DIRE : BORN (The Dire Saga Book 1) (10 page)

“Sparky, she really doesn't know what—”

KABLAM! Pain coursed through me and I grunted, as he hit me with a small bolt. I almost lost my footing, and my muscles convulsed. Through sheer effort of will, I kept a grip on the roof.

“Ho ho no. Ain't falling for that one again,” he shouted. “Near on twenty years, and every time I think it's done, a new assassin shows up! You always seem innocent, but then it's those goddamn words, and a knife in the night, or a grounded garrote, or a jar of acid or some shit. Those goddamn words, those goddamn words!”

“W-w-w-what words, Sparky?” I forced speech out of my mouth. I was starting to get a glimmer of an idea what had happened here.

He spat them out like they hurt his tongue. “La Commedia e finita. The comedy is over.”

“Great Clown Pagliacci didn't die in the funhouse, did he?” The wind howled, and I fought to keep my feet on the grating as he spoke.

“After we found Lucy I lost it. We chased him in, taking hits as we went. We opened up with everything we had, and his body flew off the roof, fell into the water. There's an undertow here, swept the body out to the ocean. At the time, we figured no one coulda survived that.”

I bit my tongue as I clutched the roof, tried to stay stable.“Wha-what changed your mind?”

“He came for me one night. Killed my girl, first. My Beth... but it wasn't Pagliacci, like I thought. It was some young guy in a clown mask.”

A chill ran down my spine.

“I beat him, and I killed him even though he weren't any threat to me anymore, and I gave up heroing after. Heroes don't kill, unless it's self-defense. That's the rule.”

“That's a lousy rule,” I said.

“Shut up. I tried to retire. I did. I was pushing 60 by then, but your boss couldn't let it slide, could he? Everyone knew the Clown's methods. His madness. He couldn't start a new
play
until he'd finished the old one! So year after year, they'd come after me. Men, women, even kids sometimes. Seemed like regular folks. Up until the point that I didn't expect trouble, then the mask would come out, and they'd go for me. Got so bad I came out here, came out for one final showdown. Moved out to the beach, where I could watch this place, tempt him out to face me down man-to-man. Finish it where it was supposed to end.”

“But it didn't work out that way, did it?” I leaned against the building, putting more weight on it. If I timed it right, I could let my feet slip, and perhaps slide down the grating without spearing myself on the jagged part of it. Maybe.

“No.” He closed his eyes, and I tensed my feet as his face became a mask of grief. But then they were open again and glaring before I could try my maneuver.

“What happened, Sparky?” My feet were starting to ache on the grating. I didn't have much time left before I slipped one way or the other, and that charge in Sparky's hands kept building. But if I could keep him talking, instead of zapping, I could use what he'd told me earlier...

“He sent people after my friends. And I couldn't save them.” He sobbed then, and wetness rolled down from his eyes. “Roy's all I got left. And he gave up the best woman he ever had to sit with me out on that damn beach. And now you show up, and Roy tells me you got a mask...”

And then it happened. His eyes drifted down to the arcs of energy between his fingers, and his face sagged as he watched the lightning dance. He hadn't been lying about the current mesmerizing him, and this was my chance.

I pushed back from the wall, just as I let my feet slip free of their holds. I slid down the grating, gritting my teeth as jagged metal tore at my wrist and my hip hit a support hard enough to bruise. But I was sliding—

KABLAM!

—And as my ears rang, I knew that the lightning had missed me!

My feet found purchase on the ground, and I dropped, drawing my gun as I went. As soon as I landed I rolled over onto my belly. I pointed my gun at Sparky, and he stopped, hands frozen in the air as he stared at me. Then, almost with a look of relief, he put them down. Sparky bowed his head, and shut his eyes.

I rose, biting my lip at the pain. My hip informed me that I'd have a hell of a bruise, later. My feet echoed on the boardwalk and Sparky flinched at the sound. I felt an odd emotion in the back of my mind, and identified it as pity. Almost two decades he'd been out here. Almost two decades, waiting to die so that no one else he loved would suffer.

He said he'd stopped being a hero. I rather doubted that.

I retrieved his collar. “Hey.”

He opened his eyes, looked up at me with an inarticulate noise.

His eyes opened wider when I tucked the pistol back into my pocket. I hadn't even taken the safety off. He stared at the collar, as I offered it to him. “Are we done here?” I kept my voice even. It took some work.

“I... You're not...”

I turned my back to him, and went and retrieved my pack. Unzipping it, I walked back over to him. “There's a mask in here all right, but it's not a clown mask. It's Dire's mask. The same person who wiped her memory gave it to her, and left her with too many questions and not enough answers.”

Once he'd settled the collar on his neck, he took the pack from me, sorted through it, pulled out the mask. He traced his fingers over it, and started shaking. “I could have killed you.”

“You didn't.”

“If I'd seen this from a distance... It's different, b-but I w-wouldn't have been able to t-tell... I would have tried to...” He was crying again, and I settled a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the slight snap of static. Now that his collar was back on, it was a fraction of what it could have been.

“It's all right,” I told him. “You didn't. We're fine, Sparky.”

He grabbed my hand, and held it to his cheek for a minute. As the cold wind whistled down the ruined and bleak boardwalk, I let him garner what comfort he could from the simple contact.

Finally, I started tugging until he let go. “Give her a second, hm?” I pulled a strip of what had been my left sleeve off, and used it to bind up the gash on my hand as best I could. It wasn't bleeding too badly, but it wasn't stopping, either.

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?” I asked.

“Fooling you. Getting you hurt. Nearly killing you.”

I shrugged. “She'll let it slide this time. Don't try it again, hm? She's allergic to lightning. Makes her break out in spasms.”

He snorted, laughed in his old, creaky voice. I joined in, letting the adrenaline drain from me as I roared. “Hmhmhmhmhm... HAHAHAHAHAA!”

When I finished and put my arms down from where I'd raised fists to the sky, he was staring at me. “Damn, girl. That's a laugh belongs on a grade-a villain.”

I flushed. “It's just a laugh,” I snapped, reclaiming my backpack and zipping it up.

“Seriously, sounds like you ought to be sitting in a big swivel chair, strokin' a white cat and planning world domination.”

“It sounds like nothing of the sort!”

“You sure you ain't got a last name like Destroyer or Doombringer or something?” His mouth twitched upwards as he spoke, and I glared at him.

“Do you want a push back to camp or not?”

He raised his hands. “Easy, easy. Just saying, between that mask, the spikes and that laugh, you're coming across as a mite villainous.”

“She doesn't want to hear it,” I groused. “Done nothing to warrant that label!”

“Hey, the day's young,” he grinned. Almost as an afterthought, he rearranged his scarf to conceal the collar again.

The old bastard kept needling me all the way back through the amusement park, and down the beach. I kept growling and doing my best to ignore him. We passed Martin on the way back, and as we did the black sedan next to him peeled out, burning rubber in its hurry to leave. He shook his head, waved in our direction, and I slowed as he walked over to join us. “Wassup? Ow. That looks painful.” He pointed at my crude bandage.

I shrugged. “Only hurts when she laughs,” I quipped, using a line the face had used in Smackbrawl last night. He chuckled, and let it drop, turning his attention to Sparky.

“You treating the Dire lady good, Sparky-my-man?”

“The Dire lady? Heh. Sounds like that could be a villainous na— Hey!”

I grinned, and helped him rearrange his blanket. “Whoops, sorry. Guess she missed that rock in the path.”

“Pff, fine,” he puffed up his cheeks, let air escape between his lips. “I'm hungry anyways, should be time for breakfast. How we looking on supplies?”

“Pretty low, if what she saw last night is the sum of the pantry,” I admitted. “Fortunately we've got that shipment... coming... in...”

The MRB airship was back again, and Agent Coleman had pulled Roy off to the side, was talking to him in a low voice. There was no sign of Agent Kingsley. I looked to Sparky, he and Martin looked to me, and I nodded. “Let's go see what's going on here.”

The three of us headed that way, and the two men glanced up at our approach.
“Hey there. Wondered where you got to, you old fart.”

“He was just showing Dire Funland,” I mentioned. “Had a long talk about mistaken identities.” Roy nodded, but didn't give any indication of understanding me one way or the other. Had Sparky not talked his plan over with his oldest friend beforehand? It seemed unlikely. I shoved my speculation aside, as Coleman started talking.

“I was telling Roy here that the shipment's going to be late.”

I nodded. “Cut supply lines, powerless city, probably some bureaucracy too. No real surprise.”

He shook his head, his eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses. “Good guess, but not because of any of that. We sent it through at four this morning, and it was ambushed before it got here. The guards were overwhelmed, and the food was stolen.”

I frowned. “By who?”

Roy grimaced. “Black Bloods.”

“Shiiiiiiiit.” Martin turned around, punched the air, and sunk his face into his palm. “That is not good.”

I pulled my hoodie around myself, looked at Roy. “You think that this might be due to...” I pointed a thumb at my face.

He glared. “Naw. Don't blame yourself. They take what they want and don't give a shit 'bout us anyway.”

I pressed my lips together. Again, the Black Bloods were demonstrating a negative impact on their host society. Were they truly as hard to root out as Martin had said? I turned toward Agent Coleman. He'd folded his arms and watched our discussion, his face impassive.

“Can you retrieve it?” I asked him.

He shook his head, and spread his hands. “We can't spare the personnel or the time. Also, we wouldn't know the first place to look.”

“Typical,” Roy muttered.

Coleman shot him a look, let his hands drop. “Hey. They don't have any costumes, or anything that would fall under our jurisdiction. I suggest you take the matter up with the ICPD.”

Martin laughed. “They so deep in the Bloods' pocket it'd take a flashlight and a map to find'em.”

Coleman glowered. “If you have evidence of that, I can maybe take it up the chain to someone who can do something about it. But if you don't, my hands are tied. The only reason I'm out here right now is because I took time out of my patrol to come here. Because I wanted to warn you not to expect food that isn't coming.”

He didn't want us to think that he had blown off a promise. I nodded. The man had integrity, at least. “Thank you, Agent.”

He looked at me, looked me up and down. “You're welcome, Miss... Dire, was it?”

“Yes.” I shook his hand, and he offered a tight smile. Rather attractive, and his grip was firm.

“We wish you luck. Oh, and good job with the power. Not sure how you did it, but it's nice to have another place on my patrol route to recharge my patroller if necessary.”

The group around me got quiet, as I glanced over to Roy. He shook his head, seemed as surprised by Coleman's declaration as I had.

“Er,” I fumbled. “Yes. Thank you. How did you know that it was her work?”

“I didn't. But thanks for confirming my guess.” He retrieved his hand, and turned to leave, and I mentally cursed myself out for allowing myself to be tricked.

Turning back to my campmates, I found Roy and Sparky talking quietly, and Martin looking sour. “Hey. Dire?” He asked.

“Yes?”

“Can you go in the women's tent, get Joan and Minna? We going to have to have a meeting on this new shitty-ass development.”

I nodded, and went inside. Took a few minutes of poking around to find Joan folding sheets. “Hey. Do you mind coming out for a meeting with the other camp leaders?”

“What's up, hun?”

I glanced around. Couldn't really tell how many people were in here right now, didn't want gossip getting around. “It's a long story. Possible trouble. Where's Minna?”

“Sorting clothes over in the laundry.”

“Dire will retrieve her.”

She nodded, and a few minutes later I had the taciturn woman in tow, with her child plodding along behind her. Roy and the others had dragged a bench out toward the ocean. Ironically, it was close to the spillpipe that I'd emerged from two nights back. It seemed an eternity since then. I led Minna over, then turned and started walking away.