please. I still go by my patrol nickname. I’m not as sharp as when I worked the street, but I still drink the same amount of coffee.” Confident, comfortable in his own space, Williams resumed his place behind the desk, San Mike gleaming in the rain behind him. “As far as we know, Mr. Gamble isn’t able to control his responses. I’m told it’s similar to how we blink.”
Amy leaned back against her chair. “Have you considered something drastic?”
Pale somber gaze. “The City asked Mr. Gamble to come back. We don’t have a reason not to trust him.” The omitted yet hung unsaid in the air.
“Tell our viewers about the inhibitor.”
“You’re the reporter. Dig.”
Amy re-crossed her legs. “The initial serum was developed during the Cold War against a threat of heroes controlled by the Soviet Republic. If I remember correctly, it was modified in an incident involving your father?”
He should have known Amy had done her homework. Even before the harbor incident, any report she’d done on him had ended with a small vicious jab. “My father assisted in increasing the desired effect.”
A fluttering of lashes. “And what is the desired effect?”
“The paralysis of ‘gifts’ lasts much longer, depending on dosage and one’s body weight.” Unlike Williams, Mac didn’t bother with air quotes.
Last night, he’d calibrated the liquid for Lana’s last recorded weight, which he had Cass look up from her last visit to the hospital. He couldn’t bring himself to read through the list of surgeries.
“In you, the serum lasts about twenty-four hours?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t ask about side effects, the destruction of his liver, or the ice cold he’d lived with since the first kiss of the drug. Those expertly smudged eyes nailed him as if he were a frog about to be dissected. “Can you explain how the Night Rook has your abilities? Did you transfer them before you left San Mike?”
Behind the desk, Williams rose up, a hard commanding presence. “We don’t know how it’s possible,” he said, and bared his teeth at Amy’s lifted eyebrow. “The point is, Mr. Gamble is here to stop him.” He made a slashing motion across his neck. “This interview is done.”
With a whisper of silk clad legs, Amy got up and tucked away her notepad. And jerked away when Williams got up in her face.
“You want every perp out there to try for superpowers? Just what we need, them fighting to get his attention on the streets.” His hand was on her arm, hard fingers digging.
Mac pushed between them, forcing Williams away, but not before Amy nearly clocked him. “I don’t need a damned knight.” With a neat step on mile high heels, she shoved her mic on Williams’ desk. “The public has the right to know.”
“And you’re just a whore for ratings.”
This time, the smile was edged in bitter ice. “You got him back here, that’s your business. You want to use me? Fine. But you don’t tell me how I do my job, and what I can’t or cannot ask for. If he can transfer ‘gifts,’” another set of sarcastic curling fingers, “San Michael’s got the right to know.”
“It isn’t a disease, Ms. Avalon.”
She smoothed back perfectly straight hair. “It corrupts, and it kills. Turns people into monsters. What would you call it if not a disease?” The door closed behind her with a smooth click.
Williams sank behind his desk, as if the chair infused him with strength. “She hates your kind. I heard she chased the idiot hero in New York before getting fired and moving up here to play ace reporter. ” He pressed a phone up to his ear and jerked his gaze back at Mac. “Get me the Rook or get out of San Michael. Either way, Avalon is going to mobilize a mob.”
***
She stayed in her apartment instead of finding somewhere to hole up. Pride—possibly idiotic—refused to give in to the fear of being caught. With all “Night Rook” things stashed in a safe she had installed under the
Amy leaned back against her chair. “Have you considered something drastic?”
Pale somber gaze. “The City asked Mr. Gamble to come back. We don’t have a reason not to trust him.” The omitted yet hung unsaid in the air.
“Tell our viewers about the inhibitor.”
“You’re the reporter. Dig.”
Amy re-crossed her legs. “The initial serum was developed during the Cold War against a threat of heroes controlled by the Soviet Republic. If I remember correctly, it was modified in an incident involving your father?”
He should have known Amy had done her homework. Even before the harbor incident, any report she’d done on him had ended with a small vicious jab. “My father assisted in increasing the desired effect.”
A fluttering of lashes. “And what is the desired effect?”
“The paralysis of ‘gifts’ lasts much longer, depending on dosage and one’s body weight.” Unlike Williams, Mac didn’t bother with air quotes.
Last night, he’d calibrated the liquid for Lana’s last recorded weight, which he had Cass look up from her last visit to the hospital. He couldn’t bring himself to read through the list of surgeries.
“In you, the serum lasts about twenty-four hours?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t ask about side effects, the destruction of his liver, or the ice cold he’d lived with since the first kiss of the drug. Those expertly smudged eyes nailed him as if he were a frog about to be dissected. “Can you explain how the Night Rook has your abilities? Did you transfer them before you left San Mike?”
Behind the desk, Williams rose up, a hard commanding presence. “We don’t know how it’s possible,” he said, and bared his teeth at Amy’s lifted eyebrow. “The point is, Mr. Gamble is here to stop him.” He made a slashing motion across his neck. “This interview is done.”
With a whisper of silk clad legs, Amy got up and tucked away her notepad. And jerked away when Williams got up in her face.
“You want every perp out there to try for superpowers? Just what we need, them fighting to get his attention on the streets.” His hand was on her arm, hard fingers digging.
Mac pushed between them, forcing Williams away, but not before Amy nearly clocked him. “I don’t need a damned knight.” With a neat step on mile high heels, she shoved her mic on Williams’ desk. “The public has the right to know.”
“And you’re just a whore for ratings.”
This time, the smile was edged in bitter ice. “You got him back here, that’s your business. You want to use me? Fine. But you don’t tell me how I do my job, and what I can’t or cannot ask for. If he can transfer ‘gifts,’” another set of sarcastic curling fingers, “San Michael’s got the right to know.”
“It isn’t a disease, Ms. Avalon.”
She smoothed back perfectly straight hair. “It corrupts, and it kills. Turns people into monsters. What would you call it if not a disease?” The door closed behind her with a smooth click.
Williams sank behind his desk, as if the chair infused him with strength. “She hates your kind. I heard she chased the idiot hero in New York before getting fired and moving up here to play ace reporter. ” He pressed a phone up to his ear and jerked his gaze back at Mac. “Get me the Rook or get out of San Michael. Either way, Avalon is going to mobilize a mob.”
***
She stayed in her apartment instead of finding somewhere to hole up. Pride—possibly idiotic—refused to give in to the fear of being caught. With all “Night Rook” things stashed in a safe she had installed under the
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