Equal Parts (24 page)

Well, it worked – her eyes narrowed, so she was distracted by my negativity. “Felicity, do you honestly believe that crap?”

“Of course.” Truth. I was living proof of it.

“You really think people make their own happiness? That if you weren’t here right now, I would be content making papier mâché Thanksgiving decorations and pigging out on Ben and Jerry’s? That if I had left you alone after you came here, you would’ve been happy to sit alone and think about what happened to you?”

“Well, I –”

“It’s bullcrap!” she said hotly, smacking the bench. This was certainly a new development; happy-go-lucky Lucia was the last person I’d ever expect to argue with me over this. I was slightly stunned, but more-than-slightly impressed. “We make
each other
happy! Everyone does! You just speed up the process by giving some to those who
can’t
help themselves, who
can’t
get happiness from others, because there’s no one there to give it! People don’t get dependent on your power – they get dependent on
you,
Felicity. But you don’t know the different because you can’t separate yourself from your ability!”

I gaped at her. “I can so!”

“You think Achilles wanted you just for your power, just to use and abuse you to death, right?” she demanded. I didn’t have time to respond. “Then why in the hell didn’t he
do
it? He had weeks to force you into giving him what he wanted, to torture you, maim you, threaten you, wring it out of you – but he didn’t! Instead he talked to you and took care of you and
protected
you – like you were a treasure, not a weapon. And now this!”

She took out today’s newspaper and shoved it under my nose. “I was going to hide this, hide any sign of it, but I think you need to see it,” she said in a much quieter voice.

With increasingly wide eyes, I read:

REWARD FOR LOCAL GIRL PUT OUT BY CRIMINAL

Wanted criminal Achilles yesterday shocked all corners of the city by demanding the capture of local café worker and recent hostage, Felicity Eastwood. Miss Eastwood, 20, is believed to have escaped Achilles’s stronghold last week and her whereabouts are still unknown.

Achilles, infamous for assassinating Carova mayor John Pattelle in September, is offering a fifty thousand dollar reward for Miss Eastwood’s capture, adding that if she is harmed in the process, he “will return the treatment tenfold” on the third party. The criminal also addressed Miss Eastwood directly in the statement, claiming: “I’ve been lenient, but her time is up. Flick [sic], you should know by now I don’t want you for the reasons you once believed.”

Police are investigating the matter, with no leads on Achilles’s or Miss Eastwood’s current locations or affiliations. Police Chief Justine Sanderson yesterday stated, “There is obviously a link between the criminal and Miss Eastwood, though we’re unsure of his motives at present. We ask that the public refrain from contacting Achilles in any way, and if they have any information on Miss Eastwood, to please come forward to the police.”

Continued on Page Twenty-One.

I read over the article so many times that my mind went numb.

“Shit” was what came from me in a croak.

“I’ll say,” Lucia agreed. “So what’re you going to do about it?”

My first instinct was, ‘Duh! Hide!’. My second: ‘Hire an assassin to take Achilles out for good’. My third: ‘Barricade myself in the basement’.

But it was the fourth I settled on – the most impulsive, insane, and generally illogical one of all: “I think I need to borrow one of your dresses.”

“Oh, I have
got
to see this,” gushed Lucia, following me through to her bedroom, where I proceeded to raid her wardrobe until I found the perfect dress.

Slinky red material, backless and falling to mid-thigh, with gold chains hanging across my bare back.

“You realize you can’t wear a bra with that thing, right?” asked Lucia, handing me a pair of closed-toe heels that boosted my height by about a foot.

“That’s kind of the point,” I told her. I wasn’t planning on being flirtatious with Achilles; this was going to be rough and dirty – the same way he’d treated me. I tumbled my hair into a mass of soft curls, painted my lips as red as the dress, and gave my eyes a smoky look with eyeshadow and liner. “How do you feel about going to Firestorm tonight?”

“What’s at Firestorm?” I could see the muted excitement in her eyes.

“All going well, Achilles. I think it’s time I gave him a little payback for the last month.” My feelings for him didn’t matter any more. They were still there, lurking in the shadows, but the confidence I usually only got from banter with Achilles had emerged when I’d heard of the reward. Achilles didn’t own me. He had no right to take my life away from me. Because of him, I had no job, no car, no home, no identity, no money.

I was sick of the pity party. Time to kick some ass.

Lucia was ready in half the time it took me to do so. It seemed she’d been waiting for this opportunity for a while now. “Brad can suck it. I deserve appreciation from someone better,” she told her reflection firmly. There weren’t even tears in her eyes at the mention of her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend. Definitely a step forward.

“That’s the spirit,” I said brightly, content that maybe, in a small way, Lucia
had
made her own happiness – or at least convinced herself of it.

We caught a cab to the south side, where Firestorm stood in the middle of the main street, its blazing orange and red sign visible from miles away. I didn’t bother getting anxious about whether or not Achilles would be there. If he was there, excellent. If not, I would find someone who knew where he was.

Hopefully for the last time ever, Lucia paid my way in the cab and at the door to the club – which, thankfully, didn’t ask for ID – and we descended into the head-thumping, smoky interior. It wasn’t as busy as it usually would be on a Thursday night, possibly because of the freezing weather. Whatever the reason, it made it much easier for Lucia and I to navigate our way to the center of the club, away from the dance floor.

“Where do you think he is?” asked Lucia.

“Somewhere quiet, probably surrounded by groupies,” I replied, hoping I didn’t sound as bitter as I felt about that. My eyes tracked around the rather huge area, from the bar to the alcoves at the back, the dance floor to the stairway leading to a beer garden.

Suddenly –
there
! A familiar looking thug! “Come on, sidekick!” I said to Lucia, dragging her through the masses towards the burly man.

“
Sidekick
? Bitch please, I’m at least your fairy godmother – way hotter than a sidekick!” argued Lucia.

I had to admit, it was a fair assessment.

We reached the thug, and before he could so much as recognize my face, I took out the hammer I’d stashed in my handbag and pressed the head against his throat. “Tell me where I can find Achilles.”

His eyes widened. “F-Felicity?”

The hammer pressed harder. “That’s not an answer.”

“The alcoves. Through there!” he choked, pointing behind us to a platform lined with private booths.

“Wonderful,” I said with an ice queen smile, and twirled the hammer in hand as Lucia and I headed up towards the booths.

“You are
kickass
this evening, girl. I didn’t know you had it in you!” she whispered in an awed tone.

“Neither did I,” I admitted. If I
were
being honest with myself, I’d say I was trying to adopt Achilles’s attributes to face my fears: cocky, merciless, to-the-point.

My heart was soon racing to the beat of the club’s dubstep music. What if he didn’t want to see me? What if he was covered in half-naked girls? What if he outright rejected me again? What if -?

No. No what if’s. This time the ball’s in your court – he doesn’t get any choice
.

Still, the weight of his possible rejection was heavy on my chest, preventing me from simply throwing the hammer at his head and strutting off into the distance.

“You can do this, sweetie,” Lucia assured me when we neared the alcoves. “Remember:
he
is looking for
you
. You don’t owe him anything.”

Two thugs manned one of the bigger booths at the end of the platform, so I had to assume that was where we’d find him. Steeling my nerves, my frantic heart, my overactive imagination, and my expression, I swaggered to the end booth, drawing the eyes of both guards.

“Holy shit” was the eloquent greeting I was given as I approached their roadblock.

“Move,” I told them in a chilling voice I hoped was something like their boss’s, “before I have to use this hammer.”

They exchanged a rather skeptical look, but parted to make way for Lucia and I. In the booth beyond them was Achilles, surrounded – as I’d predicted – by his usual groupies and some more thugs, including Hugo, who spotted me first.

Achilles didn’t look quite as sharp these days. His face-paint lacked its normal detail; his suit was slightly shabbier; his hair had been cut to a much shorter length. The general atmosphere clinging to him was one of defeat – slumped shoulders, disinterested expression, fingers toying with a coaster in front of him. I tried not to feel too much satisfaction at his appearance.

“Ah, boss?” piped up Hugo, still staring at me as though he’d seen a ghost. Lucia hovered at my shoulder, curiosity emanating from her every pore. She’d never seen Achilles in the flesh, but I was sure she was underwhelmed by this shell of his usual self.

Achilles’s head jerked up, his eyes immediately snapping to mine. I expected a variety of reactions, ranging from anger to joy, relief to panic, even though the contacts would cover it. But, as always, he surprised me:

“Yes?” he asked. Like he had no idea who I was. I’ll admit it – it
hurt
. I felt as though I was standing in that goddamn corridor all over again, watching him stumble in with the red-headed girl and look through me completely.

But this was different.
I
was different. There’d be no overlooking me this time. “Apparently, my time living a normal life is up. So I thought I’d save you the trouble of hunting me down personally – I’m considerate like that.” God, was that heartless voice coming from
me
?

He smirked, and the act was so familiar it made my chest ache. “Darling, we both know you never stood a chance at living a
normal
life.” One of the groupies tittered, another whispered something to the girl beside her. Achilles and I ignored them. “Does this mean I owe you the reward money?”

One of the girls choked on her drink. I resisted the urge to smash it in her hand with the hammer. “Actually, I’d say you owe
Lucia
that money. She’s the one who brought me here.” I jutted my chin back at my best friend, who made a slight whimpering noise at the news. “So what now?”

He blinked those fathomless eyes. “Well, for starters, you could get the stick out of your ass.”

The girls giggled collectively. I tried not to show the hurt. “Just as soon as you get rid of your flock of whores.”

“You bitch!” snarled one of them, moving to attack me in some way. I swung the hammer up and stopped it right under her chin.

“Not a good night to mess with me, sister,” I said calmly. I couldn’t believe I was acting so …
badass
. It was as though I’d been possessed by a demon much cooler and more assertive than me. “So either sit your skanky ass back in the seat, or get out of my sight.”

To my dismay, she sat back down.

Achilles watched the entire exchange with an inscrutable expression, though his fingers had moved from the coaster to his coat pocket. Getting a weapon? More handcuffs? A poisoned dart?

“Here,” he said, handing a piece of paper to me. A check – made out with the sum of
fifty thousand dollars
. Oddly faint, I handed it straight to Lucia. Her entire face blanched.

“Oh, no, I can’t,” she gushed modestly, trying to push it back at me. I wasn’t sure whether she feared it was dirty money, or that she was simply too nice to accept the sum.

“If it makes you feel better, it was stolen from a serial rapist who is now very, very dead,” Achilles said in a bored tone. A shiver slid down my spine.

“Just take it,” I muttered to Lucia. “He won’t shut up until you do.”

“I’ll take it,” piped up one of the bimbos.

“Try it and see what happens,” I said to her in a bright tone. Then I turned to Achilles. “Well, seeing as this isn’t going as I’d hoped, I’ll just leave you to the fun you’re obviously having here.” I grabbed Lucia’s hand and began to drag her away.

“How did you
hope
this would go?” he called out to me.

I turned just long enough to reply, with a smile I selfishly hoped hurt him, “Not like this. Shame on me, I guess, for forgetting what you are.”

Head held high, I led Lucia back down to the dance floor, still pumping with music loud enough to make me queasy.