Profess? I was glad I didn’t have a proper beating heart. With blood pounding in my veins, I might have flipped out on her. Instead, anger stewed inside of me without hormones or adrenaline or whatever other chemicals my body should have been using to manifest it. Raw, cold fury.
“…What do you profess to be?”
“An Other,” I said, my words terse.
“Sounds like you’re dodging the question.”
“I’m being honest,” I said. “I made something of a pronouncement earlier, and the words had power. I don’t think I can lie, even if I’m not technically a practitioner anymore. I’m an Other, and trying to stick another label on myself just gives me more room to be wrong.”
“Try,” she said.
She was being so hostile, and I was already having trouble staying civil.
“I’m your reflection,” I said. “I remember growing up as the child that your mom and dad might have had if they’d had a boy, instead. I have memories of making friends with these guys, of leaving home because I couldn’t deal with the family thing, and ending up homeless. Meeting Alexis on the streets. Running into her again at Carl’s place…”
Alexis’ eyes widened. “I… I remember leaving. The vibe was wrong. The pregnant girl, the attitude around the place…”
“I warned you, as I remember it.”
“I got back to Toronto, and stuck out the winter at the shelter-”
“-That was where you saved me from Carl, in my version,” I said, my voice quiet.
“-And Carl was there, in the shelter, looking for more recruits, and I got freaked out. I hit him with a chair. Which isn’t like me. I always hated that I did that, that I couldn’t find the courage or the words to warn people verbally and spread the word. Just a stupid sneak attack that could have gotten me in trouble. One of my big regrets, now that I think about it.”
“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t tell her that I’d seen some image of Carl, active today. Maybe still doing what he’d been doing then, better.
Was that the way things went, when Ur removed memories? Took away the good, left the bad? Or were those regrets a reality that she’d never shared with me?
Both kind of sucked.
“I… remember all that,” I said, “But I’m just a fake. An image, cobbled together from somebody’s memories, or multiple people’s, I don’t even know. Something convincing to draw fire while Rose figured things out. I’m, if I had to stick a label on myself, a Vestige. Except that demon in the factory ate my connections to people, and I wound up…”
I trailed off, not even sure how to articulate it.
“What?” Ty asked.
“I fell through the cracks,” I said. “And I clawed my way back up. Not entirely in one piece. So I’m a-”
“Bogeyman?” Rose asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Bogeymen tend to be angry,” she said, her gaze fixed on my own. “Or they tend to be self-destructive, going out in a blaze of ruin and violence. Are you angry, Blake, or are you the other type?”
“Yeah,” I said, without breaking eye contact. “I’m angry.”
“I guess I don’t need to ask who you’re angry at?”
I slowly shook my head.
“Yeah,” she said.
“But,” I said, “I’m not your enemy.”
“And we’re back to me not believing you again,” Rose said.
“Huh?” Evan asked.
I clenched my teeth, staring at her.
“I believe you when you say you’re angry. That you’re angry at me. Or the world, even. You look like a bogeyman, and I’ve dealt with a few lately. That fits too, so I could maybe even believe you when you say what you are.”
With one hand, she gestured at Corvidae, who stood in the corner, watching all this with dark eyes.
“But as far as who you are, or that you’re a friend? There isn’t much to go on except your say-so. If you were going to lie, you’d do something like that. Mix in truths with the fiction.”
“What about the individual pieces that fit?” I asked.
“Our enemies include connection manipulators and augurs and Faerie. Johannes has contact with Others from all around the world. Can you give us proof of your identity that couldn’t be falsified using one of those things?”
“Anything can theoretically be falsified,” I said. “I can’t lie. You can’t take my word for it?”
“No, because there’s no guarantee you’re telling the truth about your inability to lie.”
I suppressed a groan.
“That’s a no, then? You can’t prove your identity?” She asked.
“That’s a no, but you’re suggesting there’s no way for me to gain your trust?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. We’re not in a position to be extending blind trust to anyone or anything,” Rose said, emphasizing the ‘thing’ part of that last word. “There are any number of Others who could pretend to be a Thorburn, gather the information, make up a story.”
“I’m of the opinion that if your choices are making a leap of faith and making allies and failing to make that leap of faith and being utterly alone, you should make the one exceptionally short leap.”
“Says the would-be ally,” Ty said.
The look I gave him must have been something, because he flinched, almost in sympathy.
“Sorry man,” he said. “But, well, she’s not entirely wrong. We’ve only been in this for a few weeks-”
Weeks?
“-And the prevailing idea seems to be that you can’t rule anything out.”
“Weeks,” I said, a little stunned. “How long ago was the incident at the factory?”
“Almost a month ago,” Alexis said.
I didn’t have a response to that.
I’d spent so long down in the Drains. It had only felt like a day or two at most. Maybe three, four, or five at the very post, if I counted the blurry time spent visiting my memories.
Rose, however, seemed to take my lack of response as a weakness to pounce on. She went on the offensive, “Enchantresses have connection manipulation, strong ties to Faerie, glamour. They could dig up details, figure out what fit, and prepare an assassin with a prepared story. The chronomancers could rig up a trap and keep trying until their tailor-made assassin figured out a way past our defenses. Johannes could leverage… whatever he’s got. I don’t know. The only guarantee against any of it is absolutes. If the chronomancers want to try the brute-force approach and hammer us in simulated timelines until we say yes, then the only answer is to make it so the answer is always no. If the enchantresses are going to try to trick us, then we need to counter subtlety with bluntness, because that’s the textbook way to counteract an enchantress or a Faerie glamour.”
“Absolutes are pretty fucking damning,” I said.
“Then I’ll be damned,” Rose told me. “Because the alternative is worse. There’s a war going on, and there’s no room for mistakes.”
“What if turning me down is the mistake?”