Vassa in the Night (29 page)

The back of my calves hit the stump and I half-sit and half-fall, gasping for breath.

“Night,” I say, since there's no one else to talk to, “Night, what have I done?”

Ah, so now I understand why Babs left me unwatched. She knew I'd try. And fail. How amusing for her. I made it through her tasks, though admittedly with a lot of help—but as soon as I tried giving myself one I was a complete flop. Nice work on the
mission,
Vassa.

My swans are scorched and terrified. I can't imagine that they'll be coming back. And all I did for Mr. Night-Doll-Monster was to torture him. Who am I, to think that I could be the one to help him? If Bea did have something to do with sending me here, then Babs is obviously right: Bea didn't make the savviest choice of pawns. The only upside is that my burns are mostly on the back of my hand and wrist, and they could be a lot worse.

My jacket is still blazing, an amorphous blob of leaping light on the pavement. The arms are loose, though. The loft of the flames carries them upward so that they reach into the air. A fire-girl, drowning in an asphalt sea and waving for help.

“Hey,” someone to my left says in annoyed tones. Tomin. What fabulous timing he has.

“This is arguably not the best moment for you to show up,” I snap, not even looking at him. “On reflection, maybe
any
moment after you ran away while I got hit by a motorcycle might be less than ideal for trying to talk to me again. How about you go home and wait for
never
?”

“You got
hit
by a motorcycle,” Tomin says flatly. He walks around the stump to face me, his dark hair feathering in the wind and his stare confrontational. “When did that happen?”

“When you were here last night. But since you were so busy running like a coward maybe you didn't see it.”

I might be willing to concede, if anyone asked, that I'm not in a great mood this evening. Honestly, though, I can't forget the way Tomin reacted when I started talking about Joel's death. He was ashamed, there's no way around that, and the implications of that bother me way more than him disappearing on me—though that wasn't so awesome, either.

I wish he'd take the insults as his cue to leave, but he sits down instead.

“Oh, sorry, I thought you were fine. I usually think that when people are laughing their heads off.”

That gives me pause. “Who was
laughing
?”

“You were. I saw the motorcycle coming at you, and then those swans knocked me on my ass. Next thing I knew you were holding onto that creep on the bike like he was your best friend ever and laughing hysterically. You kept riding in circles with him. I tried to talk to you, but you ignored me.”

Jealousy leaks out through every syllable he speaks.

“I don't remember any of that,” I tell him truthfully. “But I was unconscious for a while, so I guess it's possible.”

“Unconscious. But having one hell of a party.”

He's not helping his case. “Oh, sorry, do I owe you something? I was unconscious until dawn. I also saw someone get murdered today: this old man who thought I was his dead daughter or girlfriend or maybe his sister, I don't know which. I couldn't do anything to save him. And then you come around with your lame fetish for Extreme Shopping, acting like this is some kind of cute game and I'm the
prize
.…”

That's only the tip of the iceberg, of course. But most of what's happened would be too hard to explain. You just had to be there to appreciate it.

“You're not the prize,” Tomin snaps. “Though I get why you might think that. You are gorgeous enough that guys probably do totally stupid things to be near you. But, hey, just this once, try to imagine that it
might
not be completely about you? Like I might have reasons of my own for coming here?”

That should not come as a surprise, but it does. “What reasons?”

“But since you started talking about Joel, I kind of thought we might … I've been in that thing once by myself and I don't know if I have the balls to face it again. And you're there alone for hours, I know that. So maybe that does give you the right to call me a coward. But that's the
only
reason, and I still think you're a bitch for saying it.” He sounds exasperated and his voice buckles like he's fighting back tears. Damned if I know why, though.

“Tomin?” I try. “What are you saying? You thought we might what?”

He stares off at the sky as if he hasn't heard me, arms around his knees and his head thrown back. Yeah, that would be a tear slipping out. In BY's orange shine it gleams like a streak of fire slicing his cheek.

“I'm never going to get anywhere,” he murmurs at last. “Going in with Lottery and them.”

“Sure,” I say, because it's a politer alternative than
duh
. “Seriously, what good did you
think
that would do?”

“You said you
have
to be here. And you said you don't expect to survive.”

I wish I hadn't told him that, but there it is. “My odds aren't great,” I admit. “So?”

“So are you here on some kind of desperate mission? That's what I've been wondering. Because otherwise I can't understand why you don't just leave already. Do you think I owe
that
to Joel? To just, I don't know, barrel in there and go down fighting? So I'd at least be doing
something
.…”

“I guess that depends on whether or not you helped murder him.”

For a fraction of a second he looks stunned, then his face goes hard. His gaze swings back at me like a slap. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, of course not. So who did?” It's a relief to hear him deny it, but I still don't sound super friendly.

“Do you really not know? Because I could have sworn…”

“I can guess,” I tell him. Lottery, Felice, the rest of them. Who else thinks that screwing with BY's is an evening's entertainment? “You
swear
you weren't here when it happened?”

He shakes his head. “After.” That doesn't really clarify anything. “Vassa, I joined up with them after it happened. Even though I knew what they'd done. And I know what you think of me for hanging out with them, but I couldn't— If I was going to figure out some way to avenge Joel, I needed help going in there so I wouldn't just get instantly axed. You can see that, right? When I met you I thought, well, maybe you could give me some kind of inside information, and that would at least be a start. Because where
do
you start, fighting something like that? It's been two months and I still have no freaking clue.”

It takes me a moment to sort through this. “Wait. You're saying you joined Lottery's crew
so
that you could avenge Joel?
That's
why you've been coming here?” He just stares at me, his eyes raw and wounded. “How did you even know him? You don't go to my school, do you?”

“Our moms are best friends. I don't think I was ever even that nice to him, but then—” He rolls his head like he's trying to escape from the memory. “A week after he died his mom tried to poison herself. She was in the mental ward, and when we went to see her she kept saying that the world hadn't even noticed he was gone.
No more than they care for a rat in a trap,
she said.
What other world is there for me? Because this one is dead. It must be dead, since it feels nothing.
I thought, like, maybe I could prove that wasn't true? Not just to her, but—”

To yourself,
I think. God, was I unfair to him. I picture the woman I saw coiled and shaking in the same parking lot where we're sitting now. I imagine her gulping down poison so she could be as dead as the world around her. “I wish somebody would prove that, too. That the world still feels enough to stop this.”

“So is that why you're here? To prove it? I kind of can't believe you've made it this long alone.”

“I wasn't alone at first,” I say. “And that wasn't why I came here. Not as far as I knew, anyway. I came here because I was an idiot.” He gazes quizzically. Trying to understand, which I can see might be a challenge. “But … it might be why I'm here now. I mean, I didn't have a mission here at first. But now I think I
have
to have one.” I feel how utterly true it is when I hear myself say it. I thought my job tonight was just freeing the motorcyclist, and that's still a big part of it. But really, it's a whole lot scarier than that. “And anyway the owner here—Babs—she has like three guns to my head. She's holding my friend hostage, for one thing.” My voice chokes up a little, admitting that. It feels like something I shouldn't say, and I'm still leaving out almost everything important. “If I could get my friend back, I'd stand a way better chance of stopping Babs, is all. I'm not doing such a great job on my own.”

“But if you're trying,” Tomin says softly, and this time I'm the one who can't look at him, “then that's a lot more than anyone else is doing.”

“I'm failing catastrophically, though, so it works out about the same. I mean, nothing
changes.
Babsie just got herself a brand-new head today.”

“So why don't we work together?” he says so quietly that I barely hear him. “It's not like anyone will ever get the cops to do anything. I tried calling them when Joel died, and the guy laughed and said that BY's was a valuable partner in keeping the thugs and losers under control. Does
that
mean his mom was right?”

“No,” I say—and I feel a fresh wave of determination to make sure that's true, even though my failure with the motorcyclist is so recent. Even though trying to help has been such a fiasco. “But Tomin, working with me is
more
dangerous than trying it on your own. Babs—the way she went after that old man today, she did it to hurt me. Because she thinks—”
She thinks I'm a threat, so she's out to break my will once and for all.
It seems too vain to say it, but it might be true.
Shows what she knows.
“If you're with me, that means dying. Almost for certain. I'm here because I got trapped, not because I'm brave, okay? You should run like mad.”

“Not your decision,” Tomin says. “I'm going to shop till I drop!” He flicks a particularly disturbing smile at me and hauls himself upright, offering me his hand. “It sounds like the first thing we have to do is get your friend back. Where do we start?”

Part of me thinks I should let him know I have a crush on someone else, but since he just told me this isn't
about
me that seems way too awkward. Besides, the motorcyclist is so utterly not-human that it's probably not going anywhere. Even undead would be an upgrade.

And as for Tomin helping to look for Erg, well, that sounds pretty awkward, too. “She's not human.”

He does a double take. “Your friend isn't
human
? Um. Fascinating.”

Talking about Erg feels wrong, but then if Tomin thinks I'm crazy he might decide not to go through with it. He's really not prepared for what we're up against, I know that, even if he has a better grasp of the situation than most people would.

“A lot of the people here aren't human, actually. I'm not sure where my friend is. And I can't tell you anything about her, or let you see her. You're just going to have to take my word for it that she exists.” That should be discouraging, right?

“But you care about her. Whatever she is.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”

“And she can help us win. Against whatever the hell is going on here.”

“We'll probably lose, though, even with her. If you want to be realistic about it.” I think it over. “Without her, though, I'd guess we'll be toast in no time. As a team we might last like fifteen minutes.” If that doesn't send him scampering to safety, I don't know what will.

“Vassa? Remember how you said that no one sees past the obvious stuff? If I go by what's obvious, then I'd have to assume that you're a raving, pathological liar.”

“Fair enough,” I tell him. “So go home and save yourself. I'm not kidding.”

We've both halted ten feet from BY's, and he steps closer and fixes me with a searching gaze. “Yeah, no. Not doing that.” His hand lifts up, drifts toward me. Comes close enough that I feel a tiny stir of warmth, and I almost step back. Then his smile tightens self-consciously and the hand falls again. “Just 'cause it's obvious doesn't mean it's true.”

 

CHAPTER 19

It feels truly strange to be walking back into the acute orange glow of BY's with another human being beside me. I guess I've gotten more used to the company of scaly lawyers and talking dolls. Tomin's presence gives the place a discordant sense of normalcy, even as we lift off the ground and the brightly colored boxes everywhere start pitching gently with the dance.