Mind Games (44 page)

“I hope I’m neither.”

“The night’s still young.” The brightness fades from his face, and he looks at me the way he does when he has something important to say. “We belong together, Justine. I know you felt it before you got so angry. You won’t ignore the truth of us forever, and you will come to me as more than a disillusionist.”

“Packard—”

He flings up a hand. “I’m done. Except to thank you for effecting an alternative to my plan that was actually superior in some ways. Astonishing as that may be.”

I smile. Good old Packard.

“In
some
ways,” he repeats.

“You really think Rickie can control herself? Because I’m telling you, she’s pretty aggressive.”

“You forget what I alone can see. She just needs a sense that she’s heading toward something. …” He breaks off, thoughtful for some time. The doors slide open. “I’m finding that about a third of Otto’s prisoners are fit to emerge now; the rest we’ll need to disillusion. I have an easy one for you this week. A telepath with a thing about airborne pathogens.”

“How do I fool a telepath?”

“I’ve got a guy who can show you how.”

We stroll through the lobby and out into the courtyard of weeds pushing up through shattered concrete.

“What will she do? Rickie?”

“Muscle. I’ll put her under Francis. She’s a very powerful telekinetic.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You need a lot of muscle?”

“A shadow arm of the law requires muscle, Justine. Or to be more precise, a shadow arm of Otto. That was the essence of our agreement. I’m free as long as we disillusion who he says to. We’re putting him in power, you and me. All of us. Otto will run for mayor, and he
will
win. This couldn’t have worked out better for him.”

“I think it worked out well for you, too.”

He gives me a look I can’t quite read.

I smile. “Come on.” I lead him to a mass of weeds where metal fence meets sidewalk; I kneel, unscrew the lid of the jar, and tip it into the sandy dirt.

Packard crouches down and pulls some weeds aside so I can aim the ants into good, rich dirt. It’s at that moment I notice he’s still wearing the blue metal bracelet, the one from Diesel’s body. The bracelet he swore never to remove until he had vengeance. He looks up, green eyes brilliant in the sunshine. He saw me staring at it. He knows what I’m thinking.

“Don’t worry. Staying out of Otto’s way includes not killing him. As long as he stays out of my way. You can go ahead and report that back to your new boyfriend.”

“Don’t, Packard.”

“You chose wrong, Justine.”

“I chose to promote freedom and transformation.”

He tilts his head. “Is that a motto?”

“You should get a motto, too, Packard.”

“A motto is a pathetic substitute for an opinion.” He stands and extends his hand down to help me up and I take it. “Justine,” he whispers, pulling me up, letting go.

“Packard,” I say.

He pulls dark sunglasses from his pocket and puts them on, then heads down the sidewalk all cool. I hear a car engine start up, and I see Carter and Helmut parked a little ways down in a shiny blue boat of an old convertible, just like the one Rickie described. I wave to them as Packard hops into the passenger side, and then they’re off.

I watch them for a block, and then another, all the way until they’re obscured by the cross traffic. Up above on the building there’s Otto’s face, etched into the fourth-floor wall, watching out over the citizens and the city like a griffin, all keen eyes and sharp talons.

I screw the lid back on the empty jar and head home.