against Skynet…if…gets more TV channels…all for it, you metal…ass…hole.”
Niko came out of the semidarkness and threw himself on top of the metal mass of claws that held me down. “Gate us out of here,” he said fiercely. “Goddamn it, Cal, if there was ever a time to break the rules, it’s now.
Gate!
”
But I couldn’t.
“Run.” I pushed at him with more strength than I should’ve had, impaled and pinned. “Nik, run. Can’tgate.” Or I would’ve gated that windup tin toy from hell far from here. I’d tried. My brain wouldn’t cooperate, but it didn’t mean I hadn’t tried, wasn’t still trying. I could feel the blood pouring from my nose, the headache even more crushing than the one I had from hitting the street. The sacrifices of making a second gate so soon from the first were bad, but I’d done it before. Not this time—I pulled all of myself into the effort and nothing happened.
“Nik,
run
,” I repeated desperately.
He looked at me with a battlefield, hitching-a-ride-to-Valhalla flash of teeth, unmoving as the head rushed down, jaws gaping, aimed at him. “You’re such a fucking idiot, little brother.”
It was only Nik who could make me laugh, tasting the salt of blood for the single breath before we died. Nik whose father hadn’t saved him and now neither could I.
Fuck, why couldn’t I do it? If not for me, then for him. Just one goddamn gate.
Why…
And it was gone. Every molecule of metal except the claws still pinning me to the street and an inch or two of metal arm above Niko’s back. The gray pulse and black swirl of the gate had appeared, gobbled up the murder machine, and then disappeared before I was sure I’d seen it…or done it.
Niko sat up. I could see the smoke wisping up from his back where drops of the lava or whatever the hell it was had dripped onto him and were eating through his shirt and skin next. “Take off…shirt.” I managed to smack his arm. “You suicidial…moron.”
He did, but at the same time he used his cell to call Goodfellow for help. “Where’d you send it?” Niko asked. He wasn’t talking to Robin any longer. He was talking tome. I blinked at the question and the time lost—a slice of missing reality. He was now off the phone, shirtless, and running a careful hand over my side and down to the street. From his expression, I knew he could feel the claws beneath my skin. Or maybe they weren’t beneath my skin. That thing had been big; its claws could be equally big, and I didn’t have a lot of spare flesh on me, thanks to Niko’s training regimen. That could be why Niko’s touch didn’t hurt. It wasn’t me he was touching, but the claws that had captured me and burst open flesh as they slid along my ribs. I did feel cold, yet I felt a warmth running beneath me.
Blood.
It has a unique, soothing heat that lets you know you might not have bought the farm yet, but the Realtor has the contract in front of you, and the pen is in your hand.
“Cal, where did you send it?”
He didn’t look worried, which meant he was. “I don’t know,” I said, and I didn’t. I had no idea where I’d sent it. “I couldn’t gate. I hit my head”—more accurately cracked it open like an egg—“…couldn’t think straight, couldn’t…pull it together.” Not for a gate and not for the faraway Tumulus. “Before, I could…have.” When I could gate with no effort at all, no head wound would’ve stopped me. No wound would have. “Before it would’ve… been easy, but Rafferty
broke
me.” I said it resentfully, spitefully. But while the dark part of me meant it, the rest of me didn’t, not really. The healer had done what was best at the time, at least what he thought was best, and it had kept me sane long enough for me to find a way to stay that way permanently.
Yet now I was sane but still broken.
“Crippled,” Niko murmured. What I’d accidentally said in the bar.
“Didn’t mean it,” I denied immediately. “That
Niko came out of the semidarkness and threw himself on top of the metal mass of claws that held me down. “Gate us out of here,” he said fiercely. “Goddamn it, Cal, if there was ever a time to break the rules, it’s now.
Gate!
”
But I couldn’t.
“Run.” I pushed at him with more strength than I should’ve had, impaled and pinned. “Nik, run. Can’tgate.” Or I would’ve gated that windup tin toy from hell far from here. I’d tried. My brain wouldn’t cooperate, but it didn’t mean I hadn’t tried, wasn’t still trying. I could feel the blood pouring from my nose, the headache even more crushing than the one I had from hitting the street. The sacrifices of making a second gate so soon from the first were bad, but I’d done it before. Not this time—I pulled all of myself into the effort and nothing happened.
“Nik,
run
,” I repeated desperately.
He looked at me with a battlefield, hitching-a-ride-to-Valhalla flash of teeth, unmoving as the head rushed down, jaws gaping, aimed at him. “You’re such a fucking idiot, little brother.”
It was only Nik who could make me laugh, tasting the salt of blood for the single breath before we died. Nik whose father hadn’t saved him and now neither could I.
Fuck, why couldn’t I do it? If not for me, then for him. Just one goddamn gate.
Why…
And it was gone. Every molecule of metal except the claws still pinning me to the street and an inch or two of metal arm above Niko’s back. The gray pulse and black swirl of the gate had appeared, gobbled up the murder machine, and then disappeared before I was sure I’d seen it…or done it.
Niko sat up. I could see the smoke wisping up from his back where drops of the lava or whatever the hell it was had dripped onto him and were eating through his shirt and skin next. “Take off…shirt.” I managed to smack his arm. “You suicidial…moron.”
He did, but at the same time he used his cell to call Goodfellow for help. “Where’d you send it?” Niko asked. He wasn’t talking to Robin any longer. He was talking tome. I blinked at the question and the time lost—a slice of missing reality. He was now off the phone, shirtless, and running a careful hand over my side and down to the street. From his expression, I knew he could feel the claws beneath my skin. Or maybe they weren’t beneath my skin. That thing had been big; its claws could be equally big, and I didn’t have a lot of spare flesh on me, thanks to Niko’s training regimen. That could be why Niko’s touch didn’t hurt. It wasn’t me he was touching, but the claws that had captured me and burst open flesh as they slid along my ribs. I did feel cold, yet I felt a warmth running beneath me.
Blood.
It has a unique, soothing heat that lets you know you might not have bought the farm yet, but the Realtor has the contract in front of you, and the pen is in your hand.
“Cal, where did you send it?”
He didn’t look worried, which meant he was. “I don’t know,” I said, and I didn’t. I had no idea where I’d sent it. “I couldn’t gate. I hit my head”—more accurately cracked it open like an egg—“…couldn’t think straight, couldn’t…pull it together.” Not for a gate and not for the faraway Tumulus. “Before, I could…have.” When I could gate with no effort at all, no head wound would’ve stopped me. No wound would have. “Before it would’ve… been easy, but Rafferty
broke
me.” I said it resentfully, spitefully. But while the dark part of me meant it, the rest of me didn’t, not really. The healer had done what was best at the time, at least what he thought was best, and it had kept me sane long enough for me to find a way to stay that way permanently.
Yet now I was sane but still broken.
“Crippled,” Niko murmured. What I’d accidentally said in the bar.
“Didn’t mean it,” I denied immediately. “That
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