Contagion (Toxic City, #3)(26)

“Change?”

“I think I can…I thought I could change events in my dreams. Lucid dreaming, guiding things. Rook died and I dreamed him alive again, and for a while he was.” She looked at the scratches on the back of her hand, put there by Rook's nails as he fell into the hole. “But then fate caught up with him, exactly as I'd seen it before. I might have stretched things a little, but I don't think I really changed anything.”

“That's amazing,” Jack said. “I had nothing before. Don't think so, anyway. But Nomad's touch has given me…” He trailed off, looking into a distance no one else could see.

“What?” Lucy-Anne asked.

“So much,” he said. “So much that I really don't know what I might become.”

“So we're special,” Lucy-Anne said. She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice, because being special hadn't done much for her thus far. “My talent's not caused by Doomsday, and it's grown just by being here. And you've been touched by a freak.”

“We're all special,” Jack said, looking along the boat at his friends. Rhali smiled. Sparky gave them the finger. “Differentiating between who has a gift and who doesn't—who's normal, or Irregular, or Superior—loses sight of everyone's uniqueness. We do that, and we might as well sink the boat and drown right now.”

Lucy-Anne thought of Rook and how conflicted his gift had made him. She'd seen him cold-bloodedly killing Choppers out of a burning need for revenge. She had also seen his more vulnerable, needy side, and the part of him that was still a child. And she realised that the Rook she'd fallen for had been the human boy, nothing more or less.

“We're all special,” she said, nodding.

“And we always were.”

“So we stop the bomb or get out.” She smiled at Jack, her special friend. “Sinking the boat is not an option.”

“Right.” He smiled back. For a moment too brief to measure but too precious to ignore, all was well with the world.





“On the bridge,” Sparky said. “I'd recognise that spooky bastard anywhere.”

Jack turned and looked ahead of them, certain he was about to see his father again and unsure what he thought about that. He felt sick and excited. Outwardly he'd disowned him—Reaper was a murderer and exuded little hope of redemption. Inside, Jack still remembered the kind man he used to love so much.

But it was not Reaper standing in the centre of Tower Bridge looking down at the approaching boat.

“Puppeteer,” Lucy-Anne said. She more than anyone had cause to remember him; he'd almost killed her back in that hotel, just before the Choppers arrived and everything went to hell.

“Thought we'd seen the last of them,” Jenna said.

“What shall I do?” Breezer sounded scared, and Jack could not blame him. Any time the Superiors intruded in their lives, it meant that either they wanted something, or that things were about to get much worse. Perhaps both.

“Carry on,” Jack said. “Let's see what happens.” He looked around the boat, trying to make out whether Fleeter was with them or not. He thought she'd gone, but it was possible that she'd come along for the ride, sitting quietly flipped out. Twenty minutes on the river for them would have felt like twelve hours for her, but she was inscrutable. He had no idea what her aims were.

“I'm going to see if Fleeter's with us,” he said. Sparky and Jenna nodded.

“What do you—?” Lucy-Anne began.

“Blink and I'll be back,” he said. He leaned closer to her. “Trust me.”

Lucy-Anne grinned. It was her cheeky, mischievous grin that he'd fallen for, and he felt a moment of nostalgia for the time they'd spent as an item.

Then he closed his eyes and grasped the talent, and before anyone spoke again he flipped.

The impact of changing his pace with the world thumped him in the gut and chest. He opened his eyes and looked around, and for a moment he knew he could take a breath. The world took on that surreal, deadened sheen he'd already become used to, and everything was still…almost. There was movement all around, but because it was barely noticeable it felt like a fluid, dizzying sensation. He could not see anything moving. But everything was.

Fleeter was nowhere to be seen.

His friends on the boat were stuck where he'd left them. Breezer drove, eyes dead ahead. And Lucy-Anne looked at him with wide, fluid eyes. If he could wait here motionless for long enough, he'd see her eyes growing wider and her mouth falling open as she realised that he'd gone. But even here, out of phase with the world, the clock was ticking.

He quickly scanned the bridge ahead of them and the shores on either side, looking for any other signs of Superiors being present. He couldn't believe that Puppeteer's presence was an accident, nor that he was here on his own. The tall man stood at the decorative railing, hands on the handrail, leaning slightly out and looking down at their boat. There was no one else on the bridge, but he saw a silhouette on one of the bridge's wide stone feet that might have been another person. He leaned left and right, trying to get a better view, but they were hidden in shadow.

If Fleeter was close by, she'd likely see that he'd flipped. And then she would either hide or come to him. He called her name. His voice was flat and dead against the motionless air, and it probably didn't carry very far.