Read Online Masks (Out of the Box Book 9) by Robert J. Crane - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert J. Crane
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on my consciousness, and while it’s easy to tolerate a few—like molecules of water—when too many surround me, I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
They’re just … everywhere.
I’d never tested to see what would happen if I surrounded myself in a crowd in New York City for more than a half hour or so at a time, but I had a feeling it would be bad. I’d walked Times Square before on a Sunday once, when the crowds were in full force. I’d had people brush against me, push against, bump into me, talking as they walked, cell phones to their ear, arguing with their loved ones, laughing with their kids. It was a crush, a glut of humanity, and it felt so close to my consciousness it was like they were poured raw into my mind. They were there, laid bare before me, all humanity and feelings and emotions, and I felt overwhelmed.
I’d needed to retreat to my hotel room after only a few minutes, closing myself off in the closet, no light, fingers in my ears, letting the noise and feeling and talking and living recede into the distance.
“So …” Allyn Welch said, breaking the silence between us as we honked our way across the RFK Bridge between Randalls and Wards Islands and Manhattan, the whole of Manhattan laid out before us. Fortunately he’d rolled the windows up after we’d left LaGuardia, because I had a feeling, based on the number of cars in front of me belching smoke out their tailpipes, that the air quality around us had taken a precipitous drop. Talk about not being able to breathe.
“You sent for me and I am here,” I said, steeling myself for entry to the city of New York. I hoped I wouldn’t feel buried in the crowds during this assignment, but I was a big girl and occasionally I had to confront my fears and the psychological damage from being raised in isolation. Because that’s what grown-ups do in the real world. “What’s the what?”
“The … what?” Welch gave me a frown so deep his crow’s feet looked like they were opening box canyons at the ends.
“Never mind,” I said, looking out at the city through the window. “Why did you break the glass if you didn’t see an emergency?”
He got that one, and went all introspective on me, nodding and looking out at the sea of traffic ahead of us. “You ever get that feeling in your gut? The one that tells you something’s wrong?”
“Usually after I’ve had White Castle in the middle of the night, but yeah,” I said, flashing him a smile. He looked at me blankly, and I suppressed a sigh. “Cop instinct, sure,” I said, letting my brilliant joke go to waste.
“I got that feeling here,” Welch said. “And if I’m wrong when it comes up on a normal case … maybe somebody dies. Bad news, right? But the NYPD can handle the perp afterward. I get that feeling on a meta case …” He looked at me with purpose. “I break the damned glass.”
“Nicely brought around.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I get this wrong … worse happens than a little murder. Here we’ve got people with powers and all possible sorts of trouble.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “I didn’t see what Captain Frost said—”
“It wasn’t anything major,” Welch said. “I’ll show you the video at the precinct, but it’s not the sort of thing that’s going to trip many triggers.”
“But it tripped yours?”
“Maybe I’m just an old cop in a new world,” Welch said, which I thought was a pretty brave admission, though obviously the comb-over was a good tipoff. “Not gonna lie, I’m still pretty uneasy that the Mayor’s office lets these ‘heroes’ go running through the city unchecked.”
I held my tongue, mostly because I didn’t have a well-formed opinion about this new phenomenon. Metahumans had mostly been held in check—publicly, at least, kept in secret, for thousands of years—until President Gerry Harmon decided to out us on national television. It probably wasn’t a bad call, since I was in dragon form, battling a supreme
I can’t think.
They’re just … everywhere.
I’d never tested to see what would happen if I surrounded myself in a crowd in New York City for more than a half hour or so at a time, but I had a feeling it would be bad. I’d walked Times Square before on a Sunday once, when the crowds were in full force. I’d had people brush against me, push against, bump into me, talking as they walked, cell phones to their ear, arguing with their loved ones, laughing with their kids. It was a crush, a glut of humanity, and it felt so close to my consciousness it was like they were poured raw into my mind. They were there, laid bare before me, all humanity and feelings and emotions, and I felt overwhelmed.
I’d needed to retreat to my hotel room after only a few minutes, closing myself off in the closet, no light, fingers in my ears, letting the noise and feeling and talking and living recede into the distance.
“So …” Allyn Welch said, breaking the silence between us as we honked our way across the RFK Bridge between Randalls and Wards Islands and Manhattan, the whole of Manhattan laid out before us. Fortunately he’d rolled the windows up after we’d left LaGuardia, because I had a feeling, based on the number of cars in front of me belching smoke out their tailpipes, that the air quality around us had taken a precipitous drop. Talk about not being able to breathe.
“You sent for me and I am here,” I said, steeling myself for entry to the city of New York. I hoped I wouldn’t feel buried in the crowds during this assignment, but I was a big girl and occasionally I had to confront my fears and the psychological damage from being raised in isolation. Because that’s what grown-ups do in the real world. “What’s the what?”
“The … what?” Welch gave me a frown so deep his crow’s feet looked like they were opening box canyons at the ends.
“Never mind,” I said, looking out at the city through the window. “Why did you break the glass if you didn’t see an emergency?”
He got that one, and went all introspective on me, nodding and looking out at the sea of traffic ahead of us. “You ever get that feeling in your gut? The one that tells you something’s wrong?”
“Usually after I’ve had White Castle in the middle of the night, but yeah,” I said, flashing him a smile. He looked at me blankly, and I suppressed a sigh. “Cop instinct, sure,” I said, letting my brilliant joke go to waste.
“I got that feeling here,” Welch said. “And if I’m wrong when it comes up on a normal case … maybe somebody dies. Bad news, right? But the NYPD can handle the perp afterward. I get that feeling on a meta case …” He looked at me with purpose. “I break the damned glass.”
“Nicely brought around.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I get this wrong … worse happens than a little murder. Here we’ve got people with powers and all possible sorts of trouble.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “I didn’t see what Captain Frost said—”
“It wasn’t anything major,” Welch said. “I’ll show you the video at the precinct, but it’s not the sort of thing that’s going to trip many triggers.”
“But it tripped yours?”
“Maybe I’m just an old cop in a new world,” Welch said, which I thought was a pretty brave admission, though obviously the comb-over was a good tipoff. “Not gonna lie, I’m still pretty uneasy that the Mayor’s office lets these ‘heroes’ go running through the city unchecked.”
I held my tongue, mostly because I didn’t have a well-formed opinion about this new phenomenon. Metahumans had mostly been held in check—publicly, at least, kept in secret, for thousands of years—until President Gerry Harmon decided to out us on national television. It probably wasn’t a bad call, since I was in dragon form, battling a supreme
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