Dangerous (27 page)

able at Name That Tune and then one day he couldn’t play it

anymore. If the token changed his brain that much, what else

did it do to him?”

“But it hasn’t changed you. Besides, you know . . .” He

stabbed a butter knife against my hand.

“Enough stabbing me!”

“You have to stop that psychopath,” he said. “Wilder was

right about that much.”

“I can’t leave Dad to go after Jacques.”

Luther held up the newspaper and pointed emphatically at

Jacques’s face. “Either Wilder will kill him or together they’ll kill

you. And me. And your dad and mom. At any rate, a lot of killing

will go down. You have to go superhero all over this guy.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Part of you is loving this.”

Luther folded up the paper, keeping his face carefully still,

but his eyes were smiling.

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C h a p t e r 3 5

I told Dad, made sure the police planned to keep a con-

stant guard, and set out with Luther.

We needed transportation. I resisted calling Howell. May-

be it
was
GT who had gassed our house, but I still couldn’t

rule her out.

Wilder had left stashes of cash hidden around the city, just

in case he ever got cut off from the lair. I chose a location he’d

told me about on a busy corner of downtown Philly. I moved

in quickly, felt around the backside of an ATM machine, and

ripped free a fat envelope.

“A thousand dollars in bills,” I told Luther as we headed to

a car rental agency. “Not a bad day’s work.”

Neither of us had a driver’s license, so we had to risk using

the same rental place Wilder did, where the morning shift guy

would take a bribe to look the other way.

We followed new reports of Jacques north. It was chilly out

but not so bad that we couldn’t roll down a window for Laelaps.

He’d snap at the wind, his tail thumping the backseat.

Luther bought a police scanner. Jacques’s latest assault was

a grocery store. He’d filled up his cart, then at the checkout

grew a blade from his hand and demanded the cash from the

register as well. The store manager stood up to Jacques and got

sliced. It sounded like the guy was in pretty critical shape.

“The police can’t stop him, Luthe. He’s bulletproof when

he’s armored. If he did get caught somehow, he could grow a

blade on his wrists to slice through handcuffs or chop his way

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out of a jail cell.”

“So call the police and warn them.”

I looked at Luther hard. He put up his hands.

“I know, I know, you don’t have to yell. If someone did be-

lieve you, they’d be after your tokens too.”

I told him everything as we drove—even Jacques’s “no

arms, no cake” joke.

“I don’t get it,” said Luther.

“It’s not just me, right? It’s not brilliant and witty humor

that only the two-handed understand?”

“But then again, I don’t get lots of things. Like chicks. And

why people say ‘chicks.’ And why American football isn’t called

throwball. And how come no one’s invented a good jet pack yet.”

Jet pack! Why hadn’t I thought of that when my techno

token worked?

The scanner had an update: “Blade Runner” spotted in a

stolen car. Soon a police barricade blocked the road. The car

was abandoned off road, the front end crumpled against a tree.

“He must be on foot,” Luther said.

“What’s around here?”

Luther opened a map. He muttered about farms and high-

ways but when he said, “Spackman Caverns,” I perked up.

“Jacques hates heights. He’d feel safe deep down.”

I hopped out. Luther started to get out too.

“Stay with Laelaps. Jacques would use you two against me.”

Besides, this was a fireteam matter.

I ran through some woods, keeping away from the police

and their dogs. Night was coming on. Against the blue-black

sky rose a grand house on a bald hill. A sign read: SPACKMAN

CAVERNS.

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Dangerous

I paused. No sense of Wilder.

The place was closed up and dark. I saw a security guard

and hid behind a tree. When the guard ambled around the cor-

ner of the house, I ran to the nearest door. The deadbolt was

sliced through.

Darkened gift shops, empty corridors. I took the stairs

into the cavern’s mouth. The rock ceiling started low and then

opened up like a basketball arena. Emergency lighting cast a

whitish-blue pallor and brown shadows. It was eerie, lonely, and

easy to imagine I was the last person on earth.

A massive stalactite hung in the center of the chamber, a

spectacular chandelier. I knew from a geology project that sta-

lagmites and stalactites only grow a couple of cubic centimeters

every century. A messy fight here would cause irreparable dam-

age. Just in case, I eased the metal bar from a handrail.

Looking over the cavern map, I noted a tunnel leading off

from the main chamber that was closed to visitors.

I crawled through the narrow tunnel and into a smaller

chamber lit by a single lantern. Jacques was sitting on the far

side next to a heap of food, devouring a moon pie. He jumped

up when I entered, armor streaking over his limbs, his head.

Only his face remained uncovered.

And his face made me angry. I’d come here all set to be

calm and convincing, put aside my hostilities in order to lead

Jacques away from hurting people. But this was the bleeper who

cut off my dad’s arm.

I took a deep breath. “Hey Jacques.”

“Hey Maisie,” he said with no emotion.

I put my hands in my pockets and leaned against the cave

wall, trying to imagine what Wilder would say. “Kind of a weird

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place to hide?”

“I came here on my first trip to the US.” His eyes didn’t

leave me as he finished off his moon pie and tossed the wrapper.

“It sucks that you’re doing all this.”

“You broke off way before I did
and
took Ruth’s token.

Nothing could be the same after that.”

“And as you recall, you cut off my father’s arm.”

Panic washed across his face, but he replaced it quickly

with a smile.

“How’s the old man doing?”

“We’re not going to talk about my dad.” I stood up straighter,

no longer able to affect a casual posture.

“Hey, you brought him up.”

“
You’re
not going to talk about my dad.”

“So what should we talk about? Are you hoping I’ll open

up, swear to be a good boy, then we’ll hug and forget the
bleep-

ing
mortal combat?”

That was pretty much exactly what I was hoping. Except

without the
bleeping
part. Or the hug. He did cut off Dad’s arm.

“Pretoken Jacques wouldn’t do all this,” I said.

“Yeah? Well, pretoken Jacques was a
bleepity-bleep
coward.”

“There are police crawling through those woods, Jacques,

and they’ll shoot you in your Achilles’ eyeball. Don’t you think

it’d be better to turn yourself in?”

“What, so they can cut my token out of me and follow up

with a lethal injection?” His dimples creased with a painful

smile. “There’s no going back. And there’s no more fireteam.

Not after Ruth. Not after I watched our illustrious thinker kill

Mi-sun for her token.”

Until that moment, I’d been harboring a wish that Wilder

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Dangerous

was somehow innocent. Jacques’s words melted that tiny frozen

hope. Wilder had gotten Ruth killed and tried to take her token.

He’d killed Mi-sun for hers. And he’d lured me away from my

parents to help him kill Jacques.

“The tokens lie,” Jacques was saying. “Mine made me feel

like I’d be okay if I just stayed with the team, stayed with Wilder.

But then Ruth died, and Wilder wouldn’t even try to save her.

Even after all that, leaving him ripped me in half, Maisie.”

I nodded.

“I’m not going to let anyone dunk me with an anchor,” he

said. “I’m not going to let Wilder kill me and steal my token.”

“Well, I don’t want your wretched token,” I said. “So stop

attacking people, calm the
bleepity-bleep
down, and—”

“Did you just say ‘bleepity-bleep’?”

“And work with me or we’re both toast that Wilder will but-

ter and have for breakfast.”

“
I cut off your dad’s arm
. You’re not going to welcome me

into your little house on the prairie.”

“Maybe there’s a way to . . . to fix it all,” I said. I wished I

could lie to Jacques as easily as Wilder had to Ruth. And to me.

“If you testify against GT, the FBI might let you off. You could

start over.”

“Start over?” He laughed, though he seemed about to cry

too. “You have no idea all I’ve done. Last week I tried to go

home again. I tried, but I couldn’t even . . .” His voice cracked.

I hadn’t been sure if he was was still human enough to feel

anything. “Do you remember Ruthless saying she’d done too

much? I am in blood. ‘Stepped in so far, that, should I wade no

more, returning were as tedious as go over.’”

He was quoting
Macbeth
again. He’d forgotten the Beatles

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but not
Macbeth
.

“Your mom would forgive you,” I said. “Moms do that.”

He paced, getting closer to the tunnel. I countered, posi-

tioning myself before the exit.

“She doesn’t know me anymore, and I don’t want her to.”

Blades formed from both hands, long as scimitars and

sharper still. I hefted my iron bar.

“I’m not wasting this power,” he said. “I’m never again go-

ing to be that kid the school counselor pities or wear clothes that

smell like someone else. I’m going to be a GT. I’m going to be

the boss.”

He took another step forward. I stepped back, my hand

tighter on the bar. I could feel molecules of metal readjusting,

the bar melding into the shape of my grip.

“What if we’re not just killing machines?” I said. “What if

there actually is another purpose— ”

“GT smartened me up at least. The only thing my token is

good for is making good for me. Let me go, Maisie.”

“I can’t.”

He swiped at me with one of his havoc blades. It made a

high, sweet sound as it cut the air, like the ring of a bell.

“Let me out or I’ll cut my way out.”

“You really think you can take me?” I pretended to laugh,

though I felt sick to my stomach. “You don’t remember what it

took to stop Ruthless.”

“But you’re not Ruthless, and I’ve learned a few things since

then.”

Jacques’s blade came down.

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C h a p t e r 3 6

I turned away, his blade just missing Fido and landing in-

stead on my shoulder. The strike stung like the lash of a whip.

He came at me slashing, so fast I could barely see the blades. I

swung my bar, but he ducked and cut at my side.

I swung my bar again, and he sidestepped. His training

showed. I should have joined a dojo or something instead of

lying around with Wilder. But of course Wilder didn’t want me

too powerful. Just powerful enough so I would take Jacques’s

token before conveniently dying and handing the whole cache

over to him.

Anger boiled. I swung harder, swiping just above Jacques’s

head. He brought his blades down on my outstretched arm, the

pain so fierce I dropped the bar.

He was behind me suddenly, a foot on my lower back,

climbing to my shoulders and jumping off, using the force of

his fall to chop his blades down.

I screamed.

Another useless swipe. He dodged. I wished for Mi-sun’s

blue shot, for Wilder’s plotting.

Keep him fighting
, Wilder had said.

I needed to compromise the armor, force Jacques to make

new havoc skin. But I couldn’t even get a touch. And I was short

an arm too, keeping Fido close to my chest. That arm wouldn’t

survive contact with his scimitar.

I swung with my fist, but his assault was too fast, dodging

and cutting, dodging and cutting. My shirt was riddled with

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slices. He swiped across my middle, getting too close to Fido.

Half of the index finger dropped to the ground.

I cried out at the wound done to my cyborg hand, and my

attention left Jacques just long enough for him to come in hard.

As if he were beating a drum, his blades assailed the back of

my neck. Chunks of my ponytail fell around me, the pain so

intense my legs buckled. I curled up, my arms wrapped over my

middle, shuddering.

Hunched over, shaking from pain, I first realized that

Jacques could kill me. I’d felt invulnerable. So had Ruth.

Jacques would take my tokens, and then what would he do?

Rob more banks? Finish off Dad?

What would Wilder tell me?

Stop trying to hit him. Use your body like rolling boulder.

I closed my eyes and tried to exchange the pain for anger.

When Jacques stepped in for another jab, I threw myself for-

ward. My head caught him in the gut, and he fell on his back.

I screamed with the effort of picking him up, and I threw him