Lafferty, Mur (20 page)

Keepsie ran her hands through her hair and sighed. "Ian, how can we trust you?"

"Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. I'm back, dude, I'm on your side!" he said.

Keepsie looked at Peter. "So does your new super power let you see if someone is telling the truth?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't think so. I can test emotions and track people, but not truth. I think being a human lie detector would put me in the hero range, frankly."

"But you said yourself that you didn't know about this talent till today,"

Keepsie said. "So you may be able to, you just don't know."

Peter looked from her to the table, and then to Ian. "I -well, I'll see what I can do."

"Hey, Keepsie, can you leave us alone for the test?" Ian asked.

"What? Why?"

"Oh, I just want privacy, I guess. Everyone's been staring at me since I got here. Can we go into the storage room?" he said.

Keepsie narrowed her eyes. What were they hiding? Her heartbeat sped up as she entertained the notion that he had courted Peter to the villains' side and that they were both going to double -or triple, at this point -cross her.

But Peter wouldn't do that. He was one of the few left she could trust.

She looked at Peter, who returned her gaze with an intensity that made her uncomfortable.

She threw up her hands. "Fine. Whatever. Get Tomas to stand outside the door in case you need anything, Peter. I'm going to eat for the first time in -" she couldn't remember her last meal, so she just stuffed some fries into her mouth.

"Right. We'll be back soon," Ian said.

"You going to be OK?" she asked through her mouthful of fries as Peter slid out of the booth.

"I'll be fine. I don't think he's lying, for what it’s worth. And remember, he never betrayed us. He was honest with us since the beginning. It was Clever Jack he betrayed. Get some food into you; you are going to need the energy, I'm afraid."

Keepsie allowed herself a moment to appreciate the meal; Colette was her best find at the bar, making it the best bar food in town through her superpower. The burger was a perfect medium, with a slice of cheddar on the bottom of the burger and a slice of provolone on the top. She liked her burgers with only mustard and onions, something no cook alive had ever understood or respected, but Colette knew it without asking. She knew the best thing to cook for anyone, and could prepare anything to be the best.

During one drunken night back at her apartment, Keepsie and Michelle had challenged Colette to an Iron Chef kind of competition where she had to prepare both spam and haggis to perfection. Her Spam mincemeat pie was phenomenal, and her traditional haggis made Keepsie wonder what all the fuss was about.

Colette had considered a career in culinary arts, but very few people would hire a Third Waver. It was an unfortunate rumor that their untrained powers would end up being more of a liability in the end than a boon, so Colette wasn't able to work in the best restaurants in the world, as she deserved to. Neither was Vincent, Keepsie's janitor, hired by the cleaning services of the United Nations or the CIA. His hands were actual dirt magnets; all he had to do to leave an area spotless was to pass his hand over it.

Lost in thought, Keepsie realized she had polished off her burger and still wanted more. The door to the kitchen slammed open and she jerked around.

Colette stamped toward her, carrying two small round cakes on a plate.

"Here, thought you'd still be hungry," she said.

"Thanks. Are the guys still in the closet?" She took one of the cakes and bit into it: chocolate with a caramel center. Perfect.

Colette snagged the other cake for herself. "Yeah. I don't know what they're doing in there, but Tomas said he can only hear them talking."

“I wish I knew what they were talking about."

"You, I suspect," Colette said.

"Huh?"

"Do you want to know a secret?" Colette said.

"Please. There have been too many these days," Keepsie said, getting annoyed.

"One thing that science has never studied, so no one knows this but me, but when someone is falling in love, they start to unconsciously prefer food that their beloved does. Now, this doesn't mean that a blue steak kind of man will suddenly start ordering salad to impress his lady, but very subtle things will change. The temperature that they like their fries. The amount of salt.

Suddenly ordering strawberry when vanilla used to do just fine. The number of olives in -"

Keepsie finally interrupted her. "How is this important now?"

Colette paused. "What do you mean?"

"We're on the run from the heroes and the villains. We have a friend who we can’t trust, half of us are in need of a hospital, so where does love fit into all this?"

Colette smiled at her, a very small smile. "Nowhere, I suppose. Everyone else is discovering new and exciting uses for their powers. I figured I'd tell you about one of mine."

Keepsie felt bad. "I'm sorry, Colette, I didn't mean to discount it. I'm just not thinking straight, that's all."

Colette slid out of the booth and walked towards the kitchen and nearly bumped into Peter and Ian coming out. She said something to Peter in a low voice and Ian laughed. Peter looked startled and watched her go into the kitchen, color rising in his face.

While Ian did not have his usual swagger, he looked considerably more relaxed. Peter fiddled with his sleeves of his t-shirt -Keepsie's sleeves -as he reached the table.

"He's loyal, Keepsie. I am as sure as I can be without actually reading his mind," he said.

Keepsie nodded, staring at Ian. He grinned at her. She fought the urge to grin back; she was still unsure. Half of her wanted to laugh, the other half wanted to kick him out.

She looked at the bar where Michelle was pouring herself a beer from the tap. Keepsie caught her eye and, seeing the look of anguish on Michelle's face, sighed.

"All right. You stay. But -"

He interrupted her. "I know, I know. Fuck up again and I'm toast, I know. I won't let you down again, Keepsie."

"Make yourself useful, then," she said. "We need watches at both doors.

You take one, choose someone to join you, and put two more on the other."

He gave a quick nod and turned from her.

Keepsie stared at the table. Her eyes felt very dry. She knew Peter was still there. "Are you sure about him?"

"I'm sure," he said. His voice sounded strained.

"Good." She cradled her head on her arms.

"Pete -come on. I need you to watch with me," Ian said.

You were supposed to choose Michelle, you ass. One thing was supposed to have gone right, Keepsie thought. The bar was very quiet around her as she let the exhaustion carry her away.

Ian perched on the steps near the street and took a cigarette pack out of his jeans pocket. Peter raised his eyebrow.

"You smoke now?"

Ian lit it, fumbling with a lighter's child lock. He pulled some smoke into his mouth, held his breath, and coughed. Peter fought the urge to laugh.

"Fits my new persona as a bad boy," Ian said, waving the cigarette.

Peter remained silent.

"Fine. My sister says it calms her. I thought it might work for me. All this crazy shit going on, I figured if these little security blankets can help my sis, they might help me, you know?"

Peter shook his head slowly. "It's really not a good time to get yourself addicted to something. And why would you pick up such a filthy habit? It makes you smell."

Ian started laughing, "No, I wouldn't want to be considered filthy or smelly, no, that would be bad!" He dropped the cigarette and held his stomach, gasping for breath.

Peter chuckled. "All right, point taken. But that's a pretty flimsy reason."

"Oh, so peer pressure is a better reason?" Ian said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Why do you do what you do, Peter? Why are you addicted to being so uptight? That t-shirt is the most laid back thing I've ever seen you in, and it's not even yours. Do you even own a t-shirt, Pete?"

Peter looked at the shirt -her t-shirt. He'd forgotten he was wearing it.

"It's just me. Why do you do the things you do?"

Ian grinned. "I'm a slob and not afraid to admit it. Don't dodge the question. What's behind the jacket and starched shirt?"

Peter reached over and took Ian's pack of cigarettes from him. He knocked one out and lit it with ease. "Someone who doesn't like carrying others' secrets, especially when they don't tell them to him. Someone who doesn't like seeing the world falling out of control all around him. An ex-smoker who hates to see a non-smoker butcher the fine art of slowly killing yourself. Is that sufficient?" He inhaled deeply and reveled in the brief high that overtook his head.

"Dude. You were a smoker?"

"You zero in on the least important part of that, don't you?"

"No, seriously. You?"

Peter looked down at the cigarette. "It does an excellent job of dulling the sense of smell."

Ian scanned the deserted street. "So why'd you quit?"

"Filthy habit. The only thing I could smell was myself."

"So did you find out all your own dirty secrets at that point?"

Peter snorted. "Yes, I discovered I was a smoker who was slowly killing myself and denying a skill I had."

"But you never really did use that part of yourself, did you?"

Peter didn't answer. He looked over the dark street, and couldn't decide whether he preferred the daytime when he could be depressed about all the obstacles in his way that he could see: heroes, villains, thermonuclear women, and the like, or the night when he could be terrified that one of more of those things would be lurking in the shadows.

Light of Mornings' glow still shone over the buildings, and Peter assumed the fight still raged. The Academy was deserted, dust still lingering from the destruction of the previous battle. Even Doodad’s drones had deserted the place.

"What are we doing out here?" he asked.

"Fantasizing about naked Winona Ryder?" Ian asked.

Peter laughed. "Like the dangerous shoplifters, do you?"

"Nah, I am thinking of her in 'Heathers.'"

"Hm. So teenaged murderer in love."

"Yeah," Ian said.

"So what else are we doing out here?"

"Waiting for something to happen, I suppose."

"And what are we supposed to do when it does?"

Ian rolled up his sleeves, his grinning face heavily shadowed from the light inside the bar. "I'm all set."

Peter shook his head and stared at the door. "I'm not. I can't -"

Ian interrupted him. "Hey, what's Clever Jack up to?"

Peter looked at him blankly. "How should I know?"

Ian handed him a bloody handkerchief. "Got it off him after you told me your new and improved powers."

Peter took it distastefully, holding it by the corner. "Thanks, I'll treasure it always."

"So where is he? Is he dead from concussion?"

Peter waved him silent. After they’d agreed to leave him to follow and make sure Keepsie was all right, Peter had seen Ian staunch the blood from Clever Jack's head but hadn't thought of why. Now, holding the wet handkerchief in front of him, he wished for the millionth time that he had been born with another power. Or better, none.

He didn't need to bring the gore-splattered rag close to get a good whiff of the coppery scent. He closed his eyes and nearly went blind with the light.

He reflexively threw the bloody handkerchief at Ian, and Ian made a disgusted noise. "What the fuck, dude? What did you see?" he asked.

Peter rubbed his eyes, the stairwell looking pitch-black to his contracted pupils. "He's conscious. He's with her."

Ian looked towards the park, which had finally gone dark. "That is not good news."

Peter winced at the memory. "Yes. They're… being rather intimate."

Ian whistled. "With a concussion? If he weren't pure evil, I'd salute him."

"I'm surprised he survived," Peter said.

Ian grimaced. "Luck."

Peter nodded.

"Should we tell someone?” Ian asked.

Peter looked down the stairwell to the door of the bar, about the only thing his still hazy eyes could make out. "Who could we tell? What would they do?"

"Right," Ian said.

They lapsed into silence.

After another half hour, Peter got up. "I'm going to check on the other group. See what's going on in the alley."

"And look in on Keepsie on the way, of course," Ian said in a stuffy Peter imitation.

Peter stared blankly at Ian without the familiar squirm of embarrassment in his chest.

"Of course."

Looking in on Keepsie proved to be a pointless venture. She was sleeping on the table. Peter took two steps towards her when a hiss stopped him.

Colette stood in the kitchen door, frowning. He flushed and shoved his hands into his pockets. She raised her eyebrows at him and beckoned him to her.

They went into the empty kitchen. Peter avoided her gaze, but swore when he saw the feast she'd prepared.

"Great Christ, Colette, you really do cook when you're stressed!" he said.

The prep counter was filled with cheeseburgers, hot dogs, steaks, baskets of cheese fries, chicken fingers, nachos -both with jalapenos and without -and salmon patties.

Peter hadn't even known that the bar served salmon patties.

Colette crossed her arms. "You need to let her sleep."

Peter looked up and met her eyes. "I know. I just wanted to check-"

"I know what you wanted to do," she said. "Let her sleep. She doesn't need you clucking around her like a mother hen. She's tougher than that."