“Is that you have to defend the title every now and again,” Harry said with a smile. “Otherwise, you’re not the best anymore. We learned that in Rocky III.” He shrugged when I gave him the eye. “Sticking with the theme.”
“That kind of thinking on his part is dumb,” Cassidy said. “He beat you. He should take his well-earned victory and be happy with it.”
“Logically, yes,” I said. “But this drive of his—whatever demons are fueling his fire? Logic ain’t in the picture at this point. He’s running on fear and ego, and if he gets challenged, he’s going to fight. Which is why he’s dangerous. If this goes on much longer, his little over-the-top aggressions are going to stop finding hard targets like metas and he’s just going to run roughshod over everyone.” I walked over to Cassidy. “I need a place where I can fight him … and beat him.”
Her eyelids fluttered, but she answered almost immediately. “Try in your dreams.”
I started to fire off an angry retort, then stopped myself. “That’s … not bad.”
She smiled. “It’s a start, anyway. I expect that’ll get him … nice and ready for your next meeting.” She started tapping again at her keyboard. “And while you’re doing that, I’ll see if I can find a place where you can even the odds.”
“A maths class, then,” Eilish said, very straight-faced. “What? Even the odds, get it?”
“I got it,” I said, “it was just terrible, that’s all. All right, people,” and I headed back for the bedroom, “I’m going to go take the most productive nap I’ve ever taken. Hold down the fort while I’m gone, will you?”
“You’ll be safe until you come back out,” Harry said, giving me a fake salute. “Kick his ass, Sienna. Kick it hard enough he’ll carry a grudge from here to eternity. And—never mind,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve got this.”
“Damned right I do,” I said, disappearing into the bedroom, dark and inviting, waiting for me—a battlefield fit for a succubus.
Because if there was anything I was good at, it was pissing people off.
37.
“So it is you,” the Predator said as he entered the darkness of the dreamwalk with me, looking around at the hints of broken street, of the shadow of buildings beyond the lines of dark that hung in the distance like night closed in.
I’d chosen the scene of our fight because it seemed likely to put him at ease, to remind him that yeah, he’d beaten me hard. I needed him lulled for a few minutes, anyway, before I got back to the business of throwing down the gauntlet. Right on his junk. “Yeah, it’s me,” I said, “the girl who dealt the hardest ass kicking you’ve yet experienced in your brief supervillain career.”
He was dark of hair and fair of skin, absent the flame that had consumed him when I’d met him in the almost-flesh. His face in the dream lacked the creative alterations I’d made to it through my punching. That was interesting; I doubted he’d healed yet, but maybe. At the very least, he hadn’t taken the beaten I’d given him onboard psychologically.
So, in his mind … flawless victory. It was time to turn that feeling around.
He shook his head at my jibe, made a noise of disdain, and then a shoving motion as if to ward me off. “I beat you, and you ran.”
Overconfidence. I like that in someone I’m about to pummel.
“Well, you kinda overpowered me like, ten to one,” I said, flippant. I had dreamwalked myself into a new wardrobe, something that felt more classically Sienna—leather coat, jeans, stylish t-shirt, and some steel-toed boots. Yes, steel-toed even in my dreams. Because they’re my dreams, duh. “I suppose I could have hung around and taken the killing punch, but it seemed stupid to do so since my intention is to whip your ever-loving, superpowered ass, and to date you haven’t killed but maybe one of your challengers.” I cocked my head. “So … was it because you felt threatened? Or was it because you realized that you’re really a chickenshit at heart, and that me being a threat to you scared you enough to want to kill me?”
A dark cloud ran over his face, a shadow not unlike the ones hiding the scenery around us. “You don’t frighten me.”
“Au contraire, mon frère,” I said, going to that chipper tone of voice I only used when I was really trying to piss someone off. So … often, I guess? “You tried to blast my face into oblivion.” I touched my cheeks gently, probing. “My pretty, pretty face. Why would you want to destroy something so beautiful if not from fear? I mean, I guess I could understand spite as a motive, since you are not so pretty, but …”
“You are trying to goad me,” he said with a patronizing smile. “It will not work.”
“What are you afraid of?” I asked. “Losing your temper? You already lost that, Bubsy. Or was spiking my head into a sidewalk like a normal Thursday for you?”
He frowned. “It is Monday.”
“So sue me, I can’t keep track of the days anymore.” I shrugged. “Your superpowers … they’re lab grown, aren’t they? You didn’t manifest them naturally. Not at your age.” I had him pegged as in his thirties by looks, and he didn’t have that air about him that screamed old meta.
He hesitated, then surveyed his surroundings as if trying to assuage his worries. Which was good, because the fact that he was talking and answering the question meant I’d riled him enough to talk, but not enough to break off all contact—yet. It was coming, though. “I have been a metahuman for two years, yes. Very good guess.” He smiled tightly. “Long enough to learn that I am stronger than you, or any of your friends, the supposed light of mankind.”
“If you’re calling me the light of mankind, you must be from somewhere super dark,” I said. “Another guess … Revelen?”
He stiffened visibly, almost flinching. “I am not from Revelen.” He seemed to draw back, wary eyes on me. “But it is where I was … made. Or made powerful, perhaps.”
Huh. An interesting little item of note, I thought. “So … did you meet Vlad?”
He frowned. “… Vlad?”
“The man in charge,” I said. “The one everyone is terrified of when they meet him.”
He nodded once, slowly. “I have met him.”
I stared back at him. “And you’re terrified of him?”
He stared back at me, and there was a hint of uncertainty, then he nodded, just once. “Only a fool would not be.”
“Are you running from him?” I asked, bypassing the other pressing question I had.
He nodded again. “Only a fool would not be.” And this time he smiled again, but his eyes were hollow and his look utterly without joy.
“What’s your name?” I asked more softly, guiding us away from being confrontational. I had a couple more weapons in my arsenal that I could use, but I didn’t want to use them unless he proved … difficult.
“Stepane,” he said. “Stepane Abraam.”
“You had two powers when you manifested?” I asked, and he nodded. Suddenly it made sense.
Every so often, a meta would be born with two abilities, one each from their mother and father. Aleksandr Gavrikov had gotten flight and fire, for instance.