Contagion (Toxic City, #3)(30)

Jack saw Reaper tense, and then smile again. “Jack could have found that out for himself, I'm sure,” he said. “Asked me a question with one power.” He wiggled his fingers like a manic spider. “Delved inside my mind with another.”

“I chose not to,” Jack said. Fleeter paused, slightly closer to him than Reaper. She was waiting for the violence her revelation might bring, or perhaps some sign of acceptance from Jack. She received neither.

“It doesn't matter,” Reaper said. He nodded at Fleeter. “You don't matter. We'll still be ready when you are. Make your own ineffectual efforts to get out, and we'll be right behind you.”

“If I thought there was an ounce of decency left in you, I'd ask you to be with us,” Jack said.

Reaper chuckled softly, and the ice flow trapping the boat rumbled and cracked. “But there's not,” he said. He glanced up at the sun. “Nine, maybe eight hours left. And while we wait for you weaklings to make your move, there are still Choppers left to hunt.” With that he turned and jumped from the boat, and Shade and the ice woman followed.

Jack could have stopped them. For a moment he even saw what might happen—the ice cracking in great convulsions, rearing up, smashing together with Reaper and his other Superiors trapped between the solid slabs, and then flowing quickly along the Thames. Anyone not crushed to death would drown. Anyone not drowned would be slaughtered by the Choppers stationed at the Thames barrier.

He knew he could do it. But the moment when he considered that was over in a blink, and then Fleeter was sitting before him, almost contrite.

“Right,” she said. “Right. Okay. I've just pissed off Reaper.”

“I do it all the time,” Jack said.

The others around the boat rose and sat on benches, nursing cuts and bruises and breathing a collective sigh of relief.

“Intense,” Sparky said. “London is just way too intense for me. Give me a little village, country lanes, forests, a pub.”

“Maybe soon,” Lucy-Anne said, and for a while no one said anything else.

Maybe soon, Jack thought. But for the life of him he didn't know how.

Fleeter sat on her own at the bow of the boat. Jack tended to Breezer—healing his wounds, easing the bruising he'd received across his left shoulder as he'd fallen—and then he moved up close to Fleeter to try and clear the ice. She looked ahead, beneath the bridge, even though he was close behind her. Either something about her had changed radically, or she was a good actress.

Jack leaned over the handrail and dipped both hands into the cold water. The ice was already turning slushy without the ice woman there to tend it, and as Jack heated the water from one of his inner suns, the boat drifted away from the floe's grasp. Breezer started the engine and reversed the boat, aiming for the gentle arch closer to the north bank.

Jack sat close to Fleeter and looked back at the others. They were sitting close, talking quietly, tending cuts and bruises and trying to move on from the tense confrontation. Rhali more than anyone seemed quite calm, but she had not seen what Reaper could do. And what she had been through was worse than anything he could have dreamed up.

“So,” Jack said.

He heard Fleeter laugh softly, but they sat almost back to back. He knew that sometimes it was easier to speak honestly when you did not have to look someone in the face.

“So,” Fleeter said, “Reaper was telling the truth. I've been following you ever since I got back from taking your mother and sister out of London. And though a big part of why I did so was because Reaper asked me, because he likes control and, well, I think somewhere inside he still cares a little…I also followed you for myself.”

Jack wasn't sure what she meant. She'd flirted with him, but he'd put it down to her seeking a measure of control more than anything else. “For yourself?” he asked.

She laughed again, and this time it sounded more heartfelt. “Don't flatter yourself. Well, maybe you're a cutie, Jack. Maybe you are. But I know you've got a good heart, and you've seen what I can do, and what I've done. I know you're still beating yourself up about those Choppers you had to kill. I must be a monster to you.”

“No,” Jack began, but Fleeter turned around and grabbed his shoulder, hard enough to hurt. She pulled him around to face her. She was serious. Even behind the omnipresent smile, she was as serious as he'd ever seen her.

“I saw outside,” she said. Her eyes went wide like a kid seeing Disneyworld for the first time. “When I took them through there was a sense of…release. Even though there were still houses and streets where we came out, it all felt so different. It felt like another world because it was another world, and I knew that. And for the first time in a long while I allowed myself to…to remember.”

She trailed off, but Jack did not prompt her. This was a story she had to tell in her own time.

“Almost as soon as Doomsday happened, my life became a dream,” she said. “I've always been a daydreamer. When I was a kid my mother said I'd sit in the garden with my dolls and plastic animals and…just…disappear. Into my own world. She told me she used to worry about it, but then she started seeing it as something wonderful. I'd sit there for hours just playing, totally immersed in my imagination, and those dolls and animals would come to life. She timed me once, and I was there for almost three hours without looking up. And when I did look up she said I looked blank, blinking, wondering where I was. Then I smiled at her…at my mummy…and…”