free, and he let her.
“In what way,” he asked calmly, “isn’t it normal?”
“What, letting dreams tell you what to do? Believing some imaginary aura can tell you all you need to know about someone’s character? That a drink of sodding tea can cure your cancer? Trust me, that is so not fucking normal!”
She jumped to her feet, chewing her tongue to get it to shut up. At least he didn’t follow her as she strode across the room to the window, or ask stupid questions or offer pointless words of sympathy. She was pathetically grateful for that understanding, because right now she couldn’t deal with the upsurge of memory of the stupid, deluded people who’d surrounded her mother and got her to believe their drivel about nature’s cures. Before the cancer killed her.
“Not the point,” she muttered, gazing out the window. The rain had started again, splattering off the ground into puddles on the driveway. It would be dark again soon.
“Then what is?” he asked mildly.
She took in a deep breath. “You.” She turned to face him. “How did that car go on fire? How did you light this fire? What the hell just came out of it? It’s all to do with you, isn’t it?”
He met her gaze quite steadily. “Yes,” he admitted. “It’s all to do with me.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “It’s just something I can do. I can make fire. Heat things. By—willing them to, I suppose.”
She frowned. “But it doesn’t hurt you? That didn’t hurt you.”
“I can protect myself from it, influence it.”
Emboldened, she walked back toward him. “Then in the warehouse, you chos e not to save these people? Once you knew who they were?”
His eyes fell, then came back to Nell. “Not exactly. I couldn’t save them because I’d used all my strength starting so massive a fire in the first place. I could have burned to death with them, I suppose. I chose not to do that.”
She remembered something else. His tiredness in Waverley when he’d fallen into the second stolen car, the tight line of his mouth, the huge shadows under his eyes, the constant tapping of his fingers and foot, his teasing conversation, as if to keep himself awake. He’d had a long and tiring night.
Diddums.
She said, “You used it to steal the cars too, didn’t you?” That’s what made him even tireder.
“I melt the locks. It makes robbery pitifully easy.”
She almost laughed, because it was almost funny. He was just like her bloody dad. “Then that’s what you do? You rob people?”
“I’ve robbed some people,” he admitted. “Some banks, some insurance companies. A couple of art galleries and a few villains. One villain too many, to be honest.”
“The Bear?”
“The Bear.” He stood up and walked to a cabinet in the corner, from which he took two crystal glasses. “I never was, nor wanted to be a gangster, but I was a wild and mildly criminal youth. It was too easy for me, so I had to make it harder. The adrenaline was like a drug, and I graduated to bigger and better, the kind that gets you noticed by all the wrong people. Inevitably, I overestimated my own smartness. The Bear got me put in prison, and then he busted me out again. And now he thinks my ass, my treasure, and my people belong to him. We don’t, and I need to find a way to get them all back.”
Nell watched him pour whisky into the glasses and walk back toward her. She waited until she’d taken one of the glasses from him, making sure their fingers never touched, before she spoke.
“How do I fit into all of this?”
His eyebrows lifted. “You think you do?”
But she’d worked out a few more things by now. “ You think I do,” she said shrewdly. “You knew about me when you asked the police for a translator, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted without noticeable shame. He even clinked his glass off hers before sipping and savouring the whisky.
She sat down and drew her legs comfortably under her, cradling her glass. “Why?”
“It was
“In what way,” he asked calmly, “isn’t it normal?”
“What, letting dreams tell you what to do? Believing some imaginary aura can tell you all you need to know about someone’s character? That a drink of sodding tea can cure your cancer? Trust me, that is so not fucking normal!”
She jumped to her feet, chewing her tongue to get it to shut up. At least he didn’t follow her as she strode across the room to the window, or ask stupid questions or offer pointless words of sympathy. She was pathetically grateful for that understanding, because right now she couldn’t deal with the upsurge of memory of the stupid, deluded people who’d surrounded her mother and got her to believe their drivel about nature’s cures. Before the cancer killed her.
“Not the point,” she muttered, gazing out the window. The rain had started again, splattering off the ground into puddles on the driveway. It would be dark again soon.
“Then what is?” he asked mildly.
She took in a deep breath. “You.” She turned to face him. “How did that car go on fire? How did you light this fire? What the hell just came out of it? It’s all to do with you, isn’t it?”
He met her gaze quite steadily. “Yes,” he admitted. “It’s all to do with me.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “It’s just something I can do. I can make fire. Heat things. By—willing them to, I suppose.”
She frowned. “But it doesn’t hurt you? That didn’t hurt you.”
“I can protect myself from it, influence it.”
Emboldened, she walked back toward him. “Then in the warehouse, you chos e not to save these people? Once you knew who they were?”
His eyes fell, then came back to Nell. “Not exactly. I couldn’t save them because I’d used all my strength starting so massive a fire in the first place. I could have burned to death with them, I suppose. I chose not to do that.”
She remembered something else. His tiredness in Waverley when he’d fallen into the second stolen car, the tight line of his mouth, the huge shadows under his eyes, the constant tapping of his fingers and foot, his teasing conversation, as if to keep himself awake. He’d had a long and tiring night.
Diddums.
She said, “You used it to steal the cars too, didn’t you?” That’s what made him even tireder.
“I melt the locks. It makes robbery pitifully easy.”
She almost laughed, because it was almost funny. He was just like her bloody dad. “Then that’s what you do? You rob people?”
“I’ve robbed some people,” he admitted. “Some banks, some insurance companies. A couple of art galleries and a few villains. One villain too many, to be honest.”
“The Bear?”
“The Bear.” He stood up and walked to a cabinet in the corner, from which he took two crystal glasses. “I never was, nor wanted to be a gangster, but I was a wild and mildly criminal youth. It was too easy for me, so I had to make it harder. The adrenaline was like a drug, and I graduated to bigger and better, the kind that gets you noticed by all the wrong people. Inevitably, I overestimated my own smartness. The Bear got me put in prison, and then he busted me out again. And now he thinks my ass, my treasure, and my people belong to him. We don’t, and I need to find a way to get them all back.”
Nell watched him pour whisky into the glasses and walk back toward her. She waited until she’d taken one of the glasses from him, making sure their fingers never touched, before she spoke.
“How do I fit into all of this?”
His eyebrows lifted. “You think you do?”
But she’d worked out a few more things by now. “ You think I do,” she said shrewdly. “You knew about me when you asked the police for a translator, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted without noticeable shame. He even clinked his glass off hers before sipping and savouring the whisky.
She sat down and drew her legs comfortably under her, cradling her glass. “Why?”
“It was
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