Oculus (Oculus #1) (9 page)

“Moral wounds have this peculiarity-they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.” –
The Count of Monte Cristo
, Alexandre Dumas

I
THOUGHT THAT THE DAY
I lost Anna was the worst day of my life. Then the sun came up the next day. Facing the morning, knowing that I wasn’t going to see her ever again, made me want to curl back up in my blankets. With each passing moment, the reality of her loss settled upon me like an iron weight in my chest. By the time I left her gravesite behind I had accepted that she was gone, but I wasn’t ready to accept her loss. I’m still not ready. The Corporations are going to suffer for what they have taken from me. Before I can get to work though I need to lighten my load.

To do that, I need to visit The Black Market. A roiling collection of tents, trailers and portable structures, it’s never set up in the same place for more than a few days. Coded messages are sent out over the HAM radio network, letting prospective clients know where to find the travelling bazaar.

The current location is set up around an old metal barn, up in the hills. As I approach I spot the security team well before they encircle me. Some of them are pretty good, almost escaping my notice. What they lack in military precision though they make up for in ordinance. One man steps out of cover onto the road, but I’ve already seen at least two more moving into position, both with high-powered rifles. The man on the path is in his twenties, with a shaved baldhead, and black bushy eyebrows that frame his brown eyes. He’s dressed in a motley homemade camouflage outfit.

“Hello there, Good Sir! Where are you off to with such a big bundle?” His cheerful tone is offset somewhat by the large caliber handgun he’s carrying. Glancing behind me, I see people have moved into position to close the trap. Keeping my hands open, I look pointedly around, then back at the man on the path.

“Here to trade. Got some goods.” His eyebrows rise, but otherwise he remains motionless, as if waiting for me to say more. Then his eyebrows drop and he looks thoughtful.

“So,” he says, his body language betraying his growing discomfort. “Have you traded with us before?” Having to deal with this kind of socialized idiocy sends a pang of discomfort through me. Anna used to deal with these people, now I’m going to have to figure out a way to put them at ease. No simple thing, especially since I always seem to make people nervous.

“Anna used to trade for us. She got sick. Died.” The man’s face falls at the news, yet his body language shows he’s still nervous. Raising my hands slowly, I pull my hood back from my face. As soon as he sees me he gives a low whistle.

“You’re him, aren’t you? Anna’s Shadow? The one that makes The Corp puke’s bowels turn to water.” Behind me, I hear rustling as two people step out of cover. Ahead, two more step out onto the path. I shrug, not comfortable with the direction the conversation is going. I don’t like to talk about myself, especially not with a complete stranger.

“Anna and I worked together for a long time. Now I work alone. Can I pass?” He opens his mouth, as if to speak, then snaps it shut.

“Sure enough, we welcome all customers, provided they know the code.” The men on the path behind him keep their hands on their weapons, not relaxing in the slightest.

“The Black Market has all, The Corp has nothing. Everything from green twist ties to jelly beans.” The code changes, and I hope the one Anna had given me is still valid. New codes are given to customers before they leave the market. The man before me nods, then steps aside and waves me down the path. ‘

“Welcome Shadow, we are pleased to count you among our customers.” I feel their eyes on me long after I leave the checkpoint behind.

It takes the better part of an hour to reach the clearing with the barn. Sprawled in a rough semblance of order are all manner of structures. Tents, lean-tos, rough tin shacks and canvas structures lay in rough lines before me. I have never been to The Black Market before, but Anna had told me all about it. The outer ring of stalls sells weaponry, ammunition, and medical gear. The inner ring sells books and technology. You can also get almost any service you can think of, from medical treatment to intimate personal services.

Three painted ladies spot me walking alone and descend upon me like vultures onto a fresh carcass. They remind me of something I once read about, the mythical Fates, aspects of the same woman. One is young, far too young to be in her current profession. The second is about my age while the third looks to be middle-aged at best. The reeking cloud of their perfume reaches me before they do and I dodge aside, glaring at them to keep their distance. The older one cat-calls after me as I avoid them.

“We don’t bite fella! Well, not unless you pay extra! Come find us later!” With a shudder, I lose myself among the stalls. My experience with women is spotty at best, but I know well enough to avoid the brothels. Genetic enhancement can only protect me from disease so much.

The stall I find myself in search of sells books. I need to trade my bulky supplies away, most of which are contraband books, for things that are easier to carry. I hate the thought of being without anything to read. But if I’m right about my mental faculties breaking down, I don’t have the luxury of down time.

Anna had told me that the best stall was Mirabelle’s, an elderly woman with a love for literature. Asking around, I’m directed to a bright purple tent. As I stride in that direction, a young woman looks up at me in alarm and turns to call back into the tent.

“Mir! You have a customer!” From within the stall a stately older woman steps into the daylight. White hair frames a wizened and wrinkled face. Clear, blue eyes peak mischievously from behind a lock of hair and the smile she turns on me is the warmest I have ever seen.

“Welcome, to Mirabelle’s Book Emporium. How can I assist you this fine day?” Somewhat taken aback at her boisterous greeting, I pull the bag from my back.

“I have some books here that I would like to sell.” Taking the volumes from me, she examines a few of them before fixing me with a stern look.

“And where, young man, did you come by these books?” Meeting her gaze, I feel a lump form in my throat. The loss of Anna is still raw in my mind. Having to talk about her twice in one day is something I hadn’t considered when I planned my trip here. Swallowing hard, I mentally berate myself for my hesitation and weakness. When I answer her, my voice is level and firm.

“They were partial payment for work that I did. They were collected by my friend and partner. She died from the virus The Corp sprayed. What will you give me for them?” My abrupt tone seems to put her off balance. She glances down at the books, turning them over in her hands. When she finally speaks, her voice is shaking.

“Anna…Anna is dead?” Looking at her tear-filled eyes, I can’t even trust myself to answer, so I nod. She wipes her face and bows her head. For a moment, I think she’s going to be sick, and then I hear her say ‘amen’ and realize she was praying. When she looks up, her hand snakes over to pat mine. “Anna was a good friend as well as a steady customer. You must be Sic, she talked about you with pride.”

I’m not sure why, but that simple sentence steals away a lot of the pain swirling in my chest, at least for a moment. Gesturing to the books, I repeat my earlier question. “So, how much will you give me?

“Anna did say you were a man of few words. Give me a moment to go through them and I’ll get you a total.” While she works, I scan the crowd around us. The girl who had been helping her moved off to another stall and is having an animated conversation with a man there. He’s older, with white hair, and is watching my interaction with Mirabelle with far too much interest for my liking. Catching sight of me watching them, he gives me a nod, then takes the girl by the arm and leads her away through the crowd. Mirabelle sets down a book with a thump, drawing my attention back to her.

“Well, I don’t recommend you carrying these around in a bag like you have been, but they all are still in pretty good condition. Tell you what, I can trade you all new titles if you like. Or would you prefer gold?” Part of me wants to look through the stacks of books behind her in the tent, but I know I’m not going to have the time to read.

Having a place to call home, even when we had to move every so often, had allowed us to store things. When I went out on assignments Anna was able to keep an eye on anything I left behind. With Anna gone it’s better to travel light. “Gold.” I answer her and she nods.

“I thought as much,” Mirabelle replies. Pulling a lockbox out of the tent she unlocks it. Counting out twenty bars, she places them on the counter before me. I do a quick calculation in my head and realize there’s a problem. The amount is almost double the value of the books I’m selling.

“It’s too much,” I say shortly. I didn’t need anyone’s charity, or sympathy. I could earn my own damn way without one of Anna’s old friends thinking she needed to give me a hand out. Mirabelle looked at my face and sighed.

“It’s not too much. Anna and I had an accounting of everything. She had me keep back a reserve, just in case things ever slowed down. She wanted to make sure you always had something to read so you wouldn’t drive her crazy.” She gave me a sad smile and nudged the gold to me. “Take it, and put it away before anyone sees. You don’t want people trying to rob you for it as soon as you leave here.”

Searching her eyes and examining her body language I don’t see any deception in what she has said. Pocketing the gold, I turn to leave. Her hand snakes over again and tugs at my sleeve.

“Wait, Sic.” It’s her use of my name that stops me more than anything else. Other than Anna, I haven’t known that anyone else knew my name. “Did she suffer?” I look down, that damn lump forming in my throat again, and then shake my head.

“No,” I rasp. Embarrassment floods through me at my inability to keep it together when it comes to the subject of Anna. “It was peaceful at the end.” Gently, I remove her hand from my sleeve, then turn and walk into the crowd.

“Wait,” she says quietly. Turning back to her, I meet her tear-filled gaze. “Anna asked me to give you something for her if anything ever happened…please, wait here for just a moment.” She disappears inside the tent, and for a moment I consider leaving. The thought of a gift from Anna is what keeps me in place. When Mirabelle returns she’s holding a leather-bound book in her hand. As she passes it to me my breath catches in my throat. Embossed on the cover in gold leaf is the title, The Count of Monte Cristo.

“Moral wounds have this peculiarity-they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.” The quote spills from my lips before I even have time to think. My hand strokes the fine leather cover, wondering at what cryptic message Anna has sent me from beyond the grave. She knew of my love of this book. The story of imprisonment, betrayal and vengeance speaks to a part of my soul. Yet, in the end the man finds love and a semblance of peace out in the world in anonymity.

“Open it,” Mirabelle says gently. Looking up at her in confusion for a moment I nonetheless comply with her command. The book falls open at the very quote that I had just uttered, marked by a sealed envelope. Pulling out the envelope I see Sicarius embossed on the front.