in a sci-fi story, it was supposed to elapse in even increments.But a week could fly by in the blink of an eye when you were caught up in something exciting or when a deadline approached, and a minute could last an eon when you were eager for some event.Or you could simply lose track of time altogether, your mind and soul connected to it by no more than a tenuous thread.
That was Achilles’ situation now.He knew he’d been in this lightless place for a while.But he couldn’t begin to measure how long it had been.He’d dozed fitfully on the hard floor, wandered aimlessly, then sat and dozed some more.He didn’t get hungry or thirsty.All of his scars, old and new, ached.
His body wasn’t the only thing to betray him; his brain attempted to fill the emptiness with nonstop memories of everything he’d ever fucked up.It was like the opposite of a Greatest Hits compilation.All the stupid decisions he’d made; the times he’d been too weak, too slow; the wise actions he’d failed to take and the poor actions he’d implemented.Santiago Bautista’s death was in there, in Technicolor, but so were dozens of others.Agents, NHSs, and bystanders meeting their ends in terrible ways that he hadn’t prevented.Loved ones being let down.The grand finale of this trip down Misery Lane, of course, was walking straight into a trap when he hadn’t wanted to be working at all.
He tried to steer his way toward more pleasant memories, he really did, because wallowing and self-flagellation would get him nowhere.Somehow, though, it was just a lot easier to focus on the negative.
As he lay flat on his back and attempted to get slightly more comfortable, his thoughts inevitably strayed to the one place they were strictly forbidden: Orson Davis, whose parents had named him after their favorite movie director—and who had lived briefly but fiercely in Achilles’ heart.Surprisingly, Achilles didn’t now find himself regretting what had happened between them or grieving Orson’s loss.Instead, he smiled in the darkness and was grateful to have had Orson at all.
It’s not immortality, son.That was what Chief Townsend had said to Achilles not long after Orson died, when the loss was as fresh and raw as a claw gouge in the belly.But it’s a cousin to it.If someone is important to you, a part of them stays with you even after they die.
At the time, Achilles had listened sullenly to the lecture, knowing it was all bullshit.Orson was dead and gone, his body nothing but ashes and his spirit, according to official Bureau training, moved on to somewhere else.
“You should’ve listened to Townsend,” Achilles scolded himself firmly.“The old man was never wrong.”
If a part of Orson persisted as long as Achilles was alive to remember him, that was an extra incentive to not die.Which meant he needed to figure out what the hell was going on and formulate a plan for survival.
He rose to his feet and began to pace in hopes of stimulating sharper thinking.And he talked out loud too, because the silence was oppressive.
“What do you actuallyknow, Spanos?Start with that.Okay.Well, I know that the former congresswoman possesses magical powers—nature and extent unknown.I assume she’s hostile ’cause this place ain’t the Ritz.But I also assume she has some use for me since she hasn’t killed me yet.”
Yes, good.Not a lot, but it was a place to start.Magical powers weren’t common, thank goodness.The Bureau frowned on them and kept close track of those who possessed them but didn’t actually provide much training on the subject.He racked his brain, trying to recall anything he’d heard that resembled his current situation.
Then it came to him so suddenly that he stopped in his tracks.“Owen Clark.”
He should have thought of this earlier because it had happened barely over a year ago.But he hadn’t been involved in the case, and after it wrapped up, Agent Clark ended up being reassigned to Wyoming.Achilles hadn’t seen or spoken to him since.But Bureau agents liked to gossip, so at least the bulk of the story had reached Achilles’ ears.
Clark had been sent on assignment to Wyoming, where he’d met up with a civilian who had strong empathic skills.The civilian had sensed something spooky at an abandoned coal tipple.Clark went off to investigate—solo, just like Achilles—and had gotten himself captured, also just like Achilles.The captor was human, more or less, according to the rumors, but spooky as fuck.He’d tried to get Clark to join his evil enterprise and, when Clark refused, tortured him.By inflicting pain through mystical means.
