39.
Rose
Alistair McKinney was Rose’s date for the evening. They walked along the summery streets of Edinburgh, trees green even in the evening dark, her giving him coy looks, him giving her hungrier ones. His hair was silvery, but he was eager and bordering on lecherous. The air had that brisk scent to it, and the lights were shining out from the flats in the buildings all around them as they went, his arm hooked in hers, his suit jacket’s rough cloth rubbing at her elbow like this whole evening had chafed at her mind.
She’d felt a bit strange about this at first, but that had been easily soothed. Because honestly, it felt so damned good when she touched a person, it practically made her ravenous for more.
This is fine, Granddad said. He’s just a man, and not a very good one at that.
Aye, Tamhas said, he’s a right bastard. I’ve known him for a long time, and this one—this one’s going to set you up for life if you can just get hold of his bank accounts. It’ll make things easier.
Just keep an even look, Hamilton said. He’d been advising her on being natural in moments like this, when she was deceiving. He’d had her practicing faces in the mirror. Doing exercises. Finding the emotions on command.
“Ahh, you’re such a pretty thing,” Alistair said, stroking his fingers through her hair as they walked.
Give him a little bit of hope, Hamilton whispered.
Rose did, flashing him a ghost of a smile. He went for her hand to hold and she brushed him, escaping while still keeping him on the line.
They were walking through the New Town, a lovely place that Rose had already developed a little affinity for here in Edinburgh. It was grand, she thought, filled with history and mystery, and a sort of magic that she might have felt more acutely with other company.
Like Graham, who had spent these last months…silent.
That’s it, Hamilton said, breaking into her thoughts. Now get him inside.
“My flat’s just up here,” Alistair said. They passed the rows of lovely older buildings, beautifully maintained and surely of finest quality within.
And in spite of their surroundings, part of Rose, deep inside, below the hammering heart, wanted to throw up.
Alistair hopped ahead, legs lively as he went up the steps to unlock the door to the flat. He took them two at a time, that short riser from the sidewalk up to the older apartment building. It had grand arches and recessed windows, a lovely and elegant old building. He held the door for her, and in spite of the summer warmth…
Rose felt…cold.
Go on, Granddad said, and Rose tottered up the steps in her heels, feeling very much out of place. All her life she’d have dreamed of looking as lovely as this, to be dressed to the nines this way, to be here in Edinburgh, and yet now here she was, her last pounds put into the dress, the heels, the hair…
And she was about to use it all to ensnare and kill a man to live.
It had a cold comfort, trying to figure out how to make it outside the village these last months. The voices in her head were loud, all the time. Maddening, even when she was trying to sleep. She’d wake out of a sound dream—always a nightmare, always the same one, people howling at her, clawing at her, ripping at her clothes—in the tiny flat she’d rented, gasping in the night, afraid everyone could hear her the world over.
Afraid that somebody would be coming. That Weissman, or Raymond, maybe. Maybe both.
“Let me show you inside,” Alistair said with a wink as he held the beautiful, glassy front door open for her. She stared; he was waiting.
She wanted to walk away. To stride off down the street with nary a word, and leave Mr. McKinney to his posh flat, to his fancy life. She didn’t want to touch him, and she didn’t to take his thoughts or his bank account information or anything else, really.
This wasn’t what she wanted at all.
Get in there, you stupid, worthless cow, her mam said.
Mechanically, Rose walked up the steps, and into the flat.
They’d had this conversation before when the money started to run out. She’d tried a job, but sometimes the voices would act up and she’d shout out in the middle of work. It came on like a fit in the middle of the store. Headaches so bad they’d drop to her knees, arguments between them so harsh that she’d cringe away from a customer.
She’d been sacked a few times before she’d realized that no one wanted to work with a crazy person.
And she had become a crazy person. Voices in her head completed the circle.
“You want a cuppa?” Alistair asked once she was inside. The apartment was indeed posh, grand staircase leading upstairs, the entire building his. She was living in a one-room flat, and he had a whole building. She looked around, feeling that intense desire to run again, like she didn’t belong here among these riches, these hardwoods, these leather-lined books and fancy people. She stared at Alistair and felt nothing but sick at his leer, one-sided as it was.
Answer him, you stupid cow. Her mam’s voice rang out in her head again, sharp and harsh. Had it ever been any other way? Rose had a hard time imagining it now.
“No, I’m…fine,” Rose said.
Alistair eased up to her, and she felt strangely like a shark was circling her. “Would ye like to go…upstairs?” So full of meaning.
Her own mind, faint and buried somewhere, said no, but the other voices said yes, and that was what came out of her mouth. She followed him up that grand staircase into the darkness waiting above.
He guided her up, a hand on her arm, light and gentle. And yet still it felt horrifying, like she was walking, wide awake, into a nightmare. Just a little farther, Tamhas soothed.
This is nothing, Granddad said. You’ve read enough books to know—girls your age have been doing unpleasant things to secure their prospects for all of time. This is one of those, but so much easier. You don’t have to marry the old bastard, or even spend that much time with him. You can take him any time now.
Just touch him a little, Hamilton urged. The charade is over. Put your hands on him, pretend to be really interested, to keep him from screaming, and then…just take what we need, and break his neck.
Rose gulped. Alistair led her into a darkened doorway and clicked on the light. She blinked back from the intensity of it, then her eyes adjusted it. It was a bedroom, furnished in grand style. A four-poster was the centerpiece of the room, turned down like a maid had just left.
That’s a good lass, Granddad said. You can just follow his lead. He’ll take care of it himself soon enough, if you give him enough time. All you’ll need to do is hold on.
Rose wandered into the bedroom after Alistair, who was unbuttoning his shirt. When it came off, she saw that paunch that extended slightly over his belt, the gnarly trail of hairs that pathed down his belly. His chest was flat, sloping down to his gut. He shed the shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and a vague hint of revulsion ran through Rose even though he was ten feet away.
“Now you take yours off,” he said, quiet, voice dripping with suggestion.
Just go over to him, and give him a kiss, Hamilton said. Touch him. Something. Keep him on the hook, lass.
Rose wobbled over to him, following the command. When she got close, he did it for her, brushing his lips against hers. His breath was fowl, garlicky, and strong, and she nearly gagged but managed to hold it in at the last.
Keep it together, her mam’s voice said. Don’t raise an alarm now, not when you’re so close.
He pawed at her, and she took it for a moment before pulling away. He grinned, looking her over. “You’re nervous, aren’t you? It’s all right.”
She nodded without saying anything, feeling ashen.
“Is this your first time?” he asked, coyly.
She brushed her fingers against her lips, wishing she could wipe away the feeling of what she’d just done. She just nodded, that sick feeling rising in her belly, along with the bile.
“It’s all right,” he said, “it’s not my first time. I can show you the way. We’ll take it nice and easy. Hm?” He awaited her approval, and as he did so, touched her arm.
It was all she could do not to recoil in terror. He had already turned away, busying himself.
Touch him now, and it’ll all be over soon, Granddad said. If you let this drag on…ye just might regret it.
Aye, you’re going to have to go along with what he wants in order to avoid alarm if you don’t seize this moment, Tamhas said. Get on with it.
Alistair turned on the TV, then dropped the remote to the bedside table with a clatter. “A little background noise,” he said with that same smile, and unbuttoned his pants. They slid to the floor and he shrugged out of them, then came back at her again.
I could tell you what to do here, you worthless shite, Miriam Shell said, her own disgust boiling over, but you’d just cock it up.
Finish him, Graham said quietly. There’s no need for all this show, Rose. Just…be done with it if you mean to do it. You don’t need to let him keep backing you into a corner. You’ll have to play along if you don’t, and I know you don’t want that—
Rose turned away from Alistair, freezing in place. Something about what Graham had said, about Miriam’s goads…they got to her. She kicked the straps off her heels, then slipped the dress straps from her shoulders, her head rushing as she did so. That sick feeling in her stomach was replaced by a breathless hunger, a twisted anger let loose, driving her on. That she could feel it when Graham’s own heart dropped—not that he had one anymore, but the feeling was still present—was all the sweeter.
She turned back to Alistair, down to her bra and knickers. He looked her up and down, his eye wandering. “Shall we get into bed, then?” she asked, trying to live up her voice. It still sounded dull to her.
He bought it nonetheless, and lifted the covers, as if opening a door for her. She slid in and moved over to halfway across the bed, pulse racing. The TV was going quietly in the background, a rerun of some show playing like muzak in a shop.
Alistair slipped out of his own briefs and slid into the bed, letting out a hearty sigh as he let the covers drop after him. She’d seen, because he’d shown off, briefly, before sliding in, as though the mere sight was something that would fascinate her. It had the opposite effect; she was vaguely repulsed, though she kept a lid on it.
“Now then,” he said, staring at the space of inches between them. She was on her side, facing him, and he was opposite, facing her. “What shall we do?”
Rose swallowed hard.
Go on, Granddad said.
Get it over with, Tamhas said.
Ye’ve got him now, Hamilton said.
Finish this, worthless girl, her mam said.
And somewhere, in the back of her head, a quiet whisper from Graham: You don’t have to do this.
Rose leaned forward and kissed him, closing her eyes and pressing her lips to his. He ran his hands over her, fumbling at her bra, drawing her close, pulling her like he was a big strong bear and she was a weak little thing. He touched her, put his hands on her, and she did the same.
He released her bra and she shrugged out of it, heart beating, but somehow it didn’t matter. She was beyond fear now, into spite, into fury, and she didn’t even care about the man who had his hands on her body in ways no one ever had. He was an empty vessel to her, a dagger to stab at the ones she very nearly hated.
She kissed him again, and again, and started to feel the burn on her lips, on her fingers, in the places where he touched her. He gasped, clearly feeling it too, and she pushed up and straddled him, putting her bare palms on his hairy, flat chest.
She could feel the burning now, and Alistair McKinney’s mouth was wide. It was a smile, of sorts, though crossed with pain, too, as it started to take over. “Hush now,” she said, and he did, as his eyes rolled up and the feeling started to take over.
Something broke in on Rose as she started to let it loose, to let that—that demon feeling take her over. She was atop him, rubbing against him through her panties, and her skin was afire. She didn’t care that she didn’t like him; in fact felt it all the richer. She was alive with pleasure, and that it was this man—this disgusting, old, sloughing-skin man—it was all the better. She hated him, though she barely knew him, hated what he represented, the desire to use her like others had used her. He would have come to hate her after he’d come anyway, probably thrown a few pounds at her to get her to leave once his animal needs had been sated.
It was like all these arseholes in her head. They hated her for what she was until they needed her, and now—now they just hated her again, and all the more because they were trapped inside.
Rose, what are you— her granddad said.
The news broke through her fog of pleasure, and she turned her head.
“The American president announced the existence of a race of humans with superpowers—”
What?
She refocused her attention on the television and away from Alistair McKinney, who was gasping.
“…an employee named Sienna Nealon managed the agency response to the crisis…”
That name.
She knew that name.
Weissman had said it that night—that, that horrible night when—
“…Harmon has declared her a hero, responsible for saving the world from a dire threat…”
She barely felt her fingers on Alistair McKinney’s chest, but he was choking now, being ripped out of himself. The little numbers she needed, vis a vis his banking information, came tearing out along with the rest of him, and she knew it was there. He was twitching under her, but she didn’t care; she pushed down on him, the last bits of his mind ripping free of his body now. She couldn’t have pulled a hand off now if she wanted to; her entire self was on fire with pure, uncontained joy—none of that fear that had torn at her when she’d been in the throes of it at the village that night.
This was the beauty of what she had, and she wanted to use it, wanted to do this every time she could.
Rose stood almost as soon as she knew it was over, leaving the corpse of Alistair McKinney behind. The news was still talking, but she didn’t care.
Sienna Nealon.
That name.
Sienna Nealon was the reason she didn’t have a bloody home anymore.
Sienna Nealon was the reason she didn’t have a life anymore.
Sienna Nealon was the reason she couldn’t even think her own thoughts, alone, anymore.
Rose stared at the dark-haired girl, the camera following her as she walked to a car. Then they cut to the US President, Harmon, talking about metahumans, outing them there on international television.
I can’t bloody believe it, Granddad said. A secret that’s lasted countless human generations and he just…throws it out there.
Rose was standing near naked, and for some reason…she no longer felt self-conscious at her skinny body, thin thighs, almost no chest and knock knees. What did that bloody matter, anyway? Any man who touched her was going to get a dose of what Alistair McKinney got, and it’d be all to her joy and none to his.
The world is about to change, Tamhas said. And this girl, this…Sienna Nealon…she’s going to be right at the forefront of it.
“To hell with her,” Rose whispered.
You could be right at the forefront too, Hamilton said. Look at what they’re doing to her: making her out like one of those comic book heroes people are so damned fond of. You could—
“To hell with that,” Rose said, slipping her bra back on. She stooped to get it at the side of the bed where Alistair had dropped it, ignoring his hand hanging limply next to her.
Don’t be stupid, Graham said. She’s a succubus, like you. And she’s got other powers at her disposal—
We should learn how to do that, Granddad said.
“Oh, we’re going to, all right,” Rose said, strangely cold again. She slipped back into the dress which she’d left puddled near the entry and picked up her heels. For some reason, now, when she put it on, she felt…
Different.
You be a good lass, her mam said, sounding a little more tentative than she had with her previous pronouncements. You can have power now. Walk openly now. Do great things—
“To hell with your great things,” Rose said, spewing it out as she walked out the bedroom door and headed for the staircase. “To hell with you all—you clingers, you shites, you. I was worthless to you until your own lives were about to end and then suddenly, suddenly Rose has use again. You’re the plague that is humanity, aren’t you?” She breathed heavily, spite oozing out with every breath, as she walked, with a purpose, to the door.
“Well, now I’ve got money,” she said, “and I’ve got powers—I’ll figure out how to use the powers like this Sienna Nealon.” And she let a mighty fury rage over the souls in her head, and felt them scream in a way they never had before. Usually it was her screaming, but seeing that girl—that Sienna Nealon—she knew, somehow she knew—that determined look in her eyes as she’d been led out of her house—that she needed to be hard. Relentless. That it was all necessary…
In order to destroy Sienna Nealon.
“Everybody who ruined my life is dead except for one,” Rose said, opening the door and casting one last look inside Alistair McKinney’s grand house. Maybe she’d come back, make this place her own. She needed to know things first though—how to use those other powers. How to manipulate others who weren’t as malleable or stupid as Alistair McKinney, for one.
A babble of voices broke out in her head.
You can’t think this is the way— Granddad said.
You can do better, be better— Tamhas said.
You can have the whole world— Hamilton said.
You’re gonna nozz it all up anyway, you wee scunner, Miriam said.
Please don’t do this, Graham said softly.
You’re such a disappointment, Mam said.
“Fuck all of you,” Rose said, hard eyes determined. She’d run this city, run this country, and someday—she wasn’t particular about the when, just that she’d do it—someday she’d bring this Sienna Nealon down on her knees and leave her naked and scared shitless for her own mortality, the way she’d left Rose out at the village. Terror would be the point. She’d need to feel it, really feel it the way Rose had, and then, eventually—
“I’m going to kill her, too,” Rose said, and she walked out the door into the warm Edinburgh night, feeling alive again, and unworried, mind free, for the first time in months.
*
“Oh, God,” Zack said. They were all standing around the scene of Rose’s innocence, lost like a piece of crumpled carbon paper tossed on a fire. He’d watched her make her choices with a steady, growing horror. “This is…”
“It feels like when Sienna killed us, doesn’t it?” Eve asked with an even tenor.
“I watched it happen,” Zack said. “With this…kind of cold horror. She plotted it all out, and came after you one by one. It was like watching someone drive a truck toward a pedestrian, not veering off.”
“And she got us,” Bastian said, looking around the foyer and up the stairs toward where the body remained. “Just like this girl got him.”
“Sienna was more calculating,” Gavrikov said.
“We were pushing her into it, too,” Bjorn said. “Just like these souls moved this Rose.”
“So they’ve got a common thread,” Zack said, looking at their newest addition. Graham hadn’t said much; he looked like a paler shadow of the healthy young man they’d seen in the earlier visions. “More than one, actually.”
“Have you ever been so angry at the world, or at something,” Graham said softly, “that the next thing you ran across that tripped your trigger ended up getting all your ire?” He nodded at the door Rose had shut on her way out. “That’s your girl to Rose. She heard the name, believed the worst, and made her decision. She’s a stubborn one too, not willing to back off it for a moment, even if she had heard something better, something that might change a lesser mind. She’s kept a good mad on for…years now.” Graham shook his head. “Now she’s all in. And your girl…she’s about to be on the way out.”
“This still doesn’t help us,” Harmon said, pacing the foyer. The usually calm politician was starting to show signs of wear. “I expected her to make a slip by now. To let us see…something other than this dull purgatory of her past idiocies.” He let out a hard breath. “I don’t care about her poor, tortured soul. Lots of people have traumas, trust me. I know. This is hardly the worst I’ve seen, but this reaction…‘to hell with the world, to hell with Sienna’—this is a bratty girl being twisted and self-indulgent because she’s discovered she has godlike powers to back up her angst.”
“Makes you grateful Sienna didn’t take a worse turn, huh?” Zack said, a little lighter than he felt. “Especially given the, uh…influences she had on her compared to Rose.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bjorn asked, eyes narrowed.
“It means she’s had a serial killer and you in the forefront of her mind all this time,” Gavrikov said. “And me. Can you imagine a dimmer view of humanity than the one I hold? I don’t care for any of you, save one.”
“Yes, your precious Klementina,” Eve said dryly. “We’ve heard.”
“Unaccountable power is the bane of human existence,” Gavrikov said. “I watched my father isolate me and my sister, and then torture us at his every whim. If he felt in a cruel mood, he was free to be as cruel as he wanted. He trampled all over us. This girl—” he pointed at the door “—she is like that. Unsocial. Powerful beyond the ability of men to control. Working quietly in the background, nothing bold or flashy, that would bring condemnation from the world of men. She is the very definition of unaccountable power. Like any petty tyrant in a fiefdom in which they have full control and no detractors with any, she has a left a trail of victims to correspond with that power.”
“She has detractors,” Graham said, and there was a faint howl in the distance, outside the house, almost like the wind. “But they are…I suppose ‘powerless’ would be the word. Compared to her. In this place…” He bowed his head and shook it. “She’s a goddess, and we’re the worshippers.”
“And I’m agnostic,” Gavrikov said.
“Then I suspect you will end up believing in her before long,” Eve said, “because she doesn’t strike me as the type who’s going to go light on the wrath. That will be enough to convince you sooner or later, since you’re just waiting for a display to give you faith.”
“I don’t think she’s going to show us anything,” Harmon said. “We’re mushrooms down here, unable to even see out the nearest window.”
“Yeah, we’re a long way from the Lido deck on this ship,” Bastian said. “It’s like one of those troop transports where you don’t even get a porthole to see out.”
Harmon showed a flash of irritation at the military metaphor. “Yes, like that, only not stupid. She’s surely used her powers by now—”
“She has,” Graham said. “She’s using them constantly, all the time.”
Harmon honed in on him. “You can see? See out through her eyes?”
“Aye,” Graham said. “You might too, given enough time to learn your way around her head. But I’ll warn you—it’s not going to be pretty when you do. It’s sort of like…drowning beneath the waves.” He got a far-off look in his brown eyes. “And just as you think you’ll never taste air again, you break the surface…and find yourself in the middle of flaming wreckage, like a ship exploded around you or something.”
“I’ve had that happen,” Gavrikov said.
“How do we do that?” Harmon asked. “I need to see, to feel in order to be able to…push my way out.” He seemed desperate, his pacing continuing unabated. If he could have worn holes in the floor of Alistair McKinney’s foyer, he would have, Zack was sure. “In order to get us out,” he said quickly, but Zack caught the implication.
“I get the feeling,” Zack said softly, “that when it comes time to jump ship…none of the rest of us are going to get a life preserver, or a boat of our own.”
Harmon’s eyes flashed, cagily. “You know how to keep crabs in a bucket? It’s easier than you think. You just put them in there. Every time one is close to climbing out, the others will pull him back down. It’s a strange animal instinct, one I always thought was more appropriate for humans; it’s like the very embodiment of envy. ‘Oh, you can get out of this prison—let me stop you right there.’” He turned away, seething, his control slipping. “If I can get out with all of us, I will. If I can get out by myself, in an instant—” He turned back around, and anger and determination split his face. “Can any of you blame me for seizing that kind of opportunity?”
“I always expect a rat to escape a sinking ship if given a chance,” Gavrikov said with a faint smile.
“You’re such a worthless turd, Harmon,” Zack said, his own anger rising in him, blinding him. “I’m still sorry I voted for you.”
“Well, the campaign is over, my friend,” Harmon said. “No takebacks. Which is a rule that extends to life, and ours has ended. Now we’re here, trapped together, and—be assured, I hate you all as much as you hate me right now.”
“You’d sell her out in an instant, wouldn’t you?” Zack just shook his head.
“Rose?” Harmon frowned. “Of course I would. I have no loyalty to her and neither do y— Oh. You didn’t mean Rose.”
“I meant you’d sell Sienna out to Rose in an instant, if you thought there was an advantage in it,” Zack said quietly. “You’d use those telepathic powers of yours to her benefit without thinking twice.”
Harmon blinked. “We’re stuck in her head, genius. She can compel me to help her through pain, and unlike you, perhaps, you brave soul, I’m not used to being tortured. I would almost certainly fold given about five seconds. I know myself; I know this to be true. So why would I put myself through prolonged agony when I could just give up and spare myself the trouble?”
The image of Sienna flashed through Zack’s mind, and a cold truth fell over him as he stared at each of those trapped with him in turn. “You wouldn’t, I guess,” he said, hollowly. “You have no reason to.”
“Just like Wolfe in that regard,” Harmon said, turning away again. “And speaking of…where is he?” He turned back again, to Graham this time. “With her? Is he her new favorite?”
“Aye,” Graham said. “He’ll be with her all the time now. Top of mind, because of what he can do. She’s got others like that.” He stared at Harmon. “Given what you can do…she’ll probably come for you, next. She’s got plans right now, though. Hasn’t slept in a couple days, but…when she gets a breather…she’ll be on you, I expect.”
“Oh, goodie,” Harmon said, but it rang hollow, sarcasm like an ineffectual shield for the small dose of dread that leaked out.
“She’s got thousands of us in here,” Zack said, looking right at Graham. “Why are you the only one that’s talking to us?”
“I’m the only one that cares, I guess,” Graham said. “Most of the new ones…you wouldn’t believe the state they arrive in. They come in ones and twos, no connection to each other, hardly. Those that do know each other before she absorbs them—families and whatnot—they’re huddled together like you lot, unless she splits them off. Which she does sometimes. Isolates them.” He folded his arms uncomfortably. “I guess what I’m saying is…not many know their way around like I do, being here since the beginning. It’s a big place now, not like it was when we started. Every soul she absorbed…it’s like they added a little space to the world. Now it’s so big, a new person would get lost without a guide.”
“Are you our guide?” Zack asked.
Graham looked right at him. “Maybe. I’m a bit caught between worlds, you see. She doesn’t want me with the others from the village—for obvious reasons, I suppose.” He looked away, and the regret was almost a tangible thing, the roads not taken plain to Zack—for he had a few of those of his own. “So I wander. Most people are shuddering fools when they get here. Hardly a will of their own, being newly minted metas when they’re absorbed. She cows them quick, breaks them down if she needs them. They become servile little slaves to her mind. And that’s that.” He stared at each of them in turn. “You’re the first ones she’s brought in in a long while that had minds of your own still. Which is funny—” he smiled “—because you haven’t had bodies of your own in a long while, too. You should be just about dissolved to your succubus’s will, I would have thought.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, with Eve and Harmon looking away, Bjorn and Gavrikov staring down. Bastian answered for them: “Sienna…wasn’t like that.”
“That’s nice,” Graham said. “But ultimately pointless now.” He extended his hands out. “Welcome to your new world. Bid adieu to the old. Because this is your new normal,” he said, and he was rueful as anyone Zack had ever heard. “You’re here now, with us now…” He shook his head, looking once more at the door that Rose had closed on her way out. “She’s got your girl, by the way…and that end is coming up soon.” Zack felt his heart catch in his throat, but Graham did not stop. “So you might as well give up hope of rescue…because this—” and he looked around again “—this is where you are from now on.” He looked pointedly at Harmon. “And escape? Is a fanciful dream.” The president’s eyes dropped. “You may not like it, but this is simply the way things are.” Graham’s voice was low, bitter, and streaked through with sadness.
“This is how it’s going to be,” he said, a little sadly, “forever and ever. And no one…not your girl Sienna, and not any of you…will beat Rose. You’re here forever…and that’s just a fact.”