“Are you done shooting at me?” Newton finally said, sounding disturbed. Glad to hear I wasn’t the only one who found Obliteration supremely unnerving. “Because I want to get back. I’m hungry, and the food at that party was pathetic. Nothing but homegrown fruit.”
Obliteration didn’t glance at her. He whispered something, and I struggled to hear. I leaned forward.
“Corrupt,” Obliteration whispered. “All men are corrupt. The seed of the Epic is inside each one. And so, all must die. Mortal and immortal. All are-”
I slipped.
Though I caught myself quickly, my booted foot scraped across some bark. Obliteration spun, and Newton stood up straight, raising the katana in a firm grip.
Obliteration looked right at me.
But he didn’t seem to see me.
He frowned, looking past where I crouched, then shook his head. He strode over to Newton and took her by one arm. Then both teleported, a crash of light leaving behind glowing figures that crumbled away into nothing.
I righted myself, sweat streaming down the sides of my face, heart thumping.
I’d somehow managed to shake Newton without even realizing I was being followed. I didn’t accept that my quick duck out of the way had been enough, not if she’d been actively tailing me. Now this.
“All right, Megan,” I said. “I know you’re there.”
Silence.
“I have your gun,” I said, taking out the handgun. “Really nice weapon. P226, custom rubber grip, finger grooves, worn down a little on the sides. Looks like you took a lot of time fitting this to your hand.”
Silence.
I walked to the window and held the gun out of it. “Probably sinks really well too. It would be a shame if-”
“If you drop that, you idiot,” Megan’s voice said from the hallway outside, “I’ll rip your face off.”
22
Megan! Sparks, it was good to hear her voice. The last time I’d heard it, she’d pulled a gun on me.
Megan stepped from the shadows of the hallway. She looked wonderful.
The first time I’d seen her-way back when I’d been trying to join the Reckoners-she’d been wearing a sleek red dress, her golden hair tumbling down around her shoulders. Her narrow features had been accented by blush and eye shadow, tied with a bow of bright red lipstick on her lips. Now she wore a sturdy army-style jacket and jeans, her hair pulled back in a utilitarian ponytail. And she was way more beautiful. This was the real Megan, with one holster under her arm and another on her hip.
Seeing her brought back memories. Of a chase through Newcago, of gunfire and exploding copters. Of a desperate flight, carrying her wounded in my arms, followed by an impossible rescue.
She’d died anyway. But not, I’d discovered, for good. I couldn’t help grinning at the sight of her. Megan, in turn, raised a nine-millimeter square at my chest.
Well, that was familiar, at least.
“You spotted that I was interfering,” Megan said. “Which means I’ve grown predictable. Either that or you know too much. You’ve always known too much.”
I looked down at the gun. You never get used to having one pointed at you. In fact, the more you know about guns, the more disconcerting it is to face one down. You know exactly what they can do to people-and you know that a professional like Megan does not point a weapon at someone without being prepared to shoot.
“Um … it’s good to see you too?” I said, pulling my arm-with Megan’s gun in it-carefully out of the window, then dropped the gun to the floor in a nonthreatening way and kicked it gently in her direction. “I’m unarmed. You can lower the gun, Megan. I just want to talk.”
“I should shoot you,” Megan said. Keeping her gun trained on me, she stooped to retrieve the other one from the floor with her left hand, then slipped it into a pocket.
“What sense would that make?” I asked. “After you saved me from drowning the other day, and then saved me again tonight when Newton was tailing me? Thanks for both, by the way.”
“Newton and Obliteration think you’re dangerous,” Megan said.
“And … you disagree?”
“Oh, you’re dangerous. Just not in the way that they-or you-think. You’re dangerous because you make people believe you, David. You make them listen to your crazy ideas. Unfortunately, the world can’t be what you want it to be. You’re not going to overthrow the Epics.”
“We overthrew Steelheart.”
“With the help of two Epics,” Megan snapped. “How long would you and the team have survived in Newcago without Prof’s shields and healing abilities? Sparks! You’ve only been here in Babilar a couple of days and you’d be dead already without my help. You can’t fight them, David.”
“Well,” I said, stepping forward despite that gun-which was still pointed right at me. “I should think that your examples only prove that we can fight the Epics. So long as we have the help of other Epics.”
Her expression shifted, lips tightening, eyes hardening. “You realize Phaedrus will turn on you. You’ve hired the lion to protect you from the wolves, but either will be happy to eat you once the food runs out.”
“I-”
“You don’t know what it’s like, inside! You shouldn’t trust us. Any of us. Even the little bit I did just now, protecting you from those two, threatens to destroy me.” She hesitated. “You’ll receive no further help from me.” She turned to walk back into the corridor.
“Megan!” I said, feeling a sudden panic. I’d come all this way to find her. I couldn’t let her go now! I scrambled out into the hallway after her.
She strode away from me, a dark silhouette barely visible by the light of a few dangling pieces of fruit.
“I’ve missed you,” I said.
She didn’t stop.
This wasn’t how I’d imagined our meeting. It wasn’t supposed to have been about Prof, or the Epics; it was supposed to have been about her. And about me.
I needed to say something. Something romantic! Something to sweep her off her feet.
“You’re like a potato!” I shouted after her. “In a minefield.”
She froze in place. Then she spun on me, her face lit by a half-grown fruit. “A potato,” she said flatly. “That’s the best you can do? Seriously?”
“It makes sense,” I said. “Listen. You’re strolling through a minefield, worried about getting blown up. And then you step on something, and you think, ‘I’m dead.’ But it’s just a potato. And you’re so relieved to find something so wonderful when you expected something so awful. That’s what you are. To me.”
“A potato.”
“Sure. French fries? Mashed potatoes? Who doesn’t like potatoes?”
“Plenty of people. Why can’t I be something sweet, like a cake?”
“Because cake wouldn’t grow in a minefield. Obviously.”
She stared down the hallway at me for a few moments, then sat on an overgrown set of roots.
Sparks. She seemed to be crying. Idiot! I thought at myself, scrambling through the foliage. Romantic. You were supposed to be romantic, you slontze! Potatoes weren’t romantic. I should have gone with a carrot.
I reached Megan in the dim hallway and hesitated, uncertain if I dared touch her. She looked up at me, and though there were tears in the corners of her eyes, she wasn’t weeping.
She was laughing.
“You,” she said, “are an utter fool, David Charleston. I wish you weren’t also so adorable.”
“Uh … thanks?” I said.
She sighed and repositioned herself on the large set of roots, pulling her feet up and sitting with her back in the crook of the tree trunk. That seemed an invitation, so I sat down in front of her, my knees before me and my back to the wall of the corridor. I could see well enough, though this entire place was creepy, with its shadowed vines and strange plants.