When I touched that part of myself, even around the edges, I almost always felt like all the strength went out of me.
I wanted to be angry enough for it to matter. I drew my arm back, ready to throw the mirror, gripping it so hard that the sharp edges bit into the meat of my fingers.
I stopped there, lowering my arm.
The tension went out of me, the feelings remained. My arm hung limp at my side.
“Blake!” a voice from below. Ty, I was pretty sure. “We need to move!”
Rose had wanted equity. For the scales to be balanced, and me to make the effort.
Fine.
She was angry at me, too. She felt betrayed. I kept moving forward without her, and she was there, stuck in reflections. She was struggling to deal, but she was playing ball. Mostly.
I could do the same. Or I could try.
I was breathing hard, and my body wasn’t in good enough shape to handle the anger well. I was like an old man, my body going well before my mind did. Or maybe I was like a demented old man. Body and mind going, and all there was was the confusion, the anger.
Fuck.
The others were in sight, half a flight below me, when I spoke. “Rose?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re going to set up a spot we can defend and regroup at, then split up. Are you okay with coordinating?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Thank you. You can move faster than any of us, so do what you can to keep an eye on things.”
“I can do that.”
“Thank you,” I said.
We left it at that, by some mutual agreement.
The others were gathered in the building lobby as I descended. Evan made his way to my shoulder.
“Ghosts across the street,” Fell said.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“The Shepherd fosters psychic echoes in an area around him. Rouses things that have gone still, for one last action. He’s close.”
“Will he come alone?” I asked.
“Usually. But with Conquest giving orders? I wouldn’t guarantee it,” Fell said. “We should go.”
“Not complaining,” I said.
“Too many of us for one car,” Ty said, “Unless people want to ride in the trunk.”
“Knights were our rides,” Alexis said.
Losing them sucked.
“Does anyone feel brave?” I asked.
“You mean suicidal?” Alexis asked. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
“You should say think you know,” Tiff said, her voice small. She wasn’t so confident in the midst of the group. “Be careful.”
“No,” Alexis said, meeting my eyes. “I know.”
■
Holy hell, I’d needed this.
My friends were one thing, a connection to me. Like ties that bound me to the rest of the world.
This was another. When I was miserable, when I wanted escape, or relief, or if I wanted to stop doing something and do something else entirely, this was my go-to.
An escape to myself. My escape from myself, too, if I needed it to be.
The light snow covering on the roads flew behind me as my bike tore down the dimly lit city street. There were no lights in the windows. Only the moon above, filtering through the fog, the dim glow of white snow catching the reflected light.
I saw not by the light, but by the dark. The road was only a yawning stretch of black speckled by white. My eyes scanned the surface, watching for any dark areas without a faint covering of snow.
Riding in winter wasn’t the hardest thing in the world. If the roads were mostly clear, then it wasn’t impossible. The big concern, inevitably, was the other drivers. People were stupid, people in winter conditions were stupider, and the guy on the bike was the guy who got the short end of the stick in those cases.
Here, at least, there were no other drivers. The roads were empty, the sidewalks mostly clear. No pedestrians running out from in between parked cars. No being cut off.
Tiffany was riding behind me. It wasn’t the romantic sort of ride she’d maybe anticipated. I’d told her that she couldn’t wrap her arms around me, so she leaned back instead, holding the bars behind her seat. I suspected she’d come with me to avoid having to be with the crowd in the car. I also suspected she was regretting the decision.
Evan, for his part, was tucked into the ‘v’ where my coat’s zipper parted at the collarbone. He periodically screamed something that might have been spelled with a few dozen letter ‘A’s, lost in the rush of wind and noise of my bike, and periodically laughed, a noise that was easier to make out.
I was cold, tense, and I knew I wasn’t as strong or coordinated as I could have been. Visibility could have been better, with the mist and the snowfall.
But every second I was on the bike was a second I felt better, recharging my personal batteries, leaving my argument with Rose and the tensions of the night well behind me.
I accelerated, and I felt myself feeling better faster. I heard the engine’s volume increase, felt the bike beneath me, reacting.
I was leaving the others behind. Rather than slow down, I zig-zagged from one side of the street to the other, tentative at first, then a little more aggressive, reminding myself of how the bike handled, how it handled with a passenger, and getting a feel for the road, all at the same time.
Getting closer to the sidewalk, I saw the ghosts. Greater and greater numbers.
The Shepherd was closing in.
One in the middle of the street, blocking my way.
I gave it as wide a berth as possible. A quick glance, then I rode up on the sidewalk.
It lunged for me. Flickered, crossed a distance far greater than it should have. An exaggeration of what the person who’d hit him must have experienced. A misjudgment of distance.
A moment later, I heard a loud crash. I slowed, glancing over one shoulder.
He’d reversed directions, throwing himself into the car with the others. The windshield was cracked, the hood dented, the ghost gone.
With every passing second, there were more ghosts on the sidewalks. More psychic echoes. A few were lingering images that seemed to trail after the gaps in the mist. Echoes in the process of being engraved on the fabric of reality. The most miserable, angry, lost individuals. People who might only need a push to leave a mark behind, a ghost.
The way the numbers were increasing, I took it to be a sign. We were moving straight toward the Shepherd.
I saw a car on the road, meandering. A psychic echo of a vehicle.
If it was anything like the ghost who’d thrown itself into Fell’s car, I didn’t trust my ability to avoid getting hit.
I flashed my blinkers, signalling for good measure, my arm bent at a right angle, hand up.
I turned. Going the wrong way down a one-way street.
Had to lead us further away from the Shepherd.
It wasn’t the Shepherd that made the first appearance.
A dark silhouette, easily six feet tall, broad at the shoulders, dressed in rags.
The Eye. Given birth in the 1904 fire of Toronto, a reminder to man that the elements weren’t entirely under our control.
It raised its arms, and I saw reality distort. A glimmer of light, an artificial Aurora Borealis.
The lights, however, weren’t any natural effect. They were very real city lights. A bright flash lit up the space behind him, showing just how wide the effect was opening.