this problem no one but Jack could possibly solve?”
“We’ll brief you both when the rest of the Members arrive in the morning,” Morwenna said. “I just wanted to impress on you how seriously we need Jack’s involvement.”
“And what about me?” Pete said, thinking that Morwenna had a lot of nerve acting as if Pete would take anything she said with any seriousness after that tale. She’d heardsaner theories from deranged crack addicts on the streetcorners in Peckham.
“You’re the Weir,” Morwenna said, as if that explained everything. “We haven’t had one for nearly a hundred years. Not since my great-great grandmother sat at the arm of Queen Victoria. It’s a seat long empty, but trust me when I say you’re desperately needed.”
“I can’t be what you need,” Pete said. “You said it yourself—I’ma neophyte. My talent doesn’t listen to me, and I couldn’t care less about gods and monsters and how they want to end the world.”
“You are, because you’re the only one,” Morwenna said, giving Pete a look as if she were very stupid. “You’re the only Weir in Britain, Petunia. Maybe the world.”
That stopped Pete in her tracks. She felt a curious sick sensation, as if she’d fallen and her body hadn’tquite caught up with her plummeting stomach yet.
Of course she’d wondered, about all of it. Her gift, which seemed to be rare and peculiar. But she’d never thought she was the only one. Weirs were rare, but rare didn’t mean unique. She couldn’t be all alone with her talent. There had to be at least one other who knew the ever-present threat of the Black, the energy threatening to fill her andburn her from the inside out.
“I can’t be,” she whispered at last. She felt weak and fragile, out of control and dizzy, as if the floor had heaved under her feet.
“As far as we can tell, you are,” Morwenna said. “And our resources are vast, Pete.” She squeezed her shoulder, and this time Pete felt a pulse of power, deep and true as the blade of a broadsword. The kind of power that could cleaveor heal with equal ease. Morwenna was easily the most powerful human mage she’d encountered, and would give some of the inhuman a run for their money. “You should be proud,” Morwenna said softly. “It’s a rare and wondrous gift you possess.”
“Yeah,” Pete said, as Morwenna walked away and left her staring at the plain gray rock. “ Gift ’s not the word I’d use.”
10.
The suite was a far cry from the bare room they’d put Pete in, and Jack was sitting on the bed smoking when she came in. She favored him with her worst copper look. “Must you?”
“What?” he said. “Not like I care if I yellow the Prometheans’ plaster.”
Pete slumped on the bed next to him. She realized she was incalculably tired. She could run on adrenaline for a while, but eventually she’dhit the wall. She’d usually been good for about forty-eight hours on the Met before she’d crash and have to take a rest on the bunks in the nap room. And that was when she was poring over leads and collating evidence, not running for her life, smacking goons in the head, and listening to Morwenna’s insane theories.
“You all right?” Jack asked. Pete laid her head on him as he leaned back againstthe pillow. She listened to his heartbeat, slow and thumping, a far-off train rolling over uneven track.
“No,” she said at last, looking up into his face. He had dark stubble along his jaw, and the vertical scar he’d gotten from the business end of a beer bottle glowed in the low light. His face was familiar to her, gave her a feeling that things were all right, even when they really weren’t.“Jack,” she said, “have you ever heard of another Weir?”
“Well, ’course I’d heard of them,” he said. “How else would I know what you were when you showed up?”
“I mean another person like me, alive as we speak,” she said. “Have you ever even heard of one?”
Jack
“We’ll brief you both when the rest of the Members arrive in the morning,” Morwenna said. “I just wanted to impress on you how seriously we need Jack’s involvement.”
“And what about me?” Pete said, thinking that Morwenna had a lot of nerve acting as if Pete would take anything she said with any seriousness after that tale. She’d heardsaner theories from deranged crack addicts on the streetcorners in Peckham.
“You’re the Weir,” Morwenna said, as if that explained everything. “We haven’t had one for nearly a hundred years. Not since my great-great grandmother sat at the arm of Queen Victoria. It’s a seat long empty, but trust me when I say you’re desperately needed.”
“I can’t be what you need,” Pete said. “You said it yourself—I’ma neophyte. My talent doesn’t listen to me, and I couldn’t care less about gods and monsters and how they want to end the world.”
“You are, because you’re the only one,” Morwenna said, giving Pete a look as if she were very stupid. “You’re the only Weir in Britain, Petunia. Maybe the world.”
That stopped Pete in her tracks. She felt a curious sick sensation, as if she’d fallen and her body hadn’tquite caught up with her plummeting stomach yet.
Of course she’d wondered, about all of it. Her gift, which seemed to be rare and peculiar. But she’d never thought she was the only one. Weirs were rare, but rare didn’t mean unique. She couldn’t be all alone with her talent. There had to be at least one other who knew the ever-present threat of the Black, the energy threatening to fill her andburn her from the inside out.
“I can’t be,” she whispered at last. She felt weak and fragile, out of control and dizzy, as if the floor had heaved under her feet.
“As far as we can tell, you are,” Morwenna said. “And our resources are vast, Pete.” She squeezed her shoulder, and this time Pete felt a pulse of power, deep and true as the blade of a broadsword. The kind of power that could cleaveor heal with equal ease. Morwenna was easily the most powerful human mage she’d encountered, and would give some of the inhuman a run for their money. “You should be proud,” Morwenna said softly. “It’s a rare and wondrous gift you possess.”
“Yeah,” Pete said, as Morwenna walked away and left her staring at the plain gray rock. “ Gift ’s not the word I’d use.”
10.
The suite was a far cry from the bare room they’d put Pete in, and Jack was sitting on the bed smoking when she came in. She favored him with her worst copper look. “Must you?”
“What?” he said. “Not like I care if I yellow the Prometheans’ plaster.”
Pete slumped on the bed next to him. She realized she was incalculably tired. She could run on adrenaline for a while, but eventually she’dhit the wall. She’d usually been good for about forty-eight hours on the Met before she’d crash and have to take a rest on the bunks in the nap room. And that was when she was poring over leads and collating evidence, not running for her life, smacking goons in the head, and listening to Morwenna’s insane theories.
“You all right?” Jack asked. Pete laid her head on him as he leaned back againstthe pillow. She listened to his heartbeat, slow and thumping, a far-off train rolling over uneven track.
“No,” she said at last, looking up into his face. He had dark stubble along his jaw, and the vertical scar he’d gotten from the business end of a beer bottle glowed in the low light. His face was familiar to her, gave her a feeling that things were all right, even when they really weren’t.“Jack,” she said, “have you ever heard of another Weir?”
“Well, ’course I’d heard of them,” he said. “How else would I know what you were when you showed up?”
“I mean another person like me, alive as we speak,” she said. “Have you ever even heard of one?”
Jack
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