Читать книгу Scorched - Erica Hayes - Страница 7

I must have fainted, because next thing I knew, I woke in Adonis's bedroom, with sunlight pouring in the window. His red feather quilt was tucked around me. I groaned, and rolled over. A pair of black lacy panties scrunched under the pillow. They weren't mine. Apparently some things hadn't changed.

From the next room, I could hear Adonis, arguing on the phone. His closet lay open, the mirrored door pushed aside to reveal tailored suits, expensive knitted sweaters, soft leather jackets, perfect shoes. Sharp fashion sense was another trait of Dad's that I'd somehow missed out on. I was a T-shirt-and-favorite-jeans kinda girl, and with a pang of dread, I wondered what had happened to all my stuff after nine months. Had they kept my apartment? My clothes? My costumes?

I levered myself out of bed, a mess of headache and bruises and broken heart. Enough feeling sorry for myself. Time to get back to work. I hadn't forgotten that Dad was dead because of me. Murdered. Razorfire's sweet-sick revenge.

But mine, I vowed, would be sweeter still. Adonis and I would see to that. Thomas Fortune wasn't an affectionate father. More the aloof, practical type. But he'd loved us. Trusted us. Treated us as equals. I didn't know how Adonis had been running things at FortuneCorp while I was gone, but I knew I wouldn't let Dad's murder go unpunished. No way.

I still wore my greasy hoodie and jeans, and they stank real bad. I peeled them off and stumbled under the shower. At the first flush of hot water, I shivered in bliss. I'd forgotten what it felt like, clean water flooding my skin, sloshing through my filthy hair. Dirt swirled over the rough creamy tiles and down the drain.

The welts on my skin stung, but I polished off half a bar of Adonis's musk-scented soap and three handfuls of shampoo before I was satisfied. Still, I'd have to squeeze in a rare visit to the salon. I'm not a beauty-product girl—not much point—but I could really use a manicure, not to mention a wax. I twisted the water off and stepped out onto the mat, and the misted mirror reflected my face.

I froze, towel halfway to my dripping hair. Leaned closer. Slowly wiped the mirror clean.

A horrid sickle-shaped scar curled over my left cheek, from my temple to the side of my nose. The skin there was seared away, replaced with shiny red scar tissue. Half my eyebrow had burned away for good. My cheekbone was dented, and when I touched it, it ached faintly, the echo of something lost.

Christ on a cracker. I'd never been pretty. But this…

Memories of pain scorched my mind. The helmet, current arcing blue, skin sizzling to the backdrop of my screams…

I wanted to scream again, claw at my face. They'd carved me up pretty good. I should be thankful my eye had been saved. That the damage was only cosmetic.

But it wasn't.

The bruises, the welt where the augmentium helmet had cut into my scalp: they'd heal. But the burned scar was too old, too brutally deep. I'd never fix this. I'd have to live with it forever. And every time I touched it—every time I glimpsed my reflection, in a mirror or a window or someone else's eyes—I'd remember what Razorfire had done to me.

Guess it was lucky for me I wore a mask most of the time, then.

I let out a deep breath, and stared my scarred reflection down. I had stuff to do. No point crying over what was lost.

Not that I ever rated much in the beauty department to start with, right? The Seeker, in her mask and tight leather, attracted far more interest from the opposite sex than plain Verity ever did, and that suited me just fine. Lots of guys thought it was kinky to sleep with a masked vigilante. They never wanted her phone number afterwards. But relationships are a tedious mess of half-truths when you've got a secret identity to protect, and the Seeker just took what she wanted and vanished into the night. Fun all round, no one gets hurt.

But still, as I studied my new scar-bright face, the hungry hate-seed inside me burrowed fresh poison shoots into my heart. This went above and beyond normal hostilities. The damage was spiteful, unnecessary. When I finally caught up with Razorfire—and I would, so help me, if it sucked out every last drop of my strength—maybe I'd return the favor before I killed him.

I dried off and hunted for something to wear. My body was skinny and malnourished, and Adonis's clothes were too big for me at the best of times, but I found a Versace T-shirt and some sweats that didn't fall off once I tied knots in strategic places. Shoes were more of a problem. I opted for the hobo flip-flops, once I'd given them a good scrubbing.

I slouched into the living room. Sunlight slanted in, glinting on polished oak floorboards. Adonis's apartment was meticulously tidy, telling a familiar tale of paid housekeeping and too many hours spent at work. White Italian sofa, plush rugs, four televisions on mahogany shelving, tuned to four different news channels with the sound muted. An array of computers sat on the glass-topped desk, alongside three cell phones. Through the open glass doors lay a sparkling view of the bay, and a saxophonist's melancholy wail mingled with the sounds of traffic and café customers. The smells of bacon and French toast made my mouth hurt, and my empty stomach protested with a growl.

Adonis's voice drifted in from the sun deck, with that sarcastic edge that meant he was talking to our sister. "Yeah, whatever. I'll bring her in, you can talk to her yourself… Well, cancel the fucking meeting, then… Jesus, E., don't go out of your way or anything."

My mouth twisted. That was my sister, all right. Not Thank God Verity's still alive! or Is she okay? or even Where the hell's she been all this time, I'll wring her telekinetic neck for making me worry.

Just grief about cancelling some damn meeting.

I raided the fridge while I waited, hunting for waffles or eggs. I pushed aside a bottle of Moet, a gift box of Belgian chocolates, a wheel of triple cream brie. "Jeez, don't you do anything but seduce debutantes? Haven't you got any real food?"

"Blow me," came the reply.

"The places you've been? Not likely." I grabbed the OJ and swigged, a fresh burst of sweetness. Finally, I unearthed a box of Pop-Tarts and dropped four into the stainless steel toaster. My mouth watered harder at the fruity scent. How long since I'd eaten properly?

The tarts popped, and I burned my mouth wolfing the first one down. Oh, God. My knees weakened, and my taste buds had their own little private moment on that hot strawberry goodness. Mmm.

I unfolded the Sapphire City Chronicle on the breakfast bar as I munched, wiping drool from my chin. All those computers and Adonis still had this thing for newsprint. VILLAINS ON THE RISE! yelled the headline, above a half-page, blurry security camera photo of masked bandits heisting an armored van. They had balls, to rip off a van in full view of the cameras. Hubris, not to shoot the cameras out first. Arrogance, even. The guy in front was giving the camera the finger, his sawed-off shotgun brandished above his head in victory.

I peered closer. A glint showed on that cheerily-displayed middle finger, so tiny you could barely see it. But I knew what it was. A Gallery ring, marking him as one of Razorfire's petty minions. His Archvillain-ness despised normals, sure. Didn't stop him recruiting all kinds of petty criminals and bad-asses to wreak havoc and perpetuate the kind of climate he reveled in: fear.

As I read, I frowned. The article listed a grotesquery of heists, sieges, kidnappings, shootings, and assorted mayhem, all in the last couple of weeks. A crime wave, in fact.

Adonis walked in, dropping phone number four into his jacket pocket. He looked great in black, and his suits always fit him perfectly, from square shoulders to neat white cuffs to the green or violet or sapphire-blue ties he liked. He flipped a tart from the toaster and bit into it. "Typical. Back for five minutes and already you're into my secret stash."

"Hey, I'm the one who's been eating stewed puke for nine months. Give over." I swiped the tart from his hand with my talent, and it flew across to splat onto my plate. But an ache flared in my skull. I couldn't control it. The plate spun onto the floor and smashed to shards.

"Sorry." My cheeks burned, and I felt queasy. Had they broken me in that place? If I couldn't control my talent, I was useless. I knelt and scrabbled for the mess, but my fingers were just as clumsy. I smeared strawberry jam, splinters stabbing my knees.

Adonis knelt beside me. "It's okay."

The broken plate cut into my fingers. I didn't care. I had to fix it, make it right. Chipped glass slices my palms as I climb… the poison vial, smooth and cool under my fingertips. I reach for my mask, force my thumbs underneath, drag it off…

"Verity, stop." Adonis's voice pulled me back to the present. He grabbed my hand, forcing me still. "It's okay, damn it!"

I shook my dizzy head to clear it. "Uh… sure. It's all good. I just made a mistake, that's all. Tired, I guess."

He helped me up. "I heard you last night. Didn't sound like nice dreams."

I didn't remember. Probably a good thing. I'd had enough nightmares to last a lifetime. I shrugged, and reached for another tart.

Adonis watched me. He hadn't said anything about my face, and I was grateful. What was there to say? "Finish up, already. Big sister wants to see you."

"Whatever. Like she cares." I pushed the newspaper over the counter towards him, my mouth full of strawberry goo. "What's wrong with this picture?"

He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." I stabbed my finger at the photo. "Where are FortuneCorp in all this? Are we letting the Gallery get away with this stuff now? Jeez, I take a few months off and the place goes to hell."

"Did you read further down?"

"Huh?"

He flipped the folded newspaper over. Bottom half of page one, beneath the crime picture.

MAYORAL RACE HEATS UP ON CRIME

Villains Won't Drag Us Down, Says Fortune

Sapphire City's mayoral race is still too close to call, after candidates campaigned yesterday in the inland suburbs, the scene of many of the violent incursions that have terrorized citizens in recent weeks. Experts are predicting that policies on law and order will play a decisive role in the poll, to be held in just under two weeks, and it seems the candidates agree. The newest man in the race, local businessman Vincent Caine, visited a Bayview housing project where he promised long-time residents that, under his governance, their community would not be forgotten. "Too long, our disadvantaged communities have been easy prey for the unchecked violence of these power-augmented criminals," Mr. Caine said. "Only by regulating these people's activities and neutralizing their psychotic outbursts will our citizens once again feel safe." To that end, Mr. Caine promised the Chronicle that he will make an announcement on his innovative law and order policy in the next few days.

By contrast, the opposing candidate, Assistant District Attorney and socialite Equity Fortune, gave an impassioned speech at a charity luncheon, saying that she will not rest until the violence is stopped—but that conciliation, not regulation, is the key. "All Sapphire City's citizens must have a voice," Ms. Fortune said, "and that includes those with whose methods we do not necessarily agree. Freedom of speech is sacrosanct, and if sectors of our community must resort to unsavory acts in order to be heard, it is because we are not listening. If you elect me your mayor, I promise you, citizens: I will listen."

I tossed the paper away, disgusted. Typical. Equity was the eldest, and she'd always liked getting on TV, either with her mask on as Nemesis, the bringer of justice, or in the clear as assistant DA, trying high-profile cases and putting the villains away. "Our sister's running for mayor? God help us. What's all this crap about conciliation?"

Adonis shrugged, and flipped the paper back to the security photo. "As you see. FortuneCorp's taking a step back."

"So Equity can win votes from the bleeding-heart civil liberties sector? Give me a break. Has she unmasked? Told the world she's augmented?"

"Of course not."

"Of course not," I echoed ironically. "Even the bleeding hearts wouldn't vote for that, would they? And who's this other moron…?" I checked the name. It seemed familiar. "Local businessman Vincent Caine," I read. There was a picture of him, typical guy-in-a-suit. I squinted at it, trying to remember. "Oh, right. The smartphone guy?"

"That's him."

"'Neutralizing their psychotic outbursts', huh? Nice. Sounds like a hater to me." A few of Sapphire City's prominent citizens insisted all augments were bad news, whether good or evil, and that we should all be locked up for public safety. Apparently, this Caine was one of them.

"Maybe. A clever one, if he is. His company invents new-generation IT hardware, and they say he's still the brains behind it. But he's got the common touch. Self-made man, and all that. A lot of people like what he's got to say."

"People with crappy lives always like what scaremongers have to say. It justifies being afraid of their own shadows."

"Maybe," Adonis said again. "Or maybe they're just hardworking normals who've had their businesses torched by Razorfire, or their kids held hostage by some Gallery scumbag. Powers all look the same to people who don't have any."

"Yeah, well, there'd be a lot more scumbags holding kids hostage if you and I weren't around," I pointed out. "People always hate what they don't understand. Doesn't make it right."

"If you say so. But Caine's popular. Loaded, too, if the color of the campaign he's running is any guide."

"More loaded than the family Fortune?" I scoffed. "Say it ain't so."

"I know. Unthinkable, isn't it?"

I swallowed the last mouthful and smacked my lips. "Whatever. Let Equity play at politics. You and me against the world, eh? Let's get to work and kick some villainous butt."

"It's not that simple, Vee."

I cocked one singed eyebrow. "Villain's ass, my boot. Seems pretty simple to me."

"I told you. Equity wants FortuneCorp to take a step back."

I snorted. "Good thing Equity's not in charge, then."

Adonis just looked at me.

My bones chilled. "But… you're Dad's favorite. You know the company inside out. We always thought… You're the only one who can do what Dad did. It has to be you!"

"Equity's the eldest. It's how he wanted it." His eyes glinted, a flash of ocean-blue resentment. Gone so swiftly I could have imagined it.

But I knew I didn't, and my heart broke for him, like it had already broken for Blackstrike, our father, murdered at the ugly hands of Razorfire. Dad could have left anyone else in charge—his superconducting brother Illuminatus, for instance, or even Phantasm, our tetchily invisible cousin—and Adonis would have understood. But Equity?

She'd always treated me with disdain, because I spoke my mind instead of weighing every word for political correctness. I'm named for truth, after all, and in strategy meetings Dad always relied on me to tell it how it was. Still, it saddened me that she and I weren't closer, because on those rare occasions when she forgot to be a bitch, we actually got along okay.

But Equity resented Adonis. Not just for being Dad's favorite—like every guy of his generation, Dad wanted a son—but because Adonis was everyone's favorite. It wasn't enough for Equity to be strong, intelligent, a kick-ass attorney, and master of the power of light. She wanted to be glamorous, too. Adonis had the augment that Equity longed for, and she hated him for it.

It didn't make sense. Everyone knew Equity lived on celery sticks and jealousy. So why the hell had Dad left her in charge?

My stomach squirmed. I knew how it felt to believe your family had abandoned you. "Jeez. I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing. It's done. Equity's the new boss."

"And you're on board with that?"

"I have to be. What am I gonna do, go work for another secret crime-fighting family? Oh, wait, there aren't any." Adonis sounded resigned, like he'd already thought this over too many times. Didn't stop him sounding angry, too.

"But we're still equal shareholders, right? What about Chance?" Our littlest brother, with his cheeky surfer-boy smile and careless charm, was the only one Equity had any time for, probably because he made it easy for her to feel superior.

"You know Chance. Doing his own thing, as ever." Adonis's tone twinged sharp.

I understood his frustration. Chance didn't take the family business seriously. Sure, Adonis parties hard, but he'll drop it all in a heartbeat if there's work to be done. As a geeky teenager, I used to be jealous of Adonis's girlfriends, until I learned it's never the sister who gets her heart broken.

Chance, on the other hand, has talent up to his baby-doll eyelashes, but by Dad's standards, he's the family screw-up: instead of fighting crime, Chance prefers to use his lucky augment to risk his life at extreme sports, win the long odds at roulette and pick up girls.

Chance follows his heart; Adonis locks his heart away. I know who I trust more. "But what if—"

"It doesn't matter what Chance says, even if we could get the cocky little shit to turn up. The chairperson has the veto. Always did. You know that. Forget it, okay?" Adonis pushed me towards the bedroom. "Big sister awaits. Go get ready."

I chugged more OJ from the bottle and jammed it back in the fridge. "I am ready," I announced.

He eyed me critically. "Wearing that? You look like a hobo."

I snorted, glad of the change of subject. "Hey, they're your clothes. And oh, look." I patted my nonexistent pockets and frowned. "I seem to have misplaced my crime-fighter's spring collection while I was in the nuthouse. So sad. C'mon, we can worry about my fashion sense later."

"Just a sec." He vanished into the bedroom, and soon reappeared with a black suitcase, which he dumped on the table before me. "You might want these."

I unzipped it. Folded neatly inside lay my clothes. Some of them, anyway. My favorite blue jeans, soft from months of wearing. My T-shirts, even the wise-ass ones I knew he hated, and my leather belt. My old black lace-up boots, scuffed and charred from fighting. Even—bless him—a set of my knife-proof leathers.

And my mask.

I fingered the soft black leather. So familiar. My suit still smelled of flame and city dirt, a faint whiff of some perfume I didn't remember wearing.

All still here, even though I'd vanished. With this stuff, my brother had kept me alive.

My eyes burned. I was real after all. Or rather, the Seeker was real, and she was the important part of me. The Seeker was strong. Verity was weak. Nine months bolted into an augmentium helmet had proved that.

Without my power, I was nothing.

Adonis shrugged, sheepish. "They gave away your apartment after the memorial service. I couldn't keep everything. But I wanted… I couldn't just let you disappear."

I struggled to swallow on a lumpy throat. "You always were a sentimental idiot, Ad."

"You're welcome." He hugged me, one arm around my shoulders. "I'm glad you're home, Vee."

Home. It sounded good. I hugged him back, and his warm spritzy scent unleashed a fresh flood of memory. Only this time, they were good memories. I wasn't alone.

Adonis kissed my bruised forehead. “Go get changed. You don’t want to be late. Equity’s skipping a meeting, don’t you know?”