Feversong
Page 90
But this was the one thing I’d kept. The single big decision about the way I wanted to live my life that was entirely mine.
Virginity was a door you only got to bang once.
I didn’t know how to take off my armor. I’d worn it too long. I didn’t know how to live like other people. I was a Tin Man with no oil.
“You said you had some things to tell me and something you wanted to show me?” I evaded.
He took my retreat with his customary resilience. His grin was instant, the disappointment in his eyes hastily concealed. “Mac hears the song inverted, Mega. It’s totally different the way she hears it! And I have a video you’ve got to see. You’re never going to bloody believe it.”
Then he was sitting at his desk, the moment had passed, but I knew it would come again.
Then he was playing a song for me and it was the most incredible music I’ve ever heard.
I don’t know how long we sat there, listening to music I couldn’t wrap my Mega brain around, but I had a sudden thought that buoyed me: when we figured out the Song of Making, considering it was supposed to heal things, maybe it would heal Dancer’s heart. If it could heal holes in the fabric of the world, why not a simple human muscle? Stranger things had happened. I was surprised at how uncharacteristically pessimistic I’d been about his condition. But it’d been so unexpected and I’d recently suffered a traumatic loss. Combined, they’d sublimated my usual optimism and determination to rewire the world the way I wanted it to be.
I was feeling so much better about everything when he finally stopped the music, got serious, and pulled up a video, it took me a moment to absorb what I was seeing.
A crowd of a hundred or so people stood outside Chester’s, shadowy yet visible, splashed yellow by the amber glow of gas lamps and red from the eerie glow of the crimson moon above. They were wild, excited, carrying weapons, wired on some drug or another. I know the look in the eyes of a stoner. There were two dead armed guards lying in the street.
Ten of them went at once—just raced straight into the black hole that Christian and I had spent all day working on. They were instantly spaghettified and slurped greedily in. The others cheered and punched their fists in the air as if they’d just done something brave and thrilling, not something so bloody stupid I couldn’t believe anyone would voluntarily do it. The world tries hard enough to kill you and succeeds eventually. Why cooperate or rush it?
My gaze flew to Dancer’s. “How did you get this?” I demanded.
He smirked. “Hacked Ryodan’s computers. Tapped into his surveillance cams. Still trying to get into his mainframe.”
My heart sank. Ryodan was one dude Dancer didn’t want to be messing with. You don’t tug on Superman’s cape. You don’t spit into the wind. Suddenly I had an old Jim Croce song my mom used to play stuck in my head. “Turn it off,” I said stiffly. “And stay out of his stuff.”
He looked at me like he couldn’t believe what I was saying. He hit the Pause button and said, “Mega, we always dick with Ryodan. That’s what we do. It’s like, a calling.” He mocked, “ ‘Hey, Brain, what are we gonna do tonight? Gee, Pinky, take over the world and dick with Ryodan.’ Thought you’d be impressed. You have no idea how many bloody firewalls I had to hack to get this. Don’t know who’s running his system but he’s got security I’ve never seen before. Besides,” he dangled invitingly, “you haven’t seen the interesting part yet. Really want me to turn it off now?”
“What kind of interesting stuff?” I said, eyes narrowing.
“The truth about Ryodan,” he said softly, watching me closely.
I punched the PAUSE button, eyes glued to the screen. That man’s secrets: irresistible. As the video continued, another small group broke off, raced in, and again the others cheered. Morons. Sheep. Baaa.
They repeated the study of stupendous stupidity until there were only ten sheep left standing in the street. Bleating excitedly as if they were winning some kind of war, not waggling fluffy asses and leaping straight down the wolf’s throat.
Then Ryodan materialized in the middle of the crowd, scaring the bejeezus out of everyone, and his eyes were…weird, like, “Did his eyes just turn red? Go back!”
Dancer rewound and I watched it again. Sure enough—and it hadn’t been a trick of the moon—Ryodan’s eyes were pools of blood, backlit by a thousand icy lanterns. His snarl was abnormally large for his face, all mouth and fangs with barely enough skull to frame it.
Horns sprouted on that skull, confirming my teenage suspicions. I leapt to my feet, hands fisting.
I knew it—Ryodan was the devil!
There was no volume but I could see him snarling at the people in the street, and I didn’t need to hear it to know he was saying the same thing I’d be saying: You bloody idiots, why are you killing yourselves? And if you’re so hell-bent on dying, go do it somewhere else. Don’t fuck with my world.
Then all ten of them attacked Ryodan at once. He flung them off like he was batting Ping-Pong balls away. They attacked again and he flung them all off again, and when they realized they weren’t going to be able to take him down, they veered like a flock of dimwitted, synchronized birds straight for the black hole.
That was when it happened.
Suddenly, Ryodan morphed.
He just bloody transformed in the blink of an eye into one of those great black beasts that fought beside me at the abbey and had, later, eaten crimson runes off Cruce.
Bloody hell, but I’d been off my game! Not once had I pinned the beasts’ inexplicable existence up on my bulletin board and examined it! The beasts that Mac said she’d found Silverside were the Nine! Ryodan was a bloody shapeshifter!
He moved in a whirlwind of black-skinned muscle, talons, and fangs, ripping, slashing, tearing, gouging.
When he was done, he crouched panting, paws and muzzle slick with blood, surrounded by corpses. Then he dropped back on his haunches, ripped open a thigh, tore off a piece of flesh and began chewing, head swiveling this way and that, to ascertain that no other predators were approaching.
I looked at Dancer. He was watching me intently.
I got it then. He’d just done to me what I’d done to him when I came in and spooked him: told me what he wanted to say without words.
Can’t you see he’s an animal, Mega? Choose me.
Virginity was a door you only got to bang once.
I didn’t know how to take off my armor. I’d worn it too long. I didn’t know how to live like other people. I was a Tin Man with no oil.
“You said you had some things to tell me and something you wanted to show me?” I evaded.
He took my retreat with his customary resilience. His grin was instant, the disappointment in his eyes hastily concealed. “Mac hears the song inverted, Mega. It’s totally different the way she hears it! And I have a video you’ve got to see. You’re never going to bloody believe it.”
Then he was sitting at his desk, the moment had passed, but I knew it would come again.
Then he was playing a song for me and it was the most incredible music I’ve ever heard.
I don’t know how long we sat there, listening to music I couldn’t wrap my Mega brain around, but I had a sudden thought that buoyed me: when we figured out the Song of Making, considering it was supposed to heal things, maybe it would heal Dancer’s heart. If it could heal holes in the fabric of the world, why not a simple human muscle? Stranger things had happened. I was surprised at how uncharacteristically pessimistic I’d been about his condition. But it’d been so unexpected and I’d recently suffered a traumatic loss. Combined, they’d sublimated my usual optimism and determination to rewire the world the way I wanted it to be.
I was feeling so much better about everything when he finally stopped the music, got serious, and pulled up a video, it took me a moment to absorb what I was seeing.
A crowd of a hundred or so people stood outside Chester’s, shadowy yet visible, splashed yellow by the amber glow of gas lamps and red from the eerie glow of the crimson moon above. They were wild, excited, carrying weapons, wired on some drug or another. I know the look in the eyes of a stoner. There were two dead armed guards lying in the street.
Ten of them went at once—just raced straight into the black hole that Christian and I had spent all day working on. They were instantly spaghettified and slurped greedily in. The others cheered and punched their fists in the air as if they’d just done something brave and thrilling, not something so bloody stupid I couldn’t believe anyone would voluntarily do it. The world tries hard enough to kill you and succeeds eventually. Why cooperate or rush it?
My gaze flew to Dancer’s. “How did you get this?” I demanded.
He smirked. “Hacked Ryodan’s computers. Tapped into his surveillance cams. Still trying to get into his mainframe.”
My heart sank. Ryodan was one dude Dancer didn’t want to be messing with. You don’t tug on Superman’s cape. You don’t spit into the wind. Suddenly I had an old Jim Croce song my mom used to play stuck in my head. “Turn it off,” I said stiffly. “And stay out of his stuff.”
He looked at me like he couldn’t believe what I was saying. He hit the Pause button and said, “Mega, we always dick with Ryodan. That’s what we do. It’s like, a calling.” He mocked, “ ‘Hey, Brain, what are we gonna do tonight? Gee, Pinky, take over the world and dick with Ryodan.’ Thought you’d be impressed. You have no idea how many bloody firewalls I had to hack to get this. Don’t know who’s running his system but he’s got security I’ve never seen before. Besides,” he dangled invitingly, “you haven’t seen the interesting part yet. Really want me to turn it off now?”
“What kind of interesting stuff?” I said, eyes narrowing.
“The truth about Ryodan,” he said softly, watching me closely.
I punched the PAUSE button, eyes glued to the screen. That man’s secrets: irresistible. As the video continued, another small group broke off, raced in, and again the others cheered. Morons. Sheep. Baaa.
They repeated the study of stupendous stupidity until there were only ten sheep left standing in the street. Bleating excitedly as if they were winning some kind of war, not waggling fluffy asses and leaping straight down the wolf’s throat.
Then Ryodan materialized in the middle of the crowd, scaring the bejeezus out of everyone, and his eyes were…weird, like, “Did his eyes just turn red? Go back!”
Dancer rewound and I watched it again. Sure enough—and it hadn’t been a trick of the moon—Ryodan’s eyes were pools of blood, backlit by a thousand icy lanterns. His snarl was abnormally large for his face, all mouth and fangs with barely enough skull to frame it.
Horns sprouted on that skull, confirming my teenage suspicions. I leapt to my feet, hands fisting.
I knew it—Ryodan was the devil!
There was no volume but I could see him snarling at the people in the street, and I didn’t need to hear it to know he was saying the same thing I’d be saying: You bloody idiots, why are you killing yourselves? And if you’re so hell-bent on dying, go do it somewhere else. Don’t fuck with my world.
Then all ten of them attacked Ryodan at once. He flung them off like he was batting Ping-Pong balls away. They attacked again and he flung them all off again, and when they realized they weren’t going to be able to take him down, they veered like a flock of dimwitted, synchronized birds straight for the black hole.
That was when it happened.
Suddenly, Ryodan morphed.
He just bloody transformed in the blink of an eye into one of those great black beasts that fought beside me at the abbey and had, later, eaten crimson runes off Cruce.
Bloody hell, but I’d been off my game! Not once had I pinned the beasts’ inexplicable existence up on my bulletin board and examined it! The beasts that Mac said she’d found Silverside were the Nine! Ryodan was a bloody shapeshifter!
He moved in a whirlwind of black-skinned muscle, talons, and fangs, ripping, slashing, tearing, gouging.
When he was done, he crouched panting, paws and muzzle slick with blood, surrounded by corpses. Then he dropped back on his haunches, ripped open a thigh, tore off a piece of flesh and began chewing, head swiveling this way and that, to ascertain that no other predators were approaching.
I looked at Dancer. He was watching me intently.
I got it then. He’d just done to me what I’d done to him when I came in and spooked him: told me what he wanted to say without words.
Can’t you see he’s an animal, Mega? Choose me.
