"Mr. Jenkins, if the issue is the triumph of the Democratic ticket in November, then a ticket headed by Leo Barnett would be a disaster. There are still enough people who would oppose a religious figure running this country. Besides, Barnett is a one-note candidate."
"No, sir, there you're wrong. You see him as a one-note candidate because you're obsessed with wild cards, but Leo speaks for a lot of simple Americans who are worried about the moral decay of this country."
They stepped out of the Bello Mondo restaurant. To their left came the clatter of cutlery on china as the journalists, hangers-on, and less wealthy delegates dined in the Marriott's coffee shop. Tachyon frowned up at the banners stretched across the dizzying expanse of the lobby atrium.
Heard the sharp tick of high heels. jumped and whirled as he felt cold fingers nuzzle up beneath his hair, touching the nape of his neck. Sara winced at the pressure of his hand around her fingers. Bright color flamed in each cheek, but it looked angry against the unnatural white of her skin.
"I came for a statement, and to see if I could help." Tachyon shook his head. "What?"
She reared back slightly, nostrils flaring. "Chrysalis."
"What about her?"
"She's dead." The flat tone snapped him around as surely as Fleur's slap. He took two quick steps, groping for support. His hand closed on the sharp point of Sara's shoulder. "Dead!"
"You mean you didn't know?"
"No… I… I've been busy. All day."
"Yeah." Her tone was bitter; then abruptly she dropped a gentle sympathetic mask over her pale features. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you."
Jenkins tiptoed over. "Doctor, it seems you've had bad news. We'll talk another time."
Sara gripped Tachyon's arm with both hands and tugged him toward the elevators. "This has been a shock. You're very pale.! Maybe you should lie down."
"I need a drink."
Sara hung on grimly to his arm. "Don't you have something in your room?"
He frowned at her. "Yes."
"Let's… let's go there." Pale tongue running briefly across those too thin lips. "I… I need to talk to you." Physical vertigo added to his emotional vertigo as the elevator shot upward. "Chrysalis." He shook his head. "Tell me."
She did, in quick terse sentences, her pale eyes locked on his lilac ones. She seemed to be pressing for a mind contact, and he tightened his control. He didn't really want to know what went on behind that intense face.
He led them into the suite. Stood staring into the mirror over the wet bar, a hand closed limply about a brandy bottle. Mirrors. Chrysalis had loved mirrors, and had filled her boudoir with them.
He pictured the skull head with its trademark swirl of glitter on one transparent cheek. Pictured it battered to a bloody pulp. The tink of glass on glass was loud in the room.
He turned, and held out the glass, but Sara was gone. Hearing the squeak of a mattress, he walked into the bedroom, and stared in bewilderment at her pose. Elbows resting on the coverlet. One leg cocked over the other. Skirt hiked to mid-thigh. She accepted the drink, and coyly patted the bed next to her. Feeling like a man sharing a bench with a spider, he sank warily down.
"Secrets." He sighed and drank. "I suppose Chrysalis at last found the secret that killed her."
"Yes." Sara stared rigidly at the far wall. Gave a shake, and placed her hand on his arm. It lay there heavy and lifeless. "I know how much this must hurt you. You two were very close."
He removed her hand, squeezed it, and sat it aside. "I don't know if I would go that far."
The hand crept back, fingers tightening suddenly on the big muscle in his thigh. She began to rub him. Tach rolled a nervous eve in her direction. Sweat had broken along her hairline, and her lips were compressed into a thin line. She sensed his scrutiny, and smiled at him, eyelids half lowered, pouted her lips. Tachyon drained his glass. His leg muscle was beginning to cramp under her furious assault.
"Another?" He waved the glass. Throaty, husky. "Oh, yes. Please."
They sat drinking in silence. Tachyon felt his guts cramping. "I wonder-JESUS!"
He hit the edge of the bed, slid off onto the floor, brandy sloshing across his crotch. Thrust his little finger into his ear, and wiped out the moisture left by the sudden thrust of Sara's tongue. It had felt like someone driving a Q-tip dipped in icy Vaseline into his ear.
She hung over the bed staring down at him with feverbright eyes. Gasped out, "I want you! I want you!"
It was like getting hit with a rake. Bony knees, elbows, pelvis digging into his chest, groin, thighs as she flung herself upon him. They thrashed for a few moments, Sara dropping inexpert kisses onto whatever part of his anatomy she could hit. Tachyon threw her off, and tottered to the far side of the bed.
"What in the hell are you doing?" Tears of shame and rage filled his eyes.
"I want to make love with you."
"If this is some kind of joke, it is in pretty goddamn bad taste! Or actually, it's in perfect taste if you go in for cruel Takisian humor."
"What are you driveling about?" she screamed, raking back her hair.
"I'm impotent! Impotent! IMPOTENT!" "Still?" Honest amazement filled the word.
It shredded his last vestige of control. "Yes, fuck you! Now get out! Just get the hell out of here!"
Blotchy red patches flamed in her cheeks. Sara flung herself on his chest, hands clasped frenziedly behind his neck. "No, please, I cant leave you. I'm next, don't you see? Only you can keep me safe!"
"Are you out of your mind? Keep you safe from what?"
"Hartmann! HARTMANN! He killed Andi, he killed Chrysalis, and now he's going to kill me!"
"I'm not going to listen to any more of this."
"He's a monster. Inhuman. Evil."
"A year ago you were fucking your brains out with him." Her breath came in harsh pants. "He made me."
"Now I've heard everything. You are crazy." Tach threw himself through the sitting room, dragging Sara like a recalcitrant foal. Flung open the door. "Out, out, out, out."
She ran from him, and threw herself onto the bed. Curled up with a pillow clutched to her chest. "No, no, you can't make me. I won't leave. You've got to help me," she wailed as he bundled her into his arms, and staggered back to the door. "Read me! Go into my mind!" she hissed, clinging to his lapels. "I wouldn't touch that cesspool that you call a mind." Fire flared as her nails raked across his face.
"WHEN I'M DEAD YOU'LL BE SORRY."
"I'm already sorry."
Tach slammed the door, brushed distastefully at his coat, and crossed to the bar. Seized the cognac and drank directly from the bottle. Spewed as the heat became too much for his throat. He drew a hand across his face, and yelped as the liquor entered the cuts left by her nails.
Help me.
You don't want to believe. When I'm dead you'll be sorry!
The bottle exploded against the far wall. "I'M TIRED OF FEELING
Spector combed his hair up and went at the ends with the scissors. Lank brown strands fell into the dirty sink. The job was near barber standards. He'd cut hair on the side when working his way through school, and had gotten pretty good at it. He picked up the cracked hand mirror and checked the neckline in the back.
"Not bad, my man," he said to himself. He scooped up a fingerful of skin lotion, and rubbed it onto his reddened upper lip. Without the mustache and long hair he looked years younger, not much different from his old college self. Only the pained eyes were forever changed. With his hair washed and blown dry he'd be unrecognizable to anyone who'd met him since he became Demise. Except Tachyon. He'd know regardless.
The thought of the little alien knocked him from his normal sullen mood into a gnawing rage. Making the hit, that would hurt Tachyon. He nodded to the mirror and walked into the living room. The decor was nicer than his apartment in Jokertown. The walls were gray-green; the furnishings were mahogany or other dark woods. He even picked up occasionalIy. He'd made the move back to Teaneck after the Sleeper had roughed him up. Considering the hell that had broken loose not long after, it had been a good idea.