Infinite Risk (41 page)

Dissipating into sparks of light, however, wasn't something I should do on a public street. I chose a random office building and headed through the lobby. Nobody questioned me. They seldom did if you looked like you knew where you were going. My hand trembled, a thing of light and shadow more than form; I barely had the physical substance left to open the door to the stairwell. It wouldn't be long. Running, I dashed up all the flights and burst out onto the roof. It seemed more fitting for this to happen up here, closer to the sky.

I wonder if Dwyer will get his coin back. Wonder if Selena will miss me.

The door slammed shut behind me, and I moved toward the protective wall built to keep people from falling. I noticed the first black bird then, eerily similar to the one I'd spoken to in the plaza. Soon the ledge was covered with them, at least a hundred, and despite fearing what lay in store, I smiled. They regarded me with bright, unblinking eyes. None of them shifted or preened; they all just watched me.

“You can come out,” I said.

After everything we'd been through, the Harbinger's arrival only invoked joy and relief. Astonishing, actually, how much I'd
missed
him. He appeared in a shimmer of gray smoke, striding toward me like an incarnation of war. His black cloak fluttered behind him, and I recalled when the sight of him summoned visceral dread, preventing me from noticing the details. I took in the red satin waistcoat and the silver chain usually tethered to some improbable artifact. These days, his familiarity qualified as comforting.

I won't die alone. He's come to bear witness.

“You're not angry,” he said.

I shrugged, unable to manage a smile. “Thank you for seeing me off.”

“You think that's why I'm here? Silly girl. Well, you'll understand soon enough.”

“Are you here to … absorb me?” He fed on me in the other world, both to replenish his energy and keep part of me with him. We'd gotten even closer in this timeline, nearly one person in some ways. At this point, it didn't seem entirely awful that what was left of my natural life should go to the Harbinger. He'd saved me so often that it felt right, like repaying a debt.

“Is that what you think?” His lightning-in-the-dark eyes locked on me, not human enough to show certain emotion but I sensed … disappointment laced with hurt.

I started to speak, but it was too late. My mouth filled with light, and my eyes popped in molten sparks. In that moment, I dissolved and there was terminus, endless nothing—a moment where all music ceased. It was a silence that could swallow the universe, but something followed the nothing, and for a few reeling moments, I couldn't parse the change.

How am I still here?

“I don't understand.”

Flexing my fingers, I stared at my hand. It looked the same, but slowly I noticed the difference. Slowly, I set my fingertips against my wrist.
No pulse. I'm not human anymore.
Trembling, I raised my eyes to the Harbinger, whose expression was delicately amused.

“Welcome to the choir angelic,” he said.

“How?”

“There are stories about you already, dearling. I only helped them along, sharing with those most likely to believe.”

“That's where you've been,” I realized aloud.

Awe surged in a giant wave. When we said farewell before, I thought it was the last time and he'd forsaken me as a lost cause, along with all other amusements that lost their shine. Instead, for me, he played Martha Jones's role, spreading my story far and wide, until it reached the tipping point, until the legend was enough to deliver me. This was what Martha did with her unrequited love for the Doctor; she roved the earth endlessly, carrying his message. I suspected it was easier for the Harbinger, but the sweetness at its heart felt the same.

“Indeed. The nine-fingered Fury with her golden Aegis? Or do you prefer the warrior-queen who killed the sun? The tale practically writes itself. When you add the story of the girl who loved a boy who died for her, so she made up her mind to shift time itself and die for
him
 … well, the audience was beyond captivated.”

“You gamed the system,” I whispered, numb with astonishment.

All this time, I was bracing for my own end, but I
never
prepared for this.

Careless, he lifted a shoulder in a graceful half shrug. “Hardly. This is an age desperate for heroes, but they've forgotten how to create them.”

I imagined him repeating the stories at various firesides over and over, a stranger come to entertain for an evening. But there must've been enough who believed him, or I wouldn't still be here. Well, an incarnation of me anyway.

I'm here. I'm still here.

“What does that make you?” Such kindness lurked beneath all that desperate, hungry cruelty. When he begged me to kill him and I couldn't, it forged a bond between us, one it appeared couldn't be broken.

“A clever devil.”

“I guess I can't argue that.” Softly, I added, “You saved me. Again.”

“It's become a habit. Or should I say that I'm still bound contractually…? No, I doubt you'd believe that. My best lies are generally wasted on you.” The Harbinger's light tone yielded to a silky somberness. “Someone like you should exist … to keep something like me in check.”

“You're not a monster.” No creature that cared so much about my survival, one who did the impossible in my name, could be completely evil.

Pure whimsy laced the way he vaulted up onto the ledge, scattering his birds in a flutter of black feathers, and he spread his arms, as if he would tumble backward. The illusion of shadowy wings wreathed him. “Rather, a dark angel instead?”

“I'm sure you already know, the birds tell you everything, but—”

“Yes, I heard your little speech. You made it damned difficult to do my job. Do you know how many times I wanted to rush back? And in the worst moments, I questioned if I could do this, if I could save you.”

“Is that why you didn't tell me?”

He paced the wall in measured steps, avoiding my gaze. “Why I left? Yes. It seemed better to let you think ill of me rather than offering what might prove to be false hope.”

Suddenly shy, I couldn't look directly at him, either. “I dreamed about you a lot.”

“How fascinating. I'll expect a detailed account.” He paused, leaping lightly to the rooftop. “But … you don't hate me for making you as I am? For you, that could've been the end. Now I've pushed the infinite upon you.”

I smiled. “Remember, I'm quite young. I wasn't ready for the ride to stop.”

“I'm so glad.” There could be no feigning such relief.

Stretching, I luxuriated in a pain-free body. “My work's not done, now that you've returned. Your story still needs some revision. There must be others who would write about the Harbinger, granting you a brighter nature.”

He strode toward me, not stopping until his face was close enough that I could see how weary he was. “Is that your new mission?”

“What?” I didn't back off.

“Saving me.” His tone revealed nothing of how he felt, if that were the case. Often there was no way to tell with him what he truly wanted. The Harbinger
was
the master of misdirection.

“Well, it feels like I owe you.”

He almost smiled, a faint twitch of his mouth. “Eternity is a long time. We'll work it out.”

“You say that like I'm staying with you.”

No doubt the Harbinger was lonely, not that anyone cared to interrupt his self-imposed solitude. Even immortals remained wary of his capricious nature, and he broke most humans like a child too rough with his toys. I had read enough of his stories to understand his rage and grief. Humanity burdened him with too much tragedy and then abandoned him amid the wreckage.

“Will you?” he asked.

“That depends. Does a cage factor into this offer?”

He shook his head. “Our circumstances have changed. You're no longer qualified to be my pet.” In a musing tone, he added, “Perhaps you never were. So if you stay, it will be because that's the path you chose freely.”

“That's basically what I was fighting for all along,” I said softly, “But I'll admit, this wasn't the ending I expected.”

“Disappointed?” He thought the answer was yes, I could tell, that my surprising survival was a consolation prize.

“Not even a little. But let's talk terms. If I'm not your pet, what am I?”

“You truly enjoy these negotiations.” But the joy I'd felt at seeing him on the rooftop echoed in his voice too. “Must we define it?”

“Call me curious.”

“Then let's say … companion.”

I grinned at that. “How very Doctor-ish of you.”

“Doctor who?” His eyes twinkled, nothing but delight.

A happy Harbinger—I never thought I'd see the day. “I can't believe I gave you that opening. Anyway, I think you should be
my
companion.”

“I'm willing to be flexible on the terms. But it's time to leave this world. The one you came from still needs you.”

I nodded and set the timer on my watch. “Did you peek ahead again?”

“I'm not telling.”

Touching his arm, I begged, “Come on, give me a hint.”

His smile lit me up like a neon sign. “If you show your face often enough for your father to move past his guilt, he does eventually remarry, but there are no more children. In time he comes up with the theory behind the chronometer you're wearing, but it will be generations before the tech is perfected and viable.”

“What a relief. I can play human often enough to ease his mind, right?”

“It's never been a problem for me.” His tone carried a faint edge.

“You don't have to pretend with me,” I said softly.

But … once I leapt, I would never be able to speak to my friends again. I must've shown some reluctance because the Harbinger sighed. “You're thinking like a human. Time doesn't have the same hold on you anymore, so if you want to visit, you can.”

“And the world won't try to erase me?”

“Of course not. You're a legend now, not a person.” His expression darkened. “Like me, you're at the whim of your creators.”

“We'll cope,” I said softly.

If I could keep in touch with the friends I'd made, it would be amazing. I'd probably have to play the flaky, mysterious loner who popped in and out, but it was more than I had
ever
expected when I made the jump. Happy as I was, however, I wouldn't head to the Harbinger's depressing pile of rocks on the New England coast and molder.

“But … I won't simply vegetate. I want to
do
things.”

While a human life was impossible, it didn't render my existence devoid of meaning. Rochelle dedicated her immortality to healing the sick. Her power might be insufficient to cure the whole world of its ills, but that didn't detract from her purpose. Maybe the Harbinger's unhappiness came from feeling as if the world had passed him by. If necessary, I'd drag him by force into the modern world and show him how to connect, how to care again. After all, he was the one that taught me how much that mattered, back in the dingy room at the Baltimore.

“Such as?” A globe appeared in his hands, and he spun it. “There's a rather interesting war building here. Or we could destabilize the economy in this region. The people are starving here because the soil's tainted. And—”

“Why don't we
help
? You said you're tired of wearing the black hat. Show me where it's worst, where they could use heroes the most.”

Bemused, he stared at me. “It has been written that I will
destroy
this world. One day, the seas will rise; mountains will crumble. Why would I ever work to aid the humans who hated me so? It has been my greatest pleasure to torment them, oh, these thousand years.”

“Did it make you happy?”

“No.” It was a clipped and brooding concession, reluctantly given.

Gently, I set a hand on his arm. “I
know
that's not what you want, and there are no stories about us yet. The Nine-Fingered Fury and the Harbinger? Our tale is yet to be written. And we can ensure our actions drive the narrative, not other people's ideas.”

His eyes widened, locked on mine. For a long moment, he stared at where I was touching him. Freely. “I think you truly believe that.”

Sliding my fingers down his forearm, I laced our hands together. “The only way to find out is to try. Like Lewis Carroll said, believe in six impossible things before breakfast. I mean, holy shit, I was once fragile human flotsam and now I'm a nameless immortal.”

The Harbinger gave a wry smile, shaded with regret. “My apologies. Naming is clearly not my forte, else I should certainly have gained more than a title at some point in the last aeon.”

I smiled up at him. “It's enough that you gathered followers for my legend. What's in a name anyway? If I call you Harbinger, and you call me Nine, isn't it enough? That's the whole point anyway, that we make our own meaning.”

Suddenly, I was in his arms, enveloped by his darkness, but I could still feel the burning heat at the heart of him. It was a hungry embrace from a being so long alone that I smelled the centuries in which he'd gone untouched. Time pressed on him like an unrelenting hand, a sort of pain that left me mute in response. I breathed him in—essential wildness that was like igneous rock charred by lightning.

“You have such a ferocious spirit,” he said then.

“I didn't always. It grew in me, a little at a time. Some traits can be cultivated.”

“Do you think so?” he asked.

And I understood all the layers of that question.
Can I become more? Can I write my own story?
I nodded. That was the key to winning the immortal game—first one must choose not to play. And in that way, together, we stepped off the game board for good.