Scythe (Arc of a Scythe #1)(69)

Volta’s sorrow instantly turned to fury. “Who the hell said you could come in here? Get out!” He grabbed the nearest object—a glass paperweight—and hurled it at Rowan, just as Esme had suggested he might. It would have left a pretty nasty gash on Rowan’s head had it connected, but Rowan ducked and the thing hit the door, leaving a substantial dent in the wood instead of in Rowan’s skull. Rowan could have retreated. That probably would have been the most judicious course of action, but leaving well enough alone was not Rowan’s strong point. He was notoriously skilled at sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, preparing to dodge the next blunt object hurled his way. “You have to be quieter if you don’t want anyone to hear you,” he told Volta.

“If you tell anyone, I will make your life a living hell.”

Rowan laughed at that, because it implied his life wasn’t already that.

“You think that’s funny? I’ll show you funny.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. I wasn’t laughing at you, if that’s what you think.”

Since Volta was no longer throwing things and wasn’t chasing him out, Rowan grabbed a chair and sat down, far enough away to give Volta some space.

“Today was hard,” Rowan said. “I don’t blame you.”

“What do you know about it?” snapped Volta.

“I know you’re not like the others,” said Rowan. “Not really.”

Volta looked up at him then, his eyes red from tears that he didn’t try to hide anymore. “There’s something wrong with me, you mean.” ?Volta looked down again, clenching his fists, but Rowan didn’t move because he didn’t expect to get a beating. He suspected that Volta would use his own fists against himself if he could.

“Scythe Goddard is the future,” Volta said. “I don’t want to be part of the past. Don’t you understand?”

“But you hated today, didn’t you? Even more than me, because you weren’t just watching, you were a part of it.”

“And you’ll be part of it soon, too.”

“Maybe not,” said Rowan.

“Oh, you will be. The moment you get your ring and kill that pretty little girlfriend of yours, you’ll know there’s no turning back for you, either.”

Rowan swallowed, trying to fight down what little bit of dinner he had eaten. Citra’s face bloomed in his mind, but he pushed the image away. He couldn’t let himself think about her now.

Rowan knew he was out on a limb with Volta. The only thing to do was shimmy to its precarious end. “You only pretend to like gleaning,” he said to Volta. “But you hate it more than you’ve ever hated anything. Your mentor was Scythe Nehru, right? He’s very old-school, which means he chose you for your conscience. ?You don’t want to take life—and you definitely don’t want to take dozens upon dozens at a time.”

Volta leaped up, moving faster than seemed possible. He lifted Rowan up and pushed him against the wall with a bruising slam that made Rowan sorely miss his painkilling nanites.

“You will never repeat that to anyone, do you hear me? I’ve come too far to have my position jeopardized! I won’t be blackmailed by a snot-nosed apprentice!”

“Is that what you think I’m doing? Blackmailing you?”

“Don’t toy with me!” growled Volta “I know why you’re here!”

Rowan was genuinely disappointed. “I thought you knew me.”

A moment more and Volta loosened his grip. “Nobody knows anyone, do they?” he said.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone. And I don’t want anything from you.”

Volta finally backed off. “I’m sorry. After you’ve been surrounded by so much scheming, you start to think that’s how everyone plays.” He sat back down on the bed. “I believe you, because I know you’re better than that. In fact, I knew from the moment Goddard brought you in. He sees you as a challenge—because if he can turn one of Faraday’s apprentices to his way of thinking, it proves he can turn anyone.”

Then it occurred to Rowan that Volta wasn’t all that much older than him. He had always feigned a confidence that made him seem older, but now his vulnerability revealed the truth. He was twenty at most. Which meant he’d only been a scythe for a couple of years. Rowan didn’t know the path that led him from an old-guard scythe to Goddard, but he could imagine. He could see how a junior scythe might gravitate toward Goddard’s flash and charisma. After all, Goddard promised his disciples anything a human heart could desire, in exchange for the complete abdication of one’s conscience. In a profession where a conscience was a liability, who would want one?

Rowan sat down again and pulled his chair close enough to Volta to whisper. “I’ll tell you what I think,” Rowan said. “Goddard isn’t a scythe. He’s a killer.” It was the first time Rowan dared to say it out loud. “There’s a lot written about killers from the mortal age—monsters like Jack the Ripper, or Charlie Manson, or Cyber Sally—and the only difference between them and Goddard is that people let Goddard get away with it. The mortals knew how wrong it was, but somehow we’ve forgotten.”

“Yeah, but even if that’s true, what can anyone do about it?” asked Volta. “The future comes whether we want it to or not. Rand, and Chomsky, and the dozens of other sick, twisted bastards longing to be in Goddard’s inner circle are going to dominate that future. I’m sure the founding scythes must be rolling in their graves—but the point is, they are in their graves, and they’re not coming back any time soon.” ?Volta took a deep breath, and wiped the last of his tears. “For your sake, Rowan, I hope you come to love killing as much as Goddard does. It would make your life so much easier. So much more rewarding.”